Tired of Taking Chances
by Queen of Denial
Series: Part III of the Twilight Zone trilogy, Falling Down a Spiral and When the Bullet Hits the Bone
Disclaimer: Characters and some situations borrowed without permission from CC, Fox, and whoever else has a piece of that pie. (Hey, if they were really mine, do you think 'Existence' would have happened?) Anyway, this is basically a writing exercise that got out of hand. CK talked me into posting it. No copyright infringement intended, no money being made.
Author's Notes: I started this quite a while ago, so it diverges from cannon sometime after 'Tunguska' and before 'The Red and the Black.' Extremely small spoiler for 'Tunguska', but I changed cannon to suit me. You'll figure out where. NOT A SONGFIC!!!! However, I realized I couldn't post under the title 'This Slash Thingie I've Been Playing With', and so titles are phrases borrowed from the song 'Twilight Zone' (When the Bullet Hits the Bone) by Golden Earring. The song reminds me so much of Krycek's life. I encourage everyone to check it out. Really good song. I lurk on a number of lists under a different name. Since I'm shy of revealing my identity, CK has agreed to post this for me, and comments sent to her will be forwarded to me. Please do not repost without permission. Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone who has sent such kind feedback on the first two parts..
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Mulder gave his preparations a last glance-over, and looked at the clock. Eleven-forty-one. Alex should be here any minute, and Mulder prayed to a god he didn't believe in that six months of hell would come to an end tonight. Six months ago, Alex confessed his love. Mulder had betrayed that love, and the hard- won trust behind it, with accusations and with violence. Alex had nearly died trying to prove his faith, but it took Scully's eyewitness account before he believed his lover's innocence.
It had very nearly been too late. For months afterwards, Alex was aloof as a stray cat that had been tormented one too many times by those who pretended to offer it food and shelter. What contact they had was professional, spurred by the need to reestablish the detente between Alex and the Consortium that had been disturbed when Alex stole documents to prove himself to Mulder. When possible, Alex dealt with the Gunmen, Scully, even Skinner, rather than talking to Mulder.
Three months ago, almost to the day, Alex showed up at his door. Mulder let him in, and Alex pounced. Their lovemaking that night had been wild, desperate. By morning, Alex was gone.
Weeks passed before Mulder saw Alex again, and the pattern repeated. At first, Mulder excused franticness for passion fueled by separation, and Alex's before-dawn departures as necessity of schedule only the rogue agent knew. But every time he tried to slow down the pace of their encounters to the gentle, tender loving of before his betrayal, Alex distracted him, resisted, insisted on something fast and torrid. Mulder would invite Alex to come over for dinner, or to watch a game, and Alex would show up just before midnight and be gone long before sunrise.
Mulder realized that they were just screwing, not loving. Alex refused to let down the barriers around his heart, refused to trust, to make himself vulnerable once more. Mulder knew it was his own fault, and that he would have to be the one to fix it.
The knock on the door came on schedule. Mulder had, after much argument, made Alex take his key back, but his lover refused to use it. Mulder let him in, but when Alex tried to pin him against the wall to hump against him, reaching for the tie of the robe he wore, Mulder gently held him back. The look in Alex' green eyes went from desire to wariness disguised in anger.
"Ssh, Alex, it's all right," Mulder soothed quickly. "C'mon, let me show you something."
He took his lover by the hand and led him toward the bedroom. Alex hung back.
"Have they given you another mindwipe, Mulder? I've seen your bedroom before."
"Not like this." He opened the door to his bedroom and tugged Alex across the threshold.
Alex stood speechless, staring at the hundreds of white votive candles all about the room. Scented oils heated in a special warmer wafted the exotic scents of ylang ylang, patchouli and sandalwood through the air- scents Mulder had chosen for their relaxing and sensual qualities as well as for their pleasant odor.
Mulder took advantage of Alex' stunned pause to gently slide the leather jacket from his shoulders, and slowly, worshipfully unbutton his shirt. Shirt followed jacket, and then Mulder sank to his knees to undo his lover's belt.
"Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Mulder knew the harsh tone was part of Alex' defenses, and reminded himself who had convinced Alex that he needed to defend himself after all. "Of course," he said lightly, getting to his feet. "I'm being a thoughtless host, to not offer some refreshment."
He pulled the champagne bottle from its ice bucket by the bed, popped the cork with a flourish, and filled the two crystal glasses on the night stand. He handed one to Alex, who took it as cautiously as though it were sloshing with black oil.
