This Hidden Enemy AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, before anyone starts screaming "Plagiarism!" I'm going to speak my side of the story. For those of you who know me and my, what SOME call, "rumored" psychic ability I pray that you of all people will understand this. I've been reading slash for some time now, and decided to write a story -- this thing you're staring at. My absolute, most favorite villain of the X-Files is Alex Krycek. I began with an idea that he'd return from Russia and meet with Mulder at his apartment with news of the Black Cancer. This story was started about four days before I ever saw or read about, "The Red and the Black". Most of you know that this debuted what's now known as the infamous Kiss. I had no previous knowledge of this happening and there is one soul who can vouch for my honesty -- Ms. Deborah Russell (Kattttt103@aol.com). Ask her if you have doubts... for weeks beforehand I'd been telling her about Krycek's fascination with Mulder. She'd remained skeptical until she saw the episode and was completely taken by surprise. I did not create this work of fiction *AFTER* I saw the episode, it merely evolved into a similar plot line. So, with that said, I hope those of you who read this understand that I did not copy the idea from the episode, but wrote it derived from simple, common sense. Common sense in the fact that I've known for quite some time now that Alex Krycek has had a fixation on Special Agent Fox Mulder. Enjoy. Rating: PG (13?) Colorful language used profusely Category: Mulder/Krycek Romance; SLASH, lust mainly and a little ANGST thrown in for good measure; fiction Title: This Hidden Enemy Author: Abbie Disclaimer: No matter how much I wish it was true, Mulder, Krycek, etc. aren't mine. They belong to Chris Carter and are property of 1013 productions and Twentieth Century FOX. By writing this story I had no intention of infringing upon their rights as owners. *** It's raining. I mean it's really raining -- hard. Yet here I stand, staring up at his window in the freezing cold, untouched by the elements that surround me. There is a light across the street but I choose to stand right where I am, in the shadows. It isn't a conscious thought, a reflex perhaps. I scarcely notice as the rain beats down on me, on to the street drenching everything it touches. All of my thoughts are concentrated on the flickering of a television screen that bounces off a wall inside apartment 42. Blinking a few times to get the water out of my eyes disrupts the trance I've fallen into. That's been happening more and more often lately. Small rivets of waters are pouring down my neck, seeping under my leather jacket. My shoes are completely saturated and the rest of my body is soaked through to the skin. I smile into the night because it's been worth it. A grin of delusional satisfaction. Suddenly, ducking out of the rain I turn and head back to the car which is parked around the corner. Sitting in the car I shiver involuntarily. Not because I'm wet but because of what I've done, or rather, what I'm about to do. It's weird being so close to him... not that I'd call half a block's distance "close," but close in the metaphorical sense. It's been a long time since I've last seen Fox Mulder. A year and several months. We separated in Tunguska where he abandoned me. So I sit with the car off, watching the rain drizzle down the windshield in lazy streams running this way and that. I miss him. God, I miss him. He is a drug, an addiction that there is no cure for. There is no way to break the habit once Fox Mulder is under your skin. No matter what I do to try and ignore this feeling of incompleteness, it continues to haunt me. If I dare approach him, I have no clear way of knowing how he'll react. I want to see him but I can't say that he won't kill me. Is that a risk I'm willing to take? Hell yes. And with that answer I've just thrown away my last ounce of sanity. I suddenly burst out in laughter. It awkwardly fills the quiet confines of the small space in which I sit. There can only be one possible answer: I've gone mad, I am no longer a sane man. I am sure that anyone watching would agree with me. To this I laugh harder, but I have to admit that there is something liberating about losing control. It makes me giddy with delight and no longer caring about my fate or future, I chuckle one last time, start the car and drive away. Two days later I'm back. It isn't raining anymore, but the clouds overhead look promising. It is cooler today and I fold my collar up around my neck to keep the air from sliding down inside. Striding across the street with confidence and purpose, I surprise myself. I shouldn't feel this way, I shouldn't feel anything but fear. But something refuses to acknowledge that. Stepping out of the elevator I quickly scan the hall. Not a soul in sight. I smile to myself looking at his simple deadbolt and lock. I'm surprised that he doesn't have this entire place rigged. But then again, maybe not. He isn't here enough for it to matter; too much work to keep it up and Mulder never was one to cower in the corner. I easily pop both locks and as I'm silently slipping