Intense gratitude to Ned & leny (Theban Band) for the beautiful cover
		art. Check it out: http://lzl.dreamhost.com/Stories/EL/EchoLane.html

		Echo Lane, by Louise Wu (toes@att.net) 
		Fandom: X-Files 
		Pairing: M/K 
		Summary: Mulder discovers that his life could have been very different. 
		Rating: NC-17 for male/male sex. 
		Warnings: Some kink. 
		Archive: Yes to: Basement, RatB, SlashingMulder and CkoS. All others
		please ask. 
		Spoilers: Through Season 7, Amor Fati, plus weak hints for Closure and
		Requiem. 
		Note: This is a work of fiction. No one should ever take safer sex and
		HIV as cavalierly as I do in this story. Fictional characters don't die
		from those mistakes. 
		Beta Thanks: Loren Q, Zoe Takashi, Jennie, Quinn, Susan Reynolds, Alex
		Wood. 
		Special Thanks: to Josan for help with Canadian geography and weather. 
		Disclaimer: Chris Carter and 1013 Productions own the X-Files series
		characters. The rest are mine. No infringement of rights is intended.

		I dedicate this story to a lonely Louise, in another place, who doesn't
		have Loren to make her smile.

		Echo Lane

		** Part 1 **

		Chapter 1 

		Friday, January 21, 2000


		I should've told Scully where I was going.

		Two rapidly fired shots go off near my head.

		I'm unarmed--no gun, no cell phone, no car keys--and running from Alex
		Krycek. If I ever find my way outside this labyrinthine laboratory, I
		won't get far in the desert on foot. It's at least forty miles to
		Phoenix.

		Jogging down the hall, I spot a few places to hide, but Krycek has time
		on his side. He can search the entire building in a couple of hours. It
		would help if I knew who the scum sucker was working for these days.
		Perhaps he's not even a threat. The bastard never shot at me before. Did
		he miss intentionally or was it just poor aim? Understanding the rat
		seems more daunting than putting Cancerman on a stop-smoking program.

		The solid sound of Krycek's boot heels on the hard floor keeps me
		moving.

		The facility contains radioactive materials. Fortunately, the reactor is
		behind me. Radioactive warning signs steer me away from close encounters
		with toxic substances. It crosses my mind to enter one of the so-labeled
		rooms and hope Krycek won't look for me there, but I'm not ready to bet
		my life, or future ability to reproduce, on that traitor's instinct for
		self-preservation.

		Taking a turn to the left, I hit a dead end.

		A high security entrance stands ahead but, weirdly, the door is propped
		open with a chair. Surely a bad omen. A flashing neon DO NOT ENTER sign
		burns my irises. Neon?

		I step though the doorway, wondering briefly if I am a mouse in
		somebody's maze.

		Inside, I find a high-ceilinged room that looks like the spacious lobby
		of a 1930's government building constructed by the WPA. Marble floors. A
		huge reception desk. Past the desk is an entryway shaped like an
		inverted U, of stark white marble, but it seems to go nowhere. Five feet
		through the arch is a blank wall. A computer workstation sits quietly
		next to the marble U. On the screen are the words 'Gateway Activated' in
		eerie blue letters. It's oddly quiet.

		I hear footsteps behind me in the hall. My choices seem to be a gateway
		to nothing or an armed and possibly homicidal Krycek. I dart through the
		arch.

		I'm standing on the other side when the room blurs to white. A pool of
		bright white engulfs me. There are no objects in my field of vision. I
		stand unmoving in this silent white limbo. I can feel my body, but there
		doesn't seem to be anything around me, not even a floor underneath my
		feet.

		After a moment, A hint of color invades the whiteness. Gradually more
		colors came into focus. I find myself on a quiet residential street,
		facing an attractive gray house. It looks like Alexandria. Although
		grateful for the fast ride home, I wonder why I've been plunked down
		here. The house number is 17.

		Movement at the window resolves itself into a man's face. I note his
		curious smile before I realize it's Krycek.

		My feet won't move. I gape at the house. The porch light goes on. The
		door opens.

		"Where's your car? Did you walk home?" His smile looks almost genuine.
		What kind of game is the little fucker playing? At least I'm not looking
		down the barrel of a gun.

		"What d'you want, Krycek?" I hiss at the man.

		The smile dies. He comes toward me solicitously, the way one approaches
		a psychotic mental patient. "Are you all right?" As always, the son of a
		bitch stands too close. His hand touches my shoulder, and he tries to
		guide me inside.

		Krycek has changed clothes. No leather jacket. His T-shirt and jeans
		look cleaner. His hair is different... longer than it was just a few
		minutes ago.

		I jerk out of his clutches and stalk down the sidewalk. Oddly, I don't
		feel exactly unsafe, but getting away from him seems like the right
		idea.

		"Where are you going?" He follows me down the sidewalk.

		"Home."

		"This is your home, Fox. What's wrong?"

		My feet stop working. There's an empty place in my intestines. So empty
		it feels cold. I get this queer feeling I might actually live in this
		house, even though I know I don't.

		Krycek comes toward me. "Come inside, sweetie. I think you're ill."

		Sweetie? I'm gonna barf.

		"We'll call Scully." On any other face, I would have called his
		expression concern.

		"Sweetie?! Don't fuck with me, you miserable low life."

		A flash of hurt passes across his features, as he shakes his head
		slowly. "Just call Scully, okay?"

		Something is definitely not right. But calling my partner actually seems
		like a good idea. "I lost my cell phone."

		Krycek removes his own from a pocket and hands it to me.

		As my stiff fingers grip the plastic, I realize I'm very cold. I dial
		the familiar number.

		"Scully."

		"Hey, it's me."

		"I already told you, I'm not going to spend my weekend at the Library of
		Congress. If you-"

		"Scully, I think... I need you."

		Her tone shifts instantly. "What's wrong?"

		"Not sure. Can you meet me at... home?"

		Krycek is watching intently.

		"Sure, Mulder. I'm on my way."

		"Wait. Uh, where do I live?"

		A few feet away, shocked green eyes open wide.

		Scully's voice is shrill. "What!?"

		"Just tell me my address, Scully."

		"17 Echo Lane, Alexandria."

		Shit. I don't know what to say. No way Scully would cooperate with
		Krycek on some sort of scam.

		"Mulder, are you okay?"

		"I'm not sure. Jus' meet me in front of the house, 'kay?"

		"I'll be there in 15 minutes."

		Krycek trails me at a safe distance, as I walk cautiously toward the
		house. I sit on the front steps, completely unwilling to go inside, even
		though I'm freezing my ass off.

		He gazes at me uneasily. After a lengthy silence, he says, "You want to
		talk?"

		"No." I turn away, so I don't even have to look at him. "Not 'til she
		gets here."

		The hired killer with the gentle concerned face nods. Opening the door,
		he disappears momentarily and returns with a long coat. "Put it on," he
		says tersely.

		I bristle. I am not taking orders from him. But it is fucking cold out
		here. I lay the coat over my lap.

		He steps back and leans against a tree, green eyes fixed on me,
		searchingly.

		What the fuck is going on? Is Krycek jerking my chain? Scully wouldn't
		lie to me. She sounded genuinely worried. That gateway I went through
		was... well, I don't know what the hell it was. It didn't look like
		much. Could it have altered reality in some way? If so, this place is
		more hellish than the one I left.

		About fifteen minutes later, a sporty red car tears down the street and
		deposits itself haphazardly in the driveway. Not Scully's car, but she
		gets out of it and runs over, medical bag in hand. Scully and Krycek
		exchange worried glances.

		It's what she doesn't do that bothers me the most. Doesn't act shocked
		by his presence. Doesn't draw her gun. Doesn't ask what the rat bastard
		is doing here.

		Instead, she sits down next to me. "Are you sick, Mulder? Or injured?"

		"No, Scully." I shift closer to her, away from him. "What's the date?"

		"January 21."

		"Uh, the year?"

		"2000." Her hand squeezes my shoulder. "Why don't we go inside?"

		"No."

		"Why not?"

		Because I don't live here, but I don't want to say it. Because I'm
		afraid I'm wrong.

		"Mulder, please. Let's just go inside."

		I'm starting to shiver, so I relent.

		Soon, we're seated in a handsomely appointed living room. A
		frightened-looking Krycek sits in an easy chair at a safe distance.
		Scully takes a seat next to me on the couch.

		I've never been here but the aquarium catches my eye. I've seen it
		before. I had thought to purchase one like it if I ever had a larger
		place.

		My intuition is screaming. "I don't live here, Scully. I've never seen
		this house before."

		Krycek's face dissolves into despair.

		'Sweetie?' Oh, fuck.

		Scully appears completely baffled. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

		"I live in an apartment on Hegal. #42."

		The assassin-cum-homemaker approaches slowly and sits on the floor in
		front of me. "Swe--Uh, don't you remember? We moved here three years
		ago?"

		We?

		I look at Scully--this can't be true--and she just nods.

		Fuck!

		"Then I'm in the wrong place." I look him straight in the eye. "Because
		I'd never live anywhere with you."

		I'd gotten a less dramatic response from slugging the man. His features
		contort for an instant before a mask drops, concealing his pain. He
		rises and exits the room, without looking at anyone.

		"Mulder, what's going on? You're really hurting him, you know."

		That my words are hurting the suddenly sensitive bastard is
		inexplicable. And why should Scully care? "Alex Krycek's a murderer and
		a traitor. I'd never have any kind of relationship with that immoral
		dirt ball." She starts to speak, but I cut her off. "I went through some
		kind of a gateway. This must be an artificial reality or a parallel
		universe."

		"It seems far more probable that you hit your head on the way home from
		work."

		I shake my maligned head. "It didn't happen. I didn't even go to work
		today."

		"Yes, you did, Mulder. I rode with you. Don't you remember?"

		Still shaking my head, I tune her out, trying to solve the mystery on my
		own, since she won't believe me. As per usual.

		Krycek reappears with a manila folder. He sits on the coffee table and
		extracts a document, which he passes to me. The title to the house. In
		the names of Bank of Virginia, Alexander Krycek and Fox Mulder.

		"Is that your signature?" he queries me, his voice shaky.

		It is unmistakably my hand. I nod curtly.

		Scully answers the unspoken question. "He thinks he's in an artificial
		reality."

		Krycek's eyes seek out Scully's. "Did you notice his hair? It's
		different. More fluffy on top. And his sideburns are longer."

		Scully puzzles over my appearance for a moment, then says, "Let's not
		allow our imaginations to get the better of us here."

		"It's not my imagination, Dana. We get our haircuts together and I'm the
		one who tells Gina what to do with his hair."

		The image of this bottom feeder telling anyone how to cut my hair just
		makes my brain go tilt. And he called her 'Dana.'

		Fuck, I want to go home.

		I scan Scully for differences. Her hair is longer than I remember and
		styled differently, but it's been almost a week since I've seen her.
		There's something subtly different about her face, though. She looks...
		a little... younger. I guess a week without me around might do that.

		Krycek looks substantially younger, perversely like the fresh-faced
		innocent he once appeared to be. His body is more filled out, giving him
		a healthier appearance. Only then do I notice the obvious. He has two
		living arms.

		I stand and reach across to him, tugging his arm. Flesh and blood.

		Definitely not the Krycek I know and hate.

		Krycek yanks his arm out of my grasp.

		Scully says, "Mulder, take off your clothes."

		"Huh?" I tilt my head, confused, until it dawns on me. "'Kay." I agree,
		starting to unbutton my shirt, then I stop abruptly. "Not in front of
		him."

		She puts a hand on my shoulder. "If you want answers, Mulder, this is
		the best way. He knows your body better than I do."

		Fuck. There it is, right in my face, the thing I'd been avoiding. They
		think I'm Krycek's lover. The ghastly thought makes me shiver.

		Krycek steps back a few feet, apparently aware of my trepidation.

		I allow my shirt to fall onto the sofa.

		"It's not him. You don't have to go any further." Krycek's voice is cold
		as he comes toward me. "What have you done with my lover, you bastard?"

		I lean forward. If he wants a fight I'm more than willing.

		Scully puts a firm hand on my chest. "Hold on you two. Just a minute."
		She glares at Krycek and he backs off. "Alex, how do you know it's not
		him?"

		"The scar on his left shoulder. Fox--my Fox--doesn't have it."

		She turns to me, one questioning eyebrow raised.

		"Funny you should ask about that, since the two people responsible are
		both in the room."

		They exchange a glance. It's weird as hell to feel on the outside, as if
		Scully and Krycek are friends.

		Scully frowns at me and says, "I suppose you're going to tell me Alex
		shot you."

		"No. You did, Scully."

		"Why would either of us shoot you, Mulder?" She looks away into nothing
		as if waiting for an invisible attendant to bring her a straitjacket for
		her delusional partner.

		"I was about to shoot him," I reply, pointing accusingly at Krycek, "and
		you thought it would be better for me if I didn't."

		The look of utter hostility on Krycek's face is much more comfortable to
		me than his false affection. "Could he be a clone?" he asks, as if I'm
		not even in the room.

		"I am NOT a clone!" I briefly consider pounding the crap out of Krycek,
		but I pull my shirt back on and sit down.

		Both of them regard me as if I'm hysterical. I'm used to it.

		Three brains go to work separately and silently on the problem. After a
		few minutes, Krycek departs, returning with a bottle of Henry
		Weinhardt's, my preferred brand, and two Cokes. He hands me the beer and
		Scully a Coke.

		I wait for her to demand a Diet Coke, but she just absently says,
		"Thanks, Alex."

		He sits at the far end of the room, by a sliding glass door facing the
		backyard. There is some sort of light out there. I can see lots of
		neatly mowed green grass and a large furry black dog.

		Inspiration... "Let the dog in."

		"What?"

		"Let him in."

		"Her," he replies brusquely as he rises to unlock the door.

		What has to be 120 pounds of dog launches itself into the room. It
		embraces Krycek leaving a pool of slobber on his shirt. He rubs her fur
		enthusiastically and mutters, "Hi, you big girl. You still love me,
		don't you?"

		My hackles rise.

		The dog greets Scully next. It seems to know her, but their relationship
		is clearly less close. Scully pats the dog's head. The dog wags its tail
		and drools on her knee, before passing quickly to me.

		It approaches cautiously, giving a soft growl. Sniffing the air around
		me, she slowly moves in closer.

		A second dog appears at the door. This one has approximately the same
		big furry shape, but it's mostly white with some black patches. It
		bypasses Krycek, who watches intently, and bounds straight for me. As it
		gets close, it slows down and begins to whimper.

		The black dog is watching the newcomer. As it gets closer, black dog
		licks the white's face.

		White puts two paws carefully into my lap. It emits a pitiful whine and
		tries to lick my face. It seems like a nice enough dog, but I don't know
		it well enough for kisses. I pull away and slide down the couch away
		from the wet tongue. It follows me, but this time sits quietly at my
		feet. I can sense the animal's worry.

		"Now, are we all in agreement that I'm not the Fox Mulder you know?"

		As if on cue, the white sings a sad howl. The black dog returns the howl
		and comes to lie down next to the white. Krycek even imitates the howl
		and comes to join the pack. He strokes the white. "It's okay, Chip.
		Something's wrong with Fox. We'll try to figure it out, okay?" The black
		dog shakes her head, spraying us all with doggie spit.

		"Why does it have to be me? Maybe something's wrong with you and
		Scully."

		Scully replies, "Alex and I--and even the dogs--are in agreement here.
		You're the odd man out."

		I sigh, already knowing it's the truth.

		Scully continues, "I know you don't think anything is wrong with you,
		but I'd like to do a physical. Let's at least rule out an injury or
		illness. Maybe we'll get some additional data that will be helpful."

		I don't anticipate useful information from a physical exam, but I'll
		never talk her out of it, so I nod my agreement.

		"Let's go to the hospital for a CT scan. I'll process the blood tests at
		the Bureau so we can get the results back quickly."

		I'm on my feet, stepping around the giant lumps of fur and heading for
		the door. I can't get out of this place fast enough.

		Scully goes to Krycek. She embraces him with more affection than I've
		seen her show her brothers or even me. I can barely make out her
		whispered words, "...worry, Alex. We'll figure..." She kisses him gently
		on the cheek.

		It makes me want to smack him.

		Chapter 2

		On the drive to the hospital, Scully and I don't talk much. I'm still
		sorting out the situation in my head. I went through some kind of
		gateway. Now the world doesn't seem like the one I know. I reject the
		notion of virtual reality, because I am certain I have real dog drool on
		my pants.

		If not virtual reality, it has to be an alternate universe. Just my luck
		to end up in a world where Alex Krycek is my god damned lover. When I
		think of all the delightful possible worlds I could have ended up in...
		How about one where humans live in peace with alien visitors? Samantha
		was never abducted? Instead I get domestic bliss with a vile criminal.

		At least the dogs are nice.

		After a quick CT scan, which Scully had to lie to obtain without an
		appointment, we drive to the Bureau. It is, thankfully, right where I
		think it should be. I have my wallet and my badge. My keycard opens the
		after-hours door without incident.

		A bored first floor guard nods at me.

		The medical lab is right where it should be. Agent Pendrell, however, is
		notably NOT deceased. He seems substantially more bored by my presence
		than I am by his.

		Pendrell unlocks an exam room for us.

		During the exam, Scully asks about the two drill marks on my forehead
		under the hairline. I tell her it was a mistake, not feeling like
		elaborating on one of the stupidest episodes in my life. I also parry
		her question about the scar on the back of my head, from my recent
		surgery, attempting to convince her it has nothing to do with my current
		predicament. At least I don't think it does.

		Otherwise, she doesn't find anything abnormal, but seems confident the
		lab work will reveal something.

		Back in her red Saturn, Scully heads toward Alexandria.

		"Where are you taking me?"

		"Your house, Mulder. You can sleep in your den, if you have to."

		"No. No way."

		"It's the only home you have, Mulder. Where else would you suggest?"

		"Can I stay with you, Scully? Please?"

		"Okay, but I have to ask Rubin."

		"Who's Rubin?"

		"Rubin is my lover, Mulder."

		"Lover? Since when?"

		She smiles as if remembering. "Since December 7, 1997."

		"Well, at least you're not gay. Everyone else seems to be."

		"No, Mulder. Alex is gay. You're bisexual." There's a certain snideness
		in the way she says it. Perhaps a private joke? Or some well-worn
		dialogue between her and her version of Fox Mulder?

		In my world, none of us are gay. I'm bisexual. Well, maybe just a
		frustrated-but-open-minded heterosexual. Women like Phoebe and Diana
		could do that to a man. Scully is straight. Definitely straight. Isn't
		she? I think so. I don't really have a lot of data on her nearly
		nonexistent sex life. There was that hick sheriff she seemed to find
		attractive. That guy from the Kindred, but he had those pheromones, so I
		guess he doesn't count. She'd gone on a few dates. Hell, I don't really
		know, do I?

		I have even less data regarding Alex Krycek.

		It's painfully true, however, that both of us had erections when I was
		beating him in Hong Kong. The man kissed me one night in my apartment.
		Maybe this explains the weird chemistry between the two of us.

		Considering Krycek as a potential lover is a ghastly thought. But this
		trip to wherever the hell I am isn't the first time I'd considered it.
		As much as I hate to admit it, I am attracted to the bastard. Have been
		for a long time.

		Of course, I'd die before admitting it to anyone.

		"Is this Rubin's car?"

		"No. It's all mine. I bought it for my birthday." I can't see my austere
		Scully buying herself a Saturn sports car. We both drive boring Tauruses
		in my world.

		Scully's apartment is where I remembered it. How comforted I am by this
		simple fact. The décor is mostly the same. One notable exception is a
		painting hanging over her couch. In vivid colors on black, it depicts a
		man and a woman walking along the beach at night, silver stars shining
		brightly over the inky ocean. The glare of the full moon casts a
		reflection on the water, but the reflection appears to be a loop, like a
		snake eating its own tail. An ouroborus. The artwork doesn't quite fit
		with Scully's homey furnishings, but it's been given a place of honor,
		so I expect it holds some importance for her.

		"I'm going to pop over to Rubin's for a minute. I'll be right back."

		I nod dumbly, following her to the door. She exits the apartment,
		crosses the street, walks a few buildings down and disappears into a
		cluster of condos.

		Making myself at home in Scully's abode, I use the restroom and find a
		blanket for the couch. I switch on the TV, instantly ignoring it, and
		make myself comfortable. To contemplate this baffling... situation.

		This place I'd found by walking through the gateway was not exactly
		random. Considering all the possible worlds I could have ended up in,
		this one is surprisingly similar to the one I'd left. There must be
		uncountable worlds where Mulder, Scully or Krycek had never been born.
		And even though I don't want Krycek as my lover, the attraction is real.
		But if it wasn't random, then what or who sent me here?

		Scully returns fifteen minutes later. "Rubin's working, so I'm going to
		stay here with you tonight."

		"So, what does Rubin do?"

		"He's a screenwriter and an artist."

		"Why does he live across the street?"

		Scully nods patiently as she formulates her reply. "Rubin's a bit out
		there. We agreed to keep two places so we could each do our own thing
		without interfering too much in each other's lives."

		But Alex and his substantially better half live together. "Am I... Is
		Mulder in the closet?"

		"Not exactly. You two didn't broadcast it, but I think most people have
		figured it out. It hasn't been much of a problem for you. Jackson
		doesn't care and most of the rest consider your queerness less
		interesting than your spookiness."

		"Who's Jackson?"

		"David Jackson. Our A.D."

		I consider asking what stunt we--I--pulled to get banished from
		Skinnerland.

		"Alex takes a lot of grief in his unit for being gay. I was rather
		grateful to lose the title of Mrs. Spooky, but he was less happy to
		receive it. The homophobia and snide remarks frustrate him, but his work
		is outstanding. I don't think it has hurt his career very much. His
		partner, Jimmy O'Neal, is a good catholic boy with a wife and five kids.
		And he thinks the world of Alex. That helps a lot."

		Too weird. Respected openly gay agent. Alex Krycek?

		As usual, I don't sleep much. By Saturday morning I have a plan, which I
		outline to Scully over coffee.

		We arrive back at Krycek's house around nine. The garage door is open.
		Krycek is leaning into the back seat of a black Taurus, holding an
		evidence bag containing a crushed Burger King sack.

		"I retrieved your car last night from Hoover." He holds out the bag.
		Evidence that my nutritional needs aren't being met in either world.
		"There's nothing suspicious, just the usual trash. Scully, would you
		take a look? You rode in with him yesterday morning. Maybe you'll see
		something I missed."

		"Sure, Alex."

		Krycek tosses her a pair of gloves. Glancing at me nervously, he runs a
		hand through the side of his hair. "How are you this morning?"

		I glare at him. "The same."

		He nods and enters the house through the garage.

		I don't think the car is worth looking at. It isn't my car. However, I
		open the passenger door and locate the registration in the glove
		compartment. It lists my name at 17 Echo Lane.

		Twenty minutes later, we're seated around the living room. Krycek
		provides more coffee and a plate of homemade cranberry muffins. The idea
		of the killer making fresh muffins for us just won't compute in my
		brain.

		Really tasty muffins.

		I nudge the white dog off my knee so I can shift my position. "Hey, you.
		I need some room here, 'kay?"

		"His name is Chip." Krycek's voice is frigid, as if it's somehow my
		fault I'm not his Fox Mulder. And don't know the damned dogs' names.
		"And hers is Sashi."

		I pet Chip and turn my mind to the matter at hand. "I've been thinking
		about this all night. Scully, during the physical, did you find any
		evidence of injury or illness that could shed light on this situation?"

		"Not really, except for those scars on your head."

		"What scars?" Krycek asks.

		"He has two round scars on his forehead under his hair. It looks like
		someone took an ice pick to his head. And a surgical scar on the back of
		his skull."

		His face radiates concern before he covers it with a grimace.

		Turning back to me, she says, "You still haven't explained those."

		"Scully, that doesn't have anything to do with this. Surely you don't
		believe I had holes punched in my skull yesterday and they healed last
		night?"

		"No, that doesn't make any sense. But we don't have the results of the
		blood work yet. Maybe someone drugged you."

		"It's possible," I concede. "I'll consider it when we have the results.
		In the meantime, I want to determine when this world diverged from
		mine."

		They both look at me, rapt.

		"I'm certain this is not my reality. But it's just similar enough to
		make me very curious. Let's spend this morning comparing my concept of
		reality to yours. If we go backward through the histories, we should
		find some clues about what happened."

		"Okay, where do we start?" Krycek seems highly motivated. Impatient
		even. I guess it makes sense. As far as he's concerned, he's lost his
		lover.

		"Where was I born?"

		Scully defers to Krycek who answers, "Chilmark, October 13, 1961."

		"Correct. Where'd I go to college?"

		"Oxford." Krycek's face hints of a smile. "You lost your virginity--to a
		boy--during your first year there. His name was John and you did it in
		his dorm room, desperately trying to be quiet so as not to wake up his
		roommate. For Dana's benefit, I'll skip the details of who did what to
		who."

		It's true. Exactly as he told it. I'd tried to give John a blow job, but
		I kept choking. Finally we just jacked each other off.

		Ignoring Scully's amused expression, I clear my throat and continue,
		"When did I graduate?"

		"Was I right about John?"

		I don't like him knowing such personal details about my life, but it's
		not like he doesn't already know. "Yeah. When did I graduate?"

		"1986."

		Scully asks, "What did you do after graduation?"

		"I took four months off to tour Europe before I went to the academy."

		"That's what you told me." I can see the wheels turning in Scully's
		mind.

