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But He Is With Me

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But He Is With Me

But He Is With Me

by Flutesong


Author: Flutesong



Keywords: M/K Slash

Spoilers: After The Red and Black and before any other Krycek Episode

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Alex Krycek - informant and lover

Warning: Adult Themes /Slash /Language

Written for the 12th Lyric Wheel - Horrible Wheel

Archive: Sure, let me know where

Thanks: To Kashmir for the lightening beta, Tarsh for the lyrics and most especially to Pollyanna for providing the wonderful Lyric Wheel

But He Is With Me

I looked at the stick figure drawings on the cheap newsprint paper. Stick figures by the dozens, all of them carrying implements of unknown and indecipherable shapes in their hands. All of them moving menacingly toward smaller, cringing stick figures on flat beds.

I look up and around me. The children in the room seem as thin and sketchy as the figures they drew.

Scully and I finally hit pay dirt. I honestly cannot say that I am glad we did.

Scully is on the phone talking with grim rapidity, a very tiny still figure on her knee. She is calling in the troops. This is not the time to keep a lid on my conspiracy theories and hope for more evidence. Seventeen children, found in an abandoned lab.

Going in, I had hopes of proving a Syndicate connection. Now all I wanted to do was get help for the kids, throw up, and get drunk.

The children were silent. All Big eyes in thin faces, staring at us.

I take off my coat and spread it over the shoulders of three children who are huddled together on the nonworking heater vent. Two more children scuttle over and wrap themselves in the folds. There's still plenty of room left over.

I didn't want to think. Didn't want to wonder if Samantha had been here twenty years ago. Didn't want to stare into the big, empty eyes of these children.

I knew I would see them anyway, over and over again, in every nightmare for years to come.

I could hear a chorus of sirens in the distance. Scully was off the phone, and her coat had become the nest for three more children. I took the tiny stick figure from her arms and left the room. I wrapped him in my suit jacket, it was large enough to cover him completely, face and all.

Skinner made it to the scene during the height of the organized pandemonium of triage. He looked around and took a deep breath. Then he surprised me. He strode over to a group of children awaiting attention, got on his knees, spread open his arms and pulled them all to him. Five children fit and a few moments later they weren't silent anymore.

I learned then that wailing children could sound like music and a coat could enfold you, but arms kept you warm.

After the ambulances departed, Scully along with them, I gave my report to Skinner. I'd gotten a tip that morning, no - I didn't clear a search and possible seizure with him, yes - I just called Scully and we came on our own without backup.

The police and a team of Fibbies interrupted us. No one else was found in the building, but there was evidence that more than seventeen children had been kept here. They were going to search the grounds and the facility inch by inch, and could we get out of the way and leave it to the forensic experts?

Skinner and I walked outside. He said he wanted a full report in the morning and left.

I saw the swirling lights of the police cars start to swim in front of my eyes as I headed for my car. It wasn't where I had left it. It was now parked by a clump of bushes at the side of the building. As I approached, I saw the tail lights go on, the faint vibration of the car being started and put into 'drive' and a dim figure in the driver's seat.

The chill of the early evening blew through my shirt, and the certainty that my shadowy 'source' was in the driver's seat froze my spine. I walked stiffly to the passenger side of the car and got in.

Alex Krycek drove as the horror of the place receded behind the curve in the road. I made a motion a few moments later for him to pull over. He did, and I got out and puked.

I got back into the car, sat back and closed my eyes. I was surprised when, a moment later, a warm, heavy leather jacket was carefully laid across my chest.

It was almost like being enfolded in someone's arms.

He's not my friend, but he is with me. "I want to get drunk," I said.

"Sure, Mulder," he replied without hesitation. "I know just the place."

"Let's go then," I said.

I must have zoned out for a while, because when I woke we were driving south on Route 5 headed for St. Mary's county, and we'd been 60 miles northwest of that at the lab.

Krycek was driving steadily at posted speed and chewing gum. He glanced at me and saw I was awake and staring. "Want a piece?" He asked. "There's more in the pocket," he waggled his fingers toward the leather jacket, which was still across my chest.

