feedback: Kits1013[at]aol.com
Title: Love, Dark and Thorough
Author: Shelba
March, 2003.
Archive: Ephemeral, Spooky's. Others: I'd be honored,
but would appreciate knowing where it goes. Please leave my
email address and name with it.
Category: Vignette.
Keywords: Slash, Mulder/Krycek, MSR
Spoilers: Cancer arc, "The Red and the Black", "Requiem,"
"Existence," and that whole William thing.
Character Death: consistent with the show.
Disclaimers: The characters were conceived by CC, but they
outgrew him. Now, they belong to themselves. D.H. Lawrence's
poetry belongs to us all. No infringement intended.
Feedback: Adored at Kits1013@aol.com.
Rating: R for m/m adult relationships.
For Logan.
Thanks to the talented and generous Circe Invidiosa who has made
a lovely home for my fic at
http://www.invidiosa.com/shelba/index.html.
YOURS is the shame and sorrow
But the disgrace is mine;
Your love was dark and thoroughÖ
D.H. Lawrence -- Last Words to Miriam
Washington, DC,
Hoover Building Parking Garage
The concrete made a cold final bed for Mulder's former lover.
Or more correctly, for what -- not who -- had once been an old
lover, before a horrid transformation had robbed Alex Krycek of
his humanity, and Mulder of another piece of his past; another
person whom he had loved.
Mulder knew, as soon as he looked into the beautiful empty eyes,
that somewhere along the line, Alex had been lost to the
machinations of the Cigarette Smoking Man. The replicant's
likeness to Krycek was nearly perfect, but those dark eyes had
held no trace of his spirit. The creature had looked and
sounded like Krycek, but Mulder knew, as surely as he'd ever
known anything, Alex was gone.
Mulder didn't know when it had happened, but the lack of a phone
call or late night visit after his own resurrection suggested
that Alex had been gone for a while. Possibly, even as Mulder
lay writhing in fear and pain aboard the Ship, Alex had fallen
prey to the virus that had nearly taken Mulder's own humanity.
And how was it that he, himself, had escaped the transformation?
Mulder's mind shied away from the question of whether Scully had
helped him to truly escape that fate, or merely postponed it.
He wondered if Walter Skinner had known what they faced? He'd
been puzzled when Alex offered Skinner: "a thousand lives" for
Mulder's death. Was Krycek's doppelganger offering Skinner some
kind of Super Soldier immortality? What exactly was he offering
in exchange for Mulder's blood? And how many customers had he
offered it to?
So damn many questions, so few answers.
He wondered where the Alex-thing was now. A mere bullet
wouldn't keep a Super Soldier down. Until he had seen the red
blood welling up from the wound, he had almost dared to hope
that this thing had been a clone, and not Krycek at all. Then
he shuddered at the thought of what Alex would have gone through
in a cloning lab.
He remembered the soft skin, the smooth body, the eyes that had
burned into his as they pounded into one another. They had
started out hating one another, even as they shared a grudging
understanding. Sometimes, the only one who understands you, is
another who travels the same dark path, who shares the same
pain.
Then came a time when they had needed one another, a time when
what they had, could have been so much more than it was. Hate
is not necessarily the opposite of love. Sometimes, it is love
turned inside out.
Mulder thought back to a time years ago, when he and Alex had
fought and loved; a time before he had admitted to another love,
and made his choice. He thought back to the time before he made
a commitment to Scully; to their future, their hope for a child;
before he went to Oregon.
***************
Six years earlier
The Hornet's Nest
Arlington, VA
Music was playing loudly enough to peel paint. Smoke swirled
around the dark haired man at the bar as he twirled the empty
glass on the scuffed surface.
He reached out and tapped the bartender's shoulder.
"Another."
The red-haired woman whisked the dirty glass away and placed
another tall glass of vodka in front of him. She picked up the
bills laying in front of him, but he waved away the change she
offered. Shrugging, she dropped the extra bills in the tip jar.
