The Only Reason
Author: Satina
Date: October 10, 2003
Pairing: M/K
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Please just tell me where so I can visit and stroke it proudly. If it's posted to your list, it's yours.
Feedback: That kind of happiness can't be bought. Please send it here.
Spoilers: Takes place after The Red and the Black and mentions all eps up to that one.
My website: http://themkshrine.angelfire.com
Disclaimers: Well, there's Chris Carters, but he threw them away like a couple of broken toys. All they need is a little tweaking and some love. I wanna tweak 'em and love 'em, how 'bout you?
Summary: Krycek rescues a Mulder who doesn't remember why he hates him.
Notes: Written during the two-month hiatus from the 'net during the move to Mt. Shasta. Dedicated to all the people who've given me so much love in the fandom over the last couple of years. You've changed and enriched my life beyond any measure. Thank you.
Damn, I missed you people.
The only reason I’m going in after him is that I think they’ve made a grave miscalculation in letting this happen to him. He may be a real pain in their asses, but he can also be very useful, as he proved when I gave him the Weikamp information. He, of course, has no memory of what he did, but his actions saved the Resistance for one more day. So why they would let him come to this kind of random harm is beyond me. Why don’t they just let him go? Like usual? Someone somewhere fucked up.
I’d call Scully and let her charge in on the white horse if I didn’t think it’d end up getting him killed. They wouldn’t be…efficient enough to deal with these people properly. They’d probably be averse to killing them, trying to ‘bring them to justice’ instead of just doing the job.
And Mulder would be dead by the time they got through the first door.
No, I’m the only one who’ll do this right. So I’m the one doing it.
He’s in the freezer. It’s not operational. The explosion shouldn’t do any harm to him, since it’s below ground in the basement. Everyone’s always shoving him down in the basement, out of their sight. Out of their hair.
I set the charges and get back to my lookout point in the surrounding trees.
Fortunately it’s a rather small installation. Just a skeleton crew, now that the clean-up is almost finished. Most of the people left yesterday. Finally. I couldn’t go in with the full crew there. I’m good, not stupid. So, what we’re dealing with is one commanding officer and seven men in the main house, one in the basement guarding the freezer, and four walking the perimeter. I should be down seven in about…ten seconds.
I squint, drawing back with a slight grimace as the explosion shakes and heats the air all around me. I blink through my sunglasses, trying to discern how much of the house is still standing. Fuck, leveled that sucker. I love those old, dry, brittle colonials. I remind myself of the huge, unfinished dirt basement and the foot-thick freezer walls and pull out my laser site.
Time for my clean-up.
I watch as the four sentries come out of the woods, running with guns clutched. I take my time sighting in on the one from the east, and the fire is still so loud and chaotic that the other three don’t even hear the shot or see him go down. I get a bead on the one from the west for a few seconds, then take him out, too. That one doesn’t go unnoticed.
It’s still too loud for them to hear one another or for me to hear them, but their crouching and gestures let me know they’re onto the fact that they have a sniper. I smirk as I watch them bend low to the ground, both of them making for the army truck standing relatively unscathed to the south of the house. Guess they figure they’ve done their token duty of trying to discern the damage and now they’re outta here. The truck roars off down the south road, away from the blaze, and I stretch my neck and step out of the shadows.
I haven’t yet seen the last guard, the one they sent down to watch the freezer. I wouldn’t think that the explosion would have killed him, down there in that moist, dank, dirt basement, but that fire is blazing pretty hotly. The freezer should be insulated against it and hold out for a little while. Probably. I pull out my fire extinguisher and move in.
There’s a side entrance to the basement, a hole in the ground with a wooden flap door over it. The door’s been blown off, lying in splinters, though the fire hasn’t reached it yet. I tuck the extinguisher under my left armpit and hold my gun in my right hand, and duck down into the opening.
I hear the moaning as soon as I’m below ground level, and narrow my eyes, trying to discern the source, taking the stairs quietly. There’s an orange, flickering glow up ahead which confirms that the floor of the house is gone and the fire is now lighting the basement. My eyes go from straining to see in the darkness to squinting against the flames as I reach the bottom of the stairs.
Ah, there he is. Writhing on the floor. I squint, then quickly shoot him in the head, stilling his tortured movements and sounds. It was a mercy, really. Men who have that much burn damage usually aren’t really grateful to live through it, anyway. Especially men on the military’s medical plan. Especially his plan.
I take a sigh of relief, knowing the dangers have been eliminated, for the most part, and step in toward the incredibly warped, charred freezer door. It’s practically off its hinges. I frown and dart my eyes around the area. Did he get out already? I reach forward and push the bent metal to the side, ducking through the opening cautiously.
No, he’s still here. He hasn’t made a run for it because he’s lying in the corner. Unconscious? Dead? I take a breath and crouch down to find out.
“Mulder. Mulder?” I bring my hand up to my teeth and strip off my leather glove, spitting it to the side. I reach out and put my hand on his neck, feeling for a pulse, studying his face for signs of life. I see a flicker of his eyelashes and exhale, closing my eyes for a minute. I move my thumb against his jaw, trying to rouse him.
“Mulder, it’s me, Krycek. You need to wake up. We need to get outta here.” I move my thumb up his cheek, and his lashes flutter more. “Come on, Mulder,” I tell him, looking around impatiently as the temperature in the small enclosure climbs uncomfortably. “We’ve gotta go now.”
His dazed eyes open half way and roll in the sockets, then fix on me. I move back a little as he begins pulling himself off the floor, blinking slowly.
“Can you walk?” I ask him, examining his body for signs of injury.
He winces and stops a couple of times, but breathes through it and brings himself to a standing position, breathing hard.
“Good,” I nod. “The stairs are that way. Do you need help?”
He blinks and frowns, moving his shoulders as if he doesn’t really know himself how badly he might be hurt. He takes a step toward me and I quickly step back, then turn and duck through the opening and out into the basement. He follows right behind me, blinking rapidly and squinting madly into the waves of heat blowing through the dirt basement from the burning debris above.
“We have to hurry,” I tell him, gesturing to the stairs with my head. “This way.”
He just follows me silently, slowly but steadily, still frowning. We make our way up the stairs and step out into the fresh air and I watch him breathe in deeply, scanning the area.
“My car’s this way,” I tell him, looking behind me. “I don’t think there’s anyone left up here, but stay close and I’ll cover you, just in case.”
He nods vaguely, still looking around, and sticks close as I lead us away from the burning compound and through the trees to where I left my vehicle. It’s darker here without the light of the burning house and I hear him stumble a few times as we pick our way through the trees, but he makes it, and I wait as he ducks through the last set of tree branches into the slight clearing where I parked. He goes around to the passenger side and climbs in and I get into the driver’s side. I debate on it for just a few seconds, then extend my gun to him, holding the barrel.
“Here, just in case you see somebody,” I tell him.
He takes it slowly, still wearing that vague frown that’s been on his face since I roused him, and he stares down at it in his lap, turning it over and back again.
“Are you okay, Mulder?” I ask him, a deeper frown creasing my own brow. “Do you need medical attention?”
He turns and looks at me, blinking and looking down, then back up into my face.
“I…don’t know,” he says slowly. Then, after a breath, “I don’t think so.”
I nod, still frowning. He seems very vague, very confused and quiet. I didn’t expect him to start hitting me or anything, since he’s smart enough to put business before pleasure and let me get him the hell out of there, but still…where are the questions? Where’s the suspicion? I take a deep, uncomfortable breath and start the engine, then back us out of the trees and get started down the mountain.
I drive through the night for about twenty minutes, glancing over at Mulder’s totally silent form from time to time but saying nothing. He’s still holding the gun loosely in his right hand, looking down at it from time to time in between looking out the side window and the windshield. He still has that perpetual frown on his face.
“Where are we going?” comes his soft, curious voice. Something about it is so not right.
“I figured I’d take you into the next town where you can make a call to Scully,” I tell him.
“Scully?” he asks, frown deepening.
I look away from the road and into his face for a long moment, and realize my lips have parted. I look back at the road, blinking. That is so not right that I’m feeling a little sick.
“She’s been looking for you for days,” I tell him, looking sideways and driving. “Her and Skinner.”
