Title: BREAK ON THROUGH (to the other side)

Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold

e-mail: jfc@freeshell.org

Feedback: Please, to the above address!

Archive: By permission only!

Rating: NC-17 for scenes of sexual activity and implications of child sexual abuse - CAUTION: content may be too graphic for some readers.

Category: SAR

Spoilers: None really. This is an AU from some point in season seven, so a lot of mytharc has not happened and will not happen.

Timeframe: Takes place sometime after "We'll Take a Cup of Kindness Yet" in my "Arrows" universe.

Keywords: M/K slash (and M/O)

Summary: Here there be monsters...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've tried to be authentic in my characters' behaviors and reactions to extreme circumstances herein. Let me know if I've succeeded.

DISCLAIMER: The characters you recognize belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and the whole X-Files gang, not to me. Anyone you don't recognize belongs to me only marginally--who can really own someone? This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit.

DEDICATION: For my vast and complicated support network...

COPYRIGHT: (C) May 21, 2001, Janet F. Caires-Lesgold, jfc@freeshell.org

Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much.

______________________

Since that night that my arm was broken, I had thought of Fox Mulder as the source of my salvation, but until the day I have in mind, I had never thought of myself as filling a similar role for him...

I was driving back from a meeting when the phone mounted on my dashboard rang. The dispatcher knew to disturb me only in an emergency, so I steadied the wheel momentarily with my prosthesis and clicked the "on" button with a finger.

"Yeah," I barked into the speaker.

A hesitant female voice answered, "Krycek?"

"Scully?" I asked, steering the car into a nearby parking space so I could pick up the phone and speak without worrying about driving.

"Where are you? Er, uh, are you somewhere near D.C.?"

"Yes, I am. How did you get this number?"

She paused, sounding like she'd been caught doing something illegal. "I found it in Mulder's wallet..." I was about to ask what she'd been doing going through his wallet when she continued. "We need you to come here. It's an emergency."

At first, I was more puzzled than concerned. "Where are you?"

"You know where Mulder's therapist's office is, don't you?"

I most certainly did. In fact, I was the one who'd insisted he talk to someone about some of the problems he'd been having, and who had set up his first appointment with Dr. Isaacson after I'd done some background checking on him. "What's going on?" I asked, suddenly worried. "Put Mulder on."

"I can't," she replied, with a catch in her voice as if she were going to cry. "How soon can you be here?"

"Wait, Scully," I stalled, my blood running cold. "Is Mulder all right?"

"I don't know," she almost whispered. "Can you get here right away?"

"I'll try. Don't panic, okay?" I added as I hung up, wondering if my admonition were coming a little too late.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled back out into traffic, taking the first right to turn around and go in the opposite direction.

Somehow, I forced myself not to think until I was safely parked in front of the medical building across town and on my way up in the elevator. As soon as the doors opened, I turned to walk to Dr. Isaacson's waiting room, but a familiar voice stopped me. "Here I am, Krycek." There was Mulder's red-haired partner, a tightly-wound bundle of copper wire in the middle of the hallway on the opposite side of the building. It broke my heart a little to see the frustration and upset on her face. My first instinct might have been to offer her a comforting hug, but with our peculiar relationship, I couldn't be sure she wouldn't rip my other arm out if I'd attempted it, so I prepared for a bit of awkwardness when we were within reach of one another.

As I went to meet her, she gave a dirty look to an Asian man who approached her, whereupon I realized she was standing guard over the men's restroom. "Is he in there?" I asked uselessly, cocking my head toward the door.

"He locked himself in there an hour ago, and hasn't answered anybody for some time. They called me right away, but I thought maybe you could get through to him since *I* couldn't..."

I gestured broadly up and down the hall. "Don't any of these people have *keys* to this door?"

"He threw the janitor's emergency lock, and nobody can find the janitor to open it."

Processing this information, I thought of another question. "Wait a minute. If he's in *there*, how'd you get his wallet to find my number?"

She proceeded to pull it out of her jacket pocket and hand it to me. "According to Dr. Isaacson, when he stretches out on the couch for his session, he takes his keys, wallet, phone, and weapon out of his pockets to make himself comfortable."

My sigh of relief wasn't in the least faked. "My next question was going to be if he were armed."

"Thankfully, no," assured Scully. "The doctor said that they'd been getting close to a breakthrough when Mulder bolted for the bathroom, and when he wouldn't answer them, they panicked and called me, since he put me down as his contact in case of emergency."

"And you had the brainstorm to call *me*, I see..." She nodded, but her eyes never left the doorknob. A young guy in jeans tried to nudge past us to reach for the door, but I elbowed him away as politely as possible. "It's occupied right now, okay?" He shrugged and wandered off to the elevator, probably to try the facilities on another floor. "You want me to try to pick the lock?" I offered.

The look of stunned relief on her face would have been comical if I hadn't been as terrified as she was. "Please?" she asked, without thinking.

