Rated: Adults Only Really, really! Detailed porn ahead and I blasphemed some Shakespeare quotes
Pairing: M/K Slash
Spoilers: Let's say, season 5, a bit of One Father/Two Sons and then porn, I mean, AU
Warning: Adult Themes /Slash /Language
Summary: Adventures and a hard won relationship
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All 's Well that Ends Well, 4. 3, William ShakespeareSunday morning and he was on his way to get overpriced coffee and a paper. He'd woken up feeling he could do the Sunday crossword puzzle in ink. Good days like this came rarely, so he dressed and went out into the bright spring morning. Just as he turned the corner and saw the line at the Starbucks, Mulder felt a hand on his shoulder, and at the same moment; he felt the gun in his ribs.
"Coffee first?" He asked in a hopeful voice. His answer was a harder poke in the ribs. "Alright, alright," He muttered.
The hand headed him left and across the street to a black sedan with tinted windows. The door opened and he was chivvied into the back seat, the car door slammed behind him. There was panel between the front and back seats and he could not see the diver. The car started and they were on their way.
He looked around; there was nothing of interest in the back seat. The locks on the doors had been removed and the handles didn't budge. For the moment, he was stuck. He sat back, unwilling to give in to fear, or the fact he's left his cell phone and gun at home, thinking he was only going to be gone fifteen minutes or so. Scully was going through one of her sporadic - I need a life- phases and wouldn't check on him today, or expect to see him for a few days. She was at a conference on Forensic Medicine in Atlanta until Wednesday.
Things had come to a halt after Cassandra Spender's disappearance. Jeffrey was throwing his weight around, accomplishing nothing except getting on everyone's nerves. Diana was acting all sphinx-like and wide-eyed, as if she hadn't been having tte--ttes with the Smoker in her hotel room. He knew that Jeffrey had helped Marita get out of Ft. Marlene, and felt vaguely guilty that he had left her in that state. He hadn't been in time anyway, the majority of the syndicate was ashes, the aliens, rebels and regular, were hidden again. Scully had gone through another almost-abduction injury from unknown perpetrators and had recovered, once more, to deny she had had an epiphany of any kind.
He was in the back seat of an unmarked black sedan, driven by an unknown chauffer and on his way to an unknown location to face god knew what, all on a bright Sunday morning.
All he had wanted was coffee, god damn it.
He tried to relax and guess at the barely visible milestones the car swept past. He knew they were going west on I-66. The mountain caves with the millions of files were near Front Royal, Virginia, and that was straight out I-66, so was Skyline Mountain.
The memories crowded in and he didn't like this at all, he tapped on the divide, "Hey!" He said loudly, "Where are you taking me." He wasn't surprised the driver did not answer.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
The car stopped, the driver opened the door, and Mulder thought he would make a run for it, tackle the driver and go. Unfortunately, there were three thugs with rifles waiting as soon as he got out of the car. He didn't recognize any of them, blank faced thugs with itchy trigger fingers weren't at the top of his list for social acquaintances. He walked where they indicated and entered the back door of an innocuous concrete building. He thought he must be in Front Royal. Inside were typical grey industrial carpets and square uncomfortable black chairs in rows of four. He was led around the waiting area and through another door into a wide hallway, here, the carpeting was maroon and the wall had ubiquitous prints of geometrical shapes, all with maroon as the accent color. Through yet another door and things were looking up, a real wood receptionist's desk, blue and grey thick pile carpet and the window blinds were a variety of muted tones, which shut out the sun completely.
Finally, Mulder thought, still refusing to get scared, the door opened and he was led to a seat in front of an antique partner's desk made of mahogany. There was nothing on the desk except for a black phone, a box of notepaper and a pristine blotter edged in leather trim.
The driver cuffed Mulder to the seat and bound his ankles around the legs with several layers of tape, "Hey!" Mulder exclaimed, "You'll ruin the pants." He got no reply. The thugs withdrew; two stood outside the door and one inside, the driver walked away.
"Fucked, fucked, fucked," Mulder thought in a sing-song pattern, "Thoroughly, Fucked." About ten minutes elapsed; just long enough for Mulder to feel his feet go numb, before he heard the sound of approaching feet. He tried to guess who was coming, he didn't believe for a moment that the Smoker was dead, no matter how much blood had been by his chair. He hadn't seen Krycek since the night in his apartment, although he heard Jeff Spender mention that he had been at Ft. Marlene, which meant Krycek hadn't been at the Bar-B-Q. He hadn't seen the Brit for a long time, maybe it was him.
The man who appeared was a stranger, short, squat and in a checked suit, he looked like a used car salesman. Nevertheless, Mulder did not underestimate him, he'd abducted Mulder successfully on a busy street and in broad daylight, the man knew his stuff.
The man sat and adjusted the blotter an infinitesimal eighth of an inch. He sat back and folded his hands on his rotund stomach. He smiled at Mulder, it was not an expression of pleasure, and Mulder felt a chill go up his spine.
"I am a careful man, Agent Mulder." The man said in a bland, toneless voice. "There has been a considerable increase in the price on your head lately. That interested me." The man paused, licked his rather dry thick lips, and waved at one of the thugs. After a moment, the thug brought in a cup of coffee on a tray. Mulder smelled the aroma covetously. The man blew on the coffee and took a sip.
"Why, I wondered, did a troublemaking Fibbie rate such a large reward?" The man shrugged and took another sip of coffee. Mulder felt as if his throat was as dry as the Sahara. "You're superiors think you are a pain in the ass, your direct line of command, Assistant Director Skinner, fights a constant battle to keep your division funded. You're lovely partner is routinely out of patience with you and you are in the hospital every other week with an injury, mostly to your hard head"
The man put down the coffee, sat forward, and put both hands down on the desk. "Regardless, you have an ever-changing coterie of rather powerful types watching your every move. I want to know why, Agent Mulder. If your answers are satisfactory, you might live to get that cup of coffee you wanted so badly this morning."
