Holding An Old Friend's Hand (Adult Slash) -- The X-Files Lyric Wheel

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Date Posted: Mon September 11, 2006 06:00:02
Author: Ursula
Subject: Holding An Old Friend's Hand (Adult Slash)

Title: Hold An Old Friend's Hand

Author/Pseudonym: Ursula

Fandom: X-Files

Pairing: Mulder/Krycek

Rating: Adult Slash

Status: Finished and in need of beta

Date Posted: 09/10/06

Archive: FHSA

E-mail address for feedback: Fan4Richie or Ursula4X@aol.com

Classification: Adult Slash

Series/Sequel: Is this story part of a series: Prequel Story to Gone to The Dogs

Disclaimers: No profit, fan fiction for fun

Notes: Dedicated to Alex Krycek and the actor who gave him Skin

Warnings: Slash

Time Frame: Post Series

Hold An Old Friend's Hand
Tiffany
*Another year and I'm still here
The grass just will not grow on this old hill
Still I just can't let it go
I don't believe it's cause I'm cold
Or partial to the crazy life I'm caught in
Sometimes I feel the hand of time
moving like its body was broke
and it's then I miss your sighs
and the tender words you spoke

Hey, that's okay - come on around and get yourself together
Won't you come on around and hold an old friend's hand
Babe, I promise not to throw you
You don't have to stay, I just want to hold you
Won't you come on around
and hold an old friend's hand

))))))))))))))))))))

Hiding out was making me stir crazy... I could blame it on the company, but that would be a lie. I thought Krycek would drive me crazy, but the truth was that he was convenient to have around. Porn had always been one of the few ways to quiet my mind and Krycek was like my own little porn show with perks. When he was around, I didn't need my hand. The thing about fucking Krycek was that I didn't have to worry about his feelings or complications beyond our already screwed up relationship.

It did piss me off that Krycek was so much more content to cool his heels than I was. We were hiding out in San Francisco in the Russian Hill district. I remember years ago when I spent most of my spring break in San Francisco. Russian Hill was an artist colony then, full of coffee houses and stores full of hand made jewelry. Now the area was more likely to hold the newly rich who aspired to being considered artistic.

I don't know who owned the house in which we were staying. It was set behind a large mansion. I think it was once a gate house or servant's quarters. We were surrounded by a stone wall with cast iron gates. A gully ran by the garden gate, providing cover if we needed to run. There was also a tunnel leading to a basement across the street. I suspect that this house has always been a way station for refuges.
There was graffiti about Abby Hoffman and Jerry Rubin in the basement from the sixties so I know that Yippies had once hidden here. There was even older graffiti in the corner, but it was in Russian so I have no idea what it said.

There were two small bedrooms. Most of Alex's was occupied by his bed. There was not even room for a dresser. He kept his clothing in the hall closet. He gave me the larger bedroom, although he knew very well that I would seldom sleep in it. My bedroom has a bay window with built in drawers beneath it.

The rest of the house was one room, divided by architectural frames and counters. It was a beautiful house. Scully would have loved it. It was cozy, decorated with floral upholstery and matching curtains. It was full of antiques, warm golden brown woods and thick padded seats.

Krycek seemed to fit here in ways I didn't expect. I would come into the room and find him, drinking tea, one long leg stretched half across the room and the other crossed to support a book. He played chess in the small alcove that seemed planned for this purpose. I don't know if he was playing via email or reenacting classic games. I could have played with him, wanted to when I was bored, but I couldn't bring myself to acknowledge that we were living and working together.

Sometimes I didn't believe that there were so many people looking for us. Krycek swore that it was dangerous enough to drive us underground. We had a good run the months preceding, finding information that garnered us places to hit and people to kill. I wish I could say it was Alex that did the killing. All too often it was me.

They had pushed me too far. When Scully and I were on the run, both of us had lost a lot of our scruples. After Walter arranged amnesty for Scully and I ditched her to make sure she took it, I found myself not giving a damn for things that I used to think were important. I finally understood some of the bullshit Krycek used to shoot at me. I wanted revenge so badly that I was willing to sell my soul to the devil to get it.

I remember talking to myself one day, wishing Alex was still alive. I said it out loud. It must have been like that Bloody Mary legend because he showed up two days later.