“Skinner?” he asks in that same soft, low voice.
I exhale a little shakily and turn my head to look at him again, frowning deeply. “Mulder,” I finally say quietly. “Do you know what’s going on here?”
I watch him, then the road, then him again as he takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly, swallowing. His voice comes out low and quiet.
“You’re rescuing me,” he says softly. “From those men back there. From the freezer.”
I nod slowly, feeling a slight panic squeeze at my chest. “What were you doing there?” I ask him, not because I don’t know, but because I’m getting the sinking feeling that he doesn’t.
He blinks and frowns, staring down into his lap a minute, then he looks back up at me and just shakes his head ‘no’ slowly, dropping his eyes again.
I sigh deeply, tightening my hand on the wheel. “Do you know who I am?” I ask quietly, looking at the road.
“You said your name was…Krychick?” he asks softly.
I clench my jaw, squeezing the wheel. “Krycek,” I correct him. Then, for no reason, really, “Alex Krycek.” I take a quick look over at him and he’s nodding slowly. “What’s your name?” I breathe.
“You…you called me…Molder?” he asks in that same soft, curious voice.
I let my breath out heavily. Fuck. What did they do him? Or was it me, with that explosion?
“Your name is Fox Mulder,” I say in a low voice. “How long have you been without your memories?”
Mulder sighs, looking out the windshield into the darkness. “Awhile,” he says vaguely. “It was hard to gauge the passing of time in there. There was no light, but they fed me four times, so…a couple of days?”
I nod, sighing. So it wasn’t me. I feel a large measure of relief at not having been the one to remove the clarity from those eyes, that face. “Did they hurt you?” I ask, still staring straight ahead.
“I…I don’t know,” he says quietly. “My ribs hurt, and my head, but everything else seems okay.”
“Your head hurts?” I ask him, looking over and trying to see him better in the darkness of the interior of my Blazer. He’s dirty and some of those dark splotches might be blood…
“Yeah, ever since I woke up,” he nods.
“Any sign of head injury?” I ask him, looking over again. I need to get him to a motel to do this, before I drive us off the road into a ravine. Should be another twenty-five minutes before we hit civilization. If you call fishing cabins and a gas station civilization.
He reaches up and fingers his own head carefully, stroking through his hair and patting all over. “I don’t think so,” he says, lowering his hand. “I…threw up a lot, when I first woke up,” he adds.
I nod, looking over at him then back to the road. “They drugged you.”
I watch him nod slowly in agreement through the corner of my eye.
They must have mindwiped him. Badly. I clench my jaw in anger over the unprofessionalism of poorly-trained military grunts using advanced extraterrestrial technology so haphazardly. Mulder’s already been mindwiped several times before, the last time very recently, during the rescue of the resistance soldier. Did they even know about that? Did two mindwipes within the same three month period do this damage? Or did they just fuck him up with simple ineptitude?
And is it reversible?
“Tell me what you do remember,” I say, not looking at him. I watch him nod in my peripheral vision.
“I remember bits and pieces,” he says, voice quiet and scared. “Not of what happened there, but…my life.”
I nod to encourage him to continue, gritting my teeth against the forlorn tone of his voice.
“I…think I grew up on the beach,” he says, swallowing. “I had a sister. I don’t remember her name.”
The summer house. I nod.
“Do you know me?” he suddenly asks, more animation in his voice than I’ve heard yet.
My lips part as I look over at him, then I look back at the road, exhaling carefully. How much should I tell him about what I know? I know just about everything there is to know about him, almost all of it second-hand, from surveillance tapes and endless reports. If I tell him who he is, he’s going to want to know how we know one another. But maybe I can help him recover some of what he’s lost. What’s been taken from him.
“Yes,” I say roughly, swallowing. My heart is pounding. This is one of the most frightening things I’ve ever done, somehow.
I hear his deep sigh of relief and can’t help but look over at him. His eyes are closed, lips firmed. Trembling slightly. I look away quickly.
“We were partners,” I say, the words coming with difficulty. It seems like the easiest explanation, for now, and it’s not exactly a lie. Yet.
He nods and opens his eyes, looking over at me. “Thank you,” he says now, swallowing. “Thank you for getting me out of there.”
I guess he feels it’s safe to be grateful, now that I’ve identified myself as a…friend.
“You’re welcome,” I say through a constricted throat. Thank you is not something I expected to ever hear from Fox Mulder. It doesn’t sit well with me.
“I’ve handled a gun before,” he says quietly, fingering mine in his lap.
I sigh, still having no idea how much I want to tell him. “Yes,” I say shortly. “We were in law enforcement.” I take a breath and add, “You still are.”
His brows arch for a half-second, then he sighs and nods, not in agreement but acceptance. “What about you?” he asks curiously.
Jesus, this is so fucking hard. I wasn’t prepared for this. I wish I’d just kept my big mouth shut, or told him I didn’t really know him. This is still Mulder, after all, and he’s still endlessly curious, especially now that I’m the one holding his memories for him.
“I’m…independent, now,” I say, a slight, dark smirk pulling up one corner of my mouth.
“Private investigator?” he asks, sounding more comfortable.
“Kind of,” I answer vaguely, rolling my head on my shoulders. Lying to him has never been this hard.
He frowns but nods. I can tell he knows I’m uncomfortable with this line of questioning, and I watch his eyes start to glint a little with that old Mulder- intellect. Even though it’s being put to work unraveling my flimsily constructed identity…it’s still nice to see.
“So…we’re friends, then?” he asks. Then, “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”
I swallow. Well, I did call him ‘comrade’ at our last encounter. And I did kiss him and give him back his gun, trying to convince him I was serious. That makes us less than enemies, right? Plus this rescue…
“Yeah, we’re friends,” I say on a breath.
“I’m really sorry I don’t remember you,” he says softly, pained.
“It’s okay, Mulder,” I say back just as softly. It hurts to say his name. Knowing that he doesn’t remember that he hates me. Knowing that the only assurance he has that it is his name is my word on the fact.
“So who’s Scully?” he asks.
My throat closes. Where the hell is the gas station? The phone, so I can call her and escape this endless lie. “She’s your partner now,” I answer.
“She?” he asks, obviously intrigued.
“Yeah, she,” I confirm, nodding.
“So that’s a last name, obviously,” he says, smirking.
It’s the first time I’ve seen anything but that vague confusion, and I can’t help but smile back, my lips feelng a little weird as the unfamiliar expression stretches them. Actually, I smile frequently, just not with any emotion behind it. It’s the feelings that are novel. The good feelings.
“Her first name’s Dana,” I tell him. “Dana Scully. But you only use last names,” I add, feeling the need to get him up to speed so he doesn’t make a fool of himself. What the hell do I care, anyway?
“Thanks for the heads-up,” he says quietly. “Might make it a little easier on her when I don’t remember her if I don’t start all of a sudden calling her something I never used to.”
I inhale and exhale, nodding.
“What’s Skinner’s first name?” he asks.
I actually can’t help but let out a single breath of a laugh. “Walter,” I nearly whisper. I shake my head, trying to dismiss the evil impulse to tell him that he always calls him Walt. “He’s your boss.”
I see Mulder nod out of the corner of my eye, immediately and unreservedly trusting me, just listening and learning as I teach him who he is.
“Where do I live?” he asks, frowning again.
“Arlington,” I tell him. “You work in Washington, D.C.”
“Really,” says Mulder.
I swallow. “You’re an agent with the FBI, Mulder.”
I look over at him and watch him frown, biting his lip. Then he nods and looks up at me.
“Yeah, that sounds right,” he says slowly. “Somehow.”
I look back to the road. Ah, yes, there’s the turn that leads to the little motel and the gas station-slash-general store. I’ve got a room there. It’s where I’ve been sleeping in between reconnaisance missions to the compound, waiting for the crowd to clear out so I could go in after him. “I’m staying here,” I tell him, giving him a glance. “You can make your phone calls here.”
He frowns and nods slowly. “You have the numbers, right?” he asks, arching his brows hopefully.
I sigh. “Yeah, I have the numbers.”
