See disclaimers and notes in Part One.

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Seconds
By Tiramisu

Part Four:

The pick-up, pulling out of the driveway, scattered light across the bedroom ceiling as it caught the morning sun. Mulder watched from the window, hands in the pockets of his bathrobe; his mind was still piecing together what he'd learned, and what he remembered.

Five months had gone by since he'd last seen Scully. For three of those months, she'd thought he was dead. Yet now she sat at the bedside of a man she thought was Mulder, alive again. She'd been through hell so many times because of him. How in the world was she dealing with it all?

He had tried to ask Alex that question, but Scully was always an uncomfortable subject for the two of them to discuss. Mulder had never stopped blaming Alex for Scully's abduction, and Alex had never shown him the least remorse for his role in it. He still bristled at the mention of her name.

So Mulder had turned to other questions. How had he been found? How did he end up in this little house in Pennsylvania? And how far had the colonization plans progressed?

And Alex had told of finding Mulder in the desert, and of the days in the mine shaft. Mulder remembered bits and pieces of the journey to Montana, and as Alex told the tale, the images in Mulder's mind began to make sense. In a way, it was almost a relief, just knowing the facts behind the memories.

Smith took up the story then. Mulder had been at the compound for over a month, feverish and delirious, his immune system fighting off the alien implant as his body began to heal. The injuries he'd sustained while he was missing had been curious, Smith told him. Some were consistent with those of the other abductees. But two wounds, in particular, were reminiscent of other experiments they'd seen - military experiments.

It was Alex who had discovered the nature of the experiments, and who had spirited Mulder and Smith away from the compound one night, bringing them here, to a home that belonged to people known to both Alex and Smith. It had Mulder again wondering just how close the two were - how well, and how long, they'd known each other. But he didn't ask that question, either.

Soft footsteps padded along the corridor. He listened a moment, but didn't turn around, assuming Alex would continue on downstairs. Only the familiar creak of the floorboard just inside his bedroom door alerted him to the fact that Alex had entered. That was deliberate, he knew. Alex could move with utter soundlessness when he chose; he must have wanted Mulder to hear him.

So Mulder turned from the window. The other man stood in the doorway, clad in plaid flannel trousers and an oversized black tee-shirt, the left sleeve hanging empty beyond the truncated arm. His short dark hair spiked in all directions. He greeted Mulder with a tentative smile.

Mulder smiled back at the sleepy green eyes. "Morning."

"I'm just heading down to fix some coffee," Alex told him. "I thought I'd see if you wanted to tackle the stairs again - maybe catch some tv?"

The suggestion made Mulder smile once more. Last night they had spoken of conspiracies and alien abductions, of love and betrayal. It was just like Alex to remember that they'd talked about watching television.

"Yeah, I'd love to," Mulder said. "I was toying with the idea of grabbing a shower first, though."

Alex frowned, dubious. "You sure you feel steady enough? That tub gets pretty slick."

"I'm not sure," Mulder admitted. "But I feel like trying. I'm sick of just washing up at the sink. Besides," he added, sniffing at his pajama top, "I feel like I reek."

Green eyes regarded Mulder thoughtfully. "Maybe you could try a bath, instead. It'd be safer. At least," he grinned, "as long as you don't drown yourself or anything."

Drown.

An image flashed in Mulder mind - a tube or tank of some kind. He was inside it, underwater. A memory? Or his imagination? He'd seen subjects in tanks before.

But had he been one?

Alex was looking at him in concern, the grin fading. "Hey," he said softly, as if not to spook Mulder. "You alright, there?"

"Yeah," Mulder reassured him. "Just a weird feeling, that's all."

Alex raised an eyebrow doubtfully, but didn't speak.

"Really," Mulder offered by way of explanation. "It's just been a long time since anyone suggested a bath to me."

It did make more sense, though, he realized. He was pretty sure he could get himself in and out of a bathtub without losing his balance or having his limbs give out on him.

He moved past Alex, out of the bedroom and across the corridor to the old-fashioned bathroom. Giving the tub some consideration, he agreed, "Yeah, that sounds good…"

"Okay, then," Alex said cheerfully, coming up alongside Mulder beside the tub. "Come on. Let's get the tub filled, then we can get you settled in…"

"We?" Mulder queried with a smirk.

