A Subtle Affair

by Mia Jones

For Alex Krycek, it has been a long courtship of Marita Covarubias, but he has nearly succeeded and need only to convince her to leave her fiance for him, all while managing the dirty consortium politics, ambitions, and lust.

1

1. The Gift of the Magi

Alex wanted to buy Marita a Christmas present, but everything was inappropriate.

"What do you want your gift to say? What's your message to her?" the sales woman asked. Her nametag read "Janice." They stood on the ground floor Barney's department store, between the booths of makeup and expensive perfumes. The plethora of scents was stifling. Alex shifted on his feet and grimaced at the advertisements of models applying their lipstick in ecstatic bliss.

"Perhaps your girlfriend needs a new handbag." Janice motioned to a wrack of leather, Coach Bags.

"She's not my girlfriend," Alex answered quickly. He turned in slow circles as he scanned the displays, occasionally snorting at the racks of costume jewelry. Janice nodded with the pinched look of middle aged wisdom. Her grey perm bounced as she led him purposely around the store. Women composed most of the busy crowd, lugging black shopping bags and looking weary. The tap of their heels on the tile and the low drone of complaints muffled the faint music of Christmas carols playing over the store speaker system.

"I find that it's easiest to purchase a gift if I know what sort of message the gift should send. I buy socks for my husband so he knows I think his feet stink." She watched Alex expectantly, but he didn't even crack a smile. He felt the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes.

They passed the women's lingerie section. Janice had to tug Alex's elbow as he paused for a moment to look at a silky and simple, white slip hanging from a discreet rack.

"My message is…" but Alex couldn't finish his sentence. It felt like a vice on his throat whenever he tried to explain his connection to Marita. They moved past the slips and lacy under-things before he could find the words. Janice's shoes squeaked on the tile floor as she stopped in the accessories section at table of Burberry scarves. She ran her hands over the classic plaid and commented on its plush feel. The scarves radiated from the center of the table like spokes on a bicycle wheel. Alex stroked his gloved hand against a camel-colored scarf and frowned in concentration. Janice suggested he take off his gloves to get a better feel. Alex just scowled. He shoved his hand back into the pocket of his pea coat.

"How do you say, 'I love you' with a Christmas gift…" he mumbled. Janice's pleasant, wrinkled face brightened.

"Jewelry is the best way to say 'I love you," she answered without hesitation.

"…And that I'm sorry I ruined your project…"

"You ruined her project?" Janice asked more slowly than before.

"…And please don't marry that creep."

She had to stop any think for a moment, looking at her hands in shock and maybe embarrassment.

"You want your gift to say all that?"

"Basically."

"She's engaged?"

"Yeah, so I can't get her anything too blatant."

"So you want a gift that says I love you, but…"

"I don't want to offend her."

"…"

"I want to say 'I love you' without actually coming on to her."

Janice blinked and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Scarf."

"Really? You think so?" Alex asked in a dubious tone. He wrinkled his nose and played with the tasseled end of one of the pink scarves.

"Nothing is as non-committal as a scarf."

"I'd rather get her some jewelry."

"Trust me, sir. If you get her even the plainest pair of earrings…well, her fiancé will certainly get the message."

"Scarf it is." Alex picked one up off the table and studied it. He ignored the rush of the crowd pressing to get around him. The loudspeakers began to play "Jingle Bells." A few younger women slowed and tried to catch Alex's eye. His dark hair and long eye lashes had attracted many appreciative, feminine stares.

"Gift wrap?" Janice asked in a cheerful voice. Alex couldn't help but smile at her gracious manner.

"I'm sure it'll make all the difference."

Janice's smile faltered. She couldn't tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic.

As soon as the scarf was wrapped in a tasteful black box and slipped into a matching shopping bag, Alex strode out of Barney's like a man escaping a fire drill. He didn't bother to hail a cab, preferring to walk to New York harbor where he called home. He had bought a warehouse there years ago with the money he earned as a teenager doing hits on the consortium's enemies who just also happened to be closeted homosexuals. His pretty boy looks were usually enough to lure them into a seductive and vulnerable situation, at which point, it took very little effort to dispose of them. Alex wasn't proud of this money and used it rarely. But when he was eighteen, he had appreciated the warehouse's discreet qualities and bought it at a public auction. A rat scurried past the unlocked entrance as Alex neared the battered façade of the old place. The fog had a heavy, frozen look hanging above the pavement. The Barney's bag knocked against his knee.

The warehouse was dark and empty besides a few white, pigeons in the rafters. His breath hung like a phantom presence before him as he climbed the stairs to what used to be the old office. The frosted glass of the door still bore the gilt letters that spelled "Harrison and Harrison Shipping." Years ago, he had fixed up the inside of the plain rooms to accommodate a sink and a cheap, electric stove. Even the bathroom had been renovated to include a shower. Old newspapers were scattered on the floor and dishes were stacked in the sink. A black cat slinked under the moldy couch when Alex flipped the switch to the hanging bulb. The light flickered before it steadied into a lonely glow that did little to ward off the shadows.

He dropped the bag on the floor and accidentally kicked it as he walked by. He didn't wear scarves and wasn't sure who did. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that scarves were a boring gift. He didn't want Marita to think he found her boring. Although, Alex debated whether getting a gift from him at all would be strange enough for her to puzzle out the message. He sighed and stripped off his clothes. The air in the apartment had a biting chill so Alex hurried to turn on the shower. The knob was a little loose in his hand, but the luke-warm water was comforting. He ducked his head beneath the spray and thought harder. He braced against the mildewing walls with his fists.

An idea came to him during his meditation beneath the steam. He flipped off the water and exited the shower dripping without a towel.

Like all people, even Alex had a box filled with treasures and small mementos that he couldn't bring himself to throw away. His apartment lacked any decoration or care, but he did have that requisite shoebox beneath his bed. He slipped on a pair of black jockeys from a pile of dirty laundry and knelt on the floor. After a few moments of groping blindly beneath the bed, and finding little more than clumps of lint, his fingers grasped the frayed corner of the cardboard box.

He rifled through the contents: his old KGB badge, a hexagonal screw, his father's threadbare soviet hat, a black paper-clip, a letter from Spender, a piece of cinnamon candy, a .22 bullet casing, and finally an incandescent stone. The rock was a beautiful pebble that had a muted shine. Alex could cradle and roll it in the palm of his hand comfortably. He had found it as a child on the bank of the Ural River on a summer morning. He had been poking around the silt bottom of the river with a stick, when by chance he unearthed a corner of the dull stone that had a promise of luminosity with a little polish.

Sitting on the edge of his sagging bed, Alex remembered that his tennis shoes had been damp and uncomfortable from the dew that day. Somehow, after all those emigrations and missions, Alex never lost the pretty stone. And he kept it simply because it had an odd sort of beauty. He wondered if Marita would think he were crazy if he gave her the rock. Some people got a kick out of pretty stones, other people like him respected the unique shape and color, and others couldn't care less. Alex wondered which category Marita fell.

The next day, Alex entered the Consortium's building feeling nervous. An excitement overtook him and made his hands shake and his knees quiver. He calmed himself on the elevator ride with deep breaths. It was Christmas Eve and there would be no other time to see Marita

"Is she in?" Alex asked her secretary. The young man at the desk that guarded her door nodded, though he didn't pick up the telephone to call her. His face was smug. Alex walked past without a glance back or hesitation. He slammed the door behind his back in the protesting boy's face.

Marita glanced up from a thick packet she was skimming. An American and UN flag were posted on either side of her desk. A clean, winter light beamed through the windows on two sides of the room. Her dress was, as usual, formal yet always somewhat provocative. Her blouse was of good quality and it hung off her shoulders well, but Alex could only notice how casually it was buttoned between her breasts. Her pinched lips and silent greeting told him enough about her mood.

"Yes?" she asked in a frigid tone after giving him more than enough time to state his cause. Alex walked over to the window and looked down on the far away patchwork of yellow taxi cab tops. The sky looked like it was hanging lower than normal, promising snow.

"Since it's Christmas, I thought I should pay you a visit before you leave for vacation." He noticed a plastic sprig of mistletoe hanging above her desk. It was the sole evidence of Christmas in the room. He wondered if it was the secretary kid who had tied the plastic clipping to the track lighting. Marita didn't speak. She wouldn't make this any easier for him. Her fingernails tapped on her desk in a rhythmic pattern. Alex sighed and crossed over to her desk. He leaned on it with one hip and looked down at her. The words sounded trite and insincere in his mind, so he instead riffled through his pocket and retrieved the rock; careful to keep it hidden in his clenched palm.

"Give me your hand."

Marita glared up at Alex, but inched her hand forward despite her apparent annoyance. Alex turned it over so her palm faced up and as he did this he pressed the stone against her skin until she took it. Her face softened with curiosity. She opened her fist. The dull stone rolled into her nimble fingertips.

"Where did you get this?" Marita finally asked. She sounded surprised and somewhat amused. Alex shrugged his shoulders. She was on the verge of laughter, but her expression wasn't cruel. Rather, it felt like a damning fog had been lifted from the room.

"I found it in Russia, long time ago."

Marita looked up at him and smiled. It was a look that opened her uncommon beauty. She was a woman when she smiled and not just an associate. The apples of her cheeks flushed against her pale skin.

"It's nothing special," Alex added before he stood up. The mistletoe dangled over them like a threatening bomb. He was determined to ignore it. Marita rolled the stone between her fingers. She tapped it with one oval fingernail. It sounded richer than a simple rock should have.

"Merry Christmas, Alex," she said and stood up to kiss him on the cheek. It was more than he had been hoping for. The little kiss was nothing special; just a light kiss that could have been bestowed on a cousin. But the brush of their cheeks had been so close that the downy hairs on her skin had tickled him. Her second of hesitation as she withdrew from the kiss somewhat gave her away. Alex was tempted to hold her, but knew better.

Marita smiled one of her illuminating smiles that were so rare. He felt forgiven. Of course, he couldn't promise to never steal the results of her project's studies and it was likely he would be forced to assassinate more of her colleagues in the future (he had orders to follow and usually he agreed with the logic of his work). But for today, both Alex and Marita could forget these squabbles between them; enjoy Christmas…and each other.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Marita asked him as they walked out of the building later that day. The wind cracked their faces and made it painful to talk. There were a few flurries dusting the sidewalks.

"Sleeping in."

"You're not celebrating it with anyone?"

"I might go bother Spender later." By this Alex meant he might sneak into the old smoker's apartment and cook a quick dinner. He would leave it for Spender to eat alone, but at least he would know that somebody cared for him on Christmas day.

"What about you?" Alex asked as they each raised their arms to hail a taxi. Marita shrank further into her coat collar.

"I'm going to spend it with the Strungholds."

"Junior got you a nice gift?"

Marita gave a bitter laugh. "A diamond ring. How ironic," she said cryptically. Her blue eyes flashed at Alex who wasn't sure what she was talking about. He hated feeling clueless and fought the urge to interrogate her over her meaning just then. The taxis drove past the both of them as if they were invisible. Alex clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

"And then after Christmas I'm helping a friend to start planning her wedding," Marita continued after the pause in the conversation.

