The End of the Road

by Courtney Gray

[Story Headers]

     Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
     And the dark street winds and bends.
     Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
     We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
     And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
     To the place where the sidewalk ends.

	     --Shel Silverstein

Krycek paused in front of the window, shifting aside the heavy curtain to gaze out at the gently falling snow. The bare branches of the oak trees at the side of the house were covered in white. The snow fall had been steady all day. If it continued, he'd probably have to dig out the driveway again. Grimacing, he let the drape fall back into place and sat down in front of the wide desk and looked at the set of small monitors. The cameras were all working properly.

He leaned back in his chair and watched the progress of the three bundled figures plodding up the sloping path to his house. Pains in the neck, he thought. What the hell did they want from him now? He thought about ignoring them; they certainly couldn't get in if he didn't want them to. Sighing, he knew they would just keep coming back. He ignored the fact that it'd been over a year since he'd last seen them. Instead, he finished his cooling mug of coffee and waited for the doorbell to ring.

He let them stew for a few minutes and watched the monitor as the three men tried to peer through the curtained windows and then craned their necks looking this way and that for the probable location of surveillance cameras. He was pleased to note that they didn't seem to be able to spot them.

"C'mon, let us in, Krycek. It's bad enough we had to leave the van outside that fortified front gate of yours and hike a zillion miles to your door," called the short one plaintively. "It's fucking cold out here!"

Snickering, Krycek got up and walked leisurely to the door, coding off the alarms before unlocking the door. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the three unwise geeks. Be grateful I let you walk through the side gate. Now to what do I owe this nuisance call?"

Ringo Langly peeled the woolen scarf away from his nose and mouth long enough to say, "We really need to talk to you, Alex. It's important. Otherwise we wouldn't be trekking all the way out here to freeze our butts off."

"Assistant Director Skinner asked us to come and talk to you about Mulder," stated John Byers as he cupped his gloved hands together.

One eyebrow rising and curiosity stirring despite himself, Krycek stepped aside and let them into the entryway. "Take off your shoes and leave them under the coat rack."

"What, is this a new technique to keep us from running out or something?" ventured Langly.

Krycek sighed. "It's my technique for keeping mud and snow off my hardwood floors, you jerk."

Frohike snorted and Byers smiled diffidently as they began taking off their sodden boots. Langly gave him a sour grin and did the same. With very deliberate movements, Frohike took off his coat, hat, and scarf as well and hung them on the rack.

"Yeah, sure, by all means, make yourselves at home," muttered Krycek as he turned and headed into his living room.

A couple of minutes later, his three visitors joined him. "My, you really finished fixing this place up," said Byers, gazing around the room with a wide-eyed look.

It was little more than a rundown old wreck of a house the last time they saw it, uninhabited for decades, on the edge of a forest, at the end of a long and winding road, with no other soul within miles, which was the reason he'd chosen it.

Krycek had rebuilt most of it, spending a small fortune of the monies he'd siphoned off from the Syndicate coffers to bring contractors out to break down walls, open up the rooms, and replace plumbing, the roof, the wiring. He'd even done some of the work himself.

He'd never admit it to anyone, but this house was his pride and joy, a tangible testament to his perseverance and determination to try and reshape his life on his own terms. For a man who spent his entire adulthood moving from one place to another every few months or less, the fact that he'd lived here for nearly two solid years was close to shocking.

It was his place. Alex Krycek's house. His escape from all he had been. And all it took was his death to get it, he thought drily. He stood in front of the polished stone fireplace with its antique grate. The fire warmed his back, wood crackling now and then.

"Yeah, Krycek, looks like an ad for Manly Minimalist Home and Garden," quipped Frohike as he settled himself on the comfortable chocolate suede sofa and peered at the single, neatly folded newspaper on the dark wood coffee table.

"No porn, Frohike, not even a People."

"Even you have your limitations, Krycek."

Krycek crossed his arms over his chest and gazed around the room. Minimalist? The blank walls were painted a soft cream with the fireplace wall a deep brown that matched the plush rug. It was top of the line, just like the furniture. Granted, he didn't have many decorations. Any decorations, he amended. Nothing that didn't have a practical, utilitarian function. Funny how he hadn't really noticed that before.

He turned his attention back to his unwanted guests. "So, before I throw your asses out of my house, what does Skinner want you to tell me?" He didn't bother asking why they hadn't just phoned or emailed him. They all knew he wouldn't have answered.

"What, no steaming mugs of hot chocolate with the little marshmallows floating on top?" asked Langly.

Krycek gave him a long hard stare until Langly cleared his throat and sat down quietly beside Frohike.

"He's very concerned about Mulder's...state of mind," said Byers

Krycek stared unblinkingly at the bearded man for several seconds before he threw back his head and laughed. The three men started, giving each other wary glances.

Laughter subsiding, head shaking slowly, Krycek grinned. "Mulder's mind would be a source of concern to anyone who knows him. What else is new?"

"Mulder's acting very strangely."

"And I repeat, what else is new?"

Langly and Frohike both turned to Byers. "Get on with it, John," they intoned.

His cheeks turning a shade pinker, Byers fished into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "Assistant Director Skinner said I should give you this if, er, we couldn't quite, um, explain--"

Krycek watched as Byers' face turned another shade towards outright embarrassment. Frohike waved his arms in an impatient gesture and got up. "Mulder's gone 'round the bend because Miz Scully eloped with John Doggett and moved to Syracuse, and then Skinner broke up with him and up and married his secretary."

Head tilting, Krycek wasn't sure he actually heard what he thought he heard. "Say what?"

"He got the double dump," replied Langly. "Mulder couldn't get the fire going with Scully and then when he tried the love tango with the Skinman, he wound up back in Heartbreak Hotel."

Krycek's mouth dropped open. He turned his head slowly from side to side, his eyes darting over each of the three men. "Are you telling me that Mulder had an affair with Skinner?"

"Hey, you were right." Langly nodded at Byers with a grin. "He doesn't give a shit about Scully."

"No accounting for taste," muttered Frohike.

Krycek thumped his real hand on the stone mantle and started pacing. "That fucker told me he was straight!"

"Mulder?" asked Byers.

Krycek stopped and glared at him. "Skinner, you asshole." He started pacing again. "That fucker turns me down, happily agrees to shoot me between the eyes, and then goes off and screws Mulder through the floor!"

"I don't know about that 'through the floor' part, Alex," said Langly, who immediately bit down on his lip as Krycek's pinned him with a stare.

"You, uh, you wanted to have a, um, sexual liaison with Assistant Director Skinner?" asked Byers, his face still a rosy beacon.

Krycek kept pacing, his mind flooded with images from a hundred old fantasies, images he really, really didn't want to revive. Mulder moaning under Skinner...Skinner's cock punching into Mulder's ass...sweat-slicked bodies grinding together rhythmically...a thick cock slipping between Mulder's lips... And himself, lying serenely satisfied, between them. It was a fantasy that interspersed his endless Mulder dreams. "What?" he snapped, stopping in front of Byers.

"You, uh, wanted...Skinner?"

"I was under a lot of stress," replied Krycek, enunciating each word slowly. He shut his eyes for a moment, drew in a long, deep breath. "Okay. Give me the letter." He held his fake hand out.

Byers placed it, with a slight, noticeable hesitation, on his open palm. Krycek worked the hand, clasping it tight over the envelope as he slowly tore it open with his real fingers. The new prosthetic was remarkably sensitive and flexible. He only hated it half as much as the old one. Pulling out the single sheet of paper, he glanced up as the three men moved a little closer. He scowled until they backed away again, then he began to read.

"Alex," it began, making him smirk. I would have preferred talking to you face to face. I don't have the time to try and find you. I know the Gunmen know where you are, so I'll have to leave it to them.

Alex, I'm asking you to help Mulder. You're the only one who can now. As the Gunmen have told you, Mulder is about as alone as he's ever been. It was hard enough for him to accept that he'd lost Samantha before he ever tried to find her. When the War was over, he was drifting, like the rest of us, only he never settled, never adjusted to the changes. He didn't take Dana's marriage very well. He turned to me and, well, I did my best--Krycek stopped and rolled his eyes, muttering, "I just bet you did," before continuing to read. "-- to give him what he needed.

My relationship with Mulder might surprise you. It might piss you off. Just know that it wouldn't have worked between the two of us back then. I didn't trust you and I doubt it would've meant anything to you anyway. It was different with Mulder, but I can't help him now, even if he'd be willing to let me. Kim has been the big surprise in my life and I'm privileged that she agreed to marry me. I'd like Mulder to have a chance for the same kind of happiness I've found with her.

