Her Grief and Her Care

by Kristen K2

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Summary: In the aftermath of a spanking, Kim makes some surprising connections between her past and her present. Heavy angst alert.

Pairing: Sk/Kr/Kim Cook (For those of you who don't recognize the name, Kim Cook is Skinner's secretary. Frankly, I think she needs a better agent - CC could do so much more with her character if he applied himself.)

Series: Y; 3rd in "Like a Girl" universe, found at the Persuaders archive at http://geocities.datacellar.net/Area51/Aurora/8903/index.html

Legal Disclaimers: Nobody in this belongs to me, not even Tabitha. Timmy belongs to Lorelei, and from what I hear, is very affectionate. :)

Notes: On Panel 12W, row 130, of the Vietnam Wall Memorial, there is a name of a Sgt. James John Cook of Gladstone, Michigan. He was born on 8/28/49 and died on 4/13/70. He was 20. His death is listed as a ground casualty, killed by an explosive device. He was drafted by the Selective Service. (information provided by http://grunt.space.swri.edu/thewall/thewall.html )
I don't know who he was, but I'm sure there is someone who loved him and misses him still. This story is dedicated to that mourner.

Thanks: To Lorelei, for bringing so much of this story to life. Your inspired plot-bunnies, endless encouragement, and valued friendship are the primary reasons that this series exists. And to Ursula, for being a wonderful beta and a great friend.

Rating: NC-17 for discussion of discipline, and a threesome relationship. This one is discipline-free, but it's not for children under 17.

Feedback To: K2_fanfic@yahoo.com

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it's not just sentimental, no, no, no
she has her grief and her care
but the soft words, they are spoke so gentle
and it makes it easier, easier to bear
- "Try a Little Tenderness", The Commitments

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In 1969, when she was still an innocent child, the two greatest heroes in Kim's life were her big brother Kevin, and Tabitha from "Bewitched".

From Kim's five-year-old perspective, Kevin was a god. He was many years older than she was, almost fourteen years, but he never made her feel like she was a burden to him, like her mother did. He would take her out for ice cream whenever their parents had one of their silent angry stare- offs, or when their father stumbled into the house with funny-smelling breath, which she later learned was bourbon. Kevin was an expert at re-tying the ribbon in her hair when it unknotted while she played in the backyard, racing around in circles or climbing the big oak tree. Unlike her mother, he never told her that running was unladylike, and that no man would ever love a girl with scabs on her bony knees. One of her favorite pastimes was when he would hold her high on his shoulders so she could throw the basketball into the hoop over the garage door, just like she watched him do. Kevin was the only person Kim had ever known who loved her unconditionally.

But Kevin couldn't wriggle his nose, and make nursery rhyme characters come to life; that was Tabitha's special trick. Tabitha could do anything she wanted, because she was a witch with magic powers. She could turn into a butterfly, or make people smile when they didn't want to, and probably make them stop glaring at each other with those icy gazes that caused chills to run down Kim's spine. Tabitha's parents loved her, and never made her feel like they didn't want her. Tabitha wasn't an accident, as her mother was fond of calling Kim.

In the fall of 1969, the strangest thing happened: a new father for Tabitha appeared on the screen, and nobody said one word about it. Nobody on the TV show even noticed that someone had switched the old Darrin with a new one. Kim couldn't get over it. The two Darrins didn't even look alike; why didn't Tabitha and Samantha realize they had an imposter in their midst? Her own father wasn't home very much, but Kim was certain she'd know if another man walked in their front door and tried to take his place. She pondered the question for months, before it dawned on her that she could take advantage of the situation, and fulfill her favorite dream. She could run away from home, and move to California to the Stevens house. *She* could switch places with Tabitha, and no one would be the wiser. It was the perfect plan, at least to her five-year-old cognitive reasoning.

So Kim packed all of her worldly belongings into her Radio Flyer wagon to begin her great journey to her new life. Her mom and dad were out attending a party for grown-ups, and Kevin was home from college, and was supposed to be babysitting her. But he was upstairs in his room, with his door closed and locked, listening to rock music. Loudly. Her mom didn't allow him to turn up his speakers that high when she was home. She was already very angry with him for being home from school; Kim wasn't old enough to know what "expelled" meant, but she figured it was a bad thing. Mom and Dad were barely speaking to Kevin. This wasn't a new development for the Cooks; there were plenty of times that her house was eerily silent with stifled resentment. Kevin did bad things a lot.

She was nearly finished packing her wagon when Kevin, wearing his beat-up bomber jacket, appeared in the garage doorway, slouching against the frame. "What'cha doin', snicker doodle?" he slurred, the whites of his eyes webbed with red. Kim knew if she got close enough, she'd smell that sickeningly sweet stuff she forever associated with him. Her entire life, she would never be able to smell the combination of leather and pot without reminiscing about her big brother.

Kim made a face at the hated nickname. "Packing," she said abruptly, unwilling to admit she was going to miss seeing her brother every day. She was a big girl, she was going to be six next year, and she'd just get used to his absence. It wouldn't be the same as when he'd gone away to college, and her insides felt like someone had cratered out a huge hole with a melon baller. "I'm moving to California."

Kevin shifted his shoulder against the doorframe. "California? Who lives there?"

"Tabitha does," she reminded him. "I'm going to live in her house and learn how to be a witch."

When she turned around to look up at him, it had seemed like he was happy and sad at the same time. But he didn't try to stop her from leaving. All he did was ask her, "Did you pack any food? It's a long trip across the country. You might get hungry." Kim shook her head no. "Wait here a minute, okay?" he said, lifting himself out of the doorway. "I'll be right back."

A few minutes later, he returned clutching a paper bag. Kim remembered that Kevin had crouched down so they were eye level, and showed her what he'd packed for her trip. A quart of whole milk, a loaf of squishy white bread, and two jars, one of peanut butter and one of Fluff. Kim was very touched that he remembered their secret snack. Sometimes she had nightmares, and Kevin was always the one who woke her up and dried her tears. When she was calm again, he would carry her on his back down to the kitchen, and they would sit at the table eating peanut-butter-and-Fluff sandwiches, whispering so they didn't wake up their parents.

"But, Kevin," she protested, "I can't make a sandwich. I'm not big enough to use a knife, remember? Mom says I have to wait until I'm seven."

Her brother took a butter knife, the kind with no sharp edges and a rounded tip, out of the bag, and placed it in her hand, fisting his large fingers around her tiny ones. "Anybody who's big enough to move out on their own all the way to California is big enough to use a knife. C'mon, snicker doodle, you've made sandwiches for us plenty of times. Mom only made that rule because she doesn't understand what you're capable of. I know you better, and I know you can do it." Kevin dropped the knife back in the bag, and stood up, ruffling her hair. "I'm proud of you."

At that moment, Kim almost stopped herself from leaving. All she wanted to do was throw her arms around her brother's legs, and stay with him forever. Nobody in her family had ever told Kim, before or since, that they were proud of her. But she didn't do anything; they weren't a family prone to physical gestures. People didn't hug, or kiss, or even pat each other on the back. It had taken her years to overcome the idea that touching someone was unwelcome; until Walter, and now Alex to a lesser degree, she'd rarely been hugged. But at the time, she hadn't learned that vital lesson. Instead, she very carefully placed the bag in her wagon, zipped up her coat, making sure to tie the ends of her hood so it stayed firmly on her head, and waved goodbye. Her brother stood pensively watching her walk down the driveway, his balled-up hands shoved into his pockets.

Some time later, she stood on the corner at the end of her very long street, her bangs matted to her forehead from the sweat born of pulling her over-laden wagon, and her hands starting to get cold. Mittens. She'd forgotten her mittens. What a dummy she was. But she'd traveled so far, it was too late to turn back. Even though it was getting dark. Big girls old enough to use their very own knives aren't afraid of the dark, she reminded herself.

Kim was standing on the corner, trying to decide which way would lead her to California, when a car eased up next to her. The clang of the rusty muffler told her who was driving. When she turned to confirm it, her brother rolled down his window, holding up the mittens she'd left behind.

"Thought you might need these," he said quietly. Then he opened his door, and waved to her to come closer, sliding the scratchy wool over her numb fingers. His shock of red hair gleamed in the street light overhead. Brushing her damp bangs aside, his blue eyes matched hers with the same sad expression. "Don't leave, snicker doodle. I'll really miss you. Let me take you home, okay?"

As she nodded her approval, Kim didn't even try to stop the tears that ran down her chubby cheeks. She was tired, and lonely, and scared. Running away was much harder than it had seemed. Kevin put her wagon and all of her belongings in the trunk, then scooped her up onto his hip to carry her to the passenger's side, letting her bury her face in his neck without commenting. Just before he placed her in her seat, he squeezed her really hard, and Kim was so happy to be hugged and to feel safe, she didn't tell him that she couldn't breathe. When they got home, Kevin put her stuff away, and Kim made them each a peanut-butter-and-Fluff sandwich, which they ate quietly at the kitchen table.

The following month, December of 1969, the draft lottery was drawn, and Kevin's birthday was a low number. Kim watched the lottery on TV with him; she recalled thinking that if he had been born on her birth date, he might not have had to go away. To this day, Kim was unable to watch TV in the dark, and not see the dim blue glow from the screen flickering across her brother's familiar features, so similar to her own. She would always remember the look of absolute terror, then resignation, that had streaked across his wide, dark eyes.

The night before he left for boot camp, they shared their last peanut-butter-and-Fluff sandwich in the kitchen, and Kevin made her promise that she wouldn't run away while he was gone. Kim agreed, because she knew as well as he did that no one would come looking for her if she disappeared.

Before the end of the spring of 1970, her beloved big brother was dead in the jungles of Vietnam, and there was no one willing to console her when she woke up with nightmares, of which there were many. She never watched Bewitched again; even Tabitha and her magic nose couldn't bring her brother back home. Kim was left with a bereft set of parents who hadn't liked her all that much to begin with, and a lifelong fondness for that comforting combination of gooey marshmallow, thick peanut butter, doughy bread, and cold, cold milk.

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The acrid taste of metal and rubber filled Kim's mouth, jolting her back to reality. Her troubled gaze took in the chewed-up pencil in her hand, then headed down to the half- blank Sunday crossword puzzle on the table before her.

