From: Amatia Date: Sat, 20 Mar 1999 22:53:53 -0600 (CST) Subject: "Avatar" Series, Part Six: "The Avatar of Shadow" (1/1) by Amatia Title: "Avatar" Series, Part Six: The Avatar of Shadow Author: Amatia Email: violinst@pitnet.net Disclaimer: Consider it all said already. Rating: NC-17 Category: R (K/Sp), V, A Spoilers: If you can't see them, they're not there. Archiving: Please keep with the rest of the "Avatar" series. Summary: In protest against writing a theory of knowledge paper, I started this to shed some light on things that happened between Spender and Krycek in the years before the other "Avatar" stories took place. Dedication: To the makers of Mt. Dew, because even though it's 12:45 in the morning when I'm staring this, I am still wide awake. And to Spender-lovers everywhere! *** "Avatar" Series, Part Six: "The Avatar of Shadow" by Amatia "I can't decide what is even real anymore, As though I ever knew." - "Holy Tears", Tara MacLean Southern Idaho, 2003 The night was black as I made my way up to the cabin, snow crunching under my combat boots on the path. I dragged a box of supplies behind me, and the weight of the food pressed the snow back down, obscuring my footprints. Flakes still fell softly to the ground, dusting my black leather jacket and gloves, and wetting my earmuffs. I knocked softly on the heavy wooden door. "Jeff?" I called. He opened the door, tall and lean in his navy sweater and jeans. He didn't say anything, but his eyes told me that I had stayed away too long. I started to say that I saw sorry, that I couldn't get away, but he just laid a hand on my arm for a moment, then went past me out into the snow to get the supplies. I went into the cabin and slid out of the jacket, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door along with his. He carried the box into the room, and set it down near the back. "Is there anything I need to put in the icebox right away?" "It's all dry stuff," I replied, watching him carefully. He straightened from his crouch, and looked at me across the room. "Are you hungry?" "No, I'm fine." He sat down in the wicker chair, his eyes still on me. He didn't speak, and a nervous knot formed in my stomach. He moved like a caged animal, and despite the fact that I'd faced almost every danger a man could face, it frightened me. I kicked off my boots, and sat cross legged on the bed, curling my fingers inside the sleeve of the heavy sweater I wore. Silence seeped like thick molasses into every corner of the room. "Are you going to tell me or not?" he asked, his voice soft, but still with it's perpetual edge of bitterness. I cringed internally. The last time I'd been here I hadn't heard the bitterness, only the silky smoothness of his voice as we'd talked, careful not to touch each other. We'd both known then, known that if we touched, it would be all over, and I could never leave again. "Tell you what?" I replied, amazed at the calmness of my voice. "That you won't be coming back." He shifted in the chair, the way a panther moves inside of its cage. The feline grace of his movement sent a ripple through my body, and I struggled to repress it. "It's true, isn't it? I can tell by the look on your face." Another panther-like movement, fluid as he rose from his chair to take the tea kettle that I had not noticed from the wood-burning stove. "Tea?" I nodded mutely, feeling like I wasn't myself. He handed me the mug and returned to his chair with his own. "Jeff," I said, as I waited for the steaming liquid to cool. It was dark with the leaves that still floated in it. I'd never brought him a strainer. I opened my mouth to continue but he stopped me. "Don't say you're sorry. Don't tell me that you couldn't get away from yuor work. Don't tell me that you wouldn't be leaving for good if it wasn't necessary." I closed my mouth, and raised the mug to hide the blush that stained my cheeks. He continued to watch me, as a hunter watches his prey. Finally, I said, "Don't you want me to explain?" "I don't want an explanation," he replied. "You're making me nervous," I confessed. His expression did not change, but he took a drink of his tea. I re-crossed my legs into a more comfortable position, the knot in my stomach tightening. "Will you tell me what's wrong?" He set the mug on the floor beside the chair, and crossed his legs in one flid motion, balancing his ankle on his knee, his hands idle in his lap. He blinked twice, slowly, like he was drugged. "I don't think I need to explain it," he said finally. "Damnit, Jeff, are we going to spend this visit like we did the last one?" I exclaimed. "Sitting, talking about nothing, you looking like you can't wait for me to leave?" "But it's exactly the opposite of what's really happenning," he said in response, his voice slow like honey. He picked up his mug, and drank. "How can I help if you won't tell me what's wrong?" I demanded. "What's wrong is that you're leaving for good," he replied in the same honey-like tone. "You don't belong out there, in that world." I refused to stay silent despite the hot flush I felt rising into my cheeks. "You think I belong here instead?" "You belong in my bed," was his answer, his tone possessive. I almost spilled my tea. But he did not move, or blush, or even raise his mug to hide anything that might have been on his face. Because there was no expression on his face, save the bitter set of his jaw that I'd come to realize he'd had since before Colonization. I had no reply to his statement, and he did not seem to want to clarify. As if it could be any clearer. I unfolded my legs, and slid off the bed as if it were a piece of hot, melting glue that would trap me. Trying desperately to avoid his