Mrs. Krycek
âMrs. Krycek?â
The man at the door is so big I swear he blocks out all the sunlight. I look up at him, and he flashes me his ID. My heart flips as I read the words on it â FBI. What can the FBI want with me? His gaze sweeps over my disheveled hair and dirty face, and his eyes widen in surprise as he takes in the swell of my pregnant belly. Numb with shock, I open the door, and he steps inside. Itâs only then that I see he has company. Another man follows him into our little house. Heâs almost as tall as the first. Maybe thereâs some kind of height requirement to get into the FBI? I donât know. Iâm not very good with these things. Alex laughs when I say something dumb but I think he likes it too because his green eyes look at me so kindly, and he tells me Iâm a princess. His princess. Nobody ever treated me like a princess before. Not me with my raggedy hair and clumsy feet. He acts as if he never sees the old needle marks up and down my arms, and the scars running over my scalp like fault-lines, and heâs never freaked out by my fugue states. Crazy Annie he calls me when I start babbling my nonsense about aliens and UFOs and experiments and the like. He just holds me against his big strong chest until it all calms down inside my head. I asked him once who this Annie was, the crazy one he talked about, and he laughed and told me it was a phrase, like Hopalong Cassidy, or Buffalo Bill. It didnât mean anything.
The second man, the one following the bald man â he worries me. His name stays with me, in a way that the first manâs doesnât. I feel a chill creep up my spine as he tells me that name. Mulder. Fox Mulder. I donât like the way heâs looking at me. I donât like anything about him. He scares me. Itâs as ifâŚIâm not sure what it is, but thereâs something about him, something that makes me want to fugue just looking at him.
I gather my wits together, stop staring at Fox Mulder, and show both men into my living room. I gesture to them to sit down, and ask them if they want anything to drink or eat. Alex says this is how polite folks behave but I wouldnât know. I just know that if Iâd journeyed this far up the mountain on a hot afternoon to reach this tumbledown old shack, then Iâd want something to ease my dry throat a little.
The big man with the shiny bald head looks all grim-faced and scary but he has kind eyes â like Alex. Heâs looking at me half as if he thinks Iâm a ghost and half as if he wishes I was so Iâd disappear. I donât understand and Iâm feeling a bit frightened now. Iâm not used to visitors. Alex tells me I should get out more, but the truth is that I never could get the hang of people. What would happen if I fugued around them? They might call for the doctors and then Iâd end up in one of those places. Insane asylums Alex calls them. I donât want to go back to one of them. So, I keep myself to myself. There are neighbors nearby, and theyâre kind to me â I think Alex asks them to drop by and keep an eye on me when heâs away working. I donât know why he does that but itâs one of the reasons why I love him so much. Itâs the little kindnesses, the thoughtful touches. Heâs so good to me. He worries Iâll fugue when he isnât around to take care of me, and sometimes I do, but I never tell him that or heâd worry even more. I know heâd like nothing better than to sit around here with me, but his work is vital â heâs a very important man, very good at what he does, although he never tells me exactly what that is. I think thatâs because he knows Iâd worry if he told me. Maybe itâs something dangerous, like being a fireman, or an undercover policeman. Whatever it is he doesnât have to wear a suit and tie like these two men sitting so stiffly on my couch right now. I wonder what Alex would look like in a suit and tie? I think heâd look just fine â heâs as tall as these two men, slim, with dark hair that I cut for him myself, and the greenest eyes you ever did see. I love his eyes â they tell me everything I need to know about how heâs feeling, whether heâs hurting inside, or in a loving mood, or laughing at me. We laugh a lot. I never met anyone who tried so hard to make me laugh before. When heâs not here and I fugue, I haul myself off down to the barn, and lie down with the dogs and horses and chickens, and that calms me. Not as much as his strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close to his chest, holding me tight, but nearly. I love animals â I feel more comfortable with them than I do with people. Well, with all people except Alex anyhow.
The big man with the kind brown eyes is still gazing at me intently and I realize Iâm staring off into space. Damn â I mustnât fugue while theyâre here. The FBI would send me to an insane asylum for sure, and Alex might not know where to find me â at first. Heâd track me down eventually. Heâs good at tracking things down. He tracked me down after all.
âSorry, did I offer you coffee and cookies?â I ask the bald man. âI forget things sometimes.â
Fox Mulderâs gaze is sharper, and his hazel eyes arenât so much kind as curious. He doesnât know what to make of me with my forgetful ways, dirty face, and wild, unkempt hair. Well, most folk donât â and I donât always look like this but Iâve been out helping my mare foal all night and thereâs bits of straw in my hair and blood and dirt streaking my hands and face so I know I donât exactly look my best. I scrub up all right â or at least Alex says I do. Oftentimes heâll creep into the bathroom while Iâm sitting in the tub, singing to myself, and heâll kiss the back of my neck and make me holler and squeal because Iâm ticklish all over. One of the things he loves is washing my long dark hair. I donât know why, but he can spend half an hour or more lathering shampoo into my scalp, and pouring water over my head, and heâs so gentle. Heâs a very gentle man. The gentlest Iâve ever known. I shudder because thatâs not a good thought. Iâve known some bad men in my time.
âThanks for the offer, Mrs. Krycek, but no,â the big man says. I search for his name. He did tell me, when he flashed his ID, but as I said, Iâm not very good with remembering things, especially names. âThis isnât a social call,â he adds, in a gentle tone. My heart seizes up then.
âOh my. Itâs not about Alex is it?â My hand rises to my throat and I can feel my world spinning around me. âHeâs okay isnât he?â
The two men exchange glances, sort of puzzled and concerned at one and the same time.
âWe didnât even know he was married,â Fox Mulder says. âWe want to make sure we have the right house. The right Mrs. Krycek. We wouldnât want to upset you unduly, Maâam.â
âUpset me? Why? Whatâs wrong?â I stand up. I can feel myself swaying back and forth, and I know a fugue will come on if I let it. I canât. Not now. Not with these stern-faced men in their stiff suits watching me. What do they know of my world or I of theirs? Theyâre from a place where they sit in little rooms all day wearing those clothes, waving those little plastic ID wallets around, carrying their guns, shooting at folk. I live out here in the wild, with just my dogs and horses for company when Alex isnât home. I donât understand their world and I donât want to. Bad enough that Alex has to venture out in it so often â but I never do. Thatâs why we live up here. It suits us well enough. Sometimes I worry that Alex would prefer to live in a regular house in a regular neighborhood, but he just laughs when I mention it.
