Arrogant Bastard 2

by Shannon 

Website:  http://themkshrine.angelfire.com

Pairing:  M/K

Rating:  NC-17

Summary:   I’m starting to think he thinks of only two things:  getting off and getting information.  And I can tell from his face that he just thinks he’s hit the jackpot with me.

Disclaimer:  I put on something black and sexy and did some funky poaching. The boys are what I got.  Lucky me, huh?

Date of First Posting:  11/30/03

Archive:  Yes, to lists it's posted to.  All others just ask.

Notes:  This story takes up somewhere between Never Again and Patient X.  

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I scramble from the hole in the chainlink fence to the shrubs nearby and wait, turning my head quickly and scanning the immediate area to see if any of the personel have spotted me.  I see a jeep turn the corner around the main hanger and drive out of sight.  I wait, checking my watch, and then scanning some more.  So far so good.

It's a straight shot to the hanger from here about three hundred feet.  There's a dark alleyway between it and a smaller, beige building with dark windows. It's the smaller facility I'm interested in, even though I know the hanger is where they're keeping...it.  I don't have time to be interested in a nearly completely reconstructed rebel craft.   I'm more interested in the fact that they're now just missing one vital piece.  And once they find it, the rebellion that they don't even know is planned against them may fall before it even begins.

I breathe and wait, knowing that I have to bide my time and take my chance when I see it rather than getting impatient and trying to push a quick resolution.  I wait for the ten o'clock watch to drive back around the corner and then back to the main buildings of the base.

I'm not here for the UFO, and I'm not here for information.  I'm here for the one thing that can destroy this planet's chances for the continued existence of human life as we know it.  I'm here to kill a scientist named Ned Sheeley.  By all accounts probably a decent man.  Tax payer, law abider, completely oblivious to the end for which the means of his work is destined.

I've done my research on him.  He's five feet, six inches tall, one hundred thirty-five pounds.  He's got thinning light brown hair, no extended family.  He lives in an apartment five miles from the base.  He has a pet turtle named Genius.  He likes Post Raisin Bran, not Kellogg's.  He watches three hours of television on average a night, mostly news programs and old, original Star Treks he has on tape.  And he has no idea he's the one with the right information to put the finishing touches on the fastest, most deadly alien fighter this planet has ever seen.

I pull my gun from its special holster, the added weight of the silencer feeling just odd enough to draw a second's worth of my attention. I shrug my still-new jacket up over my shoulders farther, the black turtleneck underneath keeping me darkly concealed and warm.

And I see it.  The jeep coming back around the corner, its headlights briefly shining right on me and I flinch even knowing I'm totally concealed by my clothes and the bush I'm crouched behind.  Then it turns and makes a beeline for yet another hanger in the distance.

When it's just a dot on the hazy, black horizon, I cut my glance from side to side one last time and then take off at a run for the shadowed side of the hanger.  I reach it, immediately pasting myself to its side and looking around the corner toward its gigantic metal door.  Nothing.  I turn my head and squint down the black alley.  I sense no errant sound or movement to signal another's presence.  I start to sidestep between the buildings, edging toward the small side door I know is there.  I stop abruptly as a window lights up a little more than halfway to the other end of the narrow passage.  It's his office.  My mark.

I stay put for a moment, feeling the friendly shape of my gun in my hand.  I swallow and then continue slowly toward the slate-grey entrance.  I maneuver until I'm right across from it and then move in to kneel in front of it, holstering my gun for the time it takes to jimmy the lock.  Thank God the military is using its budget to build new killer planes and not to bolster the security systems of out-of-the-way little facilities where the world's fate is being decided by mousy, little nerds who've never gotten laid and think there's nothing better in the world than a brand new issue of Scientific American in their mailboxes.

I'm about five seconds away from having it open when I hear the brush of clothing against the metal wall of the hanger coming from the opposite direction from which I came.  I sink back into the shadows against the wall of the smaller building, staying completely still, and I wait for whomever's intruding on my hit to walk into the light from the window against the opposite wall.  I lick my bottom lip, reaching slowly into my jacket once more for the gun, finding it easily and withdrawing it.  I decide the best defense is an effective offense, and I prepare to take a quick, painless shot to the head as soon as there's a head to make out.  I don't want to litter this place with bodies, but this poor sucker's just asking for it, creeping down dark passageways with no flashlight and no back up.

He stops and I don't breathe, thinking maybe he senses me here, too.  I'm confident, but I'm not cocky, and I know that the odds of somebody on this base being as good a shot as I am are actually not bad.  Still, I wait, listening to his silence, before I finally hear the dull scrape of a boot as he takes another step, this one right into the stream of light.

I can't help it.  I gasp.

And then I hurl myself across the alley, pressing the gun into his side and shuffling him back into the darkness with my body.  I press him into the hanger wall, my hand moving, gun now pushing into the small of his back, and I whisper harshly in his ear.

"Don't even breathe."

He gasps and I prod him roughly with the gun.  "I mean it."

He nods slightly and I start to pull away when I feel the hard, bleak press of gun metal at my back as well.

"Drop it, Krycek."

Great.  Scully.  Of course, I think, jaw clenched.  I knew they'd fucking be the death of me someday.  I never should have uninstalled that bug.  I would have known they were going to pull this inane stunt.

"You're going to get us killed," I tell her, keeping my gaze trained on the back of his head, not lowering my gun.  She's not gonna fucking shoot me.  I'd lay odds she *doesn't* have a silencer and she knows a gunshot would have twenty marine grunts on our asses in about twenty seconds.  So I stay there up against his back, my breath stirring the hair at the nape of his neck.  I try to lock out anything but the anger, our interlude months ago in that bathroom remembered only for a split second before my survival instinct shoves it back down beneath the seething frustration and determination to get out of this alive.

"Lower the gun, Krycek," she demands again.

"We don't have time for this shit, Scully," I tell her.

"Scully, it's..."  Mulder starts, head turning slightly, but I hear the pounding of booted feet on pavement and a couple sharp shouts and I cut him off.

"Fuck," I hiss, starting already to half-run down the alley back the way I came. "Shit, follow me, dammit," I hiss, reaching the corner and taking a quick look around it, breathing fast.

"C'mon, Scully," I hear Mulder say, but I've already turned and I'm running full tilt toward the hole in the fence.   I only look back when I'm crouched down and peeling back the wire.  Mulder and Scully are about fifty feet behind, and I turn back around with a whispered curse, having caught a glimpse of a group of soldiers emerging from the passage behind them and the headlights of a speeding jeep coming from the distant hanger to their right.

I crawl through, and I should be shot for my stupidity but I wait, turning around and taking aim with my gun at the pack of men charging the agents.

I squint one eye and wait for the men to run within firing range.  They've already started firing at Mulder and Scully.  It seems like ages until they're both at the hole I made and Mulder is holding it open for Scully to crawl through.

"Hurry, dammit," I hiss, and Mulder scrambles through after her.  I disengage my shooting stance once he's halfway through.  "This way," I say breathlessly and turn, running into the high weeds off to our right.

I hear fast breaths and running feet behind me.

"Mulder..."  Scully protests.

"Come on!"  he yells.  I can only hope she trusts Mulder as she obviously doesn't trust me.  I don't turn to look, just hitting the weeds at a hard run, following my own beaten path here back to the little over-grown farm road where my car is parked and waiting.

I unlock the passenger side and fling the door open, hearing the shouts of the marines as they close in, sounding closer than I'm comfortable with.  I run around to the driver's side and get in, starting the engine, as Mulder and then Scully emerge from the weeds.  Mulder crawls over the passenger seat and into the back, sloppily, standing on my elbow at one point, and then Scully climbs in behind him, staying in the front.  I'm peeling out and kicking up dry dirt before she's even got the door closed.

I fly down the little, rough road, the small-to-medium rocks jostling us, and I hear shots being fired behind.

"Get down!"  I yell, flooring it and driving through the tall weeds until I can't hear the shots anymore and I'm about a half a mile from the main side road. When I get to it, I ease off just enough to take the turn without rolling the car, and then I'm at least driving on asphalt again, the narrow, two-lane highway badly lit and deserted.  Still, I check the rearview often, catching a glimpse of Mulder sitting back up slowly and cautiously before cutting my eyes back to the road.  I won't feel good about this until I'm back at the safehouse.  And not even then.  God, this was totally botched.

"Fuck,"  I murmur softly, teeth tightly held together.

Not only is Sheeley not dead but I've got two federal agents in my car and I can't even go back to my safehouse because of them.

"Fuck!"  I yell this time, banging the steering wheel, and Scully jumps a little.  I don't even look at her, just slicing Mulder a cold look in the rearview mirror as I speak.  "What the hell were you doing?"

He looks somewhat shell-shocked.  Maybe chagrined as well.  I look back to the road, ready to make the turn onto the other back road I know in order to stay off the interstates. He doesn't answer and I prompt him.  "Well?"

"We were..."  he begins, but his voice is hoarse and he has to clear his throat.  I fight the urge to look at him when he talks.  Even through my anger, wanting just to see him, to check that he's unharmed.  Stupid fucker.  "We got a tip that they had one."

I almost smirk.  "One what?"  Now I do look at him and as our eyes meet, I feel a physical jolt.  He gives no outward sign that he feels anything of the sort as he answers.

"A UFO," he says without inflection, but I can tell he's hoping I can corroborate that.   I blink my gaze back to the road, sighing.  "They do have one, don't they, Krycek?" he asks and I almost wince at the sound of my last name again.  "That's why you were there, too."

I look back at him, then take the turn that will take me to the small town of Warm Springs where I hadn't planned on stopping but where I'm thinking would be a good place to drop two wayward FBI agents who'd be in need of a phone and maybe a motel.   I don't let the feeling set in.  The one of just getting to see him for not even half an hour before parting ways once more.  I wonder how it would feel...how it would be if Scully weren't here.  I glance over to her and see her sitting tense at my side, not looking at me.

"No.  It wasn't,"  I tell him, knowing I'm letting him down, but not wanting to give him any reason to go haring off back there getting himself killed.

"Why were you there?"  Scully asks, looking out her window.

"Is this an interrogation, Agent Scully, because I'd just as soon let you out right here and let you fend for yourselves."

I can't help sneaking a look back at Mulder, afraid, almost, that he'll believe me. I'd probably have trouble even leaving her here and she and I didn't have amazing sex six months ago.  I swallow and watch the pine trees go by in the head-light intimidated night.   They're both silent for some time, maybe seeing my point.  I kind of saved their asses.  They're not exactly in a place to demand answers from me even if by moral law they have the right.

"There's a town up ahead about ten miles.  I'll let you off there,"  I say trying valiantly not to look at Mulder to ascertain his reaction.

"Where are you going?" he asks after a small silence.

I just look at him, allowing a tiny, sad smile.  Then I turn my eyes back to the road.

I hear him breathe heavily behind me, then he surprises me with the stubborn authority of his voice.  "I'm not getting out of this car, Krycek."

Scully turns around and looks at him now.  I glance at him in the mirror and see him not looking at her, eyes trained on me willfully.

"What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?" I ask in an annoyed hush.

"You can drop Scully off, but I'm not getting out.  You can just drive me around all night.  I'm not getting out until you tell me why you were there, Krycek." He actually pulls his gun, pointing it at the back of my head and I stifle a laugh. But at the incredibly staunch and serious look on his face, I sober.  Maybe I'm remembering it wrong.  Maybe it didn't mean to him what it meant to me. Maybe he can still want to shoot me after all that.  Or if not want...at least be able to if circumstances were right.  I frown deeply.

"Don't be stupid," I tell him.

"Don't make me," he answers, and I sigh, nearly rolling my eyes.

"Mulder.  You're getting out," I tell him shortly.

"Mulder…”  Scully starts, confused.

"He knows, Scully," he tells her, and I see the defiant glint in his eyes.  We pass a sign for Warm Springs stating that it’s now only six miles away.

"You can't make me talk," I tell him.

His answer is to click the safety off on his gun.  My eyes go hard as my hand grips the steering wheel tightly.  I must've completely misjudged what happened between us.  I swallow, my chest tightening, feeling stupid and somehow betrayed.  It’s been six months.  Plenty of time for Mulder to come to his senses. Seems like he sure wants to pretend it never happened.

“Fine,” I answer calmly and coldly.

He settles back in his seat, gun still leveled, though he at least puts the damned safety back on.

The speed limit lowers as we enter the outskirts of town and I deccelerate, not wanting to be stopped by the county patrol for speeding of all things.  I drive into town, small businesses popping up on both sides of the road.  Old, closed car wash.  Ice cream place.  Gas stations.  Motels.  Diner.

“Pull over here,” Mulder instructs.  “That restaurant.”

I do as told, pulling into a space.

“Mulder, what…?”  she begins again.

“Get out, Krycek,” he demands cooly.

I look back in the rearview.  “What are you doing, Mulder?”

“We…are eating,” he says calmly.

Scully waits with her hand on the door latch.

“What?” I ask in an incredulous whisper.

“You heard me,” he says.  “We’re going to go into that diner.  We’re going to eat.  And then you’re going to talk.”

“I’m going to eat or you’ll shoot me,” I say dryly, leveling my stare at his confident eyes.  I curse the one-sided spark that ignites when our gazes touch.

“Yeah, basically,” he says.  “Now open your door and get out of the car.  Go ahead, Scully,” he tells her, and she spares me a worried glance before sliding out of her side and closing the door behind her.

I cut the engine, sighing, and open my door, getting out.

“Stay there,” Mulder instructs, gun low but still trained on me as he climbs out after me, only holstering it when he shuts the door.  “Inside, Krycek.”

I take a calming breath and move ahead of him but behind Scully as we walk across the gravel parking lot and into the brightly lit restaurant.  I come to stand several feet from Scully and feel Mulder come up on my right as we wait for the hostess.  I breathe deeply and don’t look at him.

“Hi.  Three?” a young woman asks, picking up menus.

“Yeah,” Mulder pipes up.

“Smoking or non-smoking?” she asks happily.

“Non, please,” Mulder answers for us again.

“Right this way.”

Mulder motions for Scully to once again walk ahead and she shoots him a simmering glare before she follows the hostess to the other side of the restaurant where we’re shown to a booth by the window near the bathrooms.

Scully slides in on one side with Mulder following next to her, leaving me a bench to myself.  I sigh, resigned to an evening of their questions and my attempted evasions.  At least the place smells good.  Like freshly brewed coffee, pancakes, porkchops, and gravy.  I order my stomach not to growl as I feel the seven hours it’s been since my last meal  Still, I’d rather be at my safehouse by now with Sheeley good and dead, eating my own meager dinner, without Mulder here looking at me as if he’s never kissed me like he’d been dying to do it for years.  I’d rather have that memory untarnished.

The hostess leaves us with menus and I look down at mine, avoiding his stare. Finally, I feel him look down, too, and I actually see the food pictured before me.

“Mulder,” Scully says softly.  “What exactly are you doing?”

“We’re eating,” he states simply again.  “Aren’t you hungry, Scully?...Krycek?” he asks belatedly and it makes me look up to see that he’s once again staring at me hard.

