Rating: R for adult theme of a same-sex relationship. Krycek/Mulder story in the Second Grace Universe…Diverts from canon timeline after Requiem. No Dead!Mulder.
Date: 25 Jul 2002 06:42:13 GMT
Keywords: Krycek/Mulder, AU. Diverts from canon timeline after Requiem. No Dead!Mulder.
Rating: R for adult theme of a same-sex relationship. Not Sallie-Safe, but mucho hugs to her for helping me anyway!
Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine. And this Mulder belongs to Alex.
Thank you to: Sallie, Logan, and ga for kind assistance and capable beta. To Marlen and Peggy, thanks for giving it a look-over.
Archive: Logan’s Second Grace site, IWTB, Ephemeral, Gossamer, Spooky’s. OK if you have archived my work before. I’d appreciate a note.
Happy Birthday, Logan, thanks for everything.
Author’s notes: At the end.
SPOILERS: Assorted up through S8, and MAJOR SPOILERS for Second Grace Books 2 and 3, by Logan. This exact scene does not take place in his story. However, it DOES contain SPOILERS for major plot points. Consider this an AU scene for SG and is posted with Logan’s permission. Second Grace stories can found at: www.hegalplace.com
Short Intro: In the Second Grace Universe, Mulder and Krycek are together. Sean is the son of Mulder and Scully, who was the result of, and a victim of, Consortium experiments. That should be enough information to allow you to follow this story. I hope you enjoy it.
“Second Grace: Moonlight and Memory”
I have been given/one moment from heaven
as I am walking/surrounded by night,
Stars high above me/ make a wish under moonlight.
by Roma Ryan
Spring in Baton Rouge is such a gaudy time. Azaleas and rhododendrons in every size and color imaginable grow wild. They carpet the ground in wooded areas, along roadsides, and snuggle up to the foundations of houses. Overhead, trees flower in a riot of color and size. Under white dogwoods and pink-and-white cherry and apple trees, Japanese maples add a splash of blood red. And then, of course, there are the magnolias. The pink-and-white flowers spread their huge petals in a canopy of fragrant boughs. I’ve always thought these things were pretty, even though they are damned messy plants. Their huge pods are a pain in the ass. But a magnolia in full bloom is a decadently beautiful tree. You almost forget what a nuisance they can be.
Kind of like Fox, now that I think about it. Damn. I miss him.
It has been pretty dry here lately. I wander around the glade and notice summer’s deep greens have begun to fade to golden green and yellow and many of the flowers have faded in the heat. Just about the only things left blooming in my glade are the magnolias.
Frogs croak plaintively as dusk approaches, and crickets’ creaking songs vibrate on the air and welcome the night. The stone bench I rest upon is warm from the afternoon sun, and the heat caresses my back and legs. For a long time, I sit and listen. I know that I should be getting back to the Bayou, but someone else can tend bar for a while.
I needed some time tonight. It has been exactly three years since I moved back here, in an attempt to build a new life.
Spring had always been my favorite time of the year. No matter where I was, I would think of spring in Baton Rouge. When Marita came to pull me out of that prison in Tunisia I was so tired, of the lies and the pain and the deceit. During the nights of heat and flies, and the days of scalding sun and the sadism of the keepers, all I wished for was to get out of there, to come home to see another spring in Baton Rouge.
When CGB Spender gave me the mission to get Mulder to lead us to that downed ship in Oregon, I was so tired. How much longer would CGB get off on watching us play this continuous Rat and Fox game? Maybe CGB could find some other errand boy to pull the FBI’s chain. After all, Marita seemed interested in the job. All I wanted and wished for was to get the mission in Oregon over with, to leave the machinations of the Consortium behind. That was all I wanted. Just to come home.
That was the year that spring changed for me. Why did I think I could escape years of deceit and pain unscathed? What is it they say? Be careful what you wish for?
Well, I got what I wished for. The mission was over. It was still spring. I was free to come home. But my freedom came at a terrible price, for Mulder had disappeared into a beam of light in the wilds of the Northwest.
Summer passed, then fall came; and as winter approached, another dream was fulfilled. My fondest wish was granted. Impossibly, miraculously, Mulder came home.
Like everyone else, except maybe Scully, I had believed him dead. Then he was back, he was with me and I thought maybe everything would work out for me. For us. I was finally getting it through my thick skull that there might actually *be* an *us*.
