Second Grace Book One 
Author: Logan 
Rating: NC-17 
Genre: Mulder/Krycek Slash, Angst, Adventure, Romance 
Spoilers: diverts from "canon" after Requiem 
Summary: Mulder is gone, and Alex Krycek is faced with the ultimate journey: 
learning to live again. 
Author's notes: there are dozens of people who took this journey with me and 
Alex, without whom it never would have happened. A million heartfelt thank yous 
to the following people: Rachel Vagts, Shelba B., Garrull, Marcia Elena, 
Flutesong, Kashmir, Bertina, Frogdoggie, Satina, Shannon K., David S., Goddess 
Michelle, Bear and Bunny, IWTB, Beyond the Sea, Charles, Simone, Walter, 
Cassandra, D.S. and G.L., and last but never least: Mr. Buckley, Mr. Drake, and 
Mr. Johnson. 

For Fox, Al, and Sean 
For Sherri. Forever and Ever. 
For Mom. I'm sorry I never let you read this. 

logan@hegalplace.com


*** 

Second Grace - Book I 
by Logan 


"Alex, you aren't listening to me." 

I turn and peer at my youngest sister through the smoke and darkness permeating 
the bar. 

"No, I'm not. I'm trying to listen to the music." I smile and sip my beer. 

The Varsity Theater is packed tonight. College students from LSU slink and 
slither across the dance floor as they spill beer and suck down Jello shooters. 
The band has been around the Baton Rouge party scene for years. I've always 
liked them. I even dated the older brother of the bassist back in college. 

"Alex, you call me up out of the blue and tell me you've been in town three 
months without contacting me, and now you just want to listen to the band? They 
aren't going anywhere -- they're never going to make it further than playing a 
frat house at Tulane. So tell me what's going on with you." Corinne sips her 
cosmopolitan, green eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. 

"You're really beautiful, Cori, you know that? I don't tell you often enough." I 
reach over and try to take her hand, which only serves to piss her off even 
further. She snatches her hand away and continues to glare at me. 

"Nice try, Al. Now tell me what the fuck is going on." 

The girl never did suffer my bullshit. 

I watch my baby sister for another moment. She looks more and more like our 
mother. The mother she never got to know. Matushka died a few hours after 
Corinne was born. I was eleven then, and have only seen my sister a handful of 
times since leaving home at eighteen. 

"I'm moving back home." I finally reply. 

Her eyes widen. "Really? What brought this on?" 

I shrug, feigning ease. "Things change. I've wasted most of my adult life. It's 
time to settle down and figure out what I want to be when I grow up." 

My answer is partially true. I killed the old man, the mighty have fallen and 
the consortium is laid to waste. I'm almost thirty five years old and too old 
for the spy game. I had no where left to go but back here. Back home. 

"Well, I'm really glad you're staying. Have you told Delia or Bron yet?" 

I'm glad she can't see me blush in the dark club. "No, I haven't called them 
since I got back into town." 

"Alexander Gray! You've been in town three months and haven't called any of your 
family? How could you?" Her voice rises, her jaw set and eyes flashing. 

The band stops for an intermission. My ears are buzzing from the loud bass. I 
sip my beer again. 

"Cori, I don't go by Gray anymore. I changed my name a long time ago. It's Alex 
Drake now." She doesn't need to know about my years as Alex Krycek. The less she 
and the others know, the safer they are. The safer I am. If they don't know, 
then I can pretend it never happened. 

"Why on earth would you do a thing like that?" 

I laugh. "Cori, do you really think that Gray was Matushka and Papa's real name? 
They changed it when they immigrated. Lots of people change their names. I 
wanted a fresh start." 

"Whatever," she says, rolling her eyes. "Are you planning to call Dee and Bron?" 
Her face softens. "Al, they would really like to see you. They've missed you. 
I've missed you. You know you're my favorite brother." 

I snort. "I'm your only brother, Cori. But thanks anyway. Yes, I will call Dee 
and Bron. I just want to get some things sorted out first. I need to find an 
apartment, and a job. I left home with a promising future -- I don't want to 
come back as a bum." 

My three sisters know nothing of my life after I left home to attend Tulane 
University. I've let them believe that after I injured my knee and lost my 
baseball scholarship that I drifted from job to job and state to state, going 
where the wind took me. They think I'm the tarnished golden boy who lost his 
chance at greatness when a torn tendon lost me my baseball scholarship, and that 
I lost my arm in a skydiving accident in Arizona. 

They don't know anything about the job Papa got for me when I left school, or 
the associates of his who sent me through college, through Quantico, the things 
they trained me to do... 

I give myself a shake. I came here to forget all of this. I want to forget Alex 
Krycek. I have to forget him. The memories are killing me. 

"I wish I could give you a place to stay, Al," she says, smiling softly at me. 

Fuck, is that pity I see in her eyes? 

"Cori, you live in a dorm. I don't think that would go over very well. Don't 
worry, I'm fine. I've got a little money put away. I'll get by until I find a 
job." 

I have a hell of a lot of money put away, but I can't use it without raising 
suspicions. I don't know if I would use it even if I could. Every last dollar is 
stained with the blood of more people than I care to remember. I'm living off 
some savings bonds that I've had in the bank since high school. My bank account 
is shriveling fast -- I need to find a job soon. 

Corinne fishes some money out of her purse and drops it on the table. 

"Alex, I have to go. I have class first thing in the morning. Will you at least 
tell me where you are staying?" 

"I really don't think that's a good idea. But I promise I'll be in touch. Why 
don't you let me walk you back to your dorm? It's late -- you shouldn't be 
wandering around by yourself in the middle of the night." I stand up and offer 
her my hand. 

"I'm a big girl, in case you haven't noticed," she replies, but takes my hand 
anyway. 

I open the door for her and escort her out of the bar. Chime Street is still 
bustling with activity, despite the late hour. Music spills from the open doors 
of numerous bars, everything from Zydeco to punk. The rattle and hum of a dozen 
air conditioners joins in, vibrating the air with noise. College students linger 
on the sidewalks and in doorways, hoping to score or too drunk to face their RAs 
back at the dorm. Shadows change shape in the alleys, couples moving together in 
the illusion of privacy the darkness allows. 

The heat is heavy and wet and oppressive, even now with dawn a few hours away. 
Louisiana in August is a state with a wet woolen blanket thrown over the sky, 
leaving the air underneath it thick and humid. I'd love to have worn a short 
sleeve shirt, but the prosthesis is too obvious that way. Even the soles of my 
feet are sweaty in my steel-toed boots. 

I put my arm around Cori's waist and we walk back towards the dorms a few blocks 
away, enjoying the silent companionship. I have missed my sisters. I realize how 
much I've missed, seeing Cori all grown up and about to graduate from college. 
I've missed nearly half her life. 

When we reach her dorm on the LSU campus I give her a hug and she extracts a 
promise from me for a lunch date later in the week. I watch until she's safely 
in the building and then turn to walk back to the studio I'm renting by the week 
over on Ivanhoe. Cori would really kick my ass if she knew I'd been living less 
than two miles away from her for the last three months. 

As much as I've missed her, missed all three of them, I wasn't fit for human 
company. I'm still not. But I can't hide in a shitty little one-room apartment 
forever. My own company has gotten to be more than I can tolerate. Sometimes I 
look in the mirror and I can't even fucking breathe. 

I reach my apartment and flip the light switch by the door. The single overhead 
bulb throws shadows across the walls, doing nothing to make the room more 
attractive. It's small, it's dirty, and well...it's small and dirty. But it's 
cheap, so I shouldn't complain. I've slept in a lot worse places than this. It 
beats the Tunisian prison I called home just a few months ago. I'd always sworn 
I'd kill Marita Covarrubius if I ever saw her again, but she sure as hell was a 
sight for sore eyes that particular day. 

If Spender hadn't needed me, I have no doubt the old man would have left me 
there to rot until I died. It's good to be needed. 

I've spent most of my adult life learning to be useful to other people and their 
agendas. It's a skill I honed to razor sharp accuracy. It was only in the last 
few years that I finally had an agenda of my own, and by then it was damn near 
too late. Depending on which way you look at it, it was too late. Perhaps our 
planet has not been colonized yet, but they still took him. 

In the end, no matter what I did, I couldn't keep him safe. 

The guilt of that rises like bile in my throat as I go about preparing for bed. 
I never would have sent him to Oregon if I'd known what was in store for him. I 
can only hope that he is too useful to kill. But I know damned well what they 
are capable of doing to a human being without killing their body. That might be 
worse than death itself. 

////////////////////////////////////// 

I awake with the first light of dawn, a habit that I wonder if I will ever 
break. I brush my teeth in the kitchen sink, the only sink in the apartment, 
then unplug a lamp so I can plug in the coffee pot without blowing a fuse. 
Jesus, this place is such a dive. 

I came to Baton Rouge with a duffle bag containing two changes of clothes and a 
couple of paperback books. In the past three months the only possessions I have 
acquired are the coffee pot, a couple of milk crates full of books and my one 
luxury -- my stereo. 

I choose a CD and put it on, then open the blinds to watch the sun come up as 
the coffee brews. 

"I see your flag by the marble arch And love is not a victory march, It's a cold 
and it's a broken Hallelujah Hallelujah...Hallelujah." 

Jeff Buckley's smoky voice washes over me as it croons softly through the 
speakers, soothing my frayed nerves. I can think of only one other voice that 
has this affect on me. I'll probably never hear that particular voice again. 
He's most likely as dead as the late Mr. Buckley.... 

Shit, this is bad. He's on my mind from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep 
at night. Even then he haunts my dreams, my nightmares. 

Goddamn Fox Mulder. 

In my dreams we are in his bed again, just like the night after I returned from 
Oregon to DC and set into motion the events that lead to his abduction. He's on 
top of me, inside of me, clutching my body to his and growling in my ear, "Don't 
you ever fucking disappear on me again, Alex. You are mine." 

The nightmares are terrible. I see the black oil leaking from his eyes, nose and 
ears as his voice becomes a gurgling scream, choking on the foul Black Death. 
Sometimes it is him in the silo instead of me, and his shaking, febrile body is 
convulsing with pain as the oil rushes through his veins. 

I miss him so fucking much. Too bad I didn't figure out how much I cared for him 
while he was still alive. It would have saved both of us a lot of grief. 

I force myself from my chair to get a cup of coffee. I have to get out of here. 
I can't spend another day sitting here pining for him. Maybe I'll get dressed 
and go see if the morning chess club has convened at Highland Coffee yet. Those 
guys are usually good for a laugh. God knows I could use some humor in my life 
right about now. I'm turning into one morose bastard. 

////////////////////////////////// 

I spend the day doing a whole lot of nothing. I hang out at the coffee shop for 
a couple of hours, then take the bus over to the library and surf the internet 
for a while. I really should look into buying a car, but so far I haven't needed 
one. I'm a block from a bar, a movie theater and a grocery store. There's not 
much else I want in life. 

The high point of my day is a long afternoon nap. It's funny --I used to go days 
without sleeping, but the introspection of the last couple of months leaves me 
physically exhausted. My life was less complicated when I didn't feel, didn't 
think about anything but the mission at hand or the intricacies of a conspiracy 
I barely understood on the best of days. 

Around 8PM I haul myself back out of my room and walk down to Chime Street. I 
end up on the patio of a little hole in the wall called The Library. It isn't a 
bad place to spend an evening. The beer is cheap and it's not as popular with 
the college kids as the Varsity or the Bengal. I sit at the bar for a long time, 
looking at the pool table. I can't play pool anymore. You can't play when you 
can't feel the pressure and angle of the cue against your fingers to gauge your 
shot. 

Joe Morgan, the owner of The Bayou, the bar next door, comes and sits down 
beside me. He orders a beer and greets me. 

"What's up, Joe? Why are you giving your money to the competition?" I ask him 
with a smile. Joe is a good guy. We've talked a few times when I was still there 
at closing time. 

He rubs the palm of his hand across his brow. "I needed to get out of there 
before I exploded. I had to fire one of my night managers. I don't mind anybody 
having a drink or two on the job, it is a bar after all. But when you get so 
drunk every night that you can't make out the bank deposits, then we have a 
problem." 

"That's too bad. I hope you find a replacement soon." 

He looks at me with open speculation. "You found a job yet, Alex?" 

"No. You offering?" 

"Maybe. Can you count to one hundred and write your name?" 

I laugh. "Yeah, I think I can manage that." 

He smiles. "Then I'm offering. It's four hundred a week, and you'll be working 
from 6PM til closing, five nights a week. You want the job? No benefits or 
anything, but I'm not a hard guy to work for." 

Sometimes good things do fall into your lap. Joe doesn't seem like the kind of 
guy who's going to want to check my references, and I like his place. It's dark 
and mellow and has a pleasant atmosphere. 

"Sounds like a deal. When can I start?" 

"Man, you are saving my ass big time. You can start tomorrow night, and I'll go 
ahead and pay you for the full week. Can you show up about four so you can fill 
at tax forms and stuff?" 

"Will do. Thanks, Joe, I really appreciate it. I'm getting a little tired of 
ramen noodles for breakfast." 

I'd be happy to never see ramen noodles again as long as I live. I'm used to 
having as much money as I need at my disposal. This being poor gig is for the 
birds. 

We finish our beers and Joe goes back to The Bayou. I have a few more drinks and 
play darts with a couple of the regulars before walking back to my place. My 
dark little cave looks less dingy knowing soon I'll be able to afford something 
better. 

I read for a while, then strip down to my boxers and climb into bed. I lay awake 
for a long time, lying on my back staring at the ceiling. It's hard to sleep at 
night lately. My phantom arm aches, reminding me of past horrors. I won't take 
the anti-depressants the doctors prescribe though. They numb the mind, and I've 
never had the luxury of anesthetizing my senses to that extent. So I lie here 
and listen to my own breathing, thinking of Mulder and Scully and the baby that 
she is carrying. 

There's no love lost between Dana Scully and I, but I would be the monster she 
believes I am if I didn't feel sympathy for her situation. She thinks that 
Mulder is the father of her child, but unless he lied to me, the dates are 
wrong. Only by a few weeks, but enough to leave the paternity in question. I 
hope for her sake that she miscarries before the pregnancy becomes useful to 
those that would have no qualms about experimenting on her unborn child. Even if 
it's not his baby, it's still a kid, and doesn't deserve what they are capable 
of doing to it. Not to mention what it would do to Scully. She's sacrificed 
enough for the goddamn cause. We all have. 

///////////////////////////// 

His body pins me to the bed, my legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts the 
heat of his body into mine. His breath is hot against my neck and we're slick 
with sweat. His mother died four days ago, and in lieu of words or gestures I 
have offered him the consolation of my body. For once he accepted me without 
threats or accusations, just opened the door and started peeling my clothes off. 


"Fox..." I don't even know what I was going to say to him, but I whisper his 
name against his temple. 

"Shut up," he husks out, driving into me with almost painful intensity. He's all 
heat and bitter anger, and my body is the receptacle of his grief. 

I wonder fleetingly why I let him talk to me that way, but he's banging into my 
prostate with every thrust, searing himself into my flesh like no ever has 
before. We burn together, white-hot and destructive. I am a moth to his flame, 
addicted to the adrenaline of wanting something so dangerous to my well-being. 

My need for release becomes all consuming, a fire raging in me, and I barely 
register the scream that tears from my throat as orgasm rips through me. He 
stiffens above me and roars, tears leaking from his tightly shut eyes as he 
empties himself inside of me before he slumps down onto the mattress next to me. 


It's deathly quiet in the room, save for the harsh staccato of our breathing. 
Finally he asks me, eyes averted to the ceiling, "So, are you staying?" 

I hate this part. This brutal, bloody dance we do every time we come together is 
wearing on me more than I'll ever reveal to him. Want me, but don't like me. 
Lust after me, but don't care about me. Come share my bed, but stay out of my 
life. 

I used to be perfectly content playing these games with him. Suddenly, the rules 
seem to have changed. 

"I could stay, if you want. I don't have anywhere to be for a couple of days." I 
try to sound like I don't care. I want to stay, but more importantly, I want him 
to say that he wants me there. 

He doesn't move, doesn't look at me. Finally he says, "Don't leave." 

It's not much, but it's enough for now. 

//////////////////////////////// 

"well there was a time when you let me know what's really going on below but now 
you never show that to me do you? but remember when I moved in you and the holy 
dove was moving too and every breath we drew was hallelujah..." 

Another dawn. I'm seeing way too many of these lately, but I couldn't go back to 
sleep after that goddamned dream. Don't I play that memory through my mind 
enough in my waking hours? 

Don't Leave. Those two words changed everything. 

The next morning we did something we'd never done before. We talked. And when I 
left a few days later, we weren't two men trying to kill each other and calling 
it sex. We were something else. What, I didn't really know and was too afraid to 
give it much thought. 

There weren't any sappy proclamations of love or any bullshit like that. Neither 
of us was capable of love anymore. But we were... close. We were friends, and 
there are far worse things to have in the world than a friend whom you lust 
after with every cell in your body. 

Dammit, I miss him. I had no idea I had it in me to feel this way about anyone 
ever again after all these years, but there it is. I always wanted him, fucking 
craved him at times, but this is an ache that goes so deep that it's wrapped up 
within my DNA. I barely got a chance to cope with the idea that I actually cared 
about him before he was gone. 

I think I'll take Cori up on her offer for lunch sometime this week. It's 
obvious I'm spending way too much time in the company of no one but yours truly. 
I drain my coffee cup and decide to get dressed and go for a run. I feel like 
the walls are closing in on me. 

I show up at The Bayou at four in my best pair of jeans and a shirt that came 
from a store other than the Salvation Army. Joe and I chat while I fill out the 
tax forms, then he gives me a tour of the back of the bar. He explaining as we 
go what my duties will be. I make a few mental notes and feel a strange twinge 
of emotion when he gives me a set of keys to the bar. This guy barely knows me 
from Adam, but he trusts me to take care of his very livelihood. I can't 
remember the last time anyone had this sort of faith in me, or the last time I 
had done anything to earn an ounce of trust from anyone. 

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. Things are different now. I spent 
years looking out for no one by myself, and all it got me was a studio apartment 
in a dubious neighborhood and a hunk of plastic where my arm used to be. The 
only true satisfaction I ever got out of that life was finally helping Mulder 
instead of hindering him at every turn. 

Around six PM a few customers start to trickle into the bar. Joe hangs back in 
the office, working on the ledger but letting me do the work, sticking around 
just in case I have any questions. I'm surprised by how quickly the evening goes 
by. Before I know it, I'm locking the back door and walking to the bank with the 
night deposit. 

After I leave the bank I keep walking, not ready to face my room and a night of 
lustful dreams. Most of the bars are closing, and sitting at Denny's drinking 
cheap coffee just doesn't have much appeal. I walk around aimlessly for a while, 
hoping to walk myself into exhaustion eventually. 

No such luck. As I walk down Highland Road towards College Avenue I spot a small 
bar with a blinking pink neon sign. Xanthe's, the sign reads. A number of cars 
in the parking lot sport rainbow triangle stickers of some sort. 

Oh, lucky me, the only bar still open is a gay bar. 

Not that I have any objections to gay bars. That would be the queer pot calling 
the queer kettle black. But I'm not trolling for a date, and that's the only 
reason to go to a hole like this. 

I may be lonely, but I do still have one good hand. 

After weighing my options for a minute I go into the bar. I'm bored out of my 
skull and I just can't face my four badly-painted walls right now. 

I immediately regret my decision. 

This isn't just a gay bar. This is a GAY bar. Black lights cast posters of 
Marilyn Monroe and Barbara Streisand in a ghoulish white pall, and Shania Twain 
wails "That Don't Impress Me Much" from the jukebox. 

I groan. Oh yeah, this is going to be really relaxing. 

I take a seat at the bar. A male bartender in hot pants and a tube top takes my 
order and brings me a beer. I take a long swig of it, deciding to finish it 
quickly and head back to my part of town. I tune out the music and close my 
eyes, praying that sleep comes easily tonight. 

Something brushes against my elbow. Before I can yank my gun out of the 
waistband of my jeans I see the tall, waifish blonde standing next to me. The 
person appears to be female, but in a place like this you can't judge a book by 
its cover. 

"Can I help you?" I ask, definitely not in the mood for company. I like men who 
dress like men. 

I like them tall and brunette and named Fox Mulder, but I don't want to go there 
right now. 

A smile. No Adam's apple, so I'll assume this person is female. 

"Hi, I'm Jennifer. You look as out of place here as I do, so I was hoping I 
could sit next to you." 

"Sure," I respond as she slides onto the barstool. "So, if you're feeling out of 
place, what are you doing here?" 

She responds with another shy smile. "I just moved here for grad school. I was 
hoping to kind of get a feel for the community, but it seems this establishment 
doesn't see a lot of lesbian clientele. So what are you doing here? You aren't 
giving off any 'let's hook up' vibes." 

I shrug. "Boredom, I guess. I was strolling around and happened by this place. 
Definitely not my usual hangout. If you're looking for the lesbians, try The 
Fishbowl on Exchange Place." 

She narrows her eyes at me. "I've seen you somewhere before. You play chess at 
Highland Coffee first thing in the morning, don't you? I've seen you a few times 
when I stopped in before class." 

"Yeah, I go there occasionally." 

"So, if this isn't your usual type of place, does that mean you're not..." 

"Gay? Guilty as charged. However, I don't pick up people in bars." 

"Attached to anyone?" 

"He's dead." fuck, where did that come from? "He was a cop. He was killed a few 
months ago in the line of duty." Yeah, that's one way to put it. What else could 
I say? Aliens who are plotting to colonize the earth abducted my lover. Gee, 
Alex, think that would go over well? 

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to cope with that." 

I drain my beer. My stomach is suddenly burning with acid and I feel one fuck of 
a headache coming on. "Nice to meet you, Jennifer. I'd better get going." 

I drop a couple of dollars on the bar and walk away, not giving Jennifer another 
glance. I'm not pathetic enough to bare my soul to a stranger after a single 
beer. Besides, if I need a woman in my life I have three sisters who will be 
quite anxious to take turns kicking my ass when I finally come out of hiding. 

I walk a few blocks before dropping onto a bench at a bus stop. I'm shaking. 
It's 80 degrees out here, so I can't blame it on the temperature. I've got to 
get my shit together. After all the shit I've survived in my life, I'm not going 
to let one man, even *that* man, fuck me up so much that I lose control of my 
emotions. 

He's dead; it's too late for useless gestures such as losing my mind over him. 

///////////////////////////////////////// 

Life goes on. The Indian summer gives way to fall, and it's a crisp, clear 
Sunday morning in November. I'm kneeling in a front pew of Saint Nicholas 
Russian Orthodox Church, my sisters and my niece and nephews on either side of 
me. 

After Vespers my niece Audrina, Delia's oldest child, will receive her first 
communion. Nothing short of this could have convinced me to set foot inside of a 
church again. 

"Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us." 

I speak the words, engraved in my brain since childhood, but I do not believe. 
How could I, after all I have seen and done? The words rattle hollow and 
meaningless in my chest. I'd don't want to be here, but I couldn't disappoint my 
family. 

They've been really wonderful to me since I finally crawled out of my hole. 
Their renewed presence in my life has been good for me. Every time I start 
working myself into a funk one of them is on the phone inviting me to dinner or 
a movie. Both Delia and Bronwyn's husbands have offered to help me find a better 
job, but I'm still happy working for Joe at The Bayou. 

The FBI still hasn't found Fox. I never really believed they would. I haven't 
been able to keep track of Scully's pregnancy. The intel blackout is driving me 
nuts. The bureau database installed new encryption software, which isn't exactly 
easy to crack using a firewalled workstation at the public library. So I spend a 
lot of time telling myself it's better this way, that I can move on if I can't 
obsess over a game I'm no longer a player in. 

"I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and the earth and of 
all things visible and invisible. And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, 
the Only-begotten, begotten of the Father before all ages; Light of Light, true 
God of true God..." 

I think I could recite the liturgy forwards and backwards. I grew up in this 
church, with its dark and incense stained wood and the priest, who seemed older 
than time even when I was a young child. I took my first communion here. I was 
an altar boy and in the choir. 

What a lie it all was. 

I steal a glance at my sisters, their sable-brown heads bowed and covered with 
black lace veils. They're going to be livid when I don't go up to receive 
communion, but there's only so much sacrilege even I will commit. I don't 
believe in God, but just in case I'm wrong I'd rather not burst into flames. 

When the time comes, Audrina marches bravely up the aisle, her back straight and 
her honey blonde head held high. She solemnly recites the words and opens her 
mouth to receive communion. I stifle a grin when she blanches at the taste of 
the wine in the chalice, and puff up with pride as she joins us again in the 
pew. Her face is now framed with a white lace veil, and her smile is beaming. 

I make it through the rest of the service by the skin of my teeth. I'm the only 
person in the whole church who doesn't receive Holy Communion, which gets me a 
few curious looks and a kick in the shin from Bronwyn. Finally we file out of 
the church and I ride with Corinne to Delia's house for lunch. 

"Al, I'm so glad you came. We all are," she says as the car pulls out of the 
parking lot. 

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything. Audrina has grown up so much -- I can't 
believe the last time I saw her was her baptism. The years have really slipped 
past me." I look out the window as we drive past the lake on Highland Road. The 
leaves are a riot of golden red color, blanketing the ground and hanging 
languidly from the trees. 

"Penny for your thoughts," Cori says softly. 

"It just bothers me that the kids have grown up and I don't even know them. 
Dropping a savings bond in the mail for Christmas is not the same as sticking 
around to be a part of their lives. My priorities were so fucked up for so 
long." 

I wince as the words tumble from my mouth. Did I just whine in front of my kid 
sister? Jesus God, I am going soft. 

Cori just smiles and reaches over to touch my hand. She startles a bit when she 
comes in contact with the hard plastic of my prosthesis, then rests her hand on 
my knees and squeezes gently. I put my right hand on top of hers. 

"Thanks." It's all I can say. 

When we pull into Dee's driveway the kids are all in the front yard, still 
dressed in their Sunday finery, kicking around a soccer ball. I climb out of the 
car, shrug out of my suit jacket and loosen my tie. 

"You guys got room for an old man to get it on the action?" 

The three boys come barreling towards me. Mason is eight and the son of Delia 
and her husband Paul. The twins, Bryce and Wyatt, are six and are the sons of 
Bronwyn and her husband Trevor. Mason kicks the ball toward me. 

"C'mon, Dyadya Alex, show us what you've got!" he says with a big, gap-toothed 
grin. 

"Al, please don't let the boys get grass stains on their clothes," Bronwyn calls 
from the porch. I wave her off and join in the fray. 

An hour later Delia yells that lunch is ready. I am an old, old man. These kids 
stomped my ass good. I'm out of breath, and I'm the one who ended up with grass 
stains on my good trousers. But it was worth it. I haven't laughed liked that in 
a long time. 

I'm grateful for the beer Trevor offers me when I escort the kids inside. I 
offer to help set the table, but the women shoo me out of the kitchen. I shoot 
the breeze with Paul and Trevor in the den while the children get cleaned up to 
eat. Audrina comes in and sits down beside me. 

"I'm really glad you came today, Dyadya Alex. Mama said you wouldn't come back 
to church for all the Guinness in Ireland. What's Guinness?" 

I laugh and ruffle her hair. "I wouldn't have missed your big day for anything, 
Sweetheart. Including all the Guinness in Ireland." I reach into my jacket 
pocket and pull out the small jeweler's box tucked within. "Congratulations, 
Drina." 