I reached around and patted the jacket until I found a pocket with the possibility of a pack of gum in it.

I didn't want to ponder how surreal the likelihood of pawing through Krycek's jacket for gum, after the earlier happenings today, was. I didn't want to consider him as my source much at all anytime. He had become so after the Wiekamp fiasco, more or less. I saw him seldom, in brief moments, heard from him occasionally, and got silent information delivered often.

It had all been good stuff of varying degrees of importance. Today's was much more. Then again, until now, he had not attempted so direct or extended a confrontation, either.

The information I got this morning had seriously upped the ante regarding him. I didn't want to consider what saving the lives of all those children meant. I just knew the stakes had gone up - big time.

I found the gum in the fourth pocket, along with a roll of butter-rum Lifesavers. The first had a pocketknife and a handkerchief. The second had a folded up drawing of stick figures and a reduced copy of the floor plan of the lab. I had felt the third pocket, but recognizing the contents, had left it alone.

I really didn't want to think about why Alex Krycek had condoms in his pocket.

He parked the car outside a low-slung clapboard building. The blue neon sign flashed: girls, beer, and music - over and over. I got out of the car. Another one-story building was situated across a dirt parking lot. Its red neon sign blinked 'motel', then flickered 'vacancy'.

The 'no' in front of the 'vacancy' was unlit.

I opened the trunk of the car. My keys were in my pocket; he'd started the car with something else. I took the spare all-weather jacket I keep tossed there and put it on. He came around the car and joined me. I gave him back his jacket and he put it on. His hand was on my back when I stepped from the sidewalk and walked into the bar.

The low ceiling in the bar is stained with cigarette smoke, and the walls are covered in old photos of jazz era singers. Everything but the liquor bottles and the singer, dressed in red sequins standing on the tiny stage, is in black and white. I leave him to order drinks and go wash my face and use the bathroom.

I return to find thick sandwiches and tall lagers in frosty glasses at the table. He doesn't attempt conversation or make a toast. I sit down and we eat and let the low voiced singer wash over us. She is almost moaning an old song about the man who got away. It's perfect.

The singer takes a break and the piano man solos softly. The waitress brings us another round of lagers. She is in short-shorts, a tiny vest, and high heels. I wonder, briefly, if her feet kill her after a long shift. She makes sure we both see her breasts when she bends to collect the plates and used glasses. She poses and asks if there is anything more she can get us. Her stance is as weary as it is practiced. I'm not tempted. Krycek puts an extra ten on the tray. I think she practically sighs in relief as she moves on to the next table.

He places a cd by my napkin. The case is opaque, but I know there is a disc inside. I am struck by the metaphor. Krycek is as opaque to me as the item he just laid down. The information on the cd will be just as mysterious; some of it will be useless, some important, some real and some lies. It will contain a revelation or two, perhaps, as well.

I realize 'his' pose, as he waits for the barrage of questions, is as weary as it is practiced. I wonder, not for the first time, how we have come to this. I pocket the cd. "Thanks, Krycek," I say.

He is utterly still. "You're welcome," he says in a rusty voice. He picks up his drink and clenches the glass tightly. He takes a long sip and I can see the liquid painfully work passed the constriction in his throat as he swallows. "You're welcome," he says again, and this time I hear surprise and an actual sigh of relief before he takes another sip.

The third drink lasts the length of an entire set sung by the low voiced singer. She sings of loss and love, lovers and loneliness and about men who go, and the ones she can't get rid of. She ends the set with an up-tempo, innuendo filled rendition of 'The Cat Came Back'. Krycek smiles when she husks out the lines, " He makes his mark and leaves his scent, then leaves me to pay the rent. I don't care, don't mind a bit. Whatever the cat's got; he's made a hit. Oh, my cat came back, the very next day..."

I wonder if he's wasted. I'm not. The sandwiches and toll of the day keep the alcohol from taking full effect. We've never had a drink together before, so I don't know how well he holds his liquor.

He looks up and sees me staring. "Ready to go?" He asks.

"Where?" I ask in return.

"You drunk, Mulder?" I shake my head. "Wherever you want to go then," he says.

"Don't you have someplace you need to be?" I ask him.