the door back into place I hear his voice come out of the darkness. "What in the fuck are you doing here." It isn't asked as a question, but I know he means it. This was something I hadn't anticipated, but I'm glad it's happened. His voice is so Mulder. This is what's made it worthwhile, this is what I've been missing. Slowly I prepare turn around. Before I even see him, I know he has his gun. Suddenly I feel him beside me, along with the cold, hard presence of metal against the base of my skull. I can feel him radiating with heat, flushed from my unexpected visit. He is so close, so fast. My knees dare to support my weight and I have grab the door handle for support. My heart is racing 30 times it's normal speed and I'm positive he can hear it. "Mulder," is all I can manage to choke out. "So you haven't forgotten. Pity. I've been trying to." His words bite like ice, but I am determined not to let them get to me. "I *think* you look well." Swallowing hard, I try to gain some composure and form more than five word sentences. I am glad it's dark. He adjusts the angle of the gun. "Cut the crap, Krycek. What the hell do you want now?" He's irritated and angry. I can just see him, I can see old memories flaring up as the seconds past by while we stand like this. "Mulder I need to talk with you." I turn around to try and perhaps ease his electrified nerves. Now I'm facing him with my back pushed against the door. He has his forearm shoved against my throat pressing me into the door and in the other hand, he has the gun against my temple. I shiver trying to control my rapid breathing. This is not happening... ohgodohgodohgod. Here he is, ready to pull the trigger on a second's notice, and all I can do is feel how close we are. "Yeah. Well, somehow I really don't think that there is anything we have to discuss." He spits out the words as if they leave a bad taste in his mouth. Oh god, that mouth can captivate me for hours. When we use to be working on cases together and his mind was frantically tearing away at the puzzle before him, he'd sink into a quasi-conscious state immersing himself in thought. Gently he'd chew on his lower as if that would somehow stimulate the thought-process. It was so adorable. Those lips have often sent me off into a restless slumber where I wake up literally aching to be close to him. To be able to reach out and touch him. And here he is, and here I am... He steps back a few paces, not taking his eyes off me. I cautiously step closer and still his eyes are riveted on me with every inch I take. His gun follows cocked and ready. I exhale air of tense apprehension and sit down on his couch. I have to sit down -- *right* now. Am I shaking? I've been here four minutes and already I'm unraveling. Running a hand thought my hair, I look up at him. "You still haven't gotten around to getting a bed?" Noticing the blanket and pillow I can't resist. "Shut up. You have about three seconds to tell me why you're here. And even after that I still may shoot you." I know that he's serious. Most of me wants to believe that he couldn't ever *really* pull the trigger, but I have hurt him in more ways than one human being can, and both of us know that. But he is gorgeous. I can't pull my eyes from him. "Mulder," I begin. "I've been in Tunguska." I watch his face flinch. He tightens his hold on the gun, but doesn't say anything. "You remember last year, I am sure of that. The Test and the vaccine they've been working on have been discovered. They now have a way to cure the Black Cancer." I watch for any sign of emotion, but he remains stoic and unmoving. He waits for me to continue. "Do you understand what this means? This is the biological weapon that will be used in the next World War. The war that They initiate. They can inoculate who they wish and hold the cure at bay to those who need it. They're purifying the planet before colonization begins." "Krycek, why come to me? And what makes you think that I'm going to believe a word you're saying? You are nothing more than a filthy, lying, double-crossing rat-bastard who destroys lives for a living. Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you right now, clean up the mess and save the world another headache." Now it is my turn to flinch. Those sentences dig deep, but I fight back the urge to burst into tears. Blinking fiercely, I go on. "I thought I just did. And in case you *did* forget, Mulder, you have also been tested on. I'm not the only one who has something to lose here." That stops him. "I'm fine Krycek. I came back, was thoroughly examined and I'm fine. There were no effects that the doctors could determine from being... subjected to that oil. Nothing is wrong with me." I smile at his ignorance. "I'm sure a preliminary examination would prove nothing, but they don't know what to look for. They haven't got a clue, Mulder. I thought you'd know that. These Russian scientists are years ahead of the doctors here, you can't possibly believe that the whole ordeal in Tunguska left you unscarred." Oh god, what bad use of the word 'scarred' -- especially when referring to Tunguska. He doesn't know yet. "Krycek, right now you'd say just about anything to