AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, this piece evolved out of a scenario, a liaison of sorts, between two male characters on the X-Files, something that I've been addicted to reading about. Personally, I'd just never had the guts to put it into words before. Once again I've taken the initiative to crawl inside the brain of Alex Krycek while he waits for Mulder in his apartment, for his return in the fifth season two-parter "The Red and the Black." After the original dialogue ends, I pick it up from there and continue the scene, and thus, the story as well. Consider it a "missing scene" (or two, or three, or four...) of sorts.
Rating: R (adult themes suggested)
Category: Mulder/Krycek romance; SLASH; severe lust and angstipication galore; fiction
Spoilers: Definitely "The Red and the Black" and probably any of the other Krycek-oriented episodes would help.
Title: Boca Raton (for the foreign language impaired, that's French for "Rat's Mouth")
Disclaimer: As if you need to hear this one more time, but Fox
Mulder, Alex Krycek and Dana Scully are not mine, nor will they ever be. They
are property of Twentieth Century FOX, Chris Carter and his little business,
Ten Thirteen Productions. By writing this work of fiction, I didn't intend to
infringe upon their rights. And fellas? I don't think it's worth a law suit
I know this place so well. Not that I've actually been here a lot, but I have everything memorized. I had to for all those nights of surveillance. I've picked the lock a few times prior to tonight, but that's about it. I can visualize the entire floor plan, though, down to the smallest, most intricate details. The neglected fish tank, the unused refrigerator. From just how he lays on that damn couch every night, down to his exact body position. The constant array of work and clutter that is sprawled all over his desk and coffee table. The well-worn rewind button on his remote control for the VCR. I know the obsessive-compulsive way he carefully arranges his collection of filthy videos, which are meticulously cared for. I can see all of it.
Here I stand, in the shadows, where I seem to spend most of my time. In the dark I wait. But on this occasion I'm not as tense, not quite as nervous. Anticipatory, yes, but for different reasons. I'm not going to kill the man I wait for, far from it in fact. I want to help...
"I want to believe Mulder, but I've got to have something to go on here... "
Closing my eyes I remember saying those words, the days when everything was different. I mean absolutely everything. It was so much easier, in a way, to be close to him, to be someone he trusted, someone he actually cared for. When I was his partner, which seems like ages ago, even though I was discretely working against him and his personal quest of the ever-intangible quest, it was like some kind of personal torture. It was a sort of bittersweet position to be in, but if I had the option to do it all over I wouldn't change a minute of it. I had the opportunity to get as close as any man has every gotten to him without jumping down his pants. Granted, I thought about that too, but at the time it was completely out of the question. It probably still is.
His... "feelings" toward me, his aggression and anger and hatred and fear are mislabeled by most. It is much simpler by far, to acknowledge them as any of the emotions I've just listed. Sometimes I think it's true what they say, that his passion and drive to terminate my existence is unbelievably strong. I have the scars and bruises to proved it. But there are other times when we've come so close, when the friction and intensity flaring between us hit that peak... there is something else I see when I look into the face of him. Maybe it's wishful thinking, maybe it's fear, maybe it's dementia. The truth? I honestly don't know.
Yet I keep coming back. I hate myself for it too. I hate that I can only go a specific amount of time before I have to see him. I have to see him or else... or else? Or else I'd simply die. I'd die from not being in some kind of contact with him. Even if it's subjecting myself to his tireless beatings, ferocious punches, acidic words and grilling interrogation. I put up with it all just to see him, to look at that face and re-modify my image of him that is permanently burned behind my eyes. On the off chance our paths do entwine, I suffer miserably for his pain and thus I absorb his frustration with the world, and I do mean the world, mind you. Quite literally in fact. What's worse, however, is that I lust after him -- I can't control it, I can't help it, I can't stop it. I relive our every encounter blow for blow, word for word, touch for touch, savoring the union in its entirety. I'm sure he must know by now, but he apparently could care less. Or maybe he does care, but his behavior hasn't changed.
