Part 14 - Secrets
When I woke the next morning, I kept my eyes shut for a long moment, recalling what had happened in the middle of the night. Alex gave himself to me and it had been perfect. It hadn't, of course, but it felt perfect to me. He trusted me and loved me and it delighted me. Now, I still felt drained, despite having showered and then gone back to sleep for several hours.
Gradually I became aware that I was alone and I opened one eye and then the other, turning my head left and then right and confirming that Alex wasn't in the room. I checked the time and discovered that it was past nine. I assumed he would be in the bathroom or the kitchen and I rose slowly, pulled on a pair of jeans and went to look for him. I found him in the living room, sitting on the sofa, fully dressed, hair dishevelled as if he'd been running his hands through it. His face looked drawn, eyes shadowed as if he hadn't slept.
"Hey."
He looked up, teeth gnawing anxiously at his lower lip, immediately telling me something was wrong. I moved to his side quickly and sat down, wrapping an arm around him.
"What is it?" Perhaps I'd hurt him after all. Maybe he woke and panicked and decided he didn't want to fuck again.
He leaned into me and pressed his face against my shoulder for a moment, then breathed out hard and pulled away from me. A sense of forboding filled me and I waited tensely for him to speak.
"Walter, I want to be sure you know what you're doing. Going away with me."
"I'm sure," I said at once. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I love you and I want to be with you." I figured he just needed reassurance, but he nodded slowly and ran a hand through his hair.
"Then I need to tell you some things. There's a lot you don't know about me." He gave a short, bitter laugh and got to his feet, beginning to pace up and down in front of me. My heart began to pound faster and I frowned, pushing my glasses up my nose. What the hell was he going to tell me?
"I didn't...I guess I thought it wouldn't matter. Up until last night I didn't really think...ugh!" He broke off and tugged a hand through his hair again. "I'm shit at this. I didn't think you'd really give everything up to be with me. I know you said you love me and I believe you, but when it came to it, I thought you'd change your mind. I thought it didn't matter, but it does now. You can't start your life with me not knowing who I am."
"What are you talking about?" I asked. So far as I knew, he had been recruited into the FBI, looking forward to a promising future and then been pressured into working for Cancerman.
"This is probably going to change everything. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I just didn't think I'd ever have to."
"Tell me what?" The prompt came out sounding harsher than I meant it to and his face fell, eyes avoiding mine as he hovered on the other side of the room.
"I wasn't born here. I told you my parents were Cold War immigrants. The people who took me in were, but I was born in Russia. My mother was a whore, my father a...he was a secret agent. I guess I was an accident. My father was married and the woman I came to know as my mother wasn't able to have children. I have no idea why she would agree to raise me, but that's what happened. I'm trying to make a long story short here. If by some miracle this doesn't change your mind, I'll tell you the rest of it - anything you want to know."
"Alex, come here and sit down," I said. "Everyone has secrets. Just because you haven't told me about your life before the FBI, doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to stop loving you, or walk away from you."
"I killed my own father!" he blurted. "I was fifteen years old! I was recruited by the same agency my father worked for. I didn't know it at the time, but he was working for the States as well and he got caught out. They wanted to finish him and I guess they thought it would be amusing to have his own son do it."
"Fuck," I muttered, startled and unable to restrain the expletive.
"I hated him," Alex went on. "He beat me when I was younger, told me I was worthless and I was never going to amount to anything. I think he resented the fact that he got a whore pregnant and ended up stuck with the result. I don't know...he didn't have to take me away from her. I always wondered if it was because Yelena was so desperate to have a child, but I never asked. Then when I was thirteen he found out I was gay and it must have been the last straw. He beat the shit out of me every so often and if Yelena protested, he beat her too. So when they instructed me to kill him, I just did it. You'd think I'd have learned something from him, wouldn't you? But no. I wasn't even discreet about it. Shot him with his own gun in our house. The next day I was in jail - not a juvenile centre, but the real thing. They don't waste any time over there."
"Alex..." I got to my feet and went to him, but he raised both hands to ward me off.
