** I am posting this for David S., my amazingly wonderful and talented
hubby.  And he's a good writer, too.  He wrote this as his Valentine's Day
gift to all M/K fans and all lovers everwhere.  Please direct all private
feedback to him.  Thanks!!**

 Title: Poof

 Author:  David S.   nakedmanatee@yahoo.com

 Website: www.angelfire.com/scifi/xtasy/

 Rating:  NC-17

 Keywords:  M/K

 Disclaimer:  Someone other than me owns the X-Files.  Or
 so I've been told.

 Summary :   Sh*t, it worries me how much I need this.  I just
 know I don't deserve it, and I fully expect it to be taken away
 from me. But until then, I'm going to pretend like he's mine.
 For good.

 Archive:  Probably.  Just ask first so I know who's babysittin'
 the kids.

 Notes:  Krycek has two arms in this despite it taking place
 after the kiss in "The Red and the Black." If that bugs you,
 may I suggest you drink a few shots of tequila before
 reading. It may or may not improve the story, but you'll be a
 lot happier regardless.

 Special thanks to Satina for beta-ing me senseless.  Oh
 yeah, baby. ;)

 Dedicated to:  Mik and Jax.  A toast to you two.  May you
 forever let yourselves love each other.  You're an inspiration
 to us all.

 Satina & Shan.  I'm so crazy about you both.  You know
 that. I just wanted to say.  ;) :) Happy First Valentine's Day to
 us! The first of many. :)

 Spoilers: Just about every Krycek episode.  Get caught up,
 ya lazy bums.  ;)

 Feedback:  Yeah, duh! Send all kisses and raspberries to:
 nakedmanatee@yahoo.com  I also like vodka-filled
 chocolates.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 "And love, love is not the easy thing.  The only baggage you
 can bring is all that you can't leave behind."---U2

Chapter One

 I'm excited.  I can't help it.  I hate myself, I'm so excited.  I'm
 standing here in a dark room lit only by the harsh light from a
 computer monitor.  I hold my hand up to the monitor and
 look at it, trying to keep it steady.  It's trembling.  God, I hate
 this.

 And.  I love it!  Who are you kidding, Alex Krycek? Mirror.
 Mirror.  None here, it's an office, dumbfuck.  Ah. Tilting the
 monitor slightly, I catch a glimpse of my face.  My hair is
 almost perfect.  Just tousle it a bit.

 Who am I? It's like every single fucking time I get around
 him, I stop being me.  I dig into the inner pocket of my jacket
 and pull out a beat-up, dog-earred photograph of him.
 Mulder. He's smiling, standing next to, who else, Scully.
 Bitch.  Every single time... The bastard hijacks the real me
 and replaces me with.... I don't KNOW! This *fake* Krycek
 who trembles and sweats and wants those lips and hands
 and....ok stop, you stupid fuck.  It'll never happen.  Got it? It'll
 NEVER happen.

 And that's why you do this.  What is this? Look at yourself.
 Date night? God, when did you lose yourself, man?  When
 did you become a loser?  The first time I saw him, I guess.  It
 was the happiest and saddest day of my life.  Because I
 knew from the way that he looked at *her* that I could never
 have him.  Not me.  Not after what I've done.  A thief, a liar,
 a *killer.* I can't hijack him the way he does me when he
 looks at me.  Hell, he doesn't even have to look at me.  But
 when he does.... even in anger...  I forget...  I *forget* I'm a
 bad person somehow.  Even when he's trying to remind me,
 it all fades to a blissful white and my crimes are washed
 away like the grime from the street flowing into the gutter
 from a cold spring evening rain.  I just see him and me, and I
 can pretend I have a chance.  He's talking to me.  (You're a
 coward, Krycek!) He's touching me.  (You killed my father,
 you bastard!)

 I can hear it raining outside, actually.  I wish it were that
 simple.  That I could baptize myself with God's tears and
 start over again.  Do things right.  But it's never that easy, is
 it, God?  You never do the wretched any favors.  I have to do
 for myself.  Take for myself.  It's what I've always done, and
 quite humbly, I think I'm pretty good at it.  But he's one that I
 can't just take.

 What time is it?  8:13.  He really should be here by now.
 Where is he?  I start to pace the room.  He's going to be
 here.  I know he is.  I left a trail that a pro wrestler could
 follow.

 The doorknob rattles, announcing his arrival.  He's here.
 He's here! My heart does a few flip-flops and I smile.
 Attaboy, Mulder.  Gotta get my gameface on.  I run my
 fingers through my hair and bat my eyelashes.  Don't hate
 me 'cause I'm beautiful and I killed your father, Mulder. Ok,
 disc.  Disk.

 I put it in the computer, like I've just downloaded a butt-load
 of classified documents.  In reality, it's full of South Park
 animations.  Heehee, it's a really funny show.  Wonder if
 Mulder watches it.  Nahhh, I know how he spends his free
 time.  For a second, I picture us watching it together,
 laughing at something stupid, his arm around my shoulder. A
 wave of nauseating sadness goes through my body.

 Pull it together, Krycek. This is what you have.  This is what
 you get.  He's your everything, and this is what he allows you
 to have. His fist in your gut.  Take it like a man.  Heh.  And
 he.... well, he's the man who has everything, you could say...
 Me, Scully....it's his for the taking.

 He's trying to pick the lock but is taking his sweet time about
 doing it.  Fuck, Mulder, I'd be in by now.  I plop down in the
 chair and play with different poses.  Feet on the desk, gun
 pointed at him?  Hmmmm, arrogant, sure, but a little too
 predictable.  Holding the disk, shock?  Why, Mulder. What
 are you doing here in Hong Kong? Ah. Gun in desk.  I pull it
 open and point it at him.  That's nice.   I look at my watch.
 Four freakin' minutes have passed.  Shit, Mulder, hurry the
 fuck up!

 I get up and walk to the door.  I think maybe I can unlock it
 without him knowing it.  Then we can get on with this thing.
 Jesus.  Then I hear the clack of the lock giving way and I
 jump to the side, hugging the wall.  Whaddya know? Friday
 night at the Improv.  Tip your servers.

 The door opens, slowly, cautiously.  He's got to be noticing
 the glow of the computer monitor.  He's holding on to his gun
 tightly.  Ha. I can see about five different ways to get him to
 drop his gun, and one of them involves copious amounts of
 tickling.  Not that it matters.  He always puts it down so he
 can beat me with his bare hands.  Always.  It's one of the
 things I love about him.

 How many times have we done this?  Met in the dark,
 fumbled, our hands on each other's bodies, fighting,
 desperately.... Well, he fights, I just kinda lie down and try to
 look like a wounded puppy.  Once I kissed him.  No tongue,
 but damn if I didn't think about it, then and every lonely night
 since then.

 He's looking around, but he doesn't spot me.  Yet.  He
 makes it to the desk and starts going through the mess of
 files and papers that I've arranged for him.

 Let's see.  How shall I play this?  Anger? Cool? Funny? Sexy?
 All of the above?  Heh.

 He sits down in the chair and starts typing, obviously looking
 for the files that I've teased him with.  Aliens, always aliens.
 The things I do for that big fucker.

 I take a step forward.  "Looking for the x-rated Solitaire?" I
 say with a growling smile.  This is the best part.  He looks up
 at me and the look on his face when he recognizes me!  Like
 he's angry, but he's also excited, invigorated even, just to
 see me.  My pulse races.

 "Krycek!" He raises his weapon at me, but I don't bother
 even looking at it.  It's the color of his eyes I'm interested in.
 It's like a storm at sea in those eyes of his.  I want to drown
 in it.  Maybe I will.  Drown, I mean.  "I should have known I'd
 find you here," he spits.  "You're getting sloppy, Krycek. The
 paper trail you left in Prague was just pathetic.  Now put your
 hands up in the air."

 I comply, a wry grin on my face.  "And wave 'em around like
 I just don't care?" I deadpan.  He's going to put down his
 gun. 5...4...3...2...1....

 "You think this is funny, Krycek?" he roars, throwing his gun
 down on the desk and rushing around it.  Am I good or what?
 I brace myself and he tackles me.  We both fall to the ground
 and roll till I let him land on top.  I kinda like him there.  Then
 his fist slams into my face, the pain his gift to me.  The only
 thing he'll give me. It's ok.  I'll take it.  I swing at him wildly,
 pretending to be overpowered.

 "Thought...you'd... never... get here, Mulder." He hits me
 again and I grip one hand around his throat.  I don't really
 want to hurt him, I just want to see how close I can get to
 touching his face.  I hate you Mulder.  I love you.  All this I
 do...  it's for you, Mulder.  "I have the disk.  You can have
 it." Punch.  "Uhhhh, everything you ever wanted, Mulder. It's
 on the disk.  And more."  Like Cartman singing "In the
 Ghetto."

 He stops hitting me and just rests his body weight on me,
 breathing hard.  His whole body is hard.  "What's your
 angle? What do you hope to get out of this, Krycek?"

 You mean besides my dick in your mouth?  Oh, not much.
 Oh, you mean in real life.  Well, I'll just have to settle for this.
 You on top of me, my dick getting hard between the taut
 muscles of your thighs.  Trying desperately to think of a way
 to keep you here, knowing I'll fail like I always do.

 "I want the same things as you do."  I can only wish.
 "Mulder..."  I blink my eyelashes, wondering if he'll notice.
 "That disc is just the beginning.  There's stuff out there that
 would blow your mind, Mulder." The fire in his eyes flames
 brighter.  "Stuff I can get."  Please?

 He lifts up off of me and I feel stupid and cheap.  "Like I
 could ever trust you, Krycek," he says to a file cabinet.  He'd
 rather look at a hunk of office furniture than gaze at me.

 "Mulder, what I'm offering you..." I pull myself up and take
 two steps in his direction, my hand poised to touch his
 shoulder.   I picture myself touching him.  Just a touch.
 People do it all the time.  Except this time, I'd touch him, and
 he'd turn, his eyes softened.  "Of course,  Krycek," he'd say.
 "How could I have been so blind?"  Then I'd hold that
 beautiful face, and we'd kiss.. Oh, how we'd we kiss!

 "The disk," he whispers.  "Give it to me, and then get the
 fuck out of my sight. "

 Oh god.  I'm so stupid.  Anger? Fear? Funny?  Arrogant?
 God, get it together.  Don't you cry...Don't you DARE fucking
 cry! You will not cry, you piece of shit! Did you think things
 would change, like, abracadabra, poof!?  Now say
 something!

 I smile without any trace of humor.  "You i-idiot." My voice
 catches and I stop, biting the inside of my cheek.  The
 physical pain buys me a few seconds to gloss over the
 emotional one.   "You don't know what you're turning
 down--"

 The door slams open, and two figures emerge out of the
 shadows.  Oh shit, great timing.  Just great.  The glimmer of
 the monitor light shines across their faces, revealing them.

 I'd know this couple anywhere.  Tre and Micki.  Two rival
 thieves of Chinese descent.  Very dangerous.  And
 obviously, they've found all of those same clues that I've left
 for Mulder. I'm just too good.

 "Friends of yours, Krycek?" Mulder says, trying to
 nonchalantly inch back to his gun.  Fuck, I left mine in the
 desk.  Part of my little game, and now it's going to get me
 killed.

 "Krycek?" Micki says, laughing.  "Noooo.... We hate his
 guts. He's a very stupid man.  And ugly.  Stupid, ugly."

 Micki's the gabby one.  Tre's the strong, silent, kick your ass
 type.  They're fast.  So fast, they'll make Mulder look like
 he's standing still while they kill him.