âHell, Iâve rested my boots in places far more out of the way than this before. I like it here. Itâs home. Youâre here.â He says that every time. Home. Youâre hereâŚI like being his home. I like being what he comes back to.
âDo you have a picture of your husband, Maâam?â the bald man asks in that same soft, gentle tone, jolting me out of my reverie.
A picture? What do they want with a picture? I run to the dresser and dig around in the mess inside, searching for the one picture I have of Alex. Iâm not a very tidy person, but he never seems to notice or care. Heâs tidy though. Fastidious. Everything in its place, all his clothing neatly pressed, and hung in the closet. Sometimes I wonder how he can live with someone as scatter-brained as me â I leave my clothes all over the place because I forget. I honest to god forget where Iâve left things the whole time. I start doing one thing, turn around, and find myself doing something else. Thatâs the way I am and Alex doesnât mind. He says itâs part of why he fell in love with me, but sometimes, after Iâve fugued and heâs running his hand through my hair to soothe me the way he does, I think itâs more than that. He always strokes my hair when Iâm fuguing, and it helps a little. He traces the hard ridges of the scars on my scalp, and he always looks so sad when he does that. He says that if he could have gotten me out earlier then he would, and I believe him. Heâs never lied to me.
I have one picture of him. Alex doesnât like me keeping pictures â I donât know why but I have just this one which I keep hidden from him. If he knew heâd be angry with me, but his anger doesnât last for long. It just flashes around in his green eyes and he takes himself off for an hour or two, and when he comes back heâs my kind, gentle Alex again. Heâs never hit me, or hurt me in any way. I donât think he knows how. Heâd die rather than harm me. Itâs not in his nature. Heâs good with the animals too. He has that kind of personality. Heâll sit up with me all night if one of the dogs is whelping. I couldnât love a man who didnât love my menagerie but he does. The dogs adore him, especially Kai â heâs Alexâs special dog. Heâs a big, black, curly-coated retriever. Alex bought him for me the day after we got married, 4 months ago, but it was Alex Kai fell in love with, not me. Iâm just the stand-in who feeds and cares for him until his Master gets home. You see, Kai was a rescue dog. 5 years old, heâd been badly treated by his former owners, but he seemed to know instinctively that Alex wouldnât hurt him. They got along right from the start and they look so good together. You should see them out walking on the mountain, Kai trotting beside Alex. They look like they belong with each other. Kai acts so lost when Alex isnât around â last Thursday, he stood out on the mountain and howled at the moon for hours just before dawn and nothing I could do or say would shut him up. I think he was just missing Alex.
What am I doing? I come back to myself to find that Iâm kneeling in front of the dresser.
âYou were looking for a picture for us, Mrs. Krycek,â the bald man prompts.
âYes. A photo. Thatâs right.â I nod, trying to act as if I hadnât just gone off on one of my âmoments,â as Alex calls them.
I have the picture hidden inside an old pitcher. Thatâs how I remember its hiding place. Pitcher â picture. You see? Thatâs what Alex calls my âCrazy Annieâ logic, but I think it makes sense. I pull out the photograph, and itâs a bit bent around the edges, because often Iâll get it out and look at it and curl it up in my hand when heâs away. I get lonely when he isnât here and he comes and goes so often. I didnât take the photo â our neighbor, Emily, did. Alex didnât even know she had a camera until it was too late. She snuck up on us when we were sitting on our porch, talking one evening, just after the sun went down. Thatâs what I like about the picture â it shows him just as he was at that moment in time. Heâs looking at me, and his expression is so loving. His green eyes are shining and heâs smiling. Heâs brushing some of my long strands of hair away from my face with his tender fingers, and his other arm, the artificial one, is resting lightly on my shoulders. I never mind about that old arm. Itâs part of Alex, the way all my scars and the needle marks on my arms are me. We donât care much about that stuff â heâs the most handsome man Iâve ever known, so drop dead gorgeous that it takes my breath away each time I look at him, and he says Iâm his beautiful princess, which makes me feel so good because I know that to his eyes I am, despite all the scars. Truth be told Iâm not ugly â my hair is thick and wavy, and my eyes are large, and brown, but I donât think Iâm as beautiful as he is. Strange to call a man beautiful, but it suits Alex. Not that thereâs anything about him that isnât 100% masculine, as I can testify! From his hard body, to the rough stubble on his face when he canât be bothered to shave, but itâs just he has the longest eyelashes and the most intensely colored eyes Iâve ever seen. He isbeautiful, with a rough, manly kind of beauty. Iâm gazing back at him in the photograph like a love-struck teenager, and we look so happy. Thatâs why I treasure this photo so much. The flash going off distracted us a few seconds later, and Alex freaked out. Of course Emily had only just been given the camera that day as a birthday present, and she was taking pictures of everything that moved. Later on, the camera disappeared, and nobody ever knew what happened to it. Alex said it was for the best â he hates having his picture taken and he hates folks creeping up on him. I know he always carries a gun, even when weâre alone, and a split second after Emily took that photo he had it in his hand and I swear his finger was tight on the trigger ready â Iâve never seen anyone draw a gun so fast. It took me a couple of hours to calm Emily down in the kitchen and she was always scared of Alex after that, no matter how often I told her that he wouldnât hurt a fly.
I steal a glance at Fox Mulder to find that heâs looking at me, with that intense, hazel-eyed gaze. I look away quickly, flushing, wondering if he noticed I was staring at him, and hand the photograph over to the other one. He takes it with a nod, and they look at it together. I think itâs bad news, judging by the little glances they give each other.
âWell, I think that answers your question, Mulder,â the bald man says.
âYes. Strange to think of Alex Krycek being married.â He gives a wry shake of his head.
âStranger still to see him looking like this,â the bald man replies, still frowning as he looks at the photo. He gazes at me for a moment, his expression sad and thoughtful, and then he hands back the picture.
âIs Alex okay? Tell me heâs okay,â I plead.