Alex turned his most innocent gaze on Mulder and explained, "You don't think I'm going to risk you slipping in the tub and splitting your skull open, do you?" Giving the tap handles a twist, he said easily, "Don't worry, Mulder. I'll just make sure you're settled, then I'll leave you be until you're ready to come back out." He ran his hand under the water, adjusted the temperature, then closed the drain and let the tub begin to fill.

No reason to argue, Mulder thought with a shrug. "Lots of hot water," he directed, leaning against the sink for support. He studied the back of the dark head thoughtfully.

Alex didn't look up. "Yeah," he confessed, "I remember."

And Mulder remembered, too. Did those months haunt Alex the way they did him?

There were times since their break-up, times when Alex Krycek would suddenly reappear in Mulder's life, when the pain and shock would hit him with as much force as they did that afternoon six years ago. Moments when the numbness that had settled into his life wore off, driving him to a violence he hadn't known himself capable of.

Yet inevitably the bright initial pain would fade, and Mulder's life would merge once more with Alex's, linked by common enemies and a fascination for each other. The truth would matter again to Mulder and the passion he once had for his quest would return. Until the next time Alex left.

It was insane to want him back.

Watching him now, Mulder wondered again just how his old lover had managed all this time. Where he'd lived. Where his money came from. How many injuries he'd suffered. How many betrayals. He'd been through hell, too, Mulder knew. But damn, he looked good.

He noticed how easily the other man managed with one hand.

Well, he's had three or four years of practice at it already. And Alex Krycek was never one to give up. He just keeps on going. My own little Eveready bunny, Mulder thought with sudden affection.

My own?

Damn, Mulder thought. I'm doing it again.

Alex, satisfied that the bath was acceptable, turned to Mulder. "Come on," he said. "Get undressed."

Mulder hesitated, then disrobed quickly. Not until he stood nude before Alex did he remember the ugly gashes still scarring his flesh.

But Alex, unfazed, simply offered his hand in support; Mulder accepted it, stepping into the deliciously hot water and slowly lowering himself.

Once Mulder was settled, Alex turned to leave. Mulder grasped his arm.

"No, don't go," he said. At Alex's puzzled frown, he clarified, "Stay and talk with me."

Alex hesitated, then agreed. "Okay," he said. "What about?"

Everything, Mulder thought. You, me, what happened... All of it. "The abduction," he suggested aloud. "The clone, the compound, the colonization, take your pick."

Alex perched on the side of the tub. "Well, we went over it pretty well last night, Mulder," he reminded him. "What else do you want to know?"

"How to get rid of the clone, for one thing." Mulder said. "Sooner or later, I've got to be able to go back to my life, right?" He wasn't in a hurry about it, he admitted to himself. But he wanted to know. He watched Alex's bent head expectantly.

There was no answer.

"Alex?"

Alex reluctantly raised his eyes, looking uneasy for the first time that morning. Mulder forgot about the soap in his hand and leaned toward his companion. The younger man rose and moved toward the sink, and the door.

Damn. "What is it, Krycek?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Alex met Mulder's gaze. "You can't go back," he explained. "Right now, the military thinks you're dead, and if they find out you're not, they'll correct the situation. They want to keep that clone in place, ready to do whatever they want done."

Whatever they want done. Not good, Mulder thought.

He studied the man leaning against the sink. It bothered him that Alex had moved away so instinctively, anticipating the violence he'd experienced before at his ex-lover's hands. Not that Mulder was strong enough to inflict any damage at the moment, he thought wryly. But Alex was innocent in this case; he hadn't caused Mulder's predicament with the clone, he'd only pointed out the risks to Mulder. And Mulder didn't want to chase Alex away.

"Well," Mulder suggested as mildly as possible, "who says they'd have to know? If this clone looks just like me - it's made from my own DNA - then no one would be able to tell the difference. You said so yourself…"

But Alex shook his head. "But it's not really a true clone," he explained. "Not a… not a pure clone, I mean. It's made from your DNA, but they've added something… some foreign genetic code…"

"Foreign?" Mulder repeated with interest. "You mean alien? That thing has alien DNA?" He shouldn't be surprised, really; he'd seen, himself, products of human-alien experimentation. He'd spoken to living examples of it. But that one of them looked like him….