He’s quiet as I pull onto the small paved road, then pull into the dirt parking lot of the Hatchery Hut, driving around to the back and parking, turning off the engine. It’s so quiet in the woods at night. I can hear my breathing overly loud in the cab, and I can hear his, too, as we sit in the silence.
“Will you help me?” he nearly whispers. “I…I don’t know how to…”
My mouth opens as I turn to look at him. My eyes are wide, I can feel it. I blink at him, taking in his sad, scared, confused and imploring expression.
“Mulder,” I breathe, turning back to the wheel. I close my eyes. “I don’t…get along with your friends,” I tell him, clenching my jaw. “I’ll call them, but I won’t be here when they show up.”
“You’ll stay with me until they get here, though?” he asks quickly.
I look over at him, squinting and frowning. I look down at my gun in his lap and nod. “Yeah, I’ll stay with you.”
He lets out his breath, nodding. “Thank you. Thank you, Alex. Wait, Krycek?” he asks, brows arched.
I blink and turn my head away from him, staring out the black windshield. “Alex is fine,” I whisper.
“Thank you, Alex,” he says softly again. “For everything.”
I close my eyes, feeling them burn. “You’re welcome, Mulder.”
“You don’t call me Fox?” he asks.
I let out a pained laugh, eyes still closed. Then I smile, and open my eyes, turning to him. “Sometimes,” I lie.
“Only seems fair,” he says, smiling back.
I swallow hard, watching his face transform in a way that it never has, for me. “Okay, Fox,” I tell him, my throat tight. Then I feel my lip quiver and I quickly turn away, opening my door.
I climb out of the car, reaching into my pocket for the motel room key, and I feel him walk up slowly behind me, moving gingerly, as if he’s not sure how much of him hurts and how much doesn’t. I reach into the back and pull out my black nylon bag with my right hand, hoisting it up on my shoulder. I turn and lead him over to my door, shoving the key in hard, having to jiggle it a little to get the old wooden door open. I step into the room, feeling him right behind me, and I step aside and let him go past, closing the door and locking it behind him.
“It’s kind of a hole,” I say, embarassed that this is his first impression of how I live. Not that it matters. He’ll know soon enough how I live for real.
“Better than an old, broken freezer,” he says, flashing me a smirk.
I laugh, then grin back with one half of my mouth. “I’d imagine,” I tell him, laying the bag on the floor.
“Where are we?” he asks suddenly, frowning.
“Idaho,” I tell him. “Little town called Riggins.”
“What am I doing in Idaho?” he asks, still frowning.
I can’t help but smile at his somewhat incredulous tone. I debate again, wondering how much I should tell him about his activities here. Maybe I’ll just tell him he was salmon fishing. I laugh quietly to myself at the thought, then sober. I don’t want to lie to him. Unless I have to.
“You were investigating a UFO sighting,” I tell him, watching him closely. “A crash, actually.”
His mouth drops open, brows arching. “Really?” he says, wonderingly. Then he looks away, eyes wide as he processes the information. “Wow…” Then he looks up suddenly, eyes sharp. “That’s why they stole my memories! I saw something out there!”
I nod, still smiling faintly. His enthusiasm is so unreserved, even in the wake of his memory loss. It’s so pure. So…him.
“Yeah, I guess it was legit,” I tell him, knowing it was.
“Wow…” he says, nodding and staring into space. “I wonder if I can recover those memories.”
I can’t help but let out another laugh, shaking my head. He’s not worried so much about remembering his identity, his life…but a UFO sighting, now that’s got him excited.
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly, already trying to go into my own catalogue of knowledge and contacts, wondering how I might be able to help facilitate that for him. I walk over in the dark room and turn on the lamp, and yellow light floods the small room.
Jesus, he looks terrible. He must have been wearing those clothes since his disappearance six days ago, and he sure hasn’t washed his hair all that time. He’s covered with dirt from that filthy old freezer.
“Yeah, I kinda need a shower,” he says, firming his lips in embarassment.
“Go ahead,” I tell him, mentally kicking myself for staring and making him uncomfortable. “You can borrow some of my clothes.”
“Thanks,” he says quietly.
I walk over to where my suitcase is lying on the one small counter in the room, and I rummage through it, pulling out an extra pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I don’t think he’d really want to borrow my underwear. I bite my lip, realizing it’s that or he sleeps in my jeans. Or naked.
“Um, I usually just sleep in my clothes,” I tell him, handing him the jeans, shirt, and pair of BVD’s. “So I don’t really have any…pajamas or anything.”
“I’ve been sleeping in my clothes for…” he trails off, taking the clothes and swallowing. “Well, a couple of days, at least,” he says quietly, looking at the floor, frowning.
“Six, probably,” I say in a low voice. “You’ve been missing for six days.”
I knew where he’d gone the second he went, but I didn’t know he’d gotten himself into trouble until two days later, when Scully started looking for him. I was able to track him to the compound by the end of the second day, then it took me four more days of watching and waiting before I could make my move.
“How did you know I was there?” he asks, using that infamous Mulder intuition to read my mind.
I lick my lips, thinking fast. “I’m into the same things you are,” I finally answer. “I heard about the crash and came up here, and…happened to find you here.”
He nods, but his eyes are narrowing. He doesn’t quite believe me. I can’t believe how awful that feels, after all the unabashed trust he’s put in me so far.
I sigh, clenching my jaw. “Actually, that’s not exactly true,” I say, looking down at the moss-green carpeting. “I know some of the people involved,” I tell him, and my voice is getting breathier in my fear. “I tracked you down when you went missing.”
“Why didn’t you want to tell me that?” he asks, the suspicion fading.
I swallow. “I didn’t want you to know I was in with the same people who were…holding you.”
“You killed all those people,” he says in a near whisper. “You couldn’t have been that…in with them.”
“No,” I whisper. “I just…know them. Move in the same circles.” I don’t look up.
“We’re not always on the same side of things, are we,” he says, using more of that spooky Mulder ESP.
I turn my head and look at him. Then I look back down at the floor at my feet. “No.”
I see him nod slowly, chewing his lip. “Well,” he finally says. “You still took a huge risk, coming in there after me like that. Thanks…Alex.”
I just nod at the floor, sighing.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says quietly.
I nod again, and watch peripherally as he steps over to the small bathroom and goes in, closing and locking the door behind him.
God, what’s he thinking now? He can’t still trust me, after that admission. I need to leave, just make a phone call to Scully and let her know he’s here, then grab my stuff and get the hell out of here before I blow it further.
I listen to the sound of the shower coming on, knowing it’s going to be a good, long one to get all that grime off, and then take two steps over to the old, rotary phone. I know I told him I’d stay with him until they got here, but that was before he knew I wasn’t a completely friendly ally. It’s ridiculous how hard I have to fight the impulse to live up to my promise to him, but in the end, the fear of what else I might tell him weighs out over my irrational desire to earn his trust, and I pick up the phone and dial.
“Hello?” She answers on the second ring. I guess she’s not letting the machine pick up, waiting for news on Mulder.
“He’s in Idaho,” I tell her. “Small town called Riggins. At the Hatchery Hut, room six.”
“Who is this?” Her voice is instantly clear, alert.
I hang up the phone. I quickly zip up my suitcase, not having anything to gather, since I never leave things laying around in the room. I walk toward the door, the shower still running. It will probably take her about a day to get over here to him. He’s going to need money. I pull a couple of hundreds out of my wallet and lay them on the pillow.
He’s also unarmed. And I don’t know how safe he is here. I sigh and pull the gun I’d given him back out of my bag, laying it on the pillow. Shit, he doesn’t have a toothbrush, razor, anything. I pull out my unused travel kit, with all of the above plus soap, mouthwash, shampoo and a complimentary lotion, and lay that next to the money. Then I let out an exasperated sigh, dropping my bag and reaching into the bedside table for the little notepad and pen. I scrawl a quick note and put it next to the other things, then I hoist the bag over my shoulder and finally head out the door, stepping into the cold night.
I climb into my Blazer and start the engine, noticing the smudges of dirt he left on my beige upholstery. I sigh and back out of the parking lot, then pull out onto the highway, leaving the tiny town behind me as I speed into the almost moonless night.
