TITLE: World Without End (7/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

I think that I used to take a drug called valium. It made me feel
calm which is something I needed at the time. It also had a tendency
to garble things in my mind. I would take a memory and it would float
in my consciousness for a bit and then I'd try to put it back but it
would disappear, or reappear but in the wrong place. I think that's
how it felt anyway. It's so hard to remember.

Anyway, it's the closest thing I can find to relate to the way I've
felt for the past two days. Valium minus tranquillity. And with extra
doses of confusion. I think.

There are pieces in my head, and like the jagged bits of a jigsaw
puzzle, they are starting to organize themselves and transform into a
whole picture. But the process is slow. And painful. Every few hours
I regain a painful moment from the life I had, the life that is me.
Was me. Things are so different now.

Where do I fit in this new world? No one has told me. Not here. I
don't fit here. It hasn't taken long for me to figure out that much.
I remember enough of the time before to know that Marita Covarrubias
should not be sleeping on a lumpy dorm mattress and wearing someone
else's clothes. Eating tasteless mush for breakfast in a loud, ugly,
crowded cafeteria. Alone because the only people I know are the
doctor who started giving me some kind of primitive, slave
reconditioning therapy yesterday and Alex. Alex. Alex sent the
doctor. And that woman who said her name was Dana. I think I used to
know her face. He sent them and that's why I don't trust them. I
don't trust anyone here. They're all working for him.

But what else is there? I don't know.

I don't know who's fault it is that I'm stuck here. Faces creep up
on me, new ones every hour. Enemies. So many enemies. Alex...

And then I see him, standing on line to receive his crappy
breakfast. Fox Mulder. Fox Mulder is here too. Fox Mulder brought me
here. I think.

I see us in a car, I hear him talking to me about going somewhere,
but I don't know if we were coming here or going somewhere else. It
makes the back of my eyes burn to try and fit the memory into the
rough timeline I have established.

No matter. I know Fox Mulder. I trust him. I think. I did. Maybe.

He walks past the table I'm sitting at and I try to make eye contact
with him. It doesn't work. He doesn't see me. Maybe it's not Fox
Mulder. Or maybe it is and he never knew me at all. Maybe I imagined
the whole thing.

God, I want to go home. Wherever that is. It's not here. Somewhere
else.

The man who may or may not be named Fox Mulder sits down at the
table behind me, his back to mine, and I hear him sigh. I have to
talk to him. I don't know what else to do.

I stand up and take my tray over to his table. I sit down across
from him but he doesn't look up. He's pushing around the gray, lumpy
pile that I think is oatmeal on his plate. I clear my throat and he
shovels a forkful of the awful gunk into his mouth. Angrily I think.
I think he's angry.

I don't know why he'd be angry at me. I can't remember doing
anything to hurt him but that doesn't mean it didn't happen.

"Enjoying your mush?" I ask in a voice so quiet and frightened it
disgusts me. This is not me. Have I changed this much?

"Scully..." he starts and then looks up at me. I think he thought I
was her. He looks confused and disappointed and relieved.

"Are you...are you expecting her? I can go..."

He laughs but not in a ha-ha way. He laughs the way that Alex did
when I asked him about his arm. I think he thought I knew. I think he
thought I had something to do with that whole mess. Maybe I did.

"Yeah, we have a date," he mutters, looking towards the door. I
haven't forgotten sarcasm.

He doesn't look so well now that I'm really looking. Dark circles
under his bloodshot eyes, permanent grimace, and he keeps clenching
and unclenching his fist on the table. Angry wasn't a sufficient
word. He looks ready to kill. I don't remember him ever looking like
that before.

"Look, did you need something from me?" he asks suddenly. I'm glad
that I'm not completely thrown by the question. Hostility is
something familiar. Fox Mulder is something familiar.

"No, not really. I just thought maybe we could talk. I don't really
know anyone else here."

I do know him. I do. God, please let me know him.

He shrugs and takes a big gulp of what passes for coffee here.

"Go ahead."

I take a deep breath, trying to force the question out. It sounds so
idiotic though. So pathetic.

"You...you know me, right? I mean, I'm not imagining that, right?"

"Yeah," he grunts, picking at a piece of browning fruit. He
obviously couldn't care less but he does recognize me. That's enough.

"I mean, not from now, from...from the time before. We knew each
other."

He nods, looking confused and annoyed.

"Yeah, why?"

"I just wasn't sure. I...things are still a little confused in my
head."

He sighs and looks even more annoyed but I don't care.

"So, you brought me here right? When I was a slave?"

"Yeah, yeah, listen, what...what do you remember about how you got
involved in all this, Marita?"

"Well, I have these memories but they're sort of disjointed. It's
hard to put it all toge..."

"Did you know Alex Krycek before?" he asks, interrupting me,
suddenly interested in *anything* I might have to say.

"Yes."

That I do not doubt for a second. The memories are too vivid to be
hallucinations.

"Well what, what do you remember about him?"

I don't know why he wants information about Alex and I don't care
either. I think that I used to give him information a lot. He cared
once about what I could tell him. I'm not sure what to tell him about
Alex.

"He was...he was part of the group. Sort of. We worked together. I
suppose..."

"Well, but, what kind of person do you remember him being?"

The question sets off a whole new flood of images. Alex showing up
in my hotel suite in Khazikstan, brandishing a semi-automatic,
threatening me, panicked, sweating, telling him that I was on his
side. We could bring them down together. I told him that. I wonder if
it was true. Bringing him to my bedroom. I think the thought of
making those old bastards beg for mercy turned him on more than I did.

And then other times. Just a few. I was only in Russia for a week or
so.

Then the last. My apartment in New York. The door of my apartment in
New York. Out there in the hallway because he couldn't wait anymore.
And then leaving him asleep in my bed. Sneaking out like a thief in
the night. Stole the one thing he had in the world.

"Marita?"

"What? Oh...he...desperate. He was a desperate person."

"Desperate? Desperate how? For what?"

Mulder's leaning across the table now, his pathetic breakfast
forgotten. His leg is bouncing up and down. Nervous habit maybe. He
looks ready to lunge at me. He looks ready to strangle me. I can't
figure out why.

"For everything. Power, money, respect, revenge, sex, everything.
Always running from one desperate situation to another. He told me
he'd come out on top. I guess he has in a way."

"So, you knew him well, then?"

"Well? No, not really. We were lovers. Sort of. For a little while.
I never really knew him though. I don't really know. I just don't
know..."

His eyes get wide and even more confused and he just stares at me
for a long time.

"So...why are you telling me this if you don't really know?"

"Because you asked me! I'm just telling you what I remember but it's
a little fuzzy. I told you."

I'm starting to feel anger rising in me. I like it. It's good to
feel something again. Anything.

"So what, what are you still doing here anyway, Marita? What's here
for you?"

That just about does it for me. I thought maybe this man could be a
friend but he's sounding more and more like an enemy with every
passing moment.

"What am I doing here? YOU brought me here! Why don't you tell me?!"

He chews the inside of his cheek and stares out the window,
apparently not wanting to look at or answer me. After several moments
of silence during which I begin to formulate the seeds of a plan to
kill Fox Mulder, he turns back to me.

"Do you speak Russian?" he asks inexplicably.

"Excuse me?"

"The language. Do you speak it?"

Is that why I'm here? Am I his personal translator?

"I worked for the UN. I speak a lot of languages. Russian is one of
them, yes. Why?"

"What does 'zhivotnoye' mean?"

"It means 'animal'," I tell him, out of curiosity more than a desire
to be helpful. There's got to be a reason he's asking me this and I
think I should try to figure out what it is.

His jaw clenches and he swallows. The answer seems to piss him off.
I'm glad.

"Then, what about 'divotka'?"

"Divotka?"

"'Devotska'? Is that it?"

"'Devotchka'?"

"Yeah, that. What does it mean?"

"It means a little girl. Why are you asking me this?"

The sound of plastic and glass hitting the ground as he sweeps the
contents of the table onto the floor with his arm is the only answer
I get. After that he gets up and storms out of the cafeteria. A few
people stare after him but he doesn't seem to care.

That went well. Very pleasant.

I don't think I'll be talking to Fox Mulder again for a long time.

xxxxxx

In the novel "Cat's Cradle", Kurt Vonnegut described something
called a Karass. This Karass is made up of a collection of people
whose lives keep tangling up with your own for no explicable reason
whatsoever. Vonnegut said that these people were a team, created by
God to help you get something important done.

Scully is certainly part of my Karass. And so is that smoking
bastard. And I realized a long time ago, much to my dismay, that Alex
Krycek was also part of this group. Although I can't for the life of
me figure out why I've been cursed with such a karass. What *am* I
supposed to accomplish with these people?

I wonder what happens if you kill a member of your Karass. Or two of
them even. Or all of them. What would happen if you killed all of
them?

This is one of the many questions I've spent the past twelve or so
hours pondering.

The truth is though, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't imagine
murdering Scully. Or even hurting her. And killing Krycek would hurt
her, for whatever ungodly reason. So I can't really do that either.
That doesn't leave me with many options.

Suicide started looking rather appealing early this morning, as
images of the two of them fucking seemed to overwhelm my
consciousness. But upon reflection, it seemed a bit too pathetic. Not
to mention melodramatic. And then she'd know. And so would he. They'd
know how much they were killing me inside and I can't think of a
worse bruising for my pride to take.

So, instead of a grand gesture I've chosen to carry on with the day
as planned. As if I hadn't gotten my heart shredded last night.

I went to the cafeteria and had breakfast. Had a normal
conversation. Okay, it wasn't exactly normal. Come to think of it, it
wasn't even a conversation.

What was my point again?

Oh yeah, normalcy. So, now I'm going where I'm supposed to go. Today
is supposed to be my first day working at the lab. With Scully. It's
where I'm expected to be and I plan on handling myself with class and
maturity and, well, pride. More pride than Scully seems to have these
days. What happened to her dignity? Her inegrity?


I will not stoop to their level. I will be better then that.

That's the plan anyway.

I will not drop to her feet and beg her to leave him. I will not
yell, stomp my feet and make a scene. I will not cry when I see her
face.

I repeat those sentences over and over on my walk to the lab. And
when I get there I've almost got myself convinced that this is
possible. And then I hear them.

No, not *them*. Scully, yes. But not him. She's talking to another
woman. They're standing over a huge basin, washing equipment and
chattering. I think the woman's name is Roseanne. I've seen her
around before.

I walk in and slam the door behind me. Just announcing my presence.
Not making a scene. Honestly.

They both turn around and give me irritating smiles.

"Hi, Mulder," the traitorous, back-stabbing bitch says and I give
her a phony grin back. Okay, this is gonna be more difficult than I
thought.

"Um, I guess we should show you around, huh?"

"Guess so."

"Oh, can I do the grand tour?" Roseanne asks, batting her eyelashes
at me revoltingly. Why is this woman here? Maybe if I ignore her
she'll go away.

"So, Scully, what is it exactly that we're going to be doing here?"

She looks confused. We've talked about it before, I know. Hell, this
whole thing was my idea. I just didn't expect someone else to be here.

Scully's cheeks are pink. And her eyes are sparkling. She's glowing.
Beautiful. Beautiful bitch. I love her. Dammit.

"Well, we're...we're going to be doing research on your
physiological make-up, Mulder. Like you suggested..."

"And when did 'we' come into play, Scully? I thought you were
driving this project."

I glare at Roseanne and she shifts around uncomfortably. I think
maybe I might be overreacting just a tad. It's not her fault. I don't
even know her. I really oughtta calm down. Maybe I shouldn't have
even come here today.

