Resistance

Childhood

Head held high, back straight, face kept carefully expressionless, Alex marched in line with the rest of the children.

The others didn't have to fight to keep their feelings from showing. They were drones, minds emptied of volition, of emotion. Among them, only Alex held any sense of self-hood -- and if anyone found out...

He didn't shudder at the thought; he'd trained himself too carefully not to react to such things. But he wished that he could.

The line of drones wound through the buildings of the outpost, past this facility and that -- and at just the right moment, Alex fell out of formation and scuttled to one side, darting into the shadows quickly before anyone could see.

Fumbling in the pockets of the rough uniform, he found the device he'd been given; the instructions for its use were drilled into his head. Press this lever, that button, plant it carefully, and then...

Reverently, he placed the bomb in a small crevice at the base of the wall -- and ran, counting in his head. Ten, nine, eight...

The guards at the gate noticed him, but Alex was swift, barely touching the chain-link fence as he hurtled over it, landing lightly and still running, still counting: four... three... two...

He dove into the weeds, huddled into a tight ball, protecting his head, as the silent voice in his head said One -- and an instant later, the world exploded.

Sound, and light, and force, pounding into him -- fragments struck him, yet he didn't move: not until the world was once more quiet and still.

Cautiously, he raised his head, and saw... rubble. Smoke, debris, and not much more...

And Alex smiled.

He drew a deep breath of smoky air, and began to run once more -- swiftly, purposefully, heading toward safety, and home.

The maze of tunnels would have been intimidating to a stranger, perhaps, but to Alex the twisty depths were familiar, comforting. He padded through the darkness, balancing on the thin metal rail that had once guided trains through this tunnel, splashing through puddles with the singleminded delight of any small boy.

By the time he reached the underground canyon that the Community called home, he was tired and hungry -- for three days, he'd had to pretend to eat, not daring to ingest the meals served to the drones because no one quite knew if he'd be poisoned, or worse yet, converted into One Of Them, by some substance in the food -- but fatigue and hunger both paled beside the pleasure of homecoming: "Alex! Welcome home!" coming at him from all sides as he walked through the village.

He strode up the steps of the Council Building as if he were one of the elders, as if he owned the place; and Walter was waiting for him. "Good work, Alex," said the older man, as gravely as if he were speaking to one his own age. "We've had reports -- it seems as if things went exactly as planned, unless you have something more to add?"

Carefully, Alex detailed the information he'd obtained, on the locations of the various facilities within the base -- the cloning facilities, weapons storage, and so forth -- for although the base had been destroyed, no doubt another would be built; and this was information that would be useful to the Resistance in the future.

A few sentences into his recitation, Walter interrupted. "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

Alex hesitated. "I'm all right, sir."

"The hell you are," Walter responded. "Go get something to eat; that's an order." One large hand came to rest atop the boy's head. "You did a good job, Alex," and the voice held no small amount of pride and affection. "Just as always."

And although he fought to retain a properly military posture, like any other soldier in the Resistance, Alex couldn't quite suppress the smile that spread across his face as the praise warmed him all through.

"Dismissed," Walter said sternly, and Alex grinned and headed out.

The underground air, while faintly stale, held all sorts of interesting scents -- he followed his nose toward the nearest cooking fire, knowing that whatever family owned it would be happy to share their meal with him. Rations were always meager; they could somehow never grow enough food to properly feed their ever-increasing ranks -- but the Community was always generous toward orphaned children and soldiers of the Resistance, and Alex was both.

"Alexei," called a familiar voice, and he swerved in his course toward it. "Come and eat dinner with us. You are hungry, aren't you?" the woman inquired, in a voice that indicated that she knew perfectly well that he was always hungry, even at the best of times.

"Yes, Miz Scully," he responded obediently, and let himself be led inside the small cabin.

She treated and bandaged the various scrapes and cuts he'd picked up during the mission, while several of her children watched. "How was it?" Charlie wanted to know. "Betcha you were scared," in a faintly taunting voice.

"Of course I was scared," Alex replied with dignity. "You'd have to be a moron to face those things and not be scared."

The eldest Scully son looked up from the book he was reading. "I'm never afraid when I go on a mission," he remarked, with faint derision.

"Like I said," Alex murmured under his breath, and the younger Scully siblings giggled.

"I think you're very brave," Missy said, gazing at him with shining eyes.

"Missy and Alex sitting in a tree," her younger sister began to chant, in a sing-song voice. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G..."

"Shut up, you little..."

"Children! Enough," their mother declared. She gave Alex a final once-over, ascertaining that he'd been properly ministered to, and seemed satisfied. "Go and wash up for dinner," she directed, including all of the youngsters in her command with a quick flicker of her gaze.

Miz Scully made sure the children ate well, serving Alex a heaping bowl of stew -- he virtually inhaled the meal, soaking up the last bits with his bread. It wasn't enough, after his long fast, but he was used to not having enough; and Miz Scully had strained her resources enough already by feeding him. There hadn't been enough food for the Community lately -- though hopefully that would change with the destruction of the alien base, once the scavenging and hunting parties were free to roam once more.

As he was finishing his meal, he noticed Walter walking across the village toward the Scullys' cabin. There was a boy at his side, tall and thin, gazing around with frightened eyes... "Margaret?" and Miz Scully separated herself from the family group gathered around the cooking fire and went to speak with Walter in a voice too quiet for even Alex's sensitive ears to hear.

After a time, Walter nodded; and Miz Scully extended her hand to the boy and led him toward the family. "This is Fox," she introduced him. "He's going to stay with us for awhile."

And of course they all knew what that meant. Only a few of the children in the Community had both parents, and those who had one living parent counted themselves lucky. Alex was far from the only orphan in the community... But his parents had lived and worked here before their deaths; Fox was new. He wondered, briefly, about that -- of course, Walter would have run all the standard tests, to make sure the boy wasn't a drone or a spy; in fact, the bandage running the length of the boy's forearm confirmed that -- but still, it was unusual for a child to arrive here alone...

"Are you hungry? We've just eaten, but I can get you..." Miz Scully began; but Fox just shook his head. "No, thank you," he added afterwards, as if suddenly remembering his manners.

The newcomer seemed to cringe from the Scully children's curious stares, and Alex felt a pang of sympathy. He'd lived here all his life; what was it like, to be the newcomer in a place where everyone else knew each other?

"Why don't you show Fox around, Alex?" Walter said, and he almost protested -- he could see Charlie pulling out the cards, and it was always fun to beat Bill at poker -- but something in Walter's voice stopped him from objecting: the tone of command, veiled behind kind concern. Why? Alex wondered. Did Walter simply want him to make the new boy feel at home? or was there more to it than that? If Fox was in some way suspect, it made sense to assign a soldier to keep an eye on him...

He repressed the urge to say, "Yes, sir," and instead simply nodded, rising from his place at the fire.

"I'll see you later," Walter added, and that too was uncommon: while Walter was supposedly Alex's guardian, there wasn't much guarding to be done, and sometimes they didn't see each other for days at a time. Walter had long ago stopped keeping tabs on Alex; so there had to be some other reason why he wanted to see him, and that reason had to be Fox.

Now Alex had it, the message received as clearly as if Walter had spoken aloud: Investigate. Check him out, find out who he is, see what he has to say, and confer with me afterwards. All right, then; Alex could do that. His eyes met Walter's: Understood.

"C'mon," he said to Fox, who nodded shyly and followed him out into the village.

Alex showed him the spring that provided the Community's water supply, and the waterfall where the children played, and the high caves in the cavern's walls where half the Community's population lived, rambling on cheerfully about the people and their lifestyle -- both imparting information and seeking to put the other boy at ease. Fox remained silent: nodding occasionally to show he'd heard, looking around with a sharp-eyed gaze that made Alex think he was memorizing everything, and not saying a word. Not quite what Walter had in mind, Alex thought to himself, curiosity growing exponentially with every minute of silence.

After awhile, he couldn't quite contain himself any longer. "Do you talk? I mean, at all?" he inquired, conveniently disregarding the few words the other boy had spoken to Miz Scully.

"Uh-huh." The voice was so soft that Alex had to strain to hear it; but it was an answer, at least.

Good, Alex thought, and progressed to the next step. "How'd you get here?" he asked.

"My father brought me," Fox murmured, eyes closing briefly in an expression of pain. "Most of the way, anyhow..."

Dead, surmised Alex. "Brought you from where?"

Dark eyes met his abruptly. "Alpha One," Fox said, his voice suddenly hard, challenging Alex to comment.

It took Alex by surprise. Alpha One was the most notorious of the alien research centers, the one where they'd first learned how to create the hybrids... Alpha One was where the worst of the criminals were stationed: the human traitors who'd helped the aliens with their research, the ones who'd sold out their own species...

And underneath Fox's angry glare lay pain, deep and limitless anguish, and Alex couldn't fail to respond to that, having known his own fair share of pain. "I guess your dad had a change of heart," he said softly.

His lack of condemnation seemed to affect the other boy; the wall of anger cracked slightly. "Yeah," Fox muttered. "But not soon enough..." Quickly, he turned his head away; but not before Alex saw the telltale gleam of tears.

