Part Thirteen

Trouble was coming. Alex could sense it in the air like the tingling static of an oncoming electrical storm and, since the day had dawned clear and bright, he had no doubt that the dark clouds gathering on the horizon were heralds of a far greater danger than a meteorological threat. He threw his consciousness out like a mental dragnet, hunting the scent and the shape of the danger, but came back empty handed. He contemplated throwing off the yoke of his human body and hunting the source of his worry in angelic form, then dismissed the idea. He was an Angel, not an omniscient being. His true form would offer him greater speed and distance for his search. It wouldn't guarantee his success. 

He wasn't prepared to leave Mulder alone and defenseless for the time it would take him to identify the specific threat he was sensing.

Whatever trouble was approaching, its intended victim was the human sprawled bonelessly on the motel bed, his pale flesh mottled with the marks of Alex's passion. A human that Alex needed to move quickly if they were going to keep a step ahead of pursuit.

"Okay. Time to rise and shine," Alex chirped brightly, drawing back the drapes to allow the early morning sunlight to flood through the motel room.

Mulder stuck his head under the pillow with a muffled but heartfelt groan of "Fuck off and die."

Alex just chuckled evilly and landed a loud smack on Mulder's exposed and tender ass. Mulder yelped and rolled out of his way, somehow managing to swing his feet to the floor before he landed butt-first on the carpet.

"Bastard," he groaned. "Touch my ass again and I'll take your hand off." He took a tentative step and winced in pain. His eyes narrowed and he stared pointedly at Alex's groin. "I should have known better than to let *that* anywhere near me," he grumbled.

"You weren't complaining at the time," Alex pointed out. He hefted his cock proudly in his hands. "'Sides, if you think this is big you ought to see the real thing." He laughed at the way Mulder's eyes darkened with anticipation even as his face paled with dread.

"Can't you do that thing you do?" Mulder complained petulantly, waving his hand meaningfully over his buttocks.

"I could," Alex agreed, but shook his head firmly at Mulder's look of relief. "But I'm not going to. I still don't trust you not to try and ditch me. At least, if you're limping, you can't run far."

He barely listened to Mulder's answering diatribe, instead he just turned him around and shoved his protesting body into the bathroom. 

"Hurry up," he suggested.

At Mulder's suspicious look, Alex shrugged disarmingly. "Who knows how good the hot water system is here," he prevaricated. "You need to get a shower before everyone else wakes up."

Looking only slightly mollified, Mulder stepped into the shower. Despite his obvious annoyance, he raised a speculative eyebrow and gestured that there was enough room inside for two.

Alex's ass clenched with anticipation but he shook his head reluctantly and stepped back out of the bathroom, leaving Mulder to shower alone. No matter how tempted he was by the offer, and despite his knowledge that the chance of reciprocation would put Mulder in a better frame of mind, Alex knew they didn't even have time for a 'quickie'.

The danger was getting closer, by the second, and he still had no idea what it was. He would have sensed an alien presence or that of another Angelic being. Whatever was coming was neither, but he trusted his own instincts and he knew, without doubt, that it was trouble with a capital 'T'.

~#~#~#~

Luke was right. There were distinct advantages to only having an imaginary body, Walter decided, as he closed his eyes and concentrated on restoring his asshole to human proportions. Had he still been alive, he might have still been able to take Mordad's cock but he suspected he wouldn't only have been limping around afterwards but his intestines would have been falling out of his obscenely stretched ass.

The other advantage of being able to instantly restore himself to 'normal' was that he didn't feel quite so damned empty and bereft when the absence of Mordad's cock was less dramatically obvious. Although time had no true meaning in Purgatory, and it felt like he'd spent eternity in Mordad's nest-like bed, events in what Walter considered as the 'real world' had moved on a mere few days since he'd first found himself spinning upside down impaled on Mordad's monstrous cock. So it seemed impossible that in such a short space of time he'd become addicted to the painful pleasure of their couplings.

But he had. He couldn't deny it. Even the brief respites on Luke's terrace, eating imaginary food and drinking imaginary drinks, as Mordad caught up with gossip (particularly the effects of his own absence from the game) with other Angels, inevitably ended with Mordad buried in his ass.

