Part Three

Walter propped himself up on an elbow and examined the face of his lover sleeping next to him on the bed.

The past two days had been fraught with tension, revelations, and a lot of sex.

Walter discovered that the car Alex had been driving was Mulder's Bureau issue.

That his bank account had been paying for groceries. Alex had used up the thousand he'd had on him when he'd arrived. Had simply forged Walter's signature to the cheques he'd used to buy anything after that. He had kept a meticulous account of the money he'd spent.

That Alex had been in weekly contact with Scully, who was keeping him up to date on the OPC proceedings.

All of this revealed with the expectation that it would be the straw that broke the infamous camel and Alex would find himself booted out.

It hadn't taken long for Walter to understand that all the patience and tenderness Alex had shown him during those days and nights to heal him, had torn up Alex's soul. He had given what he so desperately wanted himself but never expected to receive. That he, Walter, had returned the tenderness had only increased the anticipation of the pain when he would no longer be of use.

Walter realized that in his life, Alex had often been treated as a thing to be used then discarded as so much garbage when his usefulness was over.

It wasn't going to be easy convincing him otherwise.

Walter reached out with a finger and traced Alex's lips. The sensuous upper lip, the full lower lip. Watched as a smile slowly woke under his stroking. Alex turned his head, sighed, and opened his eyes.

Walter, now reading his lover better, saw the hesitant fear that flashed in Alex's eyes before he pushed it down deep within himself. Then saw the smile warm those dark green eyes.

As he bent for a kiss, Walter promised himself that one day Alex would wake without that initial reaction.

Alex licked Walter's lips, stretched sinuously against his lover. "Weren't you the one complaining of the lack of recovery time just this morning?"

Walter hummed a sort of answer, brought his head down to lick Alex's nipples. "You were wrong," between nibbles, "about my not having an addictive personality."

"Really?" Alex's hand caressed the large shoulders hovering over him.

"I find that I am getting quite dependent on the taste and smell of post-coital Krycek." Walter rubbed his roughened chin on Alex's neck.

"I understand," Alex sighed, rather dramatically. "I'm into eau de Skinner myself." And whooped as Walter grabbed him by the only ticklish spot he had on his ribs. And then had to retaliate.

It was, thought Walter, a bit like rough-housing with a jungle cat, claws sheathed, but still dangerous.

He ended the fun by rolling off the bed, grabbing a still laughing Alex and hauling him over his shoulders in a fireman's clutch. "Shower," he snarled, and started down the stairs with Alex, hanging upside down, wrapping his arm around a leg.

Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, the phone rang.

In all the time Alex had been there, the phone had never rung.

By the third ring, Alex pulled himself out of Walter's grasp. Watched as Walter picked it up. Knew the man was hoping it might be someone from his family.

"Skinner."

Saw the disappointment quickly banished for a pleasant, "Agent Scully. Nice to hear your voice."

Alex sat on the bottom step, intent on his lover's face.

Walter showed real pleasure at something Scully said. Leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, listening, face serious. Nodded occasionally. Still just listening.

"He did, did he? Yes." He looked at Alex. "Hang on, will you, Scully, I want to tell him."

Walter cupped the phone against his chest. Alex cocked his head, had an idea what the call was about.

"OPC's report was presented today. It fully exonerates me."

Alex grinned. "Are we surprised?" His tone was mocking.

Walter met his grin. "Back pay to the day of the initial investigation. Full pension re-instatement." Watched Alex stroll up to him.

"Nice."

"With," Walter continued, "the recommendation that I take the rest of the time I've booked off to consider my future with the Bureau."

Alex lost his smile. "Fucking shit!"

Walter reached out and pulled Alex to him. "I'd rather fuck you."

He put the phone back to his ear. "Scully, Alex feels pretty much as you do. Do me a favour and inform the Director's office that I'll do that. Yes, have them send everything to the condo."

He listened, hand stroking Alex's neck and shoulder. Then, "No. It's not worth it. A press release isn't going to change anything. No one will cover it; it's old news. And besides, it won't change people's minds. Those who want me to be dirty, will just think it's another government cover-up. And those who never believed it, well..."

He listened a bit longer. Alex rested his head against Walter's free shoulder, wrapped his arm around Walter's waist. "Yes. That would be fine. I think I'd rather like the OPC report to at least make its way around the Bureau. Who? Mulder's Lone Gunmen? Can they hack into... Oh, I see. Sure. That sounds rather appropriate.

"Thank you for all the support. Thank Mulder too. Yes, supper when we get back to DC. Yes. And Dana, thanks again. Bye."

Alex rested his chin on Walter's collarbone. "I'm sorry. I don't understand why they're taking that attitude. You've been exonerated. What more do they want?"

"They want me to stop being an embarrassment to the Bureau. And the only way I can do that is by not being around."

"So people forget." Alex didn't like that idea.

"So people forget," agreed Walter. "Well, there's still a shower that needs to be taken. And," he leered, "I believe you had an idea or two."

"Walter. I need to go to Boston. Legit business. Come with me."

