Part Nine

He'd been shot once. Execution style. A single entry wound so small that it seemed almost impossible to imagine so tiny a projectile permanently felling such a huge man. The bullet had ripped unerringly through the once vibrant muscle of Skinner's heart. The wide pool of dried blood spread like a cape around his fallen body was testament to that unmistakable truth.

She shivered, cold and lost in the face of such irrefutable evidence of yet one more shattered dream. Her small frame wrapped in the heavy, slightly scratchy comfort of a paramedic's blanket, she stood silently as the crime scene photographers snapped around her, resisting any efforts to make her vacate her vigil over Skinner's body.

It seemed little enough to offer him, that she should stand guard over his dignity as the forensics team crawled over and around him in their painstaking search for evidence.

Too little in face of her silence over the possible identity of his murderer and yet, despite her grief and guilt, she stayed mute against her colleagues' questioning.

An anonymous tip, she'd told them, and that much was true.

No, he didn't say who'd done it, and that was a lie.

"I'm sorry, Walter," she whispered, her voice little more than an exhaled breath.

He'd understand. If he were alive he'd applaud her decision to protect Mulder, even if it meant his own murderer was never apprehended. She knew that, and she had to hope that wherever he was Skinner would know that she personally intended to pursue Krycek to the ends of the Earth.

But only after she'd ensured that Mulder was safe.

"Agent Scully. We need to move the b…move the Assistant Director now," someone told her, his voice hesitant and kind as though she were something fragile, as though she might shatter if touched.

She ignored him, walking instead to Skinner's side and crouching down to stroke the side of his cheek almost reverently. Her face as pale as that of his bloodless corpse, she bowed her head as though in prayer, yet when her voice emerged it was strong and steady, the sound in such contrast to her blank-eyed stare that several of the other Agents turned to her in surprise.

"He's in a better place now," she said, with confidence, then turned to face her audience. "Now go find the son-of-a-bitch that sent him there!"

~#~#~#~

"Awww, wasn't that sad?" Gabriel purred. "Poor little heartbroken, Scully. Fancy sending the poor woman alone to find the body of the man she loved. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Michael frowned and colored slightly.

"I thought he was gay," he protested.

"He was," Gabriel replied. "What's that got to do with anything? I was referring to Dana's feelings. It's irrelevant whether Skinner returned them, isn't it?"

"Since when did you start caring about the feelings of mortals?" Michael scoffed.

"Dana Scully isn't just a mortal," Gabriel corrected, his eyes cold. "She's guaranteed a place in Heaven, remember? One of these days you're going to walk around a corner here and bump right into her righteous indignation. If I were you, I'd be pretty worried right now. She's the type that bears a grudge and she *will* remember your hand in this."

"I don't understand why you chose her in the first place," Michael muttered. "She hasn't got the right temperament to be a Saint. Couldn't you have picked someone less….deadly?"

"She had all the right qualifications."

"Except the small minor point that she wasn't a virgin," Michael snorted.

"Virgins are a rare commodity these days," Gabriel pointed out. "The only ones I found were bitter, twisted old maids and a couple of nuns."

"Only a couple?"

"Exactly. Vows obviously aren't what they used to be," Gabriel sighed. "Besides, this is the twenty-first century. No one believes in virgin births except tabloid newspapers. I decided that the impregnation of a woman without ova was *far* more likely to be accepted as a miracle."

"What do you think her chances are of finding Mulder?" Michael asked casually.

"Now that you've told her Alex is planning on killing him?" Gabriel laughed. "Put it this way, if this was a horse-race I'd shoot the other animals now and spare them the misery of seeing her gallop past them to the winning post. She *always* tracks him down."

"This is all *your* fault," Michael muttered. "If you'd told me the truth I wouldn't have interfered."

"Well, I suppose you could still stop her," Gabriel pointed out, with a beatific smile. "I hear that DC10's have an unfortunate design flaw in their hydraulic systems."

~#~#~#~

"I'm going to fuck you so hard and well they're going to hear you wailing hallelujah in Alaska," Alex whispered into Mulder's ear as he followed him into the motel room and kicked the door shut behind them with a resounding crash.

