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Thorns by Mort |
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Sequel to Midnight Matinee
Scully braced her hands on her hips, narrowed her eyes into threatening slits and said, "Okay, that's it! I've had enough, Mulder. Either you start telling me what the hell is going on, or I'm going to start ringing around florists until I track your mystery admirer myself." Mulder's only response to Scully's threat was to flush with a combination of embarrassment and annoyance as he replied, "Go ahead, knock yourself out. If you manage to trace any of the credit cards, you aren't only a better investigator than me but it will prove that they *didn't* come from..." His voice trailed off awkwardly. Scully pounced. "Sooo," she drawled with an evil smirk. "You *do* know the identity of your secret admirer." "I never said that," Mulder protested. "Anyway, what's the difference?" he added, throwing the box so violently against the trashbin that it split open. Long-stemmed roses tumbled to the floor like a cascade of blood tears. "I'm not interested, so who gives a damn anyway?" Instead of answering, Scully rushed across the room to retrieve the roses before Mulder changed his mind. "Ouch!" she cursed, as her index finger was speared by a thorn, yet she continued to collect them just as she had done every morning that week. Then she carried them to a vase that was already over-spilling with a riot of multi-colored flowers. "I DON'T WANT THEM," Mulder protested. Scully looked down her nose at him and gave a dramatic sniff. "That's patently obvious, Mulder. I, on the other hand, think they are beautiful," she said, beginning to arrange them carefully into the tall vase. "They're mine," Mulder told her petulantly. "No," Scully corrected. "They were yours up until the point they hit the bin. Now, they're mine. I think it's a nice change to have something beautiful in this office, so deal with it." They *were* beautiful, Mulder agreed silently, although he kept his face firmly fixed in a sulking pout. They were beautiful to look at, at least, but as Scully had already learnt to her cost, they were as dangerous as hell to touch. Which made them oddly appropriate, under the circumstances. "A dozen red roses are the ultimate symbol of love from the heart," Scully said suddenly. "What?" Mulder asked, tempted to check the color of Scully's blood. "Who are you, and what have you done with Scully?" "Just because I'm not a romantic by nature, doesn't mean I don't appreciate romantic gestures," Scully huffed. "Believe it or not, I do occasionally receive flowers myself, Mulder, and I accept them with far more grace than to throw them in the garbage. Besides, there's no point throwing the baby out with the bath water, is there?" "It's not the damn roses that are the problem, Scully. It's the reason behind them that bothers the hell out of me," Mulder admitted. "Then if the roses aren't the issue, you won't mind *me* keeping them," Scully said ,with a satisfied smirk. "Whatever," Mulder sulked. He opened a file and pretended not to notice Scully rearranging the vase to some model of aesthetic perfection. "Three people were killed by sharks last month on the same crowded beach in Virginia. Each victim died within fifteen feet of the shore and not one witness has stepped forward. Don't you think that's strange?" "Not as strange as Agent Fox Mulder having a relationship," Scully grinned. "I am *not* having a relationship. How many times do I have to tell you? This, this *person* just won't take no for an answer. We're having a communication problem, that's all." Scully pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Flowers have a whole language of their own, you know?. It's quite fascinating how people have used them to communicate over the centuries." "Really?" Mulder smirked. "I didn't know your specialty was folk-lore. Do tell me all about it Doctor Scully." "The roses are red today; that means your admirer is getting more serious," she said, ignoring Mulder's sarcastic tone.. "How do you figure that out?" Mulder asked, intrigued in spite of himself. "You had lavender roses on Tuesday. They meant love at first sight. Then you had orange roses on Wednesday. They meant fascination. Yesterday you got white roses, symbolizing a pure, innocent love. Today the roses are red, so your suitor is getting more courageous and passionate." Mulder pursed his lips and frowned in annoyance. He wasn't used to this romantic side of Scully and under the current circumstances found it