"Well, I am, Mulder. Roseanne is my assistant."

"Assistant?"

"Yes, assistant, Mulder. She's a scientist. What exactly is the
problem here?"

"No problem, Scully. I just wanna be sure that I know exactly what's
going on here. I don't wanna be left in the dark about anything."

"I'm gonna go...clean the microscopes," Roseanne mutters and makes a
quick exit. I guess that's what I was going for although I can't say
why.

"Mulder, we talked about this. Why are you being so rude to
Roseanne?" Scully whispers to me in her most nagging tone.

"I'm not being rude."

"Mulder..."

"All right, I'm not entirely *comfortable* with her being here,
that's all."

"Why not?"

"I thought it was just gonna be us. That no one else would be around
getting in the way."

"Mulder, she works here! She won't be in the way. She'll be helping."

I think I should probably go. This is not working out the way I
wanted it to. Not at all.

"Mulder, I don't really see the problem. I know you can play nice
with the other kids if you try."

She smiles at me after her little joke. I've never actually wanted
to hit her before. Never ever. The thought is so abhorrent to me. And
yet, right now...


I have to get out of here.

"Play nice, right. Hey, maybe they'll even let me join the swim
team," I grumble under my breath, making my way for the door.

I feel her tiny fingers surrounding my arm and I jerk away
reflexively.

"Mulder what...what's wrong?"

I look down into those eyes, eyes I thought held the answers to all
of my questions, my truth, my salvation. Last night I saw those eyes
gazing at one of my worst enemies. With lust. Maybe even love. And I
can't keep quiet anymore.

"Were you ever gonna tell me, Scully? Or were you just gonna wait
till I made a complete fool out of myself?"

To her credit, it only seems to take her a few seconds to figure out
what I'm talking about. It's quite obvious when it hits her. Her eyes
squeeze shut and her whole body seems to deflate.

"Oh...Mulder, I wa...I was going to..."

Right. I heard that story. Just couldn't find the time.

"Scully, do you know...GOD! Do you know what I went through to get
here? What I wanted to...the whole...whole reason I came here?"

"Mulder, I know you came here for me. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that
I haven't been completely honest with you. I guess...I guess I was
just afraid. I'm really very sorry."

"Sorry. You're sorry. Sorry you didn't tell me you were FUCKING Alex
Krycek?! Sorry that wasn't the first goddamn thing out of your
mouth?!"

What was that I was saying before about not making a scene? God,
Scully, just leave me alone. Just let me get out of here before I say
something *really* stupid.

"Yes, Mulder, I am sorry. It's not exactly the easiest thing to say.
But I...I don't have any excuses. I'm sorry."

"Scully I...."

I don't even know what to say. She looks so sad and remorseful and
embarrassed. Maybe she didn't tell me because she really is going to
break up with him. Maybe he's got something he's holding over her
head that's keeping her with him. Or he's brainwashing her.

God, what is wrong with me? Am I so pathetic that all she has to do
it look at me a certain way and I turn into a pile of delusional mush
again?

"Scully, I just don't understand why. I mean how? It's...God,
Scully, it's Alex Krycek!"

"So what does that mean?" she asks, indignant all of a sudden. Why
did I even ask. I can't stand here and listen to her defend the
bastard.

"Mulder, you don't...you don't know him anymore. I don't know if you
ever did. He's been...he's been there for me. He's a good person. Not
the person you think."

I wonder if they have a bucket around here for me to hurl into.

"So, what Scully, you screw a guy and all of a sudden you know
everything about him?"

Now she looks downright pissed off. I'm glad. I want her to feel
what I'm feeling. Of course, to truly accomplish that would take a
hell of a lot more. First I'd need to get some woman she absolutely
despises to have sex with me right here on the floor in front of her.

"Is that what you think, Mulder? That I'm just screwing him like
some kind of whore?"

I wish that's what I thought. I wish I could tell her that I thought
that. That would really hurt her. But I can't. I know that's not who
she is.

"No...Scully, no. I just...I think he's probably taken advantage of
the situation. Of...of you."

"Oh, so now I'm some pathetic damsel, so distraught that she can't
make any kind of decision for herself? Is *that* what you think? That
I have no will of my own?"

Why does she have to twist my words around like this? God, she's
always done this. Never listens to me.

"He killed my father, Scully..."

She doesn't have a snappy comeback for that one. I'm half expecting
her to feed me his line about it but she just turns away and starts
fiddling with some thermometers on the table next to the basin.

"Look, Mulder, I don't know what you expected. You disappear for six
years. Six *years* Mulder. You let me think you're dead and I'm
supposed to what? Wait my whole life for some heavenly visitation
from you or something?"

"Well, I just didn't expect it to come to THIS, Scully!"

She turns around quickly and I notice that her eyes are watery. I
wonder if mine are. I really hope not.

"I am sorry that I didn't tell you about this sooner, Mulder. But I
am *not* going to apologize to you for moving on with my life. Just
because you happen to disapprove of whom I've chosen to move on with."

Well, that's very logical. Her thinking is so precise. I'm so
impressed with her ever-present ability to cut through the bull and
get right to the heart of things. Too bad she's gotta cut through my
soul as well.

"I grieved for you for five years, Mulder. Wouldn't let anyone get
in, get close. And a year ago I finally decided to move on. To try to
get some of the happiness I thought you would've wanted for me."

A year ago? Has she been fucking him for a whole year? God...

"Scully, of course I want you to be happy. That's all I've ever
wanted."

"I know that. And it's been hard. But I have been. I have been happy."

What am I supposed to say to that? Am I supposed to stand here and
begrudge her her happiness after everything I've done? Everything
I've screwed up.

"He really makes you...happy? After everything he's done?"

"Yes, Mulder, he does. He's good to me and he's done wonderful
things for the people here."

All I can do is stare at her. Watch this crap pour out of her mouth
and try not to regurgitate my breakfast.

"I...I need to go."

I need to go far away. I don't want to be part of the Alex Krycek
adoration society. I don't want to listen to this anymore. I don't
want to see her every day and know who she goes home to at night.

"Mulder, I'd...I'd like you to stay. I mean I hope that you won't
leave because of this."

Dammit. Why did she have to say that? Just let me go, Scully. Kick
me out. Do something horrible so that I can hate you.

"I dunno..."

"I just...I like having you here, Mulder. I've missed you."

God, shut up, Scully. Shut up!

"And we could really use your help. I could."

"What's this? The great Doctor Scully needs *my* help?"

She smiles at me and my heart twists into a knot. What am I doing?

"And I always thought Dana Scully needed no one's help."

"Well, you know, finding a cure for cancer and all. It's hard work."

I find myself smiling back at her like an idiot and I just have no
idea what to do. This feels so good.

"So, will you stay?" she asks me and I shrug and nod and then she's
hugging me. She's hugging me. It's so good. God, it's been so
unbearably long since she's been in my arms. All the walls I've spent
the past night building to protect myself from her come crashing down
and she's everywhere inside me again.

Why does she have to be so...so Scully?

Why does she have to still care about me?

Why is it my fate to love this woman?

I guess those are pretty stupid questions. The most important thing
is, will I ever be able to stop hugging her? Will I ever be able to
let go?

I don't think so

xxxxxx

end chapter seven

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (8/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

About eight years ago I met a woman in a bar at O'Hare International
Airport who told me her name was Susan. She was pretty and I was
lonely, on a layover between California and New York. It was a very
busy, insane time in my life. I barely had time to breathe, let alone
seek out sexual partners. Susan came on to me pretty blatantly and I
was just tipsy enough to let my defenses down long enough to invite
her back to my hotel room with me.

We had sex and it was pretty good. Not a life-altering experience
but it passed the time while I was waiting for my flight and gave me
the brief illusion that I was achieving human contact. Then I fell
asleep. That was my mistake. She was still in the room. Don't know
how that happened.

I woke up to the sound of shuffling papers. She was going through my
bag. In retrospect, she was probably looking for cash. I was pretty
well dressed at the time, silk and leather and all that, and she
looked like a K-Mart kind of gal. But I was guarding some pretty
dangerous secrets. I was being pursued by some pretty dangerous
people. I thought maybe she was working for my enemies. I
thought...No, I didn't think. I reacted. I shot her in the head.

In my most recent recurring nightmare I am standing over Susan's
body, watching the blood drain out of her forehead as her face slowly
morphs into that of the woman sitting across from me right now. The
most disturbing thing about the dream is the way I feel watching her
die. Not the horror one would expect but rather an almost perfunctory
regret. A great big cosmic whoops. Similar to the feeling I got
looking down at Melissa Scully's corpse. Wrong sister. Whoops. Better
haul ass.

Of course in my waking hours that incident haunts me as a near death
experience might. A near death experience that one doesn't recognize
as such until long after the fact. Like when you're in a car
accident, one caused by your own stupidity, clumsiness, recklessness,
whatever, and maybe you hit your head or something but it's not too
serious and you get home and go to bed and wake up in the middle of
the night and go "Shit, I almost killed myself." I've been doing that
every day, for years.

There was a brief period of my life when I was at peace. When
colonization began, when the world outside was losing all remnants of
sanity and stability, I was slowly stabilizing internally. Finally
there were no more secrets, no reason to murder a woman who decided
to go through my belongings. I was free. It was liberating, seeing
everything going to hell and knowing that I would be okay. Better
than ever.

I kept that peace, that freedom, for quite a long time. I lost it
when I fell in love with Dana. When I realized that there were more
secrets to keep, more parts of myself that needed to be forgotten. I
want her to love me for all that I am but I know that she can't. She
knows it too, which is why she won't let me talk to her about things
like this. I live in fear of the day she remembers who I used to be.
She can never accept it, but it is a part of me.

I've lost the peace and the fearlessness but I've gained so much. I
suppose terror comes with any goodness in a person's life. The terror
that you'll lose that goodness. My father told me it was always
better to be poor rather than rich. A poor man only has envy to worry
about but a rich man lives in fear of the world.

Sometimes, though, sometimes I realize that the good outweighs the
bad. At moments like this. Moments that my nightmares can't touch.
But even now, sitting in the cafeteria and watching the woman I love
scarf down a sloppy Joe with a smile on her face, there are some
things I can't forget.

Dana is a really messy eater. I don't always notice it but it's hard
to miss the saucy globs on her chin and the mystery meat under her
fingernails today. You'd think she was the one with only one hand to
work with. It's the cutest thing in the world.

She notices me staring at her from across the table and raises a
curious eyebrow. She'd think I was the biggest sap ever if I told her
what I'm thinking. Either that or she'd think I was criticizing her
dining habits. So I don't say anything but continue to watch
surreptitiously around my own lunch.

One of the things I've discovered since I've fallen in love is that
being in love makes you feel the exact opposite way a normal person
would feel in any given situation. A normal person would think this
was pretty gross and probably find another lunch companion. But I've
never been a normal person and now I'm pretty much certifiably
insane. Good thing we don't have a loony bin around here.

"So, what are you working on today?" I ask and she waves her hand
dismissively in front of her face as a response.

"The usual, you know..." she shrugs. I guess that I do. I've been
trying not to think too much about it. I've been avoiding asking her
about it. But the fact is, Mulder's been spending every day for the
past two weeks in that tiny lab with her and I can't stop wondering,
worrying. She doesn't talk about her work as much as she used to,
doesn't share the details of her days quite as easily.