I say nothing, letting Scully have the argument she has to have with him so that her misgivings go on record.

“He’s wanted for questioning, Mulder, and not by us in a diner out in the country over…”

“Coffee?” the waitress offers.

“Great,” Mulder enthuses.  She then looks at me and I nod briefly, looking down as she serves us.

“No thanks,” says Scully tightly, probably still hoping she’ll convince Mulder to let her out of here and away from me.

“I’ll give you a few minutes with those menus,” the waitress says cheerfully and leaves.

“Sugar?”  Mulder asks, and it takes me a moment to realize I'm being addressed and look up, frowning at him.  He looks…happy.  It scares me a little. “Krycek?” he prods, holding out the container.  “Sugar?”

“No.  Thanks,” I decline.

“Cream?” he asks next and I almost choke.

I can’t look at him.  I can’t.

“N-no,” I stutter, face blazing, turning my head to look out the window so I don’t have to sit here staring at his face, remembering the look on it as he slipped his cock between my lips and into my mouth.  I shift my legs under the table and clear my throat, even more uncomfortable now.

“Suit yourself,” he says, and I see him out of the corner of my eye pouring out an unhealthy amount into his steaming mug.

“Mulder?”

“Relax, Scully.  Enjoy your dinner.”  Then I feel him look at me again.  “We’re fine.”

Scully sighs, giving up, and picks up her menu, holding it so that I can’t see her. Soon the waitress is back and Mulder’s giving his order first, not waiting for either one of us.  Not that I care.  And Scully must be used to it by now.

“I’ll have…a short stack with bacon, sausage, and two eggs scrambled.”

“Would you like toast, English muffin, or biscuits with gravy?”

“Biscuits,” he finishes, handing her back her menu.

“For you, ma’am?” she asks Scully.

“Just toast,” she says.  “Dry.”

“And two eggs over medium,” Mulder throws in.

“Okay,” the waitress says looking uncertainly between the two of them.  Scully sighs, defeated once more.  “And for you, sir?”

I guess I might as well get what I really want instead of pulling Scully’s pouty toast martyrdom or Mulder’ll just order for me.  I feel him looking at me expectantly, but I order without looking at him.

“Three egg omelet with cheddar, jack, mushrooms, and green chilis,” I pronounce quietly.

“Would you like toast…?” she starts and I cut her off.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Dry?”  she asks and I almost want to smile at what seems to me like a deliberate slam on Scully’s order.

“Uh, no,” I answer, unable not to look up at Mulder once my menu’s taken.  He raises his eyebrows at me once, a small, crooked smile playing about his lips.  I frown at him again.  He’s playing with me like a cat with a mouse.  Like we never...  I feel my breath get deeper and shudder slightly as once again I look down under the powerful pull of his eyes.

“So, Krycek,” he starts.  I look up, hardening my expression.  “Funny meeting up with you at a secret military installation in the Godforsaken West Virginia countryside.”

“I disagree,” I tell him, blinking and forcing a fake smile.  “I think this area is downright homey.”

He laughs once and sips his coffee.  “Well, I’ll hand it to them that they have restaurants with good coffee,” he continues conversationally.

I shrug and Mulder and I stare at each other for a long moment before Scully breaks the moment with a sigh.

“So this is what we came here for?” she asks.

“No.  It’s not,” he says, still staring hard at me,  “We’re just getting warmed up. Aren’t we, Alex?”

I breathe in slowly and deeply, controlling the exhale, not answering.  He smiles again, enigmatically, and I have to look down once again, the fear that smile evokes more powerful than any gun.  I wonder if he could just go back.  Back to beating me again.  Back to hating me.  I don't see any evidence to the contrary. And yet I feel like my own transformation with him is plain as day, written all over my body for him to see and use.  I as much as told him I love him in that bathroom.  I cried for him.  I let him have my body.  God, I've been so fucking stupid.  I fight the emotion that wants to well up inside me and establish as much of a disinterested carelessness as I can muster.

“So which hanger is it in?”

I laugh without humor, looking down at my hand lying on the plastic placemat. Then I look at him.  “Which hanger is what in?”

He licks his bottom lip and I don’t watch it, don’t gasp.  I don’t care.  The look in his eyes isn't breaking me right now, isn't killing me.

“You think I won’t make you take me back there right now, Krycek?”  His eyes glint maniacally and I think that he may actually not be bluffing.

“If you ever set foot within three miles of that place again, they’ll drop you, Mulder,” I tell him, hoping to put a little fear in that smug ego of his.  I try not to let my own intense concern show through, feigning cool nonchalance instead.

“Are you going back?”  The question comes not from Mulder but from Scully. Looks like she’s back in the game.  I slide my eyes to her and then slowly blink them back to Mulder.

“Don’t think they’ll…’drop’ you?”  Mulder asks.

“I didn’t say that,”  I tell him softly, and I see some of the cockiness leave him. Yeah, Mulder.  I’m willing to die for my cause.  Are you?  Somewhere deep underneath the remorseless façade I’m fronting I plead with him not to be half as committed as I am to getting back in there, to seeing what he thinks he wants to see.

“You’re ready to die to go back for what they’re hiding there?” he asks, brows furrowed now.

“I didn’t say I was going back,” I hedge.

He sighs and the waitress shows up with our food, setting the steaming plates down efficiently and leaving.  Mulder pushes his eggs around on his plate, picking up the pepper and shaking on a generous amount.

“So there’s no UFO there and you’re not going back,” he sums up casually.

“That’s right,”  I allow, picking up my own fork.

“Who’s Ned Sheeley?” he asks out of the blue, taking a bite of egg,  and I have to close my mouth quickly, covering my instantly stunned expression. Mulder looks at me like he’s won something.  Stupid bastard.  If I can’t keep him from going back there, he’s going to get himself shot.  Or worse.  I grit my teeth.

“You tell me.”

“Oh, but I like the way you tell it, Alex,” he says slyly, his smile back.

I flash on how he murmured smugly in my ear right before he fucked me, that voice making me shiver uncontrollably.  I gulp and take a bite of omelet, taking time to collect my wits and tamp down the hurt that he could use that voice on me again and have it mean nothing.  Maybe it meant nothing before.  Mulder takes a bite, too, and Scully eyes her eggs, but does nothing.

The waitress comes back over.  “Everything all right here?”

“Fabulous,” Mulder announces around a bite of pancake.  What the fuck is he thinking?  What game is this?  Why is he so goddamned *happy*?

“Great,” the woman smiles and dashes off again.  I watch her go to keep from being skewered by his stare.

“We have reason to believe he’s involved in experiments using illegal technology on that base,” Scully says.  Illegal technology.  That one actually makes me smile down to my plate.  Leave it to Scully.

“Doesn’t she mean alien technology, Mulder?” I ask.

“Scully’s reluctant to believe without viable proof,” he says easily.  “And you and I both know any proof anybody would ever need is on that base, in that hanger,” he finishes.

“You seem sure enough for both of us, Mulder,” I say, refusing to look up at him now, pissed that there seems no way around him going back there, no matter what I do or don’t tell him.  “What do you need me for?”

“What were you doing before we showed up?” he asks, serious.

“None of your business,” I tell him plainly.

“Oh, I think it’s more my business than it is yours, Krycek.”

Now I have to look at him, eyes narrowed to slits.  The fucking gall.  More his business?  Why?  Because of Samantha?  Scully?  He knows I have my beef with them as well now.  Or he should.  And then it dawns on me.  He’s trying to get me to talk.  To defend my motives and my actions.  He really is an arrogant bastard.

“Who is he?” he demands again.

I stay frosty, giving him nothing but an expressionless glare.  I’m not going to help him go get killed.  And I'm not going to get sucked into those depthless eyes again.

He nods, lips twitching, then he raises his hand.  “Check please?” he shouts to our waitress and she nods her head.  He looks back at me smugly.

“What’s going on, Mulder?” Scully asks.

“It’s late.  I’m tired.  We’re leaving.”  His eyes never stop boring into mine.

“What about him?” she asks, suddenly invested in getting the information she could have easily done without earlier.

“He’s coming with us,”  Mulder informs her.  “He’s going to drive us back to our hotel.  Then he’s going to stay.  And he’s going to tell me everything I want to know about good ol’ Ned.”  He grins at me.

This is bad.   Very bad.  I don’t know what this is.  Mulder’s making my head spin.  Back to their hotel?  He can’t go back to beating me.  Can he?  I start to sweat, knowing I won’t fight him.  I never did anyway.  But now…

Mulder gets to-go boxes, the styrofoam squeaking as he shovels his uneaten food into the tray, then, surprisingly, does the same with mine.  Then he pays and gets up to leave, motioning that he wants to follow me out.  I feel his eyes on me all the way out to the car.

Scully argues with him behind me and I don’t even register her words.  I just know I’ve never been this nervous.  I don't know what to expect from him.  The only thing he seems to want from me is information about that damned scientist. Information I can't, in good conscience -- can't, feeling the way I do about him -- give him.  I just don't know to what lengths he'll go to get it from me.  God, how could I have romanticized our time together that way, thinking things would be different between us the next time we met?  I guess I just wasn't thinking at all.  And now I'm going to pay for it.

We get in the car and I rev the engine, trying not to tremble with the influx of fear that's flooding my body.

"Do you know where Staunton is from here?" he asks from the back.

I nod.  "Yeah."

"Good," is his simple, short answer, and I pull out of the parking lot with a squeal, heading toward whatever my fate is.  Scully buckles her seatbelt and exhales shakily.  I just gun it more and get it up to eighty quickly, exiting the town and barreling into the darkness of the continued forest.

Mulder's quiet on the fifty minute drive to Staunton.  I steal glances at him.  He looks calm and in control.  And still a small smile lingers about his lips, scaring the shit out of me.  I turn my gaze back to the road, trying to breathe through the fear.  I have to wonder what I'm actually afraid of.  He's probably not going to hit me *harder*.  He's probably not going to hurt me more than he ever did.  I take the exit for the town and swallow down the fear, settling instead on a sad knot of resignation.  He wants to go back to how we were.  At least he still wants to hit me.  He'll still be touching me.  If that's where he's at, then I'll take it.

"Up ahead on the right," he says suddenly, making my breath catch.  "That Ramada Inn."

I just nod this time, not trusting my voice, and pull into the parking lot.

"Mulder, what are you going to do?"  Scully asks with tired worry.

"Don't worry about it, Scully," he says easily.  "Just trust me, okay?"

I find a spot, Scully sighing beside me, and Mulder orders us all out of the car.  I throw my door open roughly and wait for him to climb out.

"Now are you going to be good or do I need to cuff you?" he asks me, eyes sparkling.

I just look at him wondering how he can even ask that, wishing that spark meant something else.  I know I must be staring at him like he's gone crazy.  I can't seem to help it.  I don't know how to be with this Mulder.  I don't know if he's the old one or a completely new one.  I guess I'll find out.

He nods toward the entrance once at my silence.  "Let's go."

We file into the lobby, Mulder pressing the button for the elevator, and we ride quietly together up to the third of five floors, Mulder bouncing on his feet a couple times, watching the numbers.  God, he wants to get to it...to hurting me again.  I swallow back tears and stare at the floor, unseeing.  My breath comes shakily and I tame the trembling that wants to come again.

We step out into the hall, Mulder leading us to a door halfway down, Scully behind.  He turns to her, digging his cardkey out of his pocket.

"Get some rest, Scully."

"But, Mulder..."  she begins to argue.

"Don't worry about it," he says.  Her gaze flits to me, and I actually think she looks scared for me.  "I know what I'm doing," he tries to reassure her.  I drop my eyes and try to just breathe.  Scully wouldn't let him have me if she thought he was going to really hurt me.  Would she?

She sighs again and then says so softly it's almost a whisper, "Just...please don't do something you'll regret.  Mulder, I..."

"I know, Scully.”  He stops her with a soft smile in his voice.  "Believe me, I won't."

"Fine," she finally allows.  "I'm going to call Skinner."

"Great," he says.  "See you tomorrow, Scully."

Tomorrow?  I feel her look up sharply then, too.

"Good night, Scully," he says, fitting his key into the door as she finally does the same.  She doesn't answer, just going inside and shutting her door.

Mulder holds the door open for me and I don't look at his face; I just walk slowly in, stopping just inside and waiting.  I hear the door shut behind me.  It's dark in the room and I hold my breath.  It explodes out of me in a surprised grunt when he grabs me by the shoulders, turns me around and throws me up against the newly closed door, my chest colliding with a thud.

Briefly, I fight, the instinct too honed to stop.  I catch myself before I hurt him, though, and make myself stop struggling in his tight grasp.

He's on me then, lips at my ear, hands holding both my real wrist and my fake one up against the wood.  His voice is harsh and angry.

"You were just gonna drop me off and leave, Alex?  Just gonna fucking leave me there and drive away?  That it?  That work for you?"

"I..."  I start, unprepared for his anger on the topic.  I frown even as his breath on my ear makes me shiver.

"Fucking six months, Alex, and you could just leave again?" he asks, banging my body into the door with his once for emphasis.  "Fuck," he hisses, taking me by the shoulders again and turning me around to face him roughly.  Then hands are in my hair, gripping painfully, and his mouth is on mine and he's growling as he plunges his tongue past my stunned lips, and he's kissing me.

Oh Christ, Mulder's kissing me.  His tongue pushing in over and over, hard and demanding, moaning into me and pushing me with his body, holding me tight back against the door, his hands running through my hair gripping and regripping.  I whimper into his mouth helplessly, still ready for him to stop this and start hitting me again, still tense even as I want more than anything to be kissing him back, touching him, holding him.

He turns my head so that he can stroke his tongue in deeper, moaning, eating my mouth.  Finally, I tentatively extend my tongue, purposefully touching his and he opens his mouth, groaning loudly, and then takes my mouth under his again, twisting our lips before fucking his tongue back into my mouth once more.  He slides one hand down and around to my lower back and pulls me into his body. I groan openly now, feeling his erection through our clothes.  My cock swells to fully erect as well, mashed against his.

He releases my mouth, both of us breathing hard against each other’s lips, and he holds me close, still fisting my hair and sliding a hand down to squeeze my asscheek through my jeans and rubbing his cock against mine.  I moan, unable to process what I'm feeling, that he's doing this...wants me still.

"Get these goddamned clothes off," he orders, already tugging my turtleneck out of my jeans and then shoving my jacket down my arms.

"Mulder..."

"Later,” he growls.

He waits impatiently as I strip the heavy shirt up over my head and down my prosthetic, then shake it off my right hand to the floor.  He pulls me into him again and slams us both back against the door, locking his lips to my neck, sucking and licking, hands running up and down my back, hips grinding into mine.  I throw my head back, banging it against the door with an open-mouthed groan.

One hand comes around and closes over my mouth as his fingers work the button and zipper open on my jeans.  "Gotta keep quiet," he whispers to me. "Scully next door."  He kisses behind my ear, sliding his hand down the back of my briefs, grabbing my bare ass tightly.  "Doesn't know."

I nod quickly, closing my eyes, and he takes his hand away from my mouth, raking it through my hair again.  Then he looks at me, into my eyes, his shining in the dark, then at my lips, and then back again, beginning to smirk slightly.