His brown eyes grow dark, and solemn. âMrs. Krycek, Iâm sorry. Iâm afraid I have some bad news,â he says softly. I know what that means before they say it. I can feel my legs giving way beneath me, and the bald man catches me just as I fall. He swings me up and places me on the couch. The other one disappears and returns with a glass of water, which he hands to me.
âHeâs gone isnât he?â I whisper, still clinging on to the big manâs shoulder.
âYes. Iâm afraid so. He died a few days ago,â he replies.
âHow? Where? How did it happen? Was he working for you? Was that it?â I ask. âI always thought that maybe he worked for the government â secret work, spying, not regular work. He used to tell me not to worry but I did anyway. I knew it had to be dangerous.â
I can imagine Alex, my Alex, dying for his country, giving up his life nobly, and selflessly. Thatâs just the kind of man hewas. Oh, I know he had his dark side, his brooding side, when he would disappear out onto the mountain for hours on end, needing to be alone with his thoughts, but that was just Alex. I can understand and respect that. I love the mountain too â itâs a wonderful place to find peace, and respite from the turbulence of your own emotions. And Alex did have a passionate soul. He felt deeply about things â and I speak from experience having been the focus of those intense emotions. He poured every part of himself into whatever he felt strongly about, whether it was loving me, or his work.
âAlex Krycek wasnât working for us,â Fox Mulder says, sitting down opposite me, and leaning forward, gazing at me intently. âTo be honest weâre not sure who he worked for, Mrs. Krycek.â
âHow did he die?â I close my eyes, trying not to imagine my beautiful man, dying slowly, in pain, without me by his side. âDid he suffer at all?â
The bald man eases himself away from me, but not before I catch the look in his eyes. Iâm not sure I can explain that look but itâs haunted. He looks as if heâs about to say something, then stops, exhales deeply, and turns to the younger man for help.
âNo, Mrs. Krycek,â Fox Mulder tells me, taking over. âHe didnât suffer. It was very quick. He was shot.â
Somehow Iâm not surprised. I suppose I always knew that someone like Alex, who was so careful to always have a gun by the bed, and a knife strapped to his body somewhere, had to have enemies out there. All the same, knowing thatâs how he died doesnât help. I close my eyes to stop the tears from spilling. I donât want to cry in front of these men, who have taken away my entire world. I donât like the way theyâre talking, so stiff and formal, and yet also guarded, as if Alex was someone bad â a criminal, or a murderer. As if he deserved to die. Thereâs a sound at the door, and then Kai pokes his head around it, and bounds into the room. He stops, sniffs the two strangers suspiciously, and then looks at me, a question in his intelligent brown eyes.
âItâs okay, Kai. Theyâre not here to hurt us. They just came toâŚâ I pull him close, and bury my face in his dark fur. I wonder if he knows? Sometimes dogs sense things that we canâtâŚWhen did Alex die? They said it was a few days ago⌠âWas it last Thursday?â I ask them. âJust before dawn? Was that when Alex was killed?â
The two men exchange startled glances.
âYes,â Fox Mulder says. âDo you know something about your husbandâs work, and what he was doing that night, Mrs. Krycek?â His tone has changed. Heâs interrogatory. He thinks that just because I know the time Alex died that somehow I have information? Me? Itâs absurd. I canât remember my own name half the time.
âNoâŚitâs just thatâs when Kai started howling. He must have known. He was Alexâs dog.â
âAlex Krycek had a dog?â Fox Mulder sounds almost amused.
âWell, technically speaking he got the dog for me, as a wedding gift, but Kai was always closest to Alex,â I tell him. He seems torn between confusion and amusement.
âSorry, Maâam,â he murmurs, seeing my obvious distress. âItâs justâŚwhat we knew about Alex Krycek didnât lead me to believe that he led any kind of regular life. To find that he had a wife, a dogâŚit doesnât fit with what I know of the man.â
âWell then you didnât know him very well,â I reply sharply.
âNo.â He inclines his head. âMaybe I didnât,â he comments.
âIf you did youâd know he was a good man. A kind man. A gentle man â in all senses of the word. I know he would have died for something he believed in.â
âIt would seem that the Alex Krycek you knew and the one I knew are two very different people,â Fox Mulder snaps. âBecause the man I knew was a liar, a killer, and a traitor. He never acted for any other reason than to save his own ass.â I donât think he meant to say that, or to hurt me with his words, because he looks sorry as soon as they leave his mouth, but the truth is he meant them â even if he knows how inappropriate it was to say them to me.
âMulder,â the bald man murmurs, in a warning tone.
âYouâre wrong.â I get to my feet, slowly. I feel as if all the blood has drained from my body and I can barely stand. I sway, and the bald man reaches out a hand to me but I brush it aside, trying to muster as much dignity as I can. âYouâre wrong about Alex. He was a good man. When my father died, he took care of me when nobody else would. He didnât have to do that. He didnât have to buy me the horses and the dogs. He didnât have to let me stay here, where Iâm happy. He could have left me in that place where he found me.â
âAnd where was that, Maâam?â Mulder leans forward again. He has the most vivid hazel eyes. They seem to sparkle when heâs curious, and become so intense. Iâm not sure I like that gaze. It scares me. Itâs making me rememberâŚand I feel a fugue coming on as a result.
âLeaveâŚplease leaveâŚâ I implore them.
âMrs. KrycekâŚwe have a few more questions to askâŚThere was a letter in KryâŚin Alexâs pocket,â the older man says. âIt was addressed to Mulder. It directed us to this house, and told us to ask for Mrs. Krycek.â
âThatâs me. We were married 4 months ago. Just after I found out about the baby. Alex saidâŚAlex said he wanted the child to bear his name.â I donât think I can stand it any more. I donât think I can stand here and think about a future without Alex. Who will take care of me now? Who will help me with the baby? Alex meant nothing to these people. They donât know him, or like him. Theyâre just here to ask their questions, and then theyâll walk out of my life and leave me with nothing but my grief.
âMaâam?â The bald man is looking at me with a concerned expression on his face. His eyes flicker back and forth, between my face and my protruding belly. âI think you should sit down, Mrs. Krycek.â
Fox Mulder says nothing, but his eyes are haunting me, burning meâŚmaking me go somewhere I donât want to go â and then itâs too late. The fugue is coming â I know I wonât be able to stop it. I spin around, blindly, needing to get out to the barn, to be safe, and warm, with my animals who understand. Kai is already on his feet, nudging me with his nose. He knows whatâs about to happen.
