From ccbailey@facstaff.wisc.edu Sat Oct 26 21:33:561996
OK, we'll try this again...

OK, Alex Krycek is a character belonging to Chris Carter and 1013
Productions, see? I'm just using him for fun (hehehe); no infringement is
intended. I'm also quoting music from Eurythmics, Garbage, Kate Bush,
October Project, Alanis Morrissette, and John Hiatt. In that order. You
don't need to know the songs in order to understand the story, but theywill
help establish a mood.

Parts 1, 2 and 4 comprise the R-version (a little language, a few breasts).
Part 3 will make it NC-17, so anyone under 18, don't read it. Unless you're
like me when I was 18, in which case you'll read it anyway, so just don't
tell anybody, OK?

All other creativity is solely mine, y'hear? Do not quote, do not
paraphrase without my express permission (yeah, like it's hard to get).
This story can be reproduced in its entirety if and only if you include
ccbailey@facstaff.wisc.edu as author and no cash (or its equivalent) changes
hands. These characters are completely fictional. No resemblance to any
persons living, dead, undead, channeled, abducted, possessed or in suspended
animation is intended.

This follows my previous story, "Finder's Keepers", but is writtento be
stand-alone. I'm sorry, I broke down and wrote this NC-17. I couldn't help
myself. For the record, I think Krycek is an amoral loner who will take
whatever desperate measures are needed to keep his skin intact - and I like
him that way. If he gets laid on the show, I think he'll lose some (perhaps
many) fans. Send comments to ccbailey@facstaff.wisc.edu. Good comments may
be accompanied by roses and chocolate. Well, I can hope, can't I?


Losers Weepers 1/4

I bit my tongue and stood in line
with not much to believe in
I bought into what I was sold
and ended up with nothing.
This is not my idea of a good time
This is not my idea of a good time
This is not my idea of a good time
This is not my idea

The bar is packed; hundreds of beautiful, black-clad people, their bodies
jolting in time to the omnipresent dance-music pounding them from all
directions. Seen from above, the dance-floor is a microcosm of the solar
system: fast-moving bodies cluster towards the center, brightly lit from
above, while the less-frantic dancers gravitate towards the edges, content
to sway in the shadows as they drink, talk, deal, and generally struggleto
pose as the media image of pop success.

You thought that I would never see
what was meant for you was meant for me
I was distracted at the time
forget about yours now what about mine
This is not my idea of a good time
This is not my idea of a good time
This is not my idea of a good time
This is not my idea

The whole place is in motion. Video images of the more outrageous or
acrobatic dancers are picked up by remote cameras and broadcast onto huge
screens suspended from the construction-like scaffolding raised along the
walls of the former warehouse. Catwalks span the heights at several levels.
Dance-floor refugees are scattered throughout this framework, momentarily
exhausted or simply distracted by the pleasures offered at the bars or in
the shadowed corners. Some lounge against the railings, watching the
dancers. Others hunch over tables, trying to make themselves heard overthe
music.

You thought I was a little girl
You thought I was a little mouse
You thought you'd take me by surprise
Now I'm here burning down your house
This is not my idea of a good time
This is not my idea of a good time
This is not my idea of a good time
This is not my idea

Alex Krycek blends in with this crowd, black leather in a sea of black.Not
as well as he might like; he needs a shave, a shower, and a change of
clothes. And he's closer to that now than he has been in days.

He spots his quarry and closes in as the music changes, though the throbbing
beat remains the same. He glances up at the cameras, carefully avoiding
their line of focus.

Love is a stranger
In an open car
To tempt you in
And drive you far away

"Hello, Minx."

"Alex, you rogue! Where have you been, darling!" Her outrageouslyred hair
bobs with a life of its own, teased and sprayed to within an inch of
ludicrous, but pulled back from the brink by the full coverage of her
clinging black dress. He motions for her to be quiet, looking in all
directions to see if anyone else is noticing this minor commotion. She
ignores him. "We all thought you were dead!"

"No, just in North Dakota." He remembers to smile, and she laughs."I need
a favor, Minx."

"And I need a new manager. What's new?" She turns to wave at apassing
couple, but he moves into her path.

"I need to find Diane."

"Why don't you just wait until Monday and visit her at the shop?"

"I'm kind of pressed for time."

"Anyway, I don't think she's going to want to see you. After all thistime?
As if." She starts to move away again. He grabs her elbow. She stares
pointedly at his gloved hand on her arm, and he eases up but maintains his
touch as he walks her further away from the crowd by the bar. "Didyou try
the phone book?"

"Unlisted. Do you know where she is, yes or no."

"Darling, I see her once a week, *at the shop*, where she works hermagic
for me." She fluffs her scarlet mass of hair with one hand, simpering.
"Isn't it just so very?"

"It's important that I find her." When she makes no response,"C'mon,
Minx, you owe me big." He grips her hand.

"Alex, don't," she tries to pull away, but he tugs her sleeveup, fumbling a
bit. Track marks stand out vividly on her pale skin, lacing the skin from
wrist to elbow.

"Remember Miami?" She pulls her arm out of his grasp, pouting."Tell me
what you know."

It's savage and it's cruel
And it shines like destruction
Comes in like the flood
And it seems like religion

"Well, maybe." She eyes him carefully, and he waits patiently,wearing his
most convincing trust-me smile. "I hear she's still in the neighborhood..."
She materializes a pen and scribbles on a bar napkin.

"Thanks, Minx, I think we're even. And you never saw me here, right?"He
winks conspiratorially.

"Oh, *Alex*..." She is speaking to empty shadows as he makes foran exit.

It's noble and it's brutal
It distorts and deranges
And it wrenches you up
And you're left like a zombie

"Hey, sweetie, you turnin' tricks again?" The bouncer appearsfrom the
darkness behind her.

"Don't be a boor, Max, that's my big brother."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before."