He rested his hand on Fox's shoulder, felt the other boy tremble at the touch. "Tell me about it," he coaxed gently.

Fox hesitated, then began to speak; and Alex listened, covering his own reactions with a mask of compassion. Apparently, Fox's father had been a member of the Consortium, the humans who'd helped the aliens gain their first toehold toward conquest. Fox's mother had been one of the first test subjects -- and his sister had been one of the first hybrids, once the process had been perfected -- and only after Fox had been forced to witness these horrors had his father begun to repent. "He gave me... plans, secrets, to bring with me," Fox recited, his voice dry and cool and emotionless. "He said that any resistance cell would welcome me, with such information as proof of my integrity. He told me that I should fight, that I should succeed where he had failed... and then he took his knife and he cut his throat," and Fox's hand traced the path his father's blade had taken, as the shell of non-emotion shattered and the tears began anew...

There was only one way to handle that sort of anguish: Alex reached out and wrapped his arms around the older boy, hugged him, held him as he cried.

It didn't last long; he could feel Fox struggling for control, fighting fiercely to suppress the tears and regain his equanimity. Shortly after, Fox pulled back, wiping the moisture from his face with a quick, embarrassed motion. "I'm not a traitor," he declared firmly. "I'm not a wimp, either."

"No, you're not," Alex agreed solemnly. Strong men do cry, Walter had taught him, back when he was very small, and shaken from his first mission as a soldier. Strong men aren't afraid to feel pain, and loss. It's only the weak ones who fear their own emotions, who are afraid that tears will make them less of a man. Walter knew what he was talking about: Walter had fought against the aliens in the Last World War, had helped form the Resistance in the first place, and no one -- not even asshole Billy Scully -- could say that he was any less of a man for crying.

"I'm sorry about your dad," he added, very quietly.

Fox shook his head. "I'm just sorry he was my dad," he said harshly, and began to walk again -- as if he could leave the pain behind, if only he walked quickly enough.

Alex took a few rapid steps to catch up with him; and for a time, the boys walked in silence.

"Want me to show you my favorite place?" he asked Fox, after a while.

The other boy shrugged; and taking it as an affirmative, Alex led him off toward a building in the distance.

Fox was sullen and withdrawn until Alex opened the door -- then his eyes widened and lit up with unalloyed delight. "Books," he whispered. "You have books..."

"Lots of books," Alex said, with pride. Some of the Community had argued that it was a waste of time and energy, to send out rescue teams to the libraries when they could have been scavenging food or blowing up aliens; Walter had been among those who had insisted that humanity's past had to be preserved, and that the mind needed nourishment as much as the body. So the Community had a library of its own, now; and even the doubters had rejoiced at the discovery of one favorite book or another, rescued and saved to be read and reread by however many generations of humanity might survive the alien menace.

He would have explained this to Fox, except that Fox was no longer listening; the other boy was perusing the shelves intently. Finally, he paused and drew one volume from its place reverently, opened it and began to read hungrily.

After a few moments, it became clear that Fox would be content to stand there indefinitely, reading; so Alex guided him to one of the pillow-chairs and got him settled -- the other boy hardly looked up from the book -- then found something to read himself, and settled down beside Fox.

And that was where Walter found them, much later: curled up together back-to-back amidst a pile of books that Fox was devouring as fast as his eyes could scan their words. "Everything all right?"

"Nnnh," Fox said absently, too involved in his book to bother with polite conversation.

Alex, more alert, set his book aside. "We're okay," he said, answering the questions Walter hadn't asked. I'm all right. And I think he's all right, too.

Walter nodded. "Mrs. Scully was asking about you two," he remarked. "According to her, it's past bedtime."

"He can stay with me," Alex said.

His guardian's gaze sharpened. "I'm not sure that's wise." More silent questions: He's an unknown quantity; we may think he's all right, but still...

"It's okay," Alex insisted. I trust him, he told Walter with his eyes.

Another moment, and a sharp, penetrating gaze... "All right," Walter said finally, accepting Alex's judgement. "Good night, then," reaching out to ruffle the boy's hair with one hand. You may be a soldier, but you're still just a boy -- and you're family; I've known you since you were born, and I worry, and you'd damn well better take care of yourself!

"G'night, Walter," accompanied by a wide smile. I will. I always do. Just as you taught me.

Again, Walter nodded; and turned away, ending the silent conversation. "Good night, Fox," he said.

"Mm-hmm," the barest acknowledgement, as Fox continued to soak up his book like a sponge.

Alex reflected that he was possibly the only one in the Community who knew Walter well enough to interpret the odd expression on his face as a barely-hidden smile, as his guardian and commanding officer left the library.

Much, much later, when Fox's yawns began coming one after the other and he was too fatigued to keep his eyes open long enough to read one more page, Alex led him along the narrow, curving pathway jutting out of the rock -- good thing he's not scared of heights, he thought briefly -- to the small caves that pockmarked the cavern's walls, high above the village's buildings. Fox followed him unquestioningly, apparently too tired to wonder where they were going... at least, until Alex pulled aside the curtain that shielded one cave in particular. "What's this?" he wanted to know.

"Home," Alex answered briefly, leading the other boy inside.

He lit the lantern that served as his only light, watched Fox survey the cave. It was small, and furnished sparsely: but there were souvenirs of a happier time -- the old quilt, the wood carvings and woven wall-hangings that his mother had brought from the home he'd never known. "This is where you live?" Fox queried.

"Yeah."

"Alone?"

"Yeah," Alex answered, and waited for the inevitable next question.

Fox hesitated briefly before asking it. "Your parents..."

"Dead. Years, now." And Alex was well used to the fact; but there was still a pang of residual pain that he couldn't quite repress at having to speak the words.

"If you don't want to talk about it," Fox began, his eyes indicating that he very much wanted to hear Alex talk about it.

So Alex told him: about his parents, the scientists, and how they'd risked everything to try to destroy the alien menace. How the three of them had gone in together, just like any other family in the internment centers -- how the plan had gone awry. "Walter rescued me," he finished the tale, chewing at a strip of dried meat from his food stash, "but my parents were already dead. All he could do was bring me home."

"And you stayed here... by yourself?" Fox took another bite of the dried meat that Alex had given him; apparently, his appetite had finally returned. "Didn't... wouldn't anyone take care of you?"

"A lot of people wanted to take care of me." Alex shrugged. "I wanted to take care of myself."

"But you're just a kid!" Fox finished his meat strip, and Alex handed him another before he could ask.

"I'm a soldier," he responded. "I'm old enough to fight; I'm old enough to take care of myself."

Fox thought about that for a long moment. "But I'm not..." he whispered. "I couldn't save my sister. I couldn't save my dad. I'm not a soldier... who's going to take care of me?"

Alex looked at Fox, studying him as if for the first time. Taller than he was, and awkward, and a nose like a beak that seemed to dominate his whole face. His father was a traitor. His sister's a hybrid. Who else will trust him? And why should they? But something about him... I trust him, Alex realized, as if for the first time. I don't know why -- I just do. Walter would caution him against such unwarranted trust -- but Walter had also taught him to trust his intuition.

"I am," Alex told him.

Visibly startled, Fox stared at him. "Why?" he wanted to know.

Again, Alex shrugged. "Someone has to," he said. "Might as well be me."

"But you're younger than me," Fox protested.

"So?" Alex met his gaze squarely. "You want to go somewhere else? Miz Scully'd take you in." And Billy will make your life miserable, and you're not strong enough to fight him...

Fox hesitated, then shook his head. "I want to stay with you," he said softly.

"Why?" Alex asked pointedly. Turnabout's fair play...

Another moment of hesitation -- then, suddenly, an unexpectedly wicked grin. "Because someone has to," Fox said.

Caught off-guard by the wry humor, Alex stared -- then snatched up a pillow from the rough mattress and threw it at Fox, laughing.

They settled down on the mattress together, under the quilt that Alex's mother's mother's mother had made, back in the Old Country before alien invaders had ever been dreamt of; and Alex turned the lantern down and off to conserve precious fuel. The stone walls magnified every sound, and the small noise of his companion's respiration seemed abnormally loud. After awhile, he became aware that it wasn't just breathing: Fox was crying, and trying to be very quiet about it.

Alex debated with himself for a short while, wondering if it would be kinder to let the other boy have his privacy -- He's so alone, came into his mind suddenly, he shouldn't be so alone, and he rolled over toward Fox, edged closer, and wrapped his arms around the other boy once more.

This time, Fox didn't fight to restrain the tears; perhaps the darkness made it easier for him to cry and accept comfort. Alex held him, offering consolation -- and after his days in the drone barracks, fighting back terror, Alex found that there was something wonderfully comforting about being so close to someone else. I'm alone, too, he realized, with surprise -- he didn't often feel alone, not with the entire Community lauding him as a hero; but holding Fox made him realize how alone he had been, and how much less alone he felt with the other boy beside him.

"It'll be all right," Alex told him, not knowing if Fox could hear him over his sobs, "it'll hurt for a long time, but it's going to be all right. You'll be all right."