"Of course, a grunt or groan here and there won't clue her in," he says, breathing heavily.  "She'll just think I'm hitting you."

The smirk turns into a lopsided smile as he rears back slightly, pulling me with him, and then slams me back into the door, still looking deep into my eyes.

"Uhn!" I grunt-groan and he smiles bigger.  God, now I know what the smile was about all along.  Tears spring to my eyes and I blink them back, smiling slightly at him, too.  He actually lets out a little, naughty, boyish laugh.  And then he takes hold of my jeans and briefs and yanks down so that they're down around my thighs.  Then, still looking at me, *burning* his intention into me with those intense eyes, he backs off just enough to start undressing.

"Oh God," I whisper, as he starts unbuttoning his button fly while at the same time ridding himself of his dark shirt.  I start to reach down to my own pants.

"Stay," he commands softly.  "Just like that."

He brings his cock out, leaving his pants on and just pulling his underwear beneath his balls.  He holds himself around the base as he leans back into me, one hand going next to my head on the door, and he guides himself in close and touches his cock to mine.

"Mmm!" I grunt, lips firmly sealed shut, and he sucks his breath in on a sharp inhale, closing his eyes.  The exhale carries my name.

"Ahhlllex..."

He opens his eyes and tilts his head down, watching our cocks as he starts to gently rub them together.  Mine jumps and bobs against my belly and I fight the urge to whine my arousal outloud to the room.

"Hold yourself," he murmurs quietly, and I open tear-spiked eyes to look between our bodies, obeying and curling my hand around the base of my erection.  Then he thrusts slowly in again, letting our cockheads bump and slide off one another.

Suddenly, Mulder mashes his mouth to mine and moans deliciously into me, our cocks stroking and our closed hands touching as he moves against me rhythmically now, kissing me deeply, wet and hot.

He humps me and my hand trembles around my dick as I fight the need to move with him, or stroke myself, or scream.  He tears his mouth from mine, wraps his arm around my lower back again, and whispers against my lips, still moving, "Move on me."  He gently pulls my hips to him and I let my head and shoulders lean back against the door for leverage as I stifle yet another cry and start to thrust.

"Jesus, Alex," he whispers, and it's not long before he's letting go of his cock to wrap his other arm around me and I'm following his lead, letting go of myself and finally reaching out to him and laying my hand against his bare, sinewy back, gripping his bunching muscles as we slide our bodies together, cocks stroking side by side, trapped between our bodies.

Mulder buries his face in my neck and drops his hands to my ass, jerking me into him over and over, muffling the sounds he's making against my flesh, his deep moans vibrating against me.

"God…" he murmurs and I whine.

"Unn," he grunts, moving faster, slim hips bucking into mine.  "C-Come...on me," he finishes on a breath.

And now I can't stop it, feeling my cock surge with it, then release, shooting all over myself and him.

"Oh-oh-ooooohhhhhh...."

He trembles against me, squeezing my ass even tighter.  "AwJesus, awfuck, Alex..."   he cresendos, and then I feel his hot cum spurting out onto my stomach and still-stiff cock.  I feel it run down my length to the root.  He holds his breath and then lets it out in a rush, relaxing his hold on me and stumbling forward, banging me against the door again.

"Sorry," he murmurs, and I stroke my hand over his back, speechless.

He lifts his head from my shoulder and looks into my eyes, laying his palm against my cheek.  And then he presses his lips to mine again, bringing his other hand up and cupping my face as he slowly tastes me, swirling his tongue around mine lazily and brushing his thumbs over my cheeks.  He kisses me like that for a long moment, pulling his lips from mine slowly finally.  He takes a step back and holds out his hand to me.  I look down at it, frowning slightly, unsure.

"C'mon.  We're filthy."

I look back into his eyes and I see nothing cruel there, nothing suspicious.  I take his hand.

I start to slide down to the floor, legs no longer willing to hold me up, and he laughs deep in his chest.  “No, come on,”  he chides gently, and I moan, loving the feel of my hand held warmly in his as I push off the door and take small jeans-hindered steps, following him into the bathroom.

Once there, he lets go of me, turns on the light and the tap, pulling a washcloth down from the rod and wetting it.

“Take your pants all the way off,” he says sounding almost distracted, looking from the cloth warming under the steaming water to his sticky belly and soft, also-sticky cock with a wrinkle to his nose and a small disgusted sound.  I just stare at him, unable to move for a moment, leaning against the bathroom wall stupidly until he turns to me, giving me an impatient eye.

I clear my throat.  “Sorry,”  I say, bending down to unbuckle my boots, wondering at the fact that he seems to think he’s got total control now, easily and unconcernedly telling me to take off my clothes.  As I remove my boots and my socks, I realize with a small start that I’m actually doing it.  I swallow, feeling both a little uncomfortable, not knowing what exactly I’ve gotten myself into, and excited by the note of casual authority in his voice.  No one talks to me like that.

I pull my pants the rest of the way off, letting them drop to the floor.

He looks totally unconcerned with me now, scrubbing at his belly, the frowning look of concentration firmly set on his face, and I frown a little, too, feeling slightly uneasy now that the frantic, earth-shattering, against-the-door sex is over with.

“Jesus,” he mutters beneath his breath, and my thoughts of insecurity float away on it as I watch him take his flaccid cock in his washclothed hand and start to rub it clean, laughing to himself from time to time and looking from the mirror down to his dick between wipes as if he’s not sure what to do with his own cum- drenched cock.

Finally, he sighs, seeming to deem himself clean enough, and he leans forward to rinse the washcloth off beneath the still steaming stream of water.  He drops it into the sink and finishes disrobing, not even bothering to glance in my direction even when he’s finished and he’s…  Christ, he’s naked.  I’m looking at Mulder completely, unabashedly nude.  And he’s more beautiful than I even thought.

He reaches into the sink once more and grabs up the cloth, wringing it out, and then he turns on me, advancing.  I instinctively move to put distance between us, gasping and pressing back against the wall.  He stops short, a lopsided grin curving his generous lips, holding the cloth out to the side, hip cocked, dick hanging nestled between his long-muscled thighs.

Then, without a word, he moves in, almost up against me.  He looks from my face down to my cock with a little thinking frown now.

“Hmmm,” he says pensively, and I hold my breath.  “You…have so much cum on you,”  he tells me.  I let my breath out in a nervous laugh.  “I mean, I think you got most of yours and all of mine,” he continues.

I feel my eyes widen, but I can’t seem to get a grip.  I don’t know what to say, what to do, who to be with this Mulder.

“’skinda hot,” he informs me and flits his eyes up to mine again.  Suddenly, I don’t want to be clean.  I have Mulder’s cum on me.  And he likes it.  But his hand is reaching out and wrapping around my cock with the cloth, stroking me clean gently and efficiently.  I moan at his words as much as his touch, my cock twitching, but he moves on to cleaning up my stomach.  I watch him work, feeling his naked body so close to mine and becoming dizzy with it while he washes me nonchalantly.

“Do you think that omelet’s just total crap now?” he asks, brushing the cloth across my abdomen a couple more times, admiring his work before throwing the towel to the floor and walking away from me.  “I’m starving,” he throws back over his shoulder.  Then he’s leaving me here in the bathroom, assuming I’ll follow and keep him from getting food poisoning if need be.  I swallow and blink, pushing off the wall in a daze, walking out into the main room behind an immodestly naked Mulder who’s sauntering across the floor to the desk by the bed and flipping on the light there.

“It’s not okay to eat, is it?” he asks, picking up the room service menu and perusing it casually.  “What do you want?”

I run my hand through my hair, trying to catch up to him.  “Uh…whatever you’re having,” I settle on, watching him put the menu aside and pick up the phone, then rub at his stomach absently with his other hand.  I feel the drool collect in my mouth as much from his unconscious self-caress as from hunger. All right, more so.

He turns to see me standing and leans over, patting the bed by his side, beckoning me with what seems more a command than a request as he answers the voice on the other end of the line.  “Yeah, I’ll have, uh, two Philly cheesesteaks, two orders of onion rings, and uh, send up a six pack of…do you have Heineken?  Yeah?  Great.”

He wants to drink?  We…are going to drink?

As I ponder that and his mouth-watering choice of dinner, he looks at me again and pats the bed, this time with a raise to his eyebrows.  I sigh and walk over, less comfortable with my continued nudity than he is with his.  The stump of my arm is starting to itch and chafe as well.

I sit on the edge of the bed, still a few feet from him, and wait for him to finish his phone call.  When he does, he doesn’t sit down with me, walking past and going to fetch his overnight bag, picking it up and plunking it down at the foot of the bed and then unzipping it and rifling through it.

“Don’t you wanna take that off?” he asks unguardedly, and I feel the tactless comment sting slightly.  We’ve never talked about my arm.  Not really.  With most people…it just doesn’t seem to be an issue.  I’ve made my peace with it, with my role in losing it.  But with Mulder…  He’s different.

He must feel my hesitation because he suddenly stops and looks up at me, wide- eyed, his face slowly transforming into a small frown as he sees my own discomfort.  Then he looks away, putting the bag aside and breathing for a moment, before turning his contrite gaze back to me tentatively.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, softly now.  The tender tone has me taking a shuddering breath to answer.  Does he really care?  If I assume he does, am I just making an ass of myself?  I swallow and decide that him knowing I have feelings for him has made me far more vulnerable than my lack of an arm ever could.

“It chafes sometimes,” I tell him, voice cursedly rough.

“I mean…your arm.  Does it…?” he tries, all arrogance transformed now into a soft curiosity.

I look at him, into eyes that reflect that same curiosity but none of the pity I’d expected.  “Not really,” I tell him honestly.

He nods.  “Good.”

I hesitate for just a moment, hand rising and hovering over the straps, but then I drop my eyes and start to take it off, controlling my breathing and telling myself I don’t care what he thinks of what’s left of my arm.

He doesn’t watch me remove it, going back to his bag, pulling out what appears to be a toiletry case and chucking it onto the bed.  I set my prosthetic across the bedside table, the hand dangling off and looking like something out of a horror movie.

“So, you’re not like a vegetarian or anything,” he says, and I wonder if he’s asking or telling.  I want to laugh with the abrupt change in topic.  I look to him to try to see if he’s doing it out of discomfort over the arm thing.  As he walks over to the television, trailing his gaze back at me for a moment before turning to flick it on and adjust the volume to low, I get the strong feeling he’s not.  That this is just what he does.

“I, uh…I used to be,”  I say, trying not to rub at my arm even though I really want to get the blood moving back into it as much as I can.  I hate when it feels so totally numb.  I’d almost rather have the pain of the phantom limb.

“So you’ll eat a Philly cheesesteak?” he asks, not looking at me, and I think I hear just the slightest trepidation there.  But when he finally does turn and look, I see nothing there but the half-distracted arrogance that seemed to come so naturally to him in the bathroom.

“Yeah,” I reply plainly.

He settles on a newscast, grabs up the remote, and comes over to the bed, making my breath immediately hitch and speed up.  He walks around to the side I’m facing away from and I feel him crawl up.  I don’t turn around.

“Might as well get comfortable, Alex.  You’re here for the night,” he states simply and maybe a little smugly.

I turn my head just enough to see his graceful bare feet and crossed ankles.  He wiggles his toes a little and I turn more, looking at his face now.  Yeah.  Smug’s the word.  He’s leaned back against two piled-up pillows against the headboard, half-slouched, hands clasped on top of his taut belly.  I let my eyes travel his slim body, aware that my lips have parted and unable to care enough to shut my mouth.  I don’t move when I bring my gaze back to his.

He doesn’t change a thing from the relaxed smile on his face, to his long, sated body in exquisite repose when he asks, “So who’s Ned Sheeley?”

My eyes widen and then narrow.  He’s…  He’s questioning me?  Naked?!  Post- coital interrogation?!  I’m starting to think he thinks of only two things:  getting off and getting information.  And I can tell from his face that he just thinks he’s hit the jackpot with me.

It pisses me off.

But I also feel kind of…honored.   I know that’s fucked, so I try to focus on the pissed part.

“Are you kidding?” I ask snidely, disbelieving.

He just smiles more.  “I am so serious,” he replies, looking anything but.

“Jesus Mulder, at least put some clothes on,” I say, close to laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Why?” he asks, and I really think he doesn’t know.  I chuff a laugh.  He glances down at his dick, then back up at me.  “Gonna get distracted, Krycek?”

Krycek, huh?  I feel a tingle start to stiffen my cock marginally.  So he wants his Alex and his Krycek both.   My heart pounds.

I know I can’t tell him what he wants to know.  Or rather, I won’t.  I wonder how he’ll try to get the information out of me now that we’re…lovers.  Are we lovers, Mulder?  I curse the little tightening of hope in my chest.

“I’m fine,” I say smoothly.

“Good to hear.  Who is he?”

I sigh, giving him a you-should-know-better look.  “You’re unbelievable,”  I tell him, and I’m chagrined to find I’m having to fight to keep a smile off my face. There’s something…truly, frustratingly sexy about his cocky attitude. Something I’m finding irresistible.

“So?” he prods.

“What’d you do with my jacket, Mulder?” I ask, lowering my eyes and then looking up at him from underneath my lashes when he doesn’t answer.

I watch a smile unfold across his face.  I school my breathing and wait, too aware that we’re naked together.  Too aware that we’ve had phenomenal sex.

“I asked you first,” he counters.  I can’t help smiling now.  I look down at the coverlet I’m sitting on and then back up at him, raising my eyebrows once.   I’m not budging, Mulder.

He sighs dramatically.  Well, for Mulder.  Then he leans forward, bending one knee and resting his forearm on it casually.  He looks pornographically beautiful.

“Come home with me and find out.”

Even as my body flushes with excitement and that damned, fucking hope, I continue to banter as if it’s nothing.  Mulder and I, we do this every day.

“Yeah, right.  You probably trashed it at the bar, asshole,” I snort.

“It’s hanging in my closet right next to my one Armani suit,” he tells me softly. I inhale sharply as he stares at me, unblinking.  Is he shitting me?  Why would he…?  I breathe out through pursed lips, not trusting myself to speak just yet.   I shift my gaze away and wait for my pulse to slow.  When it doesn’t, I speak anyway.

“You…kept  it?”

“Yeah.  I did.”

I look up again, afraid of what I’ll see.  Or maybe what I won’t.  “Why?”  It’s just a whisper.

“For when you came back.  Asshole.”  He parodies my own response to him, though much softer.  I’m surprised to see a flash of hurt cross his face.  “Where have you been, Alex?”

“I…”  I begin, breathless and hoarse now.  “Working,” I state stupidly.

He nods and looks away, jaw tightening.  “Greensbrook?” he asks, referencing the base.

I just shrug noncommittally, feeling like a complete schmuck.  Working?!  I wasn’t thinking.  Now he’s going to hit me.  Now he’s going to remember who I really am.