 Tre flashes across the room, and with a delicate grace, leaps
 up, his foot hitting my already sore face.  Shit, distracted by
 you know who.  I gotta get back in touch with my bad self if
 I'm going to get out of this with my life.

 From the corner of my eye, I see Micki strolling towards
 Mulder, stalking him like the cat she is.

 "I hope we're not interrupting your date, American.  We
 didn't know Krycek had a boyfriend." Her leg kicks up and
 connects with Mulder's gut.  "Good for him, I say!"

 I grab the desk lamp and turn, knowing Tre is two breaths
 away from me, ready to hit again.  My instincts are correct,
 and the heavy black metal knocks him in the side of the
 head. He falls to the ground in a heap.  I'm not sure if he's
 really down for good or not. I turn and reach for Mulder's
 gun, still laying on top of the desk.

 "Back off, date boy!" Micki yells, grabbing Mulder by his tie
 and swinging his body into mine.  The weight of him pushes
 me back and away from Mulder's gun.  Fuck!  Normally, I'd
 enjoy this.  Extra Bonus Mulder touching.  We fall back
 against more file cabinets, and he looks up at me, dazed.

 Micki grabs the gun and puts it in her pocket.  "I hate these
 things.  So messy.  So *not* fun.  Where's the disk,
 Krycek?"

 Tre is holding the side of his head and getting up.  He'd look
 pissed if he wasn't so uptight.  "Tell us, and we let you and
 your *partner* live."

 "We... we're not partners," Mulder rasps, pushing away
 from me.  "I hate him probably more than you do."

 "Guys, please, tell me how you really feel," I growl, starting
 to feel a kinship with Rodney Dangerfield.

 "The disk," Tre says, holding out his hand.

 "I..."  It's my key to Mulder.  Even if it is fake, if I give it to
 them, the divide between me and Mulder will be greater.
 Fuck, I can't do it.  Mulder looks at me, to see if I'm going to
 betray him again.

 "Krycek, you're being a silly," Micki says, cackling.

 "Fine.  We kill you then," Tre says plainly, his body shifting,
 tensing.

 Micki touches him on the arm. "Oh, Tre.  What good will that
 do?" She eyes Mulder hungrily.  "I think we need to take
 away his sweetmeat." Oh God, no. It takes everything to will
 my face not to reveal my terror.

 "No! Come on!" I yell, but in seconds, Tre has hit me three
 times in the gut and is pushing my back to the file cabinet.
 He has his arm on my throat and is crushing the life out of
 me.  I pull at his arms, but it's no use.  He's too strong.
 Mulder.... Mulder....

 Micki has retrieved the lamp from the floor and swings it,
 laughing.  The metal base cracks Mulder in the skull, and he
 collapses onto the floor.  I feel droplets of blood sprinkle my
 face and the room starts spinning crazily.  Gonna black out.

 Tre relaxes his grip.  "Disk?" he says with snotty contempt.  I
 look at Mulder lying motionless on the ground.  Micki raises
 the lamp and her eyebrows.  I nod towards the computer.
 "Over there... t-take it."

 "Well, that was easy," Tre says, smiling coldly.  "Get it,
 Micki."

 "Yes sir, Tre, sir."  She leans completely over the desk, her
 leg gracefully outstretched in the air, and plucks the disk out
 of the computer.  "Well, that was a fun five minutes."

 "We should try it.  See if it's got the information," Tre says to
 her.

 "I'm hungry.  Pancakes!  We'll kill him later if we don't like it.
 Right, Krycek?  We can kill you later."

 I nod.  "Yeah, kill me later." I lick my lips, tasting a mixture of
 my own blood with Mulder's.  Please don't be dead, Mulder.
 I pull away from Tre and run to him.   Tre looks at me, then
 laughs disgustedly. They leave us, and I kneel over his body,
 the tears coming despite my incredible need to keep it all
 inside.  There's blood puddling around his head.

 I fumble around, feeling for a pulse on his wrist.  Fucking
 watch in the way! The tears are rolling, finally released from
 the carefully constructed mental walls that I had created to
 distance myself from these feelings.  He can't be gone.

 "Don't be gone," I gurgle.  "D-don't." I get the watch off and
 feel for the beat of his blood throbbing.  I feel it.  Faint, but
 there.  Thank you, God, thank you.

 I take my cell phone out of my pocket and make a call.  It
 won't be easy moving his body out of here, but I have no
 choice.  I can't leave him here.  I look at him, his eyes shut,
 and I wish they'd open for me.  I can't bear never being able
 to look into those eyes again.  I'll save you, Mulder, I swear I
 will.  Maybe there's a road out of hell yet.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 I wring out the washcloth under the running faucet,
 squeezing Mulder's blood out of it.  I drench it in fresh cold
 water, then wring it out again.  He's clean by now, I know he
 is, but I'm all nervous energy.  I walk over to them.

 I called in a few favors and got an old pal, Cindy, to come
 over and help me.  I couldn't have moved him without her.
 She used to be a vet back in the states before moving to
 Hong Kong, having become a popular watercolor artist here.
 I met her a long, long time ago, but she owes me.

 "Well?" I croak, wiping the sweat off my brow.  She secures
 the bandage on his head, then stands up.

 "Geez, Alex, you really should get him to a doctor.  A real
 doctor?"

 "I can't do that."  I kneel in front of him and begin to dab the
 washcloth along his forehead.  "He's doing ok, right?"

 "Well, his vitals are fine, but it looks like he may have a
 concussion. Are you going to tell me how this happened?"

 He looks so peaceful, gentle even.  "I can't tell you that,
 Cindy.  You wouldn't want to know, anyways, believe me."

 "Well, shit.  I guess I've done all I can do then, Alex.  Good
 thing you had some clothes that fit him." She begins to pick
 her things up off of the coffee table.  "I've gotta go.  I have a
 real life now.  But I strongly suggest you take him to a
 hospital.  He might have brain damage.  You don't want to
 fuck around with this."

 I know that.  Don't you think I know that?  I want to scream in
 her face.  But I fucked up.  Big time.  Once Micki and Tre
 find out that the disc is worthless, they'll come looking for
 me. Normally, it's no big deal.  I could give a fuck.  But they'll
 try to hurt me by killing Mulder.  And they'll check the
 hospitals. It's the first place they'll look.  His life won't be
 worth shit. How about that, Cindy? Huh?

 "Thanks for your help," I say tersely.  She looks at me
 blankly.  "You can go now."

 "I'll show myself the door."

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 "And you see, Mulder, this is Meg Ryan.  Look at that outfit
 she's wearing."  I point to her, wearing something she
 obviously ordered out of Gap for Trailer Hos.  "It says here
 she won some sort of award, but it doesn't say for what.  I'm
 guessing it's for sucking Russell Crowe's cock, but I can't be
 sure."

 Mulder lays there on my couch, his eyes shut.  I'm changed
 into black sweats and a T-shirt.   I've seated myself on the
 floor next to him, my back resting on a big, black bean bag,
 reading an old People magazine that was here when I
 moved in.  I think I've read it to him five times now, back to
 back. Yeah, it's not the kind of magazine Mulder usually
 "reads," but it's all I've got.

 "And here's a picture of Oprah.  She won an award, too, I
 guess.  I don't think it had anything to do with Russell
 Crowe's cock.  Well, who knows?  I guess it could, I suppose.
 Oprah's an attractive woman.  And Russell gets around.
 He'd probably let Carrot Top suck it."

 I turn the page and begin to read the story about brave little
 Tracey Gold.  Man, I need to get some new magazines.
 Maybe I can bribe the kid next door to go buy me some.

 I sigh and close the magazine, looking at him.  "You sick of
 this shit, Mulder?  I know I am.  Maybe I'll make us some of
 my world-famous stir-fry that I know you love.  Well, you
 pretend to love it just to make me happy, don't you?" Hey,
 I'm taking care of him.  I get to make up the delusions, ok?

 I throw the magazine onto the coffee table and look at his
 still hand.  He has nice hands.  I've really never gotten to
 look at them before.  It's so hard when he's beating the shit
 out of me.  Without thinking, I slide my hand over his and
 grip it softly.

 I breathe deep and shut my eyes.  I want to savor this, this
 intimacy I don't deserve, this touch that I could not possibly
 earn.  The air seems sweeter, somehow.   Clearer.

 I look up at his face, resting peacefully.  "You're so beautiful,
 Fox."  I try out his first name.  It feels pleasant rolling off my
 tongue.  "Fox," I whisper my confession in his ear.  "I know
 that I've done...shitty things....hah... I know you probably
 hate me.  It's ok.  I hate myself for what I've done to you. But
 I want you to know... I love you.  Every time you hit me,
 every insult you spat at me... I never stopped loving you." I
 swallow, then lay my head on his arm, taking in his scent.

 We lay there, and I hold him as I cry.  I cry for every fucking
 mistake I ever made and every fucking sin that I committed
 against Mulder.  His shirt absorbs them all.  I don't bother to
 adjust the blinds as the sun goes down.

 I awake in darkness, the steady breathing of Mulder next to
 me.  I squint, looking at the digital clock.  2:01a.m.  Gotta get
 a drink.  I finally release my grip of Mulder's hand and push
 myself up.  Gotta steady myself or I'll trip right over that
 damn leg on the coffee table.  Whatta night.

 "D-don't..." A voice, gravelly, but urgent, whispers from
 Mulder's lips.

 I kneel back down in front of him.  "F-, uh, Mulder?  You
 there, buddy?"

 "Don't.... don't leave me," he whimpers, and then is silent.

 My hand goes back to his, squeezing it firmly.  "No! No, I
 won't leave you, F-fox."  I wait for him to correct me.  He
 doesn't. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."  He says
 nothing, but faintly, oh so faintly, he squeezes back, his
 fingers touching mine.  One final tear, one I didn't know I had
 left, waters up in my eye.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 The sun blazes through the blinds like a white-orange
 headlight, and I hold my hand up, protecting my eyes. I feel
 panic, wondering if I dreamed him onto my couch.  I look at
 him, but his eyes are still shut.  Still here.  I have to pull my
 hand away from him.  He's actually gripping it.  He's holding
 *my* hand.

 "Be back in a minute, Fox.  Gotta shut these motherfucking
 blinds."  I shamble over to the windows and adjust the
 blinds, shutting out the light.  Ahh, better.  "You want a
 drink?  Juice? Well, no, we better get you some water first.
 You drink some water, I'll get you some freshly bought
 orange juice.  None of that expired crap you usually drink." I
 laugh at my own joke and walk to the fridge, opening it.

 I pour a glass of juice for myself and then down it quickly.  I
 grab a bottled water and walk back to Sleeping Beauty.

 "Fox?" I ask, holding the nozzle of the water bottle up to his
 lips, a drop of water wetting his mouth.  "Drink up," I say,
 tenderly.  God, maybe I should take him in, despite the risk.
 Every minute he doesn't get the care he needs...   Fuck, I'm
 going to have to. I can't risk that he's gone into a coma.

 "What are we going to do with you, Fox?" As I look at him,
 resting there, he *moves,* slightly. And his tongue darts out,
 licking the drop of water on his lips.  He lets out a cough, and
 I bring the bottle back.

 "Drink, drink!" I urge, and he sucks the water down slowly,
 coughing, lifting his head.  "Easy, easy, Fox.  Not too much."
 I pull it away, and he lets his head rest back down, his eyes
 blinking awake.

 He looks into mine, smiling.  He looks different somehow.
 I've never seen him this...happy... in my presence.

 He licks the moisture off his lips.  "Who," he croaks, then
 swallows.  "Who are you?"