…
God, it feels so good to get clean. Even though some of the smudges I scrub at vigorously turn out to be bruises. There’s a tiny little shampoo bottle in here, and I use the last of it, lathering up my hair, again checking for scalp wounds and finding nothing of any real concern, despite the continued feeling of pressure in my skull. It’s like it’s being squeezed continually. The hot water helps some, though, and I sigh and let it sluice over me, rinsing away the soap and grime and shampoo.
After a nice long shower, when the water starts getting cold, I finally reach forward and turn off the taps, licking the dripping water from my upper lip. I step out into the tiny bathroom and pick up the ratty little towel sitting on the sink counter, scrubbing my hair dry quickly before patting down my body. I reach for the clothing, shaking out first the T-shirt and putting it on over my head. It’s about a size too big, hanging off my body loosely, but it’s clean and soft, and it kind of smells like him.
Alex. My friend. Maybe.
I reach for the jeans, knowing they’re going to be too big, too, but not having any other options. I don’t even try the underwear, too embarassed to wear another guy’s shorts, and knowing they’ll just slide off my skinny hips anyway. Alex is much more built than I am. Stockier. Stronger. About an inch taller, too. I step into the jeans and pull them up and button them, and yep, sure enough, they practically slide down off my hips, too. I probably lost a little weight during my captivity. They gave me MRE’s…Meals Ready to Eat, the same stuff soldiers take into combat…wait, how did I know that?
My memories are weird that way. I don’t know I remember something until I need it, then sometimes it comes to me effortlessly, and sometimes it’s just…not there. The stuff Alex was telling me wasn’t there. The part about the FBI wasn’t there, either, although something in me said it was true. The flashes of imagery, me on the beach with a little girl, me shooting a gun, me trudging through endless snow, or dark forest…none of it connecting, just hazy bits and pieces of memory, and I’m detached from it all somehow, as if it’s not really mine, just scenes from a movie.
Some of the stuff going through my head has to be from a movie. A horror movie. Several of them, actually. I wish I could know what was reality and what was fantasy. It’s like not knowing whether you’re dreaming or not. Hell, maybe this is all a dream. Some kind of freakish nightmare where I don’t know who I am. Maybe I’ll wake up soon. God, I hope so. I’m trying not to let the fear take over, holding onto the fact that I’m with someone who knows me, someone who can help me fill in the gaps and at least learn, if not remember, who I am. Thank God for Alex Krycek.
Maybe we don’t always get along. Maybe we sometimes disagree on things, and maybe we run in different circles, or at least that’s what I gather from what he said. But I can tell he cares about me. I mean, God, he went in there and blew up the whole place just to get me out. He risked his life and killed all those people, just to save me. He definitely cares about me. We must have been really close, once. Maybe we still are. We might have one of those love/hate friendships, where we just can’t seem to agree on things, but we end up really enjoying one another’s company anyway, from time to time.
He seems nice. Dangerous, sure. I mean, look at what he did getting me out of there. But I’m the one who got myself into a situation so bad he had to kill all those people to get me out. I must not live a real safe life, either. He’s a little cagey, too. I’m not sure I can believe everything he tells me, but he’s thoughtful, and he’s helpful, and he has a really nice smile. You can tell a lot about a person from their smile. His tells me he doesn’t do it often, and that when he does, he’s really letting you in. And he smiled at me several times. I’m really sorry I can’t remember him. I’ll bet we’ve had some times.
I find I’m staring at my own reflection in the mirror, and I realize I’m not surprised by it. I know what I look like. That’s comforting. Although I couldn’t tell you if I look the same as I did a few days ago. I just know that’s me in there, staring back. I sigh, running my tongue over my disgustingly fuzzy teeth and scowling. Maybe Alex can lend me a toothbrush.
I come out of the bathroom, ready to ask him. The room’s empty. I look around quickly, but the room is small, and he’s most definitely not in it. Then I see a little plastic toiletries bag on the bed, along with the gun I carried here, some money, and what looks like a note. Feeling my heart start to pound, I walk over and pick it up.
I called Scully. She’s on her way. Just stay put and don’t do anything and you’ll be okay.
Alex
“Shit,” I breathe to the empty room. He said he’d stay with me. He said he’d help me. I sigh, firming my lips against anger and a little fear. Well, I guess he did help me, calling Scully and leaving me money and a weapon and…toiletries. But why didn’t he stay? I stare at the carefully printed block letters for several minutes, holding Alex’s jeans up around my hips with my other hand. When the phone rings, I start, staring at it. Maybe it’s him. Calling to tell me why he had to leave. I reach over and pick it up, my heart thudding in my throat.
“Hello?”
“Mulder?!” A female voice comes through the phone, sharp, tense.
“Um, yeah,” I say slowly. It feels weird to tell someone that you’re someone you’re not sure you are.
“Are you all right?” the voice asks.
“Um, yeah,” I say again. “I’m okay…”
“What happened, Mulder? Who was it that called me? Who’s there with you?”
I look around, even though I know he’s gone. “No one’s here with me,” I tell the woman quietly. “Not anymore.”
“Who called, Mulder?” she asks, sounding worried.
“Alex,” I answer, glad to have a question I can definitively answer.
“Alex who?” she asks.
“Krycek,” I tell her. “Alex Krycek.”
“What’s he doing there?” Her voice sounds a bit incredulous. I guess we don’t hang out much.
“He’s not here,” I tell her, sinking down on the bed. This must be Scully. Or my mother. She sounds too young to be my mother, but her tone suggests she’s used to worrying about me.
“Is this…Scully?” I ask.
“Mulder,” she says, then pauses. “Of course it is. Are you okay, Mulder?” Her voice is quieter, more concerned now.
I sigh deeply. Should I tell her now, or should I wait until she gets here? These are the things I was hoping Alex would help me with. I decide to put it off as long as I can.
“I’m all right,” I tell her. “I’m not hurt.”
Her sigh is carefully controlled. I get the feeling she is, too.
“What happened, Mulder?” she asks.
I swallow. No getting around this one. “I don’t know,” I tell her quietly. “I…I don’t remember.”
To my surprise, she doesn’t react with the expected disbelief. “All right. Well, I’ve booked a flight to Boise first thing in the morning, then it’s about a five hour drive from there. Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Alex left me some money and things…a gun...”
She’s quiet. Then she says, slowly, “Mulder, is he there with you? If he’s holding you against your will and you can’t talk, just use our codeword.”
I laugh to myself. Codeword. Yeah, Scully, I’ll do that. As soon as I remember what the hell you’re talking about. “He’s not here, Scully. He was gone when I came out of the shower. He left me a note, some money, a gun, and some…toiletries.”
She thinks he’d be holding me against my will? Well, Alex did say she didn’t like him. Guess she really doesn’t. She should know better than to think he’d hurt me, though. He saved my life.
“Are you sure?” she asks, sounding much less than convinced.
“I’m pretty sure it’s a bag of toiletries, yeah,” I sigh, not sure of much of anything else.
Her soft, relieved breath of a laugh is reassuring to me, too. “Do you want me to send over the local law enforcement?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her quickly. “No, Scully, don’t do that. I’m fine. I’ll just wait here for you.”
She sighs. “Okay, Mulder. I should be there by eleven o’clock tomorrow night. Are you sure you’ll be okay till then?”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her, not sure of anything. I’m starting to think I should have told her about the amnesia, but I don’t want to get into it now. I just want to go to bed and sleep for about four days.
She sighs again, heavily. “All right. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.” Doubt still hovers in her voice. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll have my cellphone.”
“Um, what’s that number again?” I ask her.
It’s quiet. Shit, guess I fucked up. Again, I was hoping Alex would be here to help me with this stuff. I grab up the pen Alex left on the bedside table, turning over his note, and wait.
She slowly gives me the number, and I write it down. “Try to get some rest, Mulder,” she says, and I can tell I’ve freaked her out.
“Yeah, I will, Scully,” I tell her. “I’m exhausted.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she says.
“See you soon,” I tell her, anxious to get off the phone before I can fuck things up further.
“Good night, Mulder,” she says, still sounding unsure.