It's you he wants, Alex. I realized it's always been you. Even Scully came to understand that. The poor bastard just refuses to admit it to himself. Find him and make him. You're both half crazy and you damn well deserve each other. You've both been running away from your feelings for too damn long. Go to Mulder, Alex, for yourself as much as for him."

It was signed, W.S.

"Skinner's out of his fucking mind," announced Krycek firmly, crumpling the letter in his hand. "He's out of his mind," he repeated. He walked over to the fireplace, fist raised to toss the paper into the flames. He stopped at the last moment. "What are you three nerds looking at?" he snapped.

"Skinner seems too square jawed to be nuts," returned Frohike with a crimped smile. "I guess you didn't like what he had to say too much, huh?"

"He thinks it's important that you contact Mulder," stated Byers. At Krycek's narrowing eyes, he added. "We didn't read the letter. It's, well, logical."

"Mulder's walled himself off. He doesn't have The X-Files, he doesn't have Scully or Skinner," said Langly, a somber look on his face. "He won't talk to us beyond a few grunts. He won't even let us into his apartment. He doesn't have any interest in...anything...anymore. He's a decent guy, Krycek. Okay, maybe he's a little...spooky, but he doesn't deserve to waste his life away. We think you're the only one that can get through to him."

Krycek glanced down at the floor, trying to rein in his growing irritation. "Has it ever occurred to any of you morons that I would be the last person on earth that Mulder would want to see? That we've never exactly been buddies. Even after I proved to him that I wasn't the Grand Conspiracy's right-hand man, he could barely stand to be in the same room with me." He felt the crumpled letter tight in his fist, disturbed by the sudden image of an apathetic, blank-faced Mulder sitting alone in his dark apartment. Why should that matter to him, thought Krycek. Why was it his problem? As far as Krycek knew, Mulder hating his guts was the one constant in his life. It's you he wants, Alex. It's always been you. Skinner's words pulled him up short, had him catching his breath. Why would Skinner say something like that? Even Scully came to understand that. Damn. How could they both...

Shaking his head, Krycek snapped his attention back to the three men in front of him. "It's not my problem. You've delivered your message, now get the hell out of my house."

"If you'd just talk to him," began Byers, taking a step forward.

"There's nothing I can do for Mulder." Were they all fucking crazy?

"Maybe you can make him angry. You sure have the knack," said Frohike.

Krycek glared at him.

"Well, it'd be better than the zombie that's in Mulder's body now," continued Frohike. "Listen, Krycek, you can't be that indifferent. We all know what you did to help Mulder, to help the Resistance. There aren't any smokescreens left for you to hide behind. You put your own life on the line for him, so don't give us that shit about 'there's nothing you can do'. Cut the crap and come back with us."

The little man had guts, Krycek would give him that. Krycek glanced at the sheet of paper crumpled in his fist and stepped away from the fireplace. He noticed that the three men stepped back as well. "Mulder is still living in that hole of an apartment?"

"Hegel Place, Number 42, the answer to life, the universe and everything," confirmed Langly with a nod of his head.

He studied their faces, and saw the worry, the fear, the anger, the...hope. Mulder was a fortunate man and the asshole probably didn't have a clue. And it was in that moment that he made his decision. Why the hell not?

"Okay, I'll go and see him," he said.

"All right!" grinned Langly. Byers was smiling. Even Frohike's lips twitched upward slightly.

Sure, he'd go see Mulder. If his three geek friends, Scully and Skinner all wanted him to talk to Mulder than that, in itself, made for a historic event. And he had to admit, he was curious. Just a little. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do these days. Retirement in your late 30s wasn't, in fact, all it was cracked up to be, especially if you were segueing from a daily routine of blowing up Alien bases and wiping out the remains of a desperate and ruthless Syndicate to fixing up a dilapidated house and...nothing else.

He'd thought about all of them. He'd thought about Mulder. He couldn't' remember a day when he didn't. Walking away and disappearing into the hills hadn't changed that, not at all.

"So, you'll come back with us?"

"I'll get to Mulder's on my own. You three can leave now." He watched them exchange glances, amused at how they managed to talk without saying a word.

"Um, are you really going to see him?" asked Byers quietly.

He almost felt like yanking their chain but Byers' puppyish sincerity took all the fun out of the prospect. "Yeah," he growled. "Now, how about you all get the hell out of my house?"

"Uh, when, exactly, are you going to see Mulder?" persisted Byers.

"When I feel like it," he stated and watched as they glanced at each other again and then Byers straightened his shoulders and took a step towards him.

For a mousy, reserved-looking geek, the guy had a surprising amount of nerve. All three of them did.

"Alex," he began and Krycek lifted his chin as he continued. "Mulder is our friend and he needs help. We want to help him. He won't let us. This is the only way we can do something. That's why we're here. Please help him."

The soft-spoken voice didn't waver. Byers' gaze was steady and unblinking.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." He looked away from Byer's eyes. "I'll see him tomorrow morning." When he glanced back, Byers was frowning. Krycek stifled a sigh. "As you know, it'll take several hours to drive back to D.C. I'll head out early tomorrow and be there before noon." He paused for a moment. "If that's okay with you, of course?" he added with a layer of sarcasm.

The three men exchanged looks once again and Byers turned towards him again. "Do we have your word?"

Krycek's eyes rounded in surprise. "Would it be worth anything to you if I gave it?"

He watched in amazement as all three men nodded solemnly. He cleared his throat and then met each man's gaze in turn. "You have my word."

"All right then, let's get the hell out of here," said Frohike, clapping his hands together and turning towards the door to gather his things.

"Yeah, I get to nap in the back on the way home," announced Langly.

Byers glanced at his watch. "We should make it back to the Interstate before dark."

A couple of minutes later they were all bundled up again and ready to go. "Take care of him, Alex," said Frohike quietly over his shoulder as they hurried out the door into the snow.

Emotions, ruthlessly buried, clawed their way out of his heart as Alex Krycek stared at the closed door for a long time, the crumpled letter gripped tightly in his hand.

*

The apartments at Hegel Place looked shabby and worn. Maybe it was the daylight that emphasized the dull and grungy brick facade. The times he'd been near Mulder's apartment before were always after nightfall. Some places looked better in the dark.

It felt...odd just parking his Jeep in front of the building in the cold sunshine of a crisp December morning. Getting out and standing on the sidewalk, he glanced up at the windows and realized he probably seemed like someone who was stopping by to pay a call. How...ordinary. It almost made him smile. He still wasn't used to ordinary. He doubted he ever would be.

Mulder's windows were grimy. A pattern on one of the panes looked like a very faint "X" outlined in dust. The sight conjured up sepia images of smoke-filled board rooms and shadowy corridors, dreary basements and blood-stained concrete.

God, he was so tired of the city now. Any city.

Krycek shook his head and slowly walked towards the door. He glanced behind him, carefully checking out the street of tightly packed buildings and brick row houses. There were some habits he couldn't seem to break. His eyes caught on a deep ivy wreath dotted with bright red berries that hung on the door of the apartment house across the street. A couple of the windows in the house beside it were framed with sagging strings of colored lights. It reminded him that there were people out there that celebrated the holidays. He heard the faint whine of a car alarm in the distance and someone yelling an obscenity along with the whoosh of traffic. But aside from a woman walking down the street with a bag of groceries and a little boy by her side and a couple walking their dog, there was no one else in the immediate area.

Turning back to the door, he gazed at the name plates and let his finger hover over Number 42, suddenly wondering if he had lost his mind. He should just turn around and get the hell out of there. He glanced through the grayish glass panel of the door and caught a flicker of movement. Shading his eyes from the reflected glare, he peered closer. The elevator doors at the far end of the lobby area were opening and an elderly lady got off and headed towards him. Krycek stepped back as the small, gray-haired woman stopped and scrutinized him through the glass.

"You're not a tenant here," she said in a remarkably loud voice.

Krycek shook his head, caught by the sharp blue of her eyes. "Ah, no. I...um, I'm here to see Fox Mulder in #42," he replied before he could stop himself, instantly wishing that he had just turned around and left when he had the chance.

The elderly woman let out a long sigh and opened the door. "Oh, that one," she said, waving him in impatiently with her other arm. "C'mon along then, young man, don't just stand there like a lump."

Bemused, he stepped inside and plastered on a smile and gave her a nod. She was an old bag, after all. He had enough on his conscience.

"That Mr. Mulder is a most peculiar man," she told him sternly. "I'm certainly glad I'm not on his floor. The things I've heard." Her piercing blue eyes swept him from head to toe. "Well, at least you look clean and you're not delivering pizza."

With that non sequitur, she shifted her large handbag on her arm and shoved passed him.

