Timing Note: A piece of the Resist and Serve universe, falling shortly after Optimism and Oxygen, but post-Operation Twinkle. Why break with tradition and actually write this series in order, after all.

Dedication: This story is dedicated to Pollyanna, without whom the R&S series would not exist. Without Pollyanna's warped sense of humor, this particular slice of this series would definitely not exist. Thanks be to her for making me laugh.

~*~*~*~*~*~

December 4th, 2003

My eyes fly open at the harsh ring tone and I come awake already reaching for the telephone. My alarm has a different ring, and my subconscious pretty much recognizes the endless variations of all the little gadgets I carry with me these days.

I almost roll off the bed as my back protests the sudden reach and my body tries to twist to accommodate aching muscles. Finding the screeching phone right where I left it on the bedside table, I overbalance in the other direction and fall back to the mattress. My left shoulder and the abused stump both protest sharply as I land on them and the gasping pain slows me down enough to let the phone holler at me one more time. It resonates with the headache behind my eyes and I have the overwhelming urge to throw the damned thing on the floor, get out of bed and jump up and down on it. In the heaviest boots I own.

I glance at my clock as my finger punches the "accept" button instead. It's still two hours until my alarm is supposed to go off. Which means I've had two hours of sleep.

Fucking great. Even if this isn't an emergency that I'll need to deal with, I'm so not getting back to sleep. Not soon enough to actually get any serious REM time. Not with the way my sleep patterns have been running.

"What?" I snarl. I don't have the energy to be nice and anyone calling me during my down hours is going to know enough not to take it personally.

"Alex, I'm sorry to wake you but you did ask to be notified immediately. We just got the final confirmation. We took out the Paris stronghold."

And that's Europe. I think for a moment I'm not going to be able to breathe, but then air hits my lungs in a rush and I feel lightheaded. "Completely? As in totally cleaned out?"

"Completely. There's celebrating in the streets. You'll have downloads within the hour and a detailed report in two."

Ignoring my complaining body, I force myself up out of bed. I lose whatever Georges is telling me in the rush of dizziness that wallops me like a board to the back of the head, but his voice comes back in a moment and I manage not to fall over onto the bed. I kick my crumpled jeans out of my way and limp to my computer.

"...counting Team Three, our losses were even less than Milan."

Hot damn. The news just keeps getting better. If the run of good news keeps up the way it has the last two weeks, I'm going to have to get downright cheerful. Or at least put on a damn good act. "Great. Get anyone still in any condition to move out to rendezvous..." I pause, stuffing the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I reactivate my laptop with a touch. Checking my latest status map, I do a quick calculation. "Rendezvous five, for transport down to Libya."

"Already got a ship on the way to pick us up," he says almost before I finish speaking. "Details of that'll be in the downloads, too."

It's enough to bring a tired smile to my face. "You're the best, Georgie." I lean against my desk and try to get my adrenaline to start settling. "Raise me if you need me. Your escort can help if you're beyond signal range." With this gizmo that masquerades as my cell phone, They can always reach me, no matter what corner of the globe They're currently stalking.

"Will do, Alex. Really sorry to wake you up. You sound like you could use the sleep."

My eyes drift to my door as I hear someone keying in from outside in the hallway. I don't bother to go to the door or even straighten up from my slump against the desk. Only one person has the key to my door and he's seen me in my underwear. "Don't give it a thought. You're just following orders," I answer as my door opens quietly and Walter tiptoes in. An annoyed expression settles over his face when he sees me out of bed and on the phone. "Bye now."

"Later."

I disconnect and smile at Walter. "Paris?"

He grunts and relents, a smile breaking across his face. "Paris. I knew they wouldn't listen when I countermanded your order to call you immediately, but I was hoping to get to you before the phone started ringing or the computer started beeping. I figured you could wait two hours to hear the news, and god knows you need the rest." His brows draw in. "Apparently I need to scare a few people a little more thoroughly with my powers of intimidation."

I manage a rusty laugh and shoot him a look that is half annoyance, half affection. "Don't protect me, Walter. We've had this conversation. I give these orders for a reason." I start to push away from the desk. Mistake. I sway dangerously and my knees start to buckle, but Walter is there, his arms locked around me carefully, taking my weight and balancing me. My hand grips his shirt and I cling as the room tilts, then release him as it settles back into the proper configuration.

"Right then. I'll just let you keep going until you kill yourself, like you're obviously trying to do," he retorts, half carrying me back to the bed and pushing me down on it.

My back protests the change in position again, and I can't even get up the breath to complain about his manhandling. I sit quietly for a long moment, letting the dizziness subside. "I'm okay, really," I finally murmur. His hands are carefully feeling over my left side through the bandages. Aside from the expected tenderness, and the bouts of dizziness, I really do feel okay. The swelling is down... almost gone. I don't think I tore anything open just answering my phone and standing up. I rest my hand on his shoulder and halfheartedly push him away. He ignores me and keeps inspecting my Twinkle injuries.

"Yeah, well, I still want you to drop down and see Scully before we hit Info Central." He snorts at my raised eyebrows and surprised look. "Please. I'm not even going to try to convince you to go back to bed. With Paris burning, I know I don't have a shot in hell of keeping you away from the computers, and I don't enjoy wasting my energy. So, instead I'm going to expend it all on insisting you see the delightful Doctor Scully before doing anything else." He turns and picks up my jeans, then hands them to me. "And on following you, so I make sure you do exactly that."

I stare up at him, trying to marshal a complaint that won't sound childish, but suddenly the exhaustion is just too much. I feel my energy drop like a rock, and I look down at the jeans in my hand. Yeah, okay, I probably should let Scully take a look. I'm walking around on her sufferance. She could have confined me to bed. Not that I would have stood for it, but knowing Walter, if she had, he'd have tied me into the bed to keep me there. Much too slowly, I work my jeans on over my feet and legs, ease the material over the knee brace, then lever myself to my feet and drag them up over my hips. My tired fingers get the zip but the button... I stand and stare at it, and to my horror feel a weird prickle at the backs of my eyes.

Just one damn thing too much.

And between one breath and the next, his fingers are slipping the button through the button hole, and his hands are gliding gently around my waist and pulling me into a loose embrace as he steps closer. One hand coasts over my back and the other rises to catch my chin, tilt my face up to his. His expression is worried when I focus on him. I know I should understand why, but everything is just a little bit... distant right now. It has to be if I'm going to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I know that from experience, these last two weeks. Unfortunately, these bouts are coming more and more often, and closer together.

"Are you sure you don't want to lie back down?" he asks, voice carefully neutral. "I could lie down with you. You might actually sleep." He rubs his thumb over my chin, then lets his hand slide over my shoulder and join the other one on my back.

And it sounds so tempting. Because he doesn't push, he just lies there beside me and he touches me when I want him to and doesn't when I don't, and I am really tired and just being with him makes me feel like I can rest but I'm on my feet with my pants on for a reason and it was important.

France. Paris. Good news.

One foot in front of the other.

I shake the fuzziness from my brain and lean my forehead against his chest for a moment. For one long minute I want to stand here and just feel him hold me. Then I'll be okay. His chest is strong and solid under the chamois shirt and I like the feel of the material against my skin. And just like him, he doesn't say anything, just stands still and lets me lean on him and waits me out. I don't know how he knows to do that but he does.

I know I can't let the mental gears stop turning yet. I'm all too aware that soon I won't have a choice, and they're going to stop turning whether I want them to or not. I'm already running on reserves that aren't there and keeping things together with stitches worn so thin you can see through them. But it can't happen quite yet.

I also know I only have a little bit further to push, then I can rest. Really rest. Away from it all. Away from every person and emotion chipping holes in the walls that look more like Swiss cheese than anything else right now. And I can work on rebuilding them all, one brick at a time. I'm already putting it all in motion. It's just a waiting game, now. As soon as I know all my people are safe, truly safe, I can go. All the final pieces are in, it's just a matter of letting them click into place. And then... then I can disappear.

And rest. Let the stitches rip apart, drop the controls, just fall apart. Break into the million and one pieces that are just waiting to explode in every direction. Let it happen. Let it happen, and see what comes after. See if I can pick them all up and put them back together. See if there's anything left to pick up. Find out if the walls even can be rebuilt, and if they can't, if I can survive without them.

Part of me wishes desperately for it with every breath - the end that will set me free to disappear and disintegrate on my own, away from all the eyes that see too much. And part of me wishes this limbo could stretch longer... indefinitely.

Because standing here with my forehead just above his heart, it occurs to me, not for the first time, that while I need to be gone so badly I can taste it, I'll miss this. Knowing someone I can actually allow to hold me, allow to see me like this, to see me need. It's better in the long run, no question, and certainly more fair to him, that I don't try to keep it... that I get the hell out of Dodge before I get addicted. But I'll miss this. Because it's nice.

My brain reengages and I collect my thoughts carefully, knowing he'll let me. I run through the schedule, factoring that I'm up two hours before I expected to be. Okay. It's alright. Mulder shouldn't be anywhere near the med floor right now, barring an emergency with Samantha. And I'd have heard about it if that had happened. He's still pissed at the Gunmen, so he won't be hanging anywhere near Info Central either. Safe. I draw in a deep breath of Walter-scented air and lift my head from his chest. I meet his eyes and see the worry still crinkling his crow's feet.

"No, it's okay. Thank you, though." I even manage a smile, because his offer does make me want to smile. He's sweet. And I don't want him to think that I wouldn't like to take him up on it. "As much as I'd love to crawl back into that bed with you," I let a throaty edge crawl into my words, "I'm too tired to make it interesting and too awake to actually sleep again. Worst of both worlds."

His face softens. "I could just hold you for awhile."

And oh god, that aches. Because that sounds even better than sex. Just crawling back under the blankets and letting him wrap me up in his arms and hold me so close. And I can't, because if I do, that's the end of me. Finished, kaput, over and done. And even the fact that the urge is so incredibly strong is worrisome, because I don't cuddle. I just don't. For a long minute I can't even answer, my throat feels so clogged. When I do, I surprise myself by saying, "I would if I could. Believe me."

"You can, Alex," he murmurs, and the confusion on his face tells me he still doesn't understand. I try to figure out a way to explain without cracking myself down the middle.

"It would be... I just... I don't know that I'd be able to get back up again," I husk finally. I continue, feeling out each word. "And right now, that would be bad. Right now, I need to keep getting up."

He's silent, eyes searching my face. Then he nods, and his hands drop to my hips. He gives me a hard look. "So, Scully first. Then Info Central."

I echo his nod. "Scully."

He smiles approvingly and I feel a melting warmth in my chest. Damn, but I like this man. He's so good to me and it's another reason he deserves so much more than what I could ever give. Deserves so much more than me, even if he thinks I'm what he wants. Leaving is definitely the only way. I'm way too weak. I'd hold onto this with all I have if I let myself, and he'd let me. Hell, he'd encourage me. The only way I can prevent that is to get the hell out while I still can. Before the gears grind to a stop and won't start up again. Before I crack.

He steps away from me and gathers my boots, then a tshirt and sweatshirt from the clean pile. Bringing them back, he eases me down to a sitting position on the bed and guides my feet into my boots while I pull on the shirts. I need to shower, but it has to wait until Scully sees me anyway, what with the bandages and all. I realize I've let him put my boots on me, but I can't really work up the energy to care much. I know that's a big flashing red warning sign, and I find I don't care about that either.

