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.  :)

Sixth 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 - Goodbyes  by Amirin <groh@iquest.net>  #119


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


Right before the last period, I got company.  I wondered who was
supposed to be sitting next to me.  Couldn't believe there'd be 
an empty seat, here.  Not tonight.

I think I sprained something, my head whipped around so damned 
fast at Skinner's, "Is this seat taken?"

A new pair of binoculars was hanging around his neck and he sort of
grinned when he caught my look.  

"Krycek?"

"Yeah."

"Nice."

He folded himself into the seat next to me, about as uncomfortable 
as I've ever seen him.  If it hadn't been Gretzky's last game, I 
would've offered to leave.

"How are you?"

"Better than I expected to be, Sir.  I know I haven't been 
keeping you informed..."

"Krycek's been taking care of that."

"He thinks of everything.  You should see the car he rented for 
me for the next couple of days."

"Yeah?  What?"

"Can you say 'Ferrari'?"

I found myself laughing at the look on his face and he shook his 
head in bemusement.

"Where's he got you staying?"

"The Plaza."

"Damn, Mulder."

"King-sized suite."

"Christ."

"Playboy channel."

"Enough.  Shit, enough."

"Are you the reason he made dinner reservations for two tonight?"

"Yeah.  I guess so.  I'm supposed to keep an eye on you until he 
gets back in touch."

I should have been pissed off, but some little niggling thing was
digging into my head.  Lots of niggling things, actually.  Like 
the new cell phone.  The reservations under different names.  
Using cash only.  All of it.  I hadn't even known I was hiding. 
I might have done a better job of it if I had.

"How much danger does he think I'm in?"

"I don't know, Mulder.  Enough to bring *me* into whatever game he's
playing."

"He trusts you."

"I guess so.  As far as you're concerned, anyway."

"Scares the shit out of you, doesn't it?"

"You got it."

"You've been drafted for guard duty."  I shook my head, distracted 
as all hell.  Every move, carefully scripted and directed by Alex. 
Why?

"Mulder, do you know why he's doing this?"

I was caught by surprise, totally.  The look on my face must've 
been priceless.

"Sorry, usually he's the only one who can read my mind like that. 
And I don't know why."

"He's got a reason."

"For everything."

"He didn't tell you?"

"Our conversations have been rather short.  I'd ask why, he'd ask 
if I was enjoying the ride."

"Are you?"

"Yeah.  I am.  He's been sending me all over hell and gone, but 
it's been...good."

"Do you trust him?"

I was *this* close to snapping off the usual 'fuck, no' but 
something stopped me.  And my hesitation was telling.

"Dammit, Mulder."

"I don't...know.  I mean, I shouldn't, I *know* I shouldn't.  But,
he doesn't want me dead.  He doesn't want me hurt.  He's been 
protecting me from god knows what.  Or who."

"I've been getting some odd calls."

"Oh?"

"People wondering if you took all your time off to go...umm..."

"Rogue?"

"Something like that."

"They think Scully's death pushed me over the edge, is that it? 
What the hell do they think I'm doing?"

"I don't know.  But they know about St. Louis.  They know about 
the tip."

"They don't know where it came from, though."

"No.  But they called me wondering what sent you haring off to 
Vermont in the middle of the night.  And what I knew about it."

"And you were able to answer honestly that I hadn't been in touch 
with you at all."

"You got it."

"Christ, he's a genius.  What the hell's in Vermont?"

"He just said that there were locations that would be of interest 
to a man of your...interests."

"Almost enough to make me want to go back there."

"Don't you even..."

He trailed off when he realized I was kidding and snorted.

"Fine.  Whatever.  Do you know where he'll be sending you, next?"

"No idea."

"But you'll go when he tells you to."

I couldn't for the life of me figure out the tone of his voice at 
that comment.  It wasn't challenging, wasn't angry.  Resigned?  
Maybe.

"Probably, yeah."

"He said he tried to save Scully; he just got there too late."

"Could we not talk about that?  Please?"

Whatever he heard in my voice got him to back off.  Thankfully. 
He sighed and took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Sure, Mulder."

Somehow, while we were talking, the Rangers lost.  The feeling in 
the place changed drastically.  Flashbulbs were going off 
everywhere, Gretzky was waving to the crowd.  I watched distantly 
as pictures were taken and he left.  And then he came back and 
they dimmed the lights.

Gretzky's last skate around the ice was devastating.  I'd been 
watching this guy play hockey since high school.  Followed his 
career from Oxford.  Watched a countless number of games on tiny 
tv sets in dingy hotel rooms, all over the country.  A lot of 
them with Scully.  She liked the Canadian teams.  It was kind of 
like taking home with us, wherever we went.  A constant.

Some things just shouldn't ever have to end, you know?

I started the thought that Scully and I would never again watch 
Gretzky skate or argue US versus Canadian over Chinese take-out.  

And then I remembered.  

And he was moving slowly on the ice, saying goodbye.  And thank 
you.  And he looked right at me, I swear he did.  And there were 
tears in his eyes.  And on his face.  

And I thought that if he could cry at a final goodbye...

Damn it.

I knew Skinner was watching, but I couldn't help it.  There weren't
many dry eyes anywhere in the house.  But no one else was crying 
for the same reason I was.

"This is goodbye."

"I know.  It's okay to cry when the great ones leave, Mulder.  
It's okay."


*****************end