"Yelena killed herself - overdosed on painkillers and vodka. I thought my life was over, but the agency got me out, something to do with having me transferred to a more permanent cell, but I never made it there. Next thing I knew, I was on my way here. I was placed with another couple who were paid to raise me. I didn't get to pick the direction I wanted to go in with my life, it was mapped out for me. School with extra curricular language lessons to make me lose my accent, then college, then the FBI. I was a plant from the beginning, but Cancerman snapped me up pretty much from the first day I set foot in the Bureau. I don't know if he knew my background or not, he never said. But I pretty much turned into my own father - Russia were still running me while I did Cancerman's bidding at the same time."
"A double agent?" I murmured.
"Yeah. When Cancerman decided I outlived my usefulness, I think it must have been something to do with that. There was no explanation, but if he didn't know at the start, he probably found out."
"And what about Russia? Are you still working for them?" I asked.
"No. What I told you about that was the truth. They knew Cancerman tried to have me killed and they figured I was too noticeable. I expected them to want to finish me off, but they let me go. My...uh...my boss, if you like, let me know they'd be keeping an eye on me, but other than that, I was free in a way. I called him to find out if they'd let me do one last job so I could get my arm. I hoped it might be something more discreet, but I guess you have to earn it if you're gonna ask for a million bucks. That was obviously the one you knew about."
"And the people who brought you up here?" I prompted.
"I said my parents were killed and that was who I was referring to. Their car ran off the road. I don't know if it was an accident or whether it was decided they knew too much."
"Did you care about them?"
"Not really. I learned my lesson in Russia. I always kept my feelings out of anything after that. Until you saved my life and then I fucking fell like a stone."
I stared at him, trying to untangle my thoughts enough to speak. Did it make a difference, I asked myself? Would I suddenly stop loving him because of what he'd told me? Absolutely not. There was no doubt there was a lot more to his story - he had said he was trying to make it short - but all I could see was that he'd had no choice in anything for thirteen years of his life. Everything was mapped out for him by people that would kill him without a second thought if he didn't do what he was told. None of what had happened was his fault and I doubted there was anything he could tell me that was worse than what he had already said.
"Walter...if you want to walk away now, I'll understand," Alex finished shakily.
"Alex..." I paused and cleared my throat.
"Don't say anything. I'm going to...uh...disappear for a little while to give you some time to think about it." Before I could answer, he strode out of the room, grabbed his jacket and left the cabin, closing the door firmly behind him.
"Oh, fuck," I groaned. I hauled myself to my feet and went to use the bathroom before I began making myself some coffee. My mind was racing, but most of my thoughts were of sympathy for a young Russian boy who could have had a promising life if it hadn't been for his father, his agency 'boss' and Cancerman. I clenched my fists hard enough to snap the handle from the coffee mug as I thought about the number of times I'd been in that man's office or heard his voice on my phone, giving me orders that I couldn't question. The last one had been to get rid of Alex and right then, I wanted to slam my fists into the man's face over and over and see him suffer in return.
I drank the coffee and then paced the same way Alex had, back and forth around the house. I was furious. Not with Alex, but with everyone who had made his life what it was. I lost track of time as I stomped around, wanting to go looking for him, but realising it would be too easy to miss each other in the woods and have him come back to the cabin and think I'd left him. I stayed put, growling and swearing, waiting for him to come back. I had barely begun to calm down an hour later when I heard the door open with a faint squeak and I determinedly schooled my face into what I hoped was a pleasant expression, taking a deep breath to relax my taut muscles.
Alex removed his boots and jacket silently and joined me in the living room. He was pale and tense, eyes haunted and his lip was caught between his teeth. I was immediately desperate to wrap him up in my arms and tell him it was all okay, but I had to speak first. I just wasn't sure exactly what to say.
"Walter?" Alex said. He didn't sound at all hopeful, only resigned.
"I want to ask you a question," I said.
"Okay." He nodded meekly.
"Other than beating me up in a stairwell, a long time ago, which we've already gotten over, have you done anything to directly hurt me?"
"No!" he exclaimed at once. "Nothing. Walter, I..."
"Sshh, I'm making a point here." I moved toward him and reached out to grip his upper arms. He was shaking and I squeezed his bicep and also the metal one, even though he wouldn't feel it. "I put the things you did for Cancerman in the past because you didn't have a choice in doing them. It seems to me that you haven't had a choice in much of anything in your life up to now. My point is that nothing you've done has hurt me. Nothing you've done is relevant to me."
"I'm a killer! I killed my own father!" Alex repeated bitterly.