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter Two

Finally, I can rest.  It's been a hell of a day.  But a good one.
 I feel good in a way that I never have before.  That I'm
 nurturing life instead of extinguishing it.  It's weird.  And I'm
 glad he's still out of it, asking me my name, where he is.
 When he's delirious, I can pretend that he likes me, cares
 about me.  Pathetic, I know.  Well, it's all I've got, and I'll
 take every fucking scrap I can get.

 I slink into my favorite comfy recliner, which is facing the
 couch and my sleeping Fox.  I've never really cared for this
 apartment, but now, having him here... It feels like home.
 Whatever the fuck that is!  Like I've ever had any decent
 definition of home.   But this....this is it... this is home.  Fox
 Mulder is the home I've spent my whole wasted, stupid life
 looking for.  I just want to look at him, laying there like a gift
 from God.

 He kinda looks like hell.

 After waking up, he threw up on the coffee table, specifically
 on a picture of Meg Ryan.  I'm sure it was nothing personal,
 Meg.  At least you don't have to clean it up.

 Then he drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the
 day.  Each time he'd wake up, I swear his eyes would gleam
 and smile warmly at me.  I'm not imagining it, I'm not!  It's
 something that I've only seen him do with Scully, never me.
 It takes my breath away every time he does it, every time he
 looks at me like that, without hate, without contempt.  It's the
 sweetest feeling I've ever known.  It's like he's giving me
 back a piece of myself that I never knew was missing.  Well,
 I know now, and I never want to lose it.  Never.

 Dusk is falling again.  I think he's getting better.  And I'm not
 sure what that means.  Where we go from here.

 "Oahhhhhhhhh..."  Fox moves his arms, stretching his whole
 body in a yawn.   He turns, blinking his eyes, smiling at me.  I
 lean forward in my seat, smiling back.   Ok, I'm lovin' it, but it
 *is* weird.  This is usually the part where he tries to kill me.
 Rod Serling?  Are you there?  "Hi," he says sweetly. "Can I
 have some...." he points the water bottle just out of reach.
 "....some water?"

 "Y-yeah.  Yeah! Of course!" I stammer, practically tripping
 over myself to get him the water he wants.  I hold the tip of
 the bottle up to his lips and raise my eyebrows and open my
 lips, like a mother would to a child, beckoning him to mimic
 me and open up.

 He grabs the bottle from me, grinning.  "I got it," he says
 with a wink.  "Thank you, though." He takes a couple of
 drinks, slowly, carefully.

 Duh! He *is* conscious.  I don't have to treat him like a
 baby. I had just gotten so use to tending to him.  It was nice.
 Careful, Alex.  You're headed for a long, long fall, asshole, if
 you think things are going to be *poof*, wonderful.

 He sits up and scoots back up against the arm of the couch
 so he's more upright.  Without thinking, I'm putting another
 pillow behind his back, before he's even asked for it.

 "Thanks," he smiles.  I've never expected to see him smile
 at me like that once in my life, and now he's giving them
 away like it's Christmas Day.  "What's your name?" he
 whispers, his voice sounding haggard.

 Again with the name.  If he doesn't know, I'm not sure I
 wanna tell him.  It might snap him out of his confusion, and
 my thinly constructed house of cards will tumble and fall. My
 heart speeds up and fear overtakes me.  Fuck, I'm scared.
 I'm scared.  I pretended he was mine.  My friend, my lover.
 He's not, and he never will be.  I wish I could tell him that I
 love him and that it would be *okay*.  That he would say 'of
 course' and his eyes wouldn't blacken and grow cold and
 hard.

 "I...I'm sorry," he says, reacting to reluctance to talk.  "I
 can't remember.  My memories... I can't recall." He looks
 around the apartment.  "This place.  It's like I've never seen
 it before."

 He starts to cough, then he looks at me, his eyes studying
 me.  I should look away, but I can't.  "And you..." He shakes
 his head sadly, then looks down at his hands.  "The way you
 never leave my side, the care on your face that I see each
 time I wake... I must know you, and yet I don't remember."

 My mouth gets incredibly dry.  "Y-you don't remember
 anything?"

 "I'm sorry." And by the tone of his voice he sounds very
 much so.  Like he's letting me down by not remembering.
 Then he brings his hand up to my face, touching it softly.
 "You mean something to me, don't you?"

 I nod slowly, my lips parted.

 "We've known each other for the longest time."

 "Yes," I whisper, barely audible.

 "You...you love me?" he asks like a child.

 "Yes," I say, slurring it to get it out of my mouth, as fast as I
 can.

 "And I... I love you.  I love you, don't I?"

 "I--" my voice croaks and my eyes are blurry, why are they
 blurry? I blink, letting the tears roll down my face.

 "Hey," he says, smiling, his finger running the tear back up.
 "It's okay."

 I lean in and hug him, holding on as tight as I can to him and
 this moment, expecting it to vanish like all my hopes and
 dreams usually do.

 "Ohh! Easy, easy," he says, and I laugh, letting go of him.

 "I just," I gush.  "I just never thought I'd hear you...say..."
 My voice trails off.

 "It's okay.  God, I wish I could remember!" He looks at me,
 beaming.  "I wish I could remember...what I know in my
 heart," he says softly.  "I feel it.  And I can't even remember
 your name.  Or mine."

 "Alex.  That's mine.  Yours is Fox."

 "Ouch.  I know why I would want to forget that."  He takes
 another drink.  "I love you, Alex," he says slowly,
 methodically, towards a pillow.  "That sounds so right."

 "Yeah, yeah it does." Those words.  Hey God, what kind of
 trick are you pulling here?

 "Well, shit," he says, giving me the once over.  "I did all
 right." His eyes, loving, now muddy up with a lust that was
 never more than a  hint before.  "Fuck, I'm gay.  That's
 something you don't forget."

 I laugh, full and throaty.  I can't believe what's happening to
 me.  I would've given you a head trauma a long time ago if I
 would have known this would be the result.

 "What?" he grins.  "If I'm getting a hard-on looking at you in
 those dirty sweats, I must be gay, right?"

 My eyes dart to his crotch.  Yup.  "You save those dirty
 thoughts for later, Fox.  Maybe you'll find out how gay you
 are."  Ok, this is one of those conversations that usually
 plays in my head.  And I'm saying it out loud.  Holy shit.

 He holds his head.  "Headache." He tilts his head back and
 looks at the ceiling.  "I wish I could remember you, Alex.  I
 feel so...strongly for you and yet I don't remember.  Fuck!
 Everything's lost.  It's like losing every photo album you own,
 only worse." He turns and looks into my eyes, and I lose
 myself in his gaze.  "Our first date, our first kiss.... hell, the
 way you liked to be kissed."

 I place my hand to his, palm to palm, and our fingers
 intertwine.  I lean on him, our bodies together, my head
 resting on his chest.  He brings his other hand up and runs it
 through my hair.

 "Well, hey, we can experience everything again.  It'll be like
 we're doing them for the first time." My heart is dancing and
 I don't care if I'm dreaming anymore.

 "I like doing this," he says, his fingers feeling my hair.  "I
 know that.  I wonder what else I like doing?"

  It's the best fucking dream I've ever had.  Wordlessly, I get
  up, still holding tightly to his hand.  He lifts up, and I help
  him, casually, two people who love each other and who
  might do this every single night.  We sleep in the bedroom
  tonight.  Now and forever.

  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  I wake up and he's gone.  I throw back the covers, my hand
  feeling along the indentation where his body had been.  It
  can't have been a dream.  I catch my breath at the sound of
  water running.  The shower.  He's in the shower. God, for a
  second...

  Shit, it worries me how much I need this.  I just know I don't
  deserve it, and I fully expect it to be taken away from me.
  But until then, I'm going to pretend like he's mine.  For
  good. And he loves me.  He said it.  No one will ever take
  that from me.  It's *mine* and I'll cling to those three words
  echoing in my head until I'm in the fucking ground.

  The water stops, and I hear the slide of the shower door
  screech open.  Damn, I thought I might join him.  I smile at
  the thought.  Maybe tomorrow.

  Fox walks into the bedroom, dripping wet and naked.  Holy
  fucking God.  I mean, let me clarify.  Dammmmmnnnn, he
  looks nice.

  "I don't remember where the towels are," he says, scanning
  the room.  He stops when he notices me gawking.  "Alex?"

  "I, uh, I used the last ones to clean up your puke.  Um,
  you're very naked."  Did I just lick my lips? Oh, for the love
  of Mary!  I scoot a bit back under the covers to hide my
  shameless erection.

  "Yeah, well, I don't have a towel.  Besides, I'm sure you've
  seen me naked  on *countless* occasions, Alex.  Am I just
  too sexy to resist?"  He flexes his arms and poses, arching
  one knee in front of the other, staring into the air like a
  supermodel.  "Do I turn you on, little man, with my incredible
  body?" he says in a thick, silly German accent. Then he puts
  his hands on his hips and begins thrusting the air
  maniacally, his dick slapping up and down.

  "Oh...hheee-hhee...my...hah.... God!!
  Hahhhhhahhahahhha!" I'm laughing harder than I ever
  have in my life, but fuck if I ain't turned on, too.  "Please!
  Stop! You're killin' me!"

  "Look!" Fox pulls a washcloth off the dresser.  "This is vhat
  I haff to work with!" He begins dabbing himself off with the
  small patch of cloth and the sight is just too much.
  "Hahhhahhhhhhaaaaa!" I point, then my laughter turns
  silent.  He evidently finds this funny 'cause he's now
  laughing at me.

  "You laugh at my manliness?" he says, threatening me with
  a damp washcloth.

  "No! No! Back!"  I make the sign of the cross with my
  fingers.  "Back, oh sexy one!"

  He lets the washcloth fall to the floor and he stops smiling,
  his eyes looking at me curiously.  A fear wave shoots
  through me.

  "What? What is it, Fox?" I get up and go to him.

  He blinks and shakes his head.  "I...I just had the strangest
  feeling.  Something incredibly familiar just then.  But then it
  vanished."

  "Something bad?" I'm trying not to let my worry show, but
  I'm failing miserably.

  "No...no.  Something good.  A happy memory.  It was good,
  Alex." He smiles, and I find it impossible not to smile back at
  him, his radiance bright enough for us both.  I love him so
  much.

  "Get dressed, angel." I give his ass a quick slap, something
  that I've always wanted to do.

  "Hey!" he laughs, his dick just a little stiffer.

  "I'll make you breakfast.  You can wear some of my
  clothes." Oh crap.

  "Where are my clothes?" he asks, still amused by my slap.
  He begins to open drawers, rummaging through socks and
  underwear.

  "Ummm, Fox." Think fast, dummy.  "We, uh, we don't live
  together--"

  He crinkles his brow.  "We don't?" he says, sounding
  surprised.

  "Yeah, well, I don't think you were, uh, ready for that in our
  relationship.  You're very independent."  Real fucking
  independent.  Like, stay the fuck away from me Krycek or I'll
  kill you independent.

  "Well, that's stupid of me.  I can't imagine not wanting to be
  with you every single moment.  Do you have some annoying
  habits I don't remember?"  A few, ha-ha.  "Like, do you
  drink the last of the juice and then put the empty carton
  back in the fridge?"

  "No, *you* do that." I wink and pat him on the shoulder.

  "Oh." He looks at the floor and shuffles his feet a bit.  "Well,
  I can change."

  "What?"

  "I can change.  I mean, if that's what's been holding us
  back from living together, then hell, I'll stop doing it.  I like
  sleeping with you.  It's nice.  You can think about it, though.
  I don't want to pressure you.  God, I have so much to get
  caught up on.  I didn't know I was a slob."  He pulls some
  underwear out of the drawer and begins to put them on.

