Title: Saltwater and Gun Oil
Author: Arsenic
Rating: ADULT (slash and violence)
Keywords: XOVER HL/XF
Characters: Methos/ Krycek
Archives: Seventh Dimension, anywhere else that asks
Feedback: Please, I beg of you.
Summary: Third part in the "All Men" series, sequel to "Our Small Cabals"

Disclaimers: Methos is R/P/D's, Krycek is CC and 1013 Production's. I'm just an underpaid babysitter. The title of the series, story and the quotes are all courtesy of David Mamet.

Thanks: To cinnamongirl, for dealing with the hellish email situation and betaing in the midst of other RL pressures. Oh, *offhand shrug* and for being the most amazing human being anyone could ever hope to meet.

Dedication: This is for Patrick, who made me realize where this story was going with his amazing acting ability, and for making me feel like I had the ability to carry it off.

^^^

Methos tipped his head back and took a sip of beer. Letting the liquid wash down his throat, he squinted and proceeded to ask the question that had been nagging at him for the three days since he had dragged Alex back to his studio.

"Rat?"

"Huh?" Alex looked up from the newspaper Methos had gotten for him that morning. He was thoroughly enjoying once again knowing what was going in the world. Well, the edited versions of events, anyway.

"When you told me your name, you said something about being called variations of the word rat."

"Ah." Alex returned his eyes to the paper for a moment, and Methos began to doubt he would get an answer. "Rat: noun, destructive rodent larger than the mouse. Verb, betray one's associates." He shrugged. "According to one of those nifty, little electronic dictionaries anyway."

"You looked up the word rat in a dictionary?"

"You get locked in a Barnes & Noble for eleven hours, and we'll see how well you do." Methos took another sip of beer, trying to sort out this information. He decided ignoring the last statement and getting back to his original question was the best strategy at this point.

"Why do they call you it?"

"You don't think I fit the first description?"

"I discovered long ago that I wasn't into bestiality, if that answers your query." Methos fell silent and tried to stop from asking the next question. *You don't like it when people ask you questions.* Alex hadn't either. He should respect that. HE was going to respect that. His hands fidgeted with the bottle. *Screw it; I gotta hear this one.*

"You were locked in a bookstore for eleven hours?"

"Barnes & Noble happens to be a great place to lose someone in. You just have to remember to get out before they lock up for the night." Alex allowed himself a small smirk. "In the event that you don't though, the self-help section has some great advice on reviving your sex life."

"I'll keep that in mind." Methos didn't succeed in keeping the laughter out of his voice.

"Hey." Alex quirked an eyebrow. "It isn't everyday I give out valuable and highly helpful advice like that."

"I bring that out in people." Alex smiled and leaned further back into the couch cushions, staring from half-closed eyes at the man in the easy chair across the room from him. "Is Mamet a favorite of yours?"

The question caught Methos off guard for all of a minute before he smiled with a look of lazy mischief.

"No. I used to teach an undergrad comprehensive theater history course. I managed to get one of those classes with every smart ass who thinks he can sleep while in class and say smart enough things to make me pass him at the same time. So, I took a somewhat perverse pleasure in finding obscure plays with hefty price tags on their printed texts."

"A sublime sadist."

"The faculty had some doubts as to whether my projected curriculum was really fulfilling the goal of the class." Methos turned his head to the window and peered at Alex out of the corner of his eyes. Alex grinned as if he had been duplicitous in planning the course's syllabus. "You?"

"Me? Oh, Mamet. I had a girlfriend in college who was kind of psychotic about him; I think I picked it up more as a matter of osmosis than any true dedication on my part." Methos nodded his approval.

"Was she worth it?" Alex stayed silent, and Methos wondered if he had crossed the unspoken line between them that denoted personal boundaries.

"Yeah, she was. She never let anyone give her any shit. It was like nobody had ever explained to her the concept of being controlled by forces outside of ourselves. She used to talk loudly in art museums and then explain to the guards why it was an important part of her understanding Rembrandt. There wasn't a guard she couldn't convince. Not even the old one who was there so often we used to joke that he'd lost his wife there and was still trying to find her. And she ate really weird food concoctions like jelly and mustard sandwiches and just tossed her head with this air of almighty superiority when anyone would make grossed-out sounds. Yeah, Cinna was definitely worth a few lines of post-modern American drama."

