Title: Black Wings II: Ashes and Lies

Author: Ashlea Ensro

Feedback: Send it to theconsortium6@hotmail.com

Archive: Yup

Rating: PG

Spoilers: "Redux II", "The End"

Keywords: CSM/MulderMom

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me. They belong to CC and 1013. The song "Flood" belongs to the Sisters of Mercy.

Summary: After the events of Redux II, Mrs. Mulder goes to visit CSM.

Thanks to Anna.

Ramblings: Okay, this is the sequel to "Grapefruit Moon". You probably don't need to read it first, but it might help.

"Oh, maybe, in terms of surrender

On a backcloth of lashes and eyes

In a flood of your tears, in sackcloth

And ashes and ashes and ashes and ashes

And ashes and ashes and lies..."

- The Sisters of Mercy

"You shouldn't have called me." She stood in the doorway, silhouetted by fluorescent lights and an overwhelming whiteness.

The man lying in the hospital bed shrugged. "They can't hurt me anymore."

It was enough of an invitation - she closed the door behind her and sat in the plastic chair by his side. He looked surprisingly calm - he always did - but now it seemed vaguely inappropriate.

"But they *shot* you."

"They did, didn't they?" He smiled up at her, and against her better judgement she slipped her small hand into his. "They could never have killed me."

Oh, but they could have, she thought. She watched him in silence. He had once been the most powerful man in the world - one of them, anyway - and now he looked as frail and vulnerable as a child. Except that he was old. Older than she remembered. It had only been a year since she'd seen him last, but he seemed to have aged about ten. What sort of people would shoot an old man in his apartment and leave him for dead like that?

"Those bastards." she muttered.

"I saw it coming."

"It's been a long time, Teena." he said.

"Not long enough." she replied.

"Don't play games. You wouldn't have come if you didn't want to see me."

"I needed to see for myself that you were all right."

"I'll live. Can you go home now?"

"Did you want me to stay?"

He shrugged again. "The way I see it, you owe me one. The last time I saw you I saved your life."

"There's nothing I can do for you."

"No." he agreed, "But after everything I've done for you and Fox..."

She glared at him.

"...You could at least keep me company for awhile." he finished.

<He's lonely. Probably bored. God knows I was bored after the stroke. And he doesn't have any friends - no one knows he's here...> She stopped herself short of pity.

She would not pity him. Not after everything that they had been through. She had put all of that behind her.

<But it's so hard...> She knew from the doctors that he had refused any kind of painkillers. It was just like him, too. Damn male pride - he was as bad as Fox, or worse.

She'd let him suffer, then.

She sighed. "Do you want a glass of water?" His voice had sounded hoarse.

He shook his head. "Cigarettes."

She smiled - he wasn't that far gone, then. "Can't do it." she replied, "Doctor's orders."

"I know." A brief shadow of pain crossed his face, then disappeared. His hands were shaking slightly from withdrawal. "How's Fox?" he asked.

"Fine." <Well, no, but no use letting him know that.> "How long do you intend to stay in hiding?"

He blinked. "Oh, forever."

"You can't hide forever."

"I can disappear. I survived in this game for so long because I kept two steps ahead of the rest of them."

"They won't believe you're dead. Not without a body."

"They'll believe it." He yawned - she caught a sudden glimpse of the boy she'd once known, once loved - and then he was an old man again. "Walter told me that Fox was crying over me. I find that funny, don't you?"

"No." she said.

"Then again, he's a sensitive boy. He cries far too easily." The old man looked thoughtful. "I rather like being dead, none the less."

"He doesn't know. He'll never know, not unless you tell him. Neither will she."

"Know what?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"What the deal was. About...the sacrifice you made for them. You're still a villain to them."

"Better a dead villain than a living one." he said, "At least they can have some peace now."

She was quiet, pondering this. "How *did* you escape, anyway?"

He laughed, then winced in pain. "Would you believe that the bullet didn't hit any major organs? My lungs are too shrivelled to make good targets and...well...I don't have a heart."

It took her a moment to realize he was joking. He had caught her off guard, as usual. It had always surprised her that he was not always entirely serious.

"Walter rescued me." he said finally, sounding almost embarrassed that he needed to rely on his old nemesis to save his life. To rely on anyone, really. "On the condition that I disappear. Permanently."

"But you won't, will you?"

"Teena." he said, "That is one promise I intend to keep."

"We have work to do." she said, "This isn't over."