Walter looked over his morning coffee. "What kind of 'legit' business are we talking about here?"

"I've got a safety deposit box with some money in it. Clean money. If I'm staying here with you, I need to pay my share.

"Come on, Walter. You've been cooped up here since what? the end of September. We're in March. You need to get back into the real world. We need some new reading material. And there's a great little jazz club in Boston I think you'd like."

Because a good half of the records, tapes or CDs that filled the cabin's entertainment area were jazz. Which, to Walter's surprise, Alex not only liked, but was actually quite knowledgeable about.

"Look, we drive up. It'll take us a good day. We can spend a couple of days there. Stop in New York on the way back. What do you say?"

Walter quirked an eyebrow. "I suppose you've got a safety deposit box in New York as well?"

"No. Actually about four. Or five. Well?"

Alex drove the way he played chess: with very little regard for the rules. He broke the speed limit: "What the hell are radar detectors for?" He drove mostly in the right lane: "It's for passing, isn't it? And I am passing all those cars."

But, Walter had to admit, once his heart-rate had returned to normal, that Alex wasn't reckless, was attentive to the road. And sang along with the classic rock station in a very acceptable tenor.

"Why classic rock?" Walter was curious. "Apart from the jazz, you strike me as more of the hard rock type."

Alex grinned one of those grins that warned Walter he was going to get zinged. "Because I don't think you'd know the words to those songs."

"And these I do?"

"Well, it is a classic station, Walter."

"Is this a subtle reference to my age, Alex?" Walter's voice had become just a bit dangerous.

"Far be it for me to point that out, Walt. After all, I'm not the one who keeps on saying he's not twenty any more."

"Not all of us, Alex, have the recovery capacity of an otter."

"Otter, eh." Alex thought about that for a while. "As long as it's not a cat."

Ah, thought Walter, a little sign of jealousy. "Certainly not a domestic cat. Too pampered and slick for you."

He made a bit of a show thinking about it, enjoying the slight irritation that Alex couldn't hide. "A leopard maybe. Always untamed. Always just a bit dangerous. Always beautiful." He leaned over and bit Alex's ear. Alex purred.

His baritone harmonized well with Alex's tenor.

Alex registered them into the Boston Hilton. Paid with a credit card. Wouldn't let Walter see the name on the plastic or the registration card.

He'd gotten them a large room that came complete with two king-sized beds.

Walter watched Alex toss himself backwards on one of the beds, bounce. Hold his hand out in invitation. "We have time to mess this one up before we head out for supper and the club."

The club was not what Walter expected. He thought they would head into a little rat-hole somewhere below ground level. Instead, in South End, near Northeastern University , Alex brought him to what looked like an old victorian house, at least three storeys high, complete with large wrap-around porch, lace curtain windows, well-maintained gingerbread decorations. And a discreet sign on the door: "Vodka and Jazz".

Alex seemed nervous to Walter. He'd gotten very quiet and kept on watching Walter for his reaction to the area, the building. Inside, he became wary.

Inside, Walter found that walls had been torn down so that the actual club space was a large room that took up the entire left half of the downstairs area. There was a wide beautiful staircase that went to the second floor, with a "Private" sign hanging from a thick velvet rope at the foot of the stairs.

To the right of the entrance was a door marked "Office". And from the smells, there had to be a kitchen behind the stairs and to the right in the back.

Alex led the way to a table in a dark corner, close to a door by the kitchen area that wasn't being used by the staff: they used the doors that were under the stairs.

The waitress asked them what they wanted to order. Reminded them that once the show began, no orders were filled or accepted. And that the show would begin in ten minutes.

Alex ordered a bottle of vodka, paid for it with cash. It came straight from the freezer, in a bucket of ice. Alex poured two drinks, toasted Walter, and tossed his back. Walter followed his example. The drink was so cold that at first he felt nothing, then an incredible warmth that filled his stomach, throat.

"Nice," he gasped to Alex. Alex nodded, refilled both their glasses.

The lights in the club, already dim, dimmed even further. A young black man walked over to the piano, was joined by a older man with a sax, a blond kid who looked like a teenager with a base fiddle, and an older woman who seemed to be a mixture of races. The music began, the woman picked up the mike, and Walter heard not English, but Russian play so well with melody and tone that it gave him the shivers.

The woman sang, the trio played and no matter the language, the style of song, Walter felt he had been handed a wondrous gift. He reached out to Alex, squeezed his arm and mouthed, "Thank you."

The set was a long one, over an hour. Though the club was filled there were no sounds from the audience above a whisper. And the applause was heartfelt.

After the last song, the pianist announced they would be back in an hour. The lights came back up, the staff appeared and the noise level rose.

Alex also rose, but stayed where he was. Walter turned and saw an older man approaching the table. Alex seemed to be braced for something. As Walter pushed back his chair and stood, he wondered what the hell was going to happen.

"Alexei." The man stood in front of Alex, smiled and gently touched his cheek. He said something in Russian that had Alex relaxing slightly. He shook his head, answered the man's question. Made a comment and then switched to English.