Mulder spun around so quickly that he nearly overbalanced.

"Fuck *me*?" he gasped. "Who the hell said I'd let you fuck *me*?"

"I did," Alex replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement at the shocked expression on Mulder's face. "I told you, this relationship of ours has been altogether too one-sided but I'm about to address the problem to our mutual satisfaction."

"Dream on, Alex. You're the bottom, I'm the top. If you don't like it, you know where the door is. It's not negotiable."

Alex frowned at him in genuine confusion. "I *know* you, Mulder," he pointed out gently. "I obviously know you better than you think I do. You *like* being fucked. As I heard it, a cute red-headed philosophy graduate initiated you so well to the delights of your prostate that you lost your voice for three days and had to tell everyone you had laryngitis."

"So?" Mulder hissed.

"So drop 'em, Mulder, and I guarantee you won't be able to talk for a *week*," Alex promised, with a leer.

"No way," Mulder growled, clenching his fists and raising them in obvious threat.

"Way," Alex laughed, and snapped his fingers.

Mulder instantly found himself sprawled buck-naked on the bed, his wrists and ankles tied to the four bed-posts.

"You fucker!" he screamed, so furious that the words emerged in a spray of spittle. He had a vision of himself red-faced and frothing at the mouth, which was unfortunately negated by the fact that his cock was equally red and was doing its own valiant attempt to froth.

"That's the general idea," Alex agreed, with a wide smile of appreciation at Mulder's saluting cock. "Is that all for me? Gosh. Is it Christmas already?"

"Christmas?" Mulder snarled, writhing angrily in his bonds as Alex began a slow, sensuous striptease. "You're a Demon, Alex."

"Oh yes," Alex sniggered. "Maybe Thanksgiving then. Yeah, that's it because I'm about to stuff me a turkey and I sure as hell am feeling thankful about it."

"If…you…touch…me…I…will…kill…you," Mulder announced, enunciating each word with clear and unmistakable precision and desperately trying not to notice the way that Alex was deliberately wiggling his hips as he peeled off his pants to reveal the lush butt that Mulder had been jerking off to for years.

"I'm immortal," Alex pointed out gently, jiggling his ass cheeks in Mulder's face then turning around to face him.

Mulder gulped and licked his lips as the sight of Alex's jutting cock made his treacherous mouth water. The memory of the taste and texture of that generously sized flesh momentarily distracted his outrage but, when Alex smirked at his obvious interest, Mulder's ass clenched in reaction and he was abruptly reminded that Alex wasn't intending to put that monstrosity in his *mouth*.

"Okay, joke's over, Alex," he demanded, though his voice was more a squeak than a shout. "Let me go. NOW."

"Isn't this fun?" Alex replied, with a happy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes but instead floated over his mouth like a mask. "I can't believe nobody's ever wanted to play this kind of game with me before."

"GAME?" Mulder roared. "What the fuck do you mean, 'game'?"

"I mean, I admit some people *have* played hard to get," Alex continued blithely, staring at a point just above Mulder's head, "But no one's ever actually wanted me to literally tie them up before."

Mulder swallowed hard and forced his voice to sound calm.

"Alex, I realize that your reality and mine only intersect on a superficial level but, believe me, I do NOT want you to do this to me. Listen to me, Alex. NO. No means 'No'. It doesn't mean 'Yes'. It doesn't even mean 'try harder'. It means NO. I…do…not…"

"See?" Alex laughed, although the sound sounded strangely like a strangled sob. "You are SO good at this. That's why it's such fun."

Mulder glared at him and then gnashed his teeth in fury at what he could only assume was Alex's deliberate obtuseness.

"If you rape me," he whispered, "I will *never* forgive you."

Perhaps it was the quietness of his voice or simply his use of the word 'rape' but Alex rocked back, his happy smile sliding off his face until only confusion remained as his eyes skipped between the contrasting signals of Mulder's stiff, leaking cock and the unmistakable cold hate in Mulder's eyes.