		I tense a little considering my next line of questioning. "Do I have any
		brothers or sisters?"

		Krycek answers. "One sister. She was abducted when you were 12."

		I nod. "Samantha?"

		He nods.

		"When did my father die?"

		Krycek gives Scully a who's-been-spiking-his-punch look. "Your father's
		not dead, Fox."

		I should have expected it, since it seems unlikely any version of me
		would sleep with the man who killed my father. But I'm so stunned I
		almost ask 'when didn't he die?' Instead I spit out, "In my universe, he
		died in 1995. You shot him, Krycek."

		Now it's his turn to look stunned. "Fox-"

		"Don't call me that! I hate it."

		"I didn't shoot your father!"

		I'd heard him say it so many times before that it's almost a joke by
		now.

		Krycek goes on, "I know he was a criminal and he wasn't the greatest
		father, but I could never do anything to hurt you, F... whatever."

		"Krycek, you scum-sucking rat, are you calling my father a criminal?" I
		rise and head toward him, fist raised.

		He stands and faces me. Arms held at his sides, he meets my gaze
		directly. It's a macho invitation.

		Scully intervenes and steps between us. "Calm down, Mulder."

		I let it go. Only because this is not the man who killed my father.

		Sitting again, I take a moment to compose myself. Chip's head falls back
		in my lap and I pet him before I continue. "Scully, when did you become
		my partner? You are my partner, aren't you?"

		"Yes. I joined the X-Files in 1994."

		"Were you sent to spy on me?"

		"I believe I was, but I never really did. I just presented reports on
		our work and let Blevins interpret them however he wanted to."

		"What was our first case together?"

		"Bellefleur, Oregon. Some high school students had been killed. We
		exhumed one of the bodies, but it turned out to be the body of an
		orangutan."

		I add details. "The comatose kid had been leaving his room and somehow
		killing the others, but we saved one girl and the boy came out of the
		coma."

		"That's right."

		"Your father died that year."

		She nodded.

		"You wouldn't take time off. We were on a case right afterward. A
		kidnapping."

		"Luther Lee Boggs."

		"Yeah. I got shot in the leg, but you rescued the kidnapped man. The
		perp was killed trying to escape."

		Scully continues, "You were still in the hospital when Boggs was
		executed. We had a long talk that night and it was the first time I
		really accepted that my father was gone."

		"No discrepancies there."

		Krycek asks, "So when did I become your partner?"

		"1995. Scully was teaching at Quantico. I filled out a 302 for a case,
		but you got it first."

		"Augustus Cole. You wouldn't shake my hand when I first introduced
		myself. You told me to get a pool car and ditched me to work the case
		alone." The gently reproachful tone of his voice speaks volumes about
		his feelings for the missing man.

		"But you caught up with me. Said you didn't appreciate being ditched
		like somebody's bad date. Stuck to me like a barnacle for the rest of
		the case."

		He smiles sadly. "Yeah, I did."

		"Tell me how Cole died."

		"You told me to put down my weapon, but he had a gun. I was confused,
		but your life was in danger. I shot him."

		"Correct. A few weeks later, I was swimming in the pool at Hoover. You
		came to get me for a hostage situation."

		"Wait! That never happened."

		"What?"

		Shaking his head, he replies, "I never went to get you at the pool. I
		don't remember any hostage situation."

		"Duane Barry?"

		"I don't know the name."

		"Scully's abduction?"

		"My what?" Her voice is piercing.

		I ignore her question. We're narrowing in on something here. "The two
		histories seem much the same until 1995. Let's go back to 94/95 and look
		more closely."

		"Tell me about my abduction, Mulder."

		"It's not important," I bark at her. "It didn't happen to you."

		Taking a deep breath, I allow myself to feel it. It's almost... relief.
		My actions didn't lead to her abduction. It's so wonderful, but at the
		same time, I hurt for my Scully. I'm so sorry, Scully. I never wanted
		that to happen to you.

		In this world, Scully's obviously frustrated, but she says nothing.

		"Let's see if we can find anything different in our first year as
		partners."

		Krycek makes sandwiches while she and I review 1994. Not surprisingly,
		my memory is better than hers, but we can't find any discrepancies. We
		review case after case. I recall lots of personal details and trivia,
		but we match on everything she can remember. There are minor
		disagreements on what really occurred in some of the cases, but nothing
		that can't be explained by the difference in our perspectives.

		"Mulder, we've been over every 1994 case before the X-Files were closed.
		And some of the cases after. Maybe it's something between you and Alex."

		"No." That bastard could not be an important turning point in my life.
		"Let's forget the cases and try personal stuff."

		A half hour later, we have to give up. We haven't found a single
		discrepancy before Krycek became my partner on the Augustus Cole case.

		Nudging Chip away from my lunch, I give a heavy sigh and begin the line
		of questioning I'd most wanted to avoid. "Krycek, you said we bought
		this house three years ago. When did we... become... lovers?"

		"The night I killed Cole."

		I hadn't expected that, but at the same time it seems oddly right. "Tell
		me about that night. After you shot Cole."

		He closes his eyes for a moment before he begins. "I went to Cole to
		retrieve the gun, but I couldn't find it. Cole was dead. There was a
		bible near his body, but no gun. You helped me look for a weapon, but I
		didn't think you believed me. Finally, you told me I'd done the right
		thing. I knew you hadn't seen a gun, but you said it anyway."

		Krycek sips his Coke. "We were both interviewed for
		hours--separately--by the local Bureau and NYPD. You later told me you
		backed up my story, said Cole was pointing the bible at you, and in the
		dim light, it could have easily appeared to be a gun."

		He stops to eat a sandwich crust, as if reluctant to continue. Finally,
		he speaks again, his voice heavy with guilt. "I took a bathroom break
		and went to the rental car. I retrieved the folder about the sleep
		eradication experiments from under the floor mat and put it in my
		suitcase. Later, at the hotel, I read all of it. I didn't want to
		believe it, but everything was documented so believably. It bothered me
		what had been done to those people. By our own government. After the day
		I'd had, I was too keyed up to sit still, so I went for a walk. I drank
		a cherry Icee and watched the people on the street. I felt so... apart
		from it all.

		"As I walked back to the hotel, I felt worse about taking the file than
		about killing Cole. I don't mean to be callous, but I thought he was
		pointing a gun at you. That we couldn't find a gun afterward made me
		very uncomfortable, but Cole clearly wanted to die. Stealing evidence
		from you was different. I betrayed you.

		"You hadn't exactly been a friend to me--more like a cross to bear--but,
		since I was really working for Charles Spender, I couldn't blame you.
		You were decent to me after I'd killed Cole, when you could have easily
		gotten me kicked out of the Bureau or maybe even brought up on wrongful
		death charges. I sat in my hotel room feeling guilty and thinking about
		my future. It looked bad. Real bad. I hadn't seen Spender commit any
		major crimes, but I knew what kind of person he was. The Machiavellian
		way he talked about fixing 'the Mulder problem' told me all I needed to
		know. He was dangerous. Part of me wanted to be dangerous, too, to prove
		myself. But another part just wanted something more... human.

		"Then you knocked on my door."

		I shake my head. "I didn't. I never knocked on your door." I'd thought
		about it though. I'd wondered if he needed comfort, but I was more than
		a little suspicious about that missing file. My anger held me back.

		Fuck, it couldn't be that. It just couldn't be. "This can't be it.
		Scully, what else did I tell you about college?"

		She shakes her head at me, scolding. "Mulder, I think you need to-"

		"Scully, dammit!" I gesture at Krycek. "This bastard. I didn't... He
		isn't... this can't be the point of divergence."

		"I know it's not what you want to hear, Mul-"

		"No!" I jump up. "I will not accept-"

		They both stand and face me, but he's the one who says it. "The truth?"
		His beautiful green eyes are all confrontation, but his tone is gentler.
		"We've been looking for this all day and you don't even want to hear
		it?"

		It would be a lot easier to take from Scully.

		Every atom in my body wants to run out that door. And if I knew a way to
		get back to my world, I would.

		Glaring at him, I reply, "I never would've gone to you that night. I
		didn't trust you."

		"Well, in this universe--my universe--you did. You brought pizza."

		Pepperoni with double onions. "What kind?" I inquire in a defeated tone,
		cursing my eidetic memory.

		"Pepperoni with lots of onions."

		I offer only a grim nod.

		Doubting green eyes flash at me, "How could you know that if you weren't
		there?"

		I sit down, not wanting to answer. Finally the words just come. "That's
		what I ordered. I remember being on the phone with the pizza place. For
		a moment, I hesitated--should I order a large to share? But I was angry,
		so I didn't. I figured you could get your own damned dinner."

		"I like my Mulder better," he replies bitterly.

		Sitting down again, Krycek picks at his sandwich. "You were shirtless
		when you came to my room. You have a beautiful chest--not lumpy like a
		bodybuilder, but very masculine."

		Scully interrupts. "Excuse me, boys. I don't need to hear this part. If
		you two think you can have this conversation without killing each other,
		I'll take the dogs for a walk."

		Krycek nods. "Sure. You know where the leashes are."

		She meets my eyes and I shrug. I won't promise not to kill him.

		Scully leaves via the garage. 110 lbs of woman with what looks like 250
		pounds of eager dog. I hope they're well trained.

		Chapter 3

		Not completely sure I want to hear about Alex Krycek seducing me, I
		gesture at him to continue.

		"You looked good to me--really good. I wanted you. I wanted to forget
		what was happening to me. I wanted you to fuck me into oblivion. The
		report on you Spender gave me said you were bisexual, but-"

		"What?"

		"The report said you were bi."

		"How'd they know that?"

		"I have no idea. Are you bi?"

		"Yeah, but I don't see how they could have known."

		"They did." He waits for me, but when I raise no further objections he
		starts again. "I could tell you didn't think much of me. I had no plans
		to seduce you, because I was certain you'd reject me.

		"You took the desk chair and I sat on the armchair. I watched you
		watching me. I was shirtless, too, and you checked out my body, but I
		still couldn't read it as interest."

		Simultaneously horrified and fascinated, I watch the emotions cross his
		face. His expression reveals a great deal, so unlike the Krycek I know.

		"You asked if I was feeling okay about Cole. I said that I was. So we
		talked about nothing--sports, hockey, I think. Then you got this look on
		your face--embarrassed like a kid. It was so cute. You had pizza cheese
		on your chest. I stopped breathing as you reached down to scrape it off.
		You caught my eyes and I realized I'd given myself away. I looked away
		for an instant, but when I looked back you were licking the cheese off
		your fingers. In a very sensual way."

		Part of me wants to tell him to shut up and give me a quick summary. But
		another part of me is rapt. I want to hear every gory detail.

		"You were deliberately teasing me... aware of my attraction and using it
		to harass me. The way you'd treated me, I just couldn't believe it was
		mutual. I was so hard it hurt, but I tried to stay cool. I told you
		you'd missed a spot. Your eyes dropped to your belly, then flashed back
		up at me. You said, 'Why don't you get it?'

		"In a millisecond, I was kneeling on the floor lapping at cheese on your
		chest. Your hands found my hair, just stroking me. I straightened up and
		you kissed me." His eyes get dreamy with the remembrance.

		I think I'm going to be sick.

		"It took us about a minute to get to the bed. We groped and bit and
		kissed each other in a frenzy, until you whispered in my ear, 'Got any
		lube?' I found something in my travel kit and asked, 'How do you want
		me?' You said, 'On all fours.'

		"In those days, I still bottomed to you..."

		What the fuck?!

		Krycek gives me a smug smile. I'm too stunned to speak. I'd like to
		pound that smile of his into his carpet. D'ya think Scully would let me
		get away with it?

		"At my coaxing you gave it to me rough and hard. It was just what I
		needed to get me out of my brain. Afterward, we collapsed on the bed. I
		didn't want you to leave. Those same dark thoughts were coming back, and
		I just wanted to hold you. Maybe you didn't respect me, but you liked me
		enough to fuck me.

		"I thought it was over when you rolled off me. Then I felt your arm wrap
		around my waist. You pulled me close and spooned in behind me. You
		kissed the back of my neck and whispered, 'Sssh. It's okay.' Later you
		told me you thought I was still upset about Cole.

		"I didn't sleep that night, thinking about what I'd been assigned to do.
		To you. I didn't want to do it anymore. But if I didn't report to
		Spender, he'd come after me. The best case scenario was that I'd lose my
		job. I wondered if he'd kill me. The straightforward way to get out of
		something that's corrupting you is to stop and come clean before it gets
		any worse. I imagined doing that, but I couldn't imagine you forgiving
		me or wanting to have anything to do with me again.

		"You woke during the night. You kissed my shoulders and stroked my
		belly. It was the most incredible affection. I'd never experienced
		anything like it that wasn't a prelude to sex. You asked me if I wanted
		to talk. I said, 'No. Just keep touching me.' And you did.

		"Until that night, I thought all I needed was respect.

		"In the morning, on the drive back to Washington, I asked you to pull
		over at a noisy onramp and we stood at the side of the road. I confessed
		everything, how the bastards had recruited me in college, helped me to
		get into the academy and how I was assigned to watch you. I told you
		everything I'd told them about you and the case. I saw the warmth fade
		away in your face and I was so sure it was over between us.

		"We drove to the Bureau and hijacked A.D. Skinner. You were aggressive
		with him--told him we had to talk away from Hoover. So we found a park.
		And I told my story again. Skinner was furious. He reamed me up and down
		at least three times. You were all business. It was just a case to you.
		If you'd had any feelings for me, they were gone.

		"Skinner wanted to turn me so I could spy on Spender and his cronies. I
		knew I should do it. I owed it to you and the Bureau. But I just
		couldn't. I felt this urgent need to break away from Spender. It felt
		like if I didn't sever the tie then--and completely--I would become one
		of them. If I refused to be a mole, Skinner might fire me and you'd
		probably hate me even more, but I had to do it for myself. I apologized
		profusely, but said no. It was hard to tell who was more angry, you or
		Skinner.

		"I couldn't face Spender again, so I sent a telegram to our planned
		meeting. It basically said our arrangement was over and that I'd keep
		what I knew to myself as long as he left me alone. I'm sure that riled
		the old man, but at least I didn't have to hear about it.

		"The next night as I was unlocking my apartment door, a man stepped out
		of the shadows and shot me in the thigh. I almost bled to death waiting
		for the ambulance, but I knew it was just a warning. I didn't know
		enough to be a threat to them. I was grateful for that bullet.

		"I gave you back the sleep eradication file. You assembled an
		obstruction of justice case against Spender. Skinner met privately with
		him to discuss it. After the meeting, Skinner wouldn't tell us what
		happened. He made some sort of deal and ordered you to drop the case
		against Spender. You were livid. We later concluded Skinner negotiated
		to keep me alive and free of criminal charges. It also got Spender off
		his back.

		"Skinner gave me an indefinite assignment as an evidence clerk, but at
		least I still had my badge. You spoke to me only twice in the next few
		weeks, both times just business, tying up some loose ends on the Cole
		case.

		"I knew I'd made the right choice, though. But it was hard not to wonder
		if you'd have even been in my life if I hadn't been working with
		Spender. Maybe I was just a one-night stand, but maybe I wasn't. That
		was the worst punishment.

		"Five weeks after I killed Cole, you showed up at my apartment in the
		middle of the night. You wouldn't even come in, just stood at the door.
		You told me I'd done the right thing. That I deserved to be forgiven for
		my mistakes, because I'd confessed and made it right. Then you turned
		and left.

		"It took me a few weeks to get up my nerve, but I finally sent you an
		email. An email? Wasn't I brave? I asked you to dinner. I still have
		your emailed reply."

		We both sit quietly for a long time.

		He doesn't seem like the Krycek from my universe any longer. Just a hurt
		young man.

		I finally manage to speak. "It could have happened like that. I was
		attracted to you." It's painful to say, but he deserves to hear it.

		He turns away, but I can see his eyes are moist. After a time, his face
		goes calm and he asks, "So where's my Fox?"

		"He lets you call him that?"

		"Yeah and I'm not going to tell you the other things I call him." He
		gives a mild smirk. "So where is he?"

		"If I had to guess, I'd say he's in my world."

		"With your Alex?"

		"He's not MY ALEX."

		"You know what I mean, dammit."

		"Well, he's probably not with Krycek. We're enemies. You never came
		forward in my world."

		"But Fox doesn't know that, does he?"

		I don't know how to answer that. I couldn't really visualize a version
		of myself seeking out Krycek for love and affection, but his Fox might
		do just that.

		"Is he at least safe? I mean your--the Alex in your world, he wouldn't
		hurt Fox would he?"

		"Krycek is a violent man, but on the other hand I can handle him. I've
		beat him up quite a few times and he hardly fought back."

		"If he wasn't fighting back," his tone turned icy, "why were you beating
		him?"

		"Because he's a liar, a traitor and a murderer. You'd have to be there
		to really understand."

		"I'm grateful I'm not. It sounds like you use him as a punching bag."

		The garage door opens and in bounds Chip and Sashi. Scully follows
		behind, not looking any worse for wear. "Can I rejoin the party?"

		"Sure, Dana," replies Krycek, giving me a look of distaste.

		Sashi settles down next to him, head in his lap. Chip nuzzles my foot.

		Dana sits near me on the couch. "So, carefully leaving out the X-rated
		content, can you bring me up to date? What did you learn?"

		Krycek defers to me with a gesture.

		"The night Krycek killed Cole, I was in my hotel room ordering a pizza.
		I considered getting a large and sharing it with him, but I didn't. I
		stayed in my room all night. In your world, I did share my pizza. He and
		I ended up in bed together. The next day, he confessed that he'd been
		working for Cancerman."

		Krycek's eyebrows go up. "Cancerman?"

		"It fits, doesn't it?"

		"Oh, yeah. It killed him."

		"He's dead?"

		"Yes. He died of lung cancer in 1998."

		"It's hard to see how a pizza could cause that." Damn. Share a pizza,
		get laid and that fucker dies? Sounds like the biggest mistake I ever
		made.

		Scully picks up the conversation. "So what happened to Alex in your
		world?"

		I meet Alex's eyes. "It's not a pretty story. You sure you want to hear
		it?"

		He considers it for a minute, while stroking the dog. When he speaks
		again, he's looking at his hands. "I know where I was headed. It's going
		to be violent. They were worried about Scully's influence on you. I was
		afraid they'd ask me to hurt her." Eyes closed, his voice is weak when
		he continues, "Go ahead. I should probably hear this."

		"The day you found me at the Hoover pool... Duane Barry, an escaped
		mental patient, had taken hostages in a travel agency. They called me
		because he claimed to have been abducted by aliens. Barry got shot and
		was in custody at the hospital. The next night, he escaped and kidnapped
		Scully. I think you, Krycek, told your bosses where to find Scully and
		they had Barry kidnap her."

		Krycek bristles at the accusation. "They didn't need me to tell them
		where to find Scully. Her home address, home phone, cell phone, social
		security number and car license plate were all in the bio they gave me."

		"'Kay. I buy that." I shrug. There's no way to make this more palatable.
		"I figured out they were taking her to Skyland Mountain, so you and I
		drove there. The mountain was mostly deserted in the off-season, but we
		found a maintenance man. The tram was the quickest way to the top.
		Unfortunately, it hadn't passed safety inspection. I pressured the guy
		to send me up in it. You stayed with him and I got on the tram. Near the
		top, the tram stopped. When I climbed onto the roof, it started again,
		nearly tossing me off. I was jerked back and forth for a few seconds
		before it calmed down. By the time I reached the peak, Scully was gone.
		Barry told me she'd been taken by the aliens in his place.

		"I interrogated Barry, but he was less than helpful. You and I were the
		only people I allowed to see him. So when he suddenly died of no obvious
		cause, I guessed that you'd killed him--probably using some kind of
		poison."

		Krycek braces himself in his chair.

		"The tram operator was never seen again. You probably killed him and
		nearly killed me by monkeying with the tram controls. By the time I
		figured it out, your apartment was empty and your telephone
		disconnected."

		Scully's face is ashen.

		Krycek seems to be trying to breathe. Finally, he opens his eyes and
		looks at me. "So you never saw him again?"

		"Oh, I wish. The next time..."

		"Wait." He gave Scully a meaningful glance. "Tell us what happened to
		Dana first."

		"She was missing for three months and turned up at a hospital in a coma.
		No clue where she'd been taken or why. We subsequently determined that
		she'd been experimented on, had all her ova removed and a microchip
		implanted in her neck. A couple of years later, removal of that chip
		caused brain cancer, which was nearly fatal."

		Krycek squints a pained apology to Scully.

		She reaches out and puts a hand on his knee. "It didn't happen to me,
		Alex. You haven't done anything to hurt me."

		He gives her a weak nod.

		"Do you want me to continue?"

		"Yeah," he replies tonelessly.

		Scully interjects, "Alex, are you sure? This is upsetting you, but you
		didn't do any of it. Mulder's not even certain his Alex did these
		things."

		"He's not my Alex!"

		Shaking his head, Krycek insists, "Tell me the rest."

		I give him the condensed version, because it does seem unfair to burden
		him with guilt for crimes he never committed. "You turned up almost a
		year later. You shot my father, then I caught you snooping around my
		place. I tried to beat a confession out of you and, when that didn't
		work, I threatened to shoot you. That's when Scully shot me in the
		shoulder. She thought I was going to kill you and it would end up
		looking like I'd shot both you and my father. You ran away while she was
		taking care of me.

		"I thought you also killed Scully's sister, but-"

		Krycek interrupts, his face alarmed, "Melissa?"

		Scully's eyes open wide.

		"Yeah, but DNA evidence linked the crime to another man, Luis Cardinal."

		"Hispanic guy, about six feet, forty-something?"

		"Yeah, did you know him?"

		He nods. "The man who shot me."

		"You and some other friends of yours beat up A.D. Skinner and stole a
		DAT tape from him. A lot of people died for that tape. It contained
		information about a planned alien invasion and human collaboration with
		the aliens."

		Scully's too familiar doubting look passes across her face. Matched by a
		mirror image from Krycek.

		I shrug. This is not the time to explain that. "The next time I ran into
		you, a few months later, you were selling information from the DAT tape.
		Using that information, someone unleashed an alien life form suspended
		in black oil. I captured you in the Hong Kong airport and you agreed to
		take me to the tape. You were infected with the black oil, but I didn't
		realize until you'd slipped away again. I tracked you down to a missile
		silo in North Dakota, but Cancerman hauled us out of there. I don't know
		how you escaped."

		Krycek's starting to look a bit dazed.

		"You reappeared working with a right wing militia, making bombs. You
		were the passenger in an escaping truck, but you shot the driver and
		allowed yourself to be caught. Then you sent me on a wild goose chase
		that ended in Tunguska, Siberia. We were captured and imprisoned. They
		used me as a test subject, probably developing a vaccine against the
		black oil."

		The accused rises abruptly and goes to the fireplace.

		For some reason I can't stop. I have to tell it all. "They bound me
		under a grid of chicken wire and drizzled the stuff on my face. The oil
		oozed into me through my mouth, nose and eyes. You were probably dining
		with the camp commandant at the time." When did I start sounding so
		angry?

		Krycek is standing at the fireplace, looking at the wall over the
		mantel.

		"I managed to escape, but Tunguskan peasants wanted to protect me from
		the tests by chopping off my arm. Seems the left arm--the smallpox
		vaccination site--is important to the testing. The next time I saw you,
		your left arm was fake. It's the only time I've ever seen you get what
		you deserved."

		"Mulder!" shrieks Scully. "You're hurting Alex. And apparently taking a
		great deal of pleasure doing it. He's done nothing to you."

		She goes to stand beside him. "I'm sorry, Alex. This isn't about you.
		Please try to remember that."

		"I could have done those things, Dana."

		"But you didn't, Alex."

		"I appreciate what you're trying to do, but there's only one person who
		could make me feel better right now and he's not here." He turns away
		and seems to slip into his own little world.

		"Do you want me to finish? There's not much more."

		Without looking away from the wall, he nods.

		"In 1998, you came to my apartment. That's when I noticed the prosthetic
		arm. You claimed to be trying to stop the alien invasion and wanted me
		to go rescue a captured rebel alien. You gave a speech, kissed me on the
		cheek, returned my gun and walked out muttering something in Russian.
		Sounded like: Eetoshiti bien toverish."

		He spoke without turning, "Oodachi tybie, tovarisch," as if imparting
		the translation to the wall. "Good luck to you my friend... or comrade."

		"That's it. There isn't any more."

		Krycek's staring off into space.

		I don't quite believe what I'm seeing. He's feeling guilty for something
		he never did, when the Krycek in my world doesn't feel any guilt for any
		of it.

		They simply cannot be the same man.

		On the day Cole was killed I didn't go to his hotel room. But, if I had,
		a different Krycek would have been waiting there. One who wouldn't have
		come clean. I have to believe it. Or else... I can't let myself even
		think it. "Krycek, are you still with us?"

		Scully gives me a dirty look, but Krycek nods grimly and takes his seat.
		When he speaks his voice is low, almost inaudible. "Why didn't you just
		shoot me? If you'd done that early on, it would have saved us both a lot
		of misery to say nothing of the lives I took."

		"I don't just shoot people because I don't like them. I'm in law
		enforcement, you know."

		"You should have, Mulder," he says, his voice trailing off.

		Scully jumps in, "Mulder, why didn't you arrest him and prosecute the
		cases?"

		"He's a slippery fellow. I captured him a few times, but never managed
		to hold on to him long enough to put him in jail."

