Title: Biological Imperative|
Author: Loren Q, Email Me
Rating: NC-17 for male/male sex
Classification: S with a little X
Keywords: Slash, Mulder/Krycek
Warning: None really, except that it's a bit of a departure from a typical Loren Q story.
Archive: Basement, RatB, CKoS, SlashingMulder, Ephemeral, all others please ask.
Spoilers: To be safe, everything through Season 6, S.R. 819.
Note: Knowledge of the episode 'Eve' (season 1, episode 10) may help but isn't necessary.
Summary: An old case comes back up... with an old partner.
Beta Thanks: Louise Wu, Zoe Takashi. I disregarded a lot of good beta advice, so don't blame them--it's all me.
Disclaimer: Chris Carter and 1013 Productions own the X-Files series characters. The rest are mine. I also quoted from "A Cool Breeze on the Underground" by Don Winslow. No infringement of rights is intended.
April 27, 1999
Three figures enter an abandoned building.
"Our squat's upstairs. We're the only ones in here... so far," one of the girls says over her shoulder. The girls, twins in their early teens, differentiated only by hair color--jet black and peroxide blonde.
The boy looks around. "Nice digs, I should move in." There's no sarcasm in his voice, his observation the reality of a runaway. He licks his lips. The promise of drugs and sex, the perceived safety of being indoors lures him deeper into the building.
A streetlamp shines through dirty windows illuminating mattresses, blankets and shopping bags.
The black-haired twin rummages through a bag. Blonde lies down on a mattress, and motions to the boy. "You want this," she says, placing his hand on her small breast.
Wet sounds of kissing interrupted by the black-haired twin saying, "I've got it."
The boy sits up, flushed, excited. "You got 'E?' Gimme one."
All three swallow tablets and the girls push the boy down. He falls back, feeling hands running over him, working him... remembering 'we like doing guys together.'
Hot flesh envelops him, kisses and bites. He spasms quickly. Suddenly, his head starts swimming. The light from the streetlamp grows dimmer. He can't seem to move, to form words... to breathe.
April 30, 1999
"... you like this, boy? My big, thick-" My phone rings and I mute the video. Not that I'm listening to the dialogue anyway.
"Check your email." A mechanical voice says followed by a click. The line's disconnected.
I hang up, go to my desk and log into my email. One message takes considerable time to download.
Five images attached to a blank email, the sender: email@example.com.
I open the first image: a police report from Baltimore dated April 3. The body of an unidentified male youth found in an abandoned building. Toxicology shows the presence of drugs, autopsy indicates unprotected sexual intercourse (vaginal secretions) prior to death.
The remaining images are more of the same. Reports from Baltimore, different precincts, dated within the last few weeks. All victims are male, between 15 and 22 years of age, only one identified. The similarities are astounding, the same tox results, autopsy findings and cause of death... Hypovolemia.
Death from blood loss, human exsanguination...
Another email from 'anonymous' downloads. The only contents a hyperlink. I click on it and launch to the Northeastern Associated Press site, headlines for Saturday, March 27, 1999.
I scan the list and stop at 'Fire at Whiting Maximum Security Service.' I quickly read the article.
"The Whiting Maximum Security Service, part of the Whiting Forensic Division of Connecticut Valley State Mental Hospital, reported a fire in the early hours of March 27.
"The fire engulfed the entire Maximum Security Service complex. A failure in the redundant release system prevented a smooth evacuation, leading to the death of three patients. Several employees, suffering from smoke inhalation, were transferred to local hospitals. The remaining patients are being housed and treated, under tight security, at the Dutcher Enhanced Security Service Center, also a part of the Whiting Forensic Division.
"Whiting Maximum Security Service is under the administration of the Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services. The patients are individuals who have a psychiatric disability and are a serious danger to themselves or others.
"The service engages in treatment, security, evaluation, testimony, risk management, public safety, education and research.
"The cause of the fire is still under investigation."
The article goes on to assure the New Haven and Hartford communities that all patients are accounted for... no need to fear the lunatics.
Whiting... hypovolemia. My mind goes back to a six-year old case. Deep Throat telling me about the Litchfield experiment... a cold war eugenics project to create super-soldiers. I can still hear his voice, 'A group of genetically controlled children. Raised and monitored on a compound in Litchfield. The boys were called Adam and the girls were called Eve.'
The project was a disaster, the Adams and Eves prone to psychotic behavior and suicide. Except that one--maybe more--somehow escaped and went on to create the next generation. Two little girls who know how to kill. Teena Simmons and Cindy Reardon... Eve 9 and 10.
They would be fourteen now... Could they have gotten out?
I grab my cell and call Scully. One ring, then two... Come on Scully, pick up. "This is the voicemail for Dana Sc-" Shit. I hang up. I'll call her later.
May 1, 1999
"Agent Mulder, I'm Dr. Anderson." A handsome woman holds her hand out to me.
I shake it. "Thank you for seeing me. I know it's short notice, but-"
"Please, let's talk in my office." She leads me a few feet to a door with a sheet of paper tacked on. 'Dr. Evan Anderson, Director. Whiting Forensics Institute, Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services.'
The office is bland. Off-white walls and institutional furniture, boxes stacked against free wall space. She sits at her desk and motions me to take the seat in front of her. "Please forgive the clutter, we're having to make do because of the fire."
"Actually, that's why I'm here. I'm looking for Cindy Reardon and Teena Simmons."
Her eyes widen slightly at the names. "I'd like to know why you're interested in them."
"My partner and I were responsible for their capture. I read about the fire and-"
"Agent Mulder, before you continue, I should let you know that their care is not managed through my organization. Cellblock Z, the ward they were in, is under the auspices of the Department of Defense. We-"
"Were in?" I interrupt. "Were they moved?"
