Spoilers: Avatar

Warnings:  domestic discipline 

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I felt like the worst kind of hopeful fool that night. I was walking down the road like a lovesick adolescent, with a bottle of Chablis in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other. My cheeks were uncomfortably hot and I was clenching my teeth so tightly that my jaw hurt. Every time a passerby smirked at my obvious discomfiture, I felt my lips trying to twitch into a nervous grin. It took an extreme effort of will to maintain my surly mask although, after all these years, you'd think my face would have naturally folded into the well-worn creases of the expression.

Several times I was tempted to discard the flowers into one of the trash bins sporadically scattered along the sidewalk. I was even uncertain about the wine I was carrying. When they invited me to dinner, when *he* invited me to dinner, I had been too stunned by the offer to even inquire what we would be eating. The wine had seemed a good choice in the shop, but as I approached the apartment all I could think was that if the meal turned out to be no more than a dialed-up pizza, I was going to be embarrassed that I hadn't simply brought a couple of six-packs.

I didn't even know why I'd agreed to go at all. I had a half-formed suspicion in my head but was so unsure of my conclusions that I was brandishing flowers and wine as though they were weapons against disappointment.

"It's a one-time-only deal," he'd told me. 

One night. One chance. One decision that had the potential to become the defining moment of the rest of my life.

I had reached another crossroad and, walking down that crowded street, I still hadn't decided which direction my feet would turn.

There are defining moments in everyone's life. A word spoken, a silence kept, a decision made to step forward or turn away. Choices made that seem so small and insignificant at the time, yet become etched in the stone of memory as the individual bricks that become the prison wall that surrounds a life.

It is so easy to build the wall, the barrier, that separates a man from those around him. To unwittingly wrap layers and layers of armor around a heart, until it is so well guarded against hurt that it chokes and stifles inside its own self-created protection.

So many things in life are hard to create, yet easy to destroy. So why, in this most important of things, was the opposite true? Why couldn't I break free of my self-imposed solitude?

Fear, I suppose. 

For all the clever arguments I would make to justify my choices in life, the only *truth* is that I was afraid.

In the small hours of the morning, when I used to lie alone in my bed and endlessly watch the shadows flicker across my ceiling like the clouds of a gathering storm, when my heart was so tight with pain that I lost the ability to separate physical agony from mental anguish, I would think back to that one previous moment when I could have changed everything.

When I lay there, I was sometimes uncertain whether the waves of pain were the threat of an incipient heart attack or simply the low rumbling precursor of a far more drastic heart ailment. 

I wondered, in those long hours of the night, whether I would even notice my heart breaking. Sometimes I even believed it had already happened while I hadn't been paying attention. Perhaps, inside the steel-banded cocoon of my supposed indifference, my heart had already exploded and its shattered parts just swirled like flotsam within.

Perhaps that's the truth of it, after all. My heart was deceased long before Krycek came to my office, but it died with a whimper rather than a bang and its shrapnel failed to pierce the armor that concealed it, so it just secretly rotted away inside my chest while my outward appearance remained unchanged.

And, with the same lack of drama, I can now pinpoint the moment when I struck that deathblow inside my own heart although, at the time, it seemed like such an insignificant choice for me to make.

To trust, or not to trust. *That* was the question. And the answer I chose, which seemed so simple at the time, became the first tiny deviation from the path I should have taken. A tiny turning away from my possible future, a minute degree of movement, a slight angle that was enough, with the passing of the years, to move me so far from where I wanted to be that our separation became a gaping chasm that neither of us could breach.

It was the day Mulder stood in my office, in the exact same spot as Krycek later occupied, his eyes so typically wounded, his right hand fluttering against his chest in a gesture so needy, so desperate, that it revealed too much about his desperate need for someone to join his crusade, for his need for someone to believe.

"Tell *me*," he begged. "Off the record."

And, in that moment, I saw it all in his sad, lonely eyes. I had rewarded his unwavering faith in me, his battle to clear my name, with a tiny insight into my own soul. I, who never offered anything of myself, had allowed him a glimpse into the mystery that had plagued me since Vietnam. I had told him, in the vulnerability of my grief for Sharon, of the old lady whose visage had haunted me.

I had believed myself to be going mad. My life was falling apart around me. I was so terrified that I might have killed that woman in my sleep that I wasn't even capable of believing in my own innocence. I was even starting to *remember* climbing into my car and driving after Sharon. I didn't *know* that I was innocent, and in the absence of that knowledge, my mind was already declaring me guilty.

Fear can do that. Fear can warp and twist your mind until you start to believe the lies, until you can't tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

It was Mulder who turned everything around. Mulder who saved me. I don't just mean the way he proved that I wasn't driving the car. His evidence was only the means by which the authorities could be convinced of my innocence. How he saved me was by convincing me that the old lady was someone I shouldn't fear, after all. Without that insight, I would have run from Sharon's room instead of listening to what she had to say to me. I wouldn't have been in that hotel room. Another woman would have died. Perhaps even Scully might have died.

Yet, more than that, perhaps I would never have *known* that I was blameless because with the death of the assassin, one question remained unanswered.

There was no doubt in my mind that I had been set up. *I* had not known I was going to bed with a prostitute. *I* had not authorized the use of my credit card for our transaction. *I* had not driven the car that put Sharon in the coma. Yet, the one thing I did not know was whether it had been *my* hands that had broken the prostitute's neck.

So I owed Mulder more than a curt thank you for his help. I owed him far more than to dismiss him from my office with a refusal to answer his questions. I knew that then but didn't regret my decision. 

But the day that Krycek visited me, I finally understood the cost of that earlier choice.

I had only myself to blame.

I understood on that day what I had failed to realize before. Mulder didn't want the details because of his unerring search for the *truth*. I'd dismissed his need for answers as being no more than his typical desire to shake a bone in his mouth until every last drop of marrow was extracted. It was only when Krycek came to see me that I really understood why Mulder had wanted to know how I had known to go to the hotel.

I had reached out and touched the mysteries that he only dreamed existed. In listening to the old lady, in taking that leap of faith, I had temporarily entered the universe as perceived by Fox Mulder. For just that short space of time I had allowed myself to believe.

And he needed someone to believe.

He needed to know that *finally* he wasn't alone, that someone understood, that someone had briefly seen the world through his eyes.

He was bleeding. He was staggering through life, from one incident to the next, with so many gaping, invisible wounds that it was a miracle he didn't simply disintegrate.

He reached out to me, and I coldly rejected him.

Why?

Because, even then, I understood that he wasn't reaching out to borrow the protection of my strength. He was drawn to my unexpected weakness. He saw me as a fellow-victim. He was wounded, and he was attracted to my own aura of hurt. I became approachable because I was no longer invulnerable. I became attractive to him because I was no longer one of *them*. In the battle of Fox Mulder vs. The World, I temporarily became a potential ally, instead of another obstacle to overcome.

And I rejected him.

Just as I'd rejected Sharon.

Just as I'd always rejected *anyone* who had the potential to see the vulnerability that I had hidden for so long.

It wasn't a conscious choice. It's just who I am. I understand the need that women have to nurture, the way they need to protect their loved ones as much as they desire protection in return. I admired Sharon for the way she tried to support me whenever my own mantle of strength was threatened. I appreciated her attempts to make me lean on her. She awed me sometimes with how much courage she contained within such a tiny body. My refusal to 'let her in' wasn't anything to do with my perception of *her*. It was about my perception of myself.

I *have* to be the strong one.

It's not something I'm particularly proud of. It's not even something that often brought me happiness. 

It's simply who I am.

And, ultimately, that's why when I finally realized my attraction to Mulder, the circumstances were such that I couldn't act upon them. Because I wanted someone to need *me* and, despite the vulnerability that drew me towards him, I was repelled by his underlying core of strength.

So it's ironic, perhaps, that he ended up with the only person who made us *both* vulnerable.

Krycek.

Love is a strange beast. It strikes when you least expect it, ravages you with vicious teeth that flay the skin from your bones until your heart is exposed.

I think it's love that I felt for him. 

It might have been hate.

Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference. When you've spent so many years denying *any* emotion, the savage bite of passion is so painful that you can't differentiate. It's like sex. That moment of penetration when you lose the ability to distinguish pain from pleasure, that moment of orgasm when you don't know whether you are screaming with joy or with agony.

Or that moment of death, when your body can't decide whether to fight for life and all its attendant pain, or to accept the relief of letting go.

I suppose it was inevitable that Mulder and Krycek ended up together. 