		She eyes me suspiciously. "How many of these crimes could you have
		convicted him for?"

		"Not many," I reply. It was my turn to look away.

		"Okay, how do you know he killed your father?"

		"He turned up at my apartment that night..."

		"And that's your evidence? For that you tried to kill him?"

		"I was under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs."

		"This is supposed to improve your case against Alex?"

		"No, Scully. Dammit, I know he killed my father."

		"Tell it to the judge, Mulder!"

		I can't explain it to her. Why do I feel like I'm the one who's on
		trial?

		"So did you have more evidence on the other cases?"

		"We were both chasing the truck when he shot the militia man. There was
		no one else in the vehicle and the gun he tossed out the window matched
		the bullet."

		"So he killed a militia bomb maker, so you could capture him?"

		I nod.

		"Hell, I'd have done that myself to prevent their escape. You know,
		Mulder, none of this sounds like real detective work. It sounds like you
		have private reasons for hating him and you've linked him to any crime
		you can, to justify your own feelings."

		Impossible not to resent Scully defending him against me.

		I'm formulating an angry retort when he says, "Dana." His sad eyes watch
		her calmly. "Ease up on him. I asked to hear the story. He told it. Let
		it go."

		I can see objections forming on her face but, after a brief hesitation,
		she nods.

		We sit silently for a while. Scully's right in a way. Something about
		Krycek infuriates me, drives me past the point of reason. But he did
		commit those crimes, or at least most of them. I'm certain of it. In
		this world, even Alex believes me. And he ought to know. If he is the
		same person. I still don't want to think about that.

		Scully breaks the silence. "I could use some dinner."

		Alex replies, "You two go. I'm not hungry."

		I nod and head for the door.

		"Fox, uh, Mulder."

		I turn back to face him.

		His voice is tinged with hurt. "Do you know how to get my lover back? Is
		that something we can do tonight?"

		I'm really not sure about that pesky problem. If we have to go back to
		the laboratory, it can't be done immediately. "Not tonight."

		He gives me a curt nod. "Tomorrow then. We'll continue tomorrow. I've
		had enough."

		Scully and I are at the door, when he speaks again. "Wait." He pulls an
		overnight bag out of a coat closet and tosses it to me. "Why don't you
		get some clothes? The bedroom's up the stairs, third door on the left."

		I'm curious about the house. The hardwood steps are immaculate, as if
		they'd been installed yesterday. I pass a tidy bathroom and a closet
		before I reached the bedroom. It's a huge room, with a queen-sized bed.
		Maybe a little small for two big guys, but maybe they like to cuddle. A
		truly frightening thought, but it seems to fit this little
		happily-married-in-the-suburbs existence.

		The carpet is flattened in a big area on one side of the bed. The dogs
		spent the night here. The bed frame is heavy shaker oak. I notice a
		chain draped around one post on the headboard. My fingertips follow the
		chain to a leather cuff tucked out of sight in the bed frame.
		Remembering what he'd said, 'In those days, I still bottomed to you,' I
		try to imagine myself in bondage on this bed...spread-eagled, Krycek
		kneeling over me. It doesn't compute, but my cock gets hard anyway.

		I find the closet and a chest of drawers next to the en suite bathroom.
		Opening a drawer at random, I select a couple of T-shirts. So whose
		clothes are whose? The closet presents the same problem. A lot of
		beautiful suits. Hand tailored for his body or mine?

		None of the crappy suits he used to wear to work. Had that been a
		disguise?

		Returning to the top of the stairs, I call down to him. "Krycek, I need
		your help."

		He takes the stairs two at a time. "What is it?"

		"I can't figure out which clothes are mine."

		"It doesn't really matter. You can take whatever you want." He shrugs
		and leads the way back to the bedroom. "A couple pairs of jeans and
		shirts? Maybe a suit?"

		"Sure."

		Krycek opens a drawer and starts tossing underwear and socks at me. I
		sit on the bed, packing and watching him. He looks good, damned good.
		This man has never done anything to hurt me. Or the people I love. In
		this world, I love him.

		Maybe I could let him tie me up and have his way with me.

		He hands me a bagged suit. I peek under the opaque plastic. Charcoal
		gray Armani. "This can't be mine. I never wear this color."

		"I know. I had to bribe you to buy it."

		Our eyes meet and he flushes a little. "I gave you a blow job in the
		men's dressing room, but I got my way. It looks great on you." He goes
		to the bathroom and returns with a travel kit.

		Chapter 4

		At dinner, Scully and I review cases after the night Krycek shot Cole.
		Some are the same, but others aren't. Some of the cases ended
		differently. None of it seems like obvious consequences of my
		relationship with Krycek, but things are just different. Less violent,
		too, as if the cases had been gentler on us.

		After a long discussion, a pattern begins to emerge.

		I'm forced to admit that Scully is lighter, happier, less haunted than
		she is in my universe. Fewer of the awful things that occurred in my
		Scully's life had happened to this Scully. No abduction. Melissa still
		alive. No cancer. No Emily.

		Fuck. A gnawing unease is turning in my intestines. If I had--don't go
		there, Mulder. Just don't.

		Her Mulder is different, too. More grounded and less likely to charge
		off with a half-baked plan. As much as I don't want to, I have to give
		Alex some credit for that. In my world I'm still lonely, but here I have
		a beautiful home, an affectionate lover and two great dogs. I can't be
		quite sure how having those things would improve me, but they had to.
		Somehow.

		As we talk about the work, I try to follow the thread of the Consortium,
		but it doesn't seem to be there. Scully indicates we had seen Cancerman
		a few times around the Bureau before he died, but hadn't had much to do
		with him. We never investigated a bomb threat in Texas, nor had we gone
		to Antarctica. There was a DAT tape, but it was stolen quietly from my
		apartment. We never met Albert Hosteen.

		During a lapse in the conversation, I try to sort out the scariest part
		of all this.

		Are the aliens quietly planning colonization here, undetected by this
		world's version of me? Or somehow could they have been stopped or never
		arrived in the first place? This could be great news or impending doom.
		The happier Mulder might never learn enough to prevent colonization
		here.

		Surely a pizza and a fuck in Mulder and Krycek's miserable lives
		wouldn't make the difference on the alien invasion. It makes my brain go
		tilt.

		Still trying to slog my way through this, I inquire about Skinner. "So
		what did we do to get transferred out of Skinner's division again?"

		Scully looks confused. "We didn't get transferred out, Mulder."

		"Then why are we reporting to Jackson?"

		She puts down her fork and takes a deep breath. "Because Skinner was
		killed in 1997."

		Skinner dead? "What happened?"

		"He was shot by Agent Voii."

		I gape at her... Voii?

		With a grim shake of her head, Scully replies, "She was guarding
		Modell's sister, Linda Bowman, at a safe house. Bowman must have pushed
		her."

		"Shit."

		"Voii, um, retired from the Bureau. She's a computer programmer now."

		Scully's guilt couldn't be more obvious. Irrationally, I feel guilty,
		too. I didn't cause his death. I wasn't even there. Nevertheless I'm
		certain it's my fault and, oddly, I miss the man. A man I was annoyed
		with during nearly every encounter in my own world.

		Sunday morning, after I shower and dress, I find Scully seated at the
		breakfast table with Krycek and a pretty Hispanic man.

		"Rubin, this is Mulder."

		"Honey, I know Mulder."

		"Remember what I told you? This isn't really Mulder, not our Mulder
		anyway."

		Confused, cola brown eyes meet mine, and he shakes my hand. "Mulder, I'm
		Rubin, Dana's lover."

		"Nice to meet you."

		I join them at the table, with coffee and a bagel. He's a very pretty
		man... almost more feminine in appearance than Dana. I suppress a smirk.

		In a business-like tone, which seems abrasive at breakfast, Krycek says,
		"So how are we going to get rid of you and get my Fox back?"

		Sneering exaggeratedly, I reply, "Don't hold back, Krycek. Tell us how
		you really feel."

		"Look, I don't have anything against you, Mulder. You may be enjoying
		this fascinating little X-File, but my lover is missing and possibly in
		danger. I want him back. ASAP. How're we going to accomplish this?"

		"I'd like to spend a few days here, learning what I can before I go
		back."

		"Not acceptable. My lover's life is on the line."

		"Look, I just want a day or two at the most."

		"Do you even know how to go back?"

		"I think so."

		Looking at me, Scully puts a soothing hand on Krycek's forearm. "Mulder,
		tell us how you got here."

		I pour another cup of coffee and sift through my thoughts. "Yesterday
		afternoon, I was in a laboratory in the desert. You--or the other
		Krycek, whatever--fired at me while chasing me through the lab. I ended
		up in this room with some kind of marble gateway. I went through it,
		hoping for escape. And then I was in a white place for a while and, when
		the fog started to fade, I found myself standing in front of your
		house."

		Krycek gapes at me as if I just told him his dogs were dead.

		"So, I suppose, to go back, I go back through the gateway."

		"What if the damned gateway doesn't exist in this world?" His voice is
		almost shrill.

		"I don't know, Krycek."

		"What if it sends you to some third world and gives me some other
		Mulder?"

		"I can't answer that. It's a possibility."

		He slams his coffee mug onto the table. "So you have no coherent plan?"

		"If we can find the gateway-"

		"If?"

		I ignore his accusing glare. "When we find the gateway, the men who
		built it can tell us how to reverse it."

		A tiny hope flares in his eyes. "So, where is it exactly?"

		"A couple of hours out of Phoenix." Even as I say it, something doesn't
		feel right. It is in Arizona, isn't it? I can see it so clearly in my
		mind's eye, but the memory has a vague quality to it. Weird.

		For now, my main objective is to stall, so I can spend some time
		exploring this place. Chat with Scully about cases. Find out what else
		is different here. Maybe see my dad. Krycek wants his Fox, so I'll use
		that to slow him down. "Why don't we spend today and tomorrow trying to
		trace your Fox? Then, if we don't locate him, we can fly to Phoenix on
		Tuesday."

		He glowers at me. "I've already done most of what I can think to do.
		Friday night after you left I drove straight to Hoover. His car was
		parked in the usual area on G-3. The engine was cold. Your office was
		empty, though the light was on and the door unlocked. Not how he'd leave
		it."

		"Never," concurs Scully.

		"I went to Security and reviewed the passcard logs. Fox entered on
		Friday at 08:21, 13:32 and 22:17. He exited at 12:04 and 23:56. You and
		Scully went there Friday night, didn't you?"

		"Yeah."

		"Did you use your passcard or just follow Scully in?"

		"My passcard."

		"So that's the 22:17 entry and the 23:35 exit. By now some security geek
		has probably gotten a report that shows you entering twice without any
		exit." He gives me a wry glance. "I walked the halls in the basement,
		the coffee room, near A.D. Jackson's office, the library, the gym and
		any other place I could think of. I asked everyone I saw if they'd seen
		you. Agent Davidson said you left the library at around 6:00. That was
		after Dana and I left."

		"You left together?"

		Scully replies, "I rode in with you, expecting to return the same way,
		but you got on this quest trying to relate Celtic folklore to those
		killings in New Hampshire. I asked Alex to drive me home. We left at
		about 5:30."

		Krycek nods. "Security log says we left at 17:34. I gave Fox a kiss in
		his office before we exited, so we probably last saw him around 17:30."

		Glancing away from the table, picturing it in her mind, Scully offers,
		"My guess is Mulder went to the Bureau library hoping to avoid the trip
		to the Library of Congress. But Celtic folklore isn't a big law
		enforcement topic so he probably gave up. That would fit with him
		leaving the library around 6:00."

		Rubin is watching us silently, bemused. Maybe he's seen us like this
		before.

		"I couldn't find anyone else who saw him that night," Krycek says in a
		tone of finality. "He, or rather you, turned up at our house around
		18:45. So whatever happened must have occurred between 18:00 and 18:45.
		Since the door was unlocked, I'd guess it happened in your office."

		I ask, "Did you see anything out of the ordinary?"

		"No, but it's probably worth having Scully take a look. Even you might
		notice something I didn't." He blots with a napkin at a spot of coffee
		on his upper lip before he continues, "We should also take a look at the
		security videos. I printed a list of the camera locations. He should
		have passed some of them."

		"Let's do it," says Scully.

		"There is one minor problem. I need to tell Security what I'm looking
		for on those tapes. I can't exactly tell them he's missing..."

		Good point.

		Scully provides the answer. "Tell them he has amnesia and we're trying
		to find out what happened to him. This will also give you a reason not
		to be at your desk next week."

		Krycek nods. "We'll stay as close as possible to the truth. He turned up
		in front of the house at 18:45. We don't know how he got there."

		So we agree to go to the Bureau. Scully will go ahead and report my
		'amnesia.' Alex and I will pick up lunch and meet her at Security. I'm
		mildly curious about any traces left by the other Mulder, but doubtful
		we'll learn anything useful. But I do want a chance to wander around the
		Bureau, especially the X-Files.

		We take Alex's car, an old white sport-utility vehicle. The front two
		seats are clean and tidy, but the back is coated with black and white
		dog hairs. The car smells a little doggy, but not too bad and he doesn't
		seem to mind.

		He stops at a Jewish Deli. My favorite sandwich shop. It seems
		unchanged. The same 30-something woman greets us at the counter with a
		smile. "How you doing, guys?"

		"Not bad, Margie," Krycek lies, "How're you?"

		"Could be better," she replies, batting her eyelashes at him.

		Alex doesn't seem embarrassed by the attention. "How about smoked turkey
		on dark rye?"

		"Sure." She looks up at me for the first time, "The usual for you?"

		There's nothing usual in my life today. I nod, betting I'll get corned
		beef on light rye.

		Krycek asks, "What about Scully? Probably turkey, but what kind of
		bread?"

		"Sourdough, I think."

		"Okay, Margie, add a turkey on sourdough. And three sodas."

		"You got it, cutie," she replies with a wink.

		He stays to pay. I go to the cooler, dodging a running child, returning
		with two Cokes for us and a Diet Coke for Scully.

		Krycek tucks his wallet in his back pocket, shaking his head at me as I
		approach. "You better be the one on the diet. Scully'll kill you if you
		bring her that."

		"My Scully always drinks Diet Coke."

		"Well, your Scully isn't here. Mine drinks regular Coke."

		I shrug and turn to go back to the cooler.

		At just that moment, I hear a click sound from the front door, which my
		brain instantly identifies as the safety being snapped off a handgun.
		Shit! I'm not even armed. I freeze as Krycek takes two steps, so that
		his body is between the door and mine. As he moves his elbow swings out.
		He's reaching for his gun.

		Bastard. I can't see what's happening. And I have no weapon.

		In a moment, I watch his shoulders relax and he steps aside. His right
		hand slips unobtrusively out of his coat. "Shit! Just a kid abusing the
		lever on the candy machine." He gives me a wry glance. "At least I
		didn't shoot him..."

		It dawns on me that this man I thought I hated was instinctively
		protecting me.

		I hold his eyes for a moment trying to understand how he can be so
		different from the Krycek I know. His green eyes sear into me
		passionately. I feel a twinge in my dick. Then he turns to the counter.

		Margie is watching us, aware something just happened and trying to
		understand what. Alex takes the bag from the counter. "Thanks, Margie."

		We spend the afternoon in Security reviewing the tapes. The only facts
		we're able to establish are the ones we already know. A camera caught
		me--even I would have thought it was me, if I hadn't known--entering the
		library at 17:42, departing at 18:19. The basement camera, near the
		elevator, showed me walking toward my office at 18:22. No departure. We
		check the tapes twice, between 18:00 and 19:00. There's only one way out
		of the basement, past the camera by the elevator, so unless he'd
		deliberately pressed himself against the wall under the camera, he
		hadn't left in any ordinary way.

		We go to the basement. Alex and I check out the men's room, but don't
		see anything out of the ordinary. Both of us use the facilities and not
		very subtly check out each other's equipment. I am tempted to ask if I
		have the same dick as his Mulder, but I just can't go there. Not with
		him.

		He's circumcised and well endowed. I wonder what it looks like erect. I
		have a feeling if we stood there very long, I'd get to see. I nervously
		zip up and wash my hands.

		We find Scully in the office. It's different, but the same. The
		furniture has been rearranged and Scully has a desk. Had to be her
		doing, I'd have never arranged it like that. My 'I Want to Believe'
		poster is the original, not the replacement given to me after the fire.

		The instant I realize what that means, I rush to the file cabinets.
		"Scully, was there ever a fire that destroyed our files?"

		"No, Mulder."

		"My X-Files were destroyed in a fire in 1998. But your early files
		should be the same." I pick up the fake rock where we conceal the
		cabinet key.

		Scully interrupts me. "Stop, Mulder. We need to discuss this."

		"What?"

		"Those files have restricted access. You're not the man who's on the
		access list."

		"Oh, c'mon, Scully. I'm at least a reasonable facsimile." I flash her a
		smile.

		Alex mutters under his breath, "More like an unreasonable facsimile."

		I didn't think I was being unreasonable, but maybe he's just acting out
		his angst over his missing boyfriend.

		Scully takes the key from my hand. "We came here to look for evidence in
		the disappearance of our Mulder. Those files will still be there
		tomorrow. We can talk about it tonight."

		Objections are ready to come out of my mouth. Instead, I decide to go
		along with her. I know I can talk her into it, but it'll be easier if
		she gets her way now.

		Alex sits on our dusty visitor's chair while Scully and I inventory the
		room. I find lots of odd things, but Scully keeps telling me it had been
		that way for weeks, or months, or years. No sign of a suit coat, so he
		had it on, which meant he must have been ready to depart. I notice his
		PC is a better model than mine. And it's on.

		"Scully, does he leave the PC on all the time?"

		"No. That's the last thing he does when leaves." She closes her eyes to
		visualize it. "He puts his coat on. Switches off the PC. Turns off the
		lights and picks up his-" She stops abruptly and goes to the table by
		the door. She holds up a book with a couple of files tucked into it. "He
		was taking this home."

		It feels almost right. I put the take-home files on the corner of my
		desk, but the way this room is arranged, the table by the door makes
		more sense. "So I put those files on that table before I put my coat on,
		right?"

		"Yes. So you were walking to the PC when you disappeared."

		I flip through the files, while Scully reads over my shoulder. She
		explains, "Those three killings are the case we're working on. Three
		college students killed in New Hampshire. One at a time during some kind
		of ritual in the state park."

		I pull out a crime scene photo. There's a burnt pattern in the grass
		forming what I think is a Druid symbol. "This is the Celtic connection I
		was researching in the library." I look at the spine of the book,
		"History of the Celts."

		She eyes me curiously. "Do you know about this case? Did it happen in
		your world?"

		"Not to my knowledge."

		Alex appears at my side, takes the materials from my hands and tosses
		them on the table. "Look guys, I know this is fascinating. I've indulged
		you a thousand times on the X-Files, but this time I just want my lover
		back. How are we going to do that?"

		It's easy for me to forget there's an urgent problem at hand. I pace the
		floor a few times before I speak. I want to say this carefully. "I'm not
		completely certain there's a way back."

		Now that I'd spoken his worst fear, his eyes drop closed and he turns
		away, muttering, "What about the lab in Arizona?"

		That's been bothering me. A lot. "The details on how I got there are a
		little vague in my mind."

		He spins around, and I'm caught in the acid glare of those beautiful
		green eyes. "What?!"

		Scully's face shows concern and disbelief. "Mulder, you don't just
		forget things."

		I back away from both of them, putting my hands in the air to fend them
		off. "I know. I don't understand it."

		Alex turns away again, his foot giving a hard kick to an innocent
		bookcase. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

		When he comes at me, I wonder dimly if he's going to hit me. Oddly, I
		feel no need to strike out at him.

		He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes. "God dammit! You got us into
		this mess, you're going to get him back. He was just getting ready to
		come home for the night. You were the one who walked through the damned
		gateway."

		Scully says, "C'mon Alex, let's talk about this rationally."

		He isn't hearing it. "I don't care what you have to do, you're going to
		do it. I won't let you rest as long as you're here and he's not. Is that
		clear, Mulder?"

		Just 48 hours ago, I wouldn't have taken that kind of abuse from this
		man. But he's right. I have fucked him over. This Krycek hasn't done
		anything but try to help me. I realize I don't want to hurt him.

		How completely different this world is from my own...

		He releases me and kicks the bookcase again. "I'll be in the car. Come
		get me when you're ready."

		Scully and I sit down. I roll my office chair over to her desk. "Well,
		what now?" I ask.

		"The memory lapse is very suspicious. Maybe it's a clue. Let's talk
		through what you remember of the last few days and see if we can piece
		it together."

		"Good idea." Then I hesitate, an uncomfortable feeling gnawing at me. "I
		don't want to leave Alex alone in the car. Let's go back to his house.
		You ride with him. I'll drive your car."

		In the garage, I keep my distance as she explains the plan to a more
		subdued Alex.

		Back at Krycek's house, we greet the dogs. Alex gets down on his knees
		and lets them slobber all over him while he rubs their fur. He seems to
		take comfort from the contact. "I'm going to take Chip and Sashi for a
		walk. Make yourselves at home. Dana, you know where everything is."

		"Sure, Alex. No problem."

		The garage door clicks shut behind him.

		Chapter 5

		"Scully, I'm going to look around the house. I'm curious."

		"I don't think he'd mind. Should I tag along?"

		"Sure."

		The kitchen is remarkably well stocked with items I'd never need. A food
		processor. A mixer. A top-of-the-line set of pans.

		"I guess Alex cooks?"

		"Like a pro. You're skinnier than our Mulder."

		"Yeah. His clothes are a little loose on me."

		The fridge is loaded. The beer is all Weinhardt's. My brand. Alex
		probably just drinks what I like. Lots of cans of Coke. A few Diet 7-up.
		I hold one up. "Who's this for?"

		"Corrine." Catching my gaze, she adds, "Alex's sister."

		"He has a sister?"

		"Yeah, she's in her mid twenties. A grad student at Georgetown. A real
		beauty, too. Alex teases you about her, says it's a good thing he met
		you first." She grins, slightly embarrassed. "I heard him tell you
		Corrine got the looks, the charm and the brains in the family. You asked
		what he got. He replied, with a wicked smile, 'Sexual prowess.'"

		"How'd I respond to that?"

		"You pushed yourself into his arms and said, 'I believe it... Mr.
		Alex.'"

		"I did NOT call him that."

		She gives me a smug look. "You did, Mulder."

		Of course, we both know I hadn't, but I have to wonder if I would have.

		Upstairs, the first room on the right is a study. As soon as the light
		goes on, I spot my beloved leather sofa. I flop down on it and it feels
		wonderfully familiar. The worn black leather even smells right.

		Scully grins at me. "Alex wanted to get rid of it, but you wouldn't let
		him."

		The TV is right across from the couch, where it should be. The remote is
		on an end table I don't recognize, but there's a ring in the wood right
		where I would have put my beer. It's the first time I feel at home in
		this place.

		The desk has only one PC. "Is this my room? Does Alex have an office?"

		"His is downstairs, behind the living room."

		She walks to the cabinet under the TV and pulls open the top drawer.

		I join her and discover my videos. Most of them are really old. My old
		favorites. At first, I can't figure out why I hadn't bought many new
		ones. But of course, here I was getting laid. I take a look at three
		that look foreign to me. 'Daddy's Boy,' has a buff leatherman standing
		before a kneeling blonde. I might have bought that. Or maybe it was a
		gift from Alex. 'Spring Break,' with two hunky college boys on the
		cover. 'My Lesbian Friends,' features a bland guy in bed surrounded by
		two barely legal girly girls. I'd seen that one in the store, but I
		never bought it.

		I flip back through them, something pinging my sub-conscious. I stop at
		'Spring Break.' My jaw falls open. "Scully, you gotta see this." I hand
		her the box. "Check out the brunette."

		She almost squeals. "Oh, my god. It's Alex."

		It is indeed a much younger version of Alex Krycek. I didn't recognize
		him at first with the gayboy haircut. His bare chest is beautiful,
		shoulders narrower than today, but he's lean and the lines of his pecs
		are... very nice.

		Scully's eyes are wide. "I can't believe it. I have to pretend I haven't
		seen this or he'll kill me." She hands me the box, pointing to the text
		on the back, which she reads out loud. "Starring Alex Arntzen as Jake, a
		horny college boy seeking a vacation spot for his rebellious nine
		inches."

		Suddenly, we're both laughing so hard that breathing is a chore. She
		puts her hand on my shoulder and I slip an arm around her waist to keep
		us both standing.

		"What d'you bet this is my favorite?" I extract the tape and pull up the
		plastic housing. Sure enough, the tape is rippled as if it has been
		played many times. I simply have to watch it.

		Her tone takes on a note of authority. "No, Mulder. Don't even think
		about it."

		"C'mon, Scully. You don't have to watch... if you don't want to." My
		tone suggests that she does want to see it. I wonder if it's true...

		"He'll be back any minute, Mulder. This won't be as funny to him as it
		is to you and me."

		Damn her, she's right. I'm determined to watch the tape later, but for
		now I tuck it into its sleeve. I scan the back for a copyright date.
		1991. Probably a college caper. Which means the Krycek in my world had
		probably starred in this video, too. Fascinating.

		The next room is a guest room. Neatly made bed. Linens in bright colors.
		Not feminine, but not masculine either. A bookcase with most of my
		Sci-Fi paperbacks and some other paperbacks that have to be Alex's.
		Classic fiction, mysteries and a few worn titles in Cyrillic.