get this gun off you." I agree. "Yes, that is true. But what I'm saying is also the truth." I admit honestly. Glancing down at my arm, I close my eyes trying to forget that night. I suppose that if I had to do it again, I just might. After all, it did save me from becoming a test subject which is probably why I'm here today. "Never once in your life have you ever told the truth to anyone. You've lied to me, to Scully, to Skinner, the U.S. government, and god knows who else to save your skin. You're in this for your own self preservation." "To that I cannot argue but I come with just cause, Mulder." "To blackmail me? Great, what you do want?" I'm taken back be his lack of faith in me, even though I shouldn't be. I am all of the things he says I am, and then some. But this is concerning his well-being, his life. How could I perverse something that important? "God Mulder, no! I'm not here for anything. I just thought you should know. I seem to recall that a certain chain-smoking senior and his group of dutiful followers interests you. Marita was there too. In Tunguska. She is not who you think she is." He shakes his head. At first I believe that he thinks I'm lying again, which I'm not. Suddenly he collapses into a chair sighing. He doesn't take his eyes off me, but he relaxes a little. I can tell. This makes me somewhat worried. When you tell a man that his informant is corrupt, something is bound to snap. So I wait on edge, waiting, waiting for him to break. I know he's debating about it, it's just a matter of time. I watch him. He watches me. When will hatred reveal it's ugly head? Suddenly he's on his feet again, on the couch ramming the gun underneath my chin. "Damn it! You are a lying piece of shit Krycek. How do you have the balls to come here and tell me all of this?! You fucking bastard, you killed my father, you killed Scully's sister, you double-cross me, you double-cross him! How can I sit here and listen to you talk?!" I think he's gonna do it. I'd have bet money on it if someone had asked. I swear, I thought he was going to pull the trigger. Bang. And I'd be dead on his couch like that DOD agent he killed upstairs. Yeah, I heard about that through the grapevine. Gusty Mulder, very gutsy. And do you know what the worst part was? I believed it at first. I know what kind of a man Mulder is -- how emotionally distraught he is. He is constantly teetering on the brink of madness and to many, he's already considered insane. It was just a matter of time before something finally pushed him over the edge, so I thought it was true. He had a lot of people going for awhile on that one. I remember the night I found out. It hurt so much. So damn much. I was watching my life crumble beneath me. Everything, just trickling through my fingers, turning to dust. It hurt like nothing else I've ever experienced before. I think I must have gone into shock at first. For three days I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, I didn't move from my bed. All I could do was sob for hours. That's when I really knew I was in love with him. Completely and totally, head-over-heels in love with a man who wants me dead. It hurt so badly I wanted to die. I wanted to die to be with him. I'd rather do that -- kill myself, than go on living. Sweating now, I choke as the gun traced my jugular with mock tenderness. In a hoarse whisper, his eyes frantic with hatred and livid with anger he burns into me. "How does it feel to know that you're going to die? Is this what my father felt like? Is this what Melissa felt like? Is it?!" I swallow several times and close my eyes for a moment and wait for the release of the gun. Mulder please, if you have to kill me, do it now. At least I got to see you one last time. But he still doesn't know. He should know. When I look at him again with his face so close to mine, I see that his head has dropped. He is panting, his breath hot against my cheek. Climbing off of me, he sits down against my arm... or what's left of it. This constant state of fear and absolute hatred is exhausting him. In frustration he grabs where my arm should be, an attempt to haul me off his couch, but instead he gets a handful of my jacket sleeve. I didn't wear the prosthesis tonight. Dropping his hand in surprise his head jerks up to meet my face, his eyes are full of bewilderment. "Tunguska." I say flatly. I hate to be pitied or to be stared at like some freak show. I stand on my own and stalk over to the window. "They took your arm off?" "Yeah Mulder, they did. And thanks for the apology." I don't mean it. As soon as the words are out I curse myself for saying them. He already blames himself for too many of the things in his life and the people's lives around him. I didn't come here to dump the blame, that was my last intention. I turn to face him. His expression is somewhat softened and I can tell that since I've said it, now he believes it. Shit. "Krycek, I'm sorry that I left you there and that...