From: Flutesong@Hegalplace.com
Date: 19 Apr 2003 08:28:15 -0700
Subject: [atxc-pi] NEW: ALL RIGHT -NC-17- (0/3)
Source: atxc

Title: ALL RIGHT 
Author: Flutesong 
Feedback Email: Flutesong@Hegalplace.com 
Author's Website: http://www.hegalplace.com/flutesong/ 
Archive at Gossamer: Yes to Gossamer 
Status: NEW - Standalone 
Size: 104k 
Category: Drama, Story, Relationship, RST, Angst, Hurt/Comfort 
Pairings: Mulder/Krycek 
Rating: NC-17 
Gossamer Category: Story ~ Angst ~ Slash 

 Yes to Gossamer

 ALL RIGHT 
by Flutesong 
Flutesong@Hegalplace.com 
 
Part 1
Please see part 0 (template) for story information.

ALL RIGHT  Author: Flutesong Email: Flutesong@hegalplace.com  Website: 
http://www.hegalplace.com/flutesong/ Keywords: M/K Slash  Spoilers: Everything
through Red and Black and then AU Rating: NC-17 - detailed MM sexuality
Summary: Krycek finds home is where the heart is. Not a death fic. Warning: M/K 
SLASH - no kidding Archive: Sure - let me know where Disclaimer: CC and 1013
tried to prevent these and all XF characters from going on their rightful paths 
(They OWN them) but this is my attempt to correct that grievous mistake.

Notes:  Thank you to Sue Ashworth for the absolutely wonderful beta.
This story is dedicated to Kashmir for all the //research// materials
she has so generously provided.

ALL RIGHT

Part 1

Somehow he always knew he would come to die where Mulder could find
him.

It was a thought that planted itself in his psyche back when they had
worked together, and Mulder had been unable to celebrate the capture
and demise of the serial rapist/murderer they had been tracking.
Instead, Mulder'd had a moment of unalloyed grief for the
what-might-have-been of the guy's life if only he hadn't ended up this
way.

Perhaps it had been at that moment he'd realized the quality of
humanity in Mulder could, would, must survive even the god-awful
rigors of disappointments, betrayals and loss from which his life had
been made so far, and from which he was bound to suffer more in the
future.

It was then Alex realized that, if he could, he wanted to die and
know, however brief Mulder's moment of grief might be, there would
indeed be a moment, and his life would have been noted, his death
mourned.

Alex had never thought of this as pathetic or egotistical. Every man
had a right to want his life and death at least noted by someone.

So here he was. In the next motel room, a locked connecting door the
last barrier, and Mulder doing reports and watching TV on the other
side.

Alex had been in this exact location countless times during the past
four years. He had never breached the locked door when Mulder or
Mulder and Scully were in the next room. He had waited until they were
out before entering to accomplish whatever snooping he had been
ordered to undertake. He used simple listening devices, usually wired
through the lamp fixtures above the bed or the bathroom fan, to hear
what was going on in their rooms when occupied.

It still amazed him that the two of them never had sex. In his opinion
their relationship would have been the better for it. God knew on the
occasions he was in the room between them, he had heard needs
expressed from both directions.

Scully preferred her fantasies in the bath with her slender shampoo
tube providing relief; he had never found an actual vibrator or dildo
in her luggage, but she always had that same gel-filled shampoo tube
along with whatever new vials of shampoo or conditioner she also
carried.

Mulder masturbated more often, usually when he woke in the early
hours, from a dream, or a noise, or a nightmare and had time
afterwards for a couple of more hours of sleep.

Neither of them made much noise when they came.

He enjoyed listening to both of them and at the same time thought it
was a waste. They enforced loneliness upon themselves and he, who was
forced to be alone, regretted their stupid implacable 'will' to endure
solitude as if it were some kind of merit badge.

Alex still remembered the exact moment when he realized he would
rather be in the bed with Mulder than in the tub with Scully, with a
kind of baffled amazement.

It had been a cold night in Bennington, Vermont, shortly after Scully
had been returned to Mulder, and the room heater was noisy enough
almost to drown out the audio from his listening devices in Mulder's
room. It was an old fashioned motel, dating from the fifties, and
Scully had a room with a large, putrid pink tub. She had made a trip
out into the cold and brought back a package of candy, and a split of
wine from the liquor store down the road. She took her laptop into the
bathroom and turned it on, found an online radio station playing
oldies, opened the wine and the candy and settled in to make a night
of it in her bath. Alex could hear it all perfectly; the heater in
Scully's room did not interfere.

He had felt a vicarious throb pulse through him and thought this might
be one of those nights when he could get off to the sounds of Scully's
self-directed amusement. He didn't actually have any real consuming
desire to be with Scully, other than the need to dominate sexually the
woman who held him in such contempt and make her enjoy it despite
herself. All the same, she was a naked woman, about to masturbate
luxuriously in a bubble bath just a wall away, and that was usually
hot enough to arouse him.

He'd even begun to prepare for the show by moving the headphones over
to the bed and undressing completely, although he seldom thought it
was safe to be totally naked while he was on a job and might need to
make a quick exit.

He turned up the feed from Scully's side of the headphones and started
to relax into the moment, when he suddenly began to wonder what Mulder
would do, if he could hear what Scully was doing. The thought of
Mulder's reaction sent a spike of pure lust straight to his cock. He
had been surprised and had tried to pass it off as some kind of
one-ups-manship over Mulder, since he was going to be the one enjoying
the erotic treat, but that answer didn't really cut it.

It was the thought of Mulder's arousal itself that excited him. He
threw off the headphones, got up from the bed and put his jeans back
on, pausing to add more ice to his already flat coke.

Since when did he consider another man's sexual responses hot,
especially Mulder's?

He had listened to guys jerking off since he started going on
overnight trips with his high school sports teams. He'd listened to
endless men through endless surveillance duties both legit, when he
was a Fibbie with a warrant, and on his job for the Syndicate and had
never felt more than a twinge of sympathy, knowing that beggar man,
thief or assassin, all men did it.

He'd heard Mulder do it dozens of times and mostly thought the guy was
an idiot for wasting his potential by always doing it alone when he
could have had a willing woman, including Scully, anytime.

He'd never fantasized about another guy or about being with one.

He'd never wanted to watch another guy, although he had done so,
perforce, when he was stuck on visual surveillance, and all he'd
thought was that it looked vaguely ridiculous, and that dicks looked a
lot alike. He'd seen porn, even seen men do each other; he knew a
mouth was a mouth; a hand was a hand, and a hot hole was a hot hole
regardless of gender. He'd never felt gay guys were all that different
they just didn't excite him. He'd been in sex clubs, as bodyguard for
various old Syndicate assholes and had witnessed all sorts of
perversions. And they had neither excited him nor tempted him to try
them.

He wasn't an innocent, damn it! He wasn't under-sexed. He knew he had
sex appeal and could charm a girl into bed in either his bad boy or
geek persona. He wasn't a latent homosexual. He was twenty-seven and
had gotten laid many times.

He paced. Stopped. He looked at himself in the mirror. Saw his face,
arms, and chest. He was average -- muscular without being a Stallone
clone -- and found nothing noteworthy except a few thin scars here and
there.  He put his hands on his chest and ran his palms from
collarbone to the unbuttoned waist of his jeans. He was all right.

He glanced towards the headphones and started to turn back towards the
bed when he caught a glimpse in the mirror of his left hand still at
his waist and had another sharp tug of lust at the thought of that
masculine hand being Mulder's instead of his own.

He turned back and faced the mirror squarely. He could take a moment
to think this out. He would try to understand what was happening. He
would make a list. Lists always calmed him and helped him to figure
things out.

He was horny. He wasn't going to get laid tonight. A masturbating
Scully on one side, and a lonely, driven, most likely horny Mulder, on
the other side, surrounded him. That Mulder would likely take great
pleasure in killing him barehanded, if he only knew who was on this
side of the wall. Being here was exciting. He was always hyped this
close to danger and discovery.

That must be it. The adrenaline rush was from his proximity to danger
and sex, not really from a personal interest in Mulder, or Mulder's
body, or in touching, or being touched by Mulder.

Alex realized his thoughts were wandering; he opened his eyes and
refocused. He looked at his hand that had somehow crept to cup his
nuts while he was thinking. He was hard. That was a fact. He abandoned
his list and allowed the fantasy to do what it would.

He imagined the hand on his sex was Scully's, he didn't wilt, but he
felt no zing either. He recalled a particularly good time he'd once
had with a tall blonde, and the memory of her long-fingered, manicured
hand on his cock. That was a little better.

He stroked his erection through his jeans with his thumb and imagined
it was Mulder's hand and Mulder's thumb and went breathless. He didn't
look himself in the face in the mirror, just at his hand on his
crotch. He imagined Mulder was behind him, naked, hot chest pressed up
against his back, arm around his waist, hand on his cock. Fuck, oh
fuck, he knew he was suddenly close to coming.

He unzipped his jeans without allowing himself to break the fantasy.
He took his erection in hand/in Mulder's hand, and watched
his/Mulder's hand jerk him off with fast, hard, long, angry strokes
that grew faster, and rougher, and more, and oh fuck!

He caught his breath as he leaned, one-handed, on the dresser, his
eyes on the splattered mirror, the other hand on his wet shrinking
dick.

Alex looked into the mirror of yet another motel room on another cold
lonely night, four years and lifetimes later, and saw he was not all
right.  He was shirtless, his jeans were unfastened at the waist, and
once again Mulder was on the other side of the thin wall with the
locked connecting door, but that was about all he had in common with
that other night from long ago, when he had been innocent and horny
and excited by danger and sex.

No, that wasn't exactly all that he had in common. He was also leaning
one-handed against the dresser and gasping.

Alex gritted his teeth at the memory of the pleasure that other hand
of his had once bestowed, at the firm, whole, muscular, young body
that had once stood and dreamed, breathless in front of that
semen-splattered mirror, at that naive kid who thought vicarious,
forbidden sex was extreme, and the terror that young fool had felt if
his secret desires had been revealed.

Alex faced himself squarely in the mirror. He didn't need to make a
list. Everything was already catalogued in bold across his body: one
stump, scarred, lumpy and uneven - left side, two bullet dents, badly
healed - lower right abdomen, various knife wounds, several badly
stitched and bumpy - torso, concave belly and prominent ribs - full
front, and he slowly let go his death grip on the dresser and raised
his stump, one not yet healed scab - left underarm, where three weeks
ago he had gouged out the implant that gave away his location to the
remaining Syndicate assholes, and whose removal had spread the deadly,
fast-moving cancer that left him gasping now, in front of a mirror on
the other side of a thin, locked, motel room connecting door.

To which he had tracked Mulder and where he had come to die.

He watched Mulder through his computer monitor while he got himself
ready.

Technology had improved over the past couple of years, and the same
thin wires that once transmitted only audio now sent pictures too. He
knew Mulder was alone on this trip. Scully was back to full strength
after her cancer cure, but was choosing to go with Mulder on his
personal tangents less often.

Alex did everything slowly, conserving his strength. He took a shower,
shaved while he was in it and then had to sit down on the bed to dry
off. He dressed in a clean pair of jeans that hung more loosely than
the last time he had worn them, a long sleeved black shirt that
billowed and seemed two sizes too big, he tucked the shirt in and
thought it gave him the illusion of girth beneath its folds; he put on
black socks, but had to pause for breath after bending down to pull on
his boots, and when he could stand steadily again, he slicked back his
hair with his fingers, not wanting to waste any energy going back into
the bathroom for his comb.

