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by Starfish Pairing: M/K Rating: R for language, I guess...although if m/m interaction bothers you, you might want to give this one a miss...heh. Spoilers: Well...is anyone not familiar with Sleepless? You, in the back. You might want to watch it first, or you won't get this. Large chunks of plot and dialog have been shamelessly plundered. However, let me say this is absolutely NOT canon. Please don't come whining to me about inconsistencies. This is AU. Things will happen differently, or the same thing will happen for a different reason. Just play along. Disclaimer: I think we all know this one by now. Not mine...but not really his, either. Notes: This is a companion/sequel to "Menemsha Beach," written for the many people who didn't want it to end. Frankly, I didn't either. It had nowhere to go but AU-land, so I gleefully packed for the trip. Thanks to Skinner Box, for the insight into the minds of adolescents, and for telling me how to fix it. Wildy gave me the title again, and I love her for it. And thanks to both of them for the unflagging beta help and constant encouragement. People have told me how much they envy me my perfect memory. If they only knew... Did they ever stop to think there are probably things I'd like to forget? Moments in time I don't want to keep? But I'm stuck with them all. Oh, they're not all right up front, that would make it impossible to function. But any little reminder, and I can recall the whole painful/embarrassing/horrifying incident, complete with smells, sounds and textures. Of course, there are compensations. Good memories, to go with the bad ones. And the star of one of my favorite memories just walked up to my desk. "Agent Mulder, it's the 302 for the Grissom case. AD Skinner just approved it." God, he looks like a geek. The hair -- I don't know what he's got it slicked back with, but he's used way too much of it. The suit's too big...he couldn't look worse if he was trying. The voice is different, of course. Low and a little gravelly. But his face is the same...I'd know the eyes anywhere. And the mouth.... I look down at the file he's handed me. "There's been a mistake. Some other agent's been assigned to it." "That would be me." I'm sure he doesn't remember me. It was only two days, eighteen years ago. Still, I stand up and shake the outstretched hand, hoping for a sign. "Krycek. Alex Krycek." I always called him Alexei, in my mind. I knew he hated it, like I hated mine; but it was a private name, just for me. He called it a 'baby name', and maybe it was, to him. But I loved the exotic sound of it. He was my first kiss, as I was his. One Saturday out of time on the Vineyard, standing in a circle of rocks on Menemsha Beach. The last moment of our innocence, frozen in my mind forever. And maybe I idealize it now, looking back, but that's what memories are for, isn't it? "Fox Mulder," I say to him, and his eyes widen a bit. Yeah, it's a stupid name. He never knew it, either. I was toying with the idea of changing it, one really big "up-yours" for my old man, but it never went anywhere. Alexei named me Brian for that weekend. After he left, I didn't want to hear anyone else use that name. And at the same time, I couldn't just take another one. So I decided to make do with my last name. It works fairly well. I've never fit in anywhere, so not having a socially acceptable first name is just one small item on the laundry list of how odd I really am. Right now, though, I want to hear him say it. "Agent Mulder?" "Call me Fox," I say before I can talk myself out of it. Hell, anything's better than Spooky, right? He grins, not like "ha ha that's a funny name," but more like an amusing memory surfaced. Maybe he does remember. Maybe he's frantically trying to think of a way out of this room right now, without giving up the 302 he's offered to share. After all, the phone number he gave me was no good. I forced myself to wait two weeks before I called, mostly because of how badly I wanted to hear his voice. One thing I did know about the scary world of dating is you should never seem eager. And then I finally dialed, fingers shaking like you wouldn't believe, and got a recorded voice telling me "The number you have reached is not in service at this time." I moped around the house for weeks, cursing myself for being so gullible. And still wanting to hear his voice. What if it was a mistake? Maybe I got the number wrong...I hoped so badly that, just this once, I had forgotten something. I tried variations of the number, transposing digits one at a time, for another two weeks before I gave up. Of course, the good that came from that is that my mother finally allowed me to get a dog. I think she was really worried about me. So I got a little beagle puppy I named Fred. God, I loved him. And he loved me, too. The first time since Sam was gone that I felt that. Somebody who loved me, no matter what I did. Looking back on it, with the magnifying glass of my Oxford education, that dog probably saved me. Such a small thing, really. Love. So here we are again, and I'm still looking for a sign he knows me. I can't go first. I can't go back out on that limb. I've almost sawed through it already, and the fall would probably shatter me. But if he could just talk me down, I'd climb out of this fucking tree, and stand on the ground again. "It's funny," he says, with a glint in his eye that I don't quite know how to take. "What?" "You don't look like a 'Fox.' You look more like a 'Brian' to me." And he smiles, that same sweet smile I remember. My body goes hot, then cold. My blood stops moving, and then I swear it reverses direction in my veins. Breathe. NOW. "I tried to call," I hear myself saying. "The number was disconnected." "My dad got transferred. Again. We moved to New Mexico." "Oh." "We should talk." "Yeah." Jesus, Mulder, you have a degree in...something, I can't recall just what...and a two-word vocabulary. What the hell is wrong with you? But I know. I'm drowning in memories, I can't stop them, it's overwhelming me like a tide. "No, I mean -- we really need to talk. But not here. I'll go get us a car, okay? Meet me in the garage." He looks a little worried now. Actually, he looks a lot worried. What, is he afraid I'll blow the whistle, tell all and sundry about our teen-age romance? Like that wouldn't ruin my career too. Calm down, Spooky, you're hyperventilating. Jumping to conclusions again. Hear what he has to say before you decide how to react. That sounded like Scully. She thinks it's cute to call me 'Spooky' sometimes. She always knows how to rein me in before I jump off the deep end. Mixed metaphors aside, she was the best partner I could have had. Doesn't freak out when I tell her things I'd never tell another soul. And for a good Catholic girl/Navy brat, she's surprisingly cool about my sexuality. Of course, in the last couple of years since we met that's been pretty much theoretical anyway. But things are looking up, on that score anyway. I hope. I don't think that 'They' realized that by splitting us up, they cut me loose from the anchor that keeps me grounded. I'm not really much for self-analysis (hah), but I do know that, like all children, I need limits. They thought I would stop investigating my X-Files without her? Right. She was the only person in the world who could make me stop. Skinner doesn't have a prayer. Meanwhile, as I stand here maundering, Alexei is downstairs probably thinking I ditched him. I head for the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator. Whatever he has to say, I'll listen gladly. If only to hear his voice again. *** *** *** By the time I get to the garage, he's parked by the elevator with the passenger door open waiting for me. Now would be the time to tell him that I drive, I am not driven. Well, what I mean is -- see, Scully never drove. But he's looking a little impatient, so I just get in. Fine, I'll be a passenger for a change. It doesn't bother me at all. Much. As he pulls out onto the street, I turn in my seat and look at him. He looks so different now, so serious and grown-up. "Alex, I can't believe this. The odds of this happening have got to be -- astronomical. How long have you been with the Bureau?" "Not very long. A little over a year. Is there somewhere around here we can get coffee and sit? Like I said - we need to talk." I direct him to an illegal parking space that's a favorite of mine -- it's great to have immunity from things like that. So we're not officially investigating right now. Your point is? I put the little card on the dash -- the one that says 'FBI Official Business', and lead the way to the nearest Starbucks. I know them all. This one has a courtyard out back that only the regulars know about. This time of day, it should be empty. Because no one in his right mind wants to sit outdoors in DC in August -- did you know that, because of the appalling heat and humidity in the summer, it was at one time classified as a hardship post for foreign ambassadors? True story. We order our coffee -- thanks be to whoever, he doesn't go for any of that nonsense they try to peddle here. Large, black. Thank you. No, don't tell me what kind of day to have, either. But the coffee's good. Outdoors to the courtyard, and it's empty, as I knew it would be. No, I'm NOT psychic; I'm just very good at predicting human nature. The tables are tiny, just big enough for a couple of cups and maybe a plate of muffins or cookies. But the seats are those circular benches that give you some space to relax. I let him choose the table and sit, then I sit next to him. He looks at me, surprised that I didn't choose the opposite side, as most people would. That 'personal space' issue defines what we do more than we know. I try to combat it whenever possible. It works well when interrogating a suspect, puts them on edge. Right now, though, it's meant to convey interest in him -- both personal and professional. I need for him to feel like I'm focused totally on him. Which shouldn't be too hard, because running through the back of my head all this time is the instant replay of that kiss. I'd really like to try it again. Does he feel it too? "All right, Alex, we're out of the car. We have coffee, we're sitting. Time to talk. Is this about the case? Or is it personal? Because either way, I'm all ears." "It's not about the case. Not directly, anyway." He's opening the coffee, trying to peel back the lid and get it to stay in place. Killing time, avoiding looking at me. I put my hand on his shoulder and he stiffens, then moves away. Shit. Okay, so he doesn't feel like that about me. I guess I can cope with that. Maybe. But right now, the pain in my gut and the flush on my cheeks are competing with the pounding in my ears. And my hand is still outstretched, hovering. I pull it back quickly, grab it with my other hand so it won't feel so lonely. "Just tell me, " I say. My voice is uneven, and I flinch at the sound of it. "Are you - are you seeing someone? Married?" "What? No, that's - Fox, it's not about that. I didn't come here to dig up the past. Hell, I didn't even know who you were. I can't even believe you remember me; it was - what? Eighteen years ago? We were kids." "I have a very good memory, Alex. And there's some stuff that you never forget. Like your first kiss." He blushes, and I know he's definitely remembering now. Good. "Okay, well, it's still not about that. I've been trying to think of how to approach this. It's not something I ever thought I'd be doing when I started out, but - shit. I don't want to do this. If there were any other choice - are you aware that you've made some enemies, Fox?" I gape at him. Fish-eyed stare, mouth open; very attractive. "Where are you going with this, Alex? What do you know about my enemies?" "I need to start at the beginning of it. Although it's hard to know exactly where that is, looking back. Part of it goes back to the Academy, I suppose." He turns toward me, his knee almost touching mine, brushing my pantleg. I can feel him twitching; he's nervous. "Did you know you're practically a course there? I didn't know it was you, but I've been following your work ever since I first heard about it. We used to get together at night, when we weren't so exhausted we couldn't stand up, and talk about stories we'd heard from 'The Real World' - the Bureau. Somebody brought your name up early on, said you were a brilliant profiler, but you freaked people out with your weird theories about aliens and the paranormal. Already had your own unit at Headquarters. The lines were quickly drawn between pro- and anti- Mulderites." He shifts again, withdraws his knee and stretches out his legs. Toys with the lid of his coffee cup again. "There were some of us who really admired your work, Fox. More than you probably know about, anyway." He peeks up at me again. Why is he so nervous? I know I have a bizarre reputation at the Academy. It actually surprises me more that there were so many people defending me. "Anyway, after graduation, I was assigned to the New York office." I make a face. He nods. "Yeah, I don't know how I got so lucky. I had put in a request to be assigned to the X-Files. I knew I had no chance of course, but I wanted to get it on paper that I was interested when a spot came open. I figured I'd put in a few years here and there in Criminal Investigations, learning the ropes and getting field experience. I wanted to stay on the East Coast - but New York! The place they send you for punishment...and I was fresh out of Quantico, no black marks, and I far as I knew, no enemies. So I was feeling a bit resentful. Subsequent events have led me to believe I was posted there with a purpose in mind - but that's getting ahead of my story. "One of the agents in the office...she - ah - found me attractive. It was a little awkward, I kept trying to be diplomatic; and then after about a month of invitations, I just told her I wasn't interested. The next day, it was all over the office that I was gay." "Alex..." "Don't interrupt, okay? I don't much like telling this story, and if you get me off track, I may not be able to get back on. Just listen. "So then it was extremely awkward, because I don't care what the handbook says about it, there is very little tolerance for queers in the FBI. At least, in the New York office. But getting transferred never happens when you want it to. I figured I could stick it out; show them I was just the same as they were. Of course, that never works." Empathy is not always my strong suit, but I can just imagine the hell that must have been. Coming out by choice is scary enough, being outed with malice aforethought (hell hath no fury, after all) when you're already the 'new kid' - wow. And from what he's said, he's been 'the new kid' most of his life. Damn. "I kept getting sent to work with the local PDs, and actually made a few good contacts. Either they hadn't heard the news, or they were a lot more open-minded than my colleagues were, because we worked pretty well together. I even halfway considered quitting the Bureau and going to work for the NYPD. But you would not believe what a cop gets paid in that city. I still have student loans to pay off. "After a year of this bullshit, I was summoned to the SAC's office. He introduced me to a man who said he had a special assignment for me. Would I be interested in a transfer? I nearly fell over my tongue trying to say 'yes' fast enough. I didn't even care what the assignment was, because there was nothing worse than where I was. I could not have been more wrong." I don't like what I'm thinking here. But how naive can you get? There's a reason 'out of the frying pan, into the fire' is a cliche, Alex... "He took me to an office in Manhattan. There was a group of old men there and the man who had brought me led me into the room as if I was on display at a meat market. I got a little nervous then, but it seems they were really only interested in you. More specifically, how to shut down your investigations into the X-Files." I can't believe what I'm hearing. I was RIGHT! I want to stand on the table and scream it at the top of my lungs: "I'm not paranoid, there's a fucking conspiracy!" But wait. He knows this because...he's a part of it. Son of a bitch. Now what do we do? I know they don't mind killing; Deep Throat is proof of that. I have to get him out somehow, and without causing them to suspect him of double- (or is it triple?) dealing. So he needs to do this job for them. But what they want is for me to drop the X-Files. My search for Sam. Which ain't gonna happen. And we're right back to 'son of a bitch.' "What are you going to do?" "Jesus, Fox, I don't know. They told me you were dangerous, for God's sake. They told me you couldn't be trusted and that you were going to ruin some very carefully laid plans with your investigations. No one could control you; you ran wild, ignored your AD and your partner. I was supposed to get close to you and figure out a weakness, something that they could hold over you to make you give up." "And now?" "What do you mean?" "Well, I've already come on to you once. You obviously know of at least one thing they could hold over me." "How can you say that? After what happened to me I would never out anyone." "Sorry." "No, really. You have to believe this, Fox. There is no force on the planet that could make me use that against you or anybody." "Oh." "And I...I wasn't upset about...when you put your hand on my shoulder. I just - well, it was hard for me to tell you all that. I feel like an idiot now for believing them. And I don't want you to think I was rejecting you, exactly, but how can I hope to have anything with you when I have this other thing hanging over my head? Do you understand?" Dammit, I did it again. I am the poster-child for paranoia. But he's looking right at me, daring me to believe in him. Daring me to take a leap of faith and trust him, an almost total stranger. And it's strange; I do want to trust him. Quite possibly it's my libido speaking to me; but my brain doesn't usually give up all control, so I have to go with how I feel. "All right, Alex, I'm sorry. This is a bit of a shock, you know? Finding out that I've actually been barking up the right tree for a change is a little unnerving. Give me a chance, okay?" I try my most winning smile on him, and it works a little. A thought occurs to me. "Alex, I may have jumped to a bit of a conclusion just now. Uh, you do want out of this, right?" He laughs bitterly. "Hell, yes, I want out. But I realized about five seconds after I walked into that meeting that it was too late to say 'no thanks' and walk away. I've been having second thoughts ever since. And now that I know it's you, -- I just don't know how to do this and not lose everything." "It's okay, we'll figure something out. Two smart guys like us ought to be able to come up with a plan..." He looks at his watch. "Yeah, well, meanwhile there's the little matter of the Grissom case. Come on, we need to get going." Shit. My case. The one I've been hounding Skinner about. Oh yeah. I never used to get distracted. This is A Bad Thing. He's halfway to the car before I've even stood up. Back in the car, I grab the file and open it. I read the pertinent facts, of which there are damn few, as Alex drives. The crime scene's not worth going to, it's already been gone over and I'm sure the cleaning lady's been through it - no evidence of foul play means no reason to preserve the scene. But the 911 tape is evidence of something, and it's still an unexplained death. I'm itching to get started on this case, but - "I thought we'd start by checking out Grissom's lab, Fox." "What? I mean, yeah, that makes sense. We have to start somewhere, and I have no better suggestions." "Okay, I booked two seats on the 2 PM flight to La Guardia, so get a move on." I look around and realize we've stopped in front of my apartment building. How did he -- "How did you know where I lived?" He raises an eyebrow. "Fox, remember who you're talking to. I'm a trained investigator. It's in your personnel file." "Which is supposed to be confidential." "Yeah, well, you weren't supposed to know about it. Did you know that the picture makes you look like Richard Gere?" "From your mouth to God's ear. So why are we outside my apartment?" He's speaking very slowly, like you would to a child. "Don't you want to pack for the trip? We're going to New York." I used to be a trained investigator too. I used to have a brain. "I live about three blocks from here. You go pack and I'll come back for you." "Okay." I get out of the car and watch him drive away. How did he get to be in charge? What did I miss? Damn. I always keep a bag packed ready to go in the closet, all I need to do is put a couple of suits in a garment bag and I'm ready. While I'm waiting I remember to call Scully. I try to think of a name she'll recognize and come up with 'George Hale,' a blast from the recent past. It takes a little convincing and a promise of a really nice dinner, but she agrees to fly up to New York too and do the autopsy on Grissom. We'll meet at the morgue after I get done at Grissom's lab in Stamford. I don't tell her about Alex yet, I figure that can wait until she meets him. They should get along great. I run across the hall to leave a note for my neighbors that I'll be gone for a couple of days. They're really great people, very friendly. They don't mind keeping an eye on things while I'm out of town. I hear a car horn in the street and head downstairs. Sure enough, he's back. I'm still not driving. We have to figure this out. I'll try the indirect approach. "Y'know, Alex, I usually drive." "Really? Well, this will be a nice change for you then, won't it?" He smiles. I think I'm in over my head. "Just get us to the airport." On the plane, he's very quiet. I'm studying the case file again, but I feel him studying me. I have to say something; he's looking even more worried now that it's out, this big secret that could have destroyed me. "Alex, I can't think about this right now. We'll get through this case, figure out what killed Dr. Grissom, and then we'll deal with Them. And Us. But I need to concentrate on Grissom now, okay?" Damn, that sounded a little condescending, didn't it. But he shrugs and just leans back and closes his eyes for the rest of the flight. *** *** *** At