Her pretty green eyes widen as she opens the box to reveal the small, 
heart-shaped golden locket inside. "Dyadya Alex, it's beautiful! Thank you!" 

She wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes me tightly. I rest my cheek on 
her flaxen hair for a moment, overcome with warmth. I never thought I could love 
a child the way I have come to love these four. 

I think briefly of Fox, who will never see his own child, and pain surges in my 
chest. 

"Okay folks, come and get it," Delia says from the doorway. Audrina releases me 
and jumps up. 

"Mama, look what Dyadya Alex gave me! Isn't it beautiful?" 

"Oh my, it's lovely. Drina, did you look at the back? It has the date inscribed 
on it." Delia smiles at me and helps Audrina fix the necklace around her neck. 

Audrina runs towards the kitchen to show her treasure to her aunts. The rest of 
us rise from our seats and move towards the dining room. Delia catches my hand. 

"Alex, thank you. It meant a lot to Drina to have you there today. It meant a 
lot to me. Matushka and Papa would have been so happy to see us all together 
again." 

Yeah, well fuck what Papa would have wanted. Papa went from being a petty 
Russian mobster to a lackey for Spender, and offered me to that black-lunged 
bastard with no thought for my happiness or future. 

I hope you're rotting in Hell where you belong, dearest Papa. 

I force a smile. "I was happy to be there, Dee. Just because I'm not coming back 
to the church doesn't mean I won't be there when it's really important. Hell, 
I'm still scared of Father Benedict. How could I not come when he personally 
asked if I would be there?" 

She laughs and hugs me. "It's so good to have you home, Alex. You're my baby. My 
life wasn't complete without you." 

"Nor mine without all of you," I say, my voice thick. 

After just a few short months, I can't imagine how I got by for so long without 
them. I lost myself by denying who I was, trying to be Alex Krycek, the badass, 
take-no-prisoners mercenary. I was damned good at it too. But Alex Drake, the 
bartender, is learning how to live in his own skin and be a part of the human 
race again. I wouldn't trade what I have now for all the money and power in the 
world. 

After lunch Audrina opens the rest of her gifts, then the kids trot off in 
search of trouble while the adults sit around and linger of a bottle of wine and 
a sinfully rich chocolate roulage. 

"Al, how's the work coming on the house?" Bronwyn asks me. 

"Well, they weren't lying when they described the place as a fixer-upper. I've 
still got a lot to do. But you can't beat a twenty-two thousand dollar house 
with a six percent fixed-rate mortgage." 

"You're right," Paul agrees. My real estate extraordinaire brother-in-law is in 
large part responsible for my good fortune in securing the loan for the 
mortgage. "By the way, do you still want some help putting up those kitchen 
cabinets next weekend?" 

"If you've got time, it would be great. I really appreciate all the help." 

"We'll be there. If there's beer and pizza involved, Trevor won't be hard to 
convince, and Mason will take any excuse to swing a hammer." Paul shoots a smile 
at Trevor, who feigns indignation. 

It's been difficult admitting my limitations since Tunguska, especially during 
this renovation project. My extremely small, two-bedroom house on July Street is 
the only thing I've ever owned that I purchased with money legally earned, and I 
wanted to fix it up with my own two hands. Small problem -- one of my hands is 
bone dust somewhere in Tunguska. So while I've been grateful for the help of my 
brothers-in-law, it hasn't been easy to accept. 

"At the rate we're going, I should be ready to move in before Thanksgiving." 

"Now we just have to worry about getting you some furniture," Dee replies. 

"What's wrong with my milk crates? They're highly functional." 

"Alex, you cannot get by with a futon and a bunch of milk crates. Maybe Bron and 
Cori and I can hit some yard sales next weekend. You need linens, and dishes. 
You know, the kind of stuff most people find necessary for day-to-day living?" 

"Hey, if I've gotten by without those things for the last six months, how 
necessary can they be?" 

She hits me in the head with a napkin as she stands up and takes my plate. "My 
brother, the minimalist. I raised you better than to live in squalor, 
Alexander." 

Squalor? No, Squalor is the inside of a Tunisian work camp. Jesus, there's so 
much about me my family will never know. So much about their own heritage and 
beginnings they cannot ever know. The walls I keep up to contain these secrets 
and lies are a constant reminder that they shouldn't really trust me. They don't 
know the things I've done, or how many people I've killed committing those acts. 


I shudder. 

"You okay?" Bron asks, rising to help Dee clear the table. 

"Yeah, just imagining what kind of stuff you ladies would find for me at a yard 
sale. I'd rather keep my futon than have my bachelor pad look like it was 
attacked by Martha Stewart." 

Good save, Alex. Score one for the Gipper. 

Bron snorts and leaves the room with the dishes. 

Later in the evening Cori and I retire to my apartment to sit on my previously 
insulted futon and play Canasta. I haven't played in years. I tried to teach Fox 
a couple of times, but he kept getting the rules to Canasta and Bridge mixed up. 
I finally gave up and bought him a Go set for Christmas, which we played a few 
times. I'm sure it's packed in a box at Dana Scully's apartment now. 

"Would you like your beer in a glass, Corinne?" I ask politely. "See, I'm not a 
totally barbarian. I have collected a few worldly possessions over the last few 
months." 

"Okay, smart ass. The bottle will be fine, thank you. Just don't take the cap 
off with your teeth. You'll get spit on the bottle neck." she smiles sweetly. 
Little brat. 

"You are such a lady, Cori. No wonder you have nothing better to do with your 
time than hang out with a guy like me," I hand her a bottle of beer and sit down 
to play my hand. 

"Al?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Why do you spend all your free time hanging out with me? I suppose you're good 
looking, in a funny sort of way," she smiles to negate her words. "So why aren't 
you out dating? Don't you have a boyfriend?" 

I nearly choke on my beer. My sisters know I'm gay. It's not something I've ever 
been ashamed of. As a teen I kind of flaunted it, daring someone to have a 
problem with it. However, I wasn't expecting questions about my personal life. 
Even from Cori, who is the most liberal-minded of my siblings. 

"Breathe, Alex. Shit, I was just asking. Don't flip out on me." 

A long moment passes before I find my voice. "There was someone. He died in the 
spring, right before I came back here. I'm really not interested in finding 
someone else." 

Her eyes well up with tears, glinting like peridot behind her lashes. Shit. As 
much as I love her, the last thing I want is her pity. 

"Al, I'm so sorry. Is that why you came back to Louisiana? Had you been together 
very long?" 

"Long enough," I shrug, trying to ease the ache in my chest. If I keep acting 
like I don't give a damn, maybe it will become true some day. "Are you gonna 
play your hand, or are you conceding defeat?" 

Bless her sweet little heart, at least she knows when to drop a subject. She 
swigs her beer and reaches over to draw a card from the pile. 

///////////////////////////// 

I move into my house the weekend before Thanksgiving. It's an easy process, as 
everything I own fits in the back of Trevor's pickup truck. Of course, my 
sisters and some of the women from the church have endowed me with a hodgepodge 
of mismatched linens, cutlery and assorted household items. I even surrendered 
my milk crates and built some bookshelves with the wood left over from putting a 
closet in the second bedroom. 

My little corner of domestic bliss looks nearly presentable, if a bit sparse, by 
the time I am done. 

Thanksgiving is a happy affair for me, for the first time in almost two decades. 
I spend the day with my family eating and cursing at the football games on TV. 
Paul brings out a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and we all get pleasantly buzzed 
on sixty-year-old scotch. 

I honestly can't remember the last time I was this relaxed or comfortable. Up 
until a few months ago it's a feeling I would have actively avoided -- in my 
line of work, relaxation was suicide. 

Late in the afternoon Bron drives me home so I can grab a nap before work. I 
settle down on the futon in the living room, feeling slightly bloated and a 
little drunk. It doesn't take long before the white noise of the ceiling fan and 
the stereo lull me to sleep. 

"Do you really have to go? Can't you stay until Sunday?" he leans in and kisses 
me softly, taking me by surprise. His kisses are usually passionate, fierce, and 
occasionally border on brutal, but are never tender. 

There is a light in his eyes I've never seen before. He looks almost happy. 
Could I possibly have put that look on his face? I can't recall the last time I 
made anyone happy. I know I satisfy his body, as he does mine, but lately it's 
getting harder and harder to leave here. 

"I have business to take care of." 

I'm leaving tomorrow for Tunisia, but I don't tell him that. I don't know how to 
define what's going on between us, but it doesn't change the fact that we are 
still on diametrically opposite sides of the law, if no longer the war. 

"Is this the kind of business that's going to end up in a sealed government 
document?" He runs his thumb over my lips, looking as close to concerned about 
me as I've ever seen. 

"What I do when I'm not in your bed isn't any of your business, Mulder." 

What the hell is he trying to do you me? He knows what I do. He knows what my 
life is like. Did he really think all of that would change over a few weekends 
of mind-blowing sex? Maybe he's more delusional than I thought. The scary thing 
is, I'm starting to buy into some of those delusions. 

His lips skim across my cheekbone. I shudder. I can't explain what he does to 
me. The simplest touch sends molten need coursing through my body, incinerating 
all logic and reason from my mind. When we're done with each other, all that 
remains are want and desire. 

I slide my hand under his shirt, pressing my palm against the warmth of his 
back. Strong muscles move under the soft skin. I want to rip the shirt off his 
back, bend him over his kitchen table and take him again. 

"Stay then. Just a few more hours. Come back to bed with me, and be my business 
for a little while longer." 

His voice rumbles like thunder through my veins. My duffle bag hits the floor as 
he slides my jacket down my shoulders. The thought of burying myself inside of 
his body once again diffuses the urgency of the mission waiting for me in 
Tunisia. 

I'm sinking fast, but I don't care anymore. 

I wake with a start. 

That was the last time I saw him before that day in the Hoover building, with 
Skinner and Marita, several months later. I was arrested and imprisoned after 
reaching my destination. I never got the chance to tell him where I'd been, or 
that the thought of seeing him again had kept me sane during those hellish 
months. 

I run my hand through my hair. Good God, this has got to stop. Wanting him, 
needing him, dreaming about him isn't going to bring him back. He's never coming 
back. The realization crashes through me like a tidal wave, drowning me in 
grief. I bite back the sob. 

I. Do. Not. Cry. I will not cry. Even for him. Goddamn him for turning me inside 
out then dying on me. 

Eventually I pull myself together enough to realize I'm late for work. I get up 
and wash my face, then lock up the house and leave, jogging all the way to the 
bar. 

////////////////////////////////////////// 

"All the guilty people," he said They've all seen the stain- On their daily 
bread 

On their Christian names I cleared myself I sacrificed my blues And you could 
complete me I'd complete you..." 

"Alex, what's wrong with you, man? You look like somebody shot your dog." 

I look over at Greg, the bartender, biting back a caustic reply to his question. 


"Nothing, I'm fine." 

"Dude, you must have woman troubles or something. You're running the customers 
out of here playing that awful Joni Mitchell song over and over again." 

"Fuck the customers. I like Joni Mitchell. They can go drink at The Library if 
they don't like it." 

Greg gives me an odd look and mutters, "Forget I said anything. Just warn me if 
you're gonna start playing the Jeff Buckley discs again. I may just have to 
quit." 

It gets worrisome when your employees can tell what kind of mood you're in by 
the music you listen to. Yeah, I'm in a shitty mood. So sue me. I'd much rather 
be at home drinking myself into a stupor, but the bar doesn't close for another 
two hours and we're pretty busy for a holiday, despite my proclivity for Joni 
Mitchell. Apparently some of the customers have better taste than Greg does. 

Despite my dark mood I manage to get the bar closed without shooting any 
patrons, killing Greg or listening to any more Joni Mitchell. I walk the deposit 
over to the bank then head home, shivering in the chilled, damp November air. 

I approach my house, crossing through the back yard and around to the right side 
of the house. 

Something isn't right. It tingles at the base of my neck, tightens my stomach. 

There. Movement on the front porch. 

I reach for the gun in the waistband of my jeans and flick the safety off. I 
forgot to leave the porch light on, but in the darkness I make out a 
particularly deep shadow low to the ground, near the front door. 

The shadow shifts again and I take aim. 

"You've got two seconds to get the fuck away from my house," I announce, my 
voice low and calm. I realize I should call the police, but some habits die 
harder than others. 

"Alex?" The shadow speaks. The voice is no more than a whisper. 

The gun falls from my suddenly numb fingers. Forcing my feet to move, I circle 
the porch and walk up the stairs. 

The huddled figure of a man looks up at me. Even in the darkness those eyes 
seize me in their thrall. 

I sink to my knees in front of him. 

"Fox." Oh god, it can't be him. He's dead, he's gone forever, this can't be him: 
Oh Mother of God, please let it be him... 

"Alex." His voice is raspy, weighted with relief. 

I reach out and run my fingers over his cheek. I feel raised scars on his face, 
and the rasp of stubble as I trace the contours of his too-prominent cheekbones. 


Oh shit, I'm dreaming again. If this is a dream please, please don't let me wake 
up. He feels so real and warm in my arms. 

His head has been shaved recently. The newly grown hair prickles against my 
cheek as I clutch his shivering body to me. We sit like that for an infinite 
time before he speaks. 

"I-I didn't think I would ever see you again." His teeth chatter as he speaks. 

"Mulder, you're freezing. Let's get you inside where it's warm." 

I leverage him to his feet and struggle, my hand shaking, to unlock the door. 
When it swings open I wrap my arm around his waist. I can feel the knob of his 
hip bone again my palm. God, he's lost so much weight. 

He hangs in my arms like a rag doll. I steer him over to the futon and turn on a 
lamp. 

What the hell have they done to him? He looks like a refugee from a prison camp. 
His cheeks and eye sockets are sunken, and there are three puckered and angry 
looking scars on each cheek. He's dressed in nothing but jeans and a sweatshirt. 


I pull the throw blanket from the back of the futon and wrap it around his 
shoulders. "I'm going to make you some coffee. Have you eaten?" 

He panics. "No, don't go! Just... just sit here with me, okay?" 

"Sure, whatever you want." I sit down on the couch next to him. My mind reels. I 
wanted to hope, but never really believed he was still alive. The fact that he 
is sitting here in my living room is more than I can wrap my brain around. 

"You must have gotten my message," I say after a period of silence. 

Before arriving in Louisiana, I sent an email to his address containing a clue 
as to how he might find me. I had no hope that he would ever see it, but I 
couldn't leave without knowing I had left him some way to get in contact with 
me. 

A brief quirk of his lips shows some attempt at a smile. "Yeah, that was pretty 
clever. Evening Ale. Evangeline. Your parents owned a house on Evangeline Street 
in the until 1983. Alexander Mikhail Gray." 

"It's Michael Alexander Drake, now. You can still call me Alex." I smile, hoping 
to see a flash of life in his dulled eyes. 

"The FBI has declared Alexei Pavel Krycek legally dead. You are a cat on his 
ninth life, it seems." 

"Alex Krycek is dead. I'm out. I'm free." It feels good to say it aloud. I only 
hope it's not too little too late. 

"You killed Spender." It's not an accusation, only a statement of fact. I wonder 
how he knows. I'll kill Marita if I find out she's opened her treacherous mouth. 


"I did. I'd do it again if I had the chance." Another statement of fact. 

He nods, but doesn't speak. 

"How long..." have you been alive again? Have you been back on planet Earth? 

"Three weeks. I just got out of the hospital two days ago." 

"You came straight here?" 

He looks at me, his expression unreadable. "I don't have a home anymore." 

I wrestle with the urge to tell him he has a home with me. I've had months to 
romanticize our affair, to build it into some kind of fucked-up love story in my 
head. But it wasn't like that, and there is no happy ending for this tale. I 
want him, I need him, but I respect him too much to try and convince myself it 
was anything more. I'm simply not capable of it. 

"I'll go make that coffee now. You're still shivering -- you need to warm up." 

I go to the kitchen and busy myself making coffee and soup. I need to get my 
head together before I say or do something I can't take back or live with. I've 
never felt anything like the fierce, protective emotion that hit me like a ton 
of bricks when I held his slight body in my arms. 

So many times in the past few months I've wished I could trade my life for his. 
Now we're both here, and I don't have a fucking clue what to do next. I want Fox 
Mulder in this world, safe and whole and happy. But what is he doing in my 
living room, instead of safe and warm in DC with Scully? 

I can't take care of him. I can barely take care of myself. What if he wants to 
stay? It's not like our relationship was based on trust and honesty. Are great 
sex and some strange, overwhelming attraction that I don't even understand 
enough to keep us from killing each other? 

I need to focus on the here and now. He's physically whole and I can protect him 
until I figure out why the hell he's here. 

I bring the soup and coffee to the living room and set the tray on the table 
before him. He's dozed off, his slack mouth and the paper-thin skin under his 
eyes squeezed into deep creases. I reach out to run my hand over the top of his 
head, thankful that I don't feel more scars. I wonder what horrible surprises 
hide under his clothes, evidence of the tortures his former captors are capable 
of. My imagination runs wild. I was so happy to see him that I didn't even check 
for oil in his eyes. 

I'm tempted to prick him and make sure his blood is red. I can't believe it 
didn't occur to me sooner. He could be a bounty hunter, and this whole reunion a 
trap. If I were still me, that would have been my first thought. 

No, that wasn't me. That level of suspicion and paranoia kept me distanced from 
everyone I loved for far too long. Of all the personas I've worn like a shield 
from the world, Alex Krycek is the one I will miss the least. 

"Fox, wake up and drink this." I hold the cup under his nose, and slowly he 
rouses. 

"Alex?" He looks confused, his eyes vague and unfocused. 

My blood pressure shoots up. God, is his mind still intact? "Are you alright?" I 
ask, too sharply. 

He nods and reaches for the coffee cup. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I've developed this 
bad habit of fuguing out every once in a while. The short-term memory loss is a 
real bitch too. Scully says I should be fine. Did you know that she's pregnant?" 


"Yeah, I know." 

He takes a sip from the mug. "I submitted blood for a paternity test. The 
timetable is iffy, but there's a possibility it's mine. She's not doing well. 
She's had a very hard time." 

"Then why did you leave her?" 

He sighs. "It's not like that. You know I didn't sleep with her, Alex. I was 
never meant to be anything more than a sperm donor. I owed her. If it weren't 
for me, she'd probably be married and have a bunch of rugrats by now." 

Those words might sound innocent if they'd been spoken to anyone but me. But we 
both know who's really to blame. The sad thing is, he doesn't even see it. He 
knows exactly what I did, yet he still blames himself entirely. For what, Fox, 
for being born? For having Bill Mulder for a father? He's going to drag the 
albatross of Samantha's loss around for the rest of his life. 

"Mulder, being in the room when something happens doesn't make it your fault. 
Besides, blame implies that you could have done something to prevent it. You are 
one man -- you couldn't have affected the outcome of these things. If they 
hadn't found a way to use you, they would have eliminated you." Hollow, 
inadequate words are all I have to offer. 

I bite my lip to keep from asking him why he came here. Does he blame me for 
what happened to him? Perhaps he's here to kill me and be done with it. No, he 
wouldn't do that. He's not me. He's a shining torch of justice compared to my 
dark flame of vengeance. Mulder wouldn't kill me with impunity, he'd arrest me 
and haul my ass back to DC so someone else could kill me while I waited in 
prison for my trial. 

"I left the Bureau. Skinner really went to bat for me. Got me severance pay for 
all the time I've been missing, and a full pension. I even got to keep all my 
benefits." 

How kind of him. Skinner fucking lost you in the woods and left you for dead, 
but at least he made sure you got your 401k. 

"You need to get some sleep. You look strung out. How did you get here from the 
airport? Are you certain you weren't followed?" I put my cup down and look at 
him. 

He laughs. It's a humorless, disconcerting sound, coming from his gorgeous 
mouth. 

"Paranoid much, Alex? I wasn't followed. I can't tell you how glad they all were 
to see me gone. Finding me didn't fit into the plan, you know? Spooky was 
supposed to give his life for his quest, not turn back up in Oregon six months 
later after everyone had moved on." 

"They found you in Oregon?" 

"Some hunters did. I don't know how I got there. My memories are hazy. I don't 
know if they're real memories, or my mind just filling in the blanks with a 
thousand other abduction stories I've heard over the years." 

I take him by the hand and pull him from the futon. I have to end this 
conversation while I still have my composure intact. 

"Come on, Mulder, let's get you in bed before you fall out. We'll have plenty of 
time to talk later. The sun will be up in a couple of hours, and I've been at 
work all night." 

"You have a job? A real job?" 

"Shut up, asshole. I'm capable of fitting into society when necessary." 

I lead him into my bedroom and turn down the covers on my narrow double bed. His 
feet are probably going to hang over the end. I dig in my dresser and find him a 
pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then hand them to him. 

"I don't have an extra toothbrush or anything. Do you have a bag out on the 
porch?" 

He gives me with another grim smile. "I didn't think that far ahead. I went to 
the airport just to buy the ticket -- getting on the next flight was a last 
minute decision." 

My heart beats double time, slamming against my ribcage. Fuck, he's going to get 
me killed... 

"Shit, Mulder, did you tell Scully you were leaving? She's going to be looking 
for you, if you flew directly into Baton Rouge you're going to lead her right to 
me." That's just what I need, a pregnant, hormonal Scully beating down my door, 
thinking I kidnapped her partner. 

He clears his throat and looks at me for a moment. The brilliant kaleidoscope of 
color I usually see in his eyes is dulled to a dark, depthless palate of brown 
and green. "Alex, Scully and I didn't part on the kind of terms where she's 
going to be looking for me. Just let it go for now, alright?" 

A cold finger of fear slithers up my spine. What the hell has he done? 

"No problem. If you wake up before me, just help yourself to anything from the 
fridge. Don't answer the phone. I'll be in the living room if you need 
anything." I turn to walk out, and his face falls. 

I look down at my bed, remembering how warm and soft his skin is, imagine the 
two of us naked and sweaty on my sheets.... I'm pulled like a magnet to him, 
overcome with the need to touch him. But I wrestle the compulsion to the ground 
and stake it in the heart. This is not the time for what I need. And as much as 
he might think he needs the same thing, I know he's wrong. He needs food, and 
rest, but he does not need me. 

I turn back to him and put my hand on his shoulder. I press a light kiss to his 
forehead, drinking in the sensation of touching him. "Sleep well, Fox." 

I don't realize I've been holding my breath until I close the door behind me. I 
lean against it for just a moment, fighting the desire to lock us both in that 
room together and not come out for a long time. 

I fold out the futon, then strip down to my boxers and remove my prosthesis. I 
pull the throw blanket over me and stare at the ceiling, almost wishing I had a 
baby monitor or something so I could make sure he's still breathing. 

It's deathly quiet in the predawn darkness. I remember the gun I dropped in the 
front yard, the ultimate symbol of how far gone I really am. I try to force my 
leaden limbs to move, to dress again and go retrieve it, but sleep pulls me 
under before I can move. 

/////////////////////////////// 

"Alex? Come on and open the door! I know you're in there!" 

I am jolted awake by the sound of Corinne's voice at the front door. 

Before I can grab my pants the door opens and Cori steps in. My gun is in her 
hand. "Al, what's going on? I found this in the yard by the steps--" 

She looks at my naked chest, my bare legs, my limbless shoulder, and flushes 
from the roots of her hair to the collar of her shirt. "Oh, gee, uh...." 

Heat rises in my face, prickles up my neck. I turn sideways so my truncated arm 
is out of her line of sight. 

"Cori, maybe if someone doesn't answer the door that means they don't want 
company. What are you doing here? What time is it?" I snatch my shirt over my 
head to hide my nudity, hating the way the empty sleeve dangles at my left side. 


Cori recovers and calmly places the gun on the table, next to the dirty coffee 
mugs and soup bowl. 

"I'm sorry, Al. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I don't want to see you 
in your underwear because you're my brother, not because the sight of your arm 
bothers me. It wouldn't bother me at all if it didn't seem to bother you so 
much. You were supposed to meet me for brunch an hour ago. I was just coming by 
to check on you. I got worried when I found the gun in the yard." 

Brunch. Oh yeah. Damn. I guess I was a little preoccupied. 

"I'm sorry, Cori. Don't worry, the gun is mine. Everything is fine. I completely 
forgot about meeting you today." 

"Why are you sleeping in the living room, Al? Are you sure everything's 
alright?" 

Like a scene from a bad sitcom, Fox ambles out of my bedroom, dressed only in my 
sweatpants. 

"Alex, is there coffee? Please tell me there's coffee..." He yawns and scratches 
his belly before he opens his eyes and sees me standing in my underwear in front 
of Corinne. "Oh, I see I'm interrupting." 

Corinne, damn her, gets this shit-eating grin on her face and extends her hand 
to him. "No, not at all. I'm Corinne Gray, Alex's sister. Now I can see why he 
forgot about our date." 

Fox gives me the patented Scully eyebrow and shakes Cori's hand. "I'm Fox 
Mulder, it's nice to meet you, Corinne." 

I take her by the arm. "Cori, can I see you in the kitchen, please? Mulder, I'll 
be right out with the coffee." 

I pull her into the kitchen and shut the door. "This is not what it looks like, 
so get your mind out of the gutter," I say as I start the bean grinder. 

Cori pours water in the coffee pot and places it on the counter. "Oh, really?" 
she drawls. "Well, whatever it is, I'm glad to see you've finally made a friend. 
There's been way too much estrogen in your life lately." 

I rub my hand over my face. Shit, how am I going to explain this? 

"Do you remember I told you about a guy who died earlier this year? Well, it 
appears the reports of his death were somewhat exaggerated. That's him." 

She sits down at the kitchen table. "Oh my God. Alex, how could that be? You 
said he was dead." 

"Look, I left, okay? He was missing, and I had reason to believe he was dead, 
but I didn't stick around to wait for confirmation. I left town and came here. 
He's been missing all this time. He was just found a few weeks ago." 

"His friends and family didn't let you know he was alive? What about the police? 
How could you leave not knowing if he was alive or dead?" 

I sit down across from her, my heart sinking because I'm about to lie to her, 
again. I didn't ever want to have to lie to any of them again. 

"Cori, it's very complicated. No one knew about us. He's a federal officer. His 
parents are both dead," I killed his father, Cori. Both of them. Still want me 
in your life, Sis? "So no one knew to contact me. I care about him, and what we 
had was good, but we weren't exactly Bogart and Bacall. It just wasn't like 
that." 

My sweet, romantic little sister. There are tears in her eyes when she reaches 
over to pat my hand. "But he's here now. That has to mean something." 

"Yeah, but I don't know what, yet. Look, he's been ill. Don't ask him a lot of 
questions or say anything to make him uncomfortable, alright? He was waiting on 
the porch for me when I got home from work last night, so we haven't even had a 
chance to talk yet." I get up to pour the coffee. 

"No problem. I'll help you carry this to the living room, then I'll be on my 
merry way." 

When we return to the living room Fox is wearing his jeans and sweatshirt again. 
He's sitting on the edge of the futon, his knee bouncing nervously. "Alex, you 
don't have a television." 

"Nope, it rots your brain. Read a book or something." I hand him his mug and he 
takes a deep sip. 

"This is good. Kenyan?" 

"You know it. None of that cheap Starbucks crap in my house." I smile at him, 
remembering his ten bucks a day Starbucks habit. 

Cori picks up her purse from the coffee table and moves closer to me. 

"Mr. Mulder, it was very nice to meet you. I have to be going now, but I hope to 
see you again soon. Perhaps you can come have dinner with the family sometime," 
she says brightly as she kisses my cheek. 

"Get out, Cori." I smile at her with that brotherly smile that lets her know I 
plan to kill her later on. 