Tunguska. Mother Russia. It has brought us together yet again. This time though, hopefully I can get the upper hand before the balance of power shifts. I desperately need to tell him things and I don't think he'd be in the mood to listen between throwing punches destined to make contact with my face. So, in an attempt to catch him off guard, which is very hard to do, I've left him a note. He has got a radar, I swear, he can smell my presence, or feel it, whatever; some weird shit like that I don't know, but it scares the hell out of me. No matter what I do, he always knows I'm there.
I can hear his footsteps, he's coming. He has a very distinctive pattern to the steps he takes. Slow, but purposeful. Determined, yet a little too eager at the same time. He takes stride after stride with impeccable suaveness. He has all the qualities of the ideal G-man. That's him, the poster-boy for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. That face, although handsomely attractive, is just a face. If only they knew, if only they had some clue as to what this man really is. But no one knows, no one has the foggiest idea at how amazing he is. To them he is only a man, with a fixation that interests no one but himself and the rare few who are considered by most, clinically delusional or just plain weird. They like to use his look, his history, his impressive track record, but they don't want to hear about his passion that fuels the work he does. They want him silent and obedient, two things that this man isn't capable of being.
There's that familiar click of his pathetic dead-bolt lock.
I thought of the note and wrote it on a whim: THINGS ARE LOOKING UP.
I'm going to have to move quickly. Even though is guard is literally "down," he still has the advantage over me. Two arms. I'm going to have to strike with precision and speed. I feel myself gearing up for the attack, something my body has been well-trained to do.
Running with stored strength I grab his lower back from behind, while at the same time, slipping his gun from it's holster. I hate to do this to him but a small part of me is relishing the turned tides. As I ram his head into his desk, he has just enough time to put up his arms which softens the blow slightly. Flipping him over so that I can see him, I immediately...
Damn, he's so much more beautiful in person. "You must be losing it Mulder, I can beat you with one hand." I can't resist. I'm still bitter from what happened, how he escaped and I remained only to have my arm forcibly removed. Without anesthetic. In the fucking forest. In the rain. In the middle of nowhere. Can we say: bygones? I didn't think so.
"Isn't that how you like to beat yourself?" Oh god. I can't suppress the flinch I feel flitter across my face. He knows me so well, even without having told him. Bastard. Pulling back the safety, I test just how cocky he's going get.
"If those are my last words, I can do better." I could never kill him, but he doesn't know that. Does he? Maybe he's just shooting his mouth off, which is something that we tend to do when we meet. Exchanging crude banter is right up there with using me as a human punching bag for him.
"I'm not here to kill you Mulder, I'm here to help you," and that is the absolute truth.
"Hey thanks." I tolerate his arrogance, his apparent comfort with the situation despite his position. Even when I come, equipped with a gun, he knows that I won't fire, goddamn him.
"If it was not my best interests, I would just as soon squeeze this trigger." Well, I have to try to maintain some level of superiority, even if it is denial, pure and simple. "Well, what's stopping you?" Oh, you have no idea. I could listed a thousand qualities about you, about why I could never be responsible for ending a life as precious as yours. Never. Maybe once long, long ago that opinion would have been different, but ever since that first day in the office, with you tracing wire taps, I knew that regardless of kind of killer I became you would permanently be off-limits.
"Here this, agent Mulder... listen very carefully because what I'm telling you is deadly serious. There is a war raging, and unless you pull your head out of the sand, you and I know of five billion other people who are gonna go the way of the dinosaur... I'm talking planned invasion. The colonization of this planet by an extraterrestrial race." I've learned this from my time in Russia and I know it is true. He was part of that, as was I.
He chokes out a laugh, the idiot. He's not listening to a word I'm saying!
"I thought you were serious." God, and he use to whine about how stubborn she was?
"Kazikstan, Skyland Mountain, the site in Pennsylvania. They're all alien lighthouses where the colonization will begin, but where now, a battle's being waged. A struggle for heaven and earth. Where there is one law: Fight or Die. And one rule: Resist or Serve." And unless he chooses to fight, I too will die. That is something I am absolutely certain of.
"No, not who... what."
