From: Daddy793 Date: 1 Dec 1998 17:09:25 GMT Subject: NEW: "EA Interlude: A Moment's Superiority" Ever After Interlude: A Moment's Superiority by Te 11/98 Disclaimers: Not mine at all. Spoilers: Not a one. Ratings Note: R for language, implied m/m interaction. Summary: Walter does some thinking. Author's Note: In chronological order, the series is as follows: "Ever After" "Ever After II: Road Songs and Memory" "Ever After III: Getting Free" "Ever After Interlude: A Moment's Superiority" Takes place about a hour and a half after the end of EA3, and the others are pretty necessary to read in order to follow this one, I think. Acknowledgments: To Sister Blue, for tireless use of her bullshit machete. To Dawn Sharon for fine audiencing and encouragement, to Cynthia for brave attempts to make me make sense, and to Dawn Pares for fine beta *and* a title. All remaining mistakes and ambiguities are entirely my own fault. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ever After Interlude: A Moment's Superiority by Te Daddy793@aol.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Walter took the turn onto the narrow, barely paved pissant of a road optimistically named "Highway 51" and swallowed a sigh. An hour into the two hour drive to the next "rest stop" and Alex hadn't said a word. Not that this was particularly out of character -- the other man was rarely all that talkative, but Walter had the distinct impression they had sunk into newer, deeper waters and it... It scared him. This was life and death, and, whatever their intentions had been upon taking to the road, Walter had no intention of dying stupidly in some tangled emotional haze. He chanced a look at Alex, and swallowed another sigh. The man was blank-faced and placid in the passenger seat, sprawled in something that looked a whole lot like relaxation. He wasn't at all sure whether he wanted it to be simply another well-crafted impression or not. He'd broken a promise to himself. Stay clear and clean of this man lest he... Lest he what? There was no denying the attraction; Alex had always been beautiful. And there was something about the endless series of layers and games that had always made him, if not smile, then at least acknowledge the humor Alex's presence in the world generated. A trickster, and Walter wanted to know the older gods well enough to thank them for this gift. Deadly and smooth, by turns brilliant and awkwardly young.... Walter often thought of Alex's first incarnation, and had decided the other man would not have been able to play certain games had there not been some kernel of truth to build on. And he made Walter ache. Every laugh, every snarl, every enemy taken down in a moment's casual savagery.... It was all a wonder to behold. Secure in his own feelings of superiority to the world at large, Walter doubted any man still living could appreciate Alex on as many levels as Walter had, and still did. And yet, there was the Mulder question. Long dead but still hanging over them, a presence of sardonic wit and lean musculature. Voice unforgotten even as the scent faded into time. He'd made the decision to refuse Alex's advances nearly instinctively, trusting in the urge as only, perhaps, a soldier would learn to do. There was always time later to justify such things. A flight of birds taking off suddenly, a hastily contained breakdown in yet another car left burnt and abandoned off some distant, anonymous roadside. Walter had *wanted*, and the instinct to quash such things was hoary and powerful as any incantation from on high. Later, he had told himself of grief, and human healing, and played noble confessor to Alex's penitent in long hours of stilted talk and banked tears. As if he'd known of what he spoke. A platitude here, an aphorism there... long stories that flowed as naturally from his lips as blood, and where the hell had they come from, anyway? Had he ever really believed in what he told Alex, or was it all pious justification of his own immature desire to self-deny? Yes, he could admit such things were immature. There was, perhaps, no more clear sign of a flawed character than a boy struggling to hurt himself to prove his manhood. And when that boy would never see fifty again... Shameful, then. A mistake not to be repeated. And yet, and yet... what if he'd been doing the right thing for all the wrong reasons? So long as right was done, all was well, and Alex... Alex didn't love him, never had. Even before the truth about the other man had begun to trickle from the cracks, here and there... even then there were nights when he could smell Mulder on him. Sprayed territory, though the man himself would never have claimed such behavior. And when he couldn't smell Mulder, well... Did Alex truly need to shower before four p.m.? Later, he'd been able to tell himself that it was all part of the twisty little bastard's games and orders. Seduce all you can, Lord knows you have the ass for it. The mouth... That mouth. Some hot, hazy day, some further proof that Washington D.C. was no place fit for any but the rank beasts of the jungle and Alex had walked right into his office. Ignored his barks and growls for explanation and walked up to him in his comfy, official chair. Knelt and blown him. No reason at all he could discern other than to further disorder his mind. And, for all he knew, for Alex that was probably better reason than any. Hot mouth on his cock, and the breathy space of sordidness was silent mockery of the heat outside, shame to the non-functional air conditioning. *This* was fire, this was the gorgeous hell of a thousand woodcuts -- the stalag and stalac of teeth and the river of an impossible tongue and Alex had taken it all... Tidy and efficient, a lie to the man, a truth to the illusion, and after, before he could regain some shreds of his hard-won dignity and command, he'd pulled the other man to him for a brutal kiss of something not quite definable. Tasted himself with triumph and joy and sent him back to his partner. Walter shook himself internally, struggled to retrace the lingering scent of his thoughts. Alex. Always and forever? There had been a sort of communion, marriage to the brutal sex of little more than an hour ago. An understanding reached of mutual need and no more lies... But how do you tell the truth when it's nowhere near coherent in your mind? There was *nothing* here clean and neat, no lines of fire and march for a man to believe in. The freshly scrubbed lieutenants had been victims waiting to happen in his other war, and this was a lesson to hold