solemn-turned-inquisitve gaze, I went out into the cold snow, praying I wouldn't betray anything in front of him that I did not wish him to see. He did not follow me from the cabin, and the knot in my stomach tightened even more, almost to the breaking point. He had spoken as if he owned me, as if he knew he owned me, as if he knew I knew he owned me. Did he own me? Could I let him own me? I had always prided myself on not letting any loyalies get in the way of my own salvation. The air was chilly against my flushed skin, but I didn't move. I just continued to stare at the trees that surrounded me, trying to sort my thoughts, knowing that I would save myself a lot of pain by leaving now, without trying to say goodbye. After awhile, I heard the door open, heard the creak of his footsteps in the doorway. I did not turn around, waiting got him to speak. Silence hung between us once more. Finally, he spoke. "You know, it's cold out here." "I know it is." I turned around, and looked at him as he leaned against the doorframe. He returned my gaze, unblinking. "Damnit, Jeff!" I cried. "What do you want me to say?" "I don't want you to say anything. You don't have to. Every moment you make shows me your nervousness. I could tell you were tense the moment you knocked, just by how softly your fist fell on the foor. I could tell you were afraid of me by the way you drank your tea. I could tell that what I said was unsettling to you, by the way you raised your mug to hide your face." He paused for a moment. "You should never leave a man alone in the wilderness with nothing but his thoughts." With that, he turned and went back into the cabin. After a moment, I followed him. He had returned to his chair near the stove. I moved to sit back down on the bed, but he gestured for me to sit on the stool next to him, and I did so, nervously. His dark eyes watched me calmly. "You fear me," he stated. "You have no reason to." "You make me feel like your prey," I replied. A slow feral smile spread across his face, and his long fingers closed arund my wrist. My flesh burned where it was pressed against his. "And I've caught you, haven't I?" I made a small sound of protest as he let go of my wrist, unable to hold it in. He looked satisfied with my response, and rose to refill his tea mug. Tension ran through me so high that I couldn't move. "Jeff..." "Yes?" "What do you want from me?" He turned to face me. "Everything." My eyes drifted to the bed of their own accord, then back to him. He took a sip of his tea, and I thought for a fleeting moment that he hadn't noticed what I'd looked towards. But he didn't miss a thing. "That, too." He hadn't won yet. I could still fight. I could still walk out. I stood up from the stool, but he blocked my path. "You're not leaving." "Jeffrey," I tried, but failed. "If you were a woman, Alex, I would have my hand between your legs and I would be bringing you off so fast that your knees would turn to jelly, and the only logical place to put your weak body would be on the bed. But you're no woman, so I'll have to change my technique." His hand was sliding up underneath my sweater before I'd recovered from his statement. Nimble fingers skimmed across my chest, then darted below the waistband of my jeans. I stepped back, but he followed. His hand was still underneath my sweater, holding my jeans. Fingers slid below to whisper across the sensitive skin of my lower stomach. "You can't run, and you can't hide," he murmured. I tried to protest, to move away. "We can't do this." He popped the button on my jeans. "I think we can." "But I don't..." "You would have left long ago if you didn't want it," he replied. "You know you could overpower me right now if you really wanted to leave. You want everything, Alex. You want me to own you. You belong in my bed, and you are sorely mistaken if you think I'm going to let you walk away without showing you how good it can be." His words were like a drug, and I felt my backwards movements slow. His arms wrapped around me, and I felt his hardness press against my own. I whispered his name, and stepped closer into the embrace. One of his hands slid back down inside my pants, and I cried out uncontrollably against his shoulder as his fingers wrapped around my cock. "I wouldn't lie to you," he whispered in my ear. I barely registered the sound of his voice, it was almost drowned out by the thundering noise of blood rushing through my brain. It was all I could hear as he stripped off my clothes and his own. His hands skimmed all over my body, lighting the nerve endings on fire as I trembled under his touch. Heat swept through me, and concentrated in my groin. His hands felt like they were everywhere all at once, and I felt as if I was drunk. Maybe he'd put something in the tea. But his hands, everywhere...his touch was rapidly shattering all of my defenses. "Oh, God..." He pushed me back towards the bed, and I went, willingly. Anything to keep his hands on my skin. He'd been right all along, from the moment he opened the door, and given me that look that said, "you were gone too long". I'd been gone too long to keep him from himself, from the ideas that had always been there, but had waited until he was alone to surface and be heard. His hands on my skin were the result of those thoughts. The bed was soft under my back as he straddled my hips, our cocks rubbing against each other. I arched up against him, seeking more of the dizzying contact. "Slowly," he whispered, his breath hot against my neck. A whimper escaped my throat, and I pressed against him. But the fire had caught him now too, and he began to rock his hips in tempo with mine. It could have been minutes or hours, I couldn't tell