Shame, inhibitions and modesty seemed to be alien concepts to the Angels, which made sense given that they were all too damned breathtakingly gorgeous to worry about wearing clothes. It wasn't so easy for Walter to shed a lifetime of social conditioning and he continued to wear thongs on the terrace, at least until Mordad ripped them off, though it was more his constant state of arousal he was attempting to conceal rather than his nakedness. He continued to feel embarrassed about his dramatic reaction to Mordad even though he suspected his embarrassment was one of the reasons Mordad so often chose to fuck him in public.

Which sounded pretty abusive except for the undeniable fact that no one was *forcing* him to agree to the humiliation. The fact that Mordad would wait until he'd eaten his fill, then tap his erection suggestively and invite Walter to come sit on his lap didn't mean Walter *had* to comply. No one *made* him scurry over like a bitch-in-heat and grind himself up and down Mordad's hot flesh while the Angels continued their conversations around him. And no one paid any more attention to what he was doing than they did to *any* of the incubi, succubae and human souls who were similarly engaged on the other sun beds. 

So perhaps it was less public embarrassment than personal. If he stopped and thought about what he was doing, he was horrified at his own behavior. This wasn't *him*. Walter Sergei Skinner wasn't the kind of man who played a wanton slut in a public orgy, writhing up and down the cock of someone who was sometimes barely even paying attention to his efforts.

He was also, undeniably, happier than he ever had been when he was alive. Hell, being dead was the first time he remembered even feeling alive. The delicious, painful burn of Mordad's cock sliding in and out of his body felt like an illicit thrill, something he didn't deserve, something that could be stolen from him at any time so he had to grab the experience when it was offered. To ride the Angel of Death himself, and know that it was his own clenching ass that was wresting small cries of pleasure from that angelic throat, was a heady drug. An addictive drug.

And whenever his head cleared enough to remind him he'd die of humiliation if anyone he knew witnessed his shameless behavior, he reminded himself that he *was* dead so it was a bit too damned late to care.

But, in the between-times, in those occasional respites for food and rest, he began to wonder what the hell he was going to do when Mordad left, when he could no longer depend on the drug of angelic sex to see him through the day.

It was the fifth day before those vague feelings of disquiet solidified enough for identification. There was, he decided, simply something unpleasantly decadent about the idea of spending eternity lying in the sun all day as though he had nothing better to do with his time than impersonate a sand crab. 

"Is this it then?" he finally asked. "Just sun, sex and Tequila Sunrises?"

"And ribs," Mordad reminded him. "Don't forget to mention the ribs. Luke gets a bit sensitive if he feels unappreciated," he added, with a sardonic wink.

"The ribs are great," Walter acknowledged quickly, although he suspected there was more metaphor than meat in Luke's choice of culinary expertise. 

"As opposed to the sex?" Mordad asked, running an idle hand over his temporarily quiescent cock and licking his lower lip suggestively.

Walter's ass clenched reflectively. "No," he acknowledged, his voice a little husky. "The sex is great too." He swallowed a couple of times. "Different," honesty forced him to add, "but great."

Mordad grinned proudly.

"Don't get me wrong. Nothing here is what I expected and I don't mean that in a bad way."

"I'm hearing a 'but', Walter."

Walter sighed and nodded. "Seriously though, is this all there is to being dead?"

"Pretty much. Here in Purgatory, at least."

At Walter's look of horror, Mordad smirked and preened his flight feathers. "Believe it or not, the word 'vacation' is a 'good thing'."

"Yeah, except when it's a permanent state," Walter groused. "I don't think I can face an eternity of this."

"Don't tell me you're bored already?"

"Bored? I'm too damned exhausted to be bored," Walter acknowledged wryly. "But I can see the potential of being pretty damned bored. I can't sit and sun bathe all day."

"Speak for yourself. I'd rather lie here than go back to work next week," Mordad laughed.

Walter's vague feelings of potential disquiet abruptly transformed into a very real and very immediate feeling of hurt. It was one thing to know he was nothing but a temporary dalliance for the gorgeous Angel, quite another for Mordad to so casually throw the fact in his face. Of course he'd known he was only the angelic equivalent of a 'holiday romance' but actually facing the reality of Mordad's imminent departure wove bitterness into his tone. "Things to do, people to kill?" 

"Something like that," Mordad replied easily, though he raised one eyebrow questioningly at Walter's sudden aggression.

"Bet you and Alex get along well," Walter suggested nastily.

