Chapter 2
PART 1 of 3

She watched him for a week before she was able to make her move.

When she awoke in the motel, alone, she had been both affronted and
smugly amused. Her female vanity had been bruised by the fact that he
dared to leave her. No man treated her like that. She knew she was an
uncommonly beautiful woman; that most men would die to spend a night in
her bed. She had taken great pains to revive her looks after escaping
the hospital, the brutal tests. For an unscrupulous, crude, one-armed
thug to fuck her and then leave without a farewell was beyond the scope
of her imagination. The things she'd done for him....she had done them
to ensure her safety, not to be abandoned so callously. So he had to
pay for that transgression.

And yet, the fact that he had betrayed her also made her laugh. After
all, hadn't she done it to him? So the slate was clean now. They could
start fresh.

He'd made it too easy to be found, so she assumed he wanted her to seek
him. He had only been gone two days when his name appeared in a police
report, and not far from DC. She'd been faintly surprised that it
hadn't been as a suspect; he had been described as a witness to a
death, one that had been attributed to natural causes. Of course, if he
had been there, she knew that could not be accurate.

But then, since she'd retrieved him from the prison in Tunisia, he had
been acting very out of character. Even more remote and dissatisfied
than before, and not willing to go to bed with her as quickly as he had
in the past. She knew he didn't trust her, which was perfectly
understandable, but still. He'd never really trusted her before either,
but that hadn't stopped him from fucking her senseless, had it?

She waited a few days before traveling to the small town in the report,
assuming he would return to DC, to her, on his own. But he hadn't, so
she had had to go to him. He hadn't been alone, which was only the
first of many unanticipated revelations. When she first spotted the
pair of them several days ago, coming back from a boat ride, she had
been stunned. If she didn't have the address from the police report,
she would have assumed she was spying on the wrong people.

Alex didn't even look like himself; for one, he was dressed in faded
denim jeans and a blindingly white t-shirt, not his usual dark outfit,
with his artificial limb blatantly exposed to the world. And his
*face*.....she had never seen him look so content or at ease. He looked
like the cat that ate a canary. No, no, that was not the right analogy,
she corrected herself. More like the Cheshire cat from Alice in
Wonderland. He had virtually disappeared, leaving nothing but an
enormous, toothy smile.

It had taken her a minute to place the woman. She had vaguely
recognized the name from the report, but she hadn't looked at all like
the insignificant doormat from Skinner's office. She was much more
confident than that woman, and smiling as broadly as he, wearing a
similar casual ensemble.

And when she saw them kiss after they docked the sailboat, and the way
they both laughed as she had jumped onto his back, possessively
wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he
carried her back into the house, Marita had been further shocked and
enraged. How dare he replace her with this, this non-entity? She wasn't
even attractive. Too plain and too fat.

She wasn't jealous, she told herself. It wasn't as if she had any
feelings for him; theirs was simply a business arrangement. She would
provide him with the creature comfort of sex, and he would keep her
protected, out of harm's way. If there had been any other man who had
as much knowledge, as much ruthlessness, as he did, Marita would be
with that man instead of Alex Krycek in a heartbeat. She had convinced
herself of that a long time ago.

But there wasn't anybody else. Once they had destroyed Spender,
*together*, she'd finally accepted that he was her only option. She had
no intention of being left to fight for her survival alone. None. That
was why she had agreed to get him out of prison, why she had worked
with him to kill the old smoking bastard. To bind them together
unequivocally.

And then he had the audacity to leave her and take up with this whore.
Marita decided to bide her time, to wait and see how long it would take
Alex to get bored and leave her on his own. But he stunned her again
when he stayed. In fact, the two lovebirds were glued together at the
hip. She watched them for days, shopping in town, eating in local
restaurants, strolling along the waterfront arm in arm, talking and
smiling endlessly. She'd never known Alex Krycek to be such a
blabbermouth; with her, he'd kept his discussions down to a minimum.
What on earth could they be saying to each other?

It was clear that the man who never displayed any human emotion held
deep feelings for Skinner's little secretary. The way he would touch
her when they were in public, his hand in hers, or brushing her hair or
her cheek. Tender gestures, ones that he hadn't bestowed on her at any
point during their time together as lovers. And the way he *looked* at
the red-haired woman was outrageous. Idolizing her as if she were the
only female on the planet. It made Marita sick to her stomach to see
him act so ridiculous. He was behaving like a teenage boy with his
first girlfriend, it struck her more than once.

Except at night, when she heard him act as the adult, the sexual beast,
she knew him to be. She'd snuck up to the house the first night she'd
arrived, trying to decide if she should break in and simply wield a gun
in his face, to force him back to her side, where he knew he should
have been all along. Then she'd heard them upstairs; they hadn't
bothered to close the windows. The loud moans, the crying of each
other's names. He'd never said her name, or anything at all, when he
would come inside *her*. His deathly silence during orgasm had been
part of his charm. She hated to be interrupted from her own thoughts at
that moment.

So she left them alone while she devised her best strategy. She would
have to wait until they were apart before she approached him.
Obviously, he would not leave this woman easily, but Marita recognized
that Kim Cook was his Achilles' heel. She would use his exposed
weakness for her to lure him away.

She only had to wait for the right opportunity to present itself. She
had learned that lesson, that patience, from him. So when it came, she
was ready.

Her final surprise was that he was not.

++++++++

Alex wondered if it was possible to die from excessive rapture. He'd
never experienced such a feeling of tranquility in his life, and he
still felt a little guilty that he had been able to find it in the wake
of Mike's death.

The last week had rushed by in a blur of pleasure and Kim. Once the
service was over, and they'd had a chance to be together, without
obligations or interruptions, they'd reveled in it. Visiting with her
neighbors, laughing, sailing, making love until very late at night. And
he fell deeper in love with her every minute he spent in her presence.

It seemed almost as if they were making up for lost time, for the years
between when they'd met until now, when they'd both wanted to be
together, but hadn't. The most astonishing thing they'd been doing was
talking. About the past, both his and hers. He'd told Kim everything
about his life and more. He'd talked so much his throat was raw and
achy the next day. He didn't have many secrets left. It felt strange at
first, but then it was as if a huge burden was lifted from him and all
he felt now was relief. He was an open book for the first time in his
life and he was surprised to find he liked it.

He felt very differently about a lot of things now. Especially himself.

It appeared that the full feeling which he experienced that first night
had become his regular state of being. He didn't have to restrain
himself, didn't have to ignore his own emotions, just to be able to
make it through the day. He could be happy, or sad, or anything he
wanted. And he loved being able to act like this, to be this free.

Kim continually encouraged to him to open up, to be the way she acted
with him. And so he did, not only emotionally and mentally, but
physically. He let himself lose control when they made love. She told
him she liked it when it was fast and frantic, as if he would explode
within seconds if he didn't take her right then. To know that she
evoked that depth of need in him was a heady feeling, empowering, she
had said. Just as it was for him when she would grab at him
unexpectedly, and kiss the daylights out of him.

What thrilled him even more, though, was when she embraced him as if he
were something rare and precious, her touch benign and her smile
loving. Treating him like a person worthy of respect and kindness. He
was beginning to believe he was that person.

He woke up in the same place every morning now, and had nearly come to
expect to see the pale blue walls, the warm body curled around his. Was
this what having a home was like? He certainly hoped so, because he
wanted to stay here. Forever.

He liked this town, and he'd never really distinguished one place from
another. Most cities, a generic cluster of hotel rooms and offices that
he'd been in as an adult, or slums and bars back when he was a child,
just ran and bled together in his mind. But Dunlap stood out from the
pack. They'd spent hours exploring the area, as Kim recounted stories
about her childhood, pointing out various landmarks and sights. Yet
what he appreciated most about Dunlap were the people. They had
welcomed him into their embrace as easily as Kim had, and he wanted
that feeling of kinship, of community, to continue.

He wasn't on the outside looking in anymore. He belonged. To her. He
couldn't decide which was better, belonging to anything at all, or
belonging to her specifically. Both were more than he'd ever dared hope
for.