When it comes itâs like an earthquake moving up my spine to my brain. I dozen little ripples give way to one almighty spasm, and then Iâm gone, lost in the past, in my own memories. On this occasion, perhaps unsurprisingly, I find myself reliving the last time someone came to bring me news of a death in the family.
I was crouching in the corner of a room, shivering. I heard the door open, and then two shiny black shoes appeared in front of me. Menâs shoes. That could only meanâŚ
âDaddy?â I looked up, but instead of gazing into my fatherâs familiar, craggy features, I found myself staring into a pair of angry green eyes instead.
âWhat the hell is she doing here, crouching in her own filth like this?â
The man looked back at the nurse. I knew his nameâŚIâd seen him before with my fatherâŚAlexâŚthatâs it. His name was Alex. The nurse shrugged, defensively.
âWe didnât know you were coming. Her father always calls beforehand, gives us a chance to get her ready.â
âWell maybe he shouldnât have done that â maybe he should have dropped in unannounced to find out how you really treat her,â Alex snapped.
âSheâs her own worst enemy. She tries to get out, to escape. We locked her in here for her own protection,â the nurse said, bristling at his criticism.
âI just wanted to feel the sunlight on my skin,â I whispered. âThey donât like me to go outside.â
âItâs all right. Iâm taking you away from these bitches,â he snarled. âClean her up, pack her things, and bring her outside.â
âYou canât do this!â the nurse gasped in dismay.
âCanât I?â He gave her a grim, utterly evil smile and she shrank back against the wall. âStand in my way and Iâll kill you,â he told her, and she and I were both in no doubt at all that he would.
âWhat about her father? He hasnât given authorizationâŚâ She began.
âNo. I know. And he wonât. You wonât be seeing him again. Iâm paying you off. This operation is being shut down.â
He crouched down in front of me, reached out a hand to me, as if I were a cat or a dog, and I found myself sniffing it curiously. He just waited there, rocking on his haunches, without saying a word, waiting for me to relax and get used to him. It was the best thing he could have done. I studied him intently, and found his green eyes curious, and, when he was looking at me at least, without malice. In fact they were full of pity. I gazed at him for a long time, and then, finally, as he remained unmoving under my scrutiny, I offered him a tentative smile. He returned it with one of his own, and thatâs the moment I fell in love with him. It was as if the sun had come out on my world. He was so beautiful when he smiled, his teeth so straight and white. His head was on one side, and his gaze was fixed on me as if I was the only person in the world who existed at this moment in time.
âCome on, sweetheart,â he murmured gently. âIâm not going to hurt you.â
I reached out, cautiously, and touched his fingers, then took his whole hand and he smiled all the time, encouraging me.
âWhereâs my father?â I asked him. âHeâs the only one who visits me usually.â His smile faltered and I cowered away from him, scared by the sudden change in his appearance.
âHushâŚitâs all right, little bird.â I donât know why he called me that, but itâs how I felt. Like a little bird, frail and thin and lost, and he was standing there, trying to tempt me out of the darkness, and into the safety of his hand. âI wonât lie to you, little bird,â he said softly. âNot now, and not ever. People have lied to you enough in your life. Your father is dead.â He was very still as he said those words, his eyes never leaving my face, his expression grim.
âDaddy?â I tried to remember the smell of my fatherâs suits, and the way he would always cuddle me on his lap. His visits were few and far between but he was never unkind to me. Even so, his death was abstract to me. How could I, who did not even understand life, hope to wrap my damaged mind around the concept of death? His fingers reached for mine again, and soothed their way up my arms, tracing the little needle marks as they went. His expression hardened as he found them.
âI wonât let them hurt you again,â he told me softly, although in truth they long ago stopped hurting me. For years when I was a child they would come for me in the night and take me away to the bright lights. In the morning all I would remember was the sound of my own screams, and all I would have left to give me some clue as to what had happened to me were the marks on my body; the needle marks from the injections, and the scars from whatever else it was they did to me. They took me apart piece by piece and left my mind with more gaps that Swiss cheese. Thatâs how it always feels to me anyway. Sometimes I can go for days feeling completely normal, and then a fugue hits and Iâm lost again â and nobody ever knew how to take care of me when I fugued until Alex came along. Alex set me free that day and I never looked back.
Fugues are a strange mix of memories, one after the other, all jumbled together like a dream, and yet clearer than any dream. Sometimes I am in two places simultaneously. This is the most exhausting state to be in, and the one Iâm in right now. I am watching the memory from the present, with all I know and all I have just experienced, and Iâm in the fugue at the same time, lost in a memory from a time nearly a year ago. I am dimly aware of Fox Mulder helping me onto the couch, and Kai snuffling around my face, licking me. Mulder has taken my hand and the other man is talking to me loudly, and urgently, trying to get my attention but itâs no use. The fugue is taking me again, and Iâm sitting watching myself as if from a great distance, a participant and an observer at one and the same time.
Alex took me first to a grimy room in a large tenement block. I hated it. The concrete walls closed in around me, and I would spend all day crouched in a corner of the bathroom, which was the only place I felt safe. Alex didnât dare leave me alone and I could tell this frustrated him. It took me a while to become used to his strange mix of kindness and brooding moodiness.
âWhat is it you want?â He asked me, on the third day, as he tried, despairingly, to coax some food down my unwilling throat. It was the first time anyone had ever asked me that question, and for a while I was confused. What did I want? Who cared what I wanted? Who had ever cared?
âItâs all right, you can tell me,â he said softly. âWhat is it you want, little bird?â
âA place to fly,â I replied, with a smile for his choice of pet name for me. He grinned back. To this day I donât know why he took care of me back then, when I must have seemed so crazy. I donât think that Alex intended to take me in. He intended to find me someone else to take care of me, a new nurse, another place to live, but then, once he had coaxed me out, and made me trust him, he found that it wasnât so easy to let me go. He was like that, my Alex. He had this outer shell that was hard, and uncaring, but underneath he was a lost soul, like me, and he couldnât turn his back on a bird with broken wings, however much he wanted to. All I know is that I loved him the way Kai loved him, and the way all animals loved him. We loved him because we could see beneath the shell, to the center of the man beneath. I donât know what happened to him in his life to make his outer shell so brittle, or to make a man like Fox Mulder hate him so much. All I know is that he was the first person to ever ask me what I wanted, and then to give it to me, and for that he will have my love to my dying day.
