Chicken Soup for the Assassin's Soul
by Ursula
Fandom: X-Files crossover with the Raffle
Pairing: Mulder/Krycek/Skinner
Rated: Rating: T Slash
Disclaimer: I don't own Chris Carter or anything he mangled in the course of his cruel and megalomaniac course of character destruction.
Author's notes: I don't own the characters from the Raffle either, but Gavin Wilding, I think I love you for creating them! Time Frame: After it's over
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Krycek's bloody hand grasped Mulder's shirt as he gasped out, "Do svidanya, tovarich."
Prying the clutching fingers off his shirt, Mulder faced Skinner and said, "It's over. Close his eyes."
Walter knelt and brushed his fingers over the lovely eyes for the last time. He nodded and said, "I'll take care of this."
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Sometime later, in another place, David shouted, "Hey, Margo? Frank? What the hell is this two o'clock on my calendar? A book promo for an unknown writer? We that desperate?"
Poking her head inside David's office, Margo replied, "The author apparently has a great deal of money. Be nice. He wanted you and he was willing to pay up front for the campaign, sight unseen."
"Mr. A. Love-Jones Smith? I mean, come on, this has got to be a joke, right?" David remarked.
"What you need to do is relax...How about a little golf," Frank said.
"No, the last time we played, that cop arrested me for attempted homicide. I've got a fucking injunction now against ever even stepping onto the golf course."
"No shitting?" Frank asked.
"No shitting," David answered. "Let's go for a walk on the dock. Let me get my tux..."
The walk turned into lunch and, of course, they were late.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
The clients were with Margo. There were three men in the room, but one of them naturally drew David's eyes.
"Oh, wow!" he breathed. "You have to be kidding?"
The man seated was an older version of himself. He wore a black silk suit, exquisitely tailored, but there was something a bit odd about his left arm. He sat in the same chair as a handsome man with dark hair, a somewhat aquiline and slightly bent nose, and a mouth that appeared decadently full especially about the lower lip. Behind them stood a bald man who had the shoulders and build of a wieght lifter. His large hands gripped the back of the chair that the other two occupied.
"David, this is Love-Jones Smith and his companions, Mr. Reynard Fox and Mr. Vladimir Drake."
His look-a-like was the author. David stared at the man with fascination. He appeared to have even longer and fuller lashes than David, whose magnificent eyes had garnered poetry from some of his pre-Margo admirers. He looked...dangerous, like a panther lounging about David's office for the moment, but able to leap in a moment if he spotted prey. He was heavier than David; he looked as if his work involved something physical, but what...the hands only had calluses on the edges of his palms and maybe, just maybe on the inside of one finger.
"Frank Palmer," David's partner said, leaning into the man's personal space for an uncomfortably long space. Frank held the handshake for much longer than was reasonable. Good God, Frank was coming onto the man right here in front of his uh companions and, by the jealous scowls aimed at David's partner, that didn't mean secretaries or bodyguards. It made David feel funny too almost as if the man was taking something that was supposed to be his, but, hey, Frank didn't really feel that way about him, did he? And, even if he did, David didn't return the feeling.
Margo tapped Frank and said, "Down, boy, here take a look at the book."
Well, Frank found it fascinating. His expression was very odd as he thumbed through the book. Looking rather red faced, he said, "I'll just take this with me; I got to go to the john"
Hmm, Frank was behaving oddly even for Frank and that was saying something. In fact, Margo wasn't herself either. She kept rearranging her hair, her gaze traveling from David's look-a-like, to his attractive companion and a bold gaze at the narrow hips and waist defined by an immensely powerful chest on Mr. Drake. Bristling David said, "Margo? Do you have one of those for me to look at?"
The cover was sunshine yellow with an illustration of a smiling face popping from the muzzle of what appeared to be a Glock pistol. David recognized the gun from an ad campaign he had written a few months ago. The "I'm too sexy for my Glock" routine had gone rather well although David had gone cheap on the TV spot by using himself as the sexy, stripping gun model. Really had surprised the hell out of him how many people seemed to ask him for an autograph on the magazine ad.