She told me he found out about us although she doesn't know how. I
knew he would. I knew she wouldn't get the chance to tell him. I'm
not sure why it makes such a tremendous difference to me although I
can see why it would piss him off. I guess I just wanted her to be
proud of it, something to present to him as part of who she is now,
not something she has to bury like a dirty little secret.

Anyway, it doesn't matter now. He knows. I asked her how he took it
and all she said was "well". What that might mean is anyone's guess.
One thing's for certain though. He's not leaving.

We've managed to avoid each other for the most part and when we do
see each other we barely grunt in acknowledgment which is why seeing
him stride purposefully across the cafeteria towards our table is so
completely shocking to me.

At first I'm afraid that he's got some "important" thing or other to
discuss with Scully and that he'll drag her back to the lab before
she can even finish her lunch. But he doesn't. Instead he looks
directly at me and asks, "Scully, would you mind if I talked to
Krycek alone for a minute?"

Dana looks as taken aback as I feel and slightly terrified as well.

"Would you mind?" he asks, shifting his gaze to her and affecting
some kind of revolting whipped puppy expression.

"Um..." she looks up at him and back at me, fear definitely the
predominate emotion in her eyes now.

"It's okay," I tell her, not particularly wanting her in his
presence if I can help it. She nods slowly and untangles herself from
chair and sandwich, backing towards the salad bar but continuing to
watch us with every step. I suppose she thinks she's being subtle,
hiding behind the soup buckets like that. She'd have made a terrible
spy.

I wonder what she's expecting. A junior high lunchroom brawl maybe.
As much as I'd like to sucker punch the bastard until his face turns
blue, I vowed to myself that I wouldn't let myself lose control like
that again. Especially not in such a public venue. I refuse to have
my authority undermined by that black-blooded, pathetic mutant.

"So listen, Krycek, I wanted to talk to you without Scully because..."

His eyes dart around nervously and he spots her watching us and
focuses on her for a minute. He's still standing over me, looming
like some kind of albatross.

"Why don't you sit down?" I ask but it's not really a question. He
does, bringing us eye to eye. I push my tray away, not wanting the
remnants of my lunch between us. For some reason the congealing
sloppy sauce feels like a weakness.

He sighs and shuts his eyes and I notice that his skin has turned a
sickly shade of green. He's quiet for a ridiculously long time and if
I had a watch on, I'd be staring at it.

"Mulder, what's the problem here?" I finally bark out, a bit louder
than I intended to. His eyes pop open and he looks like he's just
been roused from a nightmare.

"Krycek, look I...I know that you and Scully have a...special
situation here..."

Well, looks like the nightmare has only just begun.

"Special situation," I repeat, uncertain that I've heard him
correctly. We find ourselves staring across the table, each silently
daring the other to clarify. He breaks first, clearing his throat to
diffuse the tension.


"Anyhow, for reasons I have yet to comprehend, she seems happy with
it." He looks down at his hands and adds quietly, "With you."

Damn straight, mother-fucker. Knee-jerk reaction which I struggle to
keep from showing on my face.

"So, um, I think that we need to come to some sort of understanding."

"What kind of an understanding?"

"A...a truce I guess you'd call it."

Truce? Are we at war? We haven't even spoken in almost a month. Cold
war maybe.

"What would that entail exactly?"

He looks confused and glances over at Scully again, as if he were
seeking out her assistance. Did she put him up to this? Perhaps. More
likely though, he's doing it to impress her, because he thinks it's
what she wants. Show her what a big man he is. In any case he doesn't
seem to have put much thought into this because he doesn't have an
answer at the ready.

"I just...I think that we need to act our age here, Krycek. Not like
a couple of teenagers competing for her attention."

He leans back in his chair with a self-satisfied expression, waiting
for me to snap, to become that teenager. I won't give him that. As
adept as he is at bringing me to that place inside, I will never show
it. It's a constant struggle. I suppose that's why I've been avoiding
him to this degree. I'm not sure how to explain what he does to me. I
guess it's sort of similar to the Johnny Birch situation.

Johnny Birch went to my elementary school. He was the coolest kid in
the 5th grade. All the girls showed him their underpants at recess
and he could eat worms without wincing. I idolized Johnny Birch and
he thought I was a piece of crud, not worthy of being wiped from the
soles of his penny loafers. I followed him around like a goober,
copied his style of dress, his irritating Euro-trash syntax,
everything. Nothing was good enough for him though. He went to a
different junior high school and I ended up being pretty popular
myself once I got away from Johnny. But he had a girlfriend at my
school and sometimes he'd come and visit. Whenever he was in the
building it was like a force field of dorkiness overcame me. I
reverted to my groveling, loser self and had to spend lunch time in
the restroom, hiding from my peers lest I completely humiliate myself.

Long, stupid story but it's the best analogy I can come up with at
the moment. Mulder brings me back to a time when I killed people for
going through my shit. He brings me down.

"I've got no problem with that, Mulder but you've gotta understand
something here. Things are different. She's different. You can't
expect your relationship with her to go back to the way it was."

"I...I know that. She seems...happy," he winces around the word
again but adds, "That's all I care about. All I ever cared about..."
and then looks off at a distant spot on the wall.

"Well then we don't have a problem, do we."

"No I, uh, I guess not."

I wait for him to leave but he lingers annoyingly.

"You're a lucky fuck. I hope you realize that," he finally says.
This is an interesting truce.

"I don't need you telling me that, Mulder."

He laughs and I realize how defensive and snappy I sound.

"Relax, man. This is what I'm trying to tell you. You don't have
anything to worry about."

"I just want you to understand that this is serious. It's not a game
to me. I love her."

Mulder makes a disgusted, constipated face and chews the inside of
his cheek. I don't know why but it felt really good to say that to
him. Finally.

"I realize that. I...I love her too," he sputters and I feel like
pummeling him again. "That's why I...I'm willing to let her go." How
generous of him. How kind.

"I don't think you've got a choice."

He stares blankly at me for a second and then nods pitifully.

"Look, I...I'm not asking to be your best friend here, Krycek. I
just think that, for her, we should try to be civil to each other."

He stands up and extends his hand and I don't have a choice really
because I think everyone in the place is watching us by now. I shake
his hand briefly and the place goes deathly silent except for a small
"Oh my God," emanating from somewhere near the salad bar.

I can't help but chuckle at that. Mulder sits back down and people
start talking and moving again, crisis averted.

"Look, I'm willing to work with you here, Krycek. I mean I want to
help in any way I can."

"*Any* way? How do you feel about being a test subject in the
bioweapons department?" I'm only half joking.

"So you guys are really trying to develop a biological weapon here?
You think that's a good idea?"

"It's the only way to get rid of them, Mulder."

Even he's got to realize that. He doesn't seem to though. He's
getting that constipated look again.

"Get rid of them at what cost, though?"

Is this part of our truce too? Does shaking his hand give him
permission to question everything I'm doing here?

"At any cost."

"Do you realize how dangerous this is to your group, Krycek? To the
people developing the weapons, the children who are living here..."

"We're taking the necessary precautions."

The whole point is to develop a toxin that *isn't* dangerous to
*us*. Of course if we're successful, Mulder would certainly be at
risk.

"I just wonder if you might end up destroying yourselves before they
even get to you."

"Well, what do you suggest, Mulder?"

Why is he still here, talking to me? I think our "truce" would go
over a lot better if we just kept on avoiding each other.

"I dunno, Krycek. Look, I'm not trying to antagonize you here. I'm
just wondering what your overall plan is."

"Overall plan? Mulder, I'm just trying to keep this place going. To
keep these people alive."

Short-sighted perhaps but it takes up virtually all of my time.

"You're working for the rebel aliens aren't you?"

The distaste in his voice is a palpable presence. I can hear the
accusation, unspoken but overwhelming. Most of the work we do for
those bastards involves murdering people like Mulder en masse.

"You think that's gonna help you, in the long run?"

I have a sudden and vivid memory of finding out that Mulder was
"dead" all those years ago. I remember feeling angry, remorseful that
he wouldn't be able to show up at my door and tell me how much better
he could be running this place. I remember feeling like his death had
taken away a bit of my hope. God, what a fucking idiot I was back
then.

"It's helping us now. They're giving us the supplies we need."

"For how long though? I mean do you really trust them? Do you even
know why they're using you to do their dirty work? It's not like they
couldn't do it themselves. And much more efficiently."

Does he think I haven't thought about these things? That I'm some
kind of mental incompetent? For God's sake, it's not like we've got a
plethora of choices, here.

"So how do you think we oughtta get the stuff we need to live,
Mulder? The food faeries?"

"You've got a farm here, Krycek. I think you could do all right
without them at this point."

"Until they kill us for turning our backs on them."

He's talking again but I can't listen anymore. I need to tune out
for a second and try to get myself together. There's this ringing
sound in my ears, the beginnings of a hellish headache I'm sure, and
the old phantom pain is back for the first time in months. He's
making me physically ill. God if it weren't for Dana, he would have
been dead on arrival. I take a few deep breaths and shred the napkin
on my lap into a million and one tiny strips and start listening
again.

"...so I'm just wondering if maybe you've become a little complacent
here. Used to the status quo, you know? I mean it makes sense. You've
got a great thing going here and of course you want to keep it that
way. All I'm saying is..."

"I *know* what you're saying, Mulder."

Now please stop saying it. God, where the hell is Dana? Still at the
salad bar, waiting for the foodfight to start I suppose.

God, where does he get off anyway? Criticizing me for working for
the rebels when he's been spending the past six years doing paper
work for the goddamn colonists. I hate him.

"Maybe you should start by figuring out why the smoking s.o.b. has
been letting you guys carry on for so long. I know someone who might
be able to give you some information about that."

Jesus, is the room pounding or is that my skull? Where IS Dana?

"And who might that be?"

"Marita."

"Marita?"

I don't know whether to laugh or spit. I laugh.

"I think you can trust her, Krycek. And I think she knows a lot
about them."

"Yeah, she's really good at making you *think* she knows a lot. She
doesn't know anything. And if she did, she wouldn't tell me about it.
And anything she might tell me would be a lie anyway."

I have been meaning to question her though, nevertheless. She's been
pretty coherent lately from what I hear. I need to figure out what
the hell to do with her.

"Well, that's my suggestion anyway. I think she could help you.
You're the big boss man around here right? You could make her talk,
King Krycek." He makes a familiar smart-assed face and picks a tater-
tot off of Scully's tray and pops it into his mouth.

"She's coming back you know."

"Yeah, well, she doesn't like tater-tots anyway."

"Yes she does."

He laughs and finally, FINALLY, stands up and starts to walk away.

"You know, for someone as fortunate as you are, you're pretty
uptight," he tells me as he passes me.

I feel something on my head and start to swat, thinking it's some
sort of insect. Then I realize it's Mulder's hand, ruffling my hair.

"You oughtta try smiling once in awhile," he says jovially. I have a
gun strapped to my boot. I could shoot him in the back right now as
he's walking out the door. It would be so easy. If only...

"What the hell just happened here?"

If only this woman wouldn't cry if I murdered him.

She sits down next to me this time instead of across and takes my
hand in hers. I feel like pulling her into my lap and squeezing her
so tight. I don't want her to go back to the lab. To him.

"I'm not sure. First he wanted to be my friend and then he wanted to
tell me everything I'm doing wrong."

She chuckles and shakes her head in a mixture of amusement and
disbelief. I wonder what it would take to get her to tell me what I'm
doing right.

"Hey, you wanna go home and take the rest of the afternoon off?" I
lean over and whisper in her ear. I give her my best "fuck me" look
but really I'd just like to crawl into bed with her, wrap myself
around her and have her touch me, hear her tell me that she thinks
I'm the best thing since sliced cheese.