"Walter, this is Anton Rozanovski. He and his wife own the club. Anton, this is Walter Sergei Skinner. In spite of the Sergei, he doesn't speak Russian."

Anton Rozanovski looked like some absent-minded professor. He was slight, a couple of inches shorter than Alex. Had thick grey hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Wore dress pants, expensively tailored, a dark tie to go with a slightly lighter shirt. Instead of a suit jacket, he wore a sweater which from its shape was a comfortable old favourite.

Walter figured he was in his mid to late sixties.

He had taken his time looking Walter over as well, decided he liked what he saw, and offered his hand.

"I won't hold that against him," Rozanovski said to Alex. "What part of Russia are your people from, Mr. Skinner?"

"My mother's grandparents came from St. Petersburg."

"Ah, very acceptable, Sergei. May I call you Sergei?" The man's blue eyes challenged him with a twinkle.

"If you wish. No one else does."

"Ah, but here, in a Russian club, it is a good name to use. Are you enjoying the music, Sergei?"

Walter noticed out of the corner of his eye that Alex was slouching against the wall, watching the interplay between the two of them. Staying out, but carefully evaluating.

"Yes. You have a rare combination here. Marvellous musicians, great booze and a very appreciative audience. Even rarer, a well-trained audience."

Rozanovski laughed. "Yes. One of the advantages of a small club is that there can suddenly be no place available for noisy customers the next time they show up. Sergei, I hope you don't mind, but I must have Alexei join me for a while in the office. We have some business to discuss. Will that be all right with you?"

Walter found it strange to be asked permission for Rozanovski to talk with Alex. He looked at the man slouching against the wall, was surprised to find himself feeling slight twinges of jealousy.

Alex straightened, came to stand by Walter and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "It really is just business. I'll be back before the next set." But also waited for permission.

Walter nodded. Watched as Rozanovski, face beaming, followed Alex out to the office.

Walter sat down, decided he had had his quota of liquor for the night, asked the waitress for a coffee.

A few minutes later, the door behind him opened and a different woman brought him his coffee. She set it down in front of him, spoke to him in Russian. From her age and clothes, Walter figured she was Rozanovski's wife and stood.

"I'm sorry. I don't speak Russian."

"You will have to learn then." She sat down in Alex's place. "Please, sit down. How nice that someone took the time to teach you manners. Today, that seems to be considered old-fashioned. Not too many people go out of their way to practise such skills.

"I am Mina Rozanovski." She held out her hand.

Walter took it. "Walter.."

"Sergei Skinner." She finished. "Word got back to me very quickly." She sat back in her chair. "So, Walter Sergei Skinner, let me look at you. And you can look at me."

Mina Rozanovski was about the same size as her husband, just as slim, with fashionably short grey hair, eyes a darker blue. Her age was harder to guess: she had that ageless bone structure, the type of skin that could make her forty or sixty.

She was dressed casually in pants and man's shirt, probably one of her husband's. Apart from her wedding ring, worn Russian style on her right hand, she wore no jewelry. Walter concluded that was out of personal choice because the clothes were expensive.

She seemed to be very pleased about something.

"So," she finally said, "our Alexei has chosen well. You seem to make him happy. Does he make you happy?"

Walter pulled slightly back from the woman. "How do you know Alex?"

"Since Alexei was a small boy. You haven't answered me: does he make you happy?"

"Yes. He does. What was..."

"Alexei like? Is that what you want to know?"

Walter nodded. And held his breath, knowing he was going to be given a key to Alex Krycek.

Mina Rozanovski leaned over and took one of Walter's hands in hers. With her thumb she stroked the knuckles of his hand.

"You are the Skinner who is an assistant director of the FBI?" And Walter's hand tightened involuntarily in hers. She ignored his reaction. "So," she continued, "you know the adult Alex Krycek." And got a hesitant nod. His eyes cooled and she decided that this man could make a good enemy.

"Alexei was four when he and his parents moved next door to our home. Not here, but in..." she waved with her hand, "not important. He was very beautiful. He is very beautiful now, but as a child...

"He was slender for his age. And those eyes! Large, green eyes that you could drown in. Black-haired. Fair-skinned."

She looked from their joined hands to Walter's eyes. "Except for the bruises, the marks."

She leaned forward, eyes intense. Her hand gripped Walter's hard. "In those days, one did not interfere with parental discipline. Do you understand? The times were not like today, with their social agencies, children's advocates. And even if they had been around, that part of town was filled with immigrants from countries where to involve the authorities was to betray one's neighbours. Maybe to end up in jail yourself.

"Do you understand, Walter Sergei Skinner?"

Walter's hand ached with the force of her grip. And he nodded, because he did understand.

She smiled sadly at him, let up the grip she had on him, though she didn't release his hand.

"He was very serious. Very shy. It took me weeks to coax him to the back steps. Then inside. I bribed him, with chocolate cookies that I made just for him. Gave him milk and cookies when his parents weren't around. He wasn't allowed in their house if one of them wasn't there.