Fishing my lockpick set out of my pocket, I stepped up to the door and set to work. It made me feel better to be doing something rather than standing there watching her fret. Several tense moments later, the lock gave a satisfying *clack*, and I straightened up to enter the door. She stretched up to try to look over my shoulders at the room beyond the opening, but I turned and held her off gently with an upraised hand, adding, "Let me do this, okay?"

Nodding despite her impatient sigh, she moved back an inch or two, and I entered the washroom cautiously, my fingers grazing the butt of the weapon tucked in the back of my jeans almost instinctively. I scanned the room, which consisted of three toilet stalls with closed doors and two freestanding basins, but didn't spot Mulder at first. My eye fell on the window, but I discovered it to be glass-bricked with a metal vent, so he would have not been able to escape. Bending down, I glanced under the enameled walls of the partitions and spotted nice brogans near the last toilet.

He had to be sitting uncomfortably on the floor between the wall and the porcelain, and I wondered idly if he'd been sick. "Mulder, is that you?" I rapped on the door softly, noting that it was latched from the inside. "Babe, are you okay?" There was no answer. "C'mon, gorgeous--let me in." The stillness in the room frightened me, and I played my trump card. "Fox, I know it's you. Open the door."

A harsh whisper reached my ears: "Don't you *ever* call me that again. That's what *he* called me." The door did not open, and there was no movement or other sound from the dark shape on the floor.

The outside of the door latch was a metal disk with a groove running its diameter, so I took a chance and slipped a credit card out of Mulder's wallet, which I still had in my pocket, and fitted it to the groove and gave it a turn. Sure enough, the latch released, and I tucked the card away as I pushed inside with a knee.

There on the floor was my beloved Mulder, huddled in the corner, cheeks wan and eyes puffy with tears. He wouldn't look at me, so I crouched down to address him at his level. "What are you doing on the bathroom floor?"

"Leave me alone," he growled in a voice that broke on the last syllable. "You don't want to be here."

I stood back up briefly to lock us inside the stall so we could have a little privacy in case anyone came in, then settled with my back against it. "You can't make me leave, Mulder. We were worried about you. You scared Scully half to death. You're scaring *me* now."

"I don't care," he wailed, tears running anew from the corners of his eyes as he stared at a point on the floor somewhere beyond me. "I don't deserve your attention. Just get out."

"No. I don't believe that you don't care. If you didn't care about *something*, you wouldn't be in here crying all alone. Now, I'm not going anywhere while you're like this. I love you, and want to take you home." He gave his head a slow, negative shake, but remained silent. "What's wrong? Are you going to throw up?"

"I did that already," he murmured like a guilty child. "It didn't help."

Careful not to touch him, I bent in a little closer to him. "Do you want a drink of water, or do you still feel sick?"

His only answer was an unhelpful nod.

As quickly as I could, I got up and ducked out of the stall door, fetched a paper cup from a dispenser on the wall, and filled it with water from the sink, then resumed my position near the distraught man. Rather than force him to touch my hand, I set the flat-bottomed cup on the floor within his reach and sat back against the door. "I want you to drink a little bit of that if you can. Can you do that for me?"

Neither one of us moved for a few moments, but I could see his eyes watching the cup steadily. At last, he reached out and lifted the water to his lips, taking a small sip and rolling it around in his mouth, then spitting it into the toilet.

"Does that taste better?" I asked in my best non-threatening voice.

Again I got a shy nod, followed by his taking a genuine swallow from the cup. I was pretty sure he'd stopped crying, so I kept quiet while he sipped at the water. When he'd finished, he set the cup back down on the floor.

"How's that? Okay?" I asked, prompting another nod. Tearing off some toilet paper, I handed it to him. "Here, babe--blow your nose."

He did as I asked, stuffing the used paper into the cup. Finally he looked into my eyes, horror evident just behind his gaze. "Thank you, Alex," he muttered, stirring a prayer of gratitude in my heart.

Assuming a light tone, I teased, "Can we get out of here soon? It's cold on this floor, and I'd bet somebody else might need to use the toilet..." Experimentally, I began to stand up, holding my hand out for his.

Gnawing on his lip nervously, he pushed up from the floor and took my hand. As suspected, it was quite cold and shaking a little. "Did Scully call you?" he asked finally.

We stood awkwardly in the stall holding hands. "What did you expect her to do? You wouldn't answer her."

At that, he looked a little sheepish. "Sorry," he muttered, looking right at me again.

"Don't tell me--tell *her*. Now open the door, babe. I'm a little stuck here," I added, indicating both his left hand holding mine in a vice-like grip and my prosthesis.

He gave me a small grin and reached for the latch. "Do you still love me?" he asked, as if he were unsure of my response.

"Of course, baby. Always."

"Me, too," he admitted as he opened the door and let me lead him back out into the hall.

Scully nearly fell into the room as we opened the outer door, giving her listening position away. "Mulder?" she asked, her eyes all concern for him, not even acknowledging me.