As he watched the door shut with a click behind her, Krycek shook his head. Why the hell was he doing this? Maybe he should just leave. The thought stewed in his mind as he turned and headed for the elevator. Yes, he should really leave, he repeated as he detoured and took the stairs instead. This is really a very bad idea, he decided as he walked up to the fourth floor. With each step towards Number 42 he wondered why he couldn't take good advice, even from himself.

He stared at the tarnished numbers on Mulder's door and the small peephole. He pressed the bell and stood there for several minutes. He couldn't hear anything. Maybe Mulder was asleep. According to the Gunmen, that's basically all the man had been doing for the past few months. He pressed the bell again and left his thumb on it for an irritating length of time.

"I'm the last person you want to see," he whispered to the door. "You hate me," he added. A part of him expected the door to be flung open and Mulder's fist to come flying straight for his jaw. But nothing happened. He looked around. Get it over with. He drew in a breath. Maybe Mulder was sick. He wasn't answering the phone, or so the Geeks told him. He could be dead in there, for all anyone knew.

Krycek began pounding on the door. "Mulder, open the door!" He stopped and waited thirty seconds before pounding on the door again. "Mulder!" He hadn't brought his door picks. Hell, he didn't even have them anymore. "Mulder! Open the damn door! I'm not leaving, so open the damn door!" What if Mulder was unconscious?

A movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn and look toward the other end of the hall. A woman's head ducked back inside, her door shutting quickly with a click of the bolt. He frowned. He reached into his jacket for his wallet. Maybe he could use a credit card on the door lock. If all else fails, he could always shoot the lock off. The neighbors would love that. He almost snickered at the mental image until he remembered that he hadn't brought his gun. It was something of a jolt to realize he hadn't carried one in...months. Hell, he was getting soft. Maybe he should start carrying one again.

His fingers brushed against Skinner's letter and he paused. Shit. He drew out his hand and pounded on the door one more time.

Suddenly, he heard the lock click and then the door opened. Krycek's hand was still in the air in mid-rap. His frown grew at the sight before him.

Mulder looked godawful. Slowly lowering his hand, Krycek looked him up and down. He was dressed in rumpled gray sweats, dirty socks and no shoes. He had at least several days' worth of beard stubble that matched the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His hair was lank and disheveled. He slumped against the doorway and gazed back at Krycek with a dull expression. Seconds ticked by before he spoke in a soft tired monotone.

"What do you want?" he asked in a way that said he really didn't care one way or the other.

"What the hell has happened to you?" Krycek asked in return.

"Go away." Mulder began shutting the door but Krycek put his hand on the knob and kept it open. Mulder shrugged one shoulder, let go of the door, turned around and shuffled back into the apartment.

Krycek bit down on his lip. This was definitely not a Mulder he was familiar with at all. He watched as Mulder slunk over to his leather couch and lay down. He could see the flickering light of the muted TV. Closing the door, he clicked on the bolt.

The apartment was a mess, even for Mulder. A pile of unread mail lay just inside the door. Krycek kicked a little of it out of the way as he walked towards the living room. A red light was blinking on the answering machine. From what the Gunmen had told him, the machine had to be crammed with unanswered messages. The air smelled musty and too much like stale cheese. There was a layer of dust on everything. A tilting stack of empty pizza boxes covered the coffee table with scrunched up paper napkins tossed here and there and on the floor besides some newspapers and magazines. Several empty mugs, some beer bottles, a spilled bag of sunflower seeds and a pair of running shoes added to the general detritus in the room. Krycek bent down and picked up a dusty porn tape off the floor. The cover displayed several naked entwined bodies. Krycek tossed the tape on top of the pizza boxes.

The fish tank was empty, not only of fish, but water. Some rocks and dried up seaweed lay on the bottom. The glass was nearly opaque with grime. It looked like it had been empty for quite a while. Dust bunnies that could've passed for tumbleweeds were gathering around the base of the table legs.

Mulder was lying on the couch like a corpse, his head turned towards the TV where it looked like a cartoon sponge was dancing with a crab. Shaking his head, Krycek walked into the kitchen. He grimaced at the sink where it appeared that almost every dish, cup and utensil in the place was soaking in a pool of stagnant gray water. The rest of the dishware was strewn on the counters near a bunch of empty milk and juice cartons. Old Chinese take out containers littered the tiny table near the wall. The small kitchen smelled like it looked.

Holding his breath, Krycek turned around and stalked back into the living room. He didn't bother checking the bedroom since it was probably as much a disaster as the rest of the apartment, and it was obvious that Mulder was using the couch for his bed. Krycek stopped in front of the leather sofa and looked down at Mulder. The man didn't move an inch. He didn't even blink. A couple of food-stained blankets were bunched at the far corner of the couch by his feet and a pillow was on the floor.

"Your. Friends. Are. Worried. About. You." He ground out the words with deliberate emphasis. When Mulder remained silent and unmoving, he added. "And I can see why. For one thing, you're living in a toxic waste dump, you crazy bastard."

Several seconds ticked by before Mulder spoke in the same tired monotone. "You're blocking the TV."

Krycek blew out a breath, grabbed the remote from where it lay near Mulder's stomach and turned off the television.

Mulder sighed tiredly, folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands under his armpits, and closed his eyes.

Krycek stared down at the apathetic stranger in Mulder's body. The Gunmen and Skinner hadn't exaggerated. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and considered what he should do. If he had any sense, he'd just turn around and leave. If Mulder wanted to turn himself into a vegetable, that was his business. The man wasn't his problem, he told himself for the umpteenth time.

A lock of greasy brown hair drooped over Mulder's forehead. He needed a haircut. And a shave. There was a sad tilt to his lips. Little frown lines gathered around his mouth.

Krycek cast a wistful glance over his shoulder at the front door.

He almost jumped when the phone rang, the sound as startling as a gunshot. Mulder didn't move. At the fourth ring, Krycek stalked to the phone and grabbed the receiver. "Yeah," he said.

"Mulder? Mulder, is that you?"

Krycek's jaw clenched at the sound of Scully's voice. "No. Mulder doesn't seem to be in a sociable mood." q122222222222222222222222222222222222222

"Who is this..." Scully's sentence trailed off and then he heard her draw in a breath. "Krycek." It wasn't a question.

"Mulder's really not his usual, obnoxiously verbose self, Scully," he told her, stealing himself for a blistering retort.

After an awkward pause that had him thinking he probably should just hang up, Scully surprised him instead. "I'm glad you're there, Alex. How...how bad is he?"

Krycek was so taken aback by her response that it took him a moment for his mind to accept what he'd just heard. "Uh, he's..." He glanced over at Mulder's pitiful looking figure on the sofa and bit down on his lip. "Lousy."

"Is he sick?"

"Not physically, from what I can tell. At least, no more than a diet of pizza, beer, and junk food could make him. Looks like he hasn't been particularly interested in personal hygiene either." He tried to make it sound nonchalant, not sure whether he was attempting to disguise his concern for his own sake or for Scully's.

When he thought Scully couldn't shock him again, she did. "Please don't leave him, Alex. He needs you."

He swallowed. So much for nonchalance. "I don't see how there's much I can do. He just wants me to leave."

"Then he wouldn't have let you in. You're the only one he's let in."

"How do you know I didn't break in here?" he countered.

"Did you?"

Their strange conversation almost moved him to lie, but then his eyes strayed back to Mulder's forlorn profile. "No," he answered.

"I didn't think so."

"I can't--"

But Scully cut him off. "Mulder dedicated his life to finding the Truth. It wasn't a truth that brought him any happiness, but it helped save our world. Not many people will ever know it.

"You understand better than any of us how much that cost him because you paid as big a price yourself. Now that his quest is over, Mulder believes he has nothing left. At least, he's convinced himself of that.

"Mulder can be the most stubborn, aggravating man I've ever known." There was almost a smile in her voice now. "He's also remarkably...fragile when it comes to managing his life and relationships. Put those together and you get...a mess."

Scully paused for a moment. "I think he's in the dark now, Alex, and he's losing himself. He feels rejected and I can't do anything about it. Neither can Walter. Neither of us wanted to hurt him."

Krycek huffed out a breath, feeling a peculiar stab of panic. "What do you expect me to do, Scully? What the hell do all of you expect me to do?"

"We expect you to bring him back."

"Bring him back?"

"From the dark, Alex. He'll listen to you."

"Like hell he will. If he didn't listen to you or Skinner--"

"He'll listen to you because you've been in the dark, too, and he knows it. If he seems indifferent or angry, it's because he's afraid, afraid of his own feelings," she said softly and then sighed. "I've left enough messages, but when he's better, you tell him I called him, okay? Take care of yourselves."

His mouth hung open as she ended the call. He listened to the dial tone until he finally shook his head and replaced the phone in its cradle.