"Krycek, you're a murderer, a liar, and a coward. Just because you stick a gun in my chest, I'm suppose to believe you're my friend?" This gun is nothing but trouble, I swear.
"Get up." It is so difficult to try and convey what I need him to hear, without doing it in a way that also threatens violence. If he weren't so damn jumpy this would be a lot easier. Ever since I betrayed him he's never had the patience to listen to me, I mean really listen. I watch him adjust to a sitting position.
"I was sent by a man... a man who knows, as I do, that resistance is in our grasp and in yours. The mass incinerations were strikes by an alien rebellion to upset plans for occupation. Now, one of these rebels is being held captive. And if he dies, so does the resistance." He knows who I'm talking about.
His eyes are searching mine, trying to fathom some remote reason why on earth I'd be crouching over him, revealing these secrets to him. Helping him. It's at times like these when it just kills me that he doesn't know my real intentions, my real feelings for him. I can't go on like this... I just can't continue to sit here and do nothing. My entire body is screaming to throw myself at him, but I have more self control than that. I have to have more than that, how else would I have lasted when we were partners?
Staring back at Mulder I swear I'm melting. His eyes are pulling at my very soul. He is perfect, his body aside. He is gorgeous, yet tortured. Tortured with a winding uneven history as are the pasts of those closest to his heart. I hate him for it, for making everything his fault. I hate him for having to comfort everyone else, but there's no one to comfort him. He is strong though, and I envy that. But strength can be temporary. The men, they want him out of the picture, the persistent thorn in their side her remains to be. It scares me -- that his strength he will give away to other's and leave none for himself.
I move ever so slightly and suddenly stop, unable to believe what I'm doing, but then continue on. I want nothing more than to ravish that mouth, and suck away all the pain and hurt and disappointment he's had to suffer. He knows nothing of this-this fire that burns, crackling deep within me. Oh, he has a fire too, but not the same kind. We share the fever from different sources.
Leaning in I kiss a place that I have always been particularly fond of. He has a small mole on the side of his cheek, close to his mouth, that is just another finishing touch to complete his character. Planting my lips against that delicate spot, I inhale deeply, my mind swimming as the scent of him streaks through my body. Quickly, my tongue darts out to make brief contact with his skin. I can tell he's been working hard, there is a bit of stubble where my tongue brushes against his five o'clock shadow.
Pulling away I'm surprised that he's closed his eyes. What kind of expression that does that suggest? Disgust? Intrigue? Surprise? I don't really know and although I care, I can't stay here any longer to see what it meant for him. I feel a little disappointed with myself -- I've covered my ass. That kiss will be reflected on as what was probably meant as a "passing of the torch," so to speak. I'm sure to the casual observer I merely gave a wish of good-luck to an uncertain ally. I don't know what this means for us. Maybe the next time we meet he'll kill me, maybe the next time we meet he'll return the favor. I hope I've made my point, but not too clearly. I always like to leave a little room for speculation.
Taking the gun I've been holding, I loosen my grip and let it slip upside down and slide into his waiting hand. Standing up I say good luck in Russian. It's a habit that has always been hard for me to break. When American words fail me, I resort to the old ways. I don't know if he understands them or not, but I think that my actions have spoken louder than words. Don't worry Mulder, I can let myself out.
Sliding the door into its place, I sigh. Well, that's certainly not how I imagined our first kiss to be. In fact, I didn't even plan on doing it tonight, or EVER for that matter. God, what have I just done?
Shaking my head as if to try and rid the thought of what sort of permanent damage I've just caused, I turn down the corridor toward the stairs. I'm not about to take the elevator. Too many things could go wrong in one of those and be blamed as mechanical failure. The last image I want to see before my death is not inside a damn elevator. I'm always been a little claustrophobic since that ordeal in the silo in North Dakota.
Just before I reach the corner, I hear a door open. Don't look back, just keep walking I tell myself... except I stop. With one hand on the edge of the hallway, I slowly turn around.
He still has his gun, but his is striding toward me. (As if I'd run.) Oh god, here we go again. Taking my jacket collar in one hand, he slams me up against the wall.