Hope. That's what it boiled down to. For the first time in his life,
Alex felt hopeful. About the present, the future, himself, everything.

He looked out the bedroom window, the full moon lighting up the water
as brightly as if it were daylight outside. An image of a nine-year-old
Kim standing in a similar position, watching her late friend at the
dock, sprung into his mind, and he smiled unconsciously.

<I knew right then you were going to change my life, make it so much
better than it had any right to be>, she'd said to Mike on his
deathbed. At the time that he'd heard her say it, Alex had felt such a
severe jolt of unbearable regret, the tears had streamed down his
cheeks before he'd even realized that he was crying. But he finally
understood that he'd wept because he'd been jealous of that enduring
love between the two friends. Because he'd wanted to hear her say that
to him.

He wanted to say that to *her*. She had changed his life. She changed
his whole outlook on the world. The battle was over, and instead of
standing alone, he had the one woman that mattered by his side. He had
won his heart's true desire.

He shifted his gaze from the window to Kim, peacefully sleeping a few
feet away from where he stood. Just what was it about her that made him
feel so...so much, and so completely? He'd tried to dissect her a
million times, and he still couldn't figure it out. She had what every
woman had, a collection of features on her face, a pair of eyes, a
nose, a mouth. Her figure was lush, all the parts in all the right
places. She was warm, and soft, and she smelled great. But so did a lot
of women. Why her?

As he stared at her, trying to fathom what it was that drew him to her,
she slowly awoke, her gaze focusing on him. Her sweet, engaging smile
radiated from her face and her eyes as she looked back at him in the
moonlight. And, in that quiet instant, he got it.

She was the only person he'd ever known whose internal beauty eclipsed
her external one. He'd spent so many years surrounded by people who
either didn't have a soul, or kept it hidden from prying eyes, that
when he'd finally met someone who let her life force shine through her
expression, he'd been transcended, transformed. He'd never been able to
stop thinking about her since that first time in Skinner's outer office
all those years ago. She'd been a fixture in his mind, sometimes in the
front, more often in the back, but he
could admit now that she'd always been there. And she always would.

His inexperienced heart whispered to him that they were soul mates, and
he found himself blushing at his fanciful vision. But he didn't deny
its essence, its simple truth.

"Alex? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Go back to sleep," he encouraged her. While his
first instinct was to tell her what was on his mind, she looked sleepy.
It could wait until morning.

She shook her head, rubbing her eyes awake, and crooking her finger at
him to come closer. So he slid back into bed with her, as she propped
her head up on her bent elbow.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I was just restless. I didn't mean to wake you."

"S'ok. Why couldn't you sleep?" she persisted, touching his cheek to
encourage him.

Strange, how in so short a time, she knew him so well. Maybe it was
because he didn't have to hide his feelings from her. Or anything at
all. He could simply *be*. So he told her what had gotten him out of
bed initially, as he glanced over her shoulder at the clock.

2 am. He'd officially been thirty for two hours.

"It's my birthday today."

Her eyes widened, surprised. "Well, happy birthday, honey. Why didn't
you say anything before?"

He shrugged. "I didn't remember until I woke up." And the recollection
had been hazy and a little painful as it came.

"You didn't remember? How on earth could you....." She stopped, and ran
her hand through his hair, then leaned forward and kissed his temple,
right where the gray hairs of a lifetime of stress grew. "You've never
celebrated your birthday, have you, Alex?"

He shook his head no. Never had much to celebrate before, did he?

She grinned, "Looks like we're going to have be apart for a little bit
in the morning."

"Why?" And why did he suddenly get a shiver of doom, a quick shot of
panic, at her words? Did he have it so bad for her, they couldn't even
be separated for a few hours?

Another wide-eyed look of astonishment. "I have to go get you a
birthday present. It's not every day you turn the big three-O, you
know."

A present? He could feel the blush spreading across his face again, and
the foolish smile that came with it. The last birthday gift he'd
received had been a box of crayons from his mother when he turned five.
She was dead by the time his next one had rolled around.

Alex pulled Kim closer until she lay sprawled enticingly on top of
him. "I don't need a present, honey. I've got everything I've ever
wanted right here."

Now her blush matched his. "You're such a romantic, Alex," she
murmured, leaning over to kiss him.

"Is that better or worse than a marshmallow?" he asked as he stroked
her back, already knowing exactly what he wanted for this year's
birthday.

She laughed breathily against his neck, and his spine tingled in direct
correlation to her touch. "I think they're about the same."

When she began to nuzzle his skin, kissing and licking him slowly, Alex
knew all conversation had ended. And he didn't mind. There'd be plenty
of time for talking later.

Because he planned on asking her to marry him today. To stay with him
in the most permanent way there was. That was what he wanted for his
birthday. A wife.

While they caressed and kissed, both becoming increasingly aroused, a
series of images drifted lazily but vividly through Alex's mind. For
the first time ever, they weren't faded memories, but bright,
glittering ones of the future. How she would look walking down a
wedding aisle toward him, a vision of Kim's belly swollen with his
baby, watching her as she taught their child how to unfurl a sail.

Those very pleasing images evaporated when she reached down to take him
in her hand, stroking his erection until he could think of nothing but
the lovely feel of her body pressing against his. Her mobile mouth
captured his, nibbling on his bottom lip, her tongue dueling with his.
Then she pulled away, her soft, warm lips sliding down his chest, her
hands drifting across his skin, back down to his shaft to caress him,
arousing him beyond all reason.

She moved over him with a fluid grace, the sensuous weight of her
thighs insistent around him, anchoring him gladly. It was only in
making love with her did he really miss his other arm anymore. To touch
her rounded warmth, to capture those endless, abundant, addictive
curves with both hands was a dream that would never be fulfilled. But
he reached for what he could, rolling a nipple between his fingers as
she moaned against him, shifting his head so he could take the other in
his mouth. He felt her dampen even more against his stomach as he
cupped her breast, let it rest heavily against his palm. Heard her gasp
and sigh as he flicked his tongue against the taut center, nipping
greedily with his teeth and then soothing it with a wet stroke as she
gyrated against him, her moist heat rubbing against the very tip of his
erection.

He didn't have to stifle the cry of need that sprang from his groin to
his mouth.

A short while later, he looked down and saw her smooth, thick hair
splashed across his chest, the crimson bright against the pale white of
his skin and the faded pinks and browns of his scars, while he felt her
lips streaking down his skin, pausing to kiss the spot right where his
heart beat loudly beneath his ribs. She was touching his heart, his
soul, both literally and figuratively. Alex could almost feel her
squeezing that vital organ with her actual fingers. His erection
throbbed against her in primal response. With her head still bent, she
slid him inside her in one rapid unexpected motion.

His mind reeled, emptied and re-filled as the moan escaped from his
lips. She felt amazing, a hot flood of flesh and passion surrounding
him in every way. A simultaneous rush of emotional and physical
sensations hit him all at once, spinning and pulsing through his veins
as she thrust onto him freely, without a barrier between them.

He'd never been in a woman without a shield of latex before, never felt
himself drown in anything so irresistibly soft and accepting. His
common sense tried to tell him to stop, to pull out, but instead he
buried himself deeper, faster.

It wasn't a matter of trust; he trusted her without hesitation. And he
knew he was clean as well; after his infection in Hong Kong, he'd
undergone a battery of tests that made an alien probe look like child's
play. But a baby? Would she be so willing to take that risk again? With
him? Did she trust him that much, knowing without him saying to her yet
that he had no intention of ever leaving her?

She reared up with a guttural moan, and her hands slid down from his
shoulders to his stomach as she moved, rocking up and down on him, as
hard as he was lunging into her. In the moonlight, he saw her head
tilting back, her mouth lustily agape, her chest rising and falling
rapidly.

"Alex....." she sent his name upward, like a prayer tossed to the skies.

Then she looked back down at him, and her eyes, completely gray and
open, locked onto his. And he understood that she understood the
implications of completing this act of love, and she welcomed it. She
wanted the same bright future he did.

"Yes?" she whispered, pausing briefly, a shadow of worry crossing her
features.