Grissom's lab we find out some very interesting and frankly scary things about sleep deprivation and the manipulation of the mind. Alex asks some good, intelligent questions, and I show my surprise a little too much, I guess. He pulls me aside and says "I hope you don't think I'm just here to tag along quietly behind you, Agent Mulder. This is my case. And I was near the top of my class at Quantico. I don't ever play dumb to stroke someone else's ego, got it?" I get it. He's so different from Scully. Not that she's ever played dumb, but... it'll take a lot of getting used to. I think I'm looking forward to that. I guess I'm going to have to learn to play nice after all, if I want to work with him. And I do. Back to Manhattan to meet Scully. Alex knows his way around better than I do (since until recently he lived here, it's to be expected), but I'm confident I can find the morgue, and I finally convince him to let me drive. Of course, I take the wrong side street and end up going past it, but I say I'm looking for parking. From his snicker, I don't think he believes me. After flashing our badges to a couple of tired looking guards, we find Scully up to her little elbows in Grissom's body. She lifts out a goopy looking organ and weighs it. "Spleen or pancreas?" "Stomach, actually. Who's your friend?" "This is Alex Krycek. We're ... working the case together." Alex sticks out his hand, but Scully's all messy from the inside of the good doctor and ignores it. Then Alex gets his first look at the opened-up corpse. He turns pale green and coughs. I hope he makes it outside if he has to throw up. But he's fine, just doesn't look too closely at it again. Scully pulls me aside and starts telling me that the unusual rigor in the body suggests exposure to intense heat, but that there's obviously no charring of the skin. Alex comes closer to try and get involved in the conversation, but she's ignoring him. It's not looking so good for them getting along. Then my rational, face-the-facts ex-partner says something completely astonishing. "It's almost as if his body believed that it was burning." I look at her. She's blushing a little, like she does every time she has to admit I might be right about one of my "spooky" theories. But this one's all her own. I wipe away an imaginary tear. "Scully, I'm so proud of you." "Shut up, Mulder. Go away now." It's way past time to call it a night. Alex suggests a motel, and I magnanimously allow him to drive us there. The Bureau frowns on having to pay for two rooms when the agents are both male, so I ask for one with two kings. The clerk looks at me in a bored way and says they've got a king or two queens. Alex speaks up and says the queens will be fine. Well, of course they will. I wasn't going to get a room with one bed, for God's sake. I mean, I do have some common sense. When we're in the room, he turns on me. "What was all that back there at the morgue, Mulder?" "What happened to 'Fox'?" "Stop evading the question. You made me feel like a bad date you were trying to ditch. Your precious Scully wouldn't even shake my hand." "Jeez, Alex, she'd just been carrying around Grissom's body parts. Did you really want her to touch you? I try to avoid that, myself." "All right, but why didn't you tell her it was my case? That you're helping me out, instead of the other way around?" "It's not my fault she assumed --" "You could have corrected the assumption. Mulder, I've worked homicides before. Yeah, I'm still a little green, but this is my case. I would appreciate it if you would remember that. Because I sure as hell am not giving it up." "I'll try to remember." "Thank you. I'm going to bed." He grabs his bag and strides to the bathroom, not quite slamming the door behind him. He's so antagonistic towards me now. What happened to my Alexei? I know, he grew up, but I thought I felt the spark still there between us back at the office. He doesn't want to talk anymore when he comes out of the bathroom, so I get ready for bed myself. I wish he trusted me a little more, I wish I could tell him what's in my head, how I feel about him still. I don't think he can understand how I've carried his face in my mind for all this time, or how those few kisses affected me. When I entered my teens, I had thought that perhaps I might be -- well, in the seventies, 'gay' was not the word most people used. 'Queer' was popular, as well as 'faggot;' both said in appropriate tones of derision, of course. And so, in my typical fact-seeking way, I had done some research into what was wrong with me. Found out that it was not unknown for guys to think about other guys that way. But even though I had the information, I hadn't put any of it into practice. The other boys my age were only interested in girls - at least to hear them talk. Statistically, there's a chance I wasn't the only one thinking the things I was thinking, but I was damned if I was going to get beaten up trying to find out who else might be. Despite what Scully thinks of me now, I have always been a believer in science. But also despite what she thinks of me, I can occasionally control my impulses. Chilmark, where I grew up, is the quintessential small town. The whole island of Martha's Vineyard is only about four miles by six, and the towns on it are still full of people whose grandparents knew your grandparents. Any new tidbit of information was passed around very quickly, and something like 'that Mulder boy' being queer would've traveled at light speed. And I didn't want to be the subject of any more head-shaking. The winter after Sam was taken, I went all over town putting up signs. People started looking at me funny after a while. I hate that look of pity. And then I met Alexei. I believe in fate. Destiny. Whatever you want to call it, when I walked up to him on the beach that day, I felt like I was meeting an old friend for the first time. It's hard to explain, that feeling. Something clicks, and you know that you can really talk to this person, and they will really listen. Maybe you can tell them some of the secrets you have, and maybe you'll hear some of theirs. I felt it with Scully too, in a different way, of course. But the secret that I shared with Alex was one of the most important moments in my life. I really came to understand what I wanted that day. I wish I could figure out what Alex wants. *** *** *** I tend to wake up every morning at about the same time - convenient for my running habit. Since I'm skipping the run this morning, I use the time to watch Alex sleep. I'm hoping we can start fresh this morning, get past all the tension from last night. I can see he and Scully aren't going to get along without some intervention on my part. I run through various scenarios, trying not to sound like I'm saying "Don't pick on my boyfriend"... and I guess I must have dozed off, because the next thing I see is Alex leaning over me, shaking my shoulder. He's smiling, so I guess we're back to whatever passes for normal. "You getting up anytime today?" "Yeah, what time is it?" "Time for breakfast. Take a shower, I'm going downstairs to the coffee shop." And just like that he's out the door. Okay, well, I'm not such a heavy sleeper that I wouldn't have noticed someone moving around the room getting dressed. So, he was very quiet for one of two reasons: A) He's being considerate, or B) He's uncomfortable sharing a room with me. God, I hope it's A. Because B would be very bad. B would mean I have no chance, no hope...I sound like a adolescent with a crush, and then it hits me. Of course I do, because I AM, I mean, I was and it's still there, all of it. But I'm not in my teens now, I'm in my thirties and I know how to act like a grownup. So the bullshit has to stop. No more mooning over him. Work the case, solve the case, that's what we're here for. I'm downstairs in fifteen minutes, my pep-talk still fresh in my mind, when I spot him sitting at a table by the window. The sunlight is coming in and it's hitting the side of his face, it just lights him up somehow; and I'm staring again, just lost in the moment. I could look at him all day, I swear I could, no hardship at all. He looks over and sees me, and I stumble forward. Fuck, this is going to be impossible. I drop into the booth across from him. He smiles and says, "Hey, Mulder, I ordered you a coffee. Didn't know what you wanted to eat, but the waitress should be right back." "Thanks," I say. "So -- we're good? You're not still mad?" He looks a little embarrassed. "No, sorry about that. I just get really sick of being treated like the idiot cousin all the time. I went a little overboard with it because - well, because it felt really weird, like Scully was trying to shut me out, and I should be used to that by now; except I felt like THIS time I had a prior claim, I knew you FIRST, and that's just wrong. I mean, I shouldn't be like that, it's not about that, it's about solving the case and being professional. And I was mad at you for letting me down, which I had no right to be, and I guess I was really just mad at myself, too." "Jesus, Alex, take a breath." "I'm just trying to explain -" "Okay. It's okay, Alex. I'll talk to Scully, make sure she knows we're doing this together. The two of us have been very tight the last couple of years. We've adopted a kind of 'backs-to-the-wall' attitude since the X-Files were closed. But she doesn't realize you're on our side. She'll be fine once she knows." "Are you gonna tell her about - that?" "Which 'that' are you referring to? The 'Alex is working for the bad guys but don't worry, he's really okay' thing? Or the 'Alex and I kissed once upon a time and I'd like to do it again' thing?" "You would?" "Very much." "Dammit, Fox, don't do this to me in the middle of a coffee shop." "Just trying to get things straight between us. So to speak." He cracks a smile at that lame attempt at humor. "What happened to 'Let's solve the case first and then we'll worry about those pesky little personal details'?" "I never said that." "Anyway, what are you going to tell her?" "I'll tell her what she needs to know. That it's your case, not mine." The waitress finally shows up with our coffee and Alex's food and takes my order. She gives me the same strange look I always get, but I'm used to it. What's so odd about apple pie for breakfast, anyway? People eat apple danish all the time, nobody thinks twice. Alex starts laughing at me. "Cut it out. I happen to like apple pie." "It's not that - well, it IS that, but - you really don't care what other people think, do you?" "Not anymore. It saves time and aggravation. I just figure that my friends can take me the way I am, and the rest of the world can take a flying leap." "Oh. Well, as a personal philosophy, it's certainly - simple." "Thank you. I try to keep some things simple. Most of my life seems way too complicated lately." "You mean the X-Files?" "That and -- you've read my file. You know about Sam, right?" He nods. "It's all tied in together. I can feel it. Somebody somewhere knows what really happened to my sister, Alex. I know it sounds melodramatic, but I won't rest until I find out." He covers my hand with his own as it rests on the table, and squeezes