He turned off the computer, closed it and gathered up the wires,
putting them into the side pocket of his suitcase. He turned the
suitcase over, pried open the hinges, reached between the outside
vinyl and the inside plastic, bringing out four diskettes. It made a
kind of poetic sense to him that he had known Mulder and interacted
with him for four years only to end up with these four diskettes as
his good-bye gift.

Before closing and returning his suitcase to normalcy, Alex took out
one last item. It was a syringe already filled with morphine, more
than enough morphine to finish his last task of the evening. He placed
the syringe under his pillow with his Glock and sat quietly for a few
moments. He went over his plan: unlock and knock on the connecting
door, identify himself and see if Mulder would open his side of the
door. It was always possible that Mulder would shoot him through the
door or upon opening it, but he didn't really think Mulder would. It
hardly mattered. Mulder would see the diskettes in his hand and take
them even if he did shoot. That and seeing Mulder one last time was
the extent of his agenda.

He thought about the past four years for another few moments. Years
full of all the danger and discovery he couldn't have ever imagined in
his bold and bad days. Years full of violence and adventure and more
adrenaline rushes than any conscienceless bastard had ever deserved or
hoped for. More lonely nights than he could have ever counted on.

Well, tonight he wasn't lonely, and tonight was the last rush and push
beyond the ultimate barrier, and his final attempt to control his own
destiny.

He looked in the mirror one last time. He said goodbye to the boy who
had once dreamed of advantage and power and hot union with the man on
the other side of the wall. Said goodbye to the man who now knew some
sins were unforgivable, some paths irreversible and some men -- like
him -- were perhaps incapable of finding such union or even
recognizing it was possible.

Alex summoned up one last adrenaline high; with the flick of his hand,
he brushed some unseen fluff from his black shirt in an arrogant
gesture, picked up the diskettes and tucked them into the fingers of
his prosthetic hand, sauntered the few steps over to the connecting
door.  Then he unlocked his side and knocked.

Part 2

"Who is it?" Mulder asked sharply form the other side of the door.

"It's me, Mulder. Alex Krycek."

Silence and then the faint click of a gun primed with the safety off.

"What do you want, Krycek?" Mulder asked.

"Come on, Mulder. I'm alone. Open the door, and I'll show you."

"Why should I want to see anything you have to offer, Krycek?"

"Because it's bound to be more interesting than whatever else you're
doing tonight."

"How do you know what I'm doing? Do you have my room bugged, asshole?"

"Big Brother is always watching, Mulder, are you going to open up or
not?"

"Put you hands up and don't move until I say so." Mulder opened the
door and stepped back, kicking it wide and pointing his gun.

Alex stood, right hand up, and left arm tilted forward, diskettes
extended from the stiff fingers, waiting for Mulder to check out the
situation. He stood still and breathed deeply. He hadn't seen Mulder
in the flesh since that day in his apartment when he had delivered the
Brit's warning about the alien resistance leader.

Since then everything had really gone to hell, and he had realized no
amount of finesse was going to get him through this round. All bets
were off. The resistance had begun killing innocent victims of the
alien/syndicate experiments and had recaptured the original alien
fetus and most of the Purity project, as well as killing Cassandra
Spender.

The last of the Syndicate was in disarray, and the battle lines
between those, like the Brit, who thought a new alliance was possible,
and Spender, who thought the old alliance would still prevail, were
both on losing sides. The resistance was supremely uninterested in
alliances. They were uninterested in anything but the final solution
to the population of this troublesome planet. The old guard aliens
were going ahead with plans for an invasion that involved using the
population of earth as cattle, drones and incubators to bring their
end game to its culmination.

Either way, everything was fucked up, and he wanted out.  He was tired
of being dragged from pillar to post and trying to mitigate damage to
himself, to Mulder, or to the damn planet. Finding out that he had
implants had been the last straw.

Ironically it was the X-rays for the new prosthetic arm that had
revealed this fact to him. The technician who had taken the X-rays and
measurements had simply handed him his file to take to the doctor who
would make the final adjustments and fit the new arm. Of course he had
looked at the file and the X-rays, and it was then he had seen the
small oval disk lodged deep in the flesh of his chest, near the
shoulder socket under his left arm.

He has seen this particular disk type many times. It was a tracking
implant. It was a fifty-fifty shot whether this one also contained a
disease mechanism or was simply a stand-alone tracker. He had
infiltrated as many secret records as he could find, but discovered
none that had his implant noted. Someone, most likely Spender, had
done this to him secretly, without authorization from the other
Syndicate members. No wonder Spender had been able to dog his
footsteps so well when he had been on the run in Hong Kong, and hadn't
been surprised to see him show up with the DAT, alien-occupied or not.

He could kill Spender, but that wouldn't end it. Someone else was
bound to know or find out. Someone always did.

He was tired. Tired of being a dog on a leash and tired of killing.
Spender and the Brit could finagle to their megalomaniac hearts'
content, without him as whipping boy.

Fifty-fifty wasn't all that bad, as bets went. It was simple, neat and
final. Yes, it was triggered and he would die or no, and he would
live. That his luck, such as it was, had run out wasn't at all
surprising.

Alex heard a sharp knock-knock and refocused to see Mulder tapping the
doorframe impatiently with the barrel of his gun. "What the hell's
wrong with you Krycek?" Mulder snarled, "I've been talking to you for
the past five minutes and you haven't heard a word."

Alex looked at Mulder's impatient frown and thought it was hilarious.
After all, the other times -- including when they worked together --
that he had met up with Mulder, it had always been he trying to get
and keep Mulder's attention. Now, when he had inadvertently slipped
into the ever-closer void that loomed so close, he had somehow hit
upon the exact way to garner Mulder's interest. All he had to do was
ignore him and voila!

He decided to keep quiet and met Mulder's eyes. He wondered what
Mulder saw. Whatever it was; it was enough for Mulder to re-cock the
safety on his gun and use it to signal him inside the room.

Alex took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. He was finally
on the other side.

Mulder motioned for him to sit down. Alex sat on the edge of the bed;
it was closer than the chair. Mulder still standing, sighed, pulled
the chair up close to face Alex and sat down, keeping the gun in his
hand. He sighed again and then said, "What have you come here for,
Krycek?"

Alex took the disks out of the fingers of his left hand and offered
them, palm up, to Mulder with his right hand. "I came here to give you
these."

"What's on them?" Mulder asked skeptically. "Rap music or video games?
No doubt either would be ripped off MP3's and as worthless as anything
else that has to do with you."

Alex took his turn to sigh. He hadn't expected to feel so damn tired,
and he'd somehow forgotten Mulder's need to have a verbal skirmish in
lieu of the physical shit they usually got into. "These disks contain
all the inside information I have been able to gather and keep over
the past few years. No doubt a lot of it will be familiar to you; in
fact, there are copies of several X Files. A great deal of it will be
new and perhaps illuminating. Some of it will need to be translated
into English, but I am sure you have the necessary resources. It's all
yours now, in any case."

Alex was appalled to find he was out of breath. He concentrated,
trying to summon up all his reserves to make it to the end of this
tte--tte without falling apart or passing out. Fuck, he didn't want
Mulder to get the idea he was sick.

Mulder slowly took the disks from his hand. Alex noted Mulder's
fingers trembled. He felt a surge of profound thankfulness, because he
knew Mulder believed him. Believed both terribly important things,
both that the disks were real, and that he was telling the truth.

He watched Mulder, and it was if he was still seeing him through the
artificial distance of the surveillance equipment. The edges around
Mulder seemed hazy and the light from the motel room lamps had fuzzy
halos around them. He saw Mulder lay the gun down beside the computer
and insert the first disk. He fancied Mulder did it reverentially. The
whole scene had taken on that kind of otherworldly aura that reminded
Alex of old, fragrant churches and night-shadowed, ancient, European
gardens.

He had two simultaneous emotions; first - Mulder's intense and
rapturous expression of concentration was beautiful, and second - that
he suddenly felt like weeping. Alex wanted to laugh at himself, jeer
at his sudden sentimentality, but he had no breath left to do either.

Part 3

Alex came back to consciousness with a sharp, painful stab in his
chest and thought for a confused moment that he was back in the
Tunguskan forest, and his arm was being hacked off again.

Another sharp stab, and then another, and he realized someone was
pressing on his chest in a rhythmic count. The stabbing ceased, and
warm wet lips covered his own pushing warm breath into his throat. He
choked, and the lips withdrew. He sputtered, and the rhythmic stabbing
ceased.

After a moment he felt a cool, damp washcloth wipe his face, and the
distant babbling sounds became Mulder's voice cursing him. He heard
Mulder say 'fuck' several times. "Fuck you, Alex, coming in here to
die on me. Goddamn fucker, always pulling a dramatic scene out of your
hat. Fuck you, can't you ever do anything like a normal person."

He opened his eyes and saw the ceiling above him. Suddenly Mulder's
face filled up the space above his eyes, and he felt Mulder's hand on
his chest, gentle on his chest. "Keep breathing, asshole. Just lie
still and take nice even breaths," Mulder said in a quiet tone that
belayed the attendant curses.

Alex lay there and breathed. He felt Mulder's gentle hand rub his
chest slowly and rhythmically, as if he was helping to keep him
breathing at the smooth even pace he'd ordered. If Mulder said to
breathe, he would breathe, and if breathing meant that Mulder touched
him kindly, he was more than compensated for the effort of it.

Alex kept breathing and drifted under Mulder's touch. He thought it
funny that he had never once imagined, in all his fantasies, a kind or
gentle touch from Mulder. He wanted to think it was hilarious; he had
noticed how ignoring Mulder had finally gotten his attention, and now
it seemed that dying had finally got Mulder to switch off the hate. He
felt instead that it was sad.

He and Mulder never seemed to be able to live on middle ground. They
had in common only extreme behavior and extreme feelings. Hate, lust,
fear, contempt, derision, distrust, distaste and violence made up
their interplay.

He opened his eyes and turned his head to meet Mulder's gaze. He
didn't know what Mulder saw in his eyes, but whatever it was, it was
enough for Mulder to stop rubbing his chest and to use his hand to
push back the sweaty damp hair from his brow, cup his cheek, and run a
thumb over his dry cracked lips.

Alex felt the tears run unchecked from his eyes, down the sides of
face and into his hair, "I came here to die, Mulder. I came here
because I knew, no matter what else, you would have a moment when you
forgot to hate me and regret my passing, ill spent though you think my
life has been. I came here, Mulder, because I am a selfish bastard,
and I wanted someone to mourn, however briefly, and I knew you would."

Mulder resumed rubbing his chest and looked away. Eventually he sighed
and returned his gaze to meet Alex's eyes. "Yes," he said, simply, "I
would."

The next time Alex woke, he was surprised. He looked around and saw he
was in his bed in his room at the motel, and that he was hooked up to
an IV; an oxygen nosepiece was hissing dry air into his nostrils. He
took stock and realized he was terribly thirsty, undressed to his
boxers, and he could smell pizza. He tried to get up and found that
his prosthetic arm had been removed as well.

He heard footsteps.  Mulder came into view and sat down on the side of
the bed.  "So, Krycek," he said, "you have returned to the land of the
living."

Alex tried to answer, but his throat was too dry. He licked his lips
instead, and Mulder reached across him to slip some ice chips into his
mouth.

"Is he awake?" Alex heard another voice asking from beyond his line of
sight.

"Yeah," said Mulder, "looks like he has a little more color in his
face too. The oxygen must be helping." Mulder offered more ice chips,
and Alex took them into his mouth from Mulder's hand.

Alex whispered to Mulder in an agitated voice, "It isn't safe to bring
anyone here, Mulder. You'll draw attention to yourself, and if they
find out I'm here, they just might kill you this time."