Overhead, a few stars gleam through the canopy of branches. I walk to the center of the glade, where white moonlight glows the brightest and memory floods my mind and heart.
Time slips away, and I am back in that moonlit glade on a spring night: two years, three months, two weeks, and one day ago….
A strong wind blew through here last night. It shook thousands of flowers from the bushes and trees; the ground is covered with blossoms. I know they are pale pink, but in the moonlight they shine like opals. Sean stands, unsteady on colt-like legs beside an oak tree. I overheard him earlier asking his dad, in his halting, serious speech, if he was “big enough” to come tonight.
Mulder cuddled him close and assured him he was “plenty big,” and that he would be honored for him to come, but that this was up to Mom. He told him, if she said “no,” then Sean must listen and understand that she would know what was best.
I know Fox fears failing his child. I am not surprised, and am proud of what a good dad and teacher he has been. I hope he realizes what a remarkable job he is doing with Sean. He has been patient and gentle with the boy, and his speech and physical development have progressed a lot. Fox said it is kind of ironic that he is finally getting some use out of that psych doctorate that won’t make him crazy. “At least,” he confided, “until Sean hits puberty, anyway.”
Scully hasn’t had a lot of time with Sean, and it has been hard on her. Sometimes, late at night, when she thinks no one knows, Scully cries over how grown-up he seems.
I was a little surprised that Scully brought him tonight, but when I saw how Fox glowed when he saw them, I knew I should not have been. Seems Scully can’t refuse much to either Sean or Mulder.
She nods to me and steps over. When she takes Fox’s hands in hers, I can see them trembling a little; and he tries to soothe her, gently stroking her white knuckles with his thumbs. She may be trembling, but her shoulders are square and her posture parade-ground straight. She takes a deep breath, as though trying to say something to him. Finally, she shakes her head and gives up trying to speak, and she pulls him close to kiss him. His eyes gleam with tears, and as she strokes his face, he leans into her hand. She whispers, “Mulder…this…” then simply holds him close and whispers, “Be happy.”
He tucks her under his chin to rock her gently for a few moments. If ever I doubted it before, I can see how much they love one another, and how much having her blessing means to him. He pulls back from her for a moment and they just look into each other’s eyes. Then he leans over and kisses her softly. His voice is just a breath of air, “Thank you. God, Scully. This means…just…thank you.”
After she steps out of the circle of his arms, I can see her blinking some tears away. She gently strokes Sean’s cheek and, like his father’s had, his lashes flutter at the touch of her hand. He looks so much like his father — a miniature Mulder, right down to the smile in his soulful eyes and the habit of chewing his bottom lip. She smiles at Sean and brushes a lock of hair away from his forehead. “I’ll see you back at the house, ok?”
“Alex.” When she turns to address me, her expression is calm, her voice steady. She steps closer, and when my eyes meet hers, the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling there hits me in the gut. I wonder how the hell is Fox still standing, if *I* can feel the onslaught of Dana Scully’s emotions?
It’s all I can do to keep from dropping where I stand. My heart is tap-dancing on my ribs and the air is awfully thick. This is all almost too much, but I am determined to hear whatever she has to say. I can just imagine that she is thinking a lot of things, but then she says, “He loves you. Value that. If you do, he can make you happy.” I nod numbly. She holds me with a long, steady look that conveys, better than words, ‘Hurt him — you will deal with me.’
Fox is looking at her a bit oddly and somewhat expectantly. From his expression, I am guessing that he thinks she has something else to say. I suppose she must be satisfied that her message has been received, since she says nothing else and doesn’t look at him again.
As she moves across the carpet of leaves and petals, her footfalls are nearly silent, then the sound of her steps fades to nothing. I can see that one of the trees that rings the glade seems to have a darker shadow than the others.
She is still there. I smile to myself. Even here and now, she is making sure she can watch Mulder’s back. I find myself wondering if he knows she didn’t go far, then mentally smack myself. Of course he knows. Even before his telepathy began to reappear, the two of them had an uncanny ability to keep track of the other’s whereabouts. Even I don’t have that with him. I’d be jealous, but I know they both owe their lives to that gift.
For a moment, I wish that Corinne were here. I try to tell myself it is because if she were, Scully would not be standing there alone. I realize that I am just kidding myself. Scully’s comfort level is not my real concern. I just want my sister here, to support me with her bright, warm strength. Then I think about how that makes me seem, and how Mulder must feel — that Scully is being excluded. As my mouth opens, to tell him to call her to join us, he shakes his head. He knows she is there.