"What is this all about?" Alex challenged.
"Don't you know a seduction when you see one?"
Alex laughed derisively. "Since when have you had to seduce me?"
Mulder smiled. "Humor me."
Alex took a sip of champaign then put down the glass. He advanced on Mulder, eyes dark and dangerous. Mulder set his own glass aside and reminded himself that Alex wouldn't really hurt him.
Alex shoved him to the bed, but Mulder yielded like a willow and then twisted at the last minute to end up on top. Alex seized him in a passionate, almost brutal kiss. Mulder pulled back just a little, answering with tenderness, lightly stroking Alex' chest, gently restraining him when he tried to play rough. When Alex was entranced enough by pleasure to lay quietly, Mulder skinned off his jeans, massaging and rubbing along his legs before returning to tease his nipples.
One-handed, Mulder opened the night stand drawer and began to rummage. Alex tensed. They hadn't gone as far as penetration since the argument- Alex hadn't offered, and Mulder wouldn't ask where it wasn't given freely.
"Ssh, not lube," he reassured Alex. "Something else. I think you'll like it."
Mulder opened the can of Honey Dust, scooped up a liberal handful, and gently sifted the sweet, fragrant powder over Alex' chest and abdomen, smiling as smooth muscles twitched in response. The next handful dusted his balls and his straining erection. Alex gasped. Mulder reached into the can and brought out the small feather-duster, and trailed it lightly back and forth across his lover's chest, smoothing out the dust from neck to belly. The fine powder drifted in the air, coating Mulder's mouth and nose with sweetness as he breathed.
Mulder brought the feathers along his lover's groin, pleased to hear Alex whimper. He resisted Alex' attempt to roll over and hump againt him, pressing Alex gently but firmly back to the mattress.
"Let's do it my way tonight, Alex," Mulder said.
He passed the feathers lightly over Alex' balls, then down his perineum to tickle his anus. Alex started moaning softly, and Mulder knew he would struggle no more. He set the feather duster aside and ran his hands all over his lover's body, knowing the smooth, powdery slide felt even better to Alex.
Finally, he settled down to a rhythmic stroking of Alex' erection, whispering to him softly. "I love you, Alex. I know you don't want to believe that, but I do. One of the worst mistakes of the many I've made was pushing you away. I don't deserve it, but please give me another chance. I swear I will never hurt you again. I love you so much"
And on and on, punctuating this sentence or that with a lick to his neck or ear, rubbing himself languidly against his hip as he kept him trembling on the brink. Tears rolled down Alex' face, but Mulder knew them for tears of intense emotion and did not stop. He took a sip of champagne, then made Alex finish the glass. His lover would refuse him nothing at this point, and Mulder hoped that a little alcohol would relax him to the point where they could keep the pleasure going for hours.
When Alex' whimpers turned into desperate, wordless pleas, Mulder slid down his body. He licked the Honey Dust from Alex' balls, then ran his tongue down his perineum. Alex jerked his hips off the bed, but Mulder gently pinned him and started licking the crevice where his legs joined his body, first one side, then the other. Alex' moans deepened, and Mulder almost came just from the sound. He licked down the perineum once more, hesitated, then touched the puckered opening with his tongue. He had never rimmed anyone in his life, never wanted to. But the Honey Dust made it bearable, and he wanted to prove to Alex how much he loved him, loved every part of him. Alex' screams were reward enough.
He shifted a little, and teased just the tip of Alex' erection. Alex thrashed, and his cries became more frantic. With slow, measured strokes, he licked every bit of the sweet dust from the quivering rod before taking him into his mouth. Alex alternately screamed, moaned and pleaded as Mulder held him at the very edge of orgasm for an eternity before sending him spasming over.
Mulder slid back up his body, licking and sucking at his neck to increase the trembling aftershocks, bringing his own climax in a few quick thrusts against his lover's hip. Alex was still conscious, but his eyes were glazed, his face wet with sweat and tears, and he panted as though he had run a marathon. Mulder retrieved from the bathroom the warm cloths damp with scented water, and cleaned them both off before settling back down to take Alex in his arms, whispering his love to him as he drifted into sleep.
Alex did not wake before dawn this time, but in the bright light of early morning he tried to slip from Mulder's arms. Mulder clutched him, instantly awake.
"Stay, Alex. There's croissants and chocolate-dipped strawberries. I even got some of the French-roast coffee you like, fresh-ground last night from one of those gourmet places."