"What the hell do you think you doing, Krycek?!" he yells at me.
I can't speak, if I knew what to say, I'd say it but I don't. He is livid with anger. Drawing his gun up to my right temple I hear him pull back the safety.
"You come here and tell me all of this -- why? How on earth could you benefit from giving me this information? You're a liar, Krycek. All I ever get out of you is lies. And I don't by that crap about you suddenly turning patriotic on me and doing this for the 'good of your country.' Not by a long shot. So what the hell do you want?"
"I think the question right now, is what do YOU want? Because if you're going to kill me, may I suggest that we at least step back into your apartment. You know, the other tenants probably wouldn't appreciate the 'Blood of a Thief' motif and your other neo-impressionistic displays across their walls." Whoa. Where in the hell did all that come from? Could Mulder's intellect possibly be rubbing off on me?
"And dirty my apartment?" But even as he says this, he's turned and hauled me back toward apartment 42. Giving me one hard shove, he nearly hurled me into his dark haven. Turing around I see him coming toward me again, and instead of resuming my role as his leather-clad punching bag, I sit down quickly. He takes the chair across from the couch and rests his elbows on his knees. He still hasn't abandoned the gun.
"I've done my business, Mulder. I'm not going to kill you, I didn't come here for that."
"So I've been told. Yet you're here Krycek and that says to me, you've got other plans. So what are they? I want to know why you're here... I want to understand you," he says. The last part is almost inaudible and he sighs, running a hand across his tired face and through his hair.
Did that kiss rattle him more than I'd anticipated? Or does he simply want to know WHY? Taking a deep breath, I begin. "Mulder, a little more than year ago we met again. Our journey took us to Russia. There you were exposed to what's known as the Black Cancer while I had my arm removed. In case you haven't noticed, I've been doing just about everything I can do at this point in time, to try and help you."
"Krycek, cut the crap. You are in this for yourself, you've always had your own agenda and the side-projects that have been your stepping stones toward the top," he spat out, glaring at me.
"Mulder," I say in tone more soothing than even I'd intended for, "you may not want accept this, but I'm here tonight, I went with you to Russia, I helped you with finding those receipts for that bust last year, because I want a truce. An alliance, perhaps only temporarily, but an alliance nonetheless. Those bastards are pure evil. Evil that has unlimited power, resources and authority; you of all people know that. I want to bring them down. With my help, you and Scully can possibly get a better hold on bringing them to justice. I want to help you."
"Why should I believe you? This is exactly what you said when you were paired with me after Scully's abduction -- one that you took part it. With your face so innocent and your words so convincing, you had me going for a while there Krycek. God, I could kill you. I don't want your help. I don't want it. Not now, not ever. I don't want anything from you," he paused. "These men are beyond justice."
"No they're not. The truth will--"
"There is no truth, Krycek! There isn't! I've seen the side I've thought was the truth and suddenly I learn that the truth is replaceable, that it is drafted by the very men we speak of. I know nothing, nothing of what I use to call the truth. It is some fictional story that we've become pawns in, playing into their web of lies and deception! They own us, they own our lives and everything I've believed has been carefully orchestrated for that very purpose. Krycek, they aren't even my own thoughts! What am I suppose to do when I can't even trust the very ideas that come from my own mind? I've had it! I'm tired... I'm so tired of all of it, Krycek," he said, exasperated. "I really am."
I sit staring at his figured, clad among the shadows that play across ourselves in the dark. He heaves a great sigh and stands up, staring at me. "I know, Mulder, I know."
He opened his mouth, but suddenly shuts it again. Closing his eyes, he arcs his head back trying to suppress the pain. Wide-eyed I fixate on the smooth contours of his neck, the way he rolls it from side to side stretching the stressed muscles there. It's as if I'm being slowly hypnotized. I rise and take a step toward him.
"Mulder," I begin, untrusting of what my voice is revealing.
Rubbing a hand across his face and over his eyes, he looks up at me. There are those eyes again. Questioning with unmotivated interest. I take another step closer, and another until I'm standing a few inches from him. I can feel his body heat standing this close, and it scares me. Alex, what are you doing?
