Other Paths II: Liberty by Te 9/98 Disclaimers: Not mine, and sometimes I'm pretty thrilled about that, actually. Spoilers: Not a one. Summary: Closure. Ratings Note: Weak R, I'd say. Author's Note: A sequel to "Lucky Men," and this will probably make more sense if you read that one first. Acknowledgments: To Dawn Sharon, for snagging on just the words I didn't mean to say. To Spike, Nancy, and Rye for fine, fine beta. All remaining mistakes and ambiguities are entirely my own fault. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Other Paths II: Liberty by Te Daddy793@aol.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Alex Krycek stood in the familiar hallway, and watched the familiar door. Two-thirty a.m. and the bluish, strobic flash of the television was perfectly clear under the door. //I hate the flickering lights, Alex. //So... why? Every night? //It's familiar...// Of course. Of course. This was a dangerous place for him to be. However, that in itself was nothing new. Once, not so long ago, he'd thought that might change. Mulder wanted him, knew he wanted him, *and* admitted he wanted him. On his knees. On his back. To his face. And, God, it was good to take that mobile mouth beneath his own, catch hold of another man's -- *this* man's -- slick heat and whisper of anything, anything. //It wasn't supposed to be this way.// Alex snorted at himself, but came no closer to the door that made up the breadth and scope of his vision. For a moment, he looked inside himself, sketched an approximation of the image he made. Just a man, against a wall, staring at a door. Target. Mark. There was that first night.... Not the first night they'd fucked, though. That had been all groans and stifled howls in some anonymous warehouse. A stockpile of dinge and uselessness. No, the night *after* that one was supposed to have been the example. He'd come here, led by the taste of need, by that light, unbearable itch along his palate where Mulder's cock belonged. Oh, yeah. There was no possible chance to be smart, stay away at least a little while... He'd come right here, and he'd stood right where he was standing now... Mulder had opened the door after -- maybe -- thirty seconds. //I was listening for footsteps...// Stood there in grey boxer briefs that outlined a bulge that called his name even more effectively than the flat, darkly needful "please..." that had pulled him across the hall, pulled him into lean arms and a kiss and he'd been on his knees almost before the door was closed behind them. After, and after again, Alex had cuddled close and the hands that had brushed him away were easily definable as playful. The stiffening.... Well, they'd hardly had time to grow accustomed to each other. And Mulder had asked him meaningless questions and they'd talked and touched -- slightly -- until the incessant morning coo of some air-rat had made Alex grab for his gun. And Mulder's simple, joyful laugh had... had... //This is pointless.// Alex shifted in his jacket in a manner he knew would probably be imperceptible to most. He wanted to leave, disappear and never come back here, ever. Mistakes were to be buried. But he couldn't just shoot Mulder, no matter how much appeal the idea had. //Just *do* it, Alex... C'mon, fuck me-- //You're not relax-- //At least I can feel you...// There was always more business to be conducted, and Alex needed that thin coating of legitimacy Mulder retained. Stupid and messy to have done this. He had a moment to appreciate the absurdity of trying to solve as mundane a bit of a snarl as the Failed Sexual Relationship With Co- Worker. //Take what you want. And pay for it.// He'd learned how to patch gunshot wounds with one arm. He could take out 5 of 6 moving targets with one high powered rifle on a rainy day. And the sixth would, most assuredly, tell him everything he needed to know. He'd never had to fix anything like this before.... but there was Walter to be considered. //Walter knew, and Walter never mocked, and Walter was gentle. //Who are you trying to convince?// Walter Skinner and he supposed there was an inevitability to that one. If not an inevitability, then, perhaps, just a simple rightness to the oddity. There were times when Alex wondered if there had ever been a time when their lives weren't brushing in some way, however quietly. Walter had asked him to lie to him that first night, and he'd been as scrupulous as possible in that.... The thought made him smile. He'd have to ask when the older man had started appreciating the bits of honesty he'd started tossing in, here and there. No, he'd be honest with himself, in this. There was something about all that blunt alpha maleness that inspired a bit of chesting up.... And he'd never felt imaginative enough to make up stories more shamelessly macho than some of the things he'd really had to do. Though he could, and did, embellish. There really wasn't anything like making an Easter Island idol smile. You could make mortar with all the stone dust that drifted to the ground, dance to the creaks.... This was rapidly growing even stupider. But he wanted //a little quiet// Walter, and Walter wanted him to end it with Mulder. //Do you want me to come with you? //I'm not some... some...// And Walter had reached out. Grabbed his arm and Alex couldn't keep the anger out of his eyes that time, but that was just fine because Walter couldn't keep the anything out of those liquid bits of chocolate and, yeah, he understood. So here he was. Alex crossed the narrow hall, finally. The door swung open on the second knock. Mulder had been standing right there. Of course. Perfectly executed sprawl, blocking the doorframe. Alex could push him aside, back away, or just continue to stand much too close. Anything but be comfortable. "I wondered how long you were just going to stand there, Krycek." It was always easier to take a slap when you knew it was coming, so Alex just cocked his head a bit. "We need to talk, Mulder." "Do we?" Alex closed his eyes, opened them far too slowly to be able to play the action off as a blink. It was, of course, only reasonable that this encounter be just as ugly as everything else. "Yes." "When were you planning to tell me about Skinner?" //Jesus, it's only been a few days...// He could feel his mouth tightening. "Skinner has nothing to do with this." Mulder snorted, turned his back and made his way into the dark apartment. Flopped on the couch and set one foot on the coffee table. Alex stood in the doorway and watched the performance of casual for a long moment before forcing himself inside. The place smelled, as always, of dust and the man himself. Once it made him ache to hold and touch and slide sweat-hot along Mulder's body... There was something cold, and very hard, tightening around his belly. He closed the door behind him, a comfort to have something real to touch. "What do you want, Krycek?" Mulder didn't even bother to look at him. "I just... we need..." He trailed off, unable to spout any of the cliched inanities the situation seemed to dredge from the depths of his mind. "We can't do this any more, Mulder." "You're dumping me, Krycek?" Deceptively flat. Alex's turn to look away. "We still have work to do, Mulder." "Get out." "Muld--" "Just get out, Krycek. Everyone leaves, anyway. I have no fucking clue why I expected you to be any different." His gut twisted, and Alex was abruptly angry. "That's what you tell all of them, isn't it?" "Why are you still here?" "Do you have any idea what you--" "Get out of my apartment right. Now." "Oh, I'll leave, Mulder. I'm just curious -- what are you gonna tell the next poor bastard you let touch you, hunh? Same thing you told me? Breathy little whisper: 'Sometimes I think I've been alone my whole life, Alex.... Everyone always leaves,' isn't that it?" The eyes burned in the uneven blue-grey light, but the mouth was set, the lean body static in its calculated sprawl. "I don't know, *Alex*. Somehow, I think a simple 'my lover dumped me for my fucking *boss*,' would suffice." "Your lover." Alex heard the roughness in his voice, but he couldn't do a thing about it. "You just go on thinking that's what I was to you. Maybe the next stupid sonofabitch might believe you when you call *him* that." "When did this get to be about you, Alex? You're not allowed to bitch at this point. Just get the hell out and go back to Daddy." Alex bit his tongue, gave himself a moment to savor the vicious warmth, and left. Behind him, some anonymous infomercial blared about the wonders of some anonymous bit of plastic trash. Everything has its price. ~~~~ End. ~~~~