"The bruises were always there. Other marks as well. He never cried. Well, never when he was awake. Once I found him on our back porch, very early one morning, curled up against the door, crying in his sleep. He never remembered doing it when he woke up."

"Why?" Walter had long ago guessed that Alex had been abused, but still his skin crawled at the images she was handing him. "Why did they hurt him like that? He was only a child!"

Mina Rozanovski leaned forward and passed her free hand over his cheek as if to soothe him.

"Are you old enough to remember Kruschev? What he looked like?"

"Yes."

"And his wife? Well, you see that is what Alexei's parents looked like. Peasants who worked the soil for the landowners. Except that sometimes the landowners or their sons would amuse themselves with the peasants' daughters. Alexei is a throwback to his mother's grandfather, who owned both large tracks of land and many serfs. Of which her father was one, even if his father was not.

"He was an embarrassment to them. I think they were both firm marxists, if not communists. One didn't ask one's neighbours what their political philosophy was. I think that to them he represented all they had been trained to hate. And they did hate him.

"There was nothing much we could do, Anton and I, except offer the child a place to come to when he had no other place to go.

"And they were his parents. And children do want their parents' love.

"They were our neighbours for four years. They ignored us, thought us inferior because we are from the Ukraine, and Orthodox. We ignored them because to get their attention would have been bad for the child.

"Then one day, Alexei was outside with a friend from school. He was doing well in school, liked it. The school authorities could make trouble for people, so the beatings were less often, less severe.

"He and his friend were playing, at something or other, giggling the way children do at that age. His father heard them. Came rushing out, yelling obscenities at his son for the sounds he was making.

"The friend ran away, terrified. Alexei just stood there, waiting. The man pulled off his belt and began whipping the boy, there, in the yard, in front of all the neighbours. Most of whom just went into their houses and shut their doors."

She paused, remembering the ugliness of that day. Walter took her other hand in his, as if to encourage her to continue.

"My Anton is not a big man. You've seen him, Walter Sergei. Nowhere near the size of that monster. And he is a gentle man, which was why I fell in love with him, why I still love him. I had never seen him angry. Until that day.

"He rushed over and pulled the boy away from the man. Picked him up in his arms and carried him away. His voice was very cold with his anger. He told the man if he ever saw him hurt the boy again, he would kill him himself.

"The boy was almost unconscious. We tended to his welts. We got some medicine into him. We took turns holding him so he could sleep.

"It was very late at night when she just opened the kitchen door and told us she wanted the boy back.

"I could not have children. I begged her to leave him with us. After all, they did not love him, did not want him, did not care for him. He was a bother to them. So why not leave him with us. We would love him, take care of him. His looks, his body were not his fault.

"Anton tried to persuade her as well. We even offered to buy him from them. But she didn't listen. Just kept on repeating that the boy belonged to them and that they wanted him back. Finally she threatened us with prison, for kidnapping. Said that who would the authorities believe, us or them, the parents.

"Alexei was on the couch in the living-room, hearing all this. When she threatened us with the police, he came into the room, went up to her. She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away.

"They were gone the next morning. That week someone came and took their furniture and things."

Mina Rozanovski had held Walter's eyes through the telling. Had seen the anger, the pity and now the understanding in them. She raised the hand she still gripped and placed a gentle kiss on the knuckles.

She gave them both a bit of time to calm before she continued.

"It was ten years before we saw him again."

"He came to you?"

"Yes. One night." She took a deep breath, seemed to be making a decision. "You have good eyes, Walter Sergei Skinner. I think you also have a good heart.

"One night, in summer, there was some noise in the back yard. The trash cans fell over. Anton went to see. Sometimes the animals got into the garbage and spread it all around.

"There was a young man, lying on the ground by the cans. He must not have seen them and backed into them. He was having trouble getting up.

"At first Anton thought the boy was drunk, but when he turned his face, Anton could see that he'd been badly beaten. He could also see his eyes. Large, green eyes. He went to help the boy, called him by name. Eventually, persuaded him to come into the house."

"Did he tell you who beat him up?" He had an idea: but did these people who had loved the child know.

"No. We never asked. We just assumed it had been a customer. Or his pimp." She waited to see if this were news to Walter: it wasn't.

"How did you guess?"

"By the clothes. The smell on him. His injuries. He stayed three days. Slept most of the time. We told him he could stay. That we wanted him to stay. Told him each of us in turn. Told him together. But the fourth morning, he was gone.

"After that, he would show up, sometimes hurt, sometimes not. Stay for two, maybe three days. And leave. Sometimes it was months before we saw him again. Once, almost a year. Always, when he came, he waited for us to invite him in, as if he were afraid that one day, we would not allow it."

"But you did want him. Jesus! Why didn't he stay?"

"Tsk, Walter Sergei, do not blaspheme." Absently, like she was correcting a child. "A wild animal, Walter Sergei, if he is injured enough, if he is ill enough, will come sit by the fire. But not stay, because he fears the fire. We understand that, my Anton and I. Do you?"