"Will I?" Small, shaky voice through the tears, muffled against Alex's shoulder.

"You will," Alex reassured him. "Don't worry, Fox; I'll take care of you." He paused, thinking about it for a moment. "We'll take care of each other. Okay?"

"Okay," in that same quavering voice, "okay," as the other boy nestled closer, still crying.

And they fell asleep that way, in each other's arms.

Adolescence

"Again," Walter ordered; and Fox obeyed, swaying on his feet but never taking his eyes off his opponent.

Walter lunged, and Fox dodged, barely avoiding the blow; and Alex watched them battle, aware of just how much was at stake. Walter had tested him this way, before he'd allowed Alex to go out in the field alone -- and if Walter didn't approve of Fox's fighting skills, Alex would be assigned another partner for the mission.

From the time Walter had reluctantly let him out from under his wing, Alex had always worked alone -- and if he had to work with anyone, he wanted it to be Fox. Not just because of the other boy's specialized knowledge, but because it would feel wrong somehow to work with anyone but his best friend.

So he watched, trying not to fidget, fighting the urge to cheer Fox on, or offer advice -- the former would only distract Fox, and Walter wouldn't be pleased with the latter -- conscious of the fact that their sparring had drawn a crowd; Alex turned, scanned the faces, and silently determined that if Billy Scully should let out so much as a single snort of derision, he would personally beat the older boy to a pulp.

Of course, Missy and Dana were there, too -- Dana, watching Fox; it was obvious as hell that she had a crush on him -- and Missy, watching not the fight but Alex himself; yeah, that one was obvious, too. Gross, Alex thought, avoiding Missy's eyes, girls, eww, because that was the habitual reaction... and yet there was a part of him that liked the attention: strange new tinglings within him, at the thought of a girl looking at him that way.

Puberty. Damn. Of course, Walter had given them both 'the talk' ages ago, and Alex had known, intellectually, what to expect -- but the reality was totally different. One thing for his body to be changing in a thousand ways, another thing entirely to feel his opinions and emotions changing as well. He was long accustomed to being in control of his life, of his world -- and now his mind and body were betraying him, doing all sorts of strange things...

Like, for example, what his body was doing right now; and he shifted position uncomfortably, so that no one would see.

He greatly envied Fox, who didn't have to deal with this yet -- whereas Fox was busy feeling anxious about being a 'late bloomer', and envied Alex his cracking voice and wispy new facial hair. Go figure, Alex thought, trying to ignore the pulsing pressure in his loins. Resolutely, he focused his attention on the mock battle, hoping to distract himself -- watched Fox evade what would have been a crippling blow, skin sparkling with sweat -- and wondered idly why the annoying hard-on refused to go away.

"Enough," Walter announced, and Fox sagged with exhaustion. "Your hand-to-hand combat skills need work; I want you to put in an extra hour of practice every day, once you get back."

At the last words, Fox perked up. "You're going to let me go?"

Faintest hint of a grim smile on Walter's face. "I'm going to let you go," he affirmed.

"Yes!" Exultant, Fox headed toward Alex, who stood up -- with difficulty; but his erection was finally subsiding, and his long shirt concealed the situation efficiently -- and returned his friend's embrace.

From the corner of his eye, he noted Missy pushing his way through the crowd toward them. "This calls for a celebration," she said, "don't you think?" nudging her little sister, who'd followed.

"Uhm-hmm," Dana mumbled shyly.

He opened his mouth to refuse... "Sounds great!" Fox agreed excitedly, and Alex closed his mouth again, suppressing a sigh. Yeah, great, he thought, disgruntled, a night of goo-goo eyes from Missy, terrific, just what I need.

But Fox was his best friend; and so he followed the others, trying not to let his annoyance show.

Alex had had wine before -- 'old enough to fight, old enough to drink' was Walter's opinion -- but he'd never actually gotten drunk. Overrated, he thought dazedly, fighting the spinning in his head, this is 'way overrated.

Blurrily, he leaned back and watched Fox and Dana kissing... late bloomer, perhaps; but Fox was sure doing his bit to make up for lost time. She's too young for him, crossed his mind, but of course that was untrue. Dana was exactly his age, physically mature -- she was already more 'developed' than her flat-chested sister, a fact which he knew caused Missy no small amount of chagrin. Now it seemed as if Dana was getting what she'd long wanted... and Alex looked away, feeling unaccountably resentful.

Missy was watching the couple as well, her expression wistful. "Everyone's doing it," she remarked.

"Huh?" Oh, please, not this, Alex thought with dread. He liked Missy just fine -- as a friend; but he knew that Missy wanted more than just friendship. And it was true, everyone was doing it... it was almost an imperative: be fruitful and multiply, as early and as often as possible. Humanity was being subjugated by aliens, and the Resistance was being slowly whittled away by old age, disease and violent death -- the only way to keep untainted humanity alive was to create more untainted humans, and whereas the aliens had cloning techniques at their disposal, all the Resistance had was the old tried-and-true method...

But no matter what his body seemed to think, Alex knew he wasn't ready for that; not even close. Missy, on the other hand...

"Haven't you thought about it?" Missy persisted. "About who -- and when?"

Great. Just great. But there was no way around it but the truth; Missy was a friend, after all, and deserved to know. "When... is not now," he said.

And friend she was; she accepted it, though a trifle sadly. "I don't want to have a baby yet, either," she told him. "But someday... when it is time... have you thought about... who?"

"Not really," Alex hedged. Jeez, I'm drunk, I'm not equipped to deal with this right now... At least his body felt dead from the waist down; he had the feeling that any reflexive physical reaction would be taken the wrong way.

Missy seemed to pick up on his discomfort, finally. "Sorry," she murmured. "I guess... I just really like you, is all," turning her face away to hide the blush spreading over her cheeks.

"Well, I like you, too," Alex responded truthfully, wanting to ease her evident discomfort.

At that, she turned back toward him. "Do you really?" she inquired, her voice very soft, like a cat's purr...

...okay, maybe not completely dead from the waist down.

She was very close to him now; all he had to do was lean forward, just a little bit -- and Alex leaned forward, and felt her lips press against his...

...felt a strange new warmth spreading through him, a liquid heat...

...felt his stomach heave, from too much liquor and too little food; and he broke away from her abruptly. "Unhh," he groaned, and scrambled on hands and knees as far away as he could before the heaves took over.

Drinking is definitely overrated, flickered through his mind as he vomited, shuddering helplessly.

A hand settled on his shoulder, another against his forehead, bracing him against the tremors -- he knew the feel of that hand, and welcomed the support. When it was finally over, he coughed and spat, wiped his mouth, and mumbled, "Thought you were busy..."

"Never too busy for my best buddy," Fox remarked, rubbing Alex's back soothingly. "We take care of each other, remember?"

"Yeah. I remember." And nobody can change that, Alex realized. Not Dana, not Missy, not anyone.

He grinned at Fox, let his friend help him to his feet. "If I'd known you were going to have that sort of reaction..." Missy said, flashing him a smile so that he'd know she wasn't offended.

"Yeah, you sure have a way with the boys," Dana needled her sister, earning a hard shove in the shoulder.

"I think we'd better go home," Fox decided, shooting an apologetic gaze in Dana's direction.

"I think you're right," Dana agreed. "Feel better, okay, Alex?" with a sympathetic squeeze of his arm.

"Yeah," Missy seconded, leaned in to kiss his cheek.

The four walked back together as far as the Scullys' cabin; then Alex and Fox headed up the path toward their cave together. "So," Fox said, with a sidelong glance, "how was it? I mean, before you started to puke."

Surprised, Alex glanced back at his friend. "Didn't know you were keeping tabs on me," he remarked. "It was... I guess it was okay."

"That's it?" Fox shook his head. "I thought it was more than okay. Dana's nice," he said thoughtfully. "I really like her."

Alex felt a pang of loss. "So, you gonna do her?" he said, more harshly than he'd intended.

"I dunno. Maybe, someday." Another sidelong glance. "Why?"

"Just wondering." Alex devoted his attention to the narrow pathway, telling himself that it didn't matter, it really didn't matter who Fox 'did'.

"What about Missy?" Fox asked him.

"I told you, she's okay."

"But..."

"Just shut up, okay?"

"Okay." And the rest of the walk back to the cave took place in silence.

Once home again, Alex shucked off his clothes and pulled on his nightshirt, curled up under the blankets, feeling vaguely dissatisfied with himself. "Sorry I yelled at you," he muttered, as Fox slid into bed beside him.

"S'alright." A hand settled on his back, rubbed lightly. "How do you feel?"

"Lousy. Punch me if I ever drink that much again?"

"Okay." Fox shifted position. "Should I get the light?"

"Yeah," Alex answered, and the cave dimmed to near-darkness. He gazed up at the stone ceiling, letting his eyes adjust. "It was kind of nice," he admitted, "until I started throwing up, anyway."

His companion laughed. "Yeah, that kind of puts a damper on things, I guess." A moment's quiet, then: "It is nice, isn't it?"