But he doesn’t move to hit me. He gets up off the bed, going for his bag, picking it up and tossing it onto a chair, pulling a pair of sweats out and pulling them up his legs, over his tight buttocks.  There’s a lump in my throat, and I try to swallow against it.  He stays facing away from me and puts his hand on his hip, the other on his head.  I hear him sigh.

“You were there to kill him.  Weren’t you?”

I look down at my one hand, feeling my other ache dully.   I don’t answer.  I feel the tension energize the room the way the sex did earlier, and he stalks back over to me, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me up off the bed, his face in mine.  I let myself be moved, knowing this us like the back of my left hand.

“Why do you have to…?  Fuck, Alex…”  His eyes pierce mine with a longing I know too well.  “Why?”

I just stare at him stupidly for a moment, and he shoves me back down onto the bed, stalking away from me.  Several moments pass before he speaks again. “You know I’m going back there,” he tells me, turning around to look at me when I don’t answer.

I swallow.  “You can’t.”

“Why not?” he says tightly, voice rising.

“They’ll kill you,” I tell him.

“You’re going,” he states defiantly.  “I know you’re going back there, Alex.  We can either do this together or do it apart.  It’s your choice.”

I drop my head into my hand, clenching my jaw in an effort not to lose my temper with him.   “I don’t have a choice, Mulder, you do.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, taking two more steps back in toward me.  I don’t answer, but I feel the pressure of his interrogation start to break through just the same.  It feels like a matter of time.

“Why does he have to die?” he asks.  Then he’s back in front of me, slapping my hand away from my head impatiently.  I stare up at him, nearly shaking with repressed anger.  “Sheeley!” he yells.  “Why kill him?”

“Because he’s the one,” I answer in a frustrated rush.

“What do you mean?” he asks, eyes blazing now.

“I mean he knows, Mulder.  He’s got the final piece of the puzzle and unless he dies, they’re all going to know and everything you and I have worked for will be for shit.”

“Occupation?” he asks breathlessly.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“And the ship?”

“A rebel craft,”  I sigh, feeling a sad relief at the releasing of the information. “One of the resistance fighters.”

He nods.  I get the feeling he actually understands more than just the words I’ve told him.  Now that I’m not fighting him, it feels like the flow of knowledge rushes between us quicker than words can travel it and he’s reading between my lines like we’ve been doing this for years.  It feels a lot like the sex. Supernatural, intoxicating, frightening, too.

“You’re part of this resistance,” he says, piecing it all together.  I see it happening behind his intelligent eyes as they shift between mine.

“They’re alien, Mulder.  I just do what I can.”

“From the outside?  Alone?” he asks, sounding appalled.  I laugh.  Can’t he understand that it’s what he’s been doing for years essentially, his FBI ‘access’ being more a hindrance than a help and Scully providing grudging company more than assistance at times.  Does he not know he, too, is really, truly alone? Any mirth in me dies looking at his serious and anxious face.

“There’s another.  But he’s still technically with the other side.  He can’t take decisive action without getting a lot of unwanted attention.”

“So you do it,” he surmises, looking fascinated.  “Alex, how long…?” he starts, but there’s a knock at the door.  We stare at each other for a moment, then he seems to nod at something going on inside his own head.  He walks over to his bag and throws me a pair of sweats as well.

“You look like a slut,” he tells me without looking up, zipping up his bag.  I study his back, breathless with it for a moment, before standing and dressing. He walks to the door and pays for the food, not letting the waiter inside with the tray, taking the beer from him first and setting it just inside the door and then getting the rest, thanking him hastily and closing the door.

He brings the food over and then goes back for the Heineken.  “I say we eat first and then talk about how we’re going to do this,” he says.

I stifle a whispered curse at his stubborn insistence on working together.  I wish all I felt was apprehension.  But I can’t deny the deep flutter of excitement in my stomach at the thought as well.

He plops down onto the bed, unwrapping a sandwich and licking his lips.  He hands it to me, and I take it.  Then he reaches for a beer.

“Shit,” he whispers then gets up, jostling the food on the bed.  He retrieves a set of keys from his bag and comes back over, using the little bottle opener attached to open a bottle and hand it to me.  I set the sandwich down, leaning it precariously against my ankle and take the drink.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

I shake my head slightly and say softly, “It’s okay.”

He unwraps his own sandwich, putting a greasy bag of onion rings between us on the bed as we face each other.   He pops the cap on his own beer, takes a deep swig, and then tears off a huge bite of beef, onions, cheese, and bread, chewing sloppily and sighing in satisfaction.

“Goddamn…” he mutters happily around his bite of food.  I take a smaller bite of my own, mouth watering from continued hunger.

He hasn’t taken three bites when he breaks his own plans and talks around the food in his mouth.  “How’d they get the craft?”

I finish the swallow of beer I’d taken and then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.  “Crashed.”

He nods, chewing, and then takes a drink.  He barely swallows before he continues.  “Who’s Sheeley?”

“Nobody,” I tell him on a sigh.  “Just a scientist.”

“And he knows how to get the ship to work?” he asks excitedly.

“Yeah,” I answer shortly, looking down at my sandwich and hoping he won’t push on this one.

“But if he’s got the right information or he’s got some kind of technology…  I don’t understand.  Just killing him wouldn’t be enough.  You’d have to destroy whatever he’s been working on, too.”

I take a long, slow drink, avoiding his eyes still and looking down at my lap as the cold, crisp liquid settles in my stomach.

“Alex?” he prompts.

I chuff a small laugh.  “Alex,” I repeat under my breath.

“Well?” he pushes.  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You’re really fucking annoying.  Does Scully ever tell you that?” I ask, quirking a smile at him.

“Don’t change the subject,” he instructs with a smile and another gigantic bite of his sandwich, this one immediately followed by an onion ring.

I sober, breathing and watching him try to chew with his mouth closed and almost succeeding.  I decide that it can only make things worse not to tell him.

“Sheeley discovered something,” I begin and after he swallows, I can tell I have his full attention, second half of sandwich all but forgotten.  “Nobody knew what it was.  They all thought it was nothing.  A piece of scrap.  It got tossed aside for a while.”  I sigh and continue.  “I don’t know how he got it but he did. And he started running tests on it.”

“What is it?” Mulder asks impatiently now.

I  look at him for a long moment, still wondering if I can back out at the last minute.  I can tell by his face that I can’t.  “It’s not mechanical.  Not in the sense that we know that word.  It’s…alive,” I tell him finally.

“Alive?” he asks quietly, eyes trained on me.

I nod.   “It’s just an alloy casing, designed to be inconspicuous.  But inside…is a consciousness.  It’s the mind of the ship…the collective mind of the resistance. Well, that ship’s crew anyway.   It’s perfectly tuned to their energy signature. And it follows the will of the resistance without question and to the letter, flawlessly.  It’s called the Talanju.”

“Is it a separate entity?  I mean, not an alien like them?  Something different, under their control?” he asks.

“We’re not sure.  All we know is that it’s sentient.  And it’s perfect.  And it’s deadly.”

“But if it follows the mind of the resistance…whatever it is…won’t it just refuse to work for anyone else?”

“There’s evidence, from the tests already done on it, that it can be corrupted. But the good news is nobody at Greensbrook seems to comprehend what it really is.  They still think it’s mechanical.  But the tests they’re running…some of them affect its energy adversely, causing weaknesses that they can’t manipulate yet.  Nobody knows what it means.”

“What about the alien rebels?  If it’s part of them can’t they just…?”  He stops and gestures in frustration.

“Control it enough to annihilate their enemy?”

He nods.

“Apparently not when it’s disengaged from the larger whole of the ship.”

He frowns.  “Well, why don’t they just go in and get it?”

“We’re not sure.  Could be communications are being affected by the work on this one Talanju.  It could be adversely affecting the whole fleet.  We don’t know.”  I take a drink of my beer and he looks down, thinking quickly, eyes darting across the bed.

“Jesus,” he says quietly.  Then he looks up again.  “What were you going to do with the…Talan…”

“Talanju?  Give it back to the rebels,” I tell him.

“Just like that?” he asks, distrusting.

“What else would I do with it?” I ask tonelessly.

His answer is nothing less than blunt.  “Sell it, try to manipulate it like the scientist, use it to further your own power…”

I look down at my lap.  “I guess I would have done that once.”  I know it’s true. Even might have been true just six months ago.  Or a week ago.  I’m not sure what’s changed.  I still want power.  I always have.  But power on a planet of slaves means nothing.  Hell, maybe it even goes deeper than that.  Maybe it’s that…abuse of power isn’t really power at all.

At times I’ve resented Mulder.  For his goodness.  His sickening ability to keep his own hands clean.  But now that things are different between us…I don’t know.  I guess I want a piece of that.  If it’s possible.  I don’t know that it is.  I don’t know that this game can be won by the good guys.  Maybe I want to have my cake and eat it, too.

I look up at him and we share a long, steady look broken by the shrill ring of the phone.  Mulder gets up and answers standing by the bed.  I sip awkwardly at my beer and listen to the one-sided conversation.

“Hi, Scully.  What’d Skinner say? …..  Oh, uh…”  Mulder glances at me enigmatically.  “Is this something we can discuss tomorrow?”  A heavy sigh as he listens.  “Okay.”  Another sigh.  “Yeah, okay.  I understand. ……  Yeah, okay. I’ll be over there in a minute. ….Yeah, well, I’ll figure something out, all right? Unless you wanna come over here and…  Fine.  Yeah, Scully, I know.  All right.”  Then he hangs up with yet another belabored sigh.  He looks at me.  “I need to go over there.”

I frown slightly.

He sits back down and begins to eat again, then talks around a mouthful of food. “She can wait for this, though.”  Then he looks at me with a sardonic twist of his lips before looking down at the beer in front of him and chewing pensively.

I want to ask what she said, but I really don’t think I have the right to need to be in the know, so I finish my food, swiping a few onion rings from time to time and finishing off my drink.  When Mulder’s done, he takes the trash and throws it in the basket.

Then he goes over and pulls a pair of handcuffs from his duffel.

I tense instinctively and get ready to spring away from him or even strike out if I have to.

“I gotta do this, Krycek.”

My frown deepens.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he informs me.  “I’m not…taking you in or anything.”  He comes at me and I fight the fight or flight urge.  He stops in front of me.  “I just wanna know you’re not gonna bail while I’m over there,”  he explains, but I don’t relax even a little.  He’s about to cuff my only arm.  I’ll be more than vulnerable.  I’ll be a goddamned sitting duck if anything bad happens. “Now lie down and be good, all right,” he instructs with a small smile.

“Mulder,” I start, frowning intensely.

“It’s just for a little while,” he explains, gesturing with the cuffs.  At my continued reluctance, he goes on.  “I have to go talk to her.  Okay?  Just…don’t fight me, all right?  All right?”

I nod, still frowning, but a cold sweat has broken out over my body and I’m trying not to hyperventilate.

He nods back, relieved.  “All right.  Lie down and put your arm up.”

I can’t help but think, not just that it’s a little terrifying, but that this is supremely unfair.  Mulder’s cuffing me to a bed.  It’s like something out of a fucking porno.  Except that he’s not even going to be in the room.  I don’t know why I agreed to this.  Except maybe that I don’t want to leave either and I know I would have to if I had the chance.

He clicks the metal around my wrist and then around the bed slat.  He’s lucky this place has them.  I stare up at him feeling resentful and scared.  And not liking Scully very much either.   He steps back and looks down at me, lips quirking, hands on hips.

“Nice,” he tells me.  I feel my cock twitch under his appraisal, but then the smile fades from his face.  “I’ll try to make it short.  She, uh…  Well…I guess she knows what it sounds like when someone’s not being beaten and tortured,” he finishes, looking down, and I would swear he’s blushing.  He flits his eyes back up to mine, then walks to the door, leaving the room quickly and shutting the door behind him.

I lie there looking at where he was last.  I’m breathing fast, just staring at the door until my ears ring.  I squeeze my eyes closed and force myself to think of something else besides an assassin picking right now to break in and off me.

So Scully knows.  I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling.  She knows Mulder’s nailing me?  I find myself wondering what he’s going to tell her.  I’d give almost anything to be able to hear this conversation.  Instead I’m forced to lie in this bed with this news show on, defenseless, and wonder if Mulder’s going to use my first name or last and call me his lover or his enemy.

I get situated farther down with my head on the lumpy pillow and try to tell myself that the likelihood of anyone breaking in is slim.  But it seems like hours before he returns and when he walks in the door, I bolt up, the metal pulling harshly at my wrist and making me hiss in pain.

Mulder jumps.  “Jesus, relax, it’s okay.”

I lie back down, staring at the ceiling and getting my breathing under control again.  I hear him throw his key card on the table and then watch him walk over to the bed and produce the key to my cuffs, unlocking me.  He sits on the edge of the bed as I work my wrist in circles and slowly bring my arm down from over my head.  He glances at me.

“I’m sorry I had to…  Are you all right?” he asks.  “You look…”

“I’m fine,” I answer, still trying to work the feeling back into my wrist.

“Here,” he says softly, reaching out.  I hesitate, but then extend my arm to him, sitting up.  He takes it between his hands and massages my wrist, doing what I can’t with only one hand.  I inhale and hold my breath, feeling his long fingers manipulating my flesh tenderly, then I let it out slowly, feeling coming back into my limb.  He keeps rubbing and talks while looking down at my wrist. “She thinks I’m crazy,” he tells me.

I wait for him to keep going, amazed that he’s going to tell me at all.  I try not to breathe too hard.  I don’t want him to stop.  Talking or touching me.

He glances at me with a wry grin, then drops his gaze to his hands around my arm again.  “I think she was close to plamming me in the back of the neck with a butter knife,”  he says with another grin, this one down at my wrist.  He watches his thumbs circle on the tender underside of my arm.  My cock starts to harden and lengthen in his loose sweats.  My arm feels better.  But he’s still rubbing it. Like it’s not for me…but for him.  Or maybe he just forgot to stop.

“So…”  I begin softly.

“She knows,” he says finally and succinctly.  “She knows and she thinks I’ve lost my goddamned mind.”  He shrugs.  “Maybe I have.”  Then he shifts his massage a little higher up my arm, getting to the tight muscles of my forearm and kneading them with care.    “She cried, Alex.”  The last is sad and soft.

I swallow and wait for him to say more or stop touching me or yell and blame me or something.  Whatever he wants to do.

“She doesn’t want...  It’s not like that,” he assures me.  “I just think…she doesn’t know which end is up.  You know?” he asks, looking at me now as if he really wants my opinion.  I give it to him.

“She cares about you.”

He laughs humorlessly, looking down at my arm and pressing in harder.  “Hell if I know why.”  Then he looks at me again.  “She can’t not hate you yet,” he tells me.

I search his eyes.  “Do…you…?”  I can’t even say the words.  Such important words.  Do you hate me, Mulder?  It means everything, and yet I can’t say it. His enigmatic gaze holds me immobile and his hands still on my arm, laying it gently down on the bed.

“Get under the covers, Alex.  And take those off,” he adds, nodding toward his sweats that I’m wearing.

I swallow, staring into his deep, golden-brown eyes.  He stands up and turns off the light.  I work my way out of his pants, letting them drop to the floor beside the bed, then I fumble with the cover and sheet, finally getting underneath, my cock stiffening and my heart pounding.