"No. I need to let the guard dogs become sleeping dogs again before I can get back on the inside. I have a place near DC where I can hang out while I wait."

"Would you take me there?" I ask it without inflection. I'm genuinely not daring him to reveal more or challenging him to prove he's trustworthy. I don't really know how long this bubble of ease with him will last, but saving those children today has bought us both some time.

I can see him considering my question. "Will I have to move out before you reach the pay phone at the corner when you leave?" He asks.

"Depends," I answer, "on what kind of a date this ends up being. If there's going to be another one, I'll need to know where to pick you up."

A flush spreads, moving up his neck and onto his face. "Sounds like you're already trying to pick me up," he says.

"Well, Alex," I answer, "This time I'm not ditching you."

When we step into the evening air, the alcohol rushes to my brain, or maybe it's the result of standing so close to Krycek. The night, as always, suits him. I can believe things about him in the dark that I have never want to face in daylight. "What happened to the other children at the lab?" I ask. "Are there records? How far back to these experiments go?"

He leans against the clapboard side of the building. He watches the blink-blink-blink of the neon signs. "The answers are on the disc," he says slowly.

"I want to know your part in it! I saw the drawings in your pocket. You were there earlier. What did you see, what did you do?" //How could you stand it// I want to yell at him. //How could you leave those children alone? What if Scully and I hadn't come? Was the tiny one already dead?// I want to annihilate him. I want to make him bleed for their suffering, for mine too. // Was Sam in that place? Do you know? What do you know?// "Tell me!" I demand.

He looks at me. His eyes are large and clear and the blue neon flickers across his leather jacket, making it shiny. He seems to be a cold dark lake, rippling under a blue moon, and if I believe in him, I will drown.

Suddenly he is all motion and heat. He shoves me against the car and holds me there with his unyielding arm. "Don't you dare, you fuck! Not now. Not after we've come this far today. Do you think I'm a baby-killer? Is that what you need to believe so you don't have to face what you almost started in the bar? You goddamn coward!" He yells in my face. "You have the keys, get in the car and go home Mulder." He shakes with reaction and rage. He steps back and lowers his arm. "Go home." He stuffs the folded up drawings into my hand. "Your nightmares are waiting for you there, like always." He hunches his shoulders into his coat, spins around and heads back for the bar. I watch him stop at the door and use his good hand to massage the back of his neck, then shake his head, turn, and stride towards the motel instead.

I actually get in the car and drive off before I realize I must be mad to allow the old shit to take hold so quickly. I don't want to go home alone, and if there are going to be nightmares tonight, he's going to have a share in them too.

I make a U-turn and go back to the motel. I pull in just in time to see him leave the office, walk to the room at the far end and open the door. I hit the gas and park in the space in front of the door. He hasn't closed it yet. Krycek turns around to face me.

I get out of the car and slam the door. I walk up to him and step right up, invading his space. "Don't say later I didn't tell you to go," he says and grabs my thin coat and drags me in the room.

He pushes me backwards and I land on the bed. He shakes off his jacket, kicks off his boots, and puts his right hand on my belt buckle. "This could've been nice, this could've been easy and slow and fucking sweet, you bastard." He mutters all this breathlessly while he tugs and fumbles at my belt.

I yank him by his shirtfront and he topples onto of me. He is blisteringly hot and dangerously hard. His rigid left arm is twisted in his shirt. "I told you," I say, "I'm not ditching you tonight."

I take hold of his head and grind my mouth on his. His hips jerk into me and I wonder if either of us is going to last long enough to get out of our clothes. We continue to tussle until I hear a groan from him that is more pain than frustrated pleasure. "Wait, wait, Alex," I manage to gasp. He shakes his head, but I insist by rolling him beneath me. "Clothes, we need to get rid of our clothes." He tried to grind into me harder. "Naked, Alex, skin, I want to feel you." This gets his attention and he pauses as I gather the strength to get to my knees and rip off my coat and unbutton my shirt.