"I can't, Alex. I'm kind of in the middle of something. In fact, I
should be getting back."

"You sure about that?" I try again, kissing her neck this time for
emphasis. She leans into me and sighs, with arousal or regret I'm not
sure.

"Mmmmvery."

She turns to me for a brief kiss and then she's on her feet and on
her way out.

"You did a good thing today, zhivotnoye," she tells me and then she
walks out the same door Mulder went through five minutes ago, leaving
me with a pile of uneaten tater tots.

xxxxxx

end chapter eight

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (9/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

Tomorrow is my birthday. I'm going to be forty-three years old. I
almost made it through another year.

The first time I realized that I was dying of cancer it came as
something of a shock. There had been hints, yes, subtle clues dropped
throughout the years that such a thing might occur as the result of
my abduction. But still, it wasn't something I seriously considered
as a possibility. Until it became a reality.

When I came here, when I had my chip removed, I knew that it might
return. It was a risk I took, knowing the potential outcome and fully
prepared to face the illness again if need be. For the first two or
three years, every month that went by without a sign of it seemed a
blessing to me. A gift. But I still felt the threat looming. After
four or five years the fear started to recede somewhat. I figured
that if I were going to get sick again, it would have happened
already. A few of the former slaves here had gotten it but not all of
them. I thought I was one of the lucky ones.

For the past year or so my worries about the cancer returning have
been relegated far to the back of my consciousness. I've continued to
work for a cure, for the benefit of the unfortunate individuals who
have gotten sick, but I'd generally grown to believe that I was
immune. It had been so long. And Alex...being with Alex makes me feel
invincible sometimes. But I'm not.

I got a nosebleed this morning.

I woke up with a headache. No, it was something beyond a headache. I
felt like my skull was breaking into a million tiny pieces. I think I
was actually crying in my sleep from the pain. When I opened my eyes
I saw that Alex was still sleeping and quietly rolled out of bed and
made my way to the bathroom. I splashed some cold water on my face
and as I stood there, hunched over the sink, I watched as splotches
of red began to stain the white porcelain. All I could think about
was how I'd have to scrub those stains off and where I might be able
to hide the towel I'd use so that Alex wouldn't see.

It went on for quite some time. Much longer than the ones I got the
first time around. Much more blood. The headache was a warning I
suppose. It didn't come out of the blue the way they used to. That
might be a good thing. Might make it easier to cover it up when they
do happen.

The thought of keeping such a massive secret from Alex is so
upsetting but I don't know what else to do. His reaction to the news
would be more difficult to deal with then the illness itself.

I remember Mulder's denial, his inability to conceive of the
potentiality of my death. Sometimes I felt like shaking him, smacking
him upside the head and screaming at him, "I'm DYING! Don't you get
it?"

It was frustrating but it worked for us. Avoidance was the hallmark
of our relationship.

Alex doesn't do denial. He'd accept it. He'd believe it and fully
understand what it meant. And then he'd probably go insane.

I'm certain that he'd blame himself. He's the one who took the chip
out, after all. Cause and effect. That's how his mind works. He
wouldn't consider the fact that I chose this path for myself.

Then he'd try to formulate some sort of plan of attack. A way to
kill the disease, force it from my body through sheer will alone. And
when he realized he couldn't, he'd blame himself for that too.

And then he'd decide that I shouldn't be working in my condition.
That I shouldn't be doing anything at all. He'd keep me in one of
those life-support bubbles if he could. He'd drive me mad with his
worry and overprotectiveness and feelings of helplessness. We'd both
be miserable.

If I'm going to die, I want to spend my final days on Earth in
relative peace. I want to enjoy what I have without mourning the
inevitable eventual loss of it. I want Alex to enjoy me without that
doom hanging over our heads.

And most of all, I want to find a cure. I will find a cure. He'll
never have to know about this. I won't let him ever feel this pain.

After the bleeding stopped I came straight to the lab even though it
was barely the crack of dawn. Now that I'm here, I'm not entirely
sure what to do with myself. I feel so close to a breakthrough but
I've felt that way for ages. I've been sitting at my desk since I got
here, reading through the data Roseanne has been transcribing by hand
for the past six months. We decided to stop relying on those old,
rickety computers a long time ago. I know that the answer is in these
pages somewhere. It's just a matter of putting two and two together.

I hear the door opening and closing and footsteps headed in my
direction. Too heavy and loud to be Roseanne. I suppose it's Mulder.

Ret stirs out of his slumber in the corner and stands up when he
hears the sound. I'm not sure why I decided to bring him to work with
me today. I suppose I just wanted the company. I told him about the
cancer when we were walking over here. He took it well.

Mulder makes his way through the tangle of microscopes, tables,
tissue samples and other assorted paraphernalia and reaches my little
thinking corner of the huge room. Ret starts growling and baring
teeth immediately and it occurs to me that Mulder's never met my dog.

"Ret, no! Sit."

He does and Mulder looks back and forth between us, perplexed.

"Sorry, he's a little protective."

"You have a dog, Scully?"

"Apparently."

He gives me a little sardonic smirk.

"Ret, meet Mulder. Mulder good. Good Mulder."

He laughs and kneels down to pet him. Ret pants and bobs up and down
happily, placated by my positive response to Mulder's presence.

"Hey Rhett. Where's Scarlet?"

"Not that Rhett, Mulder. R.E.T. Ret, short for Ret...iculan."

I suppose I'd almost forgotten the significance of that name, the
significance Ret had in my life when I found him in the first place.
Mulder seems to understand immediately. He smiles softly and actually
looks a bit embarrassed.

"That's...that's a good name."

Ret rolls over onto his back and wiggles his legs in the air.

"He wants you to scratch his tummy," I tell him. I leave them to
play together and go back to my reading. They seem very amused with
one another.

After about twenty minutes or so I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn
around to a very sheepish looking Mulder.

"Scully, I...I wanted to give you something," he mutters, hands
shoved into his pockets. Shit. My birthday. What could he have
possibly gotten me? It's not like he could've popped off to the mall
and grabbed a bottle of Chanel No. 5.

"When I woke up from...whatever happened to me, I found this in my
pocket. I kept it this whole time because it reminded me of the way
things were. The world, when it was sane. And..."

He clears his throat and meets my eyes. His gaze seems to go right
through me. I see another life in there.

"And you. It reminded me of you. Gave me hope."

He pulls his right hand out of his pocket and holds it out in a
fist. I open my palm underneath him and he drops the tiny piece of
paper into my hand.

"Happy Birthday, Scully. I hope this gives you hope, too."

He kisses me on the cheek oh-so-briefly and then goes back to Ret,
crouching down next to him.

I stare at the tattered object and try to decipher the writing on
it. It's held together by several pieces of clear tape. In fact it's
almost completely covered with the stuff, giving it a laminated
appearance. But I can see the places where it was torn and worn out.

Discount Multiplex. That's what the words on the top spell out. A
movie theater. It's a stub from a movie. The date is barely legible
but I think the year is 1999. I remember. We were in New York,
working on one of our last cases. It was winter. Only a month or so
before it began. I don't remember the details of the case. All I
remember is Mulder dragging me to the theater when we'd wrapped
things up and were waiting for the next flight out of Laguardia
airport. There was a light snow falling. We had five or six hours to
spare and he said he'd been wanting to see this since the summertime.
The movie, Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me. Discount show
because it had been in the theaters for months.

It was the stupidest movie I'd ever seen. But I liked sitting in the
artificial heat of the theater, next to Mulder and hearing him laugh
at all the awful jokes, sharing the big bucket of popcorn, butter
grease dripping down our fingers. It was fun. It was the last fun we
ever had.

"Thank you, Mulder," I whisper, clutching the ticket in my hand. And
then I begin reading again.

xxxxxx

This is the most ridiculous display I've ever been witness to in my
entire life. Even for Alex, this is absurd. I woke this morning to
the sound of someone pounding on my door. I dragged myself out of bed
even though it was a revolting hour to be awake and discovered three
large, gun-toting men dressed in black standing in the hallway.

I was still in my pajamas but the rude bastards didn't seem to care
or even notice. They barged into my room and told me to put on my
shoes and a coat. I asked them what this was about but they refused
to say another word. They marched me across the snow covered grounds
in my nightgown, boots and a hideous secondhand parka with a gun
digging into the small of my back all the while.

I suppose it shouldn't come as a real surprise to see where they've
taken me. The man sitting behind the desk has his back turned to me
but I know who it is. It could only be one person. If the goons
hadn't given him away, his ridiculously neat office would have.
Everything labeled and separated by name and color, placed carefully
in little baggies with labels. God, he's gotten worse. Most anal-
retentive thug I've ever known. He may think he's something better
now, but he's not. Not to me. I remember now. I remember everything.
Nothing but a thug.

He turns around like some pathetic villain out of a James Bond movie
and nods at his personal MIB's.

"It's okay," he says with a wave of his hand and the trio exits. He
looks me up and down with an eerily blank expression. I wonder if
he's going to shoot me.

"Sit down," he tells me cordially, as if he'd invited me over for tea.

"Is there a special chair his holiness would like me to sit in?"

"Sit. Down."

I take the fold-out chair across from him and cross my arms over my
chest. This better be damn good.

"Now, isn't that more comfortable?" he asks.

"More comfortable than what? Being dragged across campus in my
pajamas at gunpoint?"

His lips quirk in a strange distortion of a smile. Must be so
amusing for him to finally be able to wield this kind of power over
me. Over anybody. King Alex, ruler of the biggest pile of manure left
on planet Earth.

"What is this about, Alex? What's so important that you had to drag
me out of bed at the crack of dawn before I've even showered? Not
like there's ever any hot water anyway."

"Oh, I'm sorry, princess. Are the conditions not to your liking?"

"As a matter of fact, no, they're not. I've been meaning to discuss
my accommodations with you. I'm certain there must be larger rooms on
this campus. With private restrooms and kitchens..."

His fist slams down on the desktop in some sort of attempt to appear
menacing. The little jar of pencils he's got on the corner tips over,
spilling out a dozen or so neatly sharpened Number 2's.

"Listen to me. This is my place. And you are privileged to live
here. Lucky. Lucky that I'm *allowing* you to stay."

Privileged? What a joke. Living here is my punishment. For what, I
don't know.

"Alex, what do you want? Why did you summon me here?"

He leans back in his chair and gives me a creepy once-over. It's a
good thing he's only got one good hand. I'm quite sure if he still
had both he'd be rubbing them together wickedly.

"Let me ask you something, Marita. You're a free woman..."

Am I? That's an interesting take on the situation. I suppose freedom
is relative.

"You're not a slave any longer, you seem to be readjusting well, you
look healthy. Good actually, you look quite good. You're strong and
you seem to have yourself together again. You also seem very unhappy
with your surroundings. So...what are you still doing here?"

"What am I still doing here? Alex, I don't see as I have much of a
choice. Where else am I supposed to go?"

That's why I'm really not free. Why I never have been and never
really could be.

"You've been in contact with someone. Haven't you."

It's not a question. He knows. Of course. Was there ever any doubt
that he would have me followed every second? What is it that I'm
supposed to do in this situation again? Alex isn't supposed to know
yet for some mysterious reason. But I obviously need to offer some
sort of explanation here. Damn him for putting me in this situation.
Damn the both of them. And Mulder, too. All of them. All the men.
Things may appear to change but they never really do.