		A small room at the end of the hall seems to be a catch-all. I recognize
		my skis in brackets mounted on the wall. My deflated-but-signed ball
		from the 1993 Knicks championship sits on a table. A weight bench with a
		heavy rack. Has to be his.

		On the other side of the hall is the bedroom I'd already been in. I'm
		drawn back, though. The large windows overlooking the back yard are
		double blinded--a thin curtain that would let in the light, with a
		heavier, opaque blind over that. A wooden chest sits at the foot of the
		bed. Probably for blankets, I think, opening it.

		Scully takes a step back. "I wasn't meant to see that."

		Sex toy heaven. A very large box of condoms, bottles of lube, leather
		toys, an assortment of latex dildos--ouch--nipple clamps and a
		complicated tangle of bondage gear. Even I'm shocked. Maybe it's his
		outlet for his violent urges. "Fuck, he's a pervert, Scully."

		"Gee, Mulder, you're making a questionable assumption."

		"You'd be lucky to find so much as one condom from the Jurassic period
		in my apartment."

		"Do you have a lover?"

		"No."

		"When was the last time you had sex with someone besides yourself?"

		"Kristin, the Vampire girl, in 1995." Somebody shut me up. This is
		getting embarrassing.

		"Jeez, no wonder you're so testy."

		"I am NOT-"

		She interrupts, "No, let me guess. You have about three times as many
		videos?"

		I turn my nose up at her, completely unwilling to acknowledge that she's
		right.

		And the look she gives me tells me she knows it, too.

		In the bathroom, there are two sinks and separate cabinets over them.
		Mine has to be the messy one. I find a bottle of the same after-shave
		that was in the travel bag. Acqua Di Gio. I've never used it, but it
		smells very sexy. Scully watches patiently while I dab a little along my
		jaw line.

		Downstairs behind the garage, we find a laundry room. Very neat. Alex
		must do the laundry, too. I'm starting to wonder if I do anything useful
		at all in our little suburban love nest.

		His office is much smaller than mine. Just a desk, a PC and another
		bookcase. A couple of photos on the wall. Alex and me at the beach,
		having a sand fight over the remains of an impressive sand castle. We
		look good together.

		"Rubin took that one. We rented a house at Virginia Beach last spring."

		"Wow. My Scully wouldn't take a vacation with me. No way."

		"Rubin and I wouldn't either, until Alex promised to keep you from
		talking about work or anything paranormal."

		"Hmphf."

		The other photo is just me. It looks like it was taken in the back yard.
		I'm shirtless in a pair of black 501s, smirking at the cameraman, a lock
		of hair fallen over one eye. I look good. Not so skinny. More muscular.
		Even sexy. In a way I'd never imagined myself.

		That's how he sees me.

		I stare at the photo... something stirs deep inside me.

		On his desk is a smaller photo in a sleek black frame. Me again, in a
		tux with a blue bow tie. He really loves me... or rather his Mulder.

		Trying to imagine what this life is like, I almost trip over two giant
		dog beds in the corner of the room.

		Scully follows me back up the stairs into my study. My desk has two
		frames. My picture of Samantha. And one of those duo frames. One picture
		is Alex with a towel around his waist. The look on his face is
		smoldering. No doubt we'd just fucked or were about to. What a sexy man.

		The other photo is the two of us seated on the sofa in the living room.
		I was in the same tux. Alex wore a matching one, with a green tie
		hanging loose around his neck. Taken after the party. His head's thrown
		back and mine is resting on his shoulder. His arm is wrapped around my
		waist.

		I want him. I want what this Mulder has.

		Scully's peering over my shoulder. "I took that one."

		"What was the event?"

		"Dinner at the White House. Alex helped the Secret Service catch an
		ex-con who'd been threatening the Vice President's wife. She invited
		him." Scully smiles in remembrance. "You were hesitant to go that public
		with your gay lover, but when I told Alex I'd go with him, you suddenly
		had a change of heart. Rubin's sister runs a limo service, so he
		borrowed a silver blue limo. We dressed him up like a chauffeur and he
		drove you there in style."

		I look back at the picture. Here I have a life. A good one. Someone who
		loves me.

		My chest aches with a sense of loss, but I haven't lost anything. Have
		I? I guess I'm just sad that I don't have anyone in my world.

		And then I realize exactly what I've taken away from Alex.

		I hear the garage door slide open, so we head downstairs to receive
		another doggie greeting. Alex appears a minute later. He seems
		refreshed, but still moody. I hold back the urge to take him in my arms
		and offer comfort. I'm not what he needs right now. And I could never be
		his Mulder.

		Feeling totally inadequate, I say, "We looked around the house. I hope
		that's okay."

		Alex shrugs. "Sure. No problem." He puts his jacket in the coat closet.
		"Why don't we talk in the kitchen? I'll make spaghetti."

		As he passes by me, he pauses and cocks his head in my direction. Does
		he even realize he's smelling his lover's cologne? Shaking his head and
		frowning, he says nothing, but I can read his thoughts. 'Why can't you
		be him?'

		I'm starting to wonder the same thing myself.

		Scully offers to help with the cooking, but he shoos her away. She gives
		in so easily that I'm certain it's a ritual. She always offers. He
		always declines. The kitchen is his territory.

		We sit at the breakfast table while he does all the work. I'm more than
		a little surprised when he starts with fresh tomatoes. I thought
		spaghetti came out of a can, or a pound of meat and a jar of sauce for
		the more adventurous.

		Scully begins, "So, Mulder. Why don't you tell us about your week? Pick
		a day you remember clearly and talk us through it."

		Alex passes us a beer and a Coke.

		I have to remember to ask Scully why she drinks regular Coke. Or maybe I
		don't have to ask. The car, the Coke, Rubin... Scully just has more fun
		in this world.

		Fuck. I did that. I'm starting to feel like the flying Dutchman.

		"Mulder?"

		I shake my head sadly. "Okay. Thursday. I was at the office, alone,
		because you were spending the week at Quantico--some Bureau
		pathologist's meeting. Sit with the other corpse lovers and share trade
		secrets, I guess."

		"I went to that meeting two weeks ago."

		"Did you have anything to do with setting it up?"

		She looks bemused. "No. Hmm... that's an unexpected difference."

		"I'm rather surprised there aren't more. Little things can create large
		changes. For example, how'd you meet Rubin?"

		"At a Georgetown party Corrine invited us to."

		"Corrine's my sister," offers the chef, scraping precisely chopped
		onions from a cutting board into a large pot on the stove.

		"Yeah, I know. So you met Rubin because of Alex. That wouldn't have
		happened if he and I hadn't gotten together. Think how different your
		life would be if you'd never met him."

		"But that's a big thing. Let's say you guys brought me a tuna sandwich
		today instead of turkey. We wouldn't expect to see big changes caused by
		that."

		"Probably not, but it's possible. Suppose you didn't care for the tuna,
		so you start avoiding that deli. Maybe you never encounter a man there
		who turns out to be a stalker. It could save your life." It's impossible
		not to be fascinated. "Alex, what would you have made for dinner tonight
		if the tomatoes had gone bad?"

		"Turkey burgers," he replies over his shoulder.

		"No telling where that would have led."

		She smirks at me, that warmly familiar Scully disbelief. "So let's get
		back to your Thursday."

		"Skinner was holding my 302s until I finished an overdue report on a
		case--a brain sucking kid who worked at a fast food place in
		California."

		"That's weird even for you, Mulder."

		"Well, keep it in mind if you get a call from Lucky Boy Burgers in Costa
		Mesa. Rob Roberts did it."

		Alex looks up from the vegetable bin. "Talk about small things affecting
		the future. I thought you believed in the what-do-they-call-it? That
		no-interference rule on Star Trek?"

		"The prime directive. I haven't really thought about that, since I
		didn't travel in time."

		"Well, think about it," he says in a stern voice, "before Scully lets
		you look at those files."

		"Will do." I salute him with my beer bottle. For a moment, it feels like
		he is my lover. Like this is one of our familiar rituals. The slightly
		distressed look on his face suggests the same thing.

		"So I worked on my report, dutifully and diligently, as I always do."

		Scully raises an eyebrow, confirming another common aspect between the
		two worlds.

		"I was getting really bored around lunchtime, so I got on the Internet.
		Had a list of doctors I wanted to track down." I hesitate before
		continuing, "I don't suppose I had brain surgery recently in your
		world?"

		Alex shakes his head at me over a cutting board of cucumber slices.

		"No Mulder, no brain surgery. What type of surgery did you have and
		why?"

		"We don't exactly know, Scully. It's a long story. Did we find an
		artifact from Africa this year?"

		"Uh, no."

		"Let's not digress on that. It could take a long time. Suffice it to say
		that Cancerman kidnapped me and had his cronies do some type of brain
		surgery. Diana Fowley helped me to escape."

		Scully makes a face and Alex grimaces, muttering, "Oh, man. Her?"

		"What about her?"

		"Your little dominatrix ex-wife. She was in quite a tizzy when she found
		out we were a couple. Called me a few not-very-nice names. In my office,
		with an audience, no less." He starts to smile. "Skinner walked by and
		caught the whole scene. He dragged her to his office for a private talk.
		She was suspended without pay for a week."

		"No one but me ever liked her," I say.

		Scully nods her agreement.

		I feel obligated to mention, "You guys were right, though. She was in it
		with Cancerman."

		Two jaws fall open. Oops.

		"Anyway, before they operated on me, I overheard a few names. One was
		the doctor who did the surgery. The others were discussed like they
		weren't present. I went searching on the Internet to see if I could
		trace them. The only one I got a lead on was an Ernest Rabinowsky. A
		neurologist. He'd done a paper with another doctor at Vanderbilt. I
		called around the med school. Somebody thought he'd moved on to
		Columbia, so I called there and confirmed that he was on the faculty. So
		I decided to go there. Almost got caught by Skinner on the way out, but
		I ducked into the men's room.

		"I packed a few days' clothes and caught a flight to JFK. The traffic
		was so bad I didn't get to Manhattan until almost 7:00, so I booked a
		room at the Penta and wandered out for dinner. I took a cab to this
		bistro in the village. I had the Boeuf Bourguignon, a glass of Shiraz
		and this giant fruit custard for dessert. I went back to my room. There
		was no Playboy channel, so I watched Ladyhawke. I enjoyed the movie, but
		Michelle Pfeiffer was just too femme fatale for my taste."

		Alex snorts and brings us an antipasto plate.

		"Hey, no olives? Who makes antipasto without olives?"

		The chef doesn't appreciate my critique. "I do. I loathe olives. You
		want olives you eat 'em somewhere else."

		"Yes, Mr. Alex." I shudder to think what this world would be like if
		that pizza I'd brought him had had olives on it.

		Alex almost doesn't notice what I've called him, but when he does he
		looks more ill than pissed off.

		Scully helps herself to a piece of salami. My Scully wouldn't have
		touched that. "So, Mulder, I think we've established that you remember
		Thursday. Did you sleep in your room that night? What happened on
		Friday?"

		"Yeah, I slept in my room. Friday morning seems clear. Showered.
		Dressed. Had coffee and a garlic bagel in the hotel dining room. New
		York bagels are so much better." I see Scully's eyes starting to roll,
		so I pick up the pace. "I drove to Columbia and paid about half my hotel
		bill to park. And you gotta wonder if you'll ever see the damned car
		again.

		"The med school administrative office told me Rabinowsky was on
		sabbatical. No one seemed to know where, so I went to the professors'
		offices and asked anyone I could find. A Dr. Taylor said he'd gone to
		some think tank in North Carolina. He didn't know the name of the
		company, but he thought Rabinowsky was living in Durham."

		I chomp on a piece of pepperoncini before continuing, "Durham was
		interesting, because that's where you'd found me after my surgery. Of
		course, the lab had been abandoned and cleaned, so I didn't go there. I
		called information in Durham and a few of the surrounding areas, but
		didn't turn up anyone except a Judith Rabinowsky in Raleigh.

		"I caught a plane and made it to Judith's house around 4:30 in the
		afternoon. Nobody home, so I sat in my rental car outside her place and
		called the local hospitals. Rabinowsky had privileges at one of them,
		but he hadn't done anything there recently and didn't maintain an
		office.

		"A large older woman turned up and entered the house. Sort of a Julia
		Childs type with lots of facial hair, wearing a nurse's uniform. She was
		polite and cooperative until I asked about Dr. Rabinoswky. Admitted he
		was her cousin, but it didn't seem like she wanted to claim him. She
		hadn't seen him in almost a year. He showed up on her doorstep trying to
		recruit her for some cutting edge research at a mysterious lab she'd
		never heard of. She couldn't recall the name of the facility. Nor did
		she know where he lived. She told him to buzz off and hasn't seen him
		since. Said good riddance, because his side of the family were all
		psychos."

		Scully says, "Your story still sounds clear and coherent to me. Does it
		feel that way to you, Mulder?"

		"Yeah, it does."

		She passes Alex the plate, "Would you make this go away, before I overdo
		it?"

		I grab a couple pieces of cheese before he absconds with the platter. He
		gives me an affectionate glance. I can see the satisfaction he gets from
		feeding his mate--even his stand in.

		"I went to the local Bureau office and got their help to get me access
		to the phone records, but even in the unlisteds and cells there weren't
		any Rabinowskys. We used the reverse directory to find the facility
		where the surgery was done to me. The James Heart Research Center. No
		one at the Bureau office had even heard of it, before I was found there.
		They had a couple dozen phone lines going in and twenty cell phones. I
		tried calling all the cell numbers, but only two were still activated
		and both required a key sequence to get past a recording. The phone
		company refused to give me the sequences--said the customer set them and
		they were private. Told me I'd need a court order.

		"I had dinner at a Mexican place near the Bureau office. I remember
		ordering a chile relleno platter..." I gaze off across the room, trying
		to visualize the restaurant, but it's a little fuzzy. "... and a Dos
		Equis."

		"What's wrong, Mulder?"

		"I think this was where things start to fall apart in my memory."

		"But you're not even in Arizona yet."

		"Yeah. Huh." That doesn't make sense. "I, uh, started eating at the tip
		of the chile, wanting to avoid the stem. The relleno was decent--about
		what you'd expect from East coast Mexican food--but I don't recall ever
		getting to the stem."

		Alex spreads butter neatly on half a loaf of bread. "Do you remember
		paying the bill?"

		"No, I don't." I reach for my wallet and go through the receipts.
		"Here's the Penta hotel, dinner in New York, bagel, airline stub for the
		flight to Durham, JFK stub, uh a receipt for a magazine I bought in New
		York-"

		Scully raises one eyebrow and reads it upside down, "The Pleasure
		Chest?"

		I blow her off with a self-effacing grin. "No receipt from Miguel's."

		Serious again, Scully asks, "Where did you go after the restaurant?"

		"I don't remember." I try to make my brain cough up the answers, but it
		refuses. "The next thing I do remember is running through the building
		in Arizona. And it feels so coherent, as if there wasn't any missing
		time. I didn't even realize there was a problem with my memory until I
		tried to recall where the laboratory was."

		"Sounds like you were drugged at the restaurant, Mulder."

		"But why can't I remember waking up? I don't see how I could go directly
		from being drugged to running through a building."

		"Some narcotics block the storage of short term memory. You probably did
		wake up, but your brain didn't start storing the memories until later."

		Alex puts pasta in a pot of boiling water. "Is it worth going back over
		the Mexican restaurant? Do you recall anything unusual? Someone
		following you? Talking to you? Distracting you from your meal?"

		"I don't remember anyone. That's odd. Someone must have distracted me to
		put something in my food or inject me, unless the food was tampered with
		in the kitchen."

		Scully adds, "I didn't find any needle marks during the exam on Friday
		night, but a very fine needle wouldn't leave much of a mark. Also the
		same memory lapse could have happened at the front end. Maybe you were
		distracted while someone doped your food, but you lost the memory."

		I imagine the scene in my head. "But someone would have seen a doped-up
		man being led out of the restaurant..."

		Alex brings me a Coke. He seems to know just what I need and when.
		"Well, it's not as if we can go to the restaurant and ask them."

		My head is starting to ache.

		Scully leads us to the next step. "For now, let's assume you were
		drugged and removed from the restaurant. Tell us what you remember
		next."

		"It's cold. I'm running down the hall of a building. An old building
		with wide halls, hard gray linoleum floor that looks like it hasn't been
		cleaned since 1942. Old fashioned fixtures."

		"Give me more detail about what you experienced. Close your eyes," she
		orders. "And pay attention to your senses."

		I do as instructed and recall the incident. "I'm a little bit groggy.
		It's harder than usual to run. I feel uncoordinated, like I have to
		think about moving my feet. I hear a couple of shots behind me, but no
		hits. I look back and see Krycek. He's holding a semi-automatic pistol.
		He looks like he normally does--leather jacket, hair shorter than his."
		I gesture at Alex before continuing. "He's yelling something at me, but
		I can't resolve the sounds into words. I dart down a flight of stairs.
		They're marble and a bit slippery. I have to slow down."

		"Why didn't you draw your weapon?" Scully asks.

		"I didn't have it anymore."

		"Do you remember looking for it?"

		"No."

		"Then how did you know you didn't have it?"

		"I'm not sure."

		Alex takes a chair next to mine at the table. "How did you know you were
		in Arizona?"

		"I just knew. I didn't have my cell phone either. Or my car keys. But I
		don't remember checking my pockets for any of them."

		I open my eyes and see sympathetic green eyes gazing at me. "What car
		keys? A rental? Your car?"

		"I don't know." It doesn't make sense. I couldn't have rented a car in a
		drugged out fugue. "When I reached the first floor, I knew he was still
		chasing me... I could hear his footsteps... boots on the floor.

		"I passed a lot of doors going down the hall, but I couldn't find any
		leading outside. Not that I knew what I'd do when I got out. Try to
		hotwire a car, maybe?"

		Listening thoughtfully, Alex gets up to set the table. Each plate, fork
		and napkin is placed neatly on fresh cloth placemats. I realize that
		going through the motions of preparing the meal is keeping him calm.

		"There were radioactive signs on some of the doors. I don't know how I
		knew it, but there was a reactor behind me, and I was running away from
		it. When I got to the end of the hallway, there was a security entrance
		with keycards and a touch pad, but the door was propped open with a
		chair."

		Scully and Alex exchange a doubtful look. She says, "There was no one
		there, but you and Alex?"

		I nod reluctantly. That's what I recall, however dubious. "Not exactly
		high security." Instinct is telling me something is very wrong. I
		continue the story in a halting voice, doubting each word as I speak it.
		"There was a neon sign that said, 'DO NOT ENTER.'"

		"Neon?" inquired Alex.

		I nod. "I know. It sounds ludicrous, doesn't it?"

		"Keep going," Scully encourages.

		"I entered and found myself in a huge room. Marble floors. Reception
		desk. A huge white marble archway stood in the center of the room, but
		it seemed to go nowhere. A computer sat next to it. The screen said
		"Gateway Activated." I went through the arch-"

		Scully interrupts again. "Hold on. Close your eyes. Just before you went
		through the arch, tell me what you heard in the room."

		I obey her instructions, but I hear nothing. "Not a thing, Scully. The
		room was silent."

		"What type of computer was it, Mulder?"

		Opening my eyes, I start to speak before the absurdity of my reply
		becomes apparent to me. "It was a VT100 dumb terminal. Like the kind I
		used my first year at Oxford."

		Alex's face holds a grimace of disbelief, but Scully is suppressing a
		laugh. "It was a dream, Mulder."

		I knew she was right before she finished saying it. "But how could a
		dream bring me here?"

		No one has any answers.

		Eventually, I continue my tale. "I went through the arch into a white
		place--like being inside a cloud. Gradually, I saw a gray shape begin to
		take form and I found myself standing in front of this house. Then I saw
		Alex inside the window. He smiled and turned on the porch light."

		Krycek says, "We know that part's not a dream, because I saw you."

		"Unless you and Scully are both still part of the dream," I offer in a
		flip voice.

		That earned me a pair of smirks.

		Chapter 6

		Scully sums up the conversation over really good, garlic-laden
		spaghetti. "I believe we've just gone to great lengths to establish that
		we have no idea how you got here."

		Alex doesn't say a word while we finish eating. His pained expression
		forms a crease on his brow. It's... sort of cute.

		After dinner, he serves coffee and washes the dishes. That must be
		really hard with one hand. I wonder how my Krycek does it? Maybe he uses
		paper plates?

		"So, Mulder, what now?" asks Scully. "How can we undo what's been done?"

		"Finding the lab seems daunting, since a couple of hours out of Phoenix
		isn't much to go on. Maybe the Lone Gunmen could help. Do I know them
		here?"

		Scully nods. "Yeah. They might be able to help. Although that lab may
		not even exist."

		Alex wipes his hands on a towel and passes me a phone. "It's worth a
		try."

		When I dial the Gunmen, a woman answers. Turns out to be Langley's wife.
		Wow. She passes me to Byers. I describe the building as well as I can...
		hoping that some of my impressions about it actually have meaning. He
		agrees to try to chase down anything in Arizona that might match the
		description.

		As soon as I hang up, Krycek asks, "Other options?"

		"I could go to that Mexican place in Durham. But none of what happened
		to me actually happened there--in the restaurant in your world--so I
		don't know-"

		He puts a hand on my shoulder. "You have to try everything. We haven't
		got any great options, so we'll do whatever we can. I will not allow you
		to just stay here. And I will not abandon my lover to your fucked up
		world."

		"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Rising from the table, I stomp into the living
		room.

		I didn't need his little reminder. It does seem that my world, where I
		didn't fuck Krycek the night he killed Cole, is not as pleasant as this
		one. Which leaves me feeling like I caused everything awful that has
		happened since. Scully's abduction. My father's death. Melissa's death.

		Fuck! This can't all be my fault, can it?

		And I've been blaming Krycek in my world, when we were only a fuck away
		from preventing everything.

		I pace the living room. The dogs eagerly run to the sliding glass door
		when they see me, hoping for admittance.

		But if the alien invasion is really happening and they don't know about
		it, it could be worse in this world. Perversely, I wonder if it's better
		not to know. It's not clear in either world that it can be prevented.

		Fuck.

		If we do switch back, I've got to find a way to leave a message for the
		other Mulder. He's the only one who will really believe me.

		I'll leave him a letter. Conceal it somewhere he'll find it.

		I return to the kitchen. "Alex, I need to stay here tonight. I'll sleep
		on the sofa."

		"Only if you agree to go to Durham tomorrow."

		"'Kay."

		He brings me pillows, blankets and a bottle of water. Alex Krycek:
		assassin, traitor and good host. Oh, and mustn't forget his most
		fabulous role: boyfriend.

		Leaning against the doorjamb, he gives me a sad smile and says,
		"'Night."

		"Good night, Alex."

		Soon I hear the heavy sounds of dogs coming up the stairs. They don't
		usually sleep by the bed. He's keeping them close because he's lonely.
		Lonely for me. Or at least the me that I might have been if I'd brought
		him that pizza.

		And, for a moment, going to him seems like the right thing to do. He's
		hurting and he needs me... but it isn't really me he needs. So for the
		second time in my life, for better or worse, I decide not to go to him.

		I sit at the PC to compose my letter to the other Mulder, but it occurs
		to me that it will be more believable if he recognizes the handwriting.
		I don't want him to think it's some sort of trick. Maybe I'm just trying
		to out-paranoia myself. Regardless, I locate a legal pad and start
		writing everything I know about the alien invasion and the Consortium.

		A couple of hours later, I'm exhausted. I tuck eight sheets of paper
		into an envelope and look for a place to stow it. I start to place it
		under the photo of Samantha, but something stops me. Somehow, totally
		clear that this Mulder holds Alex closest to his heart, I put the
		envelope under the duo frame with his photos instead.

		I look at Samantha and silently apologize.

		My body is stiff when I rise from the chair and make my way to the sofa.
		I'll need the TV to sleep, so I wander to the cabinet and open the
		drawer, retrieving the tape. Spring Break.

		I will not jerk off to this. I'm just going to watch to satisfy my
		curiosity.

		Alex looks about 19 years old. What a baby!

		By the time he's seduced the blonde kid, my cock is tenting my boxers.
		I'd never realized how incredibly sexy his voice is.

		I will not jerk off. It doesn't seem right somehow.

		As he peels off his jeans, he reveals a beautiful, thick cock. It's
		perfectly proportioned. Bigger than mine when erect. God damn, I can
		almost taste it.

		And then I realize this sexy man is 30 feet away from me. Probably at
		this very moment missing me--or him--and jerking off.

		I'm not going to jerk off, but my hand slides into my boxers. I'll just
		touch it a little.

		The video Alex is penetrating the blonde. Oh, god. I wish that was me.
		Alex fucks him vigorously, pounding into the kid's ass like he's trying
		to batter their bodies. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds...
		imaging that's my ass he's fucking.

		Until I'm groaning like a dying man... warm semen splattering onto my
		hand and into my shorts.

		Fuck.

		In the morning, Alex, Scully and I drive to Durham. The restaurant looks
		the same, but it doesn't spark any memories. Unsurprisingly, no one
		there remembers seeing me recently.

		Judith Rabinowsky doesn't recognize me either. She tells exactly the
		same story about her cousin, though. It reconfirms my belief that the
		alien invasion is happening here, too, but my Mulder doesn't know very
		much. The information I've given him will help. But at what price? If I
		came to this world again, would I then learn that terrible things had
		happened to Scully and her family? And mine?

		Dr. Ernest Rabinowsky is as elusive as before. But Krycek insists we try
		to locate him. We manage to trump up enough of an excuse to file an APB.
		Wanted for questioning. Scully'll get it signed off by A.D. Jackson
		tomorrow.