"I left my stuff in the doctor's office," he muttered as soon as he saw her, breaking free of my hand and striding on ahead, as his partner and I scurried along behind him.

The tableau of startled faces in the waiting room of the doctor's office as we trailed him inside was unnerving. A receptionist and a nurse immediately jumped to detain Scully but ignored me, so I followed Mulder.

To my surprise, he stood quietly knocking on the door of his inner office. Holding back a bit, I watched as the door opened.

Dr. Isaacson, a somewhat portly, avuncular man with extremely intense eyes, emerged, shutting the door behind him. "Mr. Mulder? I'm with another patient now. How can I help you?"

"I need my stuff," he answered vaguely.

"I gave it to the receptionist. She promised she'd take good care of it. Is that all right?"

"Yeah," he called over his shoulder as he departed back to the front desk.

Turning to follow him, I felt a hand on my arm. "You're Alex, right?" the doctor asked, sotto voce.

"Guilty as charged," I joked, moving to shake the doctor by the hand. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Isaacson."

He returned my handshake pleasantly. "Mr. Mulder has shown me your photo. Forgive my informality--he never told me your last name."

"Arntzen," I answered, supplying my usual alias.

"I have advised my staff that your friend is not allowed access to his service weapon. I'm sure you understand..."

Knowing how this order would tick my lover off, I suggested an alternative. "I'm sure you are aware that his partner is also an agent of the F.B.I. Perhaps she could be given responsibility for it in the interim."

"Very well," he replied, buzzing an intercom on the wall and speaking quietly to whomever answered.

When he rang off, I addressed him again. "Do you think that Mulder is a danger to himself or to others right now?"

"You tell me, Mr. Arntzen," he threw back at me, in typical therapist's fashion.

I pondered my response for a moment. "I don't know. Perhaps if I knew what was wrong..."

"Can you bring him back tomorrow afternoon?" he asked suddenly, as if I'd reminded him of something he'd forgotten. "I think with your *relationship*, it would be helpful to have you in the room during his session. I took the liberty of inviting Dr. Scully to join us already. I hope that's all right..."

"Sure, no problem," I answered, running over the list of my appointments I'd need to reschedule in my head and disregarding the extra emphasis he'd put on the word "relationship". "I assume you're going to ask us to keep an eye on him until then?"

"I think that that would be a good idea," Isaacson warned obliquely. "I'll see you at one-thirty tomorrow," he dismissed, returning to his patient with no further word to me.

As I returned to the waiting room, there was an electricity in the air. All eyes made a point to turn away from my lover and his partner, who stood in the middle of the room deep in conversation.

"*No*, Mulder," she said, as finally as she could. "I'll take care of it. You can trust me." I knew without asking that they were discussing his Sig Sauer.

"But, Scully..." he started to wheedle and whine, towering over her like an petulant teenager begging gas money from his frugal mother.

Coming up to his left side, I grasped his wrist firmly. "Come on, babe. We can discuss this in the car. Let's get out of here." Scully, bless her, followed my lead as I began to escort him out of the office. Mulder took the hint and shut up to go home. We had an elevator to ourselves as we went downstairs, so I ventured the question, "So--where to?"

"You're both coming to stay at my place," insisted Scully, who had obviously worked everything out in her head while she'd been waiting for me to get him out of the men's room.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, only slightly in jest.

"But, why?" tuned up Mulder again, but I was impressed by the way that the small woman at his side silenced him with only a stern glance.

"It's for your own safety, Mulder," she chided in a near-whisper.

Apparently afraid of her reaction should he whine again, he grumbled under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear, "It's like you don't trust me."

Just as softly, she explained, "When you behave like you did this afternoon, I don't know if I *should* trust you." Obviously, he had failed to account for how finely she was attuned to his voice. "Right now, let's take this one day at a time. Is your overnight bag in your car?"

"As always," he answered, stepping out of the elevator into the lobby.

Moving across the lobby and exiting to the parking area, she kept giving orders. "Give Krycek your keys and he can bring it with him in his car. This is a secure lot, I see. We'll leave your car here overnight and pick it up tomorrow. You're coming with me."

At this, he dug in his heels. "I want to ride with Alex." It was nice to see my cowed lover show a little backbone after all he'd been through that afternoon.

Scully stopped suddenly and considered this option. "Fine," she replied, "but in that case, I'll take your bag. Give *me* your keys."

That time we *both* whined, "Why?"

"Frankly, I don't trust *either* of you." She was smiling slightly, but somehow I knew she wasn't quite kidding, so I nudged Mulder to hand over his keys, which he did with a stubborn grunt. "I'll expect you at my apartment within the hour," she flung back at us as she headed for his car.

We stood shoulder to shoulder, watching her departure. "If I weren't intimately attached to my dick, I'd be tempted to hot-wire your car anyway, just because."

