JiM :: In the Shadow of the Rock

And a man shall be as an hiding place from the wind,
and a covert from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place,
as the shadows of a great rock in a weary land.

—Isaiah 32:2

Alex Krycek was still sleeping. He was curled on his left side, mutilated arm hidden from sight. One dark lock of hair had fallen over his pale forehead and Mulder gave in to the urge and stroked it back into place gently. Alex made a small sound of contentment, but didn't wake.

He hadn't truly awakened since Mulder had put him to bed early last evening. He had slept in Mulder's arms all night, never moving. Sometime in the pallid dawn, while Mulder was still working on his first cup of coffee, he had heard Krycek in the bathroom. But, when he had gone in with a cup of coffee held before him like a lion-tamer's chair, he found the man dead asleep again, a faintly worried expression on his no-longer-youthful face.

The hurricane was blowing itself out now; the wind had died down to a murmur and the rain no longer pounded the roof and deck. But it had still been cold on the houseboat and Mulder had gone to relight the woodstove. His other guests were stirring then. The wooden bowl full of kittens roiled like a pot aboil as the three scrabbled around beneath the dishcloth they had been tucked into last night. He had blown up the embers around some new kindling and gotten the fire going again as one of the more adventurous kittens finally struggled out of the dishcloth. Its siblings soon followed and the three set up a mewling chorus demanding food. Picking up the bowl, he brought the trio of plaintives into the galley and started heating their pabulum.

"I know," he told them gravely, "the service in this joint stinks." Three sets of blue kitten eyes had blinked in reply.

He had gotten them all fed by the simple expedient of dipping his hand in the pinkish muck and letting the three kittens suckle greedily from his finger tips. By the time they were done, a fair amount of the pabulum had gotten smeared into their fur and he spent some time cleaning them up with a damp cloth. It was while he was washing the second kitten that Mulder realized that he was enjoying himself. He had always wanted pets as a child but it had never been possible, according to his parents. His schooling, and then later, his job had made caring for anything more evolved than a tankful of fish unwise.

"Apparently, I was just waiting for Alex to show up with you guys," he had told the now sleepy kittens as he carried their bowl back to the warm spot in front of the stove. One kitten had chirped as if in agreement and he found himself smiling like an idiot.

That same ridiculous smile kept coming back throughout the morning as he listened to the wind, kept an eye on the river and watched Alex sleep. Around noon, he had made himself some lunch and eaten it in semi-solitary splendor. The bowl of kittens sat beside him, so he read them the more interesting parts of the article he was reviewing, then fed them again. After lunch his leg informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to lie down for a while.

So he took the kittens and his article and stretched out beside the sleeping Krycek, propping his aching leg on a couple of pillows, and flicking on the wall TV, muted. He checked Krycek's forehead for fever, but his skin was cool to the touch. Not sick, then, just exhausted. Jet lag, probably, he'd said something about the flight from Sydney. Jet lag and emotional exhaustion, he amended in his own mind, remembering the bitter storm of weeping that had overtaken both of them yesterday. They had begun a healing process last night, but to what end?

The kittens had begun ambitious but clumsy exploratory maneuvers around the bed, over and under his leg, under the sheets and up the pillows. The cinnamon kitten had settled itself between Mulder and his proof-sheets and seemed more interested in occasionally batting at the end of Mulder's nose than in joining its siblings. Krycek slept through the black kitten's determined assault and subsequent conquering of his hip. It perched with infant dignity on the arc of too-thin flesh between Krycek's hipbone and his ribs and folded its paws under itself to meditate, where it rose and fell with his steady breathing. The tabby striped kitten chased its own tail until it had spun itself into the perfect sleeping position between the two men.

After a time, Mulder realized that Krycek was lying there with his eyes open. His expression was as unguarded and innocent as a child's. "You awake now?"

"Um hm," Krycek nodded, then shifted slightly, pressed his face against Mulder's arm and went to sleep again. The black kitten met Mulder's resigned sigh with a blink and resettled itself.