"Yes," he declared, watching her face crease into a radiant smile. Oh
GOD yes, yes, yes........

She quivered around him, over him, through him. She surrounded him,
melded with him, united with him. In mindless, blissful response, he
thundered inside her, felt her most intimate flesh naturally convulse
around him like a pulsing heartbeat, drawing him in so profoundly, he
hoped this would never reach its inevitable conclusion. When he reached
up his hand to pull her head back down to him, to pepper her entire
face with adoring kisses, she took it in both of hers and pressed it
against her cheek. He sensed the permanent impression of her smile in
his palm, his thumb dipping into her dimple as it emerged, and for a
wild moment, believed that he could physically touch her happiness.

Nothing. Nothing in the world had ever felt like this. To be this
purely alive, this loved, this close to another human being. To feel
this free, and still so intrinsically linked to someone. Not just to
anyone either, but to her.

<Kim.>

Her name tore from his gut so hard, he thought he splattered it against
the wall.

As he cried her name, she shuddered and tightened around him, and the
wave of pleasure took him with her, across the water, flying. They
crested, and crashed, and crested again. Finally, he peaked, and she
was with him through it all, riding every wave as ecstatically and
madly as he. When the volcanic tremors slowed, and he felt her collapse
against him, her skin slick with sweat, her heady cinnamon scent
permeating the air, he thought he might have just glimpsed God. He
wrapped his nearly lifeless arm around her shoulders, and felt both of
them shiver together.

"Happy Birthday, Alex," she murmured against his mouth, claiming one
final, lasting kiss as the aftershocks rippled through them, still wed
together at their cores.

One of the last thoughts he had as they both drifted off to sleep soon
after they'd settled back down, was that it was the best birthday he'd
ever had. And it had only just begun.

END PART 1 of 3, Chapter 2

++++++++

Hollow Man
PART 2 of 3, Chapter 2

It was about goddamn time, Marita thought irritably, as she watched Kim
start up her car and pull out of the driveway. You'd think they'd
become Siamese twins; they were absolutely *never* separated.

She debated knocking on the front door, but rejected the idea. Better
to keep the element of surprise on her side. Another lesson from the
master of manipulation still inside.

The downstairs was empty, and quiet. What a quaint little set-up Alex
had here. Very cozy, very small-town. She couldn't wait to get out of
here before she puked.

The first door at the top of the stairs was ajar, and Marita spotted
Alex immediately, tangled up in the sheets of the bed. Naked, and fast
asleep, his one arm flung across the empty space beside him. She
allowed herself a small smile at the irony of the scene. Exactly as he
had left her in the motel.

Her nose crinkled at the odor of sex as it wafted all around them. Same
old Alex, she thought. Letting his little head do the thinking for him.
Thank God she no longer behaved that recklessly. At least her
victimization had one positive side effect.

A Post-it note clung to the door. "Went to the store. Back in an hour.
Love you."

<Love you.> God, it was worse than she imagined. The moron thought he
was involved in a romantic relationship. As she read the note again,
she was overwhelmed with the urge to shoot him dead. Instead, she took
a deep breath, wrestling her baser impulses aside, and entered the love
nest.

Unfortunately, the stupid door creaked as she opened it, and his eyes
instantly flew open. He seemed disoriented for a moment, his gaze first
zooming to the empty spot on the bed, but he quickly re-gained his
composure. Not bothering to cover himself up, he only sneered at her.

"Get the fuck out of here," he said between clenched teeth.

She gave him a thin smile, and folded her arms in front of her
chest. "Tsk, tsk, Alex. Does your *girlfriend* approve of such
language?"

"That's none of your fucking business."

"Everything you do, my dear Alex, is my business. You've gotten
careless, and I'm here to set you on the correct course again."

His eyebrow cocked as he sat up. His eyes did a quick survey of the
area, but she'd already seen his prosthetic on the bureau next to her,
as well as his duffel bag just by her feet, so she wasn't alarmed. He
was temporarily defenseless, and about to become permanently so.

"There is no course left, Marita. Surely even a woman as dense as you
can see that."

Unfolding her arms, she stepped fully into the room, tossing him a pair
of pants that had been discarded on the floor. She had no desire to see
him naked any longer. She remembered only too well how he looked. How
he moved against her, inside her. A hundred years ago, before she'd
been infected and brutalized, she had very much enjoyed the physical
aspect of their relationship. Now she felt nothing.

"Insults will get you nowhere. Get your head out of the sand. There is
work to be done."

"Not for me. I quit."

He thought he could quit? Why had she ever entrusted her future to this
idiot?

"Alex, I strongly recommend you re-consider that decision. Do you
honestly believe that Skinner will allow you to run away with his
secretary?"

His eyes narrowed, like a cobra preparing to strike. "I think Walter
Skinner will do anything I tell him. You should remember that I've got
more connections than you can dream of, Marita."

Which is why she needed him on her side again. He was forcing her hand,
but she had no compunction about using what she'd attempted to discover
over the last week.

"Do you think those connections will help keep your little woman out of
jail?" she cooed.

His hardened mask slid off his face momentarily, and she saw a flicker
of confusion before he snapped it back in place.

"What do you mean," he asked carefully.

She shot him an icy smirk. "I'm talking about *murder*, Alex. Or at
least accessory to murder. How nave of you. Offing the poor woman's
husband, and splitting the insurance money? I assume she gave you quite
the sob story, but she's a terrible actress. Barbara Stanwyck did it
much better in Double Indemnity."

He didn't rise to the bait, so she tried another tack. She'd read his
dossier cover to cover. There wasn't one damn thing she didn't know
about Alex Krycek.

"Maybe you've never seen that movie, which is why you fell for her
lies. Oh, wait, that's right, your daddy didn't have a TV in the
Impala, did he?"

"Fuck you," he shot out. Oh, yes, this time she'd hit a nerve.

"I'd take you up on that offer, but you seem to be a little drained,"
she retorted, her eyes deliberately dropping to his flaccid crotch.
Funny, she thought idly, she'd never seen him as naked as he was now,
both without his arm and without an erection. And yet, seeing him in
another woman's bed, for the first time since the hospital, Marita felt
a strong stirring of arousal. She unconsciously licked her lips,
pressing her thighs together.

When her eyes met his again, the scorn and disgust mixed in the green
of his irises was thinly veiled. Her ears reddened. He was rejecting
her? The pig.

"Hurry up and get dressed, Alex," she said calmly, as if the last two
seconds hadn't occurred. "We've got to get going."

"Marita, what part of the word 'no' do you not understand?"

Time to break out the heavy artillery.

"I understand it just fine. You are not understanding me. You *will*
come with me, you will *not* quit, and you will *not* speak to me like
that again."

"Or what?" he spit, the rage bubbling under the flat surface of his
voice.

She smiled sweetly at him. Saccharinely sweet, which, judging from his
recent choice of bedmates, he seemed to prefer.

"Or the police will be encouraged to re-open the case of Michael Cook's
death."

He glowered at her, then seemed to un-tense ever so slightly. "There
isn't any evidence. His ashes have been scattered across the Bay. And
there is a town full of people who will freely stand up and say he was
dying of a terrible disease."

She walked closer to the bed, and handed him the pants she'd tossed to
him earlier. He hadn't bothered to catch them the first time.

"Except his doctor," she purred silkily, as his pupils widened. "It was
very careless of you to let the man live once his usefulness to you was
gone. As you should know, if you give someone enough money, they'll
tell you anything you want." She paused, then drove the stake into his
shriveled, blackened heart. "They'll *do* anything you want."

She expected him to continue to fight, or to fly across the bed and
kiss her. This was how they had begun many of their sex sessions,
before, by trading acidic barbs until it shifted into a raw,
animalistic coupling. She was almost looking forward to that moment
again.

What she didn't expect was his swift resignation.

She watched him as he uncoiled his fist and took the pants from her
without speaking. He shrugged them on, and she was shockingly
disappointed when he was partially clothed. When he was dressed, he
walked over to the open window and looked out onto the harbor, still
silent for long minutes.

