Disclaimer: Alex does this all by himself. I have no control. He wants, he takes_:::whimper::: I wonder if he treats 1013 like that too?

Thank you to fearless Beta Frankie, and the usual bunch of outlaws. To Orithain, Aries, Nicole, Paula, Spike and Shadowfox for nagging/whining/reading and advising, and special thanks to Russ for information about plane re-fuelling times and information about Cessnas.

Rated: Determinedly NC17. Slash. Alex fucks everybody. Go away if this shocks you. This week, the WMM_next week_who knows! Mulder? Hmmmm!

Archive: Yeah, wherever, as long as you tell me first.

Feedback: Now come on. I have been nagged for this story and now I'm posting it, am I getting any? Nope, not hardly. Grrrr! sashworth@aol.com

Guilt Edged 2 #3 Kissing a Fool by Dr. Ruthless *************************************************

He had been fortunate. He knew he had been very fortunate. The Brit had kept his word. He had more than kept it and Alex had plunged into the administration of the multi-national Consortium he was now a part of. He learned the strengths, noted the weaknesses and waited, always waited for his chance.

The Brit was kind. He made few demands on Alex, occasionally appearing in his room at night, but for the most part wanting - no, needing - affection rather than passion. After dissembling for a short time, Alex found out that his affection was no longer an act, and he felt pleased that there was something genuine he could offer the old man who had given him so much.

All he wanted from Alex was the warmth of his arms from time to time. On very rare occasions he would move down to suck Alex off, his mouth efficiently working to give him the most stunning orgasms, before nestling down to sleep beside him. He didn't seem to want anything further from him. He never demanded that Alex reciprocate, and on one occasion, when Alex, orgasm still swirling through his senses, had seized the older man and kissed him with passion, the Brit had gently disengaged himself, stroking his face and telling him that it was OK. He was OK and everything was fine, not to worry himself but just to sleep now. Sleep well, Alex. A brief touch of lips to his and that was all.

***********************

He had watched the interplay between the different members of the consortium and had read the available information about the bases, the laboratories and the locations where the alien presence was known. His excitement had been immense the day he had hacked into the computer system that laid everything bare. He had even read each file, avid as a hound on the scent of a fox.....

A Fox.

That had given him an idea and he had punched in Mulder's name. The file that came up had staggered him.

He read it through then read it again. Finally he had printed the entire file, carefully sealing it into an envelope, addressing it to himself and rushing out to mail it before he could be detected.

When at last he closed down the system, he had erased every trace of his electronic presence there. No-one would know.


That very day had been the day the Brit had given him the assignment to go and pass on information to Mulder. He had given him a number of packages to deliver to the DC base of the consortium, and then sat him down and made him rehearse a speech for Mulder that he required to be delivered verbatim.

Alex had queried the reason for the speech, and the need for Mulder to react to it, but the Brit just smiled and shook his head, pointing to the door. Knowing when to draw the line was a useful skill, and Alex exercised it now as he left the house to go and catch a plane for Washington DC.

He arrived in Washington a little after 4pm, and grabbing a rental car, he headed off to the consortium office where he dropped off his packages. He checked the office to see where the smoker might be, thinking to gloat over him a little. To his chagrin, the office was not only empty, but also free from smoke, free from cigarette butts, and totally devoid of occupants. Finally, he gave up and returned to his car, nerve endings fizzing with excitement at the thought of what he was going to do next. He put his car in gear and headed out towards Alexandria and Mulder's apartment.

Passing through the familiar neighborhoods after so long away, Krycek began to feel a little strange. His mind filled with memories of Mulder, the partner he had looked up to, casual and sardonic, lying comatose while he, Krycek, had panicked. The angry man, goaded by betrayal until his only outlet was violence casually dispensed and almost gratefully received. A vision of the Mulder in Frankfurt who had drunk himself into a stupor after raping him swam into his vision. He shivered. Mulder had taught him to whore. Mulder had made it necessary for him to do so. Now, Mulder would learn how it felt, maybe not today but today would be a start.

Parking beside Mulder's building Alex strode up to the main doors and used the key he had been given to pass through. Using the elevator, he ascended to the fourth floor and eventually found himself looking at the number 42.