It's not that Mulder had forgiven him. The anger still simmered between them and the dark bruising on Krycek's face suggested that their union was as volatile as ever.

They hated each other with a passion.

Yet that passion danced between them like the arc of electricity. It simmered like a dark aura whenever they were in the same room. Several times, during the hearings, they disappeared together and returned anointed with fresh bruises and the unmistakable musky smell of sex. 

I'd always seen the voracious, untamable beast that lurked just under the veneer of Krycek's external beauty. My failing, it seems, is that I never recognized that same potential within Mulder. 

Until that day Krycek stepped out of the shadows of my office, like the unwelcome visitation of Marley's ghost, and waved a gun in my face.

It was the bruise that I remember most about that encounter. 

A dark, yellowing blemish that discolored the sensitive skin beneath one pretty eye and shadowed his left cheekbone right down to the tiny scab at the corner of his still swollen lower lip. His cupid mouth was as full and pouting as Mulder's but, unlike the way Mulder's generous lower lip had always been a source of secret pleasure to me, this wounded imitation hurt me. It spoke the continuing existence of a violence that no longer had any place in our lives.

More than that, although I was as surprised by the feeling as he would have been if I'd vocalized it, I was angered by the injury. It offended me to see that face so carelessly marred. No matter that I had struck him myself on previous occasions. The time for such brutality between the three of us had passed.

We were the survivors. That should have brought closure, some sense of peace. Instead the two of them were clearly still biting and snarling at each other as though the removal of our enemies had left them filled with a fury that could only be assuaged by turning the anger against each other.

"He did this?" I demanded, completely disregarding the weapon he was waving at my stomach, and some degree of my disgust must have escaped the rigid control of my emotionless face, because he flushed and ducked his eyes before replying.

"Yeah, but I broke one of his ribs," he replied with an air of injured pride. 

Which was when I realized he was more embarrassed by the visible bruise, than by the violence that had caused it. 

"Before or after he hit you?" I asked.

"Somewhere in the middle, I wasn't really paying attention at the time."

I didn't bother asking him what he *was* paying attention to. His eyes slipped out of focus and a small curve of his lips clearly indicated a pleasing memory; one that had obviously created a more lasting impression than the mere inconvenience of physical injury.

"You're both out of control," I told him. "You're going to kill each other one of these days."

He smirked in response but, when he finally looked me in the eyes, the depth of fear and sorrow in his expression stole my breath away.

"I know," he whispered.

"So why don't you put the gun down and tell me why you're here?" I asked him.

And that's when he made his bizarre proposal.

"It's always been you, Skinner," he told me bitterly, sitting down heavily in the chair in front of my desk and dropping his weapon onto his lap with a carelessness that proved he'd never disengaged the safety.

Not that I'd doubted it. 

Much. 

The thing about Krycek was that he was incapable of simply knocking on a door and asking to come inside. I suppose he thought getting inside the FBI headquarters illegally with a concealed weapon proved something. 

It did. 

His stupidity in risking his hard earned freedom just to make a point told me more about Krycek at that moment than I really cared to know. Not to mention the faint acrid scent of alcohol that seeped from his pores.

Interesting that he'd needed liquid courage to confront me.

But I played dumb.

"I don't understand."

"Maybe you just don't want to understand. You never were very good at letting your defenses down, were you?" he sneered.

"No," I admitted. "I used to pride myself on being untouchable. *You* changed that."

"The nanocytes?" he asked.

"Pain, fear, death. They all changed me," I replied, not even trying to hide my bitterness.

He shrugged.

"So, I rattled your cage. Get over it. You were overdue for a wake-up call."

His arrogance infuriated me. That he thought he could simply sit in front of me and shrug away his crimes against me, simply because a board of enquiry had offered him a deal that had left him untouchable.

"Listen, you little punk…" I began.

To my surprise, he sighed deeply and looked at me with sad, defenseless eyes.

"I suppose *you're* going to hit me now," he muttered.

"Contrary to what our previous encounters may suggest, I don't *usually* respond to situations with my fists," I replied coldly. 

"I know…. that's…. um…. that's why I'm here."

I just looked at him blankly. A hesitant, uncertain Krycek was a new, anomalous beast. I couldn't decide what the hell he wanted from me. If he'd come to crow about his relationship with Mulder, it seemed a strange choice to arrive bearing the marks of Mulder's anger on his face.

I decided to stop dancing around the subject.

"Just what the hell do you want from me, Krycek?" 

Something dark and dangerous flashed over his face, a spark of anger that swiftly faded to an expression so sullen that it seemed as though he resented his presence before me as much as I did his visit.

"It's a one-time-only deal."

"What is?" I demanded harshly, although my gut was clenching with fear. A part of me insisted that Mulder would hardly be sleeping with him if Krycek were back to his old tricks. Another part of me still remembered the kind of deals that Krycek had struck with me in the past.

Leopards don't change their spots, I told myself, and there was no mistaking the jungle cat in Alex Krycek.

"Tonight. You come to our place. For dinner."

For a moment I just stared at him in disbelief. Then I barked with incredulous laughter.

"That's what this is about? You came here to invite me to dinner?" 

I was just about to point out that most people didn't issue dinner invitations at gunpoint when he interrupted me.

"No…I mean yes…kind of…"

"What are you up to, Krycek?" I demanded suspiciously.

He winced as though I'd struck him and his mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "Up to? What am I up to? I'm cutting my fucking heart out, Skinner."

"I don't understand," I told him, but I was lying because a surge of hope had already begun to spike dangerously beneath my cool exterior.

"Just come tonight. He…he needs you, Skinner. He's…he's burning, you know? Out of control. And me…well, I just seem to throw petrol on the flames. I'm hurting him…and I…I…"

/I love him. /

The unspoken confession echoed between us.

"What makes you think I'm interested?" I drawled.

For a moment his eyes blazed and I could picture the combustion that occurred whenever his smoldering bitterness met Mulder's torch of righteousness.

"Tonight," he growled. "You come and lay it on the line for him. Admit how you feel. Just have the fucking guts to tell him you want him."

I considered a denial, then I sighed heavily. There was no point. Krycek and I had already shared too many lies. They curled around us like invisible chains, binding us together so tightly that only death would dissolve our painful bond.

He had lied to me so often that I could clearly see the truth-shadow that lurked beneath his careful framework of deceit and I suspected that he could probably read me with the same ease.

"And you?" I asked.

He looked fragile suddenly, as pale and insubstantial as a wraith. "I'll…I'll walk away," he whispered. "You won't see me again."

"And if I decide I don't want him?" I challenged.

"Then you fuck off out of our lives forever," he replied. "I told you. It's a one-time-only deal. Fuck it up tonight and the offer expires. You walk away from him tonight and you'd best keep walking, 'cos if you come back sniffing at his ass again, I'll kill you."

"So, let's be sure I understand you. You're willing to let me have him, but only if I do it tonight?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I told you. We're hurting each other. I'm hurting him. He…he loves you, Skinner. He always has. I'm just his fucking booby prize."

The misery that radiated off him either deserved an Oscar or it was the truth. Naturally, I suspected the former.

"If you're really doing this for Mulder's sake, why the deadline?" I challenged.

Krycek gave me a feral grin.

"I'm no fucking choirboy, Skinner. Funny thing. I don't suppose you'll believe me, but I always try to do the right thing *once*. So you get one chance. Then all the bets are off."

"Why?" I demanded again.

He shrugged.

"Truth?"

"If you understand the word," I replied dryly.

"'Cos I think you'll fuck it up. You'll bottle out at the last minute, just like you always do. He'll reach out to you, and you'll do your usual don't-touch-me routine."

"So why bother asking me, if you're so damn sure I'll fail?"

"Conscience?" he suggested.

"You wouldn't know one if it bit you."

He shrugged again.

"Fucked if I know then," he replied, with a grin that looked oddly like a grimace of pain. "Eight tonight. Don't be late."

"Where's Krycek?" I asked, thrusting the wine and flowers into his hands.

He looked down at the offerings and I saw his expression struggle between pleasure at my unexpected gifts and irritation at my question. The irritation won.

"*Alex*," Mulder replied, stressing the word petulantly, "is unavoidably detained at work."

He dumped the flowers unceremoniously on the table and carried the wine towards the kitchen, the muscles of his back stiff with evident tension. I received the distinct impression he was as unhappy about Krycek's probably deliberate absence as he was about my failure to call his lover by his first name.

"Oh?" I said innocently, as I followed him into the kitchen. "He's 'working' then?"

He twisted back to face me, his expression wary.