“’Nite, Scully,” I reply, trying to sound casual. She hangs up the phone, and I do the same, staring at the piece of paper in my hand. I turn it over and read his note to me again, sighing and wishing like hell that he’d stayed, wondering if or when I’ll see him again. He knows how to find me, I guess. I sure as hell don’t know how to find him.
Maybe Scully does, though.
The thought cheers me somewhat, and I take my bag of toiletries in the bathroom with hope in my heart. I scrub days’ worth of gunk from my teeth, shaving off my almost- beard, and when I’m done, I can tell I look much more like myself than I did before when I was staring in the mirror. I exit the bathroom, still having to hold Alex’s jeans on, and walk over to the bed. I wonder how long he’s been staying here. I can ask the owner tomorrow. He said he tracked me here. I wonder if I can track him, now, with Scully’s help.
I pull back the blankets and crawl in, moaning as I slip between clean sheets, laying my head on a pillow for the first time in…well, at least two days, and maybe more, from Alex’s account. I inhale deeply and his scent surrounds me. I close my eyes on it and immediately fall into a deep, sound sleep.
…
I wake to the sound of sharp knocking on the door.
“Housekeeping,” says a female voice, and I relax back down into the pillow with a sigh. My hand was reaching for the gun on the table without my even having decided to. Some things the body remembers, even when the mind forgets.
“No thank you,” I call out, sighing.
“Um, I know you don’t want any maid service,” says the voice through the door. “But I need the payment, if you’re gonna stay another day.”
I frown. Uh oh. I climb out of bed, one hand catching the waistband of the jeans as they start sliding off, the other grabbing up one of the hundreds. I walk over to the door and pull it open, squinting into what looks like late morning, or even early afternoon brilliant sunlight.
“Oh,” says the young woman standing there. She looks to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties, with long, brown hair hanging to her waist. She’s thin, not wearing any makeup, dressed in ratty jeans and a stained T-shirt. “Um, is Mr. Andrews here?”
I look at her dumbly.
“Chuck…Andrews?” she asks, looking behind me. “Tall, dark hair, really pretty eyes?” she asks, smiling a little. “Cute?”
Oh, Alex. He must have been using a pseudonym. I sigh. “He left. I’m his friend. I can pay for his room.”
“Oh,” she says, sounding a little disappointed. “Okay, well, it’s forty a night, if you’re going to stay.”
I nod and hold out the hundred, then stop. Will Scully want to stay over, before going back to…Washington? “Do you have any other rooms?” I ask, the bill half- extended.
“Um, yeah, I can get another one ready,” she says. “Is he coming back?” she asks hopefully.
I smile. I wonder if he knows the management has a crush on him. “No,” I tell her. “My partner’s coming in tomorrow night. Dana Scully.”
“Oh,” she says, firming her lips in obvious disappointment. “Yeah, I can get number five right next door ready for her, no problem,” she says.
I extend the bill the rest of the way, and she takes it.
“I’ll bring you your change back,” she says. “I don’t carry it with me. He always gave me exact change.”
“Sorry,” I say, shrugging. “That’d be fine. I’ll be here all day.”
“Okay,” she says. “Let me know if you want me to clean the room.”
“No,” I tell her. “I’ll probably just rest. I haven’t been feeling well.”
“If I can get you anything from the store, let me know,” she says. “Pepto or something…Alka Seltzer…”
I wish it were that simple. I give her a smile. “I’m fine,” I tell her. “Just need some rest.”
“Okay,” she says, stepping back. “I’ll drop your change by in a little bit, then.”
“Fine,” I nod. “See you then.” I close the door on her and walk back over to the bed, sinking down on it, rolling my head on my still-achy shoulders.
Chuck Andrews. That’s his alias. Or at least, the one he used here. And he was paying in cash. Doesn’t give me a whole lot to go on. Shit, I should have asked her how long he’d been staying here. I’ll ask her when she brings me my change.
I have to find him. I feel like a chick that’s just hatched, looking for the hen it received its imprint from. He was the first one I saw following my memory loss that knew me. The first one to tell me who I am. And he saved my life. He risked his life to give me back mine.
I have to find him.
Thirty minutes later, Joanie comes to the door again and gives me my change. That’s her name. She told me that, along with the fact that Alex had been here for five days, paying by the day, and that she hadn’t talked to him except to collect his payment each day. She also told me she thinks he’s really cute. Again.
I get the feeling she’s a little bit attracted to me, too. Guess there’s probably not a lot to choose from, here in the Idaho mountains. Not that Alex isn’t attractive. He is. And I know I’m not unattractive myself. She walks me over to the general store next door, and I pay twenty-five dollars for a leather belt with a giant metal belt buckle on it in the shape of an eagle. It was that or hold my pants up all day long. I also pick up pre-packaged junk food and soda, realizing I’m starving.
After I scarf it down, I throw it back up and go back over to the store for something a little milder. I don’t have a stove or a fridge, so I settle on bread and peanut butter and honey, as well as a quart of milk. That stays down, and I settle in on the bed in the late afternoon, watching the cable TV, and wait for Scully.
She arrives at almost exactly eleven o’clock, which doesn’t surprise me. I could tell by her voice that she was a very precise person. I hear the car pull up, and look out the window. A light blue Taurus. Definitely your standard- issue rental car. Gotta be Scully. She gets out of the car and walks up to the door.
She’s beautiful. And short. And way too over-dressed to be walking around in the Idaho wilderness. She’s wearing a severe black pantssuit and pumps. She knocks on the door and I open it, feeling like a slob in Alex’s too-big clothes.
“Mulder,” she says, frowning. Guess she agrees with my assessment on how I look. “Are you all right?” She looks up at me with concern in her…wow, startlingly blue eyes. And is that her real hair color?
“Come in, Scully,” I say, stepping aside and letting her in, avoiding her question.
She comes in and I close the door behind her. She looks all around the room, frowning and pursing her perfectly- lipsticked lips. I gesture to the only chair in the room and she walks over and sits down carefully. I sit on the end of the bed, resting my hands on my knees. I sigh.
“What is it, Mulder?” she asks, her frown deepening.
She smells really good, too. Very clean. And like expensive perfume. I sigh again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you over the phone,” I start, my eyes moving from her worried face to my hands and back up. I bow my head and look up at her from under my lashes. “I don’t remember anything, Scully.”
She nods. “You said that on the phone, Mulder.”
I sigh. “No, you don’t understand, Scully,” I say, staring into her fathomless blue eyes. “I don’t remember you. Me. Alex. Skinner. Anything.”
Her lips part, and she stares at me, eyes going round. “You mean…” she asks slowly.
I nod. “I have amnesia, I guess,” I shrug. “I didn’t even know my own name until Alex told me.”
“Wait,” she says, now sounding exasperated as well as worried. “You’re talking about Alex Krycek, right?”
“Yeah,” I answer, nodding.
“What happened, Mulder.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and it gives me no room to do anything other than answer it.
“I woke up in a little metal room nauseous and vomiting,” I tell her. “Upon closer inspection, I figured out it was an old meat locker. A freezer. But it wasn’t operational, although it was really cold down there.”
She frowns and says nothing.
“Soldiers dressed in fatigues showed up with food and water, but they didn’t answer me when I tried to talk to them. They just held guns on me while they cleaned up my mess, then put food on the floor for me. They came back awhile later to pick up the containers, holding guns on me again. No one said anything to me except, ‘Stay where you are.’” I shrug.
She listens, brow creased, blue eyes rapt and concerned.
“I woke up to find Alex bending over me, trying to wake me up. I smelled burning wood and metal and it was hot and smoky. I think the explosion must have knocked me out, because I was very dazed and my head hurt even more than usual.”
“Explosion?” she asks, arching her perfectly-sculpted brows.
I nod. “Alex blew up the house overhead to get me out,” I tell her.
She sighs, and her brows lower back into their previous frown.
“He helped me up and took me out to his car, and then he drove through the night and brought me here, to this motel.”
“Did he say why? What he was doing there?”
“He said he tracked me there. He didn’t say why,” I say quietly.
She just frowns some more, listening.
“On the drive, I told him I didn’t know who he was, so he told me, and he told me who I was.”
“What did he tell you?” Her voice is cool, suspicious.