Mordad's dark eyes flashed with obvious annoyance and his wings rose and fluttered ominously. Walter felt his stomach lurch with dread. It wasn't a physical fear, even though he was facing the self-acknowledged Angel of Death, since he was already dead and he understood, intellectually at least, that no matter how much he angered Mordad, the Angel had no way of physically hurting him. It was an emotional fear. A fear that Mordad would simply rise and stalk away to spend the rest of his vacation with a less troublesome playmate. He felt ashamed that he'd let himself become so needful of Mordad's presence that the idea of losing him early was even worse than the fact he was losing him at all. He knew he was acting like a teenager with a crush, and the knowledge was embarrassing enough to make him blush.

The worst of it was feeling so damned powerless. He had always been a leader, a decision maker, and the kind of man who took charge of situations and commanded respect in his subordinates. Here, in Purgatory, he wasn't even important enough to be considered a player. His only role here was as Luke's pet houseguest and Mordad's temporary sex toy. And he was beginning to wonder whether he'd *ever* been anything more than a toy. How many times had Luke and Alex sat on this same terrace and discussed him? How many times had they manipulated him? How many times had they sat here and laughed at his ignorant belief that he was acting with anything resembling free will?

As though he'd read his mind, Mordad visibly relaxed, stilling his wings and taking a long drink before replying in a surprisingly gentle voice.

"Nice kid, Alex. Bit too sweet for my taste though."

Walter blinked. "Sweet? Are we talking about the same Alex? The one I know has perfected being a murderous rat bastard to an art form."

"It's all a matter of perspective. Can't do the job properly if you identify with the natives. Alex is a romantic. He has the regrettable tendency to let his emotions run away with him. This isn't the first time his dick's short-circuited his higher brain functions."

"You're talking about his fascination with Mulder?"

"Primarily. But about you too."

Mordad chuckled at Walter's look of bemusement.

"Exactly how many times do you think one of us has literally flown down into the pit to rescue a fallen soul, Walt? Why else do you think I chose this particular vacation spot?"

"What?"

"It's been over a millennia since my last vacation, Walt. I figured there had to be something special about you to make it worth his while to save you. I wanted to see what you had that made him take that kind of risk."

"Alex and I have never…"

"I know. That just made it sweeter. He's going to be so pissed that I stole your cherry while he wasn't looking."

Walter gasped as though he'd been kicked. "So I was just your way of getting at Alex?" he demanded, not even trying to hide how much Mordad's words had hurt him. "You just used me to score points with him?"

Mordad snorted with annoyance. "Spare me the histrionics, Walt. You souls are all the same. So damned sensitive. I can't even begin to explain the relationship between Alex and myself to a creature like you. It's beyond your comprehension. Just accept that the first night had as much to do with Alex as it did with the fact you were obviously begging for a good fuck. But the fact that I'm 'still' fucking you is based on something entirely different."

Walter decided he didn't like Mordad's answer on several levels. The 'creature' comment stung. The 'beyond your comprehension' wasn't much better, except that he was realistic enough to accept it was probably the truth, and the idea that Mordad had been originally swept off his feet by a desire to piss Alex off rather than a lightening bolt of lust was more than slightly damaging to his ego. But Walter was a pragmatic kind of man and Mordad's suggestion that the continued fucking had been motivated by a far more basic instinct than one-upmanship might not have been the most romantic statement he'd ever heard but it had a comforting ring of truth.

"So, I take it you're enjoying your vacation?" Walter suggested, hopefully.

"Put it this way. You're the first human soul I've fucked, Walt, but you won't be the last."

Walter blinked slowly as he absorbed Mordad's words, then nodded and laughed ruefully. "I'll try and take that as a compliment."

"You should," Mordad said, his expression sincere. "I know what you want to hear is that I want to spend the rest of eternity with you. But I'm not like Alex. I'm not going to let myself get emotionally entangled with a human, dead *or* alive. I'm never going to fall in love with you, Walt."

"I know," Walter agreed miserably.

Mordad glared balefully at his drink for a few moments. He opened his mouth to speak. Took a drink instead. Frowned. Adjusted his wings.

"And I *have* to get back to work."

"I know," Walter said, his tone far softer.

Mordad cleared his throat. "Anyway, I was thinking…until you decide to get born into a body again, maybe you wouldn't mind me popping in to visit you now and then."

Walter's heart began to hammer in his chest. He reminded himself he didn't actually *have* a heart or a chest. It didn't help. "Won't Luke object? I thought once you left here you'd be working for the other side again."