both irritating and fraught with danger. He knew the easiest way to curtail her enthusiasm would be to mention the name of his would-be suitor. It wasn't as if *he* had done anything wrong, was it? Krycek had raped him. The rat bastard had literally put a gun to his head and had forced him to co-operate in his own debasement. So why couldn't he tell her? Why was he lying to his partner and best friend to conceal the identity of his assailant? He didn't know and that, perhaps, was the most irritating and frightening part of this whole situation he had found himself in. "Red roses are probably just on special offer today, Scully. Believe me, the message in these roses has *nothing* to do with their color." "Are you sure?" Scully asked pointedly. "How do you know he doesn't understand the language of flowers?" Mulder choked back a bitter laugh at the idea of Alex Krycek putting aside his assassin's handbook long enough to study the romantic meaning of roses. Then he froze, blushed scarlet and when his voice emerged, it was little more than a squeak of surprise. "He?" "Oh come on, Mulder. It's bad enough you won't give me details. At least have the decency not to lie about it. Your admirer *is* a man, isn't he?" "Wha..wha...what gives you that idea?" Mulder stuttered. "Lots of women send their boyfriends flowers. It's an equal opportunity thing." Scully sighed and tried not to look as hurt as she felt. She failed. "Mulder, I know," she said. "I've always known. The only thing that bothered me about the idea was the fact that you seemed in complete denial about it yourself. It meant you rarely dated *anyone* and even if you did, it never lasted past a couple of dates." Mulder just gaped at her in disbelief. "So, whoever he is, why not give him a chance? He's obviously besotted with you and although you've been upset by the flowers, you haven't panicked or reported the deliveries to anyone, so obviously it's not a stalker. He *isn't* a stalker is he?" Scully suddenly demanded, her romantic ideas quenched by a sudden fear for her partner. "No," Mulder mumbled. "He's not a stalker." "So, unless he's an axe murderer or he's got two heads, why not give him a chance?" Mulder gave a bitter chuckle. "Believe me, Scully, he's the last person in the world I could ever get involved with. Even if I wanted to, and I don't." "You don't find him attractive?" Scully demanded. "I am NOT having this conversation with you, Scully. There's nothing to discuss. Keep the damn roses, if you want them. There won't be any more. I'm going to refuse any more deliveries." They spent the rest of the day pretending the conversation hadn't taken place, although Scully occasionally found herself looking longingly at the flowers, that seemed to dominate the basement with their bright colors and heady aroma, and then staring surreptitiously at her partner, her expression alternating between fascination and worry.
The next morning, Mulder got to work an hour early and removed both the offending roses and their vase before Scully arrived. He saw her bite her lip when her eyes immediately took in the vacancy on the filing cabinet, but she said nothing, merely seating herself at her desk and graciously accepting the coffee Mulder had bought her as a peace offering. "I thought we should check out that report on the shark attacks," Mulder said as a diversion. It worked. Scully straightened in her chair, pursed her lips into disapproval and began a lecture. "I thought we agreed that the unusual water temperature off the coast of Virginia is a natural phenomena that has brought the sharks closer to the beach than normal. The coastguard has confirmed sightings of the sharks off-shore. There's nothing unusual about what happened. It's simply an unfortunate tragedy. It's not an X-file." "Do you know that the chances of being attacked by a shark off a public beach are less likely than being struck by lightening *twice* in the same spot?" Mulder argued. Scully opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the ringing of Mulder's phone. He snatched at the new diversion, only for the color to drain out of his cheeks as he listened to the caller. "I said NO," he snapped. Scully frowned with interest as she watched Mulder's discomfort. "I don't care what he does with them," Mulder hissed. "Tell him he can throw them in the garbage, for all I care." He slammed the phone down. Scully arched her left eyebrow. "What color were they?" she asked. "I don't know" Mulder lied, to avoid Scully's inevitable lecture on the romantic significance of yellow roses.