“He told me you didn’t like him,” I tell her, smiling faintly. “And that Skinner, my boss, didn’t either.”
Scully lets out a cross between a laugh and a sigh. “What about you, Mulder?”
“What do you mean?”
“What did he say about how you felt about him?”
I frown. “He said we were partners once,” I answer. “That he’s into some of the same stuff I am, and that he found out I was in trouble. He said we don’t always agree on things. Aren’t always on the same side.”
She arches her brows dramatically at that, eyes round.
“But he saved my life, Scully. He risked his own to do it.”
She lets out her breath, her brows settling back into their frown. “Mulder,” she finally says on another exhale. “You can’t trust Alex Krycek.”
I frown. He told me to expect this. This must be why he left.
“He’s a liar and a murderer, Mulder. A spy, and God knows what else.”
I lick my lips, frowning more deeply. He must have really hurt her.
“He saved my life, Scully,” I say again, softly.
“He killed your father, Mulder,” she replies.
I look up at that. “What?”
“Well, we don’t have any proof, but you say he did,” she goes on, arching her brows as she looks at me.
“I said that?”
“Yes, Mulder, you did!” she nods, her voice rising with emphasis. “And he helped them in my abduction. We know that much for sure,” she says. “And he lied to you about who he was when he was your partner,” she goes on. “And,” she says, licking her lips. “Cardinale says he was behind the death of my sister.”
I let out my breath in a long, sick, shaky sigh. No wonder she doesn’t like him. Then it occurs to me.
“I don’t like him, do I?” I ask, staring at my hands hanging between my knees.
“You beat him up every time you see him,” she answers quietly. “I even had to stop you from shooting him once. I had to shoot you, Mulder.”
“You shot me?” I ask, looking up, eyebrows arched.
“To stop you from shooting him, yes!”
I look at her, confused.
“You would have gone to prison, Mulder, for Krycek’s death and the death of your father. You were out of your mind on some sort of hallucinogen and weren’t thinking clearly. I had no choice,” she says sadly, looking down at my hands.
“Hallucinogen? I was on drugs?”
She smiles at me sadly. “Someone was drugging you.” The smile dies. “Probably Krycek.”
I let out my breath slowly, swallowing. “He saved my life, Scully.” It’s all I seem to come back to, over and over. You weren’t there, Scully. He was all I had. And he saved me. And he…took care of me. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand, either,” she says quietly. “I don’t know what his motivations were for that, but, Mulder, regardless of what they were, you can’t trust him. You need to remember that.” She stops and breathes out. “He’s not your friend.”
I close my eyes. I just can’t believe that. All the things she’s telling me, they don’t make sense. I was with him. He smiled at me. I know that was real. And he did save my life. I can’t think of any reason for him to do that, other than out of concern for my well-being. And he risked his life to do it. I sigh deeply.
“I got you your own room,” I tell her, dropping the subject. With his money, but I don’t tell her that. “Right next door. The key’s on the table there.”
She sighs and rises from the chair, going over to the table and picking up the key. “Thank you,” she says.
I just stare down at the ugly carpet, wondering if I really wanted to know all that or not. I still have to find him. Have to find out why he did this, who he really is. Of course, if I can somehow get my memories back, maybe I already know.
“I guess I’ll go next door, then,” she says, heading for the door. I look up and nod, slowly. “Call me if you need anything,” she says, looking sad and worried. I nod again, then look to the side, sighing. “Good night, Mulder,” she says, opening the door and stepping out into the night air.
“Good night, Scully,” I tell her, and she closes the door.
………
I hold the gun up to the man’s head and ask him again.
“How does it work?”
He pants out scared breaths, staring up at me, shaking and sweating. “It…it doesn’t steal the memories,” he explains, swallowing. “It just blocks retrieval.”
“How?” I shove the muzzle into his temple encouragingly.
“It installs codes in the brainwaves, locking mechanisms that don’t allow the subject to access memories. Memories can’t be stolen,” he goes on. “Only hidden.”
“So everything’s still there.”
He nods and swallows again.
“So how do we remove these blocks?”
“Well, it’s harder than the mindwipe,” he answers, and I watch a drop of perspiration drip down his forehead between his eyes. That’s gotta be really annoying. He doesn’t reach up to wipe it away, though. “We’d have to put the subject under, then go in and remove the codes, one by one.”
“So it can be done?” I ask, brows arching. I had hoped so. Thought so. But wasn’t sure. I find myself wanting to release a deep sigh of relief.
“Yes,” he says uncertainly, and I frown.
“What?”
“Well, it has its dangers…” he says, blinking.
“What dangers?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Well, some memories are best left buried,” he replies, licking the sweat from his upper lip.
“Some aren’t,” I reply, wondering which category Mulder’s hate for me would fall into. It doesn’t matter. He’s not Mulder without his memories. And the world needs Mulder.
“Do you need any special equipment?” I ask him.
“Well, yes,” he says, looking up at me, palms flat on his desk and shaking.
“Can you fit it into the back of a truck?” I ask, knowing that the mindwipe technology has been transported and used from the backs of trucks and in traincars.
“I believe so,” he says, swallowing.
“Make it happen,” I tell him, shoving the gun in his temple again. “And if you try anything, I’ll not only blow your head off, Dr. Greene, but I’ll make sure Elsie, Sam, and Rosie all die, too. Got it?”
His eyes close, tears squeezing out from the corners as he nods.
Once he’s made the arrangements, I make him stand and I walk him out of his home office and down his stairs, past the tied up, gagged figures of his wife and two children. They whimper as he passes them, and I let him stop and offer them a few reassurances before we leave. He seems to really care about them. I don’t think he’ll fuck this up. I chose well.
I make him drive me to the site, then I make him get out, gun to his head while I check to make sure there is no one else around the vehicle. Then I watch as he checks to make sure they left everything he’ll need. He nods, and I step forward, offering him the restraints.
I stand over him and carefully instruct him to cuff each wrist to an ankle behind his back, the chains crossed and wrapped around each other a few times. When’s he’s completely hogtied, I put the gun away and bend in, putting a nice ballgag in his mouth. He looks like someone’s weird idea of an S and M fantasy. “I’ll be back soon,” I tell him. He closes his eyes and nods. He knows the plan is for me to return within the next few hours with our…patient, and I think he believes me when I say I don’t want to hurt him. Or his family.
Now to get Mulder.
He’s been going through recertification training, trying to earn back his badge and gun. Word has it that it’s going to take awhile, because he doesn’t remember much of anything from his Bureau training. He’s also been seeing a psychiatrist once a week, as well as visiting his favorite clinical hypnotherapist. He’s been on leave for a couple of months now.
And he’s spent every moment he’s not working on recertification looking for me.
I’ve had to work extremely hard to cover my tracks while I was setting this up. He’s made it more difficult than ever for me to move in my usual circles, call in my usual markers. He’s almost found me twice now, but I’ve managed to stay one step ahead of him and set up this situation for him to get his memories back.
I don’t think he’ll be thanking me once it’s over, though.
Hopefully, since he’s looking for me, I’ll be able to easily convince him to come with me to the site, and he’ll cooperate with the doctor. That takes way more trust than Mulder would usually ever dream of showing me.
I drive back into the city, not being able to take my usual precautions as I pull up a few blocks from his building. I’m just gonna show up at his door. I hope he doesn’t shoot me.
I don’t think he will.
I know he’s there alone. I’ve got visual and audio feed on him, although I can’t watch him while I’m in the car. But I can hear him. All I hear now is the sound of turning pages. He must be studying again. I get out of the car and make my way quickly down the street, scouting the area as I walk, unaccustomed to being in this neighborhood in broad daylight. Well, falling daylight. It’s around six pm.
I swallow and go up the back stairs to his building, keeping my head down behind the upturned collar of my leather jacket, discouraging anyone from trying to interact with me. I take the stairs two at a time, hand on the gun in my pocket, and finally I’m standing in front of his door, preparing to knock.
I raise my hand, make a sweaty fist, and rap sharply two times, clenching my jaw. I hear him cross the foyer, and I see the viewhole darken slightly as he looks out at me. Then the door swings open and he’s standing there.
