Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Date: 1998/10/01 Category: M/K slash - Angst Rating: R Spoilers: For "The Red & The Black" Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does Archive: Nowhere, thank you. Feedback: I love it. It keeps my engine tuned and humming. Even a little "It was okay" makes my day. (Smell the begging... ) ======== SUNDOWN by *DBKate*, 1998 *dbkate*@yahoo.com ========= I should have known from the moment that I heard him scream my name. "Alex!" I hadn't seen the bullet coming -- I'd only felt the raw burn, the lightning salt-blood pain sear into my abdomen at a speed so reckless it stole my breath away. I remembered rolling down the soft slope, the grass and dirt flying into my nose -- my mouth, as the sky spun crazily above me, alternating with the green of the ground. "Alex!" I couldn't see very well when I finally came to a stop, as my head was still spinning from the tumble. I was feeling weak already, unable to move, barely able to speak, but I could hear. I could hear him calling my name as if it were the only word he'd ever known. The only word that he could possibly say. "Alex!" I yelled back, and it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch when I did. "I'm all right. Just go. Finish it," I begged. And lied. I was good at lying, but I'd never begged for many things in my life. But I was begging then. Begging Mulder to go and finish the work that we'd begun. Together. We'd started on the trip to the north border at dawn, the sun so red and hot it hurt my eyes. I'd gotten a good piece of information the night before, and suddenly, I had two options. The first one was to take it and sell it to the highest bidder, one of those foul, shivering men who sat waiting in their dark, lush rooms, filled with smoke and black wood. A life of ease could have been mine, a sweet place on a sunny isle, not a care or worry left in my world. Or, I could give the information to Mulder and be damned to Hell for doing so. It only took me about ten seconds to make up my mind. He'd been strangely calm when I'd arrived on his front stoop at midnight, without a hint of the fury that usually lined his face when I "visited." He ushered me into his room, that house of his that was no home, and I'd just begun to explain why I was there, when he stopped me. Held a long finger against my lips, and I could smell the slight, bitter tang of some sharp fruit that he must have been peeling a moment before. I was silenced, completely, and he looked at me for a long moment, perhaps soulfully, but all I could see were the gold flecks of his iris, the feathered line of lashes against delicate skin. He took his finger away, and grinned. "You're back sooner than I thought. But," he added thoughtfully. "You never actually leave, do you?" For a moment, I didn't ... couldn't, understand. "I have some ... news, for you," I stuttered, unable to tear my focus away from his soft expression, quiet thought and curiosity combined. He only smiled. "That's all you've brought?" My mouth turned dry, and the strangest tingle crept up my spine, pooling at the base of my neck, making me feel as if he'd set me on fire, with only his gold-green eyes and four, very short -- very ordinary, words. I tried to clear my vision; tried to bring my focus back to front and center. "There's a huge meeting at the Canadian border. Tomorrow. At sundown." "A meeting at sundown," he mused. "A candlelight supper, perhaps?" I felt the annoyance rising, like a cat crawling up my back, claws entrenched. "All of them will be there. Every one of them. Even a few you might not expect," I hissed, hoping that would shake him. Shake him out of what I'd supposed was some newfound apathy of his. But his placid expression refused to budge. "You think that I'll be surprised?" he asked, as he stared at me so intently, I could actually feel the blood flush my cheeks. It was a challenge now, a dare, between us. "I think I have some surprises left -- Fox," I whispered, perhaps for effect, perhaps because my mouth was so dry I could speak no louder. A slight quirk of his lip. A full-blown smile following. "I think I have some left as well -- Alex." And he did. Surprise after surprise followed as he took my lips beneath his own, in a much more fantastic version of the kiss I'd bestowed upon him with our last parting. It was brutally shocking, beautifully soft, and I couldn't help myself either way. I felt fingers, strong and warm, slide underneath my jacket, warm kisses and murmured words tremble down the ragged pulse of my throat. I responded to him, as I'd always known that I would -- kisses mixed in with Russian words, tender, small syllables whispered in a language that was so much softer -- sweeter, than it sounded. I wondered for a moment if he knew what I was saying, wondered if he cared, but thought was soon abandoned as he led me away from the cold living room into the smaller, more private, of his sanctuaries. I'd always imagined that he didn't even have a bedroom, or if he did, it was a dusty place, even moldy, with lack of use or care. How wrong I was. It was dark, that was true, but even in the dim light, I could see that it was lush and warm, every tiny corner of it filled with something personal and comforting. A candle holder and clock, a butter-colored pitcher on the nightstand, a wrinkled black and white photo of some beloved pet, now long dead tucked against the mirror. Even the bedding was clean and crisp. Warmer than I could have even hoped for. When we fell together, oh, I tried to fight, I honestly did, but it was unfinished business that stood between us and I was helpless against it. Helpless against his hands that were removing what was left of my composure, and leaving it tossed aside, unwanted. Helpless against his mouth that was no longer speaking in tongues, but telling me a story, a beautiful story, in a language that any man could understand. I tried to reciprocate in the best way that I knew how, but in the end, I gave up. Gave up to him, gave up to myself -- gave us both up to Fate. The night sped by, and I cried out when I came, then simply cried when Mulder held me close, whispering and asking again and again, "Did I surprise you, Alex? Did I? Tell me I did." Yes, you surprised me, Mulder. You surely did. And have I surprised you? Lying here, bleeding, the man you thought that the Devil Himself had kept safe underneath his wing for all this time? I could hear the gunshots that you'd fired into the teeming mass of fleeing men, those men who only ran from your eyes, for God knows that the two of us could do nothing more than tell the world what we'd seen. We could only tell the world the truth. But that was frightening enough for them. As I lie there, I kept hearing Mulder's voice, rising above the fray, crying out incoherently in a language so much different than the one I'd heard the night before. And I was helpless against that voice, the one that was no longer speaking in tongues, but telling me a story, a terrible story, in a language that only we could understand. The sun was sinking very low before Mulder finally came to my side. It was no longer red, no longer yellow, it was simple pure white fire, burning its last before its inevitable death beneath the horizon. I was staring at it, letting it blind me, when Mulder took me in his arms, rocking me slowly. "You've never left me before, Alex, don't you dare start now." I looked up, away from the brilliance of the fading light. "What," I murmured, barely able to make out the words. "You don't want me to surprise you?" "No, damn you, no," he hissed, his eyes far too bright in the twilight. "Stay here. Stay with me, Alex. Stay." Stay. Would I, could I, would I stay. Could I? Yes, I think that I could stay, damn to hell any bullets or liars or even Fate that would try to take me away from the man who held so closely in his arms, surprising me still with kisses, even more fantastic than the ones he'd bestowed upon me the night before. They were brutal, and beautiful, his mouth tinged with my blood, and I couldn't help but force myself to live to see yet another sunrise. Force myself yet -- force myself to live for one more sundown. ======== The End. I love little bitty letters of feedback *just* as much as big, fat gargling ones! *dbkate*@yahoo.com