*this* had to happen." He barely whispers it and he can't even make eye contact with me. This man can change moods faster than anyone I've ever seen. "No Mulder. I didn't mean that. I don't blame you at all. In fact, it saved me from being tested on." I try to say that with as much earnestly as I can muster. His eyes look up, doubtful. Slowly he walks over to me. I tense up again. I haven't got a clue what he has in store for me. I watch as he approaches me hoping that we aren't about to exchange blows once again. Setting the gun down on the coffee table, I stare at it as it leaves his hand. Looking into those deep brown eyes, I feel myself melting. He's apologizing to me without words. I understand and accept them, only because I know that it will make him feel better if I do. Oh god Mulder, you don't know what those eyes can do to a person. Mulder please... I can't do this. I have to look away, I can feel myself losing control. But I can't tear my eyes off him. He reaches out and gingerly fingers the leather cuff where a hand should be protruding. If this were anyone else, I mean anyone else, I'd have killed them in an instant. But I can't move. All I can do is watch him feel his way up my left arm. God I don't want him to pity me, but I can't do a damn thing to stop him. This is what I've dreamt about for the last three years -- to be roamed over by his hands, to be caressed with this much care. His fingers leave tiny traces of fire across my skin as it prickles under his touch and I am helpless. When he hits the stump I want to cry out. I want to slap his hand away, then slap him across the face. This sick abuse I'm enduring is torture, but I don't move a single muscle. I gasp slightly as his hand brushes against my neck, slipping the stump out of the sleeve of my jacket. His soft, hazel eyes catch mine and stare soulfully into my green. I feel him searching my most inner, most secret place. I groan mutely and he continues. The temperature has risen at least fifty degrees and all I can think about is attempting to cooling down. I've got to get out of here, but my body is ignoring the last sane part of my mind. Who am I kidding? I want this. I want it, and will take it in any form he gives me. He traces the ugly scars that have long-since healed. Cocking his head to one side, he examines my arm. Blinking slowly, he looks back at me. My eyes are brimming with tears, and I sniff to try and control this emotion he's sent reeling inside of me. Mulder. He mouths the words, "I'm sorry." I shake my head furiously. No, it isn't his fault! Trying to repress the sobs I feel welling up inside, I gasp as he slides my jacket all the way off. He turns and sets it down, folding it neatly across the back of a chair. I am literally quivering now. I can't help it. He pulls the chair out from the desk and gently nudges me to sit down. I comply. I allow my face to fall into my hand and mask some of this raw sensation ripping through me. He thinks it is a result from my experience over in Russia. He is so wrong. I feel his hand on my shoulder, but I cannot look at him. Not now. He's seen my soul bare, naked, fully exposed and I hate him for it. This night has not gone how I'd planned at all. "Alex." It is barely audible. "Alex, it's alright." Alex? Since when have I been ever referred to anything other than Krycek? Or something else more foul? He must see me as an invalid. God, what a depressing thought. I didn't come here tonight for a damn pity fuck! I didn't come here tonight to... I don't know why I even came here at all. Now, Alex don't kid yourself, you know perfectly well why you're here. You came because if you went one more day without seeing him you'd burst. You needed to see him in the flesh. You needed to see his face again, see how the stress has aged it. You needed to see him again, his passion, his life, his off-kilter hair cut. You needed to see him walking and breathing and living. Had one more day passed without you getting scorched by his undeniably intoxicating touch, you might have just as well died... And you must admit, this is much better than receiving bone-breaking blows every five minutes. "Alex, why are you here?" I think that by now he must know, but his voice shows no indication that he has the slightest idea. "I came here -- I came here to tell you about the vaccine and about the plans for colonization. Now that you know, I should leave." I know I have to go, I know that I *need* to go but something is telling me not to. But I drag myself to my feet and reach for my coat. His hand lightly rest on top of mine and I look up at his face. My cheeks are tear stained and I can barely form a coherent thought, but as soon as I see my reflection in his eyes I'm renewed. God, it has to be illegal to be this good looking... "Don't go." He pulls my jacket out of my hand and tosses it on the couch. I watch it fly across the coffee table and land in a heap on the couch. He doesn't mean what I want it to mean, but I don't care. Still... no-no, don't get yourself going. It's wishful thinking, that's all it is. "Mulder, I don't think this is a very good idea. I could be putting you in serious jeopardy by--" "Alex." There's that 'Alex' again. "You're a wreak. Crash here, at least for the night and then go tomorrow." "Mulder I really don't--" "God Krycek, just shut up and accept the invitation! If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't