Longing for the Unattainable
by Sandrine Shaw

"I never touched him," he said. No, of course he didn't. Because my brother would never have allowed himself to be touched by Alexander Krycek - liar, traitor and murderer. Doesn't mean that Sasha didn't want to do it.

He's so easy to see through sometimes. The man with a thousand masks, whose face can be like stone and whose eyes are two deep black holes giving nothing away, absorbing all emotion - to me, he's an open book. I wonder if my brother finds it as easy to read him as I do.

If I wanted him, I could have him. He'd be wax in my hands, easy prey. Not because he actually wants me. No, never that. Not because of who I am, but because of what I am. Not because I've been the one who's always there, who saved his life a dozen times, who fought his fight. No. He would want me for just one reason. Because I am my brother's sister. The next best thing. Because he could close his eyes and pretend I was him. Mutter the wrong name when he comes without it actually being the wrong name. Just the wrong person. The wrong Mulder.

Which is precisely why he won't ever have me, no matter how much I longed to forget the horrors I've seen in his arms just for a moment or two. I mustn't give in to those desires. Forbidden fruit, that's what he is. Even if I threw caution over board and allowed myself to taste it, there would always be a bitter aftertaste. Stale.

For he's not mine, and he will never be.

n a perfect world - a world without alien abductions and government conspiracies, a world where there wasn't a war being waged, a world where he wasn't the embodiment of Fox William Mulder's perception of evil - I would be content to see them happy together. I wouldn't mind seeing Sasha with my brother, because he'd have what he wanted and that would be enough.

But the world we are living is far from being perfect, and Alex Krycek will never get what he truly wants. Which means he's, technically, available, even if his heart is taken. And a tiny, treacherous voice inside of me keeps asking why I cannot get what I want then, at least. It reminds me that it's unnecessary that all of us are suffering. As usually, I push it away into a deep, dark corner of my mind where its seductive, silvery sound will not reach me. Not yet, anyway.

"It doesn't matter if you did," I reply tiredly, sadly. "Why would I care?"

Because you love me. Because you don't want me to touch him, and touch you instead. For a wild moment, I think he said those words, but it's just my imagination. He merely shrugs and walks away. I silently thank him for that.