Mulder looked at him and rolled his eyes. "No one knows you're here.
We've got it covered. I called them to come dispose of your body, but
you weren't dead yet so they got all hot and bothered and decided to
save you instead."

Mulder grinned a wonderfully nasty grin, and Alex heard the murmur of
several voices say, "Yeah right," and, "Sure you did, Mulder," and,
"What a load of crap."

Alex tried to sit up and see who was talking, but Mulder put a
restraining hand on his shoulder; his left shoulder, and pushed him
back down. "You stay still and lie there. You do not move. Move, and I
will tie you down." Mulder continued to grin, and Alex began to worry
that this rather happily maniacal Mulder was more than he could
contend with right then.

He contented himself by saying, " I always knew you were kinky,
Mulder." The voices in the background laughed, snickered, and one of
them harrumphed.

"Got your number Mulder," and, "Called you on it," and, "Let the man
rest," said he heard, in a trio of overlapping speeches.

"Who are they Mulder? The butcher, the baker and the candlestick
maker?"

Mulder leaned closer and tapped Alex's cheek sharply, "Nursery Rhymes,
Krycek? Now there's a scary thought. Alex Krycek, toddler," Mulder
shuddered dramatically, and the voices in the background started off
on another refrain about being called knaves and who was the butcher
and I don't like sailing.

Alex gave up, closed his eyes, smelled Mulder's scent mixed up with
the pizza, and felt Mulder's hand press his own in a tight squeeze as
he let himself fall asleep without fear, for the first time in, well
maybe, the first time in forever.

Part 4

Alex woke to find the room dim, quiet and occupied by a short man
sitting quietly, weaving an intricate bundle of wires into neat wads
arranged by color and thickness. For a moment Alex thought the man was
knitting and smiled at the idea of a knitting gnome.

Sensing Alex's stare the man looked up and introduced himself
unsmilingly, "I'm Frohike, Mulder and Scully's," there was an added
stress on the Scully's name, "friend."

Alex didn't know how to interpret the stress on Scully's name. "I am
Alex Krycek."

"I know," said Frohike, "and you are not Mulder or Scully's friend."

Alex understood battle lines, and that this one was drawn in blood on
the sand.

Frohike continued in Alex's silence, "You have pneumonia, and an
atypical sepsis from your untreated wounds. You are currently being
flooded with a variety of medications to improve these conditions. The
wound on your left side has been irrigated and properly stitched. Your
blood work is being processed privately, so your DNA profile will not
get out, in case you can be monitored that way. You are malnourished
and underweight by at least fifteen pounds, and your stump needs
several surgeries to correct the remaining fragmented bone and torn
tissues. Oh," he went on, "your prosthetic arm may be the latest in
standard technology but it is still a piece of junk. Langley and Byers
are looking into improvements at Mulder's request."

Alex had to blink several times as he tried to process all the
information, guessed they would not find the cancer until the blood
work was in. "I need to take a piss." was all he said.

Frohike calmly handed him a plastic bottle and left the room.

Part 5

By the third day Alex knew Byers would discuss disease vectors and
survivalist preparation structures ad nauseum and help him with the
most personal bodily needs without commenting on his weaknesses, scars
or morality. But that Byers would not under any conditions, discuss
his illness or what Mulder was doing.

By the third day Alex knew that Langley would ask and extrapolate on
the subject of interconnecting technology between the Syndicate and
World Governments unendingly, interspersed with pop culture references
he did not recognize, but he would not discuss the blood work or where
Mulder was.

By the third day Alex knew Frohike would talk to Langley and Byers,
but spoke as little as possible to him. He would ask terse questions
regarding his arm and tested him unceasingly as to specific motor or
nerve responses, but otherwise held no conversation. He was fair,
however, and also refrained from making comments about what an
unmitigated bastard he thought Alex was, although this opinion, while
unspoken, was plain to see.

Alex decided it was because he cared deeply for both Mulder and
Scully. Admirable, loyal and without a doubt helpful to them, as well
as impossible to buy at any price, Alex had no argument with Frohike's
dislike of him. He learned to respect the man and occasionally even
felt a need to explain himself. He did not, but even the yen to do so
was a startling measure of how much regard he was beginning to feel.

He envied their ease and camaraderie and was amused by their foibles
and eccentricities.

He showed neither of these emotions.

He saw and heard nothing at all from Mulder.

By the fifth day he was stronger, his chest was clear, he was bored,
and the Gunmen had his prosthetic arm, his clothes and weapons
somewhere else. He was desperate to know what was supposed to happen
next, and if they had determined how long they thought he would live.

He expressed none of these thoughts.

Week's end, and Mulder arrived with Skinner. Skinner stood in the
doorway to his motel room, looked at him unsmilingly, Mulder stood
behind him. Skinner drew nearer; Alex stood and prepared for another
punch to the gut. Skinner took out his gun, and put it between his
eyes. Alex stood still. Skinner traced the gun down his face, across
his chest and used the barrel to nudge the stump, Skinner never looked
away from Alex's eyes. Alex met Skinner's eyes and stood still.

"You will depose all your history, evidence and eye witness accounts
of the Syndicate. In exchange for this testimony you will receive
immunity from prosecution," Skinner said.

"I've already given Mulder everything."

"You will elocute none-the-less," Skinner said in a hard tight voice.

Mulder shouldered his way in front of Skinner as Alex replied, "So
what you want is a death bed confession, Skinner?"

Skinner smiled a grim agreement and nodded.

"Shut up Krycek," Mulder said. "You owe us, whether you die tomorrow,
or ten years from now. With the unexplained burning deaths, the
opportunity to move with public disclosure is now. These have been
public, and they haven't been able to clean it up or make it go away."

"Mulder, they will still never believe in aliens, no matter what I say
on tape."

"I know, and the press will never report that, anyway. But we can tie
the deaths to the Syndicate. Many of them and their families are among
the victims, and the ones that are still alive are tied to them in old
State Department documents and pictures, so they cannot claim not to
know them. It will, at the very least, start the questions and alert
the public. The conspiracy fringe will get all excited, and the
Internet will get into it too. The secrets will start to unravel. The
Gunmen will lead the way there and leak the real stuff. It can
happen."

Krycek saw the light of righteousness, and the fervor for justice
burning in Mulder's eyes and knew he would not refuse. There really
wasn't a lot more to say than the information already on the
diskettes, but if Mulder wanted to put a face on the crimes and make
that face his, so what? He wasn't going to be alive long enough for it
to matter.

"Fine. Set up whatever you want. But I am not going on CNN in my
underwear, so you'd better give me back my clothes."

They didn't give him back his clothes, they dressed him up in Mulder's
spare Armani; he refused to wear the tie.

He testified himself hoarse, answering question after question to
Skinner and Mulder, while the Byers, Frohike and Langley managed the
audio/video feeds to their own and Skinner's media contacts.

He had to pause and recharge, much to Skinner's obvious contempt,
because he was still weak, although the fierce pain in his lungs
seemed to have subsided. Mulder was surprisingly patient, and Alex
wondered about that fact from the distant place he still seemed to be
occupying. He wondered how long it was going to take to die, and if
there was more pain ahead. He and Mulder were never private. He told
himself he was glad. What could he say at this point anyway that
wouldn't be another show of weakness or need?

At long last he had told the entirety of his information, named all
the names and blown the cover off as many operations as he knew and
was allowed to rest. Skinner took a copy of the tape, disks and files
and went away. In return he handed Alex an official document, signed
by the Director of the F.B.I. and the Department of Justice that gave
him full immunity from prosecution for any and all acts considered in
violation of American civil or criminal law.

The Gunmen packed up all their electronics, the medical supplies and
all the paraphernalia from their occupation of the motel and prepared
to leave. They gave Alex back his personal belongings; his newly
adapted prosthetic arm and trading mildly pointed remarks with Mulder
about the proof of extraterrestrial life, left.

Mulder handcuffed him to the bed and going into the adjoining room,
went to sleep.

Alex lay there and wondered what came next. The powers-that-be had not
confiscated his bank accounts, so he had enough money to get somewhere
warm and comfortable for however long he had left. He tried to decide
where to go and fell asleep dreaming of a beach house facing east,
watching a clear sky dawn from the deck.

Eight hours later he woke with a stiff right wrist that was still
attached to the bed-frame, a full bladder, and the sound of Mulder's
door opening to let Scully inside.

Part 6

"Mulder," Scully started speaking as soon as she crossed the
threshold, "why didn't you return to DC with Skinner?" she paused, and
Alex heard her gasp when she caught sight of him, chained to the bed,
through the open connecting door. "Oh. My. God," she said and fell
silent.

"I wasn't expecting you to get here this soon, Scully." Mulder
explained, "Sit down and have some coffee; Krycek and I will be with
you in a moment."

"Krycek and I?" Scully sputtered, took a deep breath in preparation
for saying more, when Mulder interrupted. "Sit down and have coffee,
Scully," he said firmly, "I will explain everything in a few minutes."
Mulder walked through the door into Alex's room; clothes draped over
his arm and shut the connecting door behind him.

"Krycek and I?" Alex said questioningly.

Mulder gave Alex a repressive look, unlocked the cuff and rubbed
Alex's wrist briskly. "Use the bathroom first and don't take a year to
get ready. I need to get dressed too and she is already simmering.
Damn, she must have driven all night once she got my location from
Skinner. He was supposed to hold off until today."

Alex didn't know what to think. Ever since he had awoken from what he
thought were his final moments more than a week ago, it had all been
surreal. The Gunmen, his seeming recovery from the chest pain, the
improvements to his arm, testifying, the Federal immunity and now
Mulder ready to wash and dress and start the day with him, not to
mention Scully waiting for them both in the next room. It was all just
too bizarre to process without coffee. So, taking both the path of
least resistance, and the imperative to get to the bathroom, Alex
nodded at Mulder and went in to get dressed.

Alex washed and dressed sans arm and shirt and returned. Mulder went
in immediately, and he heard the shower start. He affixed his arm and
put on a long-sleeved gray shirt. Everything was still way too loose,
but he thought he looked a lot better than he had recently. He wanted
coffee real bad, but waited for Mulder. Facing Scully might mean
facing a bullet, not that he minded particularly, it was a quick way
to die, and Scully could have her revenge that way. He was sure Mulder
would be pissed if Scully killed him before he completed whatever task
Mulder wanted him to fulfill.

The more he thought about it, the more he was sure Mulder was acting
strangely.  Mulder actually seemed to be covering all the bases in a
controlled and carefully planned manner, getting one thing after
another squared away. A controlled, logical, calm Mulder was
simultaneously a source of wonderment and vaguely scary.

Mulder exited the bathroom, and Alex caught his breath. He was dressed
in old, well-washed jeans and a plain, dark-green pullover; his hair
was damp combed and his face freshly shaved. He looked younger, well
rested and to Alex's eyes, he looked like his every forbidden, hot
fantasy of friendship, partnership and desire.

Alex felt the surge of combined lust and longing flow once more
through his veins and was glad. Terribly glad, euphorically glad, he
had lived long enough to feel it one more time. A few days ago he'd
had no expectation that this last opportunity could possibly have
existed, and no expectation that anything other than his own private
joy would ever be fulfilled, but experiencing the joy once more was
enough.

Mulder put on his socks and when he looked up to meet Alex's eyes,
smiled warmly and said, "Hey, Alex, ready to face Scully?"

"Yes," Alex replied and knew it was true; he was ready to face
anything at all, because he had already received everything, and for
once in his life there was nothing left to fear.

Scully was waiting, standing, gun drawn and impatient, when they
entered Mulder's room. "Put the gun away, Scully," Mulder said. "We
are all going to have coffee and whatever sugar covered crap the
Gunmen left and talk."