I feel a twinge of guilt. She has been bound to Mulder, life and soul, for a long time. He knows her, though, better than anyone does. Maybe she *needs* the privacy to give her the strength to see this for herself. I wonder how hard it is for his partner and soulmate to step back and let him have this. To have me. Maybe she wants to show Mulder that she won’t intrude on our personal relationship, and she is assuring him that their bond is still there, supporting him as he flies free. If she wants to see him give himself to someone else, I won’t stop her.
I’d like to think that Scully is happy for both of us. She knows he is more important to me, than any other thing in my life, and if she really felt this was a mistake, she would not be standing back watching it happen. I wonder if his allowing her to do this from a distance is his way of telling me I come first. The smile on Fox’s face, and the calm look on Sean’s, make me hope I am right.
I look up into his hooded hazel eyes, and his face is calm and pale above his dark shirt. The faint lines and creases at the corners have deepened with age and pain. Even here in this leaf-dappled light, I can see the little crescent-moon scars on his cheeks. There is almost more salt than pepper in his hair, and the gray strands shine like quicksilver caught in moonlight. His eyes are fastened on mine, and he is standing there smiling at me.
I think that he is the most beautiful creature ever to grace my life.
I am suddenly, humbly grateful that he insisted that we have this private time with one another before he takes his son and leaves this place. Leaves me.
I don’t know what to expect. He said he had some things he wanted to say. Then he amended that, said he *needed* to say some things to me, and that he knew that I couldn’t voice them.
Even then, as he told me he was ready to pledge his life to me forever, he asked nothing for himself. I want to weep with gratitude, and love, and joy, and feel a surge of grief that he might think I don’t want him.
But I can’t say the words he wants to hear. I just can’t. I agreed to let him do this. He was disappointed when I told him that this night has to be about what he needs, but how can I be bound to him? I’ve yet to make peace with myself. It is said that a person who can’t love himself can’t truly love someone else. I wonder if I will ever *really* be able to love. But then, I think of the way I feel about him. My feelings for him are so strong and so real, I think I could hold them in my hand and feel the shape of them. And I wonder: what is this I feel, then?
My eyes slipped closed at some point. I feel dizzy, but warm hands on my shoulders ground me. I look up into Fox’s smiling face and I feel calmer.
He knows. He knows how I feel about him, how nothing in my life is as important as he is. I am absurdly grateful that the return of his telepathic gift lets me off the hook. When this thing first manifested, I was terrified that he would look inside me and see something foul, and that I would lose him forever. I feel a surge of guilt that even now, on what may very well be our last day together, I still can’t say what I feel. Damn. I am such a rotten coward.
He laughs, and cups my cheek in his hand. “Doyshenka, you may be a rotten coward, but you are my rotten coward.”
Before I can respond, Fox holds out his hand to Sean. He steps away from the oak and solemnly places some cords in his father’s hand. Fox ruffles his hair and the boy smiles, and scuffs a foot on the ground, before settling back against the broad oak tree. Their communication has always been effortless, and now they are so in tune it is eerie.
Goosebumps prickle on every inch of my body. Fox’s warm fingertips are gently stroking the skin of my wrist, which I find has somehow become pressed against his forearm.
His voice is warm honey on the night air and I find my breathing slowing, from short, ragged breaths until it matches his deeper rhythm. His eyes seek to hold mine, and I feel a tremor run from his arm to mine as he begins to speak. “You will feel no rain, for I will be shelter to you. Someday, when your time is right, you will believe that I find shelter in you, as well.”
Oh, Fox, I want to believe. He gently squeezes my hand, then lays a cord over my arm. I am torn. I can’t decide whether to look into his eyes or down at his strong elegant fingers as they wrap the hemp cord around our joined wrists.
“You will feel no cold, for even though I am far away, you will feel my warmth — in every flame, every beam of light.”
I am caught by the power of his voice and eyes. I can feel that he has made another pass around our arms, but his eyes are holding me, as surely as if he is the world, and I am but a satellite in his orbit.
“Even though we are apart, you will have no more loneliness. I will come to you in dreams, my soul will walk free, and you will feel my kiss in every whisper of the night wind.”