"Lot of weddings going round."

"You make it sound like a cold to be caught."

"Maybe it is," Alex said with some misery. A taxi finally slowed and pulled up to the curb beside them. Alex opened the door for Marita, but she stopped before stepping inside. The cab driver complained that she was letting out all the heat, but Marita never hurried for anyone. She grasped the door with her gloved hands. Alex stood on the other side. He could have leaned forward to kiss her, but he felt no inclination to ruin what had been a nice afternoon with Marita.

"Thank you for the gift."

"No problem."

"It's an interesting stone," Marita said as she patted her coat pocket. She leaned forward and instigated a chaste kiss, but like many of their ventures together, there was always a second meaning. Alex pressed against the car door separating them, so desperate was he to be nearer when he felt the subtle glide of her tongue against his own. He became hard right away, but she had shut the door and was already gone by the time he recovered.

It had been a good day, Alex reflected to himself as he walked away in rapture. Of course, he knew the score. The kiss was meant to be nothing more than friendly, even if it had felt otherwise. And yet, Alex was content with this. He could only hope that she understood the secondary meaning to his gift: the seriousness of his pursuit.

2. The Noodle House

"My friend kicked me out of her wedding party," Marita said around a mouthful of noodles. She sat beside him at the outdoor counter. They clutched at bowls of spicy broth that made their noses run. Blustery wind drove trash down the New York street. The air was somewhere between warm and cold. That annoying temperature where you find yourself putting on and taking off your sweater repeatedly, satisfied at no point. But Alex liked the noodle soup. It surprised him that Marita had agreed to come.

"You were a bride's maid?" Alex asked. He said the last two words slowly and carefully. It was possible that it was the first time he had ever said them. He had grown up in a man's world.

"Maid of honor, no less."

"I thought you were just supposed to wear an ugly dress and catch a bouquet or something." He wondered if he got the details right. Alex had never actually attended a wedding in his life. It was strange to talk to a woman about such things, but he was trying. He slurped a mouthful of the salty soup. Marita smiled and sipped more quietly.

"Apparently, I wasn't holding up my end of the 'deal'."

"What deal?"

"To be her slave for 8 months while she obsessed over flower details and gift registries."

Alex didn't ask her what was a gift registry, but he did Google it later.

"Your job is more important."

"That's what I told her."

"Actually, I need you to pull a few strings for me."

"Shoot." She sucked on the tips of her chopsticks. Alex lost himself for a moment watching her tongue dart out and her lips pucker. The silence became awkward. He read the back of the menu to refocus his mind on less compromising thoughts.

"I need to do a little work in Tunisia. There's something I need to collect there."

"Tunisia is Fowley's department."

"Right, so I need you to distract her, maybe send her on a wild goose chase while I get the job done."

"Doesn't it seem like we waste an awful lot of time fighting within the Consortium. Hard to prepare for colonization when we're always bickering among ourselves."

"You could send her to Mulder. That should keep her busy."

"She still has a thing for him?"

"Who doesn't she have a thing for."

"You're such a gossip, Alex." The thin curtain that separated them from the street lifted as an elderly, Asian man sat down at the counter.

"Just doing my job," Alex said. He felt danger like a thousand pin-pricks to his brain. The only thing he disliked about this noodle house was his exposed back. "Sorry about your Maiden of honor thingy," he said when the counter quieted after the elder received his soup.

"Doesn't matter. I didn't have the time for it really."

"So how will you get yours done?"

Marita sighed and set down her chopsticks. "I don't think that's the problem. It'll get done." She dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin. "Tell me more about your plan and I might ask Fowley to review some MUFON cases in Germany."

Alex smiled down at his empty bowl.

"There's been reports of another alien genome sample," he began after he took a long breath. It was a complicated story. Marita listened with rapt interest.

3. Tunisia mon amour

Alex knew the simplicity of his mission was too good to be true. He had arrived in Tunis half a day earlier and crossed the desert that night driving a jeep he bought from a civilian. The man had been hesitant to sell at first, but the thick wad of American bills that Alex had pressed into his hand was more than enough to change his mind. It took eight hours to cross the desert expanse. Set against the purple, black sky, Alex amused himself by imagining that he was on the moon. He enjoyed the utter solitude.

Around four in the morning, Alex could see the ghostly glow of the laboratory in the distance. He drove as close as he ventured. The fine cloud of sand that the tires kicked up were too much of a giveaway. When the squat building of the lab became large enough to distinguish a few dark windows, Alex stopped the jeep. He abandoned it behind a sand dune and traveled by foot.

It took two hours before he came upon the outer gate. The eastern horizon lightened. Alex crouched in a dune's shadow and considered waiting through the day until nightfall before he entered the fenced in grounds. But he decided against this tactic. The memory of his late adolescence working in the Libyan Desert for Colonel Kaddafi was enough to make him wary of the desert sun's burning intensity. He was the son of Russian peasants after all. His fair skin was made for the darkness of winter. Alex made his decision and climbed the fence with two quick movements. Thankfully, there was no razor wire at the top. He dropped to the ground and sank to his feet like a graceful cat.

A warm wind blew the sand beneath his feet into ripples and waves. Already, the heat of day was overtaking the night's chill. Alex unbuttoned the top of his desert camouflage tunic. He waited for a patrolling guard, wearing a white head wrap and casual in his stride, to turn a corner. The front door was unlocked. Perhaps they believed the desert's isolation was security enough.

There was no air conditioning inside; the air was stifling and felt stagnant. Alex ripped off his outer tunic and balled it up into a trashcan. The lights were dim and the building windowless. Even his t-shirt felt oppressive. But he grabbed a white lab coat from a bin to cover the .45 strapped to his side. The silencer was already screwed on to the barrel.

He had memorized the laboratory's blueprint on the plane ride across the Atlantic, so he made short work of moving to the center of the building where it felt a little cooler. The guards were loud enough that he had enough warning to duck behind corners and wait for them to pass. The lax security disgusted Alex.

A digital decoder got him through the inner, locked doors and finally into the refrigerated area. The humidity clinging to his skin condensed almost immediately. His skin felt tight in the frigid, dry air of the cramped room. He ignored the stainless steal freezers lining the walls. A white cylinder in the far corner contained what he wanted. It was marked with a few Arabic letters which Alex translated as "Shield of God."

"Shield indeed," he muttered as he pulled on a thick pair of rubber gloves draped over the edge of the industrial sink by the door. The top of the cylinder unscrewed like a pickle jar, but thick, white steam poured out and sank to the floor when it was opened.

The sharp click of a cocked gun made his spine twist in warning. Alex closed the container and spun around.

Marita held the gun with one hand.

"What are you doing here?"

"Turn around is fair play, Alex."

"Not with me. Fuck around with me and I'll just kill you."

"No you won't."

And Alex knew this was true. But he also knew that her grip on the gun was weak and her body un-squared. She was untrained to use a weapon. He didn't know if this made him feel a little safer or more nervous.

"Give me the gun. This isn't a game."

"I know it's not. This is my job."

"Why do you need it? You're daddy's already head of the consortium. Who could you possibly need to suck up to?"

"You're a fucking asshole, Alex. I thought you were serious…" but Marita was unwilling to finish her sentence. The momentary slip up gave Alex the split second he needed to draw his own gun. He held it with two well trained hands that squeezed a firm grip. Marita let go of her weapon with one hand to clutch at the collar of her shirt. She shivered. Alex tried to pivot to the door, but she wouldn't give him any ground no matter how hard he pressured her.

"I was serious," he said in a low voice, calmer than before.

"I don't know if we're talking about the same thing."

"Yes you do. Drop the gun and we'll do this together."

"You should have included me on it from the beginning anyway."

"Maybe."

Marita lowered the gun. She flipped the safety on and tucked the weapon into the waste band of her khaki shorts. She hugged herself for warmth. Alex put away his own gun. His teeth chattered.

"Let's get out of here. How did you get in?"

"Official channels," Marita answered. They moved back to the cylinder and opened it once again.

"Must be nice having UN credentials." Alex fished around inside until he felt a steel handle, icy to the touch even through his gloves. He pulled it out. The alien fetus was tiny and grotesquely similar to a curled, human child. "Then there's no need to sneak out?"

"No, I have an order requisitioning the fetus," Marita said as she fished out a crumpled envelope from her pocket. Alex nodded and set to work transferring the fetus to a smaller container. The thing smelled somewhat like a sour drain pipe. It was an intense, organic smell mixed with metallica. "But I never would have known to ask for it if you hadn't told me your plan."

"I'm not so sure that was the smartest confidence I've ever taken," Alex said in a tone that was harsher than he meant it to be. Marita grimaced and brushed past him. She called out into the hall for assistance. Her lack of discretion made Alex wince even though he knew she had no need for covert operation as he did. He felt somewhat pissed that she ruined his operation, but perhaps she was right: turn around was fair play. God knew he had screwed her in a similar fashion just a few months prior. Only then it had been a secret agent jumping a bureaucrat. He was embarrassed to admit that a bureaucrat had gotten the jump on him this time.

After a few, clipped orders to the guards from Marita in imperfect Arabic, she and Alex left the building and climbed into the backseat of a camouflage jeep. The driver was wearing western clothes. It took two tries for him to start the car. Marita pulled at the silver container into her lap, although Alex tried to wrestle it back into his own.

"So is this thing for the hybrid work? Or is it just know thy enemy?" Marita asked after they had been barreling down the desert for nearly a half an hour. An impressive cloud of sand trailed after them for nearly a mile. She examined the jar as if it would hold answers for the alien inside. Alex tried to shade his face with a hand raised to the sky, but his pale, Slavic skin was already burning.

"Know thy enemy, I guess. Some of Spender's scientists are interested in seeing just how much genetic variation exists in this species. They were pretty excited when we heard that a well preserved fetus was found at a UFO crash site."

"But the Tunisians got it first?"

"No, Fowley did. I'd have done the same in her position."

"But she won't get in trouble with the consortium like you would have."

"Well, that's what you get when you're sucking half the Consortium's cock."

Alex tried to grab the cylinder container back, but Marita held it away over her shoulder. He tried to climb around her, but it was a much too comfortable squeeze in the cramped, back seat, so he backed off. The driver eyed them from the rear view mirror.

"Share the credit with me, at least." Alex said in an exasperated voice. He leaned back in his seat and shaded his eyes against the beating sun. He had dumped the lab coat miles ago.

"Doubtful."

"Bitch," Alex said with affection. Marita's smile gleamed in the beating sun. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses and looked the picture of a perfect spy. On more than one occasion, Alex thought that she had been wasted as a policy maker. Her striking looks and devious personality were a strong combination that any covert agency would have been willing to exploit.

The airport was strumming with people pushing stacks of suitcases on little carts. The men gave Marita disapproving looks, but her blonde hair marked her as such a foreigner that they seemed willing overlook her airy skirt and tank top. Like Alex, she had placed one backpack filled with the bare essentials in the locker area. They retrieved their things and stood in line to buy tickets back to New York. Marita slipped the cylindrical container into her bag. The roar of Arabic in all dialects made it difficult to talk to each other.