gently. "Fox, I'll help you however I can. I promise, we'll find her." He removes his hand to finish his breakfast, but I swear I felt the spark again. I did. And he wants to help me. He doesn't question that 'alien abduction' story; it doesn't seem to faze him at all. And I wonder if I can get him assigned to the X-Files when I get them re-opened. Of course, if we solve this case, it would be a good first step. As we're paying the bill, Alex gets a call on his cell phone. It's his buddy from the NYPD, calling to say that he has something that might interest us. He can show us photos and the case file if we come to the station. "Mulder -" "I know, you're driving. Let's go." *** *** *** Alex reads from the file. "The victim's name was Henry Willig. Unemployed and lived on disability. Police found no indication of forced entry or struggle, no abrasions or contusions on the body and cause of death is being listed as a burst aneurysm." "So, why did your friend from homicide call us?" "Because the medical examiner called him. The autopsy revealed forty-three small internal hemorrhages and skeletal fragments. That doesn't just happen spontaneously. Not without some corresponding external trauma." "So what does the ME have to say about it?" "He said if he didn't know otherwise, he would swear they were gunshot wounds. Sound familiar? Gunshot wounds without bullets...a burning death without fire...Mulder, we have definitely got us an X-File." He sounds so happy about it. I could definitely get used to this. With some further reading of the files, we make a real connection between Grissom and Willig -- they were both at Parris Island, Grissom as a doctor and Willig as a Marine recruit. So it's off to the FBI Library to do some research. After an hour of poking at computer files (which Alex is extremely good at, by the way...I'm going to have to stop being surprised one of these days. At least I'm not showing it any more), we finally make the connections. The only survivor of Willig's platoon is a Corporal Augustus Cole. We track him down at the VA Medical Center in New Jersey. We're spending way too much time in this car. The doctor in charge of his case gives us some interesting news. Cole has been put into solitary confinement because he was disturbing the other patient's sleep patterns somehow. It brings back something from Grissom's own experiments -- he was inducing the dream state in patients who couldn't achieve REM sleep. I let this simmer for a while in the back of my head. We get to his cell, and he's not there. According to the desk nurse, he was checked out two days ago...by the doctor who's standing in front of us, blithering. I share a look with Alex. Two days ago was when it all started. "We need to get Cole's face out over the wire." Alex nods. "I'll take care of it." My cell phone rings, and I move away to answer it. A voice says, "Mr. Mulder. I have obtained some information that may shed some light on your current work. You must exercise discretion when we meet. If anyone follows you, I won't be there." "Wait a minute -- I have a partner. We'll both be there, or neither of us will." See, Alex? I can learn. "Mr. Mulder, the man you are working with is not --" "I know. But he's not what you think he is either. And we'll both be at this meeting." Back in New York, Alex and I walk warily into the abandoned warehouse where my mysterious informant has told us to be. A man in a trenchcoat steps out of the shadows behind some heavy machinery. "Who are you?" "Who I am is irrelevant. You should be worried about who your partner is." "I told you, I know who he is. And since you do too, I surmise that you work for the same people. So why should I trust you and not him?" "Because I'm here to help you." "Why do you want to help me?" "You think I want to be here, Agent Mulder? I don't want to be here." As I'm about to tell him I'd like a straight answer for a change, he hands me a folder marked all over with 'Top Secret - Classified' in bright red ink. "What is it?" I hand it to Alex, who flips through it "Data from a top secret military project. Born of the idea that sleep was the soldier's greatest enemy." "Of course. Grissom was conducting sleep deprivation experiments on Parris Island." "Not deprivation, eradication." "Why?" "Why else? To build a better soldier. Sustained wakefulness dulls fear, heightens aggression. Science had just put a man on the moon. So they looked to science to win a losing war." Alex gets in on the conversation now. He hands me back the folder. "And Willig and Cole and the rest of their squad were the lab rats." "Lab rats with the highest kill ratio in the Marine Corps. 4,000 plus confirmed kills for a thirteen man squad." "You think Cole's behind what's happening now?" "I'm not here to do your thinking, Agent Mulder. All I know is Augustus Cole hasn't slept in 24 years. There's someone else you should see. A member of the squad who was reportedly killed in action." "I thought Cole was the last." "His name is on the folder." I look at the slip of paper clipped to the front. 'Sal Matola, 2-Jays Café.' "So how do I contact you?" "You can't. So don't try. Mr. Krycek here can tell you how dangerous that would be. For both of us." "I may still need more." "You still don't get it, do you? Closing the X-Files, separating you and Scully was only the beginning. The truth is still out there, but it's more dangerous than ever. The man we both knew paid for that information with his life, a sacrifice I'm not willing to make." "Can you help us get Alex out?" "I don't know. It's not an organization with a good retirement plan. Usually people don't live long enough for that." "I realize that. Just -- keep it in mind. Any suggestions you might have would be helpful. With two of you working from the inside, there might be a chance." Alex's cell phone rings. I turn to look at him, and when I turn back, my reluctant informant is gone. "Mulder, Cole's been spotted in Queens. Evidently he robbed a drug store and is now holed up in a motel around the corner." This time I let him drive; no question. Speed is of the utmost importance; I don't need some trigger-happy member of the SWAT team shooting up our suspect. We get to the scene, and Alex takes the lead again. "Detective Horton? I'm Agent Krycek, this is Agent Mulder." "I've been waiting for you guys. I tried holding the SWAT guys back but they're getting a little antsy. For what it's worth, Cole didn't steal dime-one from that drug store, just a bunch of pills." "What kind of pills?" I ask. The detective looks at me blankly. Just then, we hear three gunshots. We race up the stairs to a scene of intense confusion. Alex is yelling for people to get back into their rooms, and then we hear the words that make it all that much worse. "Officer down!" One of the SWAT team is calling for an ambulance; another is trying to stop the bleeding of one of the victims. The other victim, to my experienced eye, is beyond help. I rush to the open window and check the street below, but there's nothing to be seen. Alex comes up behind me. "Mulder, those two men -- they shot each other. What's going on here?" He sounds as scared as I feel. This case is getting more and more strange. The cops had no connection to Cole. And how did he get them to shoot each other? And if he did that, could he do the same to Alex? Or me? We help in the clean-up and question the motel residents, but nobody saw or heard anything before the shots. Typical. So we follow the ambulance to the hospital, hoping that the other cop will pull through and be able to tell us what happened. I call Scully and tell her I'm faxing her the reports we got on the project, and also what happened tonight. There's a reason that you find a waiting area around every corner in a hospital. After an hour of aimless pacing and bad coffee, I need to call Scully. She's right where I knew she'd be, in her office filing her report. "What's up, Mulder?" "That second officer is still in a coma, so I don't think we can count on him to give us an answer." "I'm going over these reports you faxed me. They're incredible." "Well, the military already sent troops to radioactive mushroom clouds, I guess they figured they had to top themselves, right?" "Sleep eradication still doesn't explain the shooting of those two officers, or the anomalous autopsy results on Willig and Dr. Grissom." "Scully, I learned something at Dr. Grissom's clinic. About what happens to a person's cortex when you stimulate it with electricity." "They experience mild visual and auditory hallucinations, any first year med student could tell you that." "Right, like dreams. Well, what if that stimulus was to come from a remote source? What if Cole had somehow developed the ability to project his unconscious?" "Are you suggesting that Cole killed these people with telepathic images?" "Think about it, Scully. In all those years without REM sleep, maybe Cole built a bridge between the waking world and the dream world. A collective unconscious. And what if, by existing consciously in the unconscious world, he developed the ability to externalize his dreams and effectively alter reality." "Even if you're right, you'll have a much better chance of finding Cole if you work up a profile and try to surmise his next move." "All right, I'll sharpen my pencils." "So how's your new partner working out?" "He's all right. He could use a little more seasoning and some wardrobe advice. But he's a lot more open to extreme possibilities than. . ." "Than I was?" ". . .Than I assumed he would be." "Must be nice not having someone question your every move, poking holes in all your theories." "Oh yeah, it's -- it's great. I'm surprised I put up with you so long." "Idiot. I'd better go. I'll read over this report again and see what else I can come up with for you and the Boy Wonder." "Scully?" "What?" "Don't be too hard on him, okay? He's a good agent. And...well, this is really his case. I should have told you that before. He's letting me help, but he's pulling his weight the whole way. So keep an open mind." She sighs. "Okay, Mulder, I guess I can try." "Hey, Scully?" "Wha-at?" "Are you ... happy? Teaching, I mean. Because I don't want it to seem like I'm dragging you back against your will when we get the X-Files re-opened. And Alex, well, he's pretty enthusiastic about it. He told me that his first requested assignment out of the Academy was the X-Files. So I was just thinking..." "You were just thinking maybe Dana would like a normal job for a change? Mulder, you know I have a problem believing in all the weird stuff you believe in. But what I do believe in is you. Whatever bizarre twists the journey may take, we end up with a solution we can both be proud of much too often for me to worry about how we get there. So don't worry about 'dragging' me anywhere. I'm anxious to work with you again. Don't try to weasel out of it. Hey, wait a minute ... Mulder being gallant and unselfish ...I'm making a huge leap of logic here ... you're attracted to him, aren't you?" I can hear her smirk all the way from DC. "Cut it out." "Yes, you are. Hmm, I guess he is pretty cute, in that 'Clark Kent' kind of way. You're trying