Part 2

They were quiet for the rest of the day. Skinner didn’t know what to say. Of all the things he had expected when he first told that lie back at the dawn of the new millennium, this was the last thing he would ever have dreamed possible. He saw a bitter enemy, transformed before his eyes into a scared boy who’d bartered the only thing he owned in order to escape an unbearable existence. It wasn’t an image of Krycek he wanted. He clung to the memory of the sharp-faced assassin who applied himself to his deadly, silent trade without pity, pulling strings, hurting Skinner, and those close to him, but the reality in front of him was so different as to be incongruous. The man on his couch was wounded, feverish, pale and scared. He didn’t look dangerous. He just looked…in need of a friend.

When darkness fell, Krycek asked if he could go back to bed. Skinner agreed, with a disinterested shrug. He changed Krycek’s bandage once more, then watched impassively as the injured man slipped under the sheets.

“Thanks,” Krycek said, as Skinner walked towards the door.

“For what? Not killing you?” Skinner asked.

“No. Yes.” Krycek gave a wry smile. “And for listening. I feel like I’m going crazy. I don’t know what’s in my head. It’s hard – not knowing who you are.”

“I suppose so.” Skinner shrugged. It seemed pointless to threaten his enemy on this subject any more. Maybe, at some point, he had started to believe Krycek.

“Tell me – what was I like?” Krycek seemed to be almost holding his breath.

“If you’re expecting to hear anything good, then you’re asking the wrong person,” Skinner commented with a grunt. Krycek gave another wan smile.

“I know that. Tell me anyway. Tell me what you know.”

Skinner sighed, then returned to the bed and sat down. “That isn’t much,” he said. “When you first showed up, I thought you were just another agent. A green kid – Mulder told me you threw up at your first sight of a corpse.”

“Mulder?” Krycek repeated the name, as if it meant nothing to him.

“You were assigned to him, as his partner,” Skinner explained. “You were already working for…” He hesitated. “Your uncle,” he supplied at last, sure that he was right. “At least I assume it was him. You conveniently disappeared from sight as soon as you’d fulfilled your task of spying on Mulder, and keeping him from the truth. It’s a pity. You were a good agent – polite, conscientious, smart…I almost liked you.” Skinner shrugged. Krycek’s green eyes shone in the dark.

“Go on,” he urged.

“After that, you came and went, spreading chaos, like some kind of disease. People died, people got hurt. You gave Mulder information that seemed almost helpful, but there was always a downside. Whatever game you were playing and whoever you were working for – it wasn’t for us. From what I know, you’re a cunning, treacherous, deadly man, Krycek.”

“Alex,” Krycek said.

“What?” Skinner frowned.

“I don’t recognize him. I’m not him. I don’t want to be him. Call me Alex.” Krycek was insistent.

“A name doesn’t change anything,” Skinner hissed. He got up, and went back over to the door. “I hope for your sake that you remember something soon. I’m a patient man, Alex, but even my patience will wear thin eventually.”

He snapped the light off, and closed the door, then locked it behind him.

It had been a tiring day. Skinner went to the door of the cabin and opened it, looking out on the star filled sky. It was a crisp, cold, clear night. The blizzard that had raged around them in the afternoon had finally blown itself out, leaving the world covered in a new layer of fresh white snow, topped by a thin sheen of ice. There were new clouds banked up in the distance though, and Skinner guessed that the respite from the blizzard would be brief. He breathed in the chill air, and tried to think, but there weren’t any answers. He had no choice but to wait this out. He went to his bedroom, and lay down with a deep, heartfelt sigh. He needed to stay rested, to be alert enough to deal with whatever new surprises the morning might bring.

Skinner woke just after dawn. A thin, watery light shone through his bedroom window and outside, snowflakes danced in wild spirals, patterning the world with their cold beauty. Inside though, it was warm, and cozy. He lay still for a moment, then shifted, and beside him a dark head muttered something. Skinner froze, then looked down. Curled up tight against his torso was Krycek.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He demanded, pushing the sleeping man away. Krycek opened his eyes, and looked around, confused. “Shit! How the hell did you…?” Skinner reached for the gun on his night-stand, but it was still there.

“I picked the lock.” Krycek shrugged. “I remember how to do that much.”

“You…? Then why…?” Skinner stared at his captive in disbelief.

“Why didn’t I steal the gun and kill you? I told you, I’m not a killer,” Krycek replied. “I don’t think I could kill anyone. I just…I woke up in the middle of the night. I was cold and I needed to use the bathroom. I called out but you must have been fast asleep do I picked the lock. I looked in on you, and I…” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to be alone,” he finished, a curiously vulnerable expression flitting momentarily across his face. Skinner just sat there, his mind working overtime to process this new development.