		I'm forced to consider the possibility that I may never go back where I
		belong. What then? I somehow doubt Krycek's going to want me to just hop
		into the sweet little life his lover left behind.

		After we return from Durham, I call the Gunmen. They fax us a list of
		possible buildings in Arizona. Nothing feels right. It's probably a dead
		end. It's the kind of lead I'd follow up as a last resort, but we don't
		have any other leads.

		The three of us are seated around Alex's living room. I'm on the floor,
		with Chip's head in my lap. Alex is playing tug of war with Sashi over a
		chew toy, but he doesn't look like he's having a good time. Scully's
		reviewing my blood tests... predictably, they're all normal. But the tox
		screen isn't in yet.

		Alex says, "I guess I should make travel plans for Arizona... ?"

		"Alex, I want to visit my father first. I'll go tomorrow. And we can go
		to Arizona on Wednesday." If I can't think of anything better.

		"Okay," he replies in a flat tone. I expected an argument. He's giving
		up, too. I'm surprised by how much I feel for him. I really want to
		produce his Mulder so he can be happy again.

		Maybe both Mulders could live here? I could stay with Alex whenever his
		Mulder is out of town. We'd have twice the odds of stopping the
		invasion. But if I found Samantha it wouldn't really be my Samantha,
		would it?

		And I'd be abandoning my Scully. After everything that's happened to
		her... I couldn't live with myself.

		Since I don't seem to have any ability to do anything except stay here,
		it's not worth feeling guilty over.

		"Alex, you called my father a 'criminal.' What did you mean by that?"

		He stares at me for a long time before speaking... weighing what he
		intends to say. "He was part of that group... with Charles Spender."

		"And?"

		Alex shakes his head. "I never told Fox everything I know. I didn't want
		to hurt him."

		"So tell me."

		Scully raises her eyebrow at me, a non-verbal chastisement.

		Hesitating, Alex says, "You promise not to tell my Fox?"

		"When am I going to have a chance to tell him anything?"

		Glaring icily, he replies, "I don't fucking know! This situation is
		so... fucked up. I don't know what to expect. Except the obvious... that
		I'm stuck with you."

		I open my mouth to speak, but Scully says, "Mulder, you need to
		appreciate Alex's situation. He's the only one who's getting a raw deal
		here. I've still got my partner, more or less, so it's not exactly a
		crisis in my life. And it sounds like you're better off here. But Alex
		has lost so much. Can't you just try to be kind?"

		"I thought I was being kind." She frowns, and I concede, "Yeah. I'll
		try. And, Alex, I won't tell your Fox."

		He's silent for such a long time I think he's changed his mind about
		telling me anything. Finally, he says, "I don't know where Samantha is
		or what happened to her. But I do know your father arranged the whole
		thing... Samantha's abduction. He had choices about whether you'd be
		there or not when she was taken." His eyes flick to mine, waiting for me
		to get it.

		My father sold us both. Gave them Samantha. And made me watch it.

		For a moment, I'm glad he's dead in my world.

		Lifting Chip off my lap, I stalk around the living room. "Did my mother
		know?"

		Alex nods.

		I want to hate them both, but... I can't. It still feels like it's my
		fault. Everything is my damned fault.

		The clock on the mantel tells me it's 9:45. Too late to drive to
		Martha's Vineyard. I want to demand the answers. If he did this, he can
		explain it to me. Dammit, he has to tell me. He owes me that.

		Standing over Alex, I ask, "Is there more?"

		"I don't have the details on what he did with Spender. Or when he
		resigned. I was never an insider. The only information they shared was a
		report on you, since you were my... assignment."

		"What else was in that report?"

		Closing his eyes for a moment, he appears to be recalling it. "It said
		you were dangerously obsessed and that it would be easy to push you over
		the edge into madness."

		"They underestimated me."

		"I agree, Fox."

		"Why didn't your Fox ever go to my father and demand answers?"

		He sighs and rubs his forehead. "You went several times... I went with
		you once. You tried to get the information, but... I don't want to say
		this, but your father has you cowed. He makes you feel like you're not
		good enough and you always come back depressed after seeing him."

		Well, there's a universal constant.

		I take a seat on the coffee table right across from Alex. "Did you... do
		you have any reason to believe that Bill Mulder's not my father?"

		His eyes open wide. "No, why would you think that?"

		"Nothing. I just wondered." It's a lie, but I don't want to be the one
		to pass this nasty tidbit to the other Mulder.

		Krycek's face tells me he knows I'm lying, but he says nothing. Also
		protecting his Mulder.

		Tuesday morning, Alex and I drive to Martha's Vineyard. Scully stays
		behind to check in at the office, process the APB and see if she can
		find any more information on those sites in Arizona.

		I stayed up half the night reviewing what I'm going to say to him. What
		I'm going to demand he tell me.

		Sensing my tension, Alex finds radio stations during the drive up. He
		knows just what I like. Certain he's picking my favorites, I'm still
		amazed by his solicitousness. He's really a... nice guy.

		My father doesn't seem surprised by our unscheduled visit. His eyes
		flick to Alex and I realize I forgot to ask if he knows we're lovers.
		The disparaging glance tells me he already knows.

		I feel a pang of pain for disappointing him again. Fuck!

		He looks older. More than he should since it's only been a few years.
		It's only midmorning, but he's already into the Scotch. As we all sit
		around his living room, he doesn't even offer us a beverage. What a
		pathetic old man.

		I wonder if he could guess that I'm not really the Fox he knows. Given
		the amount of attention he pays me, I doubt it. Even if I showed up with
		two heads.

		"Dad, I need to ask you some questions. And I need answers this time."

		"Fox, you know I can't talk about my work. It's classified government
		business."

		"Oh, really? I happen to know that much of what you and Spender did was
		illegal. So I find it hard to imagine someone documented it and
		classified it."

		He eyes me warily, guzzling the last of the amber liquid in his glass.

		"And I know the truth about Samantha. You let them take her." My voice
		cracks. "Why, dad?"

		"Fox, I'm not going to listen to these lies. I worked hard so you and
		your sister could have a better life... I devoted my life to the future
		of this..."

		I'm completely certain he wants to say 'planet.'

		"... country. I won't have you making crazy accusations just because you
		wish you had done more to save your sister."

		"You son of a bitch!" Alex hollers. "You keep picking that scab because
		you know it hurts him. How can you sit there so blithely and blame your
		son--who was just a kid--when it was your crime?"

		Bill Mulder mutters under his voice, "You little faggot," and pours
		himself another full glass. Turning to me, he says, "You know he was
		part of it. Working for Spender."

		"Yeah, I know, dad." That's how I know the truth about Samantha, you son
		of a bitch. "Look me in the eye, dad, and tell me you had nothing to do
		with what happened to my sister."

		He eyes me with bland distaste and says, "I had nothing to do with
		that." Rising he retrieves a second bottle of Scotch from the bar.

		I stand to confront him, blocking his path. "You know, I expected you to
		have a little more difficulty lying to me."

		Alex rises, ready to intervene.

		My father offers me a stony glare. He rarely shows any emotion... and
		when he does it's always carefully controlled anger. "This conversation
		is over, Fox."

		He shifts to move around me, but I grab his shoulders. "No it's not,
		dad. Not until you tell me what happened to my sister." I'll beat it out
		of him if I have to.

		Under Alex's watchful eye, I push my father until his back is against
		the wall. "Tell. Me. Dammit."

		His brown eyes gaze at me, devoid of feeling. He says nothing. Doesn't
		even appear threatened. And suddenly I realize I can't hit him. I just
		can't. The bastard knows it, too.

		Fuck. I've never been closer to knowing. And so far away at the same
		time.

		I release him and bolt out of the house.

		I'm sitting on the front porch when Alex finds me. He puts a hand on my
		shoulder. "Fox, if you want me to, I'll go back in there and make him
		talk."

		Gazing up into his beautiful eyes, I realize he's offering me his
		integrity, and possibly his life, to get this information for me. The
		information I've sought all my life. And I'm not even his Mulder.

		His devotion stuns me.

		Suddenly, I know why his Fox Mulder hasn't gotten as far into
		investigating the alien invasion. Somewhere along the way, lives were at
		stake. And he chose to protect the man he loves.

		I have to make that same choice for his Alex. "No, Alex. Let him be."

		I'm sorry, Samantha.

		A disturbing thought floats in the back of my brain. I, too, made
		choices when lives were at stake. And Scully and Melissa paid the price.

		When we get back to Alex's house, he retrieves a pair of running shoes
		from the hall closet, dropping them on the floor at my feet. "Chip's
		missing his runs."

		I almost object to being told what to do, but it is exactly what I need.
		Mr. Alex knows it, too. Giving him a mock glare, I take the shoes. "Uh,
		Alex?"

		"Hmm?"

		"Do we do this off leash?"

		"Usually, but it's your first time, so that's probably not a good idea.
		The leashes are hanging in the garage." He heads toward his office,
		stopping to turn back. "And be careful at the big red house at the end
		of the street, Chip likes to run to the back yard to harass the Great
		Dane."

		Chip shows me the route. It's easy to run with him. Another simple
		ritual in the life that isn't mine.

		My life is so fucked up.

		I'm despairing of ever figuring out how or why I was sent here. And my
		only hope of returning is subject to the same mysterious forces.

		Alex might be stuck with me. I wonder if he'd ever like me... or if I'd
		always be a poor imitation of his Mulder.

		Suddenly, 130 pounds of dog are headed in a different direction than I
		am. I think my arm is out of its socket. Low barking from behind the red
		house only gets Chip more excited. I weigh enough to keep him from going
		to meet his Great Dane pal, but I'm not strong enough to drag him back.
		At least, not without hurting his paws on the sidewalk.

		So I try persuasion. "Chip, let's keep running. C'mon, boy." I discover
		I'm unable to coax Chip back in the direction I want to go. He's very
		determined.

		Am I going to have to stand here all night?

		"C'mon, Chip. I'll feed you a nice bowl of Alex's meat balls."

		Chip barks enthusiastically and tugs harder on the leash.

		Fuck.

		I hear laughter from behind me. A hearty male laugh and a softer laugh.
		I twist to see who's enjoying themselves at my expense.

		Alex is the hearty laugh. He's got Sashi on a leash, sitting calmly at
		his right side. An elderly Asian woman is the soft laugh. She smiles at
		me. "Having a problem, Mr. Mulder?"

		"Um, no."

		"Sashi, heel," Alex calls out and they cruise over to me, in perfect
		unison. He whispers in my ear, "Mrs. Tanaka."

		I raise my voice to be heard over the barking from the unseen Great
		Dane. "No, Mrs. Tanaka. Chip and I are just working on an obedience
		problem."

		Alex mutters, "Yeah, yours."

		Mrs. Tanaka makes a dismissive hand gesture. Not falling for my cover
		story, she smiles indulgently and goes back inside her house.

		He grins at me. "It occurred to me you might have missed obedience
		training."

		"Yeah, Scully wanted to take me, but the instructor said I didn't meet
		the entrance requirements."

		"Sashi, sit," he says in a low command tone.

		Sexy, that.

		"Now take her leash. And just stand there."

		Smirking, I reply, "I think I can manage that."

		Alex takes Chip's leash. "Chip, leave it." His voice is very low, very
		loud and very 'I'm the boss.'

		Very sexy, that.

		I think I'm getting jealous of Chip.

		Chip emits a muffled whimper... getting in his last complaint.

		I mimic the whimper.

		Alex shakes his head at me. "I can't walk all three of you, Fox."

		Blinking at him, I retort, "You forgot my leash anyway."

		He tosses me a mildly disapproving glance before turning toward the
		sidewalk, "Chip, heel."

		The damned dog seems perfectly happy to trot along next to Alex. How
		quickly they forget their Great Dane obsessions.

		"Sashi, heel?" Will she do it?

		She looks at me quizzically, then glances over at Chip and Alex and
		decides to follow. I follow, along at her side.

		When we catch up to Alex, I toss off, "I'm cuter than they are."

		"Don't kid yourself, Fox."

		I gasp exuberantly, then add, "I don't drool."

		"Often."

		"You're a hard man. I must have some redeeming qualities."

		He shakes his head sadly and doesn't speak until we're almost back at
		the house. "I miss him so badly."

		"I'm sorry, Alex."

		With a nod, he opens the garage door, and we step inside.

		I phone Scully. She's narrowed our list of Arizona facilities down to
		four. Plus she's gathered everything she can find on Dr. Ernest
		Rabinowsky. We can read it on the plane tomorrow.

		Scully goes home to Rubin. Alex fixes me turkey burgers. I wondered if
		he had to browbeat his Mulder to get him to eat them, but they actually
		taste good. The man takes good care of me.

		Fidgeting around my office keeps me entertained for an hour or so. Then
		I put in the video. This time I'm rock hard at the opening credits.

		Fuck! And he's all alone in his room.

		I am not going to go there.

		He's seducing the blonde again. His voice is like the audio equivalent
		of a hand on my cock. I tug my jeans loose and get my fingers around it.

		When Alex peels off his jeans, and I see that cock again, I just have to
		touch it.

		Oh, Christ.

		I tear my hand away from my dick and pull up my pants.

		Before I can stop myself, I'm padding down the hall to his room. Their
		room.

		The door is open. He's sitting on the bed, looking out the window. No
		sign of the dogs.

		Chapter 7

		Tapping on the wood, I get his attention. "What is it, Fox?"

		"I, um..." I step inside the room, feeling as if I'm entering a
		forbidden zone.

		Alex is wearing only his shorts. His body's even better than in the
		video. Shoulders have broadened. Muscles are more developed.

		I struggle to swallow. "Thought you might want some company."

		His eyes fall to my bare chest and nervously dart back up to my face. He
		stands and comes toward me. "You, uh, want to talk or something. We can
		go downstairs."

		Oh, god. I can smell him. A musky scent that goes straight to my crotch.
		My shaking hand reaches out to touch his cheek. I remember the other
		Alex kissing me... in just that spot.

		He backs away abruptly. "Uh, Fo--Mulder, this is not a good idea."

		Surprising both of us, I step closer. "Please, Alex." I meet his
		turbulent eyes. "Do it to me the way you do it to him."

		Alex seems to wilt with barely leashed desire. Unmoving, unbreathing, he
		shakes his head.

		I step closer, sensing intuitively, that if I touch him he won't be able
		to say no. He looks hurt, as my fingers find the back of his neck. I
		press my body to his and brush my denim-trapped hard-on across his
		groin.

		"Please. I want to feel what he feels."

		He groans despairingly. I can feel his erection. He wants me.

		"Just once, Alex."

		Alex wraps his arms around my waist and his lips find mine.

		His kiss is possessive and even a little angry. I'm melting under the
		assault. I try to imagine how his Mulder would respond, but then I
		weaken and just give myself over to him.

		Crushing me to his body, he explores my mouth, nipping at my lips and
		kissing a path down my face to my neck. His teeth sink into my flesh.

		It hurts, but I want him to hurt me. Mark me. Make me his. It feels so
		perfect.

		Alex groans around the bite, going right to the edge of where it would
		draw blood, and I cry out as if I'm orgasming. When he breaks away, my
		limbs seem unable to hold me. Only his hand at my back keeps me on my
		feet.

		He guides me gently toward the bed and lowers me onto it. When I catch
		his gaze, he's looking a bit guilty, but he doesn't stop. He slides onto
		the bed next to me, then crawls on top of me. I wrap my arms around his
		neck. The pressure of his body on mine is so good. My hips thrust
		upward, telling him what I need.

		He kneels over me and slides down so he's straddling my thighs. My hand
		reaches automatically for the waistband of his shorts. A curt nod is
		his... permission? Oh, god, that's exactly what it is.

		Aw, fuck. I really belong to this man. I have to ask for what I want. I
		hate it, but I couldn't be more turned on.

		He stands next to the bed and tugs down the shorts, revealing his
		beautiful cock. I can't help licking my lips. I've never wanted anyone
		like this. It feels like my body is going to spontaneously combust.

		"You want it?" he says in that gravelly voice, looking down at me like I
		exist only to serve his pleasure.

		"Fuck, yeah."

		Straddling my legs again, he whispers, "Ask for it, Fox."

		Groaning piteously--somehow, I knew this wasn't going to be easy--I try
		to speak, "Please, let..." oh, fuck, I'm not getting any air into my
		lungs. "Uh, puh-lease, let me suck you."

		He leans forward. "Not until I say." Taking his fat cock in his fingers,
		he brushes the tip of it across my chest, teasing each nipple. Then he
		shifts and brings it to my lips. "Not yet." The soft tip of his cock
		glides across my lips. I've never in my life needed to lick something
		like I need to lick his cock right now. My tongue is twitching. But I
		find myself under his spell.

		Would his Mulder break and lick it?

		"Just the tip," he whispers.

		I cry out, as my mouth gloms on to the head of his cock. The bland,
		salty taste makes my dick throb. The sensation of my tongue on his
		smooth cock is complete bliss. I moan as I suck it... needing more of
		him.

		And then he draws it away.

		"Alex," I whine.

		He smiles down at me, his cheeks flushed red and his eyelids heavy.
		Those bright eyes are so fucking sexy. He moves off, lying on his side
		next to me. "Scoot down the bed."

		I comply, slipping down on my side until my face is again at his crotch.
		Fuck, he smells so good. Living proof of the power of pheromones.

		"Do it. Suck me."

		I take him down in an instant. His cock fills my throat. I work back and
		forth on his beautiful cock, tonguing the shaft with each motion. I've
		never told anyone why I like this so much... the oxygen deprivation
		makes me high. Well, maybe Clyde Bruckman knew.

		Alex's fingers find the back of my head.

		Yes. Yes! Do it. Control it, Alex. Mr. Alex.

		He grips my hair.

		Yes! Please...

		Suddenly a very strong force is holding my head still. And his hips
		begin to thrust.

		Oh, Christ. I'm going to come in my pants.

		His impassioned gasping breaths tell me he's close, too.

		The feel of his satiny cock invading my throat. My own helplessness.
		That delicious buzz in my brain.

		He fucks my mouth hard. Harder than anyone ever has.

		I'm delirious with pleasure.

		I feel his body tense, and just as I anticipate his orgasm, he yanks
		free of my mouth.

		"No!" I cry out pathetically.

		Grunting and struggling for air himself, he holds his body away from
		mine, attempting to regain his shattered control.

		The sight of him, panting with need, is too much. My hand reaches to rub
		my cock through my jeans.

		He smacks the hand away. "Uh-uh," he says sternly. It's the same voice
		he uses with the damned dogs.

		I am completely mortified.

		I withdraw the offending hand, gaping at him, testily.

		Alex gives me a breathless chuckle. "I'm going," breath, "to fuck,"
		breath, "you."

		Well, that seems like a damned good idea.

		Slowly, so he can see what I'm doing, I reach for my fly, not my cock.
		And open my pants. I stand for a moment to kick them and my shorts onto
		the floor.

		His eyes soften as they caress my erection. Whatever he sees, he
		approves.

		The way he looks at me is so filled with animal desire. I've never had
		sex at this level of abandon before. It's a whole new experience.

		Drawing himself together, he stands and walks unsteadily to the toy
		chest. I follow and watch as he selects a pair of leather cuffs, a heavy
		steel clip, a bottle of lube and a condom. He tosses the items on the
		bed and gestures to me. "On your knees."

		No problemo. I hit the bed in a split second, kneeling facing the
		headboard.

		He slips in behind me, draws my wrists behind my back and cuffs them
		together.

		I'm going to like this.

		Pushing me forward, gently, he positions me so I'm face down on the
		mattress, shoulders supporting my weight with my ass up in the air.

		I'm definitely going to like this.

		God, he knows everything that turns me on. It's like he's reading my
		mind.

		"Spread your legs."

		And I obey. Clumsily offering him my ass. My helplessness. My need.

		"Beautiful," he says reverently.

		His warm hands begin to caress my thighs and ass. It feels so good to
		have him touching me. How did I ever live without this?

		Then a cool wet finger teases my anus. He draws circles around it until
		I think I'll scream, before he pushes it inside. Then another finger. He
		fucks me lightly and scissors the fingers to open me up. I haven't been
		fucked in a long, long time and he seems to sense it, taking his time
		and patiently getting me to relax.

		When he brushes across my prostrate, I whimper like an animal.

		I have never needed to be fucked like I need to be fucked by him now.
		"Please, Alex. Take me."

		He groans at the sound of my voice and withdraws the fingers. I presume
		he's putting on a condom, because it takes a long time before he's over
		my body.

		The head of his cock is pressed against my anus. I try to push backward
		to hurry him along, but I can't move very effectively.

		I wail as he shoves it into me. So fucking good. I was meant to be
		fucked by this man. Just like this.

		Alex draws back and begins to fuck me. His thick cock slides into me,
		filling me so perfectly. I am certain that I belong to him.

		"Oh, god, Alex," I whimper.

		He moans and thrusts harder. So deep inside my helpless body. I can do
		nothing but let him use me and there's nothing I want more than this.

		My entire body is sensitized. It feels like one giant prostate gland...
		every sensation is extreme pleasure. It's so damned good to have his
		cock in my ass.

		Alex shifts his position slightly and his forearm slips under me. He
		pulls me up so I'm kneeling in front of him... my arms pinned between
		us. His chest is against my back.

		Then that forearm slides up a few inches.

		Oh, god. He knows.

		Without a pause in the fucking, he shifts the forearm, so it's across my
		throat. My brain explodes with a lust-filled rush.

		Yes!

		Still fucking me, his cock brutalizing my ass, he reaches for my cock.
		And begins to stroke me.

		I feel a sudden calm as if at the center of a hurricane. Do it, Alex.
		Please. Make it perfect.

		And he begins to come. His cock pulsing deep inside me.

		I think perfection has slipped away until his hand tightens around my
		throat.

		God, yes. I will die for you.

		My own orgasm comes so hard I feel as if my body is exploding, to
		splatter the room with what's left of me. And I don't care. My death is
		perfect pleasure.

		A scream fills the room.

		And then I'm a body on a bed. Another warm body near me. "Shhh, I'll
		take care of you," he whispers.

		I nod mindlessly.

		His cock abandons my rectum. Hands I didn't know were bound are unbound.
		Firm massage on my arms. A warm wet towel at my ass. Then his body
		wrapped around mine.

		I push into his embrace. Yes. Exactly what I need.

		Perfect.

		When I awaken, it's light outside. I'm alone in the bed, but Alex is
		standing naked at the window, looking down into the yard. Probably
		watching the dogs.

		"Why didn't you bring them in last night?"

		He doesn't turn, but he replies, "Because I wanted to fuck you."

		I feel the distortion of a giant smile on my face. "Then why'd I have to
		talk you into it?"

		Still unmoving, he says, "Because I knew I would hate you in the
		morning."

		"Why?"

		"You made me cheat on him."

		I guess the two lovebirds are monogamous. "It wasn't exactly cheating."

		Alex turns to me, his face deadly serious. I notice the neat round scar
		on his thigh. Cancerman's warning shot. A small price to pay for this
		life.

		I rise and go to him, approaching cautiously because I can see he's
		tense. I put a hand on his chest. "Last night was incredible. I don't
		want you to feel guilty about it."

		He looks like he doesn't want to touch me, but his fingers reach out and
		toy with a lock of my hair. "It won't happen again," he says in a hard
		voice. Then he slips out from under my hand, enters the bathroom and
		slams the door.

		That wasn't quite the way I'd envisioned our first morning after.

		I glance at the clock. Twice. Not believing I slept for eight and a half
		hours.

		Alex barely says a word to me as we eat a quick breakfast. I've decided
		not to give him any grief. He's already got plenty. So I just ignore
		him.

		It's a shame to waste so much guilt over such a great fuck.

		We stop at Scully's house to pick her up on the way to the airport. She
		takes one look at Alex and then scrutinizes me, trying to figure out
		what's wrong. Between the funereal look on his face and the glow on
		mine, she can probably guess.

		The flight is boring. Scully makes me sit next to Alex, but he's barely
		talking to me. I don't know what to say. Maybe this is my fault, too,
		but what can I do about it? About any of it?

		The information on Dr. Ernest Rabinowsky is useless to help us find him.
		I have a feeling he's dead. Just seems like another loose end the
		Consortium would have tied up.

		Just before we land, I lean over toward Alex and say, "Tell me something
		only you would know. That you've never told anyone."

		He gives me a curious look and thinks about it for a while. "When I was
		six years old, I wanted to be Little Joe. On Bonanza."

		I try really hard not to laugh.

		Alex gives me an embarrassed grin. It's the first moment of levity since
		last night.

		Arizona is a complete waste of time. None of the four buildings are even
		remotely like the one I was in... or dreamt I was in. I review the
		master list from the Gunmen, but don't see any other reasonable
		prospects.

		Alex refuses to share a room with me, so we get three hotel rooms.

		On the return flight, I talk Scully into letting me review the X-Files
		on Saturday. I can't wait to compare the differences. And if they
		haven't been working as much on consortium-related cases, there should
		be some juicy paranormal cases.

		By the time we get back to Washington on Friday, Alex looks numb. After
		we drop Scully off, I put a hand on Alex's forearm so he won't start the
		car again. "Alex, if I'm bothering you, I can stay with Scully."

		He shakes his head. "It's not you. It's the situation." Shrugging, he
		adds, "I just want my lover back."

		I meet his eye. "If I knew how, I'd go back."

		"I know." He slips his hand out from under my grip and starts the car.

