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Hollow Man
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TITLE: Hollow Man | | | |
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Alex Krycek felt hollow. <A hollow man with a hollow arm>, he thought wryly. After too many years of devoting his entire being to the battle, risking quite literally, life and limb, to remain one of the last men standing, instead of the rush of victory filling him as he neared the end, he felt nothing. A vacant hole stood where he'd hoped his soul would be. Not that he knew what one was supposed to feel like. He had lived his entire life on the outer fringes of society, forever a misfit, forever apart and isolated. His mother had died when he was a child, and he'd been raised by his shiftless, alcoholic father in a variety of entirely forgettable grungy little towns all over the US. He'd never even lived in a house on a regular basis until he was seventeen, when the Smoking Man had come to him while he was serving a short stint in an Alabama jail for shoplifting, and offered him the chance of a lifetime. Once he'd accepted -- not fully understanding what he was getting himself into at the time -- it had been goodbye living in a rusted-out Chevy Impala and eating cold baked beans out of a can; hello regular meals, his first real bed, and college dorm life. He'd never seen his father, or any of the dirty, putrid, third-rate towns, again. Of course, the life he'd ended up with wasn't what he'd wanted either. He still found himself living out of a fucking car more often than he cared to. But he had a lot of money salted away in hidden accounts all over the world, and he didn't have many regrets about what he'd done to get it. Too many years of abject poverty brushed aside his lingering shreds of conscience, on the rare occurrence when they flickered back to life, like an about-to-short-out light bulb on a front stoop. But now that his indentured servitude was over, with a brutal finality even he didn't expect, he hadn't departed for a sun-soaked tropical island, as had been his idle teenage fantasy when he had embarked on this misbegotten path. Instead, he still found himself in DC three days after Spender had unceremoniously landed at the bottom of the stairs, and Mulder had disappeared into the Oregon night. Not that he cared about either one of them. Good riddance, was his only thought. Spender's death had been a minor source of grim joy when it finally came; as for Mulder, he'd been a thorn in his side for so long, Alex had felt nothing but an odd sense of cosmic justice when he'd heard the news. The only problem it presented was that it indicated the timetable may have been accelerated, but frankly, he was tired of fighting. He wanted out. So why hadn't he taken off for parts unknown? The woman beside him in the bed stirred, and Alex's eyes cut over to her briefly before returning to their spot on the ceiling. Still asleep. He sure as hell wasn't staying because of her. Marita Covarrubias was just another thorn in his side. But she'd assisted him in Spender's downward flight to oblivion, and now he couldn't get rid of her. She'd been impossible to shake off since getting him out of Tunisia, and he'd finally gone to bed with her again tonight out of sheer necessity. Almost a year in prison with no woman in sight had been too long to go without fucking for his libido, so he'd shut his eyes and done it. What had surprised him was how little he'd liked it this time. When they'd initially become lovers, he'd considered it a favorable side benefit, at least enjoying the physical aspect of an alliance with her. Her icy façade had melted the second he'd rammed his tongue down her throat, and he'd appreciated her talent at blowjobs. And at the time he'd recently lost his arm, and hadn't been feeling like the most attractive man around, so he'd been more susceptible to her superficial charms. He'd indulged his basic sexual urges with her on and off for a couple of years, even allowing himself to trust her, although not actually care for her on a more human level. A tactical error on his part, he saw in hindsight. Eventually, she had sold him out, betraying him even more than Spender had. All he felt for her now was disdain, and a tiny bit of repulsion. She'd gotten her looks back since the time he'd seen in her in Fort Marlene, but it hadn't been enough. Marita was more frigid now than she'd ever been, not only her demeanor but also on the inside. Alex couldn't remember a colder, less yielding place his dick had ever been. So chilly, in fact, he'd had to think of something else, somebody else, in order to finish his task. It wasn't until he let his imagination roam freely, and the shy smile that Skinner's secretary had given him when he'd seen her briefly the day he'd gone to the AD's office popped into his brain cells, that he'd been able to reach climax. The mental image of her had made him come so fast and so unexpectedly he'd nearly roared her name, biting on his lip to stop himself just in time. <Kim.> Alex glanced at Marita to make sure she was still asleep before letting his thoughts settle back onto the beguiling FBI employee. Even after all this time had passed, Kimberly Cook still managed to make his mind wander in many inappropriate directions. He relished the chance to think about her without distraction; these opportunities didn't come often enough for his satisfaction. During his recent stint in prison, he'd pictured her often, but that had been as she'd looked years ago, not as she did now. She'd changed her hair color from strawberry blond to a coppery red, and had it restyled, going from a longer length that she had often worn upswept to one where the ends brushed midway down her neck. A sleeker, more modern look, but he hadn't decided yet which he preferred. She had lost some weight, but was still alluringly voluptuous, with a pronounced ultra-feminine sweep of curves. The pure horn-dog part of him would say she had great tits and ass, he thought with a muffled snort. The passing time hadn't changed much else about her; six years ago, he'd assumed they were about the same age. Now she still appeared youthful, with few wrinkles at the corners of her gray-blue eyes, while he felt as if he were a hundred years old. A life on the run certainly took its toll. She wasn't beautiful in a conventional sense, yet she still captured his interest, made something wriggle deep inside him, like an itch he couldn't reach to scratch. He tried to be objective about her appearance, adopting a coolly analytical approach. A classic heart- shaped face, a brow perhaps too wide, a chin too narrow, a body just on the wrong side of chubby. But her clothes were snug against her hips and chest in a way that made his missing hand twitch. And she had the most appealing set of deep oval dimples that appeared when she smiled. Best of all, there was something in her eyes that remained indefinable and compelling, that made his entire body ache to stand closer. Altogether, she had an appeal that grabbed at his attention when he least expected it. When he first met her after being assigned to Mulder, they'd had a few conversations, and had even eaten one memorable lunch in the cafeteria. He'd debated long and hard about asking her out to dinner, or even something as normal as the movies. But at the time, he'd been an official Bureau employee, and dating amongst co-workers had been against their rules. He hadn't wanted to make any waves, or draw unneeded attention to himself back then. And she had an innocent air about her, a sweet sadness, which had set off churning, unfamiliar emotions that he'd never experienced before in his hard-scrabble life. Alex couldn't bring himself to hurt her, and he knew if he'd seduced her -- as every cell in his body had begged him to -- then when his ruse was discovered, that was exactly what would have occurred. What also had loomed large in his mind was that if Spender ever discovered Alex's fondness for her, she'd become yet another victim of the black-lunged bastard's twisted manipulations. So he refrained, and pushed her to the back of his mind, never letting on to anyone, especially her, what he'd truly felt at the time. She had wormed her way into his subconscious though, and although he didn't see her again until the other day, he'd thought about her numerous times over the six years that had passed. What she was doing, if she was happy, how she would feel under him in bed. Alex imagined she'd be a lot warmer than Marita. Softer, too. He hadn't experienced a lot of softness in his life. When he'd finally seen her again, she hadn't seemed to be afraid of him, as he'd anticipated. He knew he'd rightfully earned his reputation as a scumbag, and he was certain that she'd heard terrible things about him from Skinner and his two subordinates, but the only look she'd given him was one of quiet contemplation. His mind flew back to the twenty seconds he'd actually been alone with her in Skinner's office, as everyone had been waiting for Mulder and Scully to return from their private discussion in the hallway. Kim had come in to give Skinner an urgent phone message, and he had gone to her desk to return the call. The three geeks, the Lone Gunmen, had taken off to grab some coffee from the cafeteria, and he couldn't remember or care where Marita was. Alex had been standing across the room, watching Kim avidly under the curtain of his eyelashes, soaking in the way her dark-gray skirt and white silk blouse hugged her lush frame. He'd waited for her to follow Skinner out the door, but she'd stopped when her hand touched the doorknob, and turned to face him directly. For a long, heart-thumping moment, she looked as if she wanted to say something to him. Her eyes met his, and it had felt as if she had shined a klieg light in his face, he'd been so brilliantly spotlighted. But instead of speaking, she'd given him a shy, endearing smile before her lashes brushed against her reddening cheeks and she slipped past the door without comment. It had taken every ounce of restraint he had not to follow her out the door, like a tethered rowboat caught in an ocean liner's wake. Perhaps it was that moment of near-connection that was keeping him in DC, when by all rights, he should have been a thousand miles away by now. Perhaps he wanted to know what Kim Cook had been thinking at that one instant. What she thought about him at all, if he ever crossed her mind in the first place. His cell phone chirped, and immediately knocked him out of his ridiculous reverie. He grabbed at it quickly, clicking the talk button as he swung his legs off the bed and stepped into the bathroom in four rapid strides, closing the door behind him with a silent turn of the knob. Whoever was calling, he didn't want his temporary bedmate to hear. "Hello?" "Mr. Krycek?" A subdued female whisper. Partly familiar, but it couldn't be whom his imagination wildly guessed that it was. "Who is this?" A pause, then he heard a deep inhale. "Um, it's Kimberly Cook. I'm not sure if you remember me--" "I remember you." Alex was impressed he was able to keep the shock and excitement out of his voice. Speak of the devil. "Oh." She seemed thrown off-balance by his rapid-fire response. "Did Skinner ask you to get in touch with me?" He kept his voice low, stealing a glance at the closed door as he mumbled the AD's name. "No. I, uh...I'm calling on my own. I wondered if you might be able to meet with me. I'd like to speak to you in private. But I don't want to discuss the details over the phone." His curiosity was piqued. Very piqued. "When?" "Are you free now?" He checked the time on the phone's LED. She wanted to meet him at one in the morning? Somehow he didn't think this had anything to do with FBI matters. But he couldn't imagine why else she would want to see him. That she might have thought about him as much as he did her was inconceivable; nonetheless, a tiny flicker of hope spurted to life in his chest. "Yes I am. What's your address?" "Oh...no, not here. There's an all-night diner on the corner of State and DuPont, called Shorty's. Could you meet me there?" "Yes. Give me a half hour." "Okay. Thank you, Mr. Krycek." She disconnected, and Alex stared at the phone in his hand, wondering. It didn't feel like a set-up. She'd sounded very nervous and hesitant, as if she didn't want anyone to find out she'd contacted him. But the location she suggested was only ten minutes from his motel, so he would leave now, and make sure it wasn't surrounded by Feebs before he waltzed in the door. No matter how guileless and enchanting he thought Skinner's PA might be, Alex wasn't a fool. He'd been burned too many times to make that kind of rookie error. He exited the bathroom, and dressed silently, keeping a careful eye on Marita to make sure she remained unconscious. Satisfied, he walked out the door, his one small bag of clothing hanging from his fake hand, leaving her without giving her another thought. Regardless of why Kim Cook wanted to meet him, Alex had no intention of coming back here. At the very minimum, she was giving him the perfect opportunity to escape from Marita's clutches. He was taking advantage of the gift of freedom she just handed him. +++++ When Kim entered the diner, her stomach flipped over as she spotted Alex in the corner, and she put her hand on it to quell the butterflies. The place was deserted, as she knew it would be when she'd chosen it; there were only a few waitresses sitting at a booth at the other end of the room, and him. She squared her shoulders and made her way to where he was sitting, a drained coffee cup resting on the Formica table in front of him. He didn't rise when she approached, but she didn't expect him to, so she slid into the booth seat across from him without speaking. He'd chosen the table furthest from the front for their rendezvous, and he sat with his back to the wall, where he commanded a full view of the room. Exactly the booth she'd thought he'd select. His facial expression was wary, but his eyes were warm, similar to how they had been a few days prior. Almost the way he used to look at her when he first appeared at the Bureau. Nothing else about him, though, was the same as back then. He was leaner, his features more angular, the flesh hewn closer to his bones. His clothing and hair styles had changed dramatically as well; gone were the phony collegiate ties, cheap suits, and over-gelled hair. Now he wore a more minimal wardrobe, all black, deceptively casual, and a much shorter, cleaner hairstyle. He'd even gotten a little gray at the temples, but she supposed it was natural, given the life he'd undoubtedly lived since she'd first met him. "Do I meet with your approval?" His voice held a hint of humor. "Um, yeah. Sorry. It's been a long time since I've seen you," she replied, feeling awkward and skittish all over again. A smirk hovered at the right corner of his mouth. "Three days isn't