“I may have become the man you described to me last night, but he’s not who I feel I am,” Krycek said, urgently. “Events I can’t remember might have turned me into him, but he’s not me. Not in here.” Krycek gestured towards his heart. Skinner gave out a bark of ironic laughter. This defied belief, but it also seemed to confirm his captive’s story. He could think of no other explanation for why Krycek hadn’t placed the gun to his head and killed him as he slept. It was bizarre. Crazy. “And you’re not the man you pretend to be either,” Krycek observed softly.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Skinner demanded

“It means, that I don’t think you really want to hurt me. You don’t really want to kill me either.” Krycek reached out, and put his bandaged hand on Skinner’s arm. “Your bark’s worse than your bite, my friend. Despite your words, you’ve been kinder to me than you clearly think I deserve. I’m grateful for that. If I’ve really done all the things you say, then I’m lucky that you’re a better man than I am.” He sank back on the pillows, exhausted. His cheeks looked hollow and he gave in to a fit of racking coughs. Skinner got up, wordlessly brought him a glass of water, and placed it in his hand. Krycek drank, gratefully. “Come back to bed. It’s still early, and it’s warmer with you here,” Krycek invited. Skinner glared at him, but another run-through of his options revealed that he was running out, once more. If Krycek could pick locks then the only way to minimize the danger was to stay close to him. Skinner slid reluctantly back into the bed, and lay there stiffly. Krycek seemed to possess no such inhibitions. He nuzzled close to Skinner’s back, and laid his arm on Skinner’s thigh. There was silence for a moment, and Skinner began to doze off. A few seconds later, he felt Krycek’s hand move, stroking his thigh softly, then moving down into his boxer shorts. He caught the impudent hand in a vice-like grip, and held it tight.

“I don’t think so,” he snapped.

“Please. You’ve been kind to me. I’ve tried to be good. Let me show you just how good I can be…” Krycek’s voice was warm with promise, and went straight to Skinner’s groin.

“No,” he hissed.

“I don’t understand. You want me,” Krycek said. “I saw you looking at me in the shower. I can repay you…” His hand moved again, found Skinner’s cock, and took hold of it, stroking it firmly with his thumb.

Skinner pushed him away, and turned over. “Is everything about barter with you? What you can sell, what you can trade? Sexual favors as a pay-off to keep you safe? You’re wrong, Krycek. With or without your memory, you’re the same. Deep down inside, you’re exactly the same,” he spat in disgust. He got up, slid out of the bed, and strode into the living room, feeling deeply unnerved. He brushed a hand over his forehead, surprised to find that he was shaking. Damn him! Damn him for finding some vulnerable nerve, deep inside, that Skinner thought he’d buried with an old friend, 30 years ago, fighting a war that nobody had believed in. Was he still fighting wars he didn’t believe in? Still fighting himself? He buried his face in his arms in despair. A few minutes later, a cautious hand dropped on his shoulder, and massaged, gently.

“I’m sorry. It’s what I used to do for him,” Krycek said. “He’s all I remember. All I know how to please. I’m sorry that I took you for the same kind of man.”

Skinner turned, savagely, slapping Krycek’s arm away, only to find himself looking into dark pupils, dilated with want, and the need for comfort. He held back the threatened blow, faltering, and in that moment’s hesitation, he was lost. He allowed himself, to be led over to the couch, like a helpless child. Krycek sat him down, then hunkered down beside him. “I didn’t like him. I didn’t like the way he smelled,” Krycek said, leaning his head on Skinner’s chest. “I lied yesterday. I do remember what happened – I just don’t remember…after. I think I blocked that out. Hold me,” he whispered. It was more of a command than a request, and somehow Skinner found himself obeying, nerveless arms wrapped around a slender body, hugging his enemy close. “He said he’d take me back to America with him. He said he wouldn’t report me for stealing his wallet. He said he’d pay for me to go to college. All I had to do was obey him, and learn well. He said he could tell that I was smart.” Krycek paused, then began again. “He looked at me as if he wanted to eat me alive. I was young, and stupid. I just wanted to get away, and he was offering me so much. It seemed a small price. I wasn’t so stupid that I didn’t know what he wanted though. I’d been with girls. I didn’t think this would be so much different. I was wrong.” Krycek lay there for a long time. Skinner didn’t speak. Finally, the other man continued with his story. “He told me to undress. He watched me, from the other side of the room. All I could see was his cigarette, burning in the dark, and the whites of his eyes. He didn’t touch me, or kiss me. I don’t know why I expected that, but I did. He just told me to kneel on the end of the bed. I can still remember the feel of his breath on my back. He placed the cigarette in an ashtray by the bed, and I watched it burn down to nothing, while he…” Krycek’s voice faltered into nothing. Skinner didn’t know whether to laugh in disbelief and throw Krycek to the floor in disgust, or offer some kind of platitude. He didn’t want to believe, but there was something so compelling and vulnerable about his old enemy, that he couldn’t stop himself. Could this all be some deeply elaborate lie? And if so, why bother? Krycek took a deep breath, and looked at Skinner intently, as if trying to gauge his reaction. “I cried the first time. He laughed, and told me I’d get used to it…but…he could be kind too, sometimes. That’s why…that’s why I wasn’t sure with you. You hurt me, then you were kind to me. The same as him.”

“Damnit, I’m not him,” Skinner hissed. He needed some air. Skinner pushed Krycek off his shoulder, and opened the door. Outside it was bitterly cold, and the remains of last night’s blizzard had painted the landscape a serene, innocent white, in ugly contrast to the darkness and stench of misery inside the cabin. Skinner pulled on his boots, and stepped outside, taking a deep inhalation of cold air. A few seconds later, he heard Krycek behind him.

