These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 
1013 Productions and Chris Carter.  No infringement is 
intended.  I just want to play with the boys for a while 
before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on 
the show.  This is just for fun, no money is being made from
this.  

This story involves sex between two men, aka: slash.  If 
that is *not* your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't 
read it!  (simple, ain't it??)

Feedback is *very* much appreciated, and always answered.  
Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over.  
:)

Nineteenth in the Tapestry Series.  You might want to read 
the others first, just so we're all on the same page, here.  
Previous stories can be found at:

http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html

For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for 
the boys.  This will be about as close as I can get.  And 
for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die.  
And for Toddie, for every other reason.

Just so you know, assume spoilers for everything.  And I 
mean everything. If it sounds familiar, it isn't mine.  I 
don't intend to slavishly follow canon, but some plot 
strings may dovetail when convenient.  Things that seem kind 
of warped, may not be.  Things that make sense probably  
won't for very long.  And nothing is exactly as it appears 
to be.

More to come...

Warp - Questions  by Amirin <groh@iquest.net>  #151


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


I was just laying there, playing with the hairs on the arm 
wrapped around me.  Feeling his breath warm the back of my 
neck.  Content enough.  Idly thinking about Danny, a little.  
And Fox, a lot.

Wondering what his reaction would be, when I got around to 
telling him what I needed his help for.  I thought I had the 
bases covered, but he has managed to surprise me, before.  
He could easily slip in something I hadn't even considered.

If anyone could do it, he could.

Anyway, I guess I wasn't really thinking.  I was planning.  
Distracted.  That's my only excuse.  The only conceivable 
reason for answering his softly murmured, "Can I ask you 
something?" with a "Sure, anything."

I wasn't thinking.

I didn't even have time to prepare myself when his next 
question came.

"Why did you kill my father?"

Not 'did you'.  '*Why* did you'.

It stunned me, yes.  He simply assumed I had.  And was still 
naked at my side.  Never mind that Bill Mulder *wasn't* his 
father; Fox didn't know that.  He went into this thinking I 
had capped his old man and fucked me, anyway.  

Jesus.

'Why did you kill my father'?

Why do I get the feeling that 'Because I was taking my 
orders from the wrong man at the time' just wouldn't be 
enough to satisfy him?

Okay, then...

How much do I tell him?  Assuming I don't tell him 
everything, how do I explain it all later?  What reasons can 
I come up with, for my silence?  For the lies?  And how much 
will he understand?  Or be able to forgive?

Obviously, I can't tell him everything.  Not yet.  It's too 
soon. Maybe...after.  When the smoke has cleared, the dust 
has settled.  After the bodies are counted and buried for 
good.  Maybe then I can tell him.  But for now...

Mulder just lay there, arm still around me, silent, patient, 
like he was asking me to give him a reason, *any* reason, to 
make fucking me a bit more palatable for him.  And I wanted 
so badly to get pissed at him, but I couldn't.  Because I 
understood.  And because I still needed his help.  And to 
get his help, I had to have his trust.  And to get his 
trust, I had to tell him the truth about this.

Or, at the very least, part of one.  A part we'd both be 
able to live with.

Deep breath.  Let's start with his question.  Simple enough.

Yeah, right.

"I had no choice."

He quietly thought it over, wheels spinning, cogs grinding, 
theories and ideas clicking into place.

"Was it a choice of you or him?"

Actually, mercifully, it wasn't.  That might have been a 
little harder.

"No.  It was *you* or him."

A small lie.  They would never have killed Mulder.  
Destruction, however, was something else entirely.

And as for Fox...

Stillness.  Absorption.  Then a slow nod out of the corner 
of my eye.  That, he can believe.  Now.  After...everything.  
He'd never have bought it a couple of weeks ago.  He would 
never have believed that it would have made any difference 
to me, whatsoever.  Now, he's willing to consider the 
possibility that it made all the difference in the world.  
And if that didn't please me so damned much, I'd be feeling 
pretty fucking smug about it.

"Was he my father, Alex?"

Shit, shit, shit.

Come on, Alex.  Simple yes or no, that's all that's 
required.  

Sure it is.

"No.  Biologically speaking, no."

True enough.  None of that cold man's genetic material is 
present in the wonderfully warm being next to me.

I, myself, am not so fortunate.  Which probably explains 
more about me than I'd like to admit.

"Who is?"

He refuses to ask the easy questions.  Isn't that a 
surprise?

"Not the man you're thinking of."

His relief was palpable and he moved closer to me, of all 
things, as I sighed, leaned back into him, and rested my 
head on his shoulder as he shifted slightly above me.  

No, the nicotine-poisoned walking corpse is not your father, 
Fox.  He'd have been dead a long time ago, if he were.  I'd 
have taken care of it personally.  And with no small amount 
of pleasure.

"Do you know who is?"

"I only know of his existence.  Much the same way I know of
Samantha's."

He looked at me, realized I was only making a point, not a 
strike.  And, more importantly, that I really didn't know 
all that much about either of them.  Which was the truth.

"Did you help them take Scully?"

Fuck.

"No."

He sighed with something like relief and took my hand in one 
of his. 

Oh, no, Fox.  Don't get too relaxed, yet.  It's not that 
simple.  Nothing ever is.

"I just made sure they didn't get you, too."

He stopped moving, briefly.  Frozen.  Finally, a slow thaw.  
Very slow.  But a thaw, nonetheless.

When did he become so forgiving? I wondered.  

And then I remembered something.  

That's how all this started.  In the warehouse.  Kersh.  Too 
late for Scully, this time *not* on purpose.  And making 
damned sure Mulder was all right and out of the way.  Again.

Well, now.  I hadn't realized I'd established a pattern.

Time to toss him something else to chew on.

"I brought her back, once I'd figured out where she was."

"And no one saw you.  How'd you manage that?"

It wasn't doubt I heard in his voice.  Or disbelief.  
Something harder, colder than idle curiosity, though.

"I can all but disappear in a hospital, Fox.  You wouldn't 
believe how often I frequent them."

"What, you go in as a doctor?"

"No.  Someone practically invisible, to city-dwellers.  
Someone their eyes are used to sliding right past, without 
really seeing.  It's extremely effective."

Doesn't say much for humanity, though, does it?  Of course, 
humanity wouldn't say much for me, either.

I find myself wondering if Fox knew how many times *he'd* 
walked right past me on a street corner, a subway platform, 
in a bus terminal, a parking garage.  How many times *his* 
eyes had been the ones that slid over me, unseeing.  

I've lost count.

"No one knew where she'd come from, when she was returned," 
he said softly, catching my wandering attention again.  "Or 
who'd brought her in.  No one could tell me anything."

"I'm not surprised."

"That's damned effective."

"It has its uses."

Silence, like he was gathering himself for something.  
Slight tension curling through him.  I rolled over all the 
way and saw him frowning.  And sighed, settled on my back, 
pressed up against his warmth, and waited. 

"Did you have anything to do with Melissa Scully's death?"

I should have stayed where I was.

He saw the truth in my eyes before I even opened my mouth to 
answer him.  


~~~end