She watched the long line of his throat as he swallowed, and
frowned. "You've been at it a while; sure you don't want to
dilute that stuff with something?"
"Nyet." He took another long drink, enjoying the bite of the
alcohol as it slid down his throat.
"You know, you were speaking English when you came in."
She eyed the already half empty glass, and nodded.
"Yeah, I think I'm cutting you off after this one, pal."
Well damn, he wondered, who the hell did she think she was?
He'd been drinking vodka since he was a kid. Five (or was it
six?) glasses was nothing. Alex glanced at the door. He'd just
go somewhere else. This barkeep could go fuck herself. His
retort died on his lips and he turned to stare.
He couldn't believe his eyes. Flecks of snow swirled into the
room, dusting the floor, and nearby patrons cringed at the bite
of the wind. Damn. Standing in the doorway was Fox Mulder.
The last time he'd seen Mulder, he'd delivered a warning,
urging him to take up arms in a battle between heaven
and earth. He could only hope Mulder was listening.
When he left Fox's apartment that night, he was afraid
that he'd never see him again. And so, he'd kissed him,
leaving the stunned agent staring after him. He wasn't
sure if it had been the message, or the tenderness that
had surprised Mulder the most. Fox Mulder was not a
man who expected tenderness from anyone but Dana
Scully, and certainly didn't expect it from his sometimes
rival, sometimes lover.
Usually, what he and Mulder shared was more about anger, power,
and exorcising their demons, than about tenderness. But not
always. Sometimes, there was comfort and caring, not simply
catharsis. He'd even felt there was some genuine affection from
Fox, a feeling he craved more than he ought.
He absently rubbed his abdomen, scratching at the itching scars
there. He'd been punished for that visit. What the fuck had he
been thinking? He should have realized that he hadn't found all
the bugs in Mulder's apartment. At least his visit had been
considered a minor transgression and not an outright betrayal.
He shuddered. That could have landed him in the labs, instead
of under a thug's fists.
What the hell was Mulder doing here? Maybe he'd had more to
drink than he thought. Mulder couldn't be here. He rubbed his
eyes. Maybe he was drunk. He didn't *feel* drunk, though.
He'd only had five drinks, hadn't he?
He blinked.
Nope. Mulder was still standing there, sweeping the room with
his chameleon eyes. His hair was ruffled, his cheeks flushed
from the wind. Ice crystals sparkled in his hair and lashes and
his leather jacket glistened with melting snow. Damn, the man
looked good. Mulder unzipped his jacket and stomped snow from
his boots. The faded denim of his jeans clung to his legs and
his knees were wet.
Krycek's cock twitched. What the hell had Mulder been doing to
get his knees wet? He thought of the last time he'd seen Mulder
on his knees, and his cock leaped to attention and throbbed
against his fly, seeking egress.
He imagined Mulder kneeling in the snow, pressing some strange
man against a wall. He felt a frisson of jealousy, even as he
had a rush of voyeuristic delight at the idea of watching Mulder
getting some other man off. He thought about watching Mulder's
full lips wrapping around the stranger's cock, that mobile mouth
sucking. He thought about watching the stubbled cheeks
hollowing as Mulder teased and pulled, driving this hypothetical
man to ecstasy as only a motivated, orally fixated, lover could.
He knew the cold air against the stranger's bare skin wouldn't
even be noticed - Mulder could generate enough heat to melt ice.
Krycek snickered. Well, at least most ice. That little partner
of Mulder's hadn't melted yet.
He wanted to go to Mulder, to ask him how the hell he'd found
him, and what the hell he wanted with him. He wanted to go to
him, to pull him out of the wind and the cold and drag him
through the smoky bar and fuck him against the bathroom wall.
He wanted to feel those long fingers, that thick cock, pressing
into him. He wanted to drive himself into that tight ass and
hear Mulder gasp and cry out his need. He wanted him. God, the
first time -- Mulder had been a backdoor virgin--and Alex
thought he'd die from the pleasure.