She shook her head to clear away the cobwebs of memory. What was she doing, pining for Kevin now? Hungering for a taste of something long missing? She'd made her peace with his death years before; it didn't bear dwelling on now, in her present. Her life was now, and here, with Walter and Alex. She was a grown woman, not a lost little girl. She had two men who cared for her, who hugged and kissed and did all the things that lovers were supposed to do.

Things they were doing to each other, as she sat at the built-in table of the breakfast nook off the kitchen. Alex's sobs had died down a while ago, but Kim could still hear their loving murmurs drifting out from the living room. Normally, she preferred to leave the two alone after a hot-butting session, but the nasty weather prevented that today. She'd gotten halfway to her car, fighting the bitter wind and snow of winter's last gasp whipping against her face, before she'd given up and headed back inside. Neither man had been cognizant of her departure, or return.

For the hundredth time, Kim told herself that it was normal, and to be expected. From the beginning, she'd known, without anyone telling her, that once the spanking was over, her presence was no longer required, and in fact, not wanted. It was really only Alex who seemed to want her there; once Walter shifted into discipline mode, he ceased to pay her any attention. Kim got the distinct impression that if it hadn't been for Alex's request that she stay, her burly lover would have preferred she be nowhere near the room. But it was Alex's choice, and he respected that. A typical Walter gesture, overlooking his own conflicted feelings to help someone in need.

Kim had watched him perform a similar routine in the office -- excluding any hot-butting, but including the stern looks and tersely coiled tones -- for years, whenever some hapless Agents spun out of control. It hadn't taken her long to see that his hard-ass stance was only a thin shell surrounding who he was, deep down. Walter's size and physical strength led most people to believe he was tough down to his bones, heartless and cold. The real truth was that underneath all his armor, behind the role he was compelled to play, dwelled a very gentle man. A man full of tenderness and compassion, who was willing to risk his well-being to protect the people he loved. A man who loved Alex Krycek enough to put on his don't-mess-with-me AD persona, turn his lover over on his knee, and smack his ass raw. If that was what was required to keep Alex safe, then her gentle Walter did it.

If Walter could do it, then so would Kim. Despite her misgivings, she played out her minor role in the discipline as best she could. But once Alex's anguished green eyes stopped pinning her like a trapped butterfly to the spot where she stood, and his thick lashes, wet with remorse, lowered to direct his gaze from her face down to the couch, Kim made her temporary escape. She deliberately made herself scarce, sometimes heading for a nearby diner for a cup of coffee and a cigarette, other times blindly circling the block, until her hands stopped shaking from the leftover emotions of the scene she'd left behind. Once, she'd even trekked all the way to the Wall, where she stood in front of Kevin's name, and rubbed it until she thought the letters were tattooed to her fingertips.

Damn. There she was, doing it again. Stop thinking about him, Kim, she remonstrated. He's gone; he's been gone for a long time. Purposely, she picked back up her fallen pencil, and focused all her attention on the crossword puzzle.

She was mulling over a seven-letter word for "fermenting disease" when she felt an over-sized hand sweep over her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Without looking up, Kim scooted over on the bench seat to make room for Walter, who slid in next to her, twisting both of them so her back rested against his side, and wrapping one strong arm around her waist. Although he deliberately ignored her during discipline, he made a special effort to seek her out immediately when she returned. Kim deeply appreciated the thoughtful gesture, and hoped it helped him as much as it did her. After all those years of not being touched by someone who loved her, she adapted surprisingly easily to the change. Then again, how could anyone *not* want to be hugged by Walter Skinner?

"Zymosis," he said, his voice feather light against the edge of her ear.

"Hmm?"

He tapped the folded newspaper. "Fermenting disease. The word is zymosis."

She looked over her shoulder into a pair of smiling brown eyes, unable to resist returning the amused look in them. "You made that up."

"No, I'm serious," he chuckled. "Read it an report last week."

"You did not. I've seen all the reports that came across your desk, and believe me, *zymosis* wasn't mentioned," Kim retorted.

Walter's sheepish look made an appearance, the one that always crossed his expression when he knew he was about to be busted by his secretary for lost paperwork. When the Bureau promoted him to a desk job, they may have gained an able administrator, a caring and generous supervisor, and a skilled office politician, but Walter's heart would always be in the field. He'd much rather be solving a case than reading about it. Over time, Kim had gotten creative in her methods of keeping him on track.

Her favorite was their mid-week file reviews, which had evolved into one of the various ways by which Kim and Walter had moved beyond their roles of boss-subordinate into a more personal, and ultimately very personal, relationship. They had spent many a Wednesday night, with shoes kicked off and their feet -- his socked and hers stocking-ed -- up on his conference table, passing reports, laughter, and pizza slices between them. It was during those intimate late-night sessions that she'd first begun to see behind the AD Skinner façade he'd perfected so well. Some of the zanier X Files were primary targets of Walter's well-hidden sense of humor; she had no idea he even knew how to *smile* until she'd instituted File Night. Kim was always extra-nice to Mulder and Scully once she and Walter had become lovers; if it weren't for them, she might not have the life she did now.

"I might have a few in my..." he muttered with a guilty jerk of his chin toward the general direction of the living room, where his briefcase had sat untouched on the desk since the beginning of the weekend.

Kim groaned theatrically. "Please tell me you didn't leave them in your briefcase. How long have they been sitting in there?"

"A couple of days, Thursday at the latest, I swear," he answered, dipping his mouth to her neck, and nuzzling until she released a sigh of pleasure. He was only trying to distract her from becoming annoyed at his misplacing some files, but it worked. Wonderfully.

"So," she said in a mild tone, letting her weariness be washed away in the levity of the moment, "tell me what kind of shenanigans Mulder and Scully were up to in the missing report."

A soft laugh tickled the bottom of her earlobe. "Why do you think it was an X File?"

"Because the only thing Agent Iverson knows about fermenting is how to unscrew a beer bottle cap, if he knows that much, and he and the Dynamic Duo were your last two appointments on Thursday. Spill the beans, AD Skinner."

Walter snorted another laugh, and leaned back against the bench. "Remind me to give you an application for a Special Agent position on Monday," he commented dryly. "Your investigative talents are being wasted."

Kim tapped the puzzle with her pencil, feeling vaguely unsettled. On one hand, it was nice to get some recognition for being perceptive. On the other, she had acquired that skill the hard way. Everyone she knew as an adult teased her for what they believed was her innate talent at reading people's faces, but the truth was rooted in something much more earth-bound. Most children of alcoholic parents learn early on to watch for mood swings; Kim simply took those lessons into her adulthood. It was one of the few positive gifts she'd ever received from her father.

"Zymosis?" she prompted, keeping the conversation on track.

Walter mock-sighed. "Zymosis is, and I quote Special Agent Doctor Scully, fermentation as a cause of disease. It was a case in Montana involving some bored college kids, and a still. They whipped up a batch of moonshine, and somehow encouraged the townsfolk to consume their illegal liquor. Which, allegedly," he continued, his eyes beginning to twinkle with held-back humor, "made them, ah, over-aroused. Very over-aroused."

Kim hid her smirk behind her hand. While most of the X Files were of a very serious nature, there were some that defied all expectations of plausibility. Many of those were downright funny. She had an easier time accepting the idea of aliens and government conspiracies, especially given all that Walter and Alex had been through, than she did the notion that there were nerdy guys born with tails sprouting from their butts. This particular X File conversation looked like it was headed in the comical direction, and she was eager to hear the grand finale.

Pushing the puzzle aside as she rested her arm on the table, Kim leaned the side of her head onto her bent hand. From this angle she had a full view of Walter's face, which was a lovely perk. The animated expression that danced across his broad features when he told a joke was so unlike his stern work/hot-butt demeanor, it was like looking at a new person. Relaxed, amused, without his glasses, Walter Skinner was a delicious feast for the eyes.

"So the whole town starting boinking like rabbits?"

"Well, 'boinking' isn't the scientific term, but yes, I believe that would be accurate. Group orgies, in the middle of Main Street, according to the report."

As he spoke, he shifted on the seat so he too was leaning against the table, his face a few inches from hers. His other arm remained draped around her waist, his large fingers dipping beneath her clothes to slide lazily across her bare skin. The contact, and the conversation, instantly fueled some rather steamy fantasies of Walter, Alex and herself, which she filed in the back of her brain for later. Much later.

"Ah, Walter, that doesn't exactly sound like a *problem*, does it? Why would anyone call the FBI to report too much sex?"

"Beats the hell out of me," Walter grinned, leaning forward to kiss the tip of her nose. "Personally, I think Mulder dug up the case on his own. Might have been part of one of those porn email groups he belongs to that he thinks I don't know about. And, Mulder being Mulder, he *had* to go investigate."

"So Scully's scientific opinion was that the kids had screwed up the fermentation process, and accidentally had brewed Love Potion Number Nine?" she wisecracked, as Walter smothered his chortle, nodding. "What did Mulder think had happened?"

Walter's grin widened. "For the first time in the history of the X Files, Agent Mulder was without a theory. He made a few feeble jabs at some ridiculous idea of moons in alignment or some such nonsense, but it was pretty clear that his head was still full of the scene they'd left in Montana, of an entire town doing the hoochie-coochie with their neighbors."

"Poor Agent Scully. There she was, standing in the middle of Mulder's wettest dream come true."

Walter tilted his head back, his surprised bark of laughter booming across the ceiling tiles. "Oh God, hon, I didn't even *picture* that. It certainly explains her foul temper during the meeting. Christ, I was worried she knew I was hanging onto my somber AD composure by a thread."

What she wouldn't have given to have been a fly on the wall during *this* meeting. Walter usually filled her in on many of the details she missed, but late Thursday afternoon had been hectic, and she'd slept at her apartment that night. Friday had been even busier than the rest of the week combined. Since she was supposed to have gone on a date with Alex on Friday -- which he'd never shown up for -- Walter sent her home early, and she'd missed all the fun.

Pity, too, because it turned out to be the last bit of humor either of them had, until this very moment. During the rest of the weekend, since they'd both been so worried about Alex's continued disappearance, she and Walter had neither the time nor the inclination to discuss work issues. Instead, they'd spent their hours hunting through hospitals and jails and God, even morgues, before finding Alex three sheets to the wind in a semi-respectable bar in downtown Washington. It was only due to Kim's wide network of friends that they'd found him at all; if she hadn't known the bartender from her softball league, she and Walter might never have located their errant lover. And if they hadn't...no. Her mind refused to consider the possibility.

