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.  :)

Thirteenth 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.

More to come...

Weft - Sleeping by Amirin <groh@iquest.net>  #140


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


Alex melted into the seat with a sigh as I turned the 
corner and headed down the street.  His eyes closed, 
opened again, then slid shut and stayed that way.  I 
rested my hand briefly on his knee until I needed it back 
to shift gears and he smiled slightly in my general 
direction and melted a little more.

That was fifteen minutes ago and he hasn't stirred since.

At the moment, I think he's asleep.  

Maybe.

Or maybe he's just trying to avoid talking to me.  Either 
way, he's got a right.  Getting shot can take a lot out of 
a guy.  Talking can take even more.

Asleep or not, I'm flattered.  Flattered that he can lower 
his guard enough to shut his eyes in my presence, let alone 
sleep.  Assuming that he is, of course. 

I seriously doubt Alex thinks he has anything to worry 
about.  He's probably armed to the teeth and I look him 
over, trying to decide where he's stashed the weapons he's 
got to be carrying.  He'd either be an idiot or dead if he 
didn't have a small arsenal on him and Alex Krycek is
neither, believe me.

The injured leg is stretched out in front of him as far as 
it can be, which isn't all that far in the Auburn, but I 
suppose he's comfortable enough.  Or just so used to being 
*un*comfortable that he's actually comfortable...

Whatever.  

Christ, I need some sleep.

His exhaustion is contagious and I can feel it seeping into 
every pore, glazing my eyes over, making them gritty and achy.  

He's still mostly facing me and the streetlights are turning 
him the most bizarre colors.  Pale orange.  Bluish white.  
Yellow.  No reflection off the earring, though; he isn't 
wearing it.  Makes sense.  If he'd been doing anything that
required the cover of darkness, he wouldn't have wanted
the golden flash to give him away.

I notice he hasn't shaved for at least a couple of days, 
probably since I saw him last.  So, even asleep, he looks 
damned dangerous.  Maybe it's all the leather, leather, 
leather.  Jacket, gloves, boots.  Jesus, how many cows have 
died to keep this man in leather?  Maybe *that* explains all
the exsanguinations on cattle.  ET's got a fetish.

Shit, I'm tired.

We're almost at the hotel.  Thank god.  I'm in no shape to 
drive much farther.

Chae is a fascinating man.  One who has a room available for
his childhood best friend, who keeps first aid supplies on 
hand, who stocks painkillers galore, all for Alex.  I wonder
how many injuries he's patched up, over the years?  It 
staggers the imagination, it really does.

And how did Alex get this one?  How the hell did he get 
*shot*?

Dammit. 

I'm practically on *vacation*, for Christ's sake, courtesy of
the Alex Krycek Travel Agency, and he's out there getting 
himself *shot*, this is nuts, totally...

"You're thinking," he mumbles quietly, distracting me.  
"You're not supposed to do that."

"Still?"

He chuckles roughly and the eyes struggle to open.  It takes 
him a few tries, but he makes it.  Stubborn asshole.

"Fuck, I'm crashing.  We're talking Roswell, here, Fox."

Him and me, both.  The adrenaline is wearing off, the earlier
surge of fear ebbing...  Never thought I'd see the day that 
any fear I had *of* him, would transmute into fear *for* him.
Do I tell him?  Maybe later, if I think he needs a good laugh.

"We're almost there."

"There?"

"The hotel.  I got a king-sized room out of habit."

"Nice habit to have."

"It's all your fault.  Unfortunately, they don't have room 
service."

"Poor Fox.  Blows real hard to be you, my friend.  Absolutely
blows."

Another chuckle and I'm feeling warped enough to join him as
I turn into the lot and park as close to the door near my 
room as I can.  The place is shaped like an 'H', with all 
the rooms interior.  Six ways in and the room key opens 
every exit door.  Convenient.

I get out of the car and find myself leaning on the hood as 
I come around to get Alex.  He has the door open and the bag
of supplies in his hand, but that's as far as he's gotten.