OooOooO

I had always prided myself that I needed no one then Scully punched a wall in my defenses. Alex did worse than that. I didn't want him when I met him, but I let him so far inside... There were moments in my life when we were still partners that I would have given up everything for him. I remember touching him, my fingers trembling with passion. I worshipped him, could not believe he was mine as he lay with me, his face turned slightly aside, his dark lashes shielding his jewel-like eyes.

Even when I hated him the most, I could remember how his skin felt. I could remember the hot sweet feeling as I kissed him, my lips caressing the inside of his elbow, the side of his neck, parting his legs to flicker my tongue into the salt sweat near his cock. Even when I hated him, I wanted him.

Now he was mine.

Mine.

I held out for most of a week after we got together. Five days. We were in a hotel room after a raid on a experimental facility. We blew it up and drove all night before we stopped outside of Reno and paid cash for a room with a king sized bed, the only room available.

Krycek had hit the shower while I was still lying on the bed, flicking channels to see what kind of spin the media was putting on the explosion.

Coming back, Krycek was clad in a towel. He bent to get some clothes and the towel slipped, revealing his fine ass. I growled, reached, stripping off the rest. I was still rank with sweat and grime from the road. He was clean and sweet, fresh shaven, teeth brushed. I felt like I was ravishing him. I loved it.

I parted his sweet plump ass. I reached for the lotion that someone had left on the table. Slicking my fingers, I quickly opened him and then was on top him. It was hot, dirty sex, lacking all finesse and devoid of affection. I never even kissed him. When I slid out, I felt boneless with exhaustion, but more relaxed then I ever remembered feeling. I managed to say one sentence before I fell into my debauched sleep. "I'm gonna fuck you whenever I want from now on."

His smoky voice. "Yes, Mulder, yes."

OooOooO

We had been on the run for two months and it seemed as if we were one hair away from being captured. Alex was growing thin and he seemed exhausted. He made the decision to go underground for a while and let the pursuit die down.

I agreed only because Alex was the one who knew where our targets were. I had little choice but to agree to hide. It made me remember Krycek's comments so long ago about having to run with the rats. Now I had joined him. It should have felt worse than it did, but at least now, it was an honest sort of crime. I had grown all too used to evil masking itself in white shirts and regulation haircuts.

OooOooO

Krycek seemed content to idle here. He had struck up a friendship with the German speaking woman across the street. I might have been jealous except the lady was seventy if she was a day. She wore house dresses except when she attended church. On those days, she wore low heels, a nice coat regardless of the weather, and black or navy dresses. There was a Mr. Meyer, but he was on oxygen and seldom ventured outside.

Mrs.. Meyer fed cats. She had several that seemed to be permanent residents, but others drifted through. There were young ones, mewing in hunger, old ones with battered ears and wary attitudes, and pregnant ones.

I didn't know that Alex liked cats although I was aware he was very fond of dogs. That had surprised me although why I'm not sure. I can take them or leave them myself. As a child, I was never allowed to have a pet, not even a goldfish. As an adult, I found people's dependency on pets pathetic. I never thought Alex Krycek would be one of those people who would cross a street to pet a dog, but he would, striking up conversations with the most unlikely people.

I saw Alex help Ms. Meyer carry in her sacks of cat food. Instead of returning home, he sat on the porch with her observing the latest visitors. I usually ignored them, but I was bored. I had been watching porn on cable, but it didn't have the same satisfaction anymore. I was spoiled by having a real live body to fuck whenever I wanted and I wanted now.

I found Alex bent over the most repulsive creature I had ever seen. It was a cat of sorts, but its ears were ragged fringe on its battered head. What remained of its whiskers were crooked stubs. He only had sparse patches of fur. Red irritated skin showed through.

"Don't touch that thing," I commanded.

"It's sick," Alex said.

"I know that," I replied. "That's why I said not to touch it. Someone should call animal control."

"They would just put it to sleep." Mrs. Meyers said.

Mrs. Meyer's strong accent flavored her words, but I understood well enough. "It's suffering."

Mrs. Meyer had a jar of something oily. She crouched to apply whatever it was to the cat. I could hear his loud purr and it made me uncomfortable.