The man picked up his coffee, sat back, and smiled in the same repellant way as before.
"Who are you?" Mulder asked belligerently.
The man clucked, "No, no, no, Agent Mulder. That's not the way to win friends and influence people, you know."
"You are committing a federal crime, kidnapping an agent. You could get the death penalty."
The man smiled, the more he smiled, the more Mulder hated it. "We are merely having a conversation, more at my convenience than yours, I confess, but that hardly adds up to a federal offence. Besides, Agent Mulder, who are you going to tell?"
Mulder gritted his teeth, the man was too smooth to rattle, and Mulder had no doubt the man could have him killed, collect his reward, and move on without another thought.
"Good," The man said as if a whole conversation had taken place while Mulder sat silently. He opened the desk draw and withdrew a thick file. He flipped it open and Mulder could see the edge of a photo of him and Scully crossing a street, their overcoats fluttering behind them.
"The lovely and talented Agent Scully," The man drawled and licked his lips. Mulder shuddered. "Such a shame, a lovely woman like her spending her life up to her elbows in blood and guts. Doesn't seem right, does it?" He asked rhetorically. He flipped another page. Mulder could see it was a picture of him and Krycek running into Union Station in New York, years ago. "An interesting young man," The man said, tapping the picture. "Of Russian descent, so I am told. He seems to collect the same enemies as you have, Agent Mulder." The man paused, smiled again, "It makes me wonder why the two of you aren't a team."
He flipped the page again, it was a picture of Skinner, sitting at his desk, glasses on and looking solemn. "Such a tough paper pusher," The man positively smirked this time. "And yet, so vulnerable, keeping to his rigid schedule, coming and going at the same time every morning and every evening. He could step off a curb and never be seen again, much like you, Agent Mulder." The man said without a trace of a smile and Mulder felt the chill emanating from the man keenly.
The man closed the file and folded his hands, waiting for Mulder to speak.
Mulder thought quickly, the man knew some things and not others. That was helpful. On the other hand, the man had resources Mulder knew nothing about. That he was a criminal of some kind was obvious. But what exactly was he? The whole setup smelled. The syndicate had no reason to put a price on his head, he was always easy enough to get to and if they wanted him dead, they could send any number of underlings to do it, look how easily Krycek frequented his apartment.
Mulder sat up straighter in his chair; he donned his best bland look and said, "If you know that much, then you know where I am assigned and what I do is look into cases, which otherwise, are passed over or left unsolved by other divisions and agents. In addition, I happen to believe that many solutions to crimes and other mysteries can be found in what is labeled as the paranormal, and dismissed by most other experts in law enforcement. A long time ago, I began to believe that a supra-governmental organization had made contact and were working with alien beings. I concluded that their aims were hostile and I have been attempting, ever since, to prove my theories are true. Along the way to this end, I have become a target of this organization. They routinely try to undermine my theories, interfere with what proof I find and threaten me. As a result, I grow more positive that I am on the right track and that they have this, as well as many other secrets, to hide."
Mulder took a breath, the man sat quietly, seemingly unresponsive, but still listening. "You say that there is a price on my head, like a bounty, for capturing or killing me. I cannot believe this is true. The organization is vast and powerful, if they wanted me gone, they would have no problem whatsoever in doing it themselves."
When he finished, Mulder relaxed. The man tapped his stomach and stared, unblinking, at Mulder. "Ha!" The man said sharply. "You expect me to believe this nonsense; aliens, and poltergeists? If you were only another nut-case, you would attract little attention, Agent Mulder. You have touched a nerve somewhere, Agent, and not with little green men. I think you are hiding something." The man waved his hand, "But, I am a patient man and you 'will' tell me what I want to know sooner or later." The man signaled to the thug at the door. Mulder had forgotten he was there. Immediately a gun poked him as one of them cut through the tape on his ankles.
"Let's go," The thug with the gun said in an undertone, eyeing the fat man warily.
Mulder rose, his feet sending sharp tingles to his brain as sensation returned. Without another word, he was led away, down the hallway and the stairs and into a room, divided into three cells with small, narrow, barred windows. He was shoved into the first cell and the gate was locked behind him.
The thugs left, Mulder lay on the cot and stared at the ceiling. Another day, another anonymous cell, life as usual in Mulder Country. He closed his eyes and thought about coffee and a Danish. # # # # # # # # # # Monday afternoon, and the game was on, a double header, Red Sox vs. Cubs. Krycek always bet on the Cubs. They never won, but they never stopped trying, their fans were the most loyal in the league and he was Chicagoan, born and bred.
Krycek surveyed the small coffee table, sandwiches, several kinds of chips, peanuts, and a six-pack of beer in a cold case. He was set for the afternoon.
He closed the blinds, shutting out the sunshine; he'd gone for a run earlier and enjoyed the sun then. Things were quiet, for once. Spender was off somewhere recovering from a gunshot wound, most of the others were dead, and he had no immediate assignment. Krycek spent a moment wishing the bastard had died. He shrugged, someday the old man would get what he deserved, and Krycek hoped it hurt a lot more than a gunshot wound
He picked a few more pillows off the bed in the other room and threw them on the couch. As a token to civility, he brought a roll of paper towels and added it to the stuff on the table.
He checked his cell phone once more; there were no messages. The door was locked and chained, his gun was on the end table, and the game was starting. He ate Cheetos during the National Anthem and started on the sandwiches during the first inning.
The Cubs were up two to zero, they often went ahead early only to squander the lead later, when the phone rang. It was the landline, so he knew it was Mr. Whitehurst. The Brit had no appreciation for American sporting events. Krycek muted the TV and answered the phone, "Yeah?"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Krycek," The old man said in his dry voice. "I trust you are not seriously occupied."