"I'm not sure it's actually DNA," Alex corrected him. "My contact just refers to it as 'genetic material'. It's something they discovered from their tests on the alien embryo they've got. Whatever it is, though, it's a cinch that they'll be able to distinguish you from the clone with nothing more than a blood test. And they may not even need that."

Mulder nodded thoughtfully.

Alex returned warily to the side of the tub, kneeling to meet Mulder's gaze. His eyes were sympathetic. "It's just not something worth risking."

"But I'm willing to risk it," Mulder told him. "I can't just stay away from everything I've ever had…ever been. I can't leave it all for some stranger to step into, as if I never existed."

"If you go back, and they find you out, they'll kill you. You can't take that chance." Eyes intent upon the older man, Alex added, "There's too much at stake for them to let you live."

Mulder knew that was true. The military could be ruthless, but they were fighting a race of beings with frightening advantages over them. They couldn't afford to play by normal rules - not when the possible extinction of mankind loomed ahead. What was the life of one man worth, measured against the entire human race?

Nothing.

Just another casualty of war.

He looked down at his scarred chest, at the pale puncture marks in his hands, at Alex's empty sleeve.

"I want my life, Alex," Mulder said simply.

"I know."

Alex took the forgotten cloth from Mulder's hand and began washing the other man's back, long soothing strokes. Mulder let out a sigh. Hunching forward to allow Alex better access, he considered the possibility of returning to DC anyway. Scully was there, and Skinner. Frohike, Langly, Byers. Was he really supposed to accept never seeing them again?

Could he?

Wrapping his arms around his knees, he told the other man, "I can't just let it all go, Alex. You're asking me to walk away from everything that matters to me. Do you know what that's like?"

Alex answered him softly. "Yes."

Yes.

Yes. Of course, you do, Mulder realized. You did it yourself, six years ago.

He looked at Alex, but the younger man's eyes were focused on the washcloth. "You walked away by choice," he pointed out quietly.

Alex glanced up at him. "No, I didn't," he told him.

"You did," Mulder contended. "I went to your place that afternoon, and every stick of furniture was already gone. Your stuff was even gone from my apartment…."

"You reported me to Skinner. What was I supposed to do, stick around and wait to be arrested?"

"You could have told me the truth," Mulder said. He looked into his former lover's eyes, a rush of sadness coming over him. We could have had so much, he thought.

He sighed. "But you walked away like I didn't mean a thing to you."

"The hell I did," Alex argued. "You turned me in to Skinner. You never came to me first, never asked for my side of the story. You just sold me out. If Jeff's old man hadn't had that office bugged - if he hadn't tipped me off - I would've gone to prison." The green eyes were bright with pain. "You betrayed me, Mulder. Not the other way around." He drew in a breath, and Mulder expected him to say more, but Alex only shook his head and sighed sadly.

He pushed the washcloth back into Mulder's hand. "Call me when you're ready to get out of the tub," he told him. "I'll come and help you. I doubt you really want me to sit here and talk with you any more." He rose and headed out the door without a backward glance.

Mulder stared at the washcloth for a moment, as Alex's bare feet padded softly down the stairs.

Damn.

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He got himself out of the bathtub without calling for Alex's help. There were only additional pajamas in his bedroom, so he worked his way along the corridor to Alex's room and helped himself to a pair of sweat pants and the henley shirt that Alex had worn the day before. Pulling it over his head, he inhaled the fragrance of his former lover.

I want him back.

Is this what a brush with death does, then? Psychology 101, he told himself. A second chance at life, and the human mind re-evaluates what's important. Retracing his steps up the hallway, Mulder thought about his life. About Alex…. Scully… .the bureau… Samantha…. his search for the truth… One at a time, they were all being taken from him.

But if he could choose, if he could have one of them back, even at the cost of the rest, he knew which he wanted.

Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes and saw again the green eyes greeting him this morning, uncertain and hopeful. The same green eyes filled with pain, unprotected from Mulder's accusations just moments ago. The perfect green eyes that gazed at him silently as a hand rested on his cheek, last night on the stairs.