I stand and take off my shoes, socks, pants, and underwear. He is staring at me, bemused. I unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly. As I begin to drag the clothes off of him he covers his eyes with his forearm, "Fuck, fuck," he whispers brokenly when I free his cock from confinement. "Oh, fucking Christ!" he yells when I take hold of him.

He is so hot in my hand. He's thick and solid and he arches uncontrollably when I do a down stroke and he comes with the upstroke. I feel the force of it against my chest, but I am more absorbed in the way his teeth bite his lip, and the abandon of his exposed neck. In this moment, for this moment, he is mine - this glorious creature belongs to me.

I catch my breath while he calms himself in a series of small convulsions and desperate gulps of air. I get off him and pull his clothes the rest of the way off. "Look at me," I tell him. He keeps his eyes covered. "Look at me, damn you."

I can see it takes every ounce of his courage to remove his arm and bring it down to his stomach. When he does, I see why. His eyes are a wide and clear vivid green, and they show me a truth too naked for me to misunderstand.

I run my hands gently up the sides of his thighs and torso, pushing his shirt up over his smooth chest. It bunches at his armpits, and I lean over and lay my face on his heart. I rest there a moment.

I don't want to understand it. Lust, need, his beauty, my loneliness, mutual passion; these things I understand. He's the bad guy, I'm the good guy - he's the betrayer and I the betrayed - he's the liar and I want the truth, that's the way it is. The way it's always been. Oh God, isn't it?

"Mulder," he says and nudges me with his hand. "I need to move." I roll to the side of the bed and he sits up and unfastens his left arm. He's not looking at me again, but I give him this moment of awkwardness silently. He pulls the crumpled shirt over his head and tosses it on the pile of clothing on the floor. He turns off the light and joins me, lying back down on the bed.

He turns towards me and guilelessly rubs his face on my shoulder and again on my chest. He begins to caress me, using his open palm across my ribs and belly. I am rock hard and aching as he takes me in his mouth.

He is not my friend, but he is with me and he promises a peace I never knew. His mouth is slow and easy and so fucking sweet and I am drowning in a dark blue lake.

"See Mulder," he whispers in the dark and I taste my salty remains on his tongue, "this is what I meant." He kisses my jaw. "You are so beautiful," he murmurs more quietly still.

I cannot give in, no, I must refuse him, but could I really be the one to resist that kiss so true? I go under with a sigh.

I wake up and hear the shower running through the thin wall. His side of the bed is empty. I get up to use the bathroom and see our clothes have been picked up off the floor and are neatly hung over the backs of the two chairs in the room. My gun and holster are on top of my pile and his gun on top of his.

How did we get here, I wonder again. I could call and have him arrested, shoot him when he comes out of the bathroom or dress and just leave. I should do one of these things, if I stand for the 'self' I have always been. Leaving and letting him escape in exchange for his new role as my informant could be understandable. Arresting him and attempting to bring him to justice for past crimes would be the right thing to do. Shooting him as an act of vengeance would be justified.

Instead I stand, naked and warm in the small room, knowing I will go ahead and increase our intimacy and join him in the shower.

He turns and faces the open door and I see him in the light through the skimpy shower curtain. He continues to run a soapy hand over his chest while I piss. I step into the shower over the low rim of the tub, he makes room for me. The water hits my head and splashes in his face. I wipe the drops off his eyelids.

His face is more guarded again, but I can see that for what it is. He expects everything and nothing. He has not given up or given in to the possible vagaries of my decisions so much as he simply is waiting for whatever comes next. I always thought he was controlling my fate. I was wrong.

This time I reach for him and wrap my arms around his shoulders and we kiss as lovers. We kiss and touch and wash each other and ourselves. I turn fully into the spray and his hand drifts down my spine and his fingers lightly trace the valley between my buttocks. He makes no attempt to penetrate me; he strokes and when I don't move away and leans into my back and kisses the nape of my neck and says, once more, "You are so beautiful."

I turn off the shower, we get out and dry each other and ourselves. I shut off the bathroom light and we go into the dim room together. I shake out the sheets and bedspread while he gets the small strip of condoms from his jacket pocket. I lie on the bed and wait for him.