He draws me up off the bed, presses a kiss to my forehead, and we head out for the infirmary.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Scully is swamped as usual but she makes time for us. She has more help now, as the Rebel resources have been pulling in with each victory, concentrating more forces on the hotspots as each area gets cleaned out. She hands off her patient rounds to a young woman I haven't met yet, who looks at me like she isn't sure whether to bow or run the other way. I can't deal with it, so I ignore her and just focus on Scully. "Paris is cleaned. He made me come see you before I do anything else," I say bluntly, jerking my thumb back at Walter who stands at my right shoulder. "Can I shower, then you can wrap me all up again?"

She nods, smiling. "I wondered why you weren't asleep." She schools her expression and gives me her stern look. Christ, between her and Walter, I feel like a naughty schoolboy half the time. When that thought fails to spark even a smidgen of kinky sexual fire in my gut, I sigh to myself, acknowledging that I'm most definitely depressed.

"I got the call about France. It woke me up." I see the look she shoots Walter.

"I tried," he growls in answer to her glare. "I must have missed the call by minutes. He was still on the phone when I got there. I've already resigned myself to threatening a few more second-in-commands into talking to ME first."

"I'll put in a word to them, too," Scully nods, and sighs as she readdresses me. "You can't juggle things to get back to sleep?"

"Not right now, the timing is just too weird. By the time I got back to sleep, I'd have to get up again. Maybe later," I temporize. We all know I'm not sleeping well at any time right now, and we all know why, and none of us are going to go there, so let's just get on with my check up. I'm not that surprised the two of them are scheming behind my back to make sure I sleep, but it's still irritating. What they don't understand is that any day the pendulum could swing to the other extreme and I won't be able to get out of bed. I need to take advantage of the sleeplessness while I can.

Just a little longer... if I had a mental calendar I'd be marking off the hours in big red X's. Then I can sleep or not sleep as long as I want, and use whatever substances I want to make sure that the sleeping part actually does happen.

"Okay, shower. Can you get all that off by yourself?"

"You can finish what you were doing. Walter can help me," I say before I think it through. I wince immediately. Shit! I'm so far out of it I'm surprised anyone is letting me do anything of a command nature at the moment. No wonder Walter's one step behind me at all times these days, but that does absolutely nothing to save the verbal gaffe I just made. I avoid meeting Scully's eyes and I know my cheeks are heating, but Walter steps in smoothly and asks where he should take me. She checks her chart and tells him exam room two. She's giving us a weird speculative smile as we walk away but I pretend I don't see it.

"Sorry," I mutter when we're in the tiny bathroom of exam room two and he's helping me undress.

He stops long enough to put his hands on either side of my face and hold me still, looking me in the eye. He's smiling. "I'm not," he says softly, meaningfully, then leans forward and kisses me. His lips are gentle, but he's not asking. He's taking. It's enough to make my dysfunctional dick spark with interest and I rub up against him. He's been really great about my inability to get hard lately, between my injuries and the meds and the exhaustion and my black moods. I'd really like to be able to physically show him it's not that I don't find him attractive...

The sound of the outer door opening and closing and the realization that the bathroom door is unlocked draws us apart. I'm momentarily annoyed but my logic tells me we really don't want Scully walking in, and I've got things I need to do anyway. On the bright side, this way I don't have to worry about getting half way there and having... equipment failure. That would be worse. Scully calls to us from the outer room, and Walter answers her briefly. I sigh and take one of his hands from my face and press it to my crotch. He palms the swelling flesh and smiles, delighted.

"Damn it," I scowl, making the most of my chance to act disappointed that we can't go further. "Never let it be said that my timing doesn't suck."

He grins. "I'm just glad to see you're starting to... feel better." He squeezes gently and I sigh, rocking against his hand. "You want me to-?" He moves his hand.

I shake my head and sigh. "It'd be too weird," I mutter, jerking my head toward the outer room. "And besides, I've got no idea how long I'd take, all things considered."

He nods, obviously disappointed, but I can tell he's pleased with my show of interest. He helps me remove all the bandages, and the brace, then helps me into the shower and onto the built in seat. He makes sure the soap is in reach, hands me the spray attachment, kisses me one last time and leaves the room.

Showering makes me feel marginally more in control of my thought processes and much more awake. I know it won't last, but for the time being it gives me a lift. As I towel off and drag on the robe they've left me, I can hear voices through the door. I limp closer, cognizant that I don't have my brace on, listening out of habit. They're speaking softly but I've had a lot of practice at stealth listening.

"...Samantha... asking about him... see him... convince...?"

Walter's rumble carries better. "I don't know, it's not that easy to get him to do anything he doesn't want to do. Or should I say that he's set against doing. I don't think it's that he doesn't want to see her but..." His voice drops and I wonder if he's realized the shower has stopped. "...-nsider Mulder... doesn't want... angry." His voice fades even further. "...symptoms... seriously depressed... how to..."

I sigh and close my eyes, leaning against the door. I'd sort of hoped he'd just write it off to the injuries and the drugs and the tiredness. Should have known better. Or should have just realized I'm leaking more, which is a foregone conclusion. He's reading me better every day and I'm having a harder time blocking him out and... this just sucks. I want to be able to tell him what he really wants to hear - that he can make me feel better. But I can't. He knows better than most what's going on, and he wouldn't believe it even if I could do it convincingly.

I push open the door and they both fall silent as they turn to look at me. Scully smiles and pats the exam table next to her. I scowl but she ignores me and helps me up onto it, then into a reclining position. I hiss as my back rests against the thin pad on the table.

"You want to go up on your side?" she asks, eyes darkening with concern.

"Nah, it's just because I don't have the bandages on. I slept on my back and was fine." I know it's easier for her to get at the front this way and I'd rather just do this as quickly as possible. I stretch my right arm up over my head and close my eyes as she undoes the robe.

"You know it's December, Alex?" Walter's voice is closer. He must have moved up to the other side of the table.

"Mmm," I breathe deeply as Scully's careful fingers check the bruising, the swelling, the tears where the prosthesis was ripped away, the leather straps cutting into flesh or abrading it raw. I hiss as her fingers check the stitches over the claw slices running down my left side. I know this is the area where she's most concerned about infection. "I guess I knew," I manage in a reasonably normal voice. "What about it?"

As her strong little hands guide me up onto my side and she starts inspecting the slices across my back, Scully picks up the topic. "Holiday season, Alex. Thanksgiving just sort of slid by, and that was understandable given all that was going on, what with Samantha and the vaccine and all. But things are going so well now, and this is the holiday season."

"Wars throughout history have paused for the December holidays," Walter adds.

I finally open my eyes. "What are you two on about?" I wince as Scully touches the back of my neck.

Walter smiles down at me. "You mean you haven't guessed? We want to throw a Christmas party."

"Holiday party," Scully corrects automatically as she walks around the end of the table, gathers the bandages, and comes back to my side. "Josh is Jewish and he's hardly the only one. And I'm sure there are a large number of... agnostics, shall we say... among us."

"Holiday party," Walter nods.

Yeah, for that matter Mulder's Jewish. Not that he's religious. But they're very carefully not mentioning him. I twist my head so I can look up at both of them at the same time, and bite back the gasp of pain the movement prompts. "We're saving the world and you want to throw a party."

"Exactly," Scully grins down at me and rubs something cool and sticky all over the cuts on my back. "What better time to throw a party?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe after the world is all officially saved? Don't you guys think this might be jumping the gun just a little?"

"We're not celebrating the end of the war. Not yet. We're celebrating the holidays. And it's not just us," Walter chimes. "Others have brought it up. I think people are just generally feeling more optimistic. They want some way to let it out. Some way to celebrate even though we can't fully celebrate victory yet."

I sigh as Scully rolls me onto my back again, the wounds padded now with fresh dressing. "The French are celebrating," I murmur as she starts on my side.

"There, you see? Even more reason to do it," she says matter-of-factly. "How were the French losses, by the way?"

"I don't have full details," I answer absently, "but reportedly better than Milan."

Her eyes light up. "That's wonderful news!"

"Bodes well for Libya, too, now that we'll have reinforcements fresh off a victory," I agree. Then I shoot her and Walter a suspicious look. "So, why are you guys asking me about this holiday party thing? You can't tell me you honestly think you need my approval." I know them both too well for that.

They share a grin over the table. "Well, no," Scully finally admits. "But we did think you would be the best person to ask about timing. I started with Walter, but he said we really ought to bring you in on it for the most accurate planning. We don't want to have everyone partying the night before a big offensive. I was all for us taking care of it completely and surprising you, but he finally convinced me."

"Mmm, he knows what happens when I get... surprised," I say dryly, shooting Walter a heavy-lidded look. He has the grace to blush. Scully either doesn't notice or chooses not to acknowledge the interchange, and keeps on with talk of a tree and having the kids make ornaments and hot cider and cookies and organizing anyone who can play a musical instrument among the rebels. I finally hold up my hand. "Okay, okay. I'm sold. Throw a kick-ass underground rebellion holiday party. Never let it be said I don't think people should celebrate. Let me look at the master grid the Rebels have and I'll get you the best date. I won't have to do anything, will I?"

The slight pause makes me suspicious, even though they don't even look at each other as they finally say "no, nothing" in unison. My sixth sense is tingling, but I'm all wrapped up again, and Scully is helping me sit up and asking me how I'm feeling.

"I know you've been on a real cocktail lately, what with the painkillers and the muscle relaxants and the antibiotics and the antiviral agents. And then on top of that, all the stress of these final offensives, even though they're going well. You doing okay?"

She's smooth, I'll give her that. If I hadn't heard them talking, I wouldn't even guess she's probing for evidence of depression. I force a noncommittal smile. "I'm fine, doc. Sore as hell but that's nothing time won't take care of. Now let me get dressed so I can get back to my stress."

She isn't giving up yet though. "How's your appetite?" she presses.

"I'm eating," I answer, jerking my thumb at Walter again. "Someone has decided to make it his mission in life to fatten me up. You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?"

She gives me a wide-eyed innocent look. "Would I employ underhanded strategies to manage your health?"

"Yes," I answer promptly.

She nods with a satisfied smile. "Damn right I would. So don't give him any trouble about it. Any word yet on a replacement?" She gestures at my left shoulder.

I shake my head. "I'm not worried. I'll find something eventually. Too much going on right now, and I couldn't wear it yet anyway."

She nods again, then suddenly scowls at me. "And don't be making him drag you down here to see me. It's important I keep an eye on those cuts and you know it."

I give her a quick salute. "Can I have my pants now?"

Nodding, she straightens up her supplies and heads out of the room. "Come back and see me again soon, Alex." It's clearly not an invitation so much as an order.

"Will do," I call, taking my underwear from Walter and getting it on. I let him help me get dressed because my shower-high is already starting to wear off and I can't be bothered to object. I was sort of hoping for a longer shelf life. Oh well.

When I'm ready and on my feet, we leave the infirmary. Scully is already back at work and gives us a quick wave as we slip out. Back in the halls we walk for some time before I finally can't resist and raise an eyebrow at Skinner. "Holiday party?"