"Yes."

She smiled at him, approvingly. Looked down at their clasped hands. Examined them. "You have good hands, Walter Sergei Skinner. Big hands. I think they are gentle hands. Hands that will not hurt our Alexei."

She felt him flinch. Looked at him differently, a little coldly. "You have hurt him. When?"

Walter knew he was being evaluated and was coming out on the short side. "Some time ago."

"Not lately."

He shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because he made me very angry."

"Ah, because he had done something to hurt you." Mina sighed. "Our Alexei sometimes does that. He doesn't understand the little things that hurt so much."

Then she smiled at him. "But you love him now." It wasn't a question, still she waited for his nod. "So all will be well, because he loves you too."

"Does he?" Walter suddenly wanted her assurance that Alex did love him: so far he had been the only one to say the words.

Mina leaned back in her chair, looked at him like he was not very bright . "Of course. Why else would he have brought you to meet us? He has never done that, you know. Never brought anyone here to his home."

She stood up, bent and kissed Walter on each cheek, on the forehead. "Welcome, Walter Sergei Skinner. Maybe next time you and Alexei will stay here, with us, in his room?"

"That would be nice."

She beamed at him. "Marise!" she called the waitress over, "Bring Walter Sergei another coffee." To Walter she said, "I'll just be a few minutes. You will be here when I come back? Good."

The coffee was good and strong, helped settle the feelings he had churning in his guts. He didn't hear Mina return. A large plate of perogies appeared in front of him, the smell alone making his stomach growl in appreciation. She handed him a fork, placed a bowl of sour cream in front of him. "Taste and tell me what you think."

Walter remembered the taste of his grandmother's perogies with nostalgia. His mother hadn't much time for what she called "ethnic foods": they were too time consuming.

And these had had lots of time spent on them. And because they were very, very good, and because he understood what they represented, he rolled his eyes, grabbed Mina's hand, kissed it loudly. "Mina Rozanovski, run away with me?"

She laughed happily, kissed him on the top of his head. "Eat. You're a big man. And big men need lots of replenishing. To keep their strength up."

Walter laughed. Especially with Alex, he thought.

Alex slipped back into his chair.

"Hey! Leave me some!"

Walter started smiling, was going to make a comment. Stopped when he realized that Alex was incredibly drunk. His eyes had a glazed sheen to them, he was slightly flushed, his grin was almost feral.

He reached over, took a perogie with his fingers, used it to scoop a pile of sour cream and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. All the time, his eyes holding Walter's, daring him.

Daring him to what? thought Walter, sitting back in his chair. To comment about his being drunk? About what Mina had told him? Because he suddenly was aware that Alex's absence had meant that Mina could check him out, could fill him in on Alex's background. He had been tested, and found acceptable. By Mina and, he supposed, by Anton as well.

But Alex was drunk. And was, as Mina had said, a wild animal—his leopard—afraid of the fire it craved. Setting up the opportunity to be discarded because wanting was too painful.

"First of all," Walter spoke very softly, "you will keep your hands off my perogies. Secondly, you will give me the car keys."

"Like hell!" Quietly snarled.

"Alex, you're drunk. You won't be driving. Give me the keys."

Alex stared at Walter, eyes wild, almost covering the despair in them. Walter searched for a way to make Alex understand that he wasn't going to be discarded. Was interrupted by the appearance of another large plate of perogies.

Mina Rozanovski picked up the tensions right away. She stood by Alex, carefully placed a hand on his shoulder. Made a comment in Russian. Alex answered her in Russian, never letting go of Walter's eyes.

"Mina," said Walter, keeping to the very tone they'd all adopted so that the people around them would not be attracted, "Alex is drunk. He won't give me the car keys."

Mina took the angle he had handed her and used it. "Tsk, tsk, Alexei. By now you should know better than to try and drink Anton under the table. You never win." She was touching him like she was trying to soothe a nervous animal. The fact that she was succeeding told Walter she had had lots of practice.

Alex looked up at her, sighed some of the tension away. Reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the keys. Mina took them from him, passed them to Walter.

"And, Mina," said Walter, hoping it would lighten the situation, "please tell him to keep his hands off my perogies." He reached over with his fork, took one back from Alex's plate.

He was watching Alex eat—Mina had stayed at the table with them - when Anton came and said, in an absent way, "Oh, Alexei, you're busy. Maybe, Sergei, you can came and help me?"

Well, thought Walter, joining the man going down the cellar stairs, the second vetting. Sharon's father had been much more obvious about it.

Anton Rozanovski turned on the light in what was the wine cellar, "Now I know it is here somewhere." He handed Walter a large flashlight. "Perhaps you could shine the light in this corner for me?"

If Alex was drunk, Anton was merely light-hearted. Whatever he was looking for, he accompanied himself with a Duke Ellington melody. Walter pointed the light in whichever direction he was told, and waited for the interrogation he knew was coming to begin.

"So you are with the FBI? An assistant director?"