long." She hadn't forgotten seeing him in Skinner's office, and by the look on his face, neither had he. "Th-that's true. I meant, b-before that." God, she was stuttering like an idiot, so she shut up quickly, looking around for the waitress to come by and take her order, to buy herself a little time to pull it together. What was it about Alex Krycek that made her so...so nervous? He'd done this to her well before he'd ever been uncovered as a murderer and a traitor. He'd made her antsy from day one, and it had nothing to do with his treachery. It was all him. Kim took some deep calming breaths as a tired older woman walked over and replenished his coffee, and she turned her cup over to indicate a fill. She mutely shook her head at the menu extended from the woman's hand, waiting until she was out of earshot before looking back up at his face. He gave her a palm-up, then took a sip of his coffee. "You called me." Unable to keep her eyes on his, she studied the scratch marks on the table and blurted out meekly, "I want to hire you to kill someone." Once it was out, the silence that followed it was deafening. She probably should have eased them into this, come up with some preamble, but she had figured the direct approach would be best. Now she thought maybe she'd misjudged. After a hideously long minute, she looked back up at him again. His face was bland, but his astonished eyes were drilling into hers. "I...I have money. I don't know how much you charge, but uh..." "Who?" His rusty voice was direct, slicing through her rambling speech. Who. Not why, or how, or are you crazy. Who did she want him to kill. "A friend of mine." Then she took a deep breath. "It's not what you think. He's very ill, dying, and he...he's asked me to do this for him. He wants to die on his own terms, and he deserves that much." In truth, Mike deserved so much more, but this was all she was able to give him. So she was prepared to face the devil himself to make it happen. But oddly enough, Alex Krycek didn't strike her as that devil anymore. When she'd seen him again the other day, she thought he'd be the perfect person to ask. Now she wasn't sure this was a good idea. "You want me to shoot a dying man?" he asked, the disbelief vivid in his tone. She shook her head no. "Not shoot. I'm not sure how to do it, but I want it to be peaceful. He's in enough pain already." She sighed, and twisted her hands in front of her untouched coffee. "Euthanasia, it's called. A mercy killing." "I know what it's called." Yeah, she supposed he would. "Kim." She watched as his hand left his cup and gently covered both her shaking ones, but he didn't speak again until her eyes lifted again to his. "I think you better tell me the whole story before I decide anything." Damn. She was afraid he was going to ask. But she didn't have any other options. "My friend has AIDS. He was diagnosed HIV positive about nine years ago, and has been slowly going downhill for the last three. I don't know if you know anything about the disease, but it's horrible. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. He's fought very hard to stay alive, but it's not of any use anymore. He's got about four different things wrong with him now, and all of them are fatal and cause him great agony. But he keeps on living, hanging on by a thread, and he doesn't want to anymore." "Why not commit suicide?" Alex's voice seemed oddly compassionate. Pulling one hand away from under his, she wiped an errant tear off her cheek. She didn't want to make a public scene, or embarrass herself any worse in front of him. "He's got a life insurance policy that doesn't kick in if he kills himself. After being sick for so many years, there's a lot of medical bills to pay, and his, ah...his beneficiary needs the money to crawl out the debt left by his long illness. The health insurance has only covered a portion of it." <Don't ask, please don't ask.> "Who's the beneficiary?" Of course he had to ask. "I am." Then she squared her shoulders, exhaling as she told him the truth that she tried unsuccessfully to avoid. "I'm his wife." He'd been leaning forward, softly cradling her hand, with a fairly open expression on his face. But at her words, he pulled back swiftly and his face shuttered down like a house closing up for a storm. When he re- opened his eyes, they were green ice chips. His voice remained flat, falsely calm, although every other aspect of his body language signaled an inexplicable anger. "You said he was a friend, not your husband. Which one is the lie, Mrs. Cook?" "Neither. He is a friend. It was a...a marriage of convenience." She chose her words carefully, not wanting to tell him any more than was necessary. This was too personal, and it still caused a sharp ache in her chest to think about the circumstances in which she and Mike had begun their marriage. "He lives in Maryland, on the Bay, a couple of hours away, and I live here. Once he was diagnosed, there was no point to divorcing, since he needed my FBI health benefits. We've been married on paper since then." Alex still didn't speak, so she continued. "He's done so much for me, and I owe him my life. This is the only thing he's ever asked from me." He mulled that over, and his next question took her by surprise. She thought he'd probe further, or storm out the door in a huff. Instead he sounded curious, almost bashful. "Why did you decide to ask me for help?" She looked him in the eye again, and his expression had softened to that warm look from earlier, so she told him as much of the truth as she could without seeming foolish. She only hoped it would be enough to convince him. "A couple of reasons. One, you're the only, ah..." fishing around for the right word, "...professional that I know." The corners of his mouth curved up infinitesimally. "Well put. And two?" "You're very good at keeping secrets. I assume you'll use this knowledge against me someday, and I've accepted that, but I know you won't tell Mr. Skinner or the others, because it would only tip your own hand in the matter. This is my life, and it's nobody else's business." He seemed offended by that, and she didn't understand why. This whole thing was becoming very confusing to Kim. When she made the decision to contact him, she based it on who she assumed he was, the man she'd seen from Skinner's and Mulder's perspectives. But the Alex sitting before now didn't seem like that same ruthless person they described. To be sure, that part of him was there, but that uncertain, awkward rookie she'd known was present, too. Kim didn't know what to make of the disparity between the two Alex Kryceks. Which one was really him, she mused. Interrupting her thoughts, he leaned forward and took her hand again, cupping her fingers in his palm. "I'll do it. We should make arrangements to leave as soon as possible. I'll check out hotels in the area, and you should take some time off from work, so no one will be curious about your absence." She admired his fast turn-around, and her grateful smile swept across her face of its own volition. It was embarrassing to admit how much she liked being touched by him, even though she assumed it was a ploy to make the waitresses think they were a romantic couple, instead of having a business meeting. <That is what this was, wasn't it?> "Mike's in the hospital right now, but he wants to die at home. We'll stay at the house with him. And I've already put in for two weeks vacation, starting tomorrow." At his lifted eyebrow, she explained, "I'll need to handle his funeral arrangements once...it's over. And take some time to grieve." His hand tightened around hers briefly, as if he were comforting her, but he still didn't let it go. "You seem fairly confident I was going to agree. What if I hadn't?" She sighed. "He's going to die anyways, and probably very soon. I just would have been there and held his hand through the pain. Nobody should die alone, especially h-him." Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her free hand, giving herself a shield of privacy so he couldn't see her heartache. Now that the time was here, Kim was beginning to wish it wasn't. She thought she was ready, but apparently she'd been fooling herself yet again. She still had a few hours before seeing Mike to prepare for this, thank God. She didn't want him to know how much this hurt; he had enough bearing down on his now so frail shoulders. When she could talk again, she looked back up at Alex, who was watching her intently. She wondered what he was thinking, but his face gave nothing away. "So, how much do you charge?" she asked, her voice purposely steady. He lifted her hand to his mouth, and gently but deliberately pressed his lips to the back of her palm before releasing her fingers, giving her a small smile as he tossed a couple of crumpled dollars from his pocket onto the table. He stood up, and waited for her to join him. When she slid up off the booth seat, he put his hand on her elbow, standing facing her, only a few inches away. They'd never been this physically close before, and it felt strangely natural and unnatural at the same time. "This one's on the house, Kim." "Why?" "You've got enough troubles, and more debt isn't going to ease your burden. I'm very expensive, and you couldn't afford me otherwise. Besides, and don't ask me why, but I want to do it." While she was grateful, she was also very worried. Based on what she'd heard about him from Mulder, she thought Alex Krycek never did anything that wasn't in his best interest. So eventually, he was going to ask her to pay for this, but she wasn't as nadve to think it would only be a monetary payment. "What are you going to want in return?" she asked hastily. He shrugged. "Nothing. Let's get going. We need to get on the road soon, so we can be at the hospital for visiting hours first thing in the morning. I'm going to need time to assess the situation and come up with a plan." She craned her neck up to look at his eyes, to see if she could figure out on her own what her payment was going to consist of. But they were unreadable. "Alex..." His head jerked, seemingly startled that she used his first name, and she was a little surprised she'd done it as well. In her head, she always called him that, but never out loud. Even when they'd spoken those few times years before, she had called him Agent Krycek, as Bureau protocol demanded. Finally he gave her another microscopic smile, and nudged her toward the door with his hand still holding her elbow to steer her. "Keep calling me that, and it'll be payment enough. C'mon, let's get going." As they made their way to her car, Kim tried hard to ignore the residual sensual pressure echoing against her knuckles, where he'd placed his lips. It didn't mean anything, she told herself. Regardless of how he used to look at her, or what she'd thought about him back when they'd worked together, it simply wasn't possible for anything to come of this. No matter how much more she might want. It was far too late for both of them. +++++ When Alex awoke, he took a brief minute to acclimate himself, as he did most mornings. Since he rarely woke up in the same place twice, when he snapped back to consciousness, he needed at least ten seconds to remember where he was. He glanced around the room automatically, the habit unbroken. A sparsely decorated room, painted a cheery yellow, with a medium-sized light oak dresser and matching nightstand, a few museum reproductions on the walls, and the sun shining through a thin white curtain. The cotton swayed in the breeze, and he could smell a tantalizing mix of coffee and sea air. He swiftly put the pieces of the puzzle together. He was at Kim's friend's house on the Chesapeake Bay. The friend, the husband, that she had asked him to murder. The events of last night re-played through his mind as he swung his legs off the bed and got dressed. Meeting Kim in the coffee shop, driving her up to Maryland with limited discussion, his cursory inspection of the house before she pointed him to this bedroom with a stifled yawn. She'd fallen asleep on the trip, her head leaning toward, but not quite resting on, his shoulder as he drove her car. So far, he'd learned a number of things about her, and all of them had inspired violently strong and opposing reactions in his gut. She was married, which had brought up such a huge swell of jealousy in him when she said it, he'd nearly walked out. The resounding relief when she'd informed him it wasn't a real marriage had been palpable. But it seemed like such a waste to Alex. A woman like Kim deserved to be adored by any man lucky enough to win her affection. He'd also discovered that she was a lot less shy than she initially appeared. Her bold actions, calling him directly, asking him to kill someone, had shaken him to his core. And she obviously didn't play by the same rigid rules as her fellow Bureau co-workers; Alex couldn't imagine a similar discussion taking place between him and Skinner, for instance. He mulled over why he had agreed while he made his way to the bathroom and got ready for the day. He'd wanted to correct her mistaken impression that he was a hit-man for all occasions, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. The only area Alex focused his lethal talents on was the X Files, either on behalf of the Group or to further his own cause. But how could he have turned her down? She'd nearly broken down when talking about her dying friend, and Alex was deeply moved that when it came to the hardest part of what had to be a terrible chapter in her life, she'd come to him for help. Despite her reasons for choosing him. But he was honest with himself enough to admit that his reasons for agreeing were not altogether altruistic. A chance to spend time with her, and to give her an opportunity to see him as something other than a cold-blooded mercenary, were also factors in why he had come here. And perhaps, just perhaps, to share a moment of genuine interaction with her. He wasn't as foolish to believe that by doing this, Kim would tumble into bed with him, and a part of Alex didn't want that to happen. Not that he would say no if it did, of course. But to simply be there with her during the darkest hour of her life, to give her someone to lean on for comfort. Watching someone die was something he had far too much experience with; he knew what it did to you inside. When that person was someone you cared about deeply had to make the situation even more horrific, he presumed, not having had that occur in his own illustrious, illicit career. And he got the impression that outside of her dying friend, Kim Cook might lead as solitary and isolated a life as Alex did, and he didn't think that it was right. She shouldn't have to go through this alone. When he made his way downstairs, heading in the direction of the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, he once again noted the layout of the house. Three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, his being the furthest down the hall from the stairs. He'd watched Kim walk into the closest one last night, but hadn't had a chance to see inside. The door was closed when he passed by, so he didn't snoop as he wanted to, but he assumed she must already be up and out of bed. Coffee rarely made itself. Downstairs, the living room took up most the floor plan, with a smaller dining room leading into the kitchen. Alex stopped short in the larger room. It had been dark in here last night, and he hadn't seen the hospital bed in the corner before just now. There was an overstuffed blue-and-white striped chair facing the bed; the rest of the furniture, a sectional sofa and large oak coffee table, faced an entertainment center filled with TV, stereo, and a multitude of framed photographs. He gave them a more in-depth look; most were of Kim, and a tall, broad- chested blond man Alex assumed was Mike Cook, his soon-to-be victim. They were from various stages of their life: as children, teens, and a few adult shots. Her hair was red in the majority of them, and he realized it was her natural shade. He decided he liked it better than the blond he'd always associated with her; it made her skin seem more luminescent. No wedding photo, which confirmed her 'marriage of convenience' remark. But there was one, hidden in the back, which made his breath catch in his throat. It was of Kim, and she was clearly pregnant. She stood in profile, holding her swollen belly under the curve where the baby sat, and had a beatific smile on her glorious, lovely face. <She had had a child?