"You miss her." It wasn't a question, and Alex had to stop himself from physically getting up and walking away from the other man's empathy.

"She gave great head." He came off as macho as any jock in any high school locker room. Methos wasn't buying.

"I don't think she did. In fact, I think you were probably her first, and you guys laughed when she couldn't go all the way down on you. Maybe you guys got a little tipsy first so she wouldn't be so nervous, or at least she could tell you she wasn't that nervous. I think you were scared you'd hurt her and that she wouldn't tell you, because girls like that have a tendency to shrug the hurt off and see beauty even beyond the pain."

"You get your degree in human behavior?" Alex was going for lightheartedness, because Methos's soft tones had been eerily on target. He wasn't used to being seen, not even physically. His favorite places were those that were easy to hide in. The dark was comforting, or it had been until --

He didn't want to think about that. Or what he was going to do once he left this place with light, and heating, and days with three meals. He didn't want to think about the conversation they were having either though.

"Somewhere along the line, I must have." The other man's answer pulled Alex out of himself. "I once had someone like that. She was a poet. Living in France with some other American artists." Methos was not about to point out that this had been in the immediate post-World War I era. "I think the day I knew I was a lost cause for her was at a friend's gathering. All these artists were sitting around discussing the latest in each other's works, all very impassioned and erudite. In the middle of a swell of people raving over a poem, she just sits back, uncrosses and recrosses her legs, and says just loudly enough to be heard: 'I personally don't get it.' I had to retreat to the restroom so that I could laugh without seeming impolite. She broke off a kiss later that evening to tell me that she would have laughed right then and there. I just continued the kiss."

"What made you leave her?" Alex winced at the eagerness in his voice. *You're like a child in a fucking story-time circle.*

"She died." Alex had to fight now to openly marvel at the serenity in the other man's voice. There was sadness too; it was just overpowered by the former. "Why aren't you toting Cinna at your side?"

"I chose to tote something else." Alex forced his voice into coldness. No way was he going to tell this virtual stranger about the blackmail, the abusive training sessions, the things he couldn't tell her that had eventually driven her away.

"Guns are awfully friendly creatures, but they just don't give head quite the same way, do they?" Methos's tone was scathing. Alex pushed himself off the couch and walked to the window, silent. He never heard the footsteps on the carpet behind him and almost jumped through the glass when he felt two arms snaking around his waist.

"That wasn't fair of me." Alex thought he could get used to that smooth whisper. *What the hell are you thinking? You're here for a day or two more, enjoy the creature comforts, and move on.*

"I don't remember the last time playing fair with me actually mattered to someone."

"All the more reason for me to apologize."

"Funny, I was throwing it out there so you wouldn't have to." Methos gave a small, derisive laugh at this.

"Emotional comfort is often far more expensive than material comfort; is this not so?"

Alex didn't trust himself to speak. In the silence, Methos nodded at the truth of his own words and wondered what he was doing. He was well aware that he already cared for the younger man, and that, as the saying went, was, well, spilt milk. That didn't mean he had to make it worse for himself by making the puddle any larger. Except that this morning, he had caught himself staring at Alex's scars as he had dressed himself after his shower. Two days of rest and food had Alex strong enough to manage on his own for short periods of time, and getting clean had been first on the list of the other man's priorities. Methos had looked at the pink velvet markers of imperfection and wanted to ask how they had come to be. Which was, quite obviously, none of his business.

But he was tempted to try his hardest and make it his.

Hence he was cuddled against the warmth of Alex's back, taunting him into revealing a completely different set of scars. It wasn't fair. Not to him and certainly not to Alex. As used to unfairness as he was, it still pissed him off. He was lonely. Had been for quite a while. Alex excited him. He didn't trust the man he held in his arms, or need him, or love him. But he did care for and desire him. Lately, that was more than enough to satisfy Methos.

^^^

The two men woke up simultaneously, both bodies tensing, ears straining to figure out the exact cause of their interrupted sleep. Alex's fingers snuck up between the bed and the headboard to where he had stashed the gun Methos had allowed him to keep. Methos concentrated on keeping his breathing even, trying to figure out from which corner of the room the threat emanated. He saw the dark figure barely a moment before the man's gun went off but quick enough that he was able to throw himself in front of Alex, the bullets' intended target. The first bullet, fired in shock at his leap, hit Methos in the arm. The assailant recovered for the second one; Methos felt the bullet hit his chest. That was mere seconds before the numbness came over him.