He begins to strip his own pants off, standing over me.  I let my gaze drop to between his long legs and see in the electric blue darkness that he’s hard, too.

“Move over,” he tells me.  I do, and he climbs into the bed next to me, under the covers, slowly lying down on his side facing me.

“Turn over.  On your side,” he tells me quietly.  I turn onto my left side, trying not to tremble as I feel him scoot in close behind me, his hand coming down on my hip and pulling me back into him until he’s spooned up behind me and his thick, hot cock is nestled against my lower back.  I grip the pillow in front of my face and choke on my breath as he wraps his arm around me, hand splayed proprietarily on my chest and presses in even closer.  His lips find my neck and he breathes against me.

“Are you clean, Alex?” he asks, kissing behind my ear slowly.

“Y-Yes,” I whisper.

His hand slides down my body, wrapping around my cock tightly and squeezing.

“OhgodMulder,” I moan, and he pulls on me, stroking up and down my length which jumps and swells in his fist.  I feel and hear his hot, shuddering breathing in my ear.  He starts to pulse his hips against me in time with the strokes of his hand.  I let go of the pillow and grab the edge of the bed to steady myself.

After several excruciating moments of him jacking me, I feel his fingers find the slippery head of my cock and swipe up the pre-ejaculate there.  He rears his hips back away from me and I moan at the loss of contact as he slicks himself as best he can.  I want to turn over and watch him.  I’ve always wanted to watch Mulder touch himself.  But instead I wait until he’s pressed in against me again and pushing at my asshole with the swollen head of his cock.

I hold my breath and he moans inarticulately behind me.  After a couple of fruitless attempts, Mulder’s cockhead pops inside me and I tense.  I feel him holding his breath behind me.  Then he grips my hip with his right hand, his left curling around one of the slats in the headboard, and with several rocks of his hips in and out, he buries his dick inside me with a shuddering moan.

“Oohhhhgodyeah…”

I grip the bed and try to relax, his cock stretching me open past the point of comfort.  Not like I give a fuck.  I want it to feel like this.  With a little pain. I’ll probably still feel it tomorrow.  I sense his grip on the headboard change and glance up to see him pushing on it with the flat of his hand for leverage as he draws back and then slides his cock back up my ass all the way.

“Jesus,” I cry, squeezing my eyes shut and feeling him burn his way into me over and over again slowly.  He pants open-mouthed at my ear, moaning lowly from time to time.  Each time he thrusts into me, he grips my hip tighter and pulls me back to meet it.  I lean forward slightly, giving up the feeling of his chest against my back to change the angle and invite his cock deeper.  I push against the edge of the bed, hand slipping a few times, stretching the sheet under my palm, our writhing bodies working the top sheet slowly down off of us.

“Want to…last,” he pants, working in and out of me.  Then he groans in frustration and lets go of my hip to take hold of my cock again, this time jacking me quickly and erratically.  I yell into my arm at the sudden intensity, and he rocks his body into mine a little quicker, taking shorter thrusts, moaning into my neck.  “Fuck, Alex,” he cries and I feel my orgasm building up…up…and then spilling out over his fist and the bed as he yells behind me, hips jerking as he, too, comes.

His fist loosens around me as he finishes and relaxes, and my body goes boneless.  I lie exhausted against him, our legs tangled, feet touching in a way that seems oddly intimate.  I lie still and wait for my breath to calm, and I feel his cock slip from my body, softening.

He rolls away from me, onto his back, with an indulgent sigh.  I hear his head turn on the pillow and feel his eyes on my back.  But then there’s the rustle of the pillowcase again and he’s not looking at me.  I lie there feeling paralyzed for a few moments before his quiet voice breaks the silence.

“I don’t hate you.”

I open my eyes and stare at a spot on the wall.  And then I turn over onto my back and look at him.  He doesn’t turn his head right away, not wanting to look at me I think.  But I stare at him for long moments until he does.  He blinks at me in the dark and I feel so many things I want to say clog my throat, stinging my eyes.  I just swallow and he turns his head again, looking at the ceiling.

“Switch places with me,” he instructs quietly.  I stare at him, waiting until he moves, and when he does, I crawl across the bed, over him, lying back down on his right side.  I settle tensely under the covers, feeling his closeness and lack of touch awkwardly.

We lie there silently for a long time.  I glance over to see that his eyes are closed.  I was hoping he’d asked me to move so that I could lie against him and not be on my arm, but now it doesn’t seem like that’s what he was thinking of.  I sigh in resignation and try to will myself to relax into sleep when his soft voice erupts into the stillness.

“C’mere.”

I hold my breath and once again turn my head to look at him.  He looks at me.

“Fucking c’mere,” he says, more forcefully now.  I scoot in, pressing myself into his side and his right arm immediately snakes underneath me and presses into my back pulling me in tight against him.  I let my arm drape over his chest and my head rest against his shoulder.  I feel my heart thudding against his side, and I know he must feel it, too.  But as I lie still and become minutely more relaxed, I realize I can feel his pounding heartbeat against my arm.  And it’s just as fast and hard as mine.  I sigh against him quietly and let my fingers curl slowly around his shoulder, holding him.  I feel his fingers drift across my back in mute answer.  My cock swells against him slightly.  I can’t help being yet again aroused.  So much of my skin is pressed against so much of his.  I almost can’t believe it.  And as I feel myself actually drifting off into a state so relaxed it’s near sleep, his free hand alights on my arm and holds me there.

---

I come instantly awake as the body under mine shifts in slumber.  I sit up slightly, staring down at him in fear and horror for a moment before I realize who it is and…why.

He turns his head on the pillow and opens one eye at me.  “Alex?  What the fuck time is it?”

I squint at him and then at the window, realizing that there’s watery light seeping through the thick, ugly curtains.  Then I look at the clock behind me on the bedside table.

“It’s almost seven,” I tell him, looking down at his sinewy, beautiful body.  He pushes up, arching his back and moaning and then swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rolling his head on his neck, a few resounding pops issuing forth.

He turns his head and talks to me over his shoulder without looking at me. “You hungry?  I’m hungry.”

“Yeah,” I admit, voice rough from sleep.

“Good,” he says, standing up and stretching again, and I’m treated to his smooth back and tight buttocks as he elongates.  Then he scratches his head and walks over to his bag, pulling out a new pair of blue jeans and a brown mock-neck, it looks like, which he throws onto the bed.  “I wonder if Scully’s gonna want breakfast,” he says around a huge yawn.   Then he raises an arm and sniffs his armpit.  “Need a shower.”  Then he looks over at me.  “Smells like fucking in here.  We can’t meet Scully for breakfast smelling like a good fuck.”  He just stares at me for a moment.   “Get in here with me,” he demands, stalking into the bathroom, and I hear him start to piss into the bowl with a low groan.

“Where?” I ask, feeling stupid.

“The shower,”  he answers.  The toilet flushes and he peers around the doorway. “I’m not leaving you out there by yourself, Krycek.”  The look he gives me is hard, the muscles working in his jaw, then he disappears back into the room. The shower turns on and I sit blinking for a second before practically scrambling out of the bed and joining him in the quickly steaming room.

“Shut the door,” he commands, stepping into the spray and moaning.  “Oh yeah…”

I do as told, pulling the curtain aside and stepping in behind him.  He turns around and slaps a bar of soap up against me.

"Soap up my chest," he demands, letting go of the soap and leaving me to not let it slip out of my hand and to the tub floor.  I begin to rub up a lather with the bar between my hand and his chest.

“’senough,” he murmurs.  “Use your hand.  Drop it,” he instructs.

My pulse thunders through my body as I obey, letting the soap fall.  I lay my hand against his warm chest and begin to massage in circles.  He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the shower wall with a moan and a soft smile.

“Lower,” he commands, moaning, and I stroke over his belly, breath quickening.

"Do my dick," he instructs, then opens his eyes and looks at me.  "But don't get me hard."  Then he shuts his eyes again and I take a shaky breath as I trail my hand down between his legs and gently grab his cock and begin to rub the soap into it.  He starts to swell immediately.  He opens his eyes and looks at me.  "I said don't do that," he says without a trace of a satisfied smile, his eyes cold and hard.

"I wasn't..."  I start.

"The hell you weren't," he tells me, shoving me away with restrained force.

I think he’s…playing?

Then he takes me by the shoulder again and turns me roughly around, facing the other shower wall.  He pushes me, and I fall forward into it, catching myself with my hand, and it makes an echoing slapping sound in the small, wet room. I’m painfully hard.

"Don't move," he orders and I hear him doing something behind me, then abruptly I feel his slippery, soapy fingers sliding between my butt cheeks and rubbing at my hole.  I gasp.  "Dirty little slut," he calls me, working his fingers carelessly over my entrance.  Then he's not touching me and I hear a bottle of something being opened, something being squeezed out, then the bottle being dropped to the floor.

I feel his thick cock, slicked up with what’s probably conditioner, tracing along the crack of my ass.  The creamy head slips between my asscheeks.  And then he’s breeching my hole and pushing roughly inside me.

"Ahhfffkkk!"  I yell into the wet wall.

"Gggooooddd!" he answers right at my ear.  He doesn't take the time to settle in, just holding my hips and pumping away at me, pounding me into the wall repetitively, mashing my erection into the tile and making loud thudding sounds with my body as he thrusts fast and hard in me.

"Not...fucking...leaving..." he stammers, breathlessly behind me.

Not playing.  Not anymore.

This lubricated fuck hurts ten times worse than the careful, slow, dry one last night.  I squeeze my eyes shut and feel my feet slip on the floor.  I widen them in desperation to keep from falling.  My hand squeaks on the wall and Mulder grunts in my ear savagely.

"Gonna...feel me...up there...for a....fucking...week!"  he growls, slapping into me forcefully, and I know it's true.  I want it to be true.  I don't wanna stop feeling him.  I want to beg him to hurt me.  God, Mulder, hurt me.

He grabs me by the hair with one hand and pulls my head back.  "Beat yourself...off while I...cooooome in you!" he groans, already shooting into me and crying out into my hair.

Quickly, I lean my forehead against the wall and wrap my hand around myself, pulling frantically two, four, six times and..."OhgodMuh!  Mulder!"  I yell as I come explosively into the wall.   It takes my body and rips its way out.  Through my cock…through my throat.  Long jets of cum, long groans.  It’s both torture and release.

I turn my cheek against the wet wall as the last of my ecstasy drips from my fingers and Mulder breathes in my hair.  He grinds against me a couple more times making me moan and wince.  I’m sore and aching.  I’m afraid I won’t even be able to walk.

He pulls out a little and then pushes back inside.  “God, I’m still hard, can you believe that?” he asks in a breathy baritone.  Then he pulls on my hair, tilting my head to one side and attaching his mouth to my neck.

And he starts to suck.  Hard.

“Muh.  Wha…bout…Scuh…?”

His other hand comes around and covers my mouth and he keeps sucking, creating what I know is going to be a spectacular bruise.  He even bites and chews on me after he’s done sucking, before he pulls his mouth away, licking up the last of the drool from his pouty mouth.  Finally, he pulls out of me, and I hiss loudly.

“Get yourself cleaned up.  I’ll be waiting,” he says in my ear, stroking an appreciative hand down my hip and thigh.  “Hurry.  I’m fucking starving.”

Then I hear him splashing indelicately in the water behind me for a minute before he opens the curtain, steps out of the tub, grabs a towel, and leaves the room.

I can’t move for almost a full minute even though he seemed pretty serious about the hurrying thing.  And I’m hungry, too.  But…Jesus.

Finally, I turn and step cautiously into the spray, ass burning, stretched and aching.  I let the water hit my face.  And I smile.  If nothing else, there’s no doubt in my mind anymore that Mulder wants me.  A lot.  More than I’d ever hoped he could.  The water hits my teeth and I run my hand through my hair.

I bend gingerly and pick up the shampoo bottle, still tightly closed, working it open after a few seconds of trying, and lather my hair with it.  I rinse it quickly, then run the soap over my body haphazardly a few times, making sure to scrub under my arms, dropping the soap and using the backs of my fingers under my right armpit.  Then I carefully try to clean up my abused asshole as best I can, rinsing myself off in the pelting fall of water.

From the way it feels, there’s no doubt in my head that he made me bleed.

It’s almost a relief.

When I’m as clean as I’m going to get, I turn the shower off, grab a towel, and dry myself.  Stepping out of the tub, I grab up my old, black jeans and underwear, exiting with my bundle of clothes.

“Yes.  ….  Yes, sir.  I believe we have a significant lead.”

My breath catches and I stare at his clothed back as he talks into the phone, facing away from me.

“No, I’m not at liberty to say.  Just…we need a couple more days here, sir.  I think the added expense is going to be well worth it,” he finishes with a snide edge to his voice.  He turns and sees me and then reaches down and picks up my prosthetic, holding it out to me in silent offering, listening to Skinner give him an earful no doubt.  I walk over and take it, lowering my eyes and then turning away from him to strap it on and then dress.  By the time I’ve finished, he’s hung up and is facing me with hands on hips.

“Think Denny’s has Valium on its side order menu?” he asks me dryly.

“For you or for Walter?” I ask in answer.

He laughs, dropping his head into his hand for a moment before letting his arm swing free and looking at me again.  “Let’s go.  Get a T-shirt out of my bag,” he instructs.  I nod a little uncertainly and then pick out a non-descript white T out of Mulder’s duffle almost guiltily before I turn back to him.  “If I don’t get some coffee and pancakes in about five minutes I’m gonna pull out my gun and blast this tiny podunk town to pieces,” he tells me.  I pull the shirt on and he looks me up and down once.  “Can you walk?”  He allows a tiny, smug smile before turning and stalking to the door, all composed, mock-necked arrogance.

“You better hope I can, Mulder, if I’m gonna get you back into Greensbrook,” I retort to his back.  He stops in his tracks, then slowly turns.  And smiles.

“Let’s go get Scully,” is all he says, raising his eyebrows once and jerking the door open, walking through and leaving me to follow.  “And you can leave that jacket,” he informs me as he walks out into the hall.  Of course.  Wouldn’t want to cover up that mark he gave me.  I find myself flushing furiously and fighting a stupid-ass grin as I follow him.  He wants her to see it.  I feel like I’ve been claimed.  It’s about time.  He’s owned me for years.

I walk out into the hall at the same time Scully opens her door to see Mulder standing there.  She peers out past him, seeing me, and then gives him a measuredly cold look before grabbing her government-issue-looking blazer and stepping out into the hall, shutting her door behind her.

“Well?” she asks tightly.  “Where are we going?”

“I thought we could all have breakfast,” he tells her, and she has to tilt her head to look up at him.  It must hurt both her neck and her ego now.

“Great,”  she says with forced cheer, her closed-lipped smile anything but happy.

“There’s a Denny’s up the road,” Mulder starts as Scully shrugs on her jacket.

“I prefer Carrows,” she says, turning and walking down the hall, leaving us to follow her.  Mulder catches up, looking down at her as they walk, and I fall in behind, which I’m glad for because I am having to walk rather gingerly.  Mulder glances back at me to make sure I’m in tow, then turns his attention back to Scully.