But Marita's harsh jab to Alex's ribs gave him warning without her saying anything. She motioned with a discreet jerk of her shoulder at a couple standing a hundred yards behind her.

It was Mulder and Scully of all people and places to be. But Alex had to correct himself, nothing was a coincidence with those two. He would admit, they were excellent detectives and had obviously tracked him down this far. He wondered what had tipped them off and what informant?

"What should we do?" Marita whispered in Alex's ear. She had to stand on the tips of her sandals to do so. Alex's brain had already been considering the possibilities. It appeared that the dynamic duo had not yet spotted them, but it was only a matter of time. Alex grabbed Marita's arm and dragged her out of the line. They half-jogged around the corner where Alex nearly tripped on several panhandling youths reclining on the cracked floor.

"They're covering the American flights. We could try flying somewhere else for now." His heart beat soundly as it always did no matter who was chasing him. Alex was not arrogant of his abilities. He wasn't inhuman. He could always be caught if he made the wrong move. Without realizing it, his arm had tightened around Marita's waste, pressing her closer to him against the stucco wall. He buried his face into her hair and reasoned that two lovers were as good a cover as anything.

But Marita didn't buy his weak excuse and struggled against him in vain while still appearing engrossed in his arms.

"We're too foreign looking, we stick out too much here," she said.

"They're after me. You could go ahead."

"That's not for certain. They questioned me before I left New York."

"What?"

"Some one tipped them off about the fetus and they came to me for more answers and passports."

"Did you give it to them?"

"No of course not. Jesus, Alex, I'm not stupid enough to sell out on something this big. But they must have followed me."

Alex peaked around the corner of the wall. Agent Scully was pantomiming and gesturing at a photograph to another patron of the airport. The man stroked his beard and nodded. Scully passed a look to Mulder and they strode through the dim terminal with increased determination. Every step took them closer to Marita and Alex.

"Let's get out of here." Alex grabbed Marita's wrist and wove through the thick crowd. He was careful to keep his head low. Marita followed his example.

But the crowd grew thicker the closer they got to the doors, as if a sudden influx of people had just entered the airport, moving against them. Alex's arm jerked back, became stuck for a moment, and then was free. Two men were trying to move past Marita, but were unwilling to give her space between their broad shoulders. Alex saw her panicked face for a moment then it became lost in the masses. He saw only thick beards and dark veils. Men crashed into him as he disrupted the steady flow of foot traffic. His pulse raced. A few minutes later, a flash of blonde hair far to the right caught his eye. She was trying to circumvent the crowd, but it had no seam or opening.

Alex rarely worked with partners, so he was surprised to find himself moving back to find Marita even though it increased his risk of getting caught and arrested by the FBI. But then again, Marita still had the genome and he couldn't leave it behind. He shoved a couple aside and ground his way between the packed bodies.

A red head made his gut lurch. He ducked lower. A disturbance caused a ripple of bodies to clear. Marita came into view, but she wasn't alone. Mulder grabbed her wrist and twisted it until he could cuff her better. Her face was passive. Scully grabbed the backpack and searched inside. Alex hovered on the fringes and finally swerved around a passing family with three children to hide behind a rack of magazines.

He watched Mulder push Marita through the revolving doors. Scully followed close on his heels. Alex swiped a ball cap off the merchant's cart next to the magazines and put it on his head. No one stopped him as he left the airport and entered the hot, sticky air. It was like a sauna outside and the sudden, blinding light made even more oppressive. Marita and the agents were several hundred yards ahead. She stumbled on a curve. Mulder jerked her arm up to steady her, but Alex knew it must have hurt. His former partner was agitated and rough with Marita. It wasn't hard to follow them. Neither Mulder nor Scully bothered to see if they were being followed which made Alex suspect that they didn't know he was there or at the very least they didn't know Marita was traveling with a companion. The men and women on the busy street made room for the agents and their captive.

They turned into the doorway of a building with a red awning. It was a mid-priced hotel that Alex had frequented during his occasional travels in Tunis. He knew there was a back entrance through the kitchen that nobody would mind him using as long as he bribed the cook.

It was a small hotel, but well furnished with rich carpets of deep reds and gold. Women wearing hoops in their ears and tight skirts sat in the lounge chairs reading magazines. A shout of impatient English was all Alex needed to follow the trail. When the elevator dinged and the English went silent, Alex rounded the corner and raced up the stairs. He moved fast enough to beat the elevator to every floor. It stopped on the fourth. Alex waited until they entered their room at the end of the hall. Marita tried to twist away from Mulder's tight grip just as they crossed the threshold. He cursed at her.

The carpet muffled Alex's boots as he ran down the hallway and knocked on the door of the room next to the one Marita and the agents had just entered. There was a pause, and then a dramatic sigh permeated the door. A man wearing a robe tied loosely around his waist opened the door. In the background, a woman languished on the bed, catching a little sleep during the interruption.

"I'll pay you 10,000 dollars to get out of this room," Alex said in near perfect Arabic.

The man scratched his balding head and considered for a moment. Alex pulled the money out of his pocket. The man gave a skeptical smirk, then nodded his head in agreement.

"You want the woman too?"

"No, take her with you."

The man waddled back into the room and slapped the woman on the ass. She cursed at him and rolled out of bed. Alex held the door open for them as they left, clutching their clothes to their chests.

A chair was already poised beneath the ventilation duct, perhaps to facilitate an earlier room occupant's taste for voyeurism. Alex stepped on top of it and nearly slipped off when one of the uneven legs rocked backwards. He regained his balance and pressed his ear to the cool grating of the vent. Everything they said in the next room was as clear to him as if he had been sitting with Marita and the agents as they spoke.

"Where's the fetus," Mulder asked in his dead-pan voice. But Marita didn't answer. "You're required to answer my questions."

"Not in Tunisia," Marita answered in a soft tone that revealed no fear. She sounded calm.

"She's right," Scully said before Mulder could come back with a smart retort. "We have no jurisdiction here, Mulder. We shouldn't even be holding her."

Mulder chose to ignore his partner's warning.

"I need proof."

"For what." Marita asked low enough that it was difficult for Alex to hear. She sounded jaded and depressed.

"I need to know the truth."

"Or do you need to show everyone that you know the truth."

Mulder exhaled a long sigh. There was the slight sound of footsteps across the room. The metal slots of the vent pressed and formed grooves against Alex's ear. There was a feminine gasp of pain and the harsh clink of the handcuffs. He went deaf for a second as blood rushed through his ears. Alex imagined that Mulder was yanking Marita with the chain between her wrists.

"Sorry, wasn't sure if these were tight enough," Mulder said his nastiest sarcasm. The desperate tone reminded Alex of Spender at his worst. The ratchet of the cuffs clicked several times more. Marita whimpered then regained control of herself and became silent. There was a coppery taste in Alex's mouth. He had bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Mulder…" Scully warned, but her partner didn't respond. Alex's hands tightened into fists on either side of the vent. He ached to burst through the connecting door and tackle Mulder to the floor. He would bloody that man's face. But Alex's rage never consumed his reason. He would be patient. He knew Marita would be patient as well. She had to know he would come for her.

His chance came several hours later. The agents had been arguing for some time. Marita still refused to tell them the location of the fetus. Alex wondered if Scully had searched the bag well enough. He realized Marita must have hidden it earlier in the airport when they became separated.

Mulder's frustration soon turned to wanderlust. He decided that he and Scully would search the airport again. Scully pointed out that Marita hadn't even admitted to procuring the fetus. Mulder called her a "lying thief." Finally, Scully agreed to accompany Mulder. With a rattle of the handcuffs, they secured Marita.

"You don't think we should take her with us? To be safe?" Scully asked.

"She attracts too much attention." Even Mulder seemed to realize that his arrest wasn't legal, but his concealment of the matter made his guilt even worse.

"Hypocrite," Alex thought to himself. The rules and Constitution applied to everyone else, but never Mulder. If Alex had to bend a law here and there for the public's good, this was unacceptable to Mulder. But if the agent needed to conveniently forget his jurisdiction and his captive's civil rights, then it was justified in his search for the ever elusive truth.

"It's elusive, my friend, because I hide it," Alex muttered through the grate.

When the lock clicked shut next door and the murmur of English dissipated down the hall, Alex left his room. He grabbed an errant paper clip on the side table beside the door and took a moment to bend it out of shape. With a rapid twisting motion, he snapped the wire in two pieces. One piece he left alone, the other he bent in a crooked array. It was a makeshift job, but the pieces were enough to jostle the locked door of the neighboring room open. He shut the door without a sound behind him.

The room was dark and smelt like old cigarette butts. Heavy shawls covered the windows. Only a few bars of light fell on the bed in great swooping shapes across Marita's beleaguered face. For all her calm speech, she looked shaken. She lay on the bed with both arms pulled up at a sharp angle. The handcuffs were pulled through a decorative hollow in the wooden head of the bed. She appeared to be asleep or at least resting. Her pleated skirt was wrinkled and pinched between her bent knees. She had not heard Alex enter the room.

"Marita," he whispered as he crossed over to the bed. Her steely blue eyes snapped awake.

"Alex!" she said in a loud voice. Her smile was shaky. She tried to sit up, but Alex stopped her. His hands moved to her wrists. The skin was mottled purple and red from the over tight cuffs. Alex found a pen lying on the bedside table next to a pad of stationary. He snapped the plastic top off and pulled apart the mechanical insides. Within minutes, he had fashioned a handcuff key: a trick he had learned only a few years ago during his brief stay in an Afghanistan prison. He inserted the makeshift, plastic key into the handcuff slot. He turned it with care and felt the satisfying pop of the lock. He returned the favor to her other hand.

Alex held Marita's bruised wrists in his hands as gentle as he could manage. She sighed in relief. He rubbed her fingers to relieve the aching swell of the blood. But his ministrations returned to her thin wrists. They were so small and so hurt. He didn't look Marita in the eye, but she watched him as he tenderly loved those tiny wrists, wishing he could do more. He stroked them with fingers and cradled them in his palms. After a long sigh, he knew it was time to leave. He raised her left wrist to his face and pressed his skin against her own delicate flesh. Marita didn't speak, nor move.

"Let's go."

"They're at the airport."

"Then we'll go by boat."

"But the fetus?"

"I'll get it later, after I've gotten us passage on a ship."

"Don't you think they'll spot you?"

"This is my job, Marita. Where did you hide it?"

"Back in one of the lockers in the airport."

Alex tucked her head to his chest. It was a comfortable position on the bed and Marita fell against him without struggle.

"That's my girl," he muttered into her tousled hair.

4. It was no QE2.

Securing places for Marita and himself on a New York bound ship wasn't difficult for Alex, although he did have to place a money order to his Swiss bank account for the bribe. He was running low on cash since he came to Tunisia, which like everywhere else in the world, ran on the principle of money alone.