  I'm speechless.  I cannot think of one fucking word to say.
  Fox Mulder just apologized to me for a bad habit.  And he
  clearly wants to live together.  With me.  And I'm Alex
  Krycek.  I shake my head quickly, then slap my face.

  "What's for breakfast?" he says, wearing my underwear,
  smiling.

  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  The message light on the answering machine is blinking.  I
  look around, making sure Fox is still in the other room, and
  then turn down the volume.

  I push play.  "Krycek! Pick up the phone!"  Sorry, pal.  This
  would've been...yesterday?  "Well, anyways.  You know I
  always cover your ass, but now I'm getting F.B.I.! Stupid
  agent nosing around here, asking about *you*. Heh, heh, I
  envy you.  Fine piece of ass, this one."  Why detective, I
  had no idea you swung that way.  "I played stupid, but you
  owe me, Krycek.  I expect a bonus.  Call me."

  I pick up the phone and hit 2 on the speed dial.  C'mon.
  C'mon.  Fuck! Voice mail!  "Listen, detective, don't sweat it.
  The F.B.I. agent... he and I have come to an, uh, an
  agreement.  And don't worry.  You will get paid for this."
  Click.  Time for breakfast.  I'm starved.

  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  "Do I like pancakes?" he says, as I put the plate in front of
  him.

  "Yeah, yeah," I say unconvincingly.  He has to.  I mean,
  who doesn't, right?  Of course, he'd have to be the one odd
  weirdo who just detests pancakes for some reason.  He puts
  a slab of butter on his pancake and swirls it around with his
  fork, watching it dissolve.

  I push the Log Cabin syrup bottle in front of him and take a
  seat beside him.  "It's so stupid," he says, taking the bottle.
  "I have these weird facts in my head.  Stuff about alien
  abductions, ghosts, werewolves... I must read a lot of Time-
  Life Mysteries of the Unknown books."

  I snort.  I try not to, but out it comes, and he looks at me, his
  lips parted in a loving smile.  "This is not fair.  You know
  everything about me.  I'm at a complete disadvantage.  You
  could tell me anything."  He drenches his pancake in an
  obscene amount of syrup.

  "Well, you love to give me head.  I mean, day or night, it's
  all I hear: 'Alex, can I suck your dick? Alex, can I suck you?
  Pleassssse?'"

  It's his turn to snort. "Uh-huh," he says, nodding.  "For
  some reason, I thought it was the other way around."

  "Oh yeah, occasionally.  When you've been good."  I watch
  him take a big bite of pancake, and a droplet of syrup falls
  onto his cheek.  He retrieves it with his tongue, quite deftly.
  Note to self:  Make pancakes more often.

  "Ok," he says between bites.  "How did I get..." he points to
  the bandage on his head.  "...this?  These are excellent by
  the way, Alex.  Man, you're a good cook."

  I squirm in my seat, delighted to get a compliment from him.
  All I ever wanted to do is please him, and now I'm doing it.
  I'm making him happy, and I feel complete.

  "Wait!" he shouts, holding his finger up.  "I do remember
  something. Ohhh, man, it's almost there!" He holds his
  head, closing his eyes.  "Ok, ok!" He opens them and he
  looks giddy.  "You make stir-fry and I tell you I like it even
  though it's really bad, cause I love you and don't want to
  hurt your feelings! Ha!"

  I just stare at him, disbelieving.  He picked up...on what I
  said to him while he was out.  I don't believe it.  He heard it
  on some subconscious level and now he's treating like a
  real memory.

  "Ha!" he repeats triumphantly, shoveling another bite in. He
  then looks back at me, uncertain.  "Oh, hey, I'm sorry.  I
  didn't mean to hurt your feelings." He lifts his fork with a
  dripping piece of pancake.  "You are the king of pancake
  making!"

  "Okay, Fox, that's something that you've never called me
  before.  But I like it."

  "So, what about, you know?" He points back up to his
  bandaged head.

  "Ahh, well.  It's a long story." How do I say this?  It's so
  tricky and I have to be very careful.  Try and keep it simple.
  If you can.  "You were hit in the head.  With a very heavy
  lamp by two people who don't like me too much.  They were
  trying to hurt me by hurting you."

  He takes in one final bite.  "You don't owe a lot on student
  loans, do you?" He smirks.  Same old Mulder humor, new
  Fox attitude.

  "No, that would be really scary. Oh, there's so much that
  you won't understand."

  He reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it.  "I
  understand I love you, Alex.  And that's enough.  Everything
  else? It's just stupid little details." I squeeze back and take a
  deep breath.

 "We have a *unique* relationship, Fox." Understatement.
 "You're an F.B.I. agent.  I'm a...a  spy.  I sometimes go
 deep undercover, working for the bad guys and getting
 classified documents to you... to help with your cases."  Ok,
 Alex, you've just described your wet-dream version of the
 truth. "Back in America, you head up--"

 "Wait. Wait a minute.  We're not in America?" He leans back
 in his chair, trying to get a hold on the idea.

 "No.  You didn't--- Of course not, how could you? We're in
 Hong Kong."

 "Hong Kong? Oh my god. Wow.  Weird."  Bless you, Fox.
 You stay shocked for all of two seconds, then go with it.
 "Okay, go on."

 "Well, two of my enemies... Micki and Tre, just bad news,
 Fox...they ambushed us.  We barely escaped with our lives.
 In fact, that's why I didn't take you to a hospital.  They'll kill
 you to hurt me, and the hospitals will be the first place they'll
 check.

 "I know, Alex," he says tenderly, trying to soothe the guilt
 away.  Ah, if you only knew.

 "We should get you to a doctor.  Make sure everything is in
 working order.  Now that you can walk, it'll be a lot easier.  I
 can disguise myself, for one thing."

 "Wow.  People want to kill me," he says.  "Me!  I'm so nice."
 He gets up and takes his plate to the sink.  I follow, even
 though I haven't even started on my pancake yet.  I just want
 to be with him. "At least I think I'm nice." I stare at a drop of
 syrup sticking in the corner of his mouth, wanting to claim
 that drop for myself.  "I mean... hey, Alex!"

 "Um, yes?" I say, fluttering my eyelashes at him.

 "You're not listening to me, are you?  You're staring at my,
 chin, or something.

 "You know what?" I say, my eyes narrowing.

 "What?" he says cluelessly.

 I grab him by the waist with one hand and pull him to me, our
 faces inches from each other.  "Oh!" he says.  "Oh."

 I tilt my head and lean in, my tongue reaching out, licking the
 maple drop up, just barely touching his lips.  He lets out the
 tiniest of whimpers, barely heard.  "Sticky," I whisper.  "But
 good." His hands are around me, draped comfortably,
 rubbing my back.

 "Is that all I get?" he breathes.  No, God no. Not on your life.
 Our lips brush up against each other.  It's just my lips on his,
 but I feel it everywhere in my body, a warm jolt of electricity
 travelling straight down to my cock.

 He parts his lips slightly, opening for me, and I do the same.
 I raise my free hand up to his face, caressing it, holding it,
 feeling the beautiful curve of that strong, soft line.  I dreamed
 of this every night since I met you, Fox. I feel a short shock
 of pleasure as he darts his tongue in carefully.  My tongue
 responds in kind, finding his, coming home to his, where it
 belongs.  It feels like the most wonderful, normal thing to do.

 We kiss, getting lost in it, not wanting to find our way back.  I
 was so cold without you, Fox, but now you're here.  You're
 mine.  And I'm yours.  The way it should be.  The way it will
 be.

 He pulls away, then comes right back again, kissing me
 quick and deep, then repeating the pattern, attacking me
 with kisses. "I.....mmmmm....like....kissing... you."

 "I...can tell," I say, smiling and holding his face with both
 hands.  "You're a good kisser."

 "Don't sound so surprised!" he volleys back playfully.

 "No.  I'm not surprised."  I always knew you would be.  I just
 never thought I'd get the chance to put you to the test.

 "So, that was our new first kiss.  How does it compare?"

 "Oh, it's...it was wayyy better.  Better than anything we've
 ever done before, Fox.  Now, let's get you to the doctor or
 we're *never* going to get you to the doctor."

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


Chapter Three

Well, that was a fun way to spend the day.  MRI, CAT scan,
 and even then we won't get the test results for at least a
 week.  At least it's over.   For now.  We made it, and not a
 peep from my two favorite psychotic assassins.

 I unlock the door to my apartment and turn the knob.  Fox
 continues to just stare at me.

 "Don't take this the wrong way, Alex."

 "Yessss?"

 "You look horrible!  The homeless look...it's just not working
 for you."  I look down at my scruffy looking shoes and back
 up to my mud-splattered, ripped-up trenchcoat.  I take off the
 hood and play with my fake beard.

 "You mean you don't like me with a beard?" I smile.

 "You look like a cross between Rob Zombie and a diseased
 pirate."

 I swing the door open and limp in, dragging one foot behind
 me.  "Arrrrr, you insult me and me mother!"

 "It is a pretty good disguise, though.  I'd *never* recognize
 you in that get-up."

 I nod. "Eh? See? And neither would Tre or Micki.  Don't
 worry, I'm going to change.  Just for you, though.  Sit down.
 I'll get you a drink."  Mulder plops down onto the couch and
 leans back.  He looks tired, but happy.  I leave him, walking
 into the bedroom.

 I throw off my grubbies and put them in a pile at the foot of
 the bed.  I put on my 501's and a black T-shirt.  I take a deep
 breath and pose in front of the mirror, adjusting my hair a bit.
 "I could *so* get used to this," I say to myself.  "Having
 him." It's like I'm cheating God or something.  "And tonight, I
 want to have him.  I want to fuck Fox Mulder's brains out."

 I walk back out, through the living room and straight to the
 kitchen.  "What do you want?" I yell over the breakfast bar
 divider.  "I'm having a shot...or two... of Jack Daniels, but
 you should probably take it easy."

 No answer.  I look over quickly, that fear tapdancing on my
 stomach.  He's on the couch.  Sleeping.  Wellllllll, fuck me.
 Guess someone isn't getting lucky tonight.

 I pour him some water, just in case he wakes up, and me a
 double-shot of Jack.  Grabbing both, I make my way into the
 living room, still high on having him in my life, in my
 apartment.  And having him want to be there.

 I put his drink down on the table and sit back into my
 recliner, adjusting the foot rest.  Ahhhhh.  Fuck, yeah, baby.
 Archie Bunker had the right idea.

 The stereo sits there in the fading light, silent.  I stare at it,
 not wanting to get up.  Some music would be nice.  I wonder
 if Fox likes the same kind of music.  Remote.  Chair cubby.  I
 fumble down the side into the lazy man's plastic snack
 holder that came with the chair and pull out a piece of
 plastic. Score.

 I don't quite remember what CD's were qued up last time I
 was here.  It's been months since I bothered to listen to
 anything. It's been years since I enjoyed anything.   I hit the
 power button, then the CD button.  A little red light blinks on
 my remote, and a light on the stereo signals back.

 The soft, lazy beat of drums leisurely and steadily wind
 through the speakers, followed by an organ and a guitar.
 Mark Knofpler is picking at the strings, setting up the urban
 scene for one of his everyday stories of people trying to find
 their way.  Dire Straits.  One of my favorites, the Rollergirl
 one, "Skateaway."

 His nasal voice, craggy and whiskey-tinged, seems reverent
 and bemused at the same time, spooling a sweet, sad little
 tale of a girl in rollerskates, oblivious to the city around her.
 She has her music and her skates.  The rest of the world?
 They can go to hell.  I like her.