As I had intended, Mulder finally let out a little bark of a laugh at my remark. "And if I weren't intimately *involved* with your dick, I'd help you. C'mon--let's get a move on..." Off he wandered to where he could see I'd parked (illegally, of course).

I followed quickly, calling after him, "Hey! Where does *your* dick fit in all of this?"

Once we were settled in my car, we fell into an uneasy hush. I followed Scully's car for a couple of blocks, then intentionally fell back and "lost her" in traffic. At the next light, I hesitated before selecting my lane. "So, what'll it be, gorgeous? Left, we go straight to Scully's place. Right, we take the "scenic route". You call it."

Horns began to sound behind me the second the light turned green, but he still pondered a moment longer. "Right," he answered at last, and I signaled and got out of the way quickly to follow his instructions.

We drove a little while longer in silence until he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" I replied, volleying back to him as I'd been trained to do in negotiations. I knew I couldn't let him see how worried I really was, now that we were apparently on equal footing again.

"Aren't you going to ask me what's up?"

Glancing at him, then returning my eyes to the road, I shrugged. "I figured you'd tell me when you were good and ready. Are you good and ready?"

"I don't know," he demurred, suddenly quiet again.

"See? I knew what I was doing." Letting him stew for a little while, I finally asked, "So, what *is* up?"

Staring off into the distance, he finally replied, "I can't really say."

"Can't say, like you can't tell me, or can't say, like you're not really sure?"

His eyes fell shyly into his lap. "A little of both."

After a few more silent blocks, I offered, "You know you can tell me anything, right? Look, I know we both have our secrets, but I'm willing to listen to anything you need to tell me, ever, okay?"

I could feel how earnestly he looked at me as I drove. "I want to tell you what's going on in my head, but I just can't, you know?"

Stopping at a light, I turned to give him a sympathetic look. "That's okay, babe. You will when you're ready. I can wait. I still love you."

"Good," he sighed. "I love you, too. Thanks for understanding."

"Anytime," I replied, turning the car back in the direction of Scully's.

As soon as we were inside Scully's door, it felt like we were crashing at a friend's while the exterminators fumigated our own place, the fact that we did not live together notwithstanding. J.J. was out of the country for a month, so Scully had let the housekeeping go a little to seed, meaning *two* plants were slightly wilted from lack of water, and the bathtub hadn't been scrubbed in four days. Mulder and I tried not to laugh while she apologized for the "pigsty" appearance of her apartment.

Mulder's overnight bag had been tucked in the spare bedroom, so I put mine (which also traveled in my car at all times) alongside it. A very long debate resulted in a delivery of Chinese food, since we couldn't agree as to what to get on a pizza, and our dinner entertainment was graciously supplied by cable TV, though I doubt any of us really could have recalled what we watched. The proverbial elephant on the dining room table loomed at us as we ate, not a one of us brave enough to start asking any of the hard questions about the events of the afternoon.

We excused ourselves to bed before the late talk shows got started, and remained quiet as we turned down the covers and prepared for sleep. A small nightlight's glow made it possible for me to watch Mulder's face as he lay down and settled against the pillows at my side.

"It's been a couple weeks since I've been able to get away and see you," I recalled. "Do you want to...?" I let the question ask itself in the night, sliding my hand soothingly down his t-shirt-clad chest.

His spine stiffened visibly in the low light. "I don't know..." he began, seemingly afraid either to turn into my arms or away from me.

Rolling toward him, I stroked his thigh sensuously, taking my time with my lover as if he were a virgin. "At least kiss me, Mulder." He did so without conviction, then drew fractionally away. "What's the matter, babe? Isn't it happening?"

Pointedly looking away from me, he shook his head. "No. Sorry."

My hand surreptitiously reached for his cock, which lay limply against his leg. "Don't ever apologize about this, love. I thought that this was why you were seeing the doctor."

"I don't know why my regular doctor couldn't just give me a prescription..." he complained.

I moved my hand to cup his chin tenderly. "You *know* that he said he wanted to eliminate all possibilities before he started with that. If there's nothing else wrong, I'm sure he'll give you something to get you through this bad patch." This time I kissed him firmly, not letting him pull away until his mouth responded to mine. Grinning sneakily, I asked, like I had so many months before, "Can you hold me until I fall asleep?"

Hesitantly, he smiled, then obligingly wrapped his arms around me. Enveloped in his warmth, no matter how strained, I was quickly unconscious.

Some hours later, I awoke to note the patterns that the nightlight threw onto the ceiling until I realized that I was alone. Immediately I listened for any sound of Mulder nearby. When I could hear nothing, I hopped out of bed to look for him.

No Mulder could be found stretched out on the living room sofa, staring out the front window, or even raiding the fridge for leftover kung pao chicken. I gave a light knock on the bathroom door, and when there was no answer, I even opened up to find it dark and empty. Keeping panic at bay as best I could, I checked the front door, which was bolted solidly, giving me some comfort until I remembered that Mulder owned a set of Scully's keys.