Walter found himself tensing. "I'm on sick leave right now. I probably won't be with the FBI much longer."

Anton looked surprised. "Why not? It is a good job. Not the kind of job that would interest me, but a good job nevertheless. Why would you be leaving?"

"Because they don't want me around."

"Ah, that Grand Jury bullshit. Oh," he caught himself, "you must not let Mina know I used that word: she doesn't like that kind of language."

He came to stand in front of Walter, cocked his head up at him. Walter was reminded of a math teacher he had had in high school. "You are telling me that they believed the Spender scam." He made a little sound of disgust. "Idiots always float to the top, Sergei, simply because they have no brains. Nothing to hold them back."

"Did Alex tell you that I've been exonerated?"

"Exonerated? No, why would Alex speak to me about that?" He really was puzzled. "No, we discussed the club. Alex, you know, owns it with us." He sat on a small table that had some notebooks on it. "Mina says that she likes you. That you understand about Alexei." He sighed. "There are other things you need to know about Alexei."

Walter braced himself. What now?

"I love Alexei very much, Sergei, but you need to know. He is no good with money." He held up a hand to ward off any comment Walter was going to make. And finally Walter realized that Anton Rozanovski was in fact as drunk as Alex. Just showed it differently.

"He has no idea of the value of money except as a commodity for buying information, weapons, plane tickets. The small everyday things, like rent, insurance, taxes, he knows nothing about."

"Like grocery expenses, " offered Walter.

"Exactly. He lives..." raised an eyebrow at Walter, "lived?" Walter nodded, Anton smiled. "He lived on the run. Hotel here, plane there. Plastic money in the name of someone who doesn't exist. Mina, by the way, does not know all this."

Like hell, thought Walter. But nodded seriously. "Yet you say he co-owns this club with you. He told me that you and your wife are the owners."

Anton rubbed his face. Sighed deeply. "You would think at my age I would know better than to try and keep up with him.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. The club. Six years ago, I was fired from my job. Downsizing they called it. Actually, the old man who had owned the business died and his sons replaced me with a computer. I was an accountant.

"Alex knew about it. Somehow. He showed up one day, with a car. One of those Ford Taurus. You know this car? It's a nice car. Nondescript. Gets good mileage.

"Alex hands me the keys. Directs us to this house. It's a mess. The last owner started to renovate, lost interest. Alex says, I bought it for you. Make it the club you've always wanted to own."

He looked up at Walter. "When a man is handed his dream, he would be a fool not to take it."

"And it came from Alex," added Walter.

Anton smiled. "So, we have the club. It makes a great deal of money. It looks small, but the crowd tonight is typical of a weekday. Weekends, we have reservations for the next six months. We charge a great deal of money for the food, the alcohol. Because we only serve the best."

Walter nodded in agreement.

"And as I said, Alex has no concept of money. Every time he comes, he leaves behind money. He thinks we need it. We don't. But, because I am an accountant, I worry about him. So I have invested it. In property, mainly."

"Anton, are you trying to tell me that Alex has a dowry?"

"That he can pay his share. He knows that we registered the club in all three names, but he refuses to take his share of the profits. Keeps on telling us to use it for the business. I'll stop adding it to the investments, send him a check every month so he is not dependant on you, so he can pay his share of expenses. It's usually about two thousand dollars a month. Will that do?"

He'd gotten up, was browsing behind a wine unit when he laughed. "Ah, here it is. I knew it was somewhere. Here, hold this. Now where is the other one? It can't be far away. Eureka, I have it."

He handed Walter another dusty bottle. "This one you need to keep in the freezer. For special occasions."

Walter looked at the two bottles in his hands, gave a soft whistle. One was vodka, Kettle One, the latest darling of the "in" crowd. But the other was scotch, The MacAllan, one of the best single malts out of Scotland.

Anton smiled at Walter. "I have been saving that one for someone who will truly appreciate it."

Alex had sobered up quite a bit by the time they left.

Mina hugged Walter to her, whispered, "Maybe you could come for Easter? Stay with us?" Said something to Alex in Russian that had him looking at Walter sheepishly. He was definitely going to learn Russian.

While he drove back to the hotel, Alex slouched against the door, not saying anything, as if waiting for some comment from Walter. He was less wary, but still tense. Walter wasn't sure how to deal with him right now. Waited till they had gotten into bed.

Alex stayed on his half of the bed, like he had before they had become lovers. Walter let him get away with it for a while, before he suddenly pulled him to the middle of the bed at the same time as he rolled over on him. He let his full weight hold Alex down, grabbed his wrist and clamped it hard to the mattress, immobilizing him. With his other hand, he grabbed a fistful of Alex's hair, pulling back so he couldn't move his head much.

Alex struggled a bit, but was seriously outweighed. And with the tensions of the past hours, the amount of vodka in him, he was tired. He had been waiting for some reaction from Walter and now he had it: he stilled, hoping the hurt would be quick.

"You bastard," Walter's voice was sharp, not loud, "you could have warned me that you were taking me to be vetted by your parents..."