“I’m sorry that I don’t remember anything else,” Krycek began. “Anything from later. Anything that might help you. The memories all stop after that though. I don’t know why.” Skinner turned, opened his mouth to say something, then saw the red stain on the other man’s tee shirt.

“You shouldn’t be out here. Damn, you’re not well enough,” he said. “And that needs to be seen to.” He pointed at the other man’s shoulder. Krycek looked down, and saw the red blood oozing out from the knife wound. It welled up darkly against his tee shirt, and then a few drops fell silently onto the snow, staining the ground. The blood looking shocking, but curiously beautiful on the thick, white blanket of snow. Krycek looked at it, mesmerized, then took a sharp intake of breath, as if he had been physically hit.

“No,” he whispered, sinking to his knees. “Shit…no.”

“What?” Skinner went to help him up, but Krycek was consumed by some kind of panic. Skinner watched, bemused, as the other man covered the blood with handfuls of fresh, white snow, obscuring it completely.

“You were right,” Krycek muttered, over and over again. “You were right all along.” The open wound bled even more furiously now, soaking Krycek’s tee shirt, and staining the snow covered ground. Krycek knelt back, wordlessly, a haunted look on his face.

“Come on…I have to get you back inside.” Skinner picked the other man up effortlessly, and Krycek went numbly, unresisting. Skinner dumped him on the couch, and went to get a new bandage. When he returned he tugged Krycek’s tee shirt away from his body, and cleaned the wound, gently. Krycek wouldn’t meet his eyes, and didn’t speak. Skinner finished his task, but Krycek continued to lie there, staring blankly at the fire.

“Do you remember something else?” Skinner asked at last. Krycek nodded, but didn’t speak. Skinner shrugged, and sat down next to the other man, and stared into the fire, waiting.

“He took me with him – he didn’t break his word,” Krycek broke the silence a few minutes later, his voice dull, and lifeless. “He said he had a use for me, back in America. He was going to train me, but first I had to show him what I could do. She was an old woman. She was a drunk. Homeless.” Krycek looked up, his eyes dark with the memory. “I can’t…I don’t have the details in my head…” he whispered. “I think…I’ve blocked them out. I just remember that the snow went red with her blood, and it felt so warm on my cold hands. I think I threw up. After that…nothing.” He shrugged. “That’s when I changed. Yes, I can kill. You were right. I was wrong. I was 17 years old when I first took a life.”

“I was 18.” Skinner found that his hands had become entwined in that dark hair, and were stroking his old enemy, softly, gently. Krycek looked up, a question in his eyes. Skinner didn’t answer it. Instead he wrapped his arms around Krycek, and pulled him up, then he kissed him, hard. Krycek’s mouth was soft, almost like a woman’s, but his stubble was rough against Skinner’s chin and cheek. He was pliant in Skinner’s arms, his body pushing against his enemy, like a cat wanting to be petted. Skinner’s need pulsed, deep inside his groin. He pushed Krycek back on the couch, held him down, and straddled him. Krycek went easily. He lay, looking up, with greedy green eyes. Skinner hesitated, but Krycek put out his arm, and fastened his bandaged hand around Skinner’s neck, then pulled him down on top of him. Soft lips melted under his caress, and a tongue slipped insistently into his mouth. Skinner’s hands found warm flesh, lowered Krycek’s boxer shorts, and discovered a hard cock.

Then it was too late.

He found himself rutting against the other man like an animal, consumed by his need. He closed his eyes, and fought back a memory of another young man, in another time and place, thirty years ago. A hot, steaming jungle took the place of the cold, storm-lashed cabin and it felt good. After so long, it felt so damned good. He knew why, even if he had never admitted it to himself – not through all the long, lonely years of his loveless marriage, and not even after, when attitudes were more liberal, and it might have been safe to admit the truth. Skinner opened his eyes and saw dark hair, and gleaming white teeth, smooth skin – young, soft, and willing. Krycek moaned, and their cocks met in an absurd dance of lust, thrusting and sliding against each other. Skinner gasped, reeling from finding the truth like this, snatched in need and hunger from a man whom he knew to be his greatest enemy. It wasn’t right, but it damn well felt right. Thirty years of repression burst from deep inside, and he came, warm and slick, all over Krycek’s belly. The younger man laughed, and Skinner loved the sound. He took his enemy’s cock in his hand, and brought him to climax, then he sank down beside Krycek, and pulled him close, for warmth, for comfort, and maybe, just maybe, for some other reason too.

Days and nights passed. Skinner was no longer sure which was which, as the storms buffeted the cabin. Day was only fractionally lighter than night, so it was hard to tell. They had supplies, but not enough for more than another week or so. Krycek was getting better. The rest was doing him good, and the color had returned to his pallid features. They slept each night in the same bed, Krycek’s dark head nestled under Skinner’s chin. Skinner longed to withdraw, to catch his breath, and step back from the brink of this dangerous relationship, but deep inside he knew it was already too late. Krycek had somehow found a way past all his defenses. The cabin had now warmed through, and Krycek wandered it half-naked, while Skinner watched, trying to fight the desire, and failing. Krycek’s body, for all its blemishes, flaws and wounds, was still beautiful. His bruises had nearly healed, and his flesh was enticing, stretched taut and white over well toned muscles.