So busy was Kim on this derailed train of thought, she didn't notice that Walter's amusement had drained from his expression.

"Kim, it's over," he said, his tone instantly serious. "He's home, and he's fine. A little hung over, and his ass is plenty sore, but he's in one piece."

"I know," she sighed, lifting her free hand to stroke his clenching jaw. "I am grateful he's safe. Very much so."

He drew her closer at the waist. "Me too. It was a very long weekend. I'm glad you were here with me this time. You kept me sane." He planted a kiss on her forehead, his breath fluttering a wayward lock of her hair out in a warm puff. "You always do. Thank you for that."

"It's my pleasure," she answered, leaning over to catch his lips with hers, her hand cupping his nape as he slid his tongue into her mouth, kissing her soundly. It still touched and amazed Kim that Walter looked to *her* for comfort. That this strong, confident man felt comfortable sharing his internal doubts and anxieties with her was a source of immense pride. For many years that she worked for him, he kept his emotions close to his vest, not giving much away. It had taken a long time before he let her in, but when he had, it was permanent, and satisfying.

They sat that way for a bit, kissing and snuggling, until Walter pulled his head back with a resigned growl. "As much as I'd prefer to stay here, I've got to make a run to the grocery store for supplies for dinner. You're staying over tonight, right?"

Kim glanced out the window at the swirling snow. The prospect of sleeping between Alex and Walter was tempting, if Alex was up for that tonight. He'd barely spoken to her since he woke up this morning. Kim wasn't sure if he was upset with her for contacting Walter when Alex was a no- show at the restaurant, or if he was embarrassed that they'd found him drunk out of his mind and one smart-assed comment away from instigating a bar brawl. For a Russian, he really had trouble holding his liquor. His vicious hangover this morning was all the proof she needed of that.

She did need to get home to feed her cat, but she certainly had enough supplies in her car if she stayed. Her over- stuffed Honda Civic acted as a giant suitcase lately, holding all the various things she needed as she juggled her time between the Hoover building, Alex and Walter's condo in Crystal City, and her apartment in Arlington. Thank goodness Mel lived in her building. Now that Kim had told her about her lovers, her friend was happy to stop by and feed poor, neglected Timmy whenever Kim wasn't able to coordinate a stop at her place. Eventually, she knew she had put her foot down, and tell Walter and Alex that she couldn't live like this, but that time hadn't arrived yet. Walter would love if they all lived together, that much was evident; Alex wasn't anywhere close to that point. Neither was Kim.

"I dunno," she hedged, as a sweet marshmallow taste filled her mouth. She took it as a sign to follow her instincts and go home. "If you're headed out, maybe you can give me a jump if my battery acts up again. It's been working in fits and starts all week."

Walter was already at the cupboards in the kitchen, opening and closing, and scribbling down a list of essentials. He stopped his hurried movement, looking directly at her.

"Kim? Is something the matter? I thought you said you were staying."

She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could, surprised at her own reluctance to confide in her obviously worried lover. "I'm fine. It's just that I've been here all weekend, and I thought maybe I should go home. Get some clean clothes, catch up on phone calls, play with Timmy, that kind of thing."

For her uncharacteristic coyness, she was treated to a quintessential Walter Skinner Eyebrow Lift of Incredulity. "You have a clean work outfit in the closet upstairs, there are multiple phones available for use here, and Timmy is the most ornery, don't-touch-me cat I know. He hates when you play with him. What's really the matter?"

"Nothing." She caught the settled look in his eye, and suddenly understood why Alex squirmed when that look was directed at him. Felt like being under a damn microscope.

A few minutes ticked by, and Kim realized he wasn't going to let her off the hook. She took a deep breath, then exhaled, when a sudden rush of homesickness filled the space in her heart. "I want to go home," she heard herself whisper into the silence enshrouding the kitchen.

She had been a good girl all her life. She kept her promise to Kevin, and she never ran away from home after he left for Vietnam. No matter how bad something got, no matter how hurt or scared she felt, Kim held her ground, and stayed. It was the least she could do to honor her fallen hero. He had done his part, and now she did hers.

Now she wanted her reward for good behavior. She wanted to go home.

Home, to Kevin, and Bewitched, and peanut-butter-and-Fluff sandwiches.

Home, where nobody got blown to smithereens in a jungle half a world away from the little sister who adored him.

Where nobody ran away.

Where nobody got hot-butted.

Where nobody got loved.

The images and yearnings swirling inside her heart only served to confuse her more. Was that really where she wanted to go? Why didn't it alleviate the ache?

"You are home, Kim," a tender voice infiltrated her consciousness.

Blinking back the tears muddying her vision, she focused on Walter, who had left the counter area to crouch next to the bench. He took her hands in his, rubbing her numb fingers back to life. Kim could feel the scratchy wool from thirty years prior, when her brother had put her mittens on her cold hands, and begged her to stay with him.

"This is your home, sweetheart," Walter continued, his voice as steady and nurturing as a spring rain. "You live here, as permanently as Alex and I do."

"No, I don't," she argued. "I--"

"Yes you do. You have no idea what it's like on the nights you're not here. Alex and I look at each other, both of us sensing the empty space where you should be. A dozen times, Alex will start a sentence, then realize he was about to say it to you. I'm equally as bad. I watch Alex sitting on the couch, or making dinner, and I find that I'm looking for you, too. The picture's not complete."

"Walter," she croaked, wiping an errant tear from her cheek, "you two are fine without me. You don't need me."

"Wrong again. It doesn't work the same anymore, Kim, not without you. I've needed you for so long, you know I have, and Alex does, too--"

"He doesn't need me," she protested, appalled at how pathetic she sounded. This wasn't her, to embroil Walter in her unhappiness. He leaned on her, not the other way around. It was the main thing she prided herself on in their relationship, that she was the strong one. Someone he could turn to in a moment of crisis, and not have to face another needy, 'help me, Skinner' look. A soft place where he could land, when the rare doubt overtook his regular decisiveness. To have switched roles felt all wrong to Kim.

"He needs you more than he can admit," Walter insisted. "If Alex were the type of person who could say those things easily, then you would have been living here ages ago. It took me years to get him to talk openly, Kim, and I suspect you run into the same resistance." He stroked her cheek. "Probably took me as long to break through Alex's wall of silence as it took you to break through mine."

Kim returned his soft smile. "It was worth it. You're worth it."

"So is Alex."

She nodded her agreement, unclear as to why she felt such a strong tug of hesitation. She cared for her green-eyed lover, deeply, but something was holding her back from falling in love with him. There were days when she felt as if she stood on the edge of a cliff. Priceless moments when the shy, incandescent smile on Alex's face as she stood in front of him talking took her breath away. Or when she would exit the Hoover Building and spot him waiting in his car to pick her up for dinner, and watch his entire demeanor shift from wariness to anticipation when he saw her approach. It would be so easy to tilt into the wind at those moments, hurtling down into love with him, but Kim always pulled herself back from the brink. Try as she might, there was something intangible yet very real that prevented her from taking that one last step.

If Kevin were here, she would ask him. Kim had the strangest idea that he might know the answer.

"Where is he, by the way?" she asked, by way of ending the conversation before she was a puddle of weepy, cloying goo. She was much too raw to think about any of this rationally. Better to tackle it when she got off the emotional roller coaster she was riding. "Sleeping the rest of his hangover away?"

Walter stood, stretching his long legs as he rose. They had worked together long enough for him to recognize when it was time to switch gears. "Probably. He headed upstairs. Maybe you should join him, while I go grocery shopping."

"No, I can go to the store with you," she offered as she stood and stretched her own legs. They might not be as long as either of her lovers', but they still got cramped. "The snow's coming down pretty hard. You might need some help with the bags."

Shooting her a disdainful look, Walter shook his head. "Go take a nap, hon. I think I can handle a little snow. I *know* I can handle a few bags of groceries."

Kim sighed. Walter was back in AD Skinner mode, which she heard in the implacability in his tone. "Anything else you'd like to me to do, *sir*?" she asked, frustrated.

He scooped her into his arms as she passed him at the counter, dropping a light kiss onto the top of her head.

"Yes. Tell me what you'd like to have for dinner. Alex is officially off duty tonight, so I'm cooking."

One peanut-butter-and-Fluff sandwich, please, a five year old voice in her head replied.

Walter's laugh was muffled, since his face was buried in her hair. "What the hell is Fluff?"

Oh God, did she say that out loud? Damn. She had.

"It's...never mind," she answered, fruitlessly squirming in his embrace. Walter held her fast, until she gave up wriggling. No point in making a bigger fool out of herself than she already was. "Fluff is whipped marshmallow. It's part of a sandwich I used to make for Kevin and me."

Muscular arms tightened around her shoulders, and Kim returned the comforting hug. She hadn't meant to sound as forlorn as she did, but she heard the sadness in her tone as clearly as Walter must have.

She'd known that he was a Vietnam vet, of course. Well before they had become lovers, she used to see him at the Wall during the occasional lunch hour. She never disturbed him during that time, nor did he her. It wasn't until they had grown closer over the last few years that they discussed the war and its aftereffects on both of them.

Before moving to DC, and finally laying her eyes on the Wall, Kim hadn't uttered her brother's name in nearly two decades. Looked at pictures, yes; thought about him, yes; talked about him, no. It wasn't until she had finally seen it, solidly etched in the cool, black marble, that Kim had been able to mourn Kevin properly. When he'd died, there hadn't been enough of him to bury, and her parents had gone into complete denial, not even allowing her brother the dignity of a gravestone.

Walter Skinner was the only person she'd ever talked about Kevin with; not even Melanie, as close as they were, had gotten that far into Kim's confidence. He just wasn't something she discussed. Not even with her best friend. The wounds still ran too deep.

Kim rested her head against Walter's chest, stealing a moment of comfort. Much of her recovery from Kevin's untimely death had been due to the man in her arms. The countless hours spent talking about the War healed both of them. That, and their time at the Wall, either separately or together. Some secretaries and bosses had hot, steaming affairs at the Watergate Hotel; Kim had fallen for her boss at a monument to a lost battle and forsaken youth.

"I'll buy some Fluff," Walter murmured, tilting her chin up to give her a lingering kiss. His thumb rubbed a soft line under her eye, tracing the dark circle. "If you promise me you'll go lie down and rest. You look beat."