"I think - scratch that - we think that people could use a little something to ease the tension. Remind them they're still human. We're winning, and everyone feels it. With the vaccine, we've turned the corner. But we haven't won definitively and we're still losing people. Everyone's edgy. This might help... take the edge off. And it won't hurt to start reminding people what we're saving the world for. The whole getting back to normal part. Eventually we're going to have to go back to living in the world. It'll be good to give people a little practice." He smiles at me. "Besides, it'll be fun. You'll enjoy yourself."

"Ah ha! I knew it! Now I not only have to okay it and find you the best date, I have to go to it, too?"

"Of course," he's implacable. "The rebellion can't celebrate without our fearless leader."

"Are you making fun of me?" I ask mildly as we reach our destination corridor.

"Wouldn't think of it," he returns smoothly, opening the door to Information Central and waving me through.

"Well, good. Now that we've got that settled," I crack, brushing past him and limping into the room. I hear him snort behind me, and keep walking. Byers and Eve are both tapping furiously away at keyboards while Langly stares entranced at his screen, occasionally hitting the enter key. Frohike dozes in the battered armchair that he had dragged in here. With so much happening so fast, the four of them are camping out in here mostly, grabbing sleep when they can.

The three capable of it look up as the door opens. Eve smiles widely and stands up, walking straight for me and wrapping me in a quick, careful hug. "Paris, Alex! We've taken back Paris."

"I thought that would please you," I murmur, returning the squeeze. Out of the corner of my eye I see Langly startle like a rabbit, and glance our way. He obviously wasn't watching the monitors. Didn't expect me.

Just over two weeks and he's still acting like a ghost around me. I think he's afraid I'm going to kill him in his sleep. I wouldn't mind, actually. And now that the whole Mulder thing is a moot point, I don't really have anything keeping me from doing it. But I have to admit to getting a certain amount of sadistic pleasure out of leaving him alive and just watching him work himself up into an anxiety attack.

Byers swivels his chair and grins at me. "More good news. It's a trend."

"I know... I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"I think it's officially dropped," Eve retorted. "And it's your Doc Martin, and it's dropped squarely on their heads."

I laugh, then press my hand to my side at the stab of pain. "Shit, don't make me laugh. Georges said I'd have downloads on Paris within the hour. Can you give me anything that's come in on Libya and Japan while I'm waiting?"

Byers swings back to his terminal and starts keying then tilts the screen to me. Eve goes back to decrypting, eyes lifting to scan the monitors every few minutes. I read the updates that came in while I was sleeping, nothing but the quiet sounds of keystrokes and Frohike snoring in the background. Eventually the Paris downloads start arriving, complete with video.

It was a fucking rout. Go us.

I want to feel an overwhelming urge to dance around the room, crack open champagne, hug everybody, even just shout "fuck you alien bastards" and wave my fist in the air.

But mostly all I feel is an overwhelming desire to go back to bed.

I know, logically, that this is less than good. Bad, even. Given the circumstances, I should probably see Scully for some chemical assistance. But I just can't. Not right now, not after everything. I can't just walk down to her and say "I'm incredibly depressed and since now isn't a good time to wait it out, could you give me some drugs that will help take the edge off?" What with all the good news in the last few weeks, on top of mine and Mulder's infamous interaction sixteen days ago when we brought Sam in, it'd be like handing her a signed declaration of my feelings for him. Written in neon ink.

I don't even care right now if she's guessed. Well, I do, but I honestly can't work up the energy to give much of a damn. But I can't... I just can't... own it to her. Not right now, when I'm so... whatever I am right now. I can't say it, I can't imply it, and for fuck's sake I sure as hell don't want to have a conversation with her about it. And I just know she wouldn't be handing over the serotonin boosters without a little chat.

If I thought my mental state was truly affecting command decisions, I'd like to think I'd do it. I can't swear I would, but I'd like to think so. As it is, I feel like I have two very separate rooms in my head. In one, I'm drowning. In the other, I'm functioning. Sure, I'm not dancing on the tables, but I'm functioning. Thinking clearly about what the rebellion needs. I'm not on frontline missions at the moment anyway, given my physical state.

Besides, Walter's looking over my shoulder. He won't let me fuck up, no matter how low I sink.

The man himself is leaning over my shoulder even now. He's having no problem with feeling the excitement of victory. I watch his hand ball into a fist on the table next to me, and then jerk into the air.

"YES!"

Eve and John give up trying to be stoic and crowd around to look at the screen, too. More shouts and cheers. I'll have to get them to feed this down to the big screen in the cafeteria as soon as possible. It really is good viewing and it'll be great for morale. Put everybody in that celebratory spirit Scully and Skinner want.

"Can we put this on compound-wide feed?" Eve asks, reading my mind.

"Do it," I order. "Make an announcement, too. I think even the sleepers are going to want to see this. Or just let it loop, and they can see it as they wake up. I guess I shouldn't assume no one wants to sleep." I pull my handheld off my belt and connect it to the computer. "Madame will probably make contact with me directly, but if her call comes through you guys, route it direct no matter where I am."

"You got it, boss," Byers says cheerfully, dropping back into his chair. "No doubt she'll be looking to chat ASAP."

"Mmm," I murmur absently, paging through the data on my handheld. "If They're not too hung up out there. Things always get busier for Them when the Colonists pull out of a site. And she's a pretty active commander. Very hands on, right in there with the troops."

"Must run in the rebellion," comes a rough mutter from behind us, and we all turn to see Frohike standing, rubbing his eyes groggily under his glasses. He blinks, meets my gaze and nods.

I blink back. I think it's the nicest thing he's ever said to me. Considering how pissed Mulder is at him right now, and how much Mulder means to him, for him to say that at this particular moment... my eyes actually water.

Jesus FUCKING Christ I need to get out of here. Fast. I need to get out of this little myopic underground world I'm in and I need to get away from these people that mean too damn much and keep crawling in through the cracks. This needs to be over and I need to be alone, somewhere very far away.

I drop my gaze directly back to my handheld and stand quickly, turning my back on all of them. "Yeah... well," I hear the husk in my voice and try to clear my throat. "She'll probably be contacting sooner rather than later, so be on the watch for the signal." I walk a few feet away and pretend to concentrate, taking slow deep breaths through my nose.

Behind me I hear Walter tell them about this holiday party. They start talking about shifts and coverage, so they can party together. Walter gives me a few minutes of distance, reading my little screen, then comes up behind me and pokes me in the right shoulder. "Let's get something to eat while you read."

I could eat. I'm not hungry but he'll just badger me until I do, so I might as well. Maybe it'll help with my energy levels. Out of habit my eyes skate to the monitors and scan for any sign of my target like metal shavings to a magnet. And good thing I do. I glance at the time in the lower left corner. Sure enough, between my extended visit to Scully and watching all the downloads, two hours have gone by. He got off door duty just as I was supposed to be waking up. And there he is. There they are.

He sits at a small round table, his chair practically on top of hers. She sits so close to him their shoulders touch, their hands brush every time one of them moves. Their eyes are locked on each other to the exclusion of all else. They could be lovers, rather than siblings. My eyes fasten on her, huddled in her chair, elbows on the table, bony fingers cradled around a cup of something. Loose jeans rolled up over and over again and held up with a cinched belt. An oversized sweatshirt with cuffs that she has to keep pushing back. I recognize his clothes at this distance with an ease that disgusts me.

We've got plenty of supplies in the compound, and no doubt have things that would fit her better. Hell, I bet Scully's clothes would be an improvement, although Sam is taller. At least she wouldn't be swimming.

I think she likes this better though. What little I've seen of her, I think she wants him wrapped around her like a security blanket. I can understand that. And he's happier than hell to dress her in his clothing.

"Sure," I say to Walter, looking back down at my handheld without a flicker of expression. "Let's go." When we're out in the hallway, I pause and try to make a show of remembering something. "Oh hell, I have some things I need to take care of. Would you grab me something and meet me down in Distribution?" I don't know why I pick there, exactly, except that it's a ways away from the cafeteria. And I can come up with some reason to be there by the time he arrives. I start walking, but a heavy hand descends on my right shoulder.

"Alex."

I stop. Stand still. Finally, turn. He's looking at me directly, but his face is as neutral as his voice was earlier.

"Alex, how long are you going to keep avoiding them? We can go eat. We can be in the same room. We'll get a separate table. And I'm betting Samantha would like to say 'hi' to you. She's always asking about you."

From somewhere in the depths of the chill that's taken up residence inside my chest, I manage to speak calmly and evenly. "He was pretty clear, Walter. He doesn't want me anywhere near her. I can respect that." I swallow hard against the memory of the anguished look in his eyes, on his face, when he spat that at me. Of all the things I didn't want to do, hurt him again was right up there on the top of the list.

"He was angry. He still is. But he'll come around, calm down. He's a smart man. He's thinking with his emotions right now. He's always been easily overwhelmed by strong emotion, and at the moment he's understandably swamped with it. But eventually he'll be able to understand. We're all trying to talk to him-"

"Don't," I interrupt, voice brusque. "Don't do that. Anybody. I don't care who it is, order them to stop if you have to." For chrissake I don't want him thinking I'm asking people to plead my case with him. Jesus! I'm not that pathetic, even now.

"But if you sat down with him, and explained your thinking, your reasoning-"

My chest seizes up at the very thought. As fucking if. There's no point, I'm fine with there being no point, and I just need to stay very far away from him while my entire system has time to absorb that and figure out how to function. The lost cause is official, and that's fine, but I sure as hell don't need to continue to rub my own face in it. That much of a masochist, I'm not.

I'm sure Walter means well, and just wants the whole Lois thing to end officially on a somewhat friendly note, and if I was a better person, a stronger person, I could do that. I'm sure we could get there, because I think eventually the fact that I actually got her out and got her back to him really will overshadow the how and the why and the dirty details, and he'd probably eventually even be able to thank me. But I'm not better and I'm not stronger and I can't. I'll just keep avoiding him, thank you very much.

Walter stares at me, and I see the pain in his eyes, his face. The conflict. I'm not entirely sure what's going on in that head, but whatever it is, it's not easy. "I could lock you two in a very small room together," he finally says.

I actually laugh, and it makes my side hurt again. But it's just that funny, and what's even funnier is that he doesn't look particularly thrilled about the idea himself. I get a clear mental image of Walter manhandling both Mulder and me into a supply closet and locking and barring the door. "One of us would come out dead," I say truthfully. It's never been more clear to me, even though I've always known it. Mulder can't handle the way I think, the way my mind works. He can't understand it or forgive it or even stand being around it. I'm like one of his psychological profiles, one of his serial killers that he can dissect like a bug on a stick pin, with just as much revulsion. Of course, I hadn't exactly planned on him getting the full walk-about of my thought process around Operation Twinkle...

I cut the thought off before it can progress. What happened, happened. Probably for the best. Over and done. Past reviewing or reliving or hashing over one more time. Done done and done. I manage a smile at Walter, step in and brush a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Walter. For giving a damn." I shake my head. "But drop it." I turn and start walking. "And don't worry about the food. I'm not that hungry."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Between Walter being at my shoulder and Scully changing my bandages, I don't have any option of forgetting about this party thing and finally I hammer out a date with them. We settle on December 17, and in the intervening weeks we cake-walk through Libya, position ourselves for a broader front in Africa, sweep Japan with higher casualties than I would have liked, and hold the line in Tunisia.