have said it. Listen, I think that I can trust you, at least for now. Go and get cleaned up, take a shower -- you smell disgusting." I can't help but crack a wide grin. "You wanna wash my back?" I duck around the corner just in time to miss a pillow being hurled at my head. When I emerge from the bathroom I can't find him. I hear some rummaging around in the back bedroom and see him throwing a pair of sweats onto a chair. Suddenly I realize that I'm clad in nothing more than a damp towel and look down sheepishly. I clear my throat to let him know that I'm here. "Oh, Krycek. Here, you can wear these for tonight. You can use the couch and I'll take the floor. See you in the morning." He shuts the door behind him and I watch him leave. Turning to the pile of clothes on the chair, I finger the gray t-shirt he's left for me. Picking it up, I inhale deeply and relish in the thought of me in *HIS* clothes. Letting the towel slide to the floor, I step into them. I come out of the bedroom and immediately panic. It's pitch black and I feel very vulnerable without my gun and jacket. Then I realize that Mulder's switched off all of the lights, as he got ready for bed. He's spread some blankets across the floor and I can tell that he's already underneath the covers. I'm careful not to walk on top of him as I hop on to the couch. "Good night, Mulder." "Good night, Alex." "Mulder?" "Yes?" He says with a yawn. "Thank you. It means a lot to me, letting me stay here without being handcuffed to something." It means so much more than you could possibly ever know. "You're welcome. Just don't make me regret it." Ah Mulder, you can never quite escape that paranoia, can you? Don't worry, I'll be good. I'd convert to being a damn angel if I had to, to spend another night here. As I listen to him settling in, I sigh a tremendous sigh -- but a sigh of utter pleasure. Rolling on to my side, I prop myself up on my elbow and snuggle into the soft leather, just staring at him in the dark. My eyes have learned to adjust quickly when shrouded in darkness, now it is habit. He isn't asleep yet, I can tell. This has got to be out of routine for him -- he always drifts into an uneasy slumber with the TV on... some risque video out of his notorious collection. He tries to sleep with one arm draped over his eyes and the other casually across his perfectly cut stomach. With a runner's body, Mulder is in peak condition all the time. His upper body is strong too, although I don't know where he gets it from. He doesn't have time to work out, he barely has time to eat much less do anything else. But what a fine specimen of a man. I watch his chest rise and fall, up and down. Flopping over on to my back I stare up at the ceiling, watching the abstract pattern the light from his fish tank plays across the wall. Am I really here, sleeping on Fox Mulder's couch? God, what has made me so lucky? My eyelids feel drowsy, but I don't want to fall asleep first. I don't want to waste of my time here with him. Although, one cannot fight sleep and I feel myself drifting into that calm oblivion. Oh god! There are screams! Who is screaming? I'm terrified, what's happening?! What is that noise?! Who's screaming?! What's going on?! What is going ON!?! Waking with a start I immediately feel for my gun, which of course isn't on me. I can't remember where I am at first and frantically searching the room I remember: I'm at Mulder's apartment. Sighing I curse myself for being so jumpy. Then I do hear a scream. Rolling over I stare down at Mulder who's completely tangled among his bedding. He managed to wedge half of his body under the coffee table and every three seconds or so, he thrashes about wildly hitting his knee on the underside of the table. At first I thought he was having a seizure. God, he's screaming again! "Mulder! Mulder wake up!" Getting off the couch, I kneel down next to him and try to grab one of his flailing fists. He catches me square in the jaw which causes me to see stars for a moment. Getting hold of both his arms, I pin them above his head. "Mulder, you're having a nightmare! Wake up!" This is how the man sleeps?! I can't imagine going through what he's experiencing right now. "Mulder! Mul-" This isn't working. I have a feeling this would be a lot easier with two arms. Since I'm holding his wrists I can't slap him awake or shake his shoulders. What am I going to do? Getting close to his ear I say, "Mulder? Mulder listen to me, I need you to wake up. You're dreaming!" To this he only shrieks, wailing some incomprehensible moan. He probably doesn't have any neighbors, or if he did, I'm sure they don't live here any more. Cursing again, I just want him to shut up. I stare at his mouth, which is begging to some dark evil to let him go. That pitiful mouth needs attention. Should I do it? One part of me screams: Are you kidding?! Go for it! This is the only chance you'll ever get! And then there's the other, more rational part of me that's beating the first part with a blunt object saying: Alex, this is not the way you want it to happen. Taking advantage of Mulder when he is extremely vulnerable is something not even YOU can't even