Before she realized what she was doing, she was behind him at the
window. She stood so close to him, she could feel the heat emanate from
his skin. He'd always reminded her of a fire, just threatening to burn
out of control at the slightest provocation.

Fire and ice, that's what they were. That's why they had worked so well
together. In bed and out of it.

When her hand slid around him to reach for his groin, he surprised her
one last time when he roughly shoved it away. His voice was like broken
glass, jagged and razor-sharp.

"Don't touch me, you bitch. I'll come back with you, but that part is
over. For good."

She regretted her miscalculation. Of course he wouldn't be interested
in her. Not here, in the little slut's bedroom. But when they were back
in DC, and he was behaving normally, like the Alex she knew, then she
had decided she would have him again. First she would make him crawl
for his betrayal, before she let him make her feel alive again, as she
instantly knew that he could.

"I knew you would eventually agree," she said, ignoring his last snide
remark.

"It's not as if you given me much choice." His back still to her, he
gave a sudden harsh laugh, almost to himself. His voice sounded
bittersweet. "I know when all my options have been narrowed to one."

She didn't know why that amused him, and she didn't care to know. There
was nothing funny about that truth.

After all, it was hers as well.

+++++++++

Ten fucking days, Alex thought savagely. Out of thirty years, he was
allowed to have ten fucking days of happiness.

Somehow the math just didn't seem right.

Marita had a point, although he had no intention of informing her of
that. He *had* been careless. He should have killed her when he had the
chance, instead of simply leaving her in the motel. How could he have
forgotten how needy, how desperate, she was?

As desperate as he had been, before Kim.

<Kim.> The indelible image of her, joined to him in the moonlight last
night, rocketed through his system, causing him to twist uncomfortably
in the passenger seat.

He forced himself to push all thoughts of her aside. If he allowed
himself to think about her, he wouldn't be able to keep his focus. And
he needed all his senses sharp right now. He had to figure out a way to
get Marita's guard down, so he could do what he should have done that
first night.

Clearly, his normally acute sense of danger had failed him when he
needed it the most. He was only grateful that Kim wasn't in the house
when Marita had arrived. Then he gave himself a mental head slap. Of
course she hadn't been. The Ice Princess had waited until they were
apart, before she moved in for the kill. She was as manipulative as
ever, he observed wryly.

He had debated killing her right in the bedroom, but had dismissed the
idea immediately. No point in tangling Kim up in his crimes. Moreover,
he wanted Marita out of Dunlap as quickly as possible. God only knows
how long she'd been there already; if she'd spoken to anyone beyond
Mike's doctor, he or Kim would have heard about it by now. It was a
small town, close-knit, and people there looked out for each other.

He'd been considering asking Kim to live there with him, too. Tonight,
when he was going to ask her to marry him. He should have realized how
impossible that idea was, how arrogantly complacent he'd been. How
stupid of him not to have asked her when he'd had the chance. How
careless of him not to have run away with her that first night, or at
any point in the last ten days. He'd let his guard down around Kim,
allowed himself to feel whole and good about himself, and Marita had
swooped in like a hawk, hell-bent on destroying him yet again.

Now he was paying for his foolhardiness, trapped with a woman he
loathed as they hurtled down the highway back to Washington. He watched
her under his lashes, pretending to be napping as she drove, trying to
uncover any chinks in her armor.

Marita Covarrubias was cold, conceited, selfish, calculating, and
desperate to survive. For what purpose, he wondered. Why did she even
want to live? She had no family, no friends, no life outside of the X
Files. Just like he had had, before he found what he'd been missing all
along.

"Why did you come back for me?" he asked.

Her hands gripped the wheel a little harder, then she released one and
waved it casually in his direction. "I told you, there is work to be
done. It's not over yet."

"But why me?" he prodded. As far as he was concerned, even if she was
right, it was time for someone else to do the fighting. Scully and
Skinner finally believed, and Mulder's disappearance would compel them
to see it through to the end. It was their turn to take up the battle.
He had done his part, and now he was finished with it all.

"You're the only one left," Marita replied, her tone chilly, and she
waved her hand again. The scarlet polish on her fingernails looked like
the bloody talons of a vulture. "Believe me, if there was anyone else,
I would have left you there with your little girlfriend."

She was lying, he recognized. The way her hand fluttered over-
dramatically gave it away. Marita normally moved very economically, her
gestures tightly held in at all times. And then he re-played her last
statement in his head, this time catching the slight emphasis
on 'little girlfriend'.

It amazed him to realize she was jealous. It seemed improbable that she
had feelings for him, though. She insulted him continually, she had
betrayed him to the Group, she treated him as something not worthy of
scraping off her shoe. So what was she envious of?

Perhaps it was just about sex. She had been staring at him rather
unsettlingly before he'd gotten dressed, as if he were a fly caught in
her spider's web. And she had attempted to grab his dick. But he hadn't
gotten the impression the last time they'd fucked that she'd even
enjoyed it. He tried to remember what sex with her had been like before
she'd betrayed him, and much to his surprise, he couldn't. All he could
clearly recall was kissing her just to stem the flow of cruelty spewing
from her mouth. Now that he'd learned what making love was, Alex was
grateful the memories of sex with Marita and any of his prior partners
were so dim. That she could possibly want a repeat of their previous,
nearly violent fucking was unimaginable to him, so he dismissed it as
the root of her rancor.

He repeated their entire conversation back in his bedroom again in his
memory. She obviously wanted him to mistrust Kim's feelings for him,
hinting that she'd only approached him for monetary gain. He supposed
he was lucky that his self-esteem had evolved so much over the last
week and a half, or he might have believed her. Certainly the crack
about his childhood had inflicted the damage she'd intended.

As had the reality that there were many people, just as he had once
been, who would do anything for money. After all, he thought
ironically, hadn't that been how he'd convinced the doctor to give him
the morphine code in the first place?

But money didn't motivate Marita. She had come from wealth, as he knew
from meeting her father, before he had died in the fire with the rest
of the Group, and she still carried herself as if she had plenty of it
to this day. Perhaps she did; he hadn't kept track of her after Fort
Marlene. Correction, since the day she stole the boy from him.

So what drove her to claw for survival? What the hell did she want? If
he could figure it out, then he would discover *her* weakness, and he
could keep Kim safe.

"Marita, have you ever been in love?" he asked. Maybe the solution was
right under his nose, it suddenly occurred to him. Maybe they were more
alike than he'd imagined.

She gave a brittle laugh. "Why do you care?"

"We are going to be working together again. Perhaps a little honesty
would help us trust the other this time around," he lied smoothly.

She considered that for a few silent miles. "Once."

"What happened?"

A falsely nonchalant shrug. "He died. Didn't see the warning signs of
obvious danger."

"Do you still love him?" Alex felt like a jeweler, delicately tapping
away at a diamond to uncover its facets.

She eyed him accusingly, then turned her attention back to the
road. "Never mind," she said abruptly. "I don't wish to talk about it
further."

Damn. Apparently he could scratch money, sex, and love off the list of
possibilities. And he was drawing a blank as to what other incentives
would get her off his back. Any kind of religious fervor was
ridiculous; Marita was the least likely candidate for a nun's habit as
he could imagine.

He settled back into his seat, frustrated, watching her turn the wipers
on as large raindrops began to fall. Looked like there was a storm
heading for home, he mused absently, and then nearly laughed aloud.
Home. He'd never called it that before. But he realized that it was.
For the first time in his life, he had a home. And come hell or high
water, he would get back to it.

More miles passed, as he tried to come up with another way to escape.
His rage toward Marita had dissipated, taking the sudden and profound
urge to kill her along with it. Alex had never liked using violence
before it was necessary, preferring to threaten or talk his way out of
a situation instead. And this wasn't who he was anymore. He didn't want
to go back to that bleak, atrocious part of his life.

But there didn't seem to be any other options. If he simply left her
again, she would either make good on her threat to have Kim arrested,
or would continue chasing them to the ends of the earth. He didn't want
to run anymore. But staying with the Ice Princess any longer than he
had to was out of the question.