âA place to fly,â he repeated, nodding his head. âWell, weâll see what we can do, my princess.â
That was the first time he ever called me that, and I liked it better than little bird. I wanted to be his princess. Later that night, when he went out, I ran myself a bath, washed my hair, and then gazed at myself in the mirror. It had been a long time since Iâd seen what I looked like and it wasnât as bad as Iâd feared. When he came back, he looked at me in surprise.
âI thoughtâŚâ
âThat I canât take of myself? I can. I justâŚsometimes I forget things, but then nobody ever gives me the chance to remember them,â I told him.
He nodded, understanding, because there was a kind of connection between us. He did understand me, even when I was at my least coherent. Ours was a meeting of souls rather than minds. We asked nothing of each other, and for that reason, and that reason alone, were somehow able to give each other everything.
The next day he took me in his car up a long, winding mountain road, and there, near the very top, was a rundown little house. I knew Iâd come home the moment we arrived. I ran out of the car and sniffed around the house and barn like a dog. This was where I belonged. This was where I would stay. He stood there, one arm wrapped around his body which was the closest he could approximate to crossing his arms, and just grinned insanely, delighted by my delight.
âCould you fly here, little bird?â he asked me.
âPrincess.â I made a face at him. âYes. I can fly here, Alex, high up in these beautiful hills. Thank you.â
I ran up the stairs and he chased me, and I was giggling and screeching before we found the bedroom. I donât think he intended to make love to me that night â or any night â but I know that I very much intended him to make love to me. I think, probably, that it was my first time with a man, but I canât be sure. There were such a lot of tests you see, and so much that I donât remember. I do remember turning, still laughing, and pulling him close. His green eyes were wide, and startled as I pressed my lips against his. I swear the world stopped turning. He went very still and I drew back, and put my hand to my mouth.
âIâm sorry. Was that wrong? Did I do the wrong thing? I wanted to taste you. I used to dreamâŚwhen I was locked upâŚI used to have such thoughts.â I smiled at him. âThey gave me books. I know what I want to do to you.â
âWhat you want to do to me?â He grinned. My phrasing is sometimes strange. Iâm not used to conversation, although Iâve read avidly so conversely I have a very wide vocabulary.
âDid that sound wrong? AlexâŚâ I placed my hands on his shoulders, stood on tip-toe and kissed him again. A shiver went up and down my spine. This time he responded. His hand went to my waist, and his lips devoured mine, hungrily. He burned, did my Alex. His lips burned, his touch burned. He made me burn inside. I felt molten with need, consumed by his fire. Wherever he pressed his mouth I felt that part of my body come to life, as if waking from a deep, deep sleep.
âAre you sure, princess?â he asked me, his fingers trailing their heat all over my flesh. I didnât have a verbal answer. I just knew that by touching me, he was healing me, the way he later healed Kai, the way he just did with the lost and the damaged. It was his gift I think. The only shame was that we could never heal him in return. He was too lost and too damaged on the inside, and too strong on the outside. His strength kept him from ever truly being able to accept our healing, although I think we both went some way to at least consoling him in his loneliness. I pressed my entire body against him in reply to his question, like a shameless little cat on heat, loving the delicious melting feeling of being close to his skin, of smelling his scent. I nipped at his neck, and stole little kisses from the side of his face, loving the sensation of his stubbled jaw against my own soft flesh. He didnât need any more prompting. He took me in his one arm, and I was skinny enough back then that he could lift me without any problem at all, and he whirled me around and around the tiny, dusty bedroom, before laying me tenderly on the bed.
He undressed me slowly, as if I were a precious possession to be unwrapped. My dress had buttons all the way up the front, and he unbuttoned each and every single one of them, never taking his eyes off my face, making love to me with his fingertips and the expression in his eyes. When he was done, I thought I would explode with need. He slid the fabric from my shoulders, revealing my bra and panties, and then he just gazed down on me, a strange expression on his face.
âWhat is it? Am I ugly?â I didnât know then whether I was or not but he laughed, and shook his head.
âNo, princess. Youâre beautiful,â he whispered, lowering his face to my belly, and gently blowing on my tummy button. Thatâs when we both found out how ticklish I am. I started to giggle, and he gently brushed his fingertips over my skin, until I stopped giggling, and started sighing instead. His fingers smoothed my bra first from one shoulder and then from the other, and I wriggled, and sat up enough to undo it myself, allowing it to fall away from my breasts. He smiled, and then reached out and cupped one lightly, running his fingers gently over the nipple. He leaned forward, and took the other in his mouth, softly caressing it with his tongue and I almost jumped out of my body in surprise. This wasnât just like being on fire â it was like being consumed by flames of the most perfect arousal. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and stroked his hair as he tongued my nipples, taking his time, working on each of them in turn until I was a moaning, quivering wreck beneath his ministrations. I was aware of so many new sensations, including the moist warmth between my own thighs. I had felt this before, when Iâd touched myself during long, lonely nights in various secure medical units, but this was different. This was him touching me, healing me with his fingers, his mouth â with his entire body.
I pushed his leather jacket from his shoulders, and he sat back obligingly, and helped me undress him. His tee shirt came off, to reveal his prosthetic. I touched it wonderingly, a thousand questions on my lips, but he just shook his head and the expression in his eyes warned me not to go there. I was to become used to that expression. There were so many no-go zones with Alex, but I was happy to only go to the places that he was comfortable sharing with me. I didnât need to intrude on his private grief or those places in his heart that he couldnât share with anyone, for whatever reason. Somehow, I knew that if I did he would leave me. It was the price for keeping him. He removed the prosthetic, stood, and undid his jeans, then slid them down his thighs. He kicked them off, and stripped off his boots and socks, then removed his briefs. He was beautiful, standing naked in front of me. I hungered and thirsted for him â he was my feast after so many years of famine. He threw himself onto the bed and pulled me close, naked, flesh on flesh, which is what I wanted. I felt like a wild creature, needing sex like some kind of primal instinct, needing the raw, earthy scent of him in my nostrils, the feel of his hard length inside me, the touch of his warm lips on my skin. It was the passionate, unrestrained coupling of two people who each needed what the other could give. Maybe I needed more from him than he did from me, but I think I gave him something back in return.