"Yes, he's got a job and, yes, it's legal so you can get that look off your face."

"What look?"

"That sneer," he accused.

"It's not a sneer," I corrected quietly. "It's confusion. I was just wondering what kind of job *Alex* was doing where it didn't matter if he turned up for work looking like someone's punch bag."

Mulder flushed and looked away. I seated myself on one of the breakfast stools and waited.

"It's not what it looks like. You don't understand," he muttered finally, his hands shaking slightly as he placed the wine in the cooler.

"No," I admitted. "I don't."

Mulder chewed on his lower lip, his eyes glinting in the low lighting. I had an urge to pull him into my arms and hug the obvious misery from his body.

Instead, as usual, I just sat there and glared at him.

"I love him," he whispered. 

Mulder never *did* have a problem expressing his emotions. I wondered whether Krycek found that as disarming as I did.

"So what's the problem?" I asked.

"He's…. he's just so damn hurt, Skinner. He's so used to people turning on him that he's like torch-paper. The slightest perceived rejection sets him off and instead of calming him down, anything I say just adds fuel to the flames."

"He sees you the same way," I told him.

Mulder gave a bitter laugh.

"Yeah, who'd have thought it, huh? Remove all the layers of deceit and under the surface we're so alike it's frightening."

"I don't find it that strange," I told him. "I'm more surprised that it's taken you so long to see it."

The confusion in his hazel eyes made me smile.

"Let's see," I said, using my fingers to count off the points as I made them. "You're both products of dysfunctional families. You're both so bright that you find it difficult to deal with people whose thought processes are more linear. Despite that intelligence, you both have a frightening lack of common sense. You both lost a sibling at a young age." I ignored his look of surprise that I knew that secret aspect of Krycek's life. "You were both manipulated by the Consortium. You're both undisciplined brats who completely disregard anyone who stands in the way of what you want."

"What the hell do you mean by that?" he demanded.

"Your whole life was a quest for 'the truth', Mulder. It was your holy grail and you never cared about the people who got sacrificed on its alter. You didn't even care that you sacrificed your own happiness to the cause until it was all over and you suddenly found that life had passed you by when you weren't looking. So you're angry now. Angry that you gave up everything and no-one even thanked you for what you did. Victory's pretty hollow when there's no one to celebrate it with, isn't it?"

"I've got Alex," he hissed.

"Yes. I can see how well *that's* going for you both. Poor Alex. Is he going to spend the rest of his life as your whipping boy, Mulder?"

"I told you. You don't understand. I *love* him. He loves me. We just…we just…"

His voice trailed off.

It was almost physically painful to witness his inability to find the words to express his feelings towards his lover. For a man as articulate as Mulder to be rendered speechless, it was obvious that the wounds inside him ran too deep for any casual suture to repair.

"You're both out of control," I told him. 

He glared at me defiantly but the expression slid uneasily off his face until only confusion remained.

"He loves you, Mulder," I told him. "I think…I think he always did."

"I know," he whispered, "only…"

"Only he's the only person left who understands. The only person who *knows* the pain inside you. The only person who *knows* the price you paid. The only person left alive who you can strike out at when the pain and loneliness becomes too much to bear."

He closed his eyes in an attempt to hide the tears that sprang up at my words.

"Yes," he whispered.

"No," I replied.

His eyes snapped open and he frowned in confusion.

"You're wrong. He's not the only one. I also *know*," I told him. "I'm here too." 

He shook his head. Perhaps in negation, perhaps only in confusion.

"Alex isn't the only person who loves you, Mulder."

"I miss her," he replied, perhaps deliberately misunderstanding me. "It hurts that she doesn't need me any more."

"I thought Scully wanted you to be part of William's life," I replied, accepting the turn in conversation.

"She does," he replied quietly. "But that's all."

I was confused. The one thing I'd always been certain of was that Scully and Mulder's love was platonic. It had never occurred to me that Mulder harbored any romantic feelings towards her. It certainly had never occurred to Scully.

"That's all?" I questioned carefully.

He walked out of the room. I just sat and stared at his retreating back with surprise for a moment, then followed him into the living room where he had collapsed onto the couch, hugging a cushion to his stomach like a comforter. He waited until I seated myself opposite, then he finally answered my question.

"She doesn't need *me*," he clarified. "When we were partners we were so close. She was always *there*. She didn't care that I wasn't…well, that I didn't want her that way and when…well, I thought that as long as she had William, she'd be content…only she's found someone now, someone that wants her *that* way, and she doesn't need me any more."

"Scully's got a boyfriend?" I asked.

"A fiancé," he corrected.

"And she doesn't want you in her life now?" I asked in disbelief.

He shook his head violently.

"Of course not," he snapped. "She's not like that. She's my friend. She's the best person I've ever known. It's just…." His voice trailed off again.

"She doesn't *need* you now?" I suggested.

He nodded miserably.

"But Alex does, doesn't he?"

"Does he?" Mulder asked miserably. "Do you really think he needs this shit? How long do you think it will be before he gets tired of me hitting him for every real and imagined sin he's ever committed against me?"

"Is that why you hit him?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "Every time we fight I promise it will never happen again. I swear to him that it's over. That we'll start again. Then he says or does something stupid and I just explode."

"Stupid? In what way, stupid?"

"He drinks too much. Gets in so many bar fights you'd think he was looking to get himself killed. When I complain about his behavior, he does the whole depressed Russian routine. He disappears for days at a time. And then he lies about where he's been. Do you know what that's like? To love someone who you can't even trust?"

"Perhaps he lies because he's scared to admit the truth," I suggested.

"Yeah, well after you've spent nights lying awake wondering whether your lover is lying dead in some alley, you tell me what scared is," he snapped back.

"He's all you've got," I agreed. "You're scared of losing him. So when he comes back you abuse him for frightening you. You fight and then he runs away because he thinks you don't love him any more. Then when he comes back you just fight all over again." 

Mulder nodded resentfully.

"I don't understand him," he snapped. "You'd think he'd be happy, wouldn't you? He didn't expect to survive, let alone be given immunity. You'd think he'd be grateful for the chance to have a normal life, instead of pissing it down the drain."

"Grateful to you?" I challenged. "For forgiving him, you mean?"

He flushed. "I didn't mean that," he muttered. "I meant grateful for the opportunity to start again. "

"I'm sure he is," I replied. "That doesn't mean he knows how to handle it though. Why should he be any better at handling the situation than you? From where I'm sitting, I can't see that *you're* enjoying your new start either. What are you doing with your life, Mulder? I thought once you were free of all the restraints of the Bureau you'd take the opportunity to investigate all the secrets that red-tape kept you from. Instead you're sitting here in this apartment writing your memoirs."

"I'm writing a book that will expose the hearings as the charade they were," he argued.

"A book that no self-respecting publisher will ever dare to print," I snapped.

"So I'll get it printed myself," he snarled.

"And then?"

"Then?"

"What then, Mulder? Or is this it? Just a book of old news and then you fade into obscurity? Or are you actually going to start living again?"

"You said it yourself, Skinner. The war's over. I found my truth."

"And you didn't like the taste of it?"

"Did you?" he challenged.

I shook my head. "No, but then again I never liked swallowing the 'truths' you presented me with either. That didn't make them any less true, though."

"I'm tired," he said. "Tired of being mocked and scorned. Tired of being 'spooky' Mulder."

"You're bitter," I corrected. "You're feeling angry and betrayed."

He nodded reluctantly.

"It's more than that though," I added. "You've lost your cause. You've been fighting for so long that now you don't have an enemy to face, you feel lost. You're striking out blindly and the only people you're hurting are yourself and Alex. Try and remember that he's in the same position. You gave up the right to hurt him when you accepted him into your bed, Mulder. You can't have it both ways. Either put the past behind you or be honest enough to let him go now. Alex isn't misbehaving deliberately. He's just as confused as you are. He's lost his cause too; the struggle for his own survival. It's never been as laudable an objective as yours but at least it *was* honest. You've taken that away from him. He no longer has to fight to survive but you haven't given him anything worth fighting for in its place, have you?"

Mulder stiffened, his face stilling into a careful mask.

"If you only came here to insult me, perhaps you should leave. I know you haven't always approved of me, Skinner, but I never realized you doubted my integrity."

"He doesn't," Krycek said softly from the doorway. "Shit, no wonder you two never got together. You talk to each other, but you never 'listen', do you? Skinner wasn't insulting you, Mulder. He was trying to be nice about me."