To his great surprise, Alex shoved him away violently. "Fuck you, Mulder. Why do you have to pull this shit?"
"I don't understand." Mulder was too puzzled to be hurt.
"Why do you have to pretend this is about more than cheap sex?"
"But it is more-"
Alex cut him off, eyes glittering cold as emeralds. "What I don't get, is why? Is this-" he gestured expansively at the burned out candles, the oil warmer, the champaign and Honey Dust-"Is this all part of some twisted bit of self-delusion-'it's all right if I screw the rat, we're really in love, at least until the next time I need someone to blame for my life', or is it some unique sort of revenge. Lure the rat into a false sense of security, let him believe that it's possible for him to love and be loved, and then, wham! Take it all away again."
"Alex, I know I screwed up. Big time. I wish with all my heart I could take it back, but I can't. The only thing I can do is spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I love you-"
"Bullshit."
"-And I know you love me."
"You don't know anything. You're nothing but a good fuck, Mulder. Get over it."
Mulder refused to be deterred. "You told me you loved me."
"Well, I figured out I was wrong, when you tried to punch me through a wall. Or maybe it was when you pulled a gun and ordered me out of your sight. Or no, wait, it was after I'd been shot getting you your proof, trying to prove myself to you like some love-sick teenager, and you couldn't be bothered to come see me while I lay bleeding in fucking Skinner's apartment. Skinner! That is the ultimate barometer of pitifulness- if Skinner starts feeling sorry for you, you know you're the new poster child for pathetic. And I don't do pathetic well, Mulder."
Mulder watched in shock as Alex dressed with stiff, angry movements. He was so sure last night had been a turning point. Yeah, he knew he'd still have to prove himself to Alex, but he thought they'd crossed the biggest hurdle.
Alex began heading for the door. Mulder jumped out of bed and grabbed him, wanting to plead with him, to talk some sense into him. Alex turned and punched him in the solar plexus so hard that the world greyed out. When Mulder could breath again, Alex was gone, his key on the table.
Alex had hit him. Alex never hit him, Mulder realized, not even in self-defense. Not with all the beatings Mulder had given him. But now Mulder had hurt him in a way no one else could, and Alex had seen Mulder's attempt to salve that wound as an attempt to salt it.
He sat on the floor, too devastated to cry.
Alex closed the door to his dingy weekly rental, and slid down to sit, knees drawn up, on the mildewed, threadbare carpet. The emptiness inside him ached worse than broken ribs, worse than a gunshot- and he had the basis for comparison. He hated Mulder for making him feel this way, hated himself for being weak enough to feel, hated most of all the small part of himself that wanted to believe that last night had been real, wanted to be back in Mulder's apartment eating croissants and chocolate-covered strawberries.
No. He had lived that dream once, and it only made reality worse when in came crashing down. If only he could stop wanting it so badly. He closed his eyes against the hot tears that threatened to spill over. If a rat cries, and no one's there to see, is he still a wuss?
He thought he could handle a relationship that was just sex- well, sex and that moment each time before he left, when he lay warm in Mulder's arms and allowed himself to pretend he was loved. Mulder, profiler that he was, saw the weakness and went for it.
It might be easier to take if he only understood why. Why couldn't Mulder leave well enough alone?
Maybe because he loves you? a small treacherous voice whispered inside him. Alex bit his knuckle hard, until blood ran down his hand and pain silenced the little voice. Mulder couldn't love him, not after what he'd done, what he'd beco me. Maybe he could have loved the Alex he'd been before Cancer Man destroyed him, but Mulder had never given that Alex a chance.
He fell asleep there, leaning against the door, but stiffening muscles woke him and he crawled to the narrow, sagging bed. He lay there, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and wondering how to stop wanting Mulder.
He hadn't meant to hit him. He was just feeling panicked, trapped by Mulder's declarations of love and his own feelings, overwhelmed by the need to flee before he was draw back down into the whirlpool of self-delusion.
He had an absurd urge to call Mulder and make sure he was all right.
That evening, he plugged his laptop into the phone jack and checked his e-mail. There were three messages from Mulder, which he deleted without reading, although his heart constricted with each click of the mouse. He emptied the trash folder immediately so he wouldn't be tempted to go back and read them. He had to break off contact with Mulder completely, or eventually Mulder would lull him into believing that he cared. And then he'd hit him, pull a gun on him, or accuse him of working for the Consortium- maybe all three, depending on his mood.