My nerves thrum. His eyes meet mine, black with some indefinable mixture of emotion and promise. They are soaking up the light and sending it back to me, and I wonder if he is speaking metaphorically….
“…Moy Du-sha, and soon again in life.” I was so absorbed by the implications of what he might be saying that I am shocked back to the present by the endearment. Oh, Fox, don’t you know? You are my soul, too.
The universe has shrunk down to this flower-carpeted glade, this time, this man, these feelings. I look down. I see that he is nearly done with another pass around our wrists. For the first time, I really look at the cords, and notice they are not alike. The first three passes of cord were made with rough twine. The cord that he is using now is thin, slick leather. I look up at him, wondering why.
He smiles, and I watch as his free hand rubs the coarse twine against the thin skin of my wrist. “The twine is for the first two years we were together, because it is strong but not very pleasant.”
I close my eyes and remember. Need. Lust. Nights of hot, angry sex. On several occasions, the excitement was in not knowing whether either or both of us would survive till morning. We never — well, hardly ever — inflicted damage for the hell of it, but we were raw, rough; and most of what was between us was about needful pain.
Then, softly, so softly, he begins stroking my hand with one end of the leather cord. “Leather is for the next three years. We didn’t know it, and would have denied it, but we had become bound to each other with something strong, and flexible enough that it didn’t snap during those hard years.”
He held up the last cord. I had not even noticed it. The thin cord looks like raw silk. “This cord is like you, and how I feel about you. Both things are smooth, strong, and as beautiful as anything I have ever seen.”
Mulder thinks I am beautiful?
He takes the soft cord and lays it over our joined arms. “We are two bodies, but the only life before me is the one I see with you. I promise: when I go, I will take you with me, for without you, I have no heart of my own.”
His hand takes the silk and slowly, he begins to wrap it. I watch until the image blurs and my throat gets so full, I would be incapable of speech, even if I knew what to say to him. Nothing can match the feelings he has expressed. Nothing can express what I feel. God. How can he do this? He turns me inside out with his voice.
“Tonight, is the last night we will have for a while. In the morning, I have to go. Remember, my soul is here with you, and my need to be back with you will bring me home.”
He makes one last pass with the cords. I am mesmerized by the ends dangling there. He cups my face in his free hand and his thumb is rough against my lips.
“I promise you Alex, our time together is yet to come, but it will come; it will soon come.” His voice took on a slight sing- song cadence, and I knew he was quoting something. “And our days together shall be good and long upon the earth, and this union, death shall not end.”
I pull him to me. My heart is pounding against the bones of my chest — trying to reach his, I suppose. He pulls my face to his and kisses me deeply, needy and full of promise.
Fox’s eyes shine like his namesake’s in the moonlight. I feel myself being drawn into his smoky emerald gaze. His words ring with the weight of truth.
“Even death cannot keep me from you.”
My mind is twirling. The ache from his absence has been my constant companion. When I came here tonight, for the first time since Fox left, I feared my memories. But here, in the moonlight, they are as strong as silk and gentle as the summer wind.
You will come home, moy du-sha. I believe.
This story was a gift from Shelba for my 30th birthday. It was working on Second Grace that brought Shelba and I together, and if I got nothing else from writing it, that friendship made it all worth it. I can’t thank Shelba enough for her faith in me, her support, and for suspending her disbelief long enough to give Fox and Alex a chance.
::sniff:: Awwww. Happy Birthday, Logan. Thanks for letting me play in your Second Grace universe. I would never have believed that anyone could make me believe in Mulder, happy and loving someone other than his Scully. Thanks for introducing me to this rich universe and the powerful emotional pairing you’ve created.
Song Excerpt, “On My Way Home,” lyrics composed by Roma Ryan.
Doyshenka means “sweetheart”.
Moy du-sha is the male form of “my soul”.
Mulder was inspired by the following words of a Native American
ceremony. Eloquent devil, isn’t he?
Now you will feel no rain,
for each of you will be shelter for the other.
Now you will feel no cold,
for each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now you will feel no loneliness,
for now there is no loneliness.
Now you are two bodies,
but there is only one life before you.
Go now to your dwelling place,
to enter into the days of your togetherness.
And may your days be good and long upon the earth.
Please note: This story was written for Logan as a gift, *before* SG3 was completed, and has been awaiting Logan’s blessing to set if free. Blessing given. Story free. Enjoy.