"Were you?" Mulder asked me, but before I could answer I saw his eyes shifting as he replayed our conversation in his head. "You were," he concluded. "I'm sorry." Then he turned his attention to Krycek and attempted a welcoming smile.

"You made it then," he muttered.

Krycek shrugged carelessly. "Yeah, well, I got finished sooner than I expected."

His eyes darted towards me, then dropped. I saw a faint flush stain his bruised cheekbone. He'd changed his mind, I realized. He'd intended to stay away but hadn't been able to do it.

But then, I'd counted on that.

"Sit down, Alex," I barked in my best AD tone.

He obeyed without thinking, then his eyes flared with confused irritation as he found himself sitting on the couch next to his lover. He shook his head and began to rise once more, but Mulder's right hand snaked over his thigh and trapped him in place.

"I know why Alex invited me here," I began grimly. Alex just stared at the carpet between his feet. "The question, though, is why you agreed, Mulder."

"He…" Alex began.

"QUIET!" 

My sudden shout reverberated around the room and both men blinked at me in confusion.

"It's Mulder's turn to speak. I heard enough from you this afternoon, Alex, when you had the gall to stagger into my office with a gut full of vodka and a loaded gun in your hand."

"You did WHAT?" Mulder demanded, looking at his lover incredulously. "You stupid…"

Alex was so busy attempting an appropriately chastened expression that he ducked too late to avoid the fist that smacked into the side of his face. For a moment his lower lip trembled. Then he snarled and punched Mulder in the guts.

With Mulder doubled over and gasping for breath it was easy for me to jump to my feet and snap the handcuffs around his wrists. It took me a little longer to subdue Alex, who went ballistic as soon as I touched his lover. He twisted like a wildcat in my arms and he proved that a prosthetic arm was a damned fine blunt weapon before I managed to subdue him. Still, he put up less of a fight than I'd anticipated so, although he's never admitted it, I think he knew all along what he was inviting to dinner that night.

Mulder was still looking slightly green from Alex's well-aimed punch, so he simply glared at me as I forced him to kneel, wrists cuffed behind his back. Alex decided he'd rather glare at me while pacing up and down the room, although I could tell from the strange angle of his shoulder that his cuffs were putting an uncomfortable strain on his stump. I let it go; deciding that I'd achieved my main objective anyway. 

"Right," I said, settling back on the couch. "Now I have your attention, why did *you* invite me to dinner, Mulder?"

"It was his idea," Mulder snapped mulishly, transferring his glare to Alex.

Alex glowered.

"It was a good idea," I replied easily. "Thank you, Alex."

Mulder's eyes returned to mine and his brow furrowed.

"This is your idea of a good time?" he demanded churlishly.

"Watching two grown men behave like five-year-olds? Hardly," I replied coldly. 

"Then what's 'good' about it?" Mulder demanded.

I glanced over at Alex who had finally stopped his pacing. He was looking at me carefully, his expression strangely passive. While there was no mistaking the tension still coiled inside his muscles, I felt a curious certainty that he wasn't regretting his invitation to me. Ignoring Mulder for the moment, I gestured at the carpet in front of my feet.

"Come here, Alexei," I crooned.

A shadow shifted deep within his eyes, and my earlier suspicion coalesced.

"NOW," I growled.

For an endless moment he resisted me, then his shoulders sagged in defeat. He stepped forward wordlessly and sank to the floor at my feet. Only the strange smile playing at the corner of his mouth belied his submissive posture.

Behind him, I saw Mulder's mouth drop open in evident shock at his lover's reaction to my command. His bright eyes skipped between the back of Alex's bowed head and my own face.

"What is this?" he demanded suspiciously.

"It's decision time," I replied. "A one-time-only deal."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you?" I asked.

"Alex?" he whined.

Alex's eyes met mine for a moment before returning to their study of the carpet, making it clear that it was my show. *My* decision. My Rubicon.

"Remember the day you asked me, off the record, how I got to the hotel before you?" I asked Mulder quietly. 

He frowned in thought, then his brilliant mind snapped into gear. I saw comprehension dawn in his eyes and he nodded for me to continue.

"Sharon's monitors went crazy. She flat-lined. I ran out of the room, shouting for a nurse, and then I looked back through the glass and it was the old lady lying in Sharon's hospital bed. I...I went back inside and Sharon was there again, and she…she told me."

"Told you?"

"About the trap you'd set. The fact that the assassin was on his way there. That he knew you were in the bar and would go straight to the room. And…and then I was there."

"What do you mean?"

"One minute I was in the hospital. The next minute I was in the hotel room with my weapon in my hand."

"You lost time?"

I shook my head and smiled.

"No. I checked. There was less than five minutes between the time Sharon flat-lined and the time I shot the perp."

"That's…"

"Impossible. I know."

"Why are you telling me this? Why now?" Mulder asked, his eyes as sad and vulnerable as the day he had stood in my office and faced my rejection.

"Because it's time for honesty between us, don't you think? Because it's time I admitted that I believe."

"You believe in the supernatural?" he laughed bitterly.

"I believe in *you*," I corrected gently.

Then I closed my eyes to gather my courage.

"I love you, Fox Mulder. I have been in love with you since that day you stood in my office and I realized that you hadn't only given me my life back, but my ability to believe."

At first he just looked at me with skepticism, but I slowly saw a dawning belief in his expression. Fear, chased by caution, followed by hope. Then a slow tear escaped from Mulder's brimming eyes and spilled down his cheeks. 

"You love me?" he asked, then flinched slightly as though he half-expected me to retract my confession.

"Yes," I replied, and the very simplicity of my answer seemed to convince him because a radiant smile began to creep across his face. Only for him to freeze in sudden fear as he remembered that we weren't alone.

I saw a flash of guilt, then pain, in his eyes as he looked to where Alex was still kneeling silently at my feet.

"What about Alex…" he whispered.

At my feet the ex-assassin went rigid, his face paling as he heard the agony in Mulder's voice. As he waited to be dismissed, discarded, thrown away as unnecessary now that I had finally admitted my love for Mulder.

"Oh, it took me longer with Alex," I replied, ruffling my hand gently in the soft sable hair. "I was always attracted to him, of course," I continued conversationally. "I'm not blind. But it wasn't until he came to see me this afternoon that I really saw him. He told me that it was *me* you'd always wanted, that he was no good for you and that he'd walk away if I found the courage to tell you how I really feel about you."

"Alex?" Mulder demanded, and this time it was a different agony that tinged his voice.

"But he was lying," I continued blithely. "Which is par for the course with Alex. It's one of the faults we're going to have to address if this relationship is going to work between us. Not to mention the drinking and the tendency to sneak into government buildings and threaten people with guns."

Alex had the sense to stay quiet. To be honest, he turned out to be a surprisingly well trained submissive from the moment I decided to take him in hand. Mulder, on the other hand, still has issues with authority. Still, I've discovered that their differences are far more appealing than the idea of having a matched pair.

"A relationship?" Mulder squeaked. "With both of us?"

"That depends," I replied sternly. "I'm not sure that all three of us are compatible. I expect my private life to be as well-ordered as my public one, Mulder. I'm certainly not prepared to tolerate the behavior I witnessed between the pair of you tonight. Physical abuse has no place inside a loving relationship."

"It's not abuse," Mulder protested. "It's the only way I can knock sense into the stupid bastard. Believe me, after you've wasted enough evenings trying to *explain* to Alex why his behavior is unacceptable, you'll give up and just smack him one too."

Alex gave him a resentful glare and I saw an angry vein beating beneath the skin of his neck, but a sharp reprimanding look from me made him drop his gaze to the carpet once more. Comparing the submissive droop of his shoulders against Mulder's self-righteous fury, I had the surprising revelation that out of the two of them, Mulder was going to be the hardest to tame.

Until that point I hadn't been entirely honest with myself. I'd seen Alex's offer as a way to get the man I was finally ready to admit that I wanted, Mulder, and had seen Alex as a pretty but non-essential bonus. But the unexpected totality of Alex's submission disarmed me completely. It proved that he trusted me completely to do the right thing, and with that offer of trust I found myself securely snared.  Mulder had owned my heart for years but it hadn't been enough to make me act on my impulse to claim him. Alex had only crept in sideward to my affection that afternoon, yet mere hours later I found myself unable to resist him.

To my complete surprise, I realized that whatever happened between Mulder and I, I had every intention of taking Alex away with me regardless. But that was only worst-case-scenario, and I hadn't come that far to accept a partial victory.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll *smack* him," I replied with a small smile. "In fact his butt's first acquaintance with the palm of my hand was already decided the moment he pointed his gun at me this afternoon."