And only one of my alien-claw wounds actually winds up infected.

Clean up is getting more and more complicated, the more places we have to clean up at once. Japanese hot spots continue to flare up and we finally committed the clean up teams to just staying there, and we're sending reinforcements. I wouldn't mind going myself, but Scully won't take me off restricted duty yet. The higher the technological and economic sophistication of the country, the more embedded the Colonists tend to be, and the greater the reverberations of rooting them out.

The side effects of finally going public with the Rebellion are different everywhere. Here in the US people are reeling with the constant disclosures, even though the actual violent fighting is still pocketed around the country and concentrated on labs and medical facilities, and the occasional corporate headquarters. Suicides are way up, and people don't know what to think about the government and official reactions. The Colonists are so interwoven with our government and industry here that directly contradictory statements are being issued on a daily basis and people don't know what to believe. Only the full throttle explosions of publicity and fighting in other countries has prevented the Colonists from playing this all off as conspiracy lunacy. The web and the Gunmen's network of net-geeks have never been so helpful in getting real information to the average person. We're picking our political partners carefully and bringing them in slowly, but it's still a mess. Before next week I need to get the Senators and Representatives we've selected to a face-to-face with Madame and Their executive committee. What fun.

By contrast, in Russia it's daily life as usual for the large majority of the population. In the UK, the BBC managed to resist Colonist infiltration a lot better than the American press, for whatever reason, and that's helped with the spread of information in Europe. For being such a nice country, Canada is kicking alien ass and I'm impressed with how readily the average Canadian adapted to the concept of aliens and what needed to be done to protect against infection. And they're so damned polite about vaccine distribution.

It occurs to me, not for the first time, that we Americans are a fragile bunch, in our own way. I think it comes from the superiority complex, that habit we have of thinking we're invincible. When that wall crashes, it crashes hard. I speak from personal experience.

I have to admit to being just plain amused by the reactions of the various fundamentalist religions the world over. Aliens and God are an interesting mix. I've helped Madame make some official contacts and statements, and she's stayed carefully silent on anything god-related.

Which makes it even funnier to me that we're having this party thing - celebrating a bunch of holidays rooted in a variety of religious traditions. I'm leaving all the party stuff to Walter and Scully, and they're knocking it out like no tomorrow. Or maybe that's the kicker... it finally feels like there is a tomorrow.

I'm happy they're having fun; they sure as hell deserve it. I'm mostly just tired. One foot in front of the other is getting a little harder each day. It doesn't help that I'm not getting much uninterrupted sleep. Too much news coming in from all corners, all time zones, and I've managed to keep getting the alerts routed to me despite Walter's best efforts to surround me with a protective bubble of "do not disturb". The fact that he chases other people away from me on an hourly basis, then sits me down to talk about how we can get a supply line on some champagne, or Christmas music, amuses me to no end.

Somehow I'm beginning to suspect that may be the point.

The day he comes in grinning like a madman, waving a DVD copy of White Christmas at me, I know it for a fact.

"Alex, come on, it'll be perfect!"

"Absolutely not."

"It'll be fun!"

"No."

"There's a long tradition of commanding officers making fools of themselves as a morale booster for the troops."

"Where the hell are you going to find blue ostrich feathers during an alien invasion, Walter? Have you thought of that? Hmm?"

It's like a bizarro version of planning a mission, and if their goal is to distract me and make me laugh, it's working. Scully has every person on supply runs checking in with her before leaving the compound. We're limited to where we can access supplies and what we can get due to the increased security around our location. The last thing we need right now is the Colonists figuring out where rebel headquarters are. But given the season, even our traditional supply routes are yielding some interesting finds.

Like 20 plastic mistletoes. I scratch my head as I stare at the ugly little things. Somehow I expected Scully to have more... taste. I fish them out, drop them on the table and keep sorting through the supply box with my name on it. I'm not even halfway through and my eyelids feel heavy, and I need to sit down. I've had about three hours of sleep in the last 22 hours, and it wasn't all at once. I slump into the chair beside the table I'm standing at, and some time later, hopefully only a few minutes, find myself just sitting there staring into space. I'm not exactly dozing... more like zoning out. My brain just doesn't have the initiative to keep me going at the moment. I blink and shake myself, trying to snap out of it.

"You okay, boss?"

I tilt my head and focus on Merritt, standing at the table next to me sorting the kitchen supplies from the infirmary supplies. Her voice is casual, but her eyes are sharp as she scans my face. I force a smile and nod. "Muscle spasm," I hear myself saying. "Lower back is killing me."

"Need the doc?"

"It'll be okay in a minute. Already letting up." Now that I've mentioned it, my lower back is killing me, but it's not a muscle spasm. Just generalized ache, with the added discomfort of the infection and swelling running around my left side. I can feel a hot throb in it that I realize I've been ignoring for at least a couple hours. In my peripheral vision I see her turn back to her supplies, pull her handheld off her belt and type into it. I take advantage of the fact that she's not looking directly at me and brace my hand against the table to help myself up. I lever myself back to my feet with an effort and face my box again. I need batteries and I need them now and I know they're in here somewhere because I accidentally put them on the supply list three times.

Two more poking attempts through the box and I find the urge to sit down overwhelming again. I just want to stop. Stop moving, stop thinking. I force the temptation away, and start debating with myself. Out of the corner of my eye I see Merritt scoop the infirmary supplies back into the box, leave the kitchen stuff on the table, and leave with the box on her shoulder. Her departure closes my mental debate. I lean against the table and dig into my pocket for the little pill case. Flipping the top with my thumb and setting the case on the table top, I bypass the painkiller and go for the little white pill that will hopefully give me enough of a jolt to get through the rest of my day.

A hand closes over my arm as I lift the pill. I stare for a moment at the fingers wrapped around my wrist, uncomprehending. I recognize the hand, the touch, but I know for a fact he's not supposed to be here, because he's on duty and I know where he's supposed to be. I blink up into warm brown eyes. "Walter."

He removes the pill from my unresisting fingers and slips it back in the case, closes the little box securely and puts it in his own pocket. "How about sleep instead?" he asks, catching my hand where it hangs in midair.

I sigh and annoyance finally chases the fog out of my head. "I have to meet with the senators in less than four hours. Give that back."

He nods. "I know you have the senators in under four hours. I'm going with you, remember? Three point something hours means you have enough time to take a nap before you go." He hasn't let go of my hand, fingers twining through mine.

"I have things I have to do before I sit down with them. And I have to prep." I try to disentangle my fingers but he's having none of it.

"You can pull this kind of thing off blindfolded, Alex. You'll get better prep by getting some sleep. The amphetamines will just make you wired and you won't be able to sleep when we get back."

His calm, sensible voice is really getting to me. Irritation makes me straighten up to my full height, and makes my voice harsher than I mean it to be. But dammit, we've had this conversation. "Don't protect me. I don't need a mother."

He squares off against me, one hand on his hip, the other still holding mine. "Actually, you do. But failing that you're getting me. You look like hell, you're a walking zombie, and a strong breeze could blow you over. You go meet with senators like this, oh excuse me - like this plus hopped up on a little speed - and you'll make a smashing impression. You know we need to watch the rebellion's reputation with the politicos." He leans forward and puts on his AD you-will-do-as-I-command voice. "You are going to bed. Now. Or so help me, I'm laying one across your jaw, knocking you out, slinging you over my shoulder and having Scully tranq you."

The glint in his eye is telling me he really might do it. Our history isn't that long past that I don't believe somewhere in him, he wouldn't enjoy getting a free shot in... better yet, for an altruistic reason. I glare at him, about the only response I'm capable of at the moment. I try to come up with a retort but my brain fails me abysmally, more proof that he's right. Except now I really don't want to admit it. "I. Have. Things. To. Do." I grind out.

"Yes, you do. And thing number one is 'get some sleep'. Look, it's even right here on your schedule." He snags my handheld off my belt before I can stop him, presses a couple buttons and flashes the screen at me. Sure enough, my To Do list has a great big entry at the top, in outsized font - GET SOME SLEEP.

It's blinking, no less.

I'm just tired enough to find that funny, but I manage to turn my laugh into a cough and reassert my glare. Dammit, I really am pissed. Not amused. Pissed. "I don't have time to sleep," I protest, then cringe at how whiny I sound.

His face softens but his hand tugs on mine and starts leading me away from my supplies. "You don't have time not to sleep, Alex. Now, are you going to walk to your room, or do I carry you?" He walks backwards, dragging me with him. I don't have the energy or the force of will right now to resist but I glance back at my box longingly. There's supposed to be cinnamon gum in there along with my batteries. "I'll have somebody bring your stuff to your room," he soothes. "It'll be there when you wake up. Come on, you should be taking advantage of the fact that you're practically asleep on your feet."

"There's just so much stuff to do." I can hear my voice start to slur. Dammit, I'm doing it again. He shows up and my brain decides it's okay to shut down. It's a damn inconvenient effect. "What kind of advantage is being 'sleep on m'feet?" The concept is confusing me.

"Given how much trouble you've been having falling asleep when you actually go to bed, you ought to grab this opportunity," he explains patiently, drawing me ever forward and coming around to my side, his free hand settling in the middle of my back, propelling me on without putting pressure on any of my cuts. "Seems like that's been the problem - every time you're physically ready to sleep, you have to be awake for some reason, and every time you actually have a down shift, you're too wired to sleep. So grab this while you can. I'll take care of everything else."

It sounds reasonable enough when he says it, but I have a funny feeling I'm forgetting something that makes it not reasonable at all. Of course everything sounds reasonable when Walter says it. He's got that... reasonable way about him. He's just reasonable-ish. Reasonability? We should just stick him on television and let him explain to the average citizen what's going on with the aliens and invasion and crossbreeding and black oiled politicians. They'd line up to be vaccinated like... like... like Canadians.

Which tips over a thought in my sluggish brain. "Weren't you on duty with international updates? What're you doing down here anyway?"

"I finished," he says easily, guiding me through the double doors. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood."

Something's not right about that. Something... but I can't parse out what it is. We're walking and people we pass glance at us and then look away quickly with poorly hidden smirks or full-out smiles. Part of me wonders what the hell is so funny but the rest of me couldn't care less. Walter keeps up his line of reasonable patter all the way through the halls of the compound to my room and his voice is like molasses coating my brain. I keep insisting there are other things that I need to be doing that are more important than sleeping, but truthfully I've forgotten what they are and the cadence of his words is chasing the memories further and further away. I'd check my list when he isn't looking, but he never gave it back to me and I don't think I have a chance in hell of getting it away from him with only one arm and barely enough energy to walk.

By the time he's got my door open and is guiding me to the bed, I've given up protesting and just let the apathy sweep over me. He settles me against my pillows and I close my eyes. I feel his hands working my boots off, and as each weight leaves my feet I feel like I'm floating away. My pants open and that makes me feel like I should be awake. I force my eyes open but can't do much more than roll my head sideways on the pillow, until he enters my line of sight.

Such a sweet guy.

He looks so concerned, so focused on taking care of me. I can't remember the last person who wanted to take care of me. It makes me sad. I wish things were different. For him. For me. I wish I could stay, see what life afterward is going to be like for him. Possibly with him.

