I know Fox Mulder. I know him well. That wasn't always the case though. Sure we'd worked together, worked against each other, beaten each other up, that sort of thing. But that could be anybody. You have to take time if you want to get to know someone. And I wanted to know Mulder more than anything. So that's what I did.
I was pretty sure he'd take some coaxing, so I prepared very carefully. What we needed was some time alone together -- a winter getaway. We could both use the time off, that was certain. So, why not take a vacation together? I knew just the place. No phones, no neighbours to bother us. Just me and Mulder, relaxing.
It took time to make the arrangements -- I wanted everything to be just so. So, I laid in supplies, carefully planning all the menus in advance. We'd have books and movies, too, but not too many. This was supposed to be quality time, after all. Extra clothes for both of us, good wine and spirits, and a few other things I thought we'd need.
Everything was ready. Time to pick up Mulder. I broke into his apartment. When he came home, I put a gun to his head and dragged him out to the car. The trip to the airport didn't take long -- it wasn't rush hour. There, the helicopter I'd chartered took us out the base of a mountain, where we'd hike to my secluded cabin. He'd be back to pick us up in a month.
Mulder was really upset. I felt hurt -- here I'd gone to all this trouble to surprise him and he was angry with me. "You're really tense, Mulder," I said. "You'll have a chance to unwind now."
He wouldn't speak to me, though, just stalked up the mountain. As soon as we got to the cabin, he went into the bedroom and slammed the door. He didn't come out for dinner. I slept on the couch. Hopefully, that state of affairs wouldn't last long.
The scent of coffee lured him out in the morning. I make very good coffee, even if I do say so myself. I was scrambling some eggs too, with mushrooms and bacon. He couldn't resist it, although he still wasn't happy about being at the cabin with me. I tried to make light conversation, but he still gave me the silent treatment. Much work was ahead of me, that was clear.
My mother always said that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. So, I outdid myself with the cooking and Mulder ate it all. Lunch, supper, a couple of snacks. I don't think he was eating properly at home.
It took a few days of plying him with food and drink, but finally he started to talk to me. At first it was only chat and "do you remember?" but late one night he really opened up to me. He talked about his sister, about his quest, about Scully.
The moment was right. I'd been wanting to tell him something for a long time. "Mulder," I said, "I'm sorry I killed your father."
He looked at me, so sad and so brave. "That's OK, Krycek. It's just that...I felt a little cheated. I wanted to do it myself."
I reached out to touch him, but he pulled away. Still, it was a good beginning.
The next day was bright and sunny. I cajoled him into taking a walk with me. The air was crisp and clean. Back by the cabin, we had a snowball fight and fell together into the drifts. That night I didn't sleep on the couch.
Things were progressing just as I had hoped. Each day, we played and laughed and cooked lazy meals together. Each evening, we built a fire and drank slow whiskey and talked the flames to embers. Each night, we shuddered into bliss in each other's arms. I knew Mulder and was known.
It was the perfect life.
Then, late in the third week, we woke to a terrible rumble. Avalanche. It rolled down the mountain and crashed right over us. The cabin is well-built on a strong foundation. There was no damage. But we were trapped. We dug out a small area around the front door and that was all we could manage.
The situation was grave, though I didn't let on to Mulder. No need to worry him yet. We had enough wood that we wouldn't freeze -- the snow covering the cabin was a great insulator so we were really quite toasty. But the food wouldn't last until spring. I started rationing it a little.
Mulder seemed to enjoy the peril, actually. He seemed energised and cheerful. And our lovemaking was even more fiery than before. In adversity, we pulled together, became closer. Talked more deeply about our relationship, about our hopes and dreams.
After the fifth week, things were bad. I tried to hide my feelings, but Mulder sensed my depression and tried to cheer me. He was caring, gentle, and I told him again and again how much I loved him. He shone, luminous against my own darkness.
That night there was a meteor shower and we went outside to watch it. So many shooting stars, so many wishes. I stood behind him, pressed up to his back, my arms around him. We were so happy. I kissed his cheek; he sighed, contented. I cut his throat and drained the blood out into the snow.
Over five weeks more, I ate all of him -- prepared the meat with the same care I had lavished on his living body. The flavour was strong and a little sweet. I made his favourite casserole and thought of him as I ate it. I broke open his bones and rendered the marrow. It was creamy, like butter. There was a little bread yet to spread it on. Through that dark time, Mulder kept me fed and well. At last, I knew him completely.
Then the snow melted and I hiked out. I couldn't take much with me, but I saved three of his finger bones. I wear them always now, on a thong around my neck. I like to know he's near me.
I love him so. I know he loves me too.
FINIS
me @ January 12, 2004
That is really disgusting! Morbide, sick!