"Yeah, love you too, Al. I'll call you later." With that she crosses the room 
and closes the front door behind her. 

He looks at me with something akin to amusement. "You let your sister call you 
Al?" 

"All three of them call me that. You didn't dig that up while you were following 
my clues?" 

I sit down on the futon next to him, relieved that he seems much more like his 
normal self this morning. I felt helpless with the weak, wounded man he was last 
night. 

"I tried to respect your privacy. I only looked up the necessary information to 
find you. I was surprised to find out your father was a professor here at LSU." 

"He wasn't. That was just a cover. He worked for the consortium." I sip my 
coffee, watching him for a reaction. 

Well, that shocked him into silence. After a moment I try to break the tension, 
laughing nervously. 

"How do you think I got involved? They don't have a recruiting office like the 
army." 

He laughs in response. "I never gave it much thought. I figured you were just 
born bad." 

"I'll have you know, despite my father's business, which I knew nothing about 
until college, I had a perfectly normal childhood. I was going to play baseball 
and get my MBA from Tulane. I fucked up my knee and lost my athletic 
scholarship, so my father got me a job with Spender. By the time I realized how 
many illegal things I had done, my father was dead and it was too late to get 
out. I was in so deep by the time they sent me to Quantico that I knew I was 
never going to escape. They threatened my sisters, and I knew they didn't bluff 
about things like that." I run out of steam, put my cup on the table, my hand 
shaking. I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath. 

"Everyone has a story, Alex," he says softly. 

"Yeah, I supposed they do," I reply, standing. "I know it doesn't excuse any of 
the things I've done. I can't go back and change the past, but at least I've 
gotten out. That's the best I can do, and if it's not enough for you then you 
know where the airport is." 

Why am I so defensive all of a sudden? It's not like he and I haven't had 
similar conversations under many circumstances. I know that he finds my actions 
unforgivable, and somehow he wants me even though he hates that part of me. So 
why rock that boat now? 

"I'm going to get a shower. We need to see about finding you some clothes when I 
get out." I try to walk past him, but he grabs my arm and stands up in front of 
me, sliding the tips of his fingers over the stubble on my cheek. 

"Don't you want me anymore? Did I make a mistake coming here?" 

Oh god, that voice. It flows over my nerve endings and caresses them until they 
hum in response. I don't know how he does this to me. 

I kiss him softly, immersing myself in the warmth of those full, chapped lips. 
His fingers twist in my hair and his questing tongue explores my mouth. I lose 
myself for long moments in this kiss, our tongues gliding across one another and 
my dick hardening almost immediately. 

This is madness. We can't just fall back into bed together after all this time 
and pretend nothing has happened. I reluctantly let him go and step back. 

"Shower," I manage to say around the lump in my throat. "I'll be out in a few." 

I step into the shower and groan as the water rushes over me. I'd almost 
forgotten what the closeness of his body did to me. How could I have forgotten 
pounding that tight, lithe body into the mattress while he screamed beneath me? 
My swollen dick twitches at the thought. I lean against the cold tile and wrap 
my hand around it, sliding my thumb up over the head. God, to feel his hands on 
me again. Memories of another shower in an apartment on Hegal Place, with him on 
his knees in front of me, fuel my fantasies as I relieve myself. 

After my shower I shave and dress. When I come back to the living room I find 
him speaking on his cell phone, the yellow pages open on his knees. 

"Yeah, just have them shipped to that address. It's a UPS office. No, not all of 
my stuff. Just pick me out some jeans and sweaters-oh, and my checkbook. And my 
coat. Thanks Frohike. Man, I swear to you I'm fine. No, I won't be in touch 
again for a while. Just...call me when Scully has the baby, alright? I'd like to 
know that she's okay." 

I go into the kitchen and stick some bread in the toaster. So he's staying. I 
think I'm glad, but it's hard to think with him in the next room. I can't let my 
little head think for me, no matter how much it's screaming for him. 

I set the toast on the kitchen table and slice up a cantaloupe, and then decide 
to stick the sweet potato pie Delia sent home with me yesterday in the oven. I 
guess Fox must have had Thanksgiving dinner on the plane. How depressing. 

Fox wanders in and sits down. "You are just full of surprises, Krycek. First you 
have a job and now you can cook. What else have you got in store for me?" 

I put a glass of grapefruit juice down in front of him. "It's Drake. Alex Drake. 
You cannot call me Krycek in front of anyone. It's imperative that you remember 
that." 

He looks confused for a moment. "You told me that last night, didn't you?" 

"Yes I did. I know you said you're having some memory problems, but this isn't 
open for negotiation. If you can't remember then just call me Alex. My sisters 
know nothing about Alex Krycek, and they can't ever find out. Their lives depend 
on it, Mulder." 

"What does your family think you've been doing all these years? Reading to the 
blind? Being a boy scout leader?" 

"Fuck you, Mulder. They don't let gays in the boy scouts anymore, but I was an 
eagle scout. They don't know anything about me, they think I'm a bum who finally 
settled down because he's getting old." 

"How did you explain the arm?" 

"Skydiving in Arizona." 

He snorts, choking on his juice. "Oh, that's rich. So how should I explain the 
scars on my face, a fight with a tiger in Peru?" 

"I told Cori you were a fed, and she knows you were missing in the line of 
duty." 

"Alex, do you realize that you have a profound gift for understatement?" 

"Lately I'm erring on the side of understating instead of outright lying." I 
pull the pie out of the oven and put it on the table. His grin is childlike and 
I feel stupid for being so pleased by it. 

"Do I get whipped cream on top of that?" 

I cuff him on the back of the head, then turn to the refrigerator to get out the 
whipping cream. 

//////////////////////////////// 

By mid afternoon I've gotten his sketchy version of what happened to him. A beam 
of light in the woods, enclosing all of the Oregon abductees, then foggy, 
dreamlike memories of stabbing, relentless pain in various parts of his body and 
endless permeating cold. And then nothing until an intensive care unit in 
Portland. He spent a week there on kidney dialysis, parenteral nutrition and 
anti-seizure meds in an advanced state of psychosis. 

"Then one day I went to take a leak and there was a black substance in my 
urine," he says, recanting the story in a monotone. 

"The oil." 

"Right. But after that, my head cleared. Something caused the stuff to die. So 
when I quit trying to kill myself they transported me to DC. I was in the 
hospital two more weeks, getting physical therapy and every goddamn test on the 
planet Scully could think up." He sips his beer and leans back against the 
futon. We've been talking for hours at this point. 

"What happened with you and Scully? I know it's not any of my business, but 
coveting other people's secrets is a hard habit to break." I try not to notice 
how hot he looks when he licks his lips after sipping his beer, or how much I 
want to lean over and run my tongue down the long line of his neck. 

"It's hard to explain. You really had to have been there for most of the last 
seven years to get it. Scully is, in many ways, a soldier. No matter what 
happens, she just picks up and keeps going. She wanted me to do the same thing. 
Just get out of my hospital bed and come back to work. But I couldn't ignore 
what's happened to me, or her pregnancy. That might be my child, and other than 
asking for a fucking blood test she refused to discuss it. She just wants to 
keep marching forward and pretend nothing is wrong. But the whole goddamn thing 
is wrong and I'm tired of pretending it's not." His voice gets more animated as 
he speaks, his inflection rising until he's nearly yelling. 

I rub his leg, trying to calm him. "Mulder, that's just who Scully is. You've 
always known that. Now, of all times, doesn't seem like the best time to make an 
issue of it." 

God, I hope you're listening. I'm actually defending Dana Scully. I must get 
extra points for that. 

"No, now of all times was the time to make an issue of it. You know, for years 
I've believed that Scully accepted me just as I am. But the truth is, I've never 
shown her the parts I thought she wouldn't accept. For Christ's sake, we might 
be having a baby together and she doesn't even know I'm gay!" His voice rises 
again, and his hand clenches tightly around the neck of his bottle. 

"I can't keep being who Scully needs me to be. My whole life, I've tried to be 
what someone or something else wanted me to be. My parents, the FBI, Scully...I 
won't do it anymore. It's never been enough. I couldn't hide who I was well 
enough to fit in, so I've spent the last ten years of my life being Spooky 
Mulder." 

"Fox..." 

"No! Don't you, of all people, tell me it's going to be okay! Do you know that 
right before I disappeared they were about to shut the X files down again? I'm 
nearly forty years old. I can't keep walking into the office every day fighting 
to still have a job, much less to find the answers I want." 

I've never heard him talk like this. Since when did he care about job security? 
All he's ever cared about is his precious Truth. I've tried to tell him before 
that the truths he seeks can be altered, hidden, or outright obliterated by his 
enemies. He never believed me. As far as he's concerned, I'm just a tool to 
continue their plausible deniability. 

"Mulder, there are no answers. You just don't get it. These men...they can bend 
the world to their will. They will string you along, dangle information in your 
face like a junkie looking for a fix, but they'll slap you down every time you 
think you're getting close to something. Whatever it is you think you found, or 
exposed, can be erased by them before you've had time to draw your next breath." 


"Are you telling me there is no point in trying to stop them? That I should just 
let them continue to manipulate the world to suit their interests?" 

"I'm telling you the one truth you can believe. You cannot stop them. They'll 
destroy everything you have to live for if you try. For the first time, you have 
something that they can't take away from you -- your experience on that ship. 
The aliens have chosen you, and they won't lay a finger on you now. What about 
Scully and that child? Even if it's not yours, don't think they wouldn't kill it 
to get to you. You have to make a choice. Is some version of the truth worth 
losing everything in your life that you love? Is it worth the lives of everyone 
around you?" 

He sets his beer down on the table. "I'm really beat, do you mind if I take a 
nap in your room?" 

"Go ahead. When are the gunmen sending your stuff? I'll have to get my sister to 
take you to the UPS office, I don't have a car." 

"It should be here Monday or Tuesday. I'll take a cab to the mall tomorrow and 
pick up some stuff." 

I look at my watch. "I have to be at work at six. Are you going to be all right 
here by yourself?" 

He gives me a withering look. "Other than the lack of audio visual 
entertainment, I think I'll manage to survive. If I don't wake up in time, I'll 
see you when you get home." He turns and walks into the bedroom, closing the 
door behind him. 

Today has been a maelstrom of emotion. One minute we're pawing each other with 
something like affection, the next minute we're discussing the fate of the 
universe. Physically he wants to be close to me, but he wants to continue taking 
the same pot shots at each other that used to constitute most of our 
conversations. I could handle that if the physical attention he was seeking was 
sexual in nature -- that would be par for the course between him and me. But 
that's not what he wants. Reassurance? Comfort? Fuck if I know. The one constant 
with Fox Mulder is that nothing is constant. The man's mind is an enigma. 

I putter around, washing the dishes and making a list of things he needs that I 
can get at the drug store on the way to work. I go twenty rounds with my newly 
developing conscience, trying to figure out how I'm going to explain his 
presence in my life. I think of all the new lies I'll be telling my family about 
how we met and how long we've been seeing each other, and where Fox was when he 
was missing. 

It's really easy to keep a thousand lies straight when you never talk to anyone. 
How will I accomplish that with my own family? Will I have to watch my back each 
time I talk to them, lest I let something slip? 

How could the thing I hoped for all this time turn into such a burden so 
quickly? 

My burden is still sleeping soundly when I leave the house. I walk first to the 
drug store to buy him a toothbrush, deodorant, shampoo and a razor. Next I walk 
a few stores down and go into a really overpriced menswear shop to buy him some 
underwear, cause he's sure as hell not wearing mine. My last stop is the record 
store, where I pick up a few discs I ordered last week. 

I get to the bar early and let myself in. I stash my packages in the office and 
turn on the lights, then fire up the sound system and pop in one of my new 
discs. I pour myself a large mug of Guinness from the tap and sit in a corner 
booth with a book. 

"Even if I am in love with you 
And all this to say "what's it to you?" 
observe the blood and rose tattoo of the fingerprints on me from you 
Other evidence has shown that you and I are still alone 
We skirt around the danger zone and don't talk about it later..." 

"We're all in trouble tonight!" Miranda, one of the waitresses, exclaims as she 
comes through the front door. 

"Why's that?" I ask as she walks over to me. 

"You're listening to Suzanne Vega, you're drinking, and," she flicks her eyes 
towards the book in my hand, "you're reading Borges. Those are all indications 
to me that you're in one of your moods. You are aware that we have your cd cases 
marked by which ones you listen to when you're in your scary moods, aren't you?" 


I smile at her, batting my lashes. "My dear, I have no idea what you're talking 
about." 

"Alex, you're a great boss, and we all really like you, but we all know you've 
got girl problems. If you're listening to Joni Mitchell, Nick Drake or Tori Amos 
we're all in trouble. You'll be all surly and unpleasant all night. But if it's 
Jeff Buckley, Bob Seger, or anything made after 1997 we're pretty safe. Except 
for the Jeff Buckley Grace CD, that one falls in the bad category." 

Girl trouble, eh? Now seems like a good time to start getting the people in my 
life used to Mulder. It's apparent that my meager personal life is open game for 
the workplace gossip mill, so I decide to plant a seed and let it grow. 

"It's not girl trouble, Miranda. It's guy trouble, in my case. But things are 
looking up. I'll try not to get all surly on you, alright?" 

She smiles, and the tension in my shoulders eases up. So she's not going to 
treat the queer boss any differently than she did the allegedly straight one. 
That's a good sign. 

"Cool. You can be a really scary dude, Alex. You get all dark and dangerous 
looking when something is bugging you. I'm gonna go clock in." 

I get up and change the music before I have to start paying the employees combat 
pay. Maybe I'll even be nice tonight and let the wait staff pick the music. 

The evening drags by. The weekend after a major holiday is never a good time for 
a business this close to a college campus, as most of the students have gone 
home for the long weekend. I let two of the waitresses leave early before they 
get into a fight over the meager tips, and at 2am there aren't even any 
straggling customers to kick out. Joe won't like the figures, but I'm relieved 
to be getting out this early. I get Greg to give me a ride to the bank to 
shorten the time until I get home. 

When I get home Fox is sitting in the living room thumbing through a book and 
eating potato chips. He must have walked to the store, because I don't keep that 
kind of junk food in the house. You don't stay in the kind of physical shape 
required to survive some of the shit I have by polluting your body with 
preservatives and genetically modified franken-food. 

Not that there's anything polluted-looking about Mulder's body. He's far too 
thin and has significantly less muscle definition than earlier this year, but 
he's still sexy as hell. I notice for the first time that his head wasn't the 
only thing shaved. Save for his eyebrows, they seem to have shaved every hair on 
his body. The sprinkle of hair on his chest is grayer than I remember, but that 
doesn't abate my urge to rub my cheek over that hair while I rip his pants 
off.... 

"Rough day at the office, Honey?" he deadpans, pushing another handful of chips 
into his mouth. 

I shrug, tossing the bags on the table. "Same shit, different day. Here, I 
picked you up some toiletries and stuff." 

"Thank you. I walked over to that Seven-Eleven down the block. I was craving 
chocolate milk. Oh, Corinne called. She offered to take me shopping tomorrow." 

"You're going to the mall on the Saturday after Thanksgiving? You must be out of 
your mind." I really don't want him to be alone with my sister. It's not that I 
don't trust him, but it would be so easy for him to let something slip. He's not 
a talented liar. 

"Well, I've been accused of that a couple of times in my life. I was thinking 
though, I know I've got to come up with a cover story. I guess I can't tell your 
sister that I was abducted by aliens, can I?" He grins, and I feel myself 
responding in kind. 

"You could, but I wouldn't advise it. I gave it some thought, too. Why don't you 
tell her that a suspect held you captive? One of those Jeffrey Dahmer types that 
you used to profile." I sit down on the couch beside him. There's salt clinging 
to his lips from those nasty chips, and I long to lean over and lick it off for 
him. 

"What should I say about us? That we're old friends and you're giving me a place 
to stay?" 

"I hope you don't kick my ass for this, but I outed us already. My family knows 
about my...preferences, they always did. I told Cori we used to be involved." 

"Used to be," he echoes softly. 

Something in me hurts from hearing that tone in his voice. 

I scoot over closer to him, until our thighs are touching. My prosthesis sits 
like a barrier between us, useless for offering comfort or evoking desire. 

"Mulder..." 

He stands up abruptly. "You don't owe me anything, Alex. I'm grateful that you 
let me in when I showed up the way I did. I'll figure out what I'm doing with 
myself, then I'll move on and get out of your way." 

What the hell am I doing wrong here? I think I've been solicitous and 
supportive, yet still I've managed to hurt him. Other than a few kisses and 
touches, there's been no talk of what exactly is going on between us. It seemed 
like he just wanted physical contact, not sex. 

It was so easy to want him and miss him when I didn't have to open myself up to 
him. 

My voice sounds low and gruff when I speak. "Don't leave." 

Those are the same words he said to me back in February, one of the last times I 
saw him before I was detained in a penal colony half a world away. 

He freezes in his tracks. His back is to me, but his painfully erect posture 
relaxes minutely. 

"Okay." He walks into my bedroom and shuts the door. 

I want to follow him. I want to put my arms around him and kiss him, to lay him 
down and soothe away his fears and his pain. I want to believe that he might be 
able to actually care about the person I have been working to become. It's not 
fair, or right. He seems to want more from me than I have to give, but I do not 
want him to leave. 

But really, even in the best case scenario, where could all of this go? We can 
find him a job and an apartment, and spend the weekends together having sex and 
playing chess at the coffee shop. We can have post-coital conversations that 
aren't minefields of lies and subterfuge. We can be friends, true friends for 
the first time. It's the most I'm capable of, and I want it so much I can taste 
it. Taste him, warm and salty against my lips, sweet and alive.... 

He doesn't come back out, so I suppose he's just gone to bed. I take a nice, 
long cold shower and unfold the futon, settling in for the night. Despite my 
worries and fear, sleep claims me quickly. 

///////////////////////////// 

I came to his apartment when I found out Scully was in the hospital. Cancer. I 
hadn't known that was going to happen to her -- I thought they were through with 
her when they returned her. It was way too fucking late to tell him I was sorry, 
that I hadn't meant for that to happen to her. But I had to make sure he wasn't 
going to come home and eat his gun, so I sat in his darkened apartment waiting 
for him to come home. 

He doesn't return until the sky is purple-tinged with the impending sunrise. His 
tie is askew, his face weary and swollen from crying. At first he doesn't even 
notice my presence, just turns to hang up his jacket. After a moment he stiffens 
and turns. 

"Krycek." 

I know he's in bad shape. He doesn't leap across the room to pummel me into the 
floor, doesn't hurl accusations at me. He just speaks my name, in that dark, 
dead voice. 

"In the flesh, at least what's left of it," I gesture to my empty sleeve. The 
wound is still too raw to be fitted with a prosthesis, after the systemic staph 
infection I acquired following the incident. 

Shock registers on his face, but slips off quickly into the shadows. Without 
even turning on a light, he turns his back to me and walks into the kitchen. 
Moments later he returns with a glass of dark liquid. Only later, once my lips 
were raw from his kisses, would I realize he'd been drinking scotch that night. 

"I hope you're happy. You've killed me this time, just as surely as if you'd put 
a gun to my head." His tone is almost conversational. He sits down on the couch 
and sips his drink, speaking in carefully measured tones. "I can't do this 
without her. You've won. Did you have to come here to gloat about it? She's 
dying, and I'll be the next to go." 

"Would you believe me if I told you I came to see if you're all right? It's a 
pity that Dr. Scully is ill. I hope she makes a complete recovery." I'm telling 
him the truth, not that he has any reason to believe me. 

"Would you believe I had a fucking crush on you when I first met you? I almost 
came to your room that night, after you killed Augustus Cole. I thought it was 
your first kill in the field, and I wanted to let you know it was going to be 
okay. But I was scared that if I was wrong you wouldn't want to have a fag for 
your partner, so I stayed in my own room." He drains the glass, and it hits the 
table with a thud. "Maybe if I'd gone to you that night you would have killed me 
then and saved Scully a lot of pain and heartache." 

He's gone over the edge, falling into a dark precipice that leads to the death 
of the soul. If I don't stop him, he's going to swallow a bullet as soon as I 
leave. 

I stand up and cross the room. I grab him by the collar and haul him off the 
couch so that we are nose to nose. I can smell the liquor on his breath and the 
spicy scent of his aftershave. His lips are a mere inch from mine. 

"You should have come to my room that night, Mulder. I could have given you 
pleasure that you never dreamed of. Why don't I show you now what I wanted to do 
to you then?" I pull on his shirt and crush his mouth to mine, forcing my tongue 
past his teeth to war with his. 

His hand comes to the back of my head, not so much to return the kiss as to hold 
me in place so he can suffocate me with his mouth. I pull his hips to mine and 
feel his hardness against me. He doesn't want to die. He's desperate to feel 
something, to be reminded that he's alive. Even if the only thing he feels at 
the moment is the desire to see me dead. 

After a moment I am dizzy from the contact and stunned when he lets go of my 
head. His fist curls in my shirt and the fabric tears. He fastens his mouth onto 
my collarbone and his teeth sink into my flesh. I awkwardly move to open his 
belt and suit pants. They fall to his ankles and I push him away before sinking 
to my knees, jerking his boxers down as I go. 

The floor is cold under my knees, but his cock is hot and hard in my mouth. The 
smell of him is intoxicating, and I allow myself the luxury of a low moan that 
begins deep in my chest and emanates outwards. For so long I had dreamed of 
touching him this way, of possessing this beautiful body and hearing him say my 
name with something besides anger. I won't get that tonight. Swallowing his hot, 
thick despair and drowning his thirst for his own blood will have to be enough. 

He groans and rocks his hips into my face, holding onto my hair. I can't control 
his thrusts; if I use my hand on his cock I'll lose my balance. I pull back and 
lick the crevice between his groin and thigh, savoring the silky texture of his 
skin and the acrid smell of pain that leaks from his pores. I push him backwards 
so that his knees hit the back of the couch and he falls into a sitting 
position. I look up at him from my position on the floor. 

"I'd rather you didn't fuck me without lube, Mulder." 

He stands quickly and his leg knocks into mine. I fall, and my ass hits the 
floor. Embarrassment at my awkward movements heats my face, but he doesn't 
notice. He pulls off his pants and shoes, and then walks down the hall shedding 
his shirt and tie as he goes. I see the light come on in the bathroom and soon 
he pads back down the hall, his naked body humming with tension. 

"Take off your clothes, Krycek." 

The tone of his voice sends a shiver down my spine. This coupling may lead to my 
death, but right now I don't care. I rip my clothes off as quickly as possible 
and stand exposed in the middle of his living room, naked save for the bandage 
on the remainder of my arm. 

He spins me around and pushes me towards his desk. I bend over it and spread my 
legs in the ultimate act of supplication. I expect to feel a finger invading me, 
but instead the head of his slicked cock pushes at my entrance. I brace myself 
with my one hand and bite my lip to keep from crying out when he enters me in 
one brutal thrust. 

There is no happiness or intimacy in this act. He grabs my hips and pistons into 
me again and again. I think I hear him muttering "You did this to me" over the 
sound of flesh slapping against flesh. His fingers are like vices and the desk 
is digging into my stomach, but I push back to meet every thrust.... 

"Alex, wake up!" 

Someone is shaking me. I smell liquor on his breath, and open my eyes to find 
Fox standing over me. I push his hands away and sit up, gasping to draw air into 
my lungs. My dick is painfully hard. 

"That must have been some dream," he says. 

I didn't imagine the alcohol. His eyes are bloodshot and his words slurred. 

I swing my legs over the side of the futon and draw the blanket around me. 
"You've been drinking." 

"I was sitting in the chair over there having a nightcap when you started 
thrashing around. Do you have nightmares like that often?" 

I stand up and try to get my bearings. Wan light diffuses the room, so I know it 
must be close to dawn. "Mulder, why are you drinking at the crack of dawn?" 

He shrugs, and as my eyes adjust to the light I see an empty bottle of vodka 
sitting next to the chair he was in. That bottle was at least two thirds of the 
way full the last time I touched it. 

"I couldn't sleep. I have nightmares too, really bad ones. It's awful. I'm 
paralyzed. I can see and feel everything they're doing to me, but I can't even 
scream." He shivers, his eyes dark and wide. 

I put my arm around him, wrapping us both in the blanket. God, he's so warm... 

"Let's go back to bed. Would you like me to lie down beside you? We can keep 
each other safe." I know that this is madness, the path to destruction, but I 
want it so much. 

He nods. "That would be good." 

With my arm still around him I guide him into the bedroom. We slip under the 
covers, me lying on the left side so I can put my arm around him. He puts his 
head on my chest and wraps an arm around my waist. My dick wakes up again and 
swells in rigid frustration. I draw in a slow breath, trying to calm the beating 
of my heart. 

"Alex, you can touch me. I want you to. You don't have to like me or care about 
me, I just want to feel you inside me again." His voice is raw and plaintive. 

I press a kiss into his shorn hair. "Fox, I'm not going to touch you when you're 
drunk. No matter what happens now, things have to be different this time. I 
don't think this would be a good foot to start out on." 

He doesn't respond. After a while his breathing evens out and he sleeps again. I 
remain wide awake, torn apart by the emotions warring inside me. 

/////////////////////////////// 

When I awake the room is bright with sunlight and I hear voices in the living 
room. I listen for a moment. Cori and Fox. Oh yeah, the big shopping trip. 

I climb out of bed and put on some clothes, then grimace as I look around the 
room. My damned arm is on the living room table. What a lovely conversation 
piece. Well, Cori has already seen me sans limb once. I suppose another time 
won't hurt. 

They're sitting on the futon drinking coffee and talking animatedly to one 
another when I come in. 

"Morning, Al. Fox and I were just about to leave. Are you sure you don't want to 
go with us?" Cori asks. 

"Not if you tied me down and beat me with my own arm," I reply, heading to the 
kitchen for coffee. Up until the last few months I've always had to jump out of 
bed ready for anything. I've finally allowed myself the luxury of being a bear 
in the mornings. It works out a lot better when there's no one else here when I 
wake up. 

I come back in and sit in the chair opposite them. They're laughing and joking. 
I wonder what they've found to talk about so soon. I bet they're making fun of 
me. 

Fox drains his coffee cup and stands. "Okay, we're out of here. Cori is taking 
me some place called The Factory for lunch. Would you like to come with us?" 

"Sure, but you'll have to come back here to pick me up. No wheels, remember?" 

"Al, now that Fox is here you guys are going to need a car. I get the impression 
Fox isn't the type of guy who's going to be happy living off the salad bar at 
the Super Fresh down the street. We'll come back for you around two, bro." 

They leave and I sit for a long time, absorbing her words. You guys are going to 
need a car. As if this were permanent. As if we were in the type of relationship 
where we could share a car and be happy about it. I don't know if we can share 
anything and be happy about it. 

This is so fucking complicated. It used to be so simple. Whenever I could get to 
DC we'd hook up, have lots of hot sex and maybe watch a video together. I'd 
leave and that would be the end of it until next time. It never mattered if it 
was a week or two months, there were no questions and no explanations. 

But to be honest, I'd ceased to be happy with that. I'm not sure what the source 
of my discomfort was, but little things had started to bug me. Like having to 
hide in the bedroom whenever Scully came to the door, or never being able to 
just go down to the coffee shop or bookstore in public with him. The sex was 
just as satisfying as before, but towards the end I was wishing for more. I 
wanted him to ask his questions, and I wanted to give him my explanations. 

And now I have no idea what I want. 

It might be easier to decide if I had any clue what was going in his head. I 
can't even be sure he means the things he's said, after everything he's been 
through. He's lost his job and Dana Scully. What else did he really have in his 
life? Me? 

