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Chapter Three: Lying From You
When I pretend everything is the way I want it to be
I look exactly like what you always wanted to see.
When I pretend, I can forget about the criminal I am
Stealing second after second just 'cause I know I can but
I can't pretend this is the way it will stay
I'm just trying to bend the truth.
I can't pretend I'm who you want me to be
So I'm lying my way from you.
I remember what they taught to me
Remember condescending talk of who I ought to be.
Remember listening to all of that and this again.
So I pretended up a person who was fitting in,
And now you think this person really is me
And I'm trying to bend the truth.
But the more I push, the more I'm pulling away
'Cause I'm lying my way from you.
~Linkin Park
He was quiet as I drove him home. I knew he was raging inside. I knew he wouldn't rest. I couldn't help him anymore. I'd long since passed that turn-off. I was sunk down into the muck as much as Scully, as much as Mulder tirelessly, fruitlessly searching for her. And there I was under his nose. There I was, stained with his truth.
"Come on," I said again when I'd pulled up to his curb and cut the engine.
I led him up the steps, inside, onto the elevator. I touched his arm and it was like he would have flinched had there been energy left to commit to anything besides finding her. I let my finger drop and hit the four button.
I got him inside his apartment. It smelled like someone had been sick there. I went in search of candles. Mulder went into the bathroom and shut the door. I heard water in the sink.
I found his emergency candles in a kitchen drawer and lit a few in the living room. The bathroom door remained shut even after the water turned off. I stared at it, willing it to open. I felt trapped. I felt utterly accountable for the stricken sadness Mulder emnated from his pores now. I wanted it over. I looked around the room, almost in a panic. My gaze lit on his fishtank. The fish inside was dead. Floating in the soft waves, hitting the side of the glass. I heard the bathroom door open. I felt sick.
I turned, ready to utter some flimsy excuse and flee the scene. Mulder's depression took all the air in the place, leaving anything other than hopelessness to suffocate, assimilate. I watched him go from the bathroom to his bedroom, disappearing through the doorway. I stood still, eyes finding the dead fish once more before I followed Mulder, my feet reluctant to take me so close to him, so near something that dangerous to me.
He was standing in the middle of the room, aimless and silent. I watched him for a moment, warily. I stepped in and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm gonna..." I started, fully intending to leave him there, unfettered and perhaps lethally damaged.
But he turned to me and quite suddenly pulled me to him hard. We collided and his hands clawed at my back. I felt his lips quivering against my neck. His undoing tugged at something inside of me fighting to swim to the surface. An ache unfurling, seeking to touch him back, touch an anguish that seemed to mirror itself so completely. He hurt me.
I took a breath and felt him burrow deeper into my chest, his hair tickling me under the chin. I felt him inside of me and briefly panicked at the sensation. Mulder inside me, breaking things loose, prying things open, injecting himself into atrophied tissues. I closed my eyes, my center of gravity tilting for a moment, my heart painfully full of him. Then I began to lead him to the side of his bed.
I pushed him to sit, but he resisted. He ripped the jacket from my shoulders and worked to get my tie loose. My hands were slower with his clothes. I felt the urgency of fear, everything screaming at me to push him away, to go. Everything but Mulder himself. And my body, the ultimate traitor. My cock was so hard I would have come if he'd but asked me to.
I closed my eyes again, letting a sick sigh leak out of me in surrender. I pushed Mulder down to the bed, and he pulled me on top of him. His hands worked to get my pants down. I rolled to the side, opening his shirt and pulling it off his arms.
When we were both in our underwear, I reached for his cock, still docile-soft. He stopped me, inching his hips back, whispering, "No..."
I frowned and pulled away.
"No," he said again, eyes closed, body shivering. "Just..." He swallowed but said nothing more.
Just kill yourself, Alex. Just die for me right here. Let me lie in a hot pool of your blood.
I took a breath, his hurt too pronounced to comfort and too immense to deny. I moved back in. I felt his body fevered as it touched my cool skin. I dragged him up against me. I pulled the covers over us both. I let him bury his face in my neck. I pressed my lips into his hair. He curled deeper into me. I bled from my eyes.
I held him for hours. Held him through sunset and dusk. I felt his breath even out, and I should have left then. But I didn't. I stayed and kept him in my arms. This was for me. This was the rest of my life, right here.
When it was finally fully dark, I let him go. He turned away from me, wrapping himself in the sheets. I backed out of the bed and dressed, watching the cello curve of profile.
I watched him lying there for another five minutes. Each second was like a whip across my back. I felt like his pain should have been seeping out of me then. But it wasn't. It made a home in me, sensing my inability to exorcise it. When I turned and left, I blew out every candle but one, and I took that into the bedroom and left it on a table beside the bed. Then I closed my eyes on him and walked out the door.
.........
They picked me up as I knew they would, as they'd have to. I didn't resist. They wrestled my compliant body into a car and I closed my eyes as the tires squealed. I wanted it almost as badly as they needed to give it to me. It was inevitable. Fighting wasn't an option. And once it was through, I'd have him out of me again. They'd bleed him out of me like no amount of tears into his hair could manage.
"Take him to Realignment," he said as I dangled in their hold. It was better if I just relaxed. If I tried to stand, to shake them off and walk down that long hall on my own, I might decide to run. I might decide a few bullets in the back wouldn't be so bad.
They were going to remind me why I was in this in the first place. And they were right. I needed reminding. I wanted it. I needed all this to make sense again. It used to.
I got thrown into a chair and buckled in. Just the metallic smell was enough to elict a nostalgic groan from me. The hedonistic pleasure of going to sleep and waking up new, revived, stronger. Waking up asleep.
I turned my head, baring my neck for the needle, and when it sank in, I shed the last tear I ever wanted to cry again in my life.
To Be Continued...
Series Name: History
Title: History, Chapter Three: Lying From You
Author: Sage Fyre [email/website]
Details: Series | NC-17 | 6k | 05/07/07
Pairings: Mulder/Krycek
Category: Drama
Summary: I wanted to write a story where Agent Mulder and Agent Krycek were lovers, but every episode/interaction between them thereafter stays true to canon (up until a certain point when it will have to take its own course.)
Notes: Spoilers: Every episode with Krycek (plus Young at Heart.)
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