My eyes have not broken from his and I'm sure that they say much more than I ever could. How can you ask a man who's father you have murdered, who's partner you have helped abduct, who's work has been partially destroyed because of you, to love you? To feel anything other than pure hatred? It is impossible and I know that no matter what happens from here on out, I will forever be the fucker that challenged his hopes and ruined the fragile faith he places in those lucky few. But the rational part of my mind has left, or I'm merely ignoring it. His eyes twinkle from the unshed tears that have pooled near the bottom of his two lovely hazel eyes. Suddenly I've been turned into nothing more than a shivering mass of nerves. With my good arm I reach out to him, waiting for him to pull back, to step away. But he does not. So I pull him to me, close enough so that we are pressed against each other and slowly I tilt his head onto my shoulder. He is rigid at first, bewildered as to what I'm doing, but after a few moments he relaxes into me. And it is heaven. I can smell him -- his distinct scent that is perfectly Mulder and I'm becoming drunk on it.
We've stood like this for who knows how long and I'm too terrified to move, thus breaking the wonderful trance I've melted into. I love this sight, Mulder hugging my supportive frame. It really was as if we were created together, the fit is so entirely complete. Slinking my arm under his shoulder and up his back I carefully pull away just enough to see his face. Mulder has always been one for words, but now nothing comes from those soft lips of his. Not a sound, not a protest, not a single word is uttered. And so I take my chance as it has presented itself and delicately fall into an unsure kiss. Grasping at the back of his neck, I inch my fingers through his hair. It feels like silk against my rough and callused hand. I have been so careful, so tentative in making sure that I do not scare him. Hell, it's probably too late for that. But I so wanted this to be something that we could both enjoy, although I had absolutely no idea what Mulder's take on this would be. Not a clue, yet here I am, here we are and I can feel his arms pulling me closer.
God, his lips are so wonderful. Soft and thorough they mimic my exploration. He is so starved and hungry for affection, I'm more than willing to comply. His hands run across the small of my back, pulling my hips toward his. Slipping my tongue inside his mouth, I feel him, his pulsating rhythm of life within. I swear I've died and this is just some sick fantasy where I will wake up again, cold and alone. Mulder... this cannot be happening. I feel his little nips and bites around my mouth sucking and loving it with such tenderness and skill. His lips travel around my jaw line, teeth rasping against my chin. I feel his hot breath, steamy against my neck as his tongue makes lazy patterns along my jugular, only to return with new conviction to my eagerly waiting mouth. He is too good at this, far too good for what I deserve. Who knew that he was such a delightfully passionate kisser? I had, of course, always hoped that those dreams of lying in his arms completely exposed might become a reality, but this is so much more than what I'd ever expected. Sliding down the sides of my body, he drags his hands over my chest demanding my attention be focused on him. How on earth could it not be? Far too gorgeous and sexy and absolutely ideal for words, Mulder has officially captured my heart. With exceedingly honest gestures I desperately try to convey a fraction of the emotion that is literally bursting from deep within, exploding all around me like streaks of light. Every single move, each placement of fingers, every caress, every spot I touch with both my hands, mouth and body, I want to radiate with love. This is not the love that people fall in and out of. Oh no, this is much, much more dramatic than that. He is my world, he is everything to me and I'm only here now because of him. A little presumptuous you might say? Hell yes, but I can't help it. I can't. This is what I want. I want him to understand that this is for him, that this is what I want to be doing. That this is what I could spend the rest of my life doing, and not some pity fuck for the road. I'm here to stay if he'll have me and I pray to God that he does. Inhaling deeply he clasps a strong, sure hand around my neck. Tilting my head back, he ravishes my sore mouth, bruised from such personal and pointed attention. My hand has come to cradle his face, his wonderful, beautiful face that shows so much to a person. I feel content right now, as if a peace has finally settle over me for the first time in my life. I never thought happiness was something I'd see in my life. Too many bad deeds, I imagined myself traveling through life without ever knowing what it is like to have someone you care so incredibly intensely about, to understand that and return it. Realizing this, I suddenly have the need to get impossibly closer. Pushing him slowly backwards, I find the door and continue to press into him. Grinding into him, I feel a smile play across his lips but he does nothing except continue his attack on my face and neck. Running my tongue across his teeth and around the inside of his mouth, it is not long before we're both panting, gasping for air. My eyes are closed as we rest against each other's foreheads. Opening them, I look at his flushed face and swollen lips. Cracking a devilish smile, he dives in again surprising me. Oh lord, this man is everything I could ever possibly want.