There was a message from Scully, too. Alex hesitated, then opened the message.
Alex, What happened? I called Mulder today about a case. He was upset. Said the two of you were through, that it was all his fault. He wouldn't tell me what went wrong. Did he hurt you? Let me know you're okay. Is there anything I can do to help?
I know Mulder has the social skills of a water buffalo, but he really does love you.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Alex hesitated, then deleted that message, as well. He liked Scully, but she was foremost Mulder's confidant and friend. He could not make a clean break with Mulder and keep Scully as a friend.
More messages came in over the next few days. The ones from Mulder- every four hours, on average, around the clock- he deleted without reading. The e-mails from the Gunmen and Scully he allowed himself to open, but not answer.
Scully was worried and confused. The Gunmen were worried and angry- mostly at Mulder. He wanted to e- mail back and let them know that it wasn't Mulder's fault, not really, not this time. But that would open a dialogue as to what had happened, and Alex didn't know how to begin to explain. They were Mulder's friends, not his. They would want to patch things up, since that was what Mulder wanted, and would never understand why it couldn't work.
He was no one Mulder could ever trust or love, and for that reason he couldn't trust Mulder. Mulder had proven unable to accept a relationship that was just sex, and while his own relationships had always been just sex, or just business, somehow it wasn't as easy where Mulder was concerned.
Maybe it was because Alex still loved him beyond all reason.
By the end of the week, Skinner had e-mailed, offering to buy him a beer. He smiled at the attempt at subtlety. He and Skinner had put a lot of history behind them when Alex convalesced in Skinner's apartment. Alex had apologized for beating Skinner so badly that time in the stairwell, explaining that he wanted to make sure the AD stayed down and didn't give the trigger-happy Cardinale any excuse. By that time, Alex had already grown a little sick of Cardinale's trail of carnage. Skinner, for his part, admitted that handcuffing Krycek to the balcony in the cold had been petty and unprofessional, which was closer to an apology than Krycek had actually expected from the ex-marine.
But they'd never progressed to drinking buddies, and Alex knew that Skinner wanted to find out what happened between Mulder and himself- maybe worried that he had an agent with domestic abuse problems. Alex smiled, imagining Skinner's face if he'd told him no, Mulder hadn't hit him again, he'd just tried to treat him as though he were more than a cheap fuck, and Alex couldn't take it.
Alex deleted the invitation without responding, surprised by how much he wanted to accept it. He'd never considered the AD a potential friend before. But now he'd seen the compassion that sometimes lurked behind the tough exterior, and knew how reassuring that strength and self-righteousness could be when he was on the better side of it. He reminded himself that he couldn't hang out with Skinner without explaining what had happened, and he could think of no explanation Skinner would understand.
Scully e-mailed a few more times over the next few weeks. Alex read the messages, then deleted them without answering. The e-mail from the Gunmen continued until Alex responded to the last one:
For God's sake, Alex, at least let us know if you're dead or alive.
John
Alex sent a one-word reply: Alive.
Mulder's messages dwindled to twice a day, every morning and every night. Alex deleted each without reading it, though a knife twisted in his gut each time he did so. He bolstered his will with the knowledge that, if he read even one message, h e was in danger of succumbing and ultimately being hurt worse.
Two months after he'd walked out of Mulder's apartment, he got yet another e-mail.
Alex, If you're out there, please, please answer. I think Mulder may be in danger. Unless you're angry enough that you want him dead, get in touch with me. He needs back-up crafty enough to keep up with him and skilled enough to survive it. He doesn't need to know he has a shadow- you've done it before.
Scully
Alex paced across the room, cursing in Russian. He didn't want Mulder dead, and resented Scully's attempt at emotional blackmail. That she stooped to such tactics at all told him how serious the situation was. But he couldn't do what she asked of him. His wounds had barely begun to scab over. Seeing Mulder again, even from a distance would make them open and bleed. He could survive being beaten, being shot, jumping from a moving car, being locked in a silo. But he couldn't live through Mulder again.
Damn it anyway. Why was Mulder his responsibility? The man was a grown up, and had survived thirty- some years without Alex' intervention. The man had more lives than a cat. Besides, most of the time, Mulder hated him.
Scully e-mailed him twice more that day. He deleted both messages without reading them, along with one from Skinner.
Two days later, the e-mails from Mulder stopped.