"I don't know." Dr. Anderson looks out the window for a moment. "Cellblock Z has always been off limits to us. They have their own staff, a separate entrance... power supply. Our only interaction is to supply meals. We get weekly orders, but our delivery stops at the door."
She turns to me, anger in her cool gray eyes. "When the fire broke out, the DOD assured me that all patients were safe... accounted for. I was told their fire damage was minimal and they were operational in 3 days. But the next meal order was two less. When I pursued this I was reprimanded. Told that I needn't be concerned. That public safety wasn't an issue."
Eve 9 and 10... older, stronger and free. "Dr. Anderson, do you know who Cindy Reardon and Teena Simmons are?"
A brief smile plays on her lips. "What I've heard has been rumors, hearsay. They were initially admitted here and then moved. There was talk that they were telepathic, super-human. And very dangerous."
"What do think my chances are of gaining access to them?" I think I know, but I'd like her assessment.
"If you have a good DOD contact... slim."
May 2, 1999, 10:00 A.M.
I'm escorted into an empty office; the uniformed officer informs me that Lt. Ortiz will be with me shortly.
I pull out my cell and call Scully.
"It's me. I-"
"Mulder, I've just come from Skinner's office. What are you doing in Connecticut?" There's a hint of annoyance in her voice. What'd I do now?
"I'm not in Connecticut. I'm in Baltimore. The Eves are out."
"What? The Eves? How can that be?"
"I don't know, Scully. There was a fire, and a cover-up. I'm sure they escaped. There have been five deaths in Baltimore, hypovolemia... it's got to be them."
"Mulder, Skinner's gotten calls from the DOD saying you've been harassing them. You are to stop what you're doing... now."
Ahh shit, Skinner's ass is getting chewed... mine's next. I don't have time for this. "Scully, listen. You never got a hold of me. I'm not answering my phone. You don't know where I am."
"Damn it, Mulder. Don't do this to me."
"You remember what the Eves are like. Smart, strong, psychotic and right now... on the loose. I don't have the time to jump through bureaucratic hoops. People are dying."
I smile when I hear her sigh... she'll cover for me. She knows how important this is.
"How much time do you need?" She says, resignation in her voice.
"I don't know yet, but I need you to cover for me. I'll call you later." I add that little twist to my voice, the one she can't say 'no' to.
Without waiting for her response, I tell her 'bye' and disconnect.
A middle-aged Hispanic man enters the office. I stand and show my badge. "Lt. Ortiz? I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder."
He sits across from me. "Why are you here?"
"I have information on a series of murders-"
"No, why are you here? We work with Baltimore's FBI field office. Our liaison's sitting two floors up and I'd like to know why you came directly to me."
Oh, 'cause I'm a rogue agent... "I understand your confusion, Lt. Ortiz. In my haste, I... umm, bypassed proper channels." Please don't let him be a by-the-book type. "I just received information that sheds light on the recent exsanguination murders of five men."
"And you haven't shared this information with your own people?" he asks in a mocking tone.
Damn, not only is he is by-the-book, he's condescending, too. I grin sheepishly. "No, sir. I felt that it's best to go to the source-"
"The source is two floors up. That case was taken over by the FBI. If you want a piece of the action, I suggest you speak with your own." He stands up. "Goodbye, Agent."
Oh, shit. It's a pissing contest. Baltimore PD versus the FBI. Now I have to deal with bureaucratic bullshit and politics... Nah.
May 2, 1999, 11:30 A.M.
I toss my bag on the floor and sit at the edge of the bed. As I think about calling Scully, my cell rings. I check the display. 'Caller Unknown.' I hope it's not Skinner...
"Yes?" I pitch my voice lower, just in case.
"I have more information." A male voice, familiar... but I need to hear more to place it.
"Who is this? What do you want?"
"Billie's Crab Shack. One hour."
"Krycek? Is that-" The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone. Alex Krycek.
I reach up and touch my cheek... our last meeting. A kiss and information about the Resistance. Weikamp is still a blank for me; I've never recovered what happened when I was in the truck.
What does he want? What's in it for him?
May 2, 1999, 12:30 P.M.
The restaurant's small and packed with locals... beer-gut men in ball caps and denim. I stand out like a sore thumb.
A waitress bustles by me then stops. She turns slowly. "You must be Mulder."
"Yeah." I nod.
"Head to the back, where the johns are. There's a door marked 'office.'"
I work my way back and down a hallway. I draw my weapon, then enter.
The office appears empty. I move cautiously about the room. No Krycek.
A thick file is on the middle of the desk. My name written on it. I take a seat and open it.
Hard copies of the police reports, two more bodies. A map marking where the bodies were found. All in a 12 block square.
Medical charts and status reports on the Eves. Last tested IQ, 235. Physical strength and agility, off the charts for their age group, regardless of gender. No display of psychotic behavior or suicidal tendencies.
Something new--advanced regenerative powers. I think about how they test for that...
My reverie's broken by the ringing of the office phone. After four rings, I pick it up. "Yes?"
"Mulder, you've read the file?" Krycek's voice is neutral, calm.
"I've read it. What's this about Krycek?" I try to keep my voice monotone.
"A fresh start. They're using the Eves to-"
"Who's 'they?' The Department of De-"
"It's much deeper than the DOD, Mulder. You know that. The shadow government is alive. A little worse for wear, but back. The Litchfield project is part of the revitalization plan."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"You know who--what--the Eves are. You can help me find them."
"And then what? Who do you turn them over to? What's your game, Krycek?"
"There's more here than I can explain, more than you would dare believe. But know this, the Eves will be used to create a race of super-humans, programmed from birth to serve them. Who would stand a chance against that?"