It was a Greek freighter carrying a shipment of dried fruit to be sold in the American market. "I got us an apricot boat," Alex had teased Marita once the deal was sealed. After their brief adventure with the agents (long since ditched and forgotten with several hundred miles of ocean between them), a boat filled with crates of dried figs and dates felt like an anti-climax. But it would bring them back to the States with little to no possibility of interruption on the Atlantic Ocean. The captain had assured him in his thick accent after Alex had doubled the original negotiated price that no one would know of their presence on his ship.

And the retrieval of the well, preserved fetus had also been managed with little problem. Alex waited in a café across the street from the terminal, his face hidden behind a menu, and waited until the agents left the doors with their usual disgusted faces. They had been unsuccessful, while Alex held the key for the appropriate locker in his gloved fist. Once the agents were out of sight, Alex had re-entered the airport and took what he needed without interruption or care.

Everything went according to plan, which was unusual. It was so unusual, that Alex knew there had to be some detail he missed. He routinely forgot one thing on every trip he ever took. Usually it was just his toothbrush, but he worried that this time it was something more important that had escaped his attention. When Marita and he boarded the ship on the day of departure, they discovered that detail when they went below decks.

The captain had been kind enough to give them his own cabin. He told Alex that it was the nicest thing he could offer them, unless they preferred to sleep with the crew in the bunks on the lowest deck. Thinking of Marita's pretty legs and wide blue eyes, Alex agreed that sleeping in close quarters with over a hundred frustrated and lonely men was a bad idea. So Alex accepted the captain's kind offer.

But Alex had forgotten that the cabin contained only one bunk. He and Marita stared at the pitiful, narrow bed from the doorway. The room was tiny and had a small porthole just above the water level, but there was only one bunk. The bed was made up as nicely as a sea captain could manage. There was even a little sink. But it was still only one bed.

"I'll sleep with the crew. You stay here," Alex said after a moment. During the short pause of their surprise, he briefly entertained the idea of sleeping in her arms in the tiny bed, but he knew she would never allow him. Marita was nothing if not proper.

"You are not leaving me here alone."

"There's no place for me though."

"Alex, I am not staying here alone. I'm the only woman on the ship," Marita said with a nervous quiver to her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest and huddled against his shoulder. Her bottom lip pouted.

"Marita…"

"How long does it take to cross the ocean?"

"A few days."

"I can live with you for a few days."

Alex cleared his throat. He picked at a rivet in the wall.

"Aren't you getting married?" he said in a low tone that sounded resentful and dead to his own ears. The chug of the ship's engines vibrated the floor as they were started. Waves sloshed against the hull.

"If you want any credit for the fetus, you won't abandon me."

"I'm not going to abandon you Marita."

"Good." She acted as if it were decided with her last word and kicked off her shoes. After so many days of walking around the city, making preparations and connections, her feet were blistered and cut from the leather straps of her sandals. Alex shrugged and dropped his canvas backpack in the farthest corner of the room away from the door. There was a tiny desk at the corner built into the steel wall. Alex sat in the miniature chair and watched Marita rub her feet. She looked as if every limb had been shackled, which was half true.

"Let's go to the top deck and get some air," Alex said. He was desperate to forget the single bed.

Marita rubbed her eyes and leaned further back into the bed.

"Come on, Mare. Let's watch Tunisia disappear." Alex lifted her out of bed by her waist. She hesitated and then smiled. They left the cabin. Marita went barefoot, but the captain's decks were clean and clear of debris.

The watched from the stern as the distant, yellow land shrank in the horizon. It became too dark to see before the thin strip of land disappeared completely from the distance. The wind whipped Marita's white skirt. Alex felt renewed and rested. He took his chance to place a light hand around her thin waist. She neither removed it nor made an excuse to walk away.

After a brief meal of vegetable soup and couscous from the scullery, Alex and Marita returned to the captain's cabin only to find that the problem of beds had not fixed itself during their absence. Alex sat down in the corner at the desk and shuffled through a neat pile of Greek newspapers. He became engrossed in the language whose symbols had no meaning to him. It became something of a code to be broken. Languages had always been his specialty as a kid. So engrossed was he in the papers (trying to find repeated words in connection with the black and white pictures on the cover) that he didn't notice Marita unbuttoning the side of her skirt.

But the sound of dropped silk alerted him. It was a sound like sand trickling through an hourglass: a soft and elongated swish. Alex watched her from the corner of his eye. He didn't dare to make a sound, wondering if she had somehow forgotten his presence.

But when she yanked her tank top of her head, Alex couldn't ignore her. She wore a matching set of white bra and panties. Only his Marita would wear lingerie to the desert.

"What are you doing?" he couldn't help but ask. His eyes flicked between the Greek papers and Marita's glistening body.

"I was sweaty. And it's hot in here."

Alex agreed with her, but had to ask. "Do you want me to go?"

"No, it's fine. I just want to go to sleep." She crawled onto the narrow bed and sprawled out on the sheets, nuzzling her face into the pillow. "Much cooler here."

Alex could only pretend it was no less strange to be in a room with a partially clothed and engaged woman than she made it out to be. He labored to control himself. He tried to think of things besides her translucent panties and his swelling groin, but the Greek wasn't doing it anymore. He switched off the light, but his eyes adjusted to the dark. Marita appeared even more grace-like without the light.

"Are you coming to bed?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I think you know why."

"Just promise me you won't do anything bad."

"Excuse me?"

"I think you'd keep me a promise."

"I break promises to you all the time."

"About work, you do, but you have a different boss than me, so that's understandable."

"I won't do anything wrong," Alex said and knew it was true.

"Take off your clothes. I can smell you sweating through them."

Alex colored and pulled off his shirt. He stopped, but unzipped his pants after a moment's thought and let them fall to the floor. He wore only his black jockeys. Before he squeezed into bed with Marita, though, he dampened a towel hanging beside the sink and washed his body with quick strokes. The cold water hitting the air on his skin cooled and readied him for sleep.

"Wash my back?" Marita asked from the dark. Alex looked over his shoulder at her in the bed, but could not read her expression in the shadows. He ran the towel under the thin stream of water from the faucet and wrung out the excess. He handed it to Marita, but she refused to take it.

"Just my back. I can't reach it."

Alex took a long, deep breath. He sat down next to her. The foam mattress crushed beneath his muscular weight. Marita stretched beside him like a cat flexing its claws. He arranged the washcloth so it covered his hand like a glove. He would risk no part of his skin touching hers. Alex draped the cloth against her back. She shivered with the sudden chill of it. He smoothed it over her skin. Even through the terrycloth, he could tell she was the softest living thing he had ever touched. He twisted from the waist as he washed her, his legs remained planted on the floor.

Marita flipped onto her back without warning. Alex held the damp cloth motionless above her belly. She reached for his hand and silently led him through the rest of the bath across her collarbone, her breasts, her sternum and stomach. She had a little pooch to her belly that Alex found incredibly sexy, especially how the soft roll contrasted with the rest of her hard and sinewy body. She gave a content sigh as her hands stilled over his own. He tossed the towel in the sink.

"Are you going to lay down."

"That's all I want to do right now."

"You want to lay with me?"

"Yes."

It was easier to answer these sorts of questions in the dark. But Marita's halting voice jostled him from his trance.

"I won't cheat on Stan."

The name felt like a beating.

"I won't make you."

"…Thank you."

Alex lay down. The bed was a terrible fit. His legs hit the wall unless he retracted them. But he calmed as Marita stroked his hair with her long fingers. Before long, he felt himself drifting to sleep. She blew air at his chest and against his neck. The cool breath comforted him. He wrapped his arms around her without thinking and fell into a comfortable doze that turned into deep sleep.

Alex woke up first the next morning. The crack of light from the porthole was the only alarm he needed. He sat up and twisted his aching back. The bed had been a cramped fit. He rubbed at the sore muscles in his neck.

A light hand at his back made him jump.

"It's just me."

He knew it was Marita, but it was something else that bothered him. It was something he had not worried about the previous night, when it was too dark to see anything in the cabin besides Marita's ghostly lingerie.

"Who did this to your back." Her voice verged on hatred. Alex grabbed his t-shirt off the floor and tugged his over his head as fast as he could. Marita's hand didn't move to stop him.

"Alex…"

"Don't worry about it," he said, feeling ashamed. It had been so long since he had been in bed with a woman. He was so accustomed to covering his body; he had more or less forgotten his fear of being seen.

But she had seen it and it was horrible. The last woman who had seen his back had made an excuse and left that night before they had even had sex. It had been his last date. The shame of that night (and previous others) had put him off seeking the intimate company of others. Only when he began working with Marita at the Consortium did his interest in the opposite sex rekindle.

"I'm sorry," Marita said. Alex waited for her excuse. Perhaps it would be a logical explanation of why the crew's quarters suited him better than the captain's cabin. But the excuse never came.

"Don't be," Alex said.

"How…" Marita hesitated then continued, "How…did you get that scar?"

It occurred to Alex that no woman had asked him this before. Certainly, no man since his adolescence had either. Alex decided that if he truly was serious about Marita, this was something he would have to address.

"I was burned."

Marita waited, apparently struggling with herself, but finally asked "How?"

This was a difficult question to answer because he had never told this story before.

"When I was younger, they thought I had potential." Alex didn't need to clarify for Marita. She knew "they" meant the Consortium. But he didn't tell her that it was her father in particular who had seen his potential. Perhaps it had been Alex's good looks combined with his sharp intelligence and lean muscles. He had been such a pretty boy at age fourteen. Back then, his body had looked like a Grecian statue. But unlike many fourteen-year-olds, he had already mastered his strength and agility. To the Consortium, he had been more than Spender's boy; he was a useful asset who spoke fluent Russian and Arabic…who could be taught to do more.

"They took me to a bunker in Nevada and burned me with a hot iron until I was delirious." The words came out as if they belonged to someone else's mouth. Alex remained detached and unemotional.

Marita's arms wrapped around his shoulders and clasped together somewhere near his heart. He held her elbow and finished the story as quickly as he could. He had spent three months on his face, waiting for the skin to graft and heal. The old man had sat with him on most of those days and for once left the cigarettes in his coat pocket. It was an ugly scar that spanned his shoulder blades and half of his back on the right side.

"So I did what they told me to do after that." There was more to the story, but it was more than he was willing to tell. Alex did not say how the pain had brought on such a delirium that he had shot a prisoner brought in for the expressed purpose. He shot, execution style, whoever they threw in front of him. He hadn't known what he was doing.

He vaguely remembered Spender arguing with Marita's father in the background, swearing to his superior that he could train the boy. He had said he could brainwash him with patriotism instead. Marita's father told Spender that Alex would never be a patriot. At heart, he would always be a Russian.

But the pain from the white hot wire was universal. Many years later, Alex had heard that Spender fainted the day they burned him.

"I hate it," Alex said, referring to the painful scar.

"I hate it because they hurt you," Marita said in a fierce whisper. Alex glanced at her from the corner of his eye over his shoulder. Her face was hard and angry. Without warning, she climbed into Alex's lap and kissed him.

"You don't have to cover up because of me."