"Mulder," Scully started to speak and once again Mulder over-rode her.
His voice was cool and implacable, "I know what I am doing, Scully.
Just bear with me. Krycek is not going anywhere, and he poses no
danger to either of us." Mulder met her eyes for a long time in one of
'those' looks that Alex recognized as the hallmark of their long and
trusting relationship.

Scully subsided, but Alex could tell she was not happy about it.

Mulder signaled for Alex to sit down and poured all of them coffee and
opened a box of leftover pastries. They all sipped the coffee and
ignored the food.

Leaning against the bureau, smiling, Mulder said, "Wish I had my slide
projector. This would be the presentation of all time, Scully." Scully
didn't smile, but her face lost some of its tense concern, and she
took a bigger sip of her coffee.

Pausing theatrically, Mulder reached down beside the bureau and picked
up a large file box. He placed the box on top of the chest and opened
it, took out a handful of thick files and, holding them to his chest,
began to speak. He told Scully, starting with Alex's arrival, all the
events that had taken place over the last ten days. He told her about
the diskettes, the information regarding the Syndicate and the aliens;
he told her about the plan involving the dissemination of this
information through the Internet by the Gunmen and through legitimate
media sources by Skinner, the F.B. I. and Congress.  He told her about
Alex's full immunity. Scully choked over this and shook her head, but
Mulder went on to say that prosecuting him would be a waste of time,
there were much bigger fish to fry who should take up court and media
attention, and a side show featuring a cripple who had already come
clean would not only be a distraction but would possibly create
unwelcome sympathy for other Syndicate members. Besides, the F.B.I.
didn't want it known that they had been fooled so completely by a
young agent.

Alex noted that Mulder still did not say that he had cancer, or what
the agent intended to do with him.

"Scully," Mulder went on, his voice intensified with emotion, "you
have the most important job of all in proving the final outcome." He
laid the files on the table in front of her, knelt, took her hand and
placed it on the files. "Proof, Scully. Scientific proof. Labs full of
experiments, cabinets full of equipment and samples, and you will be
the one in charge. You will head the task force made up of CDC, NIH,
all the doctors and scientists you want. With your experiences on the
X Files, and what you have seen for yourself, you are the perfect
person to lead the inquiry. I hope you will want to do this, but the
decision is up to you."

Scully flushed and drew the files closer to her. Alex thought her eyes
actually changed, became an even clearer, brighter blue. He knew
Scully probably loved Mulder, wanted him, that she had probably had
dreams and fantasies of the day when Mulder would be ready to put her
and their relationship before his quest and the X Files. He also
thought the opportunity to be in charge of some of the greatest
scientific revelations in history held great allure. Scully, in his
opinion, had always wanted to be a leader. This opportunity to shine
amidst other scientists and doctors would be another of her secret
fantasies. One she might be able to live with in lieu of Mulder's love
and attention.

"What are you going to be doing?" she asked Mulder.

Mulder smiled and kissed her cheek as he rose to his feet, "The X
Files are going to be on hiatus during the first wave of media frenzy.
I am going to take copies of all the X Files relating to the
Syndicate, my personal journals, Krycek's evidence and whatever papers
are confiscated from the Syndicate during raids over the next few
weeks and put together as complete a history as possible. This
document will be the foundation for all the hearings, prosecutions and
trials that will inevitably follow. Skinner and the Department of
Justice figure I have six to eight months, possibly as much as a year,
to get it ready. During that time you will do the same with the
scientific data, and Skinner will carry out his end with
investigations and arrests."

Pausing, Mulder drank some coffee and sat down. "I will be in touch
with you as much as possible, Scully," he continued, "Krycek and I
will be in hiding, in the safest place Skinner can secure. Everyone
figures that we would be the prime targets of likely Syndicate
reprisals, and they want us alive to testify.  You and your handpicked
team of scientists will be secured in a veritable Fort Knox of a lab
somewhere, and Skinner will be personally responsible for bringing you
all the evidence from Syndicate holdings."

Alex was paying close attention, although he let no sign of his
surprise show on his face. He would be alive to testify a year from
now? What was Mulder thinking? Why didn't he just tell Scully about
the cancer? Mulder and Scully apart for a year? Would she agree to
that?

"Will we ever get back to the X Files, Mulder?" Scully asked.

"I think so, Scully. I think if all goes well, I might even get an
office with windows." Mulder laughed sarcastically. "If and when that
happens, you can make your choice to return or not. I think by that
time, you will be up to your ears in offers, Scully, and the X Files
would be only one of them."

Alex watched Scully turn this over in her mind and watched Mulder as
he sat waiting for whatever Scully had to say. He had that same
feeling of displacement he'd been experiencing earlier regarding
Mulder's behavior. Something had changed. Mulder seemed more - more
comfortable. More secure somehow, less restless, less angry, and Alex
didn't understand why. All the revealed data and truths
notwithstanding, Samantha's fate was still unknown, and the aliens
were still out there.

"I'll do it Mulder," Scully said. "Perhaps after all, I will be the
one to actually prove the existence of extraterrestrials," Scully
smiled a warm, glowing, entirely loving smile at Mulder, "wouldn't
that be the most perfect irony of all?"

Looking at Alex, she surprised him as she caught his eyes, "Don't ever
do anything to betray him again, Krycek," she said, "Skinner and I
wouldn't have the least qualm in making sure you would pay in full."
She sighed, shrugged her shoulders in a quick, defensive movement and
visibly forced herself to relax. Hugging the files to her chest, she
stroked them absently. "You are legally free of all your crimes,
Krycek, and as an officer of the law I will respect that. It doesn't
make me happy, and I don't think it's fair, but even I can recognize
the larger picture is more important than my personal losses." She
stroked the files some more. "The one thing I will grant you, Krycek,
is that you seem to have suffered too. I don't know if it evens the
score in any way, but it is something."

She looked directly in Alex's eyes, and he felt himself revealed in a
way that was new to him. He met her eyes steadily; he owed her that,
he thought. When she didn't look away, he was alarmed to feel his
throat tighten and insipient tears sting behind his lids.  "I'm sorry,
Scully. "Alex said, surprising himself and keeping his voice as low
and steady as he could. "I'm sorry."

Unsmilingly, Scully nodded. "Now get out of here. Mulder and I have a
lot to discuss before I go off and become Intrepid Super Scientist."

Alex didn't look at Mulder. He got to his feet and went back through
the connecting door, closing it behind him.

Part 6

Alex waited. He looked at himself in the mirror. Less than two weeks
ago he'd said goodbye to that very image. He wondered what was really
happening. Mulder must have something up his sleeve to want to keep
him here and furthermore, it seemed, take him into hiding.

He was very tempted just to take off. The motel door wasn't locked,
and he wasn't in cuffs. He thought about leaving but decided against
it. He had come here for a reason, and although a lot of surprising
things had happened between then and now, the original reason was
still pertinent. He had come to Mulder, because he believed he had
reached the end, and that hadn't changed.

Taking a seat, he thought about his parents. He knew they were alive;
he even knew where they lived. They'd been okay, just distant, long
before he'd actually left to go to college. He'd been a baby born late
in life to two people who really had no expectation or desire for
children. They had treated him kindly and, he supposed, lovingly.
However, they were simply people who hadn't had room in their lives to
extend themselves to incorporate a child.

He knew if he returned, they would be happy enough to see him. He also
knew if he tried to explain anything at all about what he had done
with the years since college, they would not understand.

He wondered if the suffocating boundaries of their small, righteous
lives had been part of the reason he had craved adventure and had been
susceptible to the blandishments of danger and power when Spender had
first found him.

He made himself stop. This was a path backwards better left alone. He
intended to end as he had begun, with no excuses and no
justifications.

He thought he knew what Mulder and Scully were discussing. They would
go through a brief planning session about how and when to communicate,
and whom to trust to cover each kind of information. They were a
professional team, no matter what the circumstances. He didn't know if
they would touch on more personal matters, declare themselves or not.
He thought not.

He poured himself a glass of water in lieu of breakfast food that
wasn't now available, and experimented with the new functions of his
arm. He was amazed at what the Gunmen had engineered for him. He would
insist that Mulder make sure they had not left homing devices or
surveillance bugs in it, or he would simply leave it behind. He'd had
enough of that kind of intrusion in his life.

He found, with effort and concentration, he could bend the thing at
the elbow and move the fingers from side to side. With a lot of
practice he would be able to hold things and manipulate objects.  
They had reduced the weight and reformed the cup that held it to his
stump. Best of all they had re-covered it with a surprisingly
life-like material that matched his skin; at a glance it looked like a
real hand.

He amused himself at the idea that if he felt well enough for a while,
he might actually get dexterous enough to jerk off using his left
hand. He knew if he were going to be in Mulder's company for long
enough, he would certainly need an outlet for that sort of thing. He
took a long drink of water as it occurred to him that he could pretend
the new feel to the hand, that almost life-like feel, was Mulder's
hand.

He snapped out of it, when he heard the outer door to Mulder's room
open and close, then open and close again a few moments later. Mulder
must have walked Scully out and carried the box of documents to her
car. He heard a car engine turn over, and the car drive away. He heard
the water run as the toilet flushed in Mulder's room and waited
expectantly for what was coming next.

Part 7

Mulder came in without knocking and said, "I'm hungry. You hungry?
Let's go eat."

"Go eat?"

"Yeah. There's a diner across the way. They have great breakfasts.
Let's go."

"Mulder, how can we go? I thought we were supposed to be hiding?"

"Well, at the moment we are in protective custody out the yin-yang.
There are forty Federal Marshals occupying the rest of the motel and
surrounding the grounds, so unless Spender has machine gunners and
snipers about to fly over, we should be okay. The second we open the
door we'll be escorted the three hundred yards to the diner. They'll
probably insist on tasting the food first, but I thought after being
cooped up in here for two weeks you'd like to get out no matter what.
Once we are ready to go to the safe house, only Skinner knows the
double-blind manner in which we will get there, and that's not until
tomorrow - or whenever he thinks is best. Let's go." Mulder opened the
door and Alex followed him out.

They ate under the watchful eye of the Federal Marshals.

Mulder talked and ate non-stop. He chatted as if they were old
buddies, asking Alex about various playoffs and teams' chances, what a
pain the weather had been, and what movies had Alex seen lately. He
called Alex, 'Alex,' so many times that Alex's head spun.

By the time they returned to the motel Alex was exhausted.

"That went well!" Mulder said in that eerily cheery voice, once they
were inside, and Alex had had enough.

"What the fuck is going on, Mulder? You've been behaving weirdly, even
for you.  I can't get a handle on what the hell is going on.  Having
me sit in with Scully. Smiling and yakking away as if we conversed
everyday and were friends or something, sports and movies and the
goddamn weather! Just stop yanking me around and tell me."

Mulder started to laugh. Alex had never seen Mulder really laugh and
was struck dumb. He actually thought about getting one of the Marshals
to call Skinner or Scully. Maybe Mulder had finally lost it and all
that calm good sense he'd been exhibiting was the beginning of a
breakdown.

"I knew it," Mulder gasped out, between chuckles, "I knew that you
wouldn't be able to handle normalcy."

Alex was livid, "You call this normal, asshole! I wake up to the Three
Stooges blathering techno double-speak for a week, Skinner poking a
gun in my face and wanting to shoot so bad I can smell it, testifying
my guts out, you appearing and disappearing like the White Rabbit and
Scully not amputating my other arm - although I'm sure she wanted to -
and then I'm supposed to understand blueberry pancakes and playoff
hopefuls as normalcy? I came here to make a little peace before I
died, not to join the paranormal circus you live in!"