"Yeah," murmured Alex, remembering the feeling of liquid heat spreading through him... "Oh, hell," he grumbled, as the memory provoked a response.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," Alex answered hastily. He tried to ignore it, but the feeling was insistent; he had to reach down, to touch... and hoped that Fox couldn't see what he was doing.

A soft chuckle came from the other side of the bed. "Uh-huh," Fox said dryly. "'Nothing', yeah, right. Believe me, I know the feeling."

And Alex couldn't help but laugh. "So much for being a late bloomer," he commented, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. His hand seemed to have a life of its own; he tried to stop, but... just... couldn't...

"Yeah, no kidding." Fox's voice sounded rough, ragged. "So, you've been dealing with this for longer than I have -- what do you do about it?"

Guilt and embarrassment conspired to tear his hand away from hungry flesh. "Oh, c'mon, you know..."

"Yeah, but I want to know what you do..." Deeper, now, and rougher; the sound of his voice was another shot of that liquid heat, and the thought of it -- showing Fox, touching him...

Then, Alex's undoing: the barest brush of fingertips against his leg, a hesitant invitation: electric sensation rushing through him. "C'mon, Alex," Fox whispered, "please..."

And it should have been scary, being so intimate with someone else -- but this was Fox: his best friend, his companion, who was closer to him than anyone else -- and all Alex could feel was that liquid heat, and the hunger. "Yeah," he whispered back, "c'mere..."

They were just hands, doing the same things to him that he'd been doing to himself for nearly a year, but it felt so different -- so much better, so much more intense, because they were Fox's hands -- and it was over far too quickly, in a rush of overpowering pleasure beyond anything Alex had experienced before. All he could do, afterwards, was struggle for breath; moving seemed to require immense effort. "Damn," he gasped, "that was so, so..."

"Yeah," in his ear, in the same breathless tone, as Fox nestled closer.

It had been a long time since they'd slept that way, snuggled together -- Alex had stopped allowing it, when the first restless pangs of maturity had begun to assault him -- now, with that ache at least temporarily assuaged, he could enjoy the warmth, the closeness, as he always had when they were younger. "You feel good," he murmured sleepily.

"You, too." Fox nuzzled him just as sleepily. "We can do that again, maybe?"

The thought was tantalizing, but he was just too tired. "Not now..."

A soft chuckle. "Nah. Later."

"Definitely," Alex promised.

"Good." Fox yawned. "Night..."

But Alex was asleep before he could manage a reply.

Alpha One. Notorious hellhole, origin place of so many of the horrors being perpetrated upon mankind; alien cesspool of evil.

This had been Fox's home, once.

And Fox led the way through the darkened corridors, relying on his perfect memory to guide them; the tight, closed expression on his face spoke eloquently of the pain of memory, but Alex didn't dare reach out to console him. This was a mission, and there was no time for sentiment or caring: one wrong step, one wasted moment, could mean their deaths -- or worse.

The plan involved each of them tackling one key facility -- Alex, the central power installation; Fox, the cloning laboratories, which had their own separate power supply. Swiftly, Alex set his explosive device and sped out of the base, concealed himself in the weeds at the rendezvous point as planned, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The clock in his head counted down the seconds mercilessly; and just as it reached zero, there was a resounding explosion. A few instants later, the second bomb went off, and the installation was a fiery death-trap...

And still there was no sign of Fox.

He has to have escaped. He has to. Alex poked his head above the weeds, scanning the horizon desperately for any sign of movement. What do I do? If I go back, and any of Them survived... they'll take me, they'll kill me or torture me for information; or worse yet, they could get inside me and pluck the information from my head before I can suicide... I can't go back, I can't, it could place the entire Community at risk; but I can't leave him there, I can't; Fox, where the hell are you?

Again, he searched; and still no sign of life. He can't have... no. He can't. What'll I do if he has? It'll be so lonely, so empty, so... C'mon, Fox, come back. Come on back. You have to...

But still there was no sign of his friend.

Memories of a thousand smiles, of endless shared laughter; of a strong hand on his shoulder, of -- most recently -- the warmth of that same hand closing around his erection and stroking him to culmination. I can't lose him. He's my best friend, he's... he's my other half, I can't lose him... And if one of Them had happened across him at that moment, despite all of his training and fighting skill Alex would have been utterly helpless: huddled into a tight ball, rocking back and forth slightly, trying to retain hope in the most hopeless of circumstances. He can't be dead. He can't be dead. He can't...

Time continued to creep by, and still there was no sign of Fox, until Alex had no choice but to admit it: He's gone. I've lost him.

The pain inside his soul was too deep, too severe, for even the luxury of tears.

Dully, he forced himself to his feet, made himself trudge toward home: I have to go back, report on what's happened, even though what he most wanted was to curl up and die along with his friend. More than friend. So much more. Oh, Fox... It would be two days' hard walking back to the Underground, two days of aching solitude, of remembering what he'd lost: I can't bear it. I can't. Oh hell, oh fuck, oh dammit, Fox...

There was a sound off to the left and behind him, the soft sound of a bird's call: the same sound that the Resistance used as a signal.

Alex turned and searched for the source of the cry, ruthlessly fighting back the sudden hope that flared to life in his heart.

And there it was, a figure speeding closer to him, running breathlessly, agonizingly familiar... "Alex," it panted, when it drew near enough for speech. "Thank god..."

He held up one hand, halting the figure in its tracks. "Prove yourself," he grated, through clenched teeth.

It might have been an alien shape-shifter, or it might have been the body of his friend possessed by the mind of the black oil -- but it drew its knife and obligingly slit the back of its arm open, just deeply enough to show red, human blood -- and Alex let out a deep, deep breath, relief surging through his body and rendering him boneless, so that his legs wouldn't hold him up any longer...

Fox caught him as he fell, pulled him close. "It's me," he murmured, "I'm here, I'm all right."

Anger swept away the dizzying relief, brought a renewal of Alex's strength. "What the hell happened to you?!"

"I saw... my sister... or what was left of her..." Fox's voice faltered, broke.

And the anger swept away too. "You scared the hell out of me," Alex whispered. "I thought... I thought you were..."

"I'm here." Apology and understanding in that so-familiar voice. "I'm all right."

Alex pulled away, just enough to look at his friend -- Fox gazed back at him, all warmth and caring -- and he was so close, close enough to feel his heartbeat, his breath against his face...

It seemed only natural to kiss him; and for an endless moment, Alex felt the other boy's lips slack against his own.

Fox drew back slightly, eyes quizzical, and Alex opened his mouth to apologize.

Felt instead the heat of those lips again, the unfamiliar pressure and moisture of another's tongue slipping into his mouth, as Fox kissed him.

This time they both pulled out of it at once, searching each other's face for some signal, or perhaps permission -- and then drew together again in unison.

The third kiss was hunger, was passion, was tenderness mingled with need... was homecoming; as perfect and exquisite as anything could be.

And when it was over, Alex knew that nothing would ever be the same for them -- and rejoiced in that fact; because it felt absolutely, utterly right that it should be so.

Fox's hands smoothed over his back before releasing him reluctantly; one palm settled briefly against the side of Alex's face. "Let's get the hell out of here," he murmured.

Alex covered his friend's hand with his own. "Yeah," he agreed; and the two of them turned and headed toward home, side by side.

"Cold?"

"Yeah."

"Me too."

Desolation all around them: what had once been suburbs teeming with life, now a wasteland of abandoned buildings and rusting cars, overgrown with weeds... A fire would have been wonderful, but far too dangerous. They'd have to make do with the blankets in their packs.

Alex was well used to the cold, from many such missions. But it will be warmer now, he thought, gazing at his companion's silhouette in the near-total dark.

"C'mere," he said softly, and even in the darkness he could see Fox smile.

It was the most natural thing in the world to nestle against him, to feel the arms slide around him and pull him close; and when Fox's lips brushed against his, capturing his lower lip between them, that felt natural too -- comfort, and warmth, and a sharp, poignant pang of need within him. He'd almost lost Fox today... Hips surged against his, greeting his swelling cock with an answering hardness, and just that faint pressure and friction was almost too incredible to withstand.

Warm, yes, it was so warm; flames of passion burning bright and hot... Alex moaned into Fox's mouth, rubbing fiercely against him. Wanting more, needing more, but unable to free his hand to reach for himself; unwilling to let go of the companion he'd almost lost. Fox's legs twined with his, locking them together, finding a rhythm... and Alex couldn't stop moaning, felt the cries wrenching themselves from his throat, as the need built and built into desperation, into agony -- into a flashpoint of ecstasy that seized them both in the same breath, sweet shuddering release.

And still Fox was kissing him, little whimpers of lingering pleasure working their way around the tongue shoved deep into his mouth... and suddenly Alex was crying, sobbing helplessly and unable to stop.

"Hey. Hey..." Concern and fear in his friend's voice, and soft little kisses over his eyelids and face. "Alex? What's wrong? Alex..." Those hands, those wonderful hands sliding over his hair and his shoulders and his back. "Alex, please, talk to me..."