He wasn't being asked to walk away from his life. Quite possibly, he was being offered a chance to take it back.

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Alex closed the connection and tossed the cell phone onto the kitchen table.

Fuck, he thought to himself. All that trouble keeping up Fox's apartment, just so that damned clone could take it over?

According to McCarniss, the clone had responded well to the injection Alex gave him. Last night he'd awakened for a few moments, and all indications were that his mind was working fine.

Whatever that meant, Alex thought.

He assumed that McCarniss' people had been concerned about what McCarniss referred to as "learned memory", a process the military used in training the clones to function as the people they replaced. It was unsettling. Alex pictured again the clone as it had looked in the hospital yesterday. Even with the decaying wounds, that thing had looked enough like Fox to fool anyone. With memory programming, the clone would be nearly impossible to distinguish from the genuine article. The idea disturbed Alex.

And the military had other clones out there, successfully replacing their counterparts. How many, Alex didn't know. He doubted McCarniss would give him a truthful answer to that question.

Clones, and replicants, and shapeshifters. And we sorry humans are supposed to win this war?

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Mulder stood unnoticed under the kitchen archway, watching with curiosity as Alex struggled, one-handed, with an electric can-opener. Twice the younger man tried to jam the rim of the can under the blade, but the appliance slid, and the can struck the countertop loudly. Alex swore, grasped the can again, and repeated the process. Again he failed, and again he swore. But he collected the can once more.

Mulder approached him soundlessly. Standing close behind the other man, he reached his arm forward to take the can. Alex drew in his breath sharply, spinning around and nearly knocking Mulder off his feet.

"Geez, Mulder," he said, stunned eyes widening, "what the hell are you doing down here? Did you get down those stairs by yourself?"

"That's a rhetorical question, I assume." Mulder grinned, and was rewarded with Alex's crooked smile in return. One thing about Alex, he thought gratefully. The man never held a grudge against him.

He looked down at the can in his hand, wrinkling his nose at the label. "Tomato soup? For breakfast?"

"That or beef stew," Alex said, taking the can back from Mulder. He turned again to the can-opener and added, over his shoulder, "Anyway, it's closer to lunchtime. We slept kind of late, you know."

Shrugging, Mulder took the can again, opened it without trouble.

"I can do that," Alex told him.

"So can I," Mulder pointed out simply. "More easily than you can." He handed the can to Alex, who dumped the contents into a saucepan.

"I manage," he said softly.

Mulder studied the familiar profile. Alex stirred the saucepan's contents gently, careful not to let the pan slide on the burner. "Why don't you let me do that?" Mulder offered.

Alex shook his head. "Go watch tv," he suggested. "I'll call you when it's ready."

But Mulder merely leaned back against the countertop, observing Alex. Under the black tee-shirt, the outline of the mutilated shoulder was just barely visible, ending a couple of inches above the hem of the sleeve. Mulder resisted the temptation to push the sleeve up and examine it. But he had no intention of ignoring its existence. "Where's your prosthesis?" he asked easily. "Upstairs," Alex answered with a shrug. "I don't bother to put it on until I get out of the shower."

"Oh."

Alex looked over at him. "Does it bother you? I can go put it on now…" He glanced at the short sleeve hanging empty. "I forget. Some people get uncomfortable."

"It doesn't bother me," Mulder assured him. "I just wondered."

He started opening drawers curiously. Finding the one that contained the flatware, he picked out a couple of serviceable spoons.

"Are we going to need knives or forks?" Mulder asked.

Alex shook his head lightly. "Not unless there's something wrong with the soup. If you're hoping for toast or salad or something, you're out of luck. I need to get to the supermarket this afternoon."

Mulder shut the drawer and pulled open the cabinet directly above it.

"Bowls are in that one," Alex said, gesturing to Mulder's left. "You want to go with me?"

"Hmm?"

"To the supermarket," Alex explained. "I thought you might be bored just staying in the house. You seem to have made the stairs okay, so…" he shrugged. "If you don't feel up to walking, you can sit in the car. At least you'll see some scenery."

Mulder grinned and nodded. "Can I borrow something to wear?"

"Looks like you already have," Alex remarked, amused. "You know, I do have clean things up there."