“I don’t know if there is one,” he says as we stop in front of the elevator doors.

“There is,” I inform softly.  “About two miles east up the highway.”

She spares me a veiled look and then looks back up at Mulder.

“Sure,” he allows as the elevator dings, and we all step inside.

The silence as we ride down is absolute.  It’s like the vacuum in space.  I don’t dare look at Mulder and I’m quite sure I don’t want to risk evoking Scully’s wrath with a wrong look, so I just watch the numbers on the console, overly aware of my ass.  I still feel his dick up there.  I’m about to sit and have breakfast with Mulder’s dick up my ass.

The silence continues on the ride over to the restaurant.  I ignore Mulder’s face in the rearview, not wanting to risk a stolen, quiet glance, afraid of blushing in front of Scully and making things even more tense.  But I want to see him.  I want to look at him.  I need a day just to do only that.   To look at him and know I’m his.

I pull into a spot and we all file out and into the restaurant.  As we wait for a booth, still in the perpetual awkward silence, I can’t help but wonder about myself.  My survival instinct is telling me that I’ve crossed a line of vicious importance.  That I can’t possibly hope to keep myself safe now.  Not when I’m so worried about his safety.  And not just that.  I’m having trouble keeping my mind on the business at hand at all.  I’m too busy reliving my ultimate fantasy…feeling branded by him.  I am just a man after all and great sex affects me just like all the rest of them.

A small corner of my brain whispers that it wasn’t just great sex.  When he’s going at it in me and I have to fight back such words as lyubimy and lisa and malysh…words that drip with my feeling for him…feeling that deepens daily…there’s a huge fucking problem and one astronomically bigger than just being fucked stupid and blind.

The hostess leads us to our booth, me walking slowly and gently, and I decide that there’s just no way I can give into this softness that threatens around him…this desire to just let him have me.   I can’t let him order me around anymore, either.  There’s too much at stake in this game for that kind of shit. No matter how it makes me feel.  No.  No more of that.

“Sit down, Alex.”

Shit, I’m just standing at the end of the booth and they’re both sitting and staring at me.  I jump slightly and move to obey him.  I’m halfway to sitting when I realize how easily my new rule flies out the window at the sound of his voice. I’m completely screwed.

And as I lower myself too quickly, I realize on how many multiple levels that applies.  My ass screams, the raw tissues hot and inflamed, and I hiss, grimacing as I slowly lower myself the rest of the way.  It earns me incredulously raised eyebrows from Scully, who then turns an accusatory glare at Mulder before clearing her throat and turning her attention to her menu.

I blink my gaze to Mulder, blushing no doubt, and catch his little, proud grin.   I quickly duck my head and hide behind my menu, quietly perusing the breakfast foods.

“So how are you three doing this morning?”  a waitress asks cheerily.

I stay hidden behind my menu, but I don’t miss the casual smugness of Mulder’s answer.  “Great.”

“Need a few minutes with those menus?” she asks, apparently not needing to know how Scully and I are faring.

“Nah, we’re good,” he assures her even though we’ve hardly had any time to decide at all.  “Scully, whataya want?  I’m buyin’.”

“Of course you are,” she says under her breath, then, “I’ll just have a cup of non- fat vanilla yogurt and oatmeal, please.”

“Yeesh,” Mulder murmurs.  I peek out over my menu to see her look at him sharply.  “I mean, yummy,” he corrects with a smile at her.  Her lips twitch briefly, but then he gets the stony façade again.

“For you?” she asks Mulder.

“Gimme the uh, special. Are those eggs scrambled?”

“Whatever you want,” she answers with a flirtatious smile.  I start to get just the tiniest bit hot under the collar, but then I remember why my ass is so goddamned sore and feel immeasurably better.

“Scrambled’s great,” he answers with a smile.

“And for you?”  the waitress asks, startling me, and I open my mouth to answer.

“He’d like the three egg omelet with mushrooms and cheese,” Mulder pipes up.

I lower my menu in shock, just staring at him.

“With hashbrowns and biscuits and gravy, please.  And coffees all around,” he finishes, looking up at me with the same small smile he wore last night before I knew that it meant he fully intended to have his way with me multiple times and thereby break me of my stubbornly hanging on will to have any control whatsoever.

“Great,” the waitress answers as Mulder and I stare at each other, no one blinking.

“I hate biscuits and gravy,” I say lowly after she leaves.

“They’re for me,” he says, and I fight the urge to smile at his appalling arrogance.

God, I’m fucked.  I lower my eyes, defeated by him in this matter, but I’m determined to regain quite a bit of my power when we get to talking business. No one knows Greensbrook like I do, and I’m damned sure not going to let him dominate the plans.  I wonder how he’ll take the abrupt change I’m about to undergo.  I find myself wondering what I can do for him when we get back to the room to help remind him I know where my place is in that arena.  I mentally shake my head of such thoughts and just in time.

“We’re going back into Greensbrook,” Mulder states simply, looking from me to Scully to ascertain her reaction.

“You and what army, Mulder?” she asks incredulously.

“No army,” he states confidently.  “Just us.”

“The three of us?” she asks suspiciously.

To my surprise, Mulder looks at me for my answer.

I nod.  “Yeah.”  It comes out gravelly and rough and I clear my throat.  “I can get us back in.”

“Unh hunh,” Scully says, staring at me, licking her back teeth in serious thought, dissecting me with her unblinking eyes.  I take it, staring back at her, letting her know, whether she believes it or not, that I can be taken on my word about this. “And just what are we going back for?” she asks icily.

I look at Mulder.

“Tell her,” he says softly, elbows resting on the table, hands clasping in front of his face, eyes blinking at me over his knuckles.  I swallow.  He’s giving me the game.  He’s not gonna fight me for center stage.  He knows.  He trusts me…to some extent.  And he knows this is where I shine.  And that he needs me.  Relief and respect wash over me and I’m left feeling much more grounded and centered, the power balance we’re striking between us feeling good and right and strong.  I control the mission.  He controls me everywhere else.  I think I could live with this.  If it doesn’t get me killed.

I nod and look down, then up at Scully as I start telling her everything I revealed to Mulder last night.  I’d be more wary about saying all this in public but there are only two other people here and they’re across the room and I’ve already pegged them as locals.  I keep my eye on the waitstaff, though, and make sure to cut off my narrative if they so much as venture within ten feet of our table.

When I finish, Scully sits back and looks at Mulder, then back to me, then back to Mulder again.  “You’re not honestly considering killing this guy, are you?” she asks Mulder.

He looks over at me, then blinks his eyes back to her, letting the silence speak for him.  Jesus.  Even I never once assumed he’d be able to be talked into that part.  I guess I just figured I’d have to come back myself for a long-range hit on him from the weeds.  I’m staring at him just like Scully is, though I veil my shock behind a cool mask as though I’d expected this answer.

“Mulder…”  she begins.  “We don’t even know if he’s telling the truth!”

“I don’t have proof, Scully, but…”  He glances at me almost apologetically. “Doesn’t it make sense to you?  Why else would Krycek be there?  It’s what he does.”  He studiously trains his eyes on her, avoiding mine altogether.

“I’m not arguing that he wasn’t there to kill Sheeley.  It’s the rest of it, Mulder.  I mean, a living being inside a piece of scrap metal that controls a UFO?  That’s out there even for you,” she states.

“No it’s not!” Mulder retorts indignantly.  I can’t help but smile.  Oh, lyubimy. Too true.

Scully rolls her eyes.  “Never-the-less.”

“Never-the-less,” I interrupt, sobering.  “It’s the truth.  And if we don’t stop them, the resistance doesn’t stand a chance.”

She glares at me.  “How do I know this isn’t just some plot to get Mulder captured?  Or killed?”

“Jesus, Scully,” Mulder exclaims.  “You and I were there last night by ourselves! And do you know how hard I had to work to get this out of him?!”

“I have a pretty good idea,” she says lowly, spearing him with a fire-cold stare.

He looks only slightly chagrined, turning his eyes to me before she looks away.

“Look,” I say quietly, ignoring the flush creeping up my neck.  “I know you don’t trust me.  I don’t expect you to.  But you followed Mulder out here once.  You trusted him.  Whether you believe my story or not, you know there’s something on that base.  It’s not a question of what’s there.  Just what you plan to do about it.”

Now I have both their attentions, and Mulder’s smiling slightly.  A different, softer smile than I’m used to from him.  It throws me for a bit of a loop, and I swallow around a nervous tightness in my throat, unable to quite look away.  He doesn’t either.

Scully sighs deeply.  “Okay.”

“Okay?” Mulder asks, turning sharply toward her in the booth.

“I’ll go,” she confirms.  “But I’m not killing an innocent man.  We have to figure out a way around that.”

Mulder glances at me and I keep quiet, knowing there’s probably no safe way around it.  I think Mulder even understands my silence for what it is, but his answer to Scully suggests either otherwise or that he, too, prefers to keep her in the dark about the dirty details.

“Okay, Scully.”  Then he lays his hand on her arm and squeezes.  She looks down at it.  “Thank you.”

She nods.  “So when do we get to get this over with?”

Mulder smiles, removing his hand, then looks at me.  “Alex?”

“Tonight,” I say decisively, although my heart is pounding with the way he’s calling me Alex in front of her.  “They won’t be expecting us back at all, much less this soon.  And I know an alternate way in.  Kind of sketchy and farther away, but it’ll do.  You up for it?”  I ask them both, but I’m looking at him.

He nods.  I nod back.  Scully calls for the check.

---

We spend the rest of the day and evening planning, gathering supplies, going over the information, and planning some more.  Which means Mulder and I haven’t had even a minute alone.  Probably for the best, I tell myself, even though every moment we don’t take advantage of seems like just another leading us to our inevitable departure from one another.  I ignore the tightening in my chest over that thought.

We’ve been over and over the plan, with me instructing a very intent and present Mulder and a resigned Scully on the importance of unerring efficiency and the need for everything to go smooth and by the numbers.

At one point while I was talking, I looked over and caught Scully staring at my neck raptly.  It threw me off kilter for a second until I realized just what she was staring at and brought my hand up self-consciously, rubbing at it and looking away, continuing in a rush.  I heard her inhale sharply and sensed her sharing a loaded look with Mulder.  I ignored it and pressed on.

She seems to be taking it rather well, really.  Either that or she’s nursing an ulcer by bottling up her anger and presenting us with a cool, composed exterior that’s not at all indicative of her actual emotional state.  She certainly hasn’t openly brought it up and Mulder’s been mostly all business, only sparing me brief heated glances every-so-often.  I’m both grateful and a little sad.  I know how important what we’re doing is, and even still…part of me is all too willing to throw it away just for another night with him.  It’s sick.  And probably means I should get the hell away from him as quickly as possible once our work together is finished.  Something tells me that’s not going to be as easy as it was six months ago.

I sigh, throwing the last of my ammo into the small bag I carry inside my jacket.

“Everybody ready?” I ask, turning to them in the hotel room and looking at one and then the other.  They both nod, dressed all in black and looking calm. “Scully, you got something to cover up that hair?” I ask.

She runs a hand over her ponytail self-consciously.  “I…”

“Here, I have something,” I tell her, reaching again into an interior pocket of my jacket.  It’s not as familiar or versatile as my last one, but it suffices.  I hold out a black cap to her.  “For later,” I say, and she actually allows a tiny smile, looking down at the carpet and then over at Mulder.

He looks at me, eyes staring into mine and making my lips part.  Then I swallow.

“Let’s go,” I say, slinging my bag over my arm, and eyeing them both seriously before passing them and walking out.

The drive there is tense and silent.  I go over the plan again in my head, and then again, hoping that if I just review it enough, I can manifest a safe mission…one where Mulder doesn’t get hurt.  I breath deeply, afraid to look at his eyes in the rearview mirror.  I can’t care this much.  It’s not good for either one of us.  I stare at the road and ignore his presence as much as possible until we’re there.

I park about a half a mile up the road, having pulled off into the black trees.  If we get out, it’ll be something close to a miracle to get back here.  But I don’t think about it, knowing I’ll find a way.  I’ll get him out…get them out…anyway I can.  There’s just no other option.

I kill the engine and step out of the car, hearing them do the same.  I grab my gun from my jacket and Scully flinches.  I spare her a look.  “Put on your cap,” I say, cutting my eyes away and merely glancing at Mulder, swallowing before I start making my way toward the base through the dense southerly forest.

It’s tough going without flashlights, and we snag on bushes a couple times, but I won’t take the chance that we’ll be seen.

Soon, we reach the first of the two fences and we all crouch down in the small, dark clearing.  I turn and look at Mulder for a moment, but I have nothing to say, so I turn back quickly to the fence, holstering my gun and start cutting at the wire.

I go through first and then hold it for the both of them.  “Stay low.  Keep alert,” I say quietly.  Then I start off toward the base again, half doubled over and sticking to the now-sparse trees when I can.  By the time we get to the final fence, we’re practically crawling.  A searchlight beams over the area toward us and I hiss, “Down.”

I get flat, lying on my stomach on the ground.  Mulder and Scully follow suit behind me, their breathing fast and nervous.  This area doesn’t have as much cover as my first choice and after the light passes within a couple feet of us, I come to a crouch and work quickly to cut through the second twist of wires.  I’m almost done when Mulder gasps, “Alex!”, and I see that the light is almost on us again.  I rip my wire cutters away and hit the dirt just as it swings by, a split second from illuminating my darkly painted face.

When it’s gone and I sit up to finish the job, I murmur back to him without a glance.  “Thanks.”

I finish and motion for them to stay down, but I keep my head up, eyes wide, watching the light circle around the complex.  One more time, we flatten out against the ground as is passes, and then I’m holding up the wire and waving them through.  Mulder leads, going right for the small hanger about five hundred yards away, staying low, gun drawn.  Scully and I follow, and I turn to the left and then right, covering us as we run.

When we make it to the hanger, it’s just in time for the search light to pass over, catching Scully’s sleeve for a moment as we plaster ourselves against the dull, grey wall.  We’re panting quietly.

I edge to the corner, getting as close as I can, and peer around.  There’s a jeep in the distance…the ten o’clock sentry…and I watch both it and the huge light, praying that there’s a window.

I wait as the jeep’s lights shine in our direction, too far away to detect us while we’re still and out of sight but close enough to come to alert if we were to run now.  The light’s facing away.  The jeep comes a little farther, then turns, taking a small road between the two buildings that we want.

“Shit,” I whisper.  Not only do we have to worry about both the sentry and the searchlight, but they’ve changed their route, now sticking close to the very building to which we need access.  We couldn’t move now even if the light weren’t swinging around menacingly and making me flatten up against the wall again.

“What?”  Mulder whispers back.

“They’ve changed their route,” I tell him, glancing at Scully before I train my eyes back on his.  “We’re going to have to wait it out for a minute and see how long it takes them to circle the hanger,”  I continue, looking down at my watch. I look back up and see him swallow and nod.

“The longer we’re here, the greater the chance we’ll be caught,”  Scully warns, frowning.