Alex was so shocked by the other man throwing himself on top of him that for the first few seconds, he couldn't figure out precisely what was happening. Almost surreally he realized the meaning of the impact he had felt hit his protector's body. Alex turned his mind off and fired like the machine he had spent years training to become. The weapon held at arms length melded into him, bullets flying with deadly precision at a target he saw only as a shadow. It was over in mere seconds, and Alex allowed what was left of his soul to reenter his body. He used to notice how it got smaller after each kill; now he could barely feel it to begin with, so the difference wasn't all that appreciable. He was almost insulted that they hadn't seen fit to send more than one man. Of course, they probably assumed that in his weakened condition, catching him while he was asleep would be a breeze. *Assholes.*

Will's body still lay draped over his legs. Alex had to fight not to shiver under its stillness. *What the hell were you thinking? You AVOID the bullets, not go to greet them.* Feeling the shame and regret creep up behind the sardonic comments, he turned his thoughts off with a mental force he hadn't had to exercise much before meeting up with his now-dead bed partner. Getting rid of the bodies and getting out of here, that was the important part.

Alex slid out from under the dead man and walked to the door where the light switch was, illuminating the scene with a flick of his index finger. He walked over, knelt down beneath the assassin he had taken out, and tore off his mask.

"Richardson." Alex cocked his head. The man had contained less moral fiber than that with which he credited himself. "Nice to see you again." Alex was mentally trying to figure out how much trunk space the car had when a loud, painful sounding gasp brought him up to his feet. He aimed the gun in the direction of the noise and found himself pointing it at the man one the bed.

"You were very dead two seconds ago!" He wasn't aware he was shouting until the other man winced at the words.

"You're alive; that's nice." Methos sat up with some difficulty and brought both hands up to rub at his temples.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, where the Hell is Mulder when you need him?" Alex was pretty sure he'd settle for Scully as well, if she'd explain what had just happened.

"Either shoot or sit down, but whatever the fuck you decide, stop yelling." It hit Alex that he was still pointing the gun at the revived man. He lowered it and sat on the edge of the bed. Incongruously, Alex realized that he hadn't said what he'd sworn he would if given the chance.

"Thanks." It was barely a whisper. Methos nodded.

"Anytime, though I would prefer if you didn't make it regular practice."

"I take it this has happened before?"

"Quite a few times, actually." Methos sighed. He hadn't been planning on having this conversation. "Can we do this the short way?" Alex nodded, figuring since he didn't know what other way there was, the short one was just fine by him.

"I'm one of a race of Immortals. After our first deaths, we live forever, regardless of the violence carried out on us."

"One of? Translation: there are others like you?" Methos nodded in the affirmative. "Mulder would be having a heyday."

"Mulder?"

"Guy I know with a somewhat unhealthy obsession with the paranormal."

"We have kept our identity a secret for a reason." It wasn't so much the words as Methos's voice that held the threat -- let others know, and I will kill you. He would too, regardless of what his personal feelings were. Alex wondered when he had stopped doubting this man's ability to carry out such a threat.

"I'm a good secret keeper." Alex raised the pitch of his voice in sardonic condescension and brought up crossed fingers. Methos rolled his eyes. Alex broke off his charade and in a movement that surprised himself, reached out, dragged the Immortal to him, and kissed him...hard. Methos struggled for his freedom and saw the soft look of rejection in Alex's eyes as he fought to regain his breath.

"While I do appreciate the sentiment, before I get all worked up about it, I propose we do something about him. Thank the gods for silencers, huh?" Methos eyed body on the floor. "And then we find another hotel and figure out how they found us in the first place."

"Shit." Alex was surprised at how far he had let his priorities slip in the confusion of the past few minutes. "Me, not us. They were looking for me. I know...knew him. Not that I'm sorry. You should get out of here. I'd offer to pay, but I haven't got any funds at the moment."

"Nah, I don't think so. I'm enjoying this; you might possibly attract more excitement than MacLeod. That's impressive."

"MacLeod?"

"Guy with karma that just cries out for danger."

"You sure know how to pick them."