So he began to resign himself to yet another death. Maybe if he thought
of it as a mercy killing, it would be easier to handle. She was already
dead on the inside. He was only putting her out of her misery. He'd be
helping her, just as he had helped Mike.

Still, what a hideous way to spend his birthday, he thought with an
inward shudder. And he had actually believed this one was going to be
different.

++++++

Kim sat on the rear stoop of the porch, her legs curled under her arms,
watching the rain fall. Her brain refused to accept the truth, but if
she walked through the damn house one more time, looking for what
wasn't there, she thought she might start tearing apart the furniture.

Alex was gone. She left his side for less than a hour, and as soon as
she did, he disappeared into thin air.

Gone. Except for the smell of him in her sheets, and Mike's ashes
spread across the water, there wasn't one fucking sign that he'd ever
been here. Every damn word he'd uttered was a lie.

Unfamiliar with the feeling of anger, she didn't know how to react to
it. Did one submit to the powerful sensation, or think it through until
it faded into something more manageable? She probably should have asked
Alex when he was telling her life story, she thought bitterly. Maybe
she would, if and when she saw him again, assuming he could still talk
after she'd rammed his thick head through a wall.

But she had learned a few things about him over the past week. For
instance, how he dealt with difficult emotions. That fisting thing had
apparently helped him through some very rough spots, so she decided to
give it a shot. Looking at her hands clench and unclench, she wondered
how this futile gesture ever gave him any serenity. All it reminded her
of was the urgent need to throw that same fist into his face.

Kim bit back her harsh laugh, finally understanding Mulder's and
Skinner's frustration whenever they encountered Alex over the years.
Scully's too. The three of them loathed Alex, which Kim had never quite
grasped. Logically, she knew -- and he had confirmed for her this past
week -- all the terrible, cruel things he'd done, but she had brushed
those things aside, refusing to *really* believe he was capable of any
of it. There had never been actual evidence of his alleged crimes, and
she'd worked for Skinner long enough to expect proof before she
believed, just like he did. Instead, she had chosen to believe that
Alex Krycek, the man they had, with good reason, feared and despised,
wasn't that vicious man at all. More than that, she had *wanted* to
believe the lie.

She wanted to believe. How ironic.

But now, faced with her harsh reality, she admitted to herself that she
had never truly allowed herself to see him as he was. Much like Alex
had done with her, Kim had kept a picture of him inside her head, one
of a pensive, shy, green agent with a ill-fitting suit and beckoning
eyes. An image of the one person within the walls of the JEH who ever
saw her for herself, who ever gave her a moment's thought.

A picture that bore no resemblance to the real Alex Krycek. Wanting so
badly to have someone acknowledge her existence, she ignored everything
else. She had buried her head in the sand, and now she was paying for
her naivet.

The rain plopped soothingly on the porch roof, but it was of little
comfort. Kim's gaze went beyond the yard, out onto the Bay, where she
could see the tiny numerous ripples of the raindrops on the otherwise
flat water.

"Gee, thanks for the advice, Mike," she muttered aloud. "Now what the
fuck am I supposed to do?"

<He loves you too-->

Kim startled. Mike's voice came from her head, she knew that. But it
sure did sound real. Her hand fisted again, until her nails bit
painfully into her skin, in a stupid attempt to bring herself back to
reality. But all the gesture managed to do was remind her of Alex's
hand in hers, in dozens of different moments over the last two weeks.

<Teach him how.>

She snorted. How to what? How to make her fall in love with him, then
leave just when she let her final barrier down? He'd learned that
lesson all too well.

<Teach him how to love.>

God, it sounded just like something Mike would say. He was more
gullible than even she was, and given her current predicament, that was
really saying something.

But through her rage, Kim could see images of Alex loving her. The look
on his face when she woke up each morning, excited and eager to start
the new day. The feel of his hand against her back, steadying her as
she described the heartbreak of miscarrying her child. The sound of his
gravelly voice whispering in her ear late at night, telling her,
without artifice, what she meant to him.

It couldn't have all been lies, could it?

<He loves you, Kim.>

"Mike, just shut up," she whispered to the water. As long as he was
talking to her, albeit in her head, she might as well respond. "This
time, you're wrong. I did what you said, and now you're not here to
pick up the pieces when it all fell apart. So don't push me, 'cause I'm
a little pissed off at you, too."

This wasn't getting her anywhere. Alex was gone, she'd been a fool, and
on Monday she was going to have to walk into Walter Skinner's office
and deal with the consequences of her actions. She'd consorted with a
wanted fugitive, had asked him to *commit a crime*, and that was not
going to go over well. Not that her boss had much of a leg to stand on
when it came to following the rules of ethics. She knew he'd done some
things over the years that compromised his integrity. Had some things
done *to* him, too. By the same man she'd been sharing a bed with
lately. So maybe Skinner would be more understanding than she was
assuming. Maybe.

Defeated, Kim stood up and walked into the house. As she stood in the
living room, hands on her hips, trying very hard not to burst into
tears, the doorbell rang. A weird shiver ran down her spine as she saw
Doc Rivers standing on her front porch.

What was Mike's doctor doing here?

"Kim, I'm sorry to interrupt you on a Saturday morning, but I need to
talk to you. It's important. Can I come in?"

++++++

By the time darkness fell again, Marita was beside herself with
anticipation. After all this time, well past the point when she'd no
longer believed it possible, she was sexually aroused, feeling more
erotic, more stimulated, than she ever had, even before the hospital.

Like a junkie craving a hit of heroin, she now craved the feel of Alex
Krycek's cock.

All day, they'd exchanged cruel insults and raw, biting words. She'd
had to change her panties twice, she'd gotten so wet at his continued
false rejection of her. She found herself amused at how stupidly
jealous she'd been of the other woman; Alex clearly would never have
left that hick backwater town so easily if he'd truly cared for the fat
tramp. And the excitement had been building steadily between her legs,
vibrating and pulsing, anxious for attention. The air crackled with
that addictive tension.

Marita, have you ever been in love? he'd asked her, and the question
had astounded her. Wasn't it obvious, she'd thought. Then she realized
that it wasn't; she'd kept that secret too well. And tonight, tonight,
when he fucked her into oblivion, she would cry out her beloved's name,
just as she had heard him do. She couldn't wait for that ultimate
moment of truth, of all secrets laid bare.

She looked herself over in the bathroom mirror, studying her face and
body with a professional, clinical air. Her perfectly groomed blond
hair, worn loose so he could grab fistfuls of it when he shoved her
head down to his cock. Her makeup flawless, the cherry-red lipstick
accentuating her supple lips to make her intentions clear. Her svelte
body encased in a black silk teddy, the dark fabric purposely
contrasting against the milky sheen of her skin. A garment he would
soon tear off with his sharp teeth.

She had considered taking him to her apartment, but preferred the
delicious irony of returning to the scene of the crime. Back to the
same dingy motel room where he'd left her almost two weeks ago.

When her inspection was complete, she opened the door to the main room,
letting the fluorescent light behind her frame her provocatively in a
brilliant silhouette. He sat slumped in a small rounded chair by the
window, his head facing the moonlight and half-cast in shadows. He wore
an aura of defeat, and she shivered once in delight.

Before, when she could feel things, she relished batting his ego
around, making him feel like less of a man before he would fight back
and show her exactly how powerfully male he was. And this back-and-
forth bickering that they'd engaged in all day had merely whet her
appetite for more. It was no longer about simply forcing him to accept
his punishment. It was about making her come fully, truly alive.

He pretended not to notice her, even after she cleared her throat, so
she walked over until she stood in front of him, waiting. After a long,
extended pause, his eyes shifted to her direction and ran the length of
her body. Since his face was half in the light, half out, she couldn't
see the look of lusty appreciation she knew must be in his expression.

"Does she look as good as this?"

A crooked smile slid across his half-face. "The two of you are
incomparable."

She rewarded his compliment with a preview of what was to come, sliding
her manicured hands across the silk upward, cupping and tweaking her
breasts shamelessly until her taut nipples appeared against the fabric.
It excited her as much as she knew it did him.