Alex's reaction was extreme. He went white, his eyes widened with shock. "They're not my parents..." His voice was heavy with pain. Walter stopped with words with his mouth, controlling the panic he saw in Alex.

When Alex finally calmed, Walter pulled back just enough to watch Alex's eyes. "I'm not talking about your biological parents. I'm talking about Mina and Anton Rozanovski. Your foster parents, if you prefer. The people who love you enough to let you waltz in and out of their lives. Who worry about you. Whom you brought me to meet tonight as the person you have chosen to be with."

He rested his chin on Alex's. "I know you're not up on the latest social manners, but it is expected that the prospective mate bring a gift of some kind. It might have been nice to have some flowers for Mina, maybe a jazz album for Anton. Instead, I'm the one who's been given the gifts."

Alex was confused. "I don't get it. That's why you're angry?"

"Yeah, that's why I'm angry. Fortunately, Mina, your foster mother, approves of me. She likes the fact that I have manners. That I make you happy. That I love you. She liked me enough to feed me."

"Anton, your foster father, also approves of me. Enough to warn me that you are no good with money in the everyday sense of it. To assure me that you have money to pay your share of expenses. And to give me a bottle of eighteen year old scotch. As a welcoming gift."

He watched the play in Alex's eyes: confusion, hunger, hope. Fear.

"Alex," he whispered, "why the fuck didn't you stay with them when you found them again?" Alex's eyes closed in pain. "They love you. They would have taken care of you. Taken you in at any time. Christ, Alex, why didn't you stay?"

Alex had trouble swallowing. When he opened his eyes, Walter thought he had never such despair in a person's eyes.

"Because," Alex's voice was bleak, "by then it was too late. My masters would have hurt them if they had known about them. I could get away with disappearing for a little time, but any longer, and they would have hunted for me. Not because I was more important to them than any other whore in their stable, but to make the point that no one they bought got away from them. Unless they died or got passed on to a new set of masters."

Walter felt the most incredible anger build in his gut. "Who are these 'masters', Alex? Who sold you to them?"

Alex didn't answer right away. He tugged his hand, and Walter released it. Let go the pressure on his scalp. Alex closed his eyes again, not wanting to see Walter's reaction.

"My... biological... parents were sent here to spy on the Soviet immigrant community. Their contact in the Consulate in New York City ran the sex trade for the Embassy. Call girls, boys. The usual. They wanted to go home. He wanted me."

"How old were you?"

"About twelve." Heard Walter swear. "Eventually, I came to someone's notice who wanted me in Boston for a while. There were these private parties he liked to give.

"Actually, that's where I met one of the men in the Consortium, who decided my skills could be improved with better and different training. And the rest, as they say, is history."

Walter had rested his head next to Alex. Now he raised it to look at his lover. Alex just lay there, no expression on his face, his eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

"Are any of these so-called masters still alive, Alex?"

Alex took some time to answer. "No."

Walter made no comment.

"What happens now?" Alex asked after a few minutes.

Walter rubbed his cheek against Alex's. Punctuated his words with a series of unhurried kisses, cat licks across face and throat. "What happens now is that we have been invited to your parents' home for Easter.

"We will get tickets, the very best tickets, for the Saturday night hockey game, because Anton likes hockey. You will call Marise and find out which restaurant would be a real treat for them. And make reservations for the four of us after the game.

"Then we will go home with them. And you and I will sleep in your bed, in your bedroom, under your parents' roof." He stopped what he was doing. "Alex. How big is your bed?"

Alex made a sound between a laugh and a sob. "A double."

"Shit. I get in bed first. You can join me after I find a comfortable position." He returned to tracing Alex's face. "Where was I? Oh, yeah, in bed. Where, because of the fact that your parents are just down the hall, we will either not make love, or make it very quietly. So as not to disturb them."

"You've done this before." Alex's voice was thick.

"Yeah. The first time Sharon and I stayed at her parents' place. Just after we were married. Does that bother you, Alex?"

"No."

"Good. Now then, in the morning, we will accompany them to the Easter service at the Russian Orthodox Church, because it will please Mina. There, Alex, we will both be on our best behaviour.

"And then we will go home with them for Easter dinner. Where," Walter's voice became threatening, "you will keep your hands off my perogies. Is all of that understood?"

"Yes," whispered.

"Good." And moved his mouth down Alex's body.

They spent three days in New York. Alex went and visited his safety deposit boxes. Walter went shopping by himself. They went together to music stores, book stores. Alex laughed when he saw the Teach Yourself Russian tapes and books.

He hid his laughter when, in the music store, some guy started to put the moves on him: Walter suddenly appeared at his side, looking very Assistant Director. Found it less funny when their waiter in the restaurant made it very clear he was interested in Walter.

That night, at the hotel, he made very certain that Walter knew he had a good thing going with him. By the time he let Walter come, Walter felt that the top of his head had been blown off.

So, when Alex woke sometime in the night, to find himself on his side, imprisoned in a pair of arms with hands that were busy arousing him, he sighed happily.