"Contact? Alex, I don't know what you're talking about," I lie,
pointlessly. There's always the off chance that he's bluffing I
suppose.

"Oh come on, Marita. You go wandering off into the woods and you
think I'm not gonna have someone watching your every move? God, do
you even realize how severely you're risking the safety and security
of this place?"

"Alex, calm down. This isn't anything for you to worry about."

"Who is he? What does he want with you?"

Is there any reason to lie? I don't even know anymore. I don't even
really care. I'm so tired of it all.

"I don't know his name. He works for a relative of mine who wanted
to get a few messages to me. That's all."

"What relative?"

"Alex, do you insist on knowing the details of everyone's personal
life or just mine?"

"Not everyone's personal life is putting the entire group at risk."

"So that's the way it works here? We all sacrifice our privacy and
freedom for the sake of the group?"

"That's about the sum of it, yes."

"My word. What a good little Communist you are."

His eyebrows raise and his upper lip twitches just a bit. He's
trying not to give it away but I've obviously managed to get under
his skin. I can't believe he's still sensitive about that. It's not
like the word has any meaning anymore.

"We do what we have to do. To survive," he growls through clenched
teeth. "If you don't like it, leave. But if you plan on staying, you
better damn well tell me who this man is or you'll have to make other
arrangments."

Well, there it is. Tell Alex the whole story or get thrown out right
now. Which would get me in more trouble? Giving away the secret too
soon or getting myself booted? The latter could cause a lot more
problems for me.

"I told you. He works for a relative of mine. Someone who wanted to
contact me. Someone who wants to help you."

"Help me?"

He looks incredulous for a second and then bursts out laughing. He
looks almost startlingly young suddenly even though his laughter is
out of bitterness rather than mirth. He really hasn't aged all that
much. Those crow's feet around his eyes have gotten deeper and more
numerous and he's got a few tufts of gray in his hair but he's still
got that same ageless quality.

"Look, believe me or don't. It doesn't make any difference to me."

"Why would any relative of *yours* want to help *me*, Marita?"

Why indeed. Perhaps because he's always thought of Alex as his own
child. More so than either of his daughters. I suppose he always
wanted a son.

"I don't know, Alex. You knew him better than I ever did."

He chews his lip and knits his brows, pondering that one for a
minute or so. The curiosity is too much for him to last much longer.

"Well, who the hell is it?"

"Your old friend, Alex. The only person who's ever given a damn
whether you lived or died."

He still looks completely confused, the idiot.

"I'll give you three hints. British, ancient, and insufferably
pretentious."

His eyes widen in shock and then quickly narrow in suspicion.

"He wants to meet with you. He says it's not time yet, though."

He sighs then pushes his chair back and walks around to the front of
his desk. He leans against it and runs his fingers through his hair.

"How is he related to you?" he asks me quietly. He's very close to
me now. So close that I can smell him. No cologne around here for the
dandy boy. Just him. Smell is the most nostalgic sensation. The scent
of Alex brings me back to a very dark place.

"He's my father."

"Wha..what?" he chokes out around a nervous laugh. I'm actually a
bit surprised he didn't already know that. I thought the old coot had
told his little protege everything about everything.

"Okay...so..." he stammers, trying to get his wits together again.
"So, have you actually *seen* him? Have you talked to him?"

"No. This man gave me a letter from him though. If you read
it...well, it couldn't be from anyone else."

"So you're sure you can trust this man?"

"Relatively."

"Relatively..."

He sighs and looks up at the ceiling with a grimace.

"Well, where is your fa..father?"

"I don't know. The man won't tell me. He doesn't want me to know yet."

Another sigh and some fidgeting. Poor Alex. I've never seen him
quite so frazzled.

"All right. Um...there's an executive committee meeting Thursday
morning. I want you to be there. But I don't want you to tell anyone
what you just told me. Not until we know more about this."

Perfect solution. A committee meeting. He's such a bureaucrat at
heart.

"So what will I be doing at this meeting?"

"Just...just be there."

"Aren't your "executives" going to wonder what the hell I'm doing
there?"

He shakes his head dismissively and walks back behind his desk.

"You're there because I asked you to be there. That's all," he tells
me, sitting back down and waving his hand in front of his face. He
looks down at the papers on his blotter and starts shuffling them
around. I guess this is my cue to exit. But there's something
important that we haven't discussed.

"Are you going to tell Scully about this?

He looks up and cocks his head to the side.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you going to tell Scully?"

"Scully's not your problem."

Not yet. That's not to say she won't ever be. I've seen them
together. She's got her hooks in him so deep he'd need a back hoe to
dig them out. It's a mystery to me what they could possibly see in
each other. She's certainly not his usual type and God knows, he's
not hers.

"She doesn't like me very much, Alex."

He laughs out of genuine amusement this time.

"What do I look like? The community guidance counselor? That's just
the way she is. She's quiet, reserved with a lot of people."

"Not with you though I suppose."

"Marita..."

"Maybe she's jealous?"

"Marita, just do me a favor and don't even talk to her okay?"

My goodness. How utterly paranoid. I wonder how much of his former
life he's shared with his new girlfriend.

"What haven't you told her, Alex?"

"It's none of your business what I do or don't tell her. I just
don't want you saying anything about anything to her."

Well, she hasn't exactly made herself available for chatting. What
is he so damned afraid of? Looks like I've discovered another weak
spot in his arsenal.

"Why would I say anything?"

"Just...just don't! I don't want you or anyone else saying something
that might hurt her."

He sounds close to panic now. Good. He needs to know he's not the
only one with power around here.

"Aw, don't worry Alex. I won't hurt your widdle wuv muffin."

"All right, go take your shower, Princess. We're done here."

I suppose we are. For now. But I have a feeling the fun has only
just begun.

xxxxxx

end chapter 9

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (10/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

"So why'd you leave for work so early this morning?"

Dana looks up at me, her mouth full of the Irish Stew I've been
spending the last two hours cooking for her birthday dinner. It's her
favorite. Well, her favorite thing I can make with the limited
ingredients available. Her eyes flicker and reflect the dim light
coming from the utility candles I snuck out of the warehouse this
morning. She chews, swallows and takes a drink of water. Then she
wipes the corner of her mouth with her napkin. The whole process
seems to take an inordinately long period of time.

"I needed...I had to fix the pipe again." Her eyes drift down to her
plate as she speaks. "The heat wasn't working when I left yesterday
so I figured I'd go down there early and get it going before everyone
else got there."

She's lying to me. I just know it. It's all over her face. She's the
worst liar in the world.

I suppose I've got no right to be angry about that. When she got
home earlier the first thing she asked me was what I had done today.
I didn't tell her about Marita. A lie of omission, which is really
just as bad.

I wanted to tell her. I still want to. I want to know what the hell
she thinks I oughtta do about this whole thing. I need to know. I've
always needed her advice, her input, before I even realized that I
needed her. But trying to explain my relationship with that man, with
Marita's goddamn father for Christ's sake, would be very difficult.
I'm sure Dana remembers him. I'm sure she wouldn't trust him. I could
never explain why I do. Not without telling her things she refuses to
hear.

And frankly, telling her about my meeting with Marita would mean
telling her about the pathetic little show I put on. She'd be
disgusted to hear how low I've sunk. How far into the mud that woman
drags me.

And of course, I'd have to leave out the part about Marita's veiled
threats towards the end of our conversation. Threats to tell Scully
the things I've been trying to tell her for months. Things she won't
let me talk about but, for all I know, might be dying to hear from
someone else. And that would be the end.

So, I have my reasons for keeping my secrets for the time being. I
suppose she has hers. The problem is, her secrets have the potential
to completely destroy me. She has that potential. I've only just
recently realized that.

I've had my eye on Mulder lately. Ever since that so-called truce of
ours. He told me he was willing to let her go but I've seen no
evidence of that. All I've seen is him sniffing around her like a
stray dog looking for food, putting his mangy paws all over her as
soon as I take two steps away. Not that I expected him to keep that
promise. Not that I believed a word out of his mouth that day. The
whole thing was just impossible to swallow.

Dana might think that he's the good guy here, the innocent,
pathetic, smitten ex-love who only wants what's best for her, only
wants to be her friend. But I know what he really wants.

So, maybe it's paranoid for me to analyze everything she says and
does. Maybe I shouldn't feel like my heart is being gouged out every
time she fudges the truth a little bit. And maybe if the former love
of her life wasn't spending more time with her than I am, things
would be different. I guess there's no way for me to know, because
she didn't lie to me a single time before he came here.

Still though, I'm not entirely sure this has anything to do with
Mulder. I'm not really sure what it's about. I just know that she's
hiding something.

"This was really good," she sighs, leaning back in her chair, her
plate completely empty. Then she belches. For some reason it makes
the lie seem less important. I can't imagine her belching like that
in front of anyone else.

"Thank you, Alex."

"You're welcome, Burpee."

She throws her napkin at me and giggles.

"Let me get you your present."

She looks me up and down as I stand up, intending to go back to the
bedroom and get her gift. Her expression distracts me. She's still
hungry.

"Don't go anywhere," I tell her. And don't lose that look. I lean
down and kiss her softly. I only meant it to be a peck but as soon as
my lips touch hers her mouth opens up and I feel her tongue pressing
insistently against me. Her hand snakes around to the back of my head
and she grips me tight.

"Lemme...I wanted to get your present..." I tell her as she starts
kissing and nipping at my ears and neck. She shakes her head and
makes a pained sound.

"Don't. Don't go."

"I was just...it's just in the bedroom."

"Don't. Just, God, don't go," she whimpers.

She stands up, pressing her body into mine and pushing me backwards.
I fall back into my chair, and she kisses me again. I suppose there
will be time for presents later.

Her tongue twists and pokes in my mouth and she starts unbuttoning
my shirt with frantic, clumsy fingers. She's shaking. This isn't
right.

Don't get me wrong. Horny Dana is not something I've got a problem
with. Ever. And she hasn't been making an appearance as often as I
would have liked lately so this should be making my day. But there's
something about this particular brand of horniness that strikes me as
odd. It's almost as if she's afraid I'll disappear if she doesn't
take me right now. As if we'll never be together again. It reminds me
of the way she makes love to me the night before a battle.

"Dana, Dana, slow down," I pant, feeling her nails rake across my
chest and her teeth digging into my jaw. Well, my mind may be
protesting but my body's going right along with the plan.

"Dana, please."

I grab her two hands in my one and she pulls back and shakes her
head questioningly.

"What? What is it?"

"I dunno. You tell me. Where's the fire?"

She blinks at me a few times and I notice that her eyes are dilated
and dark. Wild.

"Alex, please. Don't. Just let me. Please."

She runs her fingers through my hair, over my face, and says it
again. Please. God, my baby. My sweet devotchka.

Before I have time to react her tongue is back in my mouth and her
claws are all over me. Soon she's pulling impatiently at her own
clothes, and I help her with those. I end up latching onto a tiny
hole in her blouse and making it ten times bigger in my haste to keep
up with her frenzied pace. Her jeans and socks come off more easily.
Thank God she took off her boots earlier.

And then she's standing before me, completely naked, and, as always,
I'm reduced to a blathering idiot at the sight of her. My beautiful,
tiny goddess. Her body is as flushed as her face. Red splotches all
over her skin to match the gorgeous red hair flowing over nearly half
of her. So much hair. It almost dwarfs her.

She climbs onto my lap, straddling me, and my hips jerk upwards. I
can feel the heat, the white-hot intensity of her through my pants
and shorts. She hooks her feet around the legs of the chair and
starts rocking against me, pressing my face between her breasts. I
lick and suck her skin obediently, feeding her need and finding my
own growing with every passing second.