"C'mon, Max, you can be my Big Daddy, anytime." She smiles a syrupysmile
and undulates against him, twining her fingers in his collar. He allowsher
to distract him from watching as the other man leaves the club, dodging
through the clots of posers around the bar to reach the nearest exit.

The music changes again - the adrenaline-laden riffs of Mission Impossible
surround him, bringing a quirky smile to his lips. Pushing through the
huddled masses , his right hand is quietly at work in the darkness, darting
in and out of the crush of bodies. Amazing what people will ignore in a
dance bar, where invasion of privacy is tolerated, almost expected, rather
than avoided.

Hustling down the back stairs, he glances down at the paper napkin Minxgave
him. "1100's, Morrow". Well, better than nothing. He pulls hisright hand
from inside the front of his jacket and surveys his catch: a miniaturized
cellular phone. He smiles. "Like candy from a baby." He checksthe street
sign to get his bearings, then dials the phone while crossing. "It'sme."
Pause. "I'll tell you later. I need you to do something for me...."He
scans the pavement behind him as he slips towards a darker side-alley. Time
to start checking nameplates.

*******************
1121 Morrow Drive is a three-story Chicago-style walk-up. The door is
security-locked, but the apartments are clearly labeled. D. Foster livesin
Apartment 3. He slips around back. Standing on the shadowed pavement, he
glances around again for signs of life. Satisfied, he drops the cellular
phone and grinds it under his foot, then scrambles up over the back railing
to the fire escape. Careful to avoid making any noise, he climbs to the
second floor, slips over the balcony edge and knocks on the back door,
glancing around to see if this attracts any unwelcome notice.

*******************
Diane is asleep in the front bedroom. The knocking awakens her with a
start. Her hand reaches for the bed stand, knocking her purse and keys to
the floor with a crash before she's completely awake. She waits, hand on
the drawer. Another set of taps, and she sits up, grabbing the terry robe
from where it's hanging off the closet door and slipping it on over herbare
back. She's about to leave the room when she hesitates, then opens the
drawer in the bed stand. Pulling out a small, sleek handgun, she tucks it
into her pocket clumsily, then pads into the hallway.

She has to travel through the entire apartment, since the knocking is coming
from the ...kitchen? Who would be out there? "I'm coming," shemutters,
crossing the cold linoleum to the door. One hand on the lock, the otherin
her pocket, she flips on the outside light and peers out the window to the
left of the door. "Ohmygod." She jerks away and stands, back againstthe
door, stunned by what she's just seen. Another knock, louder. She runs
both hands through her mussed brown hair, then nods. "OK, girl, wecan do
this." She undoes the chain lock, then the deadbolt. Taking a deepbreath,
she opens the door.

He looks different. Hungry. On edge. "Can I come in? I won't stay long,"
as he glides past her.

"You never did."

"Sorry?"

"I said, 'Come on in.'" Slowly she shuts the door, palms flatagainst the
wood, then with a shake of her head she locks the door behind him, turnsand
leans against it, arms folded.

His eyes are all over the room, and he looks uncomfortable. "It's goodto
see you, Diane."

"What do you want, Alex."

He tries to look surprised. "I just need a place to stay for a day.Maybe
two. It's no big deal, I'll stay out of your way...." His voice trickles
away as he sees the hard expression on her face.

"Why should I help you?"

"What, after all we've been through together?"

"We? You mean what you put me through! None of which would have happened
if I'd never met you!"

He's putting on his schmaltiest smile. "C'mon, honey..." He movescloser.

"I ain't your honey, Alex." She half-turns away from him.

He ignores that, puts his arms around her, "Hey, babe," and hishand brushes
against her pocket. He pulls the gun out before she can stop him, and steps
away from her, suspicious. "What's this?"

"What does it look like," she snaps at him. "You think youcan disappear
like that and nobody's going to come looking? I got broken into 4 timesin
the month after you left. Didn't take anything, searched through
everything. Why do you think I moved? Why do you think my phone number's
unlisted?" She doesn't mention that she was home for one of the intrusions.
"And the police were here, twice while I was home, who knows how manytimes
when I wasn't." He looks alarmed, and she sighs. "Did you thinkyou lived
in a vacuum, Alex? You can't do this James Bond shit and not affect the
people in your life. Which I was. And I'm not now!" she states fiercely,
brandishing a finger at him when he tries to smile again. "Give meone good
reason why I shouldn't pick up the phone right now and turn you in."

Alex's face could be molded in plastic. He grips her gun for a long moment,
then looks down as if he'd forgotten it was there. Reversing it to grasp
the barrel, he hands it back to her. She takes it after a moment's pause.
"There isn't one." He turns and leans his hip against the kitchencounter
and his arm against the cupboard, leaning his forehead into the palm ofthat
hand and randomly tapping the countertop with the other. "I shouldn'thave
come here."

She looks him over carefully under the guise of fumbling to return the gun
to her pocket. He's dirty. Not noticeably, but the kind of dirty that says
you've been washing up in men's rooms too many times between showers. His
jeans don't fit, his sneakers are scuffed beyond brand-name recognition,and
his leather jacket, once so seductive, now has dusty creases and dark
stains. There's more than a week's worth of stubble on his pale cheeks,and
his hair, though shorter than she's ever seen it, still looks like it'sgone
too long away from scissors. He has dark circles under his eyes and he's
lost weight. She feels the balance of compassion begin to shift towards
him, and ruthlessly suppresses it.

"Alex, you want to stay, you talk. Now." He shifts uneasily. Shesighs,
crosses her arms. "Alex, I always knew more than you thought I did.Now
talk, you won't shock me."

He considers for a moment, then nods sharply. "There are...powerfulpeople
out to kill me. They almost succeeded; I still don't know how I got awayin
time." The words fall from his lips like stones dropped into a well."I
was doing deep cover work for the agency; things that wouldn't be
considered...ethical in a lot of courts." He squeezes his eyes shut,
digging for words. "I love my work, Diane, you know that. EverythingI've
done, I've done because I believed in the integrity and necessity of the
work itself. You have to believe that!" He is pleading with her; forwhat,
she doesn't know. He runs a hand along his arm. "I've seen things...We
don't have words for them." His eyes are far away. Abruptly he returns,
focuses on his gloved hands. "I did my job the best I could. As itturns
out, I was considered...expendable." He spits the statement out likebitter
medicine.