Mulder shuffled uncomfortably under Skinner's glare, convinced that somehow his secret shame had been discovered. The guilty churning in his stomach surged into overdrive when he saw the unmistakable sign of a blush staining his superior's cheeks when he finally spoke. "I'm not sure how to put this, Agent Mulder," Skinner confessed. "So I'll just come out and ask you. I'm not used to beating around the bush, so you'll just have to forgive me if you find my questions personal and intrusive." Mulder's right foot began a staccato rhythm on Skinner's carpet and he dropped his face, unable to look Skinner in the eye as his sordid secret was aired. Maybe if he confessed now it wouldn't be too late to save his job, he decided. He opened his mouth to speak but for once words completely failed him as he realized he still didn't know *which* of his crimes Skinner had uncovered. What if he confessed about Baker and it turned out that Skinner knew about Krycek., or vice versa? Seemingly oblivious of Mulder's own growing panic, Skinner suddenly blurted, "I heard you have been receiving deliveries from florists all week, and I wondered whether you would tell me who they were from and what it was you received." "Sir?" Mulder asked, playing for time. Krycek, he decided. Baker was dead so Skinner had to be referring to Krycek. He looked cautiously at Skinner's face for a tell-tale sign of disgust or even compassion in the granite features. Instead, Skinner fumbled with his glasses and avoided Mulder's eyes. "I'm not prying into your private life, Agent Mulder. Not deliberately anyway. It's simply that I had a disturbing delivery today, and someone mentioned that you have not only been receiving flowers all week but that this morning you refused to accept a delivery, I wondered why that was." "What kind of disturbing delivery?" Mulder asked worriedly. Skinner narrowed his eyes at Mulder's evasion but then shrugged and reached under his desk to retrieve a white florist's box. He pulled off the lid to reveal the contents and Mulder gazed in bewilderment at the arrangement inside. "What is it?" he asked Skinner. "I was hoping you might be able to tell me," Skinner replied. "It *appears* to be a small branch from a tree, although I don't recognize the variety." "Did you touch it?" Mulder asked. "No," Skinner said. "I realized it might be poisonous." "I'll take it down to the lab for you," Mulder offered. "So, you've never seen anything like this before?" "No, Sir. All my deliveries have been roses from an overeager admirer," Mulder replied. "I was getting embarrassed about the whole thing. That's why I lost my temper and sent the flowers back this morning." "Oh," Skinner replied. "Well, I'm sorry if my questions embarrassed you, but I'm sure you understand why I asked them." "Of course," Mulder murmured. He understood only too well, It was all he could do to keep a neutral expression on his face in view of the panic that was raging beneath his exterior. "Besides, I don't see what you have to be embarrassed about, Agent Mulder. At least *your* admirer sent you flowers rather than a broken off tree branch," Skinner replied with a tight smile.
"It's harmless," Johansen said. Mulder looked at the scientist in disbelief. He'd been positive the branch had been contaminated by something deadly. Why the hell else would Krycek have sent it? "You're sure?" he asked weakly. "It's non-toxic and it hasn't been contaminated by anything," Johansen clarified. "So what is it?" "It's from a bald cypress, which is common enough in this country. People use it for fences and paneling. It's just a branch, Agent Mulder. Not even an unusual one." "But why the hell would he have sent it?" Mulder mumbled to himself. "I expect it's either a joke or a message," the scientist replied. "Now, unless you have any more questions, I *do* have real work to do." "No, that's all. Thanks," Mulder replied quietly. He gave Johansen an apologetic smile and backed out of the laboratory.
"Death," Langley pronounced, with a satisfied chuckle. "What did you say?" Mulder demanded. "In the language of flowers, Cypress signifies death," Langley repeated. "I guess it was some kind of bizarre death threat. I mean Skinner is almost bald, so whoever sent him a sprig of bald cypress has either got a bad sense of humor, or is seriously wacko. I doubt he's dangerous though. It's hardly in the same league as a letter bomb, is it?" Mulder managed to mumble thanks, as his numb fingers almost dropped the phone. Langley was probably right about the seriously wacko comment, maybe, but he was way off base on the dangerous part. "What's the flower for jealousy?" Mulder asked urgently. "Hang on while I look it up," Langley said so casually that Mulder had to make a conscious effort not to scream at him down the phone line. "Got it," his cheerful voice finally continued, "There's two. French marigolds and yellow roses." "Fuck," Mulder spat, and hung up.