 Ooo, ooo, this line:  "But the rollergirl she's taking chances,
 they just love to see her take them all." Something in that
 resonates deeply in me, like he wrote the song thinking of
 me.  She makes her own path and finds her own way and
 the rest of the world watches her go by, just watching,
 unable to even think of trying to keep up.

 Oh yeah, the guitar, the drums, and then the piano joins in,
 the melody so sad somehow, sweeping, sneaking in, and
 you could cry without knowing why you feel the way you do. I
 sing softly along with the words as he takes me by the hand
 to the chorus.  "No fears alone at night she's sailing through
 the crowd, in her ears the phones are tight and the music's
 playing loud..." The guitar seems to cry, and there's a beat,
 beat, beat as Mark draws a breath, ready to nail it.

 I take a deep breath too, quietly, feeling the overwhelming
 sense of melancholy in his voice and guitar that I know is to
 come.

 "She gets rock n roll, a rock n roll station and a rock n roll
 dream," I sing, softly, looking at a curl of Fox's hair, wanting
 to touch it and brush it off his forehead, a lifetime's worth of
 disillusionment gone with it.

 My voice catches, and somebody else picks up the next line.
 With eyes still shut, his head tilted up towards the ceiling,
 Fox sings, "She's making movies on location, she don't
 know what it means..."  He knows the song.  He knows the
 words! It shouldn't be a big deal, but somehow it is.  It is.

 I smile, and we both catch the next line together, our voices
 in unison.  "And the music make her wanna be the story and
 the story was whatever was the song what it was..."

 He opens his eyes and sits up, flashing me a toothy grin.
 Getting up, he comes to me, singing louder and shaking his
 head with a funny, mock sadness.   "Rollergirl, don't
 worry..." He takes my hand and pulls me to standing, and we
 serenade each other at the top of our lungs.  "D.J. play the
 movies..." Then our voices go back to a plaintive whisper.
 "All night long...all night long."

 There's a loud banging on the ceiling and what sounds like
 some bad Cantonese words being shouted through the
 walls. We look at each other and burst out laughing.  Fox
 leans his forehead on my shoulder, his laughter silent and
 wonderful. His other hand is around my waist as sure and as
 right as anything could ever be.

 "Maybe they're Led Zepplin fans?" Unabashedly, stupidly,  I
 giggle for the first time in my life.

 Quickly, he raises his head and kisses me on the cheek.  "I
 love you," he whispers in my ear, the words as thick and
 comfortable as an old, favorite coat.

 The words hit me harder than his fists ever did.  "I love you,"
 I return, still dumbfounded that I have the permission to say
 that now instead of just thinking it.  That it won't be met with
 a look of scorn and a fist in the face.  "I love you," I say
 again, greedily, as if my privilege might be revoked at
 anytime.  I can't take anything for granted.

 "I, uh, I think I forgot something in the bedroom," he says,
 jerking his thumb back towards the hallway.

 He leans in and our foreheads touch and rest on each other.
 "That is, without a doubt," I whisper, " the *worst* come-on
 line I've ever heard, Fox."

 "Heh. That wasn't subtle? I thought it was pretty clever--" I
 close my eyes and shut him up the way I've always wanted
 to shut up Fox Mulder, my mouth on his.  It's the argument
 he can't win. He moans helplessly against me as we kiss,
 and his hands cling to my back, urgently.

 I push him up against the wall, and the stereo shakes, the
 CD player hiccuping the next song, U2, headed for where
 the streets have no name.  I roughly grab his shirt by the
 bottom edge and lift.  Fox's arms go up, and the shirt goes
 flying as I peel it off of him.

 My hands run immediately around his waist possessively.
 I've worked so hard to get to this moment... I can't help but
 feel greedy about it.  I want him so fucking bad.  My hands
 and lips are in disagreement over which part of him to
 corrupt first.   One look into his dazed, darkened, lust-swirled
 eyes and I see that there is precious little innocent to corrupt.
 It's as if he's been waiting all these years for me to just up
 and do this.  To take him.  Who knew?

 He puts his arms and hands around my shoulders and pulls
 my head closer till it's resting in the crook of his neck.

 "Shirt," he says and then closes his eyes, forgetting himself
 as my mouth claims his neck. Kisses, short and hot, pelt his
 tender white flesh, leaving tiny red welts that burn brightly
 before fading back to their former paleness.  God, I could
 just devour him.

 He pulls weakly at my shirt.  "Off," he says, and it sounds
 like pleading. I lift my arms, and he lifts it off of me and
 throws it blindly as hard as he can.  Then we touch.

 Our bodies shiver, our naked chests touching each other for
 the first time.  The electricity between our flesh instantly fuels
 my cock as it strains against my sweats. His lips...I can't stay
 away...are mine again, I can't believe they're mine.  But the
 way he kisses me back, giving himself as if to answer, "Yes,
 Alex. Yes.  They're yours and always will be."

 Between kisses, I steal a glance down, his cock pressing into
 me through his jeans.  It looks painful.  Maybe there's
 something I can do about that.  I hold his head firmly by the
 back of his neck, kissing his mouth, my tongue not wanting
 to leave his.  Still my other hand is happily free, and I reach
 down and give his hard cock a squeeze through his jeans.
 He moans and inches his pelvis forward, thrusting his cock
 into my hand.  Mine.

 It's not easy to do, but if I want something bad enough, I
 usually get it.  With one hand,  I fumble with his belt, willing
 the fucking thing to cooperate.  It does, seemingly wanting to
 be as undone as badly I want it to be.

 I finally break our embrace, having to look at my handiwork.
 The straps hang there invitingly.  It's a good look on him.   I
 get down on my knees, not stopping to breathe, think,
 anything. Gripping the top edge of his jeans with my teeth, I
 separate the tight denim from the metal button.

 With one hand, I pull on the willing line of buttons on his
 jeans, undoing each and every one in an impressive display
 of dexterity.  Button-fly 501s.  Gotta love 'em... I wonder if
 this is what they mean by a zipless fuck?

 His cock springs forward, albeit still behind the thin cotton
 confines of the underwear that I've lent him.  I'm beginning
 to regret lending him any.

  I tilt in and nuzzle it with my face, running my nose around
  his hardness, leaving tiny kisses, each one eliciting a feeble
  whimper, a hint of what's to come.

 I look up at him, but his eyes are shut and he doesn't see
 me, studying him, memorizing every line of his beautiful face.
 It's always been beautiful, but the love and the *trust*, the
 trust  that he's now giving me as easily as if it were a tic-tac...
 it's... I don't think I've seen anything as precious.

 I raise up and kiss down his stomach, leaving a trail of wet
 fire that will not be fully extinguished until I engulf his cock
 with my mouth.  I need it in my mouth, and I know he needs
 it, too.  That he's always needed it.  God. Chair. Now.

 I stand up, and he blinks at me questioningly.  I nod back
 towards the recliner.  "You, uh."

 "Mmmmm" he nods back, shuffling towards the chair.  It's
 amazing that we communicate at all at this point.  This
 mono- syllabic muttering is the best we can muster, but it
 does the trick.  He starts to sit and I stop him, my hand
 grabbing the loose belt strap.  I pull on it ---my little Fox
 leash--- and his body slaps nicely up against mine.  He lets
 out a tiny gasp.

 Every part of my body is coursing with lust, from the muscles
 in my legs to the deep aching throb in my crotch and up to
 my mouth that wants to devour every goddamned inch of
 him. I swear to God, before the night is through,  I will.

 His eyes lower and his lips part, and I don't think I could ask
 for a better signal.  We kiss, torturously slow, savoring the
 hot wetness of each other's mouths.  I feel pleasantly light-
 headed.  God, I want him.   I want to taste like him. His
 hands are around my neck, his fingers running through my
 hair.

 He rubs his cock against mine, a gentle reminder that it
 doesn't care for being ignored.  I give in to the overpowering
 compulsion to rip off his jeans.  One final kiss and I'm on my
 knees, my greedy, excited hands pulling his pants down
 around his ankles.

  He returns a grin, giving me a dopey gaze, and I push my
  addled lover back down onto the comfy softness of his
  recliner.    I think this is about to become his favorite chair.
  My mouth grows wet, anticipating his sweet cock inside it.

 I take the bunched up jeans hanging loosely and pull them
 off completely off his bare feet.  Ah, better.  Almost.  I grab
 his hips and pull up.

 "Lift," I whisper, and he complies, thrusting his crotch in the
 air.  Finding a snug grip,  I pull his underwear, the last
 obstacle between me and what I want, down and off of him.
 He quickly spreads his legs apart, granting me full access.

 Delicately, I feather-glide my fingers reverently from the tip
 down to the shaft, eliciting a whimper-growl.  I lean on his
 taut thighs and lower my mouth down to his engorged dick,
 tasting the smooth, sweet flesh.

 My lips hover above the hard shaft, teasing him with my
 tongue, flicking at the tip.  He shudders, and I know this
 exquisite torture is killing him.  Hell, it's killing me not to be
 sucking.  He thrusts, just barely, and his cock dances in the
 air, begging for my wet mouth.

 Well, okay.  I envelop that perfectly smooth tip with my lips,
 and his fingers reflexively scratch against the upholstery of
 the chair.  He breathes in sharply.

 I steady the stiff pink flesh with my hand, giving the base a
 good squeeze.  My tongue darts out, chasing itself and
 fluttering around the cockhead.

 "Uhhhh," he whines helplessly, cutting through the silence.
 He follows it with an exhale and shuts his eyes.  My own
 cock twinges when I hear him.

 I lift his cock and lick up the underside, worshipping it, flicking
 with my nimble tongue.  He lays there, his body stiff but
 weak, rigid but completely powerless at the tip of my tongue.
 Funny how something so little can make another person an
 eager, willing slave.  Tonight, we're both slaves.  To each
 other.  Me to his dick, him to my tongue.

 His hands lie gently on my shoulders.  I feel the tension in his
 hands as he rubs the back of my neck.  He's so tender, but I
 can *feel* the coiled passion in his fingers.  He *wants* to
 grab me by the head and fuck my mouth.  He's trying so
 hard to be good and not rush me, and it turns me on even
 more.

 I steady his cock by wrapping my fingers around the base
 and slide the cock, now giving up a tiny bit of precum, into
 my warm, wet mouth.

 "Uhhhhhh," he repeats, moaning through clenched teeth.
 His body bucks, and his fingers grab me by the hair like he
 might jerk and pull on it in ecstasy, but again the barely-there
 control stops him.  Instead, his fingers content themselves
 with running listlessly through my hair.

 I take his cock deep into my mouth, my tongue rushing and
 darting along the underside of the shaft.  He moans and
 answers by thrusting his hips, his hardened shaft going in as
 far as it can.  I gag slightly, but the feeling passes, and I
 begin to bob my head up and down carefully, methodically.
 His fingers wrap themselves in my sweaty hair and begin to
 push and pull with each thrusting of his hips.  Shit, I think I
 might come right here.

 "Ohhhhhgahhhh," is all he can say in response to the full,
 plunging friction of my mouth fucking his cock.  His hands
 are pressing down on me harder, faster, and shit-fuck-yeah I
 want it, God how I want it.  Just take it, Fox, take it.

 His fingers let go, then grab ahold again, then release,
 doubtful.  "G-guh...gonna... nooo..."

 I raise up off of him for two seconds, my breath hot on him.
 "I want you to come for me, Fox."  Then I engulf him again,
 filling the emptiness with his beautiful, swollen cock.  It's
 ready to explode, whenever I want it to.