//Where's Ford Prefect when you need him? // He thought to himself crazily, as he raised his hand and knocked on the door. Nobody answered, but he really had not expected an answer. He had not seen Mulder's car in the parking lot and he knew it was early for Mulder to be home. He waited a couple of minutes to be sure and then let himself in. The fish tank bubbled in the corner. The couch was the same shabby black leather, and Alex let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

Mulder still lived there. Alex would see him very soon. Sick thrills were sliding through his system, and he felt weak at the knees. //After this, I'm going to have a vodka, or maybe six. I've earned it, today. //

He sat on Mulder's couch, waiting, and then an idea came to him. Quickly scribbling a note on a piece of paper, he placed it carefully on the floor beside the door where it could not fail to be seen by someone entering the apartment. His grin as he retreated to the corner away from the door could not by any stretch of the imagination be called nice.


He settled to wait, his memories, such as they were, for company.

As darkness fell, he must have dozed for a short while and it seemed to him that he and Mulder were back in the guest house beside Tunguska and he was screaming "Fuck you, Mulder!" as he drove into him. The sound of a key in the lock brought him to, and he sat up swiftly, sweating, and trembling, so real had been his dream.

Then at last the door had opened, and the man of his dreams, the object of his desire, the person to whom he owed everything he was, entered, and just as if he had read the script, he spotted the note, bending to pick it up.

Alex gathered himself and pounced. Mulder went down with an audible thump, smacking his head on the ground hard. Alex was on top of him, gun pointed into his face, before Mulder had the time to think.

"You must be losing it, Mulder. I can beat you with one hand." Soft, deadly, he waited for Mulder to react to his presence. Mulder, always the loose cannon, never able to resist the smart aleck response even (no, especially) at the point of a gun, was swift in his comeback.

"Isn't that how you like to beat yourself?"

He nearly shot him. He nearly did. The words echoed and rolled around inside Alex's head, and the fury they instilled in him was a live creature, tearing at his vitals.

All he could do was lapse into his carefully rehearsed speech, and the wonder of it was that Mulder didn't seem to care. Alex rolled his tongue around the explanation, savoring the words, and Mulder just sat there. He didn't care any more. What had happened?


He finished his speech. He cast his mind back to see if he had forgotten anything, anything at all, but he hadn't. It was all there, rolled out like a welcome mat for him, and he. Did. Not. Give. A. Damn.

Weird.

He crouched, staring at Mulder, who appeared to have taken root on the floor where he sat hunched against his chair. Finally it dawned on him that this Mulder in front of him was pathetic, a spent force. There was no vengeance needed because time had done it all for him. This man seemed to have nothing left to believe in. A hollow feeling descended on him as he surveyed the empty shell of Fox Mulder.

//All that effort. All that time wasted. And now what? Fold my tent and fade into the night, I suppose. My work here is well and truly done. I wonder if he'll go to Wiekamp. Probably not. //

He shook his head pityingly and on impulse, leaned forward to press a careful kiss onto the dazed man's cheek. His belly was filled with knots of excitement, and he wondered what reaction that would bring. Then he carefully disarmed himself, setting the safety and allowing the gun he had captured from Mulder to dangle from his forefinger as he extended his hand.
Mulder took the gun, but did not otherwise move.

" Otashi tebya tovarisch." The words might have been meant for himself, so quietly were they spoken. But they were heard, the quick hitch of breath behind him as he turned to leave told him that.

He left. A momentary tingle between the shoulder blades told him that he had just handed a weapon back to someone who was just as likely to shoot him as not. Then he was out the door, returning to his car leaving more questions than answers.


Back in New York, he delivered his report to the Brit who seemed to be quite satisfied with the way things had gone. When Alex tried to describe Mulder's apparent state of mind he merely nodded as if it came as no surprise to him.

He returned to work, losing himself in the mindless practice of running an office but the Brit was somehow changing. He was seeking Alex out far more frequently now, and not only at night. He began to go through files with him, showing him passwords, telling him of events at which he had previously never guessed.

It didn't take long for Alex to ask him why.