He slid his hand into the pocket of his jacket, feeling Skinner's folded letter. He curled his fingers around it for a moment as Scully's words hung in his mind, Bring him back. Mouth set in a tight line, he waited for his heart to stop pounding and then walked back to the couch.

Cocking his head to one side, he let a smirk curl the corners of his lips."That was Scully. She sends her regards. Not that you give a shit. So, aren't you going to ask me why I'm here, Mulder?" he began. "I mean, we haven't seen each other in, what, over two years? Aren't you the least bit curious?" He didn't expect a response. He began pacing slowly back and forth, stepping on newspapers and sunflower seeds and the odd sock, kicking an empty Coke can out of the way.

"Well, like I said, your friends are worried about you. Frohike, Byers and Langly even came all the way out to my house, extremely uninvited, because they had this crazy idea that I should pay you a little visit. Of course, I didn't give a fuck what they wanted and threw 'em out." He looked over at Mulder lying on the couch. Gave it another moment's thought and then continued. "But then Walt asked me and, well, it's hard to say no to Walt," he added, letting a confident smugness into his voice. "I mean, all he has to do is look at me with those big, soulful brown eyes of his and I'm putty in his hands."

Mulder's head turned slightly, his hazel eyes narrowing in on Krycek who continued to pace. "Anyway, Walt's my man and I do what my man wants me to do, so here I am. At least, I can go back and tell him I saw you, though--"

Mulder was already swinging his legs over, kicking a blanket off in the process as he jumped up, glaring. "What the fuck do you mean 'Walt's your man? You and Skinner?!"

"Off and on for a while," replied Krycek without missing a beat. "Even while he was doing you. Walt's very generous that way."

"You lying son of a bitch!" Mulder drew back his fist and punched him hard in the mouth. The impact sent him reeling backwards, landing in a heap on the floor. His lip throbbed and he touched his fingers to the open cut, wiping away the blood that trickled down his chin. "Well, just like old times," he said. At least, for a moment, Mulder looked alive again. Frohike had been right; Krycek could always make Mulder angry.

"You're a liar. You've always been a liar. Walter is in love with Kim. He wouldn't cheat on her with anyone. And he wouldn't have cheated on me either."

Frowning down at him, Mulder's hands balled at his sides. Yet, there was more than anger in his eyes, there was an almost helpless desperation that made Krycek bite back a curse. He didn't get up. "You're right. I was lying," he said.

He watched as Mulder's body seemed to deflate and shrink back into itself. Mulder swallowed, a tremor to his lips as Krycek heard the whispered words spilling out. "Everyone leaves me."

Staring back, Krycek felt a stab of painful emotion in the pit of his stomach. "Everyone, Mulder? Everyone?" he asked, his voice growing huskier and angrier than he wanted it to be. "How about the ever masochistic Alex Krycek, huh? How about me, Mulder? Look, here I am, back...again. Fuck, even death can't keep me from coming back to you."

The silence stretched as they looked at each other. Mulder's frown deepened as if he was absorbing Krycek's words like a strange new language.

Krycek risked shifting to his knees, sitting back on his heels. He could taste blood seeping from the cut on his lip, but he ignored it, waiting for Mulder's next move.

"Your mouth's swelling," said Mulder almost absently. He took a half step back and slowly held one hand out, palm open. "C'mon, you better clean it up. I think I've got some antiseptic in the bathroom."

Angling his head, Krycek looked warily at the outstretched hand. "Are you going to hit me again?"

Mulder sighed and let his hand drop, stepping back. "No. Get up."

Carefully, Krycek rose to his feet and waited while Mulder began shuffling towards the bathroom. Looking over his shoulder, Mulder paused until Krycek began to follow after him.

Mulder's bathroom looked as tired and depressed as the rest of his apartment. One of the two lights in the ceiling lamp was out. Several towels were piled on the floor by the tub, one black sock hung over the top of the toilet tank. Mulder rummaged in the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out a dust covered first aid kit. Pushing aside the nearly empty tube of toothpaste, a frazzle-headed toothbrush and an old, partially eaten Snickers bar, he made room on the vanity counter for the kit and begin taking out the contents.

"Did Skinner really contact you about me?" asked Mulder flatly as he tore open a packet of antiseptic wipes.

"He wrote me a letter."

At Mulder's puzzled glance, Krycek added, "The Gunmen do postal delivery now. They know where I live and they brought it in person as added incentive."

Mulder seemed to lose interest and returned his attention to removing the wipe and handing it to Krycek along with a surprisingly clean looking hand towel.

Grimacing as he dabbed at the cut on his lip, Krycek kept his eyes on Mulder, watching as his shoulders slumped and he turned around, moving back towards the living room like a wraith.

Krycek glanced into the mirror. The bleeding had already stopped. He debated what he should do. He wondered how in hell Skinner could ever have thought that Mulder...wanted...him. It was fucking obvious from Mulder's reaction that it was Skinner that he needed.

He should just get the hell out and let Mulder wallow. Let him shrivel up and die. Krycek winced as he ground the wipe against his mouth, throwing it into the basin. He gripped the edge of the basin. Scully was right on target: Mulder was a mess. Mulder wasn't his responsibility. Wasn't his problem. So why did he suddenly feel so jealous of Skinner?

Krycek swallowed hard and looked up into the mirror. After a moment of confrontation with himself, he shook his head. Fucked up as Mulder might be, Krycek still felt...something for the man. Damn, he still wanted him. He wanted...too damn much. It was stupid. Futile. And yet he couldn't stop the feeling, even after all these years.

He pushed away from the sink and drew back his shoulders. "You are a fucking fool, so why stop now," he told his reflection. He made the decision. If he was going to finish with Mulder, it was damn well going to be his way.

He marched back into the living room, spotting Mulder lying on the leather couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. He shifted direction, went back to a hall closet and grabbed a thick all-weather coat with a designer label and the near pristine look of something that hadn't been worn in years. He spotted a pair of hiking boots and picked them up, too. For a moment, he considered trying to pack a bag and decided it wasn't worth the bother.

Stopping before the couch, he held out the coat and boots. "Get up and get into this. You're coming with me."

Slowly, Mulder turned his head, blinking at Krycek as if he was disconcerted to see him. His gaze drifted to the coat and back again at Krycek's face. "That's my stuff."

"Yeah, you're a genius, all right," snapped Krycek. "Now, get up and get put them on. We've got a long drive."

Mulder stared at him blankly, then turned his head and draped his arm over his eyes. "Go away. Leave me alone."

Krycek gave himself a count to three than grabbed hold of Mulder's leg, stuffed a boot over one foot and then the other, ignoring the dirty socks, then lifted him roughly off the couch, keeping a tight hold as Mulder stumbled. Mulder's mouth had dropped open in shock, giving Krycek a few more seconds to shove his arms into the coat and hoist it over his shoulders.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!?"

Krycek didn't answer, manhandling Mulder towards the door. He had the door open when Mulder wrenched himself away, staggered back and gaped at him. "I--I'm not leaving. Wha-what are you doing?!"

"I'm not sitting around in this piss hole of an apartment and neither are you. It's fuckin' depressing. You're coming with me."

"W-with you?! Where?"

"My house."

Mulder's eyes rounded, making him look even more dazed.

"Yeah, Mulder, unlike you, I don't live in a sewer, surprise, surprise. And, you know what, you're going to get the privilege of seeing it. A rare honor, I'll have you know. Now, c'mon." He grabbed Mulder's arm again and pushed him out into the hallway. He expected Mulder to start ranting or punching. He did neither. He tilted his head slightly and just stared at him while Krycek shut the door.

"C'mon, my car's out front." He met the hazel eyes that seemed to have regained, at least for a second, a tiny familiar spark of curiosity.

Mulder nodded slowly, shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and walked compliantly beside Krycek out to the car, without a word. Krycek kept glancing at him until they were in his car, but Mulder seemed eerily docile.

It was a long drive back to his house. It seemed even longer as Mulder settled into a morose silence, his eyes closing and his body leaning against the passenger door and window. They left the city behind as they eventually got off the highway and took to the winding country roads. The scenery turned peacefully pastoral, though his passenger hardly noticed. Once, Krycek heard Mulder sigh but that was it.

A few flakes of snow began to fall as they headed higher into the hills. "Are you asleep or are you dead, Mulder?" Krycek finally asked with more than a hint of asperity.

After a minute or two, Mulder's head turned towards him slightly and his eyes opened halfway. "Does it matter?" His eyes closed again.

"Unfortunately, you're the only one who can answer that. Why don't you crawl out of that trough of self-pity you've been wallowing in and give it a good, long think," returned Krycek, ending his attempt at conversation. He was almost gratified when Mulder shifted a little, hazel eyes darting at him.