"You were a child! A hurt, bullied child, again with no choice. What would the Russian agency have done to you if you didn't carry out their orders? Then or more recently?"
"It's no excuse."
"It was survival," I said more calmly. "And it's in the past. I love you. I already told you you're stuck with me and I'm saying it again. I just have one more question and that is, when you told me breaking into the Bureau was a one-off, was that the truth?"
"Yes," he averred.
"They just let you go? Just like that?"
"Like I said, I was becoming too noticeable. They ended my...contract, if you like. They watch me and they keep in touch to make sure I'm not going to cause trouble for them, but it's over. They know I won't fuck up, because I'll be signing my own death warrant. They only gave me the job of getting the Black Oil files because I begged for something that would get me my arm. They figured I was the best one to do that because I already knew so much about it."
"Do they know about me?" I asked.
"No, but they will eventually. They won't just let me disappear and they'll see I'm not alone."
"What about when they find out who you're with? Won't they come after me?"
"You're not with the Bureau any more. You'll have a different name and we'll be in another country. They'll know who you are, but they won't see you as a threat."
I was reminded of my conversation with Mulder, where he had suggested I would be going on the run and suddenly it seemed as if that was exactly what I would be doing, only it was some faceless Russian agents who would keep an eye on me rather than anyone Cancerman might have recruited.
"Walter, you can still change your mind," Alex said. "Listen. I have to sort some things out and it's going to take me a week, maybe a little more. You have to deal with stuff in DC. I can't come to you, but I'll send a messenger. He'll give you a package and you can either accept it or reject it. If you don't take it, I'll know and you won't hear from me again."
"Alex, I'm not going to do that!" I said earnestly.
"You might. You need to think about everything I told you. If you have any doubts about me at all, don't come with me. I'll understand."
I sighed heavily. It wasn't going to make a difference what I said. Until I went to him, wherever he was, he was going to worry that I would walk away from him. Both of us were going to have the week from hell before that messenger found me.
"Alright," I agreed. "But just remember this. I love you, so much. I..."
"I know, Walter," Alex murmured.
"Okay. Well, I guess we should leave now then and start things moving," I said reluctantly.
"Yeah. You can just leave me at the truck stop again, if you don't mind." He made to pull away from me, but I gripped him more firmly and drew him closer. After a brief hesitation, he leaned against me and wrapped his arms around my neck. I hugged him tightly, feeling his breath on my neck, the slight trembling than ran through his whole body. "I love you so fucking much, Walter," he whispered.
"I love you too." I repeated. I stroked my hand over his hair and brushed my lips across his cheek, then let him go.
"There's one more thing I need. I should have thought of it when we were in Williamsport. A passport photograph."
"Oh. Yes, of course. We'll need to go back into town. There's a booth in the drugstore," I said.
"Fine. You can just leave me in the town, then."
Again there was a little distance between us and I went about packing the few things I needed to take with me, concentrating on the simple job and doing my best to squash down my feelings. I told myself this temporary goodbye wasn't as bad as the last one - our future together was right around the corner and we only had to get through a week or so apart, but I knew I was going to be worrying like hell about Alex the whole time. It was clear he would be telling himself it was over the minute I set off back to DC.
I drove into Williamsport and we walked quickly to the drugstore. The photo booth was empty and I sat for a strip of photographs. I wished we could have done this on another day - a day where I might have pulled him into the booth with me to get a couple of snaps of us together. Sighing, I stepped out from behind the curtain and retrieved the photos, handing them straight to Alex. I was tempted to ask for some of him, but I wanted to see him smile in any photo I had of him. His face was currently a blank mask, eyes pained. I led him back to the truck and he took his bag out. He intended to get on a bus and then make his way...somewhere.
I pulled him toward me, ignoring the half dozen people within sight in the parking lot. He leaned against me immediately and we held onto each other for a long moment, neither of us speaking and I didn't kiss him. Eventually it was me who gently pushed him away from me and met his eyes.
"I'll see you soon, Alex."
He gave me a half nod.
"How will the messenger find me? I won't be at the condo, I..."
"Don't worry about that. He'll find you."
"Okay."
He opened his mouth as if to say something else and then shut it again and backed away. I struggled to speak, but also found I had no words so I simply stood there and watched him walk backwards a few more steps, then turn and stride briskly away.