"You could," whispers a tiny traitorous voice in my head. It's almost inaudible underneath all the deadening weight of the apathy filling me. But it digs its way out, pokes its way through, makes itself heard. "You don't have to disappear."

Oh, but I do. Conscience chases back the sneaky voice. He's been way too good to me. I'm sure as hell not taking advantage of him.

"Anymore than I already have," another voice mumbles sarcastically.

My brain is in just that frame of mind to wonder if I should be concerned about all these voices in my head. But they're old friends and it's an old wonder and I know it only surfaces when I'm really worn down, so I ignore it in favor of shoring up my defenses to the seductive idea of staying with Walter, letting him take care of me.

I'm trying to change, not lapse into old habits. He deserves so much more.

My jeans are down and then off and it's one more weight that isn't holding me down anymore and I float a little further. He turns away with them and I catch sight of my utility belt hanging from the belt loops. I make some sort of noise without realizing it; he turns back. My hand is lifting without conscious thought. I never let that belt too far away, even in sleep. It's got my phone, my pager, my handheld...

Well no, wait, not my handheld, not at the moment, but still, I need the belt. I need it to be right by the bed.

Fingers fold over mine, and my hand is curled up in a larger hand. It's not what I was reaching for but that feels good too. Better actually, and even if it's unfair I know something that will shut the little voices up and I pull, tug, tighten my hold.

The bed dips and creaks with his weight as he settles next to me and I breathe out a heavy sigh of contentment. Yes. That's what I wanted. I hate cuddling after sex, and it makes me uncomfortable just on general principle, but I don't mind his solid presence next to me, as long as it's not too hot and as long as it's not too clingy. Or maybe claustrophobic is a better word. With my pants off and the blankets underneath me the room is perfectly cool and he knows by now and he's just a bare inch away from me. Close enough that I can feel his heat, feel his presence, but the only spot of connection is our hands, and my arm against him. Perfect. Perfect, Walter. I let my eyes close again. "Thank you," I sigh. He probably has no idea what I'm thanking him for but that's okay. My brain couldn't explain it if I tried and even if it could I don't think I could make my tongue work.

He presses a soft kiss to my temple and I murmur something even I don't understand and tilt my head closer. Deep breaths keep turning into sighs, and with every one a little piece of me floats off. I wonder if he knows I'm slipping away even as we lie here, that pretty soon he's going to be holding nothing but an image. I'm half somewhere else already.

His voice is petting my ears, stroking down through the aural canal right into my brain and rubbing up against me. I make a noise like a purr and I hear him laugh softly. It just feels so good. "Love y'r voice..." I sigh. "K'p talking..."

"I can do that," he whispers in that deep gravely sound I adore. I'm not sure exactly what he's talking about but it doesn't really matter. It's more about vowels and consonants and timbre and pitch. Mmmm... pitch. Sticky, like pine pitch. The smell of pine is suddenly in my nostrils and I love it. Christmas. Christmas tree. We wanted to have a tree.

"Will we 'ave a tr', Walter?" I mumble. "Pine tree?"

There's a pause that tells some little corner of my brain that never shuts down that whatever he was talking about, it wasn't Christmas trees. He picks right back up though as if it was.

"Absolutely. Didn't I tell you? Dana and I have already picked out the one we want." His hand settles on my left shoulder, right where the shoulder meets the neck, and starts massaging slowly and gently, his thumb stroking my throat.

"Good," I groan, and even I don't know if I'm talking about the tree or what his hand is doing. "Want a tree. We always w'nted a tree."

"Well, you'll have one. You can help us cut it down if you can find time in your busy schedule."

"Mmm. Too b'sy."

"Yes, you are too busy. But don't worry about that now," his voice soothes away thoughts of what I have to do before they can fully form. "Just think about the pine tree. It's going to be beautiful, big, and it's going to have lights and decorations and everything."

"Mmm... 'kay, I'll come for the tree but I'm not doin' drag for th' whole rebellion," I murmur, snuffling closer into the circle of his arm stretched over me. My bare leg is pressed up against his jeans now, and I wish he was naked and I could feel his hair on my arm, my skin.

He laughs again and it's such a beautiful sound. "Well, it's not real drag, Alex. All you have to do is roll up your pants, put on a little make up, and put a blue flower on your head."

"Unh uh. Look too damn pretty in m'ke up," I mutter petulantly, and feel his chest shake as his laugh rumbles louder.

"I bet you do. And I bet you have absolutely no idea how cute you are when you have no clue what you're saying." I can hear the grin in his voice but I'm not sure what's so funny. I know exactly what I'm saying.

"Not singing 'Sisters'."

"You don't have to sing it, you only have to lip sync and bat your eye lashes. Now I know you can do that. You'll look wonderful and the troops are going to love it. We're going to be a smash."

His voice cradles the word 'smash' and draws it out and I want to just roll around in it. Curl up in it and stay there. I like not thinking. I like smelling pine in my head. I can even almost remember the song. "...she wore th' dress... an' I st'yed home..."

I like that funny shivery feeling as he laughs against me again. I press closer to his body and sigh again, breathing him in. "That's it," he murmurs directly against my ear and the vibrations resonate all through me. And then he's singing softly, "...all kinds of weather, we stick together, the same in the rain or sun..."

It's the last touch I need. The last strings holding me conscious snap. It might as well be a lullaby. And that has me drifting into the actual lullaby... something about sheep. The song morphs seamlessly and I can't tell if Walter's somehow followed my thoughts and switched songs with me, or if Bing Crosby is in my head.

"...if you're tired, and you can't sleep, just count your blessings, instead of sheep... and you'll fall asleep, counting your blessings..."

I float into the wooly warmth next to me, the gentle voice, the hand warm and heavy on my chest and shoulder... black velvet... no, more like chocolate brown velvet...

~*~*~*~*~*~

A door opens and light falls across the bed. Someone's whispering. Two someones. Whispering is a nice sound. I can't hear any words and I don't really try. I'm so comfortable. The door closes and I hear footsteps. "Walt'r?"

"Shhh. Go back to sleep."

The mattress shifts as he sits. "Wha' time?" I try to blink open my eyes but they don't want to cooperate.

"You've only been asleep a few minutes," he whispers, and his voice is so close, hovering over my ear. I'm curled up on my right side and I feel warm and safe and cocooned. His hand strokes through my hair and I sigh happily and forget about trying to open my eyes. "You'll get up when it's time," he murmurs and his lips brush my ear, his hand continuing to pet my hair.

Sounds about right to me.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I open my eyes and wonder what's wrong. Something's different.

I can hear a clock ticking. My own breathing. And... that's it.

I sit up blinking, rubbing my eyes. I can't hear anything else. There's no hum of a computer, and no alarm woke me up. No ring, no jangle, no tone. I look around. A small lamp on my desk is on but sure enough, the laptop is turned off. My utility belt sits beside it in a pile. I swing my legs out of bed and look down as a large chamois shirt tangles around them then falls to the floor. I'm still wearing my sweatshirt and socks, but I was lying on top of my blankets.

The memory of Walter putting me to bed blooms into my head and a smile crosses my face. I reach down for the shirt, lift it to my face and inhale. Yep, his. I pull off my sweatshirt and slide into his shirt then stretch. Yawning, I get to my feet and my eyes catch on my bedside alarm clock, the red digital numbers staring at me accusingly.

13:35

I stare. That's got to be wrong. Rub my eyes. Look again.

13:35

Shit, no. The senators. The meeting was for 11:00 AM. My breathing catches in my chest and I grab the clock, shake it, as if it's somehow responsible. How in HELL can it be 13:35 - no, 13:36 - and I'm just waking up? Panic courses through me as I look wildly around the room for my jeans. Where... what... no wait. Maybe the clock is wrong. Some digital glitch. I stumble to my desk, flip on the laptop even as I grab for my phone, my handheld. Everything was turned off. I never turn my phone off.

I get a heavy sick feeling in my stomach as screens start to light and circuits start to hum. Sure enough. 13:36 says my phone. 13:36 says my handheld. 13:37 says my laptop by the time it boots up.

Fucking hell. I slam my hand down on my desk.

Walter. How could he? What the fuck was he thinking?

I go back to looking for my jeans. Nowhere. My boots are noticeably absent too. With a snarl I push open the top of my trunk. None of my jeans are there, or my camos. Or my two pairs of sweatpants. I let the top fall back down with a bang and storm to the door as fast as my screwed-up knee will let me. He thinks I won't go out in my underwear? Doesn't know me real well, does he.

I fling open the door and come face to face with Rhodes. He grins at me as I stop short. "Hey boss. Goin' somewhere?" He glances down at my bare legs and raises an eyebrow.

I give him a blistering glare and suddenly realize Henderson is leaning up against the wall on the other side of the door. Two of the biggest guys around. And they both have dart guns in their hands. I suppose I should be complimented, in a way.

I don't fucking believe this.

I suck in a slow breath through my nose, closing my eyes and mentally counting to ten. Then fifteen. Then twenty-five. Finally I open my eyes again and speak very carefully. "Going to shoot me, boys?"

Henderson smirks and shakes his head. "Nah, boss. We figure you got at least six hours sleep before we heard you banging around in there. Skinner told us to dart you only if it was four hours or under."

Bloody bastard. Bloody arrogant bastard. And undoubtedly he went ahead to the meeting. I jerk my hand back through my hair, cursing under my breath. Are they still meeting? Can I get there in time?

"By the way," Rhodes breaks into my pissed off musings. "He said to tell you to take a look at your To Do list when you woke up."

I pause, my eyes narrowing. Alright, I'll humor him. "Fine. Get me some goddamned pants and preferably my own." I slam the door in his face and stomp back to my desk. As much of a stomp as my limp allows, anyway. Cursing in Russian the whole way helps make up for it. Pressing the schedule button, I call up my list and see he's completely reconfigured it. Number one is "Relax, the senator meeting is under control." Number two - "Make sure you don't need more sleep. If you do, GO BACK TO BED."

Arrogant fucking bastard. If he thinks fucking me means he can suddenly become some sort of mother hen who tells me what to do...

Number three - "Since I know you're completely disregarding number two, please put some pants on before storming out of the room. Rhodes can get your jeans back for you. I don't need any more competition signing up for that ass."

I actually blush and that just makes me madder.

Number four - "Go to Information Central and talk to Eve before you do anything else."

Hmm.

A knock at my door brings me across the room and I open it to find Rhodes standing there with all my missing clothes. I gesture him into the room with a jerk of my thumb and go back to my desk, calling up my overview screen on the laptop. The one that's usually running at all times so I can get updates at a glance. I seethe silently. He can order me to Eve all he wants, I'm going to check my own systems first.

I know it's petty, but for chrissakes the man stole my pants.

A throat clears behind me. I turn with a raised eyebrow. Rhodes shifts from one foot to the other. "Don't be too pissed at him, boss. He was worried about you." He shrugs and heads for the door. Just as he's walking through it he adds over his shoulder, "We all have been."

I stand staring at the closed door for I don't know how long. The adrenaline rush seeps away and slowly I sit down in my chair. Well. Isn't that... interesting. Worried about me. All of them? I push my hand back through my hair with less force this time, sighing. Great. Even the ex-consortium toughs are going soft. And are all afraid I'm losing it, apparently.