Mulder continued to smile, "Remind me to tell you about the real
paranormal circus Scully and I went to on a case in Florida sometime.
Did you know that midgets aren't small all over?" Mulder started to
laugh again.

"Shut the fuck up!" Alex yelled. "Are you crazy, Mulder? There is no
later. I don't know what you want, or why I'm still here, and I don't
see what is so God-damned funny!"

"That's your problem, Alex, you don't get it. You're a smart-ass
bastard, but you don't have a sense of humor." Mulder moved next to
Alex, and then he got closer, face to face, with barely an inch
between their noses, said, "You're not going to die, and I'm not going
to ditch you this time, so you'd better develop some endearing
qualities very quickly, or we're going to have a hell of a time
getting along."

Alex took a breath, but it caught in his throat, and he started to
choke as he backed away. He shook his head and warned Mulder off with
his hand when Mulder tried to follow him. He tried to breathe and
found himself hyperventilating, realized he'd closed his eyes and
opened them again to see Mulder approaching him with a full glass of
water. He reached for the water, but Mulder threw it in his face. The
blast of the water made him take a deep breath. He stared at Mulder,
who seemed as shocked as he was and began to tremble in reaction.

Quickly grabbing a towel, Mulder wiped Alex's face. He pushed Alex
until he was lying on the bed and threw a blanket over him. "Don't bug
out on me now, Alex,"  Mulder said. "It's all right, everything is
going to be all right. I'll tell you everything when you calm down.
Just breathe, Alex. Breathe."

Alex breathed, just as he had done that first night. Mulder continued
to murmur and stroke his chest, just as he had done that first night.

Alex felt himself begin to cry, cry helplessly, cry so his chest ached
and his throat burned.

Mulder laid his head on Alex's heaving chest and said, "All right
Alex, it's going to be all right."

Part 8

Alex woke to find Mulder sound asleep in the chair by the bed. He felt
awful, and it took him a moment to realize why. He'd been crying.
Fuck! He'd been crying, and Mulder had comforted him, and that was the
last he remembered. He must have blacked out, and Mulder let him sleep
it off.

He wondered if he should be glad or feel happy or grateful. He didn't.
He'd been able to carry through on so few things in his life, and the
one fucking time he'd gotten it right, it had been derailed. Just what
was he supposed to do now? He could just hear Mulder say some stupid
platitude about learning to live again and doing things different this
time, but Alex knew himself. He knew what he was, and it wasn't
someone who was going to live a nine-to-five existence, follow rules,
pay taxes or find a wife and settle down to domestic bliss.

He'd spent his entire adult life on the razor's edge, and as much as
he'd hated some of what he'd done, as often as he'd been afraid and on
the run, he'd also thrived. He'd been to hell and back and pissed on
those who fell by the wayside.

He'd hoped the Syndicate and the aliens would fail and had done a few
things here and there to aid in that failure. He didn't believe it
would happen despite investigations, arrests, trials or hearings. He'd
seen too much of the underbelly of humanity to believe it, and like
the rat Mulder called him, he'd done his share in spreading disaster
and corruption.

He simply felt empty. Even his longing and lust for the distant dream
of Mulder felt stale, brittle and barren. What the fuck was he
supposed to do now?

"Shit!" Mulder exclaimed suddenly. "Look at the time. We've got to get
the hell out of here. We're traveling tonight."

Alex sat up and rubbed his left shoulder, he really hated falling
asleep with his damned arm attached. "Let me go Mulder. I can make it
on my own, and I will stay out your way and your life from now on.
I've given you everything I have on the Syndicate. You don't need me
for anything else."

"Don't get bent out of shape. You've done enough dramatics the past
two weeks to last a long long time.  You are going with me and help
write the damn report and spend a few months right where I can see
you. Don't think for a minute that we are square. You've been spying
on me for years and I get some return time to mess with your head for
a change. You owe me and I intend to collect. Your ass is mine until I
say it's over, so pack up your stuff. We've got a long night on the
road ahead of us."

Alex looked at Mulder and gave in as he saw the man was in full
righteous mode.  He'd fight against the current another night, and
whatever Mulder said, as soon as he was strong enough he could get
away whenever he wanted. That's what he did best, after all.

Packed and ready, Alex waited while Mulder went outside to make final
arrangements. They started the night in a five-car convoy of identical
sedans, which grew and lessened in a random pattern for the first few
hours. They changed vehicles several times and finally were met by
Skinner driving a beat-up camper. He drove them to a location in the
Green Mountains, and there; finally, they were given an SUV and left
alone.

Alex stayed silent throughout the Skinner portion of the trip, but he
gathered from the conversation between the two of them, that Skinner
still believed he was dying, and that Mulder might have to handle his
death and subsequent details on his own. Mulder reassured Skinner that
he could take care of everything just fine; the Gunmen had everything
prepared. Skinner wasn't happy, but the stakes were too high to
quibble over.

Alex wanted to know why Mulder had not informed Skinner - and by
extension Scully - that he was not going to die. He had a moment of
black humor that Mulder intended to murder him himself and hide the
evidence behind the cover of his imminent and expected demise. He
didn't know what to think, and he was damned if he was going to ask.

They drove back through Vermont and into Massachusetts and the
Berkshires. It was beautiful as the day dawned, green, lush and quiet.
Mulder finally stopped, early in the morning, at a renovated barn -
turned into an upscale private home near a small town. It was private
without being hidden and less than a half mile from the main gates of
a big house. Whatever security systems were in place were nicely
concealed behind the other outlying buildings and vegetation.  Alex
was pleased. It was almost May and though the nights were still chill
the days were bound to be temperate. He was so tired of the cold and
the mountains could be as beautiful as the ocean.

The house space was open, and the two bedrooms and connecting bath
were upstairs. They overlooked the living room and kitchen from a
loft, and each bedroom opened onto the second story deck that
overlooked the mountains. Alex took the bedroom in the southwest
corner, figuring that as the days grew lighter longer and warmer, so
would his room.

After they ate from the small supply of groceries, Alex returned to
his room, took a shower and went to bed. Late in the afternoon, after
he'd toured the house more completely, he joined Mulder in the living
room. There was a huge TV, and an elaborate sound system surrounded by
a wall filled with books. The dining room had been made into an office
space, with two desks and two computers; the kitchen had a breakfast
nook with a small table and four chairs.  All in all, Alex thought it
was simple, luxurious and comfortable.

"What now?" he asked Mulder.

"We live here posing as writers in the process of finishing up on a
book about traveling the back roads of America. Certainly we both have
been to enough out of the way places to tell a story or two to anyone
who questions us. We come and go to town like normal people, but we do
not actually leave the immediate area. Our watchdogs in the area are
unknown to me, and they will stay covert. The house and grounds are
well protected, and I will show you the security system. The Gunmen
made several trips out here, and they assure me that the inside of the
house itself is free from surveillance devices, and I trust them to
have not planted their own."

"Do I get to come and go to town too? Or are you going to cuff me when
you're not around?"

Mulder took a moment to reply. "I am not going to ask you to promise
me anything, Alex. You came to me remember? I believe we have a lot of
work to do, and it would be better done together.  I know we have a
lot of personal shit that, for once in our lives, we would be better
to work out. I don't know what is next other than that. I think you
should stay here with me."

"That's it? Stay or go? No force, guns, fists or drugs? What'd we
figure out next, who cooks, and who scrubs the toilet? How about
emergency medical notification for next of kin forms? No - that's
right, I'm not sick anymore, right, Mulder? Or is that something
you've cooked up as Krycek mind-fuck number one. Tell the asshole he's
going to live, when he's really dying, so the poor sap has hope and
gets all grateful, but make sure Skinner and Scully know the real
truth, which is that your temporary roommate is worm fodder in the
near future?"

Mulder looked dumbfounded and started at Alex in a way that made him
think Mulder was, for once, really surprised.

"Whoa, Alex, you really have Machiavellian thought processes, don't
you? I told you, you are not going to die, not of the cancer you
thought you had, in any case.  Why'd you think that anyway? The Gunmen
found a whole slew of things wrong with you, but I thought they told
you that.  The rest, food and antibiotics took care of it, although
you should probably take it easy for a while to regain all your
strength and stamina. Yes, I knew you thought you were dying, and yes,
I used that as ammunition to get you to testify and to get Skinner to
buy it without arresting you or preventing the Grant of Immunity. Yes,
I let the powers at Justice know you thought so, and the Gunmen's
medical tests were daunting enough to convince them, because by this
point your testimony was important, and they were in a hurry to get
things moving. I did not tell either Scully or Skinner that you were
really dying, only that you thought so and were genuinely ill."

"Machiavellian, my ass, Mulder. You are positively swimming in
Byzantine plots." Alex sighed and rubbed the headache behind his eyes,
"Okay, I believe you. I'm not going to die. I'm going to get big and
strong on country food and clean mountain air, and pay penance Mulder
style, lovely."

Mulder was frowning at him in an exasperated way; this was familiar
territory after all the recent bizarre exchanges. Alex relaxed, ginned
the smirk that always drove Mulder nuts and said, "So roomie, got any
aspirin? I've got a hell of a headache," and sat back, satisfied, when
Mulder scowled, got up, grabbed a bottle from above the kitchen sink
and threw it at him. Now this was normalcy he understood.

Part 9

It amazed Alex that he and Mulder had achieved a sort of peaceful
coexistence over the past two weeks. They each lived to their own
schedules with the exception of a few daily hours spent detailing the
outline of their report, and they ate dinner together. A local woman
came twice a week to clean. They agreed on bottled water, beer, juice
and soda, obsessive security checks, and the take out menus from the
three local eateries - poisoned or not, they were a better bet than
either of them attempting to make real food. They disagreed about
music, what to watch on TV, Mulder's porn, and clutter. They did not
do each other's laundry. All in all, it was the most unlikely setting
Alex had ever experienced.

Alex was chagrined to find regular meals, sleep and exercise were
indeed restorative, and the mountain air and scenery gave him a rare
feeling of well-being. He worked out and practiced using his upgraded
prosthetic in the privacy of his room. He had no weapons, and he
couldn't find Mulder's. For a man obsessed with answers, truth and
justice, Mulder seemed to be awfully lackadaisical about hounding him
for answers.

The first time Alex woke to find himself aroused and aching after so
long a hiatus in sexual need, he was unaccountably embarrassed. He
knew Mulder couldn't hear or see through the walls of the bedroom -
and so what if he could? It wasn't as if this would be a surprise to
the king of jerk-offs. But all the fantasies took on a different aura
when the object of them was peaceably sharing a domestic life, not to
mention the same bathroom, with him.

By the third week, Alex began to feel edgy and irritable. He began a
punishing routine of rigorous exercises and longer runs both morning
and evening. He bought himself a boom box and listened to the most
raucous radio station he could find as loud as he could stand it.

The next time Mulder ordered pizza and beer and rented porn, Alex
decided to join him on the couch and see who had the higher tolerance
for endless orgiastic grappling and cunt shots. He disliked Mulder's
'got you' grin as he slumped down on the couch and decided if Mulder
wanted to play adolescent horny boys, he was willing to go the
distance.

He was halfway up and off the couch three minutes into the movie,
having decided he was an idiot for taking the bait when Mulder yanked
him back by his good arm and said, "Chicken."

"So Alex," Mulder said slyly when the two pimply young men, and no
sign of any pussy sightings to come, on the screen started to suck
face and then move on down, continuing to devour necks, chests,
nipples as they began to unzip, "this do anything for you?"