stoop to. It would ruin the little amount of trust you've regained and most certainly be the death of you. If Mulder wakes up to find you dropping butterfly kisses all over his face, he's bound to react instinctively -- which means blowing your head off. Yet the other one continues to say: But c'mon! This is the most ideal opportunity you've ever had. He's practically unconscious! What other way is there to wake him up without being painful or scaring him to death? I say, go for it. Mulder is crying. His face is wet and the expression is one of total sadness and pain. What is he thinking is happening to him? Twisting his head toward the floor he chokes out a sob. That does it. I can't stand it. His pain is tearing my own heart out. With intense gentleness and care I slowly, tentatively kiss is cheek where the tear streaks are. "Mulder, Mulder... wake up. It's just a dream, just a bad dream." He doesn't move at all. I move to the other cheek and drop two there too. Looking back at his face, I see that his expression has ease somewhat -- if only a little. "Mulder, it's okay... " I get within millimeters of his lips and I hesitate. Suddenly drawing back, I kiss the bridge of his nose instead. He's quieted some more, he isn't kicking his legs trying to escape whatever is torturing him inside his dream. Whispering softly I say, "Mulder... shh, Mulder it's okay. Wake up, you were having a bad dream." He sniffs childishly and I can't help but smile. "There you go... come on back. You're alright." Mulder draws his legs up against his chest in the fetal position. Cautiously letting go of his arms, he hugs them close around his body. "Mulder, Mulder listen to me. Wake up. I need to make sure that everything's okay." I give his shoulder a nudge or two. And then, on impulse without caring about the consequences, I gingerly kiss his mouth. He is unresponsive, but I've done it. As I pull away, I feel his arm reach out to me. Folding himself over the lower half of my body, I take his head in my lap and stroke his hair softly. I don't know if he's awake or not, I can't tell. Sighing he trembles slightly and finally his breathing returns to normal. Meanwhile, I'm resting my back against the couch with my legs outstretched, paralleling his lean body. How does this man live alone? I don't understand it, I just don't. Squinting, I'm awakened from my sleep by an intensely bright light. Opening one eye I stare at the blinds Mulder neglected to pull down last night. Rolling my head from side to side, I feel a distinctive crack as I stretch my sore neck -- it's killing me from sleeping at such an odd angle. Looking down at the peaceful face I know that it's been worth it. I'm torn between whether or not I should wake him. He had such a rough night, but it's a work day. I remember that I will have to go soon and the pain squeezes my chest until I'll gasping for air. Alex what ever gave you the idea that you could come here and then be able to leave, on your own, without having any feelings about it one way or the other?! You're a fool. A damn, love-sick fool. Maybe I should leave before he wakes up? Would that be easier than having to really say good-- Mulder began to stir against my thigh. Moving his arms above his head, he stretched and yawned. Blinking a few times, he adjusts to the light. As if I felt what he was thinking, I saw his face mutate from semi-consciousness to that of total confusion. Rolling his head back he stared at me and I smiled. He is gorgeous in the morning. He cracked a half-grin himself, which surprised me, but then he asked, "What are you doing? What am I doing? And what am I doing on the floor? ... on your lap?" The look on his confused face was priceless. I bit my lower lip, swallowing the laughter I felt threatening to show itself. "You had a nightmare -- I mean, a *NIGHTMARE*. Mulder, have you thought about seeing a psychiatrist? You were absolutely terrified. Your screaming woke me up, not to mention the rest of the world. It took me five minutes to get you to shut up. Are you alright?" He closed his eyes for several moments and did not say anything. "Yes, I'm fine. It's happened before -- nothing serious to be worried about." Sitting up and pulling himself off my lap, I instinctively reached out to grab his shoulder and pull him back down to me, but I do not. Standing up, he stretched and padded into his meager kitchen. Coming back with two glasses of Sunny Delight, he handed me one. After downing half of it in one gulp, I asked him again. "Mulder, don't give me Scully's 'I'm fine' crap. Seriously, are you okay? What happened?" "Krycek, it's none of your damn business. Leave me alone," he said, furiously. Turning his back to me, suddenly I'm on my feet. Rising to meet him at eye level, I quickly retorted: "It is too my damn business, I had to calm you down last night! You were so worked up I thought you might be having a seizure! I was this close to calling 911, did you know that?! I couldn't wake you up! Now, tell me! What the hell is going on?" "Fuck," he muttered under his breath. Sighing he ran his hands through his hair a few times and then looked at me again. "It's nothing really." I was about to