"Krycek, why should I help you? What are you going to do with the Eves?"
"Keep them away from the powers that will exploit them... destroy them if I have to. The experimentation is close to fruition. That can't be allowed to happen."
I think back... Teena and Cindy, little girls with enough intelligence to distill digitalis from plants grown in the backyard. Sociopathic, but an improvement from the originals.
"Mulder? Time is critical. These Eves have a built-in imperative to reproduce."
May 2, 1999, 4:00 P.M.
I call Scully from the motel payphone. She answers on the first ring.
"Scully, it's me."
"Dr. Hale, thank you for returning my call."
"Is there someone there?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"I need you to check on a 302 from the Baltimore field office. Several deaths attributed to hypovolemia."
"Hmm, I'll give you a tentative 'yes,' but I have to check my calendar. Could I call you in an hour?"
"Got it. I'll call you back."
"Very good. Thank you."
Who was there?
May 2, 1999, 4:02 P.M.
I disconnect from Mulder, then look at Skinner. "I'm sorry for the interruption, sir."
He nods absently, scribbling a note on his pad. "Agent Scully, I understand you've been unable to reach Agent Mulder." He holds up the pad, which says, 'Office bugged, meet me at the John Marshall Park fountain at 4:15.'
"Yes, sir. I've left voicemail on his cell and home phone."
"Do you have any idea why he was trying to contact the Department of Defense?" He shakes his head.
Skinner motions me to continue.
"Hmm, he may have thought to tie up loose ends from the Patrick Crump case. That involved the DOD."
"Thank you, Agent Scully. I won't keep you any longer."
May 2, 1999, 4:15 P.M.
There are a few people circling the fountain.
When I see Skinner, I catch his attention and walk toward a bench.
"Agent Scully." He sits down next to me.
"Sir, I don't understand..."
He nods, tightlipped. "I know you've been in contact with Mulder." He doesn't wait for me to protest. "I've got information for you to give to him."
My eyes widen in surprise. "But sir, I thought you-"
His grim smile stops me short. "Yes, I'm sure you thought I wanted to dress him down... not that he doesn't deserve it." I've heard him say this so often, I've come expect his exasperation with Mulder.
"There isn't much time, Agent Scully. I know he's in Baltimore... and someone in power is throwing up roadblocks. He's on his own."
"Sir, I can be in Baltimore-"
"No. It's essential you're not involved. You need to keep up the ruse that Mulder's unreachable." Skinner looks away, I watch his jaw muscles working... as if debating what he's going to say next.
"Mulder does have an ally, they may already be in contact." Skinner turns to me. He looks conflicted, anger and resignation in his dark eyes. "Tell Mulder it's in his best interest to join forces with this... person."
"An ally? Who? Sir, how do you know all this?"
Moments pass in silence. "I can't tell you," Skinner says with finality.
May 2, 1999, 5:00 P.M.
My last call to Scully left me feeling... I don't know. Something's happening. I dial her up, hoping I can find out what's going on.
"It's me. Can you talk?" I feel anxious, almost expecting her to hang up.
"Yes. Mulder, I'm not sure what's going on, but Skinner-"
"Skinner? You talked to Skinner?"
"No, he talked to me. He knows where you are, knows what you're working on. He also told me that someone's burying your case."
"What?" I can hear the disbelief in my own voice.
A long pause before she speaks. "He wouldn't tell me. He said you were on your own, but that you had an ally. Has someone approached you?"
I close my eyes. An ally. Could he mean Krycek?
"I... I've been given information, but no face to face." Why am I not telling her?
"Skinner said it would be in your best interest to work with this ally. Mulder, do you want me to go to Baltimore?"
The shadow government, the Litchfield project. How much danger can I expose her to before... "No, I need you there. I have to go." I disconnect the line.
First Krycek, now Skinner. How big is this?
May 3, 1999, 10:30 A.M.
My study of the Eves' file is interrupted by a knock on the door. I peer through the peephole and see Krycek staring back.
I yank the door open, my weapon pointed at his chest. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Krycek raises his hands. "We need to talk."
I stare at him.
Krycek shrugs. "Do you want someone to see this? Me standing here with a gun sticking out your door?"
Stepping back, I motion him in. "How did you know I was here?"
"I'm good at finding out things," he says noncommittally. "Can I put my hands down?"
"Take the jacket off... slowly."
A look of disgust crosses his face, but he complies.
"Turn around, hands on the wall."
His jaw works for a moment. "I'm not carrying," he says, but he turns around anyway. Keeping my gun trained on him I start to pat him down. He tenses when my hand reaches his left side. I feel something under his shirt, and follow it until-
"That's enough, Mulder. It's a prosthetic arm. A souvenir of our trip to Russia." An edge of anger, of anguish, touches his voice.
Tunguska... Russian men, boys, cutting off their own limbs in the hope of escaping...
For just a moment, I feel sorry for him. That astonishes me. As does the fact that I haven't tried to beat the crap out him. Something's different...
I holster my weapon and step away from him. "Who are you working for now, Krycek?"
He turns and sits at the table. "The same group that tried to obliterate the shadow government. We thought we succeeded... but we were wrong. We-"
"We? You make this sound like you're more than a hired gun. What's in this for you? Power? Wealth? Convince me, Krycek."
His eyes close and he slowly shakes his head. "What can I say, Mulder? You'll never believe I'm working for the good of humanity... for our preservation." He opens his eyes and looks at me. "To you, I'm a murderer, a thief... a coward. I play in a different circle from you. But my goals are the same as yours... to expose-"
"Don't give me that bullshit! You're only concerned with saving your own ass. You sell secrets to the highest bid-"
"Except what I give you for free. What you did at Wiekamp prevented the colonization... you know that much. But you will never know how much I've done for you."