 And I want it to.  All argument dissolves into wordless
 mewling, and his fingers are back, intertwined with strands of
 my hair, pushing and pulling in time with the bobbing of my
 head.

 Come.  Do what you've been wanting to do since I first
 walked up to you and let you know that the case was
 *mine*, Mulder.  Let me know how you wanted to make
 *me* yours.

 "Oh. Uhhh...uhhh... Alllllllllllexxxxx..... mmmm....."  He starts
 to thrust his hips, reaching a fever pitch, and my tongue
 makes hard, determined circles, spinning around his cock.
 That's it, he can't hold on, he comes, his voice moaning my
 name.  A steady stream floods my mouth, and I swallow the
 hot, slippery fluid, gulping it down quickly and hungrily.  He
 pumps into me one final time, an aftershock of pleasure
 overtaking him.

 He's done, and his eyes are fluttering now.  My hair hurts,
 but I could really give a shit.  It's a good kind of Fox just
 came in my mouth hurt.  It's the most intense feeling of my
 life, and I just want to ride that wave forever.  If I keep my
 eyes shut, maybe I can stay in this moment, trapping it,
 holding it, denying the next moment its due.  But then I could
 never fuck him.  And hell, I have to.  We both need this.  I let
 his slightly softening cock slide out of my mouth, taking a
 breath and looking up.

 "Iloveyou," he breathes, looking down at me, his eyes
 tearing.  I'd answer back at him, but my throat catches,
 unable to respond to the raw emotion and need in his voice.
 It's something I've always heard from him just under the
 surface.  Now it's bubbled up like I never thought it would.

 "I..." he starts, his voice wavering.  "I'm so...so...sorry!" He
 starts to cry now, one hand on his head.

 "What? Fox? What's the matter?"

 He shakes his head.  "I can't remember.  Making love to
 you. I wish I could.  You're everything I could ever want, you
 know.  And I can't remember.  It *feels* like coming home,
 and yet I have no memory of what home is."

 "Hey, it's all right.  Fox, it's okay." I touch his cheek and
 wipe away a tear.  God, what a shit I am.  He doesn't
 remember, suuuuure.  I wonder why?  Maybe it's because,
 oh, I don't know, in a previous life he would've sooner shot
 me than kissed me.  And yet, the love he feels is real.  I
 *know* it just didn't appear out of nowhere.  It always
 existed, waiting for a happy accident to release it.  I'm not
 forcing something that isn't there.

 "What did I do to deserve you?" he asks, his hand taking
 mine.  "You've put up with so much."

 "Yeah," I sigh, unable to keep a grin off my face.  "It's a
 good thing you have such a nice ass."

 He laughs, smiling through the tears.  "I guess we have to
 keep fucking till I remember." He rubs his eyes, bringing
 back some of the dark lust to them.

 "Guess so," I say coyly.  I stand, and Fox's eyes go directly
 to my crotch, my hard cock threatening to burst out of my
 sweats.  It's hard to miss, really.  "I wouldn't mind fucking
 that sweet ass of yours."  I pause.  "I mean, I want to do my
 part to help you with your recovery."

 "Of course," he says, nodding.  "That's very admirable of
 you."

 "I think I forgot something in the bedroom."

 His eyes seem to glint.  "That's the worst line--" I don't let
 him finish and walk out, leaving him to follow me.  Well, he
 better goddamn follow anyways.

 I dig through my chest of drawers,  looking for my trusty
 Astroglide lube.  I haven't used it in awhile, but I know it's
 here.  I always keep it on hand, even if I don't get laid that
 often.  It's like a can of Campbell's soup.  You may not ever
 eat it, but it's nice to know it's there in case you're starving.
 Okay, maybe I should stick to thinking up metaphors when
 my brain isn't suffering from lust-related meltdown.

 Ah. Ah. Here it is. I hold up the container, the moonlight
 gleaming off of it.  It shines bright, like the Holy fucking Grail.

 "Whatcha got?" Fox says, walking into the room, looking like
 a dream, completely naked, and semi-erect.

 I set it down and embrace him, pressing my lips to his.  I
 can't take one single beautiful kiss for granted, cause I know
 it may be my last.  "Why...mmmmmmm...don't I show you?"
 I grab his cock and give it a good squeeze, feeling it harden
 beneath my fingers.  Back for more, eh?

 "Yes, show me, Alex.  Do the things I like.  The stuff we
 always do."  Ohhhh, Fox.

 I swallow.  "Th-the bed.  You prefer to fuck on the bed." Any
 second I just expect him to say, "Yeah, right, Krycek! Get
 that thing away from me!"  But he doesn't.  The hungry look
 in his eyes tells me all that I need to know.  I'm not taking
 this.  It's being given.

 He gets on the bed and crawls across it slowly, arching his
 back slightly.  Why, Fox, what a tease you are.  "Like this?"
 he says, looking back.  Yes.  Yes.  Goddamn, exactly like
 that.  He lifts his ass a bit and I'm there running my hand
 over it.

 He takes a sharp breath but doesn't fight back as I take a
 nice, firm, full ass cheek in my hand and cup it.  I squeeze it
 then slap it, and he jumps.  I watch the red spot evaporate
 back into milky Mulder flesh.  "Um, you like that," I say
 apologetically.

 "I can tell," he grins.  "Do it again."  I don't even think about
 it.  My hand comes up and thwacks him again, and he gasps
 despite himself.  His knees tremble a bit and he leans
 forward to give himself more support with his arms.  I get to
 enjoy the bonus of having him offering his ass to me like this.
 I climb onto the bed behind him.   What a view.

 Leaning in, I growl in his ear, "Such a nice ass." I grip it
 again,  and he inhales sharply.

 Never wanting to be totally empty-handed, I grab his cock
 and stroke it with my free hand.  I begin to leave short, hard
 kisses along his back, listening to his pants and moans. God!

 My cock is straining to get out of these restrictive sweats and
 into Fox.  Shit, I wish I didn't have to stop touching him to
 strip, but we all have to make sacrifices, I suppose.

 "Jus'...minute..." I say, sounding as inarticulate as a
 drugged out crack whore or the U.S. president at a press
 conference. I let go of him, but I'm still unable to keep from
 staring at him. Fox Mulder, naked and leaning on all fours,
 waiting for me to fuck him.  Jesus wept.

 Practically falling off the bed, I pull off my sweats and
 underwear, hopping and then throwing them across the
 room, headed for, where? I don't give a fuck.

 I reach for the Astroglide and open it, squeezing a dollop
 onto my hands.  It's kind of cold.  I rub my hands together,
 warming it up and greasing my hands up at the same time.
 Niiiice.  I squeeze another blob onto my hands and the bottle
 slides out of my hands and onto the floor.  For the second
 time in my life, I start to giggle.

 "You ok back there?" he whispers good-naturedly over his
 shoulder.

 "Yeah.  Don't you worry." I slide a lubricated hand on my
 eager cock, slicking it up for Mulder's ass.  I slap his ass
 again and he lets out a tiny yelp, more out of surprise than
 pain.

 I climb on the bed again, wasting no time.  I grab his ass and
 begin to caress along the crack softly, teasing with my
 fingers,  getting it nice and slippery.  I let my fingers, messy
 with the slick goo, slide up and down the crack of his ass.  I
 find his passage and slip two fingers into it, gently.

 "Uhhhh," he yells, bucking beneath me.  He digs his
 fingernails into the comforter,  his face wincing.

 I finger him, now adding a third.  They slip in and out softly,
 carefully, priming him for what I know he really wants in
 there.  For what I want in there.  "Yes," he whines,
 answering a question that no one has voiced.

 I can't help myself.  I grab his cock with my free hand and
 begin to jerk him, the lube allowing me a good, powerful
 glide.

 I nuzzle my penis at the entrance of his ass, lightly touching
 him, pushing away my fingers that are working him.  It's all I
 can do to keep myself from shoving it in.  Fuck, I got to. I got
 to.

 I hover above his ass for seconds before bringing the tip up
 to his now-quite-slick passage.  I tease him, pushing into him
 just barely.

 "UHH!" he shouts, before his voice disappears altogether in
 a silent scream.  He clenches his eyes shut and begins to
 breathe through his teeth, making a sharp hissing noise.

 I take a deep breath of my own and then push the full length
 of my shaft slowly in, then rest, forcing myself not to move.
 Niiiice and easy.  Let him get used to me.  Wait for the
 burning to fade.  Oh God, oh God, fuckfuckfuck.

 "Uhhhhhh, " he groans as I move slightly.  He's tight, but
 that's why they invented lube.  Lube. It makes everything
 better.

 His face winces from the initial pain.  "It'll get better," I
 promise.  "Really, really better."  I slowly pull out, leaving
 nothing but the tip in him, then I push it back in, as far as I
 can.  I begin to pump, giving in to the urge that I've bottled
 up for so long.

 "Yesyesyes, " he whines, and I know that the burn that he
 first felt is now flowering into pleasure.

 "Uhh." For you.  "Uhh." My love.  "Uhhh."  I grunt in his ear,
 low and guttural, like an animal, with each steady thrust.   My
 breaths come out shallow and hot on his back.

 I increase the frequency of my thrusts, catching up slowly to
 the rapid speed of my hand around his cock.  From arms to
 elbows, he firmly entrenches himself on the bed so he can
 fully absorb each steady  push of my torso.  He wriggles his
 ass up slightly, trying to give me easier access.  You're a
 prince, dear.  I bite my lip and try and concentrate.  If I can
 get it just right I can hit his gland.  Why the fuck did they
 have to make the g-spot so hard to get to?

 My heart is beating rapidly as I fuck him, his sweet mewling
 mixing with my whiskey-rough grunts.  We make beautiful
 music together, I think.  He tilts his ass just so and I move a
 little to the right, the leverage I've gained minute, but crucial.
 He feels the results immediately, and I know I'm doing it right
 as he cries out in pleasure.

 "UUhhhhhhhhhh! Fuhhhhh!" Oh, that's it.  My cock tenses
 as it reaches its crescendo, and I know I can't stop the
 coming orgasm.  The full weight of me is slamming into him
 now, feverishly pounding him into the creaking bed. The
 neighbors are gonna love this.

 My fist is gripped tightly around his cock, begging him to
 come for me again.  I'll squeeze it out of you yet, Fox
 Mulder.

 "Uh.  Uh.  Uh."  He grunts, his face in the comforter,  as I
 knead his cock into submission, and I feel myself losing it
 along with him.  Every vestige of control is abandoned,
 finally, and he lets out a cry of surrender as his come shoots
 out of him, covering my hand and spurting onto the bed.

 It's all I need.  As if I could ever need anything besides Fox,
 naked and on my bed, screaming syllables that could be my
 name.  I let go of his cock and use both hands to dig into the
 sides of his ass as I vigorously pump.

 With one last thrust, I shoot into him, my come filling him,
 warm and deep.  His body bucks in response, eager to milk
 every drop out of me.  I give it all.  It's yours.  I'm yours.

 We stay there in our wonderfully erotic tableau, unable to
 move or not wanting to.  I don't think it really matters which.
 Finally, I let go of his ass.

 "I..." he says.  "I think that's something I like."  And I can
 hear the sly leer in his voice.

 "Yeah," is all I can think of to say back.  "Yeah."  Fuck, I'm
 spent.  Spent, but happy.  This is how happy people feel.
 I've always wondered.

 I pull out of him slowly, and he kneads the bed with his
 fingers.

 "Uhh. Uhh. Ahhhh," he breathes, and then, like that, I'm out.
 I collapse on the pillow beside him.  He makes a move to get
 up off the bed, but his knees buckle and he falls into a heap,
 landing on my arm.  He drapes his arm and leg over me, and
 I curl the trapped arm around him, embracing him and
 drawing him closer.