> His gaze flickered toward the kitchen, then back at the photos. There were none of the two of them with a baby, and he admittedly was baffled. And inappropriately jealous again. "I'm in here, Alex," Kim called out from the back of the house, so he pushed aside his myriad of questions and made his way toward her. She'd obviously been up for some time; her hair was dry but clean, she wore a light-blue sundress with cap sleeves, and her feet were bare. Alex felt sorely mismatched in his boots, black jeans and olive-drab long-sleeved Henley shirt. It was early summer, and they were in a small fishing town on the Bay; he was going to stick out like a sore thumb. But he didn't have much else to wear. "Morning," he mumbled, ill at ease. "Morning. Did you want me to make you some breakfast?" she offered cheerfully. Apparently being back in her hometown had brightened her mood considerably, and had lessened her nervousness around him. She'd been as timid as a mouse at the diner. "No thanks. Coffee will be fine. We should head to the hospital shortly." She got out a mug from the cabinet, and handed it to him with a dimming smile. "Um...I called the hospital already, and Mike's resting comfortably. The nurse said he was having a good day, and...he doesn't have many of those lately. I thought maybe we could let him enjoy it. Is that okay?" He poured himself some coffee, glancing at her while he did. She seemed anxious again, and for once Alex didn't think it had anything to do with him. "That's fine, Kim. I've got as much time as you need for this." She smiled again, her dimples winking at him. "Thanks. Come out on the back porch with me. It's a beautiful morning." They made their way out to a wooden porch that ran the length of the house, with a swinging pine loveseat at one end, and a small wicker table with four matching chairs at the other. There was a wide sweep of lawn that ended at the water, a dock protruding out into the Bay, with a small sailboat tied up to it. Alex noted a well-tended flowerbed with just-budding Gerbera daisies and chrysanthemums on the other side of the porch railing. A few fishing boats were heading out for the day. When Kim stepped out and made her way to the wicker table, a horn sounded from one of them and she responded with a casual wave. "Friends of yours?" he inquired. "Neighbors. I grew up here. Dunlap is a small town; we all know each other very well, even if I don't live here anymore." He joined her at the table, appreciating the sun glinting off her hair. "Do you miss it?" She smiled. "Sometimes. It's a little quiet, and occasionally having everyone know your business can be stifling, but it's a wonderful place to grow up and raise a family." Her face sobered, and she took a small sip of her coffee. "And it's a beautiful piece of earth. In DC, nothing looks or smells like it does here. Hard to believe we're only a couple of hours away from there, isn't it?" He nodded, wanting to go back to the 'raising a family' part of her statement, but not sure how to get there. She obviously didn't want to talk about it. "I've never been in this part of the country before. Driven through it, but never stopped." She eyed him over her mug. "Is it too personal if I ask where you're from?" He shrugged. "I'm not really from anywhere." "So it is too personal. That's okay." "No, that's not it," he quickly responded. The fact she wanted to know even a little about him propelled him to throw caution to the wind. Besides, why would she confide in him if he wasn't prepared to do the same? "I meant that I was raised all over the country. My father, uh, never liked to stay in one place very long." "That must have been difficult as a child. Always having to make new friends; be the new kid at school." He gave her a guarded look, and her eyes were compassionate, nonjudgmental. So he went further. "I didn't really go to school that much. Getting me an education wasn't my father's top priority." "How'd you get into the Bureau without a degree?" "I have one. Eventually I got my GED, and spent most of my time in college playing catch-up." He'd been a sponge back then, soaking up everything he'd missed during his formative years. No time for frat parties or typical collegiate shenanigans, he'd kept his head in his books. Sex had been the only recreation he'd sought out, and then only for the physical release. A personal relationship would have been too time-consuming. She looked impressed. "What's your degree in?" "I majored in criminal studies, with a minor in Russian." "Crimin--...oh my." She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand to smother it. "What's so funny?" "It's just..." Another little giggle. "Talk about putting your major to work for you." Then she grew serious again. "Did you know you'd, ah...end up doing what you do?" He told her the unvarnished truth. "Yes. Spender recruited me when I was seventeen. It was because I agreed to get my hands dirty that I was given a chance to escape what would have been a dead-end life." She looked at him for a beat, digesting that. Then her arm reached across the table to brush her fingertips against the back of his hand. He felt the warmth of her closeness, and he struggled with the powerful urge to turn his hand away from his mug, grab hold of hers, and never let it go. "I'm sorry, Alex," she said. "It must have been a terrible feeling to know all your options have narrowed to one. Especially at such a young age." He marveled at her empathy. "Thank you," he replied roughly, his throat closing in on itself. No one had given him even this much tenderness, not for a very long time. Not since his mother had died when he was five, he realized with a start. Almost a quarter of a century had passed since the last person had shown him even a glimmer of concern. Suddenly Alex was afraid he might do something he would later regret. Whether it was burst into tears or reach across the table and kiss her, he wasn't certain. But he knew either would be a horribly wrong impulse to indulge. His chair scraped against the wooden floor as he stood, and Kim followed him with her eyes, her eyebrow curved in a mute question mark. "We should go to the hospital now," he said, forcing his voice to remain even. "I thought we--" "I need to assess the situation, even if it doesn't happen today," he interrupted. She sighed, and stood up, picking a piece of nonexistent lint off her skirt. "Okay. Let me go put on my shoes." When she walked into the house, even though the sun was still shining, and all the graceful beauty of the Bay was still at his back, Alex felt as if all the light had gone out of the day. And his hollowness echoed inside him. +++++ Mike was tired. So very tired, and his body ached with a never-ending anguish, only thinly muffled by the painkillers. There were days when even the oxygen mask sat too tightly against the skin around his mouth, the air pushed into his lungs too harshly. Today was one of those days. He was ready to die. When he'd reached the point where he could no longer remember what it was like to feel healthy or strong, he knew it was time. But his body didn't listen to his brain. It just kept going, like some perverted Energizer Bunny. So he was thrilled that very soon, his body wouldn't be given a choice. The nurse had told him when he woke up a short time ago, that Kim had called while he was sleeping to check up on him. The woman had relayed the message that Kim would come by later and bring his cousin to visit, and he knew she had done what he'd asked. She'd found someone to do the job; the lie about the cousin was only a ploy to deflect attention away from his killer. A secret message they'd worked out in advance. Mike knew that Kim hadn't wanted to do it, and he hadn't wanted to ask. But whom else could he turn to for this? His parents had shunned him once he told them the truth after Kim's miscarriage; that one of the reasons he'd married her was to throw off the Navy so they wouldn't find out he was gay. He'd wanted to serve his country, and their 'don't ask, don't tell' policy was a crock of shit. But his uptight, unforgiving parents had been horrified, and had cut him out of their lives. And four years ago, his lover, Frank, had died of the same withering disease, which was killing Mike now. Kim was his only choice, just as she had always been. Mike wasn't ashamed of being homosexual; it was as much a part of who he was as the color of his hair. But a tiny piece of him had always wished he wasn't, if only so he could have loved Kim the way she deserved. They'd been steadfast and loyal friends since they were kids, and being her husband was one of his proudest accomplishments in life. Being there for her through the accidental death of her then-boyfriend, encouraging her to keep the baby, showing her the joy to expect in bringing a new life into the world. And holding her hand in this very hospital when they found out that the new life they'd both been awaiting eagerly had died in her womb. He couldn't remember anymore who was more devastated when Isabel was stillborn, he or Kim. He'd wanted to be a father so badly he could taste it on his tongue. Knowing that his own child was a near impossibility had made it that much more painful for him. But Kim, my God, she'd been destroyed. It had taken her nearly a year to bounce back to her former self, and they'd stayed together until she was back on her feet. But by then, he'd been diagnosed with his own mortal illness, and divorce became out of the question. Not so much for the insurance as she thought. He couldn't let her go out of his life completely, not when he knew he didn't have as much time as he'd once believed. Now he had no time at all left, and he was glad. He watched mutely as his hospital door creaked open, and Kim's familiar heart-shaped face slipped through the crack. She looked at him and smiled, before widening the door and stepping through it, walking easily to the side of his bed. Mike's eyes were drawn involuntarily to the man behind her. So this is what it's like to meet your killer, he thought. To look death right in the eye. He'd never expected those eyes to be so green, surrounded by an impossibly beautiful face. Hard, and distant, which he'd expected, but also somewhat gentle. A wide range of emotions brewed behind the sharp emerald irises, he realized as they stared at each other. The man looked like a killer, though. Dressed darkly, in direct contrast to the lightness of shades that was Kim. Compact and lethally quiet, with an intense, foreboding aura, and a coiled-spring gait. Mike watched as the man's eyes shifted from him down to Kim, and was astonished when he saw an instant flutter of change in his facial expression. He'd softened. Imperceptibly, but it still happened. Before Mike could absorb his shock, Kim cleared her throat to get his attention. "This is Alex," she said quietly. "He's going to help us." The man nodded a greeting, and let his eyes wander the room, carefully surveying all the equipment at the head of the bed. His right hand briefly touched Kim's shoulder so she turned to face him. "I'm going to need a few minutes," he murmured. "Then you should start the paperwork to take him home." She nodded, and turned back to Mike with a dimple-less smile pasted on her face. He knew her well enough to recognize it was fake. His hand lifted up slowly to his own face; even this minor movement was exhausting. When he'd tugged the mask away from his mouth, he breathed in the stuffy hospital air for a second, gathering the strength for speech. "Morphine drip," he whispered weakly. "The machine is regulated by a code. Get the code, and it can run freely." Mike had put a lot of thought into how he wanted to die. If he could have wrangled the damn code out of his doctor on his own, he would have done so. But he hadn't had the energy or the resources to make it happen. This Alex person did, he could tell. He had energy in spades. Kim's furrowed brow showed her confusion, but Alex gave him a short nod of comprehension, once he'd completed his inspection of the equipment keeping Mike stable. "Your doctor knows it?" Mike replaced the oxygen mask back over his mouth and nodded, gratitude and relief washing over him like an ocean wave. To Mike's surprise, Alex's hand lifted to skim over Kim's head lightly, the back of his fingers barely brushing her hair, before returning back to his side. She didn't seem to register the touchless touch. This man wasn't a stranger to her; they'd known each other before she contacted him about this, Mike surmised grimly. But she'd never mentioned him before a couple of days ago, and he hadn't been able to ask how she knew of him. Talking was too much effort lately, so he saved it for emergencies only. The tenderness of his brief gesture, combined with the softening he'd seen a few moments ago, told Mike that his future executioner had some very powerful feelings for the woman sitting between them. And Mike was helpless to stop him from acting on those feelings. Not that he was even certain that this man was going to hurt the woman Mike adored. He was going to have to stay alive long enough to make sure it wasn't going to happen, though. That much was definite. He owed her that much. Kim's gaze switched between Mike and Alex, her eyes worried. "What--" "It's going to be okay, Kim," Alex said. "No pain, just as you requested. Go get his doctor