"Deal," she agreed, sliding out of the warm circle of Walter. As she pushed open the kitchen door, Kim tossed over her shoulder, "And pick up some milk, please. That soy junk in the fridge doesn't count as real milk."

Just before she left the kitchen, Kim realized she'd forgotten something important. She turned, walked the few steps back to the counter, and flung her arms around Walter's neck, lifting herself up on the balls of her feet to reach him. "I do love you, Walter," she said fiercely.

She felt him pull her tightly to his elongated frame, as his smile broadened against her cheek. "Love you too, Kim," he replied, before letting her go with a nudge to her hip. "Now go upstairs before I toss you over my shoulder and drag you there myself. That's an order, Ms. Cook."

"Yes, sir," she smirked, and bolted out of the room before he carried out his toothless threat. Not that it would be a bad thing if she disobeyed, of course, but Alex probably wouldn't appreciate their horsing around while he was trying to get some much-needed sleep.

She actually could use a few minutes of shut-eye, Kim admitted as she headed up the stairs. She hadn't slept much since Friday. A short nap might ease the last of the anxiety percolating through her system. The added benefit of doing it upstairs was that Alex was there, and they'd both be in the bed. Kim didn't understand why, but Walter's bed was the one and only place where Alex let down his defenses enough to let her touch him, and where he felt comfortable enough to reciprocate. Everywhere else, there was always a moment of hesitation before he allowed physical contact.

Which was a true shame, because Alex Krycek was one of the best huggers in the world. What Alex lacked in limbs, he made up in tenderness. He hugged with his whole body, to the point where Kim couldn't separate where she started and he stopped. When he held her, even his eyes got into the act, swallowing her up in jade heat. On the nights that she stayed over at Walter and Alex's place, she awoke to the feel of satiny skin pressed lightly against hers, and soft lips roaming somewhere on her body. Smiling green eyes were a hell of a great alarm clock.

Her pupils took a few minutes to adjust to the dim light once she silently entered the hushed bedroom. The lamps by the bed were turned off, but Alex had cracked the blinds halfway, bathing all the furniture in pale stripes. The falling snow outside formed a flickering pattern dancing between each blind, creating the dizzying illusion that it was snowing colorless specks indoors. The warmth and intimacy of the bedroom softened the bitterness of the storm, stripping it of its cruelty, and leaving soothing, inviting imagery in its place.

As her vision corrected itself, the lump on the king-size bed solidified into the shape of a prone man. Kim took a moment to study the simple beauty of Alex Krycek at rest. His dark head was turned toward the pillow, denying her the opportunity to see his exquisitely sculpted face in repose. He lay on his stomach on the left side of the bed, closest to the window. It was difficult to see clearly across the room, but it looked as if he'd tucked his lone arm underneath the pillow supporting his head.

His nakedness led Kim to assume he was asleep. Unless the three of them were in bed together, and often even then, Alex was extremely conscientious of hiding his stump from her view. It struck her as strange that he had no problem in baring his ass to her during hot-butt time, yet he still shied away from letting her near his truncated arm, but she didn't press the issue. Some weaknesses were easier for him to reveal than others, she presumed, understanding far too well the need to project an image of strength in the face of adversity. She hadn't had nearly the hard life that Alex had, but she'd endured her share.

With her hand resting on the doorknob behind her, Kim held her body statue-still, wrestling with the selfish desire to burrow into his side and possibly disturb his sleep, and the better instinct to leave him alone in his moment of tranquility. She slowly turned the knob so it clicked closed as silently as possible, her gaze sweeping down the graceful pattern of the blinds down his back. The thin gray strips of light curved along the valleys and peaks of his toned spine and shoulders. As her line of vision halted at the smooth, brightly-colored stripes on his ass, Kim's hand flew to her throat to squelch her gasp of shock.

What the hell was...?

Oh God.

Alex lifted his head from its resting place and turned toward her at the exact moment that Kim spotted the red welts on his butt cheeks. Now that she could separate shadows from concrete images in the dim light, she realized she was staring at the marks from Walter's belt.

"Did you need something?" The chill in his voice tore her gaze temporarily from his red ass to his red-rimmed eyes.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered. Stupid question. Very stupid question.

Alex snapped, "It's *supposed* to hur--", before stopping to peer at her stricken face. He finished, far more gently than how he'd begun, "No, sweetheart, it's okay. It's just a hot butt, remember?"

Kim nodded, unable to look at anything but the discolored marks on his pale skin. She had never been spanked as a child. Never. Not even a minor swat on her fanny when she'd thrown the rare temper tantrum. Her mother could freeze her with a look; corporal punishment wasn't necessary. So she had no frame of reference for what it felt like afterward.

Even the one time she'd spanked Alex hadn't really helped her figure out what it felt like to be the recipient. Based on the severity of Alex's cries during his discipline sessions with Walter, she had assumed it was excruciating. The physical evidence of his fiery, red ass, which she only caught brief glimpses of before she scurried from the room, hadn't given her any indication of the amount of pain he suffered. Not being able to understand gnawed at her.

Eventually, she worked up the nerve to ask Alex directly, and, after a great deal of reluctance, he had told her that spanking didn't feel painful as much as it left his skin feeling over-heated and sensitive, like a bad sunburn. It gave him a hot butt, he had said, and Kim took refuge in that phrase. Thinking of the discipline like that made it much easier to accept. Once she'd done that, she'd been able to move past her initial fear, and really see the value of Walter and Alex's agreement. No matter what she might argue against it, hot-butting helped Alex.

Except that right now he looked like he was still in pain, she realized with a sinking heart, as she looked back at his face, and spotted the drying tear tracks.

"Alex..." she whispered, then stopped, because she didn't know what else to say.

He gave another heavy sigh, and turned his attention back toward the pillow. "I'm fine, Kim. Go back downstairs," he said in a dismissive tone.

Alex had been lying up here amidst the peaceful dancing snowflakes, anguished and weeping to himself, the whole time she and Walter were talking and joking in the kitchen. The ugly realization hit Kim like a brick hurled at her solar plexus.

No.

This was wrong.

And leaving him here to continue suffering alone was even worse.

Her selfish desires abandoned, Kim walked away from the door into the en-suite bathroom, ignoring her toiletries on the counter as she rummaged through the full drawers for the bottle of aloe that Walter kept for burns and cuts. If hot-butting felt like a sunburn, then the gel should help cool the sting. She was no doctor, but she hadn't earned her fifth-grade Girl Scout badge for First Aid by resting on her laurels.

Alex remained motionless on the bed as she emerged from the bathroom. He kept his head facedown in the pillow when Kim sat down next to him, straightening her legs parallel to his. She heard a muffled sniffle, but other than that, he seemed oblivious to her presence.

She squeezed a mound of clear gel onto her shaking fingers, then snapped the cap shut. Eyeing the firm, glowing buttocks before her, she tried to gauge where he was in the most need of immediate care. Up close, it didn't look half as bad as it had from the doorway, which relieved her tremendously. She could make out a few faint lines from the belt, but overall his cheeks and upper thighs were covered in twin ovals of reddened flesh. No slim nicks where the edge of the belt might have bit deeper into his skin, no small bloody cuts, nothing but a well-disciplined ass. Even a novice to spanking like Kim was had to appreciate the consistency and control in Walter's aim. Perhaps Alex hadn't downplayed the level of pain, after all.

His taut muscles contracted instinctively underneath her fingertips, but she didn't stop rubbing until she heard him moan.

"Too hard?" she whispered.

"No, s'good," he slurred. "But you shouldn't--"

"Sssh. Relax, Alex."

"I don't want you to see me like this," he said, his voice as gravelly and bumpy as three miles of unpaved road.

"I don't want to see you like this either," she replied softly. He twisted his neck to look at her with shining eyes. "Please...let me help you."

"'Kay," Alex allowed, relaxing infinitesimally. She continued her ministrations, coating his red skin with a thin layer of the cooling gel, then reaching for the tube for more. *Hot*, my foot, she fumed impotently. You could fry an egg on his scorched butt.

"M'sorry, Kim," he mumbled.

"There's no need to apologize. You didn't do anything to me."

He sniffled, still gazing over his shoulder at her. "I stood you up. I should have called you or something."

Kim melted at the bashful look in his eyes. There was something very endearing about the way he acted so uncertain around her. Reminded her of the first boy who'd kissed her when she was a young girl. "Then I guess you'll be calling that florist after all, won't you?" she said, not unkindly.

The corner of his mouth slanted upward. "Yeah, I guess so. You're not mad at me?"

"No, I'm not mad," she reassured him, bending over to kiss his left shoulder blade. He jerked slightly under her lips, so Kim sat back up and continued spreading the aloe. Not welcome, she interpreted as his reaction to her impulsive move.

By the third application, all of the muscles in his body appeared to have loosened, and his shallow breathing had evened out into a series of contented sighs and half- whimpers. His ass had improved too; the color was still visible, but the blazing heat had faded to lukewarm.

When she shifted her legs to slide off the bed, his head popped off the pillow.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to wash my hand. It's all sticky. You should go to sleep."

"But I..." He closed his eyes, his sooty lashes squeezing together in sync with his eyebrows knotting, then opened them to issue a green plea. "Will you come back when you're done in the bathroom?"

"Did you want me to put more on?" she asked, concerned she hadn't done enough.

"No, it feels great, thanks. It's just...I didn't get to wake you up this morning. I missed that -- you," he faltered, then gave her another shy smile. "I missed you."

Anytime she wanted to breathe again might be a good time.

Or maybe she'd just sit here smiling foolishly at him for a minute longer.

"I'll be right back."

It was only due to reminding herself she was a grown woman, with bills to pay and all her front teeth accounted for, that she managed not to skip into the bathroom.

When she exited a few minutes later, she noted that Alex had rolled under the thick navy blue comforter, so she unzipped her sweatshirt and dropped it on the floor by the bed, then quickly removed her jeans and socks before scrambling underneath with him. She gave a half-second of consideration to removing her camisole-style t-shirt and panties, but tossed aside the idea. He'd rejected her overture once already, and she still felt too jumpy and tensed to want to risk a second slap down.