"I don't like thinking about it," he said as he pushed her lips away with one finger. She smacked his hand away.

"This isn't pity."

"What is it then."

"It's just not pity."

She looked as if she wanted to say something else.

"I just don't want to talk about it."

"Fine," she said with a tender voice. To Marita's credit, it was the last time they ever talked about it. Though it was not the last time Alex worried about his scar or how it appeared to her, but she never recoiled and she never overcompensated. He loved her more for that. But he did not remove his shirt for any reason unless hidden in the dark throughout that trip.

The following night, Alex lay beside Marita in bed with more ease than before. The light had been switched off; their clothes tossed to the floor; and the ritual of their bath completed. They lay side by side, staring up at the low ceiling of the bunk. Marita traced her fingers on corroded steel above them. She seemed to find a pattern etched into the metal.

"It's a heart."

"Hmm."

"Do you think the captain has a girlfriend?"

"I'm sure he has a girlfriend in every port."

"I don't think sailors really do that."

"Then you don't know what it's like to live alone without a woman for months at a time."

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Know what that's like?" Marita asked with sincerity. Her hand dropped from the low ceiling and rested casually on Alex's chest. He didn't remove it.

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"It's been a while then."

Alex refused to answer this question, but he knew Marita wouldn't let it rest unless he gave her some other piece of information to play with.

"I used to be in the army."

"You were a G.I.?"

"No, Russian army." He did not divulge the reason for why he had been sent there. It had too much to do with her father.

The back of Marita's hand smoothed circles over Alex's pectoral muscles. He alternated between tense and relaxed beneath her caresses.

"So no women then."

"Not really."

"Did you miss lying with a woman?"

"It…would have been nice to have somebody keeping my bed warm."

"I'm keeping your bed warm now," Marita said with a little snort as she rolled over and tucked her chin in the little space between Alex's shoulder and chest. She stopped her caresses to grasp his other shoulder.

"Too warm."

"Sorry, it's too hot isn't it. Do you need more space?" Marita asked and bolted up to give him some air. Alex laughed (though it sounded more like a grumble even to his ears) and pulled her down with a firm hand at the small of her exquisite, smooth back. Marita readily collapsed back beside him. One leg looped over his own. Her head settled back into the limp pillow. Her breath tickled Alex's bristled chin. He had to adjust himself below, but it did little good to assuage his arousal.

Marita made a content sound that signaled the imminence of sleep, yet her eyes remained open. The slits of her blue irises were clear from the moonlight filtering through the porthole.

Alex edged closer and touched his lips to hers. They made no sound. Her palm rose to rest on his cheek. He deepened the kiss, holding her face in his own hands. They teased each other with soft lips.

"No," Marita gasped. He lurched forward and pressed her against the wall. "I shouldn't."

Alex didn't respond. He would kiss her for as long as her body writhed against his. He would kiss her as long as her lips radiated warmth. He buried his groin between her legs, but did not spread them.

"Please, Alex."

He inhaled to catch his breath, but didn't remove the pressure off her body. Even as she broke off the kisses, her body continued to shake and press against him. He leaned forward and pushed the tip of his tongue between her lips.

"Stop."

Alex froze with his hands still holding her face. She swallowed audibly.

"I don't want to cheat on him."

"This isn't cheating."

"I don't want to hurt him this way."

"There's nothing wrong with kissing, Marita. We're not having sex. I'm not taking you." He crushed her with another kiss.

"You don't think so?"

"No. Cheating is sex."

"You're hard, Alex."

"But I'm not sleeping with you. I just want to kiss."

Marita dipped her tongue into his mouth like a flutter of a bird's wing. He ground against her like a wild man.

"Just kisses then. Nothing else."

"Fine," Alex said as he brought her hand up and kissed her healing wrists. He sucked at the skin.

"Just kisses. No hand jobs."

"Fine."

"No blowjobs."

"Ok."

"And no sex."

Alex answered her with another bruising kiss which she returned with equal fervor. The bunk creaked on its rivets. Despite her warnings, Alex tried many times to sneak her hand down to his crotch, but she smacked his gut and finally his balls each time he tried. He was only a man and became frustrated. He needed her body more than kisses. He needed to finish, but could not in her presence. It was maddening.

Neither Alex nor Marita slept that night. The urge to rub and touch was too much, rousing them from wakeful sleep. Later, Alex slept leaning against a coil of rope on the deck the next day. He left Marita to catch up on her own sleep in the cabin. The sun blazed and made his skin ache. Still he refused to see her, so pronounced was his arousal. When night fell, the howling, Atlantic wind drove him below decks. The crew's quarters smelt like sweat and male glands. There was no place to go on the ship besides the cabin and its intoxicating inhabitant.

Alex found Marita lying on her side; her face buried deep into the pillow. He considered retreating to the corner desk again, but decided that he was no coward. The vinyl lining of the mattress squeaked as he lowered himself to sit beside Marita. The base of his back brushed against her hip. She didn't shift away, but nor did she say anything. Marita was good at the silence game. Invariably, Alex had to be the first one to talk.

"I'm not just fooling around with you," he said. A rogue wave pounded hard against the hull. The lamp and sink shivered. "I'm serious about this." His tone was solemn. He had waited years to tell her these things.

"I know," Marita answered. Her voice came to him like an echo off the steel wall next to her face. Alex looked over his shoulder and hunched beneath the low ceiling of the bunk. She was twisting and rolling an object in her right hand as it rested on the stale sheets.

"What's that?" Alex asked, momentarily distracted. Marita smiled and pressed her face deeper against the pillow.

"It's nothing," she said as she tucked her clenched hand beneath the pillow.

"Show me."

Marita sighed.

"Only you would give me an uncut diamond."

"Excuse me?"

"It's a diamond, Alex." She raised her hand to show him the stone he had given her the previous Christmas. His belly made a galloping motion. Not only had she kept it, but she had brought it with her halfway across the Earth to Tunisia.

"I had no idea."

"You have to cut and polish diamonds to make them pretty."

"Are you going to do that?"

"No. And I'm not going to get it appraised either. But I know it's a much bigger diamond than this." She held her left hand aloft in a somewhat awkward position. Her engagement ring glittered even in the dim cabin. Alex held her hand and rubbed the offending finger.

"I didn't know the rock was valuable. I gave it to you so you would know that I was serious."

"Serious about what? Just tell me in plain language," Marita asked in a reproachful voice. She rolled over and looked him in the eyes without relinquishing her languid pose on the bed. It was the type of listless position a woman takes when she has been crying. Her eyes were dry now, though.

"I was serious about pursuing you."

"Pursuing me?"

"I don't want to date you, Marita. I just want you."

Marita closed her eyes and tucked her chin to her chest. She gave a warm smile and said nothing. Alex's fingers sought her own. The pressure of their squeeze was strong.

For the remaining five days of their trip across the Atlantic, they spent every night together in bed. However, Marita refused to move beyond kisses and gentle caresses. Alex was forced to use a military-like degree of self-control. He asked for nothing more of her than she was willing to give.

Each day that they drew closer to New York, Alex noticed that Marita seemed to sink into a depression. She would pull away from him at night after hours of teases from her own lips. She stopped joining him on the upper decks after their simple suppers. More often than not, Alex found her curled up on the bed, rolling the stone between her fingers. On the last day, when the American shore was visible on the western horizon, Marita looked ghastly pale despite the golden sunset they faced. She hugged herself as she leaned back on her heels. The wind blew tendrils of her blonde hair into her eyes. Alex watched her with concern from his position against the railing.

"Something wrong?"

"Everything."

5. Swingers, baby.

Weeks later, Alex and Marita were forced to resettle into the routines of their lives. So busy was Alex decoding the new Alien genome, that he had little time to see Marita. She made little attempt to see him either. In fact, she appeared to be avoiding him all together.

A week after their return, he had stepped onto the crowded elevator at the Consortium headquarters. Marita was one of the many passengers. She got off on the next floor, though Alex had known she had no business to be there.

When he found a little free time, he tried to visit her office. But the young secretary guarding the door told him that Marita had specifically asked to remain undisturbed.

"But to be honest, I think she really meant that she didn't want to be disturbed by you," the youth said as he clicked spasmodically on the computer mouse. His eyes were focused on the screen. The kid's tone was factual rather than malicious. Alex lost himself for a moment, wondering how he had offended her. The secretary cleared his throat. Alex left feeling a horrible weight in his stomach. He had forgotten how much relationships could physically hurt.

A realization came over him as he walked down the halls of the headquarters like a zombie. It was as he had originally feared, all those months ago at Christmas time: he had come on to strong and it had offended her. He noticed from their infrequent passes in the halls that her engagement ring remained on her finger. Most likely, she was disgusted at his forward behavior. He had been corrupting her and this isolation was his punishment. He left work early that day.

Over and over, as he walked home to the warehouse district, he berated himself and his lack of control. For years he had maintained a cool façade around her, why had he decided to change that? He kicked at a can. It skittered across the littered asphalt and bounced against the rotting door of his warehouse. A white envelope lay on the ground where the can had rolled beside the front step. Alex stooped over and collected it. There was no address or name written on the outside. He took out his ice pick and flicked out the thin blade. He used it to tear through the top of the envelope.

There was a letter inside, written in a feminine boarding school style penmanship. He knew it came from Marita without looking at the signature. So anxious was he to hear anything from her, he read the note outside oblivious to the lack of cover. A warm, spring wind tickled his face as he bent over the paper.

"Come by tonight to the Plaza. The Consortium's having a party," the letter read. Normally, Alex avoided these affairs. He hated any event that forced him to wear a tie, but he more so avoided the Consortium's parties because of rumors he had heard over the years. Marita's short message continued for an additional line and made him forget those disturbing pieces of gossip. "Please come. I'll meet you on the balcony."

The instructions made his groin tighten. He had to remind himself that he was probably making it sound more risqué than she actually meant it. But still, balconies were out of sight and out of the way. They were discreet. Alex found he wanted to go to the party more than anything.

He arrived late that night in the sumptuous gold room at the Plaza. Mirrors lined the walls and reflected the crystal chandeliers with dizzying infinitude. Men and women laughed into their drinks. One woman dressed in a skin-tight, purple dress dragged her finger tips across Alex's chest as he walked past her, but he swatted her hand away with a frown. He moved with determination towards the open glass doors of the balcony at the back of the room.

The air outside was the temperature of a warm and comforting bath. For a second, the transition between the garish lights of the party made gold spots dance before his eyes against the darkness of the city night. It took a moment to adjust to the lower light. The railing was made of wrought iron. He was alone on the balcony.

"Be patient," Alex reminded himself. He stood at the threshold of the doors and waited for a caterer to pass him with a tray filled with champagne glasses. He snagged one and downed it. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched the crowd for some sign of Marita.

The dress code was unusually bizarre and sensual for the Consortium affiliates. Most were low level accountants, stewards and secretaries. In short, the grinding crowd was mostly composed of the Consortium's logistical staff. But there were a few major players. Spender was smoking in a corner, but hadn't appeared to notice Alex. He looked horribly out of place. For a moment, Alex felt an overwhelming urge to sit with the old man; to feel anything familiar in the strange crowd. But he would never admit to needing the old man, no matter how much it was true. He was no longer a child.