He got nothing satisfactory as an answer, merely a perfunctory statement about the necessity for there being someone on hand who knew how to keep things going.

Alex realized at this point that he was being handed a torch in some way, but he didn't know how or why. He shrugged his shoulders, determined to wait until such time as he would be given the information.

He knew of course that at some stage he would be told what he needed to know. The Brit was away for a few days, and then on his return, suddenly solemn. He called Alex into his office.

"I've been dreading this, but it had to happen sooner or later. Now it's time. Alex, I need you to go and bring the Smoker in for me. There's no need to be particularly gentle with him, but I do need him now." Alex, smiling wolfishly, accepted the folder with the information about the Smoker's whereabouts, and a wallet containing Canadian money. The Brit leaned forward to take Alex's chin in his finger and thumb.

"I want you in charge of this, Alex. It's too important to give to just anyone, but be careful. He's old, and he's survived this long because he's clever, and because he's deadly. Spend what you need to, but fetch him back." The Brit gave Alex's chin a quick, affectionate jerk from side to side, and then before Alex could straighten up again, slid his hand around to cup the back of his head. He pulled him down into a kiss that began as the mere touch of lips, but quickly deepened as the old man slid his tongue inside Alex's mouth. Alex returned the caress. His mind raced as he tried to consider the implications of this.

//He doesn't expect me to come back. He thinks the Smoker will kill me. //

"I'll bring him back, sir. Don't have any fears on that count." Alex smiled at the old man and was touched to see the concern reflected in his eyes. He touched the old man's cheek, turned and left the office.

Six hours later, waiting to board a Cessna with his two companions, he checked his parachute again, and itemized his cold weather gear.

The Smoker turned out to be in Canada, holed up somewhere in the frozen reaches of Quebec. There were no roads, and Alex was feeling like Powerful Pierre as he laid his plans. He had chartered the small plane and called upon the services of a couple of old acquaintances to assist him in his task. Tricky as the Smoker evidently was, he, Alex, would be trickier.

Boarding the plane, he sat back in his seat, nodding. It had taken him an hour or two to set things up, and another hour to get from New York to Montreal. Now here he was, and he was going to bring back the Smoker for his boss. He would hog-tie and brand the bugger if it became necessary.


He and the Cessna pilot had gone over the chart very carefully together and had carefully formulated a plan. The plane taxied down the runway, the pilot opened the throttle, and they were suddenly up in the air leaving their stomachs behind as they soared up, and North. It was getting close to the spring melt but there was still plenty of snow to be seen as they flew on over forest and lake. It was not long before they were flying over the place the Brit. had identified as his target's headquarters.

They circled a couple of times while they agreed on a rendezvous point, and then Alex gave his companion a nod, pulled open the plane door, and stepped out into the cold, windy sky.

He loved this feeling. He just plain loved it to death as he fell, subject to gravity but unafraid as he dropped. He stretched out his limbs as he gave himself to the air, then all too soon his parachute opened and he was hanging under the bell of it, watching for the man who should be following.

The ground rose up to him and he began to prepare himself for its kiss. He had his gun slung in its holster positioned between his shoulder blades, and as the ground finally claimed him, he shucked the parachute, rolling it loosely and stashing it conveniently. He drew his weapon then, watching in approval as his cohort made his landing close by.

The other man made his way through the knee-deep snow to knock on the cabin door. The sound of the shotgun blast was astonishing in the still air, and Alex saw his companion fold gracefully as he took the blast in his chest. The bastard had fired through the door.

Alex wondered whether the man got much mail. In a mad vision, he pictured the snow melting to reveal the blasted bodies of letter carriers and Avon ladies who had strayed too close.

//Gently, this is not the time or place for silliness. You want to get back alive, don't you? //

The door cracked open and Alex reflexively dove for cover just before the gun was fired once again.

He worked his way under the cover of snow-clad bushes and outbuildings and finally, with a sick surge of adrenaline, realized that he was looking at the back of the Smoker's head. He leveled his gun, pointed it and stood up.

The Smoker turned and the look of defeat on his face was so sweet that Alex wanted to kiss the man. Instead, he removed his ski mask, permitting the old bastard to know just who it was that had captured him.