Mulder struggled to his feet, his mouth gaping, his eyes wide with a combination of shock and horror.

"What?" he gasped.

Alex didn't even twitch. He just knelt placidly at my feet and let the scene play out. His trust in me was empowering. The responsibility he handed to me with his silence was such a heavy burden that it might have intimidated a different man. But I've always thrived under that kind of pressure. I can't bend. I can't meet people half-way. I can't lean upon others for strength. *My* strength only flourishes when it's called to the protection of someone I love.

And, in that moment, I realized that with the gift of his trust Alex had changed from an unexpected squatter in my heart to the status of a permanent resident.

"I'm going to demonstrate the difference between loving discipline and abuse, Mulder. If you stay, I think you'll learn something from the experience. If you'd rather not participate, I'll take Alex home with me."

Alex flinched at my words and looked at me with scared, puzzled eyes.  I knew it was the last thing he'd expected me to say. It was probably also the last thing that he wanted. He wanted me to save Mulder, not himself. Yet he stayed silent, continuing to trust that I knew what I was doing.

"Alex?" Mulder demanded, his eyes flaring with hurt. "You're taking ALEX?"

I shrugged.

"Like I said, I'm not sure we're compatible, Mulder, but I'm fairly confident that Alex and I are."

Mulder shook his head in disbelief and glared at me, his face twisting to try and control his expression of hurt at my apparent betrayal.

"You said you loved *me*," he accused bitterly.

A small sob escaped from Alex's mouth and I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, understanding how much it must have hurt that Mulder seemed more offended by the idea of *me* leaving. 

"I do. We both do. Alex loves you enough to know that you're like two dangerous live wires together. He had the sense to come and see me. He lied about his reasons for inviting me here, but I think he counted on me seeing through the deception. You can't continue like this, Mulder. Either you need someone to ground and control you both, or you need to be separated from each other."

"But why *him*?" Mulder whined, as though it was incomprehensible that I would have chosen Alex over him.

Alex flinched. I was sure Mulder didn't mean to be so careless of Alex's feelings but his thoughtlessness caused me to be blunter than I had intended.

"Because he *needs* me, Mulder. He needs someone to help him learn self-discipline and he sure as hell isn't going to learn that from you, is he?  He's got the sense to accept what he needs and he's willing to trust me to help him. I don't think you do. But this way, at least, I'm going to save you from destroying him. I love you too much to let you drive him away. You'd never forgive yourself if something *did* happen to him. This way you'll at least know that someone is keeping him safe."

"Very clever," Mulder snarled. "You come here to my home, try to steal *my* lover in front of my eyes and pretend you're doing me a favor? I don't know who the hell you think you are, Skinner. I suggest you get the hell out of here now before I tell you exactly what..."

"Our home," Alex muttered quietly.

 "What?" Mulder snapped.

"It's supposed to be *our* home," Alex pointed out.

Mulder flushed angrily.

"That's what I meant. You know I did. Why don't *you* tell him to get out of *our* home, Alex? Is this what you wanted? Was this just some sick way of letting me know we're over and you want *him* instead?"

"No," Alex whispered. "I just want us to stop fighting each other, Mulder, but we can't, can we? It's never going to change between us"

"So you just want to give up?" Mulder demanded. "Damn you, Alex. I haven't spent the last few months dealing with your shit just for you to walk away."

"Fuck you, Mulder. Can't you see why I did this? Why I brought Skinner here? He can help us. He's what we *both* need. And you love him, don't you? *He's* the one you always wanted, isn't he?"

Mulder glanced between us like a trapped animal, unable to answer without hurting *one* of us.

"It's okay," Alex mumbled. "I know you do. I know I was always second best. Maybe that's why you're always so angry with me. Because I'm not *him*."

"Alex..." Mulder whispered, his eyes filling with tears at the sadness of Alex's words. 

 "We need him, Mulder. He's the only way we can stay together. I thought if you wanted him *and* me, he'd put up with me for your sake.  I...I never thought he'd want *me*."  He paused and gulped for breath before turning his gaze to mine.  "But I can't live like this any more. So even if Mulder doesn't want you, *I* do. If you'll have me." 

"On my terms," I replied pointedly.

Alex nodded, his eyes shining.

"Do you want to know what those terms are, or will you trust me?" I asked him.

"I *do* trust you," he replied.

And with those four words he claimed me for his own.

"I don't believe this," Mulder snarled, glaring at both of us as though we had knifed him. His face was twisted with rage, but his eyes were so wounded by our apparent betrayal that it took all my strength to appear calm.

"We're leaving now, Mulder. Unless you want us to stay with you," I told him.

His confusion was palpable.

"You'll stay?" he whispered.

"On *my* terms," I clarified.

"Which are?" he demanded.

I sighed and rubbed my face. I loved Mulder. I respected him, admired him and was often more than a little in awe of him. It wasn't *his* fault that he wasn't what I *needed* any more than Sharon had been to blame for the eventual breakdown of our marriage. Mulder, like Sharon, had stolen my heart but the very things that had attracted me to both of them were the same things that had eventually destroyed my marriage. I had seen one lover turn into a stranger in my bed. I couldn't face it happening again.

Mulder would fight me at every turn. He would question my decisions. He would defy my wishes. He would never *need* me enough to give me his unqualified trust.

And yet, perhaps Alex would fill the gaps that Mulder couldn't. Just as Alex's fire would compensate for my sometimes stifling conservatism. Just as Mulder would stoke that same fire in Alex.  For all I was pleased to discover the submissive streak that lurked under Alex's bravado, it worried me that he would embrace it too completely and, instead of finding himself, would just use it as another disguise to hide behind. Alex had always been a chameleon who adapted to suit his environment. 

"If we are going to stay together, we do it as equals," I began.

They both nodded.

"Unfortunately, neither of you are currently capable of behaving like civilized adults. You fight each other like a pair of badly behaved children. I won't tolerate it. From now on the only person who administers any form of chastisement between us is the only one of us who has the self-discipline to do it properly."

"You?" Mulder mocked.

"I'm glad you agree," I replied dryly. 

"You're seriously suggesting that I should agree to let you *spank* me?" Mulder choked.

"Not necessarily," I replied. "If you behave yourself, it's never going to happen, is it?"

"What do you mean 'behave'?" he asked suspiciously.

"That if you ever abuse Alex again, you'll be over my knee so fast your feet won't touch the floor," I replied grimly.

He looked at me in complete disbelief, then turned his glare towards Alex.

"You'd agree to this?" he demanded angrily.

"You said it yourself," Alex replied calmly. "Sometimes a smack is the only thing that registers with me. My dad used to spank me. I was so damned scared of upsetting him that I sure as hell used to behave myself."

"Because you were scared of him?" Mulder asked.

"No, because he loved me and I used to hate knowing I'd disappointed him or scared him enough to do it," Alex replied quietly. "After he died, no one ever cared enough about me to punish me when I did wrong. No one cared what I did anymore. It didn't matter. *I* didn't matter. I miss it, Mulder. I miss someone caring for me like that."

"I care," Mulder protested. "Why the hell do you think I lose my temper with you all the time if it isn't because I'm worried sick about the way you behave?"

"I know," Alex whispered. "But you don't punish me, Mulder. You hit me. It doesn't prove you care."

"Care?" Mulder demanded. "What the hell am I supposed to do to prove I care about you? What about the times I've had to pick you up from the drunk-tank? I've set bail for you so often the duty sergeant has memorized my phone number. How many times have I rung up your boss and lied for you, pretending you have the flu when the truth is your blood stream is 100% proof? Or..."

Alex sighed and looked away.

I wasn't surprised at his exasperation. For a trained psychologist, Mulder was being incredibly dense. Then again, it's always harder to see a situation clearly when you're in the middle of it.

"Punishment isn't about pain," I interrupted. "It's about paying a price for your wrong-doing. You misbehave, you're punished, you learn a lesson and then it's over. You're forgiven.  The incident is closed. You don't mention it again. The fact that you're prepared to sit here and catalogue Alex's history of misdemeanors proves that he wasn't "punished". You don't strike him to help him control his behavior, you hit him to make yourself feel better. *That's* the difference between what I'm offering Alex and your current situation. With me, Alex might still be disciplined, but at least he'll know that when it's over he's been forgiven."

"Alex?" Mulder demanded angrily.

"He's right," Alex replied.

"He's right? He's just said he intends to spank you like a kid, and you say he's right?"