But he couldn't speak. The sobs were too insistent, and too strong -- like the memory of huddling in the weeds, hope slowly giving way to the bleak certainty that Fox was dead; like the intense pleasure of Fox's body pressed hot and close against his own. All Alex could do was cling to his friend, bury his face against Fox's chest and cry, drinking in the scent of him and savoring the contact.

Slowly, the onslaught of tears abated to an irregular hitching of breath. "Alex?" Fox queried, sounding more afraid than ever.

He forced himself to pull away, denying himself the solace of the embrace so that he could look into Fox's eyes -- because he didn't know how his friend would take it, and he had to say it. "I love you," Alex whispered.

Fox blinked, hard. "Well, I love you, too," he said reasonably, "but why were you crying?"

He doesn't understand, Alex thought, he thinks I mean like a brother, or something. "Because I love you," he tried again.

Gentle fingers brushed lingering teardrops from his face. "Is that so wrong?" Fox said quietly. "Are you sorry?"

"No!" Alex shook his head vehemently.

"Then why were you crying?"

Helplessly, Alex shook his head again; there was no way he could define the tumultuous emotion within him any further. "I love you..."

Fox met Alex's gaze; their eyes locked. "I love you, too," he repeated, in the same reasonable, matter-of-fact voice -- but now there was no mistaking his meaning. "I always have, and I always will," and his lips brushed against Alex's, sealing the promise. "Please don't cry anymore; it hurts to see you cry..."

Wordlessly, Alex nodded -- and had to squeeze his eyes shut tightly, for the tears were threatening to start again.

"Shh," Fox soothed, as finally a sob burst free of Alex's control, "shh, Alex, don't cry, I love you, please don't cry," holding him, kissing him... loving him; and it felt so good that Alex could do nothing but cry. But despite his protests, Fox seemed to understand; and Alex cried himself to sleep, tears of happy relief, in his lover's arms.

News of the destruction of Alpha One had already sung its way through the Resistance grapevine; they staggered home to a hero's welcome. Cheering crowds swung them up onto shoulders and carried them to the Council Building, where the Community's governing committee waited to greet them. Someone had managed to scavenge a pair of old swim-meet medals, which had been rechristened 'Medals Of Honor'; Walter placed one around each boy's neck, and the crowd cheered some more. Food, as always, was in short supply; but there was a veritable feast in their honor, eating and drinking and dancing and singing and general merriment that enveloped the entire village and continued long into the night.

The party was still going strong when the two escaped, sneaking up the narrow pathway to their cave-home; even with the curtain closed, the sounds of raucous celebration wafted upward. "I guess we did good," Fox said wearily, dropping heavily onto the mattress.

"No shit, Sherlock," Alex replied, falling into bed beside him, not bothering to undress. "Don't know why they had to go to all this trouble for us, though..."

Fox levered himself up on the mattress and began to unbutton Alex's shirt. "I guess they needed to celebrate something," he mused, "it's not like there's ever that much to celebrate."

The feel of Fox's fingers against his chest... now that was something to celebrate, as far as Alex was concerned. He caught the roving hand and held it in his own. "Everything's changed," he said softly.

His companion seemed perplexed. "Nothing's changed," he countered. "What's changed?"

"You. Me. Us." It occurred to Alex that perhaps he'd misinterpreted... "Hasn't it?" he wondered aloud, fearfully.

Fox shook his head. "But we've always been together. That hasn't changed."

"But..."

"I always knew it would be like this, for us," Fox continued, very very quietly. "Didn't you?"

Slowly, Alex shook his head. He'd never really thought about it -- well, okay, when Fox was making out with Dana and it hurt to watch...

"Well, I did. I knew." The other boy disengaged his hand from Alex's, slid it beneath the half-open shirt to rest against Alex's chest. "We've always been together, and now we always will be." Dark eyes met green ones, suddenly anxious. "Won't we?"

Alex grinned. "'S what I want," he responded.

"Good. You're my best friend," and Fox leaned over him, bending close, "my best friend," in the low rough voice that was silk and honey and velvet, as his lips brushed Alex's in unspoken invitation.

And though he was exhausted, fatigue radiating from every muscle, every bone, Alex discovered that he wasn't quite as tired as he'd thought...

Adulthood

He ran his hands along the rounded curve of her belly to the spot she'd indicated, pressed in gently and waited -- and then felt it: the nudge of a tiny foot, or hand, pressing back.

"Wow," Alex said, inadequately... there didn't seem to be any other way to express the wonder he felt. A new life, a child; his child...

"I think it's going to be a boy," Missy said, eyes shining.

A boy... Alex wondered how he felt about that. On the one hand, a pint-sized image of himself; on the other hand, another boy-child destined to fight and probably die for the cause of freedom... Well, and girls got to grow up and give birth to one baby after another -- he supposed that there was no escape, really. The Resistance demanded its sacrifices, and would continue to do so for as long as there needed to be a Resistance.

But it was still amazing, to think that Missy's weight gain would result in a brand-new human being in a short while.

"Let's hope he takes after his mother," Fox said lightly, "'cause he'll be an ugly little thing if he doesn't..."

Alex glared and elbowed Fox in the side; the other man feigned hurt, briefly, and then grinned. "Oh, as if. Vanity, thy name is Alex," Missy teased, leaning forward to ruffle his hair.

"I am not vain," Alex protested, all injured dignity.

"Of course not," Fox agreed. "The fact that there isn't one person in the settlement, male or female, who wouldn't trade away their last meal for a chance at you; nah, that doesn't affect you one bit."

"That's not his looks, that's his genes. Every woman I know wants their kids to be half-hero." Missy's expression was insufferably smug. "You wouldn't believe the bragging rights I've got."

"Oh, stop it," Alex said uncomfortably. "It's not that big a deal," knowing perfectly well that it was true: he could have had just about anyone in the settlement, if he'd chosen that path. But if he had to fulfill his responsibility to breed, well, Missy was really the only woman he felt that comfortable with; and as for recreational pursuits...

He reached out and took Fox's hand, felt the fingers curl around his -- felt the same old shiver of pleasure race through him at the contact, familiar and satisfying.

"No, it's not that big a deal," Fox agreed, "'cause they all know they'd have to go through me to get to you," with a little sidelong smile.

And oh, how he loved that smile. "Damn straight," Alex confirmed.

But there was work to be done; and eventually he and Fox said their goodbyes, headed toward the Council Building in the center of the village. "So," Fox wondered aloud, "should I start calling you 'Daddy'?"

"Not unless you want to be spanked." The grin faded slowly from his face. "Listen," Alex said, "if anything happens to me, you'll take care of Missy and the baby...?"

"Stop it," Fox said, all traces of teasing humor gone from his voice. "Nothing's going to happen to you, Alex."

"It could," Alex argued, "especially with this in front of us; and if something does..."

"Shut up!" snapped his lover, the voice unusually harsh; and though it was something Alex badly wanted to discuss, he subsided.

Several moments of strained silence between them; then Fox's hand tightened around his. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, his voice low and intense, "I don't want to think about it, I don't want to acknowledge the possibility. I just don't."

"All right, love," Alex said gently. "All right." It wouldn't help matters any, to get Fox all uptight before a mission. On the other hand, there was the faint sense of premonition, the vague dread that had been plaguing him for days now...

He wondered if Fox was feeling it too: he wondered if his lover's sharp denial was fueled by a similar premonition. Or maybe it was just the tension of knowing that they would be facing a danger unlike anything they'd faced before.

Alpha One had been erased from the world -- and now there was Alpha Two. Worse yet: the hellhole had been built nearly on their doorstep. Food rations had dropped to an all-time low... something had to be done.

And this new facility would require more than a couple of bombs to destroy: this would be a full-fledged assault. Of course, Alex and Fox would be among those leading the attack... and, being in the front lines, among the first to fall if things went wrong.

It was necessary, it was right -- and Alex was terrified beneath his mask of cool unconcern. Terrified that the mission would fail; terrified (most of all) that only one of them might fall, and the other be left alone. Selfishly, he hoped that he wouldn't be left to face life without Fox -- on the other hand, the idea of leaving Fox to face that awful aloneness...

He wished that he could banish such thoughts from his mind with Fox's thoroughness. Or maybe Fox's mask was just better. Whatever: there was nothing to be done but face the danger, and hope for the best.

The rest of the team was waiting: Billy Scully -- who, despite the fact that he was still an asshole, had developed into one hell of a fighter -- Walter, of course, and several others. It still amazed Alex that Walter had chosen to cede command of the team to him... Adult he might be, but in his mind Walter was still immensely older and stronger and more capable.

Once more, they went over the plans: checked their weaponry, readying themselves for the impending fight. The more religious ones went off into a corner to say a prayer -- Alex's faith lay elsewhere; he dragged Fox into the hallway for a few last-minute kisses and caresses. Sustenance, and a promise, of the pleasure awaiting their successful return...

I knew it, Alex thought dully. I was right.

Pain, searing agonizing sheets of white flame flooding him with every heartbeat. Forget trying to escape: it hurt to breathe. His entire left side felt as if it were being crushed, torn, set afire... No point trying to be brave: there was no one here to hear his sobs of pain, to see the tears that streamed down his battered face.