Eventually, Alex did awaken. Mulder had gone out to check one of his mooring lines and when he returned, it was to find Krycek stretching and blinking in front of the stove, the black kitten perched on his right shoulder. He was neatly combed and freshly shaven; Mulder wondered if he had used Mulder's toothbrush, as well.

Krycek had obviously ransacked Mulder's clothes pile again; this time he had requisitioned a pair of black jeans to go with the long-sleeved green Henley he had borrowed the previous evening. The jeans were too large for him; after staring silently at him for a moment, Mulder went and fetched his spare belt. He watched as Alex threaded it through the belt loops, an awkward task with only one hand and a kitten on one shoulder, but Mulder didn't offer to help. When he had cinched the belt, Alex looked at him questioningly.

"Well?"

"We need to get some food in. For us, as well as the kittens. It's stopped raining. How do you feel?"

"Empty," Krycek said, then looked surprised.

"Hungry? Want some breakfast?"

"No," Krycek said, brows still knit together in a bewildered frown.

"What's the matter?" Mulder said, reaching for a jacket.

"That was a little more…honest than I had intended." He absentmindedly put the kitten down on a chair.

"I thought we decided that it was all over last night, Krycek," Mulder tossed him a spare wool jacket. "All that cloak and dagger, undercover, paranoid lying stuff," he clarified.

"Old habits die hard, Mulder. It's gonna take a while before I'll feel comfortable just speaking my mind to you. Or anybody."

Mulder nodded; Krycek wasn't the only one unused to speaking unguardedly. They went out together into the whining dregs of the storm.

Krycek followed Mulder up and down the aisles of the grocery store, offhandedly approving anything Mulder suggested. Mulder began to realize that Krycek wasn't merely being pleasant nor a model guest—he actually had no discernible preferences. How many years do you need to be on the run before you no longer care what food you eat as long as you get enough to keep running?

Krycek's only contributions came in the health care aisle. He threw in a toothbrush, a box of condoms and a tube of KY jelly. It was his turn to smile at the stunned expression on Mulder's face as they both kept walking.

"This might be one of those times you ought to open up and tell me what's on your mind here, Krycek."

"No need. I think we're both pretty clear on this issue. What kind of cat food do we need?" he gestured to the rainbow of designer cat food cans, his expression blander than tapioca.

Mulder distractedly picked up several cans of the brand his veterinarian had recommended, threw them in the cart, and kept walking toward the produce section.

"Krycek—what makes you think I'd sleep with the man who killed my father?"

He stopped to consider the plethora of leafy greens, blocking the young man who was listlessly stacking lettuces into the displays. The question was purely a matter of form, Mulder knew that even as the words left his mouth. It had seemed so much clearer last night, in the dark, listening to the storm. Now, in the cold light of day with the accouterments of Krycek's decisive assent sitting in his grocery cart, he was backpedaling rapidly.

Mulder held up a red lettuce; Krycek shook his head. "The romaine looks better. And I didn't kill him, Mulder. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Maybe until I believe you?" Mulder said without heat. "Do you like spinach?"

Krycek shrugged. Right. Mulder had forgotten, no real preferences. He took the spinach.

"I was just supposed to listen in and use a little intimidation—he's the one who reached out and pulled the trigger. Come on, Mulder, cut me a little slack here. I'm a professional, I never would have pulled a job as clumsy as that." There was an edge of exasperation in Krycek's voice. "Even Scully believed me," he reminded Mulder carefully.

The young lettuce stacker was staring open-mouthed at them; they ignored him, continuing on to the fruit section. Mulder sighed. "Actually, I do believe you. And I don't know why I should." He threw some oranges into the cart. The rage he had always felt when he thought of his father's death throbbed vaguely, like a bonfire in the distance. He had always known that his father had been responsible for so much suffering—why not this one sharp ache as well? What had changed, that he could so easily believe what Alex Krycek told him now?

"I'm done lying to you, Mulder," Krycek said quietly. "It's finished, remember?"

Mulder nodded and hefted two jars of peanut butter. He started to ask, then shrugged, said "Hope you like creamy," and tossed the jar into the cart. There was a flash of green eyes, warm as summer, above a smile that could cut diamonds. Then it was gone. It took Mulder two aisles to get his heart-rate back to something approaching normal. When did this happen, he wondered. When did my body wake up again?