from the sensations washing over me. I felt my muscles tighten only seconds before his, and then a shower of sparks errupted behind my eyelids, blue, green, red, gold, white - When I regained my senses, he was standing across the room, dressed again in his sweater and jeans, as dark as ever, one of the cigarettes from my jacket held with utter perfection between his fingers, and a mug of tea in the other hand. As I watched, he brought the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, then exhaled slowly, following with his eyes it's rise into the shadows of the cabin. He saw me looking at him, set down his mug, and took another cigarette from my jacket. He put it between his lips and lit it, then handed it to me. "Tea?" "No." I took a drag on the cigarette. "Thanks." He nodded and sat down in the wicker chair. I held the cigarette between my lips while I wiped the dried semen from my stomach with the corner of the blanket, then slid off the bed and began to pull my clothes back on. He watched me and smoked. The whisps of smoke were becoming to him, they accentuated his darkness. I shuddered as I realized that he reminded me of his father as he sat holding that cigarette. He was silent until I was dressed. Then he asked, "Are you leaving now?" I sat down on the stool. "Only if you want me to." "No." It was all we said to each other for the next half hour. He didn't touch me, although I burned for it. He didn't look at me, although I wanted him to. The nicotine soon gave me a slight buzz, and I relaxed a little. I watched him stub out his cigarette, and rise to refill his tea mug. I got up and put another log into the stove. Finally, he spoke. "Do you know of any news about my father?" "I'm still working for him. He's gone into hiding. The Colonists are talking about putting him on trial, but there's nothing known for sure." "What about Fowley?" "She's still working for him, too." "Have you seen Dana Scully or Fox Mulder?" "Not since Colonization. And from what I hear, both of them have disappeared from the Institutes where they were working." I took one last drag on the ciagarette, then stubbed it out. He shifted in the chair. Our intercourse had not changed the fact that he moved like a caged animal. "Where are you going to go after you leave here?" "I can't tell you that, Jeff." His expression was unreadable. "I need to know, Alex." "Despuesamerican Northeast Territory. What used to be Maryland," I told him. "I'll trust you not to spread that around." "When do I get visitors?" he asked bitterly. "You waited almost two years to come back." "There were things that needed to be taken care of. Don't you understand?" "All I understand is that you left me, alone here, with only my thoughts. For all I knew, you were dead." He paused for a moment. "There is nothing more unbearable than thinking everyone you ever knew was dead. No matter if you loved them or hated them. Being alone is a terrible thing." "Did you want me because you needed companionship?" I asked, reaching for another cigarette. "I wanted you before I felt lonely, but I never would have said it," he replied honestly. He leaned back in the chair. "You know, I blame you for my psychosis." "Only the sane man will think he's insane." He shot me a dark look, and lit another cigarette. "I want to know why." "Why what?" "Why you saved my life after my father shot me." He blew smoke towards the ceiling. "He had no honest reason to kill you." "He hasn't done anything honest his entire life," came the reply. "You hadn't done anything wrong - you knew nothing that would warrant your death! I was following your father, I couldn't just let you die." I gestured with the cigarette. He stood up, and slowly paced the room. Trails of smoke followed him. I was once again reminded of his father - the cigarette, the cold indifference, the passion that I knew was boiling too far under the surface to be seen by the naked eye. "Will you be back?" he asked, his back to me. I looked out the tiny window and saw that the sky was beginning to lighten. He knew that I had to leave before the sun came up all the way. "You rarely find honor among thieves, Jeff." "You have honor." "You own me. Therefore, you own any honor I may have had." He turned to face me. "Men without honor let other men die." "Yes, but I saved your life before you staked your claim on me." A tiny smile curved his lips around the cigarette. "That's what you're calling it?" The smile almost undid me, and I crossed the room to slide a hand around his body to cup his ass, grinning as I did so. He grinned in reply, and rocked his hips forward to rub against my groin. "I thought you had to go," he whispered in my ear. "I have a few seconds to touch you," I whispered in reply. He nuzzled against me for a moment, his touch fire as before, but then he stepped away. "You should go, before it's too light, and before I shove you back on the bed." I nodded, and stabbed out my cigarette. "I'll be back if I can." "I know you will." I took my jacket from the hook on the door, and tossed him the pack of cigarettes. "Don't burn the place down." "I'll wait for you to come back to do that," he replied, sitting down in the wicker chair and crossing his legs. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers. I laid my hand on the doorknob, and turned it slowly, hoping he would say something. I swung the door open. "Hey, Alex," he said. I looked back at him. "Yeah?" He seemed to be himself once again, feline grace folded into the chair, fingers from one hand drumming lightly on his leg. His eyes met mine. "Don't wait too long." I nodded once, and went out the door. violinst@pitnet.net Site X - http://personal.pitnet.net/london