I mull over what he's said. He did give me the Wiekamp information. The clues to stop a domestic terrorist strike. And now, the Eve information.
He looks at the Eves' file for a moment. "You've read the reports. You know about the Litchfield project... Controlled eugenics, super-soldiers. But now... the Eves are out there uncontrolled. Black widows mate, kill the male, then raise the offspring."
"It doesn't make sense, Krycek. Can they even reproduce with us? They've got fifty-six chromosomes to our 48. Even if they could, they're diluting their own gene pool by mating with, uh... non-whatever they are."
"We have good reason to believe they can reproduce with us. In one of our hacks, we offloaded a research database. The data supports successful fertilization by human sperm." He motions with his head. "My jacket, there's a report in the inner pocket."
I pull out the report and start reading. Bio-geneticists harvested ova and, through fertilization with human sperm, created viable blastula. The Eves' genetic traits dominate the cells but when implanted back in the Eves, there was a 100 percent incident of spontaneous abortion.
The shadow government froze the remaining embryos.
Now I'm confused. "Krycek, if the Eves are reject-"
He shakes his head. "The sperm donor base was small. Our simulations show that given a large enough base, there will be successful pregnancies. That's why they're out there fucking like rabbits."
"Why are they killing the males?" I ask.
Krycek shakes his head. "That, we don't know. There's some speculation that they can immediately tell if the donor's viable. If he's not, no point in keeping him alive."
That could make sense. We only know about the 'failures'. Who's going to report wild sex with underage twin girls? "What's going to happen to the rest of the embryos? The frozen ones?"
"We think they'll implant them in surrogates, hoping the human body won't expel them, but we don't really know." Krycek looks away. "We're putting people in place to destroy the embryos. Beyond that..." He shrugs. "What was clear was, as long as the shadow government had the Eves, there was the danger of success."
Is he telling me the truth? "Did your group start the fire? Were you trying to kill the Eves?"
He looks genuinely surprised. "Huh, I hadn't thought of that. I don't think so, but I can't guarantee it."
For some odd reason, I believe him. "And now you're asking for my help in finding them. For what? So you can kill them?"
"Mulder, if my only option is to destroy them, I will." His eyes narrow as if in pain. "Optimally, I'll take them to our compound."
"So your people can experiment on them? How do I know you're not trying to create the master race?" I can hear the anger in my own voice.
He shakes his head in exasperation. "You don't, and nothing I say will convince you. So let me ask you... What would you... your government do? Put them in foster care?
"Mulder, the Eves are out there, and it's not just us looking for them. You know what they can do, and soon, there will be little Adams and Eves... more fodder for the shadow government or more deaths."
Krycek rubs his face. "Look, I'm tired. Either you'll help me, or you won't." He stands up. "It's up to you."
He picks up his jacket on his way to the door. "I'll call in two hours for your decisio-"
"No, I'll work with you." I pause, surprised that I'm going through with this. "But we don't kill them. I don't know what we'll do with them yet, but you'll have to go through me to kill them."
Krycek's bemused smile makes me think about my last statement. "Don't worry, Mulder. I have no intention of killing you."
Why am I not comforted?
May 3, 1999, 4:45 P.M.
Except for a quick lunch break, we've been going over what little information we have. Bouncing ideas off one another. Krycek's surprisingly sharp, but I guess he would have to be to stay alive. He defers to my opinion more often then not. I'm not sure if it's a ploy, but... I like it.
We know, based on physical evidence, that the Eves have dyed their hair. Jet black and bleach blonde. My theory is that they're living as runaways somewhere in that twelve block square. We both agreed that's where we'll start. To cover as much ground as possible, we'll split up.
"Mulder, three of the victims were dressed as Goths. I'll take the clubs and circulate the photos." Krycek has pictures of the victims, touched up autopsy photos. "Uhh, did you bring any street clothes? You're not going to get much cooperation if you're dressed like... well, a fed."
I hadn't thought of that. I shake my head. Damn.
"I've got my bag in the car. I'm pretty sure I have something you can wear," Krycek says, as he heads toward the door.
"Yeah, thanks." I'm thanking Alex Krycek?
May 3, 1999, 8:00 P.M.
Krycek glances at the clock. "Let's get dinner first. Club kids won't be out for at least an hour or two."
"You going armed?" I ask. He hasn't produced a weapon, nor was there one in his bag.
He shakes his head. "These kids are street-wise, they'll know if you're carrying."
I glance down at my clothes. I couldn't conceal a gun anyway. The jeans, faded but clean, are almost skin-tight. The rest of my ensemble is urban working class, long-sleeve T-shirt and Dr. Marten boots. I'm oddly comfortable in his clothes.
My mind jumps back a few hours, trying on the garments Krycek offered. Seeing the interest in his eyes as I started to strip. Feeling a twinge of desire on my part quickly abated by remembering who I was dealing with.
Krycek's by the door. "You ready?"
May 4, 1999, 1:13 A.M.
I see Krycek waiting for me in front of the High Hat bar. He's bathed in the glow of neon. For a moment, I'm captivated... then shake it off.
"Any luck?" I ask him.
He shakes his head. "You?"
"No, but I found the best price for GHB," I tell him, trying not to sound discouraged.
We're rendezvousing every two hours. Each time we both report nothing. The hustlers, hookers and street kids are out in force. Lots of gay and straight men looking for a good time, considering it's a Tuesday.
Suddenly, Krycek grabs my arm and hauls me into the bar.
"What the fu-"
"Shh, just move," he hisses.
We make our way past men talking, men drinking, men playing pool. And in the shadows, men making out. "Krycek, what are we doing in here?" I lower my voice to a whisper. "This is a gay bar. The Eves-"
"One of their guys was out there." He says over his shoulder. His eyes widen and he pulls me into a corner.