After a while, Krycek popped in a jazz CD just to break up the stillness. More than anything, he felt like stopping the car, grabbing Mulder by the shoulders and shaking him until his bones rattled. He wanted to shake the life back into him. Wanted to hold him and touch him and...kiss him. He wanted to lo--

His knuckles whitened as he clutched at the steering wheel.

He turned his thoughts to all his years of pretending, to the years of running and fighting and hiding. He'd done it his own way, but in the end, he'd helped Mulder and the others topple the Syndicate and obliterate the Alien threat. The world would never know of it, would remain oblivious to their victory in the greatest of Secret Wars, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to Krycek was that Mulder knew. That, after all the facades had been torn away, they'd both been on the same side and Mulder knew it, even though he may have hated Krycek's subterfuge and his methods.

He and Mulder had one thing in common: they were both outsiders now, if not in fact than certainly within their own minds. For Krycek, it was the natural state of things. He'd never belonged anywhere for as far back as he could remember. He was used to it. Status quo.

Yet, during those many, long crucial months of the war when he had worked closely with Mulder and Skinner and Scully, and those few others like the Gunmen, he'd felt a rare sense of belonging despite the constant danger and fear of discovery. They'd all been united in a Cause. Now, they were trying to build separate lives without it. Krycek assumed he'd be the worst at it. Mulder had proved him wrong.

Krycek suddenly wondered if it would have made any difference if he'd stayed around once the Conspiracy had been toppled instead of leaving them all behind. Would it have made a difference, any difference, to Mulder?

The subject of his thoughts finally roused himself as they reached the end of the last country road and drove up and through the security gate of Krycek's property and up the long drive to the house. Krycek parked the Jeep in the garage and turned his gaze to the man next to him. Mulder's expression was wary but at least that was better than indifference.

"So now what?" Mulder asked.

Krycek gave him a jaundiced smile and got out of the car. "Home sweet home," he called back, heading for the door at the other end of the wide garage. He walked into the house, turning on the lights, not waiting for Mulder. In the small mud room, he hung his jacket on one of the hooks and continued into the kitchen. He looked around and wondered what Mulder would think of the house.

It took a few minutes but Mulder finally ambled into the kitchen. He was still wearing his coat.

"You want something to drink, something to eat?" asked Krycek, feeling strange asking the question, like some uncomfortable host with a difficult guest. Well, that seemed to be the situation, he thought ruefully, though a more peculiar host and guest combo he couldn't quite imagine.

Mulder just shook his head, not looking at anything except some vague point beyond Krycek's right shoulder. "I wanna lie down," he muttered.

Disappointed that Mulder seemed to have lost that brief spark of interest that he showed back at the apartment, Krycek shrugged and began walking out of the kitchen. "The spare bedroom is upstairs."

After showing Mulder the guest room that had never seen a guest and the bathroom at the end of the hall, he left Mulder alone. "If you get hungry, just come down to the kitchen and help yourself." Mulder didn't answer him.

And that was the sum of his first evening and night alone with Fox Mulder since Tunguska. At least Krycek was more physically comfortable this time around. That was about the best he could say for it.

The next morning, Krycek rose early. Not that he'd slept much in any case. Knowing Mulder was only a few feet away behind a closed door had kept him tossing and turning, feeling horny and angry with himself and generally frustrated.

He showered, dressed, went down to the kitchen and made coffee and some toast for himself and sat staring alternately out the window at the wintry landscape and at the clock on the wall. After an hour of that, he'd had enough and went upstairs.

He stood before the guest room door. Deciding he didn't have to knock in his own house and Mulder wouldn't respond to that act of courtesy anyway, he flung open the door.

The shutters were closed; he kept them open. The room was dim and Mulder was the lump underneath the blankets of the double bed.

The dcor of the room was out of the 1940s, warm maple furniture left over from the original owners. It was in good condition and Krycek had decided to keep it. He had had enough empty rooms to deal with at the time.

Now, it seemed as if he'd stepped into an old film noir. It was the only room that looked out of place with the rest of the house, a throwback to another era with its art deco, carved headboard, sturdy bureau and vanity with its beveled oval mirror.

He walked over to the windows and opened the shutters, morning light filling the room and revealing the snow dusted branches of the bare trees and the sharp hills beyond.

"Get up, Mulder," he said as he turned towards the lump in the bed.

The dark blue duvet shifted slightly and a tousled head of brown hair lifted from a well of pillows.

"Rise and shine, it's a brand new day," announced Krycek wryly.

Mulder's eyes opened a fraction, blinking at him dully, and then he pulled the blanket over his head.

Puffing out a breath, Krycek grabbed the edge of the duvet and tossed if off. Mulder was curled up into a fetal ball, wearing his less than pristine white t-shirt and shorts.

"Wake up and get out of that bed, Mulder. You're not going to hibernate like some neurotic hedgehog."

Head turning, one hazel eye popped open. "Neurotic hedgehog?"

"Yeah, one of those solitary little mammals with the prickly spines and prominent noses. They communicate through grunts and snuffles. And they eat all kinds of crap. More hedgehogs die during hibernation than during any other time in their lives."

Mulder levered himself into a sitting position, tousled head canted to one side. "You've expanded your repertoire of trivia. It's better than the old days of boring DOT stats, I'll say that."

It surprised Krycek that Mulder was talking, even more that he would refer to their first, brief partnership and his nave, green agent persona. Those early days were a source of painful memory for Krycek. It was like looking back at the start of a twisted and bloody road.

"Get up, Mulder," repeated Krycek, stepping back to give them both a little more space.

"What for? Just leave me alone."

"I thought that's how you wound up like this, because everyone left you alone," taunted Krycek. "If that's what you really want, then you shouldn't have let me bring you here."

Mulder glared at him, eyes narrowing, and then he shoved the blanket aside and got out of bed. He rolled his shoulders and took a step forward. "So, you're not going to leave me alone?" His voice was oddly soft.

"What can I say, I'm a masochist," replied Krycek. Their history certainly pointed to an uncomfortable truth in the statement.

"You're really strange, Krycek."

Krycek raised an eyebrow. "I hope you see the irony in that statement."

"Yeah, I know. I'm strange, too." Mulder nodded to himself. "So, now that I'm up, what do you want?"

"First, take a shower. You smell bad. And seriously consider a shave. I'll loan you some underwear and sweats. Then I want you to eat something that may actually be healthy for you."

"I'm seeing the domestic side of Alex Krycek. It's mind-blowing."

Krycek ignored the comment since he couldn't argue with it himself. "I'll leave the clothes in the bathroom." As he headed out the door, he paused to add, "If I find you back in that bed, I'm going to give you a shower in it."

Fortunately, Mulder didn't push it that far and about thirty minutes later, he appeared in the kitchen. Showered and even shaved, wearing Krycek's sweats and clean socks, he almost looked like the Mulder of old. He padded over to the counter where Krycek had set a cobalt blue mug beside the coffee maker. The scent of his freshly brewed, and extravagantly expensive, coffee filled the room.

He watched as Mulder raised the mug and checked him with a glance. Krycek nodded and Mulder poured himself a cup. He took a long sip, and then another, with a flash of something akin to astonishment. "That's actually... good."

"Dish water should taste good to you given what you were drinking back in that cesspool of an apartment. But, yeah, that's the best espresso money can buy."

"I'd given up on tasting...anything, good or bad." Mulder's eyebrows lifted and he slowly gazed around the room. "Looks like you got the best of everything money can buy," he said. "Syndicate money, Krycek?"

"Does it matter now, Mulder?" snapped Krycek in turn.

His guest seemed to consider the statement for a moment, before giving him a pallid smile. "Nope. I guess it doesn't. The bastards aren't around to use it. They had a lot more than this though," he added, letting his gaze take in the entire house.

"I spread it around."

Mulder took a few more appreciative swallows of coffee. "Walt told me that quite a few non-profits received very generous, and anonymous, donations shortly after the fighting was over and you...left. He thought it was your largesse."

"Walt must think very highly of me," replied Krycek obliquely.

"He has a remarkably nave side to his nature for such a tough no-nonsense ex-Marine," quipped Mulder with a slight quirk to his lips. He ambled over to the refrigerator and opened it, staring inside. "You know, I'm a little hungry. No leftover pizza?"

Krycek shuddered. "No chance. There's some roast chicken and red potato salad. Try that instead. Or I can make you an omelet."

"Gee, you'd put an apron on for little ol' me?"

Mulder's mild sarcasm was comfortingly familiar. Krycek would happily take it instead of the wall of silence. He grinned, the words slipping out. "For you, anything."

Mulder met his eyes with an immediate intensity that layered his simple response. "Really?"