"God, Alex...inside. Now."

Now? I resist the urge to look at my watch. But I'm pretty sure
we've set a new record. Least amount of time to pass between the
kissing stage and the fucking stage. Well, okay, there was that first
night...

I suppose I've waited to long to make a move because she's taken the
initiative to reach down and unzip my pants. Before you can say
"foreplay", she's got my dick in her hands and she's pulling on it,
rubbing it against herself. And then she's there, rising up and
sliding down all around me and God, it feels good.

As expected, she starts moving immediately, bouncing up and down in
hard, fast thrusts that cause the chair to rock and slam against the
floor on its uneven legs. She braces her hands on my shoulders which
are still partially covered by the shirt that I can't believe I'm
still wearing, and digs her nails in.

She throws back her head and cries out at the top of her lungs and I
wrap my arm around her waist to keep her from falling.

"MmmmAleeexx," she moans, kisses me and kisses me. God, she's going
so fast and it's so good, so fucking *hot* in there that I don't know
if I can last.

"Devotchka...sl...slow," I try but she shakes her head violently and
goes even faster.

"Need you. Alex. God...need you so bad."

Her eyes are closed. There are tears running down her cheeks. She's
crying. My God. She's crying.

"Shh, shh, I'm right here baby," I whisper against her mouth. Her
teeth grip my lower lip savagely and she grabs a fistful of my hair.

She starts shuddering and rocking, and I feel her tightening around
me. Twitching with the beginnings of an orgasm.

"Oh God, need you, need you...AlexAlexAlexAhh," she drifts off into
a long, keening cry and I feel her coming around me, tightening and
pulling me deeper. And then I let myself go because I can't stand it
any longer and it's over anyhow. I groan and squeeze her tightly
against my chest as I shoot and spasm inside of her and she sags
against me, suddenly lifeless as a ragdoll.

Her head lolls on my shoulder and her arms wrap around my neck as I
come down from my orgasmic high. God, what the hell was that?

"I'm sorry," she murmurs quietly into my neck. I take her chin in my
hand and pull her face up so that I can see her. Her eyes are
downcast and her cheeks are red. She looks totally embarrassed.

"No...no, don't be. Don't be sorry. Don't ever be sorry. I'm here,
devotchka."

She smiles weakly and nods. I wonder if I will ever be able to
completely understand her. I do understand need, though. I understand
that it creeps up on you sometimes and there's nothing you can do to
hold it back. I understand that it's not something Dana likes to
admit to having. In fact a declaration of need is probably more
difficult for her to make than one of love. Well, maybe not. It's a
nice thought, though.

In any case, she's made herself very vulnerable and that is
something I can appreciate. Knowing that she needed me that
intensely, for whatever reason, for whatever brief moment in time, is
certainly something to be happy about. So why do I feel this sense of
dread coiled in the pit of my stomach?

"Are you okay, Dana? Really?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, Alex."

She's taken to thanking me after sex lately. Another ever-since-
Mulder's-arrival oddity. Almost as if I were doing her a favor.
Almost as if she expects me to leave her any day now.

I kiss her softly, gently, and she responds in kind.

"Do you want your present now?"

She nods enthusiastically and grins. I stand up with her still
wrapped around me. Thankfully she's light enough that with her arms
and legs around me, I can hold her up. Of course I can't hold my
pants up, and they fall to my ankles. We both laugh at the sound of
the metal on my belt clanking on the floor. I kick them off to the
side and carry her to the bedroom.

I lay her down on the bed and she curls up under the covers as I
finish undressing.

"Okay, now close your eyes," I tell her as I fish around the drawer
in the bedside table.

"Why? What are you gonna do?"

"God, can you ever just do something without asking a million
questions?"

"Well, I just did you like that," she laughs and closes her eyes.

"Okay, now gimme your hand."

I crawl into bed on her right side and she holds out her right hand.

"Nope, other one."

"If it comes back slimy, it's going in your face," she says,
thrusting her left hand in my direction. I slide the ring on her
finger-the one meant for wedding rings because even though marriage
between us human drones is illegal and not really practiced anymore,
even in our little outlaw community, there's still a part of me that
holds onto the tradition as something meaningful.

"Happy Birthday, baby."

She opens her eyes and looks down at it and so do I. It's not bad
looking really. I was pretty surprised at how nicely it turned out.
It's just a small piece of sheet metal with a piece of blue glass,
melted and shaped into a circle, embedded in the center. I thought
the blue would match her eyes. It does. I thought it would look huge
on her finger. Boy, does it ever. She'll never forget that she's
wearing it.

She gasps when she sees it. Really gasps. Like she's frightened.

"Is it too tight? Pinching you?"

"No...no, it's...."

She's quiet for what seems like a lifetime, holding her hand up to
her face, examining it. I come dangerously close to blurting out
"It's WHAT dammit?" but she saves me.

"It's beautiful. God, Alex, so beautiful. Where did it come from?"

"I made it."

She looks back and forth between my face and the ring.

"You did? You made it? How?"

She kisses my shoulder, gently reminding me that one-armed guys
aren't known for their welding skills.

"Well, not completely by myself. I got all the stuff together and
brought it down to the shop and the guys there helped me with it."

"Alex I...I can't..."

Oh God. Please don't tell me that you can't wear it. Please don't
say that it's too similar to a dead custom you have no interest in
perpetuating or that you're not ready for such a serious gift or some
other bullshit.

"I can't believe you did this. Wow."

She's still staring at it and she's smiling now. My panic attack is
slowly abating.

"Does that mean you like it?"

"I love it, Alex. God, I love it."

Jesus Christ. She's crying again. Maybe this is a birthday thing or
something. I've spent six birthdays with her though, and I've never
seen her this emotional.

"What's wrong?" I ask, even though she's smiling through her tears.

"I just...love..."

She pauses for another endless minute and I find myself idiotically
holding my breath.

"...it. Love it," she finishes and kisses me.

Her eyes are gushing with tears now and maybe it's the idiot male in
me, but I'm totally confused. I kiss her eyes, wishing whatever has
her in such a state far far away.

"Shh, don't cry, baby."

"I'm sorry. I just love it. I don't even know...I don't know what to
say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just wear it."

Every day. For the rest of your life. Maybe we should glue it on.

"Mmkay," she sighs, snuggling up to me and tucking her head under my
chin. I wrap my arm around her and pull her as close as humanly
possible. She sniffles and snorts against my chest and continues to
hold up her hand and stare at the ring. She really does seem to like
it.

"It looks good on you."

"I love it. You're so sweet, Alex. So good."

Sweet and good. Two words I never thought I'd hear associated with
my name. I guess she really has turned me into a sap. I just wish I
could believe it as strongly as she seems to.

"You've made me so happy," she says and then laughs.

"What?"

"Nothing I just sound so...silly. Like a soap opera actress or
something."

"No, it doesn't sound that way at all. Not at all. I wanna make you
happy. That's all I want."

She nods and snorts some more and starts running her hand over my
chest. We both admire the way the silvery metal looks, reflecting the
moonlight and gliding over my skin. Damn, we are a soap opera.

"I love you...Destiny," I say melodramatically, and she laughs. "Or
was it Montana? Blaze? What chick are you again?"

We chuckle together at our ridiculously sappy moment and then go
back to looking at the ring and the way it glimmers as she touches
me. Everywhere.

xxxxxxx

end of chapter 10

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (11/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

All things considered, I think I've been handling this relatively
well. At least I had been. Until this past Monday. Until I saw that
damn ring.

It's really amazing what kind of suffering a person can grow
accustomed to. I remember a story from my criminal justice class, a
story of a man condemned to a life in prison. He spent twenty five
years behind bars and then suddenly, when he was sixty-two years old,
he was granted parole. He'd gotten so entrenched in prison life, so
damned terrified of facing the outside world, that he killed himself
on the day he was supposed to be released. At least I think that was
from my criminal justice class. Might have been a movie though...

Whatever. The point is, after a certain amount of time human beings
can get used to just about any situation, no matter how miserable. So
I suppose it's not much of an accomplishment on my part that I
haven't felt like shooting myself in the head for the past week or
so. Instead of wallowing in self-pity for the past two months, I've
been settling in, exploring my surroundings, meeting some people,
getting used to it.

And yes, that includes Scully and Krycek and their...whatever it is
that they do. After talking to her about it that first day I realized
pretty fast that the situation wasn't likely to change any time soon.
Particularly not if I continued to stamp my feet about it like a
petulant child. That tactic never worked on Scully before and I think
I've finally learned that it never will. Instead I've tried to accept
it. Tried to get used to it.

I even made a peace offering to that son of a bitch. Held out my
hand and he shook it, sealing the deal. I think I told myself that I
was trying to do the right thing and I guess that I was. In a way.
Mostly I was trying to make Scully happy, make her see that I could
handle this, that I could be the friend to her that I was before. I
didn't really consider Krycek in the equation which shouldn't really
discount it as a worthless gesture. Should it?

I suppose it should, since I didn't mean a lot of what I said. I
won't ever be able to give up on Scully. But I'm willing to wait for
her. I'm willing to sit patiently and endure the situation for as
long as it takes for her to realize. To remember who she really
belongs with.

At least I thought I was willing. Until I saw the ring.

I guess it must have been a birthday gift. She didn't have it on on
Friday, when I gave her my gift. But Monday morning, there it was.
Sitting on her finger like the Jolly Green Giant's wedding band.

I told myself it was just a ring and didn't comment or ask her about
it. But I know who gave it to her and I know what it means when a man
gives a woman a ring and puts it on that goddamn finger. And suddenly
she went from being his misguided and confused girlfriend to his
ready, willing and able wife. And I decided that I couldn't sit on my
ass waiting for her anymore.

I've been too complacent. Of course, that complacency has given me
the opportunity to spend more time with her. She seems to feel more
comfortable with me now than she did when I first got here, and it's
been so nice just working with her again. Getting our old rhythms
back, getting in synch again. I don't want to lose that.

I honestly don't know what to do. All I know is that I've been
having heart palpitations and felt consistently on the verge of
vomiting ever since I saw that monstrous piece of jewelry.

It changes everything. Again.

I didn't sleep last night. Tried to, but after six hours had passed
I realized it wasn't going to happen and got out of bed. I walked
around the campus for awhile, looked at the stars in the sky and the
snow on the ground, the buildings that used to house young,
idealistic college students and now contained bitter, weary
resistance fighters, and I wondered how in the hell we all ended up
like this.

Sometimes I think there might have been something I could have done.
But there probably wasn't. It's really nothing but egotism to think
that there was.

As the sun was rising I wandered back to my dorm but I didn't return
to my room. Instead I walked through the darkened, mostly empty
halls. Scully would have laughed but I swear I felt the ghosts of
those college students walking with me.

I went down to the basement for the first time. Most of the rooms
were recreation rooms, similar to the one Marita and I were brought
to on that first night. Almost all of the doors were wide open. I
chose to fully explore the one that not only had a closed door but a
lock as well and a sign that said "No Trespassing".

Well, what's the point of exploring if you're not going to find
anything interesting?

Truth be told, I didn't find much. A lot of broken, useless crap
mostly. But hidden among the trash was a treasure. A cassette player.
The cord was still intact and there were a couple of tapes in a
garbage bag next to it. I grabbed them all and by the time I was
done, realized it was almost time to go to work at the lab.

I hadn't figured a way out of this hellish situation but I had found
something that might make her smile.