My handheld catches my eye and given the direction of my thoughts, a sudden connection clicks over in my mind. Seeing Merritt keying in on hers seconds after I denied needing a doctor. Then Walter showing up within ten minutes, right after she left, when I know he was on duty.

I knew there was something wrong with that scenario, my brain was just too fuzzy to see it. No way in hell did he just happen to be around. She called him. She saw me looking... well, not exactly in top form, and she called him.

The bastard has them watching me. He's got my own people keeping an eye on me for him.

That is... that is so...

Incredibly sweet.

NO! No, dammit, it's not. Not sweet. Arrogant. Arrogant and high handed and egotistical and sneaky and NOT sweet. Hell, it's something I'd do.

I yank my jeans back on and strap on my belt. According to my laptop, not a whole lot happened while I was out. Except of course for a very important meeting with senators. I grumble to myself the whole way up to Info Central. Knocking the door open announces my arrival and Langly actually ducks. I'd laugh if I wasn't so irritated. Eve spins around and grins when she catches sight of me.

"Sleeping beauty awakens!" she carols.

"Don't start with me," I snap, pointing at her. "I hear I'm supposed to talk to you?"

"Yes sir," she rises, not at all intimidated by my obvious bad mood. "I have exactly what you're looking for." She activates a screen next to hers and hands me a head set.

I stare at it, then at the screen, which is displaying a number of well-dressed men and women sitting around a large table. I recognize the faces. The senators. I snatch up the headset and practically fall into the seat waiting for me. "Is this-"

"Live feed? Yes, it is. Up to the moment. If you'd like, you can just jump in where they are right now, or if you'd prefer, you can watch the whole thing from the beginning. We're taping for you."

"I'll just jump in here, thanks," I mumble, putting on the headset and adjusting the volume. I hear her take her seat beside me but my attention is already absorbed by the screen.

"That's what he figured you'd say, so here are some highlights of the meeting so far, to catch you up to speed." She slides two sheets of paper over to me, notes in her scrawling block writing covering them.

I glance at the pages then back to the screen. "How...?"

"Walter's glasses," she answers calmly. "You're seeing and hearing everything he is. He's also wearing a wire, so if you want to tell him something, you can communicate direct to him. And only him."

Okay, so he's an arrogant thoughtful bastard.

I have her activate the voice feed from me to him, and actually manage to resist immediately jumping on the line with "you're a dead man, Walter Skinner." Even though I really really want to. Instead, I just listen and watch for a few minutes. I'm immediately reassured by the tone of the conversation. It's going well, I can tell already, even coming in late. Their postures, their voices, everything is-

A voice to Walter's left stops me cold. It can't be. Then Walter glances to his left and... yes, it is. Mulder. Sitting right beside him, looking completely collected and in control. And as he continues talking, I realize it's not just a posture. He is in control, and not just of himself. He's got the entire meeting in hand. When he talks everyone else goes silent. All of their eyes track to him. I watch him with a flash of pure admiration.

Okay, okay. Maybe somewhat less-than-pure admiration.

Alright... extremely impure admiration. But damn, he's good. He's got them eating out of his hand. He talks their language with an ease I never did, even at my smoothest. And I'm far from my smoothest at the moment.

It hits me all at once. Walter knew what he was doing and he was right. So right. I expected he'd gone on alone but getting Mulder was downright genius. It's time to transition things back to the civilized world and civilized people. Who better? Mulder's probably at least on a nodding familiarity with a handful of the people in the room already. And he can talk it. He can explain aliens to anyone and not sound stupid, or absurd. They know him, they know he's been working on this for years, and now they know he's been proven right. And there's nobody better than Mulder on a roll, when he knows he's being believed, knows people are finally really listening. Talk about rising to an occasion.

And I think I've just about outlived my usefulness to this rebellion.

Part of me is relieved. Someone else can take over, finally. Okay, maybe I had to be shown that it was time to step back, let other heads prevail, but at least I can see it and admit it when it's right in front of me. And it's not like I wouldn't have figured it out on my own. Hopefully. I just haven't been at my best lately. And what with avoiding Mulder... I just haven't been thinking in terms of asking him to do anything at the moment. I've just been letting him hang out with Sam.

I wonder where she is. Probably with Scully. Maybe I should go see her. Say hello. Leave this meeting to the ones who are already handling it. I almost take off the headset but I can't... quite... do it. I'm still enmeshed enough to not be able to let go that easily. It'll be good when I finally can.

So I'm relieved, sure. I mean hell, I was already planning my slide back into the shadows. My disappearing act. I've known it's just a matter of days at this point.

But part of me is feeling... a little displaced, I guess. I thought I'd be handing over the reins, or at least leaving them to be picked up, knowing they would be. Having them taken out of my hands is... not exactly what I was expecting. Understandable, certainly. Welcome, in a way. Just unexpected. When you spend so much time planning and re-planning and triple thinking, it feels weird to have your plans skewed out from under you.

And the rest of me is just numb. Which is an improvement on the crumbling feeling I've been experiencing these last days. Probably a good reason not to go see Sam.

On screen Mulder's got them agreeing to form a coalition. The senators are talking about meeting with the aliens. Excellent. Come to papa. Reel 'em in, Mulder. We're good to go.

"I was given to understand Mr. Krycek was the only individual who could speak on Their behalf," Senator Janson presses when Mulder tells them he'll arrange for the face-to-face. I can hear the subtle distaste in his voice when he says my name. Yeah, yeah, I don't like you either, you pompous twit. He continues, as pedantic as ever. "I'm still not comfortable with his lack of presence here. I understand he has important things to do, but really..." He makes an expansive hand gesture that clearly indicates he's wondering what could possibly take precedence over meeting with the esteemed company gathered. Christ. If he only knew. I snort, forgetting that I'm wired for sound straight to Walter. When Walter goes into a coughing fit, I remember and whisper "sorry about that."

With a brief glance at Walter, Mulder is already taking the field though. "Mister Krycek is in command of an entire world-wide rebel force, Senator, and as such he's forced to prioritize based on more than just American interests. While he greatly regretted being unable to attend, it was unavoidable. Lives are at stake hour by hour and minute by minute. And Mr. Krycek doesn't take that lightly."

I know he's only saying it to keep the senators from getting pissed off that I'm not there after arranging everything. Politicos get offended easily. I know Walter probably told him to say something like it. Maybe even told him exactly what to say. Still. It's nice to hear, coming from his lips. My own lips twitch when I hear his so-careful phrasing. He's good. Would've thought I was personally leading a lab liberation charge, rather than finally getting some sleep.

"And he did send his second in command," Walter inserts smoothly, gesturing to Mulder, "who is also able to speak on behalf of the alien Rebels." I grin. That's a bit of a stretch, Walt. While it's true the Rebels will deal directly with Mulder now, they're hardly letting him talk for them. Yet. "If Mr. Mulder says you'll have a face-to-face," he continues, "you can be assured it will be arranged."

Only I hear the question in his voice, and I finally realize what he's doing. Now that I'm on the line, so to speak, he can effectively promise for the aliens. "Hell yes," I say into the tiny microphone. "We'll have a meet set up before 24 hours are out. Hope they don't mind being hosted on a spaceship."

"In fact, he can provide you a window within the next 24 hours, should you desire it." Walter glances at Mulder as he says it, and I see Mulder's eyes flash to him. Whatever he sees on Walter's face, he gives a tiny nod and turns back to the Senators, smoothly collecting available times and locations.

The meeting winds down, and all the senators sign on to Mulder's proposed coalition. They'll each recruit others, carefully screened, and Walter and Mulder have given them the full list of absolute no's. That was a nice moment, watching the eyes widen and the gasps. We're already working on the House but they'll help us there, too. They're talking joint press conference dates already. We'll have a bipartisan provisional government positioned in no time and be able to short-circuit the Colonist puppets once and for all. I sigh and sit back in my chair. One more piece clicking into place.

As Mulder and Walter shake hands and leave the room, I hear Walter telling Mulder he's going to use the restroom. He waits until he's inside the bathroom before he speaks directly to me. "Alex?"

"I can hear you," I drawl as he walks up to a urinal and unzips, glancing down. "Got a good view, too," I add as he takes his dick in hand. He's making a bit of a show of it. I think it was probably his intention all along.

"So how mad are you?" He sounds tentative, but cheerful. He knows how I think. He knows I'll understand anything that gives us a strategic advantage.

Bastard.

"Mad enough, Mr. Big. You've got one hell of a nerve."

"I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary." Suddenly there's no smile in his voice, and his seriousness carries over the wire. The random thought occurs to me that anyone walking into the bathroom would assume he's carrying on a weighty conversation with his dick, since he hasn't looked away since he started pissing.

"Yeah. Well. You're bloody brilliant, so you can apologize later. And you will apologize later. Mulder was a fucking stroke of genius. How'd you get him to agree?"

"I told him you needed him to take a meeting for you," he says simply. "And that he was the best man for the job."

I pause. "And as mad as he is, that worked?"

"That worked. It was, after all, the truth."

There are a couple of loaded messages in that sentence, and I'm not sure I really want to sift for them right now. Instead I merely say, "I owe you one, Walt."

"Really?" He sounds suddenly delighted as he zips up and moves to wash his hands. "You don't say. In that case, you'd better get out that DVD and start learning your words, Ms. Haynes."

~*~*~*~*~*~

December 17

Which is how I come to be standing next to Walt in an over-decorated cafeteria, next to a truly huge pine tree, with my pants rolled up around my knees and wearing sock garters. I'm so not asking him where he got the sock garters. I have a sneaking suspicion he actually owned them, from prior to the rebellion. Which makes one wonder, what kind of guy ditches his old life to go underground, and brings sock garters with him?

I'm also holding a huge paper fan that has fake blue feathers glued all over it, and wearing enough eye makeup to choke a horse. At the moment the fan is in front of my face, but any minute now the music is going to start.

Sigh.

I fought the good fight. He just had an answer for everything.

"Walter, no one is going to get the joke but us."

"That's the best kind of joke."

"Walter, half of these people have probably never even seen White Christmas."

"It's White Christmas, Alex. Replayed fifteen thousand times each December. It's Irving Berlin, Bing Crosby, ...Rosemary Clooney! Everyone will have seen White Christmas."

"A lot of them are ex-consortium people, Walter. Which means they may not have had the most normal upbringing."

"Okay, fine. Some of them may actually not have seen the movie. And this is pertinent how? They're still going to laugh their asses off at you whether they know you're doing Danny Kaye or not. The amusement is for them. The joke is for us."

"For chrissake, in that case I oughta be doing this in a Superman costume."

"You just want to get out of the eye makeup..."

Yeah, well, may I note that he only put on some false eyelashes and took off his glasses. Well, he took off his glasses then put on the false eyelashes. Either way, hardly equivalent to the mascara and eye shadow and eyeliner that he gleefully watched me apply before leaning into the mirror, slapping on his false eyelashes and proclaiming himself done.

I didn't give up without a serious struggle. I just... lost. Because he apologized really nicely for turning off all my electronic toys and leaving me asleep when I was supposed to be meeting with senators. And for stealing my pants. And for just in general playing the worst kind of mother hen. Which he has not stopped doing and for which I'm about ready to brain him with a two by four. And then he asked me again when he had his cock up my ass. Which, in fact, turned out to be the deal breaker.