Heaving against him, I manage to get out a muffled, "Mul-Mulder..." He does not reply, but instead reaches down to massage my lower back, working out any stress points, which by now, cease to exist. As I feel his hands traveling lower, I groan into his mouth which only produces more of his blazing touches. Grabbing a handful of his hair, I try desperately not to collapse. He's trying to kill me, I swear...
"Mulder? Mul-- oh, GOD!" He has control now, but I can't let things get too out of hand. He is vulnerable and searching for solace, something I hope he has found in me, but I need to make sure that he will not hate himself tomorrow.
"Mulder, please. Look at me a minute... Mulder?" Taking my hand, I pull him away to look at me. His eyes are dark, the color of passion and undisguised lust.
"Is this absolutely necessary *right* now?" he asks, cocking his head to one side, in a sort of mock irritation.
"Mulder, whatever ~this~ is needs to slow down a little." Taking a deep breath, I begin. "In fact, I'm not sure you really want this at all. Just moments ago you were ready to kill me and now it feels like this is something you've repressed for your entire life. I can't do this to you unless I'm sure that this isn't some personal means of torture. Or maybe this is a way to punish me for all of the terrible acts of cruelty I've exercised on your life and those closest to you. There are way too many factors here that I'm not sure we've resolved, and until that happens I can't go through with this, as much as I want to. It's not fair to you or me. So, I'm going to have to say goodbye for now and give you some time to seriously think this over. Mulder, you know how I feel, but I'm not sure what's going on inside that head of yours. I never have and maybe I never will, but this is something fair too important for us to ignore and simply let our emotions slip away for a few hours of physical bliss. I just can't do that to you. Give this some time to soak in, and really reflect on what you want because this should only happen because you want it."
I finish, slightly winded, but every word of it needed to be said. I know precisely what I want, but I meant all of it. It will only happen for him, if he wants me. This is what my conscious mind tells me, but subconsciously I'm sure that this defense mechanism is silent plea for security at my own unsure esteem. I'm calling to him, denying myself to him, in a timid attempt at hoping he lures me back, assuring me that this is what he wants as well. How perfectly pathetic. I know that, but rejection is something that I don't take lightly -- especially not with my one, true object of affection.
During this odd kind of disclaimer he has watched me scrutinizing every word, absorbing each expression, every fluctuation in speech, each gesture and movement like a man starved from knowledge, with the fascination and intense need to understand absolutely thoroughly. Looking at his face, I try to read how he's interpreted this sudden change in my apparent interests.
His eyes say a mixture of emotions at once. Some startle me with utter bewilderment; admiration, satisfaction and something more... Although I wasn't sure what his reaction would be, this was definitely not on the list of possible choices I had. How-how could he be so... so calm? This is not the typical Mulder, but of course, this isn't exactly the typical conversation we usually exchange either.
When he finally speaks, his voice is so full of care that the mere tone of his voice nearly causes me to break down. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath.
"I can't believe you would do that for me. Alex, I am astonished at you in a surprisingly pleasant way. Before, I honestly hadn't believed you changed, or that you ever really could -- that you were here to help this time. I guess that's what I'd adjusted to with you... our past has been somewhat unsteady. But this... god, Alex, this is so different from what I'm use to. I had absolutely no idea that you felt this way, and that I mean this much to you that you would consider putting me and my feelings before your own at a time like this. That act alone says so much more than words could ever capture."
Gasping, I try to inhale, but the air gets stuck in my throat as it clenches down on itself. Who knew he was going to have such a positive outlook on what I'd said?