Krycek wanted him again; oh how he wanted.
He watched Mulder hungrily. He'd missed the long lean body, the
hot mouth, but he realized he had also missed just looking at
Mulder's changeable eyes, watching him move, hearing that mocha
voice.
It's funny how you don't realize how much you crave something,
until you haven't had a taste of it for a while. But that's how
addictions work. You don't know you're hooked, until it's too
late.
Taking one last drink he turned around to place the empty glass
on the bar, wondering if he should approach Mulder or just slip
out the back.
When he glanced back at the door, he was disappointed. Mulder
was gone. He was surprised that Mulder hadn't seen him when
he'd first entered. Mulder could generally find anyone he
wanted to. He wondered if the Spooky Sense was offline, and if
so, what had crashed it. Then, he considered that perhaps
Mulder *had* spotted him and had ducked outside to wait for him.
He cursed himself for losing track of Mulder so quickly, then
his disappointment morphed into alarm. Was Mulder here as
'Fox', or as 'Special Agent'? It wasn't like Mulder to leave
without acknowledging Krycek in some way.
After all, he might lust after that Foxy ass, but Alex wasn't
sure how smart it would be to deal with the man when he wasn't
operating at a hundred percent, and he didn't know what Mulder
was after.
So. Out the back it would be.
Carefully Alex made his way across the sidewalk. The wind had
swept the snow away from the icy surface, and piled it up around
the wheels of his van. Ice coated the windshield. He looked
around for a vehicle with clear windows to boost, but no luck.
Every car on the street was just as bad. Damn. The windshields
all looked like they were made of diamonds. It would take at
least five minutes of scraping, before he could get moving.
So much for just slipping into the van and getting the hell out
of Dodge.
He reached inside for his scraper, and gasped as a strong arm
dragged him up into the cab of the van, back between the seats
and up against a wall of Mulder. Mulder's eyes were green and
shiny as glass. Krycek had seen this look a few times before;
when the agent was fevered, when he was hurting. Before he
could wonder what was going on, Mulder slammed him against the
wall of the van, and snarled, "She's sick, damn you. The other
women are dead. *All* of them!" He gripped Alex by the throat.
"She's running out of time, you bastard." He squeezed, and
white teeth flashed in a feral smile. "*You* did this."
Alex wondered if this was how a snake felt when gripped by a
mongoose. He could feel the bite of Mulder's nails on the thin
skin of his throat, and his lungs burned. He couldn't get
enough air around that iron grip to plead innocence, but he knew
that even if he could, Mulder wouldn't believe him.
After all, he was right.
It had been his suggestion to get rid of Scully. At the time he
told his masters that she was "too helpful" to Mulder. Bullshit.
That was a handy excuse. It didn't matter how helpful and
supportive she was, Krycek knew his real reason. He could see
Mulder and Scully's bond growing. Mulder, who had never needed
anyone else, had acknowledged his need for Scully. Yes, it was
simple jealousy. Krycek didn't like to share. He wanted him;
he thought he would always want him.
Krycek would never know if it was simply Mulder's common
decency, or something in Alex's eyes that made Mulder relax his
choke hold. Air rushed back into his lungs and his breath came
in short gasps. Mulder moved his hand up to hold his chin,
pinning him in place.
He looked at Mulder's mouth and slowly ran his tongue over his
lips, then raised his eyes to hold Mulder's. The transformation
from anger to hunger was amazing to watch. Mulder's pupils
dilated even more; gold flecks emerged, brown tones swirled up
and softened the brittle green.
Krycek tilted his head back to expose his throat, and watched
Mulder from behind a fringe of dark lashes. He waited, and
willed the other man to take his offering.
With a growl, Mulder buried his face in Alex's neck, bit down
hard, then pulled his lips to his own. Alex reached under
Mulder's coat, pressed his hand against the hard length of him,
and groaned.