He looks so…young. He’s barefoot, in soft blue jeans and a white T-shirt. His hair is messy and he’s wearing his glasses. I sigh deeply. He’s not holding a weapon of any kind.
“Alex,” he greets me. It’s a breath and a word all in one, and it makes me inhale deeply.
“Mulder.” I swallow. And wait for him to start yelling at me.
“Come in,” he says, stepping to the side.
I step in past him and he closes the door softly behind me. I stop in the middle of his foyer and he comes around in front of me, pulling his glasses off. They mess his hair up further as they’re removed.
“I heard you were looking for me,” I tell him, my throat tight.
He licks his lips, nodding. “Yes, I was,” he says. “Come in. Sit down.”
I frown. I’m not sure what I expected, but this congenial Mulder isn’t it. I follow him into his living room and see that he’s got books strewn over his coffee table, papers fluttering to the floor.
“Sorry about the mess,” he says, stroking over his lower lip with his thumb. “Just a sec.”
I frown more deeply, breathing faster as the unreal sight of Mulder cleaning up for me is played out. He makes room for me on the sofa, moving aside papers and books and Chinese food containers, piling them on the table and the floor before straightening up and gesturing for me to sit down. I swallow and take the few steps over to the leather couch, then step past him and sink down into it, slowly, trying not to make any sound. I inhale deeply and lick my lips, looking sideways at him as he sits down next to me, a couple of feet away. He turns toward me, tucking his ankle under his knee, letting one bare foot dangle down to the floor. I have to look away.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” he says softly. And he’s rubbing his thumb over that lower lip again. He looks nervous. He has no idea what nervous is.
“About what?” I ask, trying to keep staring straight ahead. Protecting myself from his vulnerability.
“I’ve been reading up on…us,” he says in a low voice.
I inhale and exhale slowly, feeling a bit sick. Here it comes. It’s almost a relief to anticipate it, really. Something recognizable instead of this…soft, studious, trusting Mulder. In glasses. And bare feet. Jesus.
“Did you kill my father, Alex?”
I look up at him, then. His voice wasn’t hard or angry or accusing or mocking or any of the usual things. It was soft. Curious. How can I fight that? How can I lie to that? To him, looking like that? Using that trusting, gentle tone of voice on me?
God, this is worse than when he was gonna shoot me.
“Yes,” I whisper, my throat nearly collapsing on the damning words. I blink as I try to stay focused on him.
He just nods slowly, his face unchanged. “Why?”
I let out an incredulous laugh. Because this quiet, soft interrogation is breaking me like no gun in my face or fist in my mouth ever could. “It was my job,” I answer, knowing it goes much further than that, but trying to keep as much of myself to myself as possible.
“Why did they want him dead?” he asks, shifting a little on the couch. His arm is stretched along the back, his fingers damned near touching my right shoulder. Two inches away.
“He was going to tell you things,” I say, closing my eyes. Why am I telling him this? Why, other than because he asked me nicely? Really nicely? Jesus. “Things that they didn’t want you to know.”
“What would have happened if he’d told me, Alex?” Mulder asks quietly. “What would have happened to me?”
I look up at him sharply again, frowning. I don’t like where this is going. I really, really don’t. “What do you mean?” I rasp.
“I mean,” he says patiently, narrowing his own eyes speculatively. His hair’s grown out. He hasn’t bothered to keep it trimmed short, like he usually does. It adds to his younger appearance. One lock keeps threatening to fall right into his left eye. “If my father had told me those things, those things ‘they’ didn’t want me to know, what would ‘they’ have done, then?”
I clench my jaw, trying to figure out a way not to say this. Why? Why am I so afraid to just tell him this part? I’ve told him the rest, so why not this? I decide there’s no rational reason, so I do it.
“They’d have killed both of you.”
He nods, sighing.
“And what if the oil alien hadn’t possessed you in Hong Kong?” Mulder asks softly. “Were you really going to give me that tape?”
I let out all my breath, turning to face forward again. My one hand is clenching sweatily on my thigh. I can feel its heat through my black jeans. “Not unless I had to,” I say honestly.
To my utter shock, his lips quirk up in a slight half-grin. Then he goes serious again, sighing.
“Were you just going to leave me in that cell in Tunguska?” he asks, his voice terrifying in its gentleness.
“No,” I breathe out immediately. “No, Mulder, no.” I drop my head, chin to my chest. “I was just biding my time. Trying to get us both out of there in one piece.” Then I laugh darkly, feeling sick at my inadvertent pun. When the tears threaten, they catch me by surprise, and I squeeze my eyes shut against them.
“I didn’t know that, though, did I?” Mulder whispers.
“No,” I whisper back, voice choked with the tears I’m trying hard to fight. Dammit. I clench my teeth hard, willing them to just back the fuck off. And they do.
“I’ve never really known that you cared about me, have I?” he asks, his voice almost not even a whisper.
I gasp out a laughing sobbing breath into my lap.
“If I’d known, Alex, you’d still have your arm.”
I look up him, squinting back more tears, and realize it’s true. I’ve never blamed him, but I’ve also never thought about it that way. If he’d trusted me, if he’d known I gave a shit what happens to him, he wouldn’t have punched me out and tried to escape with me. I might have been able to get us both out. Intact.
“I’ve set up a way for you to get your memories back,” I whisper through my closed throat.
He gasps softly.
I feel one corner of my mouth lift in a sad half-smile, then it fades and I stare at my hand, now limp on the couch at my side. My whole body feels limp, heavy, tired. Old.
“How?” he asks softly, leaning in.
“I’ve got a doctor set up just outside the city. He can do it.” And if he can’t, I’ll kill him for making me think he could, I think to myself but don’t add.
“When?” he asks in that same soft, wondering voice.
I look up at him, feeling my lashes stick together with the Goddamned tears I didn’t let fall. “Now, actually,” I tell him, picturing the uncomfortable doctor on the floor of the dark, locked truck.
Mulder’s lips part, but he nods and starts to rise from the couch. Just like that. I tell him we have to go, so he gets ready to go. Something in my chest hurts.
I get up, too, and watch as he goes into his bedroom and sits on the edge of his bed, putting on socks and shoes, then grabbing his own leather jacket and slipping it on. “Do I need anything?” he asks me, brows arched.
“Just your brain,” I tell him, trying to smile again.
He smiles back at me, sighing, and nods. “Let’s go then.”
I notice he doesn’t grab a gun, then I remember he’s still not certified on his work weapon. I turn and walk toward the door and he grabs a set of keys from a small table just inside it. He turns and locks the door behind us, and I wait for him. Then he turns and stops, waiting for me to lead him. I turn and start to walk down the hall, and he steps in beside me. Not behind me. Beside me.
I lead him down to the car, and I can’t help but glance to the side every little bit as we walk. It feels weird to just walk like this, side by side, like friends. Or partners. I take him down to my car and unlock his side, and he slides in. I get behind the wheel, hit suddenly by the feeling of driven by some untouchable, unseeable force toward the edge of a treacherous cliff.
He waits until we’re out on the freeway headed out of town before he speaks again.
“Alex, Scully told me that I hate you.”
Why does that hurt so much? It’s not news to me. It should feel comfortable, familiar, predictable. Normal.
“But that was before. Before I knew you…cared about me.”
The pain turns to fear. I clutch the wheel with my one hand, frowning.
“I don’t want to hate you again, Alex,” he says softly, and I wish he’d just shut the fuck up. If he doesn’t, I might just turn this car around and take him back home.
“Mulder,” I whisper, feeling the Goddamned tears come again. It’s my mother’s fault. She cried all the time. She cried over good egg prices. I’ve always hated how easily I come to tears. Usually it’s over pain or fear. And usually people don’t see it.
“How come you’re not calling me Fox?” he says in that soft, gentle, terrifying voice.
“Because you hate it,” I grate out, squinting.
“I don’t hate it,” he says quietly. “I don’t know why I did before, but I don’t now. I don’t want to hate it, Alex.”
I look over at him, glaring. “Mulder, are you trying to tell me you don’t want your memories back? Because you’re making a really Goddamned good case!”
“Why are you crying?” he says softly.
“I’m not!” I spit back at him, blinking and turning back to the road.