I brought the radio and a few of the tapes to work with me and
tested it out before anyone else showed up. It worked. It didn't work
great but it worked. I left it on the wooden table Scully likes to
use and when she comes in, it's the first thing she sees. The damn
ring is the first thing I see.

Then I see the rest of her. It's still sort of strange for me to see
her coming to work in a pair of beaten up old jeans and a sweater. I
keep expecting her to dig up some discarded Donna Karan suit and a
pair of those twelve inch heels she used to wear. And her hair, who
knew it was so curly? Seven years together and I never saw it in its
natural state. She's got it up in a bun today, held together with a
pencil.

She glances at the radio and then at me and I grin excitedly. She
takes her sweater off and pulls a white lab coat over her pink T-
shirt. Who knew Scully wore pink?

"Where did this come from?" she asks and I get up from the stool I
was sitting on and walk over to her.

"I found it in the basement."

"Basement?"

"Yeah, the basement in the building I live in."

She crosses her arms over her chest and turns so that she's facing
me directly. She looks vaguely suspicious.

"I went exploring."

"Exploring? Mulder..."

Oh, it's reprimanding Scully. My favorite.

"What? It was just sitting there."

She's shaking her head but I see the hints of a smile tugging on her
lips. She's easier than she used to be.

"Just sitting there huh? I'm surprised you're the first person to
have found it."

"Well, it was kind of hidden."

"Hidden?"

"The door was kind of...locked. Look, Scully, it's Megadeth!" I hold
up the tape as a distraction, knowing full well that it won't work.

"Mulder, did you...you went into *that* room? The one with the No
Trespassing sign?"

"Yeah, I was wondering about that. Why's it locked up like that?"

"Because, Mulder, it's connected to a tunnel system which is now
blocked up but Alex likes to keep it locked. For security, Mulder. I
can't believe you...nevermind. Why should I be surprised."

"Well it's silly to have it locked. There's lots of cool stuff in
there."

"Cool stuff, huh?"

"Look, Scully, The Village People! God, I wonder who had this mix of
music."

"And why in the world would they leave it behind?"

"It still works, Scully..."

She sighs but her arms are uncrossed now. And we're close to a full-
fledged smile.

"Mulder, we've got a lot of work to do today."

"How long has it been since you've heard honest to God music,
Scully? Come ON!"

Her eyebrows are almost up to her hairline but she's laughing a
little bit. Houston, we have contact.

I pop the tape in and hit play and the familiar, if slightly warped
by time, strains of Macho Man fill the lab.

"Mulder..."

Now she's really laughing and I start dancing around like a goober,
singing and clapping.

"Dance with me, Scully."

I turn up the volume and hold out my hand. She walks towards me and
says...something. I can't hear her over the music.

"What did you say?"

"I SAID SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE."

Thank God for that.

She starts taking her coat off again and I clap and hoot like a
drunken stripclub patron. She smiles big and wraps it around my neck.
I tug on it while it's still in her hands and soon we're slow dancing
in a completely inappropriate way. Inappropriate considering we're
listening to the freaking Village People anyway. But nice. So nice.
Not as close as I would like. She's still maintaining a certain
degree of personal space, proper for a married woman such as herself.
But I've got my arm around her waist and I'm holding her hand. Feels
just perfect.

I'm afraid my dancing skills have diminished somewhat though and I
end up practically tripping over her.

"Sorry, it's been awhile."

She laughs and says...something else.

"What?"

"I said JUST STAY OFF MY TOES!"

"Oh, oh, those are your TOES?"

"HA HA."

YMCA comes on next and I know all the words to this one. Can't
believe I remember them after all this time. But I do so I start
singing them into her ear. She responds but, of course, I can't hear
her. It's probably just as well.

She rolls her eyes and leans over to turn the music down some. Her
chest brushes against my arm briefly and I notice, not for the first
time, that she isn't wearing a bra. Shit. I guess it's a good thing
we're not dancing *that* close.

"Did we ever have this much fun working at the FBI?" she asks.

"I did."

I try to look into her eyes but with those sneakers she's wearing,
they're about level with my naval. Well, not really. She's not *that*
short. But I wouldn't be able to see them unless she craned her neck
pretty extensively.

"I always had fun with you, Scully."

"Always?"

"Mmm...maybe not always. But most times. Most of the time I had fun
just being around you."

"Right. Most times at my expense..."

"Oh, Scully, that is a *total* lie!"

"Lie? What lie?"

"I never made fun of you. Never. Your memories are obviously clouded
by time."

"Mulder, forget memories. You were in the clouds the entire time I
knew you."

"See, there you go again. Remembering things entirely wrong. If
you'll really look at things objectively, you'll see that I was right
all along. Wasn't I?"

She grumbles something unintelligible, even though the music is
relatively quiet now.

"Wasn't I, Scully? I mean jeez, just look around!"

She laughs through her nose and that soon gives way to an actual
giggle.

"Yes, Mulder. I suppose you were."

"What was that, Scully? I didn't hear you." I tease, even though I
heard her loud and clear this time.

She throws her head back and shouts through her laughter.

"I said YOU WERE RIGHT! Yes yes yes, you were RIGHT! Are you happy
now, Mulder?"

I can see her eyes now and I look down into them. I guess my
expression must be pretty serious because she stops laughing and
looks back.

"You know, I am. Right now, I am happy, Scully."

She stares silently and the Village People continue to sing on in
the background. We're not dancing anymore.

I don't think I've ever wanted to kiss her as much as I do right
now. I could. God, it would be so easy. So easy and so incredibly
difficult. What would she do? Kiss me back? Slap me? Cry?

Probably not. Probably not any of those things. She'd pull back and
calmly tell me that she's involved in another relationship now. That
I can't just take those kind of liberties the way I used to.

Except I didn't used to. In all those years, I never actually got to
it. I wonder why I feel so much braver now.

Her skin is flushed and I don't think she's breathing. It's one of
those moments. One of those do or die moments that always seemed to
fall apart for us in the past.

Not this time.

"Dana, are you..."

Crap. Motherfucker. This can't be happening. But it is. He's
standing in the doorway. Krycek. Standing there looking at us and
she's pulling away from me now, of course. Fiddling frantically with
the tape player, turning it off, turning an even brighter shade of
pink.

"Alex..."

"Are you gonna come to the meeting or what?" he asks, obviously
disgruntled but trying very hard not to show it.

"Meeting...I...oh, yeah. Yeah. I was just...I guess I forgot that
was today."

"Well, it is. We're waiting for you."

"I...I'm sorry. Just let me..."

She looks around helplessly for something to do. I see her sweater
sitting on the table and hand it to her. I glance in his direction
and see that he's very pointedly *not* looking at me. No, he's
looking at her only. Staring really. Staring daggers.

I'm almost sorry. For her. I'm sorry that she's going to have to
hear about this from him. But I'm not sorry it happened. Nothing
could make me sorry it happened.

She grabs the sweater from me and pulls it over her head, causing
her already loosened bun to come completely on done. The pencil falls
to the floor with an almost embarrassing thunk.

"I'm...I'm ready. Let's go."

She hurries off to join him but before she leaves the room she turns
back to me.

"I'll see you in a while, Mulder."

I nod, smile, wave.

Then they're gone and I'm not sure how I feel. I think I still feel
good. I think I still feel happy.

xxxxxx

end chapter 11

TITLE: World Without End: Book Two (12/18)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com

xxxxxx

Alex,

The snow is melting again. The thaw has come a little early this
year, don't you think? It's so nice to be able to sit outside like
this in the middle of March. I hope that whatever you're doing today,
you're doing it outdoors.

How peculiar to be writing you a letter. How silly to be writing to
you about something as mundane as the weather. I know that I'll be
seeing you in a matter of hours. We'll eat dinner together, as
always, and on a normal day I would be able to discuss simple things
like the sun and the grass with you. But we haven't had a normal day
in a very long time, have we Alex?

Do you know what the strangest part of it is? The thing that I miss
most of all is the fighting. Do you remember when we used to fight?
When it was possible for us to resolve every difference through a few
hours of raised voices and thrown crockery? Even after Mulder's
arrival, things were difficult, yes, but we still managed to work
through it. The fighting was more painful, more deeply personal and
wounding, but it got us through. The making up was well worth the
struggle to get there.

But as the weather changes, so do we. I thought we'd fight after you
found me dancing with Mulder. I expected you to feel threatened and
angry and I was prepared to deal with that, to attempt to allay your
fears about the situation. I was almost looking forward to the
opportunity to hash it out. Perhaps if forced to explain my feelings
to you, I might become more clear about them myself.

I've never known you to sulk, Alex. I'm not even sure if that's what
you're doing. All I know is that you've barely spoken to me since
that day. We sleep in the same bed, share the same space, and yet
you've hardly touched me in weeks. And I miss you terribly.

I didn't mean to lie to you. When you asked about that stupid radio,
I suppose those old, dormant instincts to protect Mulder kicked in. I
told you I'd found it myself, and I could tell from your expression
that you didn't believe me. Such a small, meaningless detail, but to
you it seemed to make all the difference. You didn't ask me about
anything else. Did you just assume I'd lie again?

Despite the fact that you'd been insistent about my attending that
meeting, once I got there, you completely ignored me. I had a report
to give, but you never asked for it.

Marita was there but she didn't say a word. Why was she there, Alex?
You never told me. I know you've been spending a lot of time with
her. Business, you say, and I believe you. I do. I wish you'd tell me
what kind of business, though. I wish you'd share your life with me
again.

I trust you, Alex. I know that I can. Do you know that you can trust
me? Can you?

I wish you'd just blow up at me already, put me out of my misery. Or
just let it go and talk to me again. Please. It's already been almost
three weeks since that day. I don't know how much more time we've got.

I'm dying, Alex. Did you know that?

No, you don't. Because I haven't told you. Because I'm afraid. Not
afraid of dying. No, that's another lie. I am afraid of dying. I am
so afraid, Alex. But what scares me more is how much I've
disappointed you, my love. This illness is only my most recent
failure. The final insult. The thought of leaving you behind is more
terrifying than anything in the world.

You'll be all right though, won't you? You've survived so much. I
know this won't-couldn't be- your undoing. I hope that you'll take
care of Ret for me. He needs somebody to love.

I have to go now, Alex. My head is hurting terribly, and I am
starting to see white spots on the paper. Please know that nothing,
no one, could ever change what you are to me. I will die with you in
my heart, even if I have left yours.

Love,

D

xxxxxx

Roseanne is here. I have no idea how long she's been watching me but
when I finish the letter, I look up and there she is, sitting across
from me at the picnic table.

I fold the paper I'd been writing on into a tiny little square and
put it in my shirt pocket. I wonder if anyone will ever read it. I
wonder why I even wrote it. Not to give to Alex, certainly. Therapy?
Perhaps, but I haven't found it to be particularly therapeutic. I
wonder if I should burn it.

"What's that?" Roseanne asks after I've concealed the letter. She's
brought her lunch out on a tray and half of it is gone. She must have
been here almost the entire time.

"Nothing. Just some notes."

She nods but her nose is twitching. I guess I can't lie to her either.

"You seemed pretty engrossed. I said hi when I sat down but you
didn't even hear me, did you?"

"I...I was just concentrating on those...notes."

God, my head really is pounding. I can barely even focus on her.
Every distant, minute sound is amplified in my brain. Rustling leaves
sound like the beat of a snare drum. Those white dots are covering
Roseanne's face.

"Dana, are you okay?"

Why is she talking so loudly?

"I..I'm fine. I'm fine."