Mordad shrugged. "Luke's pretty cool about that kind of stuff. If he thought I was coming around to spy on him he'd singe my wings pretty damn fast, but he won't object to me calling by to give you a quick fuck."

"There must be hundreds of thousands of souls in Purgatory," Walter pointed out carefully. 

Mordad shook his head emphatically. "I don't want to waste time on seductions, Walt. You can't imagine the kind of schedule I'm on usually. At least with you I won't have to bother with all that foreplay crap." 

Walter knew he ought to be the one objecting to the idea. Mordad had just plainly and bluntly told him that all he wanted was a convenient hole to fuck whenever he happened to fly by.

So why was his heart racing and his dick jumping at the thought? Why was he blushing like a schoolgirl just because Mordad had decided that two weeks of fucking him wouldn't be enough, after all?

Part of it might have been the unarguable fact that Mordad had fucked him so many times, in so many ways, over the last few days that his ass now felt empty and abandoned without a cock inside it. Part of it, definitely, was that being 'fucked' by an Angel was an experience of such intense, unbridled passion that he knew he'd never again feel desire for the touch of a fellow human. On a scale of pure lust and satisfaction, there was no comparison between Angelic sex and the pale imitation that mere mortals called 'sex'.

But the true reason his heart was thumping and his breath felt short and his cock was slapping his belly in an excited salute was far more simple than lust and far more complex than an acceptance of Mordad's words.

The Angel of Death had admitted, no matter how circumspectly, that Walter's presence in his bed had changed his perception of humans. Mordad had admitted, by saying he intended to return, that he was acquiring a taste for the coupling of angelic flesh with human.

And regardless of how crude his reason for wanting to keep that coupling exclusive to Walter it didn't make that desire for exclusiveness any less true. It might not be anyone's definition of 'love', and perhaps he was reading more out of the situation than he should, but Mordad's refusal to even consider taking a different sexual partner definitely seemed a step in the right direction.

Walter dared to hope that Mordad was more like Alex than he suspected.

~#~#~#~

"Let me go…" 

He didn't even get the chance to say 'first'. 

Mulder had the door open and had stepped through it before Alex finished speaking. He shook his head in exasperation and hurried after his ill-behaved human who was now striding towards their car but, thankfully, hadn't been riddled by the spray of bullets Alex had half-expected.

The aura of danger outside was so heavy now that he could practically taste it and still, when he tried to pinpoint its source, he just kept finding a blank spot in the space/time continuum, as though the place it occupied was being absorbed by a living vortex of possibilities.

As though there was someone or something that existed outside the game itself.

He stepped through the door and slammed to a halt, frozen by the familiar but completely unexpected kiss of a gun against the back of his neck.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't pull this trigger, Krycek."

Oh fuck!

"NO!" Mulder screamed, running back towards them. "Don't shoot him, Scully."

For a moment, Alex imagined that Mulder had forgotten he couldn't be killed in human form and the warmth that flooded him at this proof of Mulder's regard more than negated the cold, steel bite of Scully's weapon. 

"You don't realize what he is, Scully. You can't kill him, but if you try he might kill *you*."

Bile rose in Alex's throat as Mulder's words made it clear he was still very much in second-place where Mulder's affection was concerned.

"Just back away from him and put your weapon down," Mulder continued. "He won't hurt you in front of me."

"Wanna bet?" Alex muttered under his breath, but even he knew that Mulder's arrogant words were the truth. Unfortunately.

"Shame you weren't there when he murdered Walter Skinner then," Scully snapped and glared at Alex, her eyes dark with hatred.

"What?" Mulder demanded, shaking his head in disbelief. "Skinner? Murdered? Skinner's dead?"

"Why don't you ask your new best friend here?" she asked, her voice acerbic and cold. "I'm sure he could give you a blow-by-blow account of the way he chained Walter half-naked in an abandoned warehouse then shot him dead."

"Alex?" Mulder demanded, his tone more a plea for denial than a demand for truth.

Alex ignored him and instead glared at Scully, his eyes bright with suspicion. "Who told you it was me, Scully?" he asked, his voice deceptively quiet.

"Someone called Michael. Do you know him? He certainly seems to know you."

"MICHAEL?" Alex roared, his face contorting into very unangelic fury. Suddenly he understood why he'd sensed but been unable to identify Scully's threat. She was a pure soul acting under the protective mantle cast by an archangel. Saint Scully indeed. 

"Oh, god," Mulder wailed, gagging as though he was going to throw up. 