I stoop a bit and my arm fits perfectly under his shoulder, 
so he can use me as a crutch.  I have to support most of his 
weight until he gets his legs under him.  We make our way 
carefully through the door, down the hall, and into the room,
my steps matching his as slowly as he needs to take them.

I unlock the door and he hits the light out with the bag, 
which gets tossed onto the dresser to our right.  The key 
joins it and we both stagger to the bed on our left with 
identical groans.

"Christ, we're pathetic," he observes.  

It's an observation I can live without.

"Speak for yourself," I grumble, but shove the covers aside 
and ease him down gently.  A yawn damned near cracks my 
skull in two as I kneel to get his boots off while he 
fights his way out of the jacket in the not-quite-darkness.
The light coming in from the parking lot through the drapes
behind him is more than enough to see by, but I don't need 
light to hear the tell-tale, and expected, thumps of 
whatever he's packing hitting the floor when the jacket does.

I make my way carefully around furniture to the bathroom, 
get him some water, grab the bag of supplies, and dig around
for the bottles of prescription drugs.

"One of each," he informs me around a wide yawn and I nod, 
popping open the pain-killer and antibiotics with my thumb 
and noting absently that Chae was thoughtful enough to give 
him bottles he can open one-handed.

He takes the pills, then the water, drains the glass, and 
murmurs a soft 'thanks' at me before settling down into the 
bed.  I run a hand through his hair and make a mental note 
to let him shower first in the morning.  He tries to peel 
his eyes open enough to look up at me but he's not entirely
successful.

"I really don't want to sleep in the sweats," he complains 
softly and uses the heel of his hand to try and clear his 
eyes.  Yeah, I know how well that works.  Like not at all.  

I kick my shoes under the bed, not even bothering with the 
laces, and reach down to help him get his pants off.  

Believe me when I tell you that I'm perfectly aware of what 
that sounds like.

Really.

But we're both too dead for it to be anything more than what
it is.  A prelude to sleep.  That's it.  Nothing more.

Oh, hell, who am I trying to kid?

He arches up just enough to help me and crashes back into 
the clean, cool sheets with a sigh damned close to ecstatic 
as I strip the sweats down and off his legs.  His arm crawls 
over his head to tug the turtleneck off his body, down the 
arm, and onto the floor.  A few tugs and curses, the sound
of velcro letting go and snaps unsnapping, and the prosthesis
joins the shirt with a muted thud.  And now he's naked 
except for the black briefs and the bandage around his thigh.

I crawl over him to get to my side of the bed.

And enjoy the trip far more than I should.

I wriggle out of as much of my clothing as I can be bothered 
with and flip the sheets over us, leaving the blankets by our
feet.  I don't need a lot of covers; I just get tangled up 
in them when I start dreaming. 

So, here we are.  Stripped down to our underwear, in the same
bed, together.  And if he pulls a gun from somewhere, I'll 
probably *ask* him to shoot me, just so I can get some 
damned sleep.

He doesn't say anything, just turns his head toward me and 
fights another battle to open his eyes.  I admire his 
willpower, but don't want him to waste the energy, so I 
cover them with my hand.  He stills, but doesn't freeze up 
on me or flinch at my touch.  I'm awake enough for that to
make me absurdly happy.  

"Sleep," I murmur and move my hand, only to have his reach 
out and take it.

"Try and stop me," he mumbles.

"I value my life."

"Smart man."

He doesn't let go of me.  I'm on my side, facing him, he's 
leaning towards me...loosely holding my hand against his chest.

Weird.  But not.

"No cuffs?" he asks quietly, an unseen grin coloring his 
voice.

"Maybe some other time," I answer dryly.

"And I was so looking forward to it."

"Get used to disappointment, Alex."

He pries his eyes open just enough to meet mine.

"You could never be a disappointment, Fox," he mutters then 
lets them slide shut again.

"Don't go wandering off.  Please."

He rolls over just a little more, toward me, not away from me.

"I'll be here," he sighs into a yawn.

"You'd better be.  'Night, Alex."

"Yeah," he breathes and all is quiet.


~~~end