"You'd be amazed how boring serenity can get after awhile."

"Yeah, I would be amazed."

^^^

Two hours later, Richardson was buried, the hotel room had been paid for in a manner that could not be traced, and Alex was driving a new rental car East, Methos in the passenger seat.

"Are we going somewhere?" Alex considered that by the tone of his voice, he could have believed Will was asking what he had to pick up at the supermarket. He had to marvel at the complete nonchalance.

"East."

"Yeah, I do happen to remember which way the sun rises and sets, thanks." Dawn was just peaking over the horizon. Alex realized this was not the first time in his life he had felt that he was in some B movie that nobody had bothered to tell him about. The thought disturbed him. "I was actually more curious as to whether you had a destination in mind?"

"Washington. I owe someone for interrupting what had formed into a rather pleasant dream."

"Ah, would this be the illustrious Cancerman referenced in our earlier conversation?"

"Possibly."

"Nothing like being sure who you plan on killing." Alex grinned.

"That would take the excitement out of things." Methos smiled in return and leaned back in his seat.

"Wake me up if you need help driving. Of the two of us, you are far more likely to be permanently damaged should you fall asleep at the wheel." Alex nodded uneasily at this and let the other man drift off. A minute before he had fallen into sleep, Methos heard a hesitant voice.

"Will?" Methos didn't open his eyes.

"Yes?"

"How long -- well, if you can't die, that would mean...ah, fuck, how old are you?"

"It isn't polite to ask someone's age, you know." Methos turned his body towards the window and fell asleep.

^^^

Warm lips against his woke him up.

"I thought you didn't do the kissing thing." Alex smiled into the kiss.

"Once the damage has been done, there isn't much use in going back." Methos was enjoying the soft breaths passing over his lips, caressing his tongue.

"Where are we?"

"Unfortunately, not anywhere that I can make this into foreplay instead of the main event." Methos grimaced. "I thought you might be hungry."

Alex pulled himself off the older man and opened the car door. The brightness outside confirmed that it was mid to late afternoon. Methos opened his door and noticed off-hand that Alex had had the sense to park behind the building where nobody was watching what went on inside the car. Both men walked into the coffee shop and got seated. Methos let Alex run to the restroom first, seeing as how he had been the one driving for almost seven hours. When both men had returned and ordered food, Methos was ready to start a conversation.

"How are you doing?" Methos was starting to get hard merely from the way Alex always tried to hide the fact that he was pleased someone had cared enough to ask. The spark of semi-childish excitement that flared in the mercurial green eyes before practiced indifference that replaced it was incredibly sexy.

"I'm okay," shrug. "Been needing coffee for about six and a half hours." That smile, a mixture of ruefulness and quiet danger, should have been registered as a lethal weapon. "You sleep well?"

"Mmm, yeah, if you want, I'll drive for awhile." Alex nodded his assent to this. "D.C., huh?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Good for me." The food came and both men were silent as they ate. Methos grabbed the bill. Alex didn't bother protesting; he couldn't have paid even had he been so inclined. They headed back out to the car and got on the highway, once again heading East. Alex closed his eyes and fell asleep, exhausted.

Near to four hours later, in the early dark of winter time, Methos swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. When the sudden stop didn't do the trick he reached out to the man screaming in his sleep and shook him. Alex awoke in a panic, lashing out with anything that wasn't pinned down by Methos. It was several moments before the blind fear leaked out of his eyes, and he slumped into the seat, trying to regain an even breathing pattern.

"The silo?" Methos turned on the car's inside lights and watched as Alex pulled his legs up onto the seat, close to his chest. The younger man nodded, still visibly shaken.

"Shit." He stayed silent for a moment, rocking slightly. "Shit, I thought I didn't have a chance before, how the fuck do you hide when you scream in your sleep?" Suddenly, he seemed to realize that there was someone within hearing distance.

"Sorry." The expression on Alex's face was an odd combination of sheepishness and the insecure need to display testosterone. He switched topics. "Do you mind if we listen to music?"

"No." Methos was well aware the other man was reaching for anything that would keep him awake. Not that he blamed Alex; he wouldn't want to sleep after that either. Callus-roughened fingers flicked the dial on the radio and began to look for stations. Methos pulled the car back on the road.