She senses the gaps in his narrative, but says nothing. "And now I'mon the
run. I'm only one step ahead, Diane, and I've got to hide someplace whereI
can get my head together and figure out what my next move is."

"OK, I lied. You shocked me." He's watching her closely. She sighs,then
leans against the counter, hands behind her, and considers him. "Look,do
you think they could find you this fast?"

Hope, obviously an unaccustomed emotion, twitches at the corner of his eyes.
"I've been hitchhiking a lot, I doubt they know what state I'm in.I'll be
OK until I try to contact someone they control, or visit any of my old
haunts."

Am I considered an old haunt? "Well. Are you hungry?"

Closing his eyes, he leans back against the cupboards and exhales loudly.
Looking up at her, he starts to speak, then stops. "Yes, I'm famished."

She opens the fridge and tosses him a beer. "Get down some plates,will
you?" She pulls a few foil-covered dishes out and nudges the door shutwith
her hip. "Hope you don't mind leftovers." Thank god I don't haveto go to
work tomorrow. She reaches for the microwave.

*******************
"Boy, is *this* familiar." In her dark, cluttered living room,the coffee
table is strewn with empty plates, creased napkins and a few beer bottles.
Alex is slumped in a corner of the couch, snoring quietly. She gently eases
his shoes off, and undoes the waistband of his jeans. Nope, not gonna take
them off for you, she decides silently. After levering him into a
lying-down position, she tries to pull a glove off, but he mumbles in his
sleep and shifts, so she stops.

She disappears into the hallway, coming back with an armful of comforter.
Gently throwing the blanket over him, she squats by the couch, studyinghis
face. Tenderly, she brushes his hair back from his brow and runs her hand
down across the side of his head, lingering at his neck. Rising, she sighs.
God, please let me get through this. The sigh turns into a huge yawn;
raising her hand to her mouth, she notices faint black streaks where she
fondled his ear. Frowning, she rubs her fingers together. Oily. What the
hell have you been getting into, Alex? she wonders as she pads silentlyto
her room, grabbing a tissue on the way to wipe her fingers clean.

Tossing the crumpled mess into the wastebasket, she takes the robe off and
sits on the bed. And hesitates. She's short, and well-padded, too chesty
for her own liking, but Alex never complained. I think he liked it. Stop
that. Naked, she steps to the dresser and grabs a T-shirt out of the bottom
drawer. She tugs it on, grumbling, "Damn, and I'd just gotten comfortable
sleeping naked again." She crawls into bed.

End Part 1 of 4 Loser's Weepers


From ccbailey@facstaff.wisc.edu Sat Oct 26 21:34:01 1996
Loser's Weepers 2/4

*******************
In the morning light, Alex's sleeping face looks so... "peaceful, isn'tthat
how the cliche goes?" she murmurs as she sets two coffee cups on theliving
room table. She stands and inspects him. "Too bad the drooling spoilsthe
effect." She flicks on the CD player and starts the carousel, thengoes back
for the eggs and toast. When she comes back he hasn't moved.

I hear him before I go to sleep
and focus on the day that's been
I realize he's there when I turn the light off
and turn over

Bad choice, girl, she thinks. But leaves it on. She settles tailor-style
on the floor, pulling the robe tighter around her as she faces him, and
leans over to touch his arm. "Alex?" He doesn't respond, and shestrokes
his arm lightly, up to the elbow and down to the wrist. She leans against
the side of the couch, cradling his arm in hers, and rests her head on them
both, sighing and closing her eyes.

Nobody knows about my man
They think he's lost on some horizon
And suddenly I find myself
Listening to a man I've never known before
Telling me about the sea
All his love, 'till eternity
Ooooh, he's here again - the man with the child in his eyes
Ooooh, he's here again - the man with the child in his eyes

She sighs again. Back to reality. "Alex, it's getting cold." Shepats the
back of his hand where it touches her face. He barely opens his eyes to
smile at her, sliding a finger against the peach-fuzz of her cheek. Thenhe
sits up abruptly, looking alarmed. "Hey, relax. Want some coffee?"She
offers him a mug. He stares at her, wiping absently at his chin with the
back of his hand, then gazes around the apartment. Sitting up more
comfortably and shifting his feet to the floor, he relaxes back into the
couch, takes the coffee from her.

"Thanks."

"No problem, you know how addicted I am to the stuff."

They sip in silence for a moment. He mmmm's his approval, eyes half-closed
as he breathes in the aroma. "I guess this makes it morning."

"For a little while, at least. You were really wiped last night. Tired,huh?"

He smiles weakly. "You have no idea. I can't remember the last timeI had
a decent night's sleep."

"Gee, thrift-store couches doesn't usually garner such high praise."

"It wasn't the couch. This is the first time I've felt...safe in along
time." He looks down into his coffee.

"Ah." She doesn't add anything, remembering their talk last night.

I've seen that life
Touches us with pain
And we change
Becoming strangers to our friends
Tell me what happens along the way

"Your hair...."

"Oh." She can't help but be pleased that he noticed. "Thisis my natural
color. I stopped dying it a few months back, and cut it just a few weeks
ago." She runs her fingers through the light brown thatch, still dampfrom
her shower earlier, pulls some down to eye level. "It's pretty shortnow, huh."

His smile hurts. "It looks good on you. Better than red." Silence
descends again.