Alex Krycek made me human that night. He took this little bird and mended her wings, so that she could fly for the first time ever.
I watched him sleep later that night, his face turned towards mine, his breath warm on my face, his hand still resting on my naked thigh. I knew I loved him then. I donât know when he came to love me, but I think he did â at least a little. Maybe I can understand why they donât know him, these men from the FBI, who are standing over me, hovering, helplessly. I can see them in my peripheral vision, even as I re-live that first, beautiful night Alex and I spent together. I can understand why they think badly of him, because heâs so closed off. Lying here, sleeping in my arms, I have the real Alex, and Iâm keeping him safe. I refuse to believe that there is any other Alex, whatever they say about him. When he slept I saw the true Alex, lost and vulnerable. When he woke, the mask would slip so easily back into place. There were so many things he never told me. Who he worked for, why, why he kept so many weapons around the house, why he was afraid of having his photograph taken, why he took me out of that bad place where he found me, and into his heart, why he loved me â even how my father had died. I asked him that last question once, and his green eyes darkened as if the memory pained him.
âHe was killed, princess,â he told me, in a low, rasping tone, his deep voice husky with some emotion I couldnât read. âSomeone killed him.â He gazed at his hand for a moment, then glanced back at me.
âWho? Did you find the man who did that?â I asked.
âYes. I found him. Donât worry. He wonât hurt you. He could never hurt you.â He smiled at me softly, and brushed the back of his hand gently over my cheek, and I covered it with my own. There were some things I didnât need to understand. Things that would hurt me too much. I trusted Alex to know what they were, and I trusted him to keep me safe.
Nobody can ever really say they understood Alex Krycek, not even me, but I do know that whatever he did he would have done from the best of motives and the best of intentions. I know, also, that he didnât sleep easily at night. I never found out what troubled his conscience, but he would often wake, screaming, and nothing I could do would comfort him. He would get up, dress, and take Kai out for a walk on the mountain, and the next day it would be as if nothing had happened.
The fugue shifts, overwhelming me with memories and I find myself on the day I discovered was pregnant. Alex took me in his arms, and shook his head in wonder. I was so pleased â I had worried about how he would take the news, but he seemed genuinely happy about it.
âWeâll get married,â he declared.
âBecause Iâm pregnant?â It didnât bother me. I felt like the dogs or the horses. They mated, gave birth, and brought up their offspring all without the benefit of a piece of paper. I was happy enough.
âNo.â He shook his head, looking thoughtful. âNoâŚI want to marry you, princess. My Crazy Annie. I want you to have my name. Mrs. Krycek.â He grinned. âMrs. Krycek. How does that sound?â
âIt sounds very nice.â I grinned back as he danced me around our ramshackle kitchen. âMrs. Krycek. I like it.â
I didnât like the trip we had to take into town to make it happen though. I clung to him all the way there and all the way back, until we were safe once more in our little house on the side of the mountain. I donât remember one thing about the ceremony, I just know I had a happy feeling once we got home. We were Husband and wife, with a baby on the way. I had never dared dream during my long, weary, incarcerated existence, that life would end up this good.
I was lucky. In those final few months I had him to myself more often. Since he found out about the baby he would spend more and more time with me. Time spent walking out on the mountain, hand in hand, or sitting on the verandah together. Sometimes heâd strum to me on his guitar. He was rusty at first, said he hadnât played for a while, but he soon picked it up again, even though he was stuck with just playing the basics, one-handed as he was. It wasnât the music I listened to though â it was his voice. He had a beautiful voice and he used to sing just for me. Iâd rest my head on his shoulder and look up at the stars and heâd sing to me, with his deep, comforting voice that wrapped itself around me like a blanket, keeping me warm.
I always knew heâd have to go back to work eventually. He told me that he would try to come back as soon as possible, that heâd try and find new work as soon as he could, that heâd try and leave the past behind, and I think he believed it when he said it, but we both knew it couldnât happen. Whatever the ties were that bound him to the past, they were too strong for him to ever really unshackle himself from them.
I jolt out of the fugue with a start, to find myself looking into a pair of concerned hazel eyes.
âMrs. Krycek? Weâre worried about you. We phoned for paramedics,â Fox Mulder says.
âNo! Send them away!â I struggle to get up, but my limbs are heavy as lead in the aftermath of the fugue, and Iâm still shaking. Alex would hold me at times like this. âWhereâs Alex?â I cry, needing the warmth of his arm and his solid chest. âI need my husband. Whereâs Alex? I need him to hold me. Heâs the only one who understands when I fugueâŚthe only oneâŚâ I glance out of the window, hoping to see his car in the yard, only to find that the sun is fading outside and his car isnât there.
âMrs. Krycek, we told you,â the bald man says softly. âAlex is dead.â
âYou had some kind of dissociative episode,â Fox Mulder tells me, those hazel eyes so curious and intense. âIs that something youâve experienced before, Mrs. Krycek?â
âYes. It happens all the time. Iâm used to it. AlexâŚAlexâŚhe knew how to deal with them. Heâd take care of me when I had one. Heâd hold me, whisper to me, stroke my hairâŚand now heâs gone.â I feel my face crumple and thatâs when I give way to the tears. Fox Mulder looks startled and confused, but I guess itâs hard not to offer comfort to a pregnant widow, however much you might have loathed her husband, so he puts an awkward arm around my shoulder and allows me to weep into his shirt for what feels like hours. If I close my eyes I can make believe heâs my Alex, even if only for a little while.
The paramedics duly arrive, and examine me. They want to take me to the hospital but Iâm hysterical at the very mention of it.
âIâm not going back there!â I scream. âYou canât make me. I wonât go through it again. I wonât!â Fox Mulder tries to calm me down, while the other man stares at me helplessly, as if he has the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. Finally Fox Mulder sends them away, and I lie back on the couch, relieved. Mulder touches my arm and traces the needle marks on my skin.
âWere you an addict, Mrs. Krycek?â He asks. I stare at him blankly and then down at my arms. Realization dawns.