What if I'm just the consolation prize? The only time he's asked for sex is when 
he was drunk. That's not a good thing. If he sees me as some kind of security 
blanket, I'm not strong enough to deal with that. I want him badly, but I can't 
jump head first into this without knowing what he really wants from me. 

Laundry. I'm going to get off my ass and do the laundry. Folding towels one 
handed is very Zen. Maybe I'll wash every stitch of fabric in the house and I'll 
feel better after that. 

They return exactly at two, my sister and my maybe-lover, to drop off Fox's 
shopping bags and pick me up for lunch. It looks like Fox bought out Eddie Bauer 
and The Gap, judging by the number of bags he has. Funny, other than his 
cherished GQ work clothes, he's really not a clotheshorse. 

"What's wrong, Mulder, they didn't have a Banana Republic there too?" 

"Huh?" He gives me a puzzled look. 

"Nothing, never mind. Let's go, I'm starving." 

The Factory is crowded with shoppers stopping for lunch. This is the first time 
I've eaten in public with Fox since we were partners. It's weird to be out in 
public with him and not need to look over my shoulder every two minutes to make 
sure I haven't been followed. He seems a little jittery, and I wonder if he 
feels the same way. 

We get seated and he orders an iced tea, and then dismisses himself to the men's 
room. I follow him with my eyes, admiring the way his ass looks in his new, 
properly fitted jeans. 

"He's fine, Al. He said that after what happened big crowds make him a little 
jumpy," Cori says, ordering a vodka martini from the waitress. 

"He told you what happened?" 

"Yeah, some psycho held him captive. Someone he'd helped lock up a long time ago 
that had gotten out on bail. It sounds horrific. I think he's doing remarkably 
well, considering everything he's been through. He wouldn't tell me what the guy 
did to him to give him those scars on his face, though." 

"He said he doesn't remember. You two have gotten awfully chummy in such a short 
period of time," I comment, sipping my water. 

"He's great, Alex. He's a very easy person to like. And I think he cares about 
you very much. He talked about you a great deal." She smiles that knowing little 
smile that leads me to think she might be privy to more details about my private 
life than I care for her to have. 

"Cori, just don't push, okay? He and I have a great deal to work out, and I'm 
not sure we can work it out. He needs more time to recover first." 

"I think a little TLC from you would go a long way in aiding his recovery." 

Fox comes back to the table, saving me from replying to that. He smiles at me 
and seems much more composed. "Alex, Cori was telling me that your 
brother-in-law is in real estate. Trevor, is it?" 

"Paul," I correct. "Trevor is a teacher. Why, you got some wetlands in Arizona 
to sell?" 

"No, I want to sell both of my parents' homes and the summer house. It's time to 
liquidate my assets," he says matter-of-factly, pausing to give the waitress his 
order. "Half pound burger, rare, fries, coleslaw and red beans." 

"Mulder, that shit will kill you," I say, turning towards the waitress. "I'll 
have avocado, sprouts, and cucumber on flax meal bread." 

He makes a face. "No, that shit will kill you. Live a little, Alex. Have a 
hamburger, it'll put hair on your chest." 

"Go to hell, asshole. Don't you think it's a little rash to sell off everything 
you own just now? You've got plenty of time to think about it." 

"No, I want to cut my ties up there. The sooner the better." 

I decide this isn't the best place to have this conversation. Fox is running, as 
hard and as fast as he can, but I don't think he can escape what's chasing him. 

After lunch we walk a bit through the shopping center. I buy a few books and Fox 
goes into Radio Shack and comes out with a pocket TV and a Gameboy. I tire 
quickly of shopping -- I'd rather have dental surgery with no Novocain, so Cori 
takes us to the grocery store, then drops us off at my house. 

I think the grocery selection is a perfect example of the differences between 
Fox Mulder and me. I've got organic milk and yogurt, flax seeds and wheat bran 
and fruits and vegetables. He's got Oreos, Doritos, frozen dinners and two cases 
of Diet Coke. Oh, and a large bottle of chocolate syrup with which to defile my 
milk. It's amazing that he doesn't have colon cancer by now. 

I'm standing at the sink washing strawberries when Fox comes up behind me and 
snakes an arm around my waist. The heat of his body this close to mine is a 
living force, pulling at what's left of my self-control. I let my head fall back 
against his shoulder, and he uses the opportunity to nibble at the sweet spot 
right behind my ear. Impatient hands start pulling my shirt from the waistband 
of my pants, and I hear the heated whisper of words in my ear. 

"I haven't been drinking this time, Alex." His intent is clear, as is my body's 
response. 

His large, graceful hands are skirting across the skin of my abdomen in light, 
feathery strokes, teasing the sensitive flesh below my belly button. His hands 
possess profound talent. He can play me like an instrument tuned only to his 
hearing, leaving me helpless with need. 

I sigh contentedly and relax into the embrace. There's something profoundly 
erotic about giving up control to someone who so rarely plays the aggressor. I 
put my hand over his as it slides up my chest, stroking my nipples into hardness 
and worrying at the hair on my chest. I want him more than anything, and his 
calm confidence gives me a little hope that maybe he wants me too, not just as 
something to cling to, but because it's me. 

His teeth find my ear and he gives a sharp little tug to the small silver hoop 
in my right earlobe. He pulls at my shirt and I move to help him lift it over my 
head. I turn to face him, and he uses the weight of his body to pin me up 
against the counter. He leans into me, rubbing his cheek against my hair, and 
slowly exhales, whispering a single word. 

"God..." 

I run my fingers over the planes and angles of his shoulders. 

"What?" I ask quietly. 

"You're stunning." 

I laugh. "Mulder..." 

He looks at me with amusement and what I hope is hunger burning in his eyes. 
"Oh, are we back to last names again? That leaves me at a disadvantage -- I 
can't get used to calling you Drake." 

I press kisses to his chest, loving the feel of muscle moving underneath the 
sheath of his soft, supple skin. "What do you want me to call you?" 

His hand moves down to my ass. "I don't know. Lover, Stud Monkey, your Great 
Golden God. Or how about just Fox? It sounds right, the way you say it. I really 
like that you slip up and say it now and again. It turns me on." 

I laugh again, then inhale sharply when he rocks his hips forward, pressing our 
erections together. Think, Alex, the English language can't have escaped you 
quite this easily.... 

"Fox, bed." 

"Yeah." 

He takes my hand and walks me to the bedroom. We stand next to the bed facing 
each other for long moments, the air between us laden with unspoken words and 
wordless desire. I hesitate for a moment, wondering about the wisdom of giving 
in to this when we still have no idea what it means to either of us. 

His lips on mine blot out my fears. The kiss is hungry yet still gentle, our 
tongues mating in a dance lovers have known since the dawn of time. Yet it is 
all new and unexplored territory for us, this concept of passion infused with 
something besides anger and testosterone. Perhaps I have finally reclaimed 
enough of myself to offer him something besides my anger. 

He kicks off his shoes while we're kissing, then reaches for the button on my 
pants. The khaki cotton slides down my legs and I groan as his hand lightly 
skims over my cock through my boxers. 

"Alex." His voice is gruff in my ear. "Your shoes." 

"Huh?" 

He chuckles, and it's the sexiest sound I've ever heard in my life. "Take off 
your shoes." 

I grin and kick my shoes across the room, then shuck off the pants pooled around 
my feet. 

"Much, much better," he says approvingly, leaning in for another long, dizzying 
kiss. 

His hand comes up to the straps of my prosthesis, fumbling with the fasteners. I 
help him unbuckle the multiple straps that crisscross my shoulder and chest, 
then lift the main strap over my head. He sets it aside and swoops in to lick 
and nibble at my shoulders and neck. I hold on to him for dear life, fearing my 
knees will go out at any moment. 

Finally I push him away a bit and sit down on the edge of the bed. "One of us is 
extremely overdressed." 

He gives me a boyish grin and pulls his shirt over his head, then pushes down 
his jeans and boxers in one motion. Divested of clothing, he leans over me, 
forcing me back onto the bed. I open my legs to cradle his pelvis, and he 
settles down on top of me. 

His cock rubs against my belly as he wraps me in a fierce embrace is exquisite. 
The sensation is exquisite. We devour each other's mouths, hands roaming 
everywhere, becoming reacquainted with once-familiar territory. His bones are 
too close to the surface of his skin, reminding me how fragile he is right now. 
The hair growing back on his body is prickly and chafes in places, but I welcome 
the pain, a fair price to pay for having him in my bed. We trace the maps of one 
another's many scars with surprising gentleness until we are bucking and rolling 
our hips together, need outweighing the desire for tenderness. 

I slide my hand between our bodies and grasp his cock, squeezing the velvety 
weight of him. He gasps out, "Alex, don't... Jesus, I'm too close..." 

"Then fuck me." 

He kisses the tip of my nose. "Soon. I'm not done with you yet." 

I open my mouth to respond. He traces the tip of his tongue over the sensitive 
skin on the inside of my elbow, and my retort dies with a whimper. His mouth is 
all over me, consuming me with little nips from his lips and teeth that are 
quickly soothed by the flat of his tongue. 

His mouth descends on the crease of flesh between my hip and groin, sucking 
avidly. I reach to thread my fingers in his hair, but find only his nearly shorn 
scalp. I smooth my hand over his head and babble my enthusiasm. 

"Oh God, Fox, so good... please, please..." 

"Please what?" his lips vibrate against my skin, sending a delicious shiver down 
my spine. 

"Touch me." 

"I am touching you." 

"Suck me, please," I plead. He's teasing me, goading me, and I fall for it hook, 
line, and sinker. 

"Like this?" he asks, running his tongue from the base to the tip of my cock. I 
twitch in response as flame flickers up my nerve endings. 

"More." 

His eyes are a vivid moss green when he looks up at me with an angelic smile. 

"Oh yeah, I've got plenty more for you." 

A hoarse shout rips from my throat when he sucks my cock into the hot cavern of 
his mouth. His tongue works up and down my length, sliding over the head and 
into the cleft at the tip. I throw my head back into the pillows and close my 
eyes, letting myself drown in the sensations radiating from my groin. 

Like him, I am too close. I want desperately to come down his throat, to let 
myself go and give into the shattering orgasm that is building in my stomach. 
But more than that, I want to complete the circuit of our connection, to take 
him inside of me and feel him empty himself deep within my body. 

"Fox, no, gotta stop, gonna come," I gasp out, my breath coming out in ragged 
bursts. 

The air in the room seems very cold when he lets me slide from his mouth to suck 
my balls into his mouth. Gentle fingers brush with excruciating softness over my 
perineum, then into the cleft of my buttocks. The tip of a finger circles my 
opening, and my whole body quakes with anticipation. 

"Lube?" 

"Huh?" 

That soft, seductive chuckle reverberates in the air again. "Do you have lube? 
You've gone awfully caveman on me, Al." 

"In the nightstand drawer," I gesture with a shaking hand. "You know, this a 
really bad time for you to start sounding like Corinne." 

He finds the tube and leans over me for a kiss. "I agree. You don't need to 
think about your sisters, or anything else right now but what I'm about to do to 
you." 

Oh God. What happened to Fox Mulder, and who is this erotic, seductive, 
self-assured man who took his body? Whoever he is, he's turning my insides to 
jelly. 

He enters me first with a slicked finger, sending bolts of delicious electricity 
coursing through me. Desire plays along every nerve in my body, bringing me to a 
state of euphoria I never could have dreamed of. Soon I am open and ready, and I 
help him guide my knees onto his shoulders and raise my buttocks up to meet him. 


It's been a long time, and there is a moment of pain when the head of his cock 
pushes into me. He pauses, feeling the trembling in my legs. 

"It's okay, I'll stop, I won't hurt you," he soothes, rubbing my outer thighs. 

"No, don't you dare," I grit out. "Just give me a second." 

After a few deep breaths the pain is gone and I wiggle my hips and nod at him. 

He moves forward and slides in a couple of inches, groaning loudly. "Jesus, 
Alex, you are so tight. So sweet. Missed this so much." 

His words are my undoing. I surge my hips forward and take in his length in one 
motion, pulling a strangled cry from him. I slide one leg down to hook it around 
his waist, breathing in the scent of his arousal and watching the rapturous look 
on his face. His eyes close and his face is flushed, the terrible scars tinged 
an angry red color. I long to reach up and touch his face, but I don't want to 
call attention to anything that might upset him. 

Slowly he thrusts into me, filling me with his heat. His head hangs down, just 
far enough away that I can't kiss him. He murmurs softly as he moves, and every 
few words I make out my name. The tenderness and affection that swell in me are 
the most overwhelming things I've ever felt. 

What is happening to me? Yes, it's the best sex I've ever had in my life, but 
why is our sexual congress suddenly making me feel like he's the dearest thing 
I've ever had in my life? 

His cock nudging against my prostate drives all thought from my mind. I become a 
creature of sensation, my body surfing on an incredible tide of warmth and 
pleasure. He hasn't even touched my dick yet, but already my climax coils like a 
spring inside my belly. 

"Alex... sorry, been so long... are you ready? I can't wait. Come with me." He 
rises up slightly, grabbing my hip with one hand and my cock with the other, 
driving into me and hitting my prostate with precise aim. 

Fireworks explode through my body, and my vision is tainted with Technicolor 
spots. "I'm ready. Do it. Please... oh yes, right there..." I move my hips 
frantically, feeling release so close that I can almost taste it. 

He loses his rhythm and thrusts harder into me. "Yes, fuck yes, Alex... Jesus 
Christ..." he roars and arches his back. 

His hot, slick warmth washes over me, and the spring inside me unfurls, 
releasing white-hot heat into every cell of me. I scream, uninhibited and 
unashamed, spilling my come over his hand and our stomachs. 

The roaring in my ears abates as he topples off of me onto his side. He gasps 
for air, his mouth slack and perspiration coating his skin. 

After a few minutes he rolls out of the bed and leaves the room. He comes back 
with a couple of washcloths and we clean ourselves up, then he slides back into 
bed next to me. The silence grows awkward, neither of us sure what to say. Other 
people, normal people, would engage in pillow talk or cuddle up to each other. 

We aren't normal people. 

"Are you hungry?" I finally ask, unable to stand the silence. 

"I could eat," he concedes. "As long as you aren't going to feed me rabbit 
food." 

"I'll heat you up one of those frozen monstrosities you bought. I'll yell when 
I'm done." I pull on some sweatpants and walk out. 

Smooth move, Jerkwad. Leaving him in bed alone was the stupidest thing I could 
have done. But the damage has been done, and it's not like I have any better an 
idea what to say to him than I did five minutes ago. So I go into the kitchen 
and stick one of his frozen meals in the microwave, and then pull a container of 
hummus from the fridge and slice up some pita bread. 

By the time I am done, Fox is asleep. He looks peaceful and innocent in repose. 
There are new lines on his face, ones that weren't there just a year ago. That 
strange wash of tenderness floods me again, and I lean over his still form to 
kiss his cheek and draw the blankets up around his chin. 

Back in the living room I eat my dinner and turn on the stereo, trying to wrap 
my brain around a book. 

"so I'll wait for you... and I'll burn will I ever see your sweet 
return oh will I ever learn 
oh lover, you should've come over 'cause it's not too late..." 

Jeff Buckley sings tonight only for me, his eloquence mocking the muddle of 
emotions brewing inside me. 

Tonight with Fox was something I never expected or anticipated. I knew the sex 
would be mind-blowing, but that enormous warmth that suffused me was not body 
heat. It was something I've honestly never felt before. 

I wanted Fox to reach over and hold me close to him after we were done, to talk 
to me and fall asleep pressed against me. Yes, I handled it poorly -- very 
poorly. But he wasn't exactly whispering sweet nothings in my ear either. But 
did I leave so I didn't have to face my emotions, or his? 

Late in the night I awake to hear Fox stumbling around in the hallway. I sit up 
from my cramped position, as I fell asleep without opening up the futon, and 
turn on the lamp. 

"Fox, are you alright?" 

He sways slightly, blinking in the light. "Krycek? What the fuck is going on?" 

Cold lead settles in my stomach. I stand up slowly, not wanting to startle him. 

"What do you mean, Fox? Are you okay?" 

"Where the hell am I?" He rubs his eyes, looking like a scared, confused child, 
standing naked in my living room. 

He makes a slow 180-degree turn, surveying the room. "Wait, this is your house." 


"Yes, do you remember coming here?" I'm shaking. I don't know if he's 
sleepwalking or just doesn't remember what's going on. 

"I... I bought a plane ticket. Scully offered to get me a hotel, but she 
wouldn't let me stay with her. I stayed with the Gunmen, then went to buy a 
plane ticket." 

Fuck me. He didn't leave on his own, Scully kicked him out. I knew this was too 
good to be true. So Why do I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach? 

"Come on, Mulder, let's get you back to bed. You'll feel okay in the morning. 
Would you like some aspirin? Maybe some tea?" I put my arm around his shoulder, 
wincing at the soreness in my backside. It had been a really long time. 

"Tea sounds good." 

I steer him back to the bedroom, tuck him into the bed and hurry into the 
kitchen to make him tea. While I wait for the kettle to heat I stuff some 
chamomile into the tea infuser and drop it into the cup. After it steeps a 
minute or two I stir in some honey and carry it back to the bedroom. 

He's sitting up against the headboard, his eyes wide and glassy looking. For a 
moment I consider calling Cori to take him to the emergency room, but I don't 
think modern medicine can fix this. 

I sit down on the edge of the bed and hand him the mug. He takes a long swallow 
and rests the mug on his chest. 

"Mulder, be careful, it's hot." God, I sound like someone's fucking mother. 

"Alex, did I just freak out on you?" His voice is brittle and fragile, like a 
cracked crystal vase. 

"Kind of," I admit. "Do you know where you are now?" 

"I'm in your bed. In your house, in Baton Rouge." 

"Right. Do you know what day of the week it is?" 

"Umm, late Saturday night-ish?" 

"Okay, you passed," I kiss his head. "Go back to sleep now. I'll see you in the 
morning." 

He reaches out and grabs my hand, terror darkening his eyes. "Don't leave me, 
Alex. Please." 

There it is again. That urge to reach out and protect him pulls at me with 
undeniable force, and I slip out of my clothes and climb into bed next to him. 
We're quiet for long moments, just listening to one another breath. I reach over 
to turn off the lamp and he says, "Talk to me, please." 

"Talk to you about what, Fox?" I rub his shoulder, trying to still his tremors. 

"Anything. Just talk." 

I sigh, groping for a topic, and then spy the book sitting on the nightstand. I 
flip it open to the introduction, then clear my throat and begin to read. 

"My name is Johnny Truant, and everything I'm about to tell you is a lie..." 

///////////////////////////////////////////////// 

He seems fine the next day, but I am not. I get up before he wakes and walk to 
the gym to take my fears out on a punching bag. It's nice to punch the crap out 
of something every once and a while. I can think more clearly with adrenaline 
burning away my doubts and concerns. 

I'm afraid to find out if he's forgiven me for walking out on him, or if he just 
forgot the incident. The idea that he could have forgotten scares me more than I 
care to admit. He has to be all right, because I don't know what to do with him 
if he's not. 

I'm still trying to process his unintended confession about Scully. He didn't 
leave her to come be with me, she turned him away. He came here to escape that 
rejection, which I have no doubt wounded him to the bone. He might not have 
desired her physically, but she was his life mate in every other way. I thought 
she felt the same way about him. She wanted to have his child, after all. 

All I know is that the world is truly upside down if Fox Mulder and Dana Scully 
aren't speaking to each other. The great universal constant has been removed, 
and now it's Fox Mulder alone against the world. Like Atlas, eventually he will 
shrug and the weight of the world will break his mighty shoulders. Crusades 
never work out well for the crusader. 

The next week is much the same. I go to work and he prowls around my house, 
making a huge mess or spending time with Cori, who seems to have adopted him. A 
few times I've come home to find him drunk, and twice I've found him wandering 
around in the middle of the night, unsure of where he is and how he got here. By 
morning he always remembers everything. He hasn't asked me to share the bed with 
him again. Buying a bed to put in the second bedroom is on my to do list for the 
weekend. I'm getting really tired of sleeping in the living room. 

On Saturday I wake up around ten, still feeling fatigued. We were slammed at the 
bar the night before, and it was nearly four AM before I left. I go into the 
kitchen to make coffee, then open the bedroom door to check on Fox. The bed is 
empty, and the mattress is cold. 

My heart flutters and my mind races. He could be out wandering around in one of 
his forgetful fogs, or simply have gotten lost in the unfamiliar city. I don't 
even think he knows the phone number here. I know he doesn't have a weapon if 
something were to happen. 

Calm down, Alex. The man is 38 years old, he can handle himself in a relatively 
small city. Besides, how do you know he hasn't worked a case here before? He 
might know his way around the city. Maybe he just went for a walk, or went to 
the seven-eleven for something gross to eat. 

The phone rings and I almost jump out of my own skin. "Hello?" 

"Al, how's it going?" Cori says from her end of the line. 

"Cori, is Fox with you?" 

"No. He's not there? How long has he been gone?" 

"I don't know. I just woke up and he's gone." 

"I wouldn't worry yet. He's a grown man, maybe he just went to Highland Coffee 
or something." 

"Yeah, but--" 

"Alex," she cuts in, "he's been through a traumatic experience. He needs to 
start exerting his independence again. Besides, he doesn't have to answer to 
you. Just because you're living together doesn't mean you have a ring on his 
finger." 

"We are not living together!" How the hell did he manage to turn my own sister 
into his champion in the space of a week? 

"Whatever. If it walks like a duck and it quacks like a duck..." 

"Thanks, Corinne. You've been very helpful," I snarl. Worry does not exactly 
bring out the nicer aspects of my personality. 

"Have mercy!" She exclaims, "Go take a pill or some herbs or whatever you do to 
relax. Call me when he turns up." I hear the click as she hangs the phone up. 

I slam the receiver into its cradle. If I had a car I could drive around and 
look for him, but I guess I'm going to have to go out on foot. I go get dressed, 
resigned. I guess I should look for a car this weekend as well. 

I find Fox sitting at Highland Coffee, playing chess with a guy named Ron. Ron 
is blond and blue-eyed, in his mid thirties and extremely handsome. I've played 
chess with him and his cronies a few times and he never hit on me. 

"What are you doing here? Why didn't you leave me a note or something?" I bite 
back the comment that I was worried about him. 

Fox looks up at me with a half smile on his face, sipping his latte. "Sorry, 
Dad, I wasn't aware you were keeping tabs on me. I met Ron at the grocery store 
the other day and he invited me to come hang out with him. This is a pretty cool 
place." 

I want to shake him senseless, but I shove my hands in my pockets to suppress 
the urge. 

"Hey Ron, it's good to see you," I say, trying to sound cool and calm when I'm 
feeling anything but. I will not be jealous, I will not be jealous.... Keep 
saying it, Alex, or you're going to rip this perfectly nice guy's head off his 
nicely muscular shoulders.... 

"Hey, Drake, good to see you too. Why don't you have a seat? I didn't realize 
you and Fox knew each other." 

"We live together." Holy fucking shit, Batman, did I just say that? 

"Alex was nice enough to give me a place to stay for a while. We're old friends 
from back in the day," Fox says, his eyes gleaming with mirth. That fucker is 
enjoying this, the son of a bitch. 

I sit through two hours of a near-silent chess game played by two men that are 
taking it far too seriously. Finally, after Ron spends almost 45 minutes 
contemplating a move, they call it a match. He folds up his chessboard and has 
the gall to ask Mulder out to dinner right in front of me. If only I had a gun, 
I could end this asshole's miserable existence... instead I wish him a good day 
and continue casually nursing my soy chai latte. 

"Are you ready to go home?" Mulder asks me. 

"Oh, you don't have some other plans for today? Lunch with the clerk at the 
seven-eleven or something?" I loathe letting him see how angry I am, but I can't 
stop myself. 

"No, I think my calendar is clear. Besides, what I had in mind for lunch is only 
on the menu at your house." 

The twinkle in his eye as he says this makes my dick twitch. God, I've been 
dying to throw him over the closest piece of furniture and fuck him nine ways to 
Sunday. Masturbating in the shower is getting really goddamn old. At least 
before he got here I could jerk off in the comfort of my own bed. 

"You're insane, Mulder, you really are," I counter, pushing my chair back and 
standing up. Oh, that was really witty, Alex. Funny how men fall back on those 
8th grade insults when they can't think of anything to say. 

"Ah, so I'm Mulder again. Very well, Drake," he says, emphasizing the last word. 


His neck would look so lovely with my hand wrapped around it, the smug prick.... 


We walk back to the house in silence. I look straight ahead as I walk, ignoring 
the fact that he's not in peak physical shape and not slowing down when he falls 
behind. 

Once we arrive I call Cori and let her know that Fox is alive and well. While we 
Talk, Fox comes up behind me and rubs his pelvis against my ass, pushing his 
hard cock into my buttocks. His hands deftly reach for the zipper of my jeans. 

"Cori, why don't we make it an hour before you come over, okay?" I say, trying 
not to pant as his nimble fingers close around my hardness. 

"Sure, everything okay?" she asks. 

"Fine, perfect, I'll see you in an hour." I hang the phone up and twist around 
to kiss him fiercely, to show him exactly what I think of him leaving my home to 
go play chess with Ron Vellotta. 

Mine, mine, mine. I've killed for him, I've spent the last six months slowly 
dying for him, and I'm not going to let him go. 

"Goddamn you, Krycek, I know you want me, so fucking take me already," his voice 
is foreign, the words spoken in some dark language all his own. 

None of the tenderness that has waxed and waned within me is present now. I 
crush him to me, plundering his mouth mercilessly. The taste of him, cinnamon 
and coffee and maleness, fills my senses. 

I drag him towards the bedroom, my mouth still latched to his. I want to consume 
him, to fill him up so that he sees and smells and hears nothing but me. Blood 
roars in my ears like waves crashing against rocks, but I still hear his soft 
whimpers as he fumbles for my shirt buttons. 

I pull the shirt over my head and yank my pants and boots off. When I am done he 
starts to unbutton his shirt. I push down his sweatpants and realize he isn't 
wearing any underwear. I grab his cock and pull him to me. 

"Is this for me or for Ron?" I growl in his ear, biting down on the fleshy lobe. 


"Ron? He's married and straight, you idiot. Did you think I went out to pick up 
a trick? Asshole." His fingers curl around my hip. 

"Take your fucking pants off." My voice sounds harsh even to my own ears. 

He struggles out of his pants and shoes, and then I give him a rough push 
towards the bed. "Bend over and grab the footboard." 

He obeys and I go around to grab the lube from the nightstand. I come up behind 
him and kick his feet further apart. I slick my fingers and brace him with my 
prosthetic arm, running a finger into the cleft of his buttocks. His body quakes 
under my hand, and his pushes back towards me. 

"You want it bad, don't you, baby? Scully didn't want you, but you know I'm a 
pathetic cunt when it comes to your hot ass, so you marched yourself down here. 
You happy now that you're getting what you want? I'm gonna fuck you so that you 
still feel it this time next week." 

Oh God, this is wrong. This is not the time for brutal words meant to wound and 
maim. Where is that feeling of happiness and affection that gripped my when he 
touched me last week? 

"Shut up, you cocksucker, and fuck me," he throws back over his shoulder. 

I push two fingers into him and he jumps. I crook my fingers and rake them over 
his prostate, dragging a feral howl from him. The muscles in his back and 
shoulders move spastically and he undulates his hips. 