Alex choked on his beer, Mulder pounded his back, and a moment later
they were face to face, Mulder was gripping his arms and he felt
totally bewildered, totally turned on and totally on the edge of an
abyss; his adrenalin rush kicked in with a sharp sweet vengeance.

He was mute with the rush of sensations and when one of the actors
swallowed the other actor's cock in one gulp, Alex jerked in reaction.
Mulder laughed and his grip tightened on Alex's upper arms, and he
shook Alex hard enough so his head snapped on his neck.

"Tell me!" Mulder demanded and shook Alex again. "Tell me!"

Alex couldn't get his breath, what the fuck was happening, what the
fuck was Mulder doing? What the fuck difference did it make?
"Bastard," he growled at Mulder, moved suddenly and bit Mulder on the
neck. When Mulder didn't shove him away, he stayed there and sucked
that neck, then bit Mulder again. When Mulder pulled him closer and
latched on to his neck too, he growled again and pushed Mulder
backwards onto the couch, which toppled the beers and dropped the
remote, mercifully button side down so the movie went dark, then
climbed on top of Mulder. He never stopped sucking Mulder's neck.

Alex heard Mulder groan, felt the man shift beneath him and suddenly
there was a long lean Mulder arching his hips into Alex's, and they
were writhing and through layers of jeans and underwear and without
hands and without letting loose of each other's throats they both
orgasmed.

Before Alex could get his breath back and think, Mulder had thrown
back his head and entwined his hand with Alex's, starting to laugh,
exultantly.

Alex was stunned beyond thought or words and lay upon Mulder's chest
barely breathing.

Mulder eventually quieted and shifted Alex off his chest to lie beside
him on the wide couch. They lay face to face, but Alex kept his eyes
closed. He wasn't a coward, he thought, and he was damned if he was
going to be pathetic; It was just better to keep his eyes closed for a
few more minutes and hope whatever reality was going to bite him next
was as perfect as the bruises that were tingling on his throat.
Nonetheless, he heard his inner voice telling him he was being a fool,
and that there was no such thing as dreams that really came true.

Mulder butted his shoulder with a loosely closed fist, and Alex opened
his eyes. Mulder's face was very near, and his eyes gleamed. He softly
punched Alex again. "I usually kiss after sex, you know," Mulder said.
"However, this is a new one on me. What do you think? This was sex,
you know, by anyone's definition."

Alex blinked a few times and realized Mulder was as unsure of himself
as he was. "I've never kissed a man on the lips," he blurted out, like
some suddenly sixteen-year-old virgin.

Mulder's eyes widened, "You mean you do this with guys and never kiss
them?" he asked sounding about as young as Alex had just imagined
himself to be.

Alex narrowed his eyes and frowned at Mulder, "What do you mean? Do
this with guys? I'm not gay."

Mulder's eyes widened some more, "Well then, what the fuck was this
all about? I thought you were, and it was like some terrible secret
you were keeping. That's why I dared you with the movie. I wanted you
to admit it."

Alex did not like the way this conversation was going at all. Leave it
to Mulder to blame him for something he wasn't and hadn't started and
that Mulder had fully participated in. "Well you thought wrong, and
what's more you were right there with me, whatever the hell just
happened."

Mulder talked fast, "We, um, we were just lonely and aroused and it
got out of hand. That's cool, I mean, that's okay we can deal with
this. We used to fight all the time, and now we've been together in
this new way and all - we don't have to get weird or anything. I know
the statistics and most men have a - a homosexual sexual experience
sometime."

Alex heard Mulder's voice drop into a more secure and confident
lecturing tone, and he was damned if he was going to let Mulder
explain what just happened away with psychology and statistics.

"Shut up."

It was Mulder's turn to blink at him.

"There's no one here but you and me. You wanted no else here but you
and me. That was your whole damn plan from the moment I didn't die. So
just shut up. I am not denying what just happened wasn't sex, and I'm
not saying I didn't want it. You'd better not say you didn't want it
either. And," Alex took a deep breath and then another, "I'm not
saying I want to stop with what just happened either. I just don't
know what in the bloody hell happens next."

Mulder sucked on his lip for a second, then must have realized what he
was doing and stopped. "Shit, Alex," he said, "I don't either."

"Well at least that's something."

"Yeah," Mulder looked intently at Alex, "and this is something more."
He hooked his hand around Alex's head and drawing him near, kissed
him. Then he kissed him again and opened his mouth and lightly nipped
Alex's lips and, when Alex opened his mouth, dove in and really kissed
him.

Alex kissed him back. It was very different and much the same as other
kisses from his past. Hot, wet, intimate, never quite knowing when to
breathe and oh god, deeper and wider, more insistent, fighting for
dominance and not sure if he was going to get it, not sure if he
wanted to have it.

Alex felt the muscles in his lower back seize and push his hips
forward again, damp crotch meeting Mulder's bent knee and undulating
side to side against it. He heard Mulder moan and felt Mulder's hand
leave the back of his head, follow his good shoulder and arm, and wrap
around his waist, pushing up under his shirt to knead at the skin
above the waistband.

He heard himself moan, and he pulled Mulder's knee more firmly against
his groin, groping at Mulder's thigh, and Mulder arched, and his hand
found Mulder's erection. He would have sworn - if he were ever asked -
that he could feel the blood pulse in Mulder's dick through the layers
of clothing. He could feel the exact moment as his thumb followed the
ridge of that erection, when Mulder went from aroused to lust-mad.

Mulder pushed Alex's hand aside and fought, fumbling with his damp
button and zipper and opened them. He grabbed Alex's hand and put it
on his naked penis, beginning to whisper, hoarse and low, "fuck, fuck,
good, oh fuck" and pump Alex's hand with his hand on his cock.

Alex knew he'd never experienced such an erotic moment; it wasn't
enough. He kneed Mulder flat on his back and fought Mulder's hand for
control. He squeezed hard on a down stroke and Mulder let go of his
hand, though his hips kept moving.

Alex squeezed him hard, leaned over and kissed him harder. They were
both panting. "Let me do it, Mulder." Mulder, his eyes lids heavy with
lust, nodded and let his hand fall over the side of the couch.

Alex licked his lips and tasted Mulder there. He looked down at his
hand wrapped around Mulder's cock. It was truly a sight he'd never
thought he would behold. His fantasies had all been about Mulder doing
things to him. He chuckled and said, "I never thought I would do
this."

Mulder smiled, kissed Alex with gentle intent and said, "I thought it
a million times."

Alex looked at Mulder and saw it was the truth and the truth hurt. So
lonely for so long, he thought, both of us. What stupid, stupid fools.
With that thought he felt a surge of freedom. Nothing he was about to
do could possibly be wrong, and anything he could do would be right.
He took his hand off of Mulder's cock and pulled at Mulder's
underwear. Mulder gasped, stilled and then helped get his underwear,
jeans and socks off, he yanked his shirt off too. He lay back, and
Alex's hand shook as he explored Mulder body.

Alex traced Mulder's chest, abs and belly with a firm hand, unafraid
he would crush him. He cupped Mulder's sex and ran his thumb along the
contours of his penis, smiling when it jerked under his hand. He knew
what that jerk felt like from inside, and he loved it, loved it that
Mulder was feeling that perfect intensity. Mulder spread his legs, and
Alex felt the rest of him, touched him as if he touched himself. Only,
it was better. Better than touching himself or anyone else, ever.

He felt Mulder's hand cup his face, and he looked at Mulder, into
Mulder's shining eyes, and Mulder said, "Good, oh god, Alex, so good."

And Alex knew that it was and answered, "Yes."

Alex brought his hand from Mulder's sex to his own mouth and tasted
the dampness. Mulder closed his eyes and gave a low, helpless whimper
of extreme arousal. Alex put his hand back on Mulder's cock, holding
it firmly at the base, leaned over and ran his tongue over the pulsing
head, under the fluted edge and slid it into his mouth. Mulder jerked
again. Alex smiled and using his tongue to hold the cock-head inside
his mouth he sucked at it.  Mulder yelled, "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!" and
came in his mouth.

Alex made no attempt to swallow it all; he kept his mouth on Mulder
and let the semen fill his mouth, dribbling back down over Mulder's
cock and his own hand. He felt the penis become flaccid before he
removed his mouth and looked at Mulder's face. He knew his chin was a
mess and didn't care. This was no time to hide behind some false
modesty, propriety or even blowjob etiquette.

Mulder's face was flushed and soft, and he looked so young Alex could
see the boy he'd been before all the cares and pains of his adult life
had beset him. Mulder opened his eyes and without pause rose up toward
Alex and kissed him. They kissed for a long time without any battle
for dominance. When Mulder lay back, Alex buried his head in Mulder's
throat, and Mulder wrapped his arms around him, and they were quiet.

Part 10

Alex got up from the couch and went to his room, showered and
redressed. He left the prosthetic arm off. He went out onto the deck
through the door from his room and sat, watching the afternoon
brightness ebb and flow as the clouds moved across the mountains. So
he and Mulder had sexual relations, what did it mean? He'd dreamed
about it for such a long time, and Mulder's admission meant he had
done the same. Did that mean there was something real and meaningful
between them, or did it mean they'd had closeted erotic feelings which
somehow only became focused on each other?

Alex felt tired. He always resisted introspective time, the way he'd
lived his life had made it impractical and distracting. The last few
weeks had forced him into way too much of this kind of thoughtfulness,
and now he felt himself becoming lost.

He made a list in his mind; it always helped him sort things out. He
was not dying. He was committed to Mulder for the duration of the
trial preparation. He was fit and strong again and hadn't a clue about
what he would do next, except that he would never again be a thug for
anyone. He and Mulder were having an intimate relationship. He didn't
have any experience at intimate relationships.  He knew one night
stands and casual occasional repeats, but nothing like facing the same
person over and over each morning.

Having an intimate relationship with Mulder was, by far, at the top of
the list. He let himself think about the actuality of the sex they'd
just had. He was fairly shocked. Even in his imaginings he hadn't
thought about the reality of Mulder's male body, the feel of it, the
scent, the taste or the kissing. All that kissing stood out as the
most shocking thing. He thought it was ironic that the most innocent
act was the most profound.

He wanted to shrug it off as a Mulder sexual practice, and thus,
without special meaning or attachment. But, for him, all that kissing
had been amazing.  He hit his thigh with his fist, berating himself.
He was not a sap. He was not a romantic idiot. He didn't love anyone.
Desiring Mulder was one thing; loving Mulder would be the most
disastrous thing he could think of.

He heard the shower stop, and shortly after, Mulder joined him on the
deck, handing him a cup of coffee and a sandwich.

Please, Mulder, he thought, talk first. Talk fast and furious and make
either sense or nonsense out of what happened. Explain it to me. He
ate his sandwich in silence.

"Since you've been spying on me for years, you probably know as much
about my adult life as I do," Mulder began. "I haven't been a poster
boy for the sexual revolution, and I suspect you haven't either. I
never thought of myself as damaged that way or anything like that. I
merely focused on other things and for the past few years, finding my
sister, the X Files and revealing the Syndicate occupied me almost
entirely."

Mulder took a few minutes to eat his own sandwich and swallow his
coffee. "I don't know why you became so sexually attractive to me. My
feelings were there from the very beginning, but I never wanted to
explore it too deeply. It disturbed me, after the bad things happened,
still to find so much pleasure and relief in fantasy sex with you in
my dreams. It frankly terrified me. Whenever we actually met, I was
angry and bitter and justifiably full of hate and disgust for what you
had done, but in the privacy of my fantasies being with you wasn't
like that at all. I didn't want to think it meant that on some level I
trusted you or understood you, or most of all that I could forgive
you."

