Part Fourteen

“I don’t fucking believe this,” Walter roared through the tarpaulin. “I thought you knew what you were doing. You’re supposed to be an archangel, not the goddamned fuck-up fairy.” 

“Just shut the fuck up and let me think,” Alex retorted, as he gunned the throttle of his stolen vehicle and drove out of the Hospital parking lot. 

“I don’t get it,” Walter continued petulantly. “You can just wave your hand and turn a compact into a pick-up, but you can’t figure out how to fix *me*? And why a fucking pick-up? Least you could have done was turn it into a minivan. It’s fucking *raining* back here, you bastard. I’m not just a zombie, I’m a damned *drowning* zombie.” 

“I said SHUT UP,” Alex yelled back, less than angelically, cursing the fact that he’d somehow managed to restore Skinner’s vocal chords despite his failure to connect the rest of his motor functions. “Let me get you to a motel or something and I’ll figure out what’s gone wrong.”

Which was, on the whole, a lie. He was all too fucking aware of what had gone ‘wrong’. He just needed to figure out how the hell he was going to work around the problem. It appeared that although Luke had reversed Scully’s exorcism enough that Alex was now only banished from Mulder’s immediate presence rather than *anywhere* on the physical plane, he now seemed to have a finite amount of power to draw on. Most of which was occupied with maintaining the illusion of his human form.

So the necessary addition of a mantle of invisibility as he’d broken into the morgue to steal Walter’s body had taken more energy than he could spare and then, despite his earlier quips about autopsies, he’d been caught by complete surprise by the fact that several crucial parts of Walter’s body were ‘missing’.

He’d been forced to rummage through a couple of dozen lockers before he’d found Walter’s brain bobbing inside a jar of formaldehyde. He’d wrung it out, repaired the damage done by his own bullet, replaced it in Walter’s head and sealed the sawn-in-half skull back together.

Then he’d gone hunting for Walter’s internal organs. Which was the point at which everything had gone to hell. Walter hadn’t bothered to mention the fact that….

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were on record as an organ donor?” he yelled over his shoulder. 

“I was murdered,” Walter howled back. “I assumed that none of my organs were still viable by the time someone found me. Besides, the bodies of murder victims aren’t used for transplants because of the necessity to establish cause of death.”

“You had a fucking hole in your forehead bigger than the Jersey Tunnel. So I think the cause of death was pretty damned obvious, you asshole,” Alex retorted. 

“I still don’t…”

“Shut up a minute. I’m pulling into a motel.”

Alex used more of his rapidly failing energy to throw a glamour over himself as he checked into the furthest room from Reception in the guise of a middle-aged salesman with receding hairline and a bulging beer-gut. Then, rather than take the risk of being seen dragging Walter’s body out of the back of the pick-up, he used yet more energy to transport Walter directly into the motel room. He decided he was too worn-out to transform the pick-up back into a compact, so he just took advantage of the poor lighting in the parking lot to change the vehicle’s color from non-descript navy to equally non-descript brown and altered the plates.

Then, he walked into the motel room to see if there was any way to get Walter back on his feet again.

###

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that Krycek isn’t a ‘demon’, but a fallen angel who’s apparently ‘in-love’ with you?”

“Archangel,” Mulder corrected, with an embarrassed wince. 

“And Spender is really the Archangel Gabriel, so you’re some kind of human/angel hybrid?”

“According to Alex,” Mulder mumbled.

“Well, considering the source, we’ll take *that* one with a pinch of salt, shall we?” Scully suggested, with a derisive sniff.

“Less than a week ago, you were suggesting I was some kind of ‘second-coming’,” he pointed out mildly. “At least Alex’s explanation of how I came back from the dead makes some kind of sense.”

“You told me yourself that he’s working for Lucifer, the father of lies. I think it’s fair to assume everything that comes out of Krycek’s mouth is suspect.”

“His name’s Alex.” At Scully’s look of surprise, he hastily added, “I’m being accurate, not suggesting we’re on first name terms. Krycek was a pseudonym. His *real* name is just Alex. It’s an angel thing.”

“Or a demon thing,” Scully pointed out dryly. “Let me rephrase then. Everything that comes out of *Alex’s* mouth is highly suspect.”

“I don’t think he was faking how he felt about me,” he muttered defensively.

She surprised him by saying, “Nor do I, Mulder. I’ve had my suspicions about the pair of you for a long time. That’s why I’m not *totally* pissed with you. I can handle the fact you’ve spent the last two days thinking with your dick, as long as you’ve wised up now and gotten him out of your system. You *have* wised up, haven’t you?” 