to get me out of the way. Well, it won't work." She stops teasing me and gets serious. "Mulder, just be careful, okay? Don't get in too deep until you know how he feels." I don't tell her it's eighteen years too late for that advice. "Yes, Mom," I say, and I hang up on her chuckle. When I turn, I see Alex standing there. He's smiling, so I guess he heard at least part of the conversation. He puts a hand on my arm and squeezes it briefly, and then says, "Let's go talk to Sal Matola. I got the address of the cafe." Sal Matola is a frightened man. He's heard about the killings and made his own connections to the dead men. We get a lot more of the story out of him, including the fact that the whole company went AWOL before one of the worst massacres of the war -- Phu Bai. The anniversary of which was the day that Grissom was killed. I'm still trying to tie it to Cole. When I mention his name, Matola nods. "Preacher? That's what we used to call him on accounta he was always reading from his bible, sayin' this and that about Judgment Day. Sayin' that we'll have to pay for what we were doin'. That's what he said back then, that's what he's sayin' now." "But why Grissom? He wasn't even there. He was never a part of the killings." "Sure he was. He's the one who made us what we were. Him and Dr. Girardi. He's the one that did the surgeries on us. It's because of them I haven't slept a night in 24 years." I get out my phone to call Scully as we're leaving. She can do the research on Dr. Girardi while we drive back to the hospital to see if there's any news. And of course, since I'm driving for a change, we get caught in a tie-up on the LIE. Alex doesn't say a word about it though. "So, Mulder, tell me why? Why now, why Girardi?" "He's the last man left besides Cole. Phu Bai was one of the bloodiest massacres in the whole war. There was a school -- over 300 children were killed. And no US troops were ever charged. I think Cole is trying to even the score." "Makes sense. But we still don't know how." "I may have an idea about that." But my cell phone rings before I can tell him. Scully's found Girardi in Boston. Conveniently, however, he's traveling to New York tonight for Grissom's funeral tomorrow. We need to get to Bronx Station in time for the 7:30 train from Boston. "Mulder, if you get off at the next exit, I can get us there." I go him one better and get out of the car to switch places with him. The traffic's moving just enough so that we can angle over, and by some miracle some of the other drivers even let us through. Only in New York. As promised, he gets us there just in time. The security office has a picture of Girardi, and we pass it back and forth as we scan the crowd. We have to split up; there are too many people here. Alex goes over by the doors into the station, and I walk down past the arriving trains. Maybe I should have warned Alex about what I think Cole can do. But if Scully doesn't believe me, what are the chances that anyone will? Even I have to admit it's a pretty wild theory. Then I see Girardi. I shout his name, and then Cole is behind him with a gun. I can't get a good shot at him, Girardi is in the way, and there are people everywhere. "Federal Agent! Drop your weapon!" He looks at me, fires two shots into Girardi's back, and then two straight at me. As I'm twisting out of the way, falling to the pavement, all I can think is "It's not real, it's not real..." Sure does hurt, though. I come to with Alex leaning over me. I remember the bullets tearing into my chest, but there's no pain now, no blood on my shirt. Alex looks pretty freaked out though. "Jesus, Fox, I thought you were dead. What happened?" "Cole shot me." "What are you talking about?" "I saw Girardi. Cole shot him, then me. Right over there. Where's Girardi?" "I didn't see him. Mulder, I didn't hear any gunfire. Just you yelling. I looked over and saw you fall. I didn't see Girardi or Cole." "Dammit, he was here!" "Let's go to the security office and look at the tapes." The tapes show nothing except what Alex saw. A crazy Fed waving a gun and then dropping. I ask the security guards to scan the other cameras, looking for either of the two men. Alex draws me aside. "I think the time has come for you to be honest with me, Mulder. Just what is this theory you have? What's the truth? There are things you're not telling me that I need to know." "It's just that my ideas usually aren't very popular." "I told you, I want to believe. But I need a place to start." He's right in my face, and I can't think of how to get out of this gracefully. What the hell, another look of disdain won't kill me, right? I'm used to it by now. But coming from Alex, it's going to hurt a lot worse. "I think that Cole possesses the psychic ability to manipulate sounds and images to generate illusions that are so convincing they can kill. How's that for a theory?" He looks thoughtful. "Puts a whole new spin on virtual reality but at least it begins to explain some things." I think I'm in love. "Agent Mulder?" It's one of the security guards. "We found something over at Track 17." We grab a radio and a map of the yard and bolt for the car. Five minutes later, we pull up beside another abandoned warehouse. I swear I spend half my life in one car or another, and the other half in abandoned buildings. It's possible I may need to reevaluate my lifestyle. We get the flashlights and draw our weapons. As we enter the building, we hear a scream. We start running, but it's dark. Flashlights can only do so much, and I hear water dripping around us. We come to a corner, and I stop Alex. The beam of his light picked up something -- there. On the floor -- a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, one lens cracked. Girardi's. I think I hear movement from around the corner, but it's muffled by the water. It's lighter there, though, and I leave my flashlight and we carefully go around the corner. Girardi is there, tied to a pole and slumped over. He's still breathing, just barely, but there's a nasty slice in the back of his neck, exactly where the surgery was that he performed on Cole's unit. Justice, indeed. "Alex, put pressure on the wound and call for back-up. I'm going to find Cole." "Mulder, be careful." "He's got no reason to kill me now. He's done what he needed to do. I think I can talk to him. Alex, I have to do this. You understand why, don't you?" He nods, and says, "He's the proof." As I walk away, I hear him on the radio requesting an ambulance. His voice is shaky, and I wonder how many of these situations he's actually been in, outside of Hogan's Alley at Quantico. I see Cole, standing at the end of a kind of hallway. The outside wall of the building is gone, and he's silhouetted against the evening sky. "Step away from the edge. Corporal Cole, I'm a federal agent, now please, step back." "Go ahead, shoot me." "That's not why I'm here. I'm putting down my gun. I just want to talk to you for a few minutes, after that, you're free to do whatever you want." "I'm tired." "I know." "Naw, man, you don't know. You have no idea." "One minute is all I'm asking." "One minute is more than I can give. My blood's boilin' in my veins. I can feel the air stingin' on my skin." "What the military did to you was wrong, but your testimony can help." I have never heard such anguish, such despair, in another person's voice as he says, "They cut out a part of my brain. They made me into somebody else. I can never get back what they took away from me, and I'm gonna stop them from taking anything more." Everything starts to happen so fast right then. Cole raises his right hand, and I see his Bible pointing at me. His eyes track past me, and I turn to see Alex, gun raised, walking down the hallway. "Alex, put the gun down. Did you hear me? Put it down." His hand is shaking, but not enough to spoil his aim, and he shoots Cole twice. Cole falls, and I rush forward. As I kneel down beside him, I see a look of utter joy come over his face. "Good...night," he whispers, and that's all. He's dead, finally at peace. I think how apt the phrase really is, in his case. Alex is frantically searching for something, and I assume Cole made him see a gun instead of a Bible, which is all he finds. He turns a stricken look to me and starts babbling, "Where's the gun? He was going to shoot you. I had to do it. They told us, don't try for anything but a kill shot. If it's gotten that far, you don't have time to miss. Don't get arrogant and try to wing him, nobody's that good a shot." I remember that too, from the Academy. It's very different to hear the words in a classroom situation or even in a simulated environment. Out in the field they're not just words anymore. I hear the sirens coming. "What about Girardi?" "Dead." "Let's go down and tell them where we are then." He nods mechanically, and starts to get up. He staggers a bit and almost falls, and I catch him and hold him briefly. His arms hang limp at his sides, though, and I ease back and look at him. I say gently, "Alex, you did the right thing. You absolutely did. And look at his face. See how he looks? He wanted to die, Alex. He's wanted it for 24 years. He doesn't blame you at all, and neither do I. Come on, let's go." I put my arm around him for support as we walk down to the car, but when we get outside, he moves away and I feel a little hurt. I rationalize that of course he doesn't want everyone to see him being coddled like a rookie, but still, I just want to help him through this. We're taken to the police station, and as expected, there are a lot of questions to answer. But since we both tell the same story, with the minor difference being what Cole was holding in his hand (and I say that I wasn't sure exactly what it was, until he dropped it); and since Alex knows a couple of the guys at the station, we get back to our motel room by 11:30. Once again, Alex immediately gets ready for bed, and he's asleep before I'm out of the bathroom. We'll be flying back to DC tomorrow, after he reports in to the old men. He's going to take them the file my informant gave us, and tell them that Scully's not a problem anymore, but that he needs more time to figure me out. That should give us a little breathing room. I sit back against the headboard of my bed and contemplate my situation. The case is over, for the most part. Usually I'm flying pretty high by this time, but I'm too wrapped up in Alex. You may have noticed I have a bit of an obsessive streak. Usually I'm totally focused on my work, which is why I don't have real friends except Scully. But the images of Alex from the past two days are crowding in with images of Alexei on the beach, and I'm in real danger of forgetting the Bureau entirely. Caught up as I am in my memories, I can't help but notice that Alex is starting to make some noises in his sleep. At first it's just mumbling, but then his legs start to move, and he's moaning. Shit. I should have made him talk to me about Cole. I should have insisted, not just taken his word that he was "fine, Mulder, don't worry about it." I sit on the edge of his bed and put a hand out to touch his shoulder. He's thrashing around now, muttering "no, no, don't," over and