Skinner found an uneasy peace in this new alliance. Krycek’s memories were full of such huge gaps that it was enjoyable just sitting with him, talking. He wondered how much of the old Krycek was present in the new. Maybe his new lover, and old enemy, had reverted back to how he had been a long time ago, before that cigarette smoking bastard had got his hands on the kid, and molded him to his will. Sometimes Krycek would remember something, and blurt it out. The most inconsequential memories took on a deep significance to him, and he even woke Skinner in the middle of the night to tell him he remembered eating chocolate cake on the bank of the canal one Summer when he was a child. There was something so endearing about him as he discovered these lost parts of himself, that Skinner couldn’t begrudge him their joy.

Krycek wasn’t what he had expected, and he realized how little he had known the man. He was smart, sometimes witty, eager to please, and occasionally moody, given to long periods of introspection. His curiosity wasn’t only limited to himself though. They sat up through the long hours of seemingly endless snowstorms, as Skinner recounted the stories of his own past. Krycek was his captive in more ways than one, as he sat and listened, his head on Skinner’s shoulder, or his lap, gazing into the firelight. Occasionally he stopped Skinner, and asked a question, and sometimes, he caressed the big man, gently coaxing him through some hard part of his life story. Sometimes Skinner would look up, and catch Krycek looking at him, his expression curious, and absorbed, tinged almost with surprise, and often he would find the other man’s eyes fixed on his lips, or his eyes, or body, with undisguised lust.

Krycek’s need for physical reassurance was insatiable. Wherever Skinner went, the other man was always just one step away. When he sat down, Krycek would sit beside him, leaning his head on Skinner’s shoulder. When he heated food, Krycek would stand watching in the doorway – and at night…at night Krycek would curl up close to him, and do things to his body that he had only dreamed about for thirty long, lonely years.

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere,” Skinner said in exasperation on finding Krycek crouched outside the bathroom waiting for him one morning.

“Yes, I do.” Krycek shrugged. “Walt, I don’t know who I am, but I know who you are. You’re all that’s real to me. I need you,” Krycek sneaked a hand around Skinner’s waist. Skinner pushed him away, angrily, and strode back to the living room.

“What? What is it?” Krycek followed him.

“Cabin-fever,” Skinner snarled. “Look, I’m going stir-crazy cooped up in here like this, unable to go out, staring at these four walls, trapped in this intolerable situation.”

“You still don’t trust me.” Krycek’s shoulders settled into a dejected line. “After all we’ve shared here.”

“How can I trust you? What happens when you get your memory back, Alex?” Skinner’s voice was raw with pain.

“Maybe I won’t.” Krycek grinned, and for a second he looked like the Alex Krycek of old, his sharp, green eyes glittering, tinged with an almost malicious mischief.

“Maybe you will,” Skinner retorted. “What then?”

“Then, I’ll do whatever I can to find a cure for this poison in your blood, Walt,” Krycek said, pulling Skinner close, and caressing his back with his one good hand. “I promise.”

“You don’t know yourself very well if you think that’s likely,” Skinner snorted.

“I know the way I feel about you though. I know that won’t change.” Krycek placed a firm kiss on Skinner’s mouth, then he pushed him against the wall, and claimed another one, his tongue hungry, and demanding. “I promise,” he said, when they came up for air. “Cross my heart and hope to die, Walt.” He sank down on his knees, and opened Skinner’s fly, then took the other man’s cock whole into his warm, skillful mouth. Skinner moaned, and leaned back against the wall, abandoning reason. He wrapped his hand in Krycek’s dark hair, and caressed him. The other man pulled Skinner closer, his fingers slipping between his butt cheeks, as his lips and tongue worked on the big man’s cock.

“I know it’s someone else’s line, but I want to believe,” Skinner muttered, in an ironic tone, bucking his hips into that waiting mouth. Krycek’s efforts intensified, and Skinner came with a hoarse cry.

“Then you can,” Krycek pulled back. “You can believe in me. I promise you, Walt. I promise.” He rearranged Skinner’s clothes, got up, and ran his hand gently down the side of Skinner’s face, looking deep into his eyes. “You can,” he repeated.

Skinner was woken a couple of days later by Krycek bouncing up and down on the bed excitedly.

“Wake up, Walt. The storm’s over!” Krycek exclaimed, licking Skinner’s ear until he opened a reluctant eye and squinted up.

“What?” He asked blearily. Krycek got up, and drew back the drapes. “It’s a brave new world,” he said, with a grin, pointing at the still, white world outside. “Come on, hurry!” He pulled on his sweatpants, and a thick sweatshirt then ran for the door. Skinner found the younger man’s enthusiasm catching, and he got up and followed suit. Krycek grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him towards the door of the cabin. Skinner took a deep breath and opened the door. Outside it was beautiful. The car was an invisible mound, covered by snow, but it had drifted away from the front of the house and settled at the side in a huge bank. Krycek pushed past Skinner and ran outside, laughing and stamping his feet. Skinner paused, suddenly taken by surprise by the wave of dangerous affection that swept through him. Krycek was wearing one of Skinner’s old checked shirts. It hung from the younger man’s shoulders, two sizes too big for him, but the muted blue and purple colors suited him. He looked young, vibrantly alive, and so damned good.