Besides, without Walter there with them, there wasn't any chance Alex would do more than cuddle; Kim hadn't the faintest idea why, but Alex had never made love to her, one on one, in the five months they'd been sharing the same bed. Even when Walter completed their trio, Kim could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Alex had been inside her. Each encounter was seared into her memory; he might act uncertain and timid when they were alone, but as a lover in a threesome, Alex was a force to be reckoned with. The combination of he and Walter together were a lethal mix; there were nights Kim was positive she would die, and happily so, from the pleasure. Unless they considered a peak to be as high as Mount Everest, then whoever said that women reach their sexual peaks in their thirties had either grossly understated the facts of life, or had never met Alex Krycek and Walter Skinner.

But just she and Alex, alone, naked, and aroused? Hadn't happened. It wouldn't now, either; of that much she was certain. Kim didn't mind as much as she probably should. In truth, she was as equally unprepared to jump his bones, demanding that he screw her senseless, as he was to do it. Her own lack of sexual aggression toward Alex surprised her, but she hadn't tried to worry out the cause yet. Instead, she wrote it off as one more thing in the long line of contradictory pieces of Alex Krycek, and the jumbled-up way he made her feel.

He lay on his side, and lifted his good arm up and over her shoulder as she snuggled up close. Like a last piece of a puzzle, his mouth connected to hers the second they made the final contact of bumping knees. Alex had lips like cotton candy, she thought dreamily. Pink and soft and sweet. She swiped her tongue across his upper lip for another taste, emitting a breathy sigh of pleasure when she felt his tongue reach tentatively for hers.

While she yearned to take their relationship to the next step, Kim had to admit there was an undeniable appeal to simply necking like two innocent teenagers. After she'd introduced her lovers to Mel a few weeks back, Alex had taken her to the movies as he'd promised. When they'd emerged from the darkened theater, Kim's lips had been pleasantly swollen, and she was hard-pressed to recall one scene from the film they'd supposedly watched. How a man as dangerously sexy as Alex Krycek managed to make her feel like a virginal high-school girl astounded her; it had been a long, long time since all she'd done on a date was indulge in a marathon make-out session.

Leaning her head back so she could see Alex's face clearly, she slid her hand down the sleek muscles of his back, stopping just shy of where his cheek began its seductive curve. "Does it feel any better?" she whispered.

"Yeah, it's fine. Thanks for putting that stuff on it."

"Do you want to me to put on some more?"

A flash of green fire appeared under his lush lashes, then disappeared as he twisted his neck toward his back. "No, it's okay. My butt doesn't smell like peaches, does it?"

"No. It was aloe. No smell," she answered, unsure why he seemed suddenly uncomfortable. "Alex?"

"Hmm?" He'd nestled back onto his pillow, seemingly engrossed in her left earlobe.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, it's fi-..." He stopped his restless hand and eye dance, sighing. "You didn't do anything wrong, Kim."

"Then what's the matter?"

Another guarded sigh.

"It won't make any sense," he warned.

"Very little you do makes any sense to me," she said, fitting her hand in the space between the cotton pillowcase and the roughened stubble of his cheek. "I've got a three- ring binder at home labeled Things I Don't Understand Yet About Alex Krycek."

His wry smile spread into her palm. "My file on you is color-coordinated and tabbed."

"Touché," she conceded. "Tell me anyway."

He looked at her for a long beat before replying, seeking something unfathomable in her expression.

"Okay. First off, I want you to know I do really appreciate you coming in here and being so nice to me. I'm sorry if I was short with you when you came in. I've been doing this for a while now, and you've never been around. So I didn't expect you this time, and it caught me off-guard."

Kim thought about apologizing for her part in their initial awkwardness, or pointing out that he hadn't been short, but kept her silence. Alex was talking, instead of acting stand-offish, and she didn't want to break his rhythm.

"Second, the aloe did cool the burning sensation," he continued. Maybe it was the dim light, but he seemed strangely embarrassed. "I'm very touched that you wanted to help me. But here's the thing: while I'm grateful you did that, I kind of wish you hadn't."

Her forehead wrinkled. "Okay, you were right. That doesn't make any sense."

"Told you so," he said in a soft lilt.

"Do...do you want me to go?" she offered, praying he declined.

His fingers, which had been toying with the strap of her camisole, drifted down toward the small of her back, where he splayed them against the cotton.

"Yes and no," he admitted. His arm banded like steel around her, keeping her locked into place when she tried to get up. "Please, let me explain."

Kim forced her muscles to relax. "Okay," she agreed, more for her own benefit than his.

"Okay. See, I come up here to think about what I've done. I want to concentrate on the pain, so I won't forget my mistake and end up doing it again. Hot-butting *does* hurt, Kim, but it's not unbearable. I've been hurt a lot worse. And afterward, when Walter comforts me..." he trailed off, and sighed. "That feels great. But I'm afraid that I'll forget too soon the lesson he's trying to instill. I don't want that to happen."

"So, you come up here to suffer in silence?"

"Yes. I know I scared you and Walter badly by disappearing and not coming home. I never meant to do that, and I'm so sorry. And if I can't remember how much I worried you, I'm afraid I'll do it again. If I keep messing up, eventually Walter won't forgive me, and then you two will ask me to leave. I can't let that happen. I came so close to losing you and Walter this weekend, it terrifies me."

"We almost lost you too, Alex," she interjected.

"I know. I'm so sorry for worrying you--"

"So what makes our concern any different than yours? Why is it okay for you to continue beating yourself up for what happened, but we're supposed to forgive and move on? Isn't that the point of hot-butting?"

The whole thing was making less and less sense to Kim. Trying to compare what he was saying versus what limited understanding she had about discipline didn't mesh.

Alex appeared to be in a similar dilemma. Confusion knit his eyebrows together. "Well, yeah."

"Then why do you keep doing it? Walter's told me repeatedly that when the punishment is over, it's over. But that's not what you're doing. I don't think this is the way it's supposed to work."

"He doesn't know about this," Alex confessed. "I don't want him to. But I don't know how else to make the lesson stick." He lifted his hand, brushing his fingers across her temple. "There's only so much forgiveness I can ask for. What if Walter gets tired of giving it to me?"

"That won't happen," she assured him. "That's not how it works. Emotions don't come from a well, where eventually you get to the bottom and there's nothing left. There's an endless supply, and all they do is grow exponentially, the more you love someone."

The imprint of the snow-light flickering across his delicate features made Alex look almost...fragile. "What about you, Kim? You've never said it, you know."

Her breath caught in her throat. Surely he wasn't asking...

"Maybe my motivations aren't only because I want to make the lesson stick," he mused, his voice husky with vulnerability. "I think...maybe I want the pain to continue so I can try to make amends to you. I don't know what to do to make you understand how sorry I am. I'm really trying to do like you asked, but...taking you out on dates and spending time with you...it's not punishment. Punishment is supposed to hurt, and you..."

"You want me to discipline you? Physically?" Her stomach lurched at the idea. Doing it at Christmas had been so much harder than she'd thought it would be.

"No. Yes. Jesus, I don't know. I know you said you wouldn't, and I suppose I can live with that. But this other way...it doesn't do any good. We go out, and it's fun and interesting and I like being with you, but it...it feels unfinished. I keep waiting, but it doesn't happen. You never say that you...I don't know if you...I want..." He closed his eyes, his voice raw. "I need to know that you forgive me."

How hard was that for him to reveal, Kim marveled, watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat reflexively. His ability to lay his soul bare, at the most unexpected of times, awed and inspired her.

Fragments of a conversation between she and Walter, which had taken place after she told him what had happened at Christmas, flit into her brain. He'd asked her if she had comforted Alex afterward, and Kim had had to admit that she hadn't, or at least not very well. Walter had gone on to explain that the post-discipline discussion was almost more important than the spanking itself. That Alex needed to hear and to feel that he was forgiven, and loved, no matter what. Kim was ashamed to realize she hadn't done any of that.

She had just made the same mistake again.

"Alex." She cradled his face in both her hands, tilting it so she could kiss his damp lashes. "I do forgive you."

His eyelids fluttered open, the pitch black of his lashes offsetting the softer green within. "For...for disappearing this weekend?"

It took her a moment to grasp what his tremulous tone implied, what he couldn't bring himself to voice. Not even his singular brand of courage would permit him to make that leap of faith.

"For everything," she answered, swallowing back her own tears, as she finally began to understand.

His request that she stay during discipline had tickled in the back of her brain for months; she'd never been able to figure out why he would want such a thing. At first, she had assumed he was trying to scare her off, so she'd planted her feet and stuck with it, despite her reservations. But suddenly she knew that she'd made a horrible error in judgment, pretending that she wasn't involved. Ignoring what her eyes showed her, what she saw on Alex's face every damn time she watched him watch *her* during his spanking.

It was the same look he was giving her now.

See who I really am, he had been imploring her. Listen to my crimes, to the terrible acts I've committed, to the regret I feel. Watch me suffer for those sins. Then tell me it's okay, that you do forgive me, that I'm still the person you want to be with.

He had exposed himself to her, over and over again, displaying all of his weaknesses and his flaws and his torment. Her response? She had walked away, leaving him there like an open wound. He hadn't been only seeking Walter's forgiveness; he'd wanted hers, too.

In all likelihood, that was why he'd wanted her there from the beginning. It was the only way he knew to reach out to her. Walter had said earlier that she needed to break down Alex's wall, as he had had to do. It finally dawned on her that this cycle -- discipline, then forgiveness, then comfort and love -- was how Walter had done it. Alex had pushed her into that first step when he'd made his request, and Kim, lost in her ineptitude and her own needs, had skipped that all-important middle step, and headed straight for the last. It was time to back up and do it right.

"For *everything*, Alex," she repeated, staring at him until he understood. "From punching that bully on the playground when you were a kid, to lying about what you were doing when I first met you, to running away on Friday, and everything in between."

"Kim..." he breathed.

She squeezed his face between her hands. "My turn to talk."

The faintest of smiles crossed his lips.

"I forgive you for everything. And I'll keep on forgiving you, no matter what. I won't spank you, but I'll be there when you are. And I'll come to you afterward, and tell you that it doesn't change anything, that I still care about you and forgive you. I'm sorry I never told you that before. I...I didn't think it mattered so much to you. I didn't think at all. I guess...I was trying to distance myself from your agreement with Walter. Trying to make myself believe it didn't have anything to do with me. I was wrong, and I'm very, very sorry."

"You're forgiven," he whispered, that faint smile reappearing at the edge of his mouth. It struck her that the relief washing over her at his words was precisely what he had been seeking from her.

