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 will eventually involve 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. :) Third in the Tapestry Series. You might want to read the others first, just so we're all on the same page, here. 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. More to come... Weft - Sunrise by Amirin #116 *********************** The bust went down perfectly. I got in touch with the St. Louis FBI and told them it had been a tip from an anonymous source, then basically backed off and let them handle it. They were nice enough to let me go along. Even partnered me with a couple of good agents. Knew their shit and kept their opinions about my rep to themselves. I'd missed the adrenaline rush. I didn't realize how much. It felt good. Alive. Which, I'm guessing, was the point. I really didn't think I needed to be there. But the local office had all but insisted I be part of the operation because Skinner had called them and all but insisted I be part of the operation because Krycek had called *him* and all but insisted I be part of the operation. Did I mention that Skinner is once again my boss? Not that I mind, or anything. I always knew where I stood, with him. Most of the time. Now, more so than ever. Apparently he and Krycek are both in on this, whatever 'this' is. Krycek's still obviously well-connected. And the guy's got enough dirt on enough people in the Hoover to bury it up to the sixth floor. I don't know what the hell's going on. I wish I knew what else Krycek told Skinner. I wish I knew what he said to make Skinner believe him when he told him I had to be in the middle of the wrap-up. I wish I knew how to get a hold of Krycek to...thank him? Shit. Another x-file. I wish Scully had been there, to see me play nice with the local talent. She'd have been so pleased. Might even have taken me for a heart attack on a blue plate special afterward. I miss her. So much. I kept looking for her all through the bust. Kept making notes of things to tell her. Still, though, I feel... not quite as god-awful. I guess it's an improvement. I got back to the hotel late after the paperwork was done and the ends, tied up. Eleven, I think. Near there. Crashed almost immediately. Didn't wake up til room service knocked on the door with a breakfast I didn't order. Courtesy of Krycek. Including the morning paper. With the story about the bust highlighted in dayglow green. The 'timely involvement of D.C. agent Fox Mulder was crucial to the success of the operation' part made me grin. Think I'll save it for my scrapbook. I spent the rest of the day playing tourist til it was time for the game. It felt almost normal. I can't remember the last time anything felt almost normal. I kept expecting to see Krycek or feel someone watching me, catch a tail in the rearview. Something. Never happened. So be it. Drove straight to the hotel when the game was over. Traffic wasn't horrendous. At least, compared to D.C. Had a late dinner, to top off the hotdogs. And noticed Krycek's jacket was gone. How he got in here, I don't have a fucking clue. He left a note on the hanger, telling me to stay put until he called. Pissed me off, just a little, but I figured I didn't have anything better to do and things had gone pretty well for me so far. And when was the last time I got to stay in the Hilton, for Christ's sake? I went to bed, looking forward to sleeping in. Shoulda known, really. The cell rang at two in the fucking morning. "Mulder." "Okay, now I woke you." "Congratulations. You're too fucking awake for this time of the morning." "Grouchy, grouchy. And it's not that time of the morning where I am. How was the game?" "You didn't hear? Cards lost." "Ah, but it isn't whether you win or lose..." "If the next words out of your mouth are 'it's how you play the game', I'm hanging up." "Busted. Speaking of, that went down well." "And the paper even spelled my name right." "Will wonders never cease." "Now what?" "What makes you think there *is* a 'what'?" "I'm psychic that way." "You're hilarious. How do you feel about Maine?" "I'm going to Maine?" "Yup." "When does my flight leave?" "One hour. But, you're landing in Vermont. Rental car will be waiting. Time is of the essence." "When do I have to get there?" "At 6:27 AM." "That's pretty damned precise." "This is a precision operation. Directions will be waiting for you at the rental office. Car's reserved under Holmes." "Please, not Sherlock." "Oliver, actually." "Anything else, Stanley?" "Your plane ticket is downstairs at the front desk and the limo's parked outside. Leave your rental keys with the driver." "Jesus, you're organized." "One of my many talents. And you're going to miss your flight if you don't get your ass in gear." "All right, shit. I'm on my way." Packing didn't take long. Neither did dressing and getting down to the limo, ticket in hand. At two-sixteen in the morning. I was insane. And spent another flight wondering why I was jumping through all these fucking hoops on Krycek's say-so. 