No sooner had he gotten on the road did he feel compelled to ask: "Um, what exactly are we listening to?"

"Chick music."

"Obviously, that explains everything." The sarcasm won him a tired smile.

"Fiona Apple, she has an edge; it's kind of...soothing."

"That statement was only slightly paradoxical."

"Yeah, well."

"I got it."

"It's been awhile since I was last told that."

"That was good shooting. Over me, in the dark." Alex was grateful to Methos for not mentioning the fact that he still was only okay in the dark if being touched by the other man.

"Told you I was good at that."

"Where'd you learn something like that?" Alex drew in a quick breath.

"Where angels fear to -- why are you asking?"

"Curiosity."

"You know what they say about that. But then, I suppose that isn't much of a concern for you."

"I have considerably more than nine lives."

"My parents were dirt-poor, cold-war immigrants, raising six children. When men that were supposedly connected with the government offered to take one off their hands for financial recompense, they didn't fight to keep the child too much." Alex looked away from Methos out the window, giving the words a distant sound. "On his part, the kid was told that he was going to a place for 'special' girls and boys." The words twisted bitterly on his tongue even as he tried to deny the emotion.

"It was a boarding school in West Virginia. The word special does not begin to describe this place. I probably could have shot my mother by the time I was fifteen and not gone to sleep an hour later than usual that night." Methos didn't shudder, but he gave into the urge to release a shaky breath. Youth Assassin Training. Now there was something you did not run into every day of the week.

"What made you change?"

"What makes you think I have?"

"Excellent intuition when it comes to people." Alex was about to debate the reliability of that when he realized that he had no idea how long the other man had been honing just such a skill.

"Mulder, I think."

"The paranormal guy?" Alex laughed. Methos smiled, not really understanding the joke.

"Yeah, paranormal is a good description of Mulder." He smiled softly. "The men who had bought me, they paid for college and then sent me to Quantico. It was a set up from the beginning, but I loved the relative freedom of those places. Anyway, I graduated and got paired with this guy that they had stuck in the basement of the Hoover building, Spooky Mulder. He investigated weird phenomena under the official name of the X-files. He hated me, probably for pretty valid reasons; I didn't give a shit; I was there to watch and report back to my boss." Methos was intrigued and had to hold back a scream when Alex went silent.

"But?" He prompted him. Screw patience.

"Mulder's different. He cares about what he does, why he does it; he feels something, and it's not just a surface emotion. I had forgotten that people did that."

"Yeah."

"You know someone like that?"

"Somewhat similar."

"I, uh, shouldn't have told you that."

"You DID get me shot."

"Yeah, well, don't expect anymore story times." Methos smirked and went back to paying attention to the road.

Two hours later, he pulled into a bed and breakfast on the outskirts of a rural town comfortably settled in the middle of nowhere.

"This is not D.C."

"You are so observant. Add one to the list of Alex's talents. Trust me, unless they have a tail or you are bugged in some way," Methos declined to mention that he felt the latter entirely possible. "They are not going to find us here. But you need some sleep, and I wouldn't mind a bathroom and some hot tea."

Alex opened his mouth to argue and ended up yawning instead. Methos didn't even bother looking triumphant, instead getting out of the car and going in to get a room.

^^^

They started out again in the early dawn of the next day and reached D.C. in six hours, the last being spent in city traffic. Methos didn't say a word as Alex maneuvered through the city. He was busy trying to remember what had possessed him to get involved with a wanted assassin again. *You were actually GIVEN an out, and you still followed him. Were there drugs involved in this decision?* Methos let his eyes drift to the left. *Only if you consider Alex Krycek a drug.* That would have to be debated at a later date. He sighed. He was here. Truth be told, he was having a good time. Alex held fascinating conversations on everything from personal history to Post-Modern Art to advances in medical technology. The other man's interests were quite possibly as wide-ranging as his. Then there was the way Alex clung to him at night. He hadn't felt that kind of need in another human being for him or anyone else in centuries. It was flattering. Plus the sex, which had resumed the night before, was absolutely galaxy-shattering. Yeah, he was going to stick around a while.

At least until the novelty ran out. Or something better came along. Or he decided this man was where he belonged. Methos cracked the window, inhaling smog that was little better than the congestion of the car. He could wait this out; waiting was something at which he was exceedingly talented.