Walter had always told him: All it takes is one mistake...

But at least Fox hadn't seen him fall. Fox would never have to view his ruined body, witness the horror of his death... yeah, the abstract fact of his loss: but not the bloody reality of it. Fox would never know...

Another explosion; the building was falling around him. Very well; let it be over, all the pain and the guilt of having made that final mistake. Let it finally end...

Fox, I love you. Always, always loved you...

Alex closed his eyes, and let the darkness take him.

...Light, burning his eyes, achingly strong; and Alex wondered: is this it? the Great Beyond? But no, there was still pain -- muted, but still throbbing agony -- and there were voices, sounds so familiar that it ached to hear them...

"Alex." Oh, that voice.

He opened his eyes, wincing at the brightness -- but it was worth it, to see that face. Bruised, scraped, so very worried... "Fox," he rasped, through a throat that felt like sandpaper.

Dark eyes shut tight, leaking tears; warm saline dripping onto Alex's face. "Alex, thank god, thank god..."

He was alive. And Fox was alive. Which left one concern... "Did we do it?" Alex whispered hoarsely, urgently. "Did we get 'em?"

"Yeah, we got 'em. We brought 'em down," Fox assured him; and he sighed with relief. "Alex..." His lover's tone altered subtly. "There's something you need to know."

The tone of Fox's voice scared him, more than even imminent death had. "What?"

"We... we got you out of there just before the place went up, but..." Fox swallowed, hard. "You were injured badly..."

"How badly?" But Alex wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Again the dark eyes closed, in an expression of pain; then they opened again, locked with his own. "Your left arm," Fox said, forcing out the words as if they hurt. "It... couldn't be saved."

Alex stared at his lover, a silent gaze that begged to be told that it was all a cruel practical joke, all a lie -- then tore his eyes away, looked down. Bandages, blankets, covered the affected area, but there was no mistaking the empty place where his arm should have been...

No, Alex thought. Oh, god, no...

"I'm sorry, baby," Fox whispered. "I'm so damn sorry."

But Alex couldn't bear to face the reality, or even his lover's sympathy; he closed his eyes tightly, and did his best to shut it all away, all of it...

The painkillers dulled the ache in his side; but they couldn't touch the agony of knowing that he was no longer whole.

Missy came to see him, to cry at his bedside. Thinner now -- she told him, haltingly, about the memorial for her eldest brother, who'd died in the attack; she described the ceremony for their baby, born too early and too sickly to survive. Walter visited him too, eyes hollow and bleak, unable to offer any comfort more substantial than that hand on the top of his head -- an attempt to impart strength; but Alex felt nothing more than the touch.

And Fox was there, every hour of every day: reading to him, stroking his hair, cajoling him to speak, to say anything -- but talking required too much effort; and Alex just didn't have the strength.

In due course, he was released from the infirmary -- "We can't do anything more for him," the doctor told Fox, in a sorrowful voice -- and Fox brought him back to their cave. Now instead of staring blankly at whitewashed walls, there was craggy stone to gaze at; and that was what Alex did, hour after hour, day after day. It was so much easier not to think, not to feel... not to acknowledge his loss.

The bandages came off, revealing angry, swollen flesh -- Alex couldn't bear to look at himself; the ugliness of his own body disgusted him. But Fox never seemed to mind: tending to the wounds, smoothing healing cream over tender skin, rubbing aching muscles with firm yet gentle fingers.

Everything Fox did spoke eloquently of love -- and Alex couldn't bear to acknowledge that, either. To love was to feel, and that meant feeling the pain; it was so much easier to be numb...

Until the night he awoke in darkness to the sound of his lover's tears.

Fox had taken to sleeping on the floor, so as to not disturb Alex with restless movement. As his eyes blinked open, Alex could just make out the figure huddled amidst blankets on the floor -- shaking, shuddering convulsively with the hoarse sobs that racked him.

His own pain could be cloaked, locked away behind walls of numbness; but Fox's pain was more than he could endure.

"Fox." It had been so long since he'd spoken that it hurt to talk -- his voice felt rusty from disuse. "Fox," he tried again, when no response was forthcoming.

The head jerked up, face shimmering pale in the light of a single candle... "I'm sorry," Fox said, smoothing his voice to calmness with an obvious effort. "Go back to sleep, love."

But Alex could only stare... and in the space of that moment, realized his inadvertent cruelty. He hadn't died in the attack -- but by withdrawing into himself, he had done what Fox had feared the most: he'd left his lover alone.

It took all his strength to sit up, unassisted, and to maintain his balance when his body felt so wrong -- but he managed; and extended his remaining arm, trembling, toward Fox. "Come here," Alex whispered.

Fox stared back at him for an endless interval -- then pushed himself to his feet and came closer. Alex expected him to get into bed; instead, Fox knelt at the side of the bed. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I didn't mean to wake you... you have enough problems of your own without worrying about me, about how I feel..."

We'll take care of each other. The oldest vow between them. And, oh God, Alex had failed completely; Fox was hurting, and he hadn't even noticed... and the pain of that was worse than the ache in his truncated arm.

Tears burned in his eyes. "Come here," Alex insisted.

Only one arm left to hold him with, but it seemed to be enough; Fox fell against him, and that contact burned away the last of Alex's apathy in a burst of sharp, poignant sensation. His lover buried his face against his neck and moaned, and suddenly they were crying together, tears mingling into an endless river of saline pain.

It hurt, it hurt to feel, to need, to love... the pain was as bad as Alex had feared it would be; but he wasn't hurting alone. And somehow, that made all the difference.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, through the shuddering sobs, "I'm sorry, Fox, I'm so sorry..."

Lips formed a kiss against his wet cheek. "Do you... do you still love me?" Fox asked, in a small, quavering voice.

Agony, that Fox should need to ask that question. "Oh, god, yes. Always."

"Then don't shut me out, Alex. Don't... I need you, damn it! I need you with me." Fox scrubbed at his eyes with one fist, stared a challenge at him. "How can I take care of you if you won't let me?"

It was a reasonable enough question, Alex supposed. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be sorry! Just... be with me..." Fox's lips found his, seized them in a kiss -- rough enough to distract Alex from the pain, from everything but the feeling of the kiss: hard and hungry and infinitely tender, all at once.

Caught up in his pain, he hadn't let himself realize how much he'd missed his lover's kisses; it was heavenly to sink into the sensation, to let himself fall into that tenderness -- a surge of familiar desire spread through Alex, banishing pain in favor of need: he reached out to pull Fox even closer...

...and memory returned with a sickening crunch: the shameful knowledge of how maimed he was, how incomplete, and how incredibly ugly his body had become. Passion dissolved into bitter ash in the space of a breath, and before he quite knew what he was doing, he'd wriggled free from Fox's embrace. "I can't," he mumbled. "I can't, not now. I can't."

Silence. Then, Fox's assessment of the situation, delivered succinctly: "Bullshit."

"Fox, don't... it hurts..." Alex tried, struggling to evade the hands that reached out to caress him.

"I'll take the pain away. Count on it." Fox's voice was determined, now; and Alex knew that tone too well, knew how little chance he stood of thwarting that resolve.

He felt the strong hands pulling the blankets away from him, and cringed away -- "Don't look at me!" an involuntary, anguished cry of sheer panic.

Silence. Stillness. Then Fox drew close, close enough for Alex to see every detail of his face even in the dim light. "You are beautiful to me," he said softly. "You will always be beautiful to me," and Alex could feel the truth in the words.

Impossible to disbelieve him; and tears sprang to green eyes again.

"Let me love you," and even the voice was a caress, "my beautiful, my beloved, my Alex; let me take the pain away..." gentle hands easing away tension, soft kisses easing away fear; dark eyes refusing to flinch from the damaged parts, accepting all of him, loving all of him. Such a precious, priceless gift... tears streamed down his cheeks, and Fox kissed them away. "My beautiful Alex," said with total confidence, utter clarity: he was beautiful to Fox, because Fox loved him, and oh, god, that was enough. That was everything.

"No, don't; let me..." And that lessened the difference: he didn't have to think about what was missing, and the things he couldn't do, because Fox was doing it all. Stroking, licking, drawing on a lifetime of knowledge of what Alex liked and didn't and what made him moan in helpless pleasure. Lower, down and down, lips gliding over velvet firmness and sucking... and it had been so long, so long since he'd allowed himself to feel, that feeling this was sensory overload of the best sort. Instant rapture, unacknowledged need shattering him in its fulfillment: an orgasm as unbearably intense in its own way as the pain had been.

Afterwards, drained, he could only lie still and breathe.

Until he caught a dimly-lit glimpse of his lover's face -- schooled to deceptive stillness; but he knew that look of veiled frustration far too well, from their precipitous teenage years. "Fox, c'mere..."

"No. Not tonight." Fox twisted away from his questing hand. "You rest, love."