over. When I touch him, he starts awake and sits up, almost knocking me off the bed. I make a grab and catch his arm, and somehow manage not to fall on my ass. His eyes are open, but I don't think he's really seeing the room. "Alex? Hey, wake up now. It's okay, it was just a dream." He looks at me, and his eyes lock onto mine. He's shaking all over. "He was going to kill you, Fox. I couldn't let him do that. But I -- I didn't -- he --" There's nothing I can do but pull him close and hold him to me. His arms come around me now, and he holds on as the tremors slowly subside. I tentatively lift a hand to his head, and gently stroke his hair. This isn't about sex, it's about comfort, and even if parts of me aren't quite convinced of that, I can't take this any further tonight. There are some people who get excited by violence and death. I'm betting that Alex Krycek isn't one of them. But for now, he's allowing me to do this much, and I'm very happy to oblige. "Okay, Alex, why don't you lie down again? It's late, try to sleep. If you need to talk, though, I'm right in the next bed, okay?" He shakes his head and tightens his arms. Okay. "Do you want me to stay here?" In a low voice he says, "Yes. If you don't mind." "I don't mind at all. Move over a little so I've got some room, okay?" We lie down and he starts to relax. He mumbles something into my chest that I don't quite get the first time. When I ask him to repeat it, he says, "Thanks for putting up with me." "Are you kidding? I don't 'put up with' anybody, Alex. You're a good agent, and a good partner. What you did took a lot of guts, and I don't want you thinking any differently." "He didn't even have a fucking gun. I shot an unarmed man." "Dammit, Alex, don't piss me off here. I thought we were agreed on this. He was NOT unarmed. The gun you saw would have killed you just as easily as the fire Grissom saw killed him, if you believed in it. He killed at least four men in the past three days. "And let me point out another thing. He made you see the gun because he knew I had put down my weapon. Think of it as a twisted form of suicide if you want to. He knew if you saw the threat, you would have to respond to it. I'll say it again: he wanted to die. I have a feeling if we check the records of the other members of the outfit, we'll find a very high rate of suicide and high-risk behaviors such as heavy drinking and drug use." "Heavy drinking sounds pretty good right now." "No way in hell, partner. Get some sleep, you have a very important meeting in the morning." And for what I hope isn't the last time, we fall asleep in each other's arms. In the morning he's gone before I wake up. He's left a note, though. "Fox, Thanks for last night. I'll meet you at the airport, partner. Alex." *** *** *** Back in the office, I'm struggling with the inevitable reports. He's good at these, too. Somehow between us we make sense out of the whole thing, without using the report I faxed to Scully. I'm saving that for the day we can stop worrying about who's looking over our shoulders. We've got Cole for killing Girardi, and it counts even if we can't say how he did the others. It's looking very good for Alex to have a case like this on his record. He wouldn't tell me much about the meeting, other than a brief description of some of the men. I recognize only one; the man from Skinner's office who sits by the door and chain-smokes Morleys. Alex says it went as well as could be expected, which I assume means they made some threats if he doesn't get results soon. It's actually good news for me, since I'm sure they'll do everything they can to throw us together in the near future. Possibly the first favor they've ever done me. We finish the reports and bring them up to Skinner's office. Alex does most of the talking, as we agreed, outlining the basics of the case and stressing that the unknown natures of the injuries suffered by Grissom, Willig, and the two police officers do not implicate Cole at all. In other words, what we have here is a simple murder case; the perpetrator a seriously disturbed individual who had escaped from his treatment facility. Not an X-File. No, sir, not at all. Uh uh. Skinner looks at me like I've grown two heads, as I sit quietly by and let Alex finish. "Agent Mulder, do you have anything to add?" "Yes, sir, I do." He sits up a little straighter, preparing for battle. "Go on, then." "Agent Krycek failed to mention one important aspect of the case, sir. During the attempted apprehension of the suspect, I had foolishly put down my gun in an attempt to reason with the man. I had determined that Dr. Girardi's injuries had been caused by a scalpel, which I found lying near the body. I assumed the suspect was therefore unarmed. I was unprepared for him to aim a weapon at me. Agent Krycek's quick action would have saved my life, sir, and it was my own lack of foresight that made it necessary. I would like to recommend him for a citation, sir." Now Skinner is doing an excellent impression of a fish on a riverbank. I'd laugh out loud if that wouldn't completely ruin the effect of what I've just said. "May we go now, sir?" He nods jerkily, and we escape. Out in the hall, it's even harder not to laugh, but Alex has warned me that anyone around us could be working for the same people he is. I feel like I'm in an amateur theatrical production as I say, "Well, Agent Krycek, now that the case is over, I'd like to make you dinner as thanks for what you did." "Sounds great. Can you cook?" "I guess you'll have to take your chances, won't you?" "Hey, go easy on me. I'm new in town, and I haven't memorized the number for Poison Control yet." I give him a very dirty look. That wasn't in the script. "Let's go," I growl. He gives me a cheeky grin and follows me down to the parking garage. Usually I take a cab to and from work, or ride the Metro if I'm feeling in the mood for throngs of people all around me, but Alex has his own car, a black jeep. The top is off and the breeze feels great as we cruise out of the Hoover and head for my place. If I were that kind of guy, I'd give Alex a high five. I'm not, though, so I settle for a huge smile. We're back at my apartment now. I find a note on the table that tells me the place has been "fumigated" today - I have some friends who sweep for bugs at random intervals. It's almost dinnertime, and I check the fridge for food and decide on chicken and rice - simple and quick, which is what I'm looking for right now. Alex is wandering around the living room -- I can hear him pacing. I hope he's as nervous as I am about this. Well, that didn't sound very nice, but you know what I meant, right? It's almost time now. This is where I find out whether the images in my mind are going to be overlaid with new ones, or whether I've been a fool yet again, looking for something - or someone - I'll never find. I'm breading the last of the chicken breasts, covered in gook, when there's a knock at the door. "Alex, could you get that please," I yell. There's what feels like a surprised silence, and he yells back. "It's a big dog. With a leash in its mouth." I laugh. "Let her in, Alex. She probably forgot her key again." Menemsha Blue is my purebred chow. She stays at my neighbor's when I'm out of town. Their son Scott is in charge of walking her twice a day. Evidently he's been teaching her new tricks, too. The chicken is ready for the oven, and I wash my hands and join my guest in the living room. I am immediately attacked by 125 pounds of fur and doggie-drool. "Mulder, what on earth has your dog been eating?" "Why? Oh, her tongue? All chows have a blue tongue. Mimi, this is Alex. Alex, this is the lady of the house, Menemsha Blue." "Waters of Peace," he murmurs. I'm shocked. There are maybe 1500 people in the country that know that, and all of them grew up on the Vineyard. He looks at me and shrugs. "I bought a book at the gift shop, waiting for the ferry. It was a history of the island." He looks away. "I must have read it a hundred times. It finally fell apart, and my mom threw it away one day." So..."You never asked why I wasn't there that morning." He shrugs again, still not looking at me. The dog has grown bored with us and wanders off to find her bed. "Alexei, I wanted to be there. You have no idea how much I wanted to see you again, to say goodbye, but then -- I told you my father didn't live with us, right?" He nods. I wish I could see his eyes. "Well, every couple of months he would pull this trick. He'd get drunk and summon me to his side, like I was some flunky. He'd say there was some great and wonderful thing he needed to tell me about my sister. And so I'd go, and he'd say something stupid like "She's in a better place now, Fox." and pass out. And he picked that morning to do it again. Only this time, it was something great and wonderful about my future. And I fell for it, of course, because what if this was the one time he would really tell me? But it wasn't, he just said "Don't trust them, Fox. Don't you ever believe a word they say." And then he passed out, and I had to put him to bed, and by the time I got back to your motel, you had already left. "So I figured I could call you. But I let a couple of weeks go by, because I didn't want to seem too eager. And then I got that recording..." He's looking at me at last, and I can see the pain in his eyes. I know that pain, it's the same as my own. And the limb is creaking as I edge out on it; as I cross the floor to where he's standing. "Tell me it matters, Alexei. Tell me it hurt you that I wasn't there, that I didn't call. Because I swear to you, it mattered to me. It still does." There's a tear running down my cheek, and another about ready to go, and I can't stop. "At first I thought about you every minute. It seems excessive, we only spent a couple of days together, but I just couldn't stop thinking about you. And then after a while, I only thought of you when I listened to The Eagles, or read a Mad magazine, or drank Kool-Aid, or played Monopoly, or walked on the beach...or when it rained." "Fox, I'm not used to being that important to anybody. I never for a minute thought you'd still...I think about you every time I see a brown and white spaniel. Every time I hear the name Brian. Every time I kiss someone. Yeah, it mattered. It hurt." He's looking right at me now; his eyes are burning into me. "In fact, over the past few days, it's become a bone-deep ache. So what do we do now?" "We go on from where we left off." "After eighteen years, you want to pick up like nothing happened in between?" "Alexei, if you weren't with me, as far as I'm concerned, nothing did happen." And I guess that was the right thing to say, because he's taking the last two steps that close the space between our bodies, and he's putting his hands on either side of my face, and he's kissing me. And what am I doing? Don't be stupid, I'm kissing him back. It's as though it's our first time again. I feel awkward, gawky, nose too big, elbows too sharp. My heart is beating so loud, I think everyone in the building can hear it. But my arms know what to do. They wrap around him and hold on for dear life. That's exactly what it feels like, too. Like I'll die if