"Like that? I bet Scully never made you feel this way. Nobody but me can do this 
to you, can they?" my jealousy and confusion feeds on itself, turning into a 
sweltering anger that courses through me like heroin, cranking me higher and 
higher. I should be sickened; I didn't want to be this violent, angry person 
anymore. But his snarling fury is so satisfying that I can't imagine enjoying 
his body without it. 

I remove my fingers and grab the base of my cock, pushing into him with a single 
thrust. He cries out, and I am fueled by the sound. I pull back and thrust 
again, high as a kite on the feeling of his hot, tight sheath pulsing around me. 


I pound my message home. Mine, mine, goddammit you are MINE. My cock slides into 
him again and again, until I feel my orgasm boiling up wet and tainted with red, 
blood colored fury. I reach around and grab his cock. 

"This is what you wanted, so do it. Come for me, show me how much you want me." 

"Uhhh..." his head snaps back, nearly butting into mine, every muscle and tendon 
in his neck standing out. He gives a long, strangled cry as he comes hotly over 
my hand. With one last sharp thrust my orgasm rips through my like a thousand 
razors blades and backflows out of him. I immediately step back and pull out of 
him. 

Before I can catch my breath he turns and slams me against the wall, his forearm 
resting against my chest, just below my neck. 

"Let's get something straight right now, you piece of shit. I came here because 
I wanted to be here. Yes, I wanted to stay with Scully long enough to buy 
another car and drive down. I was fucking dead -- they revoked my license. But I 
planned to come here all along. You think it makes me less of a man to admit 
that you ARE the only person that makes me feel this way? Do you think I like it 
that I want you so much?" His breath lashes at my face, his eyes pinning me like 
a butterfly on velvet. 

"I don't know why I feel this way about you. I only know I'm tired of lying to 
myself about who I am and what I really want. No matter how wrong or fucked-up 
it is, I do want you. I want to be in your bed, I want to be inside your body, I 
want to be in your goddamn head. So call me whatever names you want, lie to me, 
think whatever you like of me, but don't go out and buy a bed so you can hide 
from me in the other goddamn bedroom." He spins on his heel and stalks out of 
the room, slamming the bathroom door so hard the whole house rattles. 

I've never before been lambasted by a man who still had my come trickling down 
his legs. The force of his words is shocking, and my stomach spasms painfully. I 
feel dirty, even though this was a familiar scene between him and me. The words, 
the burning rage, the violent coupling, all are oft-tread territory. So why do I 
feel like this is the foulest act I've ever committed? 

When he comes out of the bathroom I can't get into the shower fast enough. I 
scrub myself under scalding hot water, letting the loofa dig into my skin, 
wishing I could scrub my brain as well. 

This wasn't supposed to happen. I swore I wouldn't let things be like this 
again. I convinced myself I was a new person and was capable of showing him 
trust and respect. What utter bullshit. I may have dressed Alex Krycek in a new 
name and some different clothes, but he's still here, right under the surface of 
my skin. Waiting to pounce, to destroy, and to obliterate what little is good of 
me. 

Shortly after I get out of the shower, Cori arrives. Fox is his usual charming 
self, showing no evidence of what transpired besides a bite mark on his neck. 
When we arrive at the mall he is downright jovial. Is he happier when we're 
tearing each other apart? 

Ikea. Jesus, this is the ultimate symbol of yuppiedom. However, the furniture is 
cheap, and cheap is a very good thing for my budget. Funny how I didn't really 
need money before Fox came back into my life. For many years I never wanted to 
own anything -- I hated the regret I felt when it was time to move on and leave 
it all behind. 

I choose a king sized bed with a matching dresser and nightstands. "I figured 
you might be tired of your feet hanging off of the smaller one," I explain to 
him diffidently. "We can move the mismatched set into the other bedroom. You 
needed your own dresser anyway." 

He accepts my explanation. Right or wrong, I have accepted his terms, and it's 
pretty damn difficult to share a double bed with a six foot, two inch tall man, 
even if he is as skinny as a rail. 

We have lunch in the food court, and then Fox announces he has some Christmas 
shopping to do and wanders off. Cori and I sit and watch the shrieking children 
spin around and around on the small carousel in the middle of the mall. 

"What's bothering you, Alex? Are you still mad at him for going out without your 
permission this morning?" Her eyes are warm and sympathetic. It makes my stomach 
churn. I don't deserve her love. I don't deserve to be in the same room as her. 

"No. I'm fine." 

"Like hell. You're brooding. Angry Alex I can deal with, brooding, moody Alex is 
a little unsettling. Did you guys have a fight?" 

I reach over and squeeze her hand, my heart clenching painfully. Dear God, I 
hope she never sees me angry... 

"We had a disagreement. It's over, but I thought I'd milk it for a while. I'll 
try to straighten up and fly right. I wouldn't want to ruin my reputation as a 
heartless bastard by sulking." I smile, and it feels like my face will crack. 

After a while, Fox returns with three overflowing shopping bags from the toy 
store. I know who the gifts are for, but Cori gives him a curious look and asks, 
"Did you buy out the store, Fox?" 

He gives her a peevish smile. "An old coworker is having a baby in January. I 
don't have any family, so I need someone's kids to spoil. I've got stuff for 
your niece and nephews, too." 

I wonder if Fox realizes this birth might not be such a joyous occasion. I hope 
he doesn't get too attached to the idea of even absentee fatherhood. Even if the 
child were not his, he would still feel responsible for Scully and the 
pregnancy, just as he feels responsible for everything. 

We get home and there is a familiar black Ford F-150 pickup truck parked in the 
driveway. Cori giggles when she sees it, and I am immediately suspicious. 

"This is Trevor's truck. Where is he?" I ask, climbing out of the car. 

"Look at the card on the dashboard," Cori says with a mysterious smile. 

I climb in the cab and find a Christmas card on the dashboard. It reads "Merry 
Christmas, Alex. Love, Corinne, Bronwyn, Delia, Paul, Trevor and the kids" 

"What the hell is going on here?" I ask. 

"What does it look like? Trevor is giving you the truck. He bought a new one. 
The keys are in the glove box." Corinne's face is glowing with happiness. 

"But this truck is only two years old, why would he buy a new one already?" I'm 
stunned. I don't mean to sound like an ungrateful asshole, but I feel ill. I'm a 
liar, a murderer, and a thief. I don't deserve their unconditional love. If they 
only knew what kind of person I really am.... 

"Alex, just shut up and say thank you," Cori says, coming over to hug me. 

I put my arms around her and bury my face in her hair. I love her so much, and 
I'm going to end up destroying all of their lives. It's what I do -- I can take 
the most innocent things and defile them, making them dark and ugly. 

Fox pokes around inspecting the truck. "This is incredible, Alex. You should 
call your family right away and thank them." 

"Why don't you bring Fox over to Dee's tomorrow afternoon for lunch and thank 
everyone then? They're all dying to meet him." 

My voice is rough and thick. "I'll do that. I love you guys so much, Cori." 

Her eyes are gleaming like gemstones when she pulls away from me. "That's the 
first time you've said that to me since you moved back home. God, I love you 
too, Alex. We all just want you to be happy. Christmas is coming, and we're 
going to all be together for the first time in so long. That's the best 
Christmas present you could have given any of us." 

Tears burn my eyes, but I blink them away. I feel like the most worthless piece 
of shit that ever tread the earth. But I love Cori with all that's human in me, 
and God help me, I need her. I'm too selfish to go crawl in a hole and stay away 
from my family. I can't stand the thought of being parted from them again. 

Cori leaves after a while. Fox and I settle in for the evening, me quietly 
trying to avoid him. He seems oblivious, sitting in the chair opposite the couch 
reading Omni and eating Doritos. I sit down with a cup of tea and Borges, trying 
to absorb the words on the pages when I can't even concentrate well enough to 
string two words together. 

I can still feel the silky slide of my cock into his body and hear the sound of 
obscenities on his lips. I want to take him to bed and kiss away the damage done 
earlier today, but I know we're both too far gone for that. The sad thing is, I 
think we were too far gone before we ever met. I want him. I want a normal, 
healthy relationship with him, but neither of us is capable of that. But I've 
already made my choice between normal and healthy or him. He wins every time. 

That night he screams in his sleep for his mother and Samantha. When I wake him 
up he denies it, then dresses and storms from the house. I toss and turn for a 
couple of hours before he comes back with takeout from the Lebanese restaurant 
down the street and a bottle of scotch. Instead of helping Fox chase away his 
demons, I have become one of them again. I go back to bed and leave him to drink 
himself into oblivion with his pocket tv in his lap. 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////// 

"Love came to your door with a sleeping roll and a madman's soul I thought for 
sure you'd seen me dancing up a river in the dark looking for a lover to court 
and spark..." 

I slip my pre-knotted tie over my head and adjust it, then tug on my jacket. I 
look like a Mormon in this getup, but lunch at Dee's is always "Sunday Best" 
attire. I just don't clean up very well. 

Fox, however, looks incredibly hot in his black wool suit with the slate gray 
shirt. Somehow the dark colors bring out the gold flecks in his eyes. The scars 
on his face are less red now, and his skin tone is better overall. He doesn't 
look quite like he's dying anymore. He doesn't even look hung over, which amazes 
me given how much he drank last night. 

We haven't talked about what happened. We slept with our backs to each other 
last night. Well, I pretended to sleep -- I don't know if he actually slept or 
not. I was too wrapped up in my own misery to really pay attention. I'm 
disturbed by what happened, the mutual rape we inflicted on one another, but I'm 
more disturbed that he is so comfortable acting like it didn't happen. 

Could this be the "true self" he talked about wanting to be? Does he wish to be 
the type of man that craves that kind of violence? I am reminded of words he 
said to me many years ago. "You did this to me." My greatest fear at the moment 
is that I have done this to him also. 

"You look nice," he says when I come out of the bedroom. "Almost reminds me of 
our days together at the Bureau." 

"Ugh, don't remind me." I'm stunned into silence when he kisses me warmly. 

"I'm looking forward to meeting your family. Thanks for asking me to come." 

Oh God. I don't want him to forgive me. I want him to hate me for yesterday. I 
want him to hate me as much as I hate myself. 

I feel really weird driving Trevor's truck. I'm overwhelmed again by their 
generosity, and don't know how I can adequately convey my thanks. I'm not used 
to being indebted to anyone, but it's become a way of life since I came back 
here. My mortgage, my whole support system, and now the truck, I owe to my 
family. I'd still be in that dump on Ivanhoe if it weren't for them. 

The ride over is mostly silent. Fox fiddles with the radio and finds some really 
annoying top 40 station. He asks me a few questions about current events that 
he's missed out on, like the World Series and politics. I give him a few details 
about the nightmarish presidential election, and promise to take him to the 
library later in the week so he can look at the old newspapers. In the context 
of the last couple of days, it's one of the most bizarre conversations I've ever 
had. 

When we get to Dee's house there is an unfamiliar car in the driveway. The kids 
are in the front yard throwing a baseball around, and Fox grins when he sees 
them. I step out of the car and watch the children laughing breathlessly for a 
moment. 

"Don't I even get a hug?" I call out to them. 

They turn and run towards me. Wyatt flings himself into my arms and I hug him 
until he squeals. Bryce, the more reserved of the twins, gives me a hug and a 
quick peck on the cheek. Mason is too old for such childish indignities, but 
suffers through me ruffling his dark hair. I bow to Drina, which gets me a 
giggle, then kiss both of her cheeks. 

"Kids, I want you to meet my friend, Mr. Mulder. Fox, these are the kids. Also 
known as Audrina, Mason, Bryce, and last but not least my main man, Wyatt." I 
introduce my sisters' collective broods with pride. They are handsome, 
intelligent, and polite children. Anyone would be proud of them. 

Fox solemnly shakes hands with each child, giving Drina a courtly kiss on her 
hand, which makes her blush. 

"Wanna play ball with us, Dyadya Alex? How 'bout you, Mr. Mulder?" Mason asks, 
pitching the ball into the air and catching it in his gloved hand. 

"You can call me Fox, it's okay," he assures them. 

"No, it's not. It's not polite to call your elders by their first names. These 
children have impeccable manners, and my sisters won't tolerate having them 
ruined," I correct him. 

"Thanks for the invitation, but I think I'd better go in and meet your parents 
before I get my good clothes all wrinkled," he says to the kids, smiling. 

"Do you know whose car that is?" I ask them. 

"It's Father Benedict's car. He's here for lunch," Drina supplies in response. 

I literally see red. They invited my gay lover and me here to meet the priest? 
The Russian Orthodox Church makes the Inquisition look like a bunch of liberals. 
This is not cool. As I walk towards the house I feel as if I am stepping into a 
minefield. 

Everyone is sitting in the living room when we walk in. Dee stands and comes 
over to kiss my cheek, then nods politely at Fox. "Mr. Mulder, it's a pleasure 
to meet you. We've barely heard from Alex since you got into town, but Cori 
seems quite smitten with you." 

Fox actually blushes, smiling at Cori where she sits on the sofa. "It's good to 
meet you to, Mrs. Harris. Thank you for inviting me over today." 

Dee leads him across the room to meet everyone and shake hands. Fox looks 
nervous when Father Benedict stands to shake his hand, but handles himself with 
casual grace. I stand behind him, waiting to greet the seemingly ancient priest, 
but Father Benedict surprises me with a bear hug. 

"Alexander, it's so good to have you home. I'm sorry we didn't get to talk when 
you were at Vespers in November. Your mama would be so proud if she could see 
what a fine man you have grown into," he says, his watery blue eyes warm with 
sincerity. 

I could vomit. My mother would be sickened if she could look inside my heart and 
see what is hidden there. If she knew the things I had done it would have broken 
her heart. The man she married and the son she birthed are monsters. 

Shame burns in my cheeks. 

"Father, thank you very much. I'm glad to be back," I murmur. 

Glory be to God, Paul is standing at my elbow with a highball glass of vodka on 
ice. "I thought you might need this," he says in a conspiratorial tone. I nod my 
agreement and take a healthy slug from the glass. The liquid slides down my 
throat like spring water, numbing the pain in my stomach. 

My sisters are doting on Fox as if he were visiting royalty. He's on the sofa 
between Cori and Bron, smiling his thanks as Dee serves him a drink. He smiles 
and laughs and is the perfect gentleman. 

I really have to hand it to him. Fox is a weird man, but he can be as slick as 
Cary Grant when it suits him. I find it amusing that it only seems to suit him 
in the company of women. It's no wonder, given his proclivities, that he doesn't 
get laid more often. 

I sit down on the loveseat next to Trevor. 

"Trevor, I don't know what..." 

"Alex, if this is about the truck, then say 'Merry Christmas to you too' and 
shut up, okay?" he says with a smile. 

"All right," I chuckle. "Merry Christmas, Trevor," I clink my glass against his 
beer bottle. "Za Vas." 

After a while Dee calls us all to the table. The children scurry in and we all 
stand and wait until Father Benedict has been seated before taking our places. 
We've been drilled in this protocol since childhood, and there are some things 
you never forget. 

I have to give Fox credit for bowing his head respectfully during the blessing. 
If I had know what they were plotting, I would have warned my family that he's 
Jewish and might not be very comfortable around Father Benedict. Since we've 
been thrown to the wolves here, I'm glad he's not making an issue of it. 

Bronwyn, however, nearly chokes on her wine when the topic comes up. Father 
Benedict asks Fox what church he grew up in, and Fox very politely replies that 
he's a member of Temple Beth El. I see immediately that my family is going to 
make a bigger issue of the fact that he's Jewish than of us being lovers. Father 
Benedict replies with a sage, 'I see' and leaves it at that. 

After lunch Fox goes outside to play catch with the kids while I linger at the 
dining room table with Father Benedict. If Paul and Trevor had not been so 
conspicuous about disappearing, it might have taken me a few minutes to realize 
I was being set up. 

"So, your young man is a Jew. I'm surprised, Alexander," Father Benedict says as 
he pours himself a snifter of brandy. 

"Father, it's not like that." 

He smiles. "Young man, I may be a doddering old man now, but I've served in two 
wars and I've seen a bit of the world. I can figure out what's going on when two 
unmarried men in their thirties are living in the same house." 

Okay, score one for the priest. "Well, it's certainly not like you have to worry 
about me marrying him," I reply. 

He laughs. "You always did have spark, Alexander. You know how the Church feels 
about homosexuality. Now, this may be blasphemy, but in this day and age I think 
that love in any form is a blessing. There's far too little of it in the world." 


"Love? Umm...n o, it's not like that either." 

I cannot believe they did this to me. My own family dragged the priest here to 
give me relationship advice. They must all secretly hate me. That's okay, 
because I'm not feeling real fond of them at the moment either. 

"Son, we men don't know much about love, do we? We take it for granted that the 
woman will be the nurturing, loving one in the marriage. But when you involve 
two men, then who is there to speak of love and affection? Two men together will 
let their pride starve them of love. It's a difficult road you've chosen for 
yourself. I know that your father was a man who believed more in respect than 
love. That must make it very hard for you to love this man." 

The mere mention of my father sends a pulse of anger rushing through my veins. 
Yes, I am very much my father's son -- a duplicitous traitor who is incapable of 
affection. Papa could kill a man with his bare hands then come home and touch my 
mother with profound gentleness. The thought is revolting. 

"I love my family with all that I am, Father, but romantic love? I've never felt 
it. Not even for him. I'm not the kind of person who is capable of that," my 
voice is soft. For the first time in my life I feel regret that I'll never be 
able to open myself to someone in that way. 

"I don't think that's the case at all. The question isn't can you feel love, 
it's will you be able to admit it to yourself when you do feel it?" 

I simply cannot take this anymore. 

"Father, I have to go now. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me." 
Yeah, that's me, Mr. Badass murderer, scared shitless of an 80 year old priest. 

Bron approaches me as I grab mine and Fox's coats from the hall closet. "Alex, 
are you leaving already?" 

"Bron, you play dirty pool. You could have warned me he was coming. I still 
would have come," I reply, pulling my coat on. 

"It was a last minute decision. He's been very lonely since his wife passed away 
last year; someone from the parish always invites him over on Sundays. I didn't 
know that Fox was Jewish. I'm sorry if that bothered you so much." 

I kiss her forehead. "Tell everyone I said goodbye. I'll call you this week." 

///////////////////////////////////////// 

When we arrive at home I'm exhausted, but Fox is invigorated from chasing the 
children around in the cold weather. He goes into the bedroom, leaving the door 
wide open, and begins to slowly undress. I try not to look, but I'm all too 
aware of the delights hidden under his clothing. Every time he sees me admiring 
his lean frame he catches my gaze and smiles. 

Who is this schizophrenic man, and how did he get into my house? My cock swells 
as I look at him. 

I finally give up trying to feign disinterest and follow him into the bedroom. I 
slide my arms around his waist and draw him close, bringing my mouth down on 
his. My tongue finds his and they dance together in an ancient rhythm that 
leaves me panting and hard. His arousal swells between his legs and presses 
against my hip. I drink him in like a fine wine, savoring the bouquet of his 
mouth. 

I move down to his jaw and trace my tongue from the cleft in his chin back to 
his ear, drawing a soft gasp from him. His eyes are closed and he looks 
completely blissed out. I tongue the delicate curl of his ear and move down to 
the hollow between neck and collarbone, skimming my hand across his chest as I 
do so. His nipples are hard pebbles under my fingertips, and I feel his muscles 
jump under my hand. 

His hands come up to the collar of my shirt and gently pull my tie loose, 
letting it fall to the floor. My jacket joins it, and he begins to unbutton my 
shirt, pressing a kiss to each patch of exposed skin. The shirt slides from my 
shoulders to join my other clothing. I pull away from him long enough to remove 
my pants and shoes, and then stand before him wearing nothing but my prosthesis. 


He kneels in front of me, his lips and tongue playing across the sensitive skin 
of my thighs and hips. My cock bobs inches from his face, rigid and already 
leaking. Finally he nuzzles my pubic hair and runs his fingers across the 
contours of my cock. I bite my lip to keep from whimpering with need, but he 
senses my impatience and bestows one of those devastatingly sexy grins on me. 

His mouth descends on my cock in one fell swoop, bathing me in his hot 
sweetness. His tongue slithers across the vein on the underside, making my heart 
skip a beat. Warmth spreads through my body like mulled wine coursing through my 
veins when his hands come up to knead my ass. I thrust forward into his mouth 
and let my head hang lax, enjoying the site of his beautiful lips wrapped around 
me. 

Too soon I feel my orgasm building to a crescendo within me. I slide in and out 
of his mouth, seeking that magical oblivion that only he can provide. I don't 
want to come with him submissive and vulnerable like this, but I'm too far gone 
to stop myself. 

He pulls away and sits back on his haunches. "I want you inside of me, Alex." 

I reach down to caress his cheek. "Are you sure? You're not sore after 
yesterday?" 

He smiles and stands. "Yeah, but it's a good kind of sore. No pain, no gain." 

I nod and follow him to the bed. He rolls onto his stomach, revealing the smooth 
flesh of his taut buttocks. He is a vision, filling my senses with the look and 
smell of him. I must have a taste, too. I kneel beside him on the bed and nip at 
a buttock, then sooth the small bite with the flat of my tongue. His skin is 
soft and smooth against my lips as I pepper him with small kisses and bites. His 
vocalization becomes increasingly frustrated. 

"Alex, please. God, I need you," he begs, wiggling to rub his erect cock against 
the comforter. 

"Lift your hips," I instruct him and reach for a pillow and the lube. I get him 
arranged and slick up my fingers, then part his cheeks with my hand. I circle my 
tongue around his opening and he wails. Satisfaction swells my dick even more, 
and I breach the opening with the tip of my tongue, causing him to convulse. I 
continue the assault until he is sobbing, then use my saliva to slide a finger 
into him. His back arches and he emits an otherworldly cry. 

I use my fingers to stretch him and tease him until I can't take it anymore. I 
fit myself to him and press my cock to his entrance, murmuring in his ear "Are 
you ready?" 

"I was ready before you took your clothes off. Please, do it now." His voice is 
rough and urgent. 

I push into him slowly, stopping after the head is in to allow him to adjust for 
a moment. I skim my hand across his shoulders, touching him as one would touch a 
startled horse. From behind I am bold, and whisper in his ear all the things I 
cannot say to his face. I tell him how incredibly handsome he is, how hot and 
tight he is inside and how he ignites my senses. As I speak, I push in a bit 
further until I'm completely inside of him. 

I take a few deep breaths to tamp down the ferocious desire to plunder him 
mercilessly. Touching him turns me into an animal and leaves me with the most 
feral, primal desire to rut that a male can possibly feel. But at this point I 
can't tell my passion from my rage, and I won't risk a repeat of yesterday. He 
moves underneath me, trying to find a cadence with my weight pressing him into 
the mattress, and I finally slide out until only the head of my cock is still 
within him. I move within him in smooth, measured strokes, angling for and 
finding his prostate with every other movement. 

Fox is in another world. He moans and whimpers my name, squeezing his internal 
muscles to massage my dick as I pull out. I muffle my own cries in the nape of 
his neck, sucking and biting his shoulders, lapping at the sweat that forms. His 
movements become erratic and break my control. I prop myself on my prosthetic 
arm and reach around to pump his cock. He bucks upwards and impales himself on 
me. 

"Yesss... do it. Gotta come, Alex, so close now..." 

"Come for me, Fox. I want to make you feel good," I affirm, feeling my own 
release tingling like electricity through my body, burning away all that is evil 
within me and leaving me pure and clean and joyful. 

"Alex, oh shit, I need you, I need you so much. Don't leave me, please... oh god 
don't send me away..." his words end with a scream as his come shoots hot and 
thick across my hand. The contracting of his muscles milks my cock and I find my 
own climax, bellowing as I fill him. 

It takes awhile for my body and brain to find each other again. My breathing is 
harsh and shallow, my forehead pressed against his back. He's a boneless heap of 
man underneath me. His words come back to me. Dear God, I wish he'd said them at 
any other time than in the throws of passion. Men will say *anything* right 
before they come. I've done it myself. 

"I won't leave you," I promise softly. It's not exactly heartsong and purple 
prose, but it's the best I can do. 

He doesn't respond, but I feel a subtle peace flow through our still-connected 
bodies. For better or worse, and God only knows how much worse it can get, this 
is the way things will be between us. 

His respirations slow and he segues into slumber. Before long I fall asleep 
also, still buried inside of him. 

I'm exhausted when I arrive at work Monday evening. The new furniture was 
delivered this morning, and Fox and I spent the rest of the day assembling the 
pieces and rearranging things. We now have a brand new king size bed and a 
matching dresser. 

We christened the new bed as soon as it was in place. Fox decided to stop 
playing bottom boy and fucked me until I screamed. I would have liked to have 
driven the truck to work, since my ass is sore as hell now, but I didn't want to 
strand Fox at the house. He's going to pick me up at closing time so I don't 
have to walk to the bank. Mighty good of him, since he's the one who reamed me 
to hell and back a few hours ago. Damn, it was good too. Things are pretty 
incredible between us when we aren't trying to rip each other's psyches apart. 

Around midnight Joe comes into the bar, which is pretty unusual. Lately Joe has 
been around less and less. Vince, the part time manager, and I have been taking 
on more responsibilities like paying the vendors and ordering stock, instead of 
just leaving Joe notes about what we need when we do inventory. 

"Alex, can we talk in the office when you have a free minute?" he asks, pouring 
himself a draft behind the bar. That's pretty unusual, too. I've never seen Joe 
drink in his own bar. 

"Sure, I was just doing the schedule for next week. We've had a few waitresses 
quit that are going home for the holidays." I put down my pencil and follow him 
into the back office. 

He sits down at his desk and takes a long pull of his beer. "Close the door, 
Alex." 

My heart thumps loudly in my chest. He's going to fire me. Did I screw up an 
order, a bank deposit? What have I done wrong? I love this job. I take pride in 
it. 

"This is hard to say," he begins. "A few months ago I started having some health 
problems and went to the doctor. He diagnosed me with pulmonary disease and 
congestive heart failure." 

Fuck. Maybe I'm not going to be fired, but this is worse. "Joe, I'm really sorry 
to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"I hope so. I'm not ready to retire, but it's time for me to turn over the 
day-to-day stuff here to someone else. I was hoping I could talk you into being 
general manager. You'd be in charge of everyone, answering only to me. I can't 
afford to give you much of a pay increase, but I'd like to get my workload down 
to doing the books and signing the paychecks." He sips his beer again, leaning 
back in his chair. "I trust you, Alex. You're good with the customers and the 
employees, even though I hear you lord over the sound system like Attila the 
Disc Jockey." 

A smile breaks out on my face. "Joe, I'm honored. Of course I'll do it, if 
you're sure this is what you want." 

"Well, no, I'm not sure, but the doctor says I have to buckle down and listen to 
him this time or I'm going to end up in a pine box. After the holidays are over 
I'll start training you on the paperwork, then you should be ready to take over 
the shop." 

I put my hand out to shake his. "Thank you, Joe. You saved my ass when you 
offered me this job in the first place. I won't let you down." 

"I know you won't -- that's why I asked you." He smiles. "Hey, I hear you've got 
yourself a boyfriend. When are you gonna bring him around and introduce him?" 

I laugh, my face flushing. "Joe, I'm 35 years old, a bit old for a boyfriend, ya 
know?" 

He grins. "Get out of here, Asshole." 

I give him a cock-eyed salute and return to the bar. Things are going too well. 
The other shoe has to drop any minute now. 

/////////////////////////////////////////////// 

"I'm telling you, Alex, all kids like Pokemon. Just buy them a bunch of those 
packs of cards," Fox says, gesturing towards the counter. 