"Mulder, you don't have to--" He cuts me off gently by placing a single finger to my lips. He eyes are talking to me. Mulder always did have the most amazing eyes. They pull at me and my very soul, harnessing my attention and recruiting it for himself.
"Please don't do this," they say. "Please don't do this to yourself, or to me. I mean all of it and I want you to hear it because you need to, to have someone tell you that you're wanted. Let me tell you this and accept it."
Without even being conscious of doing it, I nod mutely which allows him to continue.
"Alex, where to begin. Our history is so mountainous that it is hard to remember everything that has happened, and a lot has definitely occurred. However, that does not necessarily reflect my current feelings. I have quite easily felt every possible emotion known to man, toward you. At times, as you said, although I hate to admit it now, I've wished you dead. Yet there were others, times when we worked together, when we worked well together and enjoyed the peace that was maintained. You thrill me, Alex. You make me feel like I'm alive and I need that, regardless of what form it comes in. Pain, inconstancy, deceit and survival are your personal manifesto. I've learned that from experience and from those who's lives you've affected. I know it's part of you and that it is ingrained in your past. It is difficult for me to accept all that which you carry, but I will try to do the best I can with time. Alex, you are my one true kindred spirit. We are alike in many ways, and perhaps that is what I hate most about you -- I see my own mirrored reflection in you and that scares me. That is not say that I fear you, it is merely my own self- loathing rearing it's ugly head. Far from despising you, I've moved on from that point, towards something far more treacherous.
"You told me that when I kissed you it felt as if this emotion I have has been repressed for nearly a lifetime. Well, maybe not exactly half, but long enough. I cannot explain the-the chemical attraction, the electricity that sears between us upon each encounter we share together. I know, now, that you feel it too and it grows stronger with every meeting. It is a bizarre fate we seem destined to fulfill, isn't it? Never in my life could I have imagined falling for... "
He reached out, and ever so softly grazed my cheek with the back of his hand. I nearly died from asphyxiation right there on the spot. I couldn't breath, I could reply, I could scarcely stay on my own two feet. Here I am, in Fox Mulder's apartment, listening to him voice his secret devotion and passion for me. I must be dead because life can't possible be this good on earth. This cannot be real, this cannot be--
"Alex, I've had plenty of time to think. I don't want to waste anymore of it away from you. I know I am not the most gentle person in the world, and I know that for most I am very difficult to understand. Lately I have been especially most cruel to you, causing you to suffer the most. If I could take back two years ago with that damn silo, or Tunguska," pausing slowly he glances down at my stiff arm.
"Or even just these past few hours... It's some kind of sick, perverted fixation I think. Somehow, subconsciously I've repressed these feelings for you for so long that when our paths do cross, I erupt with all of this pent up frustration. It's terrible, I know -- to mask one's true intentions with violence. Maybe it was some way for me to actually physically touch you, but without ever labeling that emotion as something more than pure hatred. God, I really am awful. Is that not the most twisted thing you have ever heard?"
Regaining the use of my own vocal chords, "Mulder, I don't want you to regret a single thing you have done to me. For the most part, I deserved every punch, every ill-tempered thing you have ever said, and then some. I'm not denying the fact that I was an evil person and human being. I had everything that has happened to me coming for a long time. Don't feel like it was you who was the punisher. Why do you think I withstood all those various beating? I'd rather you harm me to be near you, than fight you off and run away. I'm so tired of running, Mulder. I am far from angelic, and you know it. You may have caused a few bruises, but I have hurt you far worse with much more permanent scars. You have this entire situation backwards, it is I who should be apologizing to you." Closing my eyes briefly I sigh, releasing the air that has been tight in my chest.
"Please, Alex. I'm not worth any of it, we'll just end up going around in circles apologizing over and over for all of the things we could ever possible regret. Neither of us are perfect, let's just leave it at that. I'm not saying the past isn't painful and that some of the wounds aren't still raw, but I think that to move on we have to accept what has happened as fact. Facts that can't be changed or altered. And when I use the word 'we' I do mean 'we'."