Feeling suddenly and uncomfortably exposed, Krycek lifted his chin with a knee-jerk defensiveness. "You'd believe anything, wouldn't you?"

His expression fading into blankness, Mulder shut the refrigerator door, finished off the coffee, replaced the mug on the counter and wandered back out to the great room without another word.

"Aw fuck," muttered Krycek under his breath as his green eyes tracked the shuffling figure.

They spent the next two hours in separate rooms until the phone started to ring.

Krycek received very few phone calls these days, and most were wrong numbers. He walked into the living room to pick it up, spotting Mulder on the sofa.

"Alex, it's Frohike. Did you talk to Mulder?"

Krycek hesitated for a moment, irritated by the call even though he had fully expected the Geeks to bug him about their friend. "Yeah," he replied, smirking at the puff of breath he heard over the line as the little man waited for more than his one word answer.

"Aw, c'mon, Krycek! What happened?"

"Yeah, is Mulder all right?" That was Langly's voice, confirming that the trio were on speakerphone.

"We would appreciate an update, Alex. We've been very concerned," added Byers politely.

Krycek rolled his head back, but knew he'd never get rid of them until he gave them a report. "Mulder's fine. He's here with me."

"In your house? Really?"

"Cool!"

"Sounds like an excellent outcome."

"Can we talk to him?" asked Frohike.

Krycek glanced towards the couch where Mulder was slumped in the center, seemingly dozing off before the fireplace. "Hey, Mulder! The Gunmen want to talk to you."

Mulder turned his head slowly, eyes opening to half mast and shook his head slightly before slumping back against the cushions.

"Looks like Mulder isn't interested in taking calls. He's busy communing with my sofa." Krycek could hear a sigh coming across the phone line. "If that's all, I'm hanging up."

"Just...give him a chance, Alex."

"A chance at what, little man?" he snapped. "I don't even know why I brought him here. I should've--"

"It was the best thing you could've done," cut in Byers. "Just be patient with him, please, and you'll see."

"Yeah, like Mulder needed a change of scene, y'know," added Langly. "He'll get over the Skinman and Red and pull himself together if he's got something to distract him, and hey, you're pretty distracting." There was a grin in the blond's voice.

"You're an idiot," said Krycek.

Byers quickly interrupted. "Um, may we contact you again, Alex? To check on Mulder?"

"Yeah, fine, whatever," said Krycek, knowing it was easier than trying to get rid of them. He hung up and walked back to the living room.

Damn, but he didn't like feeling helpless. Mulder was a master at making him feel out of control and the man didn't even know it. Now that his moods were even more erratic than usual, it was worse.

Mulder seemed as fragile as glass and Krycek wasn't used to it. Hadn't expected to ever see him like that. The scene in the kitchen made him realize that he would have to let his own barriers down if he was going to have any chance of bringing Mulder...back to himself.

Well, in that case, he might as well get something out of it while he could.

Mulder had shifted to lay full length on the sofa. Krycek walked over and shoved his legs off. Then he sat down himself, very close to the other man, deliberately crowding him into the corner.

Slowly, he draped his right arm across Mulder's shoulder and gave him a studied smile.

Mulder blinked at him as if he was coming out of a fog, head tilting slightly to observe Krycek's fingers gently sliding over his bicep.

When he turned back, Krycek leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

It didn't last long, no where near as long as he would've wanted. Mulder jumped back with more animation than he'd shown all day. At least it was a reaction, though not the one he had hoped for. Since it seemed he had nothing to lose, Krycek pushed it.

"So, was Walter a good kisser?"

There was a flash of fire in Mulder's eyes and it looked like he was going to spew a few expletives, but then he frowned and stared hard at Krycek.

"Why do you want to know?"

Frustration and longing forced the truth out before he could stop himself. "Because I never got a chance to find out for myself and because I think I can do better if you'd only let me. Because I've always wanted to kiss you, Mulder. Couldn't you figure that out, you asshole?!"

Teeth raked the full lower lip as Mulder continued to stare at him. Krycek could practically see the wheels turning.

Then Mulder leaned over. "No, Alex, I couldn't. Yeah, there was that wimp kiss on the cheek when you were still the old Brit's flunky, but that was all a pack of lies, wasn't it? In fact, that's all I've ever gotten from you--lies and disguises and games and betrayal."

Krycek sucked in a breath, fist balling at his side as he fought to keep his temper in check. "You seem to have conveniently forgotten who was fighting beside you and Scully and Skinner in the...Recent Unpleasantness."

Mulder smirked. "A classic euphemism, Alex. I like it, though I doubt anyone would find our Secret War any more civil than the one between the States.

"And, yes, I remember, only too well. I know we couldn't have succeeded without your help, if that's what you wanted to hear. What I can't figure is why you couldn't have told me the truth from the beginning. All those years, Alex. All those lies. It could have been so...different between us."

"I explained why I had to do what I did. Skinner and Scully seemed to understand. Why can't you?"

Mulder shot up from the couch, glaring down at him, his voice rising to a shout. "Because they didn't need you and I did! I needed you from the beginning, Alex. I wanted you with me from the beginning!"

The outburst and the naked, wounded look in Mulder's eyes, hit Krycek like a punch. He never would have imagined those words coming from the man before him. He rose slowly, feeling his palm sweating. They stood face to face, barely a foot apart. He struggled for the right words. "I...I didn't trust you, Mulder. There were too many players, too many risks. I knew what was at stake far better than you. I couldn't take the gamble; it wasn't just the two of us who would've paid the price."

"You didn't trust me?" The question was low, incredulous.

Krycek had to glance away for a moment. "You were the loose cannon, Mulder. No one knew what you would do. You didn't know what you would do. There was a plan, a plan to stop the Invasion that was put into place before I was even born. I'd been trained for it all my life. My parents fought and died to keep it alive." He paused, caught by that sudden, long-ago memory and forcibly shook it off. "I...I wanted to be with you, Mulder. I did, but it would have put you in even more danger than you were facing already."

"You didn't trust me," repeated Mulder in a whisper, his gaze lowering.

"You didn't trust me either, not from the first second we met."

Looking up again, Mulder's lips lifted at the corners in a semblance of a smile. "My instincts told me that you weren't what you appeared to be. If you had only told me the truth, I would've known it." Mulder tapped his chest. "In here. It would have been different, Alex. But you didn't give me that chance."

With a painful sense of something slipping away, Krycek felt it bleeding into his voice as he husked out the words. "I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mulder."

The silence stretched, a moment that weaved endings and beginnings. Finally, Mulder stepped away from him and Krycek knew it was the end. "So, no more chances left, for either of us, Mulder?"

And then Mulder stopped, his back turned away, face in profile. "A chance at what?"

Krycek stared at the familiar curve of Mulder's long, lean body with an ache in his heart. "At being happy," he said at last.

"What do you know about happiness?"

"Very little. But I've always wanted to learn."

He watched as, after a moment, Mulder's shoulders began to shake. The sound of Mulder's soft laughter surprised him. There was no mockery or bitterness in it.

The air in the room seemed to lighten in some magical way as Mulder turned towards him again, a little smile playing over his face.

"I guess we're not so unlike after all, Alex." His eyes narrowed as if he'd come to some kind of decision. "Do you trust me?' A twinkle lightened his eyes as he added, "Now that the fate of the world isn't hanging in the balance? Now that there's just you and me?"

For just an instant, Krycek wanted to blurt out how he truly felt, the way he'd imagined in his countless Mulder dreams, but instead, he simply said "Yes I do." Then he drew in a breath. "Can you trust me?"

Hazel eyes measuring him, Mulder answered. "I'll lay it out, Alex. I'm not sure if I can trust you, not the way I still feel about what happened before, but I do know...my instincts are telling me...leaving it like this is not the answer. Giving up a chance when you get it is a damn stupid thing to do. I don't need any more regrets, Alex. And I'm tired of being unhappy."

"So, what are you going to do?" Hope flared inside him, a feeling he recognized for its rarity, as he watched Mulder close the distance between them and then felt his arms sliding around his shoulders.

The kiss that followed was better than his Mulder dreams. It was Mulder, his body real and warm, pressed against him, full lips molding eagerly to his mouth with a need and hunger that even his dreams could not have imagined. Mulder kissing him. Wanting him.

It felt like stars bursting and dams breaking and the world spinning like a top. It was blood rushing through his veins and his heart filling to overflowing.

As their first sexual experience, it would be remembered as a fumbling, sometimes bumbling, almost-wrestling match. They were like adolescents, wanting everything at once, suddenly starved for touches too long denied. Clothes were nearly ripped away in their rushing need to be as close as possible, to feel as much as possible, all and everything at once.

They were too desperate for finesse, coming in a hot clench, belly to belly, trembling and holding tight to one another.