Wondering if he had in fact swiped back his own keys and escaped, I decided to look in the only room I hadn't dared check yet. On tiptoe, I approached Scully's bedroom, whose door was standing open. There were no voices coming from inside, so I peeked in as unnoticeably as possible. To my surprise, two bodies lay side by side on her bed, apparently sound asleep. True, Mulder's was stretched out on top of her covers, but it was a little jarring to see them together like that. My mind was a jumble of questions as I crept back to my sleeping quarters and stared at the shapes on the ceiling until dawn.

I was the first one out of bed in the morning, though I was still exhausted from lack of sleep, and sat on the sofa looking at nothing in particular. Conversations that I could never have with Mulder, especially considering the events of the day before, echoed in my mind. ("You fucked her, didn't you?" "No." "But you *have* fucked her before..." "No." "Admit it--you couldn't sleep until she'd made you come." "No..." At this point in my narrative, tears would be streaming down his face, and my voice would assume a furious snarl: "Then why did you leave *my* bed?") It hurt someplace behind my breastbone to think of saying these things to my beloved, but they would not be silent.

More than anything, I wanted a left hand right then so I could press the heels of my palms into my eyes and make the pictures in my head go away. Instead, I crooked my elbow on the back of the couch and buried my nose against my warm skin, slamming my eyelids shut tight to hold the wetness inside.

"Alex?" I heard his voice say somewhere behind me.

A hard, deep breath or two, and I could raise my head to look at him. "Hi," I chuffed out, my voice not quite ready for longer sentences yet.

He sat in the upholstered side chair, as far away from me as he could be while still being in the conversational grouping. "I guess you slept okay..."

"Up to a point," I answered, my gaze at him turning accusatory against my better judgement.

Pulling back in his chair, he forcibly glanced elsewhere. "Sorry," he muttered, reading my meaning instantly.

None of the angry words I'd repeated in my head had any right to come out, so my mouth was left saying a lukewarm "You do what you have to..."

Had he been one-hundred percent, my Mulder would have fallen to his knees on the floor in front of me at that remark, explaining every last thing he was thinking and begging me to take him back to bed right then. The sheer wrongness of everything clicked into place when he replied, "Yeah," and stalked off to the kitchen.

Scully's military upbringing was baldly obvious in her regulation cheery entrance moments later. "Good morning, Krycek," she chirruped, still uncomfortable calling me by my first name, though I thought she'd gotten used to it in the two years I'd spent with her partner.

"Scully," I nodded back. "He's in the kitchen."

"Yep--he's a bigger coffee hound than *I* am," she smiled, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa. Suddenly her voice dropped out to address me in a breathless whisper. "Did you guys sleep all right last night? Was he okay?"

Blessed relief washed over me. She didn't know. He'd crept into her bed and fallen asleep beside her without even waking her up. I couldn't help but feel guilty even though I hadn't made the accusations that had been ringing in my ears. "I think he slept at least some. I did the best I could."

She gave me the sweetest smile and patted the back of my hand as it rested in my lap, passing along reassurances that I needed more than I could say. "We don't have to leave until twelve-thirty. If you need forty winks sometime this morning, you've got some extra time."

Feeling like I could face the day again, I returned her smile before she wandered off to help with the coffee. Snagging a tissue from the box on the corner of the coffee table, I dabbed at the corners of my eyes once I was sure no one was watching.

Our morning ablutions were accomplished like a close order drill, getting all three of us showered and shaved and brushed and dressed all while never coming into each other's range of vision. We took turns on Scully's desktop computer, and more than one of us could be found napping on the sofa at some time before we grabbed a light lunch and piled into Scully's car bound for the doctor's office.

Dr. Isaacson's consultation room was a darker, less-threatening version of every office of an authority figure in which I'd ever found myself, from that of my old political science professor to that of Assistant Director Walter Skinner, with a few less-pleasant ones in between and since. Heavy drapes were drawn against the brilliant midday sun, and dust motes drifted in the tiny beams that remained to filter down onto rows of neatly-shelved books.

Mulder was most definitely the center of attention at this gathering, even though he huddled in the corner of a big leather couch. Scully sat beside him, cradling his wallet and phone in her lap like baby kittens in case he felt the need to stretch out full-length. The doctor took up a position before Mulder so he could address him directly, and I sat somewhere behind him so I could watch my beloved as he spoke, adding to my feeling of being an outsider at the party.

I wasn't sure if he were attempting hypnotism, but the doctor asked his questions in such measured and soothing tones that I almost dropped off myself. Lulled by the safe, comforting aura of the room and the therapist, Mulder soon began to spin out sad tales of his younger self, the product of a troubled marriage between an alcoholic operative in the early phases of the consortium that had employed me and a distant, reserved woman whose allegiances were never clear.