"Poor thing," Mrs. Meyer said. "Poor old thing."

It made me wince to see anyone handle the cat. Despite the horrible things I had seen this cat still made me ill.

"It would be better to put it out of its misery," I said.

The cat continued to purr and Mrs. Meyer ignored me. Alex stepped off the porch and said, "He doesn't seem to agree. He wants to live. He's like me. It would take a lot of hurting to make me give up fighting to stay alive."

I wanted to argue, but Alex's hand was fisted and his eyes were dark, more threatening than I ever had seen them even in Hong Kong when he looked half mad.

"Alex?" I said.

Taking my arm, Alex led me across the street. "Come on. We'll go home."

As soon as we were in the door, I yelled, "I've had enough of this shit, hiding out while they push up the date for colonization. Either you give me the information or I'll beat it out of you."

We were chest to chest, my hands gripping his upper arms as I shook him.

Breaking my grip, Alex side stepped and said, "Try it. I've had enough of your shit, Mulder. Grow up. I've kept us alive and free to fight. Accept that or go back to what you were doing. You need me, Mulder."

I needed him. That was a truth I couldn't deny. Needed him on every level.

"When will it be safe to leave here?" I demanded.

"A week or two," Alex said. "By that time, I will have some information you can send to Skinner. Let the FBI do some of our work for us. I can arrange some disinformation to make it look like a Consortium site is a branch of a right wing radical organization."

He was brilliant and evil. Sexy as hell. I didn't know whether I wanted to punch him or kiss him.

Alex resolved my dilemma by grabbing me and kissing me hard and hungry. I was surprised as he hardly ever initiated sex. Not since we started the current heated affair.

Quickly, I took over the lead, backing him toward his bedroom, roughly stripping his clothes as we went. He was naked by the time we hit the bed. I had my shirt off, my jeans were half off. I was in a fever, as eager as I was the first time. His brief show of anger turned me on more than any submission he showed me.

I wanted to see his face as I fucked him so I had his ass in the air, his legs over my shoulders. His right arm braced against the headboard as I pumped into him. His pretty pink mouth was wide open as were his beautiful eyes. I felt as if I was so far into him that we would be joined always.

So many feelings at first, loathing for myself, loathing, love, lust for him. Then everything dissolved as my world became sweet sweet pleasure. Sex is something wonderful. Orgasm is perfect, wiping away my pain, my worry, all the concerns that constricted my life.

My hand coaxed Alex over the edge. He uttered a deep groan as if I was torturing him as he came. I loved that.

Finished I was ready to shower, to go to my solitary bed. I never said anything when we done. I never kissed him.

I don't know why I looked behind me to see Alex curling on his side, his hand clenched on his pillow. He looked as if he was in pain. My eyes went to the cleft of his ass, worried that I had been too rough and he was bleeding. I didn't see any signs, but I still felt an intense feeling of guilt. I wanted him to be just a body I fucked, a guy I used to get at our mutual enemies. It was easy to keep that role on the road. Here, I lived with him. I couldn't make him into the monster I had painted him in the past. I couldn't justify the way I treated him. Not knowing what to say, I continued out of the room.

I always scrubbed his scent, his touch, his sex off me as quickly as I could. Now as I punished myself for my additions, I couldn't wash him away. I loved being inside him and now he was deep inside me. I couldn't get him out. I didn't want to.

Knowing I wouldn't be able to sleep, I went to my bedroom anyway. I heard Alex leave his room and heard water running in the bathroom. I let my mind drift away to my old life, to Scully, safe as she could be under Walter, Doggett, and Reyes' protection. I didn't miss her as much as I should. I was never worthy of her. Maybe that was why it was so much easier than Alex. He was far from a saint.
Gradually, it struck me that the water had been running a long time. I stood up and walked out of my bedroom. The bathroom door was unlocked. It always was. Someone had kicked it in at some point of time and it was a struggled to fully close it, much less lock it.

Alex had his pants down and his leg up on the toilet seat. I didn't have to see the needle to know what he was doing. It pissed me off. I remembered the way he looked in Hong Kong, strung out, glassy eyed, and pinch faced. The last thing we needed was for Alex to start doing drugs again.