I don't tell him I haven't done this since college. I don't ask him how often and with whom he does this. I am not afraid. He is in many ways inexplicable, but what I know he will be is a fiercely gentle lover. I feel my body begin to thrum with a deep inner ache. I honestly haven't wanted to be satisfied like this in ages. I want it now, and I want him to be the one who takes me there. I think he may be the only one who can.

So many surprises today, and he adds another to the tally, "I haven't done this in a long time," he says. "When I lost my arm, it felt like this part of me had been chopped off, too. I was able to get it up once since then, so I know I can. I kept the condoms as sort of a salve for my ego." His voice is soft, "Before Tunguska, I made it as often as I could, and almost always with women. I needed to pretend I was in charge of something that belonged to me. I haven't let anyone fuck me since college, Mulder. It was a control I could not give up once the whole thing began with Spender and I was in over my head." He tears off a condom and hands it to me. "I am not a baby-killer, I have never been a whore for them, and I want you to fuck me."

I hold the condom. I hold the condom so long that he begins to fidget, "You have done this before, haven't you?" he asks with faint apprehension in his voice.

"Yeah," I answer him. "Yeah, a long time ago. I remember how, Alex. I remember how it can feel too." I start to hand him back the condom, but tear the package open for him first. "I want to feel it again." I put the condom back in his hand.

"Fuck me, Alex."

He holds the condom as if he's never seen the damn thing before. I start to smile and I feel a happiness take hold that's part wonder, part incredulity, and, most of all, a sense of rightness.

He smiles too. "Oh, yeah, Mulder. Oh, yeah." He lies on his side, his arm is around my waist and he pulls me down to him. He whispers things into my ear that sound so sweet, "Bastard and beautiful - idiot, fool and yes - gorgeous and tight - oh! - You are so fucking tight and I'm going to fuck you wide, lover - and deep, lover." His hand and mouth are all over me, the condom lays crumpled between us. He scrabbles for it eventually, when I am beyond cogent thought.

It's more than I remember. More of everything. Bigger, deeper, hotter -I use my right hand to brace his left shoulder so he can push harder, pump into me fully. His face is stripped of everything but ecstasy and I am burning, burning in the heat of it.

He changes the angle of his body and his thrusts and, suddenly, my cock is rubbing into his belly, his cock is hitting my sweet spot and the sweat makes me slide and the friction is too much. "Now, Alex," I yell, "Now!"

I call Scully first thing in the morning. She tells me a special task force has been gathered together to provide help for the children. She is going to stay with them in protective custody for a while. I agree that's the best thing to do. I call Skinner and he reports a courier, who couldn't be traced, delivered a tip. The information led the FBI and the police to a house nearby the lab. Several scientists and other assorted minions were there, tied up and waiting. Lab reports detailing what happened to the children and video proof of the men performing these deeds on the children was found in a box.

I look at Alex. He is driving us back towards DC. I have the cell phone on intercom so he hears everything. He is careful to keep his face bland, but his hand clenches and a small satisfied smile flashes when Skinner says he's got the men in custody.

I tell Skinner I am with the informant. Alex frowns at me grimly. I tell Skinner more information is coming and I need a few days to sort through it all. He wants me to bring the information and the informer into headquarters. I refuse and he allows this, not really expecting anything else.

I hang up the phone.

"You have a computer I can work on at your place?" I ask Alex.

He thinks it over, relaxes and says, "Yeah."

"Let's go," I say.


Lyrics Provided by Tarsh
Thin Man/ Suzanne Vega

He is not my friend, but he is with me
Like a shadow is with a foot that falls
His hand is on my back when I step from the sidewalk
Or when I'm walking down these darkened halls

He's the thin man
With a date for me
To arrive at some point
I don't know when it will be

I can feel his eyes when I don't expect him
In the back seat of a taxi down Vestry Street
His arm is around my waist and he pulls me down to him
He whispers things into my ear that sound so sweet

He's the thin man
with a date for me
To arrive at some point
I don't know when it will be

He is not my friend, but he is with me
And he promises a peace I never knew
I cannot give in, no, I must refuse him
But could I really be the one to resist that kiss so true

He's the thin man
with a date for me
To arrive at some point
I don't know when it will be

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