"But I need to love you, too..." Perhaps the only plea that stood a chance of causing that steel-strong determination to waver. And in the span of moments in which Fox debated the issue with himself, Alex reached out, and down; only one hand left to work with, but some things only required one hand, and the feel of his lover's cock was as familiar as his own. One touch, and the debate was over: a shudder, a moan, and yielding to the sweet familiarity of lovemaking.

And the promise of a quick hand-job turned into so much more: fatigue became irrelevant. It was just too damn hard to let go -- not when there was always another square inch of skin to kiss, to tease and tantalize. Not when there was always another whimper of one's partner's pleasure to renew arousal for the nth time. There was awkwardness, yes; old familiar moves didn't quite work anymore, the choreography was all wrong -- but more than anything else, there was love. Love, and love, and oh god it had been forever, and both of them were so hungry for more and more and more. Love: kisses and cuddles, orgasmic cries and no small amount of tears, and finally -- finally -- peace.

Sounds of morning in the village below: small noises of children waking, of people beginning their day. But that was distant, remote. The heavy curtain over the cave's mouth kept such signs of life at bay -- and inside, two bodies sprawled in lazy satiation, sweaty tangled limbs entwined with damp blankets. Just as always... well, one limb fewer. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter anymore.

"It still sucks, you know," Alex remarked, his voice eroded to the barest whisper and rendered hoarse by too many raw groans of pleasure.

"It does." Fox's voice was sober, solemn. "You so don't deserve this. But... we'll survive, you know? We'll manage." And ever so gently, fingertips running over the sensitive, barely-healed flesh of the stump. "You are beautiful to me, Alex. Always."

Alex turned his head sideways, enough to gaze into dark earnest eyes. How the hell did I get this lucky? "I love you so much," spoken casually, as if it weren't everything that mattered in the world.

Fox smiled, and kissed him.

And a small stub of forgotten candle sputtered and flickered out; and then there was only darkness.

"Again," Fox ordered, his voice cold and unyielding.

Alex gritted his teeth, lunged forward; but Fox evaded the strike easily, effortlessly. "Not good enough. Again."

He had adapted to the missing limb, had learned to adjust his balance to compensate, had adopted new fighting techniques to replace those that just didn't work anymore; and he would adapt to the damned heavy, clumsy prosthesis, too, no matter how hard it might be... but was it so wrong of him to want a little rest from the strain of learning? Fox thought so, apparently. Fox wouldn't let up: exercises, sparring practice, day in and day out without a rest; goddamn him, anyway...

A blow struck him hard on the left side, shooting agony through still-sensitive nerves, and he nearly dropped the blunt-edged pseudo-weapon they used in sparring practice in lieu of his usual knife. "Sloppy," Fox chided, seemingly unconcerned with his lover's pain. "Don't let your guard down. Again."

Rage coiled inside his belly, hot venom rising; Alex kept his face stony-calm, but inside he seethed.

Again, and again, and again; muscles aching, back and shoulder sore from the straps of the fucking deadweight prosthesis, and still Fox wouldn't let up. "Is that how you're gonna face the scumbags? You're gonna roll over and beg 'em to be kind? You can do better than that, Alex. Again..."

Enough!

Fury propelled him forward into a leap-and-kick that took Fox down, hard to the ground; the prosthetic was no longer a hindrance but an effective club, as Alex's weight held the other man immobile. "Is that good enough for you? Is it?!"

Blood flowed from a cut just above Fox's eyebrow, and he was struggling, gasping for breath -- but incredibly, he smiled. "Yeah," Fox murmured, "yeah, it is," and the cold, heartless taskmaster was gone, replaced in the space of a breath by the man Alex loved.

Alex stared down at him, and abruptly understood. We take care of each other... and that includes making sure I can take care of myself...

He leaned in, capturing Fox's lips with his own, tasting the iron-salt flavor of his lover's blood on his tongue; and arms fastened around his hips and locked him close, sparring practice forgotten.

But the building that served the Community as gymnasium was not the place to pursue such things; and reluctantly, Alex climbed off his friend. Offered him the good arm, helped him to his feet. "Can we rest now?"

Fox laughed. "Yeah, I guess. You've made progress -- almost back up to speed." Abruptly, his expression darkened. "You're almost ready to go back into the field."

"And this is a bad thing?" There were never enough soldiers to battle the encroaching alien menace; the invaders were steadily gaining ground, and Alex knew it...

"No one would blame you if you retired," Fox said thoughtfully. "Lord knows you've earned the right to relax a little."

"Oh, come on. You can't be serious..." A casual glance turned into a double-take. "You are serious," Alex said, surprised.

Uncomfortably, Fox turned away. "It would be nice," he mused, "not having to worry all the time... knowing you were safe..." And the voice was calm, the usual self-contained calm; but Alex knew him well enough to see beyond the facade.

"And what about the rest of the Community? Who'll keep them safe?" Alex countered.

"Haven't you done enough?" Fox's eyes met his, and the pain in them hit Alex like a physical blow. "When do I get to keep you safe?"

There was nothing Alex could say to that. All he could do was move in closer, wrap his arm around Fox's waist and hold him; and Fox rested his head on Alex's shoulder and held on for dear life.

"I think about it, y'know. I dream about it sometimes... what it would like. If there were no aliens, no danger -- if we could just be together, and not be afraid..." Soft, wistful voice, describing Fox's fondest fantasy. "Especially now. I just... I don't want you to be hurt anymore. I don't..."

"Shhhh." Alex nuzzled his lover's neck, left a small kiss on tender flesh. "I know. Believe me, I know -- but I can't, Fox. Not as long as there's anything left of me to fight... not until humanity is free again."

"Yeah, I know." Fox's voice was dejected -- but not surprised; he knew his Alex too well. "I just... I can't help wishing. And worrying." Arms tightened almost painfully around him. "It won't happen in our lifetime, you know," Fox murmured, sounding incredibly old and tired. "Our children might know freedom... but we never will."

Alex didn't say anything to that -- acknowledging it would have hurt too much -- but he knew Fox was absolutely, painfully correct.

"It's all right," his partner said, in a nearly normal voice. "I understand... I even agree. I just..."

"Can't help wishing," Alex finished the sentence for him. "I know." Didn't he have his own wishes? Comfort, ease, a life with Fox that didn't involve fear and blood and trauma... "I know," he whispered, pressing his cheek against the other man's, inhaling the scent of sweat and musk that was uniquely Fox.

And it was a long while before either of them could bear to let go...

"Almost ready," Missy informed the rest, stirring the stew that simmered over the fire. "Just a few more minutes."

Years and years had passed, and some things never changed; Alex and Fox still ate most of their meals at the Scully cooking fire. Different Scully, same routine...

"You look awful," Fox said to Dana, sizing her up in a quick glance.

Dana sighed. "You'd look like hell, too, if you'd spent your day arguing with the old farts," she grumbled, wearily brushing strands of hair from her face.

Alex regarded her with silent approval. Even after all these years, he had trouble reconciling this Dana with the shy little red-haired girl who'd had such a crush on his Fox... This Dana had shocked the entire Community by turning custom on its ear; while her contemporaries were busily birthing babies, she'd demanded to be a soldier. Many of the elder members of the Community had been horrified: it wasn't natural, it wasn't proper, young fertile females and their reproductive abilities were far too valuable to risk in battle -- but Dana had been insistent. More to the point, she'd been too damn good to refuse.

But the strain had taken its toll. Alex supposed that it couldn't be easy, following your own heart when everyone around you was telling you that you were wrong... Dana was more or less ostracized by the rest of the community; the handful of people gathered around the cooking fire were the only ones who'd truly accepted her choice. Consequently, mealtimes were the only time she could really relax...

"It's the same thing all over again," she muttered. "Every mission I'm slated for, someone's got to argue that I shouldn't be going. When will they let up on me, already?"

"When you grow a penis," Missy said dryly; and Fox sputtered laughter into his mug of tea.

"Too true," Walter said grimly. "But it doesn't matter, Dana; I'm in charge of this operation, and I want you on my team." He placed one hand on her slender, leanly muscled arm. "Don't worry about it."

Dana flashed him a tired smile. "Thanks," she said softly.

Alex watched the interplay with interest. Walter had been one of the last holdouts, unwilling to accept that a woman might become the equal of any male soldier -- until Dana had proved herself capable; then he had defended her to the rest of the community with ferocious loyalty. But that was Walter: hard to convince, but a steadfast ally once he'd made up his mind to be. Still, it seemed to Alex that there was a bit more than loyalty at work...

He wondered briefly if it was just interest, or if the two of them were already involved; and if so, how they were avoiding the issue of potential pregnancy. Birth control was all but unheard of, but of course there were any number of ways for a couple of inventive souls to prevent conception... Not that he'd ever had to worry about that. Not that Walter's sex life was any of his business, either -- except that Walter had been alone ever since Sharon had died, and that had been a very long time ago.

In a life like theirs, where food and shelter could never be taken for granted, and comfort and luxury were the most abstract of concepts, human companionship was more important than damn near anything else...

Dinner, and small talk, no more conversation about the imminent mission -- such topics tended to play hell on digestion -- then the luxury of a few hours to rest before their departure. Alex took Fox back to the cave, and the two of them spent the time making love; he didn't know what Walter and Dana did to prepare for the ordeal, only that the two of them went off together.