Mulder raised mournful eyes to meet her suspicious look. “He killed Skinner. That’s not something I’m going to ever forgive.”

“He killed your father. You managed to forgive him *that*,” she pointed out, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What’s so special about Skinner?”

“You loved him,” Mulder answered bluntly.

She blushed furiously and dropped her eyes from his gaze. “It wasn’t… I mean he didn’t… well….”

“So?” Mulder countered. “I’m not talking about Skinner’s feelings, Scully. I’m talking about yours. Being my partner, my ‘friend’, has already cost you so much. How the hell can I love someone who, one way or another, has been behind every loss you’ve suffered?”

“So you *do* think you’re in love with him.”

“I’m… hell, I’m….”

“Hell’s exactly the word, Mulder. Semantics aside, he *is* a demon. If he hasn’t already damned your soul, it’s surely teetering on the brink of damnation.”

“He says I haven’t got a soul. I’m some kind of ‘pure’ human. Here at least. Apparently I turned into an angel when he took me to Purgatory.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“I don’t know what I believe,” he sighed. “And, I don’t expect you to understand me when I say that as much as I’m mourning Skinner, I don’t hate Alex for what he’s done. In the last couple of days, I’ve come to realize that, whatever he is, Alex can’t be judged by human standards. Trying to impose human morals on him is like trying to convince a Great White to become a vegetarian. So, to be completely honest with you, yes, I am in love with him. But that’s irrelevant. I don’t blame him for killing Skinner, but I’m never going to forgive him the hurt he’s put *you* through by doing it.”

###

“There. You should be able to walk now,” Alex announced, wearily sweeping his perspiration-drenched hair off his forehead with his right hand. His current ‘illusion’ of a human body was too damned realistic for his liking. He wasn’t only as sweaty as a pig, he was aching all over and he was so tired he just wanted to flop onto one of the beds and sleep for a week. Or just give the fuck up and fly home. Which was probably the point of Luke’s half-hearted attempt to reverse Scully’s exorcism. His sadistic prick of a boss was probably toasting the entertaining spectacle with Tequila Sunrises and cackling maniacally at Alex’s expense. 

Luke had always had a cruel sense of humor. 

Positively satanic.

“I still can’t bend my arms or legs,” Walter snarled.

“It’s just the rigor mortis. It’ll wear off by itself,” Alex announced, then muttered “Probably,” under his breath.

“I heard that, boy,” Walter growled ominously.

“Nothing wrong with your hearing then,” Alex snapped, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a groan of exhaustion.

“I’m stiff as a fucking board, and my tongue tastes like something curled up in my mouth and died,” Walter griped, as he swung himself off the bed and began lurching towards the bathroom.

“Definitely stiff,” Alex agreed, jumping hurriedly backwards as Walter’s all-too-wooden woody nearly poked his left eye out. He’d heard about posthumous tumescence, but seeing Walter’s full glory in the flesh gave Alex a new insight into Dana Scully’s enthusiasm for performing autopsies.

Not to mention Mordad’s sudden appreciation of Angel/human relations.

“I’ve got blue eyes,” Walter snarled, staring with horror at his reflection in the mirror of the tiny bathroom. “Why the fuck have I got blue eyes, Alex?” 

“I improvised, okay?” Alex snapped defensively. “It’s not *my* fault you signed away your fucking corneas for research, is it?”

“You’re telling me you *stole* me a new pair of eyes from another body in the morgue?”

“It’s not like they were any fucking use to a corpse, is it? You’ve got eyes. You can see better than you ever have in your life. Think of it as an angelic form of laser surgery.” 

“Has it occurred to you that Mulder might have a problem with this?” Skinner drawled. “How the hell is he going to believe I’m me, if I don’t *look* like me?”

“Just keep your fucking glasses on. Chances are he’s never looked you in the face long enough to notice what color your damned eyes are. Anyway, he’ll probably be distracted by the baseball cap.”

“Don’t get me started, boy. You can change a compact into a pick-up but you can’t stick my head back together without leaving a scar around my skull the size of Manhattan?” 

Alex quivered his lower lip with Mulderesque flair. All he received in response was a surly glare from the bathroom doorway, so he gave up trying to look repentant and went on the offensive instead. 

“I’ve fucking *exhausted* myself just getting you up and moving, you ungrateful bastard. I’ll deal with the scars tomorrow, okay? You should be fucking grateful to be alive again.”

“Grateful? I look like an extra from the Night of the Living Dead. What the hell am I supposed to be grateful for? Trust me to do a deal with the Walmart angel,” Walter growled. “I look like the fucking Frankenstein monster.”