go off again, but he saw that his answer wasn't going to satisfy me. "Um, in Tunguska," Oh no, everything that has ever occurred at that place is bad news. "In Tunguska, you didn't stay with me in the cell the whole time." I nod upon remembering. "You left me, you went to talk to the men running the gulag. I was... I was beaten while you were gone. I'm mean really hurt -- badly. Those men were torturers... in every physical way possible." My GOD. I can feel the bile rising in my throat. Those bastards, they didn't... they couldn't. God I told them not to hurt him! "Mulder... Oh god, Mulder. I'm so, so sorry. I can't-- I don't know what to say... " How can he even look at me? Does he blame me? I had no idea. I had absolutely no idea. He held his hand up to try and silence me. "Krycek, I know that you tried to help... I think. I'm going on the assumption that you were true to your word. This is all behind me now, I'm never going back there and I never want to think about it again. That dream is a way for my subconsciousness to relive that time in Russia and somehow deal with it emotionally. I comes and goes, and usually I don't remember it. It doesn't matter whether I do or not anyway, it's always the same." I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach. Like the wind has been knocked out of me. I've had to do some low thing while working for that black-lunged sonofabitch, but never... Jesus, NEVER torture anyone -- especially the way Mulder was violated. "I'll kill 'em." I spit out with disgust, and began pacing the room. "What?" He looks up at me from his spot on the couch. Sighing, he folds his arms behind his head and watches me cross the living room, back and forth. "I'll kill 'em. They're gonna pay big time for hurting you." Even as I speak I'm formulating a plan on how to get back to Russia. It shouldn't be hard. I've moved up in the ranks since then, at least now I'm one of the ones calling the shots rather than serving out the orders. Mulder chuckles an ironic sort of laugh. "What the hell's so funny?!" "Oh, I just find it amusing. Normally you'd be the last person on earth who'd be willing to defend me. And don't waste your time going back to that place, this is something just needs to be dropped. There nothing that can be done about it now." He stares up at the ceiling, looking at nothing. "Mulder?! What are you talking about? How can you just--" "Alex, just leave it be. I'm not willing to fork out the energy to fulfill this revenge. Let it go, this isn't your fight anyway." Not my fight? But-but Mulder, this is your... oohhh, I understand. He doesn't want me to defend his pride and he doesn't know that when he gets hurt, I get hurt. Well, this does complicate things now, doesn't it? I can't necessarily act like the concerned partner I was years ago, but I also can't throw myself against him weeping for his pain... as *much* as I'd love to. Just a little too drastic, I think. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but instead I clamp it shut. What could I ever possibly say? Mulder seems to be more at ease with this than I am, which is odd, although I suppose he must have adjusted. It's been almost a year since I last saw him over there. If he's had these memories ever since he's gotten back, then this most recent bat with nightmare's can't be something incredibly shocking. But it's shocked me. "I have to go -- get ready for work, I mean." He says without moving. I knew that the moment would come when I'd have to leave, but I just didn't want it to happen so fast. Maybe I could offer to go to work with him -- see Scully and tell her about what's happened, but Mulder will probably do that anyway. My mind is racing for some reason, some excuse to stay with him but I keep drawing a blank. "Krycek, I'm getting in the shower now." His eyes are searching me, deciding whether or not I'm going to offer to let myself out. Not on his life would I ever be the first to make the move to see myself out. "Uh, you can go into the kitchen and see what you can use for breakfast. Be careful of anything dairy, I haven't got a clue how long that stuff has been in there. Check the expiration dates." "Okay." I watch him disappear into the bathroom and then hear the water come on. Sighing I walk over to the refrigerator. A jar of pickles. A half of loaf of bread. Some margarine and a couple bottles of beer. Somehow, I don't think I could serve that to anyone. Mulder comes out of the bathroom dripping wet. Hair matted to his head, he emerges, steam swirling around his damp frame. His body glistening with small beads of water clinging to his flushed skin. Running a hand through his moist hair, I see the small flecks spray across the room. From the door way where I am standing I watch him cross the room as if it were in slow motion. He is absolutely perfect. That body I thought about last night is now standing five feet from me, dressed in nothing but a soft, beige colored towel. "Alex!" I snapped to attention feeling the odd sensation that my feet were wet -- and they were. I dropped the glass of orange juice I'd been holding and now bend down to pick up the broken bits. Concentrating on the floor, I try