âOh no. Nothing like that. I wasâŚI was taken.â I canât hold on to reality any more. Itâs slipping in and out of focus. Alex told me never to talk about my experiences in my childhood â the abductions, the experiments, but Alex isnât here any more and Iâm not really sure what Iâm saying. The fugue has exhausted me, as they always do, and Iâm too tired and grief-stricken to even care. âThey took meâŚinjected me. I donât know what it was. Alex was surprised when I got pregnant I think. Maybe he thought I couldnâtâŚI donât knowâŚwe never took any precautionsâŚhe set me free, Mr. Mulder. He was the only one who ever asked me what I wanted. They always just took. Never asked. Over and over again. Alex asked. He was the only one who ever did.â
Maybe Mulder thinks Iâm a prostitute who Alex rescued from a life of drugs on the street. I donât know. He just nods, and glances at the other man â his boss? The sun is setting outside the window, and I desperately want them to go.
âPlease. Iâll be fine now. Youâve done your duty. Is thereâŚwhat about the body? Can I see it?â
âIf you want. Itâs in the FBI morgue. You mightâŚâ Fox Mulder raises his head to gaze at his boss again, but the other man has his arms wrapped tightly around his body, as if to ward off pain. âYou might find it distressing, Mrs. Krycek. Alex was shot three times. Once in the hand, once in the stomach â and once in the head. That was the fatal shot.â
âWho would do such a thing?â I ask, my stomach turning over, cold with sorrow for my lost love.
Mulder glances at his boss again. âWe have reason to believe that Alex Krycek was a very dangerous man. He was a known felon, and a murderer,â he says, as softly and gently as he can. I think about that for a moment, because the Alex I knew was none of those things â and yetâŚand yet I think, in my heart, I know he had the capacity to be, if there was reason enough for it. Alex was someone who traded peace of mind and his own integrity for a higher cause, and if he ever had reason to regret that he wasnât someone who dwelt on such regrets. I honestly believe there is some part of Alexâs story that Mulder doesnât know â or maybe doesnât want to know.
âAll I know is that he was my husband, and that he was gentle, kind and loving,â I tell Mulder softly. âNow, if youâll excuse me, I need some air.â
I manage to lever myself off the couch, and, Kai never leaving my side, I walk out onto the verandah and gaze at the setting sun. Itâs nearly done, and a few minutes later it slips from my sight. I think if it werenât for the baby Iâm carrying, that Iâd join my lost love in death, but I have to keep going for the childâs sake, and I will. I might have a fragile grasp on many things, but I know that I love this child, and that he or she is the last link to Alex left on this earth. Iâll protect my child with my life, the way I would have protected him if I had only known what would befall him out there, in that world that scares me so much. I can hear the FBI men talking inside, although Iâm not sure what theyâre saying. The stars are just starting to come out and I sit down on the rocking seat Alex and I used to share, and gaze at the night sky. I can feel the fugue near me. Itâs going to be with me a lot in the next few days I suspect. Maybe itâs Alexâs death â or maybe itâs the unsettling feelings I have about Fox Mulder, with his strange hazel eyes. The way he looks at me worries me. I donât know who he is or anything about him but thereâs something about the way he speaks, the way he moves his headâŚsomething that upsets me.
âMrs. Krycek?â I must have fugued again, because now itâs dark and the stars are twinkling in earnest. Fox Mulder is kneeling in front of me, giving me another of those looks. The other man is nowhere to be seen â maybe heâs still in the house. âWe still have some questions, Mrs. Krycek, but weâre more concerned about your welfare right now. Is there anyone who can come and stay with you tonight?â
âNo. I donât have many friends.â
âAny relatives?â He asks.
I shake my head. âNo,â I reply softly. âNone that I know of. Nobody to take care of me. Iâm all alone.â
He stands up, biting on his lip uncertainly, and I can tell that heâs unwilling to leave me like this.
âIâll be fine,â I murmur. âDo you have any children, Mr. Mulder?â I ask him, stroking my belly. Heâs surprised by the question and maybe Iâm surprised to be asking it.
âYes. A son. William. He was born a few days ago.â Thereâs a proud look on his face.
âA few days ago? You should still be at home with your wife then,â I chide.
He smiles and nods. âI would be butâŚthis was something I really needed to do. I was surprised, you see. Iâve known Alex for a number of years â we were even partnered together once at the FBI â but I didnât know about this side of him. The man I knewâŚwell, letâs just say that he doesnât sound the same as the man you knew.â
âAlex was a very private person. Very few people knew him. There were many things I didnât know about him but I do know that he was a good soul.â I gaze up at the stars. âThank you for coming to give me the news yourself, Mr. Mulder. If youâve got a new baby then I appreciate you giving up your time to do that.â
He looks a little guilty. I think my words have shamed him.
âMrs. Krycek, Iâll be honest â I came out here for another reason. Alex said something in his letter, something I donât understand.â He gets the letter out of his pocket, and I swing the rocker back and forth, gazing out at the stars. The fugue presses in close and Kai nudges me again.
âFox MulderâŚdo you ever look at the stars?â I ask him. âI mean really look? When I was a little girl I used to look up at the stars and imagine there was a whole world up there, full of laughing, happy children.â
âI understand what you mean.â His hand is still touching mine. We gaze at the starlight together.
âThatâs why I love it up here on the mountain so much,â I tell him softly. âI feel so close to them up here. Sometimes, when Iâm fuguing, I see that place again. I know thatâs whimsicalâŚIâŚI didnât have much of a childhood, so I think I created a fantasy land out there. Somewhere that was safe, welcoming, and kind. A home. Alex took away that need. He gave me all those things so I didnât have to fantasize about them any more.â I smile at him. His hazel eyes seem very large in the darkness, fixed on me, drinking me in. The fugue is still close. I can see memories swirling just out of reach.
âMy own childhood wasnât that great,â he confides, with a faded smile. âI can understand the appeal of creating a fantasy land where you can be happy. Mrs. Krycek, about the letter? The letter we found on Alexâs body?â
I tear myself back into the present with a great act of will. The memories are so close I can hear them whispering to me, gently undulating in my mind.
âYes. Alexâs letter.â My body is trembling with the effort of fighting off the fugue. It is him, I think. It is Fox Mulder who is bringing on these fugues, not the news of Alexâs death. That has affected me in a different way, no less profoundly, but differently. It has settled into my heart, a pain that will stay with me until my dying day.
