Best Medium Length Story

When I look at the nominees in this category, I marvel at the fact that anyone was able to chose between them. These five stories are a wonderful representation of the fandom, and display the superb writing talent that is present within it.

And the nominees are...

Bulletins from Bedlam by Jessica Harris

He has only this, the battle that no one sees being fought. Without it he's nothing, he negates himself, a psychologist who's lost his mind, an agent of the state gone outlaw, rogue. This is all he has, this battle, this and a pale-faced monster who sells him secrets.

No, *gives* him secrets. It's been a while since money changed hands for what Krycek brings him. They're in some kind of holding pattern now, circling each other cautiously, something building between them that he stops himself from examining too closely. He wonders what price he will eventually pay. For he's certain there will be a price.

Game, Set, Match by Anonymous

A hand cupped the back of his head, strong fingers digging through his hair and into his scalp and he couldn't pull away even if he wanted to. Not a problem. At that moment, he'd have fought, he'd have killed to stay right where he was; feasting on Alex Krycek's incredible mouth, kissing him the way he should have kissed him years ago.

If he had, if he'd just once given in to the need that had filled all the spaces between them, would it have made a difference? Would it have been enough?

Impossible to say.

But right here and right now it was changing the world.

It had to be.

Nothing could be so hot and not reforge everything around it.

Inca Gold by Spike


Before the warning was even out of his mouth, though, Mulder had engaged the attention of the farm-boys again, and this time -- with much bad Spanish and creative body language -- imparted to them that his friend Alex could drink more beer than any three of them combined.

He was willing to bet money on it.

Alex couldn't believe this. His brain was buzzing (possibly electrochemical connections shorting out in the rising tide behind his back molars), balanced somewhere between admiration of Mulder's utter testicularity, sheer white rage and a growing sense of panic. This was well past 'have to pee a little, will be uncomfortable' -- and was clearly on its way to being 'one good sway of the traincar and I am actually going to piss myself in public.'

A Rat Tale by Debchan

"The Rat pretended to be very sorry (not very convincingly), sidled closer and said, ‘Must I never come into your apartment? Must I never see for myself if you have a bedroom? You are very wise and very beautiful. You should not be cruel even to a Rat.’

The Mulder meant to say, ‘Everyone else calls me a crackpot.’ But what came out was, "You think I’m beautiful?’

The Rat moved even closer until his lips almost touched the Mulder’s. ‘Yeah,’ he whispered in that throaty little voice that never failed to make the Mulder’s knees weak. ‘And I really, REALLY want to see your bedroom.’

The Mulder, who really wasn’t terribly wise or beautiful, nevertheless knew a good thing when it broke into his apartment. He also knew the Rat didn’t walk alone because he wanted to and that all places are alike when you’re lonely. He knew this because he was lonely too and all the Scully’s and Skinner’s in the Wild Woods could show up at his door and still never ease his loneliness."

The Sky Holds My Hand by Lissa

The grass at the end of May was still silky soft, but already long enough to hide in its green cool world the nudity and vulnerability of two bodies. Thick forest around the meadow hid it from everything else, creating a warm and comfortable corner for the refugees of the last war. The heavy smoothness and hardness of Alex's body covered Mulder's, his hair was tickling Fox's chin and the calm, measured breathing was caressing the skin of his neck. The grass was soft enough for them to lie comfortably naked, and thick enough to protect from the wet, cold earth.

And the winner is...

Bulletins from Bedlam!!!