It wasn't pain, exactly. It was both more and less than that simple sensation. It was an ache that perhaps started in the muscles of his calves and biceps yet couldn't explain the cramping tightness of his chest. Furiously, Mulder pushed himself away from the side and swam another lap. He ignored the protest of his body and concentrated instead on trying to numb the panic inside his head. Another lap, and another, and another, until he was one screaming ache from head to toe, until the physical pain drowned the detestable feelings within his heart. Until, finally, he could picture Krycek's face in his head and clearly see only the vicious thorns rather than the beautiful exterior that disguised them. By the time he felt in control of his emotions, he was almost too exhausted to haul himself out of the pool. He slipped a little, banging his shins painfully against the steps, and then staggered towards the showers, so tired that he sank down and sat on the floor as the warm water cascaded down over his face. He hugged his knees for comfort, dropped his forehead onto his hands and lost the battle to keep his eyes open. Maybe I'll drown in the shower, he thought, and found himself shaking with something between hysterical laughter and tears.. "See," Krycek's voice whispered in his ear. Mulder's eyes shot open as he jerked fully awake. He tried to scramble to his feet but it was too late. Krycek's titanium hand had closed around his throat, and the other hand was wrapped around his chest in a bone-crushing hug. Fully clothed, Krycek was kneeling behind him, his powerful thighs pressed against the outside of Mulder's legs and his unmistakable erection poking rudely into the small of Mulder's back. "Get your fucking hands off me, you bastard!" Mulder choked. "I told you a bunch of roses wouldn't do it. Even five bunches of roses haven't chipped away at you, and I'm rapidly running out of stolen credit cards. I'd really hate to make you feel responsible for me acquiring some more, so I figure we'll forget the flowers and go back to plan A," Krycek purred. "Let's talk about plan B, instead. What the fuck did you send Skinner the bald cypress for?" "You're the profiler, you tell me," Krycek chuckled. "Because in your fucked up head, you think the reason I'm managing to resist your questionable charms is because I've got a hard on for Skinner." "Give the boy a prize," Krycek smirked. "Shit, Fox. You're good at this psychology lark. You should do it for a living." "I do." "Could have fooled me, Fox. You spend most of your life with your head so far up your own ass that you don't have a clue what's happening in the real world. For instance, you have absolutely no idea of how I feel about you." "Maybe I just don't give a shit about how you feel," Mulder snarled. "See? You live in a constant state of self-denial, Fox. What's that saying? Physician heal thyself? Maybe you should try it. Psychologist shrink yourself! Then again, maybe not. God knows you're already too self-obsessed. Maybe you should just give up trying to think about what you're doing. Listen to your body for a change." Krycek's right hand crept downward to caress the front of Mulder's Speedos. "Don't fucking touch me!" Mulder yelped. "And here we are again," Krycek laughed. "Your body saying one thing and your mouth saying another." He tightened his hold on Mulder's neck and his right hand began to explore the rapidly growing bulge of Mulder's erection. "Of course, the question is whether you get turned on by the situation or by me," Krycek said thoughtfully. "I haven't figured out yet whether you fight me because of your conscience or because you like it rough. Maybe it's a bit of both." "Why don't you let me go and find out, you bastard?" Mulder challenged. "Well, I would," Krycek replied, "but you'd probably attack me just for the sake of appearances, and then I'd get pissed off and Skinner would wake up tomorrow slightly dead." Mulder's cock withered in Krycek's hand. "I *knew* it," Krycek spat. "I told you, Fox. No-one fucks your ass but me!" "Shit, Krycek. It's not..." Krycek struck him savagely across the side of the face. "ALEX," he snarled. As his ear rang from the force of the blow, and the coppery tang of blood filled his mouth, Mulder gasped, "Alex. Listen to me, Alex. Skinner is my boss. That's all