âCan I read it to you?â He holds it up so that itâs illuminated by the light shining from the window. I nod, rocking absently back and forth.
ââMulder, if youâre reading this then Iâm dead. I make no claim on you, brother, save this one thing. Go to the address below, and ask for Mrs. Krycek. Sheâll need someone to take care of her if Iâm gone. After all that sheâs been through sheâll need you. I know that youâll be there for her, Mulder, whatever you might feel about me. Alex Krycek.â Mrs. Krycek, why do you suppose Alex wrote that?â Fox Mulder asks. Thereâs a frown creasing his forehead.
âHe was always thinking of me.â I smile at him through my tears, and he shakes his head, puzzled. âEven after his death. I wonder how long he carried that letter in his pocket? Iâll miss him so much.â
Mulderâs hands are warm as he puts his arms around me, and I know that Iâve been here before. Iâve laid my head on his shoulder before, cried into his neck before. Suddenly that much is very clear to me. âFoxâŚâ I whisper, and Iâm a little girl, before the bright lights came, and heâs here, my big brother, hugging me tight as I cry about something stupid â a lost doll, or a scraped knee. The fugue takes me with horrifying force, slamming into me, making me cry out loud in disoriented pain and Iâm five years old again.
âMrs. Krycek.ââŚâSamantha.â
The words merge from great distances in time, a manâs voice and a boyâs. I cry into his arms, five years old, and thirty-five at one and the same time.
âThey took me, Fox,â I tell him, studying his face. Heâs nine years old, and thirty-nine, but his hazel eyes havenât changed. Theyâre fixed on me, bright, puzzled, uncomprehending, trying desperately to understand. âThey took me away into the bright light. At first it wasnât so bad. They did things to meâŚI used to keep a diaryâŚthen I tried to run away and after that I wasnât the same. They locked me upâŚDaddy used to visit and then he was gone and there was only Alex to take care of me. He took me away from that bad place, and brought me out here. He loved me, FoxâŚhe was the only one who ever did. He was the only one who ever asked me what I wanted.â
âMrs. KrycekâŚâ His voice sounds very distant and strained. âWhat are you telling me, Mrs. Krycek?â He asks in a hoarse tone.
âSamantha,â I whisper softly, holding onto his hand. âCall me by my first name, Fox.â He tries to draw away from me, his eyes wide and shocked. âSamantha,â I tell him insistently. âI always knew youâd find me one day, Fox.â I didnât know that was true until I said it, but now the memory comes back easily, and with it so many others, all tumbling into my fugue-like state until Iâm not sure where I am. He pulls his hand away from mine, and raises it to my face, pushes my dirty hair away from my eyes, and looks at me.
âSamantha?â He whispers. I nod, the tears falling from my eyes as I cry for my lost husband and my newly found brother. âSamantha.â
He knows the truth of it, even if he doesnât understand how, or why. His arms go around me once more and he holds me tight as if heâll never let me go again.
âI looked for you. I need you to know that I looked,â he tells me, in a choking voice.
âI do. I do know that,â I reply, clinging to him as the memories wash back and forth on the seashore of my damaged mind.
âAlexâŚwhen I last saw him he called me âbrotherâ. He does it again in his note. I didnât understand.â
âWe were married. You were his brother â in law.â I smile through my tears. He looks stunned, as if this is further than he can go.
âSamanthaâŚIâm sorry. Sorry for your lossâŚSorry for all of it,â he says, stroking my dark hair softly.
I pat the space on the rocking seat beside me, inviting him to sit there and he does. He puts his arm around me, and I lean my head on his shoulder. He isnât Alex, but he will take care of me and my child. Maybe I can bring up my baby with his. Maybe he can give me a kind of healing that even Alex couldnât give me. I donât know how heâll feel about that, about helping me raise Alexâs child when he seems to hate Alex so much, but I do know, looking into his eyes, that he will always be here for me and my baby.
âI thought I found you once before,â he murmurs, looking at the stars. âOut there â in that other world you mentioned. I thought I went there, and saw you.â
âMaybe you fugued,â I tell him, smiling at him.
âMaybe I did.â He smiles back, and tucks a curl of my hair behind my ear, the same way Alex used to.
I donât pretend to understand things. I never could. My mind can only hold onto things fleetingly, and thereâs so much thatâs too complicated for me to ever really grasp. I donât know why I was taken as a child, or why Alex rescued me. I donât know why he loved me. I donât know why I was separated from my brother for so long, or why he hates my dead husband so much. I donât even really know who my father was. I have memories of two fathers and I donât know which one was really mine. In some ways the fugue takes away some of the pain and thatâs good. I need that right now because the pain hurts too much for me to bear. The fugue makes things hazy and unfocused, it keeps me dazed, and almost serene.
âItâs strange,â my brother says as we gaze at the stars. âOf all the things I expected to find when I came up here today, you were the very last thing imaginable. I looked for you for so long. To find you here, now, after all this timeâŚto find you married to Alex Krycek of all people, carrying his childâŚIt defies belief.â He gives an amazed little chuckle, and I squeeze his hand with my fingers. âA few days ago, with the birth of my son, I found a truth that I didnât even know Iâd been looking for,â he tells me, softly, whispering in my ear, like a confessional. âThen today I find one I have been looking for, all my life. ItâsâŚas if my whole world has slotted into place in the space of one week.â
I smile at him, genuinely happy for him. The chair rocks back and forth, back and forth, squeaking slightly in the night air, and sometime soon Iâll have to face the morning, and the grief of my husbandâs funeral, but for now it feels all right to just sit here, with my baby stirring inside me, Kaiâs head on my lap, and my long-lost brotherâs arm around my shoulders.
The fugue stirs, billowing around me, comforting and distancing at one and the same time, and Iâm with Alex again, saying goodbye to him that last time he left. Heâs dressed in black, and his green eyes are shining down at me. He puts his hand on my stomach, and smiles.
âGoodbye, princess,â he says huskily, and then he gives me the kind of kiss that takes my breath away.
I stand in the doorway of our house, and watch him as he walks out of my life forever.
âGoodbye, Alex,â I whisper.Â
The End
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