Alex sent a message back to himself to make sure that his server was still working. Then he put Golden Earring on the stereo, turned the volume up to '10' and proceeded to drink vodka straight from the bottle.
He woke the next morning, and wished he hadn't. The beams of light coming through the blinds pierced his eyes like steel bolts, and went straight through to the back of his skull.
He sort of remembered turning off the boom box some time after 4 a.m., when the upstair's neighbor's pounding on the ceiling got too annoying.
Alex dragged himself to the bathroom, vomited vodka and stomach acid, then shook through about fifteen minutes of dry heaves. At last, his stomach quieted enough for him to brave a few sips of water. He promptly brought them back up.
Alex made his way to the laptop and checked his e-mail. Nothing.
Perhaps Mulder had given up. There were times when Alex wished he would. This tenuous contact was heaven and hell. Maybe Mulder had found someone else. Alex distracted himself for minutes by imagining his replacement-- a young, blond, blue-eyed junior agent with GQ good looks, tailored suits, and a spotless past, in short, everything Alex was not. He tortured himself with images of Mulder making love to this perfect young man.
But the worst thing was that this was the best scenario. Losing contact with Mulder right after Scully's frantic e-mail pointed to something far worse.
Mulder could be in trouble. Mulder could be dead.
He typed a message to Scully:
Do you know where Mulder is? He stopped trying to e-mail me. Just let me know he's safe and I'll stay out of everyone's way.
The answer came back in under half an hour:
[Do you know where Mulder is?]
Do you care?
[Just let me know he's safe]
Sorry, Krycek, I'm not in the habit of lying.
[and I'll stay out of everyone's way.]
We never asked you to stay out of our way. You ran out on us, not just Mulder, but myself, Skinner, the guys. . . We'd kind of gotten used to having you around, and it hurt when you cut us off just because you and Mulder had a spat. And speaking of Mulder, he's been devastated since you walked out. He finally told me what happened, and unless there's more to the story, well, I just don't understand. Although if Mulder's dead, I guess it's moot.
Alex e-mailed back:
No, you don't understand. And if Mulder's dead, then so am I. Meet me at the usual place at 9 p. m.?
Scully's reply came back immediately:
I'll be there. I'm bringing the boss and the guys.
Alex sat in the back of the Motley Fool Coffee House, staring without really seeing the curious combination of elegant Victorian and neo-hippie decor. The combination worked better than it should, but he'd already seen it many times before, and so it failed to distract him from the coming confrontation. By the tone of her e-mail, Scully sounded pissed. Skinner was probably about ready to take him apart.
The bell on the door jingled. Alex watched Sheri, the host/barista/owner, greet Scully and Skinner as the Gunmen filed in behind them. He saw Skinner's face turn into a mask as he took in Sheri's tatoos and multiple nose rings-- the mask of a man who doesn't want to show how old and un-hip he was. Byers was trying to look anywhere but her corset-displayed cleavage, while Langly and Frohicke openly leered. Scully, used to Sheri's flamboyance, was cool and professional as ever.
He hadn't realized until this moment how much he'd missed them all. Mulder's friends, he reminded himself. Not mine.
"Alex, have you been ill?" Byers asked as they approached the table.
"No, why?" Alex was puzzled by the concern evident in Byer's voice.
"Have you been eating?" Scully asked, though it was more a reprimand than an honest question.
Alex shrugged, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "I eat."
"When was the last time?"
Alex thought for a moment. He'd eaten a few crackers late that morning, but he wasn't sure that counted.
"Does it matter? We're here to help Mulder. I'm not emaciated, I can do what I need to do. Rats are tougher when they're hungry." He gave them his best hard-ass attitude, but he had a feeling none of them were buying it.
Sheri came by to take their orders. Scully ordered the bread-and-cheese platter, the most substantial item on the limited menu, and informed him that he would eat it.
"All right," Frohicke said as soon as Sheri disappeared into the kitchen. "We think we know where Mulder is being held."
He slid an envelope across the table. Alex peeked inside-- maps, blueprints for a facility that officially did not exist.
He looked at the hackers in amazement. "How did you guys get this information?"
Langly grinned. "My kung fu is the best."
Frohike slapped his arm. "Hey, I helped."
"You guys realize what will happen to you if anyone finds out you even know about this place."
"Our lives have been in danger for years," Langly said with casual bravado, but Alex saw all three of them pale.
"If he's in there, we'd better get him out in a hurry," he said.