he is. I swear I've never touched him. He's never touched me. Hell, the only thing Skinner wants to do to my ass is kick it." For an endless moment Krycek didn't respond then, unbelievably, he laughed. "Can't say I haven't had the same impulse myself," he chuckled. "You have a talent for pissing people off, Mulder. It's part of your charm, maybe." Mulder felt a hot tongue lick gently across his bruised cheek, followed immediately by a series of feather-light kisses. "I'm sorry, Fox. I believe you," Krycek whispered. His kisses became more insistent, his breath hot on Mulder's face, as though he could kiss away the pain of his blow. "You make me crazy, Fox." "You *are* fucking crazy, Alex," Mulder snapped, then flinched in expectation of another blow. "I won't hit you again, Fox. I promise," Krycek whispered. "I lost my temper, and I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I love you." "You love me," Mulder repeated sarcastically. "That's right. So next time you piss me off, I won't hit you. I won't even kick your ass. I'll just kill Skinner," Krycek said in a voice so matter of fact that it chilled Mulder to the bone. "I told you he means nothing to me," Mulder gasped. "So, that will make it all the more interesting, won't it?" Krycek replied. "Make what interesting?" "What happens next between us, Fox." "In case you'd forgotten, this is the fucking FBI Headquarters, Alex. Someone could walk in at any moment." "I know," Krycek sighed. "Which is a sad waste of potentially beautiful moment. But you're right. I need to get out of here." "So what the fuck was this all about?" "Two things, Fox. Firstly I decided it was time to prove that I *am* always watching you. There's nowhere you can go that I can't follow you. There's nothing you can do that I can't see, and there's no-one you can fuck that I won't find out about. Secondly, I 'm planning on calling on you soon in a less public setting. To save misunderstandings, I decided you needed to understand the consequences of being less than welcoming when I arrive." "You want to rape me without the handcuffs this time?" Mulder mocked. "Hell, Mulder. I'd hate to deprive you of whatever props turn you on," Krycek chuckled. "But it won't be rape. In fact, I predict you're going to beg me to fuck you. The alternative would be 'unfortunate' for your 'friend' Skinner." "You bastard." "Come on, Fox. You know you want it. All I'm doing is giving you an excuse to say yes. You should thank me for making it so easy for you to give in." "Why don't you just go to hell," Mulder snarled, hating himself for the shivers of desire that Krycek's hand was teasing from his body. "Been there, done that, got the severed arm," Krycek replied blithely, only a shadow flickering in the depths of his green eyes betraying the pain behind his words. "What the fuck do you want? Sympathy?" Mulder growled. "Well to be honest, which is admittedly an unfamiliar concept, I suspect that what I *want* is for you to love me, Fox. But I'll settle for fucking your ass."
Mulder opened the envelope and let the dried brown leaf flutter down onto the table. "That's all you received? No note?" Mulder nodded, unwilling to admit that the envelope had earlier contained his electricity bill and that the leaf had actually been left in his locker by a guy who had recently fucked his brains out. "What is it?" "It's just a bay leaf, a herb. " "What the hell does it mean?" "Maybe someone wants to invite you to dinner." "No. What does it *mean*," Mulder snapped. "Oh, sorry," Langley muttered. "Hang on a minute while I check." He tapped furiously into his keyboard and then began to troll through his search engine. "Got it!" he finally exclaimed. "It means 'I change only in death,'" Langley read off the screen. "Does that make any sense to you?" "Yeah," Mulder muttered. "Too much sense." He picked the leaf up, almost tenderly, and replaced it in the envelope. "Thanks," he said sadly and headed for the door. "Hey, Mulder. You okay? Anything I can do?" "There's nothing anyone can do, Langley," Mulder replied sadly. "Like he said, the only thing that will stop him from doing it is a bullet in the brain." "Stop who? From doing what?" "Loving me," Mulder replied, with a sad smile. Then he turned and walked silently away.
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