Mulder put his coffee cup on the deck rail and stood to lean against
it. He faced Alex. "I want us to continue, Alex," he said. "I want us
to keep going. We fit this way somehow. I look at you and know things
in a way I never knew about the women I have had.  Why that would be,
when the most judgmental person on earth should be you, I don't know.
I just do."

Alex felt himself slip another notch into the alternate Mulder
universe he'd been experiencing. Mulder thought he was judgmental?
About what exactly? Cock size, performance techniques, what?

"What would I judge you on, Mulder? I don't understand."

"You've been on the inside. You would be the one who'd know how often
I've failed. You've probably been laughing at my ineptness for years.
Dumb Mulder, always too late, proof and truth and understanding
plucked from his impotent hand over and over. You must have thought
what a stupid, guilt-beset ass, putting his friends and allies in
danger and carrying the weight of it on his back for no good purpose I
am. I mean, forget the almost celibate life, you've probably thought
I've never been much of a man, in any case."

"Are you nuts!" Alex was truly amazed. "Are you fucking nuts? You have
accomplished more against impossible odds than anyone, Mulder, anyone
could have imagined. You never stop. Never give up or give in. You
drive the Syndicate crazy and keep them defensive enough to be afraid
to kill you outright. I have never been on the inside in the way you
imagine, but I saw enough to know they actually fear you."

Alex wanted to punch Mulder. "Okay, I don't understand why you try so
hard to keep clean and ethical. I am not made that way, but I have
never pitied you or thought for a moment that you were a failure or a
fool."

Alex went on, "As for being a man, that is the very last thing I would
judge. God, Mulder, the only thing I know - that you refuse to believe
- is that you cannot win. I don't mean about the Syndicate or the
aliens or the truth. I mean the only winning in life is to keep living
and be fortunate enough to have someone mourn you when you die. If
you're really lucky you get some time along the way to feel that you
are alive while you are living. You have been there Mulder, and so
have I, on that keen edge of knowing when everything is sharp and
clear and tangible. When you can feel the danger or the rightness like
champagne bubbles in your blood, when you can taste the air itself."

Mulder was looking at him with true understanding, and Alex had the
epiphany that this, this was why they were bound by longing and lust.
This was why they were going to suck each other's cocks, bite and
bruise each other's bodies, kiss like lovelorn girls and laugh.
Because somewhere in the fucked up mess of their lives they shared
this knowledge and no else did. Maybe no one else ever would.

Mulder shifted and Alex saw he got it. Got the connection. "You want
me to apologize for living, Mulder? I won't. You want me to repent for
fucking up my life, I won't do that either. You want me die with my
last regret being that I fucked up your life? I think I have been
there and done that now, Mulder. You want to continue, Mulder? You
want my body? To use it a million times and be used by it a million
more? So do I. Come on, Mulder. What do we have to be afraid of? We
are alive, we know it, and what we make of it is up to us."

Alex stood, and Mulder laughed, baring his teeth. He walked up to
Alex, grabbed his crotch and laughed again. "No quarter, Alex," he
said. "All or nothing."

Alex pushed his cock harder into Mulder's hand, "All or nothing," he
replied.

Part 10

The past few, frenzied days were the best Alex had ever experienced,
he thought as he sat once more on the deck in the afternoon sun. He
was naked except for loose gym shorts and hadn't bothered to affix his
arm. He stroked the bruises and tender places on his chest and belly
and lazily cupped his dick. He and Mulder had actually gotten a hell
of a lot of progress made on the report. It seemed finally getting the
hang of letting themselves go native was intellectually energizing. He
snickered to himself and thought, yeah right.

He wondered if honeymooners indulged as freely as they did. They
dressed, when they bothered to dress at all, in loose, easily
discarded, shorts. They touched all the time. It was surely a feast
after a lifetime of famine. Alex stretched his back and cracked his
neck. He laughed to himself and thought about what pigs they were. It
was great. Without what he thought of as female sensibilities, they
each took turns saying, 'now,' anytime and anywhere. Sometimes they
teased and made nice and aroused each other with foreplay, but the
great freedom was in knowing all about the other's dick. And dick
certainly ruled around here. Alex got up and went looking for Mulder.

He found Mulder making unfathomable stacks of paperwork out of the
neat piles Alex had sorted that morning. Mulder was on his knees, and
the loose shorts he wore had slid down to expose the top of his ass.
Alex came to a full stop. They had not actually fucked yet. They'd
touched and used their mouths and tongues everywhere, but they had not
penetrated each other with either fingers or cocks.

He looked at Mulder's lean back. It was golden and smooth in the
afternoon light streaming in from the windows. He looked at the crack
of exposed ass, and suddenly the strangeness of finding that part of
Mulder's anatomy beautiful left him. He thought about the tight, hot
hole hidden beneath the shorts, and he was as hard and aroused as if
he hadn't come in a year.

Mulder straightened, as if he heard Alex's sudden heavy breathing. He
turned, still on his knees and looked up at Alex. Alex pulled his
shorts down and kicked them off. He stood proudly in front of Mulder
and held his dick, smoothing it out till it stood out equally hard and
proud from his groin.

"I want to fuck you," Alex said. "I want to get inside your ass and
fuck you as deep as I can go."

He saw Mulder start to breathe more heavily, and a shine of sweat
bloomed on his shoulders and chest.

"I want to look at your hole while I do it. I want to see my cock
slide in and out of you and know you love it and want it harder." Alex
fingered the wet slit at the end of his own cock and watched Mulder
lick his lips and pant softly. "You will, Mulder, and when you do it
to me, I'll love it too."

Mulder stood and pushed off his own shorts. He was hard too, and Alex
gritted his teeth with the effort of not going to Mulder and sucking
him off. He was playing for higher stakes, and he wanted an answer. It
was if he was at another stage of his evolution, their evolution, and
he wanted Mulder to join him in the leap.

Mulder came up to him and slowly, lightly, traced his finger around
the edge of Alex's cock. "I thought I'd go first," he said in a
whispered challenge.

"Don't come, and you can have a turn in a few minutes," Alex refused
to give in.

"I'll be mighty impatient by then, Alex," Mulder whispered again. "I
might just hurt you with this big boy, you know."

Alex felt the exaltation of the razor's edge slice him. Yes,
yes-yes-yes, he thought, I trust you to take it all. He took Mulder's
hand and led him to the ottoman. "Bend over it Mulder. Get on your
knees and bend over for me. I'm going to fuck you." He nudged Mulder
forward, and the other man went down on his knees.

He got on his knees behind Mulder. He licked slowly down Mulder's
spine from neck to crack and, using his hand to spread the smooth
cheeks open, he kept licking. Mulder groaned, and Alex licked directly
at, then into his anus. Mulder jerked and Alex gripped his ass harder.
Bringing his fingers up beside his tongue, he slid one between his
tongue and Mulder's hole, pushing it in. Mulder got vocal and said,
"God," in a tight uncertain voice.

Alex was more excited than he'd ever been in his life. Christ, if
making love to Mulder did this much for him, what the hell had he been
thinking, spending all that time getting his jollies any other way.
This had it all over skulking about, espionage and conspiracies.

He figured out how to make Mulder's uncertainty turn at first amazed
and then demanding. By the time Mulder was pushing back onto his
fingers as quickly as he could thrust them, he thought he was going to
come from just that, and when Mulder said, "Alex, fuck me now,
god-damn-it!" he was floating in that fabulous alternative universe of
lust beyond fantasy and desire beyond imagining. He rose and
positioned himself and was sure, sure this was right, and they were
going to this right place together. Alex pushed in and Mulder pushed
back and they joined in a hot slide that made them both yell.

They didn't stop yelling for the whole, very brief time - the
embarrassingly brief time, Alex thought later - it took for him to
come hard and fast, deeper than he'd ever been before.

Mulder was panting and laughing; he pulled apart from him with a
whimper while Alex groaned. He pushed Alex flat and spread his legs.
"My turn, my turn," Mulder huffed and spat on his fingers and almost
rammed Alex open. Alex suddenly understood why pain could be described
as exquisite.

Mulder looked unsure for a moment when Alex choked off a scream, but
he regained his momentum as he slathered some of the wetness from
Alex's orgasm - wetness that still clung to Alex's cock and balls -
into Alex, along with more spit. Alex arched onto the fingers, and
Mulder started a litany of curses and demands as he got his shoulders
under Alex's legs. He aimed himself up to Alex's entry, swooped down
and latched onto Alex's mouth and pushed in, skewering his dick deep.

Alex gave a muffled roar, but Mulder kept on kissing, and soon he was
lost in the internal pounding that was half pain and half something
bright and sharp which redefined pleasure as he'd known it.

Mulder screamed when he came. Alex owned it a girly scream and decided
to use it against any potential Mulder indiscretion and to win many an
argument in their future.

They collapsed and lie like straw dolls, arms and legs akimbo, then
being men, and glad of it, fell asleep without apology.

Part 11

They got the hang of intercourse quickly and devoted themselves to it
assiduously.

Energized by the sex, companionship and other feelings Alex didn't
dare express and on which Mulder was equally silent, they continued
the report outline in record time.

Alex made no effort to attempt to define his future after the report
and the hearings eventually came to light. He really had no idea about
what to do next.  Mulder made occasional noises about reopening the X
Files and proving truths and having Alex be a part of that effort,
when the hearings were over, but they were undefined as well. The
importance of public disclosure was paramount to both of them.

Each kept a room of his own and spent considerable time alone. Alex
thought about the things that had changed, and the things that had
not. He thought about intimacy. He and Mulder were certainly intimate,
but they were also separate in essential ways. Mulder needed noise and
multiple sensory inputs; the TV was always on or the radio, several
newspapers arrived daily and Mulder read them all.

He needed quiet and more direct sources of information and had
discreetly arranged for his kind of news to be directed, through the
Gunmen, to the house.  The Gunmen loved it and made much of his
contacts.

He and Mulder discussed many topics, mostly in passing, and found they
held similar opinions. He thought Mulder had perhaps begun to think of
him as equally educated, if not equally intelligent. Mulder did not
ask him about his youth, and he didn't volunteer to trade stories.

He thought about his parents and wondered if he should let them know
he was about to become the star witness in the biggest media event
since Watergate. There would be people who remembered him at home and
amongst whom his parents still lived; He began to think maybe they
ought to be prepared. They were bound to be hounded once the hoopla
started.

He became edgy again, and Mulder noticed. He tried to put Mulder off,
to distract him, but Mulder persisted finally attacking him in the
middle of a warm night, when he had gotten up to sit on the deck,
demanding in a direct manner, "What are you all twitchy about?"

Alex looked at Mulder, leaning at his casual best on the railing in
front of him. The night was darker behind him, and the curves of
Mulder's shoulder, the length of his arm were both highlighted by the
moonlight. Mulder's naked groin was darker, mysterious again in the
shadows. He allowed himself to define what he saw. Mulder was, had
become, a creature of beauty in his eyes. With the entirety of their
sexual relationship in full bloom and the daily interaction with him
as the only other person in his life, Alex had mentally relaxed the
censors of his private vocabulary.

He'd begun to use the words and phrases lovers did. He'd fought the
battle of sappiness with himself and lost. Mulder was his lover.
Mulder's skin and shape and scent were food and drink to him now. When
Mulder was inside him, he was owned, and when he was inside Mulder, he
was home.

"I have parents, Mulder," and he began the tale he had never told
anyone. "They are alive and live in Traverse City, Michigan. I grew up
there in a small expatriate Russian neighborhood. My mother was born
in the US and had actually been planning to become a nun. My father
came over via Alaska and Canada in the late fifties at the height of
the Cold War. They both worked in a tractor-parts factory until they
retired."