I still managed to resist... for about a minute and a half.

So, here I stand, trying to channel Danny Kaye, waiting for the cheesy announcer voice to blare out of the speakers with "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Haynes Sisters!"

Alex, you easy slut.

But even I have to admit, when the music comes up and the fans come down, it's worth it. Worth it to watch a roomful of battle-scarred rebels, exhausted medical workers, bleary-eyed technogeeks, and assorted refugees fall off their chairs laughing.

We're a little bit out of sync, given my bad knee and the one arm thing. I give it all I've got for the part where Davis is whacking the stuffing out of Wallace with his fan, though. The fact that Walter starts cracking up at that point tells me he catches on, and appreciates my efforts to stay in character. There are a few audience members I actually think may have stopped breathing, and my personal favorite triumph is Seville, who is actually sitting on the floor holding her sides, tears running down a face that I've never even seen crack a smile.

Aside from being worth it, I also have to admit Walter was dead-on right. If I was sticking around, I'd really consider hiring him to be my people person. Must be all that managerial training he did. Or he's just got good instincts.

As the music dies, thunderous applause greets us and we take the encore bows that the real Wallace and Davis missed out on. I take the copious teasing about my prettiness with minimal eye rolling, because... what the hell. I am. I gave up fighting it years ago. Thought losing the arm had sort of put a dent in it, and losing whatever I've lost of the rest of me had finished it off, but apparently even that's not a match for me in eye makeup. I gladly hand off my fan to a grinning little girl who immediately starts whacking Walter with it, which makes even me laugh. He chases her with his, and it's enough of a distraction that I can make my get-away to get this gunk off my face.

I stay in the kitchen bathroom for as long as I can. I know I'm expected back out there but that little display took up about all the holiday cheer - and energy - I have to spare. I really want to be alone now. When my face is clean I fiddle around with the sock garters and roll down my pants. Take off the dangling earrings. I smile at them. Walter got stuck having to track down clip-ons. When I'm reduced to cleaning the sink with paper towels, I finally give in and try to psych myself up to go mingle.

I've never liked mingling. I can do it with ease when it's a job, because it's all about the mark. All about infiltration, and staying two steps ahead of the conversation, and taking down details in your head. All about turning the charm onto a particular person, or persons, and getting what you want. That I can do.

This party... this party is about remembering how to be human. I've never been very good at that. Honestly, pretending to be Danny Kaye is nothing compared to wandering around making small talk with a bunch of people I work with, and lead, and watch over, and - even worse - rescued. So many of them don't know how to treat me and I just don't even want to be around people. I'd rather go hang out with the capital 'R' Rebels.

Maybe I could fake an emergency call. Go out on a walk-about and just ask for a pick up. The aliens won't care if I just want to wander around the mothership for a little while.

I sigh and lean my head against the door. It's no use. It's a piss poor use of alien resources to call up a flier just to get me out of socializing. Especially when they're keeping an eye on all fronts tonight. Besides, Walter would want to know what the call was, and I'd have to make something up, and I'm trying not to do that anymore. And he'd want to go with me. And if I told him the truth, he and Scully would be hurt that I didn't want to be at their party.

Hearing footsteps approaching the bathroom finally gets my legs moving. I open the door and nod and smile at Thomas as he files by me into the bathroom. "Awesome job!" he carols, and it's obvious he's been hitting the punch. He's never said more than two words to me before. Of course, technically, he still hasn't said more than two words.

I give a short laugh and keep walking. Seems like at the very least the White Christmas show has reminded the rebels that I'm human. Especially given... I glance at the empty sleeve of the white shirt, pinned up on my left side. It's not the kind of shirt I normally wear, and the missing limb is more noticeable. Or maybe that's just me. I need to see about a new prosthesis. This just isn't a great time to be looking for something as specialized as that.

Cutting back through the kitchen I slip into the cafeteria and gravitate to the nearest corner. I smile and nod as I pass people, and get my back to the wall with a silent sigh of relief. Scanning the room, it's obvious the party has gotten a big boost from two of the 'commanding officers' making fools of ourselves. Good. That was the general idea. More proof Walter knows what he's talking about. I realize suddenly that it's him I'm unconsciously looking for, and as if the realization is the key, I spot him dancing with Scully to the ubiquitous Christmas music they scared up. He's got his glasses back on and they're both grinning and flushed.

They look good together.

Now see, why couldn't he be interested in someone like her... someone who could give him what he deserves. A whole person, a whole heart. Someone who could actually love him, unreserved and... unmangled. Someone less generally fucked-up... less ethically and emotionally defective. She's saved his life, too. More times than I have, I'd wager.

Maybe when I'm gone something will click there. Why not? He was married, after all. Of course, I think she knows about him and me, and maybe that would put her off. I don't know. Somehow I don't think it would but I'm hardly a Scully-expert. Something in me twinges, feels... sad, watching them together, thinking about how matched they would be. I know that's wrong. I should be hoping for something exactly like that. Because I really do want him to be happy, to find somebody good for him. Somebody he can take care of and cherish, who won't pull away when he wants to cuddle. Someone who understands how damn lucky they are to have him, and appreciates all the little things he does, and-

"Mr. Krycek, you're standing under the mistletoe."

I'm so lost in thought that the familiar voice actually makes me jump. I whirl to face Samantha, my heart pounding. "Don't do that!"

"What, you're the only person allowed to sneak up on people?" she smiles at me shyly, and it's a strange expression on her thin, pinched face. A good expression, but you can tell it's unusual. Something about her face broadcasts that it hasn't spent a lot of time smiling.

"Yes," I answer immediately, nodding. "Definitely the only person allowed. So... wear some bells or something."

She laughs, and something in my chest hurts. Her laugh sounds like... like me, I realize. It's that same rusty half-cough, half-snort, the laugh of a person who has learned how to stifle extraneous sound, how to find amusement in odd places and at inappropriate times, but also learned how to choke it back. The laugh of a person who doesn't laugh much.

"Well, I guess it would be seasonal." Then she looks me up and down, her eyes darting to my face then away. Finally she beckons with one long finger. "Bend down here, would you. You're tall."

I comply automatically, bending toward her and steadying her with my arm around her too-thin waist when she rises on tiptoe and presses a kiss to my cheek. Her lips are soft and she smells so much better than she did when I found her. No more lab smell, medicinal and sterile. She smells like a woman now, soap and skin. And a little bit like champagne punch.

I straighten up and realize I'm smiling. That she actually wants to kiss me is pleasing, somehow. All I can think is Mulder hasn't been telling her about me. Yet. "Thanks," I murmur, and am surprised at the shy sound to my own voice. Before I can stop myself I swoop in and press a return kiss on her scarred cheek. She smiles back and ducks her head, one hand pushing the short brown curls away from her face.

"It's a good party," she says awkwardly, looking out over the room.

"Yeah," I temporize, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

Her gaze slides up to mine again. Hazel, just like his. Her bow to seasonal dress is that she's wearing one of his dark green flannel shirts, and it does really nice things to those eyes. "I didn't really want to come," she whispers. "All these... people."

"I'm sorry," I say, stricken at the thought that she felt she had to be here. "You can leave-"

"No, no," she puts her hand on my arm, fingers pressing and releasing, then dropping away quickly. "I'm just saying... because you look like you're having about as much fun as I am."

I blink, then cough into my hand. "That obvious?"

She nods and the shy smile is back. "Sort of. I mean, if you know what to look for."

"I... don't really like parties much."

She tilts her head to one side and looks out over the room again, her eyes taking on a faraway cast. "I don't really know much from parties." She shrugs. "I just don't like lots of people in one place." One hand lifts to her forehead, and her brows draw in. "It's damn loud."

"Why'd you come then?" I ask curiously. I can't believe Mulder would make her if he had any idea she didn't want to be here. I wasn't all that sure he'd show up.

"Dana asked me personally." Her lips twist. "She really wanted me to come. She's nice. And she's really important to Fox. And he is to her." Her eyes slide sideways to me again, and suddenly she looks less shy and more shrewd. "Besides, she told me I wouldn't want to miss... what'd she call it... the floor show. She was right." I groan and she makes that funny laugh again. "I remember seeing the movie when I was really little. You guys were funnier. Even Fox laughed."

She's looking right at me, so she can't possibly miss the wince.

Her hand is suddenly on my arm again. Her voice is softer still. "You're sad, Alex. So sad. I can feel your sadness all over this place and it's so heavy. I wish I could take it. You and Fox need to talk. I know he's really pissed at you, about you almost killing me and everything, but you just need to give him time. Believe me, I know."

I stare down at her, the ravaged personification of the project and the people I worked for all those years. And she's telling me she wants to take my sadness. Pain claws against the inside of my ribcage. I don't know what my face is telling her, but her eyes fill with tears and her fingers tighten on my arm. I have to try to explain. "Samantha, I can't... he... he's got good reason, to be... m-mad at me." Understatement much, Alex? "It's about more than time. I don't... I don't expect..." I stop, my throat closing, then swallow hard and force myself to try again. "I don't expect anything."

"Maybe that's the problem," she murmurs sadly, and her fingers slip down my arm to my hand, linking carefully. I can feel an odd pressure in my head. Her eyes are so intense on mine. The heavy dark cloud of ennui so familiar from the past weeks splits and peels back. I feel almost like there's a spectral hand in my brain, sifting through my thoughts, trying to separate them gently from the seething, creeping ooze of despondency and inertia. But it's like sifting stardust from glue. Almost impossible... just the barest glimmers shining through the choking, cloudy liquid, and even as the fingers glean, the sticky strands stretch and cling, not letting go...

"Sam."

I blink and startle. The room settles back around me as if it was tilting. Christmas music seems suddenly tinny, like I've had a little too much punch. I blink again and Sam is no longer looking at me. She's staring up at Mulder standing next to her, a slightly vexed but affectionate look on her face.

"Fox, I was just talking to Alex."

"I can see that. I thought we could dance. And you should eat something. You didn't eat lunch."

He's carefully looking just at her, but his hand is on her arm, and his arm is around her shoulders, and he's drawing her away, protectively. It hurts clear and sharp, and more than I expected, that he thinks I might be a danger to her. Of course, completely understandable, considering... but still painful.

"I wasn't hungry. I am now. I'll eat in a minute. And I'd love to dance. But in a minute. I want to talk to Alex."

"Go ahead, Sam," I croak, releasing her hand. "I need to track down a few people anyway. I'm going to be going on duty shortly so people can stay at the party."

"Yeah, I'm sure Krycek is busy," Mulder says in a perfectly bland monotone. His eyes skate to me and hesitate, chilly with an edge of hurt still lurking there. I feel completely, utterly empty. Then he looks back down at her and his entire face warms. His lips tilt in a smile. "Come on, dance with me." He draws her away and her fingers drift from mine.

She looks back over her shoulder and her voice has a pleading note in it when she says, "Alex, come see me. Soon."

"Sure," I lie, and I can see the knowledge of the lie in her eyes. Her lips firm and I see that Mulder-determination light in her face. She gives me a sad, lopsided smile as he moves them away into the crowd.

I breathe shallowly. It's the closest I've been to him since we brought her in, that night. I feel something cracking inside.