		"I'm not going to give up, Alex. You know me--I don't give up. I'll find
		a way to make it right."

		He nods, believing in my commitment, if not the probability of my
		success.

		Alex spends the cold afternoon sitting in the yard with the dogs. I'm on
		the phone with Frohike, trying to find creative ways to trace Dr.
		Rabinowsky. Once the Gunmen have a few ideas, I redial to order takeout.
		I don't think Alex will want to cook. I'm dialing Schezuan Gardens when
		the room starts to fade to white.

		It's been exactly one week.

		I'm in the cloud again.

		Please let Alex get his lover back. Please let Alex get his lover back.
		It's almost a prayer, but I don't believe in god.

		I never got to say goodbye to him. Or say thanks. Or tell him what he
		means to me. If I could figure it out.

		Maybe he knows.


		Chapter Eight

		Friday, January 21, 2000

		I got lucky at the Bureau library, finding the book on Celtic history.
		Now I can get home at a reasonable hour. Won't Alex be surprised?

		Putting on my coat, I step around Scully's desk to turn off my PC.

		Suddenly, I find myself jogging down a very long balance beam. At the
		far end of the beam, in the distance I can see Alex. He's waiting for
		me, coaxing me to come to him.


		But behind me--and I know this without looking--is Samantha. Glancing
		back over my shoulder, I see that she appears exactly the way she did on
		the day she was taken. But I can't go to her, because if I try to turn
		around, I'll fall off the beam.

		The beam is surrounded by empty blue sky. Maybe dangerous. Maybe not.
		But Alex won't be there. I keep my pace steady and make my way to him.

		But as I get closer, a white cloud envelops the beam. I slow down and
		finally stop completely when I can no longer see the beam.

		I sense that the beam isn't there any more. Then I see a patch of brown
		blur in front of me. It slowly resolves into a tree. I realize I'm
		standing in front of my old apartment building.

		That had to be a dream, because I was in my office. And then on the
		beam. And then here. Why here? What just happened to me?

		I look down at myself. Still dressed in my suit. I check my SIG Sauer...
		the safety is on. My wallet, my keys... everything seems to be as it was
		when I was in the office. Except... I never turned off the PC. And I
		don't think I even left the basement... at least not in any normal way.

		Nothing around me looks unusual or provides any clues to what happened.
		My car's probably still at the Hoover Building. I walk down Hegal Place,
		cutting over to the busier streets and hail a cab. I tell the driver to
		take me to the Bureau.

		Pulling out my cell phone, I press the first preset.

		The phone answers too quickly... giving me a recording. An unfamiliar
		voice says, "Mathew Jameson. Please leave a message." Weird. Preset one
		is Alex's cell phone.

		I dial the number manually and get the same message. Even weirder.

		Maybe there's a problem with our cell phone provider, but my intuition
		is pinging me. Two unusual experiences in the past five minutes are
		bound to be connected.

		Pressing out our home number, I listen to the rings. A child answers,
		"Hello?"

		"I'm phoning the Mulder and Krycek residence. Who am I speaking to?"

		"Judy Mitchell."

		I could imagine Alex inviting one of the neighbor kids over to play with
		the dogs, but he would not let her answer the phone. "Do you know where
		Alex is?"

		"Who's Alex?"

		"The man with the two big dogs."

		"We have a wiener dog."

		"Is there an adult I can speak with?"

		"Okay. Jus' a minute."

		"Hello?" says a slightly more mature voice.

		"My name is Fox Mulder. I'm trying to reach Alex Krycek."

		"I've never heard of him, Mr., um, whatever."

		"I dialed 555-1890. Is that this number?"

		"Yes, but this is the Kopeckne residence."

		Fuck.

		"Are you at 17 Echo Lane?"

		"No, sir. This is 1829 Broad Street." Don't tell strange men your
		address, kid.

		"I see. Thank you."

		Now my intuition is screaming.

		I tap the cabbie on the shoulder. "I changed my mind. Please take me to
		17 Echo Lane in Alexandria."

		"Sure, whatever. It's your nickel."

		I'm positive something is terribly wrong the instant he parks at the
		curb. Our shutters are blue, not green. I hesitate at the cab driver's
		window. Passing him a twenty, I ask him to wait.

		The two steps up to our front door are bordered by a matched set of
		rectangular planters. I reach automatically for my keys but, wary, I
		ring the doorbell instead. It makes the obnoxious clang that always
		reminded me of discordant tones from the 1812 Overture.

		The sound chills me to the bone.

		I remember that horrid sound only too well from when Alex and I first
		bought the house. It was the first thing he changed... before we even
		moved in.

		This is not my house.

		If it isn't, where is my house? And where I am?

		The door is opened by a skinny, unshaven man in a dirty T-shirt. "Yeah?"

		The living room behind him is so obviously not our immaculately
		maintained home that I can't even think what to say to him. "Um..." I
		whip out my shield. "I'm Fox Mulder with the Federal Bureau of
		Investigation. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

		He looks impressed. "Yeah, sure."

		Pocketing my shield, I extract my wallet and flip it open to a picture
		of Alex. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

		He squints at it without recognition. "No, I don't think so."

		I'm fighting the urge to shove him out of my way and go hunting for Alex
		myself. "Do you own this house?"

		"Yeah, well me an' the bank. I gotta tell you those mortgage payments
		really hurt, so it's still touch and go, you know what I mean?" His
		pupils are dilated and I can smell the pot through the open door.

		"When did you buy the house?"

		"Uh, summer of 1997."

		That's when Alex and I bought it.

		Logic tells me Alex isn't here, but I have to see for myself. "I need to
		search the house."

		Suddenly, his posture changes and he seems to be defending the door.

		"Look if you're smoking pot, it's not going to bother me. I'm not
		interested in that and I'm not going to tell anyone about it. Okay?"

		"I guess so." He just stares at me, not budging.

		"If you make me get a search warrant, I'm going to have to involve other
		law enforcement agencies and they may be more interested in your drugs."

		He nods and moves out of the way. There's a young woman stretched out on
		his sofa smoking a joint. "Who is it, Barry?"

		"Um, nobody." He gives me a sheepish grin. "Don't scare off my date,
		okay?"

		I'm already in the kitchen, searching and scanning. It's a mess. Looks
		worse than mine had in my bachelor days. This is not our house.

		Quickly, I narrow the search down to places large enough to conceal a
		body. I know I won't find him, but I have to look. The yard is empty. No
		Chip and Sashi giving me the official doggy greeting. The rest of the
		house is the same... messy. It bears almost no resemblance to the home
		Alex and I bought together.

		The garage contains only a battered pickup truck.

		After thanking the stoned man, I stand in front of the house, trying to
		put the pieces together. Where am I?

		I pull out my cell phone and dial the second preset.

		"Scully."

		Christ, I've never been so fucking relieved. "Scully, it's really you?"

		"Yeah, Mulder. I just got back from the seminar."

		I just saw her a little over an hour ago. "What seminar?"

		"The pathologists meeting at Quantico."

		"Wasn't that two weeks ago?"

		"Uh, no, Mulder. This week."

		"But you rode with me to work this morning."

		"No, I didn't. I spent the night at Quantico." I find myself fidgeting
		during the lengthy pause. "Mulder, are you all right?"

		"I'm not sure, Scully. Do you know where Alex is?"

		"Alex who?"

		I'm stunned speechless.

		"Mulder, what's wrong?"

		"Um, I need to talk to you. As soon as possible. Can you meet me
		somewhere?"

		"Where are you?"

		"Alexandria."

		"I'll meet you at your place."

		"Uh, Scully, where exactly is that?"

		It's her turn to be confused, but she replies, "2630 Hegal Place #42."

		"Do you still have a key?"

		"Yes."

		Good, because I don't. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

		At the curb, I give the cabbie another twenty and the address. He can
		give me some information. "Um, what day is it?"

		"The twenty first. Friday."

		"Of January?"

		"Yeah."

		"What year?"

		"You gotta be kidding, right? Man after all that hoopla, who could
		forget it's 2000?"

		"Yeah, I'm kidding," I reply woodenly.

		After he drops me off, back where I started, I stand outside the
		building pondering my circumstances.

		I was in the office, nothing unusual, getting ready to go home. Then I'm
		in the middle of a dream about Alex and Samantha. Then I'm on Hegal.
		Alex's cell number is gone. Our home number is gone. Someone else lives
		in our house. And Scully doesn't know who I mean when I say 'Alex.'

		Scully seems to be the only thing that's right in this mess. When she
		gets here, I'm probably going to grab her and hold on tight.

		Alex, wherever you are, please be okay. I love you. I need you. I can
		deal with anything else--the wonky vagaries of this place--but not
		losing you. I just can't.

		Wherever he is, I'm going there tonight. I have to see him, touch him,
		to know everything is okay.

		A blue Taurus parks in front of the building. I can see Scully's inside,
		but it's not her car. She gets out and comes at me, clutching her
		medical bag. "Are you all right?"

		"Something unusual has happened, but I'm not ill or injured, Scully."

		"What is it then?" She looks really tired. I can see lines on her face I
		never noticed before.

		"Let's go inside and I'll explain."

		Scully follows me up the stairs. When we get to the door of #42, I
		gesture at it. "Use your key."

		Retrieving the key, she unlocks the door and pushes it open.

		Fuck. It's my old apartment all right. My stuff is still here. The coat
		rack. My leather couch. The TV isn't mine, though. A worn pair of
		running shoes is sitting in the hallway. They're not the pair Alex
		bought me.

		"Mulder, what is it?"

		"Scully, what would you say if I told you I don't live here anymore?
		That I moved out in 1997."

		"I'd ask you what you're smoking." She sniffs at my coat. "You dosmell
		like pot, Mulder."

		I sit down heavily into the embrace of my old leather sofa. It feels
		right. Reassuring. If Alex were here, I could deal with this.

		She sits down next to me, concerned eyes looking up at my face.

		"Scully, I think I'm in an alternate universe."

		That eyebrow of hers rises. "Mulder, we're not in an episode of Star
		Trek."

		"You have to believe me, Scully, because I'm not sure I can prove it.
		Will you listen to me at least?"

		"You know I'll always listen."

		"I was at the office, getting ready to go home, when I found myself in a
		dream... jogging on a balance beam... and then I was surrounded by white
		fog and I found myself here. Standing on the street outside this
		building." I stop for a minute... "Or maybe I'm still in the dream..."

		Scully eyes me suspiciously. "You can't be in a dream, because I'm
		really here. Not part of your dream."

		"Of course, you might say that to me in a dream." It's almost funny. I
		could laugh but Alex's absence makes it impossible.

		Her hand reaches out and feels my forehead. "Seems real to me."

		"Yeah, me, too," I reply numbly. "Let me ask you some questions... some
		of them will seem idiotic, but they'll help me sort it out. 'Kay?"

		"Are you sure you didn't get injured?"

		"I'm positive, Scully."

		"Okay, ask away."

		"You're my partner, right? Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully?"

		"Yeah."

		"And we share the basement office, working on the X-Files?"

		"Mm hmm."

		"Did I drive you to work today?"

		"No. I spent the night at Quantico."

		"And you live at 911 Chestnut St, in Georgetown?"

		"Yes."

		"And Rubin lives at-"

		"Who's Rubin?"

		Fuck. "Are you single, Scully? Or seeing someone?"

		"I'm single."

		"For how long?"

		She looks confused. "Well, I haven't really dated anyone more than a few
		times since before I joined the X-Files."

		"When was that?"

		"1993."

		I'm afraid to ask about Alex. "What was our first case together?"

		"A couple of kids who'd been murdered in Northwest Oregon."

		"Who killed them?"

		"Billy Miles."

		"What was unusual about that?"

		"He'd spent the last four years comatose in a hospital."

		That checks out.

		"Mulder, what is this all about?"

		"Just hang in here for a little longer, Scully." I take a deep breath.
		"Have you always been my partner, since 1993, I mean? Or was there
		somebody else?"

		"They broke us up in 1994. I taught at Quantico and, for a while, you
		worked with Alex Krycek."

		Suddenly, I feel like I can breathe again. "Where is he now, Scully?"

		"I have no idea."

		"Does he live here, too?"

		She gapes at me. "What!?"

		Uh-oh. "What's my relationship with Alex Krycek?"

		Shaking her head in dismay, she replies, "He's a wanted man, Mulder. A
		suspect in the killing of your father among oth-"

		"My father's dead?"

		"He was murdered in 1995, Mulder." Her voice is starting to reveal her
		anxiety. "What the hell is going on?"

		Shit.

		She thinks Alex killed my father. "Alex couldn't. He wouldn't."

		"Mulder, I have no proof he killed your father. You're the one who
		insisted that he did it. In any case, he's clearly a criminal who's been
		working with the Consortium."

		"What's the Consortium?"

		"What the hell is going on here, Mulder?"

		I wish I fucking knew. "I'm in an alternate universe, Scully. These
		questions... the world you're describing is not the one I know."

		"Assuming I could believe such a thing, how exactly did this happen?"

		"I don't know. I haven't any idea. I wasn't doing anything unusual. Just
		getting ready to go home." My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I
		should be eating home cooking right now. With Alex. "To a home I don't
		seem to have any more."

		We sit in silence for a while.

		How the fuck am I going to sort this out? I don't have any clues. Maybe
		there's something at the office. "Scully, let's go back to the Bureau.
		That's the last place where things seemed normal. Maybe we can find some
		sort of evidence."

		She drives the blue Taurus.

		"Whose car is this, Scully?"

		"Mine. I bought it last year. To replace the old Taurus."

		"Your car is more fun where I come from."

		"Tell me about... where you come from."

		"I live in a house in Alexandria with... with my lover."

		"You have a lover?" Her question seems open to my explanations, but the
		tone in her voice gives her away. She's still doubtful. Oddly, it makes
		me warm to her. My doubting Scully is so familiar, so comfortable.

		"Yeah, uh, a male lover."

		She gives me a leery glance out of the corner of her eyes. "Are you
		making this up?"

		"No, Scully. We've been together since 1995."

		"Mulder, you have trouble getting along with your fish."

		"Al--uh, he's calmed me down quite a bit. I think he's a really good
		influence on me."

		"What's his name?"

		"Alex."

		Dead silence.

		"Alex Krycek."

		Her hands are clenching the steering wheel and she won't look at me. She
		pulls the car over to the side of the road. "I think you're delusional,
		Mulder. The man is a paid assassin. He betrayed you. The last time I saw
		the two of you together, you were almost compulsively abusive toward
		him. If I hadn't been there, I think you'd have beaten him up."

		"No way, Scully. I love him. He's not a paid assassin. He may have
		gotten into a little trouble when he first arrived at the Bureau, but he
		came clean and he's a good citizen today."

		Her voice climbs to a shrill tone. "A good citizen? He helped the men
		who abducted me!"

		"Abducted you? What are you talking about?"

		"Skyland Mountain, Mulder."

		"Isn't that a ski resort?"

		She shakes her head furiously, speechless.

		"Scully, do you believe me now? This isn't my world."

		We sit silently at the side of the highway for a long time. "I don't
		know what to think, Mulder. You seem lucid, but the life you've just
		described is a fantasy."

		"Not to me it isn't." If I don't argue with her, it feels like Alex will
		slip away and become just a dream. And I'll be stuck here. Alone.
		"Scully, what if there are alternate universes? Other similar places
		where things turned out differently... if different choices were made.
		Isn't it believable that Alex Krycek could be my lover?"

		"He's a criminal," she replies angrily, but something on her face
		shifts. Eventually, she adds, almost unwillingly, "You know the tension
		between the two of you... it's always been sort of... sexual."

		I take her hand in mine. She's all I have now. "Let's go to the office
		and have a look around."



		Chapter Nine

		My entry card scans without a problem. But when we get to the basement
		office, it's different. I was never here today. So what did I expect to
		find? More things that aren't right? How's that going to help? But it's
		all I've got to go on.

		"Does anything look different, or unusual, Scully?"

		"No." She picks up a stack of mail and flips through it. "This is the
		only thing I see that wasn't here last Friday."

		I pick up the phone and dial security. Reeling off my name and badge
		number to the bored officer, I ask him to run an entry and exit report
		on me. He puts me on hold and comes back about fifteen minutes later.
		"You just carded in at the first floor gate about twenty minutes ago.
		That's the only log entry for your card today."

		Why am I not surprised?

		Hanging up, I ball my hands into fists. I'm in the fucking twilight
		zone. I can't even go to the scene of the 'crime.' So I have no place to
		look for evidence. I'm screwed.

		I glance around the room and my eyes fall on the file cabinets. The
		X-Files. "Scully, we'll look in the files for clues. Starting with the
		1993 cases--before Alex was my lover."

		She shakes her head sadly. "Mulder, the files were destroyed by the fire
		in 1998."

		"Fire? What fire?" Oh, shit.

		So, instead, we pick up Chinese take out and head back to my place. If
		you can call it that. As we step into the dark apartment, I miss the
		dogs. If Alex was home and he'd let them in, they'd be all over me. Chip
		wouldn't rest until I stood still to receive his affections.

		Is Chip missing me somewhere? Alex, too? I can imagine him sprawled on
		the floor of the living room, arm wrapped over Sashi's rotund body.

		I glance over at my fish, but it just isn't the same. You can't cuddle a
		fish.

		"Scully, if we needed to find Alex Krycek, how would we do it?"

		"He's a wanted criminal, Mulder. And we're federal agents. It's not like
		we'd just send him an email and he'd drop by."

		"There must be some way to find him."

		"Mulder," her voice takes a tone I recognize--it means bad news, "Krycek
		isn't your lover. Even if you find him, he's not going to run into your
		arms and go buy a house with you."

		She's right. But I still have to find him. "Can you think of anyone who
		knows him who might have a lead? Or be able to get a message to him? Any
		known associates?"

		"Well, Cancerman, I suppose, not that he'd help us."

		"Cancerman?" I have no idea who she's talking about.

		"C.G.B. Spender?"

		"He's dead, Scully."

		"I don't think so. Skinner got a message to him once. We could ask him
		again."

		"Cancerman's alive? Skinner's alive?"

		"Yes," she replies plainly.

		"Fuck. That's very bad news and very good news."

		"Skinner's dead in your...?" She trails off. I don't think she wants to
		know.

		"Yeah. I miss the bastard, too." The one good thing about this place...
		the Modell/Bowman case didn't cost Skinner his life. "Scully, would you
		call him? See if he can get a message to Krycek?"

		"I don't think-"

		"We have to try."

		"Okay, Mulder."

		She reaches Skinner at home and, with me kibitzing in the background,
		manages to convince him to call anyone he knows who might have anything
		to do with this consortium to send our message.

		The message? Mulder needs to see Krycek. Wants to exchange information.
		Won't arrest him.

		It doesn't exactly sum up my heartfelt longing for the man.

		Scully and I stay up half the night reviewing old cases. I'm trying to
		find a nexus of divergence... where this world started to be different
		from mine. There's nothing she knows about my life before 1993 that
		differs from what I know. Samantha was abducted. I felt guilty. Went to
		Oxford. Traveled around Europe. Went to Quantico. Joined the Behavioral
		Science Unit. Started on the X-Files. It all fits.

		Our first year together, the cases seem to match. But things fall apart
		rapidly when Alex enters the picture. Scully's explaining about the
		Duane Barry case, which I never heard of, when suddenly she grabs my arm
		and says, "Mulder, take off your shirt."

		"What?"

		"Take off your shirt. You have a bullet scar... that I gave you...
		Krycek was there."

		It makes no sense, but I tear off my tie and unbutton my shirt. Scully's
		fingers search the skin of my left shoulder. "It's not there."

		"What's not there?"

		She takes a deep breath and says, "The night your father was killed, you
		found Krycek skulking around your apartment building." The tone of her
		voice has shifted. She's starting to believe me. "The two of you got
		into a fight and you were going to shoot him. I shot you in the shoulder
		to prevent it."

		"You shot me to save Krycek?"

		"I was afraid you'd end up killing him with the same gun used to kill
		your father. I was trying to protect you."

		"Thanks," I reply dryly.

		"It's a long story, but what matters is we have objective evidence that
		you're different."

		I grin at her lovingly. "Now, she believes me."

		"Maybe I do, Mulder." She shifts uncomfortably as I continue to smile at
		her. "So what are we going to do about it?"

		That's the crux of the matter. There's nothing to do.

		It's late, so we agree to meet in the morning, and Scully heads home.

		It's depressing to be alone in my old apartment. I worked hard to build
		my relationship with Alex. And now it's just gone.

		I get up at the crack of dawn and drive to Georgetown. My relief is
		gigantic when Corrine answers her doorbell. Even in her flannel jammies
		and robe, she looks damned good. Her high cheekbones and curvy lips
		could make me weep. Two features she shares with her brother.

		"Yes?"

		She doesn't recognize me. If she did, she'd be chiding me for dropping
		in this early.

		"My name is Fox Mulder. I'm... a friend of your brother. Do you know
		where I can find him?"

		Corrine gives me a shrewd glare. "Not a very good friend, are you?"

		If you only knew. "Why?"

		"He's been dead since 1994."

		"Oh." For a moment, I'm paralyzed with fear that he is dead. I don't
		know what to say to her. "I'm sorry I bothered you."

		Before the door clicks shut, I've run the parameters in my head. Based
		on what Scully told me, Krycek's not dead. I'll bet he wrote off his
		family when he went AWOL from the Bureau. That's really sad. No family?
		No lover? No Chip and Sashi? Mulder, you really fucked up in this world.

		And it's another dead end. How am I going to find him?

		Back at Mulder's apartment, I log onto his PC. It's easy to guess the
		password.

		He spends an inordinate amount of time on the smut web sites. How sad...
		that could have been me, but for Alex. And it may yet become me again,
		if I can't go home.

		There's not much about his cases, but I read everything I can find.
		There's a draft copy of a report about a fast food case in California. I
		enjoyed that one. Brain sucker indeed.

		I scour his Quicken data for credit card numbers. Some are the same as
		mine. Phoning the providers, I'm able to sketch out his travels over the
		past week. His final destination was Raleigh/Durham International.

		This raises the question of whether or not I might find him there. What
		if he's somewhere else, too? If he's with my Alex, I can't quite figure
		out what I'm going to feel about that. He believes Alex is the worst
		kind of criminal. He'd better not give my lover any shit or I'll... I'll
		what?

		Alex could never be a major criminal. I know he got started off wrong,
		working for Spender, but he's not really a violent man. Even if he
		hadn't come clean with Skinner and me, he wouldn't be capable of the
		things Scully accused him of. He's just not evil. In fact, he's very
		sweet.

		Scully and I drive to Durham, but the only trace of Mulder we can find
		is at the local Bureau office. An Agent Lukowsky tells us his partner
		helped "me" trace some phone numbers.

		We step outside the Bureau facility. I'm hungry.

		"Scully, let's get a restaurant recommendation before we-" Shit.

		"What is it, Mulder?"

		He might have done the same thing.

		I hold the door for Scully. Standing in the lobby, I try to imagine the
		office on a busy workday. My eyes fall to the reception desk.

		Lukowsky steps out of his cubicle with a coffee mug.

		"Agent Lukowsky?"

		"Yeah, something else?"

		"Your receptionist? Female?"

		"Yeah," he asks giving me an obtuse look.

		"Young and pretty?"

		"Yeah."

		"Can you reach her at home?"

		"Why?"

		"Because I would have flirted with her and asked her where to go for
		dinner."

		Lukowsky shakes his head disparagingly. "I thought you profiled the nut
		jobs, Agent Mulder, but you sound like one of them."

		"Look, I know what this sounds like, but it's important. I promise I'm
		not trying to get the girl's number for a date."

		He shrugs and returns to his cube to find her number.

		Marcia sounds cute. I definitely would have flirted with her. She sent
		the other Mulder to Miguel's on Fourth Street.

		As we walk into Miguel's, we're immediately approached by a tough
		looking teenaged boy wearing an apron. "Hey, you feelin' better today?"

		"Yeah, I am, but my memory's a bit off. When was I here before?"

		"Yesterday a little after five. You were the first customer of the
		night."

		"Did I come by myself?"

		"Uh, yeah, but your friend joined you later."

		Scully asks, "Can you describe the friend?"

		"Um, I'm not very good with faces. He was about the same size as you
		are," he replies, gesturing at me, "had a moustache."

		"How old?"

		"About the same as you--you know 40 or 50."

		Gee, thanks. "Try to remember anything else about him. What was he
		wearing?"

		The kid shrugs. "I don't remember."

		"What happened when he arrived?"

		"You were already eating. He sat down at your table. I brought a menu
		and a glass of water."

		"Did I look like I was happy to see him?"

		"Hey, man, I don't know when you're happy, you know what I mean?"

		Scully says, "Show me where they sat."

		The kid walks over to a table at the side of the restaurant. I sit where
		he tells me I sat and Scully where the visitor sat.

		"Then what happened?"

		"I didn't see nothing for a while, but then your friend was carrying you
		out, like you were drunk or something."

		"How'd he carry me?"

		"You know, with your arm over his shoulder." He mimes the move.

		"Did he say anything?"

		"Said, 'My friend's having a seizure. It happens all the time.'"

		"Did you see anything else that would help us understand what happened?"

		"No, man. That's it."

		Scully asks, "Did he pay the check?"

		"No, ma'am."

		I pull a couple of twenties out of my wallet and a business card. "Would
		you call me if you remember anything else?"

		"FBI... oh, wow. Are we part of a case?"

		I give him a wan smile. "Probably not."