Krycek thought of the replies he would like to make, but said, "What's up?"
The old man harrumphed, "It seems our friend, Agent Mulder, had gotten himself in hot water."
Krycek sighed. It was becoming his lot in life to baby-sit Mulder. "So?" Krycek answered with a wealth of weariness in his voice.
"Meet me at the usual place, Mr. Krycek." Whitehurst said. "I'll brief you there."
Krycek hung up, glanced longingly at his feast and the action on the TV, and put the beer back in the refrigerator. In the bedroom, he attached the prosthesis and grabbed a coat, lightweight summer wool, roomy enough to hide the arm and his gun. He pulled on his boots, fetched his guns, one from the drawer and the other from the end table, and locked the door behind him.
The game wasn't on the radio, so he listened to the Braves instead and waited for the announcers to mention scores from other games. He drove to the Four Seasons Hotel, took the elevator to a sixth floor conference room, which was on permanent rental to the Whitehurst. The old man had similar spaces all over the world; Krycek had seen several, although he had never been invited to stay at the hotels.
He nodded to the bodyguard standing by the door and went in. The old man was already there, a tea tray in front of him and a half filled cup in his hand. "You made good time, Mr. Krycek." The old man said.
"You called, I came," Krycek replied with an edge to his voice.
"Indeed," Said Whitehurst. "Sit down," he pointed to a chair opposite him. He did not offer tea.
Krycek sat, and had to make an effort to keep from banging the tea tray on the old man's head. Only the surety that he would never make it to the street alive stayed his hand.
The old man smiled as if he knew Krycek's thoughts.
Krycek didn't like the smile at all, it gave him the creeps, only bad news could follow.
"Hmmm," Whitehurst began, as if he didn't know exactly what he was going to say.
Krycek held on to his patience, the old man always farted around first.
"Mr. Mulder came to the attention of a particularly unfortunate gentleman." Whitehurst looked at Krycek from under his heavy white brows. "This gentleman seems to think that Mr. Mulder has a substantial price on his head and a contract out to do away with him.
Krycek clicked his teeth; the old man paused. "You have something to say?" Krycek shook his head.
"He is being held in a rather fine detention area. He is alive, for the moment. I have endeavored to send a message to his captor informing him that he has made a mistake. I doubt the man will agree to let Mr. Mulder go. I will, of course, pay the ransom, but I would like to insure that Mulder is returned with a heartbeat."
Krycek rolled his eyes, the old man was more verbose than usual, maybe it was because Spender was out of the picture, and he felt he could be expansive.
"This is where you come in, Mr. Krycek. You will check out the situation and inform me of Mulder's exact state of health. If all is well, you will deliver the ransom and escort Mr. Mulder back to Alexandria."
Krycek nodded. Check out the situation meant going in covertly first, liberating Mulder if he could and only then, inform Whitehurst. For a multimillionaire, he was a cheap bastard and would try to find a way around paying the ransom if he could. Unlike the Smoker, he did not expect Krycek to assassinate everyone at the detention site. While appreciating this fact, it made the job harder in many ways.
Whitehurst spoke again, "Keep it discreet, Mr. Krycek. If Agent Mulder is loath to come away with you, subdue him with the least damage possible."
Krycek nodded again, words were not necessary. Inwardly he sighed, even if the game went into extra innings he would never be done in time. Damn Mulder, the Yankee game wasn't on until ten tonight, since they were playing the Angels in California. Mulder would be home and snug as a bug by then.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Krycek went back to his apartment, his fingers itched to turn on the game, but he resisted. Instead, he loaded a front-facing pack with binoculars, a wire cutter, a set of professional master keys, as well as a lock picking set, an extra extra gun, and several vials of tear gas; he stuffed in two emergency gas masks in case he had Mulder with him when he set them off. Mulder had only been there since yesterday morning, so Krycek didn't think he would be starving or dehydrated yet. He made only one stop on the way, he got a large latte at Starbucks. The caffeine jolt always helped him keep on his toes.
The large concrete building, unremarkable in this part of the city, was his goal. He drove past it once, parked around the corner and made his way carefully from building to building, until he was crouched behind the dumpsters in the alleyway adjacent to it.
Krycek watched as black sedans dropped off or collected men, in ones and twos, all afternoon. He noticed there was a large concrete urn at the end of the sidewalk, just before the entrance of the building. Alex did not see anyone insert passkeys into the urn, so it must be a visual scanner of some kind. He moved his position to see the back door. Here, the security was more apparent, the back door was made of steel, and there were concrete blocks set in a pattern to discourage raids or a car getting close enough to set off a car bomb. The small parking lot was crowded with black sedans. The windows were barred and Krycek could see the lower floor, its small barred windows just above ground level. This must be where Mulder was being housed; it looked like a fortress.
The afternoon was waning and Krycek decided to commandeer a sedan on its way toward the building. Every other vehicle he had seen that afternoon was a truck or a van. He would force the driver to get him by the scanner and enter the building. It was risky in a number of ways, but he did not have the tools or the manpower to break in the back way. He walked down the road, passed several other large buildings, and waited by the sharp turn into the industrial park where the cars had to slow down in order to drive the rest of the way in. He only hoped one fool of a driver smoked and had the driver's side window open.
He waited several hours, letting four vehicles pass by unmolested. The fifth was good to go, he could see the window was open and only one person, the driver, seemed to be in the car. He got closer to the road, stood behind a stack of boxes and waited. He was dressed in black and the evening shadows as well as the stack of boxes would hide him well enough. He ran to the car, timing it to a nicety and ambushed the driver. Unfortunately, the man was made of tougher stuff than Krycek expected and hit the accelerator instead of stopping at the sight of Krycek's gun.