With his back to the door, he kisses me. I try to pull back, when he breaks the kiss and whispers, "He just walked in. He knows me, probably knows who you are." Then proceeds to block my face by kissing me again.
Krycek's five o'clock shadow rasps against me, a counterpoint to the softness of his lips. Without realizing it, I start getting hard. This is not happening.
I try to think of mundane things, expense reports, Scully's shoes, but my body is reveling in the moment. My hands wrap around and stroke his back.
He grunts his surprise as I tentatively lick at his closed lips. He parts them and lets my tongue play. I'm lost in the kiss. No thinking, only the sensation of his tongue wrapping around mine, his lips, my hands running down his back, cupping his ass.
Krycek breaks the kiss and pulls back, panting. His eyes, heavy-lidded with lust. He shakes his head and blows out. He leans his forehead against mine. "What was that, Mulder?"
"I dunno, felt right." I hear my words slur. I move in to kiss him again but he doesn't let me.
"Mulder, I've got to see if he's still here." He maneuvers me so he can see the bar.
Leaning forward, he licks my ear. An indescribable chill runs through me. "It's clear. Let's get out of here," he says, breaking the embrace.
He takes my arm and we head for the door. He looks out onto the street before letting us exit.
"That was close, Mulder. I don't know how many operatives they'll have out here. We need to be careful."
I'm barely listening, trying to will my hard-on to go away. "Do you want to keep canvassing?"
Krycek looks at me, cat's eyes glowing in the neon. "Let's call it a night, I'll take you back to the motel."
May 4, 1999, 2:00 A.M.
Krycek pulls into the motel parking lot. I reach for the door handle, then stop to look at him. "Uh, you got a place to stay?" And what will I do if he says, 'no.'
"Don't worry, I'll find something."
"Yeah... uh. What about tomorrow?" Is that disappointment I hear in my own voice?
"There are a few options, we-"
"Why don't you come in with me?" What the fuck am I saying? "It's more expedient." Oh, yeah, that's convincing. "You can tell me the options and we can... plan."
Krycek gives me a grin. "Okay, sure."
May 4, 1999, 2:40 A.M.
"... found in abandoned buildings. I suspect that's where the Eves are hiding out," Krycek says looking thoughtful. "It's probably safer to check those out in the daylight anyway."
"Yeah, we can still hit the streets at night. I'm still sure that'll turn up something." I suppress a yawn.
"I'd better be going," he says, getting up and heading to the door. "We'll both need to get some sleep. I'll-"
"Krycek," I interrupt. He looks at me, over his shoulder.
I know what I'm about to say, and I'm scared shitless. "Tonight, in the bar. Did you know it was a... I mean, uh..." I hear myself stumbling over my words. "Are you gay?"
Krycek turns to face me, smiling at my discomfort. "Not exclusively. But I don't think that's what you're uncomfortable about."
No shit. I clear my throat. "So you're bisexual?" Please let that sound nonchalant.
Krycek ponders this. "I'm not sure how to answer that. Gender doesn't play a big role in who I find attractive or who I want to sleep with. But if it eases your mind, sure, I'm bi." He pauses. "I also know you're bisexual."
My eyes widen but before I can say anything, Krycek goes on. "The shadow government has been watching you for a long time. We hack their system periodically, so I'm pretty up to date on your, uhh... activities"
He opens the door. "Forgive me for saying this, but you need to get out more." And with that, he leaves.
May 4, 1999, 3:55 A.M.
I'm exhausted, but I can't turn off my mind. I try to force my thoughts to the case, but every thread returns to Krycek... to the bar, to his...
'No, must stop this now,' I tell myself while rolling over onto my stomach.
The pressure of my weight on my erection does nothing to quell it. I force myself to remember all the wrongs Krycek's done, try to remember that he's a thief, a traitor. That he killed my father, leaving me with mixed feelings of retribution... and relief.
Krycek stands for everything I know is wrong. But my body isn't listening.
I flop over again and rub my face. Maybe if I give in, I'll get some sleep... yeah, right, medicinal masturbation.
Shaking my head, knowing I'm just rationalizing, I reach down and start stroking my dick. Mental video replaying his kiss. Images morph... a hidden and shameful fantasy comes unbidden.
A cell in Tunguska... slamming my dick into Krycek. He fights me... at first, but gives in. "Let me turn and see you," he says breathlessly. I comply after one hard thrust that makes him howl.
The next image... the shameful one. Me, on my back, against the cold stone floor, stroking my dick. His cock pushing into me. My frantic pumping matching his pace. Faster, harder until....
May 4, 1999, 10:05 A.M.
I run my hands down Krycek's back. His hand reaches down and I shudder as he encircles my dick.
His lips are demanding, his tongue invading my mouth. I'm harder than I've ever been. My hands move down, to feel his silky erection... to guide it into me.
I awaken to a knock at the door, my hand on my softening dick... fingers sticky.
May 4, 1999, 1:35 P.M.
I lean against the wall, frustrated. Another building, more of nothing. Twenty five minutes until I meet up with Krycek.
"Hey, man. You lookin' for a good time?" The voice belongs to a boy, maybe eighteen.
Shaking my head, I turn away from him. A hand on my shoulder wheels me around. The boy glares at me. "I am, and you're the faggot that's gonna give it to me."
I knock his hand away. "Kid, leave me a-" I stop when two other youths step out of an alley.
"Hey, lookee. Roc-roc has a toy," one of them says.
Roc-roc? I'm about to have it out with a kid named Roc-roc?
They surround me. The one behind gives me a shove. "Whatcha' lookin' for, huh faggot? Some dick to suck?"
Roc-roc grabs his crotch. "What I got here will make you cry. And you're gonna love it."