I let go now. His hands are running through my hair, over and over, and it tickles a little, and I giggle. This makes him laugh too. It's good, the way I feel with him. Like he's another side of me, or a part I didn't know was missing until it was back. Maybe it's the intensity of the past couple of days, working the case together. Maybe it's nothing more than that rush you get after it's all over. But all I want to do is crawl inside of him and live there. He's learned a lot about kissing since the first time we did this. Of course, so have I, but I swear he could teach classes in it. And one of us is making little whimpering noises, and I'm afraid it's me. Okay, so I haven't had sex in about three years, but it's not just that. I can feel how hard he's getting, and it's very promising. And then he's pulling away, and I have to stand up on my own now. I don't like it. "Fox, listen, we can't do this." I goggle at him, panting a little. "Why not? You told me there was nobody else in your life right now. What could possibly stop us this time?" "The fact that when I testify against those bastards, the first question the defense lawyers are going to ask me is 'Did you have a sexual relationship with Agent Fox Mulder?' And if I have to answer that question 'yes', it's all over." "Why would they think th-...oh. Shit." He nods. "It was part of my assignment. Try to seduce you if at all possible. When Scully didn't work out, they decided to try a different approach. Listen, we can't give them anything to work with. If I'm going to stay on the inside and try to get out in one piece when it's over, we have to fool them all. I think I can find out about Sam, Fox. It may take six months or so, but I think I can do it." "I can't let you risk your life for this, Alex. We'll find another way to get Sam back." "No. I'm not going to let you make that decision. Give me six months. I know how much Sam means to you. I promise, this time I won't disappear. They'll pull me off your case, but I'll find a safe way to leave you messages so you'll know what's going on. Trust me, Fox. Please." Damn. There's that word again. I have so little in my life that I can trust. Scully, Mimi, and myself. But Alex looks so earnest, how can I doubt him? He didn't have any reason to tell me they had recruited him if he was only going to follow his original orders. Right? I'm back out on that limb again, but this time it has to hold. Because this fall will kill me for sure. I grit my teeth and say, "Tomorrow we talk to Skinner. He has to know about this. If there's a way to bring them down, he'll want to be in on it." "Agreed. I think he has just as big a stake in this as I do." Just then the timer goes off. "Dinner's ready," I say. "We can talk while we eat. And then I need to take Mimi for a run. I need to burn off a little tension." "I'll come with you," he says, and now I'm sure it wasn't all on my side - the desire, the wanting; and I need one more kiss. If it has to be the last for a while, I need just one more. I don't have to ask twice. Somehow we manage to keep our hands off each other over dinner. We make plans to put personal ads in three different newspapers on a rotating basis. The ads will run on Saturdays, and if all goes according to plan Alex will slowly accumulate the information we need to bring them down. It has to work. I can't let myself think of any other possible outcome. I can never be positive my phone isn't bugged, so we grab the dog leash and the dog and head out. It's time to call Skinner. I think we need him for the planning, and also because I'm pretty sure he'd like to get the smell of smoke out of his office for good. He gave me his home number a while ago, but I've never used it before. He just doesn't seem the type you can ask out for a beer, you know? We find a random pay phone, I dial, and he answers after two rings. This conversation will be a bit surreal for a few minutes. "Skinner." "Sir, it's me. Uh, Mulder." "Agent Mulder." He's making me work for this. I bet he's still wearing his tie, too. "Uh, sir, is this line, uh -- how is your security? Sir." Great, I sound like an idiot. Oh, well, if anyone really is listening in, they'll assume I'm just being a little more paranoid than usual. "My security, Agent Mulder? I assume you're asking if my phone is tapped?" "Uh, well, yes sir. I am." There's the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. He sounds almost indulgent for a minute. "I'll further assume your 'need to know', Agent Mulder. Yes, this line is secure. What can I do for you on this fine Friday evening?" "It's about Agent Krycek, sir." He sighs. "Mulder, it was his case. I had no choice in the matter. The orders came from --" "Outside the Bureau. Yes, sir, I know. It's not about the case. It's about a certain acquaintance of yours who chain-smokes Morleys. Al-- Agent Krycek knows him too." "What?" "Sir, if it's all right, we'd like to come over tomorrow and discuss this with you. I believe you can see the benefits in having their inside man in our pocket?" "Mulder, that makes three times today you have completely astonished me." "Sorry, sir," I say with a grin. "Be here at one," he says, and hangs up. *** *** *** The next day, making our plans in Skinner's apartment, I feel like we're in a movie about spies during World War II. I know the risks for Alex; if he's discovered they'll kill him. And I'm a little angry with him for insisting that he needs to do this for me. Because that makes it all my fault if something happens to him. And then I realize how that sounds, and I'm so ashamed, because it's not worth it; none of it is worth risking his life for, except that he thinks it is, for me to find Sam. And as much as I hate nobility like that, I also have to admire the way he's doing it. I really don't know anything about him. He looks so young and innocent; I can't believe the mind that's underneath it. Plotting and planning, making a list of every possible thing we might need to communicate, and putting it all into a code that we can use in the ads. Skinner and he seem to speak the same language when it comes to covert operations, and I want to know where he learned all this, except I really don't want to know. They don't seem to need my input now, so I'm free to remember the boy I knew, and to dream about the man I hope to have when it's over. The story we've told Skinner is the one we decided on last night -- Alex was approached and agreed to work for them, with reservations. He realized over the course of the case we worked together that everything he had been told about me was a lie, and he decided to come clean. He comes out of it looking a little stupid, which will be bad for his career, but he doesn't care. Despite our cover story, though, Skinner knows something else is going on. Mainly because he just caught me looking at Alex and imagining us together when it's over. My boss is a perceptive guy; he can recognize lust when he sees it. "Agent Mulder, can I see you alone for a moment?" Ah, damn, there goes a perfectly good rapport. Very little freaks out a straight man like finding out that someone they think they 'know' is gay. Trust me on this, I've been there before with a college roommate. You can't ever get the same camaraderie back. Every word you say is evaluated for sexual innuendo from that point on. "Agent Mulder, is there anything I need to know about your relationship with Agent Krycek?" "Well, sir, that's a very good question. I don't believe there's anything for you to know. The only relationship Agent Krycek and I are currently involved in is that of co-workers." I look him right in the eye and I continue, a little bitterly. "Anything else would seriously compromise his credibility on the witness stand, and possibly jeopardize the entire operation and his safety." And I wait for the axe to fall. It's my own fault, really. My only excuse is that I'm not used to feeling like this, and I've forgotten how to hide it. Skinner looks back steadily. "Agent Mulder, you seem to know very well what it is that I was asking you. And I am very well aware that it's not a question I am allowed to ask of a subordinate. So let me tell you something instead. Despite what you may think, I am not always Hard-Ass AD Skinner. Sometimes I'm just Walt. And if you have more invested in this than just helping out a co-worker, it would be good if I knew that going in. I don't really care who you choose to sleep with, Mulder. But if the three of us are going to do this, there needs to be truth between us." "Are you telling me it wouldn't bother you if I was continuing in the proud tradition of J.Edgar?" "Mulder, stop the word games for a minute, would you? I'm not some raving homophobe. I'm not sure why you thought I would be. If you want to pursue a relationship with Agent Krycek -" "Alex." "Fine. If you and Alex want to see each other after this is over, it's none of my business. Or the business of anyone else, in the Bureau or out of it." Wow, this is unexpected. But it's also very welcome right now, so...gift horses, right? "Thank you, sir. Maybe if I go out some night for a drink with my friend Walt, I'll have a story to tell him." He looks at me and nods. "Come on, maybe you can use that alleged brain of yours to help us set this up." We go back into his dining room, and I smile at Alex. I think I'm beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel now, and it's looking a lot less like another oncoming train. I agree to give up pursuing the X-Files for as long as it takes. I'll have to make it look convincing, but the setbacks they've thrown at me would have convinced most people anyway, so it shouldn't be too hard. Alex seems to know what this means to me, and he tells me again, "We'll get her back. I promise." Then he tells me that Scully might very well have been in danger if I continued on the way I was going, and this convinces me like nothing else could. I'll risk my own life, over and over again, but not hers. I can't imagine what would happen to me if I lost her too. Skinner thinks we need to bring Scully into our operation, if only to avoid having to lie to her. He has a point - she's pretty scary when she's mad. So I call her and convince her to come over to Skinner's place. She listens to the whole story, and agrees that the only safe way out for Alex is to bring them all down. She's warmed up considerably towards him since she heard how he saved my life, and before long he's calling her 'Dana' and asking her about some of the more outrageous stunts I've pulled. I had no idea I was such a topic of speculation at Quantico. He knows stuff that even I've almost forgotten. Skinner takes some chili out of the freezer and breaks out the beer; and I don't quite know how, but before the night is over, we're all calling each other by our first names, Skinner - excuse me, 'Walt' - included. I promise to shoot anyone who calls me 'Fox' in the office, and Walt vows to reciprocate. I can't remember having this much fun in years. Monday morning comes, and inside my paper is another message from Mr. X, as I've taken to calling him. When we meet, he tells me there's a good chance if they act now, they could start the