 "Can't.  Move," he grins, his breath hot and wonderful on my
 neck.

 "Good," I say.  "I don't want you to leave." My mind is like
 code, all numbers and letters not wanting to line up.  All that
 will come into focus is him.  Fox.  With me.  The way it
 should have always been.  "I love you," I say, making the
 tremendous effort to lean over and kiss him on the forehead.
 "What are you thinking?"

 He's silent for a second.  "That I'm on the wet spot and it's
 really cold."

 I start giggling and it turns into a laugh, full and throaty. Such
 a Mulder thing to say.  He laughs into my neck, tickling me,
 causing me to laugh even harder.

 "Hah," he sighs, wiping his eyes.  "That and I love you." His
 voice gets quiet.  "Thank you for saving me, Alex."

 I stare at the ceiling, my intense high unable to completely
 erase the niggling sliver of worry in my gut.  It could change
 at anytime, Alex, the little voice says.  Any time, you stupid
 prick.  Let's look at it this way.  Have things *ever* gone
 your way?  For long, I mean.  Shut up!  He's *mine*.  He
 loves me!

 We lay there, drifting in and out of sleep.  Unsure of the time,
 I get up.  He lifts his body up, looking at me, his face still full
 of love, despite the little demon in my head filling me with
 self- doubt.

 "I'll get you a washcloth," I say, retreating into the bathroom.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter Four

I wake up feeling better than I ever have before.  My hand
 pats the side of the bed.  Empty.  But the shower's running!
 Take that, you little demon! I'm horny again, but I better give
 Fox a break.  Later.  Maybe after breakfast.  Maybe we'll do
 some shopping.  Get him a nice leather jacket.

 I walk over to the chest of drawers and open the bottom one.
 It's got a few T-shirts, which I move out of the way to get to
 what I really want.  At the bottom is Fox's stuff.  A cell
 phone, his F.B.I. badge, gun, and a pack of Wrigley's gum.
 It's kinda stupid and a little bit creepy to keep this stuff, but I
 can't help it.  I like to know it's there for some reason.  It's
 something tangible of his that I can somehow possess
 without fear of it leaving.  They're just objects.  I quickly shut
 the drawer.

 The shower's still running when the phone rings.  I pick it up.
 "Yeah," I say, my voice still groggy with sleep.

 "Krrrrrycek.  Just who I wanted to talk to."

 "Detective.  Just who I didn't.  I just got up, you know."  I
 have better things to do here.

 "It's noon!"

 "Yeah, well, I was up late last night." I smile, despite having
 to talk to this sleaze.  "Listen, if this is about your money, I'm
 dropping it off today."

 "Oh, good, good.  But that's not why I called, Krycek.  I got
 your message about the F.B.I. agent." He pauses.

 "Annnnd?"

 "Well, you seem to think I'm talking about a man.  I'm not.
 It's a woman who's been looking for you."

 Oh god.  No.  I grab the side of the dresser, a sense of
 vertigo and nausea overtaking me.

 "What's her name?  I wrote it down.  Oh, yes.  An Agent
 Scully.  Very beautiful.  Anyways, she seemed very focused
 on finding you."

 Shit.  Shit.  We gotta leave.  Pack.  Get out of the fucking
 country.  Oh shit, I'm going to lose it all.  The room... feels
 like the walls are closing in.

 "Hello? Krycek? You there?"  I say nothing and hang up the
 phone.  I rush over and grab my sweats and pull them on.
 You stupid little fuck, my demon says, laughing.  You knew
 this would happen.  You can't be happy.  You don't deserve
 him and you know it!

 I open the closet and pull out a duffel bag full of emergency
 cash.  This is all I need.  I'll buy new stuff later.  Wait, Fox's
 things.  I frantically pull open the drawer and start throwing
 his stuff into the bag.  Then I layer some clothes on top of his
 stuff and the money.  Zipppp.

 Then the doorbell buzzes.  I look at the bedroom wall, willing
 the sound to go away.  Then the shower shuts off.  Oh, fuck.
 The doorbell buzzes again, this time longer, the finger
 holding it down for a longer time.

 "Just a minute," I yell both to the door and Fox.  I don't know
 if he heard it in there.  Gotta see who it is.  But I think I might
 know.

 I tiptoe into the living room, which is silly, because I know
 they can't hear me anyways, barefoot on carpet.  It just feels
 safer somehow.  I lean in, close to the door, and peek
 through the eyehole.  Scully's looking right at me, her gaze
 burning a hole through the door.  I don't even have time to
 take a breath before the door slams into me, the force of it
 knocking me to the floor.  Blood trickles out of my nose and
 onto the carpet.

 She's over me now, gun drawn and steadied by two hands
 trying not to shake.  "Where is he?" she shouts, her voice
 shrill and exhausted.  I say nothing.

 "Where *is* he?" she yells, cocking her weapon and jabbing
 at the air with it.  "Where's Mulder?"

 "Scully, please..." is all I can manage, knowing I've lost
 everything.

 Fox walks in from the bedroom, wet and naked.  "Still no
 towels, Alex.  I swear--" He looks at her pointing her gun at
 my head and reacts immediately, coming at her from behind.

 She tries to swing around, but it's too late as his strong arm,
 still dripping with water, grabs her by the wrist.  He slams her
 arm into the wall, and she loses her grip on the gun.  It falls
 to the floor and slides under the couch.  He takes her other
 arm and holds it behind her back, shoving her face-first into
 the wall, the weight of his remaining arm on the base of her
 neck and shoulders.

 "Uhhh," she breathes into the wall.  She makes an attempt
 to struggle, but he pulls up on her arm and the pain takes
 the fight out of her.

 "I won't let you hurt him!" he shouts at her.  She stops
 moving and slowly turns her head around, trying to get a
 look at her attacker.

 "Muh-mulder?"  He lets go of her and stumbles back, his
 face confused.  She turns slowly.  "Mulder, it's *me*," she
 whispers.

 He swallows, and my heart begins to sink.  "Do I know you?"

 "Mulder, you've been hurt." She motions to the bandage on
 his head.  "You're not yourself.  You don't know what you're
 doing."

 "I know you were trying to hurt Alex!"

 She looks at me, then back at him.  "Alex?  Since when do
 you call Krycek, Alex, Mulder?"  She turns back towards me
 and I want to slink into a hole.  "What did you tell him?"

 "I," I stutter.  "I--"

 "Mulder, what did he tell you?" She turns to him, and her
 cross swings, catching the noonday's sun streaming through
 the window.

 He blinks rapidly, just staring at her.  "I...I know you, don't I?"
 He holds his head as if in pain.  "Oh fuck, I know you.  I
 know you, Scully! Scully!"  He crumbles to the ground, head
 in his hands.  "How could I ever forget you?" he says
 through tears.

 She moves to him, her hands on his shoulders.  I make a
 move to go to him to, then stop.  Fuck.  I don't know what to
 do.

 "It's...it's all coming back, Scully.  You're my partner." He
 smiles up at her.  Just like that she gets his smile now. "God,
 you mean so much to me.  How'd you get so far from me,
 Scully?"

 "I'm here now, Mulder.  There hasn't been a day since you
 left the U.S. that I haven't looked for you. " She brushes a
 wet strand of hair off his forehead.  "I knew I'd find you."

 "I couldn't remember anything, and then Al--" His smile
 fades and his eyes grow glinty and hard, resting on mine.  I
 can almost feel my soul shattering into a million pieces.  As
 good as it's been, the pain is more intense.  What was I
 playing with?  Why the fuck couldn't I stop myself?

  "I did it because I love you," I whisper quickly.

 "You lied to me!" he yells, his face twisted with rage and
 pain.  "You took advantage of me," his voice quivers.

 "Fox," I plead.

 "You don't get to call me that, Krycek!" he roars, his voice
 echoing throughout the apartment.  I'm shaking now, lying
 on the floor.  Pathetic, so pathetic.  Pull it together, Krycek...
 Aw fuck it, I'm never going to get it together ever again. Who
 the hell am I kidding?

 Scully looks taken aback.  I'm not sure if it's my vulnerability
 or Fo--, Mulder's rage.  Even in my mind, I know I'm not
 allowed to call him that.

 "Mulder, let's go." Scully stands.  "You're freezing.  You
 need to get dressed."  He nods and lifts up, taking her
 outstretched hand.  I don't know if his memories have fully
 flooded back to him yet, but this... the relaxed body language
 between them... I hate her for it.  She gets it effortlessly.  I
 have to steal it.

 He gets up, not looking at me, and he hasn't left the room
 yet, but he's gone already, as far away and as unreachable
 as he can get.  I'd run to him, crying, if I could, fight for him,
 make him understand how much I love him.  But I can't
 move, and he's already gone.  In every single fucking way it
 matters, he's gone to me.

 He goes into the bedroom to dress.  Scully looks at me, not
 sure what to say.  I lay on the floor and curl up into the fetal
 position, gently rocking the world away.

 "Krycek..."she says, her voice gentle and sympathetic.

 "Guh-go.  You win.  Go."

 "What you had with Mulder.  It wasn't right.  It was stealing.
 Maybe you do love him, I think maybe you do.  But this
 wasn't right."

 "Just go," I argue weakly, her words confirming all of my
 own deepest thoughts.  I couldn't get him any other way.  He
 wouldn't let me.  He loves me, but he could never forget or
 forgive.  He's throw it all away just to be angry at me.  It's
 easier to be angry than to open himself up to being fucked
 over by me again.

 I *don't* deserve him.  Plain and simple.  I close my eyes,
 defeated not by Scully, but by myself.  No other words are
 said.  I lie there, waiting for them to leave, and they
 eventually do.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 TWO WEEKS LATER...

 He sits there looking as giddy as he ever has behind that
 desk.  It's scary.  I don't like his giddy face.

 "Alex," he says in a short, clipped tone.  "We've missed
 you." The old man celebrates the same way he celebrates
 everything.  He takes a cigarette from a beat-up pack of
 Morleys and holds it between two fingers, lighting it.  He puts
 it to his lips and takes a puff.  I'm characteristically silent.

 He exhales the smoke towards the ceiling, indulging in a
 moment to watch the smoky trail waft up past his head.  I
 walk in and take a seat across from him.

 "You don't call, you don't write...." He trails off, a hint of a
 smile on his face.  "Your birthday came and went."

 "Mmm." I nod, looking bored.

 "We got you a card." He searches through a desk drawer
 and pulls out a big red envelope.  He slides it across the
 desk, and I look at it curiously.  "Go on," he motions.

 This fuck gets creepier every day.  I pick it up, hold it to the
 light, then look at him.  He smiles.  I open it up and see a
 very colorful picture of Garfield, grinning, holding  a cupcake.
 Inside is a gift certificate to... Chili's?  I look back up at him
 with a stunned, stupid look on my face.

 "We were going to go with T.G.I. Fridays, but the servers
 told me I couldn't smoke."  He dares me to laugh, staring me
 down.

 I nod slowly, tucking the card into my jacket and wishing for a
 severe case of amnesia to hit *me.*

 "Sorry, I've been busy.  Out of the country.  But, I'm back in
 D.C. now." And that's as much as I'm going to give him.

 "Ah yes.  We heard.  Something to do with Fox Mulder?"  I
 swear he's trying not to grin at me... as if he knows every
 single intimate detail.  I wouldn't put it past him.

 "Who?" I say.

 "Mulder.  Proverbial thorn in our side?"

 "Nope, never heard of him,"  I say darkly, leaving no room
 for discussion.  Smokey is the last person I want to discuss
 Fox Mulder with.  "Why I'm here..."