“Why are you giving me back the memory of hating you, Alex?” he asks. “How could that possibly serve you?”
It doesn’t! I want to yell. It serves everybody else! It serves the whole fucking human race! And it serves you! I have to lift my hand from the wheel for a second to dash away the tears so I can see. Goddamn you, mother! Goddamn your fucking bawl-baby genetics!
“I don’t really seem to have much to go back to,” he says even more softly than before. “My father’s dead, my sister’s missing, my mother could care less whether I live or die, I don’t really have any friends…” he trails off with a deep sigh. “And I don’t have you.”
“What about Scully?” I breathe, trying not to hear what he just said. About me. About not having me.
He laughs softly. “She seems pretty happy, actually,” he says. “She’s working the X-files with a new interim partner. A young woman from accounting. Leyla Harrison. Guess she’s been kind of a big fan for awhile. They’re actually having a good time together.”
He keeps smiling at me gently across the car and it’s all I can do not to pull over into the breakdown lane.
“Mulder,” I say, and my voice is so breathless I can barely understand myself. I clear my throat as his smile fades. “I’m not a good person. I’m not someone you want to know. I’ve done things…horrible things…” I swallow. “You don’t even know me.” The irony is not lost on me that I said this to him the first day we met. It was just as true then.
“Everyone in my life seems pretty fucked up,” he replies, turning and looking out the windshield. “Including me. I’m not here to judge you, Alex.”
I let out another of those awful, gasping laughs.
“I do want to know you. It hurts not to. Ever since you left me, all I’ve wanted was to find you again.”
“Fuck!” I finally yell, unable to contain it any longer. The injustice, the pain, the sheer fucking longing to just keep driving, forever, leaving everything behind, Dr. Greene and his brain-fixing machine, the old men and their Project, the race to save the planet from colonization… “Fuck,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
“Pull over,” Mulder says quietly.
I look over at him for a half-second through blurred eyes, then I look up at the road signs. I put on my blinker, tears running hotly, annoyingly down my cheeks and dripping off my jaw, and take the next exit. I pull onto the first main street, looking for a good place to stop the car. I spot an empty shopping mall and pull in. I drive to the side, away from the main road, and take one of the many thousands of vacant spots. I leave the engine running, somehow afraid to turn it off, even after we’ve stopped.
The creaking of his leather jacket is loud over the low hum of my car as he turns slowly to face me in the seat.
“C’mere, Alex.” He holds out his arms to me, chewing the inside corner of his lower lip.
I stare at him, gasping for air, as he scoots closer to me, now sitting on the edge of his seat as far as he can be. I bite my own lips, blinking through the ongoing tears which never stopped, but are now flowing harder. Then with a broken, voiceless sob, I lunge forward into his arms, wrapping my one good one around him tightly.
Oh God oh Jesus oh God, he’s holding me. And I’m crying now. Openly, embarassingly, disgustingly weeping into his shoulder as his warm, strong arms wrap around me, his breath hot and soft against my neck. I don’t even know why I’m crying exactly, only that something inside me hurts so bad that I feel like I’ll never ever stop, now that I’ve started. And he just holds me, stroking up my back and moving his thumb at the base of my skull, breathing on me.
Then I gasp as I feel his lips touch my neck. And I’m suddenly so incredibly, horribly, painfully hard that I can’t help but cry out and grab him by the hair, wrenching his mouth off my neck and bringing it into painful contact with my own.
I sob into his mouth, then I stab through his lips with my tongue, moaning desperately as I try to get as far inside him as I can. I’m vaguely aware that he’s not fighting me, his lips parting easily as his body falls back, my own climbing out of my seat and on top of it. “MmmohGod” I say into the violent kiss, then go back to trying to eat him alive, holding his head in place by the hair, rubbing myself awkwardly along his body as much as possible in our extremely uncomfortable positions.
I’m smashing him up against his own door, now, moaning and continuing to eat his mouth, fuck his throat, suck his tongue and grind myself into his body, and I’m distantly aware that he’s moaning back, his hands clutching at my back as he tries to keep up with me. He’s not trying to get away. He’s trying…oh God he’s trying to pull me closer.
I feel his body shifting beneath me, moving around and out from under my crushing groin even though his arms are still holding me fast, and I realize, with the tiny part of my brain that remains operable, that he’s trying to get the seat down. I’d help but the fucking lever’s on his right side, and my left arm is pretty useless, being a length of steel- reinforced plastic. Then he gets it himself and he falls backward and away from me, our mouths separating for one awful moment before I climb on top of him and seal them back together again. He spreads his legs for me and I press my body down between them. He moans and yanks me in even closer, and now, for the first time, he’s actually kissing me back. I think he was too distracted with trying to get into a position where I wasn’t breaking his back to do it before.
But Oh God NOW he’s kissing me. Moaning and stroking through my mouth with his hot, wet, sweet tongue, his hips rising up to bump into mine, and I gasp into his mouth, suddenly so close to coming I know there’s nothing that will stop it.
I just scream it into his mouth, feeling it rock my body like an earthquake as I come and come and come against him, grinding into him, sobbing into his open mouth. My eyes are squeezed shut, my body still being shaken by the waves of it when I feel his body arch up hard and he moans long and hard into my mouth, and I swallow the incredibly fantastic, wrenching, spectacular sound as his crotch jams up against mine painfully and throbs its way through his climax.
He finally lowers his hips, shaking, and I press down into him, resuming the kiss, now panting through my nose. I feel him do the same as I continue to lick and suck his tongue, unwilling to stop just because I’ve had an orgasm. Finally, I feel the lack of oxygen start to pull away my consciousness and I slide my wet, gasping mouth off his, resting it at his ear. He jerks a little as I pant into it, and I swallow and try to move it away slightly, nestling down against his neck.
We lie like that for a few sweaty, hot, unreal minutes, then I realize I’m probably totally crushing his smaller body with my heavier one. I heave myself up, the process being incredibly difficult with only one, shaking, sweat-slippery hand with nothing to get purchase on. I have to use my fake arm to shove away from the door and just kind of roll off of him, then move over onto my own seat.
He reaches down and uses the lever to raise his own seat back up so it’s level with mine. I pant and watch him, wanting to jump on him again as I see his bruised, reddened mouth, his totally disheveled, sweaty, overly long hair, his dark, glazed eyes and his pink-flushed skin.
Have I ever seen anything that beautiful? If so, I can’t remember it now. I shake my head in amazement, then tear my eyes away, closing them as I fall back against my seat with a deep sigh. His voice is low and raspy and strokes across my body when he speaks.
“Are you into men, Alex?” There’s a smile in his soft voice.
I smile into the dark, eyes still closed. “Not really,” I answer, licking more of his taste from my lips. They’re bleeding and tingling and aching. It’s fucking wonderful. “Are you?” I ask without thinking.
His laughter is sudden and loud and unrestrained and beautiful as it fills the car. “I have no fucking idea, Alex.”
I gasp out my own laugh, and before I know it, I’m laughing nearly as hard as I was crying before, and he laughs with me, the car filled with the scent of sex and sweat, and rocking with the sounds of our hysterical laughter.
When it finally dies away, we’re left with the quiet, our exhausted and sore bodies, and wet, sticky jeans. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good. But my smile fades as I realize we still haven’t settled anything.
“What do you want to do, Mulder?” I sigh.
He just looks at me with those dark, soulful, amazing eyes. “I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t feel this way,” he says in that quiet, gentle new voice.
I gasp softly. “I don’t want you to, either,” I tell him, licking my lips.
“I’m not ready to go back,” he finally says, after long moments of us staring at each other in the dark.
I swallow and nod. “Where do you want to go?”
“Somewhere that I can get to know you better,” he says, then he ducks his head shyly.
I’m hard again. And I realize that…I love him. I’ve always loved him. I can’t not love him. And I can’t not have this sweet, sexy, trusting, loving Mulder in my life.
“Anything you say, Fox,” I whisper, putting the car into gear. I know I saw a Holiday Inn back there somewhere. He settles back into his seat, smiling, with a heavy, long sigh. He closes his eyes and I drive us out of the parking lot and into the night.
Guess I’d better call somebody to go out and unchain Dr. Greene.
END