His charred voice cut through the darkness like a flashing sword. "And
you will never measure up to her."

She stopped her movements, aghast. She had been compared, and been
found lacking? She began to feel the inklings of rage, then realized he
was not yet done with the fighting aspect of their foreplay. He was
only goading her some more.

Marita decided she did not appreciate the changes in him, and he needed
a stern reality check. This inappropriate self-confidence needed to be
dismantled; it was getting in the way of her goals again. Just as it
had when she was forced to take the boy, in order to take him down a
peg or two. Of course, that hadn't turned out the way she expected it,
but that was behind them now.

So she would prove to him once and for all, that he had not changed
nearly as much as he claimed. That he was everything she knew him to be.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, and let her hands slither up
his denim-clad thighs suggestively. When he became aroused, as she knew
he would, he would not be able to deny that she turned him on. That she
was the woman for him, the only one with a claim on his attention.

But he slapped her hands away before they reached their goal. "Don't
bother. I've already told you it was over."

Glaring at him in frustration, she snapped, "You will do anything I
tell you, Alex, or a quick phone call to the police will ruin her
life." When he audibly sighed, she resumed her journey up his legs. "Or
perhaps I will call Skinner," she pondered aloud. "I presume any hint
that you have corrupted his secretary will result in her automatic
dismissal."

"You fucking bitch," he growled. "What exactly do you have to gain by
hurting her?"

He had to ask?

"You," she purred, thrilling when she felt a twitch in his groin.
Encouraged, she stroked a littler firmer, a little harder, her hands
itching to unzip his black jeans and take him in her mouth. It had
always been their prelude before he would pull her away and throw her
down, the beginning of their sensual dance of anger and power.

He gave a harsh laugh, and shoved her hands away again. "Just because
my dick moves doesn't mean I want you to touch it. The same reaction
would occur if you were a German shepherd rutting against me."

"Oh, but you do want me," she insisted. "I know you, Alex. I know how
you like it."

When she leaned forward to rub her mouth along his crotch, he tilted up
and yanked on her head. His fingers fisted so tight in her hair, tears
sprang to her eyes. They were so close, so on the edge of the mating,
she could smell her own juices.

"You don't know the first thing about me," he snarled viciously, his
face stony.

So she pulled out the heavy guns again, aiming for ground zero. "I know
you better than you know yourself, Alex. I know the hunger, the
desperation, the ambition that burns inside you. You like power, and
money, and will do anything to get it. Nobody gets in the way of Alex
Krycek's desires, do they? Should we ask Bill Mulder, Melissa Scully,
or even Michael Cook if they agree? Or maybe even Spender. I think a
jury of your peers, or especially your victims, would say that's
precisely the kind of man you are."

"You're wrong," he whispered, but she heard the beginnings of doubt in
his tone. Oh yes, they were very, very close. He was right on the verge
of breaking; she could smell his uncertainty, his self-hatred.

And that was what she craved more than anything.

Marita had a sudden flash of a girlhood memory. She was walking down
the hallway, when she heard two voices, male and female, grunting and
mewling like animals. And when she peered into her father's bedroom,
she saw him with one of the upstairs maids, thrusting himself violently
into her inert, half-clothed body. The woman under him looked
terrified, yet resigned, while her father wore an aura of victory and
shameless self-satisfaction as he came. It was the first time she had
ever witnessed a sex act, the only barometer by which she came to judge
all encounters.

And now she was about to re-create it again, with herself in the role
of her father, and Alex as the lowly servant. Or perhaps vice versa;
she hadn't yet selected submission or domination as her preference
tonight. Both had so many inherent pleasures involved.

"Am I?" she queried, her hands creeping up toward his waist. "I
remember so well how you would take me without any regard for my wants.
How it was between us back then." She paused, then stroked him steadily
through his jeans. Still not fully ready, she noted with a glimmer of
surprise. "How it can be between us again."

His eyes widened, as he paused to consider her words. "Is that what you
want, Marita?" he purred. "Is that what excites you?"

Unthinking, she nodded her head yes, his focused eyes intent on hers,
hypnotizing her.

He let go of her abruptly and leaned back into the chair, his face
shadowed again. For a long moment, he didn't speak. When he did, his
voice was shockingly gentle.

"It doesn't have to be like that, you know. Sex is much better when
there's emotion involved, when it's not only for the physical release."

An echo of his husky voice calling that woman's name as he climaxed
reverberated in Marita's ears. And the irrational, compulsive need, the
thing she tried so hard to deny, flooded her senses, and made her
abandon caution.

"I always feel emotion when we make love," she said plainly. It was the
first truly honest thing she'd ever said to him.

The one eyebrow she could see raised up in a question mark. "We never
made love, Marita," he responded in that same gentle voice. "We only
fucked."

Instantly annoyed again, she sniffed, "What's the difference?"

Another crooked half-smile. "If you have to ask, you've never done it."

"Do it with me." My God, was that even her voice, begging and small?
Yes, she supposed submission was what she wanted tonight. It had spoken
for her.

He fell silent for what seemed like an eternity, as her pathetic
pleading words withered away to nothingness.

"Get off your knees, Marita. There's no need to degrade yourself," he
finally said.

Her head snapped up to glare at him, but the frosty retort died in her
throat as she caught his expression. He appeared resigned, and oddly
compassionate. This wasn't the same as before. But was it better?

"Go onto the bed," he urged her. "I'll get a condom."

Yes! her body screamed. The vast relief, mingled with the clutching
throb of need, controlled her actions like a zombie.

She scrambled up to her feet, and got into position on the bed, her
legs spread wantonly. In the darkened corner, she heard his duffel bag
unzip and a flash of metallic shine once in the moonlight.

But he stopped short at the edge of the mattress, and his shadow loomed
over her body, blocking all light.

"Come here, Alex," she crooned. Her hand traveled of its own volition
between her legs, ripping the soaked fabric apart with her nails, and
she slithered down the comforter so the balls of her feet hung over the
side, and he stood between her bent knees. Her fingers began rubbing a
circular path across her swollen, aching clit. Thank God, she was still
so close, so very close. Sometimes he didn't wait for her to orgasm
before he did, and she had become an expert at bringing herself right
to the edge before he would thrust into her, sending her flying across
the abyss with his initial plunge.

"Poor Marita," he said, as if he hadn't even heard her command. "We're
not so dissimilar as I thought."

"What do you mean?" she panted, wondering why he hadn't unzipped his
pants yet.

"Wanting someone from the distance, unable to say what we truly want. I
was the same way, you know."

This was the closest he'd ever come to admitting he cared for her, and
she was rendered speechless by his words. Her fingers kept moving
against her clit, thrusting inside, then out, stroking herself
insistently, all decorum and restraint gone. As she came, she would
tell him the real truth. Although she was the one submitting, it was
not to him. The emotion she felt when they fucked had never been for
him.

"Do you want to learn how to fly, Marita?" he asked suddenly.

<What?> She looked up at him, but could see nothing but an inky
blackness.

"Do you want to feel free, uninhibited?"

"Yes," she moaned, completely capitulating to her need. "Please hurry,
Alex. Say my name as you do it to me." And I will say the one I am
forbidden to, she thought.

She still couldn't see his face as he towered over her. Her free hand
grasped at his belt buckle, clumsily attempting to loosen it as her
other hand brought herself rapidly to climax. She climbed so fast and
so high, knowing what was about to transpire, it felt as if she were
dying.

His sibilant whisper rushed through her veins like a dark
poison. "Marita," he said, and her eyes clamped shut as she came, her
body arching toward his, her hand gripping his waistband.

She never saw his arm raise, never heard the quiet sneeze of the
silencer. Only a brilliant flash against her closed eyelids that
coupled with her dazzling, long-awaited release.

Daddy, she thought, as she burst. I love you.