Alex was so furious, his first instinct was to return home immediately and inform Luke that Michael had broken his word. Let the bastard burn in Luke's hellfire for a couple of millennia and see if Michael thought it was such a fun idea to send Scully to do his dirty work. 

But he needed to do some quick damage control first. Mulder was looking at him like he'd just sprung horns and a tail and, for someone who had already been guaranteed a place in heaven, Scully sure looked surprisingly tempted to empty her weapon into his face.

"It's not what you think," he started, his eyes imploring Mulder to understand. 

"Did you kill him?" Mulder demanded, his eyes cold.

Alex swallowed heavily.

"Did you?"

"Look, Fox, you have to…"

"DID YOU?"

"Yes. But I…"

Mulder leapt forward so quickly that Scully was still blinking in surprise as he grabbed the weapon out of her hand and shot Alex three times in the heart. The gunshots knocked Alex off his feet and as he scrambled up, blood pouring out of his chest, Mulder shot him a further three times in the head.

For a moment, Alex just lay there, bleeding out all over the asphalt, too stunned by the hatred in Mulder's face to move, then he shook himself, willed his 'body' to return to a semblance of normality and rose to his feet once more.

"Shoot me again and I'll shove that gun up your ass," he growled.

Mulder blanched slightly but stood his ground. Scully just stood there with her mouth open, her eyes witnessing Alex's apparent return from the dead but her brain refusing to process the evidence in front of her eyes.

"Get the fuck away from me, Krycek," Mulder snarled. "Get the fuck back to hell where you belong."

Scully finally found her voice. "He's a super-soldier?" she asked, uncertainly.

Mulder shook his head emphatically. "He's a demon, Scully. A devil from hell itself. The real McCoy."

If he'd said Alex was an alien, she'd probably have found a scientific reason to argue. But Scully didn't have a problem believing in demons. She reached inside her blouse and grasped the fine chain around her neck. "Get away from us," she demanded, brandishing her cross like an assault rifle.

"I'm not a fucking vampire," Alex scoffed.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit," she chanted, "I banish you back to hell."

"I don't fucking come from hell," Alex said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "As amused as I am by this amateur production of 'the Exorcist', can I suggest we continue this argument in the car getting the hell away from here before someone calls the cops?"

"We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirit, satanic power, infernal invader. In the Name and by the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ, may you be snatched away and driven from the Church of God and from the souls made to the image and likeness of God and redeemed by the Precious Blood of the Divine Lamb."

Alex staggered slightly, a feeling of intense weakness crashing like a wave through his entire body. He felt his illusory form begin to flicker like a faulty holomatrix. He shook his head in disbelief. 

A smile of triumph curling her lips as she saw his form waver, Scully raised her voice and continued… "Most cunning serpent, you shall no more dare to deceive the human race, persecute the Church, torment God's elect and sift them as wheat. The Most High God commands you. He with whom, in your great insolence, you still claim to be equal. God the Father commands you. God the Son commands you. God the Holy Ghost commands you. Christ, God's Word made flesh, commands you…"

"NO!" Alex screamed, as he began to dissipate, as he felt the claws of an invisible, irresistible force dragging him out of the mortal plane and back towards purgatory. "He needs me, Scully. You need me, Mulder. Don't do this. You're not safe without me."

Mulder's eyes were ice as he watched Alex dissolve.

"Go to hell, you bastard. GO TO HELL."

When there was nothing left but air in the place where Alex had been standing, he turned to Scully with a face etched by grief. "Let's get out of here."

And she took his hand and led him to her rental car.

~#~#~#~

"And YOU," Alex howled, his mouth twisted into a feral sneer, "I should have let you fucking BURN!"

"It's not Walter's fault," Luke pointed out mildly. "Have a rib, Alex. It'll make you feel better."

"The only way a rib'd make me feel better is if it was one of Michael's. Made into a kebab alongside his cock and balls."

Mordad snorted into his Tequila Sunrise.

"Funny you should say that," Luke said, with a self-satisfied grin. "Gabriel's keen to make amends for this little 'faux pas'. I expect we'll have the pleasure of Michael's company for a few days."

"I'm going to slice his nuts off one sliver at a time and make him eat them raw," Alex snarled.

Luke made a face. "Can't you think of something more original? I seem to recall you doing that to someone before."

"Why improve on perfection?"

Walter's face drained of all color. Mordad just snorted again.