"Now, Mr. Mulder, yesterday, before you left me in such a rush, it seemed as if you remembered something very important. Do you recall what that was?" Mulder's eyes were closed, though he sat upright, so he didn't see the doctor's small signal to Scully. She nodded in reply, agreeing, I'm sure, to make a grab for him if he tried to run again.

"Yeah," he sighed, "I had noticed that you used to smoke a pipe, didn't you?" His eyes, almost consumed by his pupils in the dark room, confronted the doctor.

"Yes," he replied, "but not for a couple of years. You could smell that?" he marveled at his patient's investigative skills.

Mulder grinned shyly. "It never leaves these old books. My father's study smelled like this, and he smoked a pipe for awhile, too."

I could only assume that the doctor smiled in gentle recognition. "So tell me what's important about your father's study."

He swallowed defensively and shifted in his seat. "I remember I was afraid to go into it for a long time."

"Why were you afraid?"

"Because there were monsters in there." This made me wonder how much of his work old Bill Mulder used to bring home from the office.

"How old were you at the time?"

"Nine or ten." It seemed a little advanced an age for closet monsters, but I did not interrupt.

"What kind of monsters were they?"

"The kind that eat little boys..." His voice had become thinner, younger somehow. It sounded eerily familiar to me, so I did not laugh at this description as I might have otherwise.

"And the monsters lived in your father's study?" This did not get a verbal response, but only a nod. "So you stayed out of there..."

"Most of the time."

"You mean you went in sometimes." He answered with another nod. "Even though your father warned you not to, or because of the monsters?" There was no response. "Did your father make up a story about monsters to keep you out of his study?"

Still speaking in his younger voice, he shook his head no and replied, "No. They were real."

"You didn't know about the monsters when you first went in?" Another headshake. "But you saw the monsters when you were inside?" He gave the tiniest of nods. "Were you afraid that you would be eaten?"

"He did try to eat me, but I got away." At some point he must have toed off his shoes, because he then drew his stocking feet up onto the couch and hugged his knees against his chest.

"The monster tried to eat you? What did he do?"

"I didn't know right away that he was dangerous. He just looked normal at first. I went in very quietly because he was making a lot of noise. I was hoping he wouldn't notice me, but he did. His breath smelled funny, and he talked like he was sleepy. He told me that my mouth was pretty, and he started kissing me. I didn't want him to kiss me, but he did it anyway."

"Did you try to make him stop?"

"I think I was crying, but it just made him laugh and rub his belly. He told me he wanted to eat me up."

"What happened then?"

I could see tears creeping from Mulder's eyes as they peered over his knees at the doctor. "He took down my pants and touched my penis."

Scully released an audible gasp at this, which distracted me briefly, but suddenly I knew where I'd heard that voice before. My thoughts quickly flew to that night in the apartment in Chicago when I had fondled Mulder as he slept, only to be rebuffed by a childish voice asking me to stop. Monsters, indeed...

In the gentlest of voices, Dr. Isaacson asked, "What did the monster do next?"

The catch in Mulder's voice broke my heart as nothing I'd heard that afternoon had done. "He tried to eat my penis. He licked it and put his mouth on it, and I was really scared."

"I'm sure you were," the older man interjected reassuringly. "What did you do then?"

"I puked on the floor, and the monster got mad, and I ran away."

My vision blurred with angry tears, but I could still see Scully's gaze of sympathetic horror at the knowledge of what had happened to her partner.

"Did the monster leave you alone after that?"

"No. He'd come into my room when I was asleep and wake me up so he could try it again. Sometimes he'd leave me alone if I pretended to have a stomachache or something, but usually even that didn't stop him."

"Did the monster ever do anything else?"

"Sometimes he'd play with his own penis, or tell me to do it for him."

"Did he come into your room a lot?"

"Yeah--he'd have a fight with Mom, and she'd stop speaking to him, and then he'd get really drunk and show up by my bed..."

Scully was sobbing out loud by now, but Mulder didn't seem to notice her, wrapped as he was in the memories of his childhood torment.

"Do you know who the monster was?" the doctor asked, though by now we all had figured it out.

Mulder gulped and closed his eyes, mouthing "It was my father..." almost soundlessly before dissolving into sobs of his own. Isaacson stood and moved to the window, perching on a bench behind me to take a deep breath and absorb all he had heard.

I had wondered if I'd ever hear all of Mulder's story, but I never realized how hard it would hit me once he said aloud the words at which he'd merely hinted that night in Chicago. Weeping openly, I held back from going to his side, letting Scully curl against him on the couch, offering and seeking comfort in a single motion.

The doctor made a few notes in a book on his desk, letting us cry ourselves out for a little while. While I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around Mulder and tell him I loved him no matter what, somehow I felt that this kind of reaction might not be received in the spirit it was intended. At last I coughed and found a box of tissues on the table beside me, taking a few for myself and walking it over to the bereft couple on the couch.

"Thank you," whimpered Scully, smiling wretchedly through smeared mascara.

I muttered, "Excuse me. I need to use the washroom," and started to head for the door until the doctor stopped me.