END PART 2 of 3, Chapter 2

++++++++

Hollow Man
PART 3 of 3, Chapter 2 of 2

By the time Alex reached the outskirts of Dunlap, he was soaked to the
bone and painfully exhausted. All the rental car places in Washington
had been closed at this late hour, and he hadn't wanted to steal a car
to make his way back here, and taking Marita's was, of course, asking
for trouble. So he'd hitched rides when he could, but after a few short
minutes of respite, the drivers of the cars and trucks had pulled back
over and asked him politely to get out.

Once again, people scurried away from him in fear.

He wanted to laugh at the irony, but instead could only manage a choked
sob. His only prayer, his last hope, was that Kim wouldn't reject him
as well.

He walked on in the rain, his feet ignoring the command from his brain,
ordering them to stop, to turn around, and run as far away as he
possibly could. She had said she didn't blame him, but that had been
for things he'd done in the past. Not for his actions now, in their
present. He'd done exactly what he'd feared; he'd destroyed everything.

And yet he couldn't stop. He couldn't *not* go to her, not when he
needed her so powerfully. He couldn't let Marita win.

He shuddered at the thought of her name. The ugly, repellant images,
the vituperative words she'd flung so ruthlessly at him swirled in his
mind, blinding him. The massive eruption of blood, the carnal depraved
look on her face as she'd died, burned into his retinas. He didn't even
want to think about the fact that she'd called her father's name as she
orgasmed. He'd already thrown up a couple of times on the way here at
the memories.

'I know you better than you know yourself, Alex.' Her voice taunted him
mercilessly as he got closer to his home. He was terrified that she was
right.

He snorted. <His home>. He didn't deserve to call it that. He didn't
deserve any of what he wanted so badly he could taste it on his tongue.

But still he headed for it.

As he reached the driveway, he stopped in his tracks. The windows were
lit invitingly, and he saw a familiar red flash of hair at the one just
by the door before it disappeared as quickly as he'd seen it. She'd
turned away in rejection when she spotted him, and was probably locking
the door to keep him out. Alex wished he hadn't thrown the damned gun
along with his bag into the Potomac, so he could now turn it on himself.

Then the front door flew open and he watched as Kim raced down the
steps, running toward him. Within seconds, she held him tightly against
her, and for a moment he could only stand there in shock. From a very
far distance, he heard her voice against his neck.

"Oh God, Alex, I was so worried! I was so scared she had hurt you."

He pulled her away from his body, his hand in her hair as she rapidly
got as drenched as he was in the downpour.

"M'so sorry," he started, but she cut him off.

"Don't. Oh thank God, you're back."

She flung her arms around his neck, hugging her to him fiercely, her
limitless faith and unconditional love for him swamping his system with
relief, and after a brief second, he felt his own arms wrap around her
gratefully. <This. This was who he was. Please, God, let that be true.>
His real arm tightened its hold, and he picked her up, so their faces
were parallel, their mouths instantly seeking the other.

"I love you, Alex," she said against his lips, and repeated it into his
mouth. "Love you."

It was only the salty taste that alerted him to the tears on both of
their wet faces.

Gradually, he put her feet back on the ground, and she pulled away from
him, and tugged him inside, out of the rain. Once inside, she stopped
them in the foyer, her gaze dipping to her white, drenched t-shirt, and
then spinning back to face him, her hands running over his chest,
concerned.

"Are you hurt, Alex? Did she injure you?"

He shook his head no, as his vision slowly focused on the diluted pink
on her chest. <Blood>, his over-stimulated brain cells acknowledged. In
embracing her, he had transferred Marita's blood onto her. He'd let his
crimes against humanity touch *her*.

The enormity of what he'd done staggered him, and he fell back against
the door, his knees buckling out from under him. She caught him before
he slid all the way down, her shoulder snagging under his, holding his
boneless body upright as much as she could.

"Alex, you're shaking! How hurt--"

"It's not mine," he managed to choke out. Her hands froze against the
buttons of his shirt.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"Oh God, Alex..." she whispered.

"I killed someone," he blurted out. "I'm so sorr--"

"Marita was an evil, twisted, horrible creature," Kim swiftly
interrupted his confession. "She was heartless and cold, feeding off of
other people's weaknesses, and she deserved everything she got. She
used everyone, including you, that she ever came into contact with.
Don't apologize for protecting yourself from her. I'm just glad you got
away safely."

How did she know who he'd meant? Then it struck him she'd said "she"
when she'd taken him in her arms outside in the rain.

"How...."

"Doc Rivers came by this morning. He said that a blond woman had come
by his office yesterday, trying to bribe him into telling her how Mike
died. When he described her, I knew who it had been."

"Did he tell you he took her money?" he said numbly, still absorbing
her quick-fire understanding of what had happened.

Kim's voice was firm, demanding his weary brain's attention. "If that's
what she told you, then she lied, Alex. He never told her a thing."

"Why not?"

She smiled. "Because he didn't want to cause you any trouble. He
confessed to me that he'd wanted to help Mike die all along, but was
afraid of getting caught and losing his medical license." She tilted
her face up to his. "We all needed you to do what you did. We needed
you to be the person you are."

He closed his eyes, the tears still running down his cheeks. "I'm not
who you think I am."

"You are exactly who I think you are," she said vehemently, and he
wanted so badly to believe her.

"I'm not. I want to be, but I'm not," he argued. Please, Kim, convince
me otherwise, he thought.

She grabbed his chin so he had to face her, and saw those wonderful,
trusting, clear eyes looking at him. "Do you still love me, Alex?" she
asked.

"Of course," he said automatically, offended she even questioned it.

"Even though I'm a criminal?"

<A what?> He stared at her, dumbfounded.

"You heard me," she continued. "Alex, I *hired* you to kill someone.
Then I lied to the police, and helped you destroy the evidence. Doesn't
that make me just as guilty as you, in the eyes of the law?"

Oh God. Marita had threatened him with that same information, but Alex
hadn't entirely thought that through to its logical conclusion. Kim
obviously had, and she was right. Despite her good intentions, and
Mike's desires, she was an accessory to murder.

"I'm so sorry, Kim," he whispered, horrified that he had been so
careless, yet again. How could he not have seen that before she or
Marita had? How could he have let this amazing woman come within
striking distance of any of the crimes he'd committed? All he'd ever
wanted to do was protect her from harm, even if it meant denying
himself the joy of loving her, and he had failed spectacularly in his
goal.

Kim's eyes widened. "You didn't think of that, did you?"

Alex shook his head. "I think I missed that class in college," he joked
weakly.

She caressed his cheek, wiping the dampness from his face. "Well, then
I guess it's a good thing I've worked at the Bureau for so many years.
I knew what I was getting into before I called you that night. So let
me ask again. Now that you know I'm a criminal, do you still love me?"

Loving Kim was as vital to him as breathing. There wasn't a doubt in
his mind on that score. "Yes," he said firmly.

She gave him one of her brilliant smiles, the one that instinctively
made his toes curl in delight. "Then it seems pretty hypocritical of me
to turn my back on you for doing the same thing. Nothing's changed,
Alex. You are exactly the same man you were this morning, the same one
you were the night you agreed to help Mike die. You haven't changed.
You were brave when the rest of us were frightened. You took the risk
we wouldn't. And you were brave again, tonight. But you're still a
loving, generous man, Alex." She paused, then leaned up to kiss him
lightly. "Come on upstairs. Let's get you out of those wet clothes."

He wanted to protest, to ask her to keep telling him how brave, how
loving, she thought he was, until it sunk fully into him, but when he
looked back down at her chest and saw that they were both soaked in
blood and rain, he acquiesced. So he found his bearings and stood up on
his own, and she took his hand to lead him upstairs to the bathroom.
Within minutes, their ruined clothes were in the wastebasket, his arm
was on the sink top, and they both stood under the warm soothing flow
of the shower, soaping each other up and letting all the pain and the
memories rinse away.

He looked down at their feet, and saw the water, swirling and pink, as
it drained. The image of Marita's scarlet-tipped talons, clawing at his
crotch and hers as she died, flew back into his mind. His stomach
flipped over in response, sickened. Thank God she hadn't left a mark on
him, or he didn't think he'd ever be able to let Kim touch him again.

"It was so bad, baby," he whispered. "I...I tried to think of it as a
mercy killing, but it was....awful."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No, no. I just want to forget it. Want it to go away."