"It's my butt," Alex said, with a soft smile. "I'll take my chances with him. I love you, Mulder, but I *trust* Skinner."

The last remaining color drained out of Mulder's face as he glanced between my face and Alex's smile.

"You think I'm going to agree to this? No way," Mulder gasped. "It's sick and I don't want any part of it. If you and Alex want to play this game, feel free, but there is no way in hell that you're ever touching *my* ass."

"Okay, Alex. Let's go," I said, rising to my feet, helping him up and unlocking his handcuffs. Then I removed the handcuffs from Mulder.

We were almost at the door before Mulder spoke in a tremulous voice.

"I didn't say I had a problem with you two doing it," he said.

"So I spank Alex and you hit him?" I asked. "I don't think so. It's not very fair, is it?"

"I won't hit him," Mulder mumbled. "I don't *want* to hit him. I'm just saying you can't hit *me*."

"I see," I said dryly. "Because the idea hurts your pride, or because you don't think that *you* deserve punishment?"

"I don't," he snapped.

"I think you do," I replied.

"Why?"

"Why what?" I asked gently.

"What did *I* do?" he demanded, his lower lip trembling.

I folded my arms across my chest.

"What did you do?" I demanded.

Mulder chewed his lip and looked away.

"I hit him?" he whispered.

"Yes, you did."

"But what he did was fucking stupid," he protested.

"It was," I agreed, "and he will be punished for it."

"And he hit *me*," Mulder pointed out.

"And he'll be punished for that too," I agreed.

"What gives you the right to do this?" he challenged.

"Nothing," I replied. "Love gives me the desire to do it. Alex has given me permission to do it. As for you, well you're a grown man, Mulder. You'll have to make your own decision."

"I'm a grown man but you want to treat me like a naughty kid?"

I smiled patiently and shook my head.

"No. I want to take you to bed and make wild passionate love to a beautiful, adult man."

His Adam's apple jumped as he gulped heavily, his eyes dilating.

"But not until you've learned *not* to behave like a 'naughty kid'. Goodnight, Mulder."

This time he let us walk as far as the lift before charging after us.

"I don't want you to leave" he begged, looking all of five years old. "But I can't...I won't...I just can't..."

Alex and I just waited.

"What if I promise not to lose my temper?" Mulder offered. "I won't hit you again, Alex. I swear. I'll let you and Walter work things out between yourselves. I won't interfere. I don't want you to go. I don't want *either* of you to leave, but that's the best I can offer."

"Alex?" I asked.

He looked at me pleadingly, his green eyes wet with tears.

"We could try," he mumbled. "We could see how it worked out, couldn't we?"

I pretended to think about it.

"If you break your promise, Mulder, it's over. We'll leave you," I said.

Alex had to duck his head to hide his grin of relief. My own face was expressionless although I'd expected it to take several lonely sulking days for Mulder to come around to our way of thinking.

I laid an arm over Alex's shoulder, pulled him towards me and then reached out to invite Mulder into the embrace. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes unreadable, then he sagged against me, allowing the warmth of our bodies to combine, as he understood that he no longer had to live in fear. With my addition to their relationship the cycle of violence was broken. Alex would submit to my control. Mulder would no longer strike out at him in fear. Alex wouldn't run away again. Mulder wouldn't worry about his absence and then reward his return by striking him. 

It was over. 

Settled

Or at least Mulder *thought* it was.

"I seem to recall being invited to dinner," I said, as Alex closed the door behind us.

Mulder blinked at me uncertainly for a moment, then shook himself.

"Yeah, of course, I'll..."

"Sit down out of the way," Alex interrupted. "It's bad enough I'm going to be sleeping on a sore butt without worrying about indigestion too."

Mulder mouth gaped open at Alex's casual mention of the *spanking*. I had no idea what he thought it would entail, but his earlier horror suggested that he had never been disciplined in such a way himself. Without that reference of memory to ground him, his over-active imagination was running away with him.

Alex left us in the living room and busied himself in the kitchen. I stood in the doorway for a short time, admiring his efficiency as he swept ingredients into saucepans with an unmistakable expertise. He seemed calmer and happier now than I had ever seen him. Unlike Mulder, he genuinely seemed to be looking forward to the new regime my presence offered him. His calmness spoke volumes about how much stress he had been living under with Mulder's uncertain temper.

"Are you okay," I asked him gently, just to be sure.

He turned and gave me a hopeful smile.

"It's going to work, isn't it?" he asked me.

"I think so," I told him. "We'll know soon enough."

"Do you think he'll understand?"

I smiled.

"Oh, yes, Alex. I think it's all going to work out fine."

The promise implied by Alex's confident movements in the small kitchen turned out to be as honest as his earlier surprising submission. The dinner tasted as good as it smelled. Chicken marinated in a white wine sauce, served with crisp vegetables and tiny new potatoes. It complimented my Chablis to perfection, so I suspected Alex had noticed its presence in the ice box.

The food was delicious but light and easy on the stomach, the kind of meal that would fuel activity rather than circumvent it. Both Alex and I ate with appetite and appreciation. Mulder simply pushed his meal around his plate, re-arranging it into cliffs and crevices that no doubt represented his state of mind.

Occasionally he would pause in the midst of playing with his dinner and fix over bright, confused eyes on one or the other of us, his keen mind struggling to profile our earlier behavior so that he might better anticipate the way the evening would unfold.

But he didn't have a frame of reference to call upon, so his agitation grew exponentially, his confusion increasing as Alex and I cleared our plates, relaxed back in our seats with our wine glasses, and discussed the various merits of different fishing flies. By now Mulder's eyes were shadowed with suspicious fear. I was discovering that Alex was a pleasant conversationalist if the topic was neutral enough, and his unexpected love of fishing gave us yet another connection that left Mulder feeling out in the cold. 

I savored my last mouthful of wine, checked that Alex had also drained his glass, then sighed loudly.

Alex flinched slightly, then an expression of resignation settled over his features.

"Now?" he asked softly.

"No point delaying it, is there?" I replied, with a gentle smile.

He bravely met my expression with a small grin.

"Guess not," he agreed.

Mulder jumped to his feet, his violent movement sending his chair crashing to the floor. The sound of its fall echoed through the room like a gunshot, and in the silence that followed, his face flushed with combined embarrassment and anger.

"I'mgoingforarun," he blurted.

"No you're not," I informed him firmly. "Alex is your lover, you'll stay here where you belong and take care of him. He's about to be punished, and afterwards he's going to need to be comforted."

For a moment, I wasn't sure whether Mulder was going to cry or to scream at me. His mouth worked silently as he struggled to find the right answer. Finally, he dipped his gaze to his shoes and barely whispered his response.

"I can't do this," he mumbled. "You want me to just stand and watch you hurt him, and then I'm supposed to kiss him better?"

"That's the general idea," I confirmed.

"This is bullshit," he announced, his eyes darting incredulously between Alex and myself.

I rose to my own feet pointedly.

"You'd better pack your bags after all, Alex," I announced. "Mulder's obviously changed his mind about giving this a try."

A pair of intense green eyes peered up from between long, wet lashes and fixed Mulder with such a look of misery that no flesh and blood man could have resisted their appeal.

"Fuckit," Mulder growled. He angrily grabbed his fallen seat, righted it and sat down heavily. His whole posture radiated such resentment that I had to struggle not to smile at his petulant defeat.

To maintain my composure, I returned my attention to Alex.

"Do you want to use the bathroom first?" I asked him kindly.

"Yes, please, Sir," he replied quietly.

I gave him an approving smile.

"Strip completely and go wait for me in the bedroom," I told him.

He grinned nervously at my order, but his eyes darkened perceptively as he rose and left the room without even glancing towards Mulder.

"Now," I said, when he'd gone. "I'm going to explain to you what's about to happen."

"Don't you think you should be explaining to *him*," Mulder snapped back resentfully.

"Why?" I replied blandly. "He already knows."

Mulder digested that thought with a grimace, then gave me a short angry nod, his way of giving me permission to continue. I had to hide a smile again realizing, to my surprise, that his continuing defiance was actually rather enjoyable since I had Alex's compliance to balance my temper.   

"I'm going to sit on the bed, put Alex over my knee and give him a bare-bottom spanking until he cries and begs me to stop," I said bluntly. "And then, I'm probably going to spank him some more."

"Why?" Mulder whispered, and I wasn't sure whether he was asking why I was going to do it, or why I  was telling him the details in advance. I decided to answer the latter.