"I wouldn't know. I don't snoop."

Alex chuckled. "Since when?" Turning the heat off under the saucepan, he said, "Bring those bowls over here, huh?"

Mulder obliged, then reached for the handle of the pan.

"I - ," Alex began.

" - can do that," Mulder finished for him. "I know you can. But so can I." He poured the soup as Alex stood, wordless. Placing the pan on the back burner, Mulder turned his eyes once more to Alex. "I let you help me," he said earnestly.

"It's not the same thing," Alex argued. "You're recuperating. I've learned to live with one arm."

Mulder looked at him curiously. "Have you ever considered asking Smith if he could heal it?"

"He's already offered to, several times," Alex told him. "I don't want him to."

"Why not?" Mulder asked, surprised.

Alex shrugged. "I just don't," he said lightly.

Mulder picked up the two bowls and placed them on the kitchen table. Alex followed with the spoons.

"Is there orange juice?" Mulder asked, opening the refrigerator. Retrieving the pitcher, he turned again to Alex. The younger man stood beside the table, facing away from him. Mulder continued, "It would make things so much easier for you if Smith restores it. You must have a reason, if you're not letting him."

"I'm not a frigging starfish, Mulder," Alex answered him, annoyance creeping into his tone. "I don't want to sprout new limbs."

Mulder watched Alex, perplexed. "But I don't understand," he said. "You know Smith's been taking care of me. You wouldn't let him, if you thought he was up to no good, would you?" He didn't really mean it to be a question; he felt perfectly safe in this house around both Alex and Smith.

But Alex shook his head, giving a weary sigh. "Contrary to what you may think, Mulder, I wouldn't let anyone hurt you." As Mulder approached the table, Alex moved to sit down. Before he could, Mulder grasped his arm.

"I know that," Mulder said quietly. He stood very close to Alex again. His former partner stared at him uncertainly.

"I want you back, Alex."

Only Alex's stunned expression made Mulder sure he'd spoken the words aloud.

"You what?" he asked, his gravelly voice almost a whisper.

Mulder repeated softly, "I want you back."

"Why?"

Well, it was certainly a fair question. Mulder frowned into the green eyes, unsure of how to explain adequately.

"You and I are better together than apart," he tried, his voice low. "I think….I think we're happier together. I know that something inside me is only right when I'm with you."

Alex stood mutely, head bent.

"I'm tired of pretending the hurt will go away - for either of us," Mulder said. "We've given up so much already, trying to fight a war no one even believes is real. It doesn't seem fair that we should have to give up each other."

Mulder waited until Alex raised his eyes, then continued. "I know we've done some damage to each other over the years, but…."

"I can't take back what I've done," Alex told him quietly. "I can't even say that I would if I could."

"I know," Mulder solemnly agreed. "But I know more now than I did then. I think I can understand some of it. We'll have to work out a lot of things, but I'd like to try, if you're willing."

Alex looked away again; when his gaze returned to Mulder, the eyes under those thick lashes were thoughtful. But he didn't speak.

Well, Mulder figured, you can't expect a quick answer. Too much has gone down between us. So much has happened to us both, he thought, his eyes traveling to the left shoulder. Alex noticed and followed the direction of Mulder's eyes.

"Does it matter, really?" he finally asked. "I mean…would you only want me back if I let Smith heal it?"

The question would have been insulting to Mulder, if not for the glimpse of insecurity he saw in the man he knew so well. Alex was pragmatic by nature; if he had rejected the opportunity to have his arm restored, then he had to have a hell of a reason to do so.

"If I say it matters," Mulder wanted to know, "would you let him?"

Alex frowned. Mulder could see the struggle behind those gorgeous green eyes.

"Yes," he admitted.

Mulder reached out, brushed his fingers through Alex's dark hair, let his hand stroke the younger man's head and rest against the back of Alex's neck. A gentle, tentative step closer, and he leaned in, nuzzling, touching his forehead to the other man's.

And kissed him.

Just the barest hint of a kiss at first. A taste of those lips he'd remembered so well, a hesitant pressure, as he drew lightly on Alex's lower lip, taking it between his own.

"It doesn't matter," he murmurred. "It doesn't matter at all."

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