Mulder slapped his hand away and held it against the door of the
van. "Did I tell you, you could touch me?" he snarled. Mulder
resumed his assault on Alex's throat, and licked salt from the
bony notch at his collarbone.
Krycek wasn't surprised that their encounter played out this
way. Krycek knew Mulder and Scully were not lovers -- not in
the traditional sense -- but nothing shook Mulder more than a
threat to her. He'd seen Mulder's frantic fear before; had been
on the receiving end of the rage it generated; had caused it
more than once.
Mulder was skating on a thin edge of control. No, there would
be no tenderness, no love shared. Only pounding lust, heat and
grinding need. But, for tonight, it would be enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hoover Building Parking Garage
The acrid smell of gunpowder burned Mulder's throat but there
were no tears to wash the grit from his eyes as he turned away.
Mulder could barely look at the body. He blinked, wishing he
could cry to release the lump in his throat.
He wished he could have spared Alex this. All of this.
He wondered, when a Super Soldier was created, how much of the
original person was trapped inside? When destroyed, did it
release the soul? Krycek had played each side against the
other. He was ruthless and could be cruel. He could be
thoughtful, could be kind.
At times, his motives were opaque, but he had always been his
own man. On more than one occasion Alex had warned Mulder of
danger; had even saved his life. Mulder hadn't been around to
even *try* to save Alex. Mulder had thought that being in love
with two people was hard. Losing one of them was harder than he
could ever have imagined. He knew he couldn't bear to lose
Scully and his child, too.
He was sick with worry, stunned at Skinner's actions. Mulder
wondered, could he free Alex from this bondage, when they next
met?
He knew this wouldn't be the last he saw of Krycek, though how
he knew this, he wasn't sure. All he was certain of, was that
he felt numb and frightened. His footfalls sounded as hollow to
him, as he felt, as he stumbled away from the killing ground.
All he could do was to continue. He would do whatever it took,
to make it safe for Scully. He didn't know what to think of
Skinner as Executioner. He had to make certain that Skinner was
still "one of the good guys," that he could be trusted. Too
much depended upon it.
Mulder wanted to find The Smoker. In the past, he knew his
desire would have been to avenge Alex. But Mulder had had
enough of death. Now, he wanted the answers; he wanted to take
Krycek's body back from the Super Soldier holding it captive.
He vowed to honor his memory, to someday, burn him free.
Fin
Author's notes:
Thanks to Sallie for beta, to Carol for support, beta and
time line assistance.
Logan, I *tried* to write a nice M/K smut biscuit, I really did.
But I think my poor neglected, schizoid pair of Muses is annoyed
that I've been working on RL things and not writing. I wanted
to write something steamy, and more in line with Second Grace.
The Muses demanded Angst. They would not be denied.
Happy birthday, baby!
Last Words to Miriam
by D.H. Lawrence
†YOURS is the shame and sorrow
††But the disgrace is mine;
Your love was dark and thorough,
Mine was the love of the sun for a flower
††He creates with his shine.
I was diligent to explore you,
††Blossom you stalk by stalk,
Till my fire of creation bore you
Shrivelling down in the final dour
††Anguishóthen I suffered a balk.
I knew your pain, and it broke
††My fine, craftsmanís nerve;
Your body quailed at my stroke,
And my courage failed to give you the last
††Fine torture you did deserve.
You are shapely, you are adorned,
††But opaque and dull in the flesh,
Who, had I but pierced with the thorned
Fire-threshing anguish, were fused and cast
††In a lovely illumined mesh.
Like a painted window: the best
††Suffering burnt through your flesh,
Undrossed it and left it blest
With a quivering sweet wisdom of grace: but now
††Who shall take you afresh?
Now who will burn you free
††From your bodyís terrors and dross,
Since the fire has failed in me?
What man will stoop in your flesh to plough
††The shrieking cross?
†
A mute, nearly beautiful thing
††Is your face, that fills me with shame
As I see it hardening,
Warping the perfect image of God,
††And darkening my eternal fame.