"You won't interfere," I told him firmly. "Nothing I am about to do will *harm* him. He won't be damaged or *bruised*."  Mulder had the grace to blush. "He'll be a little sore for a few days. He won't be able to sit down  without being forcibly reminded of his punishment. He'll certainly think twice about reaching for a drink because he won't want to risk *another* spanking on top."

"You think it's that easy?" Mulder challenged.

"Of course not. He's got an addiction. You've let him develop it over several months, so he's not going to be cured by one spanking session. It will, however, take him a few days to go back to his old habits. Unlike *your* method of dealing with his drinking, my discipline won't drive him straight back to the bottle, it will enable him to spend a few days sober. As time goes on, the gaps between drinking sessions will widen until eventually he'll feel able to cope without that emotional prop."

"It won't work," Mulder protested. "He doesn't drink because he likes the taste. It's a symptom of his unhappiness, not the cause."

"I know," I agreed. "But why *does* he drink, Mulder?"

"He's Russian," Mulder snapped dismissively.

My temper flared.

"Try again."

"He's unhappy," Mulder admitted. "He hates his life. Hates himself. He uses the drink to escape himself."

"Exactly. He needs to learn that he's not hateful. That he's lovable. He won't believe in himself until someone takes the time and effort to prove that he's worth saving. He doesn't *want* me to spank him, Mulder. He just needs to know that someone cares enough to even bother doing it."

"What about me?" Mulder demanded. "Where do I fit in to all this?"

I shrugged carelessly, although it was all I could do not to grab hold of his shoulders and shake him. He obviously had no idea how much his eyes gave him away. He seemed oblivious to the fact that the same aura of self-hatred bled out of his pores like a visible aura, that my offer of love sincerely was meant for him as much as it was for Alex. He seemed convinced that I had just teased him with my declaration of love as a means by which to weaken him so that I could steal Alex.  He had no idea that my initial intention had been to use Alex to steal Mulder.

Then again, since my feelings towards Alex had taken such an abrupt about turn, it was probably just as well.

"Like I said, Alex *is* your lover, Mulder. He needs you to stay. He needs you to witness the punishment so that you forgive him. He needs *your* love, Mulder. He has to show *you* his penitence."

"Are you going to fuck him?" Mulder asked me bluntly, his eyes dark.

"It depends," I replied.

"On what?"

"On whether you stay or not."

"Why?" he asked fearfully.

"Because I was rather hoping that I might get the chance to fuck you," I said.

He shuddered and quickly looked away from me, but not before I saw the dark heat that flared in his eyes at my comment. 

"He's waiting for us," I said, rising to my feet again.

He didn't reply, but when I walked into the bedroom he trailed after me like a shadow.

Alex was sitting naked on the edge of the bed.

A thin film of perspiration glistened over his face and well-defined chest. His legs were trembling, his knees jerking as he struggled to calmly sit and wait for his punishment, but his cock was so hard that it stood proud from the dark hair of his groin.  My eyes rested on it for a moment. It was as pretty and perfect as the rest of him.  He *was* beautiful. I'd always suspected that his clothes concealed a body as pretty as his face, but there is sometimes a disappointing difference between imagination and reality.

My gaze discomforted him. I thought he was ashamed of his arousal until he blushed and turned slightly in an obvious desire to hide his stump from my view.

My heart twisted and ached for him. For his distress. For his shame. For the fact that his self-opinion was so low that he couldn't see his own desirability. It occurred to me that his drinking was about more than his guilt over his past actions. Alex didn't only drink to forget, he drank to hide from the agony of living in a body that he loathed. A body he was so ashamed of that he had preferred living with Mulder's abuse than taking the risk of revealing himself to another person.

Yet, his understandable misery over his amputation blinded him to the truth. Rather than detracting from his perfection, his truncated arm somehow added to it. It gave his beauty pathos, removed him from the status of demi-god to that of a man. The tarnish of his golden beauty was the humanizing factor that changed him from a prize to be possessed, into a man to be loved.

"What is this punishment for?" I asked, when I was seated on the edge of the bed with his trembling body draped over my lap like a comforter.

"Because I'm bad," he whispered into the mattress.

Mulder gave a deep, pained exhalation of distress and pressed his back against the bedroom wall as though he needed its support. His eyes were anguished, filled with as much personal shame as embarrassment over Alex's position. I was a little worried he might turn and bolt from the room, but I was counting on his love for Alex to keep him there as a witness.

He *did* love Alex. I was sure of it. I was counting on it. I was convinced enough of Mulder's intrinsic goodness to believe that his angry abuse of the younger man was a genuine, if inappropriate, attempt to demonstrate the depth of his affection. Between the indifferent affection of his parents, the sincere but unfulfilling yoke of his relationship with Scully, and the few disastrous relationships that had left him preferring porn films to human contact, Mulder was as emotionally fucked-up as Alex was. Mulder didn't feel loveable himself, so he was hardly capable of giving Alex the reassurances that he so badly needed. 

But Mulder *did* have something that would allow him to breach his own carefully built defenses if he let it. Mulder had empathy. He had the ability to climb inside the head of a serial-killer and understand his motivations. He could profile a perfect stranger and find an element of sympathy for them regardless of their behavior. It didn't make sense that he wouldn't give the same compassion to his own lover. Unless he was too frightened to do so.

Fear.

The same thing that had kept me locked inside an emotional void for so many years was the monster that lurked in Mulder's closet. His inability to understand Alex was a self-protecting lie. Mulder *did* understand Alex. His problem was that he looked at Alex and found himself profiling his own reflection.

When he abused Alex, when he hit Alex, the person Mulder was really striking was himself.

So I kept my eyes fixed on Mulder's while I spoke.

"You're not bad, Alex," I corrected gently, running my right hand tenderly over the quivering skin of his buttocks. "You've done bad *things*. Things that need to be punished. But *you're* not bad. If you were bad, Mulder and I wouldn't love you, would we?"

Alex gave a choking sob.

"I..I'm sorry," Alex whispered. 

"What's this punishment for?" I repeated, giving him a light tap on the butt to focus his thinking.

He jerked on my lap, his reaction more a fear-reflex than a response to my small slap.

"I got drunk...again," he confessed.

"And?"

"And I broke into your office. And I threatened you with a gun."

"An illegal gun," I pointed out, punctuating my comment with the first serious smack.

He yelped, more with surprise than pain, then relaxed slightly as though happy I had finally started the punishment.

I decided to leave the confession time until he was feeling a little more sorry for himself and began applying my hand in a hard, staccato rhythm against his flesh. He took the blows silently. It was Mulder who gasped every time my hand descended upon the reddening buttocks, Mulder whose distressed breathing pulsed throughout the room, Mulder whose face ran with tears long before Alex finally began to squirm and dance on my lap.

My palm was stinging painfully and an impressive heat was building beneath it, before Alex yelped again. Then, as though the escape of that first sound had breached a dam, he began to sob with each slap.

"Why am I punishing you, Alex?" I demanded, certain now that his answers would be more interesting, if less coherent.

"Because you hate me," he gasped bitterly, struggling to escape.

I rewarded his struggles by increasing the weight of my smacks until he gave a heart-wrenching cry and collapsed in defeat, submitting once more.

"No-one hates you, Alex," I told him. "We hate the way you sometimes behave. What if someone had caught you breaking into the Bureau with a concealed, illegal weapon? How long do you think you'd survive in jail, Alex? If you don't care about yourself, what about Mulder? What would he do if something happened to you? What happens to Mulder?"

"He...he'd be happy," Alex sobbed.

"HAPPY?" Mulder screamed. He surged forward from the wall, hands clenched, tears pouring down his face. "I'd be happy? You little FUCK, Alex."

I paused my spanking and gave Mulder a quelling glare. He slid to a halt and glared back at me.

"Why would he be happy, Alex?" I asked gently, now using my palm to soothe his swollen butt.

"Because he hates me," Alex whimpered. "He...he...he hates me and he...he *should* hate me...he's right. I deserve it...I deserve this...but he doesn't."

"He doesn't what?"

"Deserve me," Alex sobbed. "He doesn't need my shit. I love him. I want him to be happy. If I wasn't here, he'd be happy."

"Because *you're* the reason he's unhappy?" I asked.

And that's when Alex really started to cry.

"Well?" I asked Mulder. "Is he right? *Is* he the reason you're so fucking unhappy? Is it *really* his fault that you get so angry? Is it really Alex who makes you so mad you have to punch him to feel better?"

For a moment, Mulder just stood there, his eyes blank with shock. Then his knees gave way and he collapsed to the floor, falling towards my feet, towards Alex's weeping face, his arms outstretched beseechingly.