Instead, Alex resorted to his training to bring back a level of comfort in the chaotic surroundings. He mentally noted every detail he could discern and repeated the list of sightings to test his recall. There were many women holding onto their companions' ties like they were dog leashes. One man was groping another man's ass. Many couples were kissing. A pair of women began to kiss, much to the hoots and encouragements of the men surrounding them. These women separated and picked the best looking men that had gathered around their show.

His breathing stopped as his heart lurched. Marita had just entered the room. She wore a heavy and unsuitable, mink coat. A hotel staff man, dressed in a red uniform, appeared and helped her out of her coat. After the oppressive garment had been discarded, she sought the hand of her fiancé.

Marita's fiancé was not a bad guy. It killed Alex to say it, but Stan was just a nice guy no matter how many times he had referred to him as a creep. Stan wore his curly hair a tad long around the ears. His grey suit was Burberry and well-tailored. He smiled and talked to friends through the crowd. His friends answered with equal smiles and quick words.

Stan was the sort of guy who cheered for the Dallas Cowboys, but never rubbed it in your face when they beat your team. He was a stockbroker and worked long hours in the New York exchange. He was strictly non-Consortium, but knew many of the members socially because of his father. Stan Strunghold was not a bad man, but there was one thing that Alex felt was unacceptable: his utter lack of responsibility to the conspiracy. Maybe it was easier to be a nice guy if you didn't have to worry about colonization or alien viruses. It had to be easier to be entirely ignorant of the existence of extraterrestrials. Alex both envied and hated this in of Stan Strunghold. More than once he wondered how Marita could live with a man who shared none of her fears. Alex returned his attention to her and tried to forget the reasons why Stan would make a good husband.

Marita picked at the beaded cover of her clutch. She bit at a fingernail until Stan pulled her hand away from her mouth with a gentle motion. Her nervous pallor distracted Alex, but his masculine instincts resurfaced.

She was wearing the most revealing dress he had ever seen her wear. She seemed to be exposing more skin than the times he had seen her in her underwear alone. The dress was leopard print and made of a light material that swished and floated as she walked with her arm linked with Stan's. Her breasts were almost fully exposed. She looked…sluttish, and for tonight, that suited Alex.

He had to slink back from the dark to conceal his hard-on. He tried to wrangle his cock by gripping it from the inside of his pocket. Marita's eyes glanced at the balcony doors. He couldn't tell whether she saw him or not. Despite how attractive Alex found her, he realized that she was afraid and nervous to see him. Across the room, he recognized the quiver of her face that signaled her upset.

Marita whispered something in Stan's ear, who didn't have to lean much to hear her. He nodded and resumed his conversation with a sporty looking young woman. Marita grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it in a similar manner Alex had done only half an hour before. She walked towards Alex with agonizing slowness. He slunk to a darker corner on the balcony and leaned against the railing.

Marita's silhouette appeared at the door. The wind played with the hem of her dress. She gripped the edges of her dress to keep it from flying up. Alex suspected she was naked beneath the little slip.

"Hi," Marita said with agonizing awkwardness.

"Hi." He could think of nothing cooler to say. He did, however, want to drag her against his body. But she was like a spooked deer. She needed to be coaxed, not forced, or else she would jump back to the safety of the anonymous party. Alex rubbed the back of his neck. As always, he would have to begin the meat of the conversation.

"Haven't seen you much."

"I've been busy," Marita said. She wrung her clutch between her hands.

"So have I. The DNA's been difficult to decode."

"Notice any significant within-group variation yet?" Marita asked. It was easier to talk about the technicalities of work than what had passed between them since the boat.

"No, actually. The sequence is similar to previous samples. But there are some small differences. I'm going to Russia day after tomorrow to talk to some xenobiologists in my group."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I'm definitely not giving you any specifics, Marita," Alex said, his voice teasing. Her face relaxed into an easy smile.

"I thought I made a pretty good partner," she said, mimicking his tone and expression. She leaned beside him on the rail. The nervous quiver of her lips had resided.

"You were a decent partner."

She gave a bitter laugh.

"How are your wrists by the way?" Alex asked. He reached for her hand with hesitation. When she didn't shy away, he closed the gap.

"They're fine. I heal quickly. It was hard explaining it all to Stan, though." Even in the night, Alex could see her face darken. She swallowed and opened her mouth, but she waited a few seconds to talk as if gathering her thoughts. "I…have a hard time lying to him."

Alex said nothing. It was her turn to speak and clear the heaviness between them.

"I'm sorry I avoided you. I just felt guilty."

Alex wanted to tell her that he was sorry, but apologies were difficult for him. He squeezed her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "My fault." It was the most he could manage over his pride and hurt.

"No, Alex. It wasn't. I wanted to do those things too. But I felt horrible…"

"It's ok." He couldn't tell her not to worry about it. It was a problem. He wasn't about to give her up yet. He wouldn't tell her to return to her fiancé no matter how much that might have been a good idea.

"It's hard."

"Mmm-hmm."

"I mean, it's hard to stay away from you," Marita said. Alex recognized the irony. She was nestled against his chest as he held her. He rested his chin on top her head with little effort. He chucked her beneath the chin and held her with two fingers. She hesitated and tried to look down, but Alex wouldn't let her. He leaned down and kissed her full lips, clutching her against to his aroused body. Her lips stayed flat and motionless at first. He pushed her against the side wall. She lost her reserve and ground against him. They made out like teenagers.

A gentle cough startled their tryst. Alex pushed back, but kept his arms pressed against the wall on either side of Marita. She looked even paler than she had when she first walked into the door.

Stan stood just in the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets. The light from the party illuminated half his face, but it was unreadable. Marita pushed at Alex's chest, but he refused to move. Something about Stan's posture made him wary.

"That is so hot," Stan said in his usual, calm voice but there was also a hint of lust. "Rita, I'm so glad you finally loosened up about this."

Marita gave a weak smile that Alex knew was a lie. He didn't understand. He felt like a fool and had no idea of how to respond.

"Do you mind if I watch?" Stan asked. He stepped out onto the porch and took a position at the opposite corner. Alex was speechless. Of all the strange quirks to have, he hadn't pegged Stan for a voyeur. But Marita interrupted his contemplation and gave Alex a chaste kiss with two hands clapped against his ears. She broke the kiss and tried to duck beneath his outstretched arms. Alex would have let her pass, but Stan's voice made her freeze in place.

"Please," he begged. She looked up at Alex, who looked down at her for direction. Her lips were so pouty. Her breasts looked so ripe for squeezing. Alex found himself losing control again. He jumped against her. He shook her breasts roughly. She gasped against his mouth. Stan made a similar noise. Alex backed away. The second gasp had violated his connection with Marita. She leaned back against the wall as if her knees couldn't support her. She turned away her face from both men.

"She hates this swinger stuff, but I love it. I love these parties," Stan said in a monotone. Alex glanced back inside with disgust. Men were using their undone ties to make blindfolds for the women. The caterers had disappeared. Spender was also missing from the scene. The blindfolded women stumbled around the room until they fell into the arms of an eager man. Couples left together, man leading woman. Alex assumed they were moving down the hall to the plush rooms.

"Is this ok, Rita?" Stan asked. His voice wasn't cruel. She could say no if she wanted. Alex wasn't sure of the right answer. It occurred to him that if she agreed to the blindfold, it wouldn't be Stan taking her to bed. As far as Alex could tell from the party, the point was to find an anonymous stranger to spend the night with. Marita stood up straighter and pulled her shoulders back.

"I'll do it, if you put on a blindfold too."

"Ok, that's fair. Loan me your tie, Alex," Stan asked in an eager, but still polite tone. Alex felt a wave revulsion. He didn't want to take part in this and it confused him that Marita had agreed to such treatment. She glared at Stan. Perhaps it was a sort of rebellion? Alex couldn't tell, he didn't understand the dynamic between the couple. He only knew that he wanted Marita.

"Here." He undid the knot of his red tie and slid the end through his collar. He threw it Stan. Stan flipped it over his shoulder and undid his own tie. Marita turned around so her back faced her fiancé. He took his own tie and wrapped it around her eyes. He made an overly tight knot and gave her a gentle push at the small of the back towards the party. The giggles and playful screams inside were deafening.

Alex watched her stumble. Her hands were stretched before her body, shaking with what he would call anger. Stan wore a big grin on his face as he tied his own blindfold.

Inside, a man grabbed Marita and tried to tickle her. She didn't laugh. Her body crumpled. Alex brushed past Stan and walked around Marita. He shoved the offending idiot out of the way and wrestled her to his body. She struggled against him. Alex didn't talk as he led her out of the room. She stumbled on her high heels. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Marita hung lifeless as if she had given up any hope. Alex was tempted to yell at her for such behavior, but he needed to do something else more.

There was an empty bedroom at the end of the hall. He had to duck a little as he opened the door to prevent Marita from hitting her head on the door frame. The furnishings were as lush as the ball room, but the décor was akin to a whorehouse. The carpet was plush red and left little white imprints where Alex had stepped. The four poster bed was painted gilt. The wall above the headboard was tiled with square mirrors. Alex dropped Marita on the bed. He refrained from cradling her head as she fell. He knew any careful touch would give him away. It was necessary to take on a harsher approach to the bed than he was normally accustomed. He didn't want Marita to know it was him.

She kicked off her heels. They thumped on the carpet. But she didn't spread her legs, nor did her obscured expression change from its robotic intensity. Alex leaned down and kissed the hollow of her neck. She didn't respond. He rubbed his hands along the sides of her tiny waist as he straddled her. His hand traced down to her thigh, pushing back her dress. He fondled her thigh and reached higher still. A glimmer of arousal tugged at her lips. Alex rubbed his groin between her legs. She bent her knees around either side of his hips and moved with him.

When they removed their clothes (a short affair for Marita), Alex feared she might recognize the feel of his skin. But he was only kidding himself. She made no signs of recognition. She refused to speak. Alex kept his mouth shut as well, unless it was to suck on an ample piece of her body. There was no danger of her recognizing his cock. She had never felt it before.

When he slid inside of her, he nearly came from sheer excitement. She was smooth, warm and tight: everything he had imagined she would be. But this time he wasn't alone in bed thinking how supple her pussy would feel, he was actually with her, and it caused an overwhelming sense of adoration to build painfully in his chest. Her moans and gasps built into a crescendo. A low chuckle escaped his lips. He hadn't expected her to be noisy in bed, but he liked it.

The laugh cued her to something. She quieted between thrusts and tried to push off the blindfold from her eyes. Alex flipped her over doggy style and rammed her body against the pillows. She screamed and dropped her hands to the mattress to support the position.