Alex just flopped down on the bed and covered his ears with his hands. 

###

“This is better than pay-per-view,” Ash snorted, tears of laughter running down his cheeks.

“It’s not funny,” Mordad sniffed, refusing Luke’s offer to refill his drink. “Do something to help them, Luke. I know Walter’s just one of a billion souls to you, but I thought you at least *liked* Alex.”

“Like him? I *adore* him,” Luke assured him. “Took over two millennia of persuasion to get him on my side but I’ve never regretted the effort. Sweetest piece of angelic ass I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

“Bollocks,” Raphael yelled from the pool. “You’re blind, Luke. I’m ten times more attractive than Alex is.”

Luke laconically slid his gaze up and down Rafe’s naked body, then gave a dismissive sniff and shook his head in negation.

“He is,” Mordad argued, on Rafe’s behalf. Although he personally thought Raphael could stand being taken down a peg or two, they both *were* officially on the same side so Mordad felt an obligation to support him. Besides, Rafe *was* undeniably closer to the ideal of Angelic perfection than Alex was.

“If you like insipid blonds,” Luke drawled, tossing his own golden locks over his shoulder in a gesture of clear dismissal. “Look at me and what do you see, Mordad?”

“The most beautiful angel ever created. No-one has ever disputed that. Even HE doesn’t deny you’re still his one and only perfect creation,” Mordad admitted.

“But am I sexy?” Luke demanded.

Mordad swallowed nervously, trying to decide whether it was better to be damned for telling a lie or to be burned to a crisp by a pissed-off Sarim. Luke *was* drop-dead gorgeous, but he sure as hell didn’t fit any description of ‘sexy’.

To his surprise, Luke just grinned smugly at his hesitation. 

“I was *second* in line when HE was handing out beauty,” Rafe interrupted, clearly oblivious to the point Luke was making.

“Yeah,” Ash snickered. “And last in line when HE was handing out brains.” 

Even Mordad couldn’t bring himself to argue the cruel observation. No amount of loyalty to his ‘side’ would justify the effort of trying to prove Rafe wasn’t a prime example of the proverbial dumb blond.

Luke chuckled. “Perfection is over-rated, Mordad. I’m surprised I need to tell *you* that. Walter Skinner is hardly a model of aesthetic perfection, is he?”

Mordad bristled with offense. “Beauty is relative,” he pointed out.

“Exactly,” Luke beamed. “Rafael is, undoubtedly, more ‘perfect’ in his beauty than Alex but, nevertheless, Alex is the more attractive of the two. All the Seraphim are blessed with spectacular looks, and Alex is no exception. But his beauty is flawed. He has minute imperfections. That’s his charm. Perfection may be beautiful, but it isn’t *sexy*. If it were, neither you nor Rafe would be here. You vacation here because what you want, what you are attracted to, is the flawed beauty of Purgatory rather than the sterile perfection of Heaven. So I stand by my comment. Anyway, I know Alex *is* the sweetest piece of angelic ass because he’s the only Angel who’s ever tempted *me*.”

“You?” Mordad blurted, his eyes widening in sheer horror.

Luke laughed at the look on Mordad’s face. “Relax. I’d never do anything about it. Just because I’m temporarily refusing to get in HIS bed, doesn’t mean I’d ever be unfaithful. “

“Temporarily?” Mordad muttered. “It’s been over seven millennia, Luke.”

“Tell me about it,” Luke sighed. “Which is probably why I’ve developed such a voyeuristic pleasure in watching other people getting laid.” 

“Well, if Alex doesn’t get Walter onto his feet I can’t see him getting laid again before Judgment Day,” Mordad said. “Which is going to come one hell of a lot sooner than expected if the aliens get to Mulder without Alex there to protect him.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt me to give Alex a *little* more help,” he moaned. “It’s just that reversing exorcisms is such a bore. It got so damned tedious during the 18th century witch-hunts that I pretty much gave up bothering. It’s like housework, Mordad. The minute you finish cleaning up, things start getting fucked-up again. So what’s the point?”

“The point is that both Alex and I get a chance of being laid again this century,” Mordad replied, with a heartfelt sigh.

“You’ve really got a thing for Walter, haven’t you?” Luke smirked.

Mordad adjusted his feathers and attempted a nonchalant expression. “Foreplay’s a drag, Luke. Walter’s a sure thing. That’s all.”

Luke snorted with amusement. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it is,” he agreed, with a cynical grin.

“So are you going to give Alex his powers back?”

“Sure,” Luke agreed. “But not yet. Ashriel’s having such a blast. It’d be a shame to break up the entertainment too soon, wouldn’t it?” 

TBC