I thought of us
Hard to talk these days
Did we change
Or were we strangers all along
Tell me what caused us to turn away

Radio karma. She watches his eyes move from the CD player on the stereo
rack to the bookshelf, the framed picture of them both, laughing at some
shared joke. With a start, she realizes that she cannot remember who took
the picture, or where they were at the time, or why they were happy, oreven
if they were happy at all. Guiltily, her eyes seek his, only to find him
engrossed in his eggs, pushing them around on his plate with short, angry
strokes, frowning.

I moved ahead
Thinking you'd be there
But it changed
And now we're strangers to our past
How did I lose you along the way

They eat, shooting glances at each other as often as they dare, until the
plates are scraped clean and the coffee supply is exhausted and she knows
she must break the contemplative silence with profane details. "Hey."

He looks up. His eyes are haunted by what she might say.

"I think you need a shower." The mood breaks, just like that,his eyes
sparkle and he grins.

"OK, strip that stuff off, you can use my robe." She shrugs itoff,
suddenly conscious of her bare legs and lack of underwear.

He pulls his black T-shirt up over his head and she stares at the fading
bruises on his torso. He looks down and brushes his hands against his ribs,
embarrassed. "A few rough landings, nothing serious." He yawnsand
stretches both arms above his head, bending backwards until his back pops
alarmingly. His jeans, still unbuttoned from last night, slide down a few
inches to reveal black boxers.

"Weren't you a briefs kinda guy?" she asks, gesturing.

He looks down. "Oh, sh...." he exclaims, then turns away and clumsilyzips
himself up while she watches, half-amused.

He sits back down and starts struggling with the gloves. He has troublefor
a minute, then holds one hand out to Diane with a "please?" lookon his
face. She takes his hand and tugs at the wrist. "Aaahah! Gentle with
that," he pleads.

"I'm trying, it's stuck." She peels back the edge of one glove."What's
this? It's pretty gross...looks like dried blood..." She stops. "Alex,
this *is* blood." She stares at him, aghast. "What happened toyour hands?"

"I... it's from when I got out of a tight spot recently. I had to...
They'll be OK, it's superficial damage. But hey," he shrugs, "theywere
worse a week ago."

She is frozen for a moment, wondering again what he hasn't told her, what
the hell he's into this time, and can she still kick him out. Get a grip,
Diane. In for a penny, in for a pound. Then she sets his hand down and
gets up, heading for the bedroom, calling over her shoulder, "we'regoing to
have to sacrifice those gloves. I'll get the first aid kit."

She comes back and snips away at the gloves with a small pair of scissors.
Peeling them off the scabbed-up gouges in his flesh is an unpleasant task.
She hears his teeth grind, and thinks, I'm glad Alex is so stoic, I don't
think I could do this if he cried out. "Most of them are healing, butthese
two are infected; we'll clean them out in the bathroom and then slatherthem
with ointment. Alex, why didn't you get these looked at? Surely there was
someplace you could have gone where they wouldn't, you know, ask questions."

"Questions were only part of it...I needed to put some distance behindme.
Also," he stops, looking uncomfortable.

"What?"

"I didn't have any money. Not enough, anyway. My wallet was gone."He
exhales loudly, then leans back, eyes on the open window. "I was inNorth
fucking Dakota, I had no access to any of my, ah, usual sources."

"Oh." I don't want to know how you got this far. This is not theAlex I
knew. My Alex always had money, always had attitude, a nice car, sharp
clothes, a *plan* for god's sake. This guy - he's been through the wringer,
that's for sure. "Never mind. We'll figure something out." Yeah,sure,
*we*. Diane, didn't you learn anything the first time? Then Alex smilesat
her, and her belly quivers. Yeah, I learned what a sucker I am for that
smile. They both rise. For an instant they are standing too close, and she
feels a tingle in her arm where it brushes against his bare chest. She
backs up quickly and stoops to gather the dishes. "The bathroom isdown
that way. You finish up here; I'll take these out and run the bath."

She rinses everything in cold water, thankful for the distraction. Don'tdo
this, Diane, she wills herself. Let him go. He's been gone this long,
you've gone without before, just get him cleaned up and out of here. You've
got your own shit to deal with. She returns to the living room to see him
in the process of wrapping the robe around his now- nude body, holding it
against himself with an elbow.

She sees his problem and walks over to help him loosely tie the belt. He
smells strongly, but she can't bring herself to dislike the scent: very
male, very physical. The smell of danger, she muses. The smell of fear,
and violence, and sex, and death. How melodramatic. It's just smoke and
sweat, OK? She steers him towards the bathroom. He walks with his hands
raised to his side, like a doctor ready to scrub. Seeing his gory hands
again, she has a thought, debates it with herself, then decides.

"Hey, with those hands I think I should, you know, help you out inthere."

"Mmmm, that could be fun." She punches his arm, frowning, buthits a bruise
and he exclaims, grabbing at the sore spot and swaying away from her inthe
hall. She relents.

"OK, but no funny stuff, OK? That's over now, has been since last year."
She follows him into the bathroom. "You better not be faking this,Alex."

"Would I do that?"

"Yes!"

*******************
The bathroom is off the main hallway. It's narrow, but lushly decorated.
Shelves on the wall hold scarves, necklaces, earrings, candles and perfume
bottles. The medicine cabinet is half-open, revealing bottles of nail
polish, make-up, prescription medicines and hand lotions. After startingthe
bath water, she stoops to open the lower cabinet, pulling out a pump-bottle
of anti-bacterial soap. She runs water in the sink until it's warm, then
stoppers the drain and lathers up her own hands, turning to Alex and taking
his wrists.

"Now, this may sting a bit," she warns, then lowers his handsinto the water.

"Urf....You ain't kidding," he grinds out between clenched teeth.

Gently, she lathers his right hand with hers, running her fingers between
his, feeling the ridges of scab and forming scar tissue. She massages each
finger, squeezing it from tip to base, then kneading his palm and wrist.
She can feel his body quiver beside her as she leans over the sink. She
glances up to see him watching her in the mirror, and she blushes. "See,
it's just like a manicure." She lifts his left hand, inspecting thetwo
infected scratches. One runs down the outside of his palm. "Hold still,
now." Taking a washcloth from the back of the toilet, she wets it,then
firmly runs it the length of the wound, squeezing the flesh with her hand.
She scowls. "Oh, gross."