"Mr. Arntzen," he called, making Scully look up, quite puzzled. "I think our session is done for today. My calendar is full tomorrow, but could you and Dr. Scully bring Mr. Mulder in again at the same time on Friday?"

"Sure," I agreed, then turned to Scully. "Do you want to meet me...?"

Isaacson cut me off gently. "Please--feel free to use the quiet room just to the right of this door when you return. You may stay there as long as you like." He included the others in his kindly, magnanimous gaze.

To tell the truth, I wasn't sure when I left for the restroom that I wouldn't end up crouched on the floor myself. Luckily, however, my lunch stayed put, and I composed myself in a stall for awhile before going back. My biggest regret at that moment was that I'd already shot Bill Mulder, making it quick and easy--all I wanted was the chance to kill him again, this time very slowly and painfully. Every time I thought of what he'd done to his son, tears welled up in my eyes again. No wonder Fox hated that name. I could hear the old man's voice beckoning him close in that sloppy drunken voice, and I had to swallow hard to keep from crying out in anguish.

At last I felt well and steady enough to go back and face my lover and his partner, though the mirror tried to tell me otherwise. The door of the quiet room was shut when I arrived, so I knocked on it gently. To my surprise, Mulder himself opened the door, and inside I could see Scully, crying uncontrollably again with her head on a conference table: the exact opposite of the scene I'd been expecting. He only looked haunted, having apparently wept enough for the time being.

Words that would have eased our awkwardness were nowhere near my brain at the moment, and I came into the room stiffly, wishing I felt less unwelcome. "What can I do?" I finally asked, reaching out to rub his arm cautiously.

After a long, thoughtful pause, he closed his hand over mine. "Alex," he whispered, his eyes searching mine for answers, "did you kill my father?"

My lip began to quiver despite my best efforts. "Yes, babe, I did."

"Then you've done everything I could have asked already," he replied, pulling me close and embracing me at last. While I wanted to comfort him, it felt so much better to be held tight in his arms. "I love you," he murmured into my ear, which for some reason made me start to sniffle again.

"Me, too," I answered, my voice a tight squeak, and I squeezed him as hard as I could. I felt myself being steered to a chair and sat, letting go of Mulder reluctantly. He sat next to me, which I discovered was a seat between mine and Scully's.

Taking control of the room through some source of strength I envied at that moment, he reached for her back and petted her like one would a terrified child. In a moment, her head was up off the table and nestled on his shoulder, whereupon he turned and held out his arm to me in a parallel gesture, and I followed her example. We sat like that for awhile, a small warm fortress against the cold realities in our midst.

"Thank you both for being here," he began, sounding raw as a wound. "I hope you know I love you both more than anything in the world, and needed you here so I could tell you what you needed to know. I can't say whether I was truly repressing some of those memories subconsciously, or if I'd chosen to shut them away, but now I feel like I've been lying to you all these years..."

"No," I interrupted, "you haven't lied about anything. Those things were part of a past that was too painful for you to discuss, and you are entirely without blame for that."

"Yes, Mulder," added Scully tremulously. "You were just a little boy. You didn't do anything wrong. You have to know that..."

"I know," he answered, smiling and kissing her on top of the head, making her smile a little in return. "I've got a lot of work I need to do, maybe with some kind of support group, but I think I've made some progress here."

I didn't know if I agreed with his assessment completely, but I had to admit that important steps had been taken. Maybe we'd get through this after all...

In less than an hour, we were ready to head back to Scully's, which seemed like the best base of operations for our continued Mulder-recovery program. We confirmed our appointment for two days later with the receptionist, then negotiated travel there. Scully clucked her tongue at us when Mulder held out his hand for his own car keys, but turned them over to him without much fuss when we promised to appear on her doorstep in the allotted time.

I noted that he'd learned a few things from me, for he faded back in traffic and lost her quite easily. Maneuvering the vehicle onto a secluded sidestreet, he parked in the first available space and turned off the engine, then just sat and looked at me.

"What?" I finally had to ask.

"Come here," he growled, reaching for me hungrily.

Shrugging my acquiescence, I fell happily into his embrace and returned his very eager kisses. His tongue forced its way inside my mouth and tasted every surface therein, which I didn't mind at all. However, his hands soon crept into my lap and started fondling me shamelessly.

As he broke from my lips and began nibbling at my carotid artery, I felt I should lodge a protest. "Babe," I tried to call to him, but he sucked even harder at my neck. My zipper was yanked down, and his nimble fingers snuck into my open fly. "Babe," I scolded him again, though he continued his activities and ignored me completely. Eventually, I had to grasp his hand and pull it forcibly, though carefully, off of my slowly-responding dick and away from me. "Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?" I finally asked him.

"Giving you a blow job," he answered, bending immediately from my well-chewed throat and lowering his face to the opening in my pants.