Anger crosses with fear as I realize these boys aren't playing.
"Hands off assholes," I hear behind me. "Don't fuck with my boy." Krycek's voice is ice-cold, pitched at a timbre that resounds in the brain.
I watch Roc-roc's face as his sneer dissolves. "Hey, man, we was just playin', no harm." He backs away and runs, the other two close on his heels.
Turning around, I can see why they ran, but I can't describe it... it's intuitive. Krycek looks more than dangerous. Fury barely contained. His emerald eyes could freeze water. A moment passes then my Krycek--my Krycek?--returns.
"Are you all right?" he asks, putting his hand on my shoulder. He's concerned. The change is remarkable. I'm alternately relieved, fascinated and... aroused.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing happened," I tell him, patting his hand reassuringly.
"Good. We better stick together."
May 4, 1999, 5:48 P.M.
The rest of the afternoon was spent scaring a lot of homeless people, and coming up with zero. We decided to stop and get some rest for our late night excursions.
"Not a damn thing," I tell Krycek.
"Hey, we'll have better luck tonight," he says encouragingly. "Well, at least it can't get worse."
Working together, we've built an easy camaraderie. I never would have thought that could happen. And somehow, with that ease, I found myself looking at him constantly. I had to re-focus on our search... but my mind--my body--kept pulling me away.
Krycek pulls into the motel parking lot. "When should I pick you up?" He asks, yawning.
It's contagious. I yawn back, he yawns again.
"Stop, damn it," I finally spit out. He tries valiantly, but fails.
"Uh, look, we're both tired. Why don't you just come in with me?"
He shakes his head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Mulder."
"Why? You off to perform some nefarious act?" I was startled by my offer, but now that it's out I'm going to back it up.
"No, but if I stay, I might perform one," he replies with a small smile.
"I'm not worried." Oh, shit... what am I getting myself into?
May 4, 1999, 6:00 P.M.
I sit on the bed, pulling off my--his--boots.
Krycek sits in the chair, looking at me. "Mulder, we need to talk." He rubs his mouth before continuing, "I may be wrong... I hope I am, but something's happening between us."
Oh god, have I been sending signals? "I don't know what you me-"
"Yes, you do. Last night. Today. Your body language... the way you've been looking at me."
I stand up and head to the bathroom. "Well, you're wrong. Don't flatter yourself." I catch his reflection in the mirror.
"Mulder?" The softness of his voice stops me. I turn to face him... waiting.
He moves toward me until we're inches apart. "I'm not... flattering myself. I know what I want, what I've wanted for years." His eyes widen with that admission. He swallows audibly. "But I can't let it get in the way of this case."
I feel my breath quicken. "It won't." I say without thinking and lean in to kiss him.
My mind rages, but my body takes over. The kiss, the fumbling with clothes. A hesitation when faced with his prosthetic.
"Bother you?" he asks. The challenge in his voice is offset by the apprehension in his eyes.
I respond by pulling him to me. Kissing him, trailing across his cheek to his ear. "You want it on or off?"
"Off," he murmurs back.
I struggle with the straps and buckles until he pulls away and expertly removes the arm. Now free, I throw myself at him. Both of us falling into bed.
His mouth on mine, tongues wrapping around each other, bodies rubbing, erections bumping. I break the kiss and work down his body. No finesse, the pent up years demanding their due.
I take his cock head into my mouth, tonguing the slit... feeling the slick pearl of pre-cum. I feel hot, hypersensitive. My own dick brushes the bed sending jolts though me. His hand, fisting my hair, his low moans, all add to my frenzy. I swallow him, gagging a bit, but pushing past it.
"No, stop... na, not yet." He grunts out, pulling my head away. I crawl up him. He looks at me, eyes glazed, lips parted... lust personified, a mirror of what I'm feeling.
Sitting up, I straddle his hips. My ass against his cock. I grind down and watch him shudder. I spit into my hand and rise on my knees, reaching between to stroke him to transfer my spit to his cock.
"Fuck me, Alex." A voice that sounds like me... must be me. His eyes fly open when I guide him in, pushing down. It's been so long... I've wanted this, dreamed of this... hated myself.
He thrusts up. His breathing grows heavier as I take him in deeper. A part of my brain is screaming at the pain. No warm up, no prep. The feeling of his cock opening me, the pain, the desire sweeps over me.
I slam down on him... my shout of pain, his gasp. I start riding him, squeezing my ass around him as he reaches down and strokes me roughly.
We move together, frenzied bucking. His hand starts pumping faster and I up my own tempo. Through the blood pounding in my ears, I hear him... low growl, building. Then my head fills as the orgasm slam through me. White-hot, searing... soaring.
May 4, 1999, 8:04 P.M.
The tingling in my hand wakes me. Pins and needles, must have slept on it.
Rolling over, I'm startled by a sleeping Alex Krycek next to me, but a combination of sore ass and satisfaction reminds me of what's happened.
My body immediately responds to him. I have to accept that it always did. I remember a passage from a mystery novel. 'The body is a vindictive fucker. It wants what it wants, and when it can't get it, it starts dreaming up ways to motivate you.'
When I read that, I had more confidence that my intellect would always prevail. That I had control, regardless of the years of fantasizing. The amazing thing is it doesn't matter. Giving myself over to this... to what I've wanted is somehow freeing.
I lean over and kiss him. He's startled and quickly pulls away, but then smiles and throws his arm around my neck. "Mmm, nice way to wake me up."
"I have a better way." I tell him, getting up and motioning to the bathroom.
The heat of the shower, the slippery feel of soapy bodies rubbing against each other, steam up the small bathroom. We kiss and touch. I want this to be slower, less desperate than this afternoon.