He finished with that smile Mulder rarely cares to share, his special display of contentment he infrequently has the opportunity to use. How could anyone surpass this man for something else? There is nothing beyond the here and now. I try again and again to somehow capture his complete essence, his entire being, but nothing serves him justice. Nothing. Words, although plentiful, are often lacking. No picture could ever fully embrace who he is, what he represents, what he has the potential to become. This man is a myriad of unspoken tales, ones that have yet to see the light of outside human contact. All that crap abut "it's what's inside that counts" is true and let me tell you, he is one gigantic, knotted mass of intrigue.
"Mulder...god, I've missed you. How long has it been?" As I speak, I fall into a secure embrace, feeling him accept me and draw me in, close to his own body.
Resting his chin over my shoulder he murmur quietly in my ear, "Too long, far too long. Thank god you're still alive. I kept telling myself that you couldn't be dead, but I was close to giving up on that. I worry about you constantly, did you know that?"
"I do now. It feels so good to finally see you again, and even better to feel you." Pulling back, I look at his face with a slight grin, "Speaking of which, weren't we interrupted when I so rudely killed the mood?" Slipping his hands down my each side of my torso until they rest on my hips, he smiles too.
"You know, I think you're right. Where were we?"
"Right about here," and with that I reclaimed his mouth as my own. A surge of pure joy jolts through me, my mind having come to the realization this was actually happening. All the months and days of literally aching to be in this very position I am now, has finally been made a reality. Every thought, every fantasy of Mulder I had ever had came flooding back in a riptide of fiery lust and the need for instant gratification of this burning desire, welling up inside. Having nearly all the gentleness dissipated, there was a sudden explosion of tense urgency which resulted in a hastened and anxious flurry of hands and mouths desperate to cover as much skin and area as possible. Memories, hidden yearnings and denied attraction flooded over them both as the two fell to the floor.
"Come in," he said quietly, upon hearing a gentle knocking on his apartment door.
"Huhhh... " Mulder knew it was Scully, yet the process of acknowledging that fact and then actually having his body respond appropriately, was dramatically slow. For the last several hours he'd been able to do very little, except ponder over what he and Alex Krycek had done not two feet from where he now sat. He had not bothered to do anything but pick up his clothes that were impatiently thrown around his living room and get dressed, finally collapsing on the couch deep in thought and hadn't moved since.
"What are you doing sitting here in the dark?"
"Thinkin'." It was the truth, although, he knew she wasn't going to leave it at that. However, for somehow he couldn't muster the energy to give her more of an answer.
"Thinkin' about what?" she said, as she took a few steps into his apartment.
"The usual. Destiny, fate, how to throw a curve ball... The inextricable relationships in our lives that are neither accidental nor somehow in our control either... " He had been joking at first, but the more he examined it, the more his thoughts were quickly brought back to the seriousness of what he and Alex Krycek had said to each other, only a short time ago. His mind did not allow him to drift far, not at this hour of such importance. Being the psychologist that he was, Mulder had been profiling himself and his very confusing, yet strangely intimate connection with his former partner. Tonight, some of those conclusions had been proven true and then others had been utterly shattered to pieces. Affirmations had been spoken and promises made that would forever change the course of their lives.
"I've just been for a long walk and I've reconsidered that I may have been wrong about what happened to me."
"I've been doing some reconsidering of my own," and she had no idea of the impact it was going to have on her partner's life, or hers, for that matter. Although, he scarcely recognized the magnitude of the words she had just gathered the courage to share with him. He couldn't worry about her, not right now when so much of his life was in question, entering new territory that both scared him, yet enthralled him. In a feeble attempt to gradually shift the topic of conversation, he forced himself to redirect his mental attitude toward the case they'd been investigating -- the entire reason Krycek came to his apartment in the first place. Mulder got up and handed her the note Krycek had left. She turned it over in her hand and read the back, which said: WIEKAMP AIRFORCE BASE.
"What is this?" she asked, her eyes questioning his own.
"Maybe an answer to a question both of us seem destined to ask."
Finis. Send comments (good or bad) to: MKslasher@aol.com. Flames accepted.