 "Yes, yes." He squishes the cigarette, half-smoked into the
 ashtray.  He wastes so many cigarettes just so he can have
 the dramatic effect of lighting another one.

 "I'm back.  I need jobs.  Anything.  The more dangerous, the
 better.  I'm looking to make a splash."

 "Really?" He pauses to look at his nails.  "Excellent." He
 looks back at me.  "I'll let you know." He gets up, signaling
 to me that our meeting is over.

 "I haven't given you my new number yet."

 "Oh, we know how to contact you if we need you." He's so
 pleased with himself.  "I've got a two o'clock with Kersh, so if
 you don't mind..." He points to the door.

 "Gladly." I push the chair away and leave, knowing I'm going
 to smell like cancer all day long.  Such a passive-aggressive
 fuck.  I disappear, so he gives me the cold shoulder
 treatment.  We should all be on Oprah.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 I'm sitting at the kitchen table of my new apartment.  It's a
 hole, but it's got the luxury of having four walls and a ceiling.
 Very posh.  I've got a bean bag smack dab in the middle of
 the "living" room.  It should be called the "not quite dead,
 but almost there" room.  And my stereo.  I have that, and
 when I'm feeling particularly masochistic, I'll get a bottle of
 Scotch and listen to Dire Straits full blast.  It's fun!

 When I'm really up for a fun night, I'll spread his things on
 the bed and look at them.  I'll stare at the picture on his
 badge for just the longest time.  I'll pick up the phone and
 talk to him.  "Oh, you'll be home soon, Fox? Ok?  I have that
 stir- fry waiting!  Haha! I know!  That's why they call it *stir*
 fry! You actually have to stir it!"

 Today is a good day though, because I'm not acting like a
 looney toon.  Well, relatively speaking.  I'm doing something
 normal.  Like eating a Hot Pocket.

 My cell phone rings as I shove the last bite of processed
 goodness in my mouth.  I pull it out and answer it, looking at
 the incoming number.  Danny.  Maybe he's heard
 something.

 "What's the word, Danny? Anything good?"

 "Nah, nothing, K.  I think Morley's doing something freaky
 with abductees down in North Carolina, but there's no hard
 data. And those guys shoot to kill, so you don't wanna fuck
 with em."

 "Ah, well, you only live once, right?"  Info like that, Fo--,
 Mulder, Mulder!  Dammit!  He would kill for that.  I could get it
 for him.  Maybe I will and send it to him anonymously.

 "But that's not why I called, K.  Some bitch been poking
 around here asking for you.  Been leaving business cards, a
 letter even!  Damn fine, you know what I'm sayin'?  But she
 also looks like she could kick your ass if she wanted to, K.
 So, I leave her for you, man! Hah-ha!  You fuck wit her."

 "Hehh, I think I know exactly who you're talking about. She's
 not my type though.  She could kick your ass, though, so
 watch out." I rub my nose absent-mindedly.  "I'm passing
 the shop later.  I'll swing by and pick up that stuff."

 What could the bitch want, I wonder?  Blow job tips perhaps?
 Maybe I'll get lucky and she's trying to find me to shoot me
 in the head.

 I put on my leather jacket and grab my wallet and keys.
 Guess I'm going now, huh?  Shit, I'm nervous.  I'm trying to
 forget the fucker.  Fuck!  If I had furniture, I would throw it.
 As it is, throwing my beanbag in frustrated anger would just
 be silly and not very satisfying.

 Guess I'll have to find somebody to hit.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 Danny owns his own TV repair shop, but he's got a brother
 who's a courier for the Syndicate.  Gets me all sorts of
 information.  I don't think I've ever been as interested in
 anything he's given me as I am today, however.

 I walk in and he's hard at work devouring a take-out salad.
 "Big K!" he shouts, and I shake my head at him.

 "I told you not to call me that, Danny.  It makes me feel like
 I'm a blue light special."

 "Aww, K, you ain't got no sense of humor.  That's your
 problem, you know."

 "That's one of my many problems, buddy," I correct him.
 "You've just scraped the tip of the iceberg.  Now where's my
 stuff?"

 "Hold on, hold on." He sets down his plastic fork and wipes a
 smear of dressing on a napkin.  "Fuck, can't you see I'm
 eatin' here?"  He starts looking through beat-up boxes of
 papers and hands me a couple of colorful ones.

 I take them.  They're pictures of Winnie the Pooh, horribly
 colored blood red, looking very much like a Hundred Acre
 Wood massacre.  I look at him, confused.

 "My niece colored that for you.  Did it in preschool.  Thought
 it was sweet."  He continues to dig, and I turn the picture to
 see if a different angle might make it look more aesthetically
 pleasing.

 "It, uh,  looks like a psychopath colored it."

 "Haha! Well, you should know, K.  You should know.  Ah
 here! I gotcha stuff." He lifts a plastic grocery bag in the air
 and shakes it me.

 "Nice filing system, Danny."

 "Hey, I do all right, ya know.  Do my own taxes and
 everything."

 He holds the bag in front of me, and I grab it, ripping it open.
 Maybe it has something to do with him.  What else could it
 be?  God, obsess much, Alex?

 There's a business size envelope, sealed, and several
 business cards with Scully's name and cell on them.

 "That a love letter or something? Or divorce papers?" Danny
 starts laughing way too hard at this, but I'm only hearing
 every other word.

 I let the bag fall, and I fumble with the envelope, making a slit
 with my finger, ripping it open.  In it is one sheet of paper. I
 unfold it and sit down on a ratty lawn chair that Danny has
 set up for customers.  It creaks underneath me, threatening
 to break, but somehow it holds.

 I look at the letter, afraid and excited to read it.

 "Krycek,

 This is Scully.  I need to find you.  It's Mulder.  He's not
 doing well, Krycek, and I think you know why.  He's not
 eating.  He barely sleeps anymore.  He misses you so much,
 and I know he wants to talk to you but is unsure how to do it.
 He sits at home and waits for the phone to ring, hoping it's
 you somehow.  I think he wants to forgive you, Krycek..."

 My hands are shaking, my heart is racing.  Deep breath,
 Alex, deep breath.  Don't get your hopes up.

 "...I think if he saw you, heard your voice again, he'd be
 willing to give you a chance.  I can't believe I'm writing this,
 but even though your relationship was founded on
 deception, I can't deny the love that you two feel.  And I
 know that ignoring what you have isn't the answer."

 Oh.  My.  God.  That's as close to an endorsement from
 Scully as I'll ever get.  She's blessing us.  Suddenly, I don't
 hate her anymore.  I wanna kiss her.

 "Please call me, Krycek.  I think I can set up a meeting.

 Trusting you,

 Scully"

 Oh fuck, oh fuck! If there's even a chance! Do I have a
 choice?  I look down at the business card.  Nope.  I pick it up,
 and within seconds I'm punching the numbers that will
 connect me to her and hopefully to him.  Just like that.  One
 second I'm in hell, the next I see a window open.  Now if I
 can just reach it!

 It rings.  And rings.  And rings.  "C'mon! C'mon! Pick up the
 phone!"

 Danny shakes his head and throws his empty salad bowl in
 the trash.  "Boy, you got it *bad*.  You one sad
 muthafucker."

 "Heh. Tell me---Scully?"

 "Hello?" a male voice answers.

 "I'm..." It can't be... she said...

 "Who is this?" he says.

 "Muh-mulder?"  Silence.  A long awful silence stretches from
 here to the Great Wall of China and back.  But I'm sure he
 can hear the rabid rat-a-tat-tat of my heart.

 He takes a long, audible breath before speaking.  "Krycek."
 His voice sounds weak and unsure, full of doubt.  I stand
 there stupidly saying nothing.  I don't know what the fuck to
 say.  We do it together.  Then I realize.  He's not *hanging
 up*.  Holy fucking shit.

 The knowledge gives me courage.  This is it.  Now or never.
 Suck it up, tough guy.  Tell him all the things you've been
 thinking.  You'll never get another chance.  I take a deep
 breath and throw all my cards on the table.  Hell, if I'm going
 down, I might as well go down swinging.

 "I miss you so much, Mulder.  I know I've been shitty to you,
 god knows I'm the king of shit.  I betrayed you, but you have
 to know this important thing.  Every time I did it, I did it out of
 weakness. Weakness and love.  I never intended to hurt
 you.  I was stupid.  I wanted to live in a fantasyland with you.
 Forever." My voice catches and I can feel the tears well up.
 "It was nice.  Wasn't it?"

 Silence.  This time only lasting an eternity.  Then, one word.
 "Yeah."  He said yeah, tiny and small, a crack in the dam. "It
 was nice."

 My heart swells.  Keep talking.  Give him everything, Alex.
 Don't give him a chance to reject you.  Tell him how you feel.

 "And I'd do anything to get back to there, Mulder, fucking
 anything to make things right.  I'd do things the right way, not
 just take them from you.  God, I miss you. From the second
 you left, I feel like a part of me has been ripped away.
 Something important that I can't live without.  I need you in
 my life, Fox Mulder."  Oh, fuck, it felt so good to say Fox.

 "I..." is all he says, looking for the words.  I don't let him
 finish.  I can't because my mind is finishing that sentence for
 him.  I...can't, Krycek.  I...hate you, Krycek.

 "It's like I can never go home again, Mulder.  Because my
 home is with *you*.  You, Mulder!" I'm sobbing now, the
 tears running down my face.  "I never knew what home was.
 People would talk about it, but I just.  Didn't.  Know.  Two
 weeks ago, you showed me what home was, Mulder.  It's
 you.  It was always you.  You're every goddamned thing
 that's been missing from my soul."

 "I..." he repeats and I hear his throat catch.  "I...was going
 to say I want to come home.  I want to come home."

 "I know you hate me and can never forgive me, but you've
 changed me.  All I've really needed is for you....what?"

 I hear the smile in his voice.  "I want to come home, Alex.  I
 don't care about what happened.  All I know is that for the
 last two weeks all I've done is think about how complete it
 felt to have you in my life."

 I actually gasp.  I've just gasped, and I smile through my
 tears.  "Oh, Mulder..."

 "Fox.  You... you deserve to call me Fox."

 "Okay," I say, in a small but happy voice.  "Fox.  We need to
 get together.  Now.   I'm in D.C."

 "Anywhere, Alex.  I need... I've been going through the
 worst kind of withdrawals."

 "Me too.  I've been a fucking wreck.  How about Chili's?  I've
 got gift certificates.  Heh."

 "Okay," he laughs.  "Like I said, anywhere.  I need to kiss
 you. Let you know how much I love you.  How much I've
 always loved you.  Thank you for showing me a part of
 myself that I didn't know was there."

 He's thanking me now.  I can't believe it.  As right as it felt
 before, it feels stronger and more pure now.  I've got Fox
 Mulder's love shooting through my veins and I don't think I'll
 ever be the same again.

 "Meet you there in thirty?  I think there's one on Central."

 "I'll be there in fifteen," he says and hangs up.  I hold the
 phone up to Danny who is raptly staring at me.

 "Shit yeah.  You need a Kleenex or sumpthin'?" He hands
 me a box before I can answer.  "Man, this Scully must be
 one hot chick, to have you blubberin' like that." He shakes
 his head.  "I've seen it all, my friend.  Now you better get a
 nice piece of ass after all that."

 I lift my head and laugh.  God, I feel so good.  I feel like I've
 been let out of a prison.  For the first time in my life.  That's
 what hope feels like.  That's what love feels like.

 Now I know.  Now I know.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The ever-lovin' End.  nakedmanatee@yahoo.com