She leans across the table and places her hand over mine. For some
reason the gesture startles me, makes me jump.

"Are you sure? You look really pale and tired."

"I'm fine. I just, I have a little headache, that's all."

She shrugs and starts eating her sandwich again, thankfully opting
not to pry any further. As much as I like, and trust, Roseanne, next
to Alex, she's probably the last person in the world I'd want to
burden with my illness.

Is this conversation over? I hope so. I need to go...somewhere.
Anywhere. I can't talk to anyone anymore.

"I'm gonna, um...I have to go back to the lab, Roseanne. I'll see
you later."

I start to stand up, but she clutches at my hand.

"Wait wait wait, Dana! God, I feel like I haven't talked to you in
ages. Stay for a minute."

"I really...have to..."

"Have to what? Come on, Dana. I miss you."

I miss her, too. I really do. I've barely even thought of it until
just now, but we've been drifting apart over the past few months.
Since Mulder. Since I started drifting apart myself.

I sit back down and rub my temples, hoping to ease the pain enough
to clear my head, to make me somewhat coherent.

"I'm sorry, Roseanne. I've just been...things have been...well, I
haven't had a lot of time."

"I know. It's okay."

"How have you been?"

"I've been good. Fine. A little lonely but..."

"Lonely?"

"Well, jeez Dana. This place isn't exactly overflowing with
attractive, intelligent, eligible men. And the two best looking guys
here are...well..."

"Are what?"

"Well, yours."

Mine. Mine? They're not mine. Neither of them are mine anymore.
Mulder never really was and Alex...oh, Alex.

"They both love you, Dana. Not that you don't deserve it, but it's
just

totally unfair to a single girl such as myself."

She laughs and I manage a weak smile. You wanna trade, Roseanne?
Please?

Maybe when I'm gone she'll be able to take care of Alex for me.
Perhaps he could even grow to love her, to forget about me.

"Mulder's not...well, he's single, Roseanne."

She continues to laugh and shakes her head.

"Dana, are you insane? The man has no interest in anyone, anything,
other than you. Believe me, I've tried to...expand his horizons."

I don't really know what to say about that. I just wish that things
were different somehow. For all of us.

"Dana, are you sure you're okay? Are you nervous about that raid or
something?"

"Raid?"

Her jaw drops and her eyes bulge out of her head like a cartoon
character.

"You're kidding right?"

"Um..."

"Have you been living under a rock for the past week?"

"Well, like I said, I've been sort of busy. I haven't really been
talking much to anyone."

"Not even Alex?"

Especially not Alex. I can't respond to her beyond shaking my head
and looking away. I hope she can see that this is the last thing I
want to talk about right now.

"Dana, aren't you supposed to be his second in command? I mean, even
if you guys are having problems..."

"We're not having problems!"

She pulls back from me, startled at my outburst. I didn't mean to
sound so defensive.

"Okay, Dana. You're not having problems. So why didn't he tell you
about this huge raid he's been planning with Marita and this
mysterious contact of hers for the past couple weeks?"

Marita? Contact? God, Alex. What in the world have you been keeping
from me?

"I suppose...we've been very busy."

"Jesus, Dana! They're going to one of the main facilities. This is a
huge deal! I can't believe he hasn't talked it over with you. What
the hell is wrong with him?"

"Wh...when is this supposed to happen?"

"In like, five days!"

Oh, I'm getting dizzy again. I wish she'd stop shouting.

"I...I need to go, Roseanne. I'm sorry."

"You need to go kick his ass is what you need to do."

I smile and lean across the table to kiss her on the cheek. I'm
struck with an urge to collapse sobbing into her arms but thankfully
restrain myself.

"I'll see you later, Roseanne. Thank you."

xxxxxx

I've never been nervous knocking on the door to Alex's office
before. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever knocked on this door, period.

He grumbles something incomprehensible on the other side of the
door, and I take that as an invitation. I've got to admit that when I
step inside, I'm shocked. I've never seen this place in such a state
of utter chaos. Papers, books, and maps lie strewn across the desk
and the chairs. File cabinets are open, their contents disheveled.
Alex sits amidst the mess, scrawling madly on his notepad. Planning.
Without me.

I clear my throat, and he looks up with a start. I feel as though
I've captured him in some sort of infidelity. Silly but just the
same...

"Dana."

His tone frightens me. It's not questioning, not surprised, not
angry or irritated, not tender or concerned. It's blank. Empty. A
dull statement of fact. Dana.

"Hello, Alex. Can I sit down?"

"If you can find a place to sit."

I lift a pile of papers off the chair in front of his desk and put
them on the floor. He winces but doesn't reprimand me, so I take the
seat. I feel alarmingly like an errant child sent to the principal's
office all of a sudden.

"Alex I...I wanted to ask you about something."

God, that face. He's a rock. No expression whatsoever. His hands are
folded together on the desk in front of him. Human and inhuman sides
joined.

"I heard something about a raid today, Alex."

Still nothing. I fight the urge to squirm around nervously.

God, it's Alex. Alex for goodness sake. I shouldn't feel this way.
How did things become so completely wrong?

"Is...is there going to be a raid?"

"Yes."

Okay, then.

"Well, would you like to tell me something about that?"

"What do you want to know?"

"I want to know..."

I pause and take a deep breath, stopping myself from spitting out
the tirade I feel bubbling under my surface.

"What I want to know first is why you haven't told me about this
already."

He sighs and leans back in his chair. Signs of life?

"You've been busy. I didn't want to bother you."

"Bother me? Alex, this is part of my job. Not just my job. My life.
Now I want you to tell me what's going on. Where is this raid?"

In lieu of an answer I receive a stack of papers shoved in my
general direction across the desk. There's a rough map of the
Southern territory, which increases in vagueness the further South it
goes. Somewhere near the bottom is a red circle around what I believe
used to be the city of Boston.

"Alex isn't this where the rebel aliens have their colony?"

"Yes."

"Is this...this isn't who you're attacking, Alex."

"Yes, it is."

"I don't understand. Alex, this is where all of their warehouses
are. This is where we get our supplies from. What's going on here?"

"They've been lying to us, Dana. Getting us to do their dirty work
and giving us trinkets in return."

"Trinkets? Alex, they've been keeping us alive!"

He shakes his head and looks at me with...pity? Is that pity? As if
I'm a fool for not knowing what he knows, not understanding why he
wants to throw away our one helpful alliance and make yet another set
of enemies.

"They've been holding out on us, Dana. They have the things we need,
the things we've been working our asses off trying to find. They've
had them all along. All we're doing is taking what we deserve.
Payment in full."

"What are you talking about? What do they have?'

"Everything."

Would it be the end of the world if I reached across that desk and
strangled him? Somehow I have a feeling it would be, but it's a
temptation nonetheless.

"Could you be more specific, please?"

"They have the technology we need. To make a weapon. To get rid of
them. All of them."

"If that's true, why wouldn't they use it themselves?"

"Because it would kill them too if they released it. They haven't
figured out a way to immunize themselves."

"So you're going to take this from them and set it loose? You're
going to completely betray the only ones who've helped us at all,
Alex?"

He gives me that pitiful look again, and for the first time all day,
my headache abates and is replaced by nausea. Who is this man? Where
is the Alex I know? Did I kill him by simply dancing with another man?

"That's not all they have."

Dammit. This is completely ridiculous. I can't believe he's playing
this idiotic guessing game with me.

"What else do they have, Alex?"

"The thing you've been working to find since the day you got here."

A twitch of fear and hope works its way through my veins.

"A cure..."

I barely manage to whisper the word. How could that possibly be? It
couldn't. Could it?

"How...how do you know that they have that?"

"Someone told me."

"Someone told you. That's great, Alex. You're going to throw our one
alliance down the toilet and risk everyone's lives for something
'someone' told you?"

And all for the sake of finding a cure. That's what it is, more than
the weapons. I know him well enough to understand that. He's willing
to risk everything, including his own life, to find that cure. For
me. For what he views as a potential threat to my well being. That is
what frightens me most of all about this. And it enforces my decision
not to tell him that I am already sick. God only knows what he would
do.

"It's someone I trust. And they're not our only alliance."

"Who?"

His head drops, giving me the sneaking suspicion that this someone
is Marita.

"Alex?"

"There's a man. A man I used to work for. We've been in contact.
He's offered to help us."

"And he's the one who's given you this information?"

"Yes."

"This man, he has an English accent?"

His eyebrows raise in surprise, which is answer enough for me. I
know this man Alex seems to have deemed worthy of trust. And I'm
nearly speechless with shock at the thought of risking so much on his
word.

"What kind of proof has this man given you, Alex?"

He shakes his head dismissively as if this were an absurd request.

"I trust him, Dana."

"And that's enough for you?"

"Yes."

I can see that there's no point in arguing the issue with him. He
seems to have made up his mind.

"So, when are we leaving?"

"End of the week. You don't need to come, Dana. I'm just taking a
small group."

I nod my assent, and we lock eyes for the first time. It might be my
imagination, but I think that I see something soften in him. I
suppose he expected an argument. I wish I had the strength to argue.
I wish I felt well enough to believe I'd be an asset instead of dead
weight.

We stare at each other in silence for what seems like a very long
time but might only be a moment or two. Yes, he is behaving like an
insufferable bastard, but there is someone I care about in there
somewhere. Someone I want to touch.

I run the fingers of my right hand over the ring sitting on my left
hand and feel my heart begin to race remembering the night he gave me
this gift. How would he react if I reached across the barrier between
us and grabbed his face, brought his lips to mine where they belong?
Would it melt this cold, dead facade away? Would it convince him to
believe in me again? For a moment I think maybe it would.

But it passes. He looks down at his papers again, dismissing me. I
get up and start for the door. Is he watching my back with sad,
lonely eyes?

I turn around quickly, hoping to catch him, but his head is still
hanging over his desk and he's started writing again. I feel a pang
of desperation and need so strong that I can't ignore it and walk
away.

"I miss you, Alex," I whisper so quietly I think he might have
missed it.

He didn't. He looks up and suddenly his face is new. Soft and kind
and terribly unhappy.

"Dana..."

So different than when I first walked in here. So full of pain and
love and just plain old raw emotion.

"What's happening, Alex? I thought we were past this?"

His eyes slip shut, and he rubs his hand over his face.

"I dunno, Dana. I just...whatever you think of me now, whatever kind
of man you think I am, there's one thing that's always guided me
through every situation."

"What's that?"

"Self-preservation. Survival."

I walk back to the desk and tentatively place my hand over his. He
doesn't pull away, thank God.

"What does that have to do with us, Alex?"

"I'm just trying to protect myself, Dana."

"From me?"

He takes a deep shuddering breath and looks up at me with the eyes
of a frightened rabbit.

"From what you have the potential to do to me."

Hearing that feels like a white hot poker piercing through my chest,
puncturing a heart I thought had already been broken a thousand times
over.

"I would never hurt you, Alex."

He nods, but I suppose we both know that that's a lie. I already
have hurt him. Not willingly or purposefully, but I have.

"I'm sorry, Alex."

I squeeze his hand. He lifts mine to his lips and plants a soft kiss
on my knuckles.

"I am too, devotchka. I am too."

"So, what do we do?"

"Just...keep going I guess."

Just keep going. I suppose that's a start. He drops my hand and
replaces it with a pencil, looking back at his work.

"I'll see you tonight," he says, and this time I do leave because I
don't know what else to say. I don't know how in the world to make it
better. But at least I have a little bit of hope.

xxxxxx

end chapter 12