It's time to go.

Time to leave the party, and time to go.

I search the room for Walter and find him talking with Anthony. He sees me approaching and a strange expression flits across his face. He obviously cuts the conversation short and starts toward me, meets me halfway.

"Hey, you don't look so good. Everything okay?"

"Samantha kissed me," I say stupidly, as if that explains everything, or anything. Understanding flits across his face, though, so maybe it does. "You guys and your stupid mistletoe," I manage.

He smiles and steers me toward the tree. "Hey, is it my fault you're incredibly kissable?" he murmurs softly. "Now would you look at that, there's a little something for you here." He reaches up into the tree and plucks out a small package wrapped in brown mailing paper, then holds it out to me. Sure enough, 'Alex' is written across it in black magic marker.

And oh man, this is not a good time for this. "Walt-"

"Just open it." He pokes me and smiles. "It's not even really a present. It kind of goes with the night. We'll see how well you really remember the movie."

I give him a suspicious look and work my finger under the tape. Holding it against my chest I get the paper off and then I'm staring down at a little plastic horse with a knight in armor sitting on his back.

"Do you remember?"

"Yeah." I remember the scene. And what it meant. The knight being back up on his charger, his lover's faith in him restored. The crack inside me gets wider, and something starts to trickle out of it.

"You don't need to be Superman for me," his warm voice is saying. "You're already firmly back on your horse and you don't have a damn thing to prove to me."

The trickle becomes a stream becomes a gush, and I need to leave. It's time to go. It's time to go. Once again though, my feet don't seem to want to move. "Walter." My voice is rough with emotion. "I can't-" I'm still staring at the horse, wishing with all that's left of my heart that I was actually the person he seems to think I am, that I was actually the person this present symbolizes. I don't think I can look at him and say this. "I can't tell you-" I stop. Apparently I can't say this, period.

"You just did," he murmurs. "I'm glad you like it."

"Thank you," I whisper, not even sure if he can hear it, but it's all I can manage. That he thinks this of me, that he believes this much in me, after everything... it touches something so deep inside the emptiness. He's given me so much more than he realizes, and I have so little to give back to him.

"You're welcome. And you look done in, Alex. I know you took an extra shift so more people could stay longer. Why don't you go get some rest before you have to be on duty." He's smiling when I finally look at him.

"It's a really good party," I manage.

"Yes, it is," he nods. "And we both know you'd rather be anywhere but here." He grins and winks. "It's okay. Dana and I don't take it personally."

I can feel the relief shoot through me from my toes straight to the roots of my hair. "Thank you," I repeat, just as heartfelt as the first one.

"Get out of here." He pushes me toward the door and winks again. "You can give me a... present later." His eyes dip and rise and I feel a flush in my cheeks. His laughter follows me.

And I'm not even going to be able to stay long enough for that. I feel the claws in my chest again as I leave the room, and they're trying to get up and out of my throat. But I know my limits. After this... my hand curls around the hard plastic of the figure and the horse's hooves bite into my flesh... after this I can't get into bed with him. Not feeling the way I do. I'd never have the strength to leave. To give him the chance he deserves. To get me the space I need.

I go directly to my room and start sorting. It's an old routine and I can practically do it in my sleep. What do I need, what can be left. When everything is in one backpack, I store it under my bed. The familiarity alone is making me feel more in control. A familiar numbness settles down around me even as a growing lethargy steals into my muscles, my bones, my thoughts.

One foot in front of the other. Just a tiny bit further. I'm so close.

I sit down and sign in on my laptop. It'll come with me too, but I can't pack it until the last minute. I start with the emails to my standing contacts with the Rebels, then move on to meticulously check every last location and status report. Everything is in order. Walter will know what to do to keep things moving, and Mulder will take care of the public. The Coalition is in position and the press conferences have already started.

I can watch the final fireworks from the mothership, just to be sure, then have one of the fliers take me out to my new place.

I finish on the laptop with ten minutes to spare to get to Info Central to take over watch. I change into a sweatshirt and head on over. Palmer and Ling applaud as I walk in, then add a few catcalls. "Nice, boss, verrry nice," Ling calls. "We got the whole thing on digital feed, which of course means it's all on tape."

I pick up the nearest empty Styrofoam coffee cup and bounce it off the back of his head. "Get your asses down to the party before I change my mind and leave you up here on duty," I order. Palmer is already halfway to the door, shaking her hair out of its usual braid. They're gone with only a couple more jokes about my legs, then blessed silence surrounds me, nothing but the low whirring hum of electronics in my ears.

I split my time between checking my email for responses and scanning the monitors. Occasionally I watch the party, and it's a lot more fun from the distance of a screen than it was in the thick of it. People are really having a good time. Eve and Frohike have hardly stopped dancing all night. Mulder is dancing with Scully now, and I can see Sam sitting in a corner, talking to Josh from the infirmary. When Mulder rejoins her and leans in to speak directly into her ear, I zoom in on the both of them, freeze frame, and send the resulting image to my email and to one of the desktops. I listen in to the Rebel communication channels while it prints off, then go back to bouncing from monitor to monitor. Since I took this duty shift alone, there's just enough to do to keep me focused and not thinking too hard.

Within the hour I've got my email replies and I've set up a rendezvous point for pick up. The shift finishes out quietly, and I hand things back to Byers and Langly. I let John know I'll be going for a walk soon, just so I won't set off anybody's flags when I show up outside on the monitors. He encourages me to go back to the party before heading off on whatever job I need to take care of and I smile and nod. It's getting easier with every minute.

Back to my room and close out the laptop, bag it, and get that and the backpack onto me comfortably. Arm myself. Double check that my horse is in my jacket pocket. And I'm off. Out of the compound with only a few startled looks from the door-minders. But they're used to me coming and going at odd times.

Outside it's even easier not to think. One foot in front of the other becomes a mantra and by the time I reach the rendezvous, I think I could actually fall asleep soon, which would be nice. Pick up is smooth, the flight sucks as usual, and then I'm dropping off my two bags in a guestroom on the mothership.

Madame herself stops in just as I'm getting ready to stretch out on the bed. It's unusual enough for her to come to a guestroom that I'm actually a little nervous. She comes inside and gets right to the point. "Are you certain, Alex?"

"We're done. You know it, I know it. It's all formalities at this point. They don't need me for the formalities. And I need..." I stop. Swallow hard. Start again. "I need to be... away. Somewhere else."

She gives me a very small bow. "We will send an immediate message that we have requested your presence, and need you here with us. If you choose you may send a message yourself. Once we have taken you to your new home, we will contact your comrades and state only that you have fulfilled your commitments, and have... retired. Is this satisfactory?"

"It is." I feel a knot of tension dissolve in my gut. I don't know why I thought she might be trying to convince me to hang around rebel headquarters. I guess sometimes, no matter how much experience I have and how much I know better, I still expect them to react like humans. Which they simply never do.

She leaves and I finally lay down. Bone-deep exhaustion rolls over me, through me. I'm asleep almost before I close my eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~

December 24

I stamp the snow from my boots and take off my coat, hanging it beside the door. Turning the heat up before I do anything else, I make my way to the tiny kitchen and plug in the kettle to heat water for tea, feeling chilled to the bone. Halifax winters might vary on snow, but they never seem to vary on the wind chill. The last time I was in Nova Scotia in the winter it was gray and bare, but the wind was the same.

I can't decide if Christmas Eve dinner at the pub was a mistake or a blessing. The food was better than what I make, and it was nice just to hear other voices. Human voices. As much as I like finally being by myself, it's been a little surreal being completely alone after living in the rabbit warren of the compound for so long.

But oh, is it good to be living above-ground again. The sky... I have a skylight in the bedroom. No more painted ceilings doubling for stars. It was one of the primary reasons I picked this house to rent.

The number of Christmas wishes I had to endure was the only real downside to the dinner out. I don't mind, really, it's just I don't exactly need the reminder that tomorrow is a holiday. Christmas has never been that big of a deal in my life, but the rest of the world has a way of making you feel like there's something wrong with you if it isn't. And maybe part of the problem is that I wish it was something more to me, too.

I wanted to be alone, and I am, and it'd be silly to decide I'm lonely already, barely three days into my escape. It's not even that... being alone has been exactly what I hoped and I've got no desire to be around anyone who knows me. I've been able to simply crumble bit by bit in complete privacy, which is an incredible relief.

I spent the first four days hardly leaving a monitor console on the mothership, still desperately holding to the shreds of my façade. No good to let the alien allies see me explode into bits, given I was still relying on them to get me where I needed to go. Besides, I wanted to maintain good relations and preserve their favorable impression of me. I sat on the mothership watching the final Colonist ships trying to outrun Rebel firepower, watching the Mulder Coalition take hold of the US government, watching the full truth come spilling out on any and every media source. Watching the world leaders come together to work through what had happened, and what needed to happen now. Madame tried to get me to go to her meeting with the President and the other leaders, but I laughed in her face. I apologized afterward, but... no way in hell.

Mulder looked great sitting next to her on television.

I spent the same four days avoiding talking directly to Walter despite the questioning messages that arrived from rebel headquarters. I must have typed about fifty versions of a letter to him before finally hand-writing four lines, and getting one of my favorite Rebel fliers to deliver it to him in person. Well, in alien.

Walter - I'm taking off the cape and the suit. Thanks for everything and then some. I need to be somewhere else right now. I thought you'd understand. - Alex

And because he really is the man I thought he was, there were no impassioned pleas for me to come back, to stay, to at least say goodbye in person. For which I was, and am, eternally grateful.

Then They flew me to Nova Scotia, dropped me off, and I moved into my rented house. I've spent the last three days letting each fraying rope slowly snap, every cracking wall tumble, every tightly-wound defense unwind.

Which just might be why everyone and his brother - who don't even know me - wishing me a Merry Christmas and looking sympathetically at me dining alone on Christmas Eve started to get to me, to the point that I was choking up so bad I couldn't even eat dessert. I don't really have much protection at the moment, and the holiday maudlins are getting to me.

I think it's probably to be expected. Especially since the world at large is truly celebrating peace on Earth in a very new kind of way this Christmas, and therefore people everywhere are just generally even more celebratory and... expansive than usual. And in my current state, I'm likely to disintegrate if someone so much as smiles kindly at me.

Which is why it's good that I'm alone. The anonymity of the house, the city, the surroundings, wraps around me like a wool blanket. It's okay. One foot in front of the other I got myself here, now I can just stop walking. And I don't have to care if anyone notices. I made it. Now I don't have to keep up a front for anybody. No troops to rally, no aliens to impress, no Mulder to prove myself to. No Walter to... I don't know what, exactly. Worry about hurting, I guess. End of the line and the world is not my responsibility any more. As far as anyone in Halifax is concerned, I'm just the crazy guy with one arm and a limp, who lives alone and gets all emotional if you're too nice to him.

I brew my tea, settle into the soft chair that's become my favorite already, and focus on my little Christmas tree. It's really small, actually only the top half of a larger tree, and it doesn't have anything on it except for a string of white lights. But that's okay. There's a charging knight with his faithful steed balanced on the spiky branches up near the top.

He may be a pummeled mass of emotional jelly underneath his armor at the moment, but he's still on his horse.

THE END

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