"Fuck." I yanked open the door of the truck and climbed in, my eyes smarting. "Fuck, Alex. Be safe," I muttered. "I'll be waiting."
The drive back to DC was a long one. Each mile took me further away from Alex and my mind was tormented with everything he had already gone through and what he would be going through now until the messenger let him know I'd accepted whatever he sent me. I ached for him and everything I felt only confirmed again that the things he had told me didn't matter. I realised I'd never felt this strongly about anyone, not even Sharon, and the fact that I was going to have to change my identity to be with him wasn't important.
I tried to concentrate on the things I had to do when I got back. It would be too late to start when I arrived, so I checked into a motel and spent some time writing out a list of tasks so that I wouldn't forget anything. My mind was so full of Alex that I didn't trust my memory to ensure that everything got done. When I eventually fell into bed, I slept only from exhaustion and when I woke the next morning, I was instantly wide awake and ready to get started.
I plowed through the next three days, checking off items on the list as I went. I sold my car, I took a good amount of my clothes to Goodwill and I spoke to the agent dealing with the sale on the condo about the furniture that was still there. It turned out that the purchaser had always rented furnished and the young couple would be delighted to take my furniture to get them started. I let it all go for two thousand dollars and took away all my personal items in the truck that I was still renting until I had to leave. I had paperwork to deal with, people to visit and by the end of the third day everything was complete except for talking to Sharon. I'd called her and arranged to see her the next day when her husband was at work. He was a decent guy and I got along with him well enough, but I didn't want to talk about this with him there. I hadn't yet decided exactly how much I would tell Sharon, but I knew that whatever I did say, I could trust her with it.
The next afternoon I arrived at Sharon's house just before two o'clock and she greeted me with her usual hug and kiss on the cheek.
"Hello, Walter, how are you?"
"I'm good, Sharon. You?"
"Yes, I'm well, thank you."
"And Tom?"
"He's good, but working too hard. Would you like coffee?"
"Yes, thanks."
We made smalltalk while she poured coffee and led me into the living room. I sat in the old armchair that had once been in our shared house and she sat on the sofa.
"You look tired, Walter," she said then. "And worried. What's wrong?"
"That's what I came to talk to you about." I paused and cleared my throat. How to start? "I met someone."
"Oh, well, that's good. I was sorry it didn't work out with Rosemary."
"She wasn't really my...well...um...I don't know if you ever wondered...I figured maybe you did...I...um..." I stammered. Suddenly I wasn't sure how to tell my ex-wife that I was with a man, but it turned out I was right - she had guessed.
"Who is he?"
"You knew?"
"I suspected."
"I never...went with men while I was married to you," I said.
"I know that, Walter. Go on." She smiled and sipped her coffee.
"He's...um...his name's Alex. He worked at the Bureau briefly. He's...uh...he had some trouble...blackmailed by...uh...a government group...never mind, there's a lot I can't say about that."
"I understand," Sharon put in quietly.
"So he has to leave the States. I'm going with him," I said bluntly.
"You love him," she stated.
"Yeah."
"Does he love you?"
"I believe so."
"I'm glad for you, Walter."
"You're not going to tell me to think more carefully and not jet off to Timbuktu at the drop of a hat?" I teased.
"No. Life's too short, Walter. I'll miss you, but you'll keep in touch, won't you? Email or something?"
"Of course," I said at once.
"Where will you go?"
"I don't know yet, Alex is sorting it out. I'm gonna have to...uh...I'll have a different name."
She frowned now. "It's that serious?"
"There are people who want to see him dead." I didn't add that the same fate would await me if Cancerman discovered Alex was still alive and kicking.
"Will you be safe?" Sharon asked.
"Yes, we both will. You don't need to worry."
"So. Are you going to tell me about him? What kind of person is he? What does he look like? That type of thing."
"You really aren't upset that I...?" I began.
"Of course not. Would you be, if Tom was a woman?" she smiled.
"Not as long as you were happy."
"Well, then. Are you happy, Walter?"
"I will be, when I go to him. So...what's he like? Dark hair, green eyes, maybe an inch shorter than me. He's twenty-eight..."
"A boy," Sharon laughed.
"Sometimes I wonder what he sees in me. I'm an old man."
"Nonsense, Walter, forty-five isn't old. You're a good-looking, sexy man and Alex clearly has a lot of sense."
"Sharon!" I scoffed, a touch embarrassed.