“Come on!” Krycek yelled, grabbing a handful of snow, and throwing it at his surprised lover. Skinner didn’t take much encouragement. He gave a roar, grabbed a handful of snow, and chased after the other man. Krycek laughed, and slipped, trying to escape. With a triumphant growl, Skinner jumped on top of him, and thrust the handful of snow down his sweater. Krycek doubled up, screeching half in outrage and half in helpless laughter.

“That’s not fair!” He panted. “You have two arms!”

“I would have won with one tied behind my back,” Skinner teased.

“Do you have it?” Krycek asked unexpectedly.

“What?” Skinner frowned.

“My arm!” Krycek wriggled beneath him, his face screwed up with mirth.

“Somewhere. You might have to wait for a thaw until you can have it back though,” he said, glancing at the snowbound car. He didn’t remember bringing the arm in, so he assumed it was still locked up in there.

“It can wait.” Krycek grinned. Skinner grinned back, holding the other man down by his one good arm, and the world froze at that moment in time. Krycek’s dark eyelashes were framed by a layer of snow, his thick black hair in stark contrast to the white blanket he was lying on. His lips were parted, wide, sensuous, and inviting. Skinner felt as if he’d left his body and was looking down on that strange, ghostly, silent world from a great distance, then the moment passed.

“Make love to me,” Krycek said, unexpectedly.

“Out here? In the snow?” Skinner asked, in an incredulous tone.

“Why not?”

“Because my balls will freeze off,” Skinner laughed. Krycek was still and willing beneath his knees.

“Back inside then,” Krycek insisted. Skinner hesitated. So far they hadn’t gone this far. It felt almost like…an affirmation, or commitment of some kind.

“Do you want that?” Skinner watched as Krycek’s pupils dilated. The other man moistened his lower lip with his tongue, a gesture partly of uncertainty, and partly of sexual promise.

“What do think?” He asked, and his voice was low, husky, and so arousing. “Don’t you?” His voice was suddenly anxious. Skinner’s cock told him that he did. Very much. He smiled, and picked Krycek up, out of the snow, and they walked back to the cabin.

“I’ve…got, um, there’s stuff in the bathroom,” Skinner said, his voice sounding strange in the silent world.

“Good. Hurry.” Krycek pushed him towards the bathroom, then ran into the bedroom, undressing as he went. Skinner followed slowly. It wasn’t that he didn’t want this – but where did it lead? He found the condoms and lube, both old, and barely used, remnants of a happier time, when he and Sharon had come up here on Summer vacations, years ago. Blindly, he put them in his pocket and returned to the bedroom, then stopped, on the threshold. Krycek was lying naked on the bed, his lithe body stretched out, sinuous and inviting, like a cat, his butt positioned over a pillow, raised like a ripe fruit for his attention. It was so enticing he wanted to sink his teeth into it, but instead he just stood, dumb-struck.

“What is it?” Krycek asked, a tone of uncertainty in his voice.

“You,” Skinner rasped.

“What?” Krycek twisted around, and Skinner saw that his cock was already half erect, swollen and raring to go.

“It’s like in the films – just when you think the hero is safe, the bad guy leaps out from the closet with an ax. Or there’s someone in a car, singing away and you just know that around the corner is a ten-ton truck about to mow them down. I feel like that just now,” Skinner said. “Seeing you, here, waiting for me like this – it’s too good.”

“You mean, where’s the juggernaut?” Krycek asked.

“Yeah. Where’s the juggernaut?” Skinner said, in a numb tone.

Krycek got up, and took hold of his hand, led him back to the bed. “There isn’t one. This time, there isn’t one. There’s just you and me.” He started unbuttoning Skinner’s shirt, pushed it off the big man, then moved on to his sweatpants. Skinner stood there, unresisting. When Krycek had finished, he pulled Skinner down onto the bed, and kissed him, his one hand caressing Skinner constantly. Skinner felt life returning to him, warmed by sex, by need, by Krycek’s obvious lust. “You’re so sexy…” Krycek whispered, nuzzling at his nipples. “You know, when I first woke up, and they told me you were my brother, my first thought was ‘damn’, because I wanted you the minute I set eyes on you. I knew what I felt sure as hell wasn’t brotherly love,” he grinned. “It’s a crime to hide this body under clothes. Under suits, and shirts, and ties,” Krycek murmured, taking Skinner’s cock in his hand, and stroking it to full erection. “I saw the real you then, Walt, not the growling enemy, but you. I knew that you’d never really hurt me. I knew that.”

Skinner’s hands found Krycek’s throat, and he circled it, then squeezed lightly. Krycek looked at him, those green eyes radiating pure trust. An image sprang into Skinner’s mind of holding a snake by the neck, dangling it in the air while he decided whether to strangle it, or let it go. He increased the pressure around that firm, white throat, but still Krycek’s eyes didn’t waver in their total faith. Skinner loosened his grasp, and stroked the reddened flesh, smoothing away his fingerprints.

“You talk too much,” he grunted.

Krycek grinned, and then laughed out loud as Skinner pressed him back into the bed. “Have you done this before?” He asked. “With a man, I mean.”