I soap his cock, talking him into fucking me again.
"Mulder, the soap will burn. We can wait un-"
"Don't worry, Alex, I've done it before." I'm lying, but I can't wait. When did he become Alex?
I brace my hands against the tiles and he starts pushing into me. The soap stings, but the feeling is indescribable as his cock enters me.
He pushes slowly, letting me get used to him. When he glides across my prostate and I drop my head back onto his shoulder. I feel his breath against my ear.
"So good. Damn you feel good." His voice low and gravelly. He wraps his arm around my waist. "You can't know how long I've wanted this," he says, shakily. His hand, gliding on my chest, stomach, combined with his slow thrusts are driving me out of my mind.
"Faster, please." Is that me? Am I begging?
"You want it faster? Harder?" I would nod my head but he's licking my ear.
He pulls almost out and stops.
"God! Please Al-" I choke off my words when he slams into me. He starts fucking me with abandon, his hand reaching down to jack me off.
Water beating down on me, his breath against my ear, his hand on my dick, his cock up my ass, hitting my prostate with every plunge... I'm a mass of sensation, no intellect, only an animal.
I cry out his name when I come.
May 4, 1999, 9:30 P.M.
"You're awfully quiet, Alex." I reach and put my hand on his.
He blinks and gives me an empty grin, then looks down at our hands. "Mulder, this... the sex. It's fantastic, and something I've wanted for a long time."
I nod, letting him know that I have, too.
"But we can't... you do know it's just sex. Nothing more. It can't be anything more. And it can't get in the way of this mission."
My intellect screams out 'Of course I know. A relationship with a traitor/assassin/double agent? Pshaw.' But part of me hurts hearing it.
"Alex, I know." I don't like it, but I know. "And it won't get in the way." Pulling my hand away. "Think of it as perk of the job." I hope the joke isn't as flat as I feel.
May 5, 1999, 1:33 A.M.
"... If you think of anything, or run into those girls, call me." I hand a piece of paper with my cell number to a scruffy looking youth with old eyes.
He fiddles with the paper, then stuffs it in his pocket. "What's it worth? If I had information... which I don't."
Enough to keep you in inhalants for a while. "Depends, could be a hundred, could be more."
Scruffy-boy snorts. "That's jack," he says then walks away.
I rub my face and stifle a yawn. Each kid I talked to had the same sullen response, 'No, I don't know the girls. No, I haven't seen the girls. No, I don't know any of those guys.'
This is going nowhere... 3 nights with no results. Well, except for... no, not now.
"Hee heee, we know what you're looking for." A shrill, singsong voice behind me.
I wheel around to face a small, round bald man in his sixties. Dressed like a 60's car salesman, and none too aromatic.
"Yes, we do," he continues, rocking back on his heels.
"Right. Who am I looking for?"
He starts rambling, his sentences pocketed with obscure words. His hot eyes and tendency toward screeching make me dismiss him. As I turn to walk away he says, "They're like bookends and the boys love them... hee hee, my observation has been exemplar. Light and shadow they are... dark and light, but not yin and yang."
"Are you talking about twin girls? Around fourteen?" Can I believe the incoherent patter?
"Youth, young, truth, dung. We know them, we see them. Furtive then bold. Slipping from the light and into the darkness." He continues to rock back and forth, his head down, bobbing. "Hee, hee."
I put my hands on his shoulders. "Where are they?" I shake him gently. "Can you tell me where they are?"
"Oh, yesss. We know their lair... their hair... black and white, dark and light," he says, thin lips grinning wildly. "We can take you there..." He looks at the moon. "Now, while they hunt."
"Take me to them."
"Pay for passage, pay for passage." He singsongs then points to my feet.
"You want my boots?"
May 5, 1999, 2:04 A.M.
I call Krycek. "Come on, answer your damned phone," I mutter. Two more rings before he picks up.
"Yeah?" He has to shout over the din of loud music
"Krycek, it's me. You gotta get to-"
"Can't hear you. I'll call back in-" his voice is drowned out, then a click.
I look at the building. Deserted, ominous. The entire block appears abandoned, most of the streetlamps out.
Mr. Heehee left, but not before showing me a broken-out window. "They come and go, go and come..."
I climb in carefully but before I can start looking around, my cell chirps. "Krycek? That you?"
"Think I've found them. I'm at 714 Newell, come quickly... and, uh, if you've got extra shoes, bring them."
I hear noises outside and close the cell on his, "What? Extra-"
The voices are indistinct but coming closer. I move into the shadows, taking care where I place my all-but-bare feet. Thoughts of rusty nails, metal shavings and tetanus boosters running through my head.
"So who's first?" A girl's voice, followed by a snap and zip.
Wet sounds, a low groan. The familiar call of a male getting blown. "Fuck... don't stop." Macho pleading with a hint of whine.
"Want you in me." Breathy, demanding girl voice.
Thumps, fabric rustling, a match striking. I peer out and see them. The boy on his back, Eve-black on top. Eve-white holding a spoon over a candle.
"Fuck, this is sooo good, ride me bitch." The boy's voice, guttural, slurred.
Eve-white moves closer, syringe in hand. She takes the boy's arm and wraps a belt around his bicep. "This'll make it better."
Shit... I can't let this happen. I run out from the darkness, weapon drawn. "Stop, FBI!" I shout as loudly as I can.
The boy is startled, but Eve-black turns to me. No surprise, no fear.
"Oh, it's you," the girls say in unison. Faster than I can see her move, Eve-white tackles me. I hit the concrete floor. She knocks my gun away, then kicks me in the head.
Hard blows pound me as Eve-black joins the fray. I reach out and grab an ankle, until another kick to the head makes me let go.