Before there's nothing left to rescue. Warehouse B-31 was an experimental laboratory. Alex knew something of what happened in places like that, and the thought of Mulder in there made him sick.
They changed to a more innocuous topic when the food arrived. As soon as Sheri departed, Krycek pulled out the blueprints. He knew they wouldn't be disturbed again unless they waived her over-- it was one of the things he loved about the place.
"Eat," Scully ordered.
"This is more important," Alex said absently, flipping through the blueprints.
Scully cut off a piece of cheese, slipped it onto an apple slice, and pushed it at him. Alex accepted it with a slight smile, and bit into it as he stared at the blueprints.
"Here." He pointed to a small room in the center of the building. "If they hold true to form, this is where they'll be holding him."
"How do you know so much about this place?" Byers asked.
"Trust me, you don't want to know." He paused as Scully put a Brie-smeared slice of bread into his hand.
"There." He indicated one corner of the building. "There's a blind spot in their security cameras. If I stay low until I'm behind it, I won't get picked up. But I need you guys to rig the motion sensors."
By the end of the night they had a plan, dangerous, but feasible. As they walked out the door, Scully took his arm and turned him toward her.
"No matter what happens, if you disappear again, we will track you down."
Alex glanced away.
"Why is it so hard for you to believe that we care about you?"
Any honest answer would sound self-pitying, so he held his silence. He had begun to realize that they were his friends as well as Mulder's, and his refusal to respond to their overtures must have hurt them. He wasn't used to mattering to people this way. Alex swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Sorry," he said to all of them.
"Go home," Scully said gently. "Try to get some sleep."
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Krycek moved through the shadows like a hunting cat. Though he trusted Skinner, Scully, and the Gunmen, it unnerved him to rely on others when the stakes were so high. He pulled his mind from such unproductive concerns to focus on the mission at hand.
Alex counted doors until he reached the ninth on the left. He picked the lock, and stepped quietly into the room.
Mulder lay still on a narrow cot on the far side of the room. Even in the pale moonlight, Alex could see the bruises on his face. Rage rose within him, searing white-hot, and the desire to kill those responsible almost consumed him. With practiced efficiency, he locked down his emotions and knelt by the cot.
"Mulder," he whispered, jostling the cot.
Mulder jerked awake with a soft cry, and flinched back against the wall. Alex wanted to weep, but there was no time.
"Mulder, it's Alex. It's all right, we're getting out of here."
Mulder shook his head. "I don't believe in your. You're not real."
Alex took Mulder's hand, placed it on his own cheek, held it there. "I'm real."
Mulder snatched his hand away, shaking his head vehemently. "No. The real Alex doesn't want to have anything to do with me."
The sadness in his voice tore at Alex' heart. "I'm sorry."
Mulder smiled triumphantly. "My Alex doesn't apologize."
Alex sighed. "Your Alex is an ass. Look, Mulder, we don't have time for this." He contemplated grabbing Mulder and dragging him out, with or without his consent, but if Mulder started to scream, it was all over. "Remember the white candles, and the feather-duster, and the powder that smelled like honey. It's me, Mulder."
"Bullshit," Mulder hissed. "You had cameras hidden in the apartment."
"Ssh, Mulder, no, I swear. Look, remember the first time. You know that the farmhouse wasn't bugged. Remember, I had a nightmare, you were trying to calm me down, and things went from there."
Alex thought for a moment that Mulder would still resist, and then he saw acceptance come over his battered face.
"Alex," Mulder sobbed. "I thought I would never see you again. You have no idea how much I wanted one last chance, before I died, to try to convince you that I do love you. I wanted you to know, even if you don't feel the same way."
Alex wanted to accept the truth of Mulder's words, but hope was too painful. He decided that it didn't matter whether Mulder loved him.
"I love you," he told Mulder. "I always have. And you're not going to die here. I won't allow it."
"They pumped me full of ...stuff. Tests," Mulder seemed less focused, as though he'd said all he needed to.
"No! Listen, Scully's waiting, she'll fix it."
If he dies it's my fault. I should have answered the first time Scully asked for help.
For once in his life, luck was with him, and he got Mulder out of the facility and into the matte-black, plateless car he had parked in the woods a short distance. He stopped the car at the rendezvous point, and pulled Mulder out of the cramped back seat. Alex sat on the ground, cradling Mulder in his arms, rocking slowly back and forth. He raised his head as Scully approached.