“Not for a long time,” Skinner replied.

“But you have though…?” Krycek’s question hung between them.

“Yes,” Skinner said softly. Krycek smiled again, and rolled onto his stomach, placing the pillow back under his hips.

“Please. Now,” he begged. Skinner knelt and surveyed that beautiful, flawed body for several long seconds, then he gently caressed the other man’s butt.

“Good enough to eat,” he whispered, inching forward, and taking a soft bite. Krycek moaned, and wriggled under his hands. Skinner opened him, up, worked gentle, lubed fingers inside him, and Krycek started to pant, his green eyes glazed with arousal. On one subject at least he had been telling the truth: he certainly wasn’t a virgin. Skinner stretched him easily, then put a condom on his own cock, and slid it into that inviting opening. Krycek gave a gasp, then started to thrust into the pillow. Skinner put his head back, feeling the sweat running down the side of his face. This felt so good. He had wanted this, needed it, for so long, and to finally receive this release, from his enemy of all people… He shut that thought away and concentrated on the task, sliding in and out of Krycek with deep, urgent thrusts that made the other man moan and thrash around on the bed. Skinner thought they both came together, but he wasn’t sure, the moment was too good, and too intense for him to remember the details afterwards. He just knew that he had found something he had been looking for all his life, and he wanted to keep it. Later, he held Krycek in his arms, never wanting to let him go. His lover lay naked, and abandoned, his pale limbs entwined with Skinner’s tanned ones.

“That was so damned good,” Krycek whispered.

“Yes.” Skinner hugged him closer.

“Love you, Walt,” Krycek murmured sleepily, his body limp and relaxed in Skinner’s arms.
Skinner smiled, and stroked his lover’s chest. Krycek’s eyes were closed, his lips parted in a haze of sexual satisfaction – he was fast asleep.

“Me too, Alex. God help me, but I do.”

Skinner woke to the plopping sound of snow falling from the roof.

“Alex, wake up – it’s starting to thaw,” he said, nudging the sleeping man.

“What does that mean?” Krycek asked, stretching sleepily. Skinner turned back, and saw the question in his eyes.

“It means we can dig the car out and go and buy supplies,” Skinner said.

“And come back here?” Krycek’s question was soft and full of meaning. How long could they keep hiding out here? At some point they had to go back, and face reality, whatever that might be.

“For a while. I’ll sort it out. It’ll be okay,” Skinner said reassuringly. Krycek nodded. “Come on. Let’s go and dig the car out.”

Krycek grabbed his hand, and pulled him back. “Before we go,” Krycek said softly. “One more time…”

“We’ll be coming back,” Skinner pointed out.

“I know. Indulge me,” Krycek winked, his green eyes inviting. Skinner gave in and allowed himself to be pulled back down onto the bed.

It was almost midday by the time they finally emerged. The world was in a process of transformation, still covered by gradually sinking layers of snow. Skinner handed Krycek a shovel, but there wasn’t much snow to shift, and they made short work of the task. Skinner cleared a path down to the road – it was slippery, but just about passable. When he came back, Krycek was sitting staring at the car, his expression glum.

“What is it?” Skinner asked.

“Tire’s flat,” Krycek said with a sigh. “Must have been the weight of all the damn snow.”

“Damn.” Skinner kicked it. He opened the trunk of the car to check the spare, but that was flat too.

“How much food do we have?” Krycek asked.

“Not much.” Skinner shrugged. “The roads are passable though – we’ll just have to walk.”

Krycek nodded, and went to get his jacket. The journey was hard, and soon Skinner was sweating liberally. He turned to find Krycek struggling behind him.

“Sorry.” Krycek made a face. “I suppose I’m just not up to this,” he said, sitting down on a bank of snow, and wiping some of the cool, wet substance over his hot face. “My shoulder hurts.”

“Shit. It’s my fault. You’re in no condition to be making this kind of journey,” Skinner told him. “Go back to the house – I’ll go on alone. I’ll be about…” he glanced at the sky, “Four or five hours?”

“Will you be okay?” Krycek asked, anxiously.

“I’ll be fine. I have my cellphone.” Skinner replied, with a reassuring smile. “Go and rest up.”

“Okay.” Krycek gave a shrug, then pulled Skinner into an unexpected embrace, kissing him soundly. Krycek’s unembarrassed displays of affection always took him by surprise, but a curious warmth settled inside his gut, making his whole body tingle with a delicious glow of happiness. “Don’t make me wait too long, lover boy,” Krycek grinned, patting Skinner’s ass. Skinner growled and mocked a cuff to the side of the other man’s head, and Krycek laughed and side-stepped it, then he turned and began walking back. Skinner stood and watched him until he disappeared from sight.

It was hard going but Skinner was in good shape, and he made the journey in a little under two hours. He left a message for a mechanic to drive up to the cabin when the snow had thawed, exchanged a few pleasantries with the store keeper, then packed some necessities into a rucksack and strapped it on his back. He whistled as he walked back to the cabin. The weak, wintry sun warmed his head, and it felt good to be out and about again, stretching his long legs. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed all the sexual activity of the past several days, he thought to himself, filled with a sudden longing to taste Krycek’s soft lips again, to bury his face in that smooth flesh, to lick and kiss and caress the other man’s lithe, lean body. It was getting dark by the time he returned. Skinner frowned – the cabin door was open. He had a sudden flash of worry that Krycek hadn’t made it back, or that he had, and then had gone out looking for Skinner. He hadn’t been that long – quicker than he had said he would be. Skinner pushed open the door, cautiously, and dumped the pack on the ground.