'Because you're enjoying it, you moron' seemed to be the answer. *An* answer. Whatever. It beat eighteen weeks of bedsores. There was another cell phone in the small box with the instructions. Following his advice, I pitched the old one out the car window before I left the state. Any calls I got from here on out would be from him. I thought I could deal with it; no problem. But, I had to stop myself from entering Scully's number as speed dial one. The drive from Vermont to Maine was dead quiet. Krycek's directions were exact to the tenths of miles, for crying out loud. I guess attention to detail is imperative in his line of work. His line of work? Listen to me. Like I'm talking about a man who sells insurance for a living. Shit... I quit the internal bitchfest when I pulled up to the lighthouse. From there it was on foot, less than three miles down the beach and I had about a half an hour to get there to see whatever or whomever I was supposed to see. That must have been why Krycek also included the Nikes in the box that had the directions in it. Jesus. I warmed up fast and got moving, bringing along the cell and my gun. The adrenaline was kicking in again. And when the runner's high got added to the mix, I was feeling pretty damned good. For the first time in too fucking long. I made a mental note to start jogging again when I got home. I needed this. I made it to the rendezvous point with minutes to spare and walked around, cooling off, keeping an eye out for...whatever. The beach was deserted, which I guess made it ideal for...whatever. Moments passed and I started getting a little antsy. I hate waiting for anything, not being the most patient person in the world. About the time I started pacing, my cell rang. How did I know? "Mulder." "You made it." "Is that a question or a statement?" "A hope." "I made it." "Good." "Why am I here?" "What do you see?" "Not a damned thing." "Wrong answer, try again." "Krycek, there's nothing here." "You're standing in an empty void?" "Why the fuck am I here, dammit?" "What do you *see*?" "Sand! All right? I see sand." "And? What else?" "Rocks. And water." "Colors, Mulder. What colors do you see?" "The water's grey. The sand's...lighter grey. The rocks are darker grey. Lots of grey, Alex. Lots and lots of grey." "Big surprise, the world's not black and white, after all. Look up, Fox." "Don't call me Fox. And what am I looking for? A ship?" "You called me Alex; I get to call you Fox. What do you see?" "Nothing much, really. It's too light to see stars, except for a couple of planets on the horizon. Which is getting lighter. And I did not call you Alex." "Yes, you did. Lighter what?" "No, I didn't. Lighter blue. Mostly. Some purple." "Yes, you did. Sounds nice." "Fine, whatever. It is nice. Why am I here?" "You're looking at it." "*What*? You've got to be *kidding* me. You woke me up at two in the morning, bought me a plane ticket, rented a car for me, just to get my ass to Maine in time to watch the fucking sun rise over the Atlantic?" "You forgot the Nikes." "And the Nikes." "Do you like them?" "Krycek..." "Oh, back to Krycek, again. What's the matter? Don't they fit?" "Asshole, they fit fine. Shit, all this for a *sunrise*?" "Look at that sunrise, Fox." "Don't call me Fox. And I am looking at it." "I like calling you Fox. And wasn't it worth it?" "To have you call me Fox? No!" "The sunrise, asshole. The plane ticket, the car, the Nikes. Look at that sunrise and tell me it wasn't worth it. When's the last time you watched the sun come up on a clean, perfectly empty, gorgeous stretch of beach?" "I...can't remember." "Then it's been too fucking long." "Okay." "Okay?" "Yeah, okay. All right, already. It's worth it." "Hallelujah, he has seen the light." "The sun's not up yet, Alex." "Smartass. But it's getting there, isn't it?" "Yeah. It's getting there. Damn. It's beautiful. Really, really beautiful." "Good. I'm glad. Makes me wish I was there." "Where the hell are you, anyway?" "Somewhere else." "Shit, I knew you were going to say that." "I'm predictable, already? Oh, the romance is gone." "That's it. I'm hanging up." "Don't. Please." "What?" "See it for me." "What?" "The sunrise. See it for me. Out loud." "When's the last time *you* saw the sun rise, Alex?" "Too long, Fox. Way too fucking long." "Fine. Whatever. You comfortable?" "Yeah. Go for it." "This could take a while." "I've got the time. And so do you..." *********************end