"What I don't understand is how the hell she did it," Alex complained. "She actually fucking exorcised me *and* she didn't even get the fucking prayer right."

"Considering who she is, she could have exorcised you by chanting 'the laughing gnome'," Mordad pointed out, with a snigger. "She's Mulder's chosen one, Alex. She has power you can't even imagine."

"Power enough to keep Mulder safe?"

"Wrong kind of power," Luke interrupted, with a sigh. "She's useless against mortals and aliens. And, even though she can kick angelic ass, she's too awed by the other side to act against them. By the time she figures out the guys in the white hats are Mulder's enemies, it'll be too late."

"So find a way to get me down there again," Alex demanded.

"I can't," Luke admitted, with a shrug. 

"Of course you can," Alex argued.

"Alright," Luke sighed. "I *won't*."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I can't waste the amount of power it would take to reverse her exorcism of you when it's obvious that all she's going to do when you turn up is immediately exorcise you again."

"Fuckit, Luke. Mulder's in danger. He needs me."

"It's not me you need to convince," Luke pointed out. "It's Mulder, and he won't give you the chance to open your mouth."

Alex pouted.

"I could have a word with Gabriel," Mordad offered. "He wants Mulder safe as much as you do. Maybe if he explained about Walter…"

"Yeah," Alex scoffed. "I can see *that* working. Mulder *knows* Gabriel is daddy-dearest. Believe me, he's not impressed."

"Can't you bring him here?" Walter interrupted.

"What?" Alex demanded.

"Swoop down there, or whatever the hell it is you do. Grab Mulder while Scully isn't looking and bring him here. *I'll* talk to him. If his problem with you is the fact you killed me, surely talking to *me* is the best way to straighten things out. Let him see I'm happy."

A huge relieved grin spread across Alex's face.

"No," Luke said, his tone firm. "I may have let you bring him here while he was unconscious, but I've got to draw a line somewhere. We don't know what he is or what he's capable of in his angelic form."

"We'll soon find out if he gets killed," Alex snapped.

Luke just raised his eyebrows at his tone, but it was enough to make Alex deflate and shrink back in his seat.

"Then can I go down there and talk to him?" Walter asked. "As a ghost or something," he added quickly when the others stared at him like he was out of his mind.

"You've watched too many movies, Walter," Luke eventually replied. "Ghosts are souls lost on the mortal plane, unable to get back into the game. They're tied to their old existence, much the same as you're choosing to keep your old appearance here, but in a far more insidious way. You can't 'become' a ghost. The only way a soul in purgatory can get back down to the human world is by being in a body and you won't be much use to us down there as a new born."

"So let me use my *old* body," Walter suggested. "It's been less than a week and I was murdered. There's no way my body will have been buried yet. It's evidence."

"Have you ever *seen* an autopsy, Walt?" Alex drawled. "You're going to look a bit conspicuous when you bend over and the top of your head falls off."

"I thought you're supposed to have some miraculous healing ability. Isn't *that* the point of you being Mulder's bodyguard? So do your thing on my body."

"Your body is dead, Walt. It's not the same."

"So improvise," Walter snapped. 

"He's right," Mordad said, with a proud grin at his pet human. "You only have to heal the surface wounds and give him an 'illusion' of life for a couple of days."

"You want me to steal his body out of a morgue, re-insert his soul and then go traipsing over the countryside with a zombie?"

"You got a better plan?" Mordad smirked.

Alex frowned…then gave his own shit-eating smirk. "I suppose it *has* occurred to you that if I heal his body and re-integrate his soul he *might* truly be considered 'alive' again? I mean, it *might* be a permanent condition. Who knows? We've never tried it before, have we?"

"I'd be alive again?" Walter gasped.

"Maybe," Alex agreed. "Dunno. Like I said, it's never been done before."

"I could go back to my old life?"

"Perhaps," Luke replied. "You won't be the first FBI employee to come back from the dead, will you? Of course, it would throw your soul back to the wolves and play havoc with Mordad's sex life, so it's not a decision I'd take lightly if I were you. Don't forget, you can't change your mind about this. Suicide won't be an option. It's a guaranteed route to a far darker sun tan than you're getting here."

Walter's face twisted uncertainly.

"It's not as easy a decision as you thought, is it, Walt?" Alex said sympathetically. Then he shrugged. "But at least it proves you can honestly tell Mulder that being dead isn't such a bad thing."


Go To Part Fourteen