They orgasmed together. Marita was seconds ahead, so the spasm and ripples of her clenching pussy drove Alex past control. He gripped her hips and her ass as he came, slamming his pelvis against her ass, struggling to remain silent. When it was over, they collapsed. Their breaths came in heavy heaves, but slowed and cooled after a few minutes. Alex held her against his chest and rubbed his head against hers. She moved her hand up again to take off the blindfold. He stopped her, kissed her nose, and slid out of bed. His clothes were in a messy pile on the floor next to Marita's slip.

"Wait," she said, sitting up in bed. She dragged the sheet up to cover her pert breasts. The diamond of her engagement ring flashed. Before she could rip off the blindfold, Alex pulled her up and kissed her with every pent up feeling and unsaid affection he contained. She tugged at the tie, but Alex grabbed her hand away from her face. The ring twisted on her finger beneath his hand. He pulled it off and walked away. She dropped to the bed, perhaps from exhaustion or even frustration.

He didn't want to stand in the hall long. It was quieter now. The party had dissipated. A door opened at the far end. A balding head peeked out, saw Alex, and slammed the door.

Alex examined the ring in his hand. He didn't understand what processed him to take it. It was a heavy thing, made of a gold band and three diamonds that caught the light even in the dim hall. He pocketed the trinket and left before Marita could find him.

6. The Dinner Party

Alex avoided Marita for a week after the swingers' party out of embarrassment and acute guilt. His trip to Russia gave him a little time to cool off after their encounter. It also gave him the chance to consider the repercussions. It occurred to him that he hadn't used a condom. He hoped Marita was on some sort of birth control. But more than anything, even more than an unwanted pregnancy, Alex was afraid she would hate him if she ever found out they had made love without her acknowledged consent. He was scared she would lump him together with the rest of those swingers, or worse, find no difference between him and her fiancé. For not the first time, Alex condemned his masculine nature and asked a higher power for more self-control.

Throughout the trip, he played with Marita's engagement ring. It fit only up to the second knuckle of his pinky ring. He kept it in his pocket. He hated the pretty little thing, because it was everything he couldn't be for her. And it was the symbol of what kept her from his arms. Yet, he couldn't stop twisting the ring between his fingers. It became a compulsion even as the scientists briefed him on the alien genome.

The night he returned back to the States (after as comfortable a twenty hour plane flight as could be expected), Spender met him at the airport terminal. His old man, smoking a cigarette as always, had a folder tucked beneath his arm.

"What's that?" Alex asked, feeling the weight of jetlag on his eyes. He shouldered his backpack and stifled a yawn. Spender exhaled smoke at the linoleum floor.

"Just need you to deliver something for me," he said as he handed the folder over. Alex glanced inside. It was a report about bees and bee husbandry (or the lack thereof) at a farm, just across the Canadian border.

"Bees?"

"It's for Marita. Can you get it to her?"

"Why can't you just give it to her tomorrow?"

"She needs it tonight. She'll be getting a visit early tomorrow morning, so I want her prepared."

"Why don't you just send a courier then?"

"Curiosity killed the cat, Alex."

It was a common scolding that Alex had received from the old man for most of his life. Years ago, he would have dug deeper and found out more answers than he should have known just out of spite. Now, he would find those answers anyway, but he checked his curiosity at a professional level. The request was odd, but he would understand Spender's motivation soon enough. He reasoned that the best way to do this was to ask Marita herself.

"Fine," Alex said with a yawn. He covered his mouth and blinked his eyes.

"Need money for a cab?"

"No, I do not need money for a cab." He meant to sound adult, but it came out more petulant than anything else. Spender smiled and offered him a cigarette. Alex refused, as always.

"Just making sure," Spender said in a paternal tone. Things had been better between them recently, but it only took one incident to renew their frequent falling-outs.

Alex knew the location of Marita's apartment from memory (he knew where all the major Consortium players lived), though he had never visited there himself. It was one of the classic apartment buildings on the Upper East side: beautiful stonework and large windows. The ring in his pocket seemed to become heavier the closer he came to Marita. As Alex stood beneath the awning, the doorman watched him with interest.

"Are you meeting someone?" the doorman asked in a clipped tone.

Alex hesitated, but could not find the answer fast enough in his sleep-hazed mind.

"Um…"

"Then I suggest you be on your way, kid."

"Excuse me?" He at least understood the insult. Twenty-six years old and people still called him "kid" and "boy" to get a rise out of him. He marched up to the doorman's bearded face and was about punch him in the nose, but a hand grabbed his elbow.

It was Marita, clutching a paper bag to her chest. The bag kept slipping out of her grasp. Alex stared at her, a little baffled and confused.

"It's ok, Tom. He's a friend of mine."

The doorman swallowed and turned purple faced.

"Very good, Ms. Covarrubias. Or should I start calling you Mrs. Strunghold now?"

"Covarrubias is fine. Come on in, Alex," Marita said as if he were her dearest friend. Alex followed her like a puppy. He took the bag from her in the elevator. It was contained a few wheels of cheeses, two plastic bags of zucchini and eggplant, and a baguette.

"What was that all about? Why are you here?" Marita interrogated him as the elevator dinged each passing floor. She spoke in a stage-whisper.

"This is for you," Alex said as he handed her the folder. He nearly dropped the grocery bag. Marita took it and gave the inside a cursory glance. The elevator jolted to a stop at the 13th floor. The doors opened. Something smelt like it was burning in the hallway. Alex sniffed felt his sleep-deprived brain awaken.

"Do you smell that?"

Marita didn't answer him. She was digging through her purse for her keys with her nose still pressed between the pages of the folder.

"I think something's burning." He felt a rise of panic. His instinct was to grab Marita and drag her down the stairs, but she was so intent with the bee report that it was difficult to catch her attention.

Alex saw the smoke oozing out from underneath her door just as she got it unlocked. Marita squinted in the haze.

"Oh my god!" She dropped the folder and her purse in the hallway and ran inside. Alex dropped the grocery bag, accidentally stepped on an eggplant as it rolled out, and raced after her.

Marita was crouched beside the oven, waving a potholder over a smoking lump on a pan she had pulled from the oven. The smell was acrid and noxious. Alex nudged her out of the way and took the pot holder from her. He picked up the pan with one hand and dumped it in the sink. Marita turned on the faucet. Smoke billowed from the charred lump, but the pan cooled.

"What am I going to do?"

"What was that?" Alex asked her.

"Pork tenderloin! I'm having a dinner party tonight for some of Stan's friends."

"Not anymore."

"They're on their way, Alex! What am I going to serve them?" She coughed over the diminishing smoke. Alex sighed and stretched his neck to the side. The vertebrae gave a satisfying pop. He waved the pot holder over the pork to diffuse the smoke.

"What do you have in the fridge?"

"Not much," Marita said as she opened the door. The light illuminated her worried, pinched features. She looked as if she were on the edge of tears. Alex dropped the pot holder and inspected the refrigerator with her. There was a jar of pickles, a half gallon of skim milk, three green peppers, and two cartons of eggs.

"Do you have any onions?"

"Yeah, I just got some. Where's the grocery bag?"

"In the hall."

Marita left him to pick up the things they had dropped. Alex grabbed the green peppers and the eggs from the fridge. One of the cartons had expired a few days earlier, but he figured that the date was just an estimate anyway. He opened a few cabinets until he found a large bowl. Marita kicked her purse inside, she held the folder and the ripped grocery bag to her chest. Two onions rolled out and hit the floor.

"Here," she said as she kicked them across the kitchen tiles to Alex. He picked them up and set them aside. Little flecks of the papery skin dusted the granite counter-top. He cracked an egg. The perfect, golden yolk dropped into the bowl. Marita flicked on a light switch.

"What are you making?"

"Frittata."

"What's that?"

"Sort of a Spanish omelet. Do you have any more meat besides the pork?"

"I think there's some sausage frozen in the freezer."

"Defrost it."

Marita watched him crack another egg before she moved on. He could do it one handed. She found the sausage after rustling through the freezer and stuck it in the microwave to melt off the ice. When he finished off the eggs he handed the bowl over to Marita and told her to beat it. Meanwhile, Alex found a knife and began chopping the onions.

"I didn't know you could cook."

"I can't really. But I can do eggs."

"How come?"

"They're just easy and they cook fast."

"Hmm, bachelor skill then."

"Pretty much. What happened to your pork?"

"I don't know. The apartment manager just installed the oven, and I guess it gets a lot hotter than my old one."

"When will your guests be here?"

"Half hour to forty-five minutes."

"At least the food with be warm."

Marita sliced the sausage while Alex found a few potatoes in a basket on top of the refrigerator. They had grown roots and leaves. He pinched off the growths and washed away the dirt in the sink. He had the potatoes soft and fried within fifteen minutes.

"This is going beyond bachelor cooking," Marita said in an incredulous voice. She watched him work as he flipped the chunks of potatoes in the sizzling pan.

"I'm Russian. I was born to fry potatoes," he said and Marita laughed, smiling for the first time since he met her at the door.

Five minutes before Stan arrived, Marita and Alex had assembled the frittata in the frying pan (eggs poured over the chopped sausage, potatoes, green peppers, and onions) and stuffed the whole dish into the oven. Marita set it to a lower temperature. Stan knocked politely at the door. Marita let him in.

"Hi!" she said a tad too brightly. He kissed her cheek and handed her a bottle of white wine.

"Here you go, sweetie-pie."

"Oh thanks!"

In a delayed moment, Alex realized that he was trapped in the kitchen with the man who got off watching him and Marita make-out. Stan stopped short when he saw Alex wiping down the counters with a dish rag.

"Well hey there," Stan said in a friendly tone, but it wasn't enough to mask his surprise.

"Hi. Sorry, I was just…" Alex didn't know what to say. He hadn't been doing anything wrong. He had delivered the folder, and then helped out Marita in the kitchen. There was no reason to feel guilty. He was caught frying potatoes, not fucking Stan's fiancé. But Alex felt as if he had been caught and he hated that feeling more than anything else in the world.

"He was just delivering some work for me and then the pork…"

"…was burning, so we had to throw it out."

"And then Alex…"

"…I just helped her out a little. She made a frittata instead."

"My girl made a frittata?" Stan asked with a smile. "That was sweet of you."

"Well, I didn't want your guests to starve," she said in a smoother voice. She was a good liar.

"It's probably done," Alex said as he nudged her foot. Stan shook his hand and asked Alex to stay for dinner. He tried to back out of it, but the jet-lag had a way of hitting him at inopportune times. He could think of no excuse and found himself bundled together with the rest of the arriving guests at the long, dinning room table.

The frittata was hearty and warm. The wine made him even sleepier. The guests prattled and despite his stupor, Alex became aware that these were mostly Stan's stock broker friends. Marita didn't seem to know anyone. She forced a smile for most of the night and used a set of manners she must have learned in finishing school: she talked easily with these strangers about more or less nothing. At one point in the evening, Stan asked Marita why she wasn't wearing her engagement ring. Marita answered without hesitation that she was having it refitted at her family's jeweler. Stan nodded and turned to talk to his friend about the state of the S&P 500.

Alex downed his wine and caught Marita's eye over his glass. They looked at each other for a moment too long.. It was Stan's soft voice that broke the trance.