Krycek fired into the man's arm and the man slowed down, driving erratically. Krycek ran to keep up, and this time the gun was enough to make the man stop. Krycek made the man move over and got in the driver's seat. Inwardly he cursed; having one arm in this situation was a bummer. He needed two, one to keep the driver at gunpoint and the other to drive. But, the driver was writhing around in pain and did not notice Krycek's dilemma. Krycek thought that as tough as the man looked, he was not top of the line hired help or he would have not panicked.
Krycek stopped the car before the approach to the building; he pointed the gun at the man's groin and told him what to do. The man, sweating and in pain, gasped out that he would do it and get Krycek inside. Krycek took a moment to think, this was too easy, there must be back-up waiting at the door. He decided to use the man as a shield once they were past the urn.
It went according to plan; the first step into the lobby was a surprise. It was painted in a deep blue with white trim, colonial era furnishing scattered here and there. On either side of the door were plinths with the heads of Washington and Jefferson. Krycek made it three steps into the foyer, the thug in front of him, before he felt a sting in his right calf. As he passed out, he realized the column of the Washington bust was large enough for a man to sit in and guard the door. He felt the injured thug kick him as he fell.
Krycek came back to consciousness on a couch. Immediately, he knew he was screwed. His prosthetic arm was gone, along with his pack, gun, and boots. He hated it when captors took his boots, it meant he would eventually have to walk or run over tough ground barefoot. It also meant he would have to get another pair of boots. He opened his eyes slowly, looking through his lashes first. A rotund man in a checkered suit, he looked like a used car salesman, and not someone who would decorate a concrete pile with colonial era accouterments, was sitting patiently in a deep armchair. There was a tray of tea and cakes on the table nearby.
Krycek swallowed dryly, he could go for a cup of tea himself. The man swung his feet slightly; they barely touched the ground. He smiled when Krycek caught his eye. Krycek did not smile back. "Capital!" The man said happily. "You're awake."
Krycek rolled his eyes, this was going to be slow going if the man made obvious statements.
"You are here to liberate Mr. Mulder." The man stated. Krycek did not respond.
"I knew you would be sent after him," The man was practically rubbing his hands together in glee. Krycek wondered why the man was so happy. He knew from experience that happy was often a precursor to deranged when it came to mobsters and scientists.
Krycek sat up; he could practically taste whatever drug had been in the dart and looked at the tea longingly before he could mask his expression. The man poured the tea, sugared it liberally, and took a sip. Krycek almost moaned.
"Mr. Mulder has come to no harm," The man began. "He refuses to tell me what I want to know. Otherwise, I assure you, I would have sent him home."
Krycek raised an eyebrow. Sure, he thought, send him home in a body bag, more likely.
"Really," The man smiled, "I would have."
The more the man smiled, the more Krycek knew he was in deep shit. He sat up straighter.
"I know certain parties keep an eye on Mr. Mulder, so I was sure they would check out this situation and here you are." The man beamed.
"Tell me, Mr. Krycek, why is Mr. Mulder so valuable?"
Krycek shrugged, "I follow orders," He said, "I don't ask why."
"No, no, no," The man chided, "Don't give me the run-a-round. I know who you are and what you have done. You have been a shadow on Mr. Mulder's lighted path, always there if often unseen. And it's cost you," He said slyly, looking at Krycek's left side.
"Who the hell are you?" Krycek asked irritably.
The man smiled and Krycek felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. This man was a dark creature, despite his affability. Krycek knew dark when he met it. He snapped his mouth closed and glared.
The man shook his head, "Stubborn, the both of you. Well, we'll take this up again in the morning." He signaled and two thugs came in, rifles aimed at his head, Krycek rose and followed one, the other at his back. The tile floor downstairs was cold through his socks.
He was led through a door into a room with three cells, Mulder was lying on the cot in the first one, and Krycek was shoved into the one next to it, the bars locked behind him.
Mulder turned over and looked, "Oh, great." He said in a toneless voice and turned away.
Krycek, unseen, shot him a bird and lay down.
Silence reigned.
A few hours later, the door opened. Three guards, one holding a tray in each hand, entered. With rifles held on them, the guard slipped the trays beneath the bottom bar and took a step back. "Eat," He said.
The three guards left.
Krycek waited a moment to see if they would return, and when they did not, he got off the bunk and took the tray. Beneath the plastic cover, there were several PB&J sandwiches and a carton of orange juice. "Just like mom used to make," He muttered and heard Mulder stifle a snort.
Mulder collected his tray and still silent, they ate.
There was nothing on the tray to use to help them get out of the cells. Krycek rattled the bars and sat down again. He hated being locked up and wondered where his arm and weapons were. He knew Whitehurst wouldn't expect to hear from him for a few more hours and if he thought Krycek had been captured or was dead, it wouldn't matter. He would negotiate to get Mulder released and leave him to rot.
Mulder got up and used the toilet in his cell; it flushed automatically. Then, Mulder paced. Krycek listened and stared at the wall by his bed. He had nothing to say to Mulder and obviously, Mulder had nothing to say to him.
Shortly afterwards, the lights went out.
Neither man slept a lot, both attentive to the sounds in the building and each other. In the morning, the guards and another tray came. This time it was scrambled eggs, four pieces of toast, more orange juice, and a cup of black coffee.
Mulder said, "Coffee, at last."
Krycek shrugged, it had nothing to do with him.
The morning wore on without another word or a reappearance of the guards. Eventually, Mulder broke the silence. "Why are you here, Krycek?" He asked suspiciously.
Krycek answered honestly, he told Mulder the truth much more often than Mulder believed. "A man we both know sent me to liberate you. I was captured. End of story."
"The same man as before?" Mulder asked.
"Yeah," Krycek answered.
"He's the boss now?"
Krycek shrugged. "He's the one around these days. There aren't too many of them left on this side of the world."
"Yeah," Mulder said, but there was no regret in his tone of voice. "Why does he care?"