“Alex?” He called. There was no reply. He raced into the bedroom, but it was silent, and empty. There was no sign of the other man in the bathroom, or the other bedroom either, and the tiny kitchen was deserted. A thought occurred to Skinner and he checked his nightstand, but the gun was still there. It didn’t make sense. He went outside, and called, his voice echoing back around him eerily in the melting darkness.

“ALEX!” he yelled, but there was no reply. Skinner returned to the cabin, and sat down at the table. It was only then that he noticed the note, propped up against a jar.

“Walt – thanks for everything. I couldn’t have picked a safer bolthole if I’d tried.

So long,

AK.”

Skinner read it several times, not understanding, then he got up, and roared out his rage. He ran back outside, and for the first time noticed that the trees around the cabin were naked, bereft of the snow that had been weighing them down for so long, as if some big insect had literally blown it from their branches. It didn’t take a Vietnam vet to recognize that a helicopter had been here recently. He ran over to the car, and checked inside, but Krycek’s prosthetic arm was missing. He remembered the other man’s chance remark about the arm, how he had asked him where it was. It wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that Krycek had carried a transmitter in the prosthetic. All he had needed was for Skinner to leave him alone for long enough, and to be trusting enough to do so. The two flat tires suddenly seemed so obvious a trick, that Skinner didn’t know how he could have missed it. The breath left his body, and he sank down on the snow, and crouched there, hunched, for a long time. He wished for a moment, that the blizzards would return, and cover him with their silent, suffocating blanket, but instead, the world was alive with the sounds of snow melting, and water trickling down the side of the mountain. After a long time, Skinner got up, shakily, and returned to the cabin. There was nothing he could do except sleep until daylight, and then walk back down to civilization, back to his life, to his job, back to being a helpless, blackmailed victim.

He sat down on the couch, and stared into the dead fire. There had been nothing to show for any of it. There was no cure, no Krycek, and, more importantly, no Alex, the man who had come to mean so much to him. He had been outmaneuvered by a man far more ruthless than he could ever be, someone who played him along, maybe even from the outset, staying one step ahead the whole way. Skinner stared the truth in the face, and the truth stared back at him, cold, and unforgiving.

*****

Skinner nursed his 5th whisky of the evening. He didn’t usually drink this much, but he had taken to visiting this bar every night after work, for the oblivion he could find in that curious mix of the company of strangers, and hard liquor. It had been three weeks since his return to DC. His unplanned vacation had caused a few raised eyebrows, but no serious repercussions. He had buried himself in his work, feeling distant, and remote, watching the world go by, and the agents come and go, without caring, or feeling he belonged to any of it. The weather in DC had been unpredictable. Last night it had started to snow again, and Skinner had spent most of the day in his office watching it fall onto the street beneath his window.

“I like the snow,” a familiar, mocking voice said. “It can be so…obliging.” Skinner’s hand tightened around his glass but he didn’t look up. A shadow fell across the alcove he was sitting in, and a man slipped into the seat opposite. Skinner ignored him, and called for another drink. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” A plastic hand was placed across the top of his glass.

“No, I don’t think so.” Skinner steeled himself to look up, but even so, he wasn’t ready for way his gut lurched as he found himself looking into those familiar, unfamiliar green eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever have had enough,” Skinner said bitterly. “What do you want, Krycek? Are you here to gloat? Or did you come here to give me new orders?”

“Neither.” Krycek smiled, a cool, deadly smile.

Skinner shook his head. “How much of it was a lie?” He asked. “Did it start off as the truth and become a lie? Or was it a lie from the moment you woke up in the hospital and found out who was waiting for you?”

“You don’t need to know. You don’t want to know,” Krycek said, with a slight shrug.

“Was any of it true? The stories you told about your life? About the old woman you killed?” Skinner asked. Krycek shifted, uncomfortably.

“I’m what you said I am. An assassin, a practised liar. However – you shouldn’t credit me with too much imagination,” he replied. “Those details had to come from somewhere. I was too sick to be all that creative.”

“So, some of it was true?” Skinner didn’t know why it mattered, but somehow it did.

“Some of it,” Krycek murmured.

“You’re looking well,” Skinner remarked. He was. He seemed to have returned to full health. His dark hair had been cropped close to his head, and he had regained the weight he’d lost while he was ill. He looked good enough to…

“You don’t,” Krycek observed.

“Yeah. Well.” Skinner shrugged.

“I have a lot to thank you for,” Krycek said.

“Don’t worry – the personal services were free,” Skinner said bitterly, then he tipped his glass back and drained it.

“You saved my life – back at the hospital. It all worked out very well for me. You were a faithful watchdog and bodyguard in the hospital, then you took me to a place where the people who were trying to kill me couldn’t get at me. You gave me breathing space while I recovered, and you were a…most devoted nurse,” Krycek gave one of his trademark mocking smiles, and Skinner felt as if a knife had been stabbed into his chest and given a vicious twist.