"Nice feeling, isn't it?" His smile, a slow spread of lips over teeth, grew stronger as he watched her expression.

Kim couldn't contain her answering smile. "Yeah. Now I see what all the fuss is about. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure that out."

"S'ok. You're still forgiven."

"You are too."

They lay there for a long beat, their eyes locked together, their heads inches apart on the pillows. Under the covers, his hand, which had been motionless against her hip, meandered up her torso, resting momentarily on her shoulder.

"You could, ah, hot butt me, if you wanted," he offered. "When I screw up again, I mean." His fingers drifted toward her bicep, which he gently squeezed. "All those hours in the gym with Walter are paying off. I'll bet you could blister my ass next time."

"I can't," she said cautiously. Damn. Why did he want to talk about this? Couldn't they just move on to the comfort part?

"Why not? I can handle it, Kim. I'm not afraid of physical pain. I've handled much worse than a spanking."

From the wounded masculine pride on his face, Kim surmised that unless she handled the next part carefully, they were going to be right back at square one, mistrusting and apprehensive. She wasn't prepared to go that far backward.

"I know that. I think you're one of the bravest, strongest people I know, and I'm sorry if I've never told you that, either." She hesitated, wondering if she was about to go too far. He had made veiled references to it, *twice*, so she screwed up her resolve and plowed on ahead. "I know what happened to your arm, Alex. In Russia. I've...I read Mulder's report, and I pieced together the rest. What you survived...I know you'd rather not let me know, or see, but it doesn't make me think less of you. Quite the opposite. I think of your missing arm as a badge of courage."

Bolstered by the shocked gratitude in his eyes, she slid her hand under the pillow, and gently wrapped her fingers around his hidden stump for the first time. When he didn't flinch, she kept her hand pressed against his broken flesh.

"What bothers me the most about watching you get hot-butted is seeing any *more* physical trauma happen to you. I know you can handle it, Alex, but I can't. You're so strong, I know you can get through it. I'm not that way. It breaks my heart to watch you suffer. That's why I can't do it myself. I'm sorry if I'm letting you down, but I...I just can't do it."

For a long moment, Alex stared at her, his lips parted as if to speak. He would start to say something, then stop, and stare at her again. Waves of emotions crested over his face. Disbelief turned into belief, fear into pride, confusion into comprehension. As Kim watched the transformations, her toes curled into the sheets to stop her heart from tumbling over the cliff.

Then his hand laced into her hair, and he kissed her.

It wasn't like any of the other times he'd kissed her. This time, he kissed her the way he kissed Walter.

Full of possessiveness and confidence and passion, his tongue explored her mouth so thoroughly she was certain he was inspecting the scars from her childhood tonsillectomy. Her head was reeling from the welcome onslaught, and she did her damnedest to keep pace.

When he abruptly pulled his mouth away, Kim followed it with hers, hungry for more, before a combination of hormone overload, a sense of bad timing, and flat-out bewilderment, halted her greedy lips in their tracks.

"Thank you," he murmured between breaths, as his legs untwined from hers and he shifted his hips, leaving their upper bodies still touching. His fingers loosened against her nape, smoothing her hair in a repetitive motion.

"You're welcome." She concentrated on returning her breathing pattern back to normal, while her muddled brain cells scrambled to remember where the prior conversation had ended. "So it's okay then? If I don't--"

"Yeah, it's okay," he interrupted, smiling. "It's more than okay." He glanced down, to where her hand sat under his pillow, still holding onto his stump. "Guess I was being a macho jerk. It's just...you're the first girl -- sorry, woman -- since it happened. I mean, not that I haven't... I've been with..." He blew an exasperated breath. "I meant that you're the first who hasn't looked at me with pity, or left the room when you saw it."

"Well, I'll have to hunt down those foolish women and thank them," she said, in as light as a tone as she could muster. While what she really wanted to do was find them and shake them silly, Kim was vastly relieved to hear that there had at least *been* other women. Until that moment, she hadn't been able to lose her unvoiced fear that perhaps he wasn't attracted to her because of her sex, that he only got turned on when Walter was with them. Alex's passive- aggressive behavior up to now had made it impossible to decipher. Thank God, he'd finally given her a clue. "After all, they make me look like Mother Teresa by default."

A furrow between his brow appeared, and Kim moved her hand from under the pillow to stroke it away. "Alex, you're so damn gorgeous, if you didn't have at least one physical flaw, you'd intimidate the daylights out of me."

To her eternal confusion, he laughed.

"How do you *do* that?"

"Do what?"

"That. Everything. I swear, Kim, I think you've gotten me to feel every emotion known to man in the last half-hour. I've given up on trying to figure out what you're going to say next, or how I'm going to react."

"It's a gift," she smiled. "Some people know how to play the piano, I'm good at reading people's moods. You've been a tough nut to crack so far, but I think I'm getting the hang of it."

"Good," he exhaled out of his matching smile. "Spilling my guts is hard work. It'll be a lot easier if you can read my mind instead."

"I'll do my best."

Alex laughed again, and brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead, his eyes scanning her face.

"So, now that we've untangled the reason *I* came up here, let's talk about why you did. And please explain it to me carefully, because I'm no match for your female intuition."

Kim decided not to correct his mistaken impression, preferring to keep the moment upbeat. "Well, Walter thinks he sent me up here for a nap, so please don't tell him otherwise."

His eyebrow cocked. "I'm not supposed to lie, you know."

"You don't have to lie. I'll fall asleep eventually, I think." She trailed her hand along his upper chest, tactilely memorizing the muscles and heat humming under his silky skin. So different physically from Walter, yet equally as strong. In some ways, Alex was even stronger than their mutual lover; Kim had learned over the years that bravery came in all shapes and sizes. "But that's not the real reason I agreed. I came up to ask you for a hug."

His eyes widened. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Do you see anyone else up here?" she challenged.

"No," he said with a snort, "but I didn't...ah, forget it. C'mere."

He encircled his arm around her shoulder, and Kim quickly nestled her head against his collarbone. It didn't take long for his warmth to seep through to her bones, her muscles loosening under his steady caress of fingertips. At her sigh, Alex drew her snugly against him, encompassing her in his gentle embrace.

Did Kevin ever experience this, she wondered as she ran her hands idly over Alex's heated skin. Had her brother ever had someone he could turn to for comfort, even once, in his too-short life? Kim searched her memory banks for any pictures of longhaired girlfriends calling or dropping by their house, and came up empty. She had one mental image of him dressing for his senior prom, when she had sat on Kevin's bed watching him fumble with his bowtie in the mirror over his bureau, but she had no idea who had been his date. Eighteen-year-old boys didn't clue their baby sisters into their love lives.

If Kevin had lived, he would now be a few years older than Walter. What path in life would he have taken? Married soon after returning from the war, as Walter had done? Unlike Walter, would he have had a passel of kids, maybe even expecting his first grandchild by now?

Kim smiled against Alex's neck at the idea. It was impossible to imagine her brother as settled down with a huge family, or even that he would be technically older than Walter. Despite some of their outward similarities, she never confused those two important males in her life. In Kim's mind, Kevin would forever be a teenager, while Walter was unequivocally a man.

It struck her then that Alex was more like Kevin than Walter ever could be. Both reckless and impulsive. Both driven by inner demons. Both capable of heart-wrenching tenderness. Both overly fond of leather jackets. And both treated her like she was special, someone to protect. To be fair, Walter had an over-protective Neanderthal side, too, but Alex took it to an extreme, just as he did everything. His passionate exuberance was one of the many things that Kim admired in his character, and often wished she could imitate.

"Kim?" Alex's husky voice broke through her reverie.

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about?" A noisy exhalation immediately followed, as if he was disgusted at himself for asking. "Never mind. You don't have to answer that."

She lifted her head up so it rested on the pillow next to his, catching a glimpse of the flickering slats of snow on the wall beyond his bare shoulder. A shimmering sense of peace rolled over her, bringing a long-taboo name effortlessly upward from where it lay in her heart.

"I was thinking that you remind me of my brother."

Alex's uneasy reaction made her regret her candor.

"Your brother," he repeated flatly. His hand, which had snaked under her shirt, stopped its haphazard movement across the base of her spine, and returned to his side. She couldn't interpret the mixed expression on his face, but he didn't look happy. She closed her eyes, kicking herself for her stupidity, yet *again*. What did she think telling Alex about Kevin was going to solve? She should have kept her big trap shut.

"I didn't know you have a brother," he said after a lengthy pause.

"Had," she corrected him softly. "He died when I was a little girl."

Lying so close in the bed, she could still feel the warmth of his skin, still hear the breathy flutter of his exhale, still smell his spicy Alex scent. If she shifted just a few short inches, she could be right back in his embrace, and she could forget ever bringing up this topic.

She didn't move. Couldn't.

Concern overrode all other emotions in Alex's voice. "How did it happen? Was he sick, or--"

"No, he was killed by a grenade. In Nam. He'd been in country six weeks." The words came out thickly through her dry throat. She'd hoped this would be easier than it was turning out to be, but she didn't know how to stop. "He was nineteen, my big brother...my...my hero. He...his name is on the Wall. Kevin Cook, killed April 13, 1970. P-panel 12W, row 130."

After another interminable silence, Alex leaned forward and stroked her head gently, waiting for her to open her eyes to look at him before speaking.

"No one has ever compared me to a hero before," he whispered.

"You...you didn't seem to like the comparison a minute ago," she replied, as his fingers carded repeatedly through her hair, soothing her trembling.

He gave her a wry smile. "Thought you meant you saw me as a sibling. It didn't do much for my ego. But that's not what you meant, was it?"

"No." She inched closer, back into his welcoming embrace. "I meant that you and Kevin have similar personalities. Sweet, with a little bit of a devilishness in you both."

"I'd like to hear about him, if you want to tell me," Alex offered, his eyes curious and pleased.

So she did. She told him about watching Kevin play basketball, and the time he woke her up in the middle of the night, so they could sneak outside and watch a lunar eclipse. About going for ice cream, and when she inevitably dropped her top-heavy cone with a creamy splat onto the sidewalk, Kevin had a second one ordered and in her hands before she could remember to cry.