"Rape?" he repeated, a frown creasing his brow. "That's not funny, Mulder. I don't mind trying to fulfill your fantasies, but that's taking things too far. I don't mind you wanting me to use a bit of 'persuasion' but *that*…well, that would…you…oh, shit, Mulder. This is not fair. You are such a bastard sometimes. I know you don't give a shit about my feelings, but do you really have to dig the knife in *and* fucking twist it for good measure?"

He glared accusingly at Mulder, his eyes wide with pain and shining with something that looked suspiciously like genuine tears. Then he turned away, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to Mulder and his head bowed into his hands. His posture was so obviously indicative of hurt that Mulder felt reality tilt around him as he mentally replayed the last few minutes and tried to work out how the hell he had somehow become the unfeeling bastard and Alex the aggrieved victim when it was he whom Alex had stripped and tied to the bed.

Was it possibly because Alex was right?

Had his refusal to let Alex fuck him just been the first scene of an intended elaborate seduction? Had he said 'no' just for the hell of it, knowing Alex had the ability to simply 'take' what he wanted anyway? Had he actually *wanted* Alex to force him, so that he could turn around afterwards and deny his own participation?

Possibly, he reluctantly admitted to himself.

But why?

The answer was obvious to him, as obvious as the fact that he'd been hard and dripping with excitement since the moment he'd found himself bound and helpless on the bed.

Because, just as he'd previously denied any feelings for Alex by calling him 'just a good fuck', so in always being the fucker, rather than the fuckee, he'd been able to keep a part of himself protected and safe.

In other words, he was still being a prick.

Just as Alex had always allowed Mulder to strike him physically with impunity, despite his obvious physical superiority, so Alex had been willing to offer him an emotional impunity too. Alex had agreed to play Mulder's 'game', pronouncing it *fun* even though it must have hurt him that Mulder 'wanted' the safety net of pretending he was being forced.

But when he'd insisted on naming it, on calling it 'rape', when he'd pushed the game *that* far, Alex had crumbled.

Because Alex was in love with him.

Like Alex had said.

Like Mulder had always known, somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere so well buried that he'd been able to consciously ignore the knowledge to justify his anger, yet accessible enough for his subconscious to take it out and gloat occasionally.

He felt sick. Sick and ashamed. So ashamed of his own self-deception that he wouldn't have blamed Alex for just getting up and storming out of his life. How many times *could* you kick someone in the balls and expect them to keep coming back for more punishment? How many times could he hope that 'sorry' would be enough to bandage over the hurt he'd inflicted?

"Untie me," he whispered, and immediately the restraints fell away from his wrists and ankles. He sat up and touched Alex tentatively on the shoulder. He felt Alex's muscles flinch and quiver under his fingers, he could feel the misery radiating off Alex's skin as though it was a physical heat and, although Alex's face was averted, he had no doubt that the tears he'd seen sparkling in the sad green eyes were now spilling silently down Alex's face.

"Fuck me, Alex," he murmured, punctuating his words with soft, apologetic kisses against the nape of Alex's neck. When Alex's only response was a deep, confused sob, Mulder decided it was finally time to fish or cut bait. "Make love to me, lover," he purred. "Make me scream."

~#~#~#~

"But I still don't understand why Mulder's so important," Walter admitted, with a long-suffering sigh.

"It's biblical."

"Are we back on that Armageddon crap?" Walter asked rudely. He wasn't sure when he'd lost his awe of Luke, but suspected it was somewhere between his tenth and eleventh refill. One of the advantages of being dead was that he didn't have to worry about alcoholic poisoning.

"I was thinking more of the story of Job," Luke chuckled.

"Job?" Walter queried warily.

"You know, nice guy who had seven bells of shit knocked out of him because the big 'G' was showing off to his best bud here," someone interrupted from the lounger on Walter's left.

"Ah, Kabniel's returned from the dead," Luke snorted.

"That's a matter of opinion," Kabniel groaned. "What the hell did you put in that punch? My head hurts."

Luke winked at Walter and whispered, "It's ironic but true that people invoke *him* to be cured of stupidity."

Walter blinked slowly. Although he knew he'd hate himself for asking, he couldn't help himself. "'Best bud'? We *are* talking about the same Book of Job?"

"Singing off the same song sheet, absolutely," Luke agreed amiably.