We've been at the toy store for nearly two hours. Christmas is only ten days 
away, and I haven't bought a single gift. I have no concept of what children 
play with. I have a throbbing headache, and I think Fox is ready to relieve it 
with a nice blow to my temple. 

"Dee and Bron don't let the boys play with violent stuff. If they did we'd have 
grabbed a couple of G.I. Joes and been out of here a long time ago." I walk back 
down the aisle, looking over the garish displays of plastic crap marketed to 
kids nowadays. What the hell happened to Lincoln Logs? 

Fox points to a shelf. "Look -- Legos. You can't go wrong with Legos. Just pick 
something or buy them gift certificates. If you don't, I'm gonna go find that 
fucking giraffe and strangle his skinny neck" 

I lean over and kiss him on the cheek, doing my best to pout. "What's wrong, you 
don't enjoy shopping with me?" 

He gives me a withering look. "I'd rather be abducted by aliens." 

We leave with three extremely large containers of Legos and an art set for 
Drina. 

I rest my head on the steering wheel for a moment before starting the truck. 

"Jesus, I hate shopping. Christmas is nothing but a marketing ploy by greeting 
card companies to suck the humanity out of hapless victims." 

Fox laughs at me. "I thought that was what the Jewish were supposed to say." 

"Yeah, well, I just saved you the trouble. Look, I'm exhausted and miserable, 
why don't we go have a couple of drinks? There's no better way to spend a night 
off from work than by going to work anyway." 

He grins and leans over to nibble my earlobe. "Oh, I think I could come up with 
a couple of better ways to spend the evening. I could strip that hot, tight body 
of yours naked and find out how many times I can make you come in one night..." 

My dick starts to swell just from his voice and his warm breath against my neck. 


"Down, Boy," I chuckle, a shiver running down my spine. "Alcohol first, sex 
later." 

We drive back towards Chime Street and pull up in front of the bar. I let out a 
shaky breath. Why am I nervous about taking Fox to my workplace? It seems like 
it will make the whole thing so...official. As if it was not official already. 
We're living together, my sisters adore him, and we haven't called each other 
vicious names in over a week. For he and I, that's downright domestic bliss. 

It's a typical Saturday night at the Bayou. It's smoky and loud, and the booths 
are overflowing. People are dancing even though we don't have a dance floor. 
Greg is behind the bar, and grins we he sees us walk in. 

"Alex, can't stay away, huh?" 

I do my best to give him the surly boss look. "You think I trust you people to 
run this place without me? I'm indispensable." 

"Oh really? Looks like we're doing okay tonight, without your unique brand of 
charm. So this must be Fox. We were starting to think you were a figment of 
Alex's imagination." 

"I was real the last time I checked," Fox replies, smiling and reaching over the 
bar to shake Greg's hand. "It's nice to meet you." 

We order our drinks, me a glass of Stoli and Fox a scotch and soda, then settle 
into one of the booths as a young couple departs. Fox sips his drink and scans 
the perimeter. 

"So this is your place. It's hard to picture you behind a bar, Alex. Are you 
sure you aren't running guns out of the back room?" His tone is light, but the 
words feel like a knife in my chest. 

So much for domestic bliss. 

"No, but I have a nice bookie arrangement going. How else do you think I afford 
the luxury we live in?" I take a healthy slug of my drink, trying to burn his 
words from my mind. Even if he didn't mean anything by it, it's troubling that 
he can insult me so effortlessly. As if it were second nature. 

We sit quietly for a while, each of us holding our own counsel. My thoughts have 
turned dark and full of self-pity. After a while, Fox nudges my elbow. 

"Hey, you have this cd, don't you?" 

I strain to listen and recognize familiar notes. I do own this cd. As a matter 
of fact, that's my cd that's playing on the sound system. Greg must be 
attempting to be nice to me for some reason. 

"Want to dance?" I ask, not looking at him. 

Fox spews his drink when he laughs. "What?" 

I stand up and tug on his hand. "C'mon, it's a slow dance, you can do this. Just 
humor me, okay?" 

I admit it -- I've had a few fantasies about dancing with him to this song. Jeff 
Buckley and Fox Mulder are the only two men who make me feel this way, and Jeff 
Buckley is dead. But I can damn well convince Fox to dance with me to Mr. 
Buckley's swan song. 

Fox grimaces but slides out of the booth. I pull him over to the center of the 
room where a few other couples are dancing. I slide my arms around his waist and 
his arms come up around my shoulders. I start swaying to the music, feeling 
languid and content. 

"so I'll wait for you... and I'll burn will I ever see your sweet return oh will 
I ever learn oh lover, you should've come over 'cause it's not too late..." 

I feel his lips against my ear. "Jesus, Alex, how do you do this to me? I can't 
explain the way you make me feel. I'm so damned scared to need you this much." 

"it's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder it's never over, all 
my blood for the sweetness of your laughter it's never over, you're the tear 
that hangs inside my soul forever..." 

My soul twists into a knot. Something is brimming to the surface inside of me. 
It's gentle and fierce, passionate and tender. I want to protect him, to make 
him happy. I want to admit that he makes me happy. I want to so much, but the 
words don't come... 

"I can't explain it either. But it feels right, so let's just go with it, okay?" 


He presses his cheek against mine and we move together, wrapped in the music and 
the tumult of emotion enveloping us, until the song ends and we hesitantly 
separate. 

We go back to the table and finish our drinks. Both of us keep quiet, afraid to 
break the protective bubble of unspoken need that surrounds us. I squeeze his 
thigh under the table, reassuring him or myself I don't know. Maybe at this 
point it's the same thing. 

"Let's go for a walk, Fox. I want to show you something." 

He nods and slides out of the booth. We exit the bar and I take a deep breath of 
the cold, clear night air, slipping my hand into his with far more confidence 
than I feel. I have the strangest sense of foreboding, but it's not a bad thing. 
I'm on the verge of something, like a butterfly fighting to escape the 
chrysalis. It's so real I can almost taste it, but still it eludes me, dancing 
along the edges of my subconscious. 

I lead him down Chime Street and steer us towards the LSU campus. He follows me 
silently, trusting me. I think he senses something too. It's not in Fox Mulder's 
nature to be passive. If anything, I seem to bring out his need to be in 
control. That's why he hates the concept that he might want me as much as I want 
him. 

Behind the music department is a small grove of oak trees. The local pagan group 
uses it for their rituals, and more than one couple of starry-eyed coeds have 
exchanged wedding vows here. The air is still and quiet. Fox would probably say 
this place contained a ley line of magic. I have to admit; I've always thought 
there was something sacred about this place. I hope he feels it too. I want to 
share this with him, this place of peace and serenity. 

"Wow," he says softly. "The stars even look brighter from here." 

I sit down at the base of an ancient, gnarled oak tree, leaning against the 
trunk. "I had my first kiss here." 

"Really? How old were you? Guy or Girl?" 

I chuckle softly. Everything is a question with him. "Fox, the only time I've 
kissed women was to intimidate them or procure information. I was 15, and his 
name was Greg Boudreaux." 

He sits down cross-legged in front of me, then leans in and kisses me softly. 

"There, now you have a memory of me here too." 

We sit for a while, enjoying the quiet while our breath comes out in brief, 
cloudlike bursts. 

"Do you mind if I smoke?" 

I do a double take at his question. "When the hell did you start smoking?" 

To my utter shock, white-bred, squeaky-clean Fox Mulder pulls a joint from the 
inside pocket of his jacket. I'm no choir boy myself when it comes to indulging 
in this particular vice, but it's been at least ten years since I've been 
stoned. 

"I tried it at Oxford for the first time. It's not a regular habit, but it's fun 
once in a while." 

"Where did you get it? How do you know it's not tainted?" 

"You really don't want to know." 

I snort. "Fox, I know that Cori smokes weed. At least if you got it from her, I 
know it's safe." I pluck the joint from his fingers. "Got a lighter?" 

Surprise registers on his face, but he digs the lighter out of his pocket and 
passes it to me. I put the joint between my lips and light it. The sage-smelling 
smoke burns my lungs. I lean over and put my mouth to his, shot-gunning the 
smoke into his mouth. 

He holds his breath for a long pause then lets tendrils of smoke curl from his 
mouth. We pass it back and forth until I burn my fingers trying to hold the last 
couple of centimeters of burning paper. I can't remember ever being this stoned 
before. I'm not cold anymore, and everything around me seems fuzzy and 
insubstantial. Fox looks pretty whacked too. He's got this shit-eating grin on 
his face and his eyes are burning with green fire. Damn he looks good. Good 
enough to eat. 

I lean forward to kiss him, but misjudge my balance and knock us to the ground. 
He feels warm and solid beneath me, and I glom onto the sensitive pulse point in 
his neck and nibble at his tender flesh. I can feel his cock swelling in his 
pants as I undulate my hips to rub my groin against his. 

He groans and cards his fingers through my hair, tugging gently to bring our 
mouths together. His mouth tastes like scotch and pot. I suck his tongue 
eagerly, wishing I could crawl inside of him and stay there forever. Three 
quarters of the time I love the way he makes me feel. The other quarter I push 
from my mind, wanting to enjoy this without thinking of the other, darker times. 


"Alex, we're too damned old for this," he says when I release his mouth. His 
hips move in a way that negates his words, so I ignore his protests. "A-lex, 
it's cold." 

I like it when he sounds all petulant and childish. He's so good at it. 

"Don't worry, what I have in mind will keep you warm," I assure him as I roll us 
onto our sides in the damp grass. After a great deal of fumbling I manage to get 
his pants open, and then my own. I press myself as close to him as possible and 
get my hand around both of our dicks, working up and down our shafts. 

Fox gets the idea pretty quickly, and brings his hand down on top of mine. I 
feel like I'm moving in slow motion, the sensations buzzing through my body 
slowly setting me on fire. I feel his teeth in my neck and his thumb circling 
the head of my dick, spreading precum as he moves. 

"C'mon, Baby, give it to me. Come for me," he whispers encouragingly, jacking my 
excitement up a thousand fold. Even in the darkness I can see lust blazing in 
his eyes. "My Alex," he whispers. "I know you can't tell me that you give a shit 
about me, so show me." 

I come apart, my orgasm and his words fragmenting me into a thousand incendiary 
pieces. I'm too fucked up to keep myself from practically screaming his name as 
I jerk spastically against him. I squeeze our cocks together and pull 
frantically at them. He stiffens and shoots in our joined hands. 

The cold and damp starts seeping into my clothes and between my bones, parting 
the fog over my brain. I kiss his closed eyelids and remove my hand, wiping it 
on my jeans. I pull myself together and zip my pants up. 

"Fox, put your dick in your pants before it freezes off." 

"Uh?" His eyes are closed, his arm thrown over his head. He is so, so stoned. 

I nudge his shoulder. "Don't you dare fall asleep. I'm not dragging your ass all 
the way back to the truck." 

He rolls onto his back and stuffs his essential parts back into his pants, then 
sits up and looks at me. 

"Alex, I'm not asking you this because I'm wasted. I think that it took getting 
stoned to give me the courage, but I've wanted to know for a long time. You 
don't have to answer, if you don't want to. Why did you stop coming to see me 
back in February? Did I do something wrong?" 

I sit up, trying to suppress a shiver. Until that moment it never occurred to me 
that he gave a damn, much less might have been hurt by my absence. Sure, he'd 
started to act like he wanted me around more often, even seemed possessive at 
times, but I had just chalked it up to typical male posturing. 

"The last time I saw you in February, do you remember me telling you I had to go 
out of the country? I went to Tunisia. I had some information to sell. But there 
were men waiting for me as soon as I got off the plane. I was thrown in a penal 
colony, and I was there until May, about a week before I came to Skinner about 
the ship. I found out afterwards that Spender had arranged the whole thing. He 
knew about us, and thought he needed to teach me a lesson about touching the 
merchandise." 

"Is that why you killed him?" 

I sigh, pick up an acorn and roll it between my fingers, then look up to meet 
his gaze. "No. I killed him because they took you away, and I was so angry I had 
to kill something." It makes me feel sick to say it, but it's the truth. I still 
remember the satisfying crunch of his bones breaking as he body bounced down 
those stairs. I'd do it again if given the opportunity. 

"Fuck," he says breathlessly. He doesn't know what to say. I can hardly blame 
him. If I were him, I would be running for my life. 

"Look, Fox, the stuff you said while we were--" 

"Forget it. I'm baked. I get stupid. You know me well enough not to listen to 
anything I say." He stands up and offers me his hand. 

I'm too fried to stand up, but the gesture seems too symbolic right now. I get 
to my feet on my own and rearrange my clothes. 

We walk back to the truck in silence, the spell broken. Despair trickles like 
cold sweat down my neck. Whenever he and I eke out some measure of peace, the 
past worms its way back in. Like minotaurs in a maze, we keep walking the same 
narrow, bloody paths over and over again. 

/////////////////////////////////////////////// 

The next day I meet Cori for lunch at Semolina. She comes in a few minutes late 
with the rest of the after-church crowd and sits down across from me. 

"Sorry I'm late, we got tied up planning stuff for Christmas," she explains, 
scanning the menu. 

"No problem. I already ordered. They have that feta and walnut ravioli that you 
like so much." 

The waitress comes around and takes her order, then she pulls off her coat and 
her head covering. My sister, the rebel. Bron and Dee leave theirs on all day on 
Sunday. 

"Things must be going well with Fox, he only called me once this week," she 
says, toying with the lemon wedge on her water glass. 

"And that was to buy dope," I say with a smile. "I guess they're okay." 

Her eyes narrow a bit. "Sometimes I almost think you're happy, Al. Does he make 
you happy? I think that he really loves you." 

I blanch at her words. "Cori, I know you have some kind of romantic notion in 
your head about me and him, but he doesn't love me any more than I love him. We 
have really great sex and I like and respect him. We have shared history." 

"Alex, I wish you could see the way you look at him when you think he doesn't 
notice. I wish you could hear the sound of his voice when he talks about you. 
There's a lot of different ways to love someone. So maybe it's not all sweet and 
flowery, but that's not all love is." 

"Love is a concept invented by greeting card companies to perpetuate the myth of 
Valentine's Day." 

She hits me with the wadded up wrapper from her straw. "You doofus. I think 
you've got some stupid idea in your head that you have to act like flaming 
queens to love each other. Love isn't something another person can define for 
you. It means something different to everyone. But from my perspective, the two 
of you fill a need in each other. You ground each other. In my opinion, that's 
love." 

"Thank you, Dr. Ruth. Can you remind me why we're having this conversation?" 

Her light green eyes grow serious. "Because he trusts me, and we've talked a 
lot. I think you need him, far more than you're willing to admit. He's scared 
and insecure, and I don't want you to lose him because of some stupid macho 
pride shit. He said he might go back to Washington when his friend Dana has her 
baby. I don't want your pride to keep him from coming back here." 

The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "He said he was going to leave? 
Was he planning to tell me?" 

"Maybe if you'd talk to him, really talk to him, he would tell you." 

The waitress brings our food and sets the steaming bowls of pasta in front of 
us. 

"Alex, what the hell is that you're eating?" 

I look down at my plate, my stomach growling. "Spinach and basil pasta with 
nutritional yeast." 

"That's absolutely disgusting." 

"Aw, don't change the subject now, Cori, we were just starting to have fun," I 
retort, wanting to finish this with her once and for all. I can't handle her 
trying to play mediator between me and Fox. Not because I resent her 
involvement, but because I resent that we need it in the first place. 

"Why, are you actually going to say something useful this time?" she says around 
a mouthful of food. 

"I'm going to put the nail in this coffin so you'll let the subject die. There 
is a lot you don't know about me and Fox. A lot of bad shit has gone down 
between us in the time I've known him. If there's need between us, it's the 
co-dependent need to be with someone who knows what a crappy person you are so 
you don't have to confess it to someone else, not a healthy need for 
companionship and friendship." I shovel food into my mouth, not caring that it's 
burning the roof of my mouth. 

Cori gets the strangest look on her face, and a knot forms in my stomach. 

"Alexander, do you think you're the only person in this family with secrets? Do 
you have any idea how many times I've needed to turn to you and you shut 
yourself off?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Corinne, but whatever it is, some 
secrets are best kept to ourselves." I'm shaking, inside and out. I don't want 
to hear what she has to say. I can barely handle my own shit. 

"Papa." 

"Excuse me?" 

"I know about Papa. I know what he did, Alex. I have my suspicions about what he 
did to you. You worked for the same men he worked for, didn't you?" 

The soy cheese curdles into a lump in my throat, and for a moment I can't 
breathe. I gulp down some water, then cough it out all over my lap and the 
table. Cori sits silently, rigidly, until I regain some composure. 

Very softly I rasp out, "Just what the hell is it you think you know, Corinne 
Elise? Think very carefully before you drag this out into the light of day." 

Her face softens and she reaches for my hand. I hate it when she does that. I 
feel defenseless with someone holding my one good hand. 

"Al, Papa tried to force me to marry a man named Jeffrey Spender when I 
graduated from high school. He was the son of a man Papa worked for. I don't 
know for sure what those men were involved in, but I know for certain it was 
some very serious organized crime." 

I'm light-headed with relief. What she knows is an ice crystal at the tip of the 
iceberg. If she'd known anything more than this, I would have had to disappear 
again and never come back, for the safety of them all. 

But after a moment her words since in, and rage bubbles up inside of me like 
poison. Papa tried to drag my innocent baby sister into his filthy world by 
giving her to that pencil-necked weasel. As if she were another piece of 
merchandise. Wasn't selling me out enough? How many of his own goddamned 
children had he been willing to sacrifice? 

A quick flash of killing Bill Mulder runs through my mind, but this time it's my 
father standing in front of that mirror instead of the elder Mulder. I would 
gladly kill my father if he hadn't died of a heart attack three years ago. 

I look up. Cori is staring at me, her lower lip trembling and tears glazing her 
eyes. 

"Yes, Cori, I worked for them. I did terrible things while I worked for them. I 
won't even lie and tell you I regret most of them. They were evil, vile people 
who worked for or with even worse people, and I was one of them. Are you still 
happy I came home, knowing that I'm a criminal?" My voice is soft, trained, the 
same voice I would use to squeeze an informant. Strip away the veneer of 
civilization and the assassin is still waiting underneath. 

Tears roll down Cori's face. She fumbles in her purse and tosses some money on 
the table. "We're making a scene, Alex. Let's go for a walk." 

I hang my head as I follow her out of the restaurant. We walk about a block 
under the gray, blustery December sky before we stop to sit on a bench at a bus 
stop. 

Cori leans her head on my shoulder. "Yes, I'm glad you came home. I don't care 
what you did. Only God can judge our sins, Alex. I know what Papa was like -- 
I'm sure you only did what you had to in order to survive. You were a victim." 

I shake my head. "No I wasn't. Maybe at the very beginning, but I can't pretend 
that I didn't grow to like the money and the power and the influence. I thrived 
on it. I wasn't exactly looking for a way out for a very long time. Until last 
year, I was perfectly happy to continue doing what I was doing." 

I can't tell her that they held her life over my head. Her life, and the lives 
of my other sisters' innocent children. But in all honesty, it was rare that 
they needed to rein me in with that threat. I did what I did with grim zeal of 
someone who loved his work. 

After a long time I speak again. "Cori, how did you stop Papa from making you 
marry Spender? No one told Papa no." 

"Brother mine, you aren't the only person who's done things you regret. I did 
what I had to do. I got myself arrested a couple of times, once for cocaine and 
once for shoplifting. Of course, Papa got my record expunged, but I made certain 
Jeffrey knew about it. When that didn't work I got pregnant by someone else." 

My heart stops beating for a moment. "Did you terminate the pregnancy?" 

"No, that wouldn't have served my purpose. I had to embarrass Papa and Jeffrey 
out of the marriage. I had the baby and put it up for adoption. He's six now. 
His birthday was in October." Her voice is soft, but firm and resigned. The 
sorrow on her face says it all. She loved that baby. 

Tears sting my eyes, and I don't even attempt to stop them. "I'm so sorry I 
wasn't there to protect you. I should have killed Papa a long time ago." 

"Killed him? Are you insane? What good would that have done? I would have fallen 
under the guardianship of Jeffrey's father, and then I wouldn't have stood a 
chance. It wasn't your job to protect me, Al. All that matters is that you're 
here now. So now you can fill my codependent need to have someone know what a 
crappy person I am." 

Her words sting, but I deserve them. "Don't Delia and Bronwyn know about the 
baby?" 

"Yeah, but they don't know the circumstances. I guess they think it's just one 
of those things that happens to girls who chose to live in the world instead of 
the Church. I don't have any idea if they know anything about Papa. Maybe we all 
have our secrets to keep." She snuggles closer against me, and my arm goes 
around her. I wish I could shield her from the world, from the horrible legacy 
of the Consortium and our miserable excuse for a father. 

"Alex," she says softly, sniffling. "Our mother didn't know Papa did these 
things, did she?" 

I can't even contemplate the idea that our mother knew any of this. My mama was 
a loving, doting mother and a dutiful wife. She loved her family, and The 
Church, and I can't continue to hold my fucked up life together if I have to 
take my mother off of her pedestal. I need to believe she was innocent, and 
tried to raise us to be good people. 

"No, of course not," I reply, turning to face her. "Cori, we can't ever speak of 
this to Dee and Bron. If they don't know, it needs to stay that way. Some of the 
men Papa worked for are still alive, and they won't risk having their secrets 
exposed." 

She dries her eyes and runs her fingers through her shoulder length hair. "I 
know that. I've never told anyone the things I've told you today. I'm glad I was 
able to tell someone. I'm glad it was you, but you have to take it to your 
grave, Alex." 

"Done." 

She gives me a long, searching look. "I love you, Alexander Mikhail. Please, 
promise me you'll stop thinking you aren't worthy of love. You're a survivor. We 
both are. If the things you've done make you unworthy of happiness, then that 
means the same applies to me, and I don't want to go through my life believing 
that. We did what we had to do. Maybe that was more than what most people do, 
but in the end we all fight to survive." 

Good God, she's so brave and strong and beautiful. How the hell did I end up 
such a craven coward? 

Eventually the cold drives us back to the restaurant to retrieve our cars. I 
hold her close and kiss her face a dozen times. 

"Cori, you are the bravest, strongest person I know. Don't be ashamed of what 
you've done to protect yourself. You weren't left with any choices. I know your 
baby has a good life somewhere. Perhaps you'll see him again someday." 

"I hope not. I don't want him to know that I conceived him as a bargaining chip 
for my freedom. Babies should be born out of love. He's better off wherever he 
is." She smiles and kisses me on the cheek. "I can't absolve you of your sins, 
Alex, but I can tell you that I forgive you for whatever you've done. I know who 
you are on the inside, and that's a gentle and loving man. Go home and show that 
man to Fox before it's too late." 

Oh, Cori, it was too late for me and Fox before we ever met. 

I can't go home and face Fox after she drives away. I get in the truck and head 
to the bar. I let myself in and slowly drink a fifth of vodka without bothering 
to turn on the lights. 

By the time the sun goes down, I'm still too drunk to drive. I set the alarm and 
lock up the bar, then stumble home in the cold darkness. 

Cori spoke of survival. She survived, came through her ordeal intact with morals 
and a conscience. I might still be drawing air, but can I really say that 
Alexander Gray survived? No, he didn't. I killed him and buried him and became 

Alex Krycek instead. I killed with impunity, and I destroyed with fervor. I 
became everything I hated my father for. If I can't forgive him, then how can I 
forgive myself? Simple answer, that. I cannot be forgiven. What I've done is 
unforgivable, by God or man. 

I let myself in the back door and hear music coming from the living room. I find 
Fox wrapping Christmas presents, surround by stacks of toys and bows and 
ribbons. 

"Hey, Alex, glad you finally showed up--" 

He looks up at me, and the smile fades from his face. 

I expect to be interrogated. Instead, he stands up and walks over to me, gently 
cupping my cheek. "Are you alright?" 

The simple act of tenderness is my undoing. I burst into tears. 

"No." No, I'm not all right. I'm never going to be all right, and I'm so fucking 
tired of trying. The past is too big and I can run far enough or fast enough to 
escape. 

He puts his arms around me and I nestle my face into the crook of his neck. I 
can't control myself, even though one part of me is screaming for the other part 
to pull it together and stop acting like a fucking pansy. The inner conflict 
makes me cry all the harder. 

He holds me for God knows how long, petting my hair and stroking my back, not 
saying a word as I sob into his shirt. Eventually my head hurts and my nose is 
congested and the world is spinning dizzyingly around me, but my tears are 
spent. I lift my head to gaze into his eyes, and see only affection shining in 
them. 

"I think a shower would do you a world of good," he says softly, kissing the tip 
of my nose. 

I follow him into the bathroom. He starts the water running and steam starts to 
fill the small room. He parks me on the closed toilet and crouches down to 
remove my shoes and socks. I'm drained and weary to the core. Silently I 
acquiesce to his gentle attentions. 

He removes my jacket, shirt, and prosthesis, then gestures for me to stand so he 
can remove my pants. Once I am stripped he peels off his own clothing and guides 
me into the shower. With gentle confidence he lathers me up, even taking time to 
scrub my scalp, which feels fantastic. By the time the hot water is running out, 
the tension has bled from my limbs and my headache is gone. 

He towels me off with a bath sheet and walks me to the bedroom. He turns down 
the bed and tucks me in, gently kissing me on the forehead. When he tries to 
stand I reach for him, grasping his wrist. 

"Don't go." 

He stands and lets the towel slip from his slender hips, then turns off the 
light and climbs into bed next to me, wrapping me in his arms. The heat of his 
body and the strength of his will keep me from splintering into a thousand 
bloody shards. 

//////////////////////////////////////////////// 

Three days before Christmas I wake to hear a howling scream and the sound of 
glass shattering in the bathroom. 

I leap out of bed and run to the bathroom to find Fox standing naked in front of 
the fragmented remains of the mirror from the medicine cabinet. Some of the 
mirror is glittering on the floor, sparkling like diamonds mixed with drops of 
his blood. A few shards are embedded in the fist he's pounding into the wall, 
leaving bloody smears on the white paint. 

"Let me out, Goddammit! I know you fuckers have my sister! LET ME OUT!" he 
bellows as he punches a hole in the sheet rock. 

I'm frozen in place. I can't let him hurt himself, but how will he react if I 
try to wake him up? It'll be hard to jump him with all that broken glass on the 
floor and both of us stark naked. Somehow, I've got to get him out of the 
bathroom. 

This is probably a really bad idea, but here goes nothing. 

"Agent Mulder!" I bark in the deepest voice I can muster. 

His head snaps around, but his dilated eyes do not see me. 

"Skinner? Sir? Where am I?" 

"Follow me, Agent Mulder," I say with false bravado, turning and praying to 
whatever God there is that he'll follow me into the living room. 

Like a timid child he turns and follows me. As soon as we are in the hallway, 
clear of the broken glass, I wrestle him to the floor and sit on his lower back, 
pinning his arm behind him. 

"Fox, wake up! It's Alex, you're having a nightmare -- you've got to wake up." 

His body relaxes, and I wonder for a moment if he's slipped back into normal 
sleep. I release his arm so I can check his pulse. When I touch his neck he 
speaks. 

"Alex, where are we? This isn't my apartment." 

He sounds so frightened. Fear burns through me. He hadn't had one of these night 
terrors in almost two weeks. I thought we were finally past them. Big surprise, 
I was wrong. 

I swing my leg over him and let him up. He sits up and looks around, his eyes 
flickering nervously over my face. After a moment he reaches for me and I pull 
him awkwardly into my lap, crooning to him that everything is going to be okay. 
I wish I believed it myself. 