I feel myself losing consciousness, that dream-like sense of drifting far away... but just before I'm gone, I hear him... Alex. I force my eyes open and watch the girls move away from me.
Everything seems to move in fits and starts, surreal. I hear shouting, then feel myself flinch at the sound of a gunshot.
I sit up suddenly... inviting an explosion of pain in my head. When I can open my eyes again, I'm alone.
Standing up gingerly, I start walking to a window when I hear tires squeal. The window's milky with grime and age, but I make out someone running, trying to catch distant taillights.
May 5, 1999, 2:56 A.M.
Alex hasn't said a word to me since he returned to the abandoned building. I tried to engage him, but he shook his head and gave me a look that said it all. Defeated. We blew it. Somehow they got past him and stole his car.
I reach out and pat his thigh. He turns to me, a slow sad smile and small shake of his head letting me know he's not ready to talk.
We ride on in silence. Damn my head hurts... and my feet are cold.
May 5, 1999, 3:18 A.M.
"Alex, I'm glad you're staying," I say, closing the door.
He almost didn't, saying he should go back to the Compound. Luckily, he was too tired to argue with me. I convinced him he should just call them and head out after he's slept.
"Mulder, I'm going outside to talk."
"No, I'll take a shower. Will that do?" I don't want him out there alone.
"Yeah, thanks," he says with just a hint of a smile.
I step out just as he closes his cell phone. "You all done?" I ask as I wrap my arms around him.
He steps back. "Mulder. Please, let's just get some sleep." He strips and falls into bed. Despite my headache, I can't help but feel a twinge in my dick.
I'm contemplating brushing my teeth when I hear gentle snoring. He's on his back, head slightly turned. His face, unlined and angelic in sleep. His lips slightly parted.
'Maybe in the morning,' I tell my semi hard-on. Then I get in bed and curl up next to him.
May 5, 1999, 7:15 A.M.
Birds... goddamned birds. No, wait. That's a cell phone.
Alex wakes up instantly and grabs his cell from the nightstand. "Yes?" His eyes widen and he looks around the room. Pulling the phone away from his mouth, he tells me, "Turn on the TV, local news. Now."
I look for the remote as Krycek finishes his call. I click on the TV and search for news... what news?
"... car explosion in the early hours. Our Channel 12 News-On-The-Spot team is there live. Brandon?"
Alex sits next to me when a Ken-doll comes on the screen. "Thank you, Shelly. We're waiting for Captain Lister of the Baltimore Traffic division. But let me cover what we know now. Approximately two hours ago, witnesses say a vehicle traveling at high speed hit the center concrete pillar of the East Fayette Street overcrossing, exploding on impact." Ken-doll pauses and points to smoke rising in the background.
The camera pans and zooms in to a car still smoldering. From the distance of the police tape, it's hard to tell that it's really a car.
"Brandon, do you know if there are any fatalities?"
"The coroner's wagon pulled up an hour ago, but... Wait, there's Captain Lister."
We watch the media feeding frenzy. A tired middle-aged man tries to answer the rapid-fire questions. Finally he holds up his hands. "Please, enough. You be civil and ask your questions one at a time. I'll do my best to answer." That works for about 2.35 seconds.
I yawn, waiting for... "Alex, why are we wat-"
"Shh, not now."
"... two badly burned bodies." The Captain's grimace says 'charred to a crisp.' He swallows then continues, "Identification may not be possible with the remains. The fire was so intense there isn't a scrap of identification we can find on either the bodies or the vehicle. We're asking for the public's help. We've found a license plate that we believe was blown off the vehicle." He holds up a battered North Carolina license. "We are tracin-"
Alex grabs the remote from me and turns off the TV. "Shit," he mutters.
"That was your car." It's not a question, I already know the answer... his car, the Eves.
He picks up his cell and dials a number. "The car is affirmative." His voice is eerily devoid of emotion. So different from what I've grown used to. He listens for a bit then hangs up.
We sit for a moment, the silence is deafening.
"Alex, now what?" Is this it? Are the Eves dead?
He takes a deep breath, then blows out, almost a sigh. "The bodies can't be positively identified, but forensics can make them as teenaged females. Mulder, my job is done. My superiors would have preferred them alive, but I've met the primary objective... kept the Eves out of the hands of the shadow government."
Standing up, he starts getting dressed. "I can't explain what happened between us, but... for both our sakes, we need to forget it."
I'm about to argue when I realize he's right. How could I, Special Agent Fox Mulder, explain that I've been knocking boots with Alex Krycek? What would we say to each other day to day? 'Hi honey, kill anyone bad today?'
Alex is dressed and heading to the door.
I reach out, stopping him. "Hey, don't I at least get a kiss goodbye?"
His eyes twinkle and he cracks a grin. The first real one since yesterday. He strokes my cheek, and bends to kiss me. Softly, gently, lasting no more than a few heartbeats.
"You really need to get out more," he says, and I watch him leave, maybe for the last time.
May 5, 1999, 4:00 P.M.
Two girls are placed in adjoining cells... solid doors with a 5 by 10 'window' covered by heavy mesh.
The girls are freshly showered and dressed in blue hospital scrubs.
In unison, they step up to the door and look out the window.
A handsome dark-haired man is in the hall. His brilliant green eyes gaze at them for a long time. "We were worried," he says. "I can't say I'm surprised by you. We know your... tendencies."
The girls nod together. "You should know," they say slyly.
A smile from the handsome man. "You must be more careful."
"We weren't worried," Eve-black says.
"No, we weren't worried," Eve-white says.
Then together they tell the handsome man, "We knew you would come for us... Adam."
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"The body is a vindictive fucker. It wants what it wants, and when it can't get it, it starts dreaming up ways to motivate you." A Cool Breeze on the Underground, Don Winslow