Krycek sighed; Mulder was full of questions today. "You must know by now that the old men want you alive. I don't know why and they have never enlightened me. The Smoker once said it was so you would not become a martyr and bring more attention to the alien believers and thus, eventually, to him. Otherwise, no one has said a word."
"But, he's tried to kill me himself! Several times, in fact." Mulder said robustly.
Krycek turned to face Mulder, "Like I understand their logic? I told you before; they make it up as they go along. Today the Brit wants you alive, tomorrow is another story." Mulder narrowed his eyes and stared at Krycek. Krycek stared back, not intimidated at all.
"Fine," Mulder said in a growl.
"Fine," Krycek answered just as roughly.
Silence reigned again.
Eventually Mulder asked, "You lost your arm in Russia?"
Krycek nodded, and added nothing.
"I avoided the same fate," Mulder said chattily.
"Bully for you." Krycek answered.
Mulder sneered, Krycek glowered, and the guards and lunch came together.
Krycek paced, another day half gone and Whitehurst would be wondering what had happened. He didn't trust anyone, let alone Whitehurst, not to be the ultimate master of this particular game. He tried to think of reasons why he would want Mulder in custody and came up empty. Unless he had masterminded it, there had to be a spy in here somewhere or Whitehurst would have never known Mulder was here in the first place. It could be any of the guards, with their blank faces; they had been to the same school of hard knocks as he had attended. There could be dozens of other people in the building, maybe more. So, he had nothing. He rattled the bars again, it didn't help anything, but it made him feel better.
He sat down, frustrated.
"Do you know who is running this operation?" Mulder asked.
Krycek shook his head, "He looks like a used car salesman more than any kind of instigator I have ever met."
Mulder actually grinned. Krycek turned away; he wasn't going to be taken in by Mulder. He'd been down that road before and it wasn't a healthy place for him to go. Damn, but he'd had a Jones for Mulder that fall when they had worked together. He hadn't been prepared for it at all, and he fell hard. Not that it could have ended any other way. He'd been the Smoker's creature by then, hemmed in by circumstances and secrets. There was no way to put Mulder in the picture, let alone show Mulder his real feelings. He'd seen death all around him, the computer genius, old Mulder, and others. He hadn't wanted to risk Mulder, or his own life, so he'd stayed silent and done what he had to do. Then the Smoking bastard had double-crossed him and he'd been on the run, more or less, ever since.
"I thought so," Mulder said. "I can't place him, he's not in my files, or memory and he's such a cold fish, I would have kept him in mind."
Krycek almost smiled, Mulder's description, and his own observations matched. They could have been a hell of a team. Krycek nodded, which Mulder took for agreement.
"Nothing he said made sense, yet it was laced with threats. I can't understand how he got his wires crossed so badly." Mulder went on.
Krycek spent a moment being amazed, where was Mulder's vitriol, even under these conditions, he had expected nothing better. The urge to continue the discussion, just to keep Mulder talking to him was strong. "I don't know; he seems to want an answer to why there is a price on your head. I've never heard there 'was' such a thing, so I have no idea. Have you pissed off the mafia lately or a drug cartel?"
Mulder scratched his head, which Krycek thought was sort of endearing and immediately shut the lid on such thoughts. "No, I've been on manure duty under Kersh and the only people I've pissed off are a couple of pig farmers and a chicken ranch."
"No, shit?" Krycek said ironically.
Mulder chuckled, "Totally shit." He answered.
Alex allowed himself to smile. It felt odd on his face. Mulder must have thought so too, because he got serious again, "I've worked a lot of cases that made enemies, especially in the past when I was a profiler at the B.S.U. But, most of those guys are dead or in jail and their families have moved on. Serial killers don't generate a lot of love or devotion. So, I haven't the foggiest notion who is out for my blood."
Krycek shrugged.
Mulder shrugged too.
They lapsed into silence, but this time it was agreeable.
"Maybe it's about one of the X Files," Krycek said after a while.
Mulder chewed his lip. "Which one?" He said softly to himself and lay down on the bunk to think.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
The afternoon passed, Krycek was getting itchy: itchy for information, for something to happen, for a shower and a change of clothes. He looked at his toes, he'd taken off the socks during the night, because they made his feet sweat as he slept. They were okay toes, unlike his arms, there was nothing missing, misshapen or strange. It was a comfort, although a small one. Mulder still had his socks on, but Krycek admired his lean form on the other bed. Krycek thought his epitaph should read, Missed Opportunities, not that there was anyone who would care enough to buy him a headstone.
He felt a familiar black mood descend on him, not surprising as he was confined once again without weapons or a plan. He wanted his arm back, and he did not mean the prosthesis. He wanted his life back. He hadn't really made much of a start on one before Spender had taken him on, but it had been pleasant enough.
He wondered what Mulder would say if he started talking about his life. Mulder only saw black and white, and he was all black. He supposed he could see Mulder's side, except Mulder was no white angel either. He'd lied and cheated to get his way on the X Files. He'd consorted with bad men to get a leg up on the syndicate. Krycek knew it was in the motivation where Mulder was clean. Mulder wanted justice. Krycek had wanted to advance quickly, to be important, and to show the uncle who'd raised him that he was strong. Before she'd died, his mother had told him he was strong and capable. She'd said he needed to understand that and never let her older brother beat it out of him. She worried every moment until she died, because she had no other place to leave him.
His uncle had been too strong, however, and had beaten out everything his mother had nurtured in him. His cousins, older than him, had followed his lead and made his life hell at school and on the street. There had never been a friend who had managed to remain on his side for long. There had been a few teachers and coaches along the way who had managed to impart something positive. Krycek had treasured their interest and succeeded, with their help, to get to a good college and away from his uncle. He'd liked college, and was able to spot the bullies and loudmouths, staying clear of their sway. But, he'd grown inpatient when he was at the academy, he'd thought all the attention to politics, patrimony and positioning was a waste of time. All he had wanted was to be in the field and make a difference there.