not to look up at him as he came over to assist me. My face is red -- I can feel it, and I don't need him to notice it. "Watch the bare feet Mulder, I don't want you to step on anything." "Are you okay?" I laugh. I can't help it. Oh Mulder, yeah, I'm definitely *okay*. I'm more than okay. I'm am so damn okay I could practically die a happy man. Somehow I coolly manage to regain the art of speech and merely say: "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about your glass though." "Oh don't worry about. You're probably the only person that's ever used it anyway." "You should go get dressed, you'll catch a cold otherwise." This statement sent him into a fit of surprising laughter which blew me away. "Krycek, what are you?! My mother?! Get the hell away from me," he said with a laugh. Padding into the other room I watch him leave, completely transfixed on the man in front of me. Tossing the broken glass in the garbage, I decide to nix attempting to find nourishment in Mulder's kitchen and sit down on his couch. I noticed that I am still wearing the clothes he'd let me borrow last night, so I decide to change back into my black jeans and jacket. Folding his clothes in a neat pile, I leave them on the chair. You'd be surprised at how one learns to adapt. It's exactly like they say -- you lose one sense, and all the rest get that much stronger. One arm has taught me a lot, and how much I use to depend on it. Mulder came back clad in the utmost, sexiest outfit he has... well, in my mind anyway. He is practically ready for work dressed in his typical suit pants and shoes. But his starched white dress shirt flaps open, unbuttoned with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. I don't know what it is, but Mulder in half a suit just makes me dissolve into a useless puddle of Jello. The whole mood is so relaxed, yet attentive at the same time. There is no tie -- not yet, and his wild hair is perfectly touchable. "Alex, I'm gonna leave in about five minutes. Now when I get home, I don't want to know that you were ever here, understand? I'm trusting you -- for now -- to let yourself out. I hope you respect that freedom and won't abuse it, making me sorry for every having let you live. I appreciate the gesture, you coming here and telling me what you know about the Black Cancer and the goings on in Russia. But now I want you to leave." I swallow harshly. I knew that this was coming, Alex you knew this. Don't break down now. Leave this bridge, this connection you've built with Mulder, undamaged. Get up and walk away. This has been far better than what you'd ever hoped, but now it's time to go. I nod, understanding the conditions. Slipping a tie around his neck, he stops in front of a mirror and pulls it tight, straightening the knot. Smoothing it down over his shirt, he takes another look at his overall appearance. Satisfied he grabs his trench coat that had been casually draped over a chair from last night. Taking his keys from a small end table and placing them in his pocket, he turns toward me. "Goodbye, Alex." "Goodbye, Mulder." And with that he opens the door and leaves. I immediately go to the window scanning the street for his car. I can't see it, he must have parked on the other side of the building. Sighing I turn and survey his apartment one last time. I feel like I'm going to lose it any moment. I want to throw myself onto his couch and vent my frustration and anger and disappointment and pain. I want to unleash this tension that's been festering inside me. But I can't do that. Instead I head toward the door too. Turning around one more time, I stare at where he slept last night. At where I slept, and where I held him until he calmed down. I see the wet towel puddled just inside the doorway to his bedroom. I have nothing to carry, nothing I came with. For a split second I think of leaving him a note, but decide not to. Pulling open the entrance to apartment 42, I walk through the doorway and tug it shut behind me. Listening to the lock click into place I close my eyes, resting the back of my head against the solid wooden frame. Mulder, you'd better not forget me. Although I doubt that will happen... I won't let it. I'll be back when you least expect me and then suddenly I'll be in your life again. I already miss you and you've only just left a few minutes ago. I have no doubt that you'll continue on, with work, with Scully, striving to do what you do best. But will I? Will I be able to go on, after I've had this taste of perfection? Will I? I'll I know is that I will have to try. I'll have to somehow manage not being near you, not hearing your voice. Taking a deep breath I push myself away from the door and head down the hallway toward the elevator. Stepping into the morning air, I inhale the sharp, distinct scent of late winter. That period between early February and late March when it isn't quite as cold as December, but it isn't necessarily warm yet either. Crossing the street I avoid a rather large puddle. Ignoring the reflection that stares back at me, I feel a drop. And then another. Well, what do you know? It's raining. *** Finis. 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