		On the sidewalk, Scully and I compare notes. Whatever it was, it
		happened to me around 6:30 or 7:00, so if the times sync, it didn't
		happen when Mulder was still at the restaurant. So where was he taken?

		We spend six hours scouring the neighborhood and find only two people
		who saw a shaky man being led out. Helped into the backseat of a black
		or dark blue sedan. One witness describes an adolescent boy, with light
		brown hair and glasses. He was in the backseat, too.

		I don't recognize the description of the boy, but Scully says it could
		be someone named Gibson Praise.

		We visit the police station and the local hospitals, but don't turn up
		any new leads. We can't exactly put out an APB on myself, but we
		download copies of my ID photo and leave them at the police station and
		the local Bureau office.

		On the drive back to Alexandria, she tells me all about Gibson Praise.
		And his suspected abilities. It tweaks my funny bone... Somehow I know
		the boy is the key to what happened, but I can't divine how it all adds
		up.

		After Scully drops me off at Mulder's apartment, I sit at his computer
		and write a detailed report of everything I've learned. If the other
		Mulder comes back and I'm not here, it will help him put the pieces back
		together. I save the report in a desktop folder called HOT_BABES. He
		won't miss it.

		Sunday morning, Scully and I meet at the Bureau. We spend the day trying
		to find leads related to Gibson Praise, but none of the limited
		information in the X-Files is of any use in finding the boy or figuring
		out how this happened.

		On Monday, I'm forced to concede that I have no usable leads. The only
		thing I can think of to do is go into the office and work on cases... as
		if nothing has happened. Don't I wish it was true?

		There's not much in the X-Files about Krycek. Most of it was destroyed
		in the fire. I review his Bureau record, which indicates he went AWOL a
		few weeks after killing Augustus Cole. Did we still fuck that night?
		Scully, apparently, has no knowledge of he and I being lovers, so I
		can't ask her. I wish I could ask Alex.

		Tuesday, I start to worry about my Alex. If I never make it back, he'll
		be all alone... probably with no idea of what happened to me. It hurts
		so badly to think this is the end of us, and he'll never even know why.

		After lunch, I see Skinner in the hall. My entire body tenses and my
		bones feel cold. It's a good thing Scully told me, or it would have been
		worse.

		Gesturing with my hand, I say, "Sir?"

		He stops and turns toward me, "Yes, Agent Mulder?"

		"Sir, I uh..." Suddenly, I have nothing to say to him... and everything
		to say.

		Skinner squeezes the bridge of his nose between two strong fingers.
		"Mulder, what is it?"

		"I, um, just wanted to say thank you."

		"For what?" He eyes me suspiciously. I've missed his soulful brown eyes.
		"Mulder?"

		"I know I'm a bit of a management headache..."

		His eyes narrow.

		"But, uh, well you've always supported us as best as you can. I wanted
		you to know I appreciate it."

		"Are you on drugs again, Mulder?"

		Again? One more thing to ask Scully. "No, sir. I'm trying to be sincere.
		So, um, thanks."

		Skinner gives me a look that clearly says humor-him-he'll-go-away.
		"Sure." He strides down the hall and around the corner.

		Well, that went well. I almost feel sorry for the real Mulder when he
		comes back. God, I really hope he's not in my world. Speaking of
		management headaches, what little messes will he leave me?

		I drop by the Bureau library and find the book I checked out before all
		of this happened. A quick read-through answers my questions, so I phone
		the New Hampshire Sheriff's Department to tell them who's killing the
		college students and why. They're predictably dubious, having never
		discussed the case with 'me' at all, but pretty desperate on the case,
		so I think they'll follow up on my information.

		On Wednesday, I track down Rubin. He doesn't live where he should. I
		visit him on the pretense that I'm eliminating him as a suspect in a
		(non-existent) case. He invites me into his home. And shows me his
		paintings. I keep looking for Scully's favorite, the couple on the
		beach, but it's not there.

		She's the inspiration and he hasn't met her yet.

		Rubin seems much the same man, but it doesn't appear that he's selling
		any of his work. There must be something about the stability of a
		relationship that helps you succeed. At the door, I ask him. "I don't
		mean to be pushy, but I have a friend who might enjoy meeting you."

		He cocks his head at me curiously.

		"She's my partner, another FBI agent. Very smart and very beautiful. You
		two would definitely hit it off."

		His dubious expression doesn't dash my hopes. He doesn't know what I
		know.

		"Do you mind if I give her your name and number?"

		"Sure," he replies with a disinterested shrug.

		A couple hours later, I approach Scully. "There's someone I'd like you
		to meet."

		"Who?"

		"A screenwriter and artist. He's..." What to say to her? She must meet
		him. I run through a list of possible ways to manipulate her and then
		just say, "Would you call him and ask him out to dinner? As a favor to
		me."

		Scully looks at me as if for the first time really understanding that
		I'm not her Mulder. I'm already preparing counter arguments, when she
		says, "All right, Mulder."

		As she takes his card from my hand, I feel so good. Giving her something
		to brighten up her drab all-work-no-play life. A gift I already know
		she'll love.

		On Thursday, I phone the facilities department and order a desk for her.

		Friday night, I'm hanging around the basement office, trying not to
		think about going home to an empty apartment. I'm trying desperately to
		deny that I'm stuck here, and I'm just not ready to face the weekend.

		Before Scully went home, she asked me if I wanted to see a movie or
		something. But being morose around her isn't much better than being
		morose alone. I guess I'll watch a couple of videos.

		I slip on my coat and go back to my desk to turn off the PC. I wonder
		why Scully doesn't have a desk? My Scully would resent that. Turning off
		the lights, I step into the hall and push the elevator button.

		As usual, it takes half an eternity for the elevator to open. It's not
		empty, which is unusual, since no one generally seeks out a free ride to
		the basement. It's an agent from White Collar Crime. And boy, does she
		look peeved. Well, it's not my fault she got on an elevator going the
		wrong direction.

		I give her a bemused smile.

		She rolls her eyes.

		Then she starts to fade out. The fog is back.

		Ah, Christ, I'm going home. Please let it be so.

		I wish I could see the look on the White Collar agent's face now.


		Chapter Ten

		Friday, January 28, 2000

		A bit of color forms in front of me.

		I visualize Alex, Chip and Sashi enthusiastically greeting their
		returning Mulder. I hope he made it home.

		And I find myself standing on the street in front of my apartment
		building on Hegal Place. I take a deep breath. Is this my reality or
		somebody else's?

		I'm afraid to find out.


		I step forward and open the building door. I lost my keys, so I can't
		check the mail, but I scan every detail of the tiny lobby, looking for
		anything out of place. There's a clump of mud on the bottom step, but
		mud happens.

		The stairs smell that same familiar musty smell. In the hallway, the
		number on apartment #3 dangles from one tack, just like it should.

		When I get to #42, I knock first. No one answers. I can't hear any
		sounds from inside. Opening my wallet, I retrieve a credit card... wish
		I had my lock picks. Just as I'm about to jimmy the lock, the door to
		#45 opens and Mrs. Haversham comes out.

		"Good evening, Mr. Mulder."

		"Evenin', Mrs. Haversham."

		I wait for her to pass before I edge the credit card into the gap near
		the lock. This wouldn't work if I'd locked the deadbolt, but I rarely
		do.

		Eventually, I get the door open. I'm tingling with excitement as I step
		inside. Coat rack. Leather sofa. Fish tank. Dusty pile of 'The Lone
		Gunmen.' It looks exactly like my apartment.

		I'm home.

		But wait, there are a few oddities. My desk chair is tucked too
		perfectly under the desk. The kitchen is tidier than I left it.
		Someone's even cleaned the counters. Shit, what if I'm in a third
		universe?

		God, no. Cancerman will probably be my lover.

		Wait. Don't panic. What if...?

		I step to the desk and reach for Samantha's picture. There's nothing
		under it, but then the PC catches my eye.

		I switch it on and watch the desktop appear. There's a new folder:
		HOT_BABES. I chuckle at my counterpart's sense of humor. Or would that
		be my own sense of humor?

		Reading his account of his investigation, I'm oddly pleased to learn
		that he investigated well. The minute I see the name Gibson Praise, the
		pieces fall together.

		Somehow Gibson did this.

		He must have other abilities.

		The thing that bothered me the most was how un-random the universe was
		that I ended up in. Someone had to know that I'd been attracted to Alex.
		I never told anyone, but Gibson could read my thoughts...

		Thinking back to my first encounter with the boy, I remember him teasing
		me about having lascivious thoughts about Diana or Scully. It was
		Scully, but I was just trying to imagine her as a cast member on
		Baywatch, in one of those skimpy red bikinis. Then Alex's image popped
		into my head. The way he looked when I said a cool good night at his
		hotel room door... wishing I could trust him.

		That would have given Gibson what he needed to teach me a lesson. Fuck,
		that child is too clever. Way too clever.

		God, I hope Gibson didn't read any of the more prurient details. Yikes.
		Talk about contributing to the delinquency of a minor.

		If he knew I was attracted to Alex and wanted to trust him, would that
		be enough? What else would he have to know? That Alex was attracted to
		me? Gibson might have encountered Alex at some point. Extrapolating,
		that would mean the Alex in my world is attracted to me. Or was once.

		I recall grimly that I haven't been his best pal through the years. D'ya
		think he might not like me any more?

		Fuck.

		In the kitchen, I find a beer. Thanks for buying another six pack,
		Mulder. You're a swell houseguest.

		Kicking back on my sofa, I jab at the remote and tune in the news. Not
		listening, I glance around the room. This is my life.

		It's comfortable. Feels like I belong here.

		But I miss Chip. The fish just aren't affectionate. I hope he fed them.
		My eyes dart to the aquarium. They're swimming nicely. The water looks
		clear. Too clear. He cleaned out my tank. What a nice guy. I feel like
		such a shit in comparison.

		It's really twisted when you can't even measure up to yourself.

		I pick up the phone and dial Scully.

		"Scully."

		"Hey, it's me. I'm back."

		"Back where?"

		"Um, in my own universe?"

		"Mulder, if you went back there... how can you phone me?"

		"No, it's me. The Mulder from this universe."

		"Oh," she replies dumbly.

		"Aren't you glad I'm back?"

		"Of course. It seems like both of you will be happier this way. All his
		pining over..." Scully trails off. "Mulder, did you..."

		"Yeah," my mouth opens to say 'Alex,' but I stop myself, "Krycek is his
		lover. Pretty crazy, huh?" But that's a lie. It's not crazy, it's...
		wonderful.

		"I wasn't sure what to make of his deep longing for our
		murderer/assassin... but, on the other hand, he seemed a lot calmer than
		you."

		I catch myself frowning... or am I pouting? Another comparison in which
		I fall short. And this is my Scully. "I'm funnier and more spontaneous."

		"How would you know, Mulder? I'm the one who spent a week with him."

		"I can just tell from his complacent lifestyle."

		"I'd like to hear about your adventures... why don't you come over?"

		"'Kay."

		It's Friday night. I'm alone, but at least I have somewhere to go.


		Chapter Eleven

		Friday, January 28, 2000

		A smudge of color coalesces in front of me.

		No dream this time. I wonder if the dream is just my brain's desperate
		attempt to make sense of the transition. And on the return trip you
		don't need it because... you already know what to expect?

		I find myself standing on the street in front of our house. The shutters
		are blue. No planters on the front steps. Yes!


		I think this transition, or whatever it is, deposits you in front of
		your home. So this must be my home. If Alex and Chip and Sashi are
		waiting for me, I'm going to be a very happy man.

		At the front door, I ring the doorbell, just to be safe. I breathe
		easier as soon as I hear the familiar soft chimes of the bell Alex
		installed the day before we moved in.

		The door opens and Alex's face instantly goes from curious to amazed to
		overjoyed. His body bounds into mine, nearly knocking us over, as he
		plasters himself onto me. "Sweetie, you're home." I can hear the smile
		in his voice.

		"Fuck yes, Alex."

		He steps back to look me over carefully.

		"It's really me... I think." I realize I'm not totally sure I wasn't
		sent to some other universe. "Let's go inside."

		We step into the house. Everything looks right. Neat and clean, unlike
		his apartment. The dogs are pawing furiously at the sliding glass door.

		Alex follows the path of my eyes and lets them in.

		Chip makes a beeline for me. As he gets closer, he becomes even more
		excited than usual. It's frightening, actually, to have 130 pounds of
		dog coming at me like that. But I'm excited, too, so I kneel down and he
		smacks into me hard, wetting my face with slobbery kisses.

		Sashi greets me with an eager bark and joins the fray.

		Alex gazes down at us with the most intense look of affection and
		pleasure. Damn, he really loves me.

		I stand and break free of the dogs, to take him into my arms again. His
		kiss reassures me... he tastes like my Alex. I'm home. And nothing is
		more important than being home.

		"I missed you so badly, Fox."

		Sashi barks again, as if to agree.

		I'm so emotional I can barely speak. "I was afraid I'd never see you
		again."

		Alex nods frantically.

		"I trust my doppelganger didn't mistreat you in any way?"

		Suddenly, the joy is leached from his face.

		"What is it?" I'll kill that son of a bitch. Somehow. Some way.

		Alex's beautiful eyes radiate hurt. "He didn't mistreat me, but I..." He
		swallows hard. "I'm so sorry, Fox." His gaze drops to the carpet. "I
		slept with him once. Only once. I'm so sorry."

		You fucked my lover, you miserable scum sucker.

		I should have fucked yours then. I might have if I'd have found him. Oh,
		shit. Poor Alex. He was alone, too.

		My hand touches his chin, urging his face up. "It's okay, Alex. I
		understand. Don't feel like you cheated on me... you didn't."

		His lips twist into a half-hearted smile. "It's been a rough week."

		"Yeah. Me, too."

		"Why don't I barbecue some chicken and you can tell me all about it?"

		"I'd like that, Mr. Alex." Arms around each other's waists, we head for
		the kitchen.

		Alex's lips trail along the side of my face.

		I'm home.

		Chapter Twelve

		February, 2000

		A funny thing happened my first day back at the office. I picked up the
		phone to call Facilities and order a desk for Scully. But I had to hang
		it up again to answer the door. It was Facilities with a desk. He must
		have ordered it. And when I called the New Hampshire Sheriff's
		Department, they thanked me for the tip that solved their Celtic cult
		murders. He's probably home now, solving the case for the second time.


		To all appearances, nothing has changed. Scully and I are working on the
		X-Files. I found out what happened to my sister. I wish I could tell the
		other Mulder. He'd want to know, too.

		I know he found my note. But I fear the consequences of the information
		I gave him... that an alien invasion is planned in his world, too.
		Surely I can't have fucked up both my world and his? Every time I think
		of him, I imagine him happy with Alex and the dogs. It has to be that
		way. It just has to. The calming influence of Alex will make him
		stronger and better able to face the future... whatever it is in his
		world. I have to believe it.

		I'm back in my old life. It just didn't seem so... lackluster before.

		My local video shop located a copy of 'Spring Break' for me. I've
		watched it dozens of times, especially the parts that remind me of the
		night I spent with him. I can't stop myself from playing the tape but I
		feel empty afterward. Unsatisfied.

		Scully's dating Rubin. My doppelganger located him and told her to ask
		the man out. So, she did. I can't extract from her the precise details
		of how he conned her into that. She wouldn't have agreed to it if I'd
		set it up. But however he did it, I'm glad. She deserves some happiness.
		After all I've put her through... all the nasty and unexpected
		consequences of a simple choice I made years ago.

		My thoughts go all too often to Alex Krycek. The one in my world is not,
		could not be the same man. Even if they were the same man on the night
		he killed Augustus Cole, they aren't now. I have to accept that.

		But I keep wishing he'd turn up. I think I could change things between
		us... so they're not like before. So he's not my enemy any longer.
		That's probably the best I can do, but it's hard not to hope for more.

		March 2000

		Sunday morning run through the park... It feels good to run, but it's
		boring, too. I need to get a dog. Maybe I could bribe the landlord into
		allowing one?

		As is my ritual, I jump over the granite rock at the edge of the
		baseball diamond and turn right at the bleachers. A man steps out from
		behind them.

		It's Alex.

		Abruptly, I halt my run and gaze at him. He looks much older than the
		other Alex. His left arm is held stiffly at his side, prosthetic hand
		covered by a black leather glove.

		"I heard you were trying to find me, Mulder. What do you want?" His
		right hand is inside the front of his leather jacket, probably on the
		grip of his gun.

		I step closer and he watches warily, elbow twitching... the hand with
		the gun.

		"I just want to talk."

		"About what?"

		Our relationship? I can't say that. "We've been enemies for too long.
		I'd like to change that."

		"Why?" he inquires suspiciously.

		"Because I think we once had a lot in common and a chance to be...
		friends."

		"What have you been smoking, Mulder?"

		I make a face. "I'm serious, Al... Krycek."

		"So talk, then."

		I take two steps closer and he takes one step back. "Can we go somewhere
		to talk? It's going to be a long conversation."

		He frowns and shakes his head.

		"Please, Alex. It's important." It finally dawns on me that he's worried
		about his safety. "I promise you this isn't a trap."

		"Sorry, I don't think it's worth the risk."

		"I won't hit you again. I give you my word."

		He offers a snort of disbelief and backs away.

		"Alex, wait!"

		He stops hesitantly.

		I need to give him something he can understand. To make sense of it all.
		"There was an X-File a couple of months ago. It took me... somewhere
		else. And I learned things. About myself, and about you. It changed me.
		I just want you to listen to what I have to say. That's all."

		"You learned things... about me? What things?"

		"When you were a little boy, you wanted to be Little Joe on Bonanza."

		His jaw drops.

		My heart is beating faster. He's going to listen to me now. Why does he
		look so panicky?

		"Jesus, Mulder. You're the last person I want in my head."

		"It's okay, Alex. I won't try to use it against you."

		He gives me a disparaging look. "You've used everything against me since
		the first day we met." Shaking his head, he continues, "I don't know
		what kind of religious conversion you've had, Mulder, but I don't want
		anything to do with it."

		"Can't we just talk?"

		"No," he replies firmly.

		As he retreats, I toss off, "If you change your mind, find me again."
		What else can I say to persuade him? "The night you killed Cole... I'm
		sorry I didn't come to your room to comfort you. I know you needed it
		that night. And that it would have made a difference."

		He's so far away by the time I finish... probably didn't even hear me.

		"And you detest olives," I said to no one in particular.

		Two weeks later, there's an email in my inbox.

		To: fmulder@fbi.gov From: LittleJoe@zork.net Subj: still want to talk?

		Kahshe Lake, Ontario Les Pommes des Pin March 24


		I hit 'reply.'

		To: LittleJoe@zork.net From: fmulder@fbi.gov Subj: Re: still want to
		talk?

		I'll be there. Thank you.

		Friday, 24 March 2000

		I take a red eye flight. Kashe Lake is a two hour drive from Toronto.
		Spring arrived early this year; the snow is sparse. I check into the
		lodge in the afternoon. Les Pommes des Pin. The Pinecones, or so it said
		on their web site.

		The front desk clerk informs me there are no other guests. It's off
		season. The aging man hands me my key and a small envelope. The note
		inside says, "I'll be there tomorrow."

		I'm about to curse his paranoia when I decide that's laughable. Guess
		I'll have to enjoy the scenery in the meantime.

		On my evening jog around the lake, bundled in sweats and a down vest, I
		review what I'm going to say. The easiest way for him to follow the
		story is to start telling it from the gateway, the way I experienced it.
		But maybe it makes more sense if I tell it in chronological order.
		Starting with the night he killed Cole.

		It would be simple to decide how to do this if I knew what I was trying
		to accomplish. Actually, I do know. I just don't want to know.

		I could have fallen in love with the other Alex. And I want to know if
		there's enough of him left in this man to... Fuck, I do not want to even
		think about this. The potential for disappointment is too great.

		Even if he did rush into my arms, he's a criminal and I'm a federal
		agent.

		This is so fucked.

		But I'll never be satisfied unless I reveal what I know. He has to
		understand what happened. I need to scrape away all the bullshit in our
		relationship and get to something real. Even if it's still being
		enemies.

		I've lost so much through the years... I can't lose this... whatever it
		is.

		In the morning, I'm eating toast in the dining room. The proprietor
		hands me a note. He's trying to control the encounter. Fine.

		This notes reads, "11:00 by the paddleboats."

		Predictably, he's not there when I arrive. The day is warm. For Canada
		in March anyway. I fidget around for ten or fifteen minutes until he
		appears on the hill above. He walks slowly down the knoll and over to
		the dock, seating himself on the railing.

		Alex looks good. Older in appearance than the other Alex, but I like the
		sensual way he moves. My body is acutely aware of his, and memories of
		the night his doppelganger fucked me are rushing through my head.

		I shake my head to clear away the distracting thoughts. Opening my mouth
		to begin, I get an inspiration. "Let's take a boat."

		"Why?"

		"Oh, please, Alex. If I had nefarious plans, I'd have executed them
		already. Just pick a damned boat."

		He's still distrustful, but he selects a boat and climbs aboard. Soon,
		we're paddling around the lake like a couple of tourists. Not
		surprisingly, there's no one else on the lake.

		Alex doesn't say a word and doesn't ask what I want to talk about. He
		pedals placidly and waits.

		It's up to me to begin. "In January, someone drugged me and abducted me
		out of a restaurant in Durham. I was tossed into the back seat of a car,
		with Gibson Praise. Do you know anything about this?"

		"No, Mulder. I didn't do it."

		"I didn't think you did, I just wondered if you had any information. But
		that's not why I'm here." I pause to order my thoughts. "Gibson did
		something to send me somewhere else... to protect me, I think. I don't
		really know, but the somewhere else he sent me was quite interesting."

		Watching me vigilantly, he steers us in a circle.

		"He sent me to a parallel universe where things are different than they
		are here."

		His expression dabbles with disbelief, but he's seen too much. Instead,
		he seems to be listening more intently, ready to believe.

		I want to blurt it out, but it's a lot to take in, so I try to go
		slowly. For his benefit. "In this parallel universe, the events of 1993
		appear to be the same as they were here. But 1994 was quite different."

		For a moment, I just listen to the water sounds. "The night you killed
		Augustus Cole seems to be where things diverged."

		A hint of emotion flickers across his face, but he blanks it out before
		I can interpret it.

		"In the other universe, that night at the hotel, I ordered a pizza and
		brought it over to your room."

		Alex can't hide the shock. He knows that night was very important for
		him.

		I go on, "And while eating the pizza, we seduced each other."

		He's trying to flatten his expression again, but I can see the panic in
		his eyes. "Mulder, I don't know where the hell you went, but it has
		nothing to do with me." I note he doesn't claim to be straight or argue
		he wasn't attracted to me.

		But what's he so afraid of? I continue, "I think it has everything to do
		with you. And me. You see, even in our world, I was attracted to you."

		His jaw drops open. He wasn't anticipating that. We've both stopped
		paddling. The boat is just drifting now.

		"I ordered a pizza that night, and thought about going over to your
		room, but I didn't do it."

		"Mulder, what can any of this..." He shakes his head. The disbelief is
		winning now, because he doesn't want to believe it.

		"But in this other place, we fucked." I'd love to tell him the details.
		Some other time perhaps... "And I held you."

		His face tightens into a wince.

		"And in the morning, you told me you'd been suborned by Spender. And we
		went to Skinner together. You stopped working for Spender. My father
		lived. Scully was never abducted."

		Alex inhales suddenly. The mask he wears is being ripped away.

		"Spender died of lung cancer. We never went to Russia. You never lost
		your arm. And you never kissed me."

		He looks like he's about to cry.

		"And in January 2000, you were still an agent with the Bureau."

		A single tear slides down his cheek.

		For a moment, I fear I've destroyed him. It must be hard to hear this.
		To know it could have been different. But I haven't told him the best
		part yet.

		"And we live together in Alexandria, in a house, with two beautiful
		dogs."

		Alex bolts. He's so eager to leave he forgets we're on a boat, and
		nearly capsizes us. We spend an anxious minute, shifting our body weight
		to stabilize the craft.

		The boat stabilized, he takes a deep breath. "Fuck you, Mulder. I don't
		know what you're trying to pull, but I'm not believing a word of it."
		He's eying the water, probably trying to figure out if swimming to shore
		would ruin his leather jacket. It's only March, so the water's probably
		two degrees above freezing.

		Funny how he believed me until it hurt. "Alex, it's the truth. I don't
		know what an alternate universe really is or what it means
		philosophically, but I did go there. I'm not trying to cause you any
		pain."

		"Whose sick fantasy is this... you and me in a house? Ken and Barbie
		living happily ever after in the suburbs?" His voice shifts, getting
		softer. "I never could have dreamed up anything like that." But the way
		he says it demonstrates the lie. He knows it's plausible. That he might
		have wanted it. Just like I knew I might have wanted it.

		"If you don't believe it, Alex, dispute it with facts. What was your
		state of mind that night in the hotel? You'd just read the file you
		stole from me."

		His eyes flash to mine.

		"I know a lot of things I couldn't know any other way, Alex. You took
		the file from my car during a bathroom break at the train station. You
		concealed it in your suitcase. You read it at the hotel. It really
		bothered you, what our government had done to those GIs. Unable to rest,
		you went for a walk. Had a cherry Icee and people-watched, feeling apart
		from it all.

		Grateful for my eidetic memory, I continue, "Walking back to the hotel,
		you were feeling worse about taking the file than about killing Cole,
		because Cole had wanted to die. Stealing evidence from me was different.
		A betrayal.