"I can do that if you'd rather not. See, my right hand's pretty OK..."

"No, I'm all right, I just think you're stupid for letting them getthis bad."

The other infection is more of a crush wound; two fingers on his left hand
are missing fingernails. One is healing, the new half-moon of the nail
showing whitely against the scabbed flesh. The tip of his ring finger,
however, looks like...well, like something disgusting yet unidentifiable,
she thinks. She squeezes that finger in reverse, from the base to the tip.
Blood, ooze, and... "What's this black shit?" she asks, curious.He doesn't
answer, and she looks up at him. He's staring at his hand. Beneath the
stubble and dirt, he's slightly green. Wow, I always thought that was just
an expression.

He takes a deep breath and looks away. "I didn't know it was that bad."

"Here, why don't you sit down." She puts the toilet lid down andhe sits
heavily. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she grabs a towel - it's already
stained, what the hell - and wraps it around his still-soapy hands, lightly
squeezing them in the terry-cloth. "How long has it been since youeven
took those gloves off?" Reaching over to pull the stopper out of thedrain,
she waits for the water to drain, then leads him back to the basin, onearm
around his waist, holding his hands under the warm running water. Flipping
the towel to find a dry spot, she rubs his wrists and palms, gently patting
them dry. "How did you manage your clothes with hands like that?"

"It only takes two fingers to manage a zipper, Diane. Or have you
forgotten?" The familiar grin peeks out from behind his new face. She
tries to ignore it and folds the towel back from his hands.

She sees with dismay that they still look pretty bad. "I'm going toleave
these for now; try not to get them wet in the tub. We can bandage them
later, I want them to drain some. Can you brush your teeth?" He nods
affirmatively, and she squeezes toothpaste onto hers and hands it to him.
"I'm going to get some clean towels; I'll be right back."

When she comes back, he's almost done. She drapes the towels over the rack
nearest the tub and waits for him to rinse, spit, rinse again; he hangsup
the toothbrush and turns to her. "Ready when you are."

End Part 2/4 Loser's Weepers


From ccbailey@facstaff.wisc.edu Sat Oct 26 21:34:06 1996
Losers Weepers 3/4
OK, this is the wild sex-crazed part. NC-17. XXX. For Adults Only.
You've been warned. Last chance....

*******************
The tub takes up the whole far wall. Thank god for turn-of-the-century
construction ideals. The tub is deep and long, heavy porcelain, stained
from years of lime and iron deposits, but the hardware is nearly new. She
unclips the showerhead and untangles the hose, hanging it over the
soap-holder, then tests the water with an elbow. Satisfied that he's not
going to scald, she moves aside for him to get in. And pointedly looks
aside and starts to brush her own teeth as he hangs the robe up and steps
into the water.

"Mmmmm," he breathes, eyes closed. He crouches to sit in the warmwater,
then stretches his legs full-length, bending over them to barely touch his
toes. "Oh, this feels good." He slides down to cover himself inwater,
then sits up as she rinses and walks over to the tub.

She smiles in spite of herself. This is going to be fun. She sits on the
edge of the tub and wets a loofah. Lathering it up with a bar of soap, she
lays it on his shoulder blade. With firm, circular strokes, she starts
scrubbing his back. "Hold your arms up. Up, over your head." Shereaches
up and soaps his arms almost to the wrist, working in long strokes fromtop
to bottom, moving carefully around his neck and underarms. She grabs the
showerhead and turns the water on. With one hand on his wrist and the other
wielding the nozzle, she rinses down one arm, then the other. A spray of
water catches Alex in the face and he sputters; she giggles at his
discomfiture. Snagging another towel, she dries his arms, again, working
from top to bottom. "OK, you can put them down now."

She sits on the side of the tub again, but the angle is awkward so she
swings her feet in behind him. Leaning over his right shoulder, she starts
lathering his chest, sensitive to his breath in her ear. He turns his head
towards her slightly.

"I'd forgotten how good you smell." The words are quiet and close,and she
feels goosebumps start on her arms. She tries to ignore them and
concentrate on her work, but dipping low with the loofah she feels his
erection against the back of her hand. OK, you knew that might happen, just
ignore it and keep going. As she leans in to cover his left side, she feels
his breath on her neck. His nose bumps her cheek.

Abruptly, she sits up, pushing stray hairs away from her face with her
forearm. "Sit back," she orders, lifting her feet out of the way.He
scuttles backwards in the tub and she moves towards his feet, keeping her
back to him. "Here, rest your foot on the wall there," and shestarts to
scour his leg, carefully avoiding his upper thigh. He grunts when she
strokes his knee, and she realizes that there's a thick scab there, too.
"Isn't there any part of you that didn't get scratched, bruised, cut,
spindled or mutilated?" she asks sarcastically, then, when he smirks,"Never
mind."

She pulls a washcloth off a rack and wets it in the tub, lifting her feet
back into the water. Lifting his right leg by the ankle, she rests it on
her knee and runs the washcloth across his feet. He's twitching when she
slides it between his toes. Serves you right, she thinks smugly, as his
toes curl tightly. "How come such a tough guy is so ticklish?"she teases.
"OK, next foot." He slides his right foot off her lap and replacesit with
the left one. Glancing down to soap his thigh, she sees his erection again
and blushes.

"You are so cute when you're embarrassed." She can't imagine howto answer
that without giving him the wrong idea, so she doesn't. Instead she tickles
his foot again, chuckling when he flinches hard and slips down in the tub,
scrambling his feet up to keep from falling on his back.

"OK, let's do the hair." She rinses out the washcloth and foldsit. "Sit
up. Now, tip your head all the way back and close your eyes."

He glares at her suspiciously. "Why?"