"Alex, what happened to your arm?" His voice is muffled, his lips pressed 
lightly against my chest. 

"I had an accident, Fox, but I'm fine. Why don't you go back to sleep? I'll be 
here to keep you safe. They won't come for you again, I swear it." 

I have crossed the point of no return. I'm rocking this naked man in my one real 
arm, which is cramping horribly, and murmuring things to him in Russian that I 
would rather have my tongue cut out than utter in English. Sweetheart, baby, 
lover... useless endearments that in this moment I mean with everything in me. 

I don't know what to do with him when he falls asleep in my arms, his right hand 
still bleeding. I'm covered in liberal amounts of his blood. I can't examine the 
injure, since my arm has fallen asleep while cradling his shoulders. I slip my 
arm out from underneath him and slide him out of my lap, onto the cold hardwood 
floor. 

I cover him with a blanket and put a pillow under his head and a towel around 
his hand. I yank on my sweatpants then rummage in the medicine cabinet until I 
find some peroxide and a pair of tweezers. Damn, I don't have gauze or tape or 
anything. I'm afraid I'm going to have to call Cori to go the pharmacy, but 
instead cut up a towel to use as a bandage. It'll have to do until morning. 

I tend his hand as best I can. He sleeps through the whole damned thing, only 
flinching a couple of times as I work the splinters of glass from his knuckles. 
I spend the next several hours sitting on the floor beside him, watching him 
breathe, hoping he remembers where he is when he wakes up. 

/////////////////////////////////////// 

"Shit..." Fox groans as he rolls onto his side, his gummy eyes opening a crack. 
"What the fuck happened?" 

I bolt awake. I must have dozed off for a few minutes. "You had a nightmare. You 
broke some glass in the bathroom and cut your hand. Do you remember any of it?" 

He sits up and shakes his head slowly, wincing a bit. His muscles have to be 
stiff as hell. "No. Last thing I remember is you shagging my brains out then 
falling asleep. Is it still Sunday?" 

"Monday morning by now. It was around 4 AM when I heard you in the bathroom. You 
need to see a doctor today. I think you might need stitches, and that's your gun 
hand. Don't want to risk nerve damage or infection." 

He lifts his hand and examines the bloody strips of towel covering it. "Damn, 
Alex, I'm so sorry. I'll pay to replace the mirror." 

He could have severed an artery, and he thinks I care about the god-forsaken 
mirror? "Damn straight you will. You punched a hole in the wall, too." 

By lunchtime Fox has 18 stitches in his hand and we're sitting at The Factory 
having lunch. He's a little groggy from the pain meds the doctor gave him, but 
doesn't seem to be suffering any after affects of the night before. 

Me? I'm a fucking wreck. For a few fleeting seconds I'd contemplated the idea 
that I might be in love with him, and now the thought was chasing itself around 
my head, making me crazy. I'd thought of him as my lover instead of the guy I'm 
fucking. Cori's words about love and happiness keep going on instant replay 
through my mind. Would the world stop turning if I told Fox that I cared for 
him? 

Yes, I'm a sick fuck. A truly evil man. A killer. But he knows that, and still 
wants to share my bed and seemingly my life. Maybe for he and I that's as close 
to love as it's going to get. 

"Alex, are you okay? You aren't eating your disgustingly healthy looking plate 
of rabbit food," he says, biting into his burger. 

I look down at my spinach and pignoli salad. It looks delicious, but my stomach 
is churning like a tugboat in a tidal wave. 

"I guess I'm not very hungry." 

"I'm really sorry about last night. I'm sorry if I've ruined your Christmas with 
all of this." His tone drops, and he gives me a heavy-lidded look, "I'd love to 
take you home and make it up to you." 

That quaver in his voice goes straight to my groin. Despite the exhaustion, the 
fear, and the emotional upheaval, I want him so badly I'd probably take him in 
the bathroom if he asked me to. 

"Seeing that we're both one-handed now, why don't we have a contest to see who 
can get undressed the fastest?" I challenge him, cocking my eyebrow and smiling. 


Twenty minutes later we've broken several traffic laws and are ripping each 
other's clothes off in our bedroom. The sight of his long, thick cock makes my 
mouth water. I drop to my knees and take him to the root, relaxing my throat to 
accept his length. He groans softly and rests his hand on top of my head. The 
smell of his musk and the earthy taste of his body soothe my jagged nerves. I 
feel... indescribable. Light. Unburdened. Clean. All is right in my life when I 
am pleasuring him. 

He pulls away from me and I moan at the loss of him. He shakes his head 
feverishly. "Not like this. I want you inside of me, please." 

I stand so fast I almost smack the top of my head into his chin. I back him 
towards the bed and reach into the bedside drawer for the necessities. He rolls 
onto his stomach, but I touch the small of his back and manage to croak out, 
"Roll over. I want to see your face." 

He complies and looks at me with eyes alight with happiness. At this exact 
moment, all that matters to me is showing him that nothing is more important 
that him being well and safe. I lean over and kiss those soft, sensual lips with 
all the tenderness I can muster. He tastes spicy from the Cajun seasoning he 
dumped on his fries at the restaurant. I trace my fingers over the scars on his 
face and down his neck, then go lower to pinch his nipples firmly, just the way 
he likes. He whimpers into my mouth and I drink in his need, savoring his 
sweetness. 

I explore his body with more patience than I'm feeling, kissing his scars and 
nibbling at his most sensitive areas. I move south until my face is between his 
legs and trace around his opening with my tongue. I probe him with my tongue and 
his thigh muscles tremble. When I feel the muscles relax I push my tongue inside 
of him. 

"Oh God, Alex, Christ!" I can feel him fighting not to push his ass into my 
face. Good thing he restrains himself, since my balance is not great in this 
position. I continue fucking him with my tongue until he cries out. "Alex, now, 
Goddamn, do me now!" 

I crouch between his legs and lube myself up. I don't prep him with my hand -- I 
want him to really feel this. "Take a deep breath, Fox. Don't want this over 
before it starts, do we?" 

He gulps and takes in a shaky breath. 

I hold the base of my dick and push the head into him. I want to take him 
quickly, but he seems so fragile right now, stoned on codeine as he is. I push a 
bit more and slide into him about halfway. He groans loudly. 

"You doing okay?" I ask, stroking his thigh. 

"Jesus, yes. Give it to me, I won't break," he pants, his chest flushed and 
heaving. 

I'm a goner. I slide in the rest of the way until my balls are against his ass, 
then quickly pull back to just the head and piston my hips into him. 

He arches underneath me. "Yesss... that's it, oh god, hard..." 

Being buried in his heat is sublime. He's so tight, and his words just ratchet 
up my lust. I fuck him as hard as I can, moving smoothly but thrusting back in 
with every bit of strength I can rally. I hit his prostate again and again, 
loving the luxurious feel of his muscles clutching my length each time I reach 
my target. 

Since all the blood in my body has migrated to my cock, my brain is on 
autopilot. I don't even realize I'm babbling until the words tumble out of my 
mouth. "So sweet, so hot, oh god Fox. I need you so much, your body, your soul, 
I want it all..." 

He reaches down and fists his cock relentlessly. "Ahhhlex, going to... oh... 
oh... now!" he roars as he comes, his back bowed and his expression drunk with 
pleasure. 

My orgasm starts as a buzzing at the base of my skull and surges through me like 
nothing I've ever felt before. I feel a flash of near fear, as if I'll come 
apart and never find all the pieces. My voice is inhuman to my own ears as I cry 
out. Flashes of light dance before my eyes as my body leaves escape velocity and 
I feel that I am flying... 

"Oh God." 

It's a long time before he speaks. I'm still beyond speech at this point, trying 
to comprehend that the human body is capable of feeling sensations like this. I 
manage to shift my weight to the side and roll off of him before I asphyxiate 
him. 

"We might as well never have sex again," I finally say, "because it certainly 
can't get better than this." 

He chuckles but says nothing, then rolls over to put his head on my shoulder. I 
bask in the warmth and closeness. It's not something I've ever felt before, and 
I don't quite know what to make of it. I know that I like it, though, and would 
like for it to continue, to see if we can share this companionship and affection 
past the bedroom, beyond our sex life and into our friendship. 

We doze for a while, until I reluctantly get out of bed and start preparing for 
work. Fox fixes me a falafel sandwich while I'm in the shower. He pops really 
nasty looking pepperoni slices in his mouth while I eat. I wonder if we should 
schedule him a preventative angioplasty. Perhaps, given time, I'll convert him 
to being a vegetarian. I almost laugh at the idea. 

"What are you smirking about?" he asks around his mouthful of fat and food 
coloring. 

"You and your carnivorous ways. Don't you know how bad that crap is for you?" 

"Yes. Now ask me if I care." He grins. God, he's hopeless. 

"What do you want for Christmas, Fox?" I ask him, realizing I haven't bought him 
a gift yet. 

"Barbeque chicken pizza from Mr. Gatti's," he replies. Uh-huh. I happen to see 
how many pizza boxes there are in the trash can -- he must have that stuff for 
dinner every night while I'm at work. 

"Seriously, Asshole, speak now or get a lump of coal." 

"Okay, Asshole, I want a new IBook, a PDA, an MP3 player, and a TV." 

I laugh. "You planning on blowing Santa to get that kind of loot?" I file the TV 
idea away for reference. I suppose it wouldn't kill me to put one in the second 
bedroom. 

He gives me a lascivious smirk. "Does Santa want to drop his pants, or wait til 
he gets home from work?" 

I laugh again. He's incorrigible. "I think you put Rudolph out of commission for 
the rest of the day a few hours ago. Codeine must make you horny." 

"It does. Why do you think I never take the pain meds I've been offered during 
my numerous injuries?" 

I finish my sandwich and snatch the bag of pepperoni away from him on my way to 
the sink. "Maybe you should stick with Ibuprofen until I recovery my stamina 
from this afternoon, Big Guy." 

/////////////////////////////////////////////// 

The bar is packed tonight, despite the university being closed. I keep halfway 
hoping Fox will come in and hang out for a while, but he seems to respect my 
territory and stay out of The Bayou, even though I know he sometimes prowls 
Chime Street in the evenings. But tonight I would really like to see his smiling 
face, to kiss him and whisper naughty things in his ear. 

I've never felt this happy before. Despite the nightmarish conversation with 
Cori last week, and Fox's continued night terrors; touching him seems to burn 
all of that away. I'm starting to believe I might be able to have something 
resembling a normal life. 

I almost believe in God again. Something larger than myself must have gifted my 
sorry ass with the love of a family and this feeling of safety. Fuck knows I 
didn't earn it. At this point I'm willing to believe it might be a blessing from 
a higher power. 

As evening wears on, we go from busy to chaotic. I have to send Greg next door 
to The Library to beg for ice when our machine breaks, and we run out of rum and 
club soda and limes. I'm ready to push the last straggling drunk out of the door 
at 3:15, when Miranda finally stuffs the guy in a cab and we lock the doors 
behind him. It's 4 AM before I leave the bar. I go to the bank, and then I do 
something I swore on all that is sacred I would never do: I go to the 24 hour 
Wal-Mart. 

I have never seen such an obscene display of tackiness, poor taste and blatant 
consumerism in my life. The place gives me the creeps, and seems to attract more 
lowlife than the New Orleans lockup. I navigate through the aisles and aisles of 
junk and crap until I find the electronics department, where I buy Fox a decent 
sized flat-screen television, a DVD player and a couple of Jackie Chan movies. 

This purchase should just about clean out my savings account. I think longingly 
about my offshore account with the 100 grand in it, but I know I might as well 
kiss that money goodbye. 

The blackness of night is fading to a bruised looking purple by the time I get 
home. I stash the boxes in the storage shed behind the house and go inside. I 
tiptoe through the silent house, turning off lights and putting things away as I 
go. Fox is such a damned slob. 

The damned slob is asleep on top of the covers, a book open across his chest and 
the lights still on. His glasses have slipped down his nose and are askew. I 
remove them and place them on the nightstand, and then the book alongside it. I 
sit on the edge of the bed and look at him for a moment before reaching to turn 
off the lamp. The lines and contours of his face are so familiar, as familiar as 
my own. There are wrinkles and lines that weren't there a scant year ago, aged 
prematurely by horrors he cannot remember. Still he is magnificent. 

I think back over the last several months of my life. I've laughed more and 
known more peace than I had in the previous sixteen years. I've also known more 
fear, emotional pain, and uncertainty that I ever knew existed. It's a steep 
price to pay for living in the world, instead of trying to control it. I think 
I'm learning to accept that, though. I can't imagine giving up what I have now 
-- him, my family, even my job, to go back to a life of not feeling and not 
loving. 

I must be thinking too loud, because he wakes up a bit. His eyes open to slits 
and he gives me a sleepy grin. "Hiya Santa." 

I'm a fool with a mouth that speaks before checking with my brain. "You mean so 
much to me that is scares the piss out of me," I say, the words rushing out 
before I can stop them. 

"Thank you, I think." He reaches up to caress my cheek. "Come to bed, Alex. I 
sleep better when you're here." 

I've never gotten a sweeter invitation in my life. 

///////////////////////////////////// 

I awake to the sound of a telephone ringing. I pick up the phone, but only hear 
a dial tone. The sound is Fox's cell phone. Bizarre, since it hasn't rung once 
in the past month. 

I climb out of bed and pull on my boxer shorts. Fox is in the kitchen talking on 
the phone, pacing back and forth as he speaks. 

"Is it okay? How is Scully? Do they think she's going to make it to term? When 
exactly is it due?" 

Shit, I knew this was going to happen. Something's wrong with the baby. Why the 
fuck did this have to happen at Christmas? First Emily Sim, and now this. It's 
like someone planned for Scully to have a miserable Christmas every year for the 
rest of her life. 

"Yeah, thanks, call me as soon as you know anything. No, I'm not going to come 
right now. If things get worse let me know. Byers -- tell her I'm praying, 
okay?" 

His face is sheet-white when he hangs up the phone. I go put my arm around him 
and he leans into the embrace. "What's happening? I take it things aren't good." 


"Scully has something called pre-eclampsia. High blood pressure, it's causing 
her to go into preterm labor. She's only five weeks from her due date, but the 
condition has made the baby's lungs not grow properly, so even a few weeks is a 
big deal." He pulls away and takes up pacing again. 

"What are you going to do?" I ask, my throat very dry. I imagine I'll be driving 
him to the airport within the hour. 

"I don't know. I don't think this is the best time to drop back into her life, 
it'll just cause her more stress. But if Scully is ill and I am the baby's 
father, I need to be there to make decisions for it. Byers is supposed to keep 
me posted." His mouth is set in a grim line. 

I come up behind him and rub his back. "Hey, you do whatever you have to. I'll 
understand. Fox, I really do hope Scully and her baby are okay." 

His eyes are moist. "Alex, would you take me to church with you tonight? I want 
to light a candle for them." 

The church will probably go up in flames, having a Jew attend services, but what 
the hell. "Sure, of course. Father Benedict liked you, he'll be happy to see you 
again." 

At 11:30 PM my family is quite shocked when I show up at church with Fox, but 
they all greet him with hugs and handshakes. We take our places in the pew, with 
Fox on one side of me and Bron on the other. Before the service starts she leans 
over and whispers, "What's wrong with him?" 

"His best friend's baby is probably going to be born with health problems," I 
whisper back. If Fox wants anyone to know this child might be his, that's his 
announcement to make. 

Father Benedict smiles warmly at us as he comes down the aisle. The church falls 
into a hush as the service begins. Again I don't receive communion, but Fox and 
I both stand in line to bow in front of Father and receive a blessing. I think 
we both need all the blessings we can get right now. 

After the service I carry a sleeping Bryce out to Bronwyn's car while Trevor 
carries Wyatt. We load all the kids in and promise to see them in the morning. 

"Thank you, Alex," Fox says as I swing the truck out onto the street. 

"You're welcome. It was nice having you there. I enjoyed it," I take a deep 
breath. "I prayed for them too. I really hope they're both okay." 

He smiles. "Hey, can we exchange gifts when we get home? I want to give you your 
stuff in private," he says, squeezing my thigh. 

"Sure. Your gift is heavy. I don't want to haul it to Dee's anyway." 

When we get home we go our separate ways to retrieve our gifts for one another. 
I wrestle the TV into the house and set it on the floor by the futon. Fox comes 
out of the second bedroom with three wrapped packages. 

"Open yours first," I say, gesturing to the two boxes wrapped in red foil paper. 


The gleam in his eyes is childlike as he rips the paper open, then his beautiful 
hazel eyes widen when he opens the box. "Oh wow, you got me a TV!" 

"I was tired of listening to you complain. There's one condition, however. You 
have to put it in the other bedroom. Open the other box," I grin, getting caught 
up in his excitement. 

"Alex, this is too much...." he says as he inspects the DVD player. 

"Nah. I... I wanted to make you happy. So deal with it." I'm pleased as hell 
that he likes them. 

"Okay, now open yours," he puts the packages in front of me. 

I open the first one and am so stunned I don't know what to say. The book is 
heavy and thick and the word House is embossed in blue. 

"Open the front cover," he encourages. 

I open it, and gape when I read the inscription. I was impressed enough by 
having a blue-lettered hardback edition of House of Leaves. On the inside flap 
is a handwritten inscription saying, "This Is Not For You. Mark Z." 

"My God, this is a signed 1st edition." 

He must have paid several hundred dollars for this book. I know -- I've been 
eyeing the copy that they have at the Highland Booksmith for a while now. 

"After you started reading it to me I decided to finish it, and noticed all the 
notes you had in the margins. I thought you might like a virgin copy to keep, so 
to speak." he leans over and kisses me. "I just wanted to make you happy." 

I clear my throat, trying to tamp down my emotions. 

"Open the others." 

The next one is small and flat, and inside is an envelope containing two tickets 
to Ben Harper with Beth Orton at the Varsity Theater in February. "Jesus, Fox, 
how did you get these? This concert has been sold out for months." 

"Ebay, my friend. Unlike some technologically backwards people I know, Bronwyn 
has a computer at her house." 

"Thank you. I'm overwhelmed, I really don't know what to say." I want to kiss 
him and show him how much it means that he even paid attention to my tastes, but 
I don't want to look like a freaking Hallmark commercial. 

The last package contains a pair of black silk boxer shorts and a matching robe. 
I finger the soft fabric as it slides through my fingers. "Hmm, lingerie. I feel 
like a kept boy." 

"I think you'll look incredibly hot in those," he says softly, reaching over to 
run a hand across my chest. "Why don't you let me help you undress so you can 
try them on?" 

I set the book reverently on the table then practically lunge for him. He wraps 
his arms around me and kisses me deeply. I'm so hot for him I think spontaneous 
combustion is an option at this point. My dick strains painfully against my suit 
pants, seeking his heat. He pulls us both up and half carries me to the bedroom. 


I scramble out of my clothes as quickly as possible while trying to help him out 
of his. Finally we are both naked, and we stumble and fall to the bed. He kisses 
a trail down my neck and whispers in my ear, "Alex, do you know what I really 
want for Christmas? I want you to ask me to make love to you." 

"What?" My blood is pounding in my veins and I feel as if I could come just from 
the pressure of his body on top of mine. 

"I don't want to fuck you, I want to make love to you. I want to know that you 
want that too," he says as his hand slides down my flank. 

Something inside of me freezes. I can't say it. I can't put his name and the 
word love in the same sentence. Yes, I've had moments lately when I wished I 
could love him, but I know deep inside that I can't. I've never had a singular 
moment in my miserable life when I was absolutely certain I felt love. I've said 
the word many times, used it to influence and manipulate, but never meant it. I 
care about him too much to use that against him. 

I reach down and slip my hand between our bodies, grasping his hardness. "Fox, 
please, I want you so much. Do me, please." 

I want him to make love to me, I want every drop of what he has to give me and I 
want to feel free to give him the same, but I'm a coward and I cannot live with 
what that would entail. I'll have to settle for letting him fuck my body because 
I cannot give him my heart. 

He sighs and kisses my forehead, but continues his ministrations. The message 
has been received and acknowledged, but he wants me anyway. 

I lose myself in his touch. His hands are urgent and skillful as they touch me, 
drowning me in that ocean of ecstasy that only he can give me. He pumps my cock 
slowly, stopping several times to lick the beads of come from the head. His lips 
map out my inner thighs until I'm quaking with adrenaline and lust. There is 
something sad and final about this union, as if I have reached a crossroads and 
taken the wrong fork in the road. 

My hand clenches in the duvet cover when he begins lapping at the head of my 
cock. "Fox, stop, stop, I'm not gonna last..." 

"You'll last. You'll do it for me, won't you, baby?" His voice is a seductive 
purr. 

Fuck. He called me baby. I'd eat a flaming sword if he asked me to. A choked sob 
escapes my throat. "Need you. Please!" 

He reaches for the lube and I'm tempted to throw him on his back and take him. 
But I owe him this. I owe him the only thing I have to offer him. And I want it. 
I want to give myself to him in the only way I'm capable of. I have no words to 
show him how much I care for him and need him, but I can pleasure him with my 
body. 

A slippery finger enters me and rubs against my prostate. I gasp and attempt to 
impale myself further on his hand. 

"Slow down, I'll get you there, Alex, just relax," he soothes as I writhe 
beneath him. 

The second finger slides in and he corkscrews them in and out of me, opening me 
up to receive him. I feel as if he's somehow climbed inside of me and possessed 
me. The taste and smell of him are wrapped around my brain, and the languid 
touch of his fingers is branded into my skin. He has permeated far more than my 
body; he pumps through my body like my life's blood. 

I open my eyes and see him looking at me, his soulful eyes so full of desire, 
desire that I haven't earned and don't deserve. I can't stand it. Tears well in 
my eyes. 

"Fox, I can't say it, I'm sorry, I just can't. Let me show you, please." 

What can't I say? That I love him? That I know I'm not worthy of love, but God 
help me, I need him more than I need air to breathe? 

Is love feeling that someone is wrapped so tightly around your soul that you 
can't tell where you end and he begins? 

He kisses me softly, infusing me with heat and light. His fingers withdraw and I 
feel the head of his cock pushing against me. I draw my legs up tighter towards 
my chest in a posture of supplication, waiting to receive the benediction of his 
body fusing with mine. 

He presses in slowly, stopping a couple of time to catch his breath and regain 
control. A fine sheen of perspiration dots his brow, and I know he's as close to 
losing it as I am. I think I'm going to have a stroke after the first thrust. He 
thrusts again and hits my prostate at the same time that he pinches my nipples. 
Another thrust and his mouth is licking a path up my chest, the velvety rasp of 
his tongue leaving a blazing trail of ignited nerves in its wake. 

He's on top of me, inside of me, surrounding me and filling up a part of me I 
never knew was empty until this moment. His soft skin glides across my sweaty 
flesh, wrapping me in a cocoon in which only he and I exist. I tighten my 
muscles on his backstroke and he cries out, "Don't do that! Too close, not 
yet..." 

"No, want you to come for me. Make love to me, Fox, come for me..." 

He sobs as he reaches for my cock. "You don't love me..." 

Oh god. I want to stop him, to wrap him in two strong, protective arms and find 
some way to convey to him that I'd whither and die without him, but my orgasm 
bursts bright and beautiful through me and the only language I have left is the 
cry I issue forth as my body explodes with release. 

He rides the crest of my climax into his own, thrusting wildly and calling my 
name as he fills me. I hold him as tightly as I can while he comes back to 
himself and slumps against me. I don't quite understand why, but I know that 
this is one of the most important moments of my life. I just have to do the 
right thing. 

I also learn that it's possible to make the biggest mistake of your life twice 
in one night. Fox kisses me again and rolls over onto his side. I spoon against 
his back and whisper, "Merry Christmas, Fox," then pretend to fall asleep. 

I'm exhausted and my body is utterly sated, but my heart is breaking. 

What the fuck is wrong with me? One moment my feelings for him are so strong 
that I feel like I'll explode from trying to contain them, then next I'm utterly 
terrified. And it doesn't help at all that while he accused me of not loving 
him, he didn't exactly profess his love to me either. The truth is that even if 
he did so on bended knee I don't think I'd be able to say it. Why can't he just 
be happy with what I have to give? Why can't I just be happy that we aren't 
pounding the shit out of each anymore? 

I'm still awake when his cell phone rings a few hours later. Dread pours through 
my body like liquid nitrogen, freezing me to the bone. 

"Mulder," he mumbles sleepily, then sits upright in the bed, his posture rigid. 

"A boy? Is he okay? Why a hysterectomy? Look, I'm going to leave for the airport 
within the hour. I need you to get me a flight out of Baton Rouge International, 
just call me back and let me know which airline." He hangs up the phone and 
swings his legs off the edge of the bed. 

I finally find my voice. "Is the baby okay?" 

"Fuck, no. The baby isn't breathing on his own and Scully hemorrhaged and had to 
have a crash hysterectomy. They're both in the intensive care unit. Frohike said 
Scully should be okay but it's touch and go with the baby," he says as he jerks 
his head around, "Where are my pants?" 

"Fox, calm down. Go take a quick shower and I'll pack you a bag, then take you 
to the airport." I rise from the bed and pull on my sweats. 

"No, you go on to Dee's, the kids will be disappointed if you aren't there. I'll 
take a cab to the airport." He runs a hand through his cropped hair, looking 
disoriented and frightened. 

I give him a soft kiss, which he responds to desperately. After Samantha, and 
then Emily, he's terrified of losing this child, both for himself and Scully. I 
don't think he's given himself time to explore how he feels about this baby, but 
now he doesn't have any choice. A child who might be his son is struggling to 
live on the other side of the country. 

"Go get in the shower, Fox. I'll pack your bag and make coffee." 

He nods, seeming relieved, and exits for the bathroom. 

I drag a suitcase from the closet and go to the other bedroom, pulling out 
sweaters and jeans and dress shirts still bearing their tags. His boxers, 
t-shirts, an extra belt and a couple of ties, all go into the suitcase. I pack 
for him as if he's never coming back, giving my silent consent to whatever 
decision he makes. 

I don't think I can stand to lose him, but he wouldn't be the man I respect and 
admire if he didn't stand by Scully and get her and their baby through this. 

Maybe he'll marry her and go on to have a happy, normal life. Maybe twenty years 
from now he'll look back on this month as his midlife crisis and spare me a fond 
thought. Maybe he'll hate me for keeping him from resuming his real life. 

I finish packing his things and leave the suitcase open on the bed so he can 
toss his toiletries in. I go to the kitchen and he appears just as the coffee 
finishes brewing. He's wearing a tight pair of black jeans and a waffle weave 
maroon henley shirt. I bought him that shirt a couple of weeks ago -- I have one 
just like it, only in army green. His hair is damp from the shower and his skin 
smooth from being freshly shaved. Under other circumstances I would try to 
cajole him back to bed. 

Under other circumstances this wouldn't hurt so fucking much. 

He calls a cab while he drinks his coffee. I put another cup in a travel mug for 
him, feeling like Donna Reed taking care of her man. Only Donna Reed never sent 
her man away to face a life he really didn't want to give up in the first place. 
He's healed now. He's strong and confident and despite the horrors that plague 
his sleep, I know he's finally ready for this. 

We sit together at the kitchen table, he in his chair and me in mine. It used to 
be my chair, my table, my kitchen. Now everything in my house, damned near 
everything in my life, is ours. I don't know how I'm going to bear to look at it 
all after he's gone. 

"Alex..." he begins. 

Whatever it is, I can't hear it. I just can't. 