Alex gathered his thoughts, and Mulder went inside to put on some
shorts and a tee shirt. He brought back a blanket and threw it over
Alex's lap before he resumed his position by the rail.

"I thought it was a small life. They thought it was heaven. They were
grateful for everything, the church, the paychecks, the two-bedroom
house, being able to speak and eat with other Russians, and their
garden. I was born when my mother was forty-three and my father almost
fifty. They never understood my restlessness, or the life of an
American kid. They did try, I think. They saved up, and I attended the
Interlochen Arts Academy as a day pupil for my last two years of high
school. I was talented in art and good with computers and meant to go
to college and study commercial art or maybe set design."

Alex paused and wrapped the blanket more securely around him.

"I went to Europe the summer before college with a group of the music
students who had formed a band and had arranged a few gigs; one of the
kids was from Germany. I was the stagehand and helper in exchange for
the airfare.  My parents were very unhappy and forbade me going. I had
just turned eighteen, and nothing was going to stop me. I went. It was
fun, and I was innocent. I did little drinking, some weed and European
girls who didn't say no."

"Then it all went wrong. One of the kids smuggled some hard drugs
across the border from Germany to Switzerland. The whole band was
arrested. My parents went berserk; sure I was in a gulag. Funny isn't
it, that I eventually ended up in one?" Alex couldn't help the
bitterness in his voice, or the shrug of his left shoulder.  "If they
hadn't attempted to use some Russian relations living there to help,
maybe none of what happened would have taken place. I was released
into the custody of these relations. I didn't find out until much
later they were part of the burgeoning Russian Mafia and had bribed me
out of jail. With my American passport and my American accent and
attitude and my ability to speak Russian, they told me that I was
going to be a translator for them for a few months until things cooled
off and they could send me home. I believed them, and I didn't want to
spend twenty years in jail."

"Translator, fuck Mulder, I was carrying documents back and forth and
in the crowd when they blackmailed or threatened or rousted people. By
the time I got the gist of what was really happening, I was carrying
shit in and out of East Germany, Poland, Rumania and other eastern
bloc countries; they weren't about to risk a crazy American kid
exposing them, and they held my passport."

Alex couldn't sit any longer. He got up and joined Mulder at the rail.
"By the time, almost a year later, I finally got my passport back and
was in a country with regular flights to the US, I was addicted to the
danger and the adrenalin highs of covert shenanigans. I didn't think I
was going to die, what kid does? I didn't carry a gun, and in all that
time no one had been shot, so I was never going to be shot, was I? I
had 40-fucking thousand dollars sewn into my Italian leather jacket."

"I came back to Traverse and couldn't stand it. My parents were afraid
of me. They wanted me to repent and talk to the Priest. The Priest
said I should join the military, or become a cop. He said the mindset
was the same, and I would be on the right side of the law. It made
sense in a sort of ironic way, and so I went to college and majored in
criminal justice, of all things."

"Everything on my FBI resume is true, Mulder, with the exception of
the year in Europe that is listed as overseas study to improve my
language skills. I was a good student. I was glad to be back and
pursuing a more normal life. I had learned a lot, and the demeanor I
sported made me attractive to a cooler set than I had been part of
before. I kept my nose clean too no drugs and no illegal activities.
My biggest outrages were a noisy Harley and a lot of one night
stands."

"I finished in three years and went to NYC on an internship with the
city police for the summer. That is when the CIA first approached me.
They said I could get a scholarship to do my Masters, if I chose
Political Science and committed to join up when I graduated. I did. I
finished in eighteen months, but in the meantime the FBI approached
me, and I was more interested in them than the CIA. Blevins himself
cleared it with the CIA, and I went to the Academy."

Alex reached out and took the now rigid Mulder in his arm in a hard
grasp. "I swear to you Mulder, I swear I was clean. I heard of you
just the way I described it to you on the Cole case. I had been
intrigued by your reputation, and what you were saying about
government corruption. With my experiences in Europe, I knew
conspiracies; covert activities and black ops existed and were
perpetrated by Americans. When I was approached by Blevins and Spender
and was told you were the threat, it made sense. They said your
outspokenness and connections on the Hill were your cover, and they
needed an inside man to expose you."

"Christ Mulder, by the time I realized they were the enemy, I was in
too deep, and I had no illusions left. I was old enough to know I
could certainly end up dead. You know the rest. I did what I could
here and there to stop them and protect you. But it was never enough,
and I began to forget how to care. Spender leaving me in the silo to
die woke me the fuck up. Russia was a disaster. You were supposed to
get inoculated in return for the use of my alien resistant blood which
would give them advantage in the vaccine race between the now split
Syndicate."

Alex let go of Mulder and went inside to sit on the unmade bed. Mulder
followed, reaching out to grab his hair and yank his face up. "Tell me
the rest," he demanded.

"I stayed in Russia. I had papers and an identity there, which allowed
me to investigate alien related occurrences and do general security to
protect the vaccine tests. When the burnings started, I knew the rules
had changed. The new players had a different agenda. I brought back a
witness, and the vaccine, in an attempt to force the American
Syndicate to wake up and join the resistance. I was betrayed, and I
ended up a lackey again to the Brit."

"When I was being outfitted for a new arm, I saw the implant. I
realized then everything had been a lie. The Syndicate had been
playing me the whole time. I cut it out, knowing there was a
fifty/fifty chance I was going to get the cancer. I put all my Intel
together and made my way to give it to you. I was going to do that
whether I had cancer or not. I got sick so fast, Mulder. I was sure it
was the cancer. I was sure, and I was glad."

Mulder let go of his hair, and Alex lay back on the bed. He pushed the
blanket off and lay, naked and still. "Am I a monster, Mulder?" he
asked in a soft voice. "My parents were good to me; really, they
tried. Why wasn't it enough? They are old now, old and they don't
deserve what's going to come, when their son, with their name, and his
mother's eyes, is revealed as a monster to the world."

Alex closed his eyes. He heard Mulder sigh, then the rustle of
discarded clothing and the bed dip when Mulder got in the other side.
Don't be kind; don't be kind, he thought. I've already done so much to
harm you; don't be kind. Don't forgive me, oh God! Don't love me.

But Mulder was kind, and hard, and he gave no quarter. Alex felt the
last of his resistance to the vast alone he inhabited and had never
understood, being peeled from him inch by inch as Mulder consumed him.

He heard Mulder's rough voice spew invectives as sweet as honey, and
felt Mulder's teeth at his throat, and the sharp, sharp pain was a
sparkling benediction behind his lids. "If you're a monster, you're my
monster," Mulder chanted, and Alex knew it to be true.

Part 12

They didn't talk about that night again, but everyday Mulder renewed
the bruises on his throat, and when he looked in the mirror, Alex knew
he was not alone anymore.

Three weeks later a limo pulled up in front of the house as Alex came
back from a walk to town. He saw his parents being greeted and ushered
inside by a solicitous Mulder.

Alex smiled grimly to himself, was glad he had been out, had a fresh
haircut and was shaved and dressed. He took a deep breath of the clean
country air, lightly fingered the bruises hidden beneath his collar
and went inside the house.

His parents were old and fragile. His father mistook him several times
during the conversation for his mother's brother. His mother was
bewildered by the changes in her son. It was clear in her eyes, so
like his own, that she didn't understand.

Mulder explained Alex had been a spy and had spent the last years in
dangerous circumstances. His mother and father murmured questioningly,
"He was KGB? He was a traitor to America?" They looked at Mulder and
not at him. Mulder was not able to get them to understand that
governments were the least of their problems; they only understood
'spy' to mean one thing. His mother crossed herself when Mulder tried
to explain the upcoming trials and hearings. Alex knew her only
thought was if he was going to be vilified and put in jail.

His father told Mulder about trying to save him when he was younger.
They had prayed, he said. They left without touching him and said in
parting - as they glanced quickly at and then away from his arm - that
God had seen fit to pass judgment, and they would leave the rest to
God as well.

He and Mulder walked them to the limo. Alex put out his hand, and his
father shook it, his mother stood stiff and still when he kissed her
cheek. He watched the limo drive off. He doubted he would attend their
funerals.

Mulder was at his most blank faced, and Alex knew he was reliving his
own cold encounters with his parents. He took Mulder's hand, and they
went back inside. Mulder poured himself a cup of coffee and turned on
the TV.

Alex turned off the TV and took the coffee from Mulder's hand. He got
on his knees in front of Mulder, So that they were at eye level. He
smiled at Mulder and felt the joy of being here with him fill his
soul. "Once upon a time," he began, and Mulder relaxed. They did not
break eye contact. "I was horny, lonely and angry. I was in the room
between you and Scully on some dead-end mission and had you both under
surveillance. It was early evening, but you and Scully had parted for
the night. She went out and got herself wine and chocolates, ran her
bath and was about to make an evening of self-indulgence in the tub.
You were in your underwear on your bed, reading reports and the TV was
on. I was about to give in to a bout of my own self-indulgence
listening to Scully moan in her bath."

Mulder tried to frown at him, but ended up shaking his head in
disbelief and then humor.

"I was laying there naked, my hand on my dick, when I had this
thought. What if you knew what Scully was doing in the tub and could
be privy to it, as I was. I bet you would have stopped reading those
reports real quick. The thought of your arousal turned me to stone,
and I was suddenly about shoot my wad. This pissed me off big time.
Goddamn it, I remember thinking, wasn't it enough you wanted to kill
me on sight and certainly would, if you found me in the next room?
Wasn't it enough I was assigned to watch you all the time and foil you
whenever you got close to anything? I didn't like you, Mulder. I
admired your tenacity, ethics and stamina, but I didn't like you. I
was really, really pissed thoughts of you were intruding at that very
minute."

"I got up, put my pants back on and went to get my drink. As I passed
the mirror, I caught sight of myself, shirtless, erection crammed in
my jeans, and I stopped. I looked at the guy in the mirror. I went
through a long list of reasons that proved to me I was out of my mind.
I was so fucking hard, and it wouldn't go away. I put my hand back on
my dick and pretended it was your hand.  I scared myself, but I didn't
stop. I unzipped and jerked off, imagining you were doing it and
standing so close behind me I could feel your breath on my shoulder
and hear your gasps in my ear."

"I splattered the mirror. I lied to that guy back then, Mulder. I told
that young, healthy, whole boy it was danger, adrenalin and rash,
forbidden thoughts that made him hard and horny. I faced that boy and
told myself I wasn't lonely, that I didn't need a friend or a lover,
respect or companionship. I lied and insisted I didn't need you."

"A few weeks ago I talked to the guy in the mirror again. He was much
worse for the wear of the intervening years. He was sick and dying and
still he lied. He told himself he wasn't pathetic. He told himself
that being acknowledged for a moment in death was all he wanted, that
he knew you would give him that, and it was sufficient."

Alex reached out, good hand and facsimile, and took Mulder's face. He
leaned in closer and looked directly into Mulder's eyes. He saw the
reflection of himself there, and he smiled.

"I can see myself reflected in your eyes more clearly than I ever saw
myself in a mirror. I see myself in your heart, because that is where
I belong. I know myself in your soul, because you have allowed me a
space there in its compassionate generosity."

Alex stroked his fingers across Mulder's lips and felt them tremble.
He felt his own smile widen. "I have stopped lying. I don't know what
comes next, but then I never knew. I made it up as I went along. But I
know truth now. I love you, and with you I am home."

Alex brought his lips to Mulder's and kissed him like the lover he
was, like the friend and the companion and the family he was as well.

Mulder kissed him back, and Alex knew he was all right and would be
from now on.



### The End ###