"I don't suppose either of you know what happened to my sunglasses?" Kabniel moaned, then shrugged at their blank expressions. "I need a piss anyway," he announced, and staggered off into the house, his wings trailing behind him like a crumpled cape.

"You've lost me," Walter said flatly. "As I recall, it was *you* that challenged God …"

"Don't say the 'G' word, G-man," Luke reminded him quickly.

"As I was saying," Walter continued, angrily shaking his head, "you challenged God to show you one truly pious man. God presented Job as an example. You said the only reason Job worshipped God was because he had such a good life. So God tested Job's devotion."

"Do you remember how?" Luke demanded.

Walter furrowed through his somewhat sodden memory. "Job's family were all killed. He lost everything he valued. He suffered pestilence and disease…"

"Any bells ringing?"

"What?"

"Listen to yourself, Walter. Job was the one and only truly good man. What did he get as a reward? Nothing. Sweet F.A. He lost everyone and everything he cared about. You'd think people would learn a lesson from that, wouldn't you?"

"Job didn't lose his faith."

"So Job was a no-brain sap," Luke snapped. "The big 'G' fucked him over and all he did was bend over, kiss his ankles and wait for the next reaming with an inane grin on his face."

"Has anyone ever told you you've got an anal fixation?" Walter asked sweetly.

"On occasion," Luke replied, with an obscenely satisfied smirk.

"What did Kabniel mean when he called you God's 'best bud'?"

"We're…um… 'close'," Luke whispered confidentially, and winked.

"Aha," Walter agreed, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"You don't believe me," Luke pouted.

"Convince me," Walter suggested easily, wondering why an expression that had always tempted him to kick Mulder up the ass looked so damn cute on Luke. Then he wondered whether having sexual fantasies about the devil would get him kicked straight back into that abyss.

"Nope."

"What?" Walter demanded, blushing furiously.

"This is Purgatory, Walter. There's no such thing as sin *here*. Well, that's not strictly true but you're okay as long as you steer clear of apples."

"Apples?"

"Tree of good and evil?" Luke prompted. "Eve. Apple. Any of this sinking in?"

"But that was Eden," Walter argued.

Luke gestured expansively at the glorious beach below. "Paradise doesn't get any better than this, Walt."

"You're telling me Purgatory *is* Eden?"

Luke shrugged. "Why the hell do you think I gave her the apple? Nothing worse than a crowded beach. Place was going to hell in a hand-basket. HE did it on purpose. Created himself a whole new species and just dumped them in our back yard. Then he pretended to wonder why we got pissed off though it was obvious he just wanted me to do HIS dirty work."

He sighed at Walter's blank look.

"Think about it. HE makes humans, drops them here, tells them to have fun, kick back their heels and just party but then adds 'Oh, but whatever you do, don't eat any of those nice juicy apples that you probably wouldn't even have *thought* about if I hadn't just mentioned them.' You telling me that *wasn't* a set-up, Walt? Humans just can't resist temptation. Take Mulder as a perfect example of human nature. What's the best way to lead him by the nose? Just to tell him he *can't* do something," Luke laughed.

"Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that you are perfectly safe here, Walt. You can do anything you like without *any* consequences. The only way you get out of Purgatory is by walking down to that tree and taking a bite of one of those apples."

"What happens if I stand up now and just do that?" Walter asked pugnaciously.

"I've already told you. You get reborn down there and have to go through all that living shit again. I don't recommend it. The way things are going right now you're likely to end up in Heaven before you even reach puberty."

"Remind me why that's a bad thing."

"Can you even *imagine* how boring someone has to be to get into heaven?" Luke sighed. "The place is full of religious zealots, frustrated spinsters and born-again bible-bashers. Oh, and kids of course and kids are *usually* fun but believe me after they've spent a few millennia realizing that they are *never* going to be allowed to grow up, get drunk and have sex, even the brightest kid turns into a manic depressive. Do you *really* want to spend the rest of eternity as a horny frustrated immortal ten-year-old, Walt?"

"So, yet again, we're back to Armageddon," Walter sighed.

"The date is set," Luke agreed. "Unless I can come up with a way to turn things around, the Game's going to come to a very abrupt end in less than ten years."

Go to Part Ten