I lost it, hitting the needle out of Alex's hand, grabbing him, and shaking him. "You filthy, dirty junkie," I yelled. "Is this what it's about? You wanted to hole up and take a break from reality? I should break your arm to make sure you can't shoot up."

When I let go, Alex folded up. He curled on the bathroom floor, trapped between my feet and the john. I wanted to kick him, but I couldn't get the clearance to reach him. I grabbed his kit to throw it at him when I read the label. I recognized the prescription for Dilaudid. Then I read the other labels, Velcade, Cerubidine, and Doxorubican. I knew what they were for. I did a lot of research when Scully had cancer.

"It's cancer, isn't it, Alex?" I said, my hands shaking as I reached for Alex, almost sobbed when I saw him flinch away. I lifted him up, seating him on the toilet seat, I carefully set the drug kit on the vanity.

I felt as if I was staggering beneath the weight of this discovery. I went outside, walked through the garden, and saw Mrs. Meyer. She had an old towel in her hands and was reaching toward a huddled form.

Fuck, the mangy cat was dead. I walked across to ask her if she needed help. Mrs. Meyer shook her head and said, "I will bury him in the garden. At least, he knew someone still cared at the last."

Was that important? I couldn't help seeing Alex in that stiff little body. As beautiful as he was to me, he bore his scars just as that cat did. He was battered and marked by his battles, won and lost. His cancer I knew instinctively was not a natural disease. Somewhere in his encounters, in the silo, in the experiments inflicted on him, in the many lethal substances to which we were exposed, he acquired the cancer that was the consequence of alien hybridization.

I never thought of myself as a coward, but I wanted to run. It was bad enough watching Scully grow sick and nearly die. I couldn't handle it again.

Not Alex. Not dark, dangerous, beloved Alex.

OooOooO

"You're sure I can't help?" I asked.

"You don't like cats," Mrs. Meyer said.

"I don't dislike them," I said. "I didn't have pets growing up."

No pets, no genuine affection, and ultimately no sister. My childhood had little to remember with any pleasure and much to remember with fear and sorrow.

Something of my thoughts must have traveled to my face, much as I prided myself on not letting my feelings show.

Mrs. Meyer said, "I could use some help with the grave."

Nodding, I followed her into her back yard and waited while she went to a neatly arranged shed to get the shovel. There was a tidy area surrounded by a low white picket fence. She said, "Dig there in the corner."

It reminded me of darker scenes with Scully. I did a lot of work with graves for a professional man. Most of the time I was opening a grave not digging one though.

When Mrs. Meyer was satisfied, she lined the grave with catnip that she grew in her garden before she lowered the wrapped body of the stray cat.

I stood uncomfortably by as she prayed in her native German. I found it somewhat ridiculous but also moving. I said, "I better go check on Alex."

"Yes, you should," Mrs. Meyer said, her stern face softening.

I nodded and with a brief glance toward the unfortunate cat's grave, I said, "I'm sorry about the cat."

"Take care of Alex. He needs you," Mrs. Meyer said.

I wondered if Alex told this almost stranger that he was ill? Had he trusted her more than he trusted me? No wonder though. I had not treated him as a lover or a friend. I didn't know that I cared about him until now. Now that I was afraid I was losing him.

OooOooO

Alex was asleep or pretending to be asleep when I checked on him. I silently undressed and got into his bed. I felt him stiffen against me when I embraced him. I realized he thought I had come back for more sex and I could have wept that he thought this of me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to find a cure for you."

There was no reply as I hugged him, surrounded him as if I could shield him from dying.

"I'm not dead yet," Alex said. "We keep on fighting. I'd like to pretend I'm the center of the universe, but I'm not. I can make it a while longer."

His one hand clasped mine. I knew what that took for him to immobilize the only hand he had.

"We can do it together," I promised. "First we kick the Greys out and then we find a cure for this thing."

His only reply was laughter.

We fell asleep like that, holding hands.

My last thought before all of my worries dissolved in a drowsy haze was that I loved him. I loved him and some day we were going to sleep like this every night.

Holding my old friend's hand. My lover's hand.

The End

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Replies:

Re: Holding An Old Friend's Hand (Adult Slash) -- Jo McCarthy (Happy), Fri September 15, 2006 10:56:17