"I need to wash your hair, and this way you won't get soap in youreyes."
She gestures at him. "C'mon, I'm not going to hurt you." He complies,and
she lays the folded washcloth across his eyes. Grabbing the showerhead
again, she rinses his hair.

"This isn't very comfortable."

"Sorry, I'm not at my station in the shop, I don't have all the equipmentI
need." She considers for a moment, then puts her feet in the tub again.
Carefully, she positions her left leg behind his back and puts the rightone
down between...Oh hell, it'll have to go there. "C'mere, lean againstme.
Get comfortable."

He leans back across her left thigh and rests his right arm on her right
thigh. "Mmmm, lap of luxury." He is smiling from beneath the washcloth,
and his flesh is warm against hers. Ignoring the butterflies in her
stomach, she rinses his hair again. Warm water flows off his head and onto
her legs, wetting the lower edge of her T-shirt. She puts down the nozzle
and squeezes shampoo into her palm. Working with both hands, she scrubs
thoroughly, tracing his ears, lifting his head to catch the nape of his
neck. His thighs clasp her right ankle lightly. She remembers the contours
of his head: the old scar at the hairline on his right temple, the whorlsof
his cowlick, the odd little ridge above and behind his left ear. He rests
against her, allowing her to tilt him left to right as she requires, until
she is satisfied that his hair is thoroughly sudsed. Running her hands
firmly against the contours of his skull from forehead to nape, she scrapes
most of the foam off, then applies more warm water to chase off the
remainder. She shampoos him again, taking the time to massage his head,
kneading the back of his neck. Her fingertips dig in, slick with suds,
sliding over his skin, scratching his scalp. His head rocks back and forth
in time to her motions, rolling against her thigh. His shoulder bumps her
stomach gently.

With a finger on his forehead, she leans his head all the way back againto
rest on her thigh and douses him again, rinsing the last traces of soap
away. With a light touch she lifts the washcloth from his eyes. He rests
there, eyes still closed, and she studies his face. How I missed that face.
How I missed you.

Lashes lift; brown eyes meet her blue.

The thought that she is going to regret this passes fleetingly through her
mind as her heart skips a beat. She bends down as he reaches up. The kiss
is delicate and quick, but the electricity that passes between their lips
lures her to another taste. His right arm curls up from its perch on her
knee and he grasps the back of her neck, pulling her closer as he sits up
straighter. The liquid warmth of his mouth becomes the universe as she
kisses him deeper, pulling at his lower lip with her teeth and tongue. The
sharp scratch of stubble reminds her of some unfinished business.

"Hey." He continues to kiss her cheeks, her chin, her ear, hisuseless left
hand braced against the tile wall. "Hey, we're not done yet."Disengaging
from his embrace, she leans to the row of bottles sitting in the cornerof
the tub and picks one out. Her movement brings her right breast within
reach of his mouth, and he kisses it hungrily through her T-shirt, nibbling
on her painfully hard nipple. She leans into him and wraps an arm around
his head for a minute, but when she tries to move back he murmurs a wordless
protest and holds her tighter. From her position, it's easy to break away.
"Really, let's be thorough about this." She waves the bottle."I'll bet
you haven't washed your face in a while." She squeezes a portion ofgoop
into the washcloth and starts running it roughly over his face.

"Haven't been with ... you for *much* longer. Hey...Mmph..."

"Patience is a virtue, Alex. Remember? Now hold still." He surrenders,
and she rubs diligently, covering his forehead, cheeks, ears and chin.
Using the nozzle on a gentle setting, she rinses his face carefully, running
the suds down his neck and shoulders until he is completely clean of soap.
He reaches for her again and they kiss deeply and damply, warm water from
his face and hair clinging to her skin as her hands slide down either side
of his torso, front and back, counting his ribs, tickling his navel, reaching...

Again, she reins in her hormones and sits up. "How about a shave?"

He stares up at her blankly for a moment. "A shave."

"Yeah, you're tearing the skin off my face with that stubble. Let'stake
care of it." Now that the decision has been made, she feels more confident,
relaxed. Playful.

"Diane, you're going to kill me here."

"Yeah, right. One of the first things I learned about guys, Alex, ahard-on
is not terminal. This'll just take a minute." She has to lean backwards
for the razor, exhaling as she feels warm water dribbling onto her knees,
her thigh, her...ah, that's not water. She steadies herself with an armon
Alex's shoulder as he lowers his lips from her thigh to her mons, gently
biting her labia, flicking his tongue between her lips. His left arm slips
behind her to steady her seat while his right hand on her knee pushes her
legs further apart, then slides in to spread her. His tongue probes deeper
beneath her dark curls, seeking her sweet spot with perfect aim. She stares
down at him, fascinated, swaying from the pressure of his endeavors andthe
beating of her own heart. His eyes dart up to meet her gaze, and he breaks
off, breathing hard.

"What?"

"Um, nothing. I've never had quite this perspective before."

He grins and pokes his tongue into her navel. She giggles. "Do youalways
fail to wear underwear when bathing your guests?"

I shouldn't be mortified; it's not like he's never seen me before. "Let's
get this shave over with, shall we?" she inquires primly, to coverher
blush. She lathers some soap onto his chin, then lifts the safety razor.
He tilts his jaw towards her obediently. She draws it slowly across his
cheek, concentrating on the flow of steel through the white lather, thetiny
flecks of hair that gather along the distinct edges of the bare swath
through his stubble. She lowers the blade to the water, swishing it back
and forth to rinse away the foam, then returns it to his ear to add to the
expanse of clean-shaven skin. Slowly, deliberately, she moves across his
lower face, gradually sweeping away the rough beard he had begun days ago
and continents away. With a final spray from the showerhead and a pat from
the towel, she surveys her work.