please. I need to talk to him." She didn't move for what seemed like an eternity to Mike, her eyes staying steadily on the man behind her. Finally, she turned back to him, and leaned over his bed to kiss him on the forehead. "I'll be right back," she said as she straightened back up, and strode out of the room. Alex's gaze followed her movements, and when he turned back to face Mike, he'd had enough time to remove the mask again. "No pain...for her either," he wheezed. "Don't...don't hurt her." The green eyes narrowed, the surprise evident. "I won't." "She's...important to me," Mike continued, struggling to find the right words. A smile curled one corner of Alex's mouth. "She is to me too," he said quietly. Now it was Mike's turn to be surprised. He let the mask fall back into place, staring at the dark man in front of him, wondering. Was he telling the truth or not? His face was impassive, impenetrable. But for him to have shown even the flicker of emotion he had toward her had to mean something. He saw for the first time that Alex only had one real arm, the other artificial. His future killer had been through his own personal suffering, he recognized with an instant flash of clarity. The stiff way he held his body, the long sleeves inappropriate for the season, shielding his deformity from direct sight, told Mike that he hadn't been born like that. He wondered if losing his limb had made Alex as hard- shelled on the outside as he appeared. There was certainly a vast depth of emotion on the inside of him, but he didn't seem to know how to display that. "She makes...she makes me feel whole," Alex continued in that same husky yet serious voice. "Hurting her is the last thing I would ever do." Then his steady gaze locked with Mike's, and he knew he'd just heard what could only be the truth. He knew instinctively, from the keen insight that comes to life on a deathbed. He believed then that he could die in peace, and Kim would be safe. And this stranger was going to make sure both happened. +++++ Kim shivered in the afternoon sunlight, desperate to prepare herself for the bitter reality of her future. An endless, lonely future without her closest friend, the one person who'd stood by her through the highest and lowest parts of her life. She knew how selfish she was behaving, and it just made her feel more desperate. Now that they were home again, and Mike was settled in the hospital bed, it should be time to let him die. But she just couldn't go in that living room and watch it happen. She couldn't. She couldn't look around at all their familiar surroundings, all the memories of their long friendship, of her whole damn life, and watch his seep away. The practical side of her argued that it was for the best. He was in so much pain, and Alex had been true to his word. He'd found an effortless method to help Mike die. Once it was time, Alex would release the morphine drip so the drug took over his involuntary systems, and Mike's body would shut down. He'd never feel a thing; he'd just fall asleep and not wake up. Not ever again. He'd be as dead as her baby had once been inside her. Kim fought back her tears, and curled her arms around her chest a little tighter. Don't think about that again, she begged herself. Not now. It had been almost eleven years since Isabel had been born dead, and sometimes the pain of that snuck up on her, squeezing her heart unexpectedly. She glanced around the yard, not really seeing the green lawn spreading out to reach the glittering harbor. What she was seeing was her daughter as she might have been playing on that very grass. A chubby toddler, learning somersaults, romping with Mike. A little older, leaning back on a blanket and watching the clouds roll by, deciding if that one was shaped like a giraffe or an elephant. The pre-teen she would be on this very day, probably long-legged and dark-haired as her father had been. But these were foolish, whimsical notions that she had to push away. She didn't have any children, and she probably never would. She had far too much emotional baggage to ever be able to find someone patient enough to deal with it all. Who could possibly love her, with that dark trail of bodies floating behind her? Everyone, absolutely everyone, she'd ever cared about was dead. Her parents, her child, even that same child's father had died in that stupid accident during his training at Annapolis. And now it was Mike's turn to become just one more ghost lingering around her. "Kim?" Alex's breathy voice startled her out of her idiotic melancholy. She whipped her head over her shoulder to see him standing a few yards away, watching her with a furrowed brow. "Is Mike okay?" she asked, wiping her face in a quick movement. Her hand came back a little damp, and she realized she'd been crying. Damn. "He's resting." Kim stood up erect, away from the corner pillar against which she had been leaning. She started to walk toward the door, but her knees buckled, and she sank wearily onto the railing, covering her face with her hands. So not only was she a coward, she was falling apart at the seams in front of Alex Krycek. This was a new low, even for her. She took three deep breaths, to get some control. Finally she peeked through her fingers in his direction. He was closer than he had been a minute ago. He stood directly in front of her, his hand clenching and unclenching rhythmically. She couldn't lift her eyes higher than his waist. "Kim." He whispered her name, as if he were caressing it. As if he were caressing her. Which she suddenly so badly wanted him to do. She wanted to lean into him, to have him hold her and caress her until everything faded away. Not just hold her hand this time, either. She wanted, she needed, to feel his arms around her. But it was too much to ask for, and she didn't have the right. "I'm okay." "No, you're not. Tell me what you need." What she needed. Too many things she could never have. He bent down, crouching until his face was under hers, so she couldn't avoid him. He pushed away her hair from her face, uncovering her hands from her eyes. And she lost her balance off the slippery ledge she'd been hanging on to with her fingertips, when his very green, very concerned eyes met hers. She cried. Long and hard, until she had nothing left. At first he just let her weep into his hand, which softly cupped her face, stroking away the tears as they fell. Then he moved to stand back up, and she hurled her arms around his neck, grabbing onto him like a life raft off a sinking ship, terrified he was going to leave her alone to drown in her pitiable misery. After a brief pause, through her unstoppable whimpers and sobs, she felt both his arms, one made of skin and muscle and the other of plastic, slide around her back at the same time as she felt her feet lift off the ground. He picked her up easily against him, his body strong and solid and warm against hers. In a gracefully slow movement, he walked them a few steps over and sat her on his lap on the swing seat. She never stopped crying against his shoulder the entire short trip. He didn't speak, and she appreciated his quiet fortitude. He simply held her, while the stormy sea of grief raged through her. Eventually the sobs died down, and when they did, she felt embarrassed and awkward again. And safe, resting in his comforting embrace. "M'sorry," she sniffled into his shirt. His voice was raw. "Don't be. I want to help you, Kim. I just don't know how." His blatant sincerity erased her anxiety. "Thank you. This...this helps. A lot." She felt his hand tentatively stroke her hair, curling it behind her ear. Then he leaned back fully into the seat, and brought her with him, so her legs were across his lap, and her head tipped against his chest. His heart beat steadily against her ear. "I'm so scared, Alex," she confessed. "I know you are. But you're a brave woman, and you're going to get through this." He thought she was brave? She certainly hadn't displayed that characteristic lately. If ever. "I don't feel brave," she said. "More like self-indulgent. He's dying, and I'm feeling sorry for myself. It's so selfish." "Not selfish. Human. Death is much harder on the ones who remain than the ones who die. He's going to a better place, where he won't be in any more pain, Kim. And he wants to go there. I saw it in his eyes. But for you - unfortunately, for you, the hurt will still be here even after he's gone." She knew he was right, but it didn't make it easier. "It doesn't go away, either," she said miserably. "Sometimes it fades, but it's still there." "I know." It struck her then that of all the people she knew, Alex Krycek would understand this better than anyone. He'd certainly been involved in his share of deaths, and they had to have affected him profoundly. He was as human as she was, despite what Skinner and the others might think of him, and he felt everything that every other human being did. She'd seen in the last twelve or so hours in his presence, though, that he kept those emotions locked tightly inside him, not giving much away. You had to look very closely to discover what he was feeling, but when you did, it was an amazing sight. Like peeking through a tiny keyhole to a huge, brilliantly lit room. "Why do you think I'm brave?" Maybe he could convince her to be the person he saw. His chest shook once, as if he was laughing, but he didn't make the corresponding sound. "You called me, didn't you? I think that took remarkable courage. Even Skinner doesn't have the nerve to contact me directly. Most people are too scared to even look me in the eye, as if just by acknowledging me, I might cause them harm." She half-smiled, and sat up so she could prove him wrong. His eyes steadily watched her, with that laser-like focus that could probably blow up buildings with its intensity. Yet the heat in them melted the green into twin pools of seawater. Her smile grew a little wider. "You don't look so scary to me." His lips curled up at the edges in automatic response. "Good. I don't want you to be frightened of me, Kim. I would never hurt you." "I know that. I'm not afraid of you." Not anymore, she realized. And she never had been, if she was honest with herself. Nervous, yes, but not out of fear. "Good," he repeated. His fingertips grazed her chin, and she was astonished at how gentle he could be. She remembered how he was the first time she'd met him, sort of subservient but somehow also commanding. There were moments during the short time they'd worked together that she'd turn around, and spot him somewhere in the same room she was. Just looking at her, with a shadowed, heated stare she didn't see him bestow on any other woman, or anyone else for that matter, in the department. For the longest time, she'd thought he was going to ask her out, but beyond that one lunch they'd shared, he never did, and she'd been acutely disappointed. But she hadn't been all that surprised; he was an extraordinarily handsome man, and he could certainly do a lot better than her. And then he left, and when she heard about all the things that Skinner and the others suspected him of doing, she was stunned. She'd wondered once in a while, when she allowed herself to think about him, if his hesitation toward her was a result of his knowing then that his time at the Bureau was temporary, but she wasn't sure. The truth was, she hadn't known him at all. But she'd wanted to. She still wanted to. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. It was such an interesting shape, she mused. A broad top lip, curved like a Cupid's bow, and the bottom was even fuller, just shy of being called plump. Its pure sensuality contrasted greatly with the even, sharp expanse of white teeth, barely covered by the delicate pink hue of his lips. Hard and soft, just like he was. Cruel and kind. She wondered what it would feel like, how it would fit, move over hers. She looked back up at his eyes, and noted that his pupils had shrunk, making the green enormous and hypnotically bright. Slowly it occurred to her that everything had diminished, especially the distance between their faces. She heard his labored breathing, his chest rising and falling heavily under her hand. Even his breathing was intense. "Kim," he whispered, his upper torso edging closer to hers, her name uttered like another caress. "Please..." She didn't know what he was requesting. If he wanted her to stop, or to continue to inch even closer. She didn't know which one she wanted, either. It was as if time stood still as they stared at each other, their faces a breath apart. She gradually became aware of his firm body under hers, against hers. His fake arm draped across her back, his real hand hovering by her neck, his fingertips barely touching the ends of her hair. Then his head tilted ever so slightly forward, almost of its own volition, crossing the tiny space between them, and his wonderful, perfect mouth connected with hers. Just as their lips brushed together, a mere hint of a kiss, a low moan started deep in his chest, ending in a strangled noise against her mouth. She felt him begin to pull away, so she moved forward, pressing her lips firmly to his. It was as if she'd flipped on an electrical circuit, jolting both of them to life. His hand instantly flew to her neck, as he pulled her to him, while hers fisted in his shirt. And he kissed her. Or she kissed him. It didn't even matter. All that mattered was that instead of sorrow or fear or loneliness, Kim could only feel warmth and strength and passion. She could only feel Alex, and it was better than she'd ever dreamed. +++++ If he could breathe, Alex thought wildly, if he could clear his head and concentrate, then he'd be able to come up with the right way to escape from this unscathed. But in order to do that, he'd have to stop kissing her, and he just wasn't ready to let that happen yet. He'd thought she'd be soft, and she was, generously so. Everything about her, her lips, her skin, her hair, the way she felt against his thighs, was more pliable than he'd ever imagined. But there was strength behind that gentleness that astonished and challenged him. He'd never considered she'd be like that, have both qualities inside her. And she wasn't warm as he'd expected either, not by a long shot. She was hot, so unbearably, exquisitely hot. It felt like putting his hand directly into a fire, one that didn't burn his flesh, but only made him yearn to put his entire self into the flame. The little voice of reason in his head told him to let her go, that she was too vulnerable, too fragile, to be exposed to the sordid and desperate desire he had for her. <You've got no right to touch something this fine>, it warned him. But he had a need. Oh Christ, how he had a need. What had only been a tiny seed of wistful longing for too many years had erupted into a massively huge, aching demand the moment he felt her mouth against his. And Alex was helpless to stop its rapid growth. He'd have more luck putting