I shoved him back into a sitting position abruptly. "Oh, no, you're not. It's broad daylight, and we're on a city street, dummy. Wait till we get back."

"Don't wanna," he muttered, reaching once again to encircle my organ with his thumb and forefinger. "Gotta make you come..."

Grabbing his wrist firmly, I held him as still as I could. "Stop it, Fox!" I shouted to distract him from his fevered goal.

At once, he let go of my cock and snapped his head up straight. "What did you just call me?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

Disregarding his glare, I put myself back together as fast as I could, then poked a finger hard against his slightly-heaving chest. "In case I need to remind you, *you* are a government agent. If you keep this up, I guarantee you that you will get arrested for lewd and lascivious behavior, *Fox*." Using his given name was suddenly a very different device than it had always been between us.

"Who the hell is going to arrest me, *Krycek*?" he asked, biting off the syllables of my name to leave sharp, stinging edges.

"I'll call up Scully myself and give her a lead. Do you want me to do that?" My voice may have sounded calm and steady, but my heart was racing in my chest at this sudden aberrant behavior in my beloved.

Harrumphing dramatically, he spun in his seat to face the wheel once again. "Okay, I'll leave you alone for now, just as long as you promise to stop calling me by that stupid *name*..."

"No, babe, I can't do that."

"Why not?" he barked, glancing sharply at me before he restarted the car.

"Sometimes it's the only way I can get your attention, stupid."

He looked away from me like he found me disgusting and turned the key in the ignition.

I grabbed his wrist again in an attempt to make him stop and think a moment. "Wait, Mulder. Are you really all right to drive?"

"I'm fine," he announced angrily, steering us efficiently into a driveway on the far side of the street and turning around to head back to the main road.

We got back to Scully's apartment without incident, and without further conversation of any kind. If I'd only been able to get the picture of little Fox being tormented by his cruel and twisted old man out of my head, I might have had the energy to wonder what my beautiful, fucked-up Mulder was thinking in his own.

I'd been sipping at a water bottle ever since lunch, so as soon as I walked in the door, I went off to the bathroom. My reflection in the medicine cabinet still showed me a soul troubled by demons that may have been more than it could handle, so I ignored it for the time being.

Coming back out to the living/dining room, I found Scully skimming through her e-mail alone. "Where's Mulder?" I asked.

"He went for a run," she replied without taking her eyes off of the screen, obviously assuming that it was a reasonable use of his time.

This stopped me cold. "Do you think that was wise?" I quizzed her.

"Why not?" she asked back, turning to glance at me, then back to her messages.

"I'd really rather he not be out of our control for any length of time."

*That* got her to spin around to me. "You don't think we can trust him." I was expecting it to be a question, but it wasn't.

"No, I don't," I answered, finding a chair and pointing it in her direction. Never having trained as a distance runner, I was loath even to consider going after him. "He's been acting strangely lately."

She reached behind her and closed her mail window, then turned her chair to face me. "I can only assume so, since he's been seeing Dr. Isaacson. He didn't seem that much different to *me*..."

"He tried to blow me in the car on the way home," I confessed.

Arching her eyebrow, she joked, "While he was driving?"

"No," I insisted. "He pulled over first. It was just that we were on this little side street with houses everywhere. I didn't think he'd do that in public in the middle of the day like that."

Sighing tiredly, she nodded her agreement. "True, that seems sort of out-of-character for him, but then, you'd know that better than I would..." I didn't answer her, and she didn't seem to expect me to do so. "It might be none of my business, but what made you insist that he seek professional help?"

"At this point, I doubt there's much that *isn't* your business." My comment made her smile and look away, indicating that she was just a little embarrassed, but not that she didn't feel the same way. "Well, how do they say it in the commercials? He's been suffering from a bout of, um, erectile dysfunction."

"Well, he *is* forty years old..."

"Which isn't that old, really," I corrected her. "Trust me, Scully: it was unusual for him--well, for *us*..."

"I'll take your word for it," she assented.

"But you understand that I couldn't rule out something other than a physical cause, don't you?"

"Of course. You sound like his medical doctor..."

"As if you'd have done anything differently!" I reminded her amusedly.

"True!" she admitted, chuckling.

Getting back to my original point, I continued. "Now that he's had this "breakthrough", for want of a better term, I sort of expected things to get back to normal--maybe not right away, but eventually. But the thing in the car... That's got me a little worried."

"He's probably a little desperate that you might stop loving him--you *do* love him, don't you?"

I couldn't remember if I'd ever actually said those words to Scully, so it sounded a little more important to my ears when I answered, "Yes. Yes, I do. More than life itself..."

Her smile gave me a little glimmer of hope, as it had every time I'd received one since this whole ordeal began. "Good. I'm glad. He needs somebody to love him like that, especially now."

A germ of an idea popped into my head. "Have *you*?"

The puzzlement that crossed her face enhanced her smile instead of erasing it. "Have I *what*?"

"Loved him like that..." I finished simply, watching her amused expression