As soon as she was wrapping up one story, Alex encouraged her to start a new one, raptly listening to her, and prompting her with interested questions, laughing at her descriptions. Since they were both about the same age, they had the same point of reference on a number of childhood memories. They'd both owned Big Wheels, and had watched the moon landing on TV, and had the same dislike of bell bottoms and plaid shirts with the hideous wing-like collars that had been all the rage in their grammar school photos.

While she talked, Kim shifted onto her back, still curled up close to Alex's shoulder. The comforter had slid down to their waists, and, with the heat from their body contact warming each other, neither felt the need to pull it back up. He had his head propped up on a couple of pillows, and was smiling down at her, his hand tracing slow circles along her belly, or up her bare arm. Maintaining contact with the gentlest of touches.

"I'm a little jealous," he confessed as she finished the ice cream tale. "I can't remember anything that happened when my parents were alive."

Kim debated. Alex didn't discuss his past, unless he was being hot-butted. She'd heard him mention his great-aunt before, but never his parents. "How old were you when--"

"Seven," he interrupted curtly. "I lived with my great-aunt after that."

His expression grew distant, and she wasn't sure how to ease his returning tension. Covering his straying hand with both of hers, she whispered, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

He shook his head. "Another time." Looking back down at her, his eyes softened and crinkled up in a shy smile. "Maybe the next time I get spanked, we could do this again."

"I'd like that." Kim smiled, and rolled back onto her side, so she could snuggle up against him. As much as she was fighting it, she was beginning to feel the initial stages of drowsiness. "This is the first time I've felt this relaxed after a hot-butting."

"Doesn't...I thought Walter comforted you afterward," Alex frowned, his eyebrow crease re-emerging.

"Oh, he does. But it's different." She paused, searching for the right words. She didn't want him to misunderstand her again. "That's not the kind of relationship Walter and I have. He depends on me, and I like that. It makes me feel strong."

"That's how you make me feel. It's one of the nicest things about being with you," he remarked, his patented Alex-as- shy-schoolboy look in his eyes. "C'mere, let's get more comfortable so you can take that nap."

He shifted onto his back, wincing faintly as his butt bumped the mattress. When he rolled her so she lay sprawled across him, Kim wondered if he was even aware that his stump was out from under its hiding place, and was pleased to realize that he didn't seem to care. She contentedly leaned her head against his chest, and listened to his heartbeat, solid and true, thump against her ear.

A few quiet minutes later, his dexterous fingers massaging her scalp tore a whimper from the back of her throat.

"Too hard?"

"God, no," she moaned, resisting the desire to purr. She felt bathed in a heady mix of warmth, comfort, and security. No wonder Alex had been able to open up to her after she'd put the aloe on him; if he asked right now, Kim would gladly tell him every password to every classified file she knew. "S'perfect."

Her eyelids drooped as more fragments of her unease melted away under his soothing touch. Alex's velvet-and-smoke voice, as soft and unthreatening as the snow-light against the wall, completed the atmosphere of utter peace.

"Tell me another Kevin story?"

"Aren't I boring you by now?" she joked, her yawn cutting off her last word.

"Hardly," he chuckled. "You've already heard all kinds of stuff about me, but I really don't know much about you. This is the first time you've ever told me about your past. The furthest back you've ever gone are some college escapades with Melanie."

"Sorry. I...I don't really talk about Kevin that much. To anyone." She peeked up at him with a shy smile. "Besides Walter, you're the only person I've ever told these stories to, and I've never told him about dropping the ice cream."

Alex's shock slowly slid into a delighted grin. "Wow. Now I *really* want to hear another Kevin story. Another one Walter doesn't know, please."

"I don't have *that* many," she protested, as her heart clenched from the truth in that statement. Keep it light, she decided. "If I tell you all of them right now, whatever will we talk about on our next date?"

Even in the dim light, she could see Alex's eyes twinkling. "Maybe I'll tell you a couple of stories about me. Not everything I've done ends up as fodder for hot-butt time, you know." He gathered her hair together into a lopsided ponytail, then let the strands glide through his fingers. "Right now, though, I want to listen to you. I'm enjoying trying to picture you as a little girl."

"I was a terrible girl," she mumbled, tilting her head back down so he couldn't see her blush. "I forever had scraped knees, and mud under my fingernails. My mom would force me to wear a dress, and within an hour, I'd have a huge tear in the sleeve or grass stains on my fanny. I lost at least a dozen hair ribbons a month."

Alex's chest rumbled under her cheek. "Hmmm...you as a tomboy. I wouldn't have guessed that, but it kind of fits."

"Well, it's not me anymore," she replied, surprised at the wistful note in her tone. "My mom was determined to mold me into the perfect little lady. Once Kevin was gone, there wasn't anyone to run interference. Eventually, I gave in, and did whatever she wanted."

"Did she spank you?" His protectiveness curled around the edges of his question, and for a moment, Kim tried to imagine Alex crossing swords with her mother, before abandoning that ridiculous fantasy. It would never happen. Not even Walter or Alex stood a chance against Barbara Cook when she was in you-disappoint-me-Kimberly mode.

"No, she didn't. She didn't have to. She's the master of the cold shoulder, and the guilt trip. Besides, I'm not very good at rebelling. That was Kevin's forte."

She felt Alex's lips press against the top of her head. "Oh, I don't know about that, Kim. I see a lot of your brother's spirit in you."

"Oh, please," she laughed, "the most rebellious thing I ever did was run away when I was five. I barely made it to the end of my street."

"Kim, you're lying in bed with a one-armed ex-assassin with a thoroughly-spanked ass. I may not know much about being ladylike, but somehow I doubt this is considered good form." He snorted. "Not to mention the fact that most nights there are three people in this very bed. I'd say that's pretty damn rebellious, wouldn't you?"

She lifted her head to see Alex grinning cockily at her stunned expression.

Hard to argue with that.

"For someone who claims not to understand me very well, you certainly hit the proverbial nail on the head with *that* observation," she remarked once her shock waned. "Wow. Nicely done, Alex."

"Thanks," he replied, sounding very pleased with himself. "I've been racking my brain for five months trying to figure you out, and I've been dead wrong 99% of the time. It's a relief to finally get something right with you."

"Oh, you get a lot of things right," she murmured, snuggling back into his embrace. "So, you really think I'm like Kevin?"

"Definitely. Not just his rebellious side, either. From what you've been describing, your brother sounds like someone who looked out for and took care of the person he loved. You." Alex paused to tighten his hold around her shoulders, squeezing her to him. "That same compassion and kindness are the qualities I admire most about you."

Hot, sudden tears threatened to spill from Kim's eyes, and she blinked rapidly in an effort to push them back. Big girls don't cry, whispered a five-year-old voice.

"Do...do you think he'd be proud of me?" she said, her adult voice wavering.

"I think he's very proud of his little sister," Alex answered, and kissed her temple. "She's grown up to become the most amazing woman I know."

She opened her eyes wide enough to see a pair of steady green ones centimeters away, watching her intently. He was so close to her, in every way imaginable, that she believed he could probably see every crevice in her aching heart, in all the dark corners she tried to pretend didn't exist.

"I miss him," she whispered, her voice clotted with misery. "I was so young...and then he was gone..." She clamped her eyes and her mouth shut. Don't do this. Don't re-open this wound.

The tears burned as they leaked a path down the side of her nose, and Kim brushed them away as they escaped, her fingers moving faster and faster as their speed increased. After a silent moment, Alex stilled her trembling hand with his, and guided her arm up so she would wrap it around his neck. He cradled her into the crook of his ruined arm, and caressed her steadily with his lone hand.

"It's okay, sweetheart." His voice flowed through her like honey into a pot of tea, cutting the edge off the bitter taste. "It's okay to cry."

"No...I don't..."

"It's okay, Kim. Just let go."

Why was this so hard to do? Why was she fighting so hard against the thing she yearned for?

A deep-seated sob tore from her lungs. "I...miss him so much," she rasped. "It's so silly, he's been gone for so long. It...it shouldn't hurt this much. I just..." Her words dissolved into a teary puddle.

"Just what, Kim?" Alex encouraged her, his gravelly voice smooth against her ear. Kim mutely shook her head against his shoulder, in one final effort to stay in control.

In hindsight, Alex most likely shifted only to get a better grip on her, but Kim didn't realize it at the time. All she knew was that he moved away from her. He left her. That small movement was all it took to crumble her defenses.

"No! Don't leave," she begged, her tears flowing unchecked as the storm crashed. She clung to Alex's neck, weeping piteously, and he immediately reversed his direction, and held onto her in a vice grip.

"Please don't go, Alex. I can't...I can't do it again. I can't..."

"I'm right here, Kim. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, but she could barely hear him over her racking sobs. "I won't leave you."

His reassurances only made her clutch at him harder.

Kevin had said that to her, too, the night he left for boot camp. He'd promised her it was only for a little while, and that he would come back at the end of his tour. He even made her a calendar so she could cross off the days until he returned. A special calendar, with thirteen months instead of twelve. Even after the telegram came, Kim dutifully marked off every box, and had waited for hours at the front door on the last one that he had circled in a bold red marker. Not understanding what death was, she fully expected Kevin would keep his promise to come home.

She dragged that calendar around the house for days before reality set in. Her mother grew so annoyed she threw the dog-eared booklet away. Kim had to wait until everyone had gone to bed to dig it out of the trash, patiently smoothing the creases out with her small hands and placing it under her mattress for safekeeping. Using a flashlight under her bed covers, she used to take it out at night, and look at all the events they had missed spending together. The first day of spring. Her sixth birthday. Watching fireworks on the Fourth of July. His twentieth birthday. Christmas.

As the years unfolded after his death, and Kim kept the habit of marking boxes off of newer, regular calendars, she came to see what a short time she had had with Kevin. Only five years, and during most of them she was only a toddler, too young to remember any details.

Lack of time was her greatest fear. It was what her life revolved around. Her primary job at the Bureau involved making sure everything got done on time. Walter jokingly called her Mussolini, for her determination to keep the trains, and meetings, on schedule. Her personal address book bulged with an ungodly number of names; among her friends, her ability to maintain relationships through job changes and moves was legendary. Once someone entered her life, Kim did her damnedest to make sure they stayed. She was not prepared to run out of time with anyone else.

The pattern hadn't changed when she had embarked on this relationship with Walter and Alex. She'd been living out of her car for months, frantic about wasting even a minute away from her lovers. She'd had so little true happiness in her life, when she finally found it, the thought of it going away too soon paralyzed her.