"I'm being serious."
I went on, telling her the little I could about Alex. Eventually I went out to the truck to bring in the boxes of items I wasn't going to be able to take with me, at least not immediately. She promised to keep them safe and send them on if I needed them. I stayed a couple of hours before I gave her a hug and promised to let her know when I actually left DC for the last time. I returned to the motel, where I would have to stay until I heard from Alex.
Five more days passed and nothing happened. I was going out of my mind with boredom and worry, longing for Alex and knowing there was nothing I could do but wait. It was late one evening when I finally received the message I'd been waiting for. I'd been over to Sharon and Tom's house for dinner and when I arrived back at the motel and walked into the darkened room, I was shocked to find a man sitting in the darkness in the single chair in the corner. I flicked the light on immediately, wishing I was armed. I had already disposed of my weapons, knowing I wouldn't be able to take them out of the country and now I was vulnerable.
"Who are you?" I demanded. I hoped Alex had sent him, but there was always the chance he was there for another reason.
"We have a mutual friend." He rose to his feet and I noted he was short and stocky, holding a thick envelope in one hand, but no gun. I relaxed marginally.
"Yes?" I queried.
"Initials," the man said shortly.
"AK," I responded.
"In full."
"Uh…" Alexsei Vladimir Krycek…and something beginning with 'T' that I couldn't pronounce. "AVKT," I said.
"Country of origin?"
"What is this, twenty questions?" I frowned. He simply glared back at me and waited. "Russia," I added.
He stepped forward and held out the envelope to me. "Check this."
I took it and opened the flap. Inside was a passport and a folder holding airline tickets. I took out the passport and looked at the photo I'd had taken in Williamsport. I was an Australian with the name Troy Robinson, six months younger than I actually was. There was a stamp on one of the pages showing I'd flown into JFK the previous week. The tickets were from JFK to LAX and then on to Sydney, Australia in two days' time.
"Will you speak to him?" I asked and was treated to a curt nod. "Make sure he knows I'll be using these tickets."
My visitor gave me another nod, skirted around me and let himself out of the room. I locked the door behind him and heaved a huge sigh of relief, before sitting down and looking through the documents again. I needed to be at JFK in just under forty-eight hours to catch my flight to LAX. The wait was almost over and I would be with him again. I wondered where he was - was he still in the country or would he meet me in Sydney? I had no way of knowing and would simply have to make the trip and wait for him to find me.
I slept better that night than I had in a while, but I woke early and went out to find breakfast. One more night and I would be on my way. I ignored the diner next door, which wasn't the nicest establishment in the world, and drove downtown to a coffee house I liked. Some of the waitresses knew me and within seconds I had a cup of coffee in front of me and the pretty blonde had headed off to fetch my usual - bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes and pancakes on the side.
I ate slowly, savouring the meal and repeatedly touching the inside pocket of my jacket which held the passport and tickets. I had slept with them under my pillow and I didn't intend to let them out of my sight for a minute. When I finished eating, I paid in cash, tipped the waitress and headed back to the motel, parking up directly outside my door. The lot was deserted, but I noticed the door next to mine was open a crack. I idly wondered if the room was being cleaned as I went to my own door and unlocked it. I was halfway into the room when I heard the shot and then I was falling, face first into the worn brown carpet. My glasses flew off and I gasped, winded as I hit the ground. I'd been shot? My mind raced. Had Cancerman found out about Alex? Was it the Russians? Why was there no pain?
I pushed my hand forward to lift myself up into a sitting position to check for damage, but my feeble effort to raise my upper body finished with me sprawling flat again. I could feel the rough pile of the carpet under my palms, but that was all. There was no other sensation except for a sudden drop in temperature and I felt myself begin to shiver. I figured I must be in shock and I twisted my head around to look over my shoulder. I couldn't see my own back, but my eyes immediately noted the spreading puddle of blood on the carpet around me. I shuddered, partly from cold and partly from the realisation that the wound was bad enough to drain my blood so fast - bad enough that I couldn't feel any pain.
"Alex," I whispered. He was hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away and I had no way to let him know that I was going to miss my plane. My eyes closed and I struggled to force them open again, knowing I should get my cellphone out of my pocket and call 911, but I couldn't do it. My hands and my head were too heavy to move and as much as I didn't want to, I had no choice but to give up.