Hands were slowly working their magic, playing with his body, making him writhe within the circle of Walter's arms.

"Have I got your attention, Alex?"

"God, yes! Don't stop."

"I want you to listen to me. All right?"

Alex made a conscious effort to pay attention to what Walter was saying.

"I realized something important today." Alex made a slight purring sound to indicate he was listening. "I realized that I don't like it when you look at other men."

Alex felt a chill, pulled back against Walter's chest, trying to get away from his hands. Walter co-operated enough to keep his hands fairly still.

"And I don't like it when they look at you." He nibbled at Alex's ear. "Not that I know there's anything wrong with the looking. It's just that I happen to be insecure enough in this relationship to need some reassurance."

"I'm not encouraging it," protested Alex.

"You don't need to. All you have to do is breathe, Alex."

"It's not like you don't get your share of looks. Or give them either."

"And are you comfortable with that? Or was that growl you gave the waiter tonight a misunderstanding?"

"No. To both your questions." Alex's voice had chilled.

"So," Walter rested his chin on Alex's shoulder, "we need some ground rules here. Do you know what exclusivity means, Alex? In a relationship?"

"Yes." A bit hesitant.

"Well, Alex, that's what I want from you. A commitment of exclusivity." And felt Alex grow very still.

"Do I get one from you?"

Walter rubbed his stubbled chin against Alex's throat. "God, yes! I seem to have a strong streak of monogamy in me, Alex. In seventeen years of marriage, the only time I was unfaithful to Sharon our marriage was already at an end. And that was a fiasco."

"I remember. Mulder told me about it."

"So, yes, exclusivity both ways. I want only your ass in our bed, and I want to know your ass is only in our bed."

"Okay," Alex whispered.

"I think I want a bit more than an 'okay'. I think I want words like... like... I, Walter Sergei Skinner commit myself exclusively to Alex Antonovitch Krycek. Because I love him."

Alex's breath hitched, as if in pain. As Mina had said, the fire was a frightening thing.

He began hesitantly, "I, Alex... Antonovitch," accepting the patronymic Walter had given him, "... Krycek commit myself exclusively to Walter Sergei Skinner." He took a deep breath. "Because I love him."

He turned in the shelter of his lover's arms, mouth ready for his kiss. Wrapped himself around Walter and held on tight.

In the morning, while they were still in bed, Walter announced, "After we dump most of this stuff at the cabin, we're going to DC. I'm taking their offer for retirement."

Alex rolled over, rested his chin on Walter's chest. "You sure?"

"Yeah." He stroked Alex's back. "Maybe I could fight them, but it's not worth the effort it would take."

Alex looked thoughtful. "You going in to Headquarters to do it?"

"I'll call Kim, have her prepare the papers. But, yes, I want to go in and sign them there."

"Why, Walter, nice to see that in-your-face attitude of yours back in full swing. But you have to do it with flare."

"Flare, eh? Have you got an idea?"

Alex grinned evilly.

They stayed just overnight at the cabin. Walter figured they would be back within the week. Before they left the next morning there was one more thing he wanted to do to convince Alex that this was a serious relationship, that he wasn't going to find himself pitched out, away from the fire.

And, if he were being honest, he had to admit this was not just for Alex: he knew he was much older, was insecure in that knowledge. He needed this gesture too.

"Okay. That's it. All the stuff is in the car."

Only Walter's car was there: they'd paid the kid at the gas station a hundred bucks and a bus ticket back to deliver Alex's car back to Mulder while they were in Boston.

Walter was sitting on the arm of the couch, looking at Alex with an odd little smile on his face. A bit uncertain.

Alex leaned against the wall, shoved his hand into his leather jacket pocket. "What?"

"I have something for you. But I'm not quite sure how you'll react."

Alex shrugged. "I won't know till you give it to me."

Walter held out a small black jewelry box. Alex slowly straightened, came over to Walter. He took the box in his hand, and flipped open the lid with his thumb.

Inside there were two plain gold bands, one larger than the other.

"They're inscribed," said Walter, carefully watching Alex.

He held out his hand for the box. Watched as Alex picked the bands up, first one then the other. The inside of the smaller band read: "Mine. Walter". The larger one: "Mine. Alex".

Walter cleared his throat. "That way you can look all you want. And they can look all they want. But that's all."

He took Alex's hand, waited for permission—a very slight nod—and slipped the smaller band on the ring finger. Held out his right hand.

Alex looked up from his hand, eyes incredibly green, for once totally unshadowed. Holding Walter's eyes, he slipped the band on.

Walter stood into Alex's embrace. And held onto him for dear life.

Alex was very quiet on the trip to the city. He sat sideways in his seat, eyes on Walter. Just watching him, a small smile on his face. Thumb playing with the band on his finger.

Every now and then Walter would turn and look at him, and both of them would grin. Once, at a red light, Alex leaned over and tried hard to devour Walter in the time it took for the light to turn green. The cars behind them honked before Walter had the breath to drive on.

Part Four

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