Later, as they lay, tangled like exhausted otters, in a streambed, slick and sated, dotted with teeth marks and sticky with semen, they would look at each other and laugh.

Even later, after their second time, in a more lucid and mundane moment, Krycek would be very grateful for his spacious, comfortable sofa with its soft suede fabric and the thick plush rug before the fireplace that not only felt wonderful against naked skin but was stain-resistant as well.

By their third time, at last in Krycek's king-sized bed, they were confident explorers, re-mapping each other's bodies with intimate ease and tantalizing deliberation.

It was when Krycek felt the tender, accepting touch of Mulder's mouth on what was left of his arm that he felt like he was whole again.

The sweetest moment came when they fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, cocooned together as the snow fell silently against the windowpanes.

*

When he woke, he felt an instant of panic, a sinking fear that it had all been just another dream. The awful moment was wiped away by the warmth of Mulder's kiss brushing his lips.

"I'm still here, Alex. No regrets. In fact, I'm very grateful for the gift of being alive. Really and truly alive again."

Krycek could only nod, unaware of the tears that trickled down his face as he drew Mulder against him for a longer kiss.

When they pulled apart a little, Mulder gently dabbed the tears away with his fingertips. Then he grinned and nipped Krycek's ear. "Okay. Let's get up and you can make me a damn huge breakfast. I'm starving."

It was barely dawn as far as Krycek could tell but he realized he was ravenous, too. "I guess we need to stoke up our energy levels," he ventured.

"Damn right," agreed Mulder, almost bouncing out of the bed and pulling on his arm. "C'mon, let's devour your kitchen."

They spent the early morning eating omelets stuffed with cheese and mushrooms, along with buttered toast and strawberry jam, a side of crispy bacon and sausages, and a pot of Krycek's most excellent coffee.

As the morning turned to afternoon, it wasn't easy keeping their hands off each other, and they didn't really try, yet they managed to spend a good bit of time just talking. It was awkward and a little difficult at moments, but it also broke down what was left of each man's protective walls.

For Krycek, it was the start of an amazing day.

And then the phone rang. And rang.

"Yeah?"

"Alex, will you open the gate and let us drive the van up to the house?"

Krycek frowned at the receiver and stalked over to his office and looked at the monitors. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growled, spotting the little man standing near the front gate to his property, cellphone to his ear, and shifting from foot to foot on the snow covered ground. "Are the other two with you?" He already knew that Frohike wouldn't be by himself, but it gave him a moment to consider his options.

"Of course we're all here. Byers and Langly are in the van. We asked if we could contact you again, remember? You said 'sure,' remember?

Krycek recalled their last phone conversation. "I assumed you meant by telephone."

"Um, the method wasn't specified."

Krycek drew in a deep breath. Sneaky little pricks.

"C'mon, Alex, have a heart and open this booby-trapped Great Wall of Krycek and let us in. We wanna talk to Mulder and we've got too much stuff to haul all the way up there."

Stuff? Last time they showed up, Krycek had made them walk, leaving their car outside the gate. It was starting to snow again and he could tell it was going to be a bad storm.

He heard Mulder walking up behind him, resting his chin on Krycek's shoulder, eyeing the small monitors with a curious look on his face.

"Shit Alex, give us a break!" Frohike's voice brought a grin to Mulder's face.

"You have to let them in, Alex," whispered Mulder in his ear.

Damn those geeks and their lousy timing. Thoughts of a long, leisurely day in bed with a naked Mulder were fading quickly. The throaty chuckle in his ear told him Mulder knew just what he was thinking.

"Okay, I'll open the gate for 30 seconds." Krycek hung up and opened a panel below one of the monitors and tapped on two squares on the screen. He watched Frohike race back into the van as the gate slid open. The dark paneled van sped quickly through and up the long drive as the heavy metal gate rolled open and then slid shut behind them.

"From the look of the drifting snow out there, it looks like they'll be staying overnight. Hope your bedroom is soundproof."

Krycek answered Mulder's smirk with one of his own.

Mulder looked away and focused on the monitor again. "Here they come."

"I'm tempted to leave them out there."

He sighed as Mulder nuzzled his neck and said, "You told me they were the ones who got you to come over to see me."

"Yeah. I guess I owe them big time, but I sure as hell am not telling them that, and I still don't have to like it."

But he couldn't help smiling at the sound of Mulder's laughter.

Krycek watched as the van drove up to the driveway and pulled to a stop before the garage. The snow was picking up, flurries buffeted by the wind and piling onto the thin layer that already covered the grounds. The van door opened and the three men got out hurriedly.

Krycek frowned as he eyed the bags and boxes they were carrying as they stumbled towards the door.

But Mulder was already heading down the hall towards the front door. With another resigned sigh, Krycek checked all the monitors one last time and followed him.

The doorbell was ringing continuously as he reached the great room where Mulder was now standing near the couch. He hadn't gone to the door but just stood waiting.

Shaking his head, Krycek unlocked and opened the door. The three men crammed their way through, loaded down with their...stuff, globs of snow trailing in their wake. The wind was biting cold and Krycek shut the door quickly.

Boxes and bags hit the floor as the men shivered and stamped their feet. "Damn, it's like the North Pole out there!"

Frohike was wearing a ridiculous pair of oversized earmuffs that he removed and stuffed into one of his large coat pockets. A big grin broke over his face as he spotted Mulder who stood with his arms folded over his chest.

"Hey, Dude!" called Langly who sported a snow-dampened, deep purple knit cap with a pompom on top.

Byers had lowered the large boxes he carried and was trying to gather the other scattered items into one huge pile. He glanced over at Mulder and nodded with a smile.

Frohike and Langly hurried over to the sitting area, Frohike hesitated for only a moment before throwing his arms around Mulder and hugging him tightly while Langly began happily thumping him on his back and whatever else he could reach.

"Damn, it's good to lay eyes on you, man!"

"We've been, like, worried, ya know."

Byers left the small mountain of 'stuff' and walked over to Mulder, forming a semi-circle with his two friends. "It really is wonderful to see you, Mulder," he said.

Krycek kept his eyes on Mulder. His lover wore a bemused expression as Frohike continued to bearhug him, but then, slowly, he raised his own arms and returned the hug. "Uh, hi, guys."

Frohike finally released him. "Hey, I'm getting snow all over you." A little trail of melting flakes splotched across Mulder's sweatshirt.

"S'okay," replied Mulder. He was taking in each one of the trio in turn. "To what do we owe this mid-blizzard visit?"

"That's a very good question," cut in Krycek, hiding his pleasure at hearing Mulder using the word 'we' by turning back to the door and bolting the lock.

"Oh, um, wait, we have one more thing to get out of the van!" piped Langly, as all three Gunmen hurried back towards the door.

"What?"

"C'mon, Alex, we just wanted to bring the other stuff in first," whined Langly has he hitched his thick pea coat up around his shoulders.

Frohike was already pulling out his earmuffs. "Yeah, damn, can't forget the most important thing. It'll only take a minute. We'll be right back, Mulder."

Krycek scowled at them but stepped aside. "All three of you have to get whatever it is?"

"Well, it's somewhat...cumbersome," explained Byers with an apologetic wince.

"What the hell--" But Krycek's comment was cut short as Frohike opened the door to the now raging storm.

"Holy shit," muttered the little man. "Let's get the lead out," he yelled, his two compatriots rushing out into the snow behind him.

Krycek closed the door against the freezing wind, leaning against it. Mulder walked up to stand beside him, which was about the only thing that prevented him from throwing the bolt lock back into place.

"Your friends are insane," he muttered.

"Takes one to know one, Alex."

He was becoming inordinately fond of Mulder's smiles. He could've stared at Mulder's lips for a very long time.

Too soon, he heard the Lone Gunmen trampling back, shouting over the wind at him to open the door. Rolling his eyes, Krycek stepped back again and opened the door to the elements, his eyebrows rising as Frohike walked in backwards holding up something large and green.

The three men were carrying a tree. A large tree tied with twine.

"What the fuck are you doing?" called Krycek as they settled the nearly seven foot tall tree in the middle of his sitting room rug and cut the circles of twine binding the branches. Snowflakes dripped off the now bushy tree and onto the rug.

"It's a Balsam fir; isn't it a beauty? We were lucky to find it before we left. Frohike's friend, Bootback Freddie, runs a tree lot and he only had a couple of good ones left that he stashed in the back," replied Langly.

Krycek stared at him, fleetingly tempted to ask where the "Bootback" came from but deciding he didn't want to know.

"We considered buying an artificial tree, but they're nothing but polyethylene and PVCs. Definitely not the best choice, environmentally speaking," added Byers.