He stared at his toes and shook his head; he'd been so nave and hungry for approval. When Spender had approached him, he'd fallen head first into the old man's plans. Seeing in those plans, the chance to be noticed, as well as a way to get into the action sooner.
Then, Mulder had happened to him, brilliant, mercurial Mulder, chomping at the bit to know more: for answers to the unanswerable, for allegiance and faith that demanded too much. Krycek had failed, not because he had chosen the easier path, but because he hadn't chosen Mulder's.
He watched Mulder nap. Did Mulder still feel like a young man with a hopeful future? Had Mulder ever felt that way? Krycek did not, he felt a hundred years old, jaundiced and without hope, without faith in anything.
Mulder stirred as if he knew he was being watched. He turned over and met Krycek's gaze. "I can't think of anyone with the resources to manage all this. Sure, I've pissed off a lot of people along the way, but no one who couldn't just put a gun to my head and pull the trigger if they wanted me gone."
"Do you ever wish you could simply say, 'fuck it' and move on?"
Mulder sat up. If he was startled by the change in the conversation, he didn't show it. "Every damn day, Krycek, every damn day."
Krycek smiled, he should have known Mulder was honest with himself.
Mulder shrugged his shoulders, looking a little lost. "And you?"
Krycek leaned back against the wall; he wiggled his toes and took comfort that they were all there. "Every damn day." He replied.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Late in the afternoon, the guards came into the room dragging a large chair. They set it up, added a small table, the ubiquitous tea tray on it, and left. A few moments later, the short man entered. Today he was wearing a black and white pinstriped suit and looked like an undertaker. He sat down, fussily laid a napkin on his lap, and poured himself some tea. He looked from one man to the other and said, Good afternoon, gentlemen."
Neither Mulder nor Krycek replied. The man smiled and drank a sip of tea.
"You will be relieved to know there have inquires about your disappearance." He said and it wasn't clear whom he was addressing. He ate a piece of Danish.
Into the ensuing silence, the man cleared his throat, swallowed more tea, and said. "Today is Tuesday. The lovely Dr. Scully returns on the nine thirty flight to Dulles this evening." He glanced at Mulder, "I am sure she is dying to see you Agent Mulder, after her long week-end away."
When Mulder didn't respond, he went on, "No doubt she has a slew of new theories to share, maybe she brought you a T-shirt." He smiled at his own joke. No one else did.
"Your value increases, Agent Mulder. It's getting hard to resist, even for a man blessed with more than his share of worldly goods." He lowered his eyes modestly, fooling no one.
Leaving the bullshit behind, he stared straight at Krycek, "You," he said, with a short shoofly wave of his hand. "You, it seems, Mr. Krycek, are expendable."
When neither man replied, the man frowned, "Really, all I'm asking is for a little cooperation. Surely leaving the discomfort of these cells is worth that."
Again, Mulder and Krycek were mute.
The man rattled his cup in the saucer. His face, no longer smiling or smug, was ugly and grotesque, which revealed what he really was. He stood, signaled for the guards, one came in. "Do you have it?" The man asked.
"Yes, sir," The guard said and took out a small device; it had wires with small, sharp plugs at the ends.
"Go ahead," The man said and stepped back.
The guard aimed the device at Krycek and pressed a trigger-like button. The wires flew out, between the bars, towards Krycek, two of them landing in his chest. Immediately, there was the crackle of electricity and Krycek fell to his knees. The guard pressed the button again and this time, Krycek screamed and fell backwards.
The man looked to Mulder, saw he was silent, shrugged, and pointed his finger. Once more, the guard activated the device. Krycek jerked once more and passed out, a thin line of blood dripping from his nose and between his lips.
"I don't have an answer," Mulder yelled.
The man sat down. The guard retracted the leads and turned the device off. "Of course you do," the man said.
"Really," Mulder said, "I don't."
"You are Fox Mulder, son of the former State Department official, William Mulder? You had a sister who went missing and is presumed dead, twenty-odd years ago? You investigated, arrested, and imprisoned Johnny 'Journeyman' Jackman, the brutal serial killer, among many others?" The man asked rhetorically.
Mulder nodded, he didn't know where this was going. He saw Krycek lick his lips, he hoped Krycek would play possum and listen.
The man smiled, "then you are the man I think you are. But, I knew that already."
Mulder looked blank.
"Who is the man who always has a cigarette in his hand?" The man asked quickly. "He seems to come and go inside the FBI at will, as well as almost anywhere in Washington."
Mulder frowned, what the hell did the Smoker have to do with this?
"I don't know his name," Mulder said with another shrug. "He is a person of interest to the X Files, and has been for years."
The man looked at his manicured nails, "He has been around longer than your term on the X Files. In fact, he was around when William Mulder was at the State Department. Did you know they met regularly at the Bon Ton in Chinatown for egg rolls and Chinese beer?"
Mulder listened, he wasn't surprised by anything other than the length of time this man had been watching. "I didn't know."
"Yes," the man nodded wisely, humor restored, having one up on Mulder.
"For a long time," the man continued, "I was sure he was behind you, keeping you afloat. Lately, I have begun to understand that he is, by no means, the actual head of his organization."
Mulder remained mute. He had no idea what to add to the man's conversation.
"He interfered, Agent Mulder, not once but several times in my business over the years." Mulder looked up, he was sure this was the crux of the matter. Trust it to be the goddamn Smoker in the middle. The man was staring at him intensely. Mulder lowered his eyes. The man harrumphed. "Yes, yes, Agent Mulder. You're sponsor, the man with the cigarette, he's put the ransom on your head, and I want to know why."