Thumbing the trade paperback open, David sprawled back into his chair to read.
"Hmm," he said, "Um, isn't there a copyright issue? I mean, this is a franchise title and..."
"Walt?" snapped David's look-a-like. The business suited man produced a presentation binder and handed it to David.
The plastic covered documents appeared to be authentic although someone had spilled something on the actual paper. David asked, "Is that chocolate?"
"No, it's blood. Hey, I got a cool idea for my next book. 'Like Blood for Chocolate'! Don't you just love it?" Mr. Love-Jones Smith exclaimed.
David watched the two other men exchange glances; the exact sort of looks David and Margo exchange over Frank's head. "Just great, Alex," Mr. Fox replied.
Brightly, the older man said, "But Alex, I thought we were talking about trying some film-making next?"
"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Okay, I was just inspired," Love-Jones said. He cuddled closer to his admittedly attractive Mr. Fox and held up his right hand to Mr. Drake. Pulling the man down by his tie, David's counterpart kissed Vladimir very, very thoroughly.
Taking his eyes away from his slightly older self who was damn near making out in his office with two guys, David opened the book and read a sample.
"How I saved the world by bringing vaccine out of Russia"
It was a long, dark teatime of my soul; my lovers both hated me. I had a lousy new haircut and my old boss wanted to kill me. The only thing that kept me going was the sure knowledge that nobody does it better, certainly not that over-rated James Bond! Well, nothing but that and a few hits of speed I had saved for the occasion.
After I encountered the poor and simple, but crazed one-armed peasants, my future looked bleak. Not only was I blacklisted from black Ops, but I was now handicapped. Why I could barely kick twice my weight in killer mutants and alien bounty hunters!
Yes, as I sat screwed over by the blonde bitch, chained in the hull of a dismal Russian bound tanker, it looked as if I had come to the end of the line. Then he showed up, Mr. Mannerly.
I have to say that our first meeting didn't go well, but later, at Mannerly's apartment, I showed him a missing arm didn't affect my ability to give head. I think he liked me.
It wasn't long before I was driving his car, drinking his champagne, and transferring large sums from his Swiss Bank Account. The vaccine was recovered and all was well.
As for my beloved Fox, well, my new boss gave me a little present for him. Soon, I was kissing him again and all was well.
I still had to reconcile with my darling Walt, but things were looking up. I knew my boss was working on a way to get under his skin, to get to the heart of him, and bring him to his knees in front of me.
It just goes to show you. Good deeds and pretty eyes will get you anywhere you have to go."
David read the little story again and then moved onto the other vignettes. Each of the sentimental tales had little details that chilled David to the core. He looked at his clients and said, "I'm not sure if I'm the right man for the campaign. Frankly, are there enough assassins to provide a real market for this book?"
Just as a click like a gun safety being released sounded in the room, Frank came back. The entire front of his shirt and suit pants had been splashed with water. A few shreds of paper towel clung to the front of the trousers as if Frank had to scrub at something staining them. He looked much drained, but somehow happy.
Frank said, "David, don't worry about the book. All we have to do is print a few hints of the pictures and this book will sell itself."
To the clients, Frank said, "Can I keep this copy?" "Sure, want my autograph in it?" the writer said.
"Oh, yeah, and I wonder if..." Frank whispered something to the man and a chuckle rippled though the room.
"Sure, all three of us? You want us all to autograph them?" Love- Jones asked.
David had just glanced at the stories. Now, he turned to the illustrations that separate each short piece. Damn, Love-Jones hadn't quite posed nude, but each picture revealed a startling beautiful body, sometime accompanied by his partners in equal undress.
A deep quavering sigh from Margo told David all he needed to know. The pictures alone would over-come the challenges of the text and subject. Looking up, he saw his clients were signing not only the book, but also Frank's shorts, still stretched over his plump quivering bottom. A moan of joy erupted from Frank's throat and he said, "Oh, David, Oh David!" as Love-Jones took his time with an elaborate signature and inscription.
"What, Frank?" David asked. He had to have a talk with both of his partners!
"I just had the most fabulous idea for a raffle to promote this book..."
Frank's Happy End!
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
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