And then it was time... No goodbyes: that was the tradition. Never say goodbye, only hello when it was time for homecoming. Alex caught one distant glimpse of Missy, silently watching their departure, as the four began their trek through the maze of tunnels to the surface.

The mission went exactly as planned, at least to begin with. Split up and infiltrate, coax information from the computers and then sabotage the systems... Alex crept back through the corridors to the rendezvous point, well pleased with his work, and was startled to find that Dana had already arrived there. "Damn, that was fast," he commented in a low voice. "Didja get what we came for?"

She turned to face him -- and Alex felt his stomach turn over. "Oh, no," he whispered.

His body reacted before his mind could process what his intuition had screamed at his first glimpse; he dove at her, scrabbling for his knife -- and Dana backhanded him, one-armed, into the nearest wall. The black oil lent strength to the human bodies it possessed. No! She knows too much about us -- and what she knows, it will know... There was no conscious decision process, only bleak awareness. She has to die. I have to kill her.

But that was easier said than done.

The fight was agonizing. Not so much for the strength of her blows, but the necessity of it: driving his fist into the so-familiar face and seeing it contort with unaccustomed rage. Over and over, he tried to drive his knife into the vulnerable spot at the back of the neck, only to be repelled by her newly-increased strength. Where the hell are the others? I could use some help...

"Dana?" Fox's voice, quizzical, not understanding. Alex coughed, struggled for breath, to warn him: That's not Dana! Looking up, he saw sudden comprehension and horror dawn over his lover's face...

...as Dana's hand closed around a length of metal pipe, left over from some maintenance effort, and slammed it squarely into the side of Fox's head.

Crunch.

For the rest of his life, Alex knew he would hear that sound in his head.

Rage and agony conspired to form one last burst of adrenaline, gave him the strength to fling Dana backward, away from himself...

And the sound of gunfire filled his ears, as Walter blew Dana's head off.

Alex watched numbly as the remains of Dana's body fell to the ground, the black oil already seeping from the wounds, seeking a new host -- then turned, dreading what he would see. Walter was already bent over the other fallen form... there was blood, everywhere there was blood...

No, oh please god no...

"He's still breathing," Walter reported harshly. "We have to get him out of here," casting a quick glance at the black oil pooling and creeping across the floor toward them. He scooped Fox up in his arms -- "Come on!" and the tone of command shook Alex out of his daze.

They ran.

Alex jerked awake abruptly, shaken by the nightmare -- then looked around at the whitewashed walls of the medical building, and knew that it had been no bad dream.

This nightmare was real.

Beside him, Walter slumped on the bench. His wounds had been treated -- but not all wounds were physical, and there were some that could not be healed... Missy, on Walter's other side, still shook with her tears, shuddering silently against Walter's unresponsive form.

One of the Council's elders had come to report his disapproval, earlier that day. "We all knew that it was a bad idea," he'd said primly, "letting a woman fight..." Walter had stared at the elder blankly, even as he'd driven his fist into the man's face. The elder's nose would never be the same...

But there was no satisfaction in the memory, for Alex. Dana was dead, and in the worst possible way -- and there was no doubt in his mind that Fox would soon follow. He'd seen the extent of the injuries; he knew what it meant.

All that remained was for the medic to come and confirm the fact.

Fox... Memories, agonizing in their clarity: his lover's face, smiling with joy, rapt with tenderness, twisted into sharp ecstasy at the moment of orgasm. So many precious things that he would never know again. It's over, Alex realized suddenly, it's all over for me. I don't want to live without him; I can't. I won't. There would surely be some mission in which he could meet a courageous, heroic death, now that he no longer cared enough to try to live. And then, if there's any sort of afterlife, I'll be with him again -- and if there isn't, it will be over. Hero or not, I don't have the courage to live without him...

The door to the private room opened, and the medic stepped out, peeling bloody gloves from her hands.

Alex drew a deep, deep breath, and stood. This is it, then. "He's dead," he said, not as a question.

One eyebrow raised; and the medic gestured him toward the open door. Puzzled, Alex stepped through...

...the man sitting up in bed seemed unnaturally pale, as if there weren't enough blood left in him to animate the flesh. Rough bandages wound a cocoon around his head, and there were dark circles around the eyes that raised to meet his...

Fox's eyes. Fox's face. Bruised, battered, sickly, but alive.

Alex took a step forward, then another. Closer, closer, close enough to reach out and feel living skin and bone beneath his hands -- "Fox," he whispered. "My Fox."

His lover's lips parted -- hung open helplessly. "I..." Haltingly, uncertain. "You..." Mouth working, fighting for words -- and Alex gazed deeper into those eyes and saw the confusion, the unevenly dilated pupils, as Fox struggled to speak.

Realization hit him like a hammer. Crunch. The impact of metal against fragile bone and brain matter... "It's all right," Alex soothed, fighting down sick horror. "It's all right, Fox."

"I..." Still struggling with the words that wouldn't come, the words that might never come again; frustration warring with the confusion in the dark eyes, slowly mutating to a realization of his own. "No," Fox moaned.

"It's all right." Unthinking, Alex moved closer still, sat on the edge of the bed and drew Fox gently into his arms. "It's all right, it's going to be all right..."

Fox pushed him away. Intense concentration clouding his face, eyes narrowing as he fought with the brain damage that kept conversation at bay. "You... you..." and a groan of despair.

It hurt, it hurt beyond measure to see him that way. "Easy," Alex whispered, "easy, Fox. It's going to be all right, just relax."

Violently, vehemently, Fox shook his head. "L... lll... luhh..." and gave up on words, a small sob choking him. His left hand reached out, shaking, and touched Alex's arm, uncoordinated fingers closing awkwardly around the wrist, tugging... pulling Alex's hand to Fox's chest, placing the palm over his heart... and a sudden sharp shock raced through Alex as he finally understood what Fox was so desperately trying to say.

I love you.

All that had happened, and the only thing that mattered to Fox was saying those words...

"I love you, too," he managed; and Fox nodded once and sighed, relaxing back against the pillows, still clutching Alex's hand in his too-weak grip.

And then the tears came: hoarse racking sobs that could not be controlled, could not be denied, so violent that he could hardly breathe... Alex collapsed forward, huddling against Fox's chest; and arms came up to embrace him, trembling and weak but fighting the weakness to hold him. "Luh... luhhh..." and the feel of lips pressing kisses against his hair. "Luhhhf. Luhff. Luhfff... you... I love you. Love you," and the halting words were the most terrible and the most wonderful thing Alex had ever heard.

Fox, oh god, my poor Fox... but he's alive. He's alive. He's alive... And as long as that held true, all other eventualities -- no matter how miserable -- were manageable.

They'd deal with this, too. They would.

"Not fair! Not fair!" Another ceramic bowl crashed into the cave's stone wall and shattered, sending fragments every which way.

Alex ducked, narrowly avoiding the flying missile. "Fox..."

But his lover only howled, a long, drawn-out, chilling cry of agony, and flung another piece of crockery at the wall.

"It's not so bad," tried Alex, knowing in his heart that it was. "It's not the end of the world..."

"I can't read!" Saying the words seemed to make it more unbearably real to him; he crumpled, collapsing to the floor, sobbing.

And Alex went to him, held him as tightly as he could, wishing fiercely that he had two arms to make it stronger; remembering the awkward, too-thin boy he'd met so many years ago, devouring one book after another with hungry intensity. It isn't fair, he thought, blinking back stinging tears of his own.

"With time, with effort... you can learn again," he reassured Fox, not knowing if it was true, but knowing that his lover needed at least the hope of regaining what he'd lost. "And in the meantime, I'll read to you. I will. Whatever you want me to read."

Fox's tears slowed; he sniffled. "You don't like my books," he retorted.

The comeback cheered Alex -- even though the voice was too thick, the words spoken haltingly; it was Fox's spirit, his soul, coming through the damage loud and clear.

"I'll read whatever you want me to read," he told Fox. "Anything."

"Anything?" repeated Fox slowly.

"Anything," Alex promised.

A long sigh; and Fox rested his head against Alex's chest. "Okay," he murmured. "Okay, Alex."

This time, Alex couldn't quite keep the tears at bay. "Okay, Fox," he agreed.

Another, longer sigh; and a hand came up to rub Alex's back -- still weak and shaky, but going unerringly to the spot where the muscles always knotted from the weight and effort of the prosthetic arm. "You hurt," Fox said, not as a question. "Let me... let me help..."

Alex closed his eyes -- so wonderful, and so heartbreaking... "You take such good care of me," he said, exerting all his will to keep his voice from cracking.

"You take care of me," Fox pointed out. "We take care of each other."

The tears spilled out from beneath long lashes, trickled down his face. "Yes," Alex murmured. "Always."

Trembling fingers brushed the tears from his cheeks with an unexpectedly sure touch. "Always," Fox repeated, and kissed him.

And for all life's cruelty, for all that they'd suffered... that certainty was enough for Alex.

It would always be enough.

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