"I could give you a cut and blow-dry, too..." He ends that lineof inquiry
with a pincer attack, right hand sliding down the small of her back as he
leans hungrily into her breasts. Turning in the tub, he presses his torso
against her, rising to one knee and lifting his head to seek her lips. She
grips his shoulders, kneading his flesh, pulling him towards her as if to
engulf his body with hers. He pulls her T-shirt off one-handed, clumsily,
and they embrace lustily for a while, kissing, caressing, biting anything
within reach, then break apart slightly, panting and red-faced.

Alex picks the washcloth up from where it has been floating, forgotten.He
hands it to her with a crooked smile. "You missed a spot." Hequirks an
eyebrow at her.

Diane blinks, hearing the words from their place in history. This was an
old routine, and the phrase brings back memories of their relationship
before the craziness, before the darkness took Alex from her. She takesa
deep breath, and the cloth from his grasp, and rubs some soap into it.
Touching it to his stomach, she runs it down his body and between his legs,
feeling him tense, hearing his intake of breath as she brushes it back and
forth. He leans his forearms against her shoulders and touches his forehead
to hers, swaying in time to the rhythm of her ministrations. The smell of
soap rises, strong and clean, between them.

Switching hands, she draws the washcloth over his hip and down his backside,
sliding it gently between his cheeks, gliding it down and forward to touch
his balls. Her other hand reaches down in front; working together, both
hands continue washing him, massaging him, while his face hovers above hers,
eyes closed, lips parted, ragged breathing blowing ticklish strands of hair
against her ears. She closes her own eyes, shutting out everything but the
warm solidity of his hard-on, the soapy water, his hand on her breast, her
lips on his shoulder, his teeth on her ear, her moan against his neck, his
hands pushing her away....

She looks up, dazed, as he takes the washcloth away from her and swishesit
in the water. "I think they're clean," he teases as he rinseshimself
hastily. He stands, shaking large wet droplets onto her. "Hand me a
towel?" Blinking, still caught by her reverie, she swings her feetout of
the tub and reaches to grab a towel. Turning back to him, she shakes it
out, then drapes it across his shoulder. As he dries off, she snags onefor
herself and pats herself dry, then drops it onto the spills on the floor.
Alex steps out of the tub and they stand for an awkward moment, him holding
the towel protectively around his hips, her standing naked and speechlessin
the center of the room, not sure what to do next.

Then he smiles, and her skin sizzles. Reaching for him, she draws him
close. Lightly, slowly, he kisses her. Twining her fingers behind his
neck, she augments the kiss with her tongue, tracing his lips and delicately
nibbling them, pressing her body against his. He responds by wrapping his
arms around her waist and walking her backwards towards the hallway, lips
locked as they go. Off-balance, they totter through the doorway and head
for the bedroom.

This entrance is too much for their blind staggering embrace; they knock
into her dresser and almost tip it. Whooping with surprise, he catches it
before it falls, but a flurry of knick-knacks and personal effects fallto
the carpet. Her purse lands with a thump, rolling twice and spilling the
contents everywhere. He looks stricken, but Diane just laughs and bendsto
scoop everything up. Her wallet, her tangled, complex key-ring, a few
makeup items, some loose hair doodads, they all get dumped back into the
purse and laid on the dresser. She's not too neat about it; Alex is
standing behind her, arms wrapped around her, distracting her.

Turning quickly into his embrace, she pushes him back until his knees
connect with the edge of the bed and he falls, twisting sideways to pullher
down next to him. Bouncing up off the bed, he rolls on top of her, planting
a knee between her legs, leaning on his elbows as he devours first one
nipple, then the other, working his way south to her soft belly, her
curvaceous hips, the sweet crease between body and leg, the crinkly curls
surrounding her sex.

"No...." She swings her hips away from him, twisting to escapethis
ultimate kiss.

Surprised, he pulls himself up beside her. "I don't mind, you knowthat..."
He strokes her cheek, looking closely into her eyes. "I want this tobe
good for you."

Her smile is sweet, and wild, and sad, all at once. "I want you, Alex.I
can come anytime I want, that's why God made vibrators. I want you to fuck
me, Alex, and damn the torpedoes."

His eyes widen at her choice of words, but he doesn't argue. Rising above
her, he kneels between her legs, running his hands from her hips to her
knees and back again, gliding them up her waist to enclose her breasts,
tweaking at her nipples. Leaning down onto his elbows, one arm under her
neck, he lowers his body to meet hers. She slides her legs up around his
waist, pressing her heels into the backs of his thighs. Slowly moving his
hips, he strokes his erection against her, gliding the tip up and down in
the warm, wet channel she eagerly pushes against him. Maneuvering
carefully, he finds her depth and forges ahead, entering her with a gasp
that she echoes, eyes half closed. She locks her ankles in the small ofhis
back and squeezes her legs, pulling him deeper within her. There is a pause
as they smile into each other's eyes; with a grin, she tilts her head upand
rubs her nose against his and he chuckles.

A motionless second passes, then another. Their smiles fade, their
breathing deepens. And he begins to move within her, deliberately at first,
then faster as her legs and arms urge him onward. He kisses her deeply,
feeling her moan against his lips, and he surges forward with abandon,
feeling the orgasm spiraling upwards from the base of his spine and spending
its energy into the woman beneath him. He shudders once, twice, then all
his muscles unclench simultaneously and he falls on his side next to her.
They are slick with sweat, and the cold breeze convinces him to pull the
sheet up around them both.

He kisses her forehead. "Thank you." She smiles and kisses hischin, but
says nothing.


End Part 3 of 4 Loser's Weepers


From ccbailey@facstaff.wisc.edu Sat Oct 26 21:34:12 1996
Losers Weepers 4/4

*******************
Afterwards, they doze for an unnoticed time, facing each other, gradually
moving towards one another, unconsciously seeking their pre-separation
closeness. Under the sheet, her leg is thrown over his waist and his head
is lying across her arm. He is sleepily nuzzling her when he notices the
scar.

"Diane."

"Hmmhmm?" She kisses the top of his head.

"What's this?" He traces its 2-inch length above her left breastwith a
scratched finger, puzzled.