"So, do you work with my girl a lot?"

Stan sat beside him and took a tiny sip from his glass. He looked calm and relaxed. Alex hoped this was just polite conversation.

"A little bit. Not a lot."

"In that 'secret' organization of yours?" Stan said with a good-natured laugh. It wasn't meant to be a cruel comment, but Alex took offense to it anyway. He wanted to tell Stan that it was secret so he could sleep easy at night.

"It's not my organization. You're father helped found it," Alex said instead.

"Wish someone would let me in on the secret."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do! I've always been curious."

Alex smiled.

"I'll tell you our secret."

"Cool! Let's hear it."

"Marita and I work for a Consortium that represents the interests of the earth in conjunction with extraterrestrials. We've been plotting with the aliens for over fifty years in an attempt to delay colonization."

Stan roared with sloppy, drunken laughter. He slapped Alex on the back.

"Sure. God, what is it you guys really do, weapon deals? Spook stuff?"

"Alex is the spook," Marita said. She rested her chin against her hand. "He does our reconnaissance work, but he also works on our vaccination program on the side."

"Vaccination?" asked one of the guests.

"Against the alien virus," Alex explained. "It's the only life-stage that has any potential for us to use against colonization."

"So he says, but my daddy would disagree and so would yours, Stan," Marita said. She smirked at Alex. He returned her expression.

The guests laughed and laughed at the joke. The conversation easily shifted to good alien movies, which brought up E.T. After that, the guests discussed Steven Spielberg. Alex sat in silence, letting the stock brokers talk. He caught Marita's eye from time to time. She looked equally bored, although they made a game with their eyes though neither knew the rules. Alex tried to tell her he loved her with little gestures and expressions, but it had to be covert. He didn't want Stan to see. Marita rolled her own eyes, bit her lip, and raised her brows. But Alex couldn't decipher the message any better than he guessed she understood his.

At around 1:00 a.m., the guest began to look at their watches and make their goodbyes. They thanked Marita for the meal (which had been a hit). It took about a half an hour for everyone to leave.

Finally, even Stan rubbed his eyes and asked for a coffee to get him back to his own apartment. Alex noted that for an engaged couple, it was a little odd that they continued to live separately even though the wedding was only two months away. Marita brewed the coffee and gave Stan a traveling mug of the steaming drink. Alex felt the smell alone wake him from his jet-lag.

"Alright, sweetie. I'll see you on Friday then?"

"Sure."

"You want to share a cab, Alex?" Stan asked. He took a sip of his coffee. Alex wondered if Stan was smarter than he looked.

"Actually, I'm just going to walk home. It's not far." This was a lie, of course. He needed a moment alone with Marita.

"Do you need help with the dishes, sweetie?"

"No, there's not that much to do. I might just leave them for the morning," Marita answered. She made a big show of yawning and running her hands through her disheveled hair. Stan gave her a peck on the mouth and left without a glance over his shoulder. Alex exhaled in relief. He hadn't realized how nervous he had been with Stan hovering around.

"Help me with the dishes?" Marita asked. She moved to the sink and began running water over crumb filled plates. Alex yawned and nodded. They worked in an easy silence. He gave each dish and utensil a quick scrub beneath the streaming water, then handed the item to Marita to be placed in the dishwasher.

"Do you think Stan…?" Alex asked. His voice was low and secretive.

"I don't know. You saw how he was at the party." Marita sounded both frightened and depressed.

"Yeah, that was a little weird."

"I'm sorry. He has different tastes than I do."

"Does…he make you do that a lot?"

"No." A glass clinked hard against the counter. Alex rinsed the last dish. He leaned against the counter and felt the prick of the ring in his pocket. Without thinking, he took it out and held it up to the shady light above the sink. He considered it for a moment. It felt like the right time to uncover all his secrets. He set the ring down on the counter beside Marita.

She flipped the dishwasher shut with the back of her foot. The sparkle on the counter caught her eye. She froze, her hands poised in the air. Alex felt his face flush. Marita's own skin turned deep red. They remained silent for minutes, staring at the little trinket on the counter.

"I don't know what to say." For once, it was Marita who broke the silence.

"You don't have to say anything."

"Why?" she asked, looking away from the ring for the first time. She looked him straight in the eyes and like a cat, Alex felt he the urge to look away.

"I wanted you."

"Do you just take whatever it is you want?" Her voice was hard and angry. The pitch rising. "You just take my ring, and you just fuck me because you wanted it."

Alex had no response. They stood in silence. The kitchen clock ticked off the seconds in the quiet apartment.

"You made me cheat on him."

"No, you let yourself be blindfolded. You always let people push you around and force you into things you don't want to do."

"Apparently, I slept with you without wanting to."

"That's a lie." Alex grabbed her wrist and pulled her against his chest. She struggled to twist out of his grip, but he wouldn't let her. "You've been teasing me for months." It was a weak justification, but he used it anyway. Deep down, he thought Marita had every right to refuse him, but he had stopped caring a long time ago about morality.

"You had no right."

"Fine, I didn't then. But who cares."

She burst into tears. Alex stiffened in surprise. He held her closer and she didn't fight him off. He begged her not to cry. It made his throat clench painfully to hear her sob against his chest. His shirt became damp and sticky with her tears. He picked her up as she were a little girl and walked to the living room. He sat down in the cushioned love seat, holding her close.

"I told you I was serious about this, Mare. I meant that."

"I know," she sniffled. Alex held her cheek and kissed her slick lips. He felt a surge of relief when she kissed him back.

"Why did you take the ring?" she asked after she had calmed down. The tears ran out of eyes like leaks, but the heartbreaking sobs had left her shoulders. Alex kissed her hair and thought about the answer. He hadn't known at the time, but it seemed simpler when she was in his arms.

"I didn't want you to marry him."

"Well that's obvious."

"Come to bed with me. Be my wife, instead."

"It's never that simple, Alex."

"It is, Marita. Break it off with Stan. Be with me."

"Why?"

"Because…"

"No, Alex. You have to give me a reason."

"I can think of lots of reasons why you shouldn't marry Stan."

"I know why I shouldn't marry him. But why should I be with you? Or why do you want to be with me?"

Alex closed his eyes and felt utter exhaustion. His neck ached. He just wanted to fall asleep with Marita in his arms, he didn't want to think of the reasons why he needed her so badly. There was no definitive reason. He just needed her, like he needed to breathe and eat. But Marita would never accept such an answer and he knew there was something more to it than dependency. It came to him. With a sudden hit of inspiration, his tired brain revealed the reason he needed to be with her.

"I need you to be with me, so I can protect you from colonization. Because I don't trust anyone else to save you."

Marita stared at him in silence through drenched, blue eyes.

"Is that how you see the world? Everyone with a death sentence over their head?" she asked. Her tone was frightened, but her face wasn't accusatory. It was a sincere question.

"I don't want you to die." He had to harden himself and his face against the terrifying thought. Some men might have cried at the thought of losing their beloved, but Alex became like a stone. If he lost her, he would be nothing but bitterness.

She reached her cool hands around the back of his neck and leaned closer to kiss him.

"I love you."

"Why?" Alex asked.

"Because you're the only one I can really trust. You're my partner."

Alex kissed her harder. They held one another with the distinct knowledge of when the world would end and how long they had to be together. The fear was almost debilitating, but they had a responsibility to each other. Alex promised himself that he would always take care of her. He understood that she gave him a similar promise. Marita led Alex into the bedroom that night. The ring remained on the counter, forgotten.

"Do you think we've already been married to each other for a while now?" Marita asked him in the morning. He was spooned against her. The dawn light was soft and golden. Alex kissed her bare shoulders in agreement. She had been his wife for years, fighting and making up with big and little gestures, always with the knowledge that there was no use trying to break apart. They were stuck with each other, for better or for worse.

7. The Baptism

A few weeks later, Alex was surprised to receive an invitation in the mail to the baptism of one of Marita's nieces. He stood in the post-office leaning against the P.O. boxes as he read the card. It was decorated with an image of an angel cradling a child in its lap. The invitation directed him to join the family at their church for the christening of the newest child belonging to one of Marita's many sisters. It was unheard of to be invited to so intimate affair. It made Alex hopeful.

On the day of the baptism, Marita's father, cornered Alex behind the church organ before the service started. They were only feet from the open door. Her father's hair was parted neatly as usual. He looked as proper as ever with his neat handkerchief square in his breast pocket. Alex was nervous and wasn't sure what to expect.

"Marita has shown me your engagement present to her."

"Excuse me?"

"My daughter surprised us in Surrey, last weekend. She doesn't normally visit our country estate, but there she was, interrupting the limited time I have with my grandchildren. And she sits down with me in the garden and shows me this stone. An unpolished, clear, pink diamond. God knows how many carats, but it's larger than my thumb."

Alex cleared his throat. He found it immensely embarrassing to learn of the stone's popular value. It just didn't matter to him.

"I thought she had bought it from Christie's or even a black market dealer. But she tells me that she received it from you…Is this true?"

"Yes, sir," Alex said, wondering why he had to question his own daughter's story.

"Then she tries to tell me what the rock means. I couldn't make heads or tails of it, she just kept repeating the word "serious." But I think I understand the gist of what she meant."

Alex didn't reply.

"But I want to hear it straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak. It's your gift. What did you mean by it?" he said in a harsh monotone.

Alex took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye with unwavering attention.

"It means I would like to marry her. I gave her the stone to show her I was serious."

"You have a funny way of courtship, Alex Krycek. So sudden."

"It wasn't sudden. I've…been patient."

"Then convince me, why I should let the two of you marry. Why should I let you have my daughter instead of Stan?"

Alex thought about that for a moment. How did he surpass Stan?

"There's only one thing I think about every day," Alex said, pausing, then continued " and that's colonization. I don't have a pedigree like Stan does. I know my job is…undesirable, but Marita knows what I do. And I'm never going to be your favorite. But, what's the point of her marrying somebody safe if he can't even protect her or anyone from the inevitable. I know what's going to happen in 2012 and I will do anything to stop it, especially to protect your daughter."

"This is your suit, then."

"Yes."

"This isn't some ploy to move up in the Consortium."

"I don't need Marita to do that."

WMM sighed and sipped his scotch.

"You're right on that count at least."

"And I know this probably matters very little, but I'll say it anyway. I love your daughter."

"It does matter very little. I would never have pressured her into the engagement with Stan if I thought love was that important in these things." He took another drink. "And yet…it does matter. If her husband doesn't love her, then he won't protect her."

"You can be with Marita, as long as you never stop working against colonization."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, you little twit. I'm selling my daughter to you and in exchange, you'll owe the Consortium everything."

"I understand."

"If you think we own you now, you know nothing."

"…"

"We'll own you forever."

"How is that different from now?"

"You'll never be able to quit. Your conscience will never let you."

"You've owned me since I was 14."

"Believe me, Alex, it will be different. I've hurt you before. But nothing will hurt quite like an endangered family."

"I know."

"Then marry Marita without any fanfare, please. I think you owe that much to Stan."

"Yes, sir.