"No, oh God no," he choked, but he wasn't addressing me, his attention was completely on Alex. "I don't hate you, Alex. I don't. I swear. It's not your fault. None of it's your fault. It's me. It's always been me."

Alex whimpered and tried to twist his head to look at him. I eased Alex carefully off my lap until he was able to kneel next to his lover, although I was careful to keep my arm firmly around his shoulders so that he felt secure of my protection. His face was as red and blotchy as his buttocks, his cheeks soaked with tears, his breath coming in rapid, frightened hitches, as he leaned his forehead against Mulder's and allowed their tears to mingle.

"I'm sorry I get so mad with you," Mulder continued. "But I'm so scared. Scared of losing you. Everyone I ever loved got taken away from me. So I tried...tried not to love you. I kept pushing you away...hurting you...but you kept coming back. You wouldn't go away...and...and...then one day it was too late. I needed you. I *loved* you. So then it was worse. Then I *knew* you'd go away and leave me alone...and...and I was so scared....so scared..."

I slid down off the bed until I was kneeling next to them, then I pulled Alex against my left shoulder and reached out to gather Mulder into my right. He came without protest, pressing his face into my shoulder, his body sagging against mine as though his confession had drained all of the strength from his body.

And I knelt there, for the longest time, as my two confused boys sobbed their misery into my neck and trusted me to somehow make everything right.

"Go fetch my jacket," I told Mulder, when their sobs had quietened to the occasional hitching breath.

He looked at me blankly for a moment, then his eyes rested on Alex's closed eyes and the way his cheek was pressed trustingly against my shoulder. Apart from the odd sniffle, Alex could have been sleeping, but I was concerned by his nakedness. I wanted to get him under the warmth of the duvet while he was still drowsy from the endorphin haze of the spanking and the emotional exhaustion of his outburst.

Either Mulder was still in a state of shock himself, or he shared my concern for Alex, or perhaps it was a combination of both, because he nodded and rose silently to obey. He was only gone a few seconds but it was enough time for me to haul Alex to his feet. He swayed, eyes still closed, as I pulled down the bedcovers and then helped him to lie face-down in the middle of the mattress.

"Now what?" Mulder whispered, handing me my jacket. His eyes were flinching away from the reddened glow of Alex's buttocks.

"Now we take care of him," I replied quietly, retrieving the aloe lotion secreted in my inner pocket. Mulder reached for the bottle, then froze as I fished Astroglide and condoms out of my pocket too.

"You...um...came prepared," he commented dryly.

"I always do," I replied with a smile, and let him make of that what he would.

Alex hissed and squirmed as Mulder squeezed a dollop of the Aloe onto his butt. I clipped Mulder across the back of the head.

"Warm it in your hands first," I chided.

He stared at me with wide eyes.

"You hit me," he stated, shaking his head in disbelief.

I ignored his outrage and started to ease the lotion into Alex's skin.  He purred and writhed with so much obvious pleasure that Mulder quickly decided to stop pouting and help me. He bristled when he saw me tentatively press an exploring finger between Alex's cheeks, but I was uncertain which direction his jealousy was aimed at until he pushed my finger away and replaced it with his own.

Alex just sighed happily and spread his legs a little, inviting the contact.

Watching the two of them together, I was torn between enjoying the erotic sight of two such beautiful men finding pleasure in each other's bodies, and a curious empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had the sudden feeling that if I rose and left them now, they'd be okay together. I'd successfully fractured the barrier between them and although I had no illusions that their relationship would run smoothly from then on, at least now they had both admitted their love of, and need for, each other, time would slowly heal the rest of their wounds.

Suddenly, I felt like an interloper, an unwelcome guest. I'd served my purpose and now I was redundant. Unnecessary.

"You okay, honey?" Mulder whispered, as he eased a little more lotion over Alex's buttocks.

Alex shivered in obvious delight, purring at the endearment and shuffling his ass excitedly as Mulder probed it a little deeper.

"Great," Alex replied. "I feel great, fantastic, hot, horny..."

Mulder snickered, then his eyes narrowed in concern.

"Are you sure you're not too sore?" he asked. "You look sore."

"I am sore," Alex agreed into the pillow. "But it's a good sore. Besides, it was worth it, wasn't it?"

"Was it?" Mulder asked gently.

"You said it," Alex replied.

"Said it?"

"You said you loved me. You've never said that before."

As Mulder gave a small sob, I looked at him in surprise. Mulder had shown so little hesitation in telling *me* that he loved Alex, it had never occurred to me that he'd never admitted the same to Alex. The problem between them had been even worse than I'd suspected. 

"Of course I love you, you stupid bastard," Mulder replied, with a sniffle.

I felt tears brimming in my eyes, and told myself they were in happiness for the fact that those two beautiful, complicated but wonderful men were going to somehow work things out together. I refused to believe the tears might be for the fact that they didn't *need* me, after all.

"Is it...is it okay if I fuck you, or would that hurt too much?" Mulder asked hesitantly.

"I'm never too sore to fuck, " Alex replied cheerfully.

Mulder blushed, looked at me, then dropped his eyes.

"No, I mean *me* fuck *you*," Mulder clarified.

Alex twisted in the bed and looked at him in confusion.

"Whichever," he said, as though he couldn't understand why either way would be an issue.

Mulder chewed his lower lip and avoided *both* of our eyes.

To my surprise, Alex started to laugh. Not mockingly, but with genuine mirth as he looked first at Mulder's discomfort and then at my own puzzled face.

"Typical," Alex said, winking at me. "He always has to be the center of attention, doesn't he?"

Mulder blushed but he looked up, eyes twinkling, and grinned.

"You seem to be forgetting something," Alex pointed out.

"What?" Mulder asked, his smile slipping a little.

"*I'm* the one who got spanked. *I'm* the one who is supposed to be comforted."

Mulder pouted, then a nasty expression crept onto his face.

"Yeah, well *you're* the one who got drunk. You're the one who threatened Walter. You don't deserve to be in the middle."

Alex's eyes blazed with fury and he jerked upright, wincing as he remembered too late that his butt was the color of salami.

And although I was careful to keep my face expressionless, that's when *I* laughed inside.

What the hell had I been thinking? They wouldn't last five minutes without me to keep them grounded. They *did* need me. Besides, two other things had registered with me. Firstly, they were arguing over who would be in the middle of a Skinner sandwich and, secondly, Mulder had called me Walter.

"MULDER!" I snapped.

He gulped and flinched, his hazel eyes flooding with guilt.

"Are my ears deceiving me, or did you just abuse Alex for something he has already been punished for?"

His mouth opened, but nothing emerged except a sob.

"What did I say would happen if you did that?" I asked him coldly.

He shivered and looked at Alex for help.  Alex looked away.

"I didn't *hit* him," Mulder mumbled defensively.

"Yes you did," I corrected him. "You hit him with words, rather than your fists, but you did. I explained perfectly clearly that once a punishment has been administered, the incident that warranted it is forgotten. FORGOTTEN. Not thrown in his face as a means to get your own way. You're an adult, Mulder, not a child."

Mulder started to cry again.

"Get up, Alex," I snapped. "We're leaving."

"NO," Mulder screamed. "You can't...you...you can't. I'm sorry. Please. I'm sorry."

"Alex," I said warningly, when it looked like the silly bastard was going to tell Mulder he was forgiven.

Alex flinched, then started to climb out of the bed.

"I'm sorry," Mulder begged. "Please don't go."

"Why?" I demanded coldly. "You didn't forgive Alex, even when he'd been punished, but you expect us to forgive you, just because you say 'sorry'? It doesn't work that way. Especially considering the fact that you made us a promise earlier this evening that you've already broken. Why should we believe you mean it this time?"

Alex carefully eased his jeans up over his sore ass, and followed me miserably to the bedroom door.

"Wait," Mulder pleaded.

I paused and glared at him.

"You...you said...you said that after a punishment, the incident is forgotten," Mulder mumbled.

"Yes," I agreed.

Then I waited, while Mulder's face twisted as though he was trying to swallow something bitter and vile.

"So...so, if you...if I let you...I mean if you punish me now...you won't go?" he asked hesitantly.

I nodded at him patiently and gave him my most trustworthy expression of agreement, but it wasn't trust in *me* that made his mind up. It was the look of radiant hope that shone from Alex's face at Mulder's words. A look that danced between them like an arc of electricity.

"I love you, Mulder," Alex whispered.

And Mulder started to unbutton his jeans.

The End