Alex's disappearance had escalated her silent terrors, where they had sat bubbling just under the surface until now. Captured in the safety of his embrace, lulled by the tranquil atmosphere, exhausted from her sleepless nights, Kim finally grasped why Kevin had been a constant presence in her thoughts since Friday.

She hadn't had enough time with Kevin, and she was terrified the same thing was going to occur with Alex. If he had truly vanished on Friday, or if they had found him in one of those cold, sterile morgues, then all she would have had to remember of him was the last few brief months.

Not enough time.

"Oh God, Kim," she heard Alex gasp, "I'm so sorry."

It was only then that she realized she'd been speaking out loud the entire time.

"Please don't go, Alex. I need you so much," she pleaded, clinging to his neck with all her might.

"Sssh, it's okay. I won't. I need you, too. I swear, Kim, I won't leave again." Alex repeated the words over and over like a mantra, until they were drummed into her head, as hard as her heart was pounding. He held her firmly against him, and she simply lost herself in the strength of him and let it all go. Let go of all the tension and the hurt and the sorrow and the regret and the final vestiges of fear. She hadn't cried this hard in a long, long time.

Alex was with her through every fallen teardrop. He was everywhere, every inch of his body touching hers, soothing her. A full-body Alex hug. Protecting her and supporting her with his voice and his hand and his heart.

When her tear ducts ran out of available moisture, he was still there. Thank God. Her head drooped against his shoulder, and he rocked her for a long minute, whispering reassurances in her ear.

As her trembling faded and she collapsed against him, boneless and spent, he asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she hiccupped out, and a final shudder escaped her body, letting the last sob free.

He kissed the side of her head, his arm still banded around her. "I'm so sorry, Kim. I didn't realize how deep an impact my stunt on Friday would have on you, or I wouldn't have done it."

"S'okay," she said, loosening her grip on his neck to wipe her drenched face. The look of self-reproach in his eyes made her pause. "Don't, Alex. You didn't even know of Kevin's existence before today. It's not your fault in the slightest. I should have told you what was bothering me. And how important you are to me."

"You're important to me too, sweetheart." His fingers joined hers in the task of cleaning up, then his lips dried the last of her tears with a series of soft kisses. Kim tried to shrink away, knowing how puffy and red her face had to be, but every time she turned her head, his mouth connected to her skin or her lips.

"I'm a mess," she murmured.

"You're beautiful," he insisted, and kissed her again. His blatant concern held her still, and she felt her body melt under his tender pressure. "Besides, if anyone knows the pleasure and value in being comforted after a therapeutic cry, it's me."

The rueful smile on his face matched the one in his eyes. Kim gave a little laugh, and put a shaking hand on his left shoulder, to wipe the excessive moisture away. His eyes tracked her movements.

"Looks like I finally found a good use for the damn thing," he remarked, and her gaze flew to his. "I'd rather be able to hold you with both arms, but having two shoulders for you to cry on is a compromise I can live with."

"Oh, Alex..." She bent her head to brush a kiss on his collarbone, lapping up her tears pooling in the hollow. His pulse point beat steadily under her lips when she reached his throat, and by the time she got to his jaw, his mouth was waiting to capture hers in a tender kiss. She curled her arms around his neck again, not in fear this time, but in want. The third stage was finally here, and much to her amazement, he needed it as much as she did.

"Thank you, Alex," she said as his warm breath trailed along her neck. "That was exactly what I needed."

"So I did it right?"

"Oh yeah." She nuzzled the hair at his temple. "You did it perfectly."

"Good. I don't have a lot of practice at being Walter."

She tugged his head back so their eyes met. "I have a Walter in my life, and I like the one I've got. I'm not really interested in trading him in. What I needed - what I need - is an Alex."

"You've got one, then," he said, his voice halfway between a growl and a laugh. They kissed again, a delicious combination of desire and relief and contentment flowing from her mouth to his.

Like the bubbles from a champagne bottle that uncorks with a loud pop and spills out messily, Kim's energy had dissipated, and left behind a flat, drained feeling. When she struggled to open her puffy eyelids, Alex gently cradled her head back against his neck, and freed his hand long enough to tug the comforter back up to her chin.

"And now, sweet girl, it's time for that nap."

"I'm not tired," she mumbled, nestling instinctively into him.

"Yeah, I see that," he said dryly.

A small giggle escaped her. "Mmm. 'Kay, maybe a little."

His arm dug under the covers and wrapped itself around her shoulders, anchoring her. As she drifted off, feeling his warm, solid body against hers, one of her last coherent thoughts was that this had been a lot more satisfying than a peanut-butter-and-Fluff sandwich.

He kept talking as she slipped into sleep, his words echoing through her like hope.

"You're so brave, Kim. I think you're extraordinary, strong and smart and lovely, and no one is ever going to leave you again. Not Walter, and not me. You've got all the time in the world now. With both of us."

With them. She liked that.

When she woke up, the room was fully dark, making it impossible to see anything. Must already be nighttime, she thought groggily, trying to get her bearings. At some point, she must have flipped over, because she could feel a warm body spooned against her back. A heavy arm was draped over her waist, but it constricted around her automatically when she shifted. The slow rhythm of a chest rising and falling against her spine told her Alex was fast asleep.

Kim stretched her arms out to the other side of the bed, and the heels of her palms bumped into a solid mass.

Walter's warm hands covered hers in the dark.

"Hi," she whispered under her breath, her smile instantaneous.

"Hi." She heard the smile in his ultra-quiet response.

The covers rustled as he shifted closer, and Kim was soon sandwiched between two firm, naked bodies. Heavenly.

"Feeling better?"

"Mmm, oh yeah." Her hand lifted to the vicinity of his voice, and she found his familiar face in the dark, stroking his jaw lazily.

"Got some Fluff downstairs," he murmured.

"Thanks. I'm okay, honey. I don't need it anymore." Under her fingers, the worry released from his expression, stretching his mouth into a smile of pure happiness. The sensation rippled through her palm, spreading and warming her from head to toe. From back to front.

"I've got everything I need right here," she finished, when Alex stirred, his voice a delicious combination of sleep- roughened and schoolboy-eager.

"Me, too."

She felt Walter's large hand ruffle her hair, then reach across to do the same to Alex's.

"Me, three," he echoed.

Oh yeah, she was home.

As she slid back into slumber, a long-unheard tenor voice permeated her fading consciousness. "Yes, you are, snicker doodle," she thought she heard Kevin whisper.

She fell asleep, the grin plastered to her face.

* * * * * * * * * *


By the time he heard Kim's quiet snore for the second time of the afternoon, Alex wasn't sure which was worse: moving his body away from her, or keeping it in place.

On a practical level, the lack of movement over the last few hours was taking its toll. His ass was still sore, he had a crick in his neck, and he really needed to stretch his legs. Yet he couldn't bring himself to leave her side. Once he was satisfied that she was well and truly asleep, he had allowed his body to succumb to a short nap, only waking up momentarily when Walter had joined them, and again right now.

But if he left, even momentarily, and her reaction was a sliver of what had happened earlier, he didn't think he'd survive it a second time. He used to worry about what on earth he would do if she ever wept in front of him, but never in his worst nightmares had it turned out as it had. A few girlish sniffles, a tear or two sliding down her cheek. Those he figured he could handle. It was all he'd ever seen her do before.

Not a violent, ferocious explosion of grief. No, it was safe to say he had never expected that. Worse was knowing that he in some small way had triggered it. Kim's painful breakdown haunted Alex. Her heartbroken cries still rang in his ears, and the memory of her hot tears burned like acid on his shoulder. No stranger to holding back his tears until they reached boiling point, he had watched her struggle, and her anguish had nearly broken him.

He sure as hell couldn't watch it happen ever again.

He should go. Just sneak out of the bed, grab his clothes and his coat, and flee. Walter and Kim were both sleeping by now, so they wouldn't notice until he was three states away. This time he wouldn't chicken out before getting on the plane, and end up drowning his sorrows in a bar, as he had this weekend. They'd be okay without him. They could comfort each other in his absence, if they even bothered to miss him after he'd lied to their faces about sticking around.

"It's a big responsibility, having someone depend on you," Walter remarked across the inky darkness, his voice barely above a whisper, yet no less compelling.

There went his escape plan. He had to admit he wasn't all that sorry to see it go.

Alex considered Walter's comment, and the truth behind his quiet words. What was twisting his heart into a pretzel was the vivid memory of his sweet, grieving girl clinging to him, her palpable need and his subsequent fears stripped down to their essence. She needed him, as simple as that. And while he wanted to slay dragons for her, to be the hero that her brother had been, the knowledge that she wanted the same thing scared the pants off him.

Jesus. What was she thinking, relying on him? Didn't she understand what a hopeless screw-up he was? Mulder had called him once 'an invertebrate scum-sucker whose moral dipstick was about two drops short of bone dry', words to this day Alex recalled with bitter precision. Why the hell didn't Kim see him for who he was?

"The rewards are even bigger, Alex," Walter said in his familiar, loving voice. The voice of experience.

Alex dipped his head in silent hope that Walter was right. His lips came into contact with the top of Kim's head, and in unconscious response, she nestled deeper into his embrace, her soft hair brushing against his stump with a careless grace. The complicated pretzel of his heart twisted into another knot.

There wasn't really any choice at all, was there? He could try to deny it all he wanted to, but he wanted this. He needed it. He needed them.

The strangest part of it all was how honored he felt that Kim needed *him*. Why she chose him to lean on in her grief, instead of Walter, he'd never know, but it didn't diminish the fact that she had chosen him.

The sound of three individual breathing patterns reminded Alex that he, too, had someone to lean on. Someone who loved him, and who loved the woman sleeping peacefully between them.

"Don't let me fuck this up, Walter."

He felt a large, warm hand reach across and grasp the nape of his neck in encouragement.

"Not to worry, Alex. I've got your back covered."

"My ass, you mean," he wisecracked, masking his relief that Walter was there. Maybe this was what his lover had meant, when he'd said the rewards were bigger than the responsibility. With Kim nestled against his chest, and Walter's hand firmly on him, Alex couldn't remember a time when he'd felt more complete.

Walter gave a low laugh, squeezing his neck to indicate he hadn't missed the hidden emotion in Alex's tone.

"Yeah, that too."

THE END

Hope you liked it! Please send feedback to k2_fanfic@yahoo.com.

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