		"You thought of me as a cross to bear, but didn't blame me, because you
		were working for Spender. You felt you deserved my distrust."

		Alex looks numb. There's no way anyone but him could know all this.

		It only gets worse, my friend. I know what you were thinking that night.
		"You sat in your hotel room, feeling guilty and thinking about your
		future. It looked bad. You knew Spender was dangerous. Part of you
		wanted to be dangerous, too, to prove yourself. But another part-"

		"Stop it, Mulder," he said weakly.

		"But another part just wanted something more human."

		His shoulders begin to shake and he makes a muffled sound of distress.
		"Why are you doing this to me?"

		I reach out and touch his jaw line to make him look at me. "Because I
		made a mistake."

		"What mistake?"

		"I ate that pizza alone, Alex."

		He shakes his head despairingly. "It can't be true."

		"Did I tell you one fact that isn't true?"

		Alex doesn't answer for a long time. Finally, he asks, "Why are you
		telling me this?"

		"Because I once believed you were irredeemable. I was wrong."

		He scoffs at me bitterly. "So you're here to redeem me? I think you're a
		few fucking years too late."

		Suddenly, it's apparent how much has changed during those years. The
		Alex Krycek with me now doesn't think much of himself. He doesn't trust
		anyone. Doesn't believe in happy endings. Everything I've told him is a
		reproach.

		But to me, it's all redemption. He's a real, live, warm human being. And
		for the first time, I want to treat him like one. It was my mistake, not
		his.

		"Don't you see, Alex? My actions affected yours. I can't blame you any
		more. You wanted to do the right thing."

		"Oh, right, Mulder. So you are responsible for your father's death?" His
		tone is acid. "I'm just a poor boy who went bad because he never had a
		chance. But you're here to save me." He gestures madly in the air,
		trying to find the words. "We're in the middle of a fucking lake... you
		going to baptize me? All I have to do is turn my life over to Jesus? To
		you? You fucking imbecile, my life has changed. Irrevocably. There's no
		going back for me. No fucking house in the suburbs." Tears are streaming
		down his cheeks. "No nice little Bureau job. No charges dropped because
		'we know you didn't mean it.' You don't just erase all that. I would if
		I could but I can't." He's starting to lose steam. "Fuck off, Mulder.
		Just find yourself another man and buy your damned house and white
		picket fence with him. And get me off this goddamned lake."

		Alex tries to catch his breath, probably unaware of the tears still
		falling from his chin.

		I've never seen him like this. If there was an axe on board, he'd use it
		to cleave his own skull. Or mine.

		Shit. I didn't expect this.

		I am such a fucking idiot. All I did was rub his face in his lost
		dreams. He's right. What he's done doesn't just go away.

		I wish it would.

		Maybe I even owe it to him.

		"Start pedaling, Mulder."

		"Huh?"

		"We're taking this goddamned boat to shore. Now."

		We pedal in silence. About three feet from shore, he jumps onto the dock
		and marches away.

		I'm never going to see him again. "Alex, wait."

		"Fuck off, Mulder."

		"I'm sorry." Who'd've ever thought I'd be apologizing to him? Sincerely.

		His black-jacketed form breaks into a run.

		I jump from the boat and take off after him. He runs fast. By the time I
		clear the hill, he's out of sight.

		Dammit.

		
		Chapter Thirteen

		I take my time walking back to the lodge, pretending to look at the
		scenery. A rabbit scurries nearby. A unicorn could pop out of the forest
		and I wouldn't care.

		I guess I did think I was bringing him redemption. What does that even
		mean? This truth I've learned about Alex... is it true for other
		criminals? Is my life's work a sham? But for some choice made by another
		person, would I be a criminal? Have I put men in prison who might have
		been good men?

		Alex is already redeemed in my eyes, but no one else's. And now I owe
		him redemption I can't deliver.

		When I arrive back at the lodge, I realize I don't want to be there. I
		don't want to be anywhere. I have fucked up this world. Twice.

		Because I'm chasing a shadowy part of Alex Krycek that may not even
		exist any more. The human part of him. Warm. Affectionate. Loving.
		Loving me. It has to be there, still deep inside him. Doesn't it? Or can
		someone's humanity really die?

		What's the effect of all the crimes since 1994? Killing? Using and being
		used? Being infected by the black oil? Having an arm hacked off? Is it
		just hollow optimism to believe there's anything left of the other Alex
		still inside him?

		Is there another man inside me? I think I can answer that one. Once I
		understood about the other Alex, every moment spent at 17 Echo Lane was
		spent in envy.

		I want to be loved like that.

		A part of me would even give up knowing the truth about the alien
		invasion to have what they have. There's a human being inside me, too.

		After the sun goes down, I'm still sitting on the lodge porch in a cold
		depressive funk. Only my down jacket is keeping me from becoming a
		Popsicle. It finally dawns on me: We met in the morning. He might have
		stayed somewhere nearby overnight.

		I dash into the lodge to find the proprietor. Begging doesn't work, so I
		try bribery, offering him $1000 to know where Alex is staying. When that
		fails, I pull out my badge and threaten. Finally, the beleaguered man
		asks if the bribe is still available. I toss him my credit card and he
		gives me a map.

		It's a hairy drive. Lots of dirt roads barely the width of my rental
		car. The lodge owner had to draw most of them on the map. Two of the
		roads are muddy enough to be almost impassable. But for the four-wheel
		drive the rental company pressed on me, I'd be freezing to death at the
		side of the road.

		It's nearly midnight when I spot the cabin. No visible lights from
		inside. I think I see a shifting curtain as I drive up the path, but I'm
		not certain.

		Parking the car, I get out and walk to the porch.

		I don't know what I'm going to do or say, but it has to work.

		The door opens a crack and a gun barrel sticks out. "Go home, Mulder."
		His voice is flat. Devoid of emotion.

		"No. I'm not going home. Because I fucked this up and I want to make it
		right."

		Did I hear a heavy sigh? Or just imagine it?

		"I'm coming in. You'll have to shoot me to prevent it."

		"Oh, that'll make everything right," he replies in a snide voice. Good,
		he's feeling something.

		The rifle is withdrawn hastily when I open the door. A light is turned
		on. It's very warm in the cabin. Alex is standing, leaning against the
		wall. His expressionless eyes flick to me, then he tosses the gun on a
		table.

		"This your cabin?"

		"No."

		It's a rustic place, with a few modern touches, nothing that can't be
		run with a generator, which I hear buzzing behind the back wall.

		Alex goes to the kitchenette and retrieves two amber-colored bottles. He
		hands me one and sits in a worn overstuffed chair in front of the
		fireplace. Watching the glow of the fading fire, he asks, "What do you
		want from me?"

		Good question. "I... this is something I've gotta do."

		He doesn't reply, just sits there, picking at a thread on his jeans, his
		beer bottle stashed provocatively between his legs. He's so close to me.
		I can hear his steady breathing. Why can't I touch him?

		I shuck my down coat and take the matching chair. "If your life could be
		different... if some of it could be turned around, would you want to?"

		Alex snorts in disgust, apparently concluding the question unworthy of
		an answer. But he already answered it on the boat. 'You don't just erase
		all that. I would if I could but I can't.'

		"I know a lot about the other aspects of you... The other Alex is a good
		man. He's very affectionate. He feels things like a normal man. Besides
		working at the Bureau, he cooks and takes care of the dogs. They live in
		a beautiful house... and I think Alex does most of the work. He keeps
		Mulder sane and balanced."

		"God dammit, Mulder! How am I supposed to live up to that? He's such a
		fucking perfect little good boy. He's got a life like Martha Stewart and
		two fucking arms. And I... I can never be that."

		"I know, Alex. But all those things are inside you, too. You could have
		been like that once... and now, you're different. But it's still inside
		you somewhere."

		"Maybe..." It's a huge admission from him. His grudging little 'maybe'
		is the most hopeful thing I've heard all day.

		"I understand feeling that you can't live up to him. That's how I feel
		about the other Mulder." I take a long drink of my beer. "He's calmer.
		Thinks before getting into trouble. Cleans up after himself. Fuck, he
		probably turns his reports in on time and remembers to call his
		superiors 'sir.' I can't live up to that. I'm the one who didn't drop by
		with a pizza and started this whole fucking mess."

		His face is blank, but he's listening. Something is going on in that
		handsome head of his.

		"I'm not perfect and neither are you. It's what it is." I shrug. "At the
		barest essence, we're just two flawed human beings." I take a deep
		breath. "I can't speak for you, but this flawed human being has had a
		hard-on for you for a long time. It's Saturday night, I'm all alone in
		the world and it's a cold world. And maybe I need to connect with
		another human being."

		"If you're trying to seduce me, Mulder, I have to tell you this is the
		most obnoxious way anyone has ever attempted it."

		"Well, I'm an obnoxious kind of guy."

		Alex offers me a miserable half smile.

		"I'm not asking you to marry me, Alex. I don't know if either of us will
		ever want to spend time together, but just for tonight, can we do what
		we should have done in 1994? The FBI, the Consortium and the aliens
		don't exist. Just for one night?"

		"You're living in a dream world, Mulder."

		"I've been there, Alex. It's not a dream."

		He shakes his head. The bland look on his face suggests his thoughts
		have turned inward. Patience, Mulder. Maybe he needs time to think about
		this.

		C'mon, Alex. Don't be so afraid. We can do this. We both want to do
		this. Let it happen.

		After the silence starts to drive me berserk, I ask, "You had any better
		offers this evening?"

		He gives me a wan smile. "I suppose you want to be on top..."

		"Well, that's how they did it in the hotel room..."

		"Yeah, but I'm a top man."

		"So is he."

		Eyebrows rise.

		"Mulder fucked Alex the first time, but, um, once they got together,
		Alex was on top. And I don't just mean Alex does the fucking... I mean
		they have a box full of toys. A lot of leather..."

		Alex's jaw falls open, "You fucked him, didn't you?"

		I return an embarrassed grin, batting my eyelashes.

		"Or rather, he fucked you. God, this is so twisted. It's like we already
		had sex, but I wasn't even there."

		"It boggles the mind."

		"Was I any good?" The facetious tone of his voice is... well, adorable.

		"Alex, you were fucking incredible." I rise and walk slowly toward him.

		His eyes meet mine, a hint of vulnerability lurking in his otherwise
		guarded expression. It makes my breath catch. It is inside him. All of
		it. I'm certain.

		He warily allows me to approach. "Did you really come all this way to
		get into my pants?"

		"This entire trip--including the $1000 bribe to Pierre--is cheaper than
		last's month's phone sex and video bills."

		Alex looks genuinely surprised, torn between laughter and nerves.
		"Jesus, Mulder. You really need to get laid, just to keep your budget
		under control."

		"Is that an offer?" I finally take a chance, squatting next to his
		chair, my arms sliding around his waist.

		He flinches a little, but doesn't bolt. We gaze into each other's eyes
		for a long time, before I lean toward him and close my lips over his.

		I kiss him with five years of pent up feelings. The Alex in my arms is
		the real one... the one who belongs in my world.

		When we finally break the kiss, he mutters breathlessly, "Do it,
		Mulder." The look on his face is pure pain and joy and release. "Fuck
		me."

		My cock wants to be inside him yesterday, but this isn't just sex. I
		take a couple of deep breaths. Take your time, Mulder. You only have one
		last chance here. Don't screw it up.

		Reaching out with my fingers, I trace a line down his jaw.

		The pained and exposed expression on his face nearly destroys me. I want
		him so badly... the fuck and... the redemption. I crave it in my blood.
		I need it, even if he doesn't.

		Alex is unmoving, allowing me to touch, but not touching back. He's
		afraid. Of being rebuffed? He must think this is all some kind of
		trick... a chance for me to exact my revenge.

		Meeting his eyes, I swear silently. It's not a trick. I promise. I don't
		want to hurt you.

		He emits a breathless sound... like a silent whimper. Then he raises his
		hand... it's shaking when he brings it slowly to the back of my neck.
		His warm fingers find a grip in my hair and he pulls my face to his.

		This time he kisses me. His tongue enters my mouth like a thirsty man
		seeking water. I open up to him, offering myself as I never have to
		anyone.

		The stakes are so high. For both of us. I have to give him everything.

		Breaking away, gasping, I stand. He rises with me, pressing our bodies
		together. I can feel his tense muscles and the hardness of his erection.

		Part of me wants to be on my knees... he's the top man. I want it like
		the other Alex gave it to me. But I have to earn it first. He needs this
		more. Needs me to break through to what's inside.

		Alex moans into my mouth, his body rubbing feverishly across mine.
		Suddenly, he jumps back. Eyelids half closed, he struggles for breath.

		No, Alex. Don't stop. Don't be afraid.

		When his eyes meet mine, they're filled with longing.

		I can feel my cock throb in my pants.

		As if he feels it, too, he reaches for his shirt and begins unbuttoning
		it.

		Holding his eyes with my gaze, I start tearing off my own clothes.

		His hand seems to stop working. His eyes blaze as he watches me undress.

		Unexpectedly, I feel shy. I want him to like my body... to like me. I'm
		the vulnerable one. He can hurt me now.

		As if he reads my mind, he steps forward and traces the planes of my
		chest with the palm of his hand. He's telling me without words that he
		does want me.

		I slip my pants off and his fingers drop rapidly to encircle my
		erection. His careful touch tells me more than words could. His thumb
		brushes across the head of my cock, making me lightheaded. I struggle to
		focus on his face and see a hint of a smile quirking his lips.

		I need to touch him. Sliding my fingers into his half-opened shirt, I
		squeeze his pecs. The hot flesh of his body incites me. "Unnhh, gotta
		get your clothes off."

		He pulls away from me, leaving my cock bereft. Unfastening the last
		button, he allows his shirt to slide off his shoulders, slowly revealing
		his upper body.

		The ugly stump of his arm is a reproach. I could have prevented that.
		Then it dawns on me that he could have prevented it, too. We're both
		guilty. Co-conspirators in this tragedy. And it seems so right that we
		expiate our guilt together.

		Alex's serious expression tells me he's waiting for my reaction.
		Expecting me to be repulsed.

		His arm is unsightly. But I'm here to find the beautiful parts. Stepping
		forward, I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him close. The feel of
		our bare chests pressed together reaffirms everything. This was meant to
		be.

		I kiss him again. As my tongue explores the soft interior of his mouth,
		my hands grope for his fly, fumbling with the buttons. Slipping one hand
		into his jeans and under the soft fabric of his underwear, I find his
		erection.

		Smiling to myself, I realize I already know what his cock looks like. A
		luscious thick throatful.

		With my hand trapped awkwardly in the front of his pants, I gently
		squeeze his balls. "We've gotta get rid of these clothes."

		He nods dumbly.

		Retrieving my hand from the grip of the denim, I ease his jeans off his
		hips. He recovers enough to help kick off the pants and his underwear.

		My eyes flick to a jagged scar at the side of his abdomen. Well, my body
		is worse for wear, too.

		Alex gestures toward the corner of the cabin. I follow him to a double
		bed.

		"Condoms?"

		He shakes his head. "I didn't come here to fuck." The hoarse sound of
		his voice echoes in my groin.

		"Damn. I don't have any either."

		He shakes his head. "It's okay, Mulder."

		"No, we can't-"

		"Yes, we can," he replies in a firm tone. A slight shake of his head
		tells me... he'll die for this if he has to.

		But I won't put him at risk. My blood tests are up to date, so he'll be
		safe. And my intuition tells me the rest. He won't put me at risk
		either.

		I nod at him. A moment of trust between us... it makes my heart ache
		with loss for the past few years. We fucked up so totally, he and I,
		when it could have been like this.

		Alex gives me a knowing look. He opens a dresser drawer and pulls out a
		bottle, which he tosses on the bed. It's some sort of oil. It'll do.

		He yanks the comforter off the bed and pulls back the covers. Then looks
		at me across the mattress. His eyes seem to radiate lust and need... I
		want to fall into those eyes.

		We both drop onto the bed and meet in the middle, a tangle of arms and
		legs. The feel and scent of him is just right. Better than I'd imagined.
		We roll in an embrace, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. I scoot
		us back to the middle, so he's on his back and I'm hovering over him.

		There's a smile on his face... eyes half squinted, full lips shining
		red. The expression is so beautiful... I stop breathing for a moment.

		I scoot down his body, so I can explore with my mouth. Tasting his
		nipples, nipping at them and enjoying the little sounds he makes.
		Sliding lower, I brush my face across his pubic hair.

		His hand finds my hair, fingers carding through it.

		I open my mouth and lap at the head of his cock. He hisses, hips
		thrusting forward. I take just the head in my mouth and swirl my tongue
		around it.

		His body tenses, legs clutching around me.

		Slowly, I swallow his entire cock. It has the same satiny feel as the
		other Alex's cock, but it's not the same. Not at all. For the first
		time, I really understand. This is my Alex. Darker and more damaged,
		like me. This is our experience, not anyone else's.

		I suck him eagerly. He writhes pitifully, making only small sounds. The
		response is all in his body. The way he tenses and relaxes and quivers
		and shakes. Except for the hand in my hair, his body is helplessly
		responding to me. My cock throbs with appreciation for what he's giving
		me.

		Alex cries out and pushes my face back. "Stop," he says weakly. "Fuck
		me."

		After a few final licks, I release him. "On your back?"

		He winces slightly. "Side." Rolling onto his truncated arm, he shifts
		his legs apart, pushing his round ass back. The sight makes me tremble.

		Fumbling with the bottle of oil, I anoint my fingers. Then I ease in
		behind him and slide my hand between the cheeks of his ass.

		He sighs as I stroke his anus with a slick finger. Alex is right here
		with me. Not a shadow or a dream... but warm, breathing, passionate
		flesh.

		I slip a finger inside him. He squeezes down on it and his hips begin a
		slow rhythm. I give him a second finger. It's a bit tight for him, so I
		open him up carefully. I don't want to hurt him. I scissor my fingers,
		imagining my cock inside him. The heat. The squeezing pressure of him.

		After a time, he seems to relax into my hand. "You ready, Alex?"

		"Mm hmm," he whispers. "Do it."

		After withdrawing my fingers, I reposition myself, placing the head of
		my cock at his opening. Pushing forward much slower than I'd like, I
		enter him at a deliberate pace.

		A groan builds from deep in his throat, reaching its peak when I'm fully
		inside him.

		Afraid I'll come too soon, I stop my hips from moving. I slide my upper
		body forward, so one arm is under his neck and the other wrapped around
		his waist. I'm holding him so carefully... as if I might hurt him with a
		careless move. And I realize it's true. He's made himself that
		vulnerable to me.

		But I don't want to hurt him. This has to be the right choice. Don't let
		me fuck it up again.

		The urge to thrust is growing rapidly inside me, but I force myself to
		stay still as long as I can. This moment will never come again.

		Alex shivers and cries out, "Fuck me, Mulder."

		A hair away from doing just that, I open my mouth and unexpected words
		come out. "I forgive you, Alex. For all of it." Words I never expected
		to say to this man. To my lover.

		His body shudders and begins to tremble. I wish I could see his face.

		Slowly, I pull out of him and push back in. His ass is so tight around
		me. The heat of him makes my brain boil. Holding him tightly in my arms,
		I fuck him with five years of pent-up failures and tragedies. He's mine
		now, and even more so, I'm his.

		His hand reaches backward and rubs my hip. It's the only way he can
		touch me in this position.

		Unable to keep it slow, I begin to thrust harder. It feels like I'm
		going deeper with each thrust. And the need just grows inside me. The
		need to fuck him harder. To go deeper. Increasing the force, I pound
		into his body, clinging to him at the same time.

		Alex makes grunting sounds of pleasure. His body seems to let go, as if
		surrendered to me. Each thrust meets no resistance, just tight heat.
		I've never felt so much emotion during sex. Never felt so connected. Not
		even with the other Alex.

		This is my world. My Alex. My redemption. We belong together. And we
		need each other.

		Alex's ass tightens around my cock. He's deliberately massaging me with
		his internal muscles. My body seems to have become something besides
		flesh and blood. I'm... pleasure and emotion. Everything else has burned
		away. The sweet sounds of his own gasping moans tell me he's caught in
		the same blur of feeling.

		My hand finds his erection and I begin to stroke him. He's so alive and
		vital. The best parts of ourselves are sharing this.

		Time seems to slow down, as if I'm entering a black hole and a new world
		will be revealed on the other side. I can feel the rise of my own
		orgasm, building inexorably to the peak. The tension in Alex's body
		builds at the same pace. His ass is pushing back to meet my thrusts. The
		fingers on my hip are gripping, then biting into my flesh.

		Suddenly, Alex is convulsing in my arms. I feel warm wet fluid on my
		fingers from his cock. The sound of his gasping cry fills my ears. And
		my own orgasm is microseconds away.

		When my cock detonates inside him, my entire body seems to shatter
		brilliantly. I am certain my mass has been completely converted to
		energy.

		Time slows even further and the surge of pleasure seems to last forever.
		I could happily die in this endless moment.

		Then sound and sensation begin to return. I can hear the echo of a yell
		that must have come from my throat. Awareness of Alex returns... his hot
		sweaty body clutched in my arms. I squeeze tighter to keep him close.

		The tension in my body drops off rapidly. It's a struggle to even think.
		Alex is limp in my arms. Asleep? "Alex?"

		"Hmm?"

		I need to see his face. I shift my weight backward, encouraging him to
		roll onto his back.

		He blinks up at me, face placid, wet tracks down the side of his face.

		"You okay?"

		"Yeah," he replies wearily. "I'm good."

		I lie on my back, tugging him forward to curl up on my chest. "Me, too,
		Alex."

		I'm awake, musing on our lives, until the wee hours of the morning.

		Alex sleeps soundly. Each time he shifts into a new position, I adjust
		mine, so we're still touching. Once, my arm wrapped around his waist, he
		puts his hand on mine and nudges his ass backward into my embrace.

		I doze a little. Waking again to find his arm around my waist. I doubt
		he ever woke. My eyes tear up. He's reaching out for me in his sleep. He
		must want me as deeply as I want him. I've never felt anything like
		this. I scoot back into his embrace and doze again.

		The next time, I wake hungry, even though it's still dark. I rise and
		search for food, finding a chocolate bar in a red and black wrapper.
		Valrhona. Dark chocolate. Yum.

		Watching Alex's sleeping form, I recall the previous day. The
		paddleboat. My proposition. Tears on his face after we fucked. I
		shredded him emotionally and then healed him with my affection.

		It felt really right.

		By rehumanizing Alex, I have somehow rehumanized myself. My flaws and my
		failures are just as forgivable. In fact, Alex has always forgiven me
		for what I am. Maybe I can, too?

		I told him it was only for last night, but I still owe him a new life.
		Redemption. I've no idea how I'm going to deliver it, but if he'll see
		me again, I'll make it my new mission.

		Neither of us has to live up to anything. The other Alex and Mulder
		don't matter anymore. I want to try to live this life.

		Soft padding sounds on the floor capture my attention. Alex is standing
		in the kitchenette, pouring a glass of water. He offers it to me first.
		I take a drink and pass it back to him.

		"Alex?"

		"Hmm?" His expression is guarded. Trust doesn't come in a day. We'll
		have to keep working on it.

		"Can you stay another night? I want to spend the day with you."

		He eyes me sadly. "I can't. I'm leaving the country... going to Tunisia.
		On, um, business."

		As if feeling the loss of him instantly, I take him into my arms. "Don't
		go."

		"Mulder, how can I..."

		"Can you give it up? What you do."

		"I thought you weren't asking me to marry you."

		I laugh weakly. "I'm not, but I want... I don't know, Alex, I want you
		to have a second chance. And I'll do whatever I can to make it happen."

		"I don't want to be your project, Mulder. Help the poor needy criminal
		turn to the path of righteousness."

		"I'm a fixer-upper, too, Alex."

		"I... I don't know." His eyes scan the room slowly, before coming back
		to me. "Did you mean what you said last night?"

		No need to wonder what he's talking about. I know. 'I forgive you, Alex.
		For all of it.'

		"Yes, I meant it."

		He looks away again. "You don't even know what I've done."

		"I know more than you think I do." Afraid he's going to bolt again, I
		touch him carefully, my hand brushing lightly along his arm. "Exposure
		to the artifact made me temporarily telepathic. Skinner came to see me
		in the hospital."

		Alex tenses under my hand, but he doesn't run. "And you can forgive
		that?"

		"Yes," I reply confidently.

		"For a good fuck?"

		"It's not about sex, Alex."

		He steps away from me and drops into a chair. "Then what's the price for
		this forgiveness?"

		"No charge."

		His face is despair with a hint of hope lost in it. He wants to believe
		me this time.

		There's something I need to know. For me. "Alex, can you free Skinner
		and stop what you do...?"

		Alex is silent for so long I think he's not going to answer at all. When
		he does, his voice is almost a whisper. "Yes."

		"And come out of it alive?"

		Head shaking, his expression uncertain, he replies, "Maybe."

		I kneel on the floor by his chair. "If you can do that, I'll be on your
		side. And the two of us together will be hard to beat."

		"I don't know, Mulder."

		"Don't go. Stay and... we can talk more. We'll find a way to make things
		better for you. And me, too."

		Alex looks like a hurt and scared little boy. He puts his arm around my
		shoulders and pulls me into an awkward embrace. Holding on to one
		another, we watch the sun rise through the back window.

		And I try to forgive myself. For all of it.

		And after the sun comes up, he agrees to stay with me for another day.

		END 
		
		13 March 2001


		Feedback, please. If this story made you feel anything, I'd love to hear
		about it.

		toes@att.net