"He is not my sponsor," Mulder said, bitterness evident in his voice. 'He has interfered in my business many, many times and is the major roadblock in my work. He has enough power to sway the upper echelons of the FBI and effectively erase most of the evidence I gather. He has never been my sponsor or a help to me in any way. If he has a price on my head, it is only to distance himself from my murder and cover his ass."
The man seemed to consider what Mulder has said. He shook his head, "From what I have noted over the years, hiding behind an assassin is the way he operates. The funny thing, Agent Mulder, is that he was shot recently and the word on the street is that he is dead. And yet, your price goes up."
"I have no idea," Mulder said.
Krycek stirred and the man looked at him. "Still with us, Mr. Krycek?"
Krycek spat blood on the floor, groggily opened his eyes, just a slit, as though the light hurt him. He tried to maneuver himself from the floor onto the bed, but couldn't manage to do it. Mulder felt an odd, yet overwhelming wish to give him a hand.
"Nevertheless," The man said, bring Mulder's attention back to him. "Someone in that organization wants you very badly."
Mulder, realizing he'd never actually asked this question, did so now, "Dead or Alive?" He queried.
The man blinked.
Mulder kept this small victory to himself, his mind racing. Alive was an entirely different kettle of fish. The logic of contracting his abduction outside of the syndicate made no sense, but getting him alive, without a trace, was something he thought any of the surviving SOBs might enjoy.
Krycek cleared his throat, Mulder panicked. The last thing he needed was Krycek actually telling the man anything, especially the truth, whatever it was.
The man looked at Krycek eagerly. Krycek subsided, spit some more blood on the floor, and rubbed his chest.
The man stood up, the guards immediately at his side. "Tomorrow is another day, gentlemen." He said. "Perhaps some company will help loosen your tongues.
Mulder leapt up, "Leave Scully alone," He threatened. "She doesn't know anything."
The man smiled and left the room.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
As soon as the man left, Krycek began to cough and gag. Mulder got a glass of water and passed it through the bars. Krycek's hand was shaking and he spilled a great deal of the water, but managed to swallow a few sips. Gasping, he hauled himself onto the bed and lay down with a weary sigh.
Mulder watched him; his usual distant pleasure in seeing Krycek suffer became a sudden wish to say he was sorry for what happened. He pinched himself and remembered his priorities. He had to get out of here; had to stop Scully from being taken or harmed, file a report and get the FBI computer jockeys working on the man's identity, and see the Gunmen, who could do it faster. Krycek had no place in any of these plans and could not be trusted to go along, if they managed to get out together. Again, Mulder felt that unusual tug in his gut; he turned away, watching Krycek get his breath back only made it worse.
Krycek considered what he had heard. Maybe his idea that the Brit was behind all of it wasn't so far off base. The old bastard had preached less violence to the Smoker on many occasions, but he'd been in charge of some of the bloodiest experiments, which accounted for legions of dead over the years.
The Smoker must have really stepped on the man's activities, not that it surprised Krycek. The Smoker was happiest when he was fucking someone over, whether they knew it or not.
He tried to breathe slowly; his heart was still racing from the electrical charges. He'd been shocked before and knew, in a few minutes, his guts would turn to water and he would shit his brains out before the effects were over. Mulder had turned away from him. Krycek shrugged, it wasn't like Mulder to be squeamish, but maybe cooking human flesh in front of him made him uncomfortable. Holding the pillow to his chest, Krycek made it to the toilet and had no more time to psychoanalyze Mulder. Consumed with misery, he hugged the pillow and waited for his body to settle down.
Mulder felt his gorge rise. No one, he thought, could help but identify with what Krycek was suffering. He glanced out of the corner of his eye. Krycek was crushing a pillow, pale and sweaty, with his eyes closed, while he rocked on the john. So, he's human, Mulder thought, as if he'd forgotten.
They sat. Krycek once more off the toilet and on his bunk and Mulder on his. Krycek, too exhausted to wrack his brains tonight, floated on a haze of weakness and relief. It was getting harder and harder to come back from physical harm without a time out. He must be getting old, or at least, worn enough to need recuperation between events. For the first time, he thought about retiring from the deadly arena he played in. He had money enough to last him for the rest of his life, no matter how lavishly he lived. He wanted to see a resolution before he disappeared for good. The Smoker needed to be sent to Hell, the aliens and their rebel counterparts needed to be reduced to massive puddles of green goop and the advances the aliens had brought to medicine and science needed to be made available to everyone. He didn't much care how any of this was accomplished. He had no thirst for justice or acknowledgement, or for the world to know aliens had been around for generations. Whatever his hang-ups from his youth were, he'd survived them many times, and his uncle's abuse had been overcome by so many more expert than he had been.
Krycek yawned. He was grateful for Mulder's presence, hostile or not. At least he wasn't alone this time at the bottom of a silo or in a snowy woods bleeding half to death. He must be getting old, his eyes shut and he let sleep take over. Mulder was there; he would warn him if a gang of peasants came to chop anything else off.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Mulder hardly slept. He paced and tried to think of a way out. Nothing came to mind. The man wanted information, the Smoker was at the core of it, and Mulder had nothing to offer. It didn't make sense, none of it. The man could never let him or Krycek go. They had seen his face and could identify him. Not that Krycek would go to the police, but Mulder intended to see that the man spent a long, lonely life in jail. He already wore stripes, prison ones would look fine.
Krycek woke early; the small windows were barely turning from black to the gray of dawn. Mulder was staring at the windows. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all. Slowly, aching in every joint, Krycek got a glass of water and drank thirstily. He thought longingly of a long, hot bath, a cold beer, and something soothing on the radio.
He wanted to tell Mulder not to worry; Scully was savvy enough these days to avoid capture. It wasn't really true, anyone could be gotten to any time and Mulder would only tell him to fuck off and take his sympathy with him.
Breakfast came; the same guards were on duty. Mulder though they must live in or nearby. He could feel Krycek waiting for the guards to make a mistake; he was waiting too. They didn't, serving the meal like good, careful drones.