He closed his eyes. "It's over for me. I'm sick of it. I've done enough."

"You can't abandon it all like that." She stared at the pale, wrinkled face, wondering if he was serious. If he could really do it. "There's a safe house waiting for me, up in the mountains in Quebec. I am perfectly capable of vanishing without a trace."

"Nothing vanishes without a trace." she whispered.

She ran her fingers through his gray hair. She still remembered when it had been auburn, though she had forgotten so many other things - she could form the image of his face perfectly. Some days she could barely even remember Samantha - but she remembered the night she had first met him, sitting out on the porch beneath the stars. She tried to reconcile the memory of the wide-eyed boy with the bitter, cynical old man lying on the bed, and came up with nothing.

She pictured him lying on the floor of his bare apartment. She could see the scene perfectly, as if she had been there. She knew about the lighter, the bloody photograph he had left as proof of his death. She shivered, trying to put the image out of her head.

"Were you scared?" she asked hesitantly.

<Terrified.>

"Nothing scares me." he said.

"Did it hurt?"

"Not really." he lied. He wondered what had changed - she had once been the only person to whom he couldn't lie.

She kept stroking his hair, soothing him to sleep. He fought exhaustion but it was difficult. He was well aware that this was probably the last time he would see her - he was going away forever and neither of them were as young as they used to be.

<That's somewhat of an understatement. Look at her. Look how old she's gotten.>

"Teena...I..."

"It's all right." she said, "Just rest now. This will pass...they'll want you back, when it all blows over. They need you."

"I told you." he said, once again shaken from sentimentality. "I'm retiring. I'm out of the game."

She stared at him, wishing it were true. How many times had she lay awake at night over the years, worrying about him? It had been a long time, but the news of his death had hit her harder than she had ever imagined it would.

But she had a duty. She knew it. And whatever she had felt for him once, she would have to put it aside now.

"You're needed." she said, "And you'll go back. Do it for me."

He looked up at her. "Why? You don't love me anymore."

"For Fox, then. You and I don't have a future, but he does."

<Yes, Fox. Your son, if you don't remember...>

"He'll never understand why."

"One day." she said, "One day he'll know exactly why."

An old friend's voice came back to him suddenly, and he heard himself say,

"Maybe I'm not the liar."

She leaned over and kissed him - not his lips, she knew she would never be able to pull away again - but she kissed his forehead like a mother sending a child to sleep.

"You'll be all right?" she asked.

<No. Never.>

"Yes." he said.

"Good." She tucked the blankets around his shoulders, wanting to hug him, to have his arms around her again, wanting him to be the strong one as he had so many times during her youth.

But instead she patted his hand and slipped out of the room.

<I still don't know your name.> Teena Mulder thought to herself, <And I still love you.>

***

There was a mass of shadows waiting for her in a corner of her hallway, catlike green eyes peering out from the darkness. She turned on the light switch to see the young man leaning against the wall, not at all shocked to see that he had broken into her house. It was his business, after all.

"Tea?" she asked, used to the routine by now.

"Thank you." He followed her into the kitchen, sitting down at the table. His right hand moved over his left, which was made of plastic. "I can't stay long."

"You never do." She listened to the kettle whistle, pouring hot water into two mugs. She brought one over to Alex Krycek and kept the other for herself. He stirred his teabag absentmindedly with his spoon.

"So he's alive?" Krycek said finally, "You saw him?"

"I'd like him to remain that way, if it's at all possible."

The young man laughed. He was a killer, like the man she loved, but a different sort of killer altogether.

"Where is he going?"

"A safe house, in the Laurentians."

Krycek nodded. "I trust we will be able to find him when he is needed again."

"You'll find him."

The young man finished his tea quickly. Then he stood up in one fluid motion and was at the door.

"Thank you, Mrs. Mulder. You have been very helpful."

And he was gone.

She looked out of the open dooway, the night wind howling in the trees. There was no sign of Krycek's presence anywhere. No sign of any human presence at all. It was not late at night - where had everyone gone?

The moon hung full, swollen in the sky and the clouds had parted enough for her to

see every crevice, every shadow. <The man in the moon.>

She was doing the right thing. This wasn't a love story. This wasn't about her, and it wasn't about a boy she had known thirty-seven years ago.

This was about the future. There was a war going on, and even now, an old, old woman, she was fighting it.

A tear glistened in the corner of her eye, reflecting moonlight, and slid down her face into the cracks in the wooden porch.