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Title: In Wolf's Clothing Summary: Mulder in a contemplative mood. Set during the 5th season episode Detour. Author's Note: The events in this story take place during the 5th season episode Detour (11/23/97 US). If you haven't seen that episode, much of this story won't make sense. Episode spoilers at the end if you'd like them. Thanks to Susie, Liza, and Misha for Beta reading.Feedback welcome "I tune into some friendly voices Fever chills make you cold in a different way than weather does. You can feel the difference in the air around your skin. Not so much the temperature but the quality of it. Fever plays games with consciousness, too, blurring the line between reality and dream. It's a sensation I've recognized since I was a child, and as a shiver breaks through me I recognize this for what it is. Scully was right-- my body's in shock. That shouldn't surprise me, she's always right about these things. It's just that most times I need to believe I'm alright, in the same way she needs to believe that she can protect me if she's vigilant enough. That the simple fact of her proximity can buoy me. She's okay now, and I will be too. I can't let her down. And I do trust her, but I *am* mostly alright. I'm not hurt badly. My shoulder aches and throbs when I move it, but it's the coldness that's brought me up from sleep. I hate this feeling--like I'll never get warm. Being alone makes me feel colder. No soft Scully shoulder to lean against and hold me together, and no distractions from my thoughts. I'm so used to noise as a soundtrack to my life. There's always the backdrop of the TV's white noise when I'm sleeping, or mindless talk radio when I'm in the car. I should never have let Scully go off for help alone. Aside from the quiet, it's not so bad here. At least the ground's dry. The light from the moon filters down softly, fingers of light highlighting a branch here and there. Another shiver runs through me like a river of ice. I set my teeth to keep them from chattering and pull my knees up close against my chest. It's getting harder and harder to concentrate as I wait for Scully's return. But I have to wait. If a tree falls in the forest... Hope it falls soon, though. I'm cold and the shaking is getting worse. I sit quietly, listening and watching, trying to make sense out of the darkness. A part of my mind catalogues the effects of shock on the body, disorientation and possible loss of consciousness among them. And I haven't heard any sounds, so I'm not sure it's really him I see, standing about twenty paces in front of me. A darker shadow visible only by the light it displaces. It could be one of the creatures we came hunting. Or the man that went missing early this morning. Scully after an unexpected growth spurt? The darkness refuses to coalesce into anything more definite than a haloed silhouette against a tree. Everything is still and silent a moment. Then the shadow takes a careful step forward. And the sad thing is that this doesn't even surprise me. Alex Krycek, my own personal plague. Bring on the raining wieners and marshmallows, Fox William Mulder, this is your life. I click the safety off my gun. "Oh please," he snorts. "You going to shoot me, Mulder?" Krycek takes a few more deliberate steps forward, and you know it'd be nice, just once, if someone would at least pretend to be afraid of me when I pull out my gun. "Hold it right there, Krycek," I say, struggling to sit up with a little more authority. "Turn around slowly and put your hands on your head." He just laughs at me. I could shoot him, really I could. Bang bang. Well, bang. There's only one round left in my clip. "I'm sorry, officer. Was I speeding?" Two more steps forward, and he's right in front of me now. "Go ahead, Krycek. Make my day." Well, I have to say something. He's crouched down in front of me now, and smiling. What was it I was saying about Scully and proximity? I'd let her fuss over me all she wanted if she'd show up right about now. "Come on, Mulder, you're hurt. Put the gun down." He doesn't wait for me to do it, just pushes my good arm down, more interested in the wound on my shoulder than anything else. "And don't try to be funny, that's gotta be the lamest joke you've ever made." He moves my left arm a little, to see if it's broken I guess, and I wince. "Sorry to disappoint you. If I'm not entertaining enough you could crawl back into the forest with the rest of the rodents." I was prepared for insects, panthers, or alien abduction, but the travel guide said nothing about Rodents of Unusual Size. "And stop touching me." "In a minute." Apparently satisfied I'm not bleeding to death, he looks over the rest of me, testing the bones in legs and arms in succession, then his eyes come back to mine. "What's a handsome FBI agent like you doing in the woods alone?" But it's not much of a joke. He actually has the balls to look worried about me. Then he takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. I'm cold, so I take it. But if Alex Krycek is going to show up in the middle of the Apalachicola forest and start mothering me I'm going to have to punch him. "You know how it is, always on the lookout for new places to bleed. What are you doing here, Krycek?" I'm shivering so badly now I almost bite my tongue on the words. He ignores me, reaching forward with two fingers to feel the pulse at my neck. I jerk away from him, but he does what he wants anyway. None of my movements are very coordinated, and I'd just embarrass myself if I tried to fight him any more than I already am. The gun slips out of my hand and falls to the ground, and he pushes it away from us with his free hand. Well, I could reach it if I really wanted to. "Thanks for the truck ride through scenic Tunguska, by the way. Would have had us out of there that afternoon if you hadn't pulled that brilliant stunt." He says 'brilliant' with a tight little smile