"I don't know what's wrong with him," Alex said, too overwrought to hide the tears in his voice. "He said something about tests. Oh, god, what did they do to him?"
Scully knelt to check Mulder's vitals. "We need to get him to a hospital. Now."
To give the pair privacy, Scully walked to where Skinner waited in the shadows before calling for an ambulance on her cell phone. She gave their location, then stood by sharing silence with Skinner. Even from they could hear Alex murmur as he rocked. "So sorry. My fault. All my fault."
"Shit," Skinner muttered.
Scully nodded.
"Alex can't be here when the ambulance arrives," Skinner said. "I'll stay with Mulder if you take care of Alex."
"I'll bring him back to my place," Scully agreed. "He shouldn't be alone."
Scully waited until they heard sirens in the distance before walking up to Alex and placing her hands on his shoulders. "Come on, we need to get you out of here."
Alex shook his head stubbornly. "No. I won't leave him."
"He would understand. He doesn't want you to be caught. We'll smuggle you into the hospital later, I promise."
Alex allowed her to draw him to his feet, and guide him into the passenger seat of her car. He said nothing all the way to her apartment, and followed her like a zombie from the parking lot to her door, and into the living room. Scully gave a gentle push, and he collapsed onto the couch.
"It wasn't your fault, you know," Scully said to him.
"I should have never left him."
"He told me that he understood why you did. He knows he hurt you, and that you were afraid to trust again, and he was pushing for that trust too hard."
"It shouldn't have mattered."
Scully sat beside him, took his chin in her hand, made him look at her. "It matters. You matter. And though I think the two of you could be good together, you're not going to help Mulder by taking his shit and letting him get away with it. He needs to learn how to treat people."
"But I should have answered your e-mail."
"Yes, you should have," Scully said. "But Mulder is still responsible for his own actions. He was getting himself into trouble long before you came on the scene, and if you were abducted by aliens tomorrow he'd still be getting into trouble. You are not going to take the blame for this."
"He looked so weak," Alex said softly. "Is he going to make it?"
Scully wanted, badly, to lie, but trust was too big an issue with Alex. "I don't know. I hope so." She suspected that, if Mulder died, they would be burying two corpses.
"Do you want something to drink?" Scully asked. Alex shook his head.
"To eat?"
Another head shake. Scully wasn't surprised.
"Skinner will call from the hospital as soon as there is news," she told him. "Why don't you try to get some sleep."
"I can't," he whispered, his voice hoarse with barely suppressed tears.
Scully fully expected this answer, as well. "Rest, at least. I'll get you a blanket."
She got him settled, and left him curled on his side, staring into the darkness. Scully slept fitfully in her own bed. The phone woke her just after 3 a.m..
"Agent Scully?" Skinner's voice came through the line.
"How's Mulder?"
"They think he's going to be okay. The doctors haven't been able to identify all the substances in his bloodstream, but they seem to be metabolizing fairly quickly without any lasting harm." Scully breathed a sigh of relief.
"How is Alex holding up?" Skinner asked.
Through her open bedroom door, she could see Alex standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for news. "I think he'll be better now."
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
In the wee hours of the morning, Alex slipped nervously into Mulder's hospital room. Despite Mulder's declarations of love, Alex wasn't sure that he'd be welcome after he'd walked out abruptly over two months before.
He stood by Mulder's bed, watching his lover sleep. Unable to resist, he reached out and brushed the soft, brown hair from Mulder's forehead.
Mulder stirred, opened his eyes, and smiled. "Alex! I thought. . .I was afraid. . ."
"You thought I'd walked out again."
Mulder dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry."
"I should be the one apologizing. I never should have walked out on you. I just couldn't handle. . ." Alex trailed off, not sure how to explain the confusing maelstrom of emotions.
Mulder reached out, took his hand. "I understand. I hurt you very badly, before."
Alex shook his head. "I shouldn't have expected you to trust an assassin and a traitor. Why would you?"
"Because I love you," Mulder said. "And, deep down, I knew you loved me. I was just having trouble accepting, forgiving. . .but that was my fault, not yours. And I never realized how much you meant to me until you were out of my life."
Alex swallowed hard, trying to ease the lump in his throat. "Is there any chance for us?"
"I'd like to think so. We've both hurt each other so much. Maybe we could just call it even and start over fresh?"
Alex felt hope blossoming in his chest. "I'd like that."
Finis
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
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