Scoundrel Days

Scoundrel Days
by Tess

He's dreaming again. I hate it. I watch his face, knowing the story it will tell. The fine lines around his mouth deepen into a grimace of pain. Carefully, so as not to alert our captors, I lean over and whisper words of meaningless comfort until his eyes flicker and glimmer in the dim light.

He looks up at me and I can see that the memories are like a bad taste in his mouth. It's hot and we are both thirsty. I wish I could at least give him some water. He tries to smile and I want to turn away, but I smile back anyway.

"Morning." he breathes.

"Not quite," I say, keeping one eye on our wardens.

"It's time to head for the hills."

His tone is light, almost joking, but I know he means it. I nod. I am afraid for him. He's weak and disoriented, but I know he's right. We have to do this now. Time was running out.

I open and close my fist twice. He nods. We'll go in ten.

How could ten minutes ever go any slower? Or any faster? These might very well be the last ten minutes of my life. Oddly I find myself at peace. I know it is because of this man. How can a man who has had so little peace in his life give so much to others? I know he was dreaming of the burning. I can almost see the flames of that dreadful fire reflected in his eyes.

The minute hand sweeps close and I reach back, coughing softly to cover the soft snick of cuffs opening. I feel their eyes on us. We lie very still. They move on. His cuffs are already open; were they to check I could close them quickly, but I left mine till now - just in case.

Our eyes meet and I make sure he sees only confidence and reassurance. I find the same in his eyes. For a moment, we draw strength from each other. Then he winks and grins and we move.

The first man dies quickly. I twist his neck in a move I have perfected too many times. The second man is asphyxiating slowly; the handcuffs he so callously tightened on our wrists are now depriving him of his life. They're leaving me no choice these men must die. A part of me grieves. A part of me simply accepts. Their decisions drew them to this place, as ours will draw us away.

The third man dies with a shot from his own gun. It is shot at such close range that his own body muffles the sound. We take off, racing through the darkness, our feet thumping dully on the pavement. Soon the dull thump changes to a soft swish as we begin to climb the surrounding hills.

He lags a bit. Dehydration and blood loss take their toll. I simply grab one sinewy wrist and pull. After a while, he pulls back and I stop. We sink down, legs and lungs grateful for the rest.

"We need water."

He nods and gestures off to the left. The gesture changes shape when I haul him back to his feet. I can't help but laugh at his spirit. He grins and we make our way to the stream.

Hours later I am convinced that I will once more cheat the devil and bring him home. As darkness falls without sound on the lofty landscape, we reluctantly hole up in one of those small alcoves that seem to permeate the Rockies. It's hardly ideal but needs suffice when the devil drives.

I force him to eat such as can be garnered from the landscape. Beats the hell out of Siberia. I make him let me clean his head wound. It's ugly, but he's tough. He'll make it. I tell him so and he gives me that shit-eating grin of his.

"Want to tell me what the hell is going on?"

Oddly, I do. He listens to my incredible sketchy tale without censure. It makes me want to cry. When was the last time somebody, anybody really listened to me? Well, that's not quite fair, one man, the man I do this for, yes he listens to me. And he loves me. That's why I must save this man.

"Do they know?"

"I don't think so. I hope not. That's why I had to get him out. Too close, you know? It was unforgivable, but they'd use him, if they knew. I'd…."

I can't finish - the thought makes me want to howl. I can't hide the pain at the thought. They must never get their hands on that enchanting beautiful brother of my heart. Never.

"Does he know?"

I smile a bit. "Probably. Some. He never asks, you know. Just…. He's always been too smart for his own good, but he's the epitome of discretion. Maybe… I don't know… I love him but I hurt him."

The confession surprises me, but just like the tender and cultivated enigma that forms the other part of my soul, I find myself trusting this man. I want him to see, to know, to understand, to believe …in me. I find myself rubbing my shoulder. I hate it. I hate what makes me do that. It's a weakness and I can't help myself.

He sees. I look into his eyes of glacier green. I am so accustomed to seeing pity, scorn, even indignation that I should bear such a visible mark of humanity, that his complete understanding stuns me. Slow tears drip down my face, yet I find myself comforted, not shamed. More then ever I am convinced that I must keep this man safe.

He removes the prosthesis with just the right blend of care and matter of fact-ness. He takes his strong hands and begins to massage my aching and raw stump. No more words are spoken and soon we both fall into a restless sleep.

The rescue ends in the strangely anticlimactic way these things do. In the morning we find a road and a phone. I will wait for his team to come for him. I have to; I need to, because I want to see my heart's desire, to touch him. I need his strength for these dark days, these scoundrel days that lie ahead.

The sleek Jag pulls up. I called him first, knowing he'd come first. Simple plan that and baldly obvious. I watch him slip out of the car; my heart beats in his rhythm. It always has. His head turns towards us when he hears the low whistle.

Then we are standing face to face. Who reaches first? I do not know, but I am in his arms. Who is crying? Doesn't matter. Our hands are everywhere. They are eloquent with their tentative touches, careful caresses and gentle grasping.

"Chris?"

"Over here."

He is dozing, blood loss and concussion still wreaking havoc but he wakes as we kneel beside him. Now those hands, those beautiful hands are reaching out and another takes my place. I know it is as it should be but my hand is so needy, so damned needy, so damned empty.

I can feel the rest of the team coming. I must go. I would die for these two men. I will live for these two men because one of them is the other half of my heart and the other because he gives that heart a home.

"Aleksei"

No one says my name like he does. Green fire blazes between us and I loose myself in his eyes. He gives me what I need. For eternity I will be whole because this man believes through the lies and the hating that love goes go free.

Hand raised as for a benediction, I whisper the forbidden. "Ezra."

Then I am gone.

AUTHOR:   Tess
DISCLAIMER:   Blah, blah blah does anybody read this?. Besides I have it on good authority that it don't matter one iota.
RATINGS:   PG-13

NOTES: Cross over featuring the Xfiles' wonderful Ratboy, Alex Krycek. A Lyric Wheel story. Lyrics are given below.
Generous thoughts, ideas, suggestions? Send those to the address below.
EMAIL: tlshaffer1@comcast.net

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Scoundrel Days by A-ha
Was that somebody screaming...
It wasn't me for sure
I lift my head up from uneasy pillows
Put my feet on the floor
Cut my wrist on a bad thought
and head for the door

Outside on the pavement
the dark makes no noise
I can feel the sweat on my lips
leaking into my mouth
I'm heading out for the steep hills
They're leaving me no choice

And see... as our lives are in the making;
we believe through the lies and the hating
that love goes go free

For want of an option
I run the wind 'round
I dream pictures of houses burning
Never knowing nothing else to do
With death comes the new morning
unannounced and new

Was it too much to ask for
to pull a little weight...
They forgive anything, but greatness
These are scoundrel days
and I'm close to calling out their names
as pride hits my face

repeat chorus

I reach the edge of town
I've got blood in my hair
Their hands touch my body
from everywhere
But I know the I've made it
as I run out of air

And see... as our lives are in the making;
we believe through the lies and the hating
that love goes free
through scoundrel days

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