and I almost feel guilty for half a second. Scully would tell you that I react on instinct most of the time, and I'm not going to apologize for that-- it's a survival skill that's developed with both time and experience. But he fucks with my compass. Something about Krycek gives me wet dreams of my hands around his neck. Regardless, he can't possibly have expected me to trust him under those circumstances. He's got no right to judge my actions. Not him. I did the right thing. And while I'm thinking myself into quicksand, he's continuing with his little examination. With a hand on my forehead, he says, "Well, you're not hurt badly, but you're definitely in shock. Want to tell me what happened?" "In Tunguska?" I can't see him, he's twisting around behind me, trying to move me but I pull away. "What do you think you're doing, Krycek?" "No, idiot, to your shoulder. Stop fighting me, you need to keep warm." He pulls me closer, across his lap. And I let him. I let him do it. Must be the fever, or the full moon. Or something. Because here I am, huddled in Alex Krycek's jacket. Cuddled against his chest. Where is Scully when you need her, anyway? He smells good. I recognize the smell of him immediately, though I wouldn't have thought I would. A year ago... the last time I saw him was a year ago this week, tumbling away from the truck I'd hijacked. We'd huddled like this a few times in Russia, though it was Krycek who needed the warmth then. I remember it was easier for me to touch him when he was the one that needed it and I was the one giving. Was it this cold in Virginia last Thanksgiving? It was colder than this in Siberia. But I wasn't sick then. Now the situation is reversed. Like that truck speeding down an uneven road, I'm going to shake apart. He digs his chin into my left shoulder and pulls me tight against him, to stop my shaking I think. I try to hold still, lulled by his body warmth into what can only be a false sense of security. We hear a noise and both look up. Then hear it again, and it's more distinct this time, sounding more like a small animal rather than Scully. Something scampering in the underbrush. I push in closer, and he looks down at me intently, frowning to himself as he counts my pulse rate. But he masks that with a small smile when he speaks. "You're still shaking, Mulder, and you're looking a little glassy. If this doesn't work, we're going to have to try something else. You don't have a sleeping bag around here do you?" I know if I were to look up at him now he'd have that smart- assed grin on his face. Which means I'd have to unclench my body enough to reach up and slap it off of him, and that's really more of an effort than I'm capable of right now. So making a mental note to do that later, I ask him "How long were you over there? Lying in wait for me?" "Lying in wait?" he snorts. "Is that what you think I do with my time, Mulder?" He laughs, causing my name to end on a squeak. Then we're moving. "Here, just a second. I have to let you go a minute." He pushes me away gently, chuckling. He does everything gently, it seems. It's not what you'd expect. "Lying in wait..," he adds again under his breath. Like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. Well, fuck you, Krycek. But I realize that I didn't want to let him go. I must be sicker than I originally thought. I watch as he gathers more sticks together, along with a few dry leaves. Then he adds them to Scully's aborted fire. "I'm not giving you my last bullet, Krycek." "Don't need it." He looks over at me and smiles. And I smile too, because he's just given himself away. He was nearby, lying in wait--or whatever you want to call it. At least close enough to hear the bullet conversation. I'm about to point this out to him when he leans back over, close, and for the length of a breath I think he's going to kiss me. But instead he reaches down around my left arm, fishing into his coat pocket, and with a flourish and an eyebrow waggle produces matches and a Nestle's Crunch bar. Like he's performed some kind of trick. Then he turns away to start the fire, and I'm glad he can't see the rush of warmth to my cheeks. It's too dark out here anyway. You could get away with anything on a night like this. The fire sparks up easily for him. He coaxes it gently with a stick. Then settling back against the fallen tree trunk, he hands me the candy bar and pulls me back across his lap. "Eat it, might make you feel better. Get your metabolism going or something." "Or make me throw up. So what are you doing here, Krycek?" "You're repeating yourself." "You're not answering." "Trailing you through forests is what I live for, Mulder. Didn't you know?" I try to think of a suitable comeback and he takes the opportunity to rattle on some more. "There are seminars at spy school on you: Paranoia in the Workplace, Avoiding the Intercontinental Ditch. We're responsible for all those anonymous Valentine and holiday cards Scully gets. We feel her pain." I refuse to laugh at him, especially since I'm the butt of his joke, and I think it must be wonderful to be so in love with the sound of your own voice. But he doesn't talk too much, really. When he and I were partners he didn't say much to anyone. Except when we were alone together at the end of the day. You'd think I'd get used to it, but I've never found it easy to sleep in a hotel room. Having someone there to talk to helped, more than a book or the television ever did. I remember long conversations into the night. He'd ask questions, laugh in all the right places. Draw me out. "I hate you, Alex." He laughs again. "I hate you, too." The arm around my chest eases up a little and he shifts me in his lap. It's then that I notice I'm not shaking as badly as before. I feel a little better. I should sit up now. Instead I ask him, "What *are* you doing here, Krycek?" He sighs, and his hand starts to stroke up and down my arm from shoulder to elbow at a