toothpaste back into a tube. He ruthlessly parted her lips with his tongue, and dove into her heat. He tried to tell himself that it would only be for a second, then he would find the restraint that had abandoned him the moment she'd flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him with an undeniable need. But he lost all sense of decency when her tongue met his, wet and deep. She moaned into his mouth, and the sound echoed within him, filling him all the way to his toes. She tasted like cinnamon, his taste buds recognized. Sweet and spicy and God, so good. Too good. He'd always tried to exercise careful restraint, his unacceptable, passionate temperament muted and reined in as much as possible. He'd taught himself that years ago. But he realized as he plundered her mouth, unable and unwilling to resist her allure any longer, that with her, every minor sensation, every emotion, was amplified hundred-fold. It had always been that way, since the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her. She made him feel alive, every nerve tingling and dancing across his system. Alex had never kissed a woman like this, feeling so much and yet, really, not touching much at all beyond her mouth. It was only a kiss, but it was also so much more than that. The back of his head burned from the erotic heat of her hand, her fingers digging into his hair. As his mouth continued its ravenous assault, his hand slid down to her chest, feeling her heart pound under it, the top curve of her generous breast just under the edge of his palm, teasing his hand deliciously. He ached to touch it fully, to taste her there, to lick and stroke her, to feel her hot, bare skin quiver under his caress. She drew up her legs, curling tighter into him, and her bent knees brushed under his upper arm. He wanted to plunge his hand between them, to invade her, to take her so thoroughly she howled his name in pleasure. To make her his. STOP, the voice in his head screamed, too loud to be ignored. So he pulled his mouth away from hers, his breathing ragged, his guilt immense. Which multiplied exponentially when he opened his eyes and looked at her again. Her beautiful heart-shaped face was flushed, her chin rubbed raw from the stubble on his, and her mouth, swollen and bruised from his aggressive, devouring kisses, was shaped into an O of surprise. When his brain registered that her cheeks were wet, still streaked with tears of mourning, he realized he'd stepped over a line he never should have been even close to. She'd cried in his arms, grieving and wounded, not ten minutes ago, and he let himself take advantage of the situation. She reached out to him for help, for comfort, and he very nearly fucked her right here on the porch. And she thought she was selfish, he rued. As quickly and as gently as he could, he slid her off his lap so he could get as far away from temptation as possible. But his legs were rubbery, so he stayed on the seat for a moment, resting his head on his hand, trying to re-gain some sliver of control. "Alex?" she said cautiously, and he flinched. He could hear fear in her voice, and he couldn't abide it. He'd ruined the tenuous connection he'd been building with her, destroyed it just as he destroyed everything in his path. "Go check on Mike," he gruffly ordered. And leave me alone so I can wrestle my demons back into place, he finished to himself. "But--" "Go away, Kim. Now!" He didn't mean to bark at her, but he couldn't bring himself to soften the blow. He was much too close to losing the last shred of willpower he had left, and he needed time before he could look at her again. If he saw the disgust in her eyes that he knew would be there, Alex didn't think he'd be able to stop himself from shattering like cheap crystal. After a long, drawn-out pause, he heard her sigh, and then a wooden creak as she rose from the seat next to his, and walked into the house without further argument. It was only when he heard the screen door slap shut against the frame that he lifted his head high enough to let his hand limply fall between his spread-apart thighs. When he was a child, he'd taught himself a method to keep his emotions at bay. His father hadn't liked it when Alex complained or even worse, cried, from hunger or humiliation. The beatings he would receive for exposing such weakness made the torture of his amputation in Russia pale greatly in comparison. Until he'd grown big enough to hit back, this had been his only method to avoid punishment. Alex watched his hand clench and unclench, digging his fingers into his palm, and let his heart and his mind empty of everything. He used to be able to do this more quickly when he had two hands, but that wasn't an option anymore. Open, close. He pushed his fingertips so hard into the flesh of his palm that when he opened it, he could see four half-moon imprints from his blunt nails. Open, close. Open, close. When he was able to, he got up off the seat and walked into the house, his impersonal mask firmly in place. He had just stepped through the screen door, when Kim entered the kitchen from the living room, and he stopped abruptly in his tracks. "He...he's ready," she said. Her chin tilted up, determined. "And so am I." Alex nodded, unsure of what to say. Then she stepped toward him, and his basic survival instinct had him take one in retreat. Her eyes narrowed at his movement, but she stilled. "I wanted to thank you, Alex," she said in a quiet voice. "Please don't, Kim. This is who I am, after all. A professional, just as you said." The enormity of the truth in that statement tasted like ashes in his mouth. He was a murderer, a destructive and soulless killing machine. Barely even human anymore, if he ever had been. Her forehead furrowed. "What? Oh, no I meant for earlier. You reminded me that there's more to life than dying, and I needed to remember that. So thank you." He wasn't clear on what she meant, but now wasn't the time to ask for explanation. He still felt somewhat fragile, and they needed to ease her friend out of this world and into the next. So he only said, "You're welcome." She smiled, the shy sweet smile that tugged on his gut, and he wished desperately that he had had more time with her. Once her friend was dead, Alex was going to leave. And yet walking out the door, out of her life for good, was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted the thrilling, bittersweet mix of pain and promise that he experienced whenever he saw her in his real vision, not just in his memory. She turned to walk back into the living room, but stopped when she reached the doorway. Glancing at him over her shoulder, her gray-blue eyes were soft and yearning. "Alex, c-could..." she exhaled shakily, then regrouped, "would you stay with me after? I know we'd decided that you would go, and I'd handle the police and the coroner myself, but--" "Yes." The word shot out of him so fast, he couldn't even wait for her to finish the sentence. "I'll stay as long as you need me, Kim." He'd stay forever, if she asked. He wouldn't touch her again, he swore to himself. That was too dangerous for both of them. He could restrain his own selfish wants and desires, he would do it, and he'd focus on her. She needed him to lean on, and that was enough. Anything else was too much. +++++ Kim sat on the edge of Mike's bed, holding his hand, while Alex prepped the machine on the other side of him. She was so glad she'd cried every tear right out of her body earlier, because she didn't want to do it now. Now she wanted to be with her best friend, to give him back the strength he'd forever given her. And she was ready, finally, to do that with a clear heart. It hadn't been until Alex had ordered her to leave him alone, and she'd come in here and cast her eyes on Mike, that she'd really seen him as he was. For months, her mind's eye looked at him as he had been all of their lives, proudly tall and muscular, with a shock of thick blond hair and an angelic face, his generous and lively spirit shining through his blue eyes. Now she could see what the unforgiving disease had done to him. His face was gaunt, the skull bones pronounced. His hair was gone, months ago, and his flesh was covered in lesions. The fit, athletic body he'd worked so hard at maintaining had wasted away to jaundiced skin and sinew thinly covering his bones. He was a shell of his former self, a still-living skeleton. And his eyes, surrounded by dark purplish circles, had lost that spark she'd always thought of as innately his. She recalled seeing photos of concentration camp survivors, and it struck her that even in their nearly dead, brutally victimized states, they'd looked more alive than Mike did now. A rapid series of beeps sounded from the machine, and both she and Mike looked over at Alex expectantly. "It's all set. It should take about five or ten minutes for the morphine to kick in." She nodded and turned her attention back to Mike, not waiting to see where Alex went once he left her peripheral vision. He'd be there when it was over, and Kim was grateful for his silent presence. It made her feel strong enough to get through this. He made her feel that way, she corrected herself. He made her feel like she could conquer the world. Mike's hand was up at his oxygen mask, his bony fingers clawing at it weakly. "You want me to remove it, honey?" He blinked yes, so she eased it off his head, resting it by his shoulder in case he wanted it back. He inhaled as deeply as he could through his nose, and the small smile on his face informed her he was smelling the sea air that permeated the house through the open windows. He'd always loved the water; it was why he'd joined the Navy after college, why they'd bought this house on the Bay to raise the child that had never lived a day here. Why they'd even begun their life-long friendship. "I'm...gonna...see...Isa--" he coughed violently, the liquid gurgle drowning out the rest of her name. Isabel. Speech had become difficult for him a few weeks ago, so she'd learned how to finish his sentences, inserting what she knew he'd say into a conversation. "Yes you are. I think she's going to be happy to finally meet her father. And you'll see Frank too. He's probably missed you very much." "Elev..." "Yep, she'd be almost eleven. I was thinking about that today. A girl at that age needs a parent to watch out for her." "Wish...I'd...been..." Kim laid her free hand over his heart, feeling it beat weakly. "You were her father here, Mike. And that's what counts. So when you see her, give her a hug and a kiss from me, and tell her I'll see her someday. Tell her I think about her every day, okay?" She kept her voice light, belying the sadness. Now wasn't the time for that. "'Kay..." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, stroking his smooth scalp. "You lived a good, full life, honey. I'm so proud to have watched it all. So grateful that I was your friend, and that you were mine. I would never have gotten this far without you." He inhaled, spoke in a rush of air. "Best thing I ever did was marry you." The tears came unbidden, and she forced them to stay back. "Me too. I love you, Mikey." He didn't answer, but he didn't have to. She knew what he felt for her, she always had. She could see him growing weaker, his eyelids drooping. His lips moved, but no sound came out, so she leaned her ear right up to his mouth so she could catch the words. "He...loves...you...too...Teach...him...how..." The advice came out in a slow cadence, each one almost floating away on a soundless breath. She pulled back, surprised. <He who>, she wondered, but didn't ask. She only nodded yes, and squeezed his hand. Mike's eyes shifted to behind her, blinked, and then came back to hers. A covert signal that astonished her even more. Did he mean Alex? Alex Krycek loved her? How would Mike know such a thing, true or not? He'd only met him this morning. She brushed the impossible idea aside, concentrating on her friend's last moments. There'd be time to think about that later. Lots and lots of empty time. "Ssssss-story..." Kim knew what he was saying, and she smiled broadly. Tell him the story of how they'd become friends. When he was in the hospital, his disease- ravaged brain erasing memories he'd always held dear, he'd asked her to remind him about what he'd been like, what he'd done, before he'd gotten so sick. So she'd tell him his favorite story as he fell asleep at night, his face softening as she supplied the images for his oncoming dreams. "I remember it was a hot, sticky night, the humidity too thick to sleep comfortably. There was a breeze ruffling my curtain, but it didn't help. I'd been flipping over my pillow all night, trying to find the cool side. Then I heard this loud wooden creaking outside, and I went to my window to see who was making all that noise in my backyard. My parents had gone to bed about an hour ago, so I knew it wasn't them. The moon was full, and this beautiful, bright path shone along the water, pointing right to the dock where our little sailboat was tied up." He smiled, and she stroked his cheek as she continued. "You had just moved in next door, and I'd seen you a couple of times but we hadn't talked yet. But I recognized you right away. Your hair was gleaming in the moonlight, and you glanced up at my window as I stood there. And you waved to me to come join you." "Said...I...was..." "Yeah. I was pissed, because you were stealing my boat. When I got to the dock, I yelled at you as quietly as I could. If my parents had caught me out of bed at that hour, there would have been hell to pay. I was only nine at the time. You were ten." She watched his eyes close, knowing they weren't going to open again, and sorrow churned in her gut. "But you flashed me this shit-eating grin, the first of many, and dared me to come with you. So I did. And the prickly heat that had kept me from sleeping disappeared as soon as we launched. The wind on the water was much stronger than inside the house, and the spray was just heavy enough to dampen my face. It was dark, but the moon shone a course for us across the Bay. I didn't think you knew how to sail, but you sat confidently at the rudder, and the joy radiated off you like a physical wave. So I worked the lines, and when the sail fully caught the wind, we started to soar." She leaned her head onto his chest, listening to his heart as it continued to beat, slowing down incrementally. "It was the coolest, most amazing ride I've ever taken, before or since. We just glided across the water, fast and wild and free, into the dark night. And grinning at each other like the two stupid, reckless kids we were. You taught me how to fly, Mike." She spoke loudly, hoping he could still hear her. "I knew right then you were going to change my life, make it so much better than it had any right to be. And you did. So now you go fly across the water, let go and be free. You've earned it, my friend." She heard a noise behind her, a sound that