She leaned up, stroking his wet hair, her expression remorseful and
grim. "I'm so sorry, Alex."

He blinked at her. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, it was. I should have known she'd show up."

"What? I thought you told me you didn't know her," he said, confused.
He'd told her, during his endless talking jag, some of what had
happened with Marita, but certainly not the fact they'd had a sexual
relationship. Even the thought of it had made his skin crawl, once Kim
had shown him a much better side of love. One he wanted to be reminded
of as soon as humanly possible, to erase the terrible images that still
raced through his mind.

"I didn't. But people never notice me much at the Bureau, so I can
observe them freely. I know what kind of woman she was, cruel and self-
serving. She barely acknowledged anyone existed besides herself. Except
for you."

"Me?"

Kim nodded. "Yes, you. As focused as you were on me, that's how hard
she watched you. But it was very different from the way you looked at
me. More possessive, like she owned you. At one point, it even appeared
that it wasn't even you she was staring at, like in her mind you were
someone else entirely." She gave a little laugh. "And she was so full
of herself, she couldn't see how you wanted nothing to do with her. So,
really, it's not surprising that she came here and somehow forced you
to leave with her. I'm only amazed she didn't do it sooner."

He wondered that himself, but had no desire to probe into Marita's
twisted psyche. He'd gone far enough earlier tonight, and he regretted
it still. "She threatened to have you arrested, Kim. That's why I went
with her. For no other reason. You have to believe me."

"I do," she answered, smiling. "I'll admit, when I came back and saw
that you were gone, I did blame you, and me. Hell, I even blamed Mike,
I was so mad. But I've had all day to think about what Doc said, and
why you would disappear like that. I know who you are, Alex, both the
good and the bad. When I looked at both sides of you, not letting my
feelings for you cloud my judgment, I realized I didn't have any doubts
as to what you would do in this situation. And I knew you would come
back, if she didn't catch you unawares again."

The onerous burden that had weighed him down the entire trip here was
slowly lifting, as Alex began to realize that everything would be okay
eventually. Kim didn't judge him, she still loved him, and he didn't
have to worry about her safety anymore. Or his own.

He looked down at her, her hair wetly sleeked back so the outline of
her heart-shaped face stood out in bold relief. Those miraculous gray-
blue eyes, the ones that viewed him as the man he'd always wanted to
be, smiled joyously at him.

"Yeah? How'd you know that?" he asked, the beginnings of a smile
flickering at the corners of his mouth. He'd been positive, just a few
short hours ago, that he'd never be able to smile again.

"Because you're a survivor, Alex. It's one of the many, many things I
admire about you." Then her face creased into a grin, with full dimples
winking from both cheeks. "Besides, I knew you'd be curious about your
birthday present, ya big romantic marshmallow."

He had completely forgotten it was his birthday. Again. Or maybe it had
already passed; he didn't have any idea what time it was. But it didn't
matter. She'd given him more gifts than anyone ever had, and she did it
every day, regardless of what date was listed on a calendar page.

She started to say something else, but he shushed her. Turning off the
water, he led them out of the shower, handed her a towel, and started
wiping himself down. When he saw that they were dry enough not to soak
the sheets, he scooped her up against him as she squealed, and walked
them into her bedroom.

Their bedroom, he reminded himself. As he rested her on the bed,
settling himself in next to her, Kim said conversationally, "Doc gave
me back the money today. He said he didn't want to take it originally,
that he would have gladly just given you the code. And he didn't want
you to think less of him."

"Why would he care what I think?" he asked.

"He said that you were courageous enough to help someone you didn't
even know, and that he was merely following your example. And that by
returning the money, he was as complicit as we were, so if for any
reason a question was raised, he would stand up next to you and deny
everything. So you wouldn't have to worry about someone like Marita
ever blackmailing him again."

Alex closed his eyes, both relieved and strangely honored. And kicking
himself for ever believing one word that had spewed forth from that
disgusting mouth. He would not allow Marita to poison this too with her
spiteful venom. She was gone, and her death should be firmly put in the
same category as Spender's. Good riddance. So he pushed the memory out
of his head for good, and concentrated on what was truly important.

"Well, you certainly knew what you wanted," Kim laughed breathlessly,
as he tugged her so she lay sprawled over him. Exactly the way she
looked last night, he decided. And that was all that mattered. Just the
two of them, and that one breathtaking, exhilarating moment, that he
wanted to repeat over and over for the rest of his life. Any child
created from a moment like that couldn't help but be anything but
perfect. And treasured.

"There's only one thing I want for my birthday," he said, the smile
glued to his face.

She lifted a coy eyebrow, and he chuckled. "Okay, two," he admitted.

"What's the first?"

He took her hand, and brought her knuckles to his lips, kissing her as
he had that very first time in the diner. That moment seemed so far
away, and yet as if it occurred two seconds ago. Everything he'd ever
believed in had changed since then, and yet the basic core values
remained the same. His coping mechanisms, his self-taught ability to
separate what he felt from what he did, had never been the success he
assumed. He had *always* emoted, whether it were hurt or anger or joy,
but now he allowed himself the consequences that went with such human
endeavors. He'd only needed her to teach him that.

"I want you to marry me, Kim," he said, as her eyes widened, her breath
catching in her throat. "The greatest gift you could give me is to
accept. To be your husband, a real one, to have a life, a future with
you, is what I really and truly want. It's what I've wanted since the
first time I saw you, all those years ago."

"Alex--" she exhaled, but he put his finger over her mouth to still her.

"Let me finish. I should have said this earlier, and I want to make
sure I say it completely, now that I can." She nodded, her eyes trained
on his, the elation shining out of them like beacons on a
lighthouse. "I want to be the father of your children. I've had a
pretty horrid role model, so I'm sure I'll make mistakes as we go
along, but I promise you that I'll always be here. And if something
were to happen, like it did to Isabel, then we'll get through it
together."

He watched her eyes fill with tears, and wiped the runaway one that
slipped down her cheek. "There's more," he continued. "Are you ready?"

She nodded again.

"I want us to have a home. Here. I want to stay in Dunlap, and love you
the way you deserve. There are two things you've said, and both keep
rattling around in my brain."

"What's that?" she asked, her voice thick.

"The first is that this is a beautiful piece of earth, and that it's a
wonderful place to raise a family. And you were right. This place feels
like home to me, and I want to put down roots here. I want our children
to know where they're from, to feel like they belong, to have all the
things I never did. And thanks to Doc, we can stay here safely. If not,
then we'll find another safe harbor for our family. A home."

She smiled in agreement. "W-what's the second thing I said?"

"When Mike was dying, you said to him that you knew he was going to
change your life, and make it so much better than it had any right to
be. And that's what you've done for me. You've taught me how to fly, to
be alive as I'd never expected to experience. Now I want it all. I want
you to teach me how to be a husband, and a father."

Kim didn't say anything when he was finished. She only leaned her head
against his chest and kissed his heartbeat, her tears wetting his skin,
seemingly too overcome to answer. After a minute, stroking her damp
hair as she cried, he felt her shoulders begin to shake. Concerned that
she was about to completely break down, he lifted her head to catch a
glimpse of her beaming smile. It took him another minute to realize she
was laughing.

"Well, that's certainly better than what I was gonna give you," she
spurted out between delighted giggles. "I just got you another PeeWee
Herman video."

"Is that a yes?"

She stopped mid-laugh, and stared at him. "You mean I didn't already
say it?"

He shook his head no, waiting.

Kimberly Cook looked at him, her gray eyes enveloping him in happiness
and love and pleasure, filling him completely and permanently, and
spoke from her soul to his.

"Yes, I will marry you, Alex Krycek."

When he forced himself to drag his mouth away from hers, so he could
begin to unwrap his second birthday present, his eyes caught the time
on the digital clock in his peripheral vision. 1:43am.

The eleventh day of his new life as a whole man had already begun.

THE END

Whew! Made it all the way through - thanks for reading!
Please send any feedback to K2_fanfic@yahoo.com