Krycek felt a headache coming on and grimaced. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"PVC, polyvinyl chloride, not good stuff," said Mulder. "Most artificial trees are made from it and they usually use lead to stabilize the chemicals."

The Lone Gunmen smiled and nodded in agreement, clearly pleased that Mulder was not only talking, but was as sharp as ever. "This close to Christmas and all, the selection at the lots we passed was, well, quite limited, but fortunately, Bootback Freddie to the rescue."

Krycek started rubbing at his forehead.

"You all right there, Alex?" It was Mulder's voice, laced with amusement.

Krycek peeked out from between his fingers in time to catch Mulder's wink.

The Gunmen were already removing their sodden coats, hats, muffs, and gloves. "Take off your damn shoes, too, and leave 'em by the door. Better late than never, you jerks." He glowered at the wet tracks on his shiny wood floor and carpet as he bypassed the tree and headed towards the kitchen. The scent of fresh pine needles wafted in the air.

He wasn't angry, but he did have a rep to uphold, after all. Besides, he was more than a tad annoyed at not having Mulder all to himself.

He wandered into the kitchen, listening to the sound of Mulder's friends, chattering away in his living room. They obviously cared about Mulder. Hell, he wouldn't have even gone after Mulder in the first place if they hadn't shown up here before, he reminded himself again. He did owe them, a lot, even if they were three damn pains in the neck.

They took a chance just driving up here uninvited, regardless of how they defined it. Of course, if they'd asked him outright, he would've told them 'no' and they probably knew that, too.

"Uh, Alex, could we, uh, have a cup of coffee or something. It was freezing out there." Langly shrugged sheepishly at him.

Alex stared at the other man's chest and felt a smirk tug at his lips despite himself. The reindeer head that covered most of Langly's thick knit sweater had a large red nose and holly sprigs in its antlers. It looked ridiculous. "Sharp wardrobe, Langly."

"'Tis the Season, Alex." Langly looked at him with a timid smile.

Alex waved him into the kitchen. "Help yourselves. Me casa, su casa," he said with just a dash of sarcasm. "Try not to break anything or I'll beat you to a bloody pulp." But there was no heat in the words. In fact, he even managed a genuine smile which seemed to disconcert Langly even more than his scowl.

Apparently, Frohike and Byers were not far behind their partner and the three quickly moved into the kitchen and started looking into cabinets as Alex directed them to the coffee to stem their search. "Help yourself to whatever's in the frig or the pantry over there. Hell, cook yourself up a banquet if you want, but I'd appreciate it if you'd clean up after yourselves. Then I expect you to tell me what all that crap is that you dumped in my house."

Frohike walked over to him, peering through his slightly fogged up glasses at Mulder who was standing by the front windows and gazing out at the snow. "Mulder looks damn good, Alex. We were expecting to see a wreck."

Krycek shrugged, ignoring the comment for the moment. "What is all that crap?" he asked again jerking his head towards the living room.

Frohike wiped at his nose in a gesture that smothered a brief smile. "Seasonal cheer. We figured it'd perk up your place and maybe do the same for Mulder." The little man glanced towards his friends and then back at Krycek. "Figured it couldn't do you any harm either."

Byers walked over to them, sipping at the large mug of coffee in his hands. "You have a nice house here, Alex, but we couldn't help but notice that it's somewhat, er, stark in terms of decoration, and since it's the holidays, er...."

"Did it ever occur to you that I prefer it that way?" replied.

"Hey, now, we're gonna take it all back...later, if that's what you want," said Langly, munching on a fat blueberry muffin. "We just thought that with Mulder here and, like, you know, what a packrat he is and being used to piles of stuff around him and you, uh, being like Survivalist Essential and all, we figured a little holiday ho ho ho in the place would kill two birds with one big stick."

"What the hell are you babbling about?"

"Ringo is a master of the mixed metaphor," remarked Mulder, walking into the kitchen and moving to stand beside Krycek, that small action causing a little flutter in Krycek's chest.

"Bro, we thought you were gonna contemplate Mother Nature for the rest of the day." Frohike wagged his eyebrows with a smile.

"You know the old clich, Melvin, if you've seen one snow storm, you've seen 'em all." Mulder glanced at the Gunmen and then at Krycek. "Are you going to let them play Santa's elves?"

Krycek looked into Mulder's eyes, unable to block the image of that lean body, arms and legs spread wide and invitingly across his bed. He had to swallow hard. "Um, only if you help them," he finally managed.

Mulder's eyebrow shot up, his expression melting into an exaggerated frown. "Well, I'm not exactly a maven at the art of holiday decorating. I might start hanging black bunting all over the place."

"I like black. My favorite color," returned Krycek, glancing towards the tree that lay sprawled over a good portion of his expensive rug.

"What a perfect pair," intoned Frohike with a slow shake of his head.

"You think?" asked Mulder with a teasing, speculative sweep of Krycek's profile.

Frohike's eyes shifted from Mulder to Krycek and back, watching as Krycek slowly turned his head and met Mulder's gaze, their eyes locking with a new intimacy. Then the little man's mouth dropped open. "Oh...kay."

"Oh dear," said Byers. "We, er, that is, we didn't mean to intrude. We had no idea. That is--"

"Hey, told you those marks were hickeys. High time," cut in Langly with a snort. He waved away the look of chagrin on Byers' face. "You guys never believe me about this kinda stuff and I'm always right."

Krycek resisted the urge to pull up his collar, glancing at Mulder's neck instead. Yup, you could see one right below his ear and another, partially hidden, near his collar.

"Would you prefer that we left?" offered Byers with noticeable hesitancy.

"C'mon, John, the van's already half-buried in the drift out there. We'd turn into human popsicles in that deep freeze," whined Langly. "You wouldn't kick us out, would you?"

Frohike was watching Krycek and just grinned.

"Of course not," replied Mulder. "You're all staying until the storm's over and the roads are cleared. Right, Alex?"

"I guess. You know, that could take days." Krycek heard the plaintive edge in his own voice and winced.

Mulder threw his arm around him and kept it there. "It'll be fine, Alex. Gives us plenty of time to get in the holiday spirit. Besides, I'm sure the guys won't mind if we go upstairs to...talk privately...now and again."

With the feel of Mulder's touch and the promise in his words, suddenly everything seemed to be more than fine.

"All right!" exclaimed Langly. "Hey, we even brought eggnog."

*

"Is that a pond down there, towards the side of the house beyond those snow banks?"

"It's a stream, runs all the way through the trees up into the higher hills. In the Spring, after the thaw, it's as clear as crystal, lots of fish in it, too."

"Nice. Your whole place is, Alex. It's beautiful here."

They were standing near the newly decorated Christmas tree that took up a prime spot by the wide picture window.

It was suddenly too quiet in the other part of the room and Krycek checked over his shoulder.

There was still some sort of movie playing on the big flat panel, now muted, showing a kid trying to climb a slide to get to Santa, but the Gunmen weren't watching it. Three pairs of eyes, with dopey expressions to match, were surreptitiously, if clumsily, turned their way.

Krycek cleared his throat. "Those three geeks are staring at us as if we're the ending of "It's A Wonderful Life."

Mulder chuckled, not bothering to look and moving even closer to him instead. "I'd have to say, at the moment that might not be too far off the mark."

Krycek lowered his lashes, his smile widening.

He realized he liked the way the tree lights cast a rainbow of colors across the wide window and made the falling snow seem like it was sparkling through a prism. He didn't even mind all the ornaments and the fireplace stockings, the bright red bows, the fat candles and candy canes and holly wreaths, or even the set of illuminated, smirking reindeer that were strewn all over his house, filling up so many of the empty places.

For once, this would be a holiday memory he could cherish, in so many ways. He thought about the coming year and the years beyond that, and hoped Mulder truly liked the house as much as he seemed to.

With a steadying breath he peered up into Mulder's eyes. "How would you feel about moving in permanently with a one-armed, socially challenged, ex-triple agent, in a house tucked up in the woods, at the end of a very long and twisted road?"

In answer, Mulder reached out and slowly took his one real hand, twining their fingers together in a warm firm grip. "If you don't mind living with a slightly crazy, often too self-centered, frequently irritating and usually moody know-it-all, then I'm your man."

And Mulder smiled, just for him, his face lit with an emotion that took Krycek's breath away.

Not too far away, three shameless eavesdroppers started clapping.

--The End--

 

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Title:  The End of the Road
Author:  Courtne y Gray   [email/website]
Details:  Standalone  |  R  |  78k  |  01/30/10
Pairings:  Mulder/Krycek
Category:  Story, Romance, Relationship, AU (Alternate Universe), Holiday Fic
Summary:  It's winter and it's cold, and Krycek gets a visit that changes his life.


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