The guards came back an hour later, this time they came in a force of eight. They cuffed Mulder and put a gun to his head. They did the same to Krycek. They were walked out of the room and down a hallway to a bathroom with fixtures for several showers. Mulder could smell chlorine, as if a pool was on the other side of the bathroom.
He and Krycek were ordered to undress, and when they refused, the guards did it for them, painfully bending arms, and necks until the two were naked. The guards, to their credit, did not make any remarks; they simply turned on two showerheads and forced Mulder and Krycek beneath them.
Mulder couldn't help having a moment of relief, the warm water felt so good and he was so tired that he began to drift in the cloud of steam. Krycek actually groaned aloud and Mulder almost smiled. If it felt good to him, then Krycek must be in seventh heaven washing off the effects of the day before.
The guards stood quietly by, not hurrying them. They did not chatter or grow restless. Mulder wished the teams he'd worked with at the FBI had been so well trained. Washed and done, he looked at Krycek. He was willing to stand in the shower for a while longer if the other man needed more time. It was the first time he saw the truncated arm. Next to the otherwise good-looking body, it was an insult. Mulder thought Krycek's body would show his misspent life written on it in scars and other wear and tear. But, it was a fine physique, strong, with pale skin and unexpected freckles. His chest was hairless and without being sculpted, his abs and legs were muscular.
For the first time in their acquaintance, Mulder wondered about Krycek's private life. Had Krycek a family? Did he have a wife, children, or a dog? Seeing him naked, simply another human man, strong and frail at the same time, brought home to Mulder how much he had pigeonholed Krycek as nothing more than a conscienceless killer and boot-licker to the Smoker.
Krycek surprised Mulder; catching him staring, Krycek stared back. They stood as still as statues in the rain, unheeding of the water or the guards, they took stock of each other. Krycek smiled a small half- smile, barely a crook of his lips, but Mulder flushed. Krycek put his head back and let the water rush over his face. Mulder looked down, intending to stare at the drain or his feet, but he saw Krycek's burgeoning erection instead. He quickly turned to the guards and asked for a towel. He thought Krycek probably didn't have a wife after all.
Somehow, the atmosphere in the cells was different after their showers. True, they were given clean sheets and remade the beds, lunch came and went, and they settled down to wait and see what the mysterious man came up with today.
Mulder was restless, he tried to tell himself it was because Scully was possibly in danger and that, by now, Skinner would be expecting him. The moment in the shower stayed on his mind. He had no idea why he was so shocked to learn that Alex Krycek might very well be gay. But, he was shocked. He found it difficult to wrap his mind around the idea that this dangerous and tough man was gay. For all the considering Mulder had done about Krycek over the years, not once had he imagined Krycek's sexuality to be anything out of the ordinary. Not that being gay meant a man was a sissy or anything, Mulder tried to reassure himself, he wasn't prejudiced or anything. .
Mulder sat on his newly made bed and considered his feelings. Once, oh, years and years ago, when he was alone at Oxford, drunk on one too many pints of Guinness, he'd watched a fellow student closely. The boy had been blond, slender, and charmingly fey. At least, Mulder had thought so over the rim of his glass. He'd walked back to his dorm, wondering what it would be like if the boy was walking with him. In the quiet and dark of Oxford's ancient street, he thought it would have been nice to walk with that boy, holding hands and hustling each other into shadowed corners, kissing and aroused. It hadn't felt strange until he was alone in his room, unmade bed and unwashed laundry piled on the floor. Then, he had panicked, just a little, but enough to look at the photos of his mother and father and flush guiltily.
He had flushed just that way, all these years later, in the shower with Krycek. For a very brief moment, Krycek's response to his look had felt right, normal, and exciting.
He hadn't thought about that night in all the intervening years. There was nothing odd or unnatural about a momentary crush on someone of the same sex. It happened to a large percentage of the population of both genders during those hormone ridden and uncertain years. Now- a-days they even had a name for it, metrosexuality.
Mulder looked at Krycek, and found that Krycek was looking at him, that same small, certain smile on his lips. Mulder was determined not to flush, but he did anyway.
"Don't worry, Mulder," Krycek said. Mulder thought his voice was deeper, raspier than before. "This isn't a federal prison in Alabama with a male population and no conjugal visits." He smiled; it was a wicked smile and Mulder was drawn in by its charm.
"I wasn't worried," Mulder said testily.
"Okay," Krycek answered looking at the ceiling and smirking.
"Asshole," Mulder muttered.
Krycek chuckled knowingly.
Mulder turned his back and looked in the other direction.
The day wore on, Mulder alternatively napped and worried while Krycek rested and whistled to himself. Mulder couldn't shake the new awareness he had about Krycek, but he tried to ignore it with all his might.
The man came back, without the rigmarole with his chair and tea. Mulder thought he looked harassed and concerned, but his sly smile was the same. "Mr. Skinner has become concerned by you absence, Agent Mulder. He is trying all the usual channels to find out where you are. It upset him considerably to learn that Mr. Krycek was seen in town during the past few weeks."
The man tugged at the waistline of his pants, "No doubt, he would be pleased to learn Mr. Krycek is behind bars, although the same cannot be said of you." He said with a wink and a nod.
Neither of the men reacted.
The man, letting his frustration show, scowled. "You should enjoy your dinner, gentlemen. It's your last one." The man turned on his heel and left the room.
Both Mulder and Krycek became alert. This had been the most concrete threat so far and they didn't know what the man meant. Dinner came, Krycek smelled his food carefully, picked it apart with his fork, but ate none of it. Mulder, who hadn't thought about poison, did the same.
A little while later, Krycek cursed. "Fuck," he said and held up his hand for Mulder to see. It was covered in blisters. "Poison's on the fork," Krycek said and passed out.
Mulder rushed to wash his hands