“Got any better ideas?” I ask.  She’s silent.

“If we’re spotted,”  I go on.  “Haul your asses back to the fence, shoot to kill, and get back to the car any way you can.”

“You sound like you won’t be going with us,”  Mulder says, tensing up.

“Just shut up and let me time this fucking jeep,”  I tell him.  Thankfully, he doesn’t press me.  I know that if it’s up to me to hold them off to get Mulder out…well, there’s no question.

I stare at the second hand, glancing up from time to time to check the far corner of the hanger, avoiding the light as forty-five seconds go by and there’s no sign. About ten seconds after the light passes, the jeep reappears.

“Fifty-five seconds,” I breathe.

“Now we just have to time that light,”  Mulder answers.  I nod.

I wait for it to pass and then look back down at my watch.  I’ve begun to really sweat, the exertion not affecting me nearly so much as the math.  We all wait in strained silence until it comes around again.

“Forty-five seconds,” I say, looking back at him.  “With a ten second lag before the jeep rounds the corner.”

“Okay,”  says Mulder.  “So how long does it take the jeep, once it’s rounded the far  corner, to turn this corner here, away from us?”

I wait again, swallowing, and time the truck as it drives along the door side of the hanger and then turns into the narrow alley between the buildings where I’d first encountered Mulder last night.

“Fifteen seconds,”  I announce.  “That leaves twenty seconds for us with no jeep and no light to get about a city block.”

Mulder nods and Scully sighs.

“Head straight for the alley.  There’s a door about halfway down.  We’ll have to be fast,”  I tell them.

I look at Mulder and our eyes meet powerfully for a moment.  I swallow.

“Anything goes wrong…” I say hoarsely.  “Just go.  All right?”

His eyes narrow and he doesn’t say anything.  I implore him with my eyes. When still he says nothing, I flit my eyes away and peer around the corner.  The light is coming around, sweeping across the dusty pavement, over the towering hangers.  Then it’s blinding me and I inhale, pressing the back of my head to the metal wall.  When it passes, I look around again, counting the ten seconds silently, nervously, getting to nine and getting scared that I haven’t seen the truck yet.  But then there it is.  And fifteen seconds later, it’s turning.

”Go,” I hiss, and I take off first, feeling them both right behind me as I run hard for the black sheath of shadow between the hanger and the research building, my concentration so focused on that goal and the seconds ticking off in my head that the huge booming sound almost doesn’t make me miss a step.  In fact, I’m still running as the light beams down, bright and white and intense, and I look up into it, immediately covering my eyes and coming to a stumbling halt.

I look back frantically for Mulder and he’s about ten feet behind, stopped and staring up with Scully behind him, shielding her eyes.

I’m about to yell at them to turn back when the light narrows and shoots down in short, chaotic bursts, impacting with the ground between us and exploding the pavement into sharp, flying shards, the booming sound painful, almost deafening.

I stumble backwards, falling and throwing my arm up as the debris starts showering down around me.  The dust fills my mouth, coating my lungs, and I cough spasmodically.

“Muh!”  I cough out, struggling backwards toward the hanger, unable to see him through the destruction and the still-blinding white light.

It barely registers that it’s them…that it’s the rebel aliens.  Everything is happening so fast.  I just have to get to Mulder.  Have to find Mulder.  And get the fuck out of here.

But there’s another explosion right behind me and I jerk and roll to the side, this blast impacting the hanger itself.

“Fuck!”  I yell.  “Mulder!”  I get to my feet frantically, running along side the research facility, away from the hanger and the low-hovering, enormous craft.

A siren is going off and my arm is up around my mouth and nose, trying to keep out the dirt and flying dust.  It gets in my eyes and stings and I blink rapidly.  I lower my arm for a moment.

“Mulder!!”  I shout, but its completely drowned out by the thundering drone of the ship, the military siren, and another spectacular explosion behind me at the hanger again.

“Fuck!”  I curse again, knowing I have to break for it.  I start running for the fence, panting wildly and swinging my good arm, gun gripped painfully.  Now I hear the shouts behind me.  Some angry and scared…orders to attack the ship…futile commands.  Some howls of pain coming from the half-decimated hanger.

Another explosion drowns out anything human sounding and I feel the blast of fire at my back.  It knocks me down, rolling me on the hard pavement.  The wind is knocked out of me and I think I might be hurt.  I drag my body along the ground as I look back over my shoulder at the firey destruction.

The ship, a looming, dark triangle, hulks over the burning hanger, the now raging inferno that was the research building, and the stumbling, flame- enshrouded bodies.  The ship slowly turns in the smoky, dark night.

I shield my eyes and watch as the light descends again.  But this time there’s no explosion, just a continuous column of powerful silver-white light penetrating to the center of the research facility.  I watch as something rises from the ground, from the ruins.  It glows a pulsating, hypnotic purple.  It’s shaped like a diamond.  The Talanju.  And it’s being drawn up toward the huge craft.

For a moment I can only watch, as the thing spirals upward slowly, the sound of the ship like a growling, possessive beast.  The men below, the ones who aren’t burned or exploded, shoot at the ship and call for help to no avail.  The thing is untouchable, retrieving what belongs to it unimpeded in the wake of its efficient destruction.

I blink and then catch my breath, looking left and then right, squinting in the too-brightly-lit night, into the shadows.  I’m nearly panicking now, my breath coming short and fast.

And then I see movement.  Against the wall of the far hanger near the fence.

“Muh?”  I hear myself whisper, squinting farther and trying to stand, but feeling my right leg give out on me as I crumble back to the ground with a grunt.  My vision blurs with the pain.

“Ffffff!”  I hiss.  I’m not gonna make it.  It’s too far.  The men will find me, or I’ll be blasted straight to hell by that thing.  Either way, I know that’s it.  Still, I reach out with my arm and drag myself along the pavement, pushing with my good leg, blinking past the thick dust in my eyes again as I try to focus on the fence inching its way closer.

I hear a shout and groan.  They’ve spotted me.  Whoever’s not burned to death has seen me and they’re closing by the proximity of the continued shouts.

“Alex!”

Fuck, they even know who I am, I think through the haze of pain and noise and debris.

“Alex!”

Then there are hands on me.  And I jump, wrenching away.  But they’re on me again.  Mulder’s hands, I realize.  Because it was Mulder’s voice.  I look up.

“Come on!” he yells, slinging my arm over his shoulders and hauling me up with a grunt.  I hiss as I put weight on my leg, feeling blood spurt out of the long, deep cut in my thigh.  I lift my foot up and half-hobble, half-run with him toward the chainlink.  I think I see Scully’s outline amidst the trees.

Then the noise behind is all I know as we struggle forward.  Like a hundred jet engines starting up.

“Come ON!”  Mulder yells, and I growl as I surge forward faster, pain lancing up my leg.

And then it begins.  Fast, hard, loud, hot explosions at our backs.  The ground shakes with it and I feel each impact in my chest like a gunshot.  We fall to the ground, Mulder landing half on top of me, and I struggle to look back, only seeing a gigantic ball of flame as the entire complex explodes, the ship lifting up and away and shooting off into the night sky like a flying god.

I look at Mulder beside me, mouth open, transfixed, and it jolts me out of my own shock.

“Mulder!”  I yell.  He looks at me, uncomprehending for a moment.  “Let’s go!” I shout in his face, and this time he nods and quickly helps me to stand, and we stumble back to the fence, falling against it in exhaustion.

“Go,”  I husk, panting, gripping the fence to hold me up.  Mulder crawls through and I follow.  Then together with Scully we scurry like creatures back into the shelter of the forest.

---

“We need to stop.  You’re hurt,”  Mulder says breathlessly as I grunt and pant, still trying to run with him through the trees.

“I’m fine.  I can make it,”  I tell him, actually pulling on him to keep going.  I feel him glancing at me worriedly.

“It’s easily half a mile, Alex,” he pants with me, Scully at our heels.  “Is it a sprain?”

“No,”  I choke out, grimacing as the underbrush snags on my jeans and tears across my already burning cut.  My grip on Mulder’s arm tightens.

“Stop,” he half breathes, half yells, refusing to go on.

I stop and shoot him an angry look, teeth bared as I pant.

“Broken?” he asks, releasing his right hand from my wrist and putting it on my waist.  I swallow, losing a little of my indignation.  I look down at my leg and back up again.

Mulder looks down, seeing even in the dark where my pant leg is ripped all to hell and my own blood is soaking through the denim and running down my leg. “Jesus.  Scully?” he calls, looking behind us.

“I can make it, Mulder,”  I tell him.  “We don’t have time.  We have to get out of here.”

“You think there’s anybody left back there to chase us?  Or care?”  Mulder asks as Scully comes to my side and crouches down to look at my leg with a frown.

“No,”  I say lowly.  “But there’ll be others.  Soon.  Now come on.  I can do it.”

Mulder looks down at my leg, then to Scully.

“It needs wrapped,” she informs.  “We need to stop the bleeding.”

Even as I roll my eyes in impatience I can feel the blood trickling into my boot. Before I know it, Mulder is letting go of  me entirely and stripping off his black turtleneck.  He glances at me quickly and then kneels down and wraps it around my thigh, tying it off tight and making me grimace slightly and hold my breath. Then he’s standing again, now shirtless.

“Come on,” he says quietly.  “I’ll help you.  Lean on me more.”

I swallow, unsure if I’m light-headed from loss of blood, or from the incredible sight of his bare torso, or that small, impactful act of generosity where Mulder actually got down on his knees for me.  I nod and give him a little more of my weight before we continue at a less frantic clip.

It seems like ages until we’re back to the car and the sight of it has me nearly salivating and genuflecting before it.

“I’m driving,” Mulder says decidedly.

I heft a sigh and he helps me lean against the car door so I can dig in my pocket for the keys, which I extend to him with a warning look.

“Don’t fuck it up,”  I tell him.

He grins lopsidedly and unlocks the passenger side, then reaches back and unlocks the back door.  I give him a look, but he stoically ignores me, wearing an implacable expression that reminds me of when he questioned me after that militia bust.  I hop around with his help and crawl into the back, trying to do so with dignity and grace to counteract the disgust I feel at being made to sit in the back like a child.

Mulder shuts the door and I can’t help being somewhat grateful that I’m back here.  I stretch my leg out across the seat as Scully gets in in front and Mulder goes around.

He slips into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and sparing me a glance in the mirror.  I’m glaring at him half-heartedly.

“Don’t worry, Alex.  My parents had a Mercedes, too, when I was in high school.  I only wrecked it the once.”  He smirks at me and then kicks dirt up everywhere as he pulls out of the shelter of the trees and back onto the road.

Scully turns her head slightly.  “We should get you to the hospital.  That’s going to need stitches, Kruh…Alex,” she finishes awkwardly.  I wonder if she just did that for Mulder’s sake.  It really makes me wonder what he told her last night.  I swallow and keep my thoughts on how to answer.

“You have your kit, right?” Mulder asks her.  She just looks at him and he looks at her meaningfully when he can spare a look away from the dark road.  “He needs to lay low.  They’re going to suspect his involvement.”

He cuts his gaze back to me and I nod almost imperceptibly, turning my attention to the complete lack of scenery out the front windshield, squinting.

“I can do it,” she says.  “But it’s not ideal.”

“It is for him,” Mulder says, making a turn and not looking back at me.  After long moments of unbroken road sound, he continues.  “Is it safe to go back to the hotel?”  This time he spares me a glance.  He’s keeping both hands on the wheel, going fast but being careful.

“Yeah.  You’re safe from them at this point.”  I look down at my hand in my lap and quirk a bemused smile.  “Hell, it’s probably the safest place I could be. They’d never assume I’d be with you.”

There’s tense silence in the car for a moment, but then Mulder nods slowly, making the turn to take us back to the comfort and normality of the Ramada Inn.

I look down pensively at my right thigh with Mulder’s shirt tied around it.  I don’t know how, but I still have to make my break from him.  I’m dangerous for both of us.  But right now, I’m a sitting duck with this nearly thigh-long gash.  I swallow thickly, feeling sick.  A triple agent with one arm on crutches.  It’s comical.  I might as well shoot myself in the head.

But I resolve to think of something.  Take a cab in the middle of the night.  Find a motel in Kentucky or something and hole up there for a few days, bribing the staff for room service and watching reruns of Dynasty.

Jerking off to the memory of his mouth on mine…

Just then his eyes search mine out in the mirror.  Shit.  Even if he’s not thinking about it, I see the eyes of the man who, when he fucks me, does things to my body, my mind, and my soul that I can hardly comprehend much less stop.  I blink at him and he holds the gaze for just a moment before turning his attention back to the road.  I don’t think the look he gave me really had all that much to do with wanting me.  But there was something else there that made my breath catch anyway.  Something…like concern.  I wish thinking that didn’t make me feel so good.  Maybe he’s as dangerous to me as I am to him.  Maybe?  I’m a damned fool if I can’t see that since Mulder became my lover I’ve become compromised in a way that I promised I’d never let myself.

I have to get away.  He won’t understand.  But I have to.

We pull into the hotel and Mulder helps me up to the room, flashing his badge at the front desk clerk in an effort to let him know everything is under his control.  Scully says something about being right over with her stuff as Mulder drags me into our room and situates me on the bed, my injured leg outstretched.

“How does it feel?” he asks me.  He’s looking at me with that same expression from the car.  Like he cares.  Maybe he just cares about getting his fucktoy back in working order.  The thought crooks my lip and this makes him tilt his head at me.  “What?”

“You just…”  I start.  “You were looking at me like…”

“Like what?” he asks.  “Like I care about you?”

My smile fades, and I just stare at him, waiting.  I want to swallow really badly, but I don’t, knowing it would be a conspicuous gulp.

He swallows instead, frowning slightly.  “I do, Alex.”

My lips part with a moist sound that seems to echo in the silent room like a gunshot.  I take a shaky breath.  “It’s…it’s okay,” I tell him.  “Hurts, but…”  I shrug.  “I’ve had worse.”

He glances at my arm, then back at my face, still frowning, refusing to adopt my careless demeanor.  “I know,” he says somberly.  “Alex, I’m…”

The door opens and he shuts his mouth with a repressed sigh of exasperation. He turns to Scully as she enters with a large navy blue bag.  It says ‘Eddie Bauer’ down the side.  Surreal.

She sets it down at the foot of the bed, then goes and gets a couple of bath towels, coming back and surpassing Mulder like he’s an in-the-way piece of furniture.  He walks, arms crossed seriously across his chest, over to the other side of the bed, staring down at me.  I lick my lips and turn my attention to the woman who hates me who’s going to work on my leg with a sharp instrument of some kind.  I have to wonder if she’s about to do some strategic torture, pouring copious amounts of alcohol onto it in the guise of disinfecting or something.

“I need to cut your jeans off,” she says, all business.

“They’re ruined anyway,” I tell her shrugging.

She nods somewhat thoughtfully, then, disregarding me,  “Mulder, help me lift his leg for a second.”

Mulder jumps a little.  “Sure.”

“I can do it,”  I tell them, looking rather murderously at Mulder from under my lashes.