"Don't, Mulder. I know you have to do this. I respect that. I hope to God they 
both come through this okay. Call and let me know how they are if you get a 
chance." 

Something in his face changes, and it crushes me to see it. The mask of 
indifference slips into place. Fox and Alex are gone. Mulder and Krycek will 
part ways once again, leaving behind a month that was one big, miraculous 
could-have-been that was truly never meant to be. It's like stepping through a 
door from an alternate universe where we could have been normal, happy people. 

About fifteen minute later I hear the cab honking for him in the driveway. I 
walk him to the door and stop to kiss him one more time. 

"Take care of yourself," I say softly, not trusting my voice. 

He runs his thumb along my cheekbone. "You too. Thank you for last night. Merry 
Christmas." 

With that he walks out of the door and probably out of my life. 

I sit down on the futon and gently skim my fingers over the cover of the book he 
gave me last night. My life is a house of leaves, dry and brittle and 
disintegrating in the wind. This is not for you, the inside cover reads. No, 
none of this is for me. The nice little house, stable job, loving family, 
beautiful lover. None of this is meant for people like me. 

I shower and get dressed, then gather up the Christmas gifts and drive over to 
Dee's house. The kids are in the driveway shuffling around on new roller blades. 
I enlist their help to carry the packages inside. 

Cori is standing in the kitchen when I walk in. She immediately grabs me by the 
arm and drags me down the hall, shutting us into the small bathroom. 

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask. I'm just not in the mood for dramatics 
right now. 

"Do you know he's not coming back?" She demands, her green eyes spitting fire. 

"What?" I knew it, deep inside I knew, but hearing her say it is more than I can 
stand. 

"Fox called from the airport. He thinks you don't want him to come back." 

"That's not true. He's an adult, he has to make his own decisions here," I reply 
lamely. 

I don't want to take responsibility for my part in this. He thinks I don't want 
him to come back because I've been emotionally distant and two hours ago I 
practically told him to have a nice life and not to let the door hit him in the 
ass. My heart sinks. 

Cori grabs my chin and forces me to meet her gaze. "Alex, do you love me?" 

"Of course I do! What kind of stupid question is that?" 

"Then look me in the eye and tell me you don't love him, and swear it on 
Matushka's grave." Her eyes are dead serious and her tone broaches no argument. 

I squirm. I can't say it. How pathetic can I be? I can't say that I love him; I 
can't say that I don't love him either. Too bad those Russian peasants didn't 
cut out my useless tongue as well. 

"I do love him," I whisper. 

Once I say it, I realize how true it is. I love the way he smells, the way he 
looks when he wakes up in the morning. I love the way he touches me, and the way 
he makes me feel that maybe I really am fit to live on this earth. 

She releases me and puts her hands on her hips. "Then go stop him! Alex, don't 
do this to yourself! He loves you, but he's scared. One word from you and he'll 
come back. He's been through so much; he just needs to know how you feel. You 
are never going to forgive yourself if you let this happen." 

"I'm scared too, Cori! Goddammit, I've never felt this way about anyone before. 
But being in love won't change who I am, what I've done. I'll still be me, and 
I'm not worthy of licking his goddamn boots!" 

She shakes her finger in my face. "Look, you stupid shit, get off your fucking 
self pity trip. He needs you. He doesn't care what you've done. If you want to 
redeem yourself to him, then go get in the damned car and stop him, unless it's 
just easier for you to bitch and whine about being unworthy than it is to 
change." 

Right or wrong, I need him in my life. I can change. I will. None of what I've 
done to repair my life means anything if I let him walk away thinking I don't 
care. 

"What time does his flight leave?" 

She smiles and kisses me. "11:18. Flight 735 on Delta. Now get out of here." 

Bron is standing in the kitchen, frowning, when Cori and I come out of the 
bathroom. I give her a hasty kiss. 

"Alex, where are you going? Where's Fox, didn't he come with you?" she asks. 

"I'll explain it all later," I say as I walk out the door. 

I drive like a madman towards the airport, breaking every traffic law on the 
books. I leave the truck in a no parking zone and jump out, running towards the 
Delta concourse. I check one of the screens to find his gate number and jog 
towards it, feeling like I'm replaying that stupid scene The Graduate. 

I can't ask him not to go. That would compromise everything he believes in. I 
want him to go, to face his former partner and find out if the child is his. But 
I want him to know that I'll be waiting for him to come back to me and our home 
and the life we're building together. 

He's sitting at the terminal, drinking his coffee and reading the paper. 
Surprise crosses his face when he looks up and sees me coming towards him. 

"Alex, is something wrong?" he asks, standing up to face me. 

"Yeah. I didn't give you a proper goodbye back at the house. I want to fix 
that." 

I screw up my courage and try to calm the frantic beating of my heart. I look at 
his handsome face, his expressive eyes that show me all that lives in that mad, 
courageous soul of his, and wonder if there are enough words to express what I'm 
feeling. 

I put my hand on his cheek. I've never been so goddamn scared in my life. 

"I'll be very lonely without you. Our bed will be cold; our house will be too 
quiet. I want you to do whatever you need to have closure and to set your 
relationship with Scully in order, but when you're done I want you to come home 
to me as quickly as you can." 

I pick up steam as I go, encouraged that the sky hasn't fallen yet. "I want you 
to call me every day, because I need to hear your voice. I need to know that you 
miss me as much as I'm going to miss you. I love you, Fox, and I'm going to go 
crazy while you're gone." 

It's done. Time hasn't stopped, and Hell hasn't frozen over. But Fox hasn't 
spoken yet, either. My heartbeat is loud in my ears as I watch a myriad of 
emotions flit across his features. 

Finally he leans into me and brushes a feathery light kiss across my lips, 
searing me with restrained passion. "What took you so long?" 

I slide my arm around his waist and laugh. I feel his heart beating as I press 
my chest against his, not caring who sees us or what they might think. 

"Asshole," I reply, chuckling. He knows me so well. He knew I wouldn't be able 
to cope if this had turned into an Oprah Winfrey moment. 

We stand like this for several minutes, until the plane starts to board. He 
kisses my temple and reluctantly pulls away. 

"I'll call you tonight. I don't have any idea when I'll be home -- I really 
can't leave until they're both out of the woods." 

"I know. They need you now. I'll still be here when you're done." 

He gives me a slow, sexy grin that leaves me weak in the knees. "Love you." 

I had no idea how much I needed to hear that. I feel complete, and happier than 
I ever thought possible. Suddenly, the future seems full of hope. 

"You too. Get on the plane before it leaves without you." 

He picks up his carry-on bag and I give him a last, lingering kiss, then turns 
and walks away before the moment can grow awkward. I managed to do this without 
screwing it up. I'd like to keep it that way. 

It takes me a long time to regain my composure when I get back out to the truck. 
I don't even care about the 75 dollar parking ticket waiting for me under the 
windshield wiper. 

There's so much more that needed to be said than those three little words, but 
I'm relieved that there wasn't time. I need to think, to clear my head, and 
figure out what this revelation means for our future. 

Our future. Suddenly that concept doesn't scare me nearly as much as it used to. 


///////////////////////////////////// 

The Christmas celebration is in full swing when I return to Dee's house. The 
kids are off showing their loot to the neighborhood children, and the adults are 
having brunch and drinking Mimosas. 

"Look what the cat drug back in," Bron says as she kisses my cheek. "What was 
going on this morning?" 

"Fox had a personal emergency and had to fly back to Washington right away. He's 
sorry he couldn't be here." I sit down with a plate of eggs and hash browns. 
"This isn't fried in animal fat, is it?" 

Cori is staring at me from across the table, giving me a questioning look. It's 
killing her not to know what transpired between Fox and I. I pretend to ignore 
her and dig into my food, until she kicks me in the shin under the table. OW! 
She plays dirty. Finally I look up at her and nod, smiling. She grins happily 
and goes back to her food. 

I spend the day at Dee's house and have a really good time, despite Fox's 
absence. We open our gifts and drink eggnog laced with rum and play Monopoly 
until I have to go home and get ready for work. 

I sit on the futon at home for a long time with the book Fox gave me in my lap. 
This Is Not For You. The hell it isn't. I may not have earned it or deserved it, 
but I'll fight for it with everything I have. 

When I get to work all the employees are acting stranger than normal. They all 
keep laughing when I walk by and whispering among themselves. I try to brush it 
off, but my paranoia reaches epic proportions by the time Joe and Vince walk in. 
Vince is pushing a massive box on a dolly. 

"Merry Christmas, Alex," Joe says warmly, pounding me on the back as Vince 
steers the dolly into a corner. With a wicked gleam in his eye he brings out a 
box cutter and tears the box apart, revealing a jukebox wrapped in a red bow. 

Oh, I get it now. Sick of my music, are they? I'll figure out how to swap the 
discs out in a matter of days. 

"Okay, joke's on me. VERY funny," I say, smiling. 

Miranda reaches behind the bar and brings out a piece of poster board. She tapes 
it to the jukebox. It reads, "Merry Christmas to the Bayou's honored patrons, 
from DJ Alex Drake." 

I burst out laughing. Okay, the joke really is on me. Even I can take a hint 
applied with a sledgehammer. I go over to inspect the hulking machine and read 
through the menus. All top 40 stuff, of course. The very last disc is the 
Beatles White Album. I can live with that. 

I turn and bow dramatically to the crowded bar. "I concede defeat. No more Joni 
Mitchell." 

Everyone cheers and applauds. I find myself laughing again. They're damned loyal 
to Joe to put up with me, if this is how they really feel. 

Joe hands me a pint and then puts his arm around my shoulders. "Now that we've 
put Alex in his place, I have an announcement to make. Next week Alex will be 
taking over as general manager of The Bayou. If it weren't for him, I might be 
shutting the place down. So you folks try not to give Mr. Sunshine too hard of a 
time for the next few weeks while he learns the ropes." 

I blush, listening to the scattered applause in the crowd. I am awed that Joe 
trusts me enough to hand his "baby" over to my care. He's owned this place for 
30 years, and I can only imagine how hard this must be for him. I just hope to 
God I don't screw it up. 

When I get home I putter around for a while, cleaning up and trying not to 
remind myself that Fox hasn't called yet. I shouldn't be concerned; he's got a 
lot to deal with right now. But I can't help wondering if he's already 
regretting our conversation at the airport. 

I fall asleep around dawn, but am awakened shortly after by the sound of the 
telephone. 

"Hello?" I mumble, trying to shake off the fog. 

"You're really sexy when you first wake up." 

I smile into the phone. "Hey. How are things? Are Scully and the baby alright?" 

"They're both stable. Scully is doing well, she needed a blood transfusion, and 
the baby is still on a ventilator but they've been able to turn it down already. 
It looks like he might make it." 

"Fox, that's great. I can't tell you how relieved I am," I say, and then ask, 
"How are you? Is it weird being back there?" 

He chuckles. "Very. Georgetown Memorial used to be my second home. Skinner and 
Margaret Scully keep looking at me like I'm an alien replicant, and the 64,000 
dollar question seems to be why I've been in Louisiana the last month." 

"What did you tell them?" 

"That I threw a dart at a map and that's where it landed." He pauses for a few 
beats, then, "Alex, the baby is mine." 

"I hoped so. Anything else would have meant there was foul play involved, 
correct?" I really am relieved. Perhaps the baby will be healthy and normal 
after all. 

"Correct. She named him today. Sean Ryan Scully. I saw him for a second. He's so 
small. I never realized babies were that small." His voice sounds wistful. 

Perhaps I'm going to lose him after all. Not to my own pride, but to his son. 
I'm not enough of a bastard to cajole him away from parenting his own child. 

"That's a good name. Very strong." I'm at a loss for words. 

"The doctor should be making rounds soon, so I need to go," he says. "I miss 
you, Alex." 

"I miss you too. I'll talk to you soon." I almost tell him to give them my 
regards, until I remember that they can't even know he's seeing me. Funny how 
I'd almost forgotten that little detail. 

"Definitely. Now go back to sleep, so I can fantasize about you naked and 
sprawled out on the bed." 

I laugh, though it feels false in my throat. "Asshole. Til later, Fox." 

"Until later," he says softly, and then I hear the click of his phone 
disconnecting. He couldn't say goodbye either. How romantic. How tragic. 

I lie in bed for a while longer, but I can't go back to sleep. In my mind's eye 
I see Fox and Scully glowing proudly over the child they created in affection 
and partnership. I can't even bring myself to be angry or resentful, just sad 
for my own loss. 

Finally I yank back the covers and throw some clothes on. I don't even bother to 
put on my arm. I think I'll go nurse my sorrows over a latte at Highland Coffee. 

Over the course of the next several days we establish a pattern. Fox calls 
around 5 AM and we talked for about fifteen minutes, then I try, usually without 
success, to go back to sleep. My exhaustion isn't improving my mood one bit. 

I'm relieved each day to hear his voice, to know that the baby is breathing on 
his own and is expected to live, and that Scully will be going home any day now. 
But it seems that with each passing day he slips away a little more. As he 
becomes involved in the reality of his life there, I feel that me and the 
tentative peace we had found are becoming a memory that he'll soon forget. 

/////////////////////////////// 

When the ball drops in New York and 2001 begins, I am at work. We are so slammed 
that I am behind the bar with Greg, frantically pouring drinks until after 3 AM. 
It's good to be busy and not thinking about what I'm not doing, like making love 
to Fox in our warm comfortable bed. 

The sun is coming up when the bar finally starts to empty out. Just as I go to 
turn off the lights, a hint to the stragglers to get the hell out, Cori walks 
in. She's dressed in a snug fitting black jersey dress and knee high boots. She 
looks gorgeous. For a kid sister, that is. 

I go over and kiss her. "What the heck are you doing out at this hour?" 

"I just left a party, and decided to drop in. When you're done here would you 
like to go have breakfast with me?" 

"I have to go home and wait for Fox to call," I tell her. Those phone calls are 
all I have left of him, and I'm too dependent on them for my own good. 

"Okay, I'll go back to your house and we'll cook. I don't want you to be alone, 
Alex. Besides, it was New Year's Eve and I didn't have a date," she sighs. "I 
don't really want to be alone either." 

"That sounds really nice." I hand her my house key. "Why don't you go on over to 
the house and wait for me? There's dough in the freezer if you want to throw it 
in the oven and make soda bread. I'll be there in about an hour." 

When I get home the house is filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and 
Cori is sauteing mushrooms and onions. 

"What ya making?" I ask her, dropping into a chair. God, I'm beat. My shoulders 
ache, my feet hurt, and my arm is chafed under the prosthesis. 

"You are going to make omelets. I'm just doing the prep work." 

"Fox didn't call, did he?" 

She smiles widely at me. "No. You're really going nuts without him, huh? Any 
idea when he'll be home?" 

"No, his friend should be getting out of the hospital really soon, but they 
don't seem to know yet when the baby can come home." Fox hasn't even mentioned 
coming home. With every passing day my hope fades. 

"This Scully must mean a lot to him." 

"Oh yeah. She's been his partner and closest friend for years. I'm sorry it took 
a crisis to get him back there, but he really needed to resolve his issues with 
her. He won't be truly happy until they're all square." I get up and start 
cracking eggs into a bowl. 

"Are you one of those issues?" 

I snort. "I sure as hell would be, if she knew about us. It's safe to say Dana 
Scully despises me. Now hand me the whisk and get out of my way." 

Cori and I are just sitting down to eat when the phone finally rings. I try not 
to look too anxious, but practically vault out of my chair to grab the phone. 

"Hello?" 

"Happy New Year." 

God, the sound of his voice does things to me that shouldn't be legal. 

"You too," I reply, smiling. "How's it going?" 

"I've got really good news. Both Scully and Sean are going home today. His 
progress has been remarkable. If things keep going this well I should be able to 
come home next week." 

"Wow, that's great." C'mon, Alex, don't lose it, you know what you have to say 
to him. "Are you sure you'll be ready to leave? Don't you want to spend more 
time with them?" 

"I miss you so much, I wish I could hop on a plane right now. All I could think 
about last night was how much I wanted to ring in the new year by making you 
scream my name while I had my cock up your sweet, tight--" 

I clear my throat and feel my cock swell in my pants. "Hey, cut that out. Cori's 
here. Not that I wouldn't love to have phone sex with you, but this isn't the 
time." 

He gives me that chuckles that rumbles through my body, leaving me aflame with 
desire. "Since you're off work tonight, maybe I'll call you back later on." 

I want to kick my own ass for belaboring the subject, but I can't stop myself. 
"You never answered me. Don't you want to spend more time with Scully and the 
baby? I'll understand if you do." 

He sighs, and the sound constricts my chest. "I don't think that would be good 
for anyone. Scully and I have talked a lot and worked things out between us. I'm 
going to sign over my parental rights. It's best for her and Sean. I love him, 
but I'm not ready to be a father. If that makes me a spineless wimp, then I'll 
have to live with that." 

"It doesn't make you a wimp. It makes you honest for admitting it." 

"Besides, Scully's seeing someone, and I think he'll be a good father to Sean. 
Better than I could ever be, that's for sure." 

"Anyone I know?" 

"Yeah." he hesitates for several beats, and I can visualize him on the other end 
of the line, chewing his bottom lip. "She's seeing Skinner." 

"You've got to be kidding me!" I sputter. "What the hell is she doing with that 
thick-necked jarhead?" 

"I don't want to know what she's doing with him, but apparently they're very 
happy and plan to marry eventually. She wants me to sign over my rights so he 
can adopt Sean, and I've agreed." 

"If you're comfortable with that. Don't make any hasty decisions. This is a 
really big deal." 

"Look, I have to go. I'll call you soon." 

"Okay, til later." 

He hangs up, and as is our ritual now, does not say goodbye. We haven't talked 
of love again either, but I don't feel the need to. It's not an affirmation both 
of us needs to make over and over again; it's a promise we've made and now it is 
understood, an invariable given. 

Cori and I sit down to eat, and I finally get some rest knowing there is a light 
at the end of the tunnel. 

Fox doesn't call back that night, and I work hard at not being disappointed. I 
know that with Scully and the baby getting out of the hospital he's probably 
busy as hell, but I really needed to hear his voice again. Especially that 
special tone of voice, the one that liquefies my insides and turns me into pure 
molten lust. 

I start getting worried when he doesn't call the next morning. He's called every 
morning between 5 and 7AM since he left. I try to stay calm; maybe he's staying 
with Scully and hasn't had any privacy to call. That works until mid afternoon, 
but I still end up calling Vince to work for me so I can stay by the phone. 

He still hasn't called by early Tuesday afternoon. I take an enormous risk and 
call Georgetown to confirm that Dana Scully and Baby Boy Scully were released on 
Sunday. It doesn't comfort me any that they were indeed released as scheduled. 

It occurs to me that he's not coming back, and didn't have the courage to tell 
me. He knows I can't and won't call around looking for him, that if he doesn't 
contact me that will be the end of things. I'd much rather have been dumped than 
entertain my growing fear that something terrible has happened. 

//////////////////////////////////// 

The world comes crashing down when I check my mail in the afternoon. Hidden 
among the bills and junk mail I find a plain white envelope that contains a 
newspaper clipping from the Washington Post. 

"Former FBI Agent Shot During Kidnapping 

A former FBI agent was shot after attempting to thwart the kidnapping of his 
former partner's newborn child. The infant was kidnapped from his mother's home 
on Sunday just hours after being discharged from Georgetown Memorial Hospital. 

No suspects have been identified. The infant was born prematurely and requires 
special infant formula and medications, and is at risk of developing infections. 


The FBI is withholding certain details of the case, but has stated that the 
agent is at a local hospital in stable condition. No ransom demands have been 
made for the infant. 

Assistant Director Walter Skinner of the Federal Bureau of Investigation will 
hold a press conference this afternoon with further details." 

I sit down on the steps to my small porch and try to breath around the crushing 
pain in my chest. 

I want to cry, to rail against the injustice befalling Fox and Scully and that 
innocent baby. I want to jump on a plane and rush to my lover's bedside. 

But I am no longer alone in my head. Alex Krycek is awake, and is already 
calculating and planning. This smacks of Consortium involvement. Who are the 
players now? What purpose is served by this kidnapping? Who do I still know or 
can lean on to get the information I need to bring these fuckers down once and 
for all? 

What's left of Alex Gray, the boy I was a lifetime ago, dies in this moment. I 
will kill whoever pulled the trigger on Fox. 

I sit here for an eternity, or so it seems, paralyzed by rage. The frozen air 
seeps into my bones and solidifies my fury into a solid, living thing that 
stretches its limbs in my gut, waiting to be called to action. 

I cannot heal Fox. I can do nothing about the fact that he's lying in a hospital 
bed where I cannot comfort him. But I can find who hurt him, and make the son of 
bitch sorry he ever drew breath. 

The phone rings inside the house, and I pull myself together to get up and 
answer it. I'm stunned to hear the soft, cultured voice of Mulder's friend John 
Byers on the line. 

"Mr. Drake?" 

He shouldn't be able to recognize my voice, but I lower it slightly just in 
case. "This is he." 

"My name is John Byers, I'm a friend of Fox Mulder. He asked me to contact you 
to let you know he's been injured." 

Oh God. He needs me there badly enough that he took the risk of contacting me? 

"What happened to him?" 

"He was shot on Sunday. There was a small tear in his intestine, but he came 
through surgery just fine. However, he seems to have developed an infection." He 
pauses and clears his throat. "Mr. Drake, Fox told me the nature of your... 
friendship. You need to know that he's in very serious condition. The infection 
is systemic, and the doctors cannot get it under control." 

"Thank you for calling, Mr. Byers. Please tell Fox that I'll be there as quickly 
as possible," I reply, then hang up the phone. 

I'm not quite sure how I'm going to avoid being shot on sight by Skinner or 
Scully. With none of the big-named players left to blame, they're all going to 
think I had something to do with this. If Fox tries to tell them otherwise 
they're going to think he was brainwashed while he was missing. 

I know I'm never going to be able to come back to my nice little house and nice 
little job after the FBI learns that Alex Krycek is alive and playing house with 
one of their own. 

I have no choice. I have to go. I'm afraid to think of how sick or scared he 
must be to have asked for me, knowing the implications. If there's anything 
decent and worthy left in me, I have to prove it to him and myself by being 
there when he needs me. Even if it gets me killed. 

It takes me a full day to get my affairs in order to leave town. Life was so 
much easier when I had no friends or loved ones. I have to arrange things at The 
Bayou with Vince and Joe to cover for me. I'm worried about Joe's health, having 
to cover my ass like this. I consider having Cori house sit for me, but decide 
against it. If things fall apart, she's much safer at her dorm than alone in my 
house. 

My fear for Fox's health is the most profound, gripping pain I've ever known. I 
wonder if Byers would call me back if he were to die. I wonder what's being done 
to Mulder's son, and hope he's not suffering, though I know he probably is. I 
think I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. When you let yourself care about 
people, you risk watching them suffer. I should never have taken that risk. 

I leave my house on Wednesday night a few hours before my plane is scheduled to 
leave. I'm restless and can't keep still. I need to stay occupied before I get 
so twitchy that I can't keep my wits about me. I can't afford that -- I still 
have to think of a way to get to Mulder without Skinner or the Consortium 
getting to me first. I have my old FBI ID in my back pocket, hoping it will 
allow me to get my handgun on the plane so I'm not defenseless. 

I take a long, scenic route to the airport, wondering if I'll ever see my home 
again. I know that after this I'll be going underground again. It hurt so 
goddamn much to say goodbye to my family earlier today. They were so sad for me, 
thinking I had such courage to go support my lover while his friend's child was 
ill. The man they think they know is just a mask, something for a killer to wear 
so he can move about in the light. 

I turn down Evangeline Street and pull up in front of a house. My house. The 
house I grew up in. A house of leaves, of lies, a pretty white clapboard shell 
for an evil that shaped and honed the person I am today. 

Are you fucking happy now, Papa? You Did This To Me. You molded your son in your 
image, and I hate you for it. I hate everything that I am. Are you proud of your 
son, Papa? I'm a more skilled killer than you ever were. Too goddamn bad they 
didn't give an Eagle Scout badge for that. When I was down on my knees receiving 
my first communion, did you already have plans to send me to Hell? 

I can't go back and kill my father. But I can make sure no one else lives in 
this labyrinth of lies and deceit and pain ever again. 

The house is dark, and there is a For Sale sign in the front yard. That will 
make this so much easier on my waning conscience. 

I go around to the back of the house and examine the door. I think it's still 
the original door, and my suspicion is confirmed when the dry, ancient wood in 
the doorframe splinters from one well-placed kick. 

Memories flood me like oil racing through my veins. 

The house is empty. Judging by the dust on the counters it has been for some 
time. I test the stove and find that the natural gas is still connected. Fucking 
morons, don't they know that can cause some really nasty accidents? 

I walk through the house slowly, pausing in the living room. I remember the 
night Matushka went into labor with Corinne, how she sat in the rocking chair by 
the window, her long dark hair loose around her shoulders and her hands stroking 
her stomach. I recall kissing her goodnight and going upstairs to bed, trying to 
be manly and hide how excited I was about the baby's birth. 

That was the last time I ever saw my mother. We buried her five days later. 

The stairs creek under my feet as I ascend them. The first door on the right was 
Delia and Bronwyn's room. The next room was my own. I stop for a few heartbeats, 
my hand on the doorknob, and then keep walking. 

Matushka's sewing room is next, a room of mystery and intrigue where she and the 
girls spent hours bent over lacy scraps of fabric for their hope chests. I see 
the ghost of young Alex standing there, arms outstretched, while I was measured 
for the clothes Matushka always had to alter because my waist was too skinny and 
my arms and legs too long. 

Back down the hall now, to Matushka and Papa's room. Best not to remember my 
father teaching me to tie a tie in the mirror that used to stand in the corner, 
or how I would sit on the edge of the bathtub and watch him shave in the small 
bathroom. 

The final door is the nursery. In my mind's eye I see the young, blonde 
baby-nurse who could never comfort Corinne. God how Cori wailed as a baby, as if 
she knew that her mother was gone and nothing was right in the world. I hated 
Cori for so long, blamed her for causing Matushka's death. Then once, when she 
was three, she fell off of the porch. She didn't call for Papa or Delia, she 
screamed "LEX!" in the saddest, most pitiful voice I'd ever heard. My resolve 
melted, and in that instant she became my dearest treasure in life. 

I go back down the stairs, through the living room, and stop again in the 
kitchen. I go to the ancient stove and pull it away from the wall, tearing the 
gas pipe loose from one of its joints as I do so. satisfaction creeps into my 
bones when I close the door behind me. 

The stars outside are so vivid and bright that they must be cutting into the 
fabric of the sky like tiny bits of glass. I sit down on a cinderblock in the 
back yard to watch and wait. 

This is the right thing to do. This is the only thing left for me to do. I 
break. I destroy. It's what I do. 

I sit silently, tension thrumming along my nerves, for what seems to be a 
lifetime. I check my watch. It's been half an hour. I hope that's long enough. 

The gun feels good in my hand, as if it belongs there. Perhaps it does. I may be 
missing an arm, but with a gun in my hand I feel whole. No one can hurt me. 

The safety goes off with a soft snick. I caress the trigger, aim for the small 
window above the kitchen sink, and fire. 

It's amazing what natural gas can do, especially to an old house like this. It's 
not much of an explosion, as explosions go, but the wood is old and rotted and 
before long the house is burning nicely. 

I get in the truck and pull away from the curb, then look back over my shoulder. 
I see the first porch lights start to come on down the street as smoke billows 
into the air. 

I laugh around the ripping pain in my chest, tears burning like acid in my eyes. 




END SECOND GRACE PART ONE 


***