“The delirium wasn’t a lie. I know that,” Skinner snapped. “You couldn’t fake that – that’s why you were so worried when I asked you about it. You didn’t know what you’d let slip in your ramblings.”

“True enough.” Krycek nodded.

“But the rest of it, Alex? Was that necessary?” Skinner couldn’t keep the pain out of his voice.

“We have a profile on you.” Krycek leaned forward. “We have a profile on almost everyone. I knew you back to front, Walt. You didn’t stand a chance. We were fairly sure about your sexual…inclinations. My…uncle,” he inclined his head ironically, “wanted to use that fact to blackmail you before we came up with the nanocyte idea. I had to point out to him that as your only male love affair happened years ago it could easily be written off as a youthful indiscretion. We all have those, after all.” Krycek grinned knowingly.

“So you intended to seduce me all along?” Skinner asked in a broken voice.

“No, but I wasn’t sure I’d convinced you, and it was a good option. I needed you to trust me.”

“Why bother? Why didn’t you just run that night when you had me at your mercy – when you picked the lock on your door?”

“Run where? There was a raging blizzard outside if you remember, and nowhere to go. Killing you wasn’t an option. It isn’t policy,” Krycek shrugged. “I was also ill – I couldn’t have held you at bay for long in that condition, and besides, you were taking very good care of me.”

“I see.” Skinner sat up, and straightened his shoulders, his jaw clenching spasmodically. The cynicism of the other man’s words appalled him, but he wasn’t surprised by it. “Well, this might be one game I lost, but I don’t think I give a damn about that. At least I’m not a soulless bastard, prepared to selling myself to ensure someone’s trust and protection.”

“It isn’t about souls. It’s about survival. I’m good at that – I learned it at a young age. I had to,” Krycek commented bitterly. “And you’re wrong about selling myself. That part of the plan was entirely…enjoyable.” Those green eyes were suddenly full of regret.

“Why are you here?” Skinner asked wearily. “If it’s to blackmail me again, then you can save yourself the effort. I don’t care any more. Just kill me if you want. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not here for that. I came to bring you this.” Krycek handed him a black leather case.

Skinner opened it, and wordlessly pulled out the palm pilot. “What’s this?” He asked.

“A gift.” Krycek shrugged. “There isn’t a cure, Walt, you have to understand that. There were three palm pilots in existence that held data on your specific condition. I’ve destroyed the other two. You’ll just have to take my word for that.” He shrugged, and a shadow flitted across his face as if he realized how little his word meant after his recent deception. “This is the last one. You can take it to your doctors – they might be able to do something with it. Your blood is valuable – nano-technology is expensive, so you’re walking around with a several million bucks worth of experimental research inside you. Nanocytes can be programmed to clear the blood cells of cancer, and other impurities, such as the build up of cholesterol. Believe it or not, this technology was originally intended to benefit mankind.” He gave an ironic nod towards the palm pilot. Skinner fingered it wordlessly.

“Why?” He asked after a long time.

“Why not?” Krycek shrugged, and got to his feet. Skinner’s hand flashed out, and grabbed his wrist, holding it in a vice-like grip.

“Not good enough. I asked why,” he hissed.

The mask slipped for just a moment. “Because I promised,” Krycek replied, “and because it wasn’t all lies, Walt,” he said softly. “You were a revelation to me. I never expected…Well, let’s just say that I have some good memories now.” Skinner looked up into eyes that were Alex, his Alex, unguarded, and sincere, not Krycek, his enemy, but Alex, his lover. He swallowed hard, and released the other man’s wrist.

“Your… uncle won’t be pleased that you’ve done this,” he said, fingering the palm pilot.

“No. I don’t suppose he will.” Krycek’s face was hard, and dispassionate, as if steeling himself for a confrontation yet to come.

“What will he do?” Skinner wished that he didn’t care.

“What he usually does. Maybe worse, this time. He doesn’t like to be deceived. Or disobeyed.” Krycek gave a brittle smile. “I’ll live,” he murmured. “I always do. He trained me well – it takes time to do that. He’s invested too much in me to kill me for this. Cheer up, Walt,” he said brightly, surveying Skinner’s face. “I’ve just given you your life back.” Skinner lifted his eyes to meet Krycek’s, their bleakness conveying his message all too well. “Don’t you understand, you stupid bastard,” Krycek hissed, flinching from the unspoken reproach. “You’ve won. You fucking well won. You got what you wanted.”

“Did I?” Skinner asked bitterly.

Krycek shook his head. “You got all I can give you, anyway,” he said. So long, Walt.” He dipped his head, and brushed his lips along the side of Skinner’s face. Skinner sat, impassive, watching until the other man had left the bar. Then a flash of white inside the case caught his eye, and he fished out an envelope, and opened it. There was a card inside, plain white, with dark lettering on it.

“Happy New Year, Walt.

All my love, Alex.”

Skinner stared at it for a long time, then screwed it up in his fist and threw it onto the floor. He slipped the palm pilot into his pocket, and left the bar. The snow was falling steadily outside, and soon his dark overcoat was covered in a layer of white, forming a cold shroud around his body as he disappeared into the night.

The End