"I was sent to bring you back."
*********************

The week after Alex had returned to New York with the Smoker, the Brit informed him that they would be moving the office back to Washington DC. Alex was to supervise the packing and transporting of the files while the Brit would fly on ahead. He had appeared quiet and morose for the last few days and Alex had tried a couple of times to ask him what was the matter. The old man had merely placed a hand on Alex's shoulder and shaken his head. Alex had retreated to his computer, wading through file after file in an attempt to discover what was happening. He could find nothing untoward.


Moving day arrived and Alex closed the office for the last time, taking a final look around at a place where he had been if not happy, then at least content.

The following evening he arrived in Washington with his precious cargo of files, and pulled up outside a large house, set behind gates in a quiet neighborhood. As he supervised the unloading of the office he waited for his mentor to appear. When at last he did, Alex felt suddenly afraid. The old man seemed older and more frail than ever. Alex had jumped to his feet and gone to the old man, intent on receiving a welcome. The Brit had smiled briefly and led him down the hallway to a conservatory at the back of the house. There, he had been invited to sit down on the rattan couch amidst the riot of greenery, and offered a drink.

"You have been very useful to me, Alex, most useful. I'm very happy with the way you've worked out. I need to warn you that things are going to be changing very soon and you need to be ready." The old man paused to take a drink and Alex, who had heard him out in silence so far, frowned, watching the liquor as he swirled it around in his glass.

"When you say changes, sir, what do you mean? His husky voice hung in the air between them, and he suddenly felt a stab of fear when the Brit did not answer immediately. He dropped to his knees in front of the old man, a slim, muscled figure in jeans and work-shirt. Sliding his arms around the old man's shoulders, he pulled him in for a hug, pressing his lips up against the wrinkled neck. He thought he would receive the usual, polite rebuff, but instead the Brit hugged him back and there they remained, taking comfort from each other as the darkness drew in. Finally, the Brit began to speak.

"I've made provision for you. This house is my legacy to you, and the deeds, along with everything else you need to know, are in this safety deposit box." The old man handed Alex a key with a fob that had an address and a serial number on it. "You will have it all then, Alex. Everything you wanted with one exception. I really can't permit you to do anything that will harm Fox Mulder. He is, as you will see, most important to the continuing of humanity on this planet."

Alex mulled over his words in silence. Now didn't seem to be the time to start protesting that he was no longer seeking revenge. The man he had been had wanted revenge. The man he was now merely wanted things to continue the way they were. He gently stroked the old man's hair and then covered his mouth with his lips, tenderly kissing him, trying to convey to him the way he felt, gratitude, admiration and affection all combining to leave no room for the negatives.

The Brit did not push him away this time. He kissed him back with a sudden intensity that rocked Alex to his shoes. His mouth was warm and firm, and it had been a long time since Alex had been kissed like this. The man had, for all intents and purposes, saved his life, and Alex would give him anything, knowing that whatever he gave would not be enough to repay him.


They finally released each other and Alex curled to sit at the old man's feet, permitting him to stroke and pet his hair as they talked. There was a pause, and then slowly, the old man began to tell him about the alien invasion. He left out nothing, and Alex had not realized just how far reaching the invasion was, or how long the struggle against it had been waged.

When the Brit finally related the facts about the battle for supremacy within the Consortium itself, everything fell in place for Alex. At last he could see how very stupid he had been all those years ago when he had believed he could mold events to suit his own agenda.

Finally, the old man told Alex how short a time he had left. He did not expect to be allowed to live for very much longer. It suddenly dawned on Alex at what cost he had purchased his new life. He didn't love this man. Strike that. He did. He loved him as a father, better than a father in some ways. He had been given so much, and had nothing to offer in return. He pressed his cheek into the other man's thigh and bit back tears.

When the old man finally noticed how very bright Alex's eyes had become he put one negligent finger under Alex's chin to turn his face up, and leaned forward to drop kisses onto his eyes.

"Tears for me, Alex? That's more than I ever could have hoped for. Thank you." Then, without any further word, the old man had set him aside and left the house.

Alex slept alone that night, as usual.

***********************

Sue aka Dr. Ruthless

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