Her face falls and she disentangles herself to sit up against the headboard,
tucking the sheets around her. He watches with growing dismay as she closes
up like a book. "Diane, what happened?"

She sighs, turns her head away. "Mookie and the boys came by, lookingfor you."

"What!" He rolls over and kneels next to her, hands on her shoulders.
"What did they do." She won't look at him, and he takes her chinin his
hands, forcing her face up, studying her expression. His eyes narrow.
"I'll kill them."

It occurs to her that maybe he's not kidding. "No, Alex, it's not thatbad."

"Tell me!"

"They just wanted to know what happened to you. Mookie tried to 'persuade'
me." She pulls the covers up tighter, protectively covering her breasts.
And the scar.

"Oh god, tell me he didn't..."

"No," she states firmly. It's her turn to force him to look ather.
"Nothing like that. He just wanted to be sure I understood the question,if
you get my drift."

He leans forward, laying his body softly against hers, pressing his forehead
into the wall behind her. His eyes are shut tightly. "God, Diane, Iam so
sorry...."

"Sorry?" She pushes him away, feeling the months of fear and anxiety
swelling within her. "Sorry. Yeah, I'm sorry too. Frankly, I've spenta
lot of time sorry I ever met you, Alex. Did you ever consider the
consequences of letting someone else into your sordid life? All of a
sudden, you're gone and I've got the federal government breathing down my
neck, not to mention half the organized crime in the Midwest and some creepy
characters who...I can't even begin to figure who they work for! Jesus,one
batch spoke French!" She's shouting, she hates to shout but she can'thelp
it. "I had my phone tapped, my garbage searched, the shop was under
surveillance for months! They ripped my home apart, Alex, more than once!
They destroyed the furniture, cut all my artwork, took the light fixtures,
pulled up the carpeting, they emptied the goddamned fridge, Alex, openedall
the jars and stuff, dumped everything on the table and sifted through it
with tweezers and a sieve!"


Her hands are clenched, white-knuckled on the sheets, and her face is red.
"They took my shampoo, for god's sake, ripped the linings out of myclothes,
they destroyed all my shoes, scared the hell out of all my neighbors, they
took..." She chokes up, and he puts his hand on her shoulder. She shakesit
off. "They *took* my fucking *cats*, Alex!" She punctuates thiswith her
fists on his chest. "They cut my cats open because of you! They ruinedmy
life! You ruined my life!" She's crying openly now, shaking with emotions
that never had the chance to run their course, flailing her hands against
him ineffectually, finally falling to the bed and rocking back and forth,
sobbing weakly. He reaches to put his arms around her, hesitates, tries
again without connecting. She doesn't notice. His brow furrows as he
stares at the floor for a moment. He runs a hand over the top of his head
and stands up.

"No." She sits up, still dripping tears, and grabs his hand, pullinghim
back onto the bed.

"I should leave," he starts, but she pulls him towards her.

"Just shut up," she hiccups, and burrows into his tentative embrace.He
tightens his arms around her, gently, and rocks with her body, pressinghis
cheek into her hair.

"I'm so sorry, Diane."

"I hate you, Alex." She sniffles loudly and pulls him closer.Gradually,
the rhythm of her sobs lulls her to sleep. He ponders for a while, stroking
her hair gently and staring at nothing, then settles them both down uponthe
bed. Eventually, he falls asleep as well.

*******************
When that howling wind
comes to carry you again
just like your next of kin
you must go

It is later in the day; the sun that shone through the window earlier has
moved, leaving the room in shadow. The floor creaks faintly as Alex rises
from the bed and stealthily walks to the dresser. Glancing at Diane's
sleeping form, he turns and digs in her purse. His hand comes out with her
bulky key-ring. Lifting it carefully so as not to make any noise, he steps
out into the living room. Sitting on the arm of the couch, he sifts through
the numerous advertising tags, keys and plastic trinkets until he findsa
small oddly-shaped key with a square plastic tab attached. He pulls this
off the ring and inspects it slowly, deliberately, then presses the metalto
his lips as he stares down at the floor. His knuckles are white beneathhis
feral grin. Then he glances in the direction of the bedroom, and the smile
fades.

to a far away place
where you don't recognize one face
don't unpack your old suitcase
ëcause you must go

Diane is lying alone in bed, curled towards the wall. Alex, now fully
dressed and with his jacket in hand, stands framed in the doorway beyondher
shoulder. Eyes open, she is gnawing at her fingers, a bloody knuckle
gripped in her teeth. They are frozen in place for a few moments, then he
disappears into the hall. The muffled sound of the apartment door closing
fills the still air, and she shuts her eyes tightly. A tear trickles out
and drops onto the pillow beneath her head.

You must go and you must ramble
through every briar and bramble
till your life is in a shambles
maybe then you will know
you were born to blunder
born to wander, born to wonder
even when you're six feet under
there's a place
that you must go

*******************
You live you learn
You love you learn
You cry you learn
you lose you learn
You bleed you learn
You scream you learn

They don't bother to knock; the door heaves inward with a crash, strewing
splinters across the carpet. Weapons foremost, they advance into the
apartment with quick, jerky movements, grotesque and clumsy when reflected
in their mirrored lenses. The pointman, dressed to kill in a tailored suit,
spots Diane immediately and barks "don't move!" as he advancesinto the
living room to cover her. His well-dressed associates spread through her
home like a virus.

You grieve you learn
You choke you learn
You laugh you learn
You choose you learn
You pray you learn
You ask you learn
You live you learn

Diane does not move from the corner of the couch. "He's not here."
Crumpled tissues litter the floor beside her. She raises her glass of wine
and salutes him, a flawed smile lifting her damp cheeks without reachingher
blood-shot eyes. "But I've been waiting for you."

- finis -

End Loser's Weepers 4/4
Colleen C. Bailey
"You can't aim to kill when you're laughing"
ccbailey@facstaff.wisc.edu