was a cross between a choke and a whimper. She glanced in its direction for a split second, and saw Alex's face shining oddly in the dim corner. Then she leaned her head back gently onto Mike's chest, holding his hand as she felt it slacken in hers, and listening to his last breaths, rattling against her ear. After a few minutes, she couldn't feel his chest moving anymore, and she placed her hand over his pulse in his neck, and felt nothing. She sat up, looked at his face, serene and finally at peace again. <No more pain>, she thought with a small, satisfied shiver. His eyes were closed, and his lips were curved up, smiling, even in death. Slowly, she let go of his hand and kissed his cooling forehead for the last time. Then she stood up, her legs surprisingly steady, and walked over to Alex. He wiped his face with his sleeve as she approached, and she was stunned to see he was crying. She raised her hands to his face, and cupped it so he would look down at her. "Thank you, Alex. You did a wonderful thing, helping me do this for him." He nodded, and looked as if he wanted to speak, but instead he shut his eyes. A stray tear rolled down his cheek, and she leaned up on her toes to kiss it away. He shuddered hard at her touch, and his arm swiftly came around her waist, so she followed suit, holding onto his neck as fiercely as he held her. He didn't say anything, he just buried his face in her hair, and Kim allowed herself to think about Mike's words fully. He'd said that this man she barely knew loved her, and while she stood in his crushing embrace, she wondered again if it were true. Was he even capable of it, had he ever been? He seemed so broken and paralyzed to her, numbed by the spirit-breaking neglect and cruelty conferred upon him probably all his life. Kim knew intimately how painful it was to be ignored and alone; whatever had happened to Alex to make him as he was, it had to have been a thousand times worse than her own miseries. But she didn't think the damage to his soul was irreparable. Maybe she could take the lessons that Mike had taught her, and pass them onto him. She could teach him how to fly, to feel free and alive. That would be his payment for helping her friend die the way he'd wanted. God knows Alex had earned it. So had she. +++++ Alex looked at the clock blinking on the VCR, and almost laughed. 11:04 pm. It had taken less than twenty-four hours for him to break every promise he'd ever made to himself. He hadn't had the most normal life by anyone's standards, but the last day had definitely been among the strangest he'd ever endured. Not only had he taken on a job he wouldn't have accepted under different circumstances, he'd done it for free. He'd spent an entire day in the presence of a woman he'd always considered forbidden fruit, taking countless mental snapshots of her for future reference. He'd even gone so far as to kiss her, and he knew the tactile memory of her lips was going to imprinted on his until the day he died. And for the first time in his life, when he'd killed someone, he'd wept over the loss. At least he thought at the time that was why he'd cried. But maybe it had been more than that, he mused now, remembering how it had felt to have Kim hold him as he grieved. Maybe he'd been devastated by the reality that when it was his turn to die, no one was going to hold his hand, and tell him a beautiful, poignant story of something incredible that he'd done. Maybe he'd been grieving for himself. He shoved his pathetic self-pity aside and thought more about the unusual events of the day. He'd actually spoken to the local police when they'd arrived, another first for him, confirming Kim's false account of Mike's natural, unforced death. There wouldn't be any autopsy to contradict the story; of course, they'd taken their word for it. Anyone looking at the man's withered corpse would believe he'd died of the disease that had eaten away at his former strapping body. Alex had seen the pictures. He glanced back at the hospital bed in the corner, neatly folded in half, the oxygen tank and morphine drip turned off and awaiting removal. He'd helped Kim clean up once Mike's body had been taken to the funeral home for cremation. Apparently the two of them had discussed what she would do once he was dead, and she whipped through the motions, arranging for pickup of his ashes in a couple of days, making the reservations and plans for the memorial service with the funeral director, calling his family and friends. Alex was going to attend the funeral of one of his victims with her, per her request. Another first. He wondered why she had asked him to stay, and frankly, he couldn't figure it out. Once she'd released him from her arms, she had shifted into a business demeanor, getting on the phone immediately. He'd been impressed by her brisk efficiency; no wonder Skinner had assigned to her to his office for so many years, despite her youth. Once everyone had left, and it was just the two of them in the suddenly quiet house, she'd gone up to bed soon after, thanking him profusely and shyly smiling again. He'd stayed downstairs, feeling restless and out of sorts. But the back porch hadn't been the best place to settle his nerves; one look at the swing seat had only served to make him more edgy. So he'd crashed onto the couch, where he remained. But he didn't think he'd be able to stay here much longer; although the windows were open, the unmistakable odor of death still clung to the air. He stood up, and as if his feet had their own ideas, walked over to the entertainment center. He scanned all the pictures again, but of course focused right on the one of a pregnant Kim. His eyes apparently had their own ideas, too. He could piece some of the story together now; he'd heard what she'd said to Mike as he died. This picture had been taken eleven years ago, and he hadn't been the biological father. Alex had a million questions, but no right to ask any of them. How had the child died? When? Where was the father? Why did she marry Mike instead of him? Alex lifted the frame off the shelf, and held it close, his thumb caressing her profile behind the glass. How could any man walk away from her, especially when she carried his child? He was so engrossed in looking at her image, so young and seemingly unmarked by life's troubles, he didn't hear her in real life until she strolled into the living room, stopping short when she spotted him with the picture in his hand. She wore a rumpled pair of men's-styled pajamas, and her hair was tousled, looking as vulnerable and sweet as she did in the photo. "Sorry," he mumbled, putting the frame back in its place. "I thought you were asleep." Her eyebrow cocked, but she didn't appear angry. "I couldn't. Thought I'd come down here and grab a movie to watch. It usually helps." She bent over and pulled open a cabinet, standing back up quickly with a tape in her hands. Alex knew he should probably leave her alone, and head upstairs to face his own unforthcoming sleep, but his feet were nailed to the floor. Her eyes shot over to the shelf where he'd replaced the picture, and her back stiffened when she apparently realized which one he'd been holding. Then she let out an audible sigh. "She was stillborn. My daughter Isabel." "I'm sorry." It occurred to him that he'd said that phrase more times in the last day than he had in his whole life combined. And he'd meant it every time. She shrugged. "Thanks." She half-turned, then stopped herself, and faced him fully. "Do you want to watch the movie with me?" "Sure." At the moment, he didn't think he'd ever be able to get out of her orbit, like a moon around a planet, circling endlessly, but never crossing paths. Every time she offered him a chance to spend more time with her, he jumped at it, when he knew logically he should decline. And that tiny flicker of hope spurted in him every damn time, just as it had during their first phone call. He knew without question it was as impossible to grow into anything bigger now as it was then. But still he couldn't say no to her. He started to head back to the couch, but she shook her head. "Not here. It...smells still. Upstairs." He nodded, slowly comprehending she meant her bedroom. He fisted his hand once; he could do it, if that was what she wanted. He'd just think of it as another first, to be in a woman's bedroom without having sex. She gave him a wide smile, the first time she had looked almost happy since this morning's coffee, and jerked her head to indicate the back of the house. "Come on into the kitchen first. I'll make some popcorn for us." He followed her into the kitchen, watching her from the doorway while she moved around easily, taking out a popcorn machine and setting it up with a bowl underneath to catch the finished kernels. When she was finished, she faced him again, leaning back against the counter, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. Hugging herself, he recognized as her body language. "I was twenty when I found out I was pregnant," she began. "I was still living in Dunlap, in my junior year of college. My, ah,...boyfriend, the father, was at Annapolis. It was such terrible timing, in every way. We both still had a lot of school left, and he was about to start his flight training. And we'd only just started dating, maybe a few months prior." "Did you love him?" The question mark hung in the air before he realized he'd spoken. She gave him an odd look, but shrugged. "I don't know. It was too soon to tell." Then she sighed. "I suppose that answers the question in and of itself. I liked him, very much, but love? I guess not. I never felt that heady rush when I saw him, you know what I mean?" He nodded, but he didn't know. He'd never felt that for anyone, except for her. <Except for her>, his brain echoed back. Was he in love with her? She checked the popcorn when the first kernel burst, then continued talking, oblivious to Alex's dazed expression. "Anyway, I told him as soon as I found out, and we didn't really know what to do. Which, again, confirms the fact I didn't love him. And I guess it proves he didn't feel that way for me," she finished, the sadness evident in her tone. "Where is he now?" he asked. Maybe he could locate the bastard and wring his worthless neck, if only to stop the confusion raging through his system, Alex thought darkly. He could focus on that instead of on the other thing, which he couldn't begin to analyze yet, if he ever could. She swallowed, and met his eyes. "He died in a training accident shortly after I told him. The official report said it was pilot error. He wasn't concentrating on the plane." Her gaze dropped, where she studied a spot on the floor. "I think I felt guilty about that somehow. I was scared he was thinking about me, or the situation, when he crashed." "It wasn't your fault, Kim. You said it yourself, it was an accident," he argued. She gave the floor an ironic smile. "I suppose. It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago." Alex took the chance, and asked her another question. She seemed okay with talking about it, and his curiosity was overwhelming his common sense. "Do you think maybe you didn't love him because you were in love with Mike?" Her head bobbed up fast, her eyebrows nearly in her hairline. "Mike? Oh, no. It wasn't like that. Mike and I were friends, that was all. Best friends." He'd thought it was true before he'd met the dying man, but he'd seen the closeness between them. There was a lot of love in that relationship. "Alex, Mike was gay," she explained. "He married me because he wanted to be the baby's father, not my husband. At least, not that kind of husband. Also, he wanted to serve in the Navy, and a wife and child would throw them off from discovering the truth. It was a win-win solution for both of us. Like I said, a marriage of convenience." Suddenly it made sense. He could put the rest of the picture together easily. He hadn't assumed the man was gay simply because he had AIDS; he knew enough about the disease to know it could strike anyone. One of the main reasons, besides an unwanted pregnancy, that he always had an ample supply of condoms in his bag; he didn't trust any of his bed partners as far as he could throw them. "You were a good friend to him Kim." She smiled. "And he was to me too. I'm going to miss him." Her eyes moistened, and she turned toward the counter, checking the popcorn as the noise of the bursting kernels died down. Before he could make his way across the room, to give her the hug it looked like she needed, she unplugged the machine and scooped the bowl and the tape into her hands. "C'mon, let's go watch the movie." +++++ Kim's eyes cut over to Alex, his head propped up on the pillows against her headboard, his eyes watching the TV screen intently. It had taken him almost the entire movie, but he finally looked comfortable. He'd been stiff and almost nervous when she insisted he lay down on the queen-size bed next to her, even keeping one foot on the floor. But by now he'd kicked off his boots, and was stretched out fully, both legs crossed at his shins. His good hand was tucked under his head, and he wore an unconsciously relaxed smile. She'd certainly picked the right thing to watch; after the seriousness and the sorrow of the day, she'd been aching to laugh again. Mike would have approved of her selection; he always watched this one when he was depressed. She'd even heard Alex chuckle once or twice during a couple of scenes. Just the levity they'd needed for balance, she concluded. Alex lifted his head to look back at her staring at him, and his grin widened, his teeth flashing in the light of the TV. Wow. He'd never smiled that easily before. It changed his whole demeanor when he did. Kim wanted to see that again. "What?" "Be careful, Alex, someone might think you're actually enjoying yourself," she teased. He laughed openly, and she was even more astonished. And delighted. "I hate to break it to you, Kim, but I am enjoying myself. This is pretty funny; I've never seen it before." She sat up a little, so she could look him in the eye without her pillow in the way. "You've never seen PeeWee's Big Adventure? Oh, you poor baby, you've been so sheltered," she said in a mock-pitying tone. He snickered, his eyes heading back to the screen. "Sheltered, right. It's just a goofy movie. The guy's a lunatic." In her very best PeeWee Herman imitation, Kim said, "I know you are, but what am I?" Alex hooted a laugh, and she grinned. Damn but he looked good when he smiled. Do you think he was ticklish, she wondered, feeling as silly and carefree as she always did when she watched this particular film. Or maybe because it was rather late, after a very long, practically endless day. Whatever. She was having too much fun to delve any deeper into her motivations. As her hand snuck across the mattress, creeping toward his waist stealthily, she paused, a tad concerned. He might get angry again, as he had on the porch when