slow, leisurely pace. I should tell him to stop that. "I've got relatives near here." "Bullshit." He laughs softly and his hand stops its travels for a moment to squeeze my upper arm. "That's so impossible? You'll accept... what was it? Mothmen, alien abduction, and men who never sleep without missing a heartbeat, but it's impossible that I've got an uncle who runs a small motel in west Florida?" "Yes." Alex Krycek doesn't have relatives to spend Thanksgiving with. He doesn't watch football games and glut himself on turkey and stuffing and tell funny stories over pumpkin pie. It's just not possible. A few moments pass in silence before I lift up my face to look him in the eye. Memory supplies the color. Green. Dark green. "Do you really have relatives here?" He looks at me gently, his eyes placid and unrevealing. "No." "So-" He cuts me off before I can get any further. "Mulder, I've never liked lying to you. Don't ask me questions I can't answer." There's no use in pushing him, he won't tell me anything more. I could ask him to sing to me, he's got to be better than Scully. "Tell me something, Mulder. Why do you always need answers?" I'd be annoyed with the question if it weren't for the tone of his voice. "Do you ever just kick back and let yourself enjoy things as they come?" I don't know why this question or why now, and I certainly don't owe Alex Krycek any answers. But I consider it. "Because there has to be some--" "But does there? Does there have to be a reason?" He pulls me gently, rearranging limbs and torso so I'm looking up at him, my back against his thighs. "Does any of this have to make any sense at all?" He gestures with a nod, indicating everything here and beyond. No, no. I refuse to accept that, so I shake my head, a small motion bounded on either side by his chest and the bulk of his right thigh. I think he wants to know *why*. Why I believe what I do. Scully's asked me this question any number of ways over the years. I don't have an answer for either of them. There aren't words. And I'm not so sure I know what I believe anymore. So I watch him instead, watch the dip of his lashes and the irregular shadows they cast across the plane of his cheek. Watch his hand stroke up to my right shoulder, then come to rest softly against my chest. It's not so much a gesture of comfort anymore. I shiver a little. Neither one of us says anything. "Cold?" No, no, no. "Not much." "Your color's back. You're probably..." he pauses and smiles, "...out of the woods." And with that he lifts me off his lap, careful of my shoulder, and helps me sit up next to him, leaning against the log. His eyes dart around nervously, and my stomach drops like a lead weight in my belly. In no sense of the words am I out of the woods. His first awkward move since he appeared here is the jerk of his arm to my shoulder. "Does this hurt much?" he asks, pushing back the dark stained fabric and leaning in to look at the wound. I don't know. Much of anything. His dark silk head is grazing my cheek. He lifts his chin and looks up at me. "I think you're going to be okay," and there's something in his voice that makes my heart bound against my ribs. Not a tremor, exactly, or a sigh. A displacement of control. Something that sounds like sex and desire. I should say something, but I can't find my voice. Kiss me. You have to kiss me, because I can't do it. He moves like he's going to, tilting his chin. Looking into my eyes-- "You think so?" The words comes out in a rush. He stops moving forward. Blinks. "What?" he asks, thrown off- track. I rub the back of my hand across my mouth, and anything else I might have said has already melted like confectioner's sugar against my tongue. "You really think that? That I'll be okay?" I don't. Not at all. His head falls forward. He laughs. Then smiles up at me from under long dark lashes. "Yeah, Mulder. I think you'll be fine." Getting to his feet, he brushes leaves and twigs from his legs. "Guess I should get going, Scully'll be back soon." "Alright." I hand him his jacket. He looks at me like he's going to say no, but then he reaches out to take it. He has to have his jacket, I think. I'm as sure about this as I was that he had no relatives here. Just then I hear footsteps, someone or something approaching from the direction that Alex had come from. I look to see if it's Scully, but it's too dark to make out anything beyond the ring of fire glow. When I turn back he's gone. "Scully?" No answer. "Scully?" "Mulder?" Everything tilts. "Mulder?" Deep blue eyes looking down at me. "Mulder?" "Scully...?" I ask, blinking back the opaque edges of dream. "I'm right here, Mulder," she says, squeezing me tightly with an arm around my chest. "You okay?" No, I don't think so. I shake my head to clear it and then she lifts my chin and looks into my eyes. "Your pupils look good, and you've stopped shaking. I think you're going to be fine, Mulder." She takes my wrist and feels my pulse, then makes a small, pleased sound. "Your pulse is back to normal. Did you have a bad dream?" No. "You were calling me. I thought maybe you were having a nightmare." She presses my head back down into her lap and strokes my hair. "Go back to sleep, Mulder. It'll be light in a few hours and I'm sure they'll mount a search in the morning." So I relax into her arms and try to drift. We're safe here together, and her touch is full of comfort. But when I close my eyes, I can't fall back to sleep. End Cliff's Notes Guide to Detour: M&S are en route to a team-work seminar when Mulder gets distracted by a case. In the course of the investigation, he gets attacked by the monster of the week in the Apalachicola forest, and ends up in shock, cradled in Scully's lap. They have a meaningful discussion, they flirt, you can almost smell the Caf‚ Vienna wafting through the air as they celebrate the moments of their lives. So you see, my course was clear.
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