ball rolling. He's found a chink in someone's armor, but he needs help. That means Alex has to leave, and I have to be a good little agent and do as I'm told. And so it begins, far too soon. Alex and I stage a fight in the corridor outside the cafeteria, for maximum visibility. He gets in a few "Spooky's" and makes a loud comment about walking on the wild side not being all it's cracked up to be. I throw a "tight-assed hypocrite" at him and follow through with "wet behind the ears, wouldn't know a good idea if it had a fucking sign on it." This is fun. I should have been in the drama club in high school. As expected, he's of no further use to them as my shadow, and they pull him out. I pretend to be mad for a few more days, then start moping around like I lost my best friend. Skinner still has me on wiretap transcripts, and I'm not enjoying them very much. I almost get called out on a hostage negotiation, but it falls through at the last minute. It's just about killing me, but I ignore any and all X-File-related cases. And life goes on. My birthday almost goes unnoticed - a brief call from my mother to see if I got the card she sent. When Dana shows up at my door at ten that night, I'm already in my sweats, thinking about an early bedtime. "Come on, Mulder, get dressed! Walt's downstairs in the car, we're taking you out for your birthday." "Come on, Dana, I'm ready for bed here. I wouldn't be very good company anyway." "Don't make me go get the whip, Mulder. Get dressed or I will dress you myself...you're not moving yet, mister!" She evidently picked up some of that 'command tone' voice from her dad - or maybe Skinner - but either way my feet are moving towards the bedroom before I can say another word. I grab my favorite jeans and debate over a sweatshirt or a nice sweater. I can hear Dana's foot tapping from the living room as I decide on the sweater and put it on, along with my sneakers. I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I suppose. Downstairs, the 'car' Walt is waiting in turns out to be a limo. The back door is open, and I see his face looking out, with a smile I never get to see in the office. "Hurry up, Mulder. We've only got two more hours before your birthday's over and you're wasting it staring at the damn car." I'm glad I put on the sweater, now. I slide into the backseat and Walt hands me a glass of champagne. "What, no corsage, sir? I'm a bit disappointed." "My powder-blue tux doesn't fit anymore, either, Mulder. You'll have to live with it, I'm afraid." Dana's in the car now, and the driver pulls away from the curb. "Can I ask where we're going, or is it a big surprise?" "How do you feel about jazz, Mulder?" Walt looks very pleased with himself. "I feel fine about jazz. But you really didn't need to go to all this trouble for me." "Of course we did, Mulder. That's what friends are for." "Please don't start singing, Dana. I'm begging you." The next sound I hear is Walter Skinner snickering. I swear. The jazz club is fun, the music is good but not too loud, and when the band takes a break, Dana pulls a gift bag out from under the table and hands it to me. "What's this?" "It's a present, you idiot. Open it." "But, Dana, you didn't have to -" "I didn't. It's not from me." "Then who?" "Mulder, perhaps if you opened it you'd find out," Walt growls. I rip into the tissue paper like a kid and find a wrapped package inside. The paper shreds and litters the table. Then I can't move, my whole body goes numb when I see what my gift is. Dana gently takes it from me and looks quizzically at it before showing it to Walt. "Mulder?" I've just about got myself under control. I take back my gift and trace my fingers over it. I can't help smiling tenderly as I say, "It's Alex. Must be a high school photo. That's how he looked when we first met." The photo is in a beautiful frame, but all I can see is Alexei. I'm feeling a lot less lonely now. *** *** *** *** *** Another Saturday, another copy of the newspaper spread out on Walt's dining room table. It's the Times this week, and the ad is there, right where it's supposed to be. I can breathe again. Every week, I have to force myself to look, knowing if it's not there, he could be dead. It's been three months of Saturdays now, three months of empty days and nights. Thank god for my friends. Without Dana and Walt to talk to, I'd have gone nuts. The ad reads "For Sale: Hospital Bed in good condition. Best Offer. Call Brian at 622-1013". Oh, my god. I grab for the codebook, but it's hardly necessary. He's found Sam, and she's okay. Now they can come home. Dana is hugging me, and Walt is pounding me on the back, and Mimi is jumping up and barking because she can tell something's going on, and she hates to be left out. I'm numb and shaking, close to crying, and then I am crying, because it's all over, and I can have a life again and I want it to start now. But we still have months of waiting; we have to bring these bastards to trial, expose what they've done, not just to me and Sam, but other families as well. And it's more nobility and sacrifice and it burns all the way down. The trial is a new kind of hell, seeing him every day but not being able to do more than casually glance. The one question we had been fearing never comes, so I guess he told them his seduction of me didn't work. But they're crawling all over his 'divided loyalties', as they call them. And hey! Surprise! The money he was paid to spy on me is all in a separate bank account; he never spent a dime of it. Every cent they gave him since the beginning of the Grissom case is there. That takes a little of the wind out of their sails. He's planned for every eventuality, and he answers all of their questions in a calm, unemotional voice. I imagine his devious mind working against us, and I shiver, thinking of what might have been, if a boy named Alex hadn't met a boy named Brian. And then his testimony is done, and they take him away again to the safe house where he's been since the trial began. He won't be able to come back until the trial is over. Walt refuses to tell me where the house is, and I know he's right, but I can't help wondering. I find myself packing up the dog and driving to different neighborhoods, where I put Mimi on her leash and walk down street after street, imagining that he's inside one of the houses I pass, imagining he's watching me, and I feel closer to him. What a sap, right? It's just turned spring, and if you know anything at all about DC, you know that means the cherry blossoms are out. I've tended to ignore them in the past, but this year they seem very symbolic of the new life I'm waiting to start. I walk through the drifting petals along the Potomac with Mimi tugging a bit when she sees a squirrel or a bird. I'm thinking about what came out at the trial about my father's involvement in Sam's disappearance and the Consortium in general. I'm not really surprised, I always knew he was hiding something from us, but it still hurts. After his suicide two years ago, I went through his study like a whirlwind, looking for papers, but I never found anything. I'm glad, now, to have the closure, but being right all the time isn't as much fun as you'd think. Sam is staying with my mother now; I hope that will help her to remember what she lost. She has very few actual memories of the time she was away, which is probably a good thing, but it leaves a huge hole in her life. I know it will help my mother to have her there. I'll visit in a while, when she's had time to settle in and adjust. Now that I know where she is, I feel ready to move on with my life. Mimi is seriously pulling me now, and I hear Walt yelling my name. The man has completely corrupted my dog, mainly by always having gourmet dog-treats available. He's absently fishing one out of his pocket now, but I can see from his face that there's news. "Mulder, it's over! We did it!" And I can barely hear the rest over the voice in my head chanting, "Alex-Alex-Alex-Alex-Alex..." *** *** *** *** *** The note he left me was brief. "Brian, I'll be waiting. Alexei." As I drive off the ferry I'm struck again by how much the island has changed, and yet underneath it's the same as it was when I ran wild here as a boy. Peel off a layer of tourists, and underneath, it's home. I drive to my mother's house and drop off the dog. Mimi's very happy to be off the ferry; it's a good thing I fenced the back yard because she's running around it like a dervish. I stop in to say hi to my mom and Sam. They're making cookies, a strangely domestic scene, but I suspect they'll end up all weepy afterwards. Every time they do those normal mother-daughter things, it brings back the years of separation. And so they cry, and laugh, and hug. It's all good, I guess. I can't stay, though, there's somebody waiting for me. "I'll be back, there's someone I want you to meet," I say as I head for the back of the house. I trace my route to the beach with ease, skirting the new obstacles of condominiums and a new souvenir shop, barely noticing them at all. My mind is in the past, and in the future. It's not a very sunny day, typical of early spring here, but just as I reach the edge of the road and step onto the sand, the sun comes out. More symbolism? I'll take what I can get. It's too cold to walk barefoot, and there's already sand in my running shoes, but I don't stop to empty them. No point, really. And I refuse to stop for anything now. The rocks are the same, they look smaller now, from my six-foot perspective, but I'm sure they're not. I climb up easily and jump down, and there he is. My Alexei. He looks a little nervous, like maybe he didn't think I would be here. If he only knew. "Did you think I wouldn't come?" "I hoped, but...Fox, your father. I tried to keep his name out of it. I didn't want to tell them, but I knew one of the old men would if I didn't. I'm so sorry I had to do that to you. I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to talk to me." "Alex, you didn't do it. He did it himself. And he's dead and buried, like the past should be. And all I've been waiting for is the chance to see you. Did you know I roamed the streets looking for your safe-house? I took Mimi with me so I wouldn't get arrested for loitering." He's smiling a little now, probably at the thought of me wandering around DC with Mimi in tow. I think we're going to be okay. "Alex, it's over now. And we're free to start our lives again. I want you in my life, Alexei. I want that so badly. I want to get the chance to know you, and maybe work with you. And most of all, I want to wake up with you every morning. I don't believe in wasting time trying to be cool. I made that mistake before. So, the only question that remains is, do you want all that too?" And just like eighteen years ago, I hear his voice say, "Yes." We'll go back to my mother's in a while. It's much too cold to stay here for long. But there's a fire inside me, and yeah, I know it's a cliche. But the fire is there, and Alex is kissing me, and I'll always remember this. You can envy me my memory, the inescapable pictures in my head. This is one of the compensations for the bad stuff. X-Files Stories Comments? Tell me all about it. |