“You’ve lost enough blood for one night,”  Scully tells me, taking my calf and foot as Mulder carefully wedges his hands under my thigh, his one knee propped on the bed.

I grimace but keep from hissing as they lift and Scully gets the towels under my leg.

She then pulls a pair of scissors out of her bag.  She’s quick and efficient and just cuts off the one leg of my jeans above the cut.  When she’s done, she extracts a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, gauze, bandaging, ointment, and more surgical thread than I’ve ever seen in my life.  Should have known she’d be meticulous and anal retentive about it.

“Are you a Virgo, Scully?”  I ask.

“No.  Pisces.”  She doesn’t even spare me a glance or act as if it’s a strange question.

I raise my eyebrows once in if-you-say-so disbelief that she doesn’t see.  Mulder takes a seat on the bed, near me, facing me.  I glance up, and he’s smiling a little. I don’t return it, looking down at my bloody leg.

Scully’s looking, too, already getting ready to clean the area.  “This is going to sting a little,” she says.

I laugh shortly. “Bet you say that to all the guys.”

I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel the touch of Mulder’s fingers against my own.  I look down at my hand as if there’s a big, hairy spider crawling on it. He squeezes, and I relax a little, looking up to see his soft expression before squinting and once again dropping my gaze.

I’m such a fucking coward.  I only tell him I love him in Russian and I can’t even give him a grateful look for being brave as all hell and actually showing me how much he cares in front of his suspicious partner.  It’s almost more than I can do not to rip my hand away in some sort of macho display of pain tolerance.  But instead…because he’s giving me so much…I squeeze his fingers once.  I feel them tighten on mine in answer, and I swallow still looking down into my lap.

I don’t react when Scully applies the antiseptic wipe, cleaning around the garish slash.  I can feel Mulder’s eyes on me, then on my wound and Scully’s quick, careful work, then back on me again.

“It’s a clean slice,” she announces.  “Do you know what hit you?”

“Not sure,”  I say.  “Flying debris.  Maybe metal.”

“Well.”  She prods the wound gently with her begloved fingers making me grimace a little.  “There don’t appear to be any shards left in the wound.  You’re lucky.”

Mulder makes a ‘ppfftt’ sound, and I ignore him.

“How many?”  I ask her just to be doing something.

She sighs speculatively, finished with her clean up job, now inspecting the cut for depth.  “I’ll have to do a little fascia work.  Then…”  She looks at me.  “A hundred.  Or there about.”

“Christ,”  Mulder mutters.

I just nod.

“Get comfortable,”  I say to no one in particular.

To my surprise, Scully’s lips curve up a little, the small evidence of humor not showing anywhere else on her alabaster face, least of all her cool eyes.

She gives me a shot of local anesthetic and then gets to work.  Mulder’s fingers tighten on mine to the point of pain.  I look at our hands, mine gripped firmly in his, turning white, then I look up at him, smirking.

He’s turning green, and he won’t look at what Scully’s doing.  Before I can comment on it, Scully speaks up.

“Mulder’s a bit squeamish about stitches.”  She keeps her eyes trained on her work, but there’s bemusement in her voice.

Mulder swallows audibly, and I tilt my head.  He looks truly sick.  And yet he’s staying with me.

Scully hits a particularly tender part that even the hit of numbing anesthesia she shot me up with can’t cover, and I hiss a little.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

Mulder’s other hand reaches up and strokes across my face.  I draw a quick breath again but for completely different reasons.  I have to admit, I like him here.  I like him touching me without the intention to bang the shit out of me.  I don’t like feeling helpless, but I like the way his thumb is brushing lightly against my ear.

Scully darts her eyes almost imperceptibly to the movement, and if she minds, she doesn’t let it register on her face.

“You’ll need to stay off of it for about three days,” she tells me.  I give her no reaction, telling her with my silence that it’s never going to happen.  “As much as you can,” she amends.  “Mulder why don’t you go get him some water.”

“Uh, yeah,” he answers, letting go and getting up to go into the bathroom.

Scully takes the Mulderless moment to glance at me.  She looks back down too fast for me to fully understand what the glance meant.  She veils her emotions better than I do, but I think it was measuring, maybe a little warning.  Or just processing.  Me -- mean, bad Alex Krycek -- with her partner.

I hear Mulder glugging down water in the bathroom and then refilling the glass for me.  Then he’s splashing.  Probably washing his face.

“How you feeling?”  Scully asks with the practiced, measured kindness of a doctor.

I nod.  “I’m fine.”

Mulder comes back in with the water and a washcloth.  He sits and hands me the glass and I drink before handing it back with a whispered thanks. He nods.  And then he takes my hand again, now also wiping away the black smudges from my face with the warm towel.

“I can do that,” I tell him reprovingly.

“I know,” he answers but continues to clean my face until he’s done and sets the washcloth aside.

Scully is suddenly speaking very loudly.  “There is to be no strain on this leg for the next couple of weeks.”

I frown, trying to assimilate that I’m being scolded by Scully before I even break the rules.  But then she looks pointedly at Mulder before looking back down at where she’s now finished with the dissolvable stitches whose job it is to hold my muscle tissue together.  She doesn’t spare him another glance as she calmly starts on the surface stitches.

Mulder glances at me, though, looking somehow both chagrined and encouraged.  His thumb barely moves over the back of my hand.  Horny bastard. No doubt Scully’s thinking the same thing.  It brings a flush to my face that has nothing to do with pain.

Mulder clears his throat and hastily changes the strain of the discussion, trying in vain to evaporate some of the heightened tension that’s hanging in the air like L.A. smog.

“So…” he starts, and I can tell it’s not just a change in topic for change’s sake. It’s Mulder, after all, and he just saw a UFO blow up a bunch of shit.  His eyes light up before the words are even out.  “They came for their property.”

I sigh.  “Yeah.”

“Why the long face, Alex, they took out your hit for you.”

I look at him from under my lashes again.  “It’s a small victory, Mulder.  Don’t get too excited.”

He swallows and sighs.   He pins me with eyes tinged a watery, bright blue. “Counts for something, doesn’t it, Alex?”

He holds my gaze for a moment, his optimism coming up against all those weighty words darkening my own eyes.  The power of his conviction pulls at me, and I find myself wanting to smile at him, the bastard. I have to drop my eyes, suddenly having visions of us as some leather-and-silk-clad crime fighting duo, racing to the rescue, him with his badge and me with a coil of piano wire.  I shake my head ruefully.  His fingers squeeze mine, assuring me of the fact that he intends to have his way.  I wish he could have it.  I want him to.  I want it to be that easy.

Scully draws me back out of my thoughts, having none of our conversation.  I wonder if she even entertains the thought that what she saw tonight was extraterrestrial.

“When I’m done, I’m going to bandage your leg.  You’ll need to keep it dry for twenty-four hours.”

I nod dutifully, knowing full well how to treat a wound.

“And then you should keep it clean with ointment on it, changing the dressing twice a day at least until the stitches come out in about fourteen days.”

“He will,” Mulder answers her for me.  I shoot him a look.  Does he think topping me thoroughly in bed has given him the power over me to control my actions even when I’m not in his presence?  I stare at him.  Of course he doesn’t. He plans to be with me.  If only for the time it takes my gash to heal or…longer…I’m not sure.  I’d say fourteen days is a frightening enough prospect all on its own.  It’s a moot point.  I’ll be out of here tonight.

I watch Scully finish up, my flesh drawing together tightly.  I avoid the stare Mulder has leveled at me.  She does fine work.  There may not be much of a scar at all.  I breathe deeply and will her to hurry.  Suddenly, I can’t wait to be away.

When she finishes, she heaves a small, tight sigh and begins applying the ointment, then taping a large rectangle of gauze over the sewn together skin.

“Fucking medical tape,”  I swear under my breath.  I’m not gonna have any hair left on that leg.

She cuts me a withering look.  “You’ll live.”  She strips off the gloves and then goes to wash her hands.  Mulder’s fingers loosen on mine but linger, still touching.

“You okay?” he asks me.

I look at him.  “Yeah.”

“’snothing like the time I fell on a tin can and had to have five stitches put in my chin,” he says.

“How old were you?”  I ask.

“Seven,”  he tells me, an affectionate grin for his former child-self playing over his lips.

“Bet it felt like it then,”  I say to him with a tilt of my head.  My eyes drop to his chin, not seeing a scar.

He just nods at me, still smiling, until Scully returns and he slips his hand from mine, standing up and looking down at me.

“Well,” she breathes.  “Here are some pain meds.  Should get you through tonight.”  She withdraws them from her bag, handing them to me, and then zips the bag up and shoulders it.  “I think I’m gonna turn in.”

Mulder starts to walk her toward the door.

“Scully?”  I say, stopping them.  They both turn.  “Thank you.”

She nods with a slight smile and then turns to go.  At the door I hear her whisper something to Mulder.  He nods at her and shoos her off, closing the door behind her and turning to me again.

He says nothing, walking over and taking a seat next to me, closer now on the other side of the bed.

“Want out of these jeans?” he asks, and even though there was no lecherous tone there, I still smile at him reprovingly.  He smiles back.  “I just want you to be comfortable, Alex.”

I blink, looking down.  “Yeah.”  Then I look back up at him.  “Mulder…”  I start, the rest of the simple sentence catching in my throat.  He looks at me with a slight raise to his eyebrows.  I sigh.  “Thank you.”

He smiles at me.  Really smiles.  It’s intense and beautiful and wholly too real.  I have to look down again as he helps me get out of the jeans.  Then his hands are pushing my black henley up, his fingers dancing along my skin lightly.  I suck in my breath and take his wrists in my hands, fingertips resting intimately on my pecs.

“Mulder…”

He smirks at me.  “Relax.  I think I can control myself.”

I quirk a brow at him, releasing my hold on his arms, and he lifts the shirt up, slipping it off my right arm and over my head, and then down my prosthetic and off.

“Get under the covers,” he orders softly.  I just look at him, not sure why I feel the need to maintain this last defiance.  “You need rest,” he continues. I sigh again.  But I do as he says.  Although, the last thing I want right now is rest.  I want him.  Him all over me, fucking me down into the mattress, bruising me, pounding me, my leg be damned.  I want the full, intoxicating experience of him before I go.  I want to tell him I can sleep when I’m dead.  But under his scrutiny, I unbuckle my prosthetic, setting it aside, and get dutifully under the covers.  I watch as he then gets undressed, too, down to this underwear, flicks the lights off, then comes around the other side of the bed and joins me, settling on his side, facing me.

I turn my head and look at him in the new darkness.  His eyes shine, lit from the inside.  “You’re beautiful,” I hear myself saying, the words escaping on a sighing breath.  What the fuck is it with me?  I’m no romantic.  I never see movies with happy endings.  I hardly ever watch movies at all.  Fiction is useless and only serves to act as a drug, a pacifier.  It lets you out of the responsibility of real life.

I suddenly remember sitting in that bar, listening to Otis Redding, waiting for him.  And then it’s like I can smell the salt coming in of the Atlantic.  And I can smell him.  Here.  With me right now.  His sweat and the soft cologne of his hair and…him.  Beautiful.  My eyes water with it.

He reaches out to me, fingers brushing my cheek, stroking down to trace my jaw.  I close my eyes.

I feel the mattress dip as he moves in closer.  The heat of his body engulfs me. My lips part and I begin to pant quietly.

“I can’t stop you from leaving, Alex,” he says.  My eyes fly open in surprise.  “I know you want to.”  His fingers stroke.  Back and forth.  Softer than mist.  I shiver.  “It’s okay,” he continues softly.  Too soft.  I swallow, unable to look away from his face close to mine.  His voice is rough when he finishes.  “I know you’ll come back to me.”

Before I can protest, if I was going to protest, his lips seek out mine in the dark, and he mouths at me gently, pressing in sweetly, then shifting away, but never so that our lips actually part.  In, lapping at me with a soft, patient tongue, and then away.  I listen to the wet sounds our mouths make against each other, and I feel myself turning onto my uninjured leg, toward him, reaching out to him, my hand resting on his hip.  His fingers thread back into my hair and tighten, his mouth now finally opening mine, his tongue stealing inside and filling me.  My hand squeezes on his hip and he moves in closer, his other arm nudging in and slipping between my side and the bed, wrapping around and holding me.

I hear myself moaning into his mouth.  Bastard.  Doesn’t he know I can’t come back to him?  Who does he think we are?   What does he think this is?  Anger swells up in my chest and it aches, crowded in there with this cursed tenderness I can’t seem to stop.  I don’t know if it’s coming from him or from inside me. It’s not welcome.  I hate how it feels.  Like he’s in there, deep down in the tissue, tugging at me, squeezing me, hurting me.  Like he’ll be there even if I do leave.

But there’s no if.  There’s not even a when.  I’m going tonight.  He knows it. And he thinks I’ll come back to him.  He doesn’t understand anything.  He doesn’t understand us.

He understands that I love him.  And he thinks that tells him everything he needs to know.  He thinks I’m going to act like it.  Stupid man.  Fucking stupid, beautiful man.

Fuck.

His lips leave my mouth and draw a moist line across my cheek to my ear. “Alex…” he whispers.  “Not yet,” he tells me.  “Right now…you’re mine.”  His teeth at my earlobe, tugging.  Lips making the word around my flesh.  “Mine.”

I shudder with the inevitability of it.  And I turn my head to find his mouth again, attaching onto him and sucking his tongue into my mouth.  He groans, and I feel a tear slip out of the corner of my eye, rolling into my hair, wetting the pillow.

We kiss for a long while, and a couple of times I pulse my hips into him, asking for more, my body asking for his, my cock rubbing along his in a pleading rhythm.  But he does nothing.  Doesn’t roll over on top of me, or take me in his hand, only answering with some lazy, aimless thrusts of his own.

He just kisses me.  Taking little breaks to whisper in my ear:  “Beautiful…” And, “Feels good…”  And “Easy…”  warning me not to hurt myself.  I want it any way but easy.  This slow, wet pleasure is excruciating.  He is excruciating.

Soon, we’re just lying together, our kisses having turned tired and simple, just the barest touch of our lips from time to time.  I lay wrapped in his arms, my leg throbbing despite the drugs Scully gave me, and my whole body alive against him.  But my mind is wanting to slip into blackness.  His fingers sift exhaustedly through my hair.

“Go to sleep,” he whispers.  His voice is sad, expecting me to slip out in the middle of the night.

I watch as his eyes drift regretfully closed, but his body lingers next to mine, unwilling to give up the proximity.  And truth be told, I don’t want to either.  I don’t want to lose this yet.  I fight sleep so that I can watch him lying next to me, feeling everywhere his warm, slender body touches, his breath a small continuous caress on my face.

I lie like that for a couple hours.

Then I inch out of his embrace, not daring to leave a last kiss on his parted lips, just quietly extracting myself and slipping out of bed.

I swallow the pain that wants out of my mouth in the form of a hiss.  Pain in my leg.  Pain in my chest.

I don’t think or look at him as I dress in the dark.  I turn it all off, going blank and hard.  And I certainly don’t look at him when I make my way across the room, away from his deeply sleeping form on the bed, and I leave.

---

End

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