he'd abruptly stopped kissing her. But tickling wasn't kissing, she decided, and besides, if she did it right, he'd be laughing too hard to be really pissed off at her. His reaction was instantaneous the second she grabbed at his shirt. His good hand shot out from under his head, and caught her wrist in a vice grip. "What are you doing?" he asked, sounding stunned. She giggled, rolling to face him. "Tickling you. Now let go of me." His mouth dropped open, and she instantly regretted starting this, because the humor was rapidly draining out of the moment. Then he smiled again while shaking his head. "No way. You'll just try it again. I'm not ticklish anyway." "Really? Because nobody's ever done it to you, or do you know this from experience?" "None of your beeswax," he retorted. "Now let me finish watching this thing." He loosened his grip, but still kept her forearm in his hand, firmly enough to prevent her from yanking it away, because she tried it unsuccessfully. His face was settling back into its regular impassive expression, and she kicked herself in the butt. She'd bungled the light- hearted moment, and now she'd have to find a way to ease his tension again. She let them sit that way for another minute, then she tried to pull her hand away one more time to no avail. His fingers only curled around her wrist a little tighter, then loosened before reaching the point of pain. Boy, he really had some trust issues, didn't he? Or maybe he liked touching her more than he was willing to admit. Until they'd kissed, he'd been fairly demonstrative with her. "You know, Alex," she said coyly, "you forget I have a secret weapon that I could use." His eyebrow lifted. "A secret weapon? And what would that be?" She grinned wickedly at him, and pounced. "A second hand." The next time Kim could think straight, she was flat on her back, both arms caught over her head under his one, and she was breathless from squealing and laughing. The nearly-empty popcorn bowl had gone flying off the bed at some point, but not before it had spilled its remaining contents all over the comforter. And on top of her lay a giggling, smiling Alex Krycek. The sight of him like that made her heart foolishly skip a beat. She wiggled ineffectively underneath him, and he caught her legs between his. "You're never gonna win, Kim. You might as well surrender now," he said, the giddiness on his face overpowering the seriousness of his voice. "Never. You're not so tough. You're just a big marshmallow under all that macho crap," she scoffed, still breathless. He frowned, in jest she hoped. "Marshmallow? You're the one trapped, sweetheart." "Yeah, I see that. Lemme go." He laughingly shook his head, but he slid off her body, keeping her wrists locked over her head, and his face hovered over hers. "Nope." "What's it gonna take for you to let me go?" His eyes widened, as he considered the question more seriously than she'd asked it. "Answer a question for me, and I'll do it." "Okay, ya marshmallow." He squeezed her wrists a little, his smile dimming but still staying on his face. "For that smart-aleck comment, now there's two questions, missy." "Well hurry up and ask them already, before I figure out a way to get out of this on my own," she threatened lightly. He closed his eyes, held his breath for a second, then exhaled. "When you saw me in the office the other day, what were you going to say before you walked out?" God was it only the other day? She felt like a lifetime had passed between then and now. It was an oddly random question to ask too, she thought. She would dearly love to understand the way his mind worked. He was such a complicated man, full of baffling contradictions. She supposed he always had been, but she'd never gotten the chance to explore them before. Thank goodness he'd agreed to stay, so now she could get to know him as she'd always wanted. And he'd just handed her the perfect opportunity to start. "Alex." She waited until his eyes re-opened. "I was going to say that it was very nice to see you again." He looked disappointed, so she quickly extrapolated. "I didn't mean it in a 'hi how ya doing' kind of way. I meant I was glad that you were there. I hadn't overheard anything about you from Skinner in a long time, and I was afraid maybe you...maybe you were dead." It seemed like he'd stopped breathing, then the air poured out of his lungs in a whoosh. "You...do you mean you kept track of what I was doing?" "Yes." "W-why?" He sounded as if he was afraid of what her answer might be. She thought about pointing out that this was his third question, but she didn't think he'd see the humor in that. The movie still playing in the background, and the frivolity it had created, was forgotten. But something even better had taken its place. A sense of intimacy, a connection that had nothing to do with Mike, or his death, or anything else but the two of them. And she liked that, far more than the previous lightheartedness. "Because I was worried about you, Alex." Then she closed her eyes, a faint nervous tremor running through her system. She couldn't believe she was about to say this out loud. But she had to say it, or she'd regret it for the rest of her life. "When you worked at the Bureau, I...I had a lot of really strong feelings for you. And the way you used to look at me would just...well, nobody has ever looked at me like that. But then you left, and I guess it was foolish, but I just kept hoping that someday you'd come back. And maybe if you did, maybe I could find out if that look was what I hoped it was. So I was very glad to see that you were back and that you were okay." She opened her eyes, and saw that intense, hot look of his she'd just described. Kim was beginning to think that it was created solely for her. His voice was steady, but full of so many emotions she couldn't even categorize them all. "On August fifth, 1994, my first day as Mulder's partner, you wore a pale yellow silk blouse under a navy blue suit. Your hair was up in a French braid, with three little tendrils hanging down your nape. The neck of the shirt sat just under your collarbone, and the jacket buttoned at your waist, just one gold button, no lapel. The skirt had a little slit in the back, stopping at the top of your knee. And your matching navy blue shoes, with two-inch heels, had small bows on the toes. You changed pantyhose from a nude to a darker color midday." She stared at him, shocked he could remember such minor details from so long ago. "I must have snagged my stockings on the corner of the desk." Then she flushed, the moment coming back to her in a rush. "I bumped into it right after you walked out of my office. Didn't even see where I was going, but luckily I didn't fall flat on my ass or walk right into a wall. Skinner would have thought I was crazy." He smiled broadly, looking so...so happy she almost wanted to cry. As his hand left her wrists, his fingers skimmed down her arm. "I think about that image of you a lot. I used to memorize the details for when I wouldn't be able to see you in real life anymore. Like the photographs you have downstairs, but in an album in my mind." He picked a piece of popcorn out of her hair with a chuckle. "And I liked the blond, but the red is much better. It suits you." "Red's my real color. I changed it for a little while so people wouldn't confuse me with Scully in the hallways." Not that it had mattered, she thought with an inward sigh. Except for Alex, she was invisible to everyone at the Bureau. Even Skinner sometimes forgot she was standing right in front of him. Alex traced the outline of her face with one finger, his eyes tracking his movement. "There's not a chance in hell that anyone could mistake a woman as beautiful as you for Dana Scully. She's not unattractive, of course, but compared to you..." He trailed off, his eyes meeting hers again. "Nobody even holds a candle to you, Kim." Oh. Oh my. He thought she was beautiful? More beautiful than Scully? Kim didn't think she'd ever been more amazed in her life. If it had been anyone else but him saying this, she would consider them either crazy or a stalker. But all she thought was how romantic it was. He'd kept his distance, but he had cared for her, far more deeply than even he seemed to realize. "Why didn't you say anything to me back then?" God, if only he had, she thought wildly. How different everything might have been. His face twisted into a grimace. "You deserved better than me." Did he really believe that? She looked at him again, the self-reproach in his expression crystal clear. Yes, he really did. She didn't know if she was flattered or horrified. "Alex, you're a far better person than you give yourself credit for." At his unconvinced look, she rolled so she was facing him directly, cupping his chin so he couldn't avoid her. "Maybe the things you've done up until now were, ah, not so great," she continued, and he looked surprised by her underplaying his admittedly treacherous actions, "but you've never acted that way toward me. Do you remember this afternoon, when you said people were afraid to look you in the eye?" He nodded. "Well, that's what happens to me at work, too. Not that they're afraid of me, but it's like I don't even exist. I sit at my desk everyday, getting pushed aside and ignored, and I don't complain. I don't expect anything else, not from them. But I listen, and I remember. I hear Mulder and Scully talk about you all the time, all these horrible things you've done, and then I remember you, treating me like a human being. You never once made me feel like I don't matter." Kim could feel her face get flushed with embarrassment, and she deeply inhaled to refocus her rambling thoughts. Alex looked as if someone had hit him in the head with a frying pan, stunned into silence. "So, yes, I know what you've done, but I also know that there's a lot more to you than just that. In the last day, you've done everything in your power to help a total stranger die in peace. And you've done nothing but support me the whole time. You wouldn't take my money when I offered it, either. The only thing you asked me for is to call you by your first name. I think that what you did today is the most generous, selfless act I've ever seen." "While it's a nice image, it's not true, Kim. I almost..." He sighed, and ran his hand through his hair, seemingly frustrated. "I took advantage of you on the porch. It would have gone a lot farther too, if I hadn't caught myself in time. You were distraught, and instead of comforting you, I kissed you. I'm very sorry I used you like that." "Oh Alex." She stroked his face, that amazing, gorgeous face she used to see only in her fantasies. Now it was so close to hers she could feel his breath against her cheek. "I kissed you, Alex. And I wish you hadn't stopped. I certainly didn't want to." >From his shocked expression, Kim realized he hadn't even acknowledged her eager participation in the kiss. He hadn't been angry or disgusted >with her at all, it occurred to her sadly. He'd been furious at himself. "Can I ask you the second question?" he said quietly. At her nod, he continued, "What did you mean earlier, when you said I'd reminded you there's more to life than dying?" She smiled. "You made me remember that it's possible to survive, that once you get through the difficult times, there's a whole world out there to appreciate. That there can still be goodness, a reason to live, beyond the pain. I paid careful attention to what Mulder and Scully said had happened to you over the years. By all rights, Alex, you've made it through things that would have broken a lesser man. But you survived, and so will I. And we still can find enjoyment in life. We still can feel things, positive things, not just heartache and strife. We just have to let ourselves." He gave her an ironic half-smile, but he seemed pleased with her response. "That's a pretty big understatement. I honestly didn't think sometimes I was going to make it. But it's strange. Just before you called me last night, I was trying to figure out why I was still in DC. The X Files are pretty much over, and it's time for me to move on. But I couldn't go." His smile widened, his teeth flashing again. "Do you want to know why not?" "Yes, very much." He pulled her closer to him so they lay touching from chests to toes. His prosthetic lay under her head, and he cradled her face with his other. He looked at her with such a blazing expression, of hope and happiness combined, she felt awed by it. "Because of you. I wanted five minutes with you, to be near you, and maybe even talk to you again, and just make sure that you were okay, before I left for good. But I didn't know how to make that happen, and then you called, and I took the chance you offered me. That's the real reason I agreed, Kim. I did it for you. I didn't want your money, I just wanted you. As much of you as you were willing to give me." Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them back. Yes, watching this silly movie had turned out to be a wonderful idea. She wasn't sure how PeeWee did it, but somehow he'd managed to break through Alex Krycek's thick, impenetrable exterior, giving her access to all the wonderful things inside him. He'd busted him open like a pinata. "You've got me now, Alex," she said hoarsely, watching his smile burst across his face. "As much of me as you want to take." +++++ So this is what happiness feels like, Alex thought. What open, honest, human interaction offered. He felt as if he'd been given a gift he hadn't asked for, and he was too dazzled by the beauty of the wrapping paper to open it to see what was inside. It was simply the idea of receiving the unexpected gift that thrilled him, almost more than the gift itself. Not that he didn't want what was inside, because he did, more than he could express. But he wanted to take his time unwrapping it, savoring every moment until it was drained bone dry, before moving on to the next. He was still absorbing how all of this had happened in the first place. Processing how they gotten from Point A to Point B. He'd been as nervous as a cat when they first settled in here, and he'd nearly left a number of times, concerned he wouldn't be able to maintain his distance from her. But she'd been so at ease with him, giggling and un-self-conscious, that he'd forced himself to relax and enjoy the moment. And after a while, he truly had. He couldn't quite figure out when it had all changed, from careless playfulness to a deeper, more potent moment. One minute he'd been mock- wrestling with her, the next he was saying things that he'd never even fully verbalized in his mind before. But, God, was he glad he had. How the hell could anyone think she didn't matter? It was beyond his comprehension. She watched him, her soft, expressive eyes on his, drawing him into her heat, which melted the color in her irises to a smoky gray. Her hands stroked his chest, his cheek, and he nearly shivered from the contact. It would take only a minor adjustment of his head to kiss her, as he knew now they both wanted, but he just couldn't stop looking at her yet. She was the most exquisite thing he'd ever seen. "I love you, Kim," he murmured, the words springing forward from a place so far deep in him, he'd never even known it existed. He'd fallen in love with her the moment he'd met her. But love at first sight didn't happen to people like him. Or so he'd thought. She didn't seem surprised by his impulsive declaration, just elated. "I know. Mike told me. I don't know how he knew though, but it wasn't as if I could ask him. Did you say something to him before he died?" Alex toyed with her hair, her silky red hair, curling it around his finger. "He was worried that I was going to hurt you once he was gone. But I told him it wouldn't happen. I guess he figured it out from that." "It was good of you to ease his fears like that, Alex." He caught her gaze, and frowned. "You do believe me, right? You know I'm not--" "Of course I do. You don't have to keep reassuring me about it. My word, Alex, you think of yourself as such a monster. Not everyone has as low an opinion of you as you do." He wished he had as much conviction about that as she did. "Kim, I've done some unforgivable things. Things that nobody in their right mind would ever do." "I know that. You didn't just pick me up randomly on a street corner, you know. I've known what you've done, what you're capable of, since you left the Bureau. I don't quite understand why you did such things, but I would like you to tell me someday. The only side I've been able to hear so far is Mulder's. I want to know yours, too." She fisted her hand in his hair, dragging his eyes back to hers. "And I love you despite all that." She loved him? Not possible, his mind spit out automatically. But the fierceness in her expression was difficult to deny. "How...but...it..." Jesus, he was speechless. She smiled, a brilliant smile that was as different from the shy one that had ripped his whole world apart as night was from day. But it was just as intoxicating, maybe even more so. "Alex, everyone has good and bad sides, demons that drive them. And yours are very bad, I'll truthfully admit. But there's more to you than that. You just don't see it. I do, and I think it's a shame that you don't see yourself for all that you are. You're not simply a killer, or a bad person. There's a lot of tenderness and caring inside you." "A whole person," he said, separating each word carefully, as her words finally registered in his brain. He was too amazed the first time she said it to have it sink in all the way. "You see me as a whole person." She nodded. "You sound so shocked." "It's just..." God, could he even describe it? "I think Mike figured it out because I told him that you make me feel exactly that way. That you make me feel whole. And I've never felt that before." "And now you do." "And now I do." Her hand ran through his hair, her eyes and her mouth smiling sweetly at him, and Alex realized that he wasn't hollow anymore. He was full, almost to the point of being sated, over-stuffed. Full of everything he'd ever denied himself, or thought he wasn't worthy of having, so full he was afraid that he might explode from the unfamiliar sensation. Kimberly Cook loved him, despite his flaws and his weaknesses. The woman he had never let himself believe even acknowledged his existence, let alone ever felt one drop of the things he felt for her, loved him. It was almost too much to take in at once. "Are you okay, Alex?" She sounded concerned, so he smiled again. His face was beginning to hurt from the newness of smiling. It was the best kind of pain to have. "I'm just a little overwhelmed. But I'm fine." Her eyebrow lifted. "So you think you're gonna kiss me anytime soon, or do I have to make the first move again?" He didn't answer her, at least not verbally. He simply bridged that invisible space between them, and claimed that amazingly soft and hot mouth as his. He was ready to unwrap his present, as slowly and as patiently as he could. +++++ Nothing tells a woman more about the character of a man -- not his words, or his background, or his deeds -- than the truth that is told in the way he touches as a lover. Kim had begun to see Alex's truth when he'd first taken her hands in his at the coffee shop. Every touch he'd bestowed on her since that moment had been respectful and heartfelt, even the delirious grope on the porch. It had been wild and rough, yes, but it had also been tender. He hadn't touched her with anything but his mouth, and his soul. But knowing this did not at all prepare her for the sweet, slow way he made love to her their first time. Endless, aching kisses that left her gasping for more. That cruelly kind mouth against hers, on her skin, feasting on her as if she were a banquet set out only for him. He'd dip his head along her neck, her chest, and return to her lips for yet another heart-thumping kiss, drawing her air into his lungs. As he slowly peeled her pajamas off her body, piece by piece, he took his time, studying and discovering each section of her flesh as he exposed it. She felt a fluttering of shyness, of embarrassment, when he first saw her naked, and she tried to cover herself, but he stopped her with a hot look and a hotter kiss. "Beautiful, you're so beautiful, Kim," he murmured repeatedly against her skin, until she had no choice but to believe him. The strength of his conviction about that was enough to erase her self-doubt. He made her feel like the loveliest woman in the world. Her collarbone, her breast, her thigh, everywhere, he touched and kissed and fondled with a restrained yet passionate hunger that told her exactly how much he adored her. She wanted to hurry him along at numerous points, but resisted the urge. Teach him how, Mike had said. But Alex didn't need to learn that lesson; he knew without guidance, instinctively, how to love her. So she let him set the pace, a dizzyingly, intoxicatingly, lingering pace. And he was so beautiful, so damaged, she had to bite back her unbidden cry when he let her remove his clothes, so he could be as naked as she. His entire torso was covered in faded scars, some wounds fresher than others. Her hands and mouth steadily caressed him, drawing a roadmap of the fights and beatings he'd experienced, connecting them like dots on a page with her kisses. She saw the harsh brutality of his amputation, touched it as he shuddered. But he let her explore him willingly, his eyes astonished as she embraced what he clearly seemed to believe she would reject. When she tried to remove his prosthetic, he shook his head no and rolled to face her, propping himself up onto his fake arm, and using his other to continue his relentless stroking of her skin. Balance, she realized. He needed it for balance. They needed each other for balance too. When his hand finally reached between her legs, teasing her with a thrumming, steady rhythm, lifting her higher and faster than she'd ever felt, his eyes, his beautiful, animated, green eyes, watched her as she moved greedily against his fingers. He wouldn't let her touch him the way he touched her, brushing her hands aside with his leg when she reached for him. He only smiled, and kissed her again, his hand stroking her to flash point as his tongue filled her mouth, as slow as the movements of his hand were fast. The last thing she saw before she closed her lids as she went over was the blissful look on his face, the utter and complete love in his eyes. "Alex..." she moaned his name as she floated back to reality, shivering uncontrollably and her bones as liquid, as fluid, as the rest of her. When she could move again, she opened her eyes and looked into his. She thought, for a fleeting moment, she could see all the way into his soul. Just as he could see into hers. After what seemed like an eternity and yet also only a half-second, he started to rise off the mattress. "Where--" "Protection," he murmured, and she pointed to the nightstand with a smile. After Mike had been diagnosed, he'd stocked all the bedrooms, not wanting her, or anyone, the remote possibility of being exposed to the same illness that had struck him. She'd never opened that drawer, never had a lover here. Never before tonight. It seemed oddly fitting that it was tonight. Mike would want her to celebrate life on the night he died, she thought. There was a delightful closure in that, one she knew he would appreciate. With an answering smile, Alex leaned back onto the bed. Then he slowly, in excruciatingly languid degrees, aroused her again, his mouth suckling on her breast, his hand tenderly caressing her belly, the curve of her hip. Her hands touched him everywhere he would allow, his chest, his back, his neck, her lips and tongue following, sampling his delicious skin, feeling his taut muscles quiver underneath. He tasted of salt and earth, and a sweet aftertaste that could only be him and him alone. He tasted like life. When she couldn't hold back her anticipation anymore, she rolled to the edge of the bed and took out a condom from the drawer. He finally let her touch his erection as she sheathed him, feeling him thick and hard and full against her palm. He gave a soft groan as she stroked him, and easily rolled her again so she lay under him. As he entered her, moving as deliberately and leisurely as he had since the beginning, she watched his eyes as they unfocused and darkened. His hands rested beside the top of her head, and she reached her arms up to take them both in hers. His good hand was clenched into a fist, and she forced it open as he gasped. She followed his eye movement as he looked at their hands joined together, her real in his fake, and he loosened his other to intertwine her fingers with his. "I love you, Alex," she whispered. "I love everything about you." He leaned his damp forehead against hers, staggered. She felt him pulse deep inside her, and she lifted her hips to encourage him. As they began to move, the careful restraint he'd shown all along was torn away and replaced by a soon-uncontrollable, ever-increasing hunger and need. He breathed her name with every deep, wonderfully penetrating thrust, letting it come forth from his mouth on every labored exhalation. Each one sounded like a prayer, a benediction. There wasn't anything in the world beyond this bed, this extraordinary man. Nothing had ever felt like this, and Kim was immensely grateful that what she'd secretly wanted for so long was finally within her reach. To be with Alex Krycek, in every way possible, and to have him want her just as much as she did him, had seemed like an impossible dream, and yet here it was. There wasn't any way to fully describe how amazing it all felt. When his eyes captured hers, swallowing her whole into him, connecting them in yet one more place, the moment nearly felt sacred. He clasped her hand as her back arched; and she fell into the abyss, fell into him. And he fell into her, crying her name freely as he shed that last tiny fragment of control, letting himself finally be swept up in the swirling vortex with her. "Kim." She let go of his hands as he collapsed on top of her, stroking his hair, his shoulders as his head crashed against the pillow beside hers. She heard his breath rasping against her ear, held him tightly as they both panted and shivered and shuddered. "Love you, love you," he whispered. That was Alex's truth. And hers. +++++ Alex woke up with a start, and did his customary 'where am I' inspection of the room. The walls were a pale shade of blue. There was a long dresser with a TV set on it, and a vanity table full of bottles and knickknacks, on opposing sides of the room. A set of white curtains fluttered in the breeze. The air smelled like a heady mix of salt, sex, popcorn, and...cinnamon. <Kim.> He was in her room, in her bed. He rolled over, expecting to spot her red hair against the pillow beside his, saw that he was alone, and panicked. It had been a dream, none of it real. Or she'd changed her mind, decided she didn't love him, and had left without saying goodbye. Before he could jump out of bed and go chasing after her, the door opened and she walked in, wearing a short white robe, and finger-drying her freshly washed hair. As his heart started to beat normally again, she looked over at him and grinned. "Morning. 'Bout time you woke up, sleepyhead." He smiled, relieved. "Morning. What are you doing out of bed?" "It's going to be a busy day. People should start calling or dropping by fairly soon. I thought I'd better get ready." He propped his back against the headboard, patted the mattress in invitation, and she came over, sitting and leaning across to give him a brief kiss. Too brief. Now that he could, all Alex wanted to do was kiss her. Every minute of every day. "I thought you said the service wouldn't be until tomorrow," he said, eyeing her robe as it gaped open enough to expose a long, lovely line of promise from her neck to the top slope of her breast. "It is. But this is a small town, and word travels fast. Mike was very well-liked around here. I expect I'll have a kitchen full of casserole dishes and visitors before noon." She paused, and ran her fingers through his hair. "I'm very glad you're going to be here for all of this, Alex. We Irish put on a hell of a wake, but it's not easy to do it alone." So she was Irish. That explained her coloring. It struck him that he still had a lot to learn about her, and that he couldn't wait to start. "You're not alone anymore, Kim," he murmured, and tugged her forward for another kiss, this one much longer, deeper, than the first. When he let her up for air, her eyes had a satisfied, but not sated, gleam in them. "Mmm...yeah. Neither are you, Alex." The truth in that simple statement made him want to jump up and down on the bed, as gleeful as a little kid on Christmas morning. But he wasn't a child, had never truly been one, so instead he reacted as an adult. A man. A man in love for the first time. He kissed the woman in his life with every ounce of passion he felt, until she moaned into his mouth from the onslaught. "Maybe we've got a little time before anyone gets here," she purred breathlessly. So he took that as permission to let his hand travel down into the gap of her robe. Silk, his fingers recognized, but her own skin felt much softer than the fabric. He heard her sigh when his hand covered her breast, her nipple tightening instantly against his palm, and he thrilled, still not fully prepared for her eager responsiveness to his touch. He'd been hard from the moment she'd walked into the room. It was strange how quickly his behavior had changed, he marveled as the robe evaporated into thin air, and they began to kiss and caress each other in earnest. In his fugitive lifestyle, sex was a luxury, so he suppressed his basic needs as much as he could. But with her, he was perpetually aroused. And it was so much more than a | |||