to, and understand. But he wanted no struggle with this man beyond the shift and flex of pared-down muscle in the sweet dark... A home as flowing and stately as any mansion on the hill. *Alex* was clean and neat, simple in his paths when taken to the core, and so he had wanted. But the two of them, here, were nothing of the sort. For a moment, Walter entertained a fantasy of roads untaken, an Alex who had never managed to get through to Mulder. That need he understood, and even condoned from the safety of distance and death, but what *if*? What if Walter had not been so lost in paper battles that he could've walked through the urban night and nightmares until he'd found the man? Taken him home and made him his own? Walter knew his face was as poorly designed as any child's first and lazy attempt at sculpture. And yet he was tall, and strong, and he knew Alex saw many of the same things in Walter that Walter had seen in him. Though he wondered if what Alex had seen in him had more to do with potential than reality... If so, was what he'd become what Alex had always wanted? They could've had something. He knew it. He could *taste* it, gone but unforgotten salt on his tongue and the bright tang of a lust uncondoned. But he had, somewhere, lost his chance, and Mulder had stepped up and stepped in. Alex would never have let an opportunity go unexploited, but he could admit to himself that he'd lacked the faith in Mulder. Too rigidly black and white, too willing to wash his hands of those who had failed to live up to his vaunted moral standards. And he was angry less for wounds to his own pride than for the fact that the man was still *there*-- "You're quiet tonight." Walter grunted in reply, smiled internally at his own re-enaction of stereotype. "You're not fucking brooding about the sex." It wasn't a question, and Walter was grateful for the opportunity not to reply. "Walter." And the road was pitted and unkempt. Hail most probably. "*Walter*." "What?" He turned to look at Alex, took in the curious blend of rage and incredulity. It made his eyes brightly, poisonously olive in the dashboard lights. "Walter, this... this isn't us. We're just not fucking *built* for this.. this *mooning*." "A place for everyone and everyone in his place?" "So long as mine involves a gun and regular fucks, it works for me." "If that were the case you never would've changed sides." The incredulity was gone, replaced with the sort of blinding anger that was more likely to kill the man himself than the object of his wrath. Quickly stifled with an almost audible push. "If you're going to be jealous of a... of a *dead man* then we might as well just ram this fucking boat into the nearest tree." "Alex, I'm never going to believe--" "You're too fucking old for this, Skinner. This isn't the prom and Susie didn't stand me up for the captain of the football team. There are no second choices when there was never a choice at all." "Al--" "No, Walter. *No*. You can't believe? Well I can't believe we're fucking dealing with this. This is *us*. The best thing I can do for myself is move the fuck on. This is the life we lead? Well, fine. Just keep my ammo stocked." "And you're going to tell me that it's over. He's dead, I'm not, let's screw." "You always were a poet." Alex slammed his head back to the seat and sucked in a breath. "The healthy, correct thing for me to do is grieve in the best way I can. I'm not an idiot, I loved a fucking psychiatrist, and the stupid bastard loved me back -- No, shut up. Let me talk." Walter subsided, curled and uncurled his fingers around the wheel. "The only thing grief gets you is tears and some form of sappy closure. "Well, guess what? Closure is *useless* in this world. There is no grave for me to cry over. Mulder hated flowers. So, what's left? We've been damned lucky, old man, and you know just as well as I do that it won't last. "We're never going to be the poster children for 'Healthy Queer Relationships of the New Millennium.' We're never going to have the house, the dog, the Martha Stewart seal of approval on the decor..." Walter felt himself smiling with something like surprise. "You're drifting." "Didn't I tell you to shut up?" A snort and Walter leaned back in some half-forgotten sensory memory of ease. "My apologies. Please do continue." "*Anyway*... Walter, you're probably the closest thing I've had to a friend since Peskow disappeared into God knows where... Bastard. I was *just* about to kill him and off he goes..." "Hard to believe." "Oh, so *now* you want to talk? Too fucking bad. Look, it's just us now. Until we get our much-delayed blaze of glory. Let's..." "Make the most of the opportunity we've been given and screw like bunnies in between fits of mass murder?" Slow smile in the comfortable gloom. "I think you're catching on." "I try." And the silence was heavy and warm, and Walter found himself looking forward to the inevitable awkwardness of trying to cuddle with the other man. Miles and miles of lonely highway and Walter had the niggling suspicion it was a song he'd hated. He could almost hear it in the blur of trees and mile markers outside his window, some meaningful whine about sleep and love by a man who'd never gone without either. But it was starting to feel something like all right. Though that in itself was reason for suspicion and he let himself laugh. Alex didn't bother to ask why. "Walter?" "Yeah." "There's something else." "Mmph. Always more." "Always... I don't know what I'm doing. I'm making this up as I go along..." "Can't be new to you." "No, but... I can't promise... I can't promise you that I'll always be this... this settled." Walter reached over and grabbed his shoulder, not letting himself hesitate at reaching higher, brushing the smooth, soft skin of the other man's throat. "I know, Alex. Just don't lose it in the middle of a mission or..." Flash of humor he thought he could feel under his palm, though he couldn't say precisely why. "Or what?" "No sex for a week." A snicker and Walter squeezed, briefly considered just pulling off anywhere for the sake of bedding down as quickly as humanly possible. "You'd never make it." "All right, nothing but blow jobs for a week." "A lot of blow jobs?" "No more than four a day. For each of us." "You're a hard man, Walt." He eyed the other man as gravely and somberly as possible. "Yes, but fair." ~~~~ End. ~~~~ "I *do* love you, Te, you know this. You're just kind of big and scary." -- Rae, on why I'm not allowed near her pets or loved ones. Imajiru gave me a home! http://unicorn-x.net/te/