Alex seemed content to dawdle along beside him, not even exulting in having silenced Fox Mulder. A gallon of milk and a dozen eggs later, Mulder started to speak then stopped. Finally at the check-out line, he said,

"So, what would you like to do?"

Krycek paid for the groceries with bills peeled off from a wad of multi-national cash from his pocket. His deliberately bland expression was back and Mulder didn't argue the point with him. They watched the bagger in silence for a time.

"I think I'd like to stop killing people," Alex finally said softly.

Mulder blinked. "I meant, what would you like to do this afternoon?"

Alex visibly snapped back to the present moment and his lips were pulled back in a wolf-flash grin. "You gotta start somewhere, Mulder."

Mulder knew he was in deadly earnest and something ached treacherously as he realized, for the first time, that like Mulder himself, Alex Krycek had never wanted to be what he had become. Mulder took refuge in lightness. "OK. So -this afternoon, we don't kill anyone. Anything else you'd like to put on the agenda?"

"Can we go to the library?"

The two men didn't even notice the odd looks they got from the bagger and the cashier as they left.

Whatever Mulder had imagined Krycek did for amusement, light reading had never figured into the picture. And yet, as they left the library branch closest to the marina, Mulder was faced with the irrefutable evidence that Alex Krycek read voraciously. His arms were full of books, like a man hoarding food after a famine. Science fiction, poetry, physics, history, mysteries and a book on cat care were balanced precariously against his artificial arm as he tried to shrug his way out the door. Wordlessly, Mulder took half the stack and smiled gently at Alex' confused glance. Perhaps, after a time, Alex might grow used to being helped.

Back home, they unloaded groceries and fell into a workable system. Krycek would hold up an object, Mulder would point and Alex would stack it away, noting the contents of the cupboards with a professional eye. Before they were done with the second bag, Mulder had no doubt that Krycek could find anything he needed. They bobbed and pirouetted around one another like dancers. Once they collided, and Mulder found himself hard against Alex, arms most of the way around him. Only after the heat and whipcord strength of Krycek's body had burnt itself into him was Mulder able to back away. Startled hazel eyes looked into surprised green ones—wisely, they said nothing.

The kittens showed up to demand food, chirping and mewing and screeching, in the case of the tabby. Alex laughed and scooped them all up, hanging them like burrs from his shirtfront while Mulder blended and heated another batch of food for them.

It was only after they had fed their furry charges and put them back to sleep in the salad bowl that Mulder remembered that Krycek hadn't eaten all day. And he remembered the sound of Alex's laughter; for just a moment, he had sounded like a young, carefree man. Like someone he had probably never been.

"Hungry?"

"Not really," Krycek was turning the pages of the top book of the stack he had brought home. Mulder could almost see him sinking into the words before his eyes like a man sinking into the arms of a Siren, drowning happily in print. He smiled a little, then went into the galley. He poured two cups of coffee and made a peanut butter sandwich, which he deposited on the arm of Krycek's chair, then sat down in the other chair with his own mug and pulled the next book off the stack.

'Alice in Wonderland'? Mulder thought, 'Curiouser and curiouser' and he started to read. The bowl of sleeping kittens sat in his lap, Alex ate without comment, the fire burned noiselessly beside them and the afternoon darkened to twilight. Once Mulder got up and disappeared into the galley for a while; Krycek greeted his return with an abstracted smile and put down his book to accept his refilled coffee cup.

But then Krycek found that he was unable to return to his book. He spent a few minutes watching Mulder turn pages, drinking his coffee and stroking the black kitten who had made its arduous way up his pant leg and into his lap.

"Mulder?"

Mulder looked up to find the green eyes fixed on him with an almost desperate confusion in them. He grunted interrogatively.

"What are we doing?"

It was the ridiculous simplicity of the question that stymied him. And the answer was obviously very important to Alex. Mulder could feel certain rusty wheels and cogs turning in his brain—the parts that had made him one of the best profilers Violent Crimes had ever had—grinding out the background to the question. In a few seconds, he had established a working theory which pointed to one simple answer.

"We're not killing anyone, Alex."

Krycek stared at him, testing his words, looking for the mocking edge, understanding gradually seeping into his expression. "Well," he said, recalling his words of earlier, "you gotta start somewhere."

After dinner, he said curiously, "So, this is what normal people do?" and took another wet dish from Mulder, dried it carefully and stacked it away. Mulder stopped for a moment and grinned ruefully down into the soapy water. "I have no idea, Krycek. Normalcy has never really been my forte'. Remember, this is 'Spooky Mulder' you're talking to here."'

"Good point," Krycek agreed with a teasing grin. Mulder splashed him with soapy water, then yelped when Krycek snapped him with a towel. Laughing, he fled, Krycek hot on his heels. Alex caught up with him in front of the stove, grabbing him around the waist and swinging him around. They were both laughing like fools until their eyes met. Suddenly, laughter died in a rush of heat.

Afterward, Mulder could never remember who moved first, nor how they wound up in each other's arms. Whose was the first mouth to open desperately beneath the other's? Who moaned and who growled—it didn't matter. All he knew was that they had been moving toward this moment for eight years and they had finally reached it together.

Alex's evening beard scraped along his as he nudged Mulder's head back and began kissing and biting his way down Mulder's throat. His hand gripped Mulder's shoulder fiercely as he felt Mulder's hand creep into his hair. He misunderstood the steadily growing pressure on the back of his head.

"Don't make me stop, Mulder. Not now. It's been so long…," he gasped into the hollow of Mulder's throat.

"If you stop, I'll kill you, Krycek. I swear it." Mulder heard his own voice and wished he could have sounded just a little less needy.

Krycek laughed again, a clean sound, like a river undammed. "Alex," he breathed, "call me Alex." He bent to his self-imposed task again, hand sliding down to slip open Mulder's shirt, one button at a time.

Mulder let his hands glide up and down Alex's back, learning the flex and play of his muscles. He felt as if he were drowning in the heat and rush of Alex Krycek; it scared him. He opened his eyes and they automatically fell on one of the few things that had ever kept him grounded—his partner's face.

Her picture glowed at him from across the room, eyes laughing. He could almost hear her voice sharpening with exasperation as she asked, as she had so many times in the past, "Mulder—are you seriously trying to tell me that you are about to make love to Alex Krycek?"

Ok—she had never actually said those words—he found himself grinning foolishly, then gasped as Alex's greedy mouth began nuzzling at a nipple. His hands tightened and he pulled Alex closer, harder against him, grounding himself in the hot reality of the moment. But his traitorous mind, well-versed in multi-tasking, kept up his conversation with Dana Scully even as he felt his knees weakening.

"Look, Scully, I'm all alone here. You're the one who keeps telling me to find someone and settle down."

"I didn't mean Krycek!" he could hear her indignant squeak, more than half laughter. His shirt hung open now and Alex was stroking his fingers across his chest, letting them drift lightly through the hair in the center of his chest and then down…

"But who else knows me so well, Scully? There's no one left. No one in this world shares my nightmares…"

"And you always did want him, Mulder. Even after you knew what he was, it was always there between you, wasn't it?" she sighed resignedly. "Are you sure this isn't some sort of game on his part?"

"I'm sure. We have an agreement; no lying, no killing and he pays the vet's bills."

"Only you could have a prenuptial agreement that sounds like the Balkans Peace Treaty, Mulder."

His lips, drifting across Alex's forehead, curved into a rueful smile. The younger man, eyes closed, stood still and arched his neck as Mulder's hands slid up his spine and into his hair.

"Mulder…" someone said.

"Hmm?"

"Tell him that he'd better make you happy."

"I want to make you happy—tell me how."

That sense of being close to her drifted away and he was anchored anew by leafsharp eyes looking into his a little anxiously. He let his fingers gently brush Alex's lush mouth. "Kiss me," he suggested, smiling again.

There was no question that kissing was one of the skills that Krycek had honed well. His tongue slipped past Mulder's lips like a thief, then it made a thorough inventory of his mouth. Mulder gasped and tangled his fingers in Alex's dark hair. It felt like a white-glove inspection, the delicate trailing of silk across every surface until he was writhing in sheer pleasure.

Krycek pulled back and grinned into Mulder's flushed face. "Anything else you'd like?" he asked impudently, confidence rising as Mulder's composure fell away.

"I can think of a few things, " he said breathlessly, "but they require a bed."

Alex's smile was dazzling, shattering the sharp lines that had been cut in beside his mouth and eyes; it made him look young and carefree, nearly innocent. No—that knowing, hungry look in his eyes could never be mistaken for innocence, as he took Mulder's hand and led him to the bedroom.

The tabby kitten and the orange kitten were curled up asleep on the pillow. Alex picked them up and gently deposited them in the laundry basket, incidentally full of Mulder's clean clothes. They blinked and yawned at him, then went back to sleep.

When Alex turned around, Mulder also blinked at him, but there was nothing sleepy about his expression. He touched his finger to Alex's mouth to silence him, then he gently pulled his shirt over his head. He let his eyes rove over Alex's muscular body, noting the scars, the too well-defined ribs, the muscles that flexed and danced as Alex inhaled sharply at the look in Mulder's eyes. Eyes never leaving Alex's, Mulder unfastened Alex's prosthesis and put it down next to the kittens. Then he ran his hands slowly down Alex's torso, thumbs dragging down the center line of his body, through the fine, soft hair across his abdomen. They dipped into his navel, slid down another few inches, then stopped.

The two men stood, unmoving, Mulder's hands resting on Alex's hips, his thumbs just slipping inside the waist band of his jeans. "Alex? Are you sure?" Staring at one another, all the words unsaid between them spinning like leaves in the autumn winds.

"I'm sure, Mulder. I'm sure." And Alex dragged him into another kiss and his rebellious mind finally gave up and gave over to his body's demands.

Their clothes were stripped away without pretense or delay. Sliding onto the bed, Krycek pulled Mulder down on top of him and kissed him fiercely, then said "I want you inside me. Now."

At first, the words made no sense to Mulder, who was still gasping for breath. When they finally penetrated the fog in his brain, he mumbled thickly, "Slowly, Alex. We have all night."

Krycek grabbed the back of his neck and yanked his head down, kissing him savagely, grinding his arousal up into Mulder's. "Now," he insisted.

He let go of Mulder, pushing him slightly to the side. Then he fumbled around in the bedside table before coming up with a handful of condoms and the tube of lubricant. As Mulder watched, trying to soothe Alex by lightly stroking his chest, the younger man ripped open a condom packet with his teeth, scattering the others. Then he nudged against Mulder until he lay on his back, bemused by the small sounds of animal need that trickled up as Alex deftly smoothed the condom down over Mulder's erection.

It was too much; Mulder thrust his hips up, teetering on the edge. Alex suddenly tightened his hand on the base of Mulder's cock, throttling the roar of pleasure. "Don't you dare," he hissed, eyes burning. "I've been waiting for this, for you, for eight years." As Mulder held his gaze, the fierce edge in his expression shaded away into something that was nearly entreaty. "Give me this, Mulder."

He pressed the tube of lubricant into Mulder's hand, waiting with a vibrating patience as Mulder squeezed the thick gel onto his fingers. He stroked it onto Mulder's straining erection, using firm, focused strokes. Mulder held onto his own control with the most tenuous of grips, the fingers of one hand digging into Alex's shoulder.

"Alex," he ground out from between clenched teeth.

The other man nodded, met his glance, then moved suddenly and straddled him. Without preamble, Krycek took hold of Mulder's cock and slid onto it, forcing himself past all obstacles until he sat firmly against Mulder's bucking hips. His lips were pulled back in a snarl and Mulder knew he had to be in pain. He didn't move and Mulder's screaming nerves slowly uncoiled enough for him to lay still and become used to the heat that claimed him.

Alex braced himself with his hand in the center of Mulder's chest, looking down at him with a curious distance in his eyes. Mulder was reminded of the empty look he had seen in Alex's eyes the previous evening. Gently, he slid his hands up Alex's hard thighs and gripped his hips again. He knew suddenly what it was that Alex needed now. Slowly, so slowly, he began to move beneath his lover. His strong hands guided the too-slender hips up and down in a gentle rhythm, refusing to let Alex set the fiercer pace that would set everything between them afire in an instant.

"Mulder…I need…" Alex panted, eyes pleading, muscles flexing as he tried to force Mulder to his speed.

"I know what you need, Alex," Mulder assured him, his iron grip never allowing Alex any option but the slow steady climb to the oblivion of fulfillment. He had no choice but to feel every stroke of Mulder's cock in him, to know every twitch and roll and slide of the man below him. Mulder forced him to know exactly who was inside him; he pulled Alex down and curled himself up to kiss him, trapping his hard cock between them.

Alex suddenly gasped and began twitching and jerking wildly. Mulder held him tightly, trying to slow him down before he realized that it wasn't passion driving his lover. He opened his eyes in consternation, only to see a pair of smoky blue eyes peering down at him from over Alex's bare shoulder—it was the black kitten, wondering why he hadn't been invited to play in this interesting game. Mulder was torn between the urge to hurl the little demon into the wall and hysterical laughter. He plucked the little beast from its bloody perch and dropped it gently on the floor beside the bed.

Alex's eyes, now filled with laughter, met his and they both dissolved into full-bellied laughter. Suddenly, without warning, they were both teetering on the sharp edge, a breath away from the lightning that had always been waiting for them. Mulder pulled Alex down for another kiss and wrapped his hand around the neglected organ that strained between them. Two hard strokes, three, and Alex was convulsing, writhing and screaming into his mouth. Then Mulder, too, was gone, washed away in the lava flow of Alex's pleasure.

Mulder didn't know how long they lay there, merely breathing. Alex lay on his chest, possibly unconscious, and his hands were idly stroking up and down Alex's back. He lightly fingered the bloody scratches, ran his hand over the thickened scar tissue of the mutilated arm, carded his fingers through the sweat-dampened hair. Alex stirred a little, adjusting his head to a comfortable position on Mulder's shoulder.

"I don't remember the last time I laughed during sex," he offered hoarsely.

"We're even—I don't remember the last time I had sex."

Alex gave a startled snort, then a chuckle, then the two of them were laughing again. Alex pushed back a little and brushed his hand through Mulder's hair, still chuckling. He reached down and plucked the black kitten from its determined ascent up the side of the bed. Plunking it down in the middle of Mulder's chest, he grinned evilly at Mulder's wince as the sharp little claws made themselves felt.

"I think we should close the door next time."

"I think we should get a door," Mulder corrected him. He fingered his jaw and felt the sting of beard burn and grinned.

Alex was straddling him again, looking like he'd been worked over by the football team and happy as hell about it. There was a light in his eyes that Mulder had never seen there before; he decided that he liked it. He ran his hand up Alex's throat to cup his jaw, thumb resting on the bruised lips, forefinger teasing the scar at the point of his jaw. He drew Alex down for a gentle, slow kiss. The black kitten, caught between them, gave an indignant squeak so reminiscent of Scully that Mulder was laughing again even as those demonically needlesharp claws dug in in retribution. Alex rescued him and picked the kitten off, putting it down at the foot of the bed.

He slipped the condom off and dropped it in the trash can beside the bed. Then he allowed himself to drop flat beside his lover. Mulder immediately rolled on top of him, kissing him soundly. When he could speak again, Alex gasped out, "Mulder. Wait. Let me rest a minute."

Mulder pressed his forehead gently against Alex's.

"Take as much time as you need, Alex. I'm not going anywhere."

Unable to say anything to match the promise in Mulder's words or the reassurance in Mulder's eyes, Alex did the only thing he could to show his growing trust in the man who held him now. He fell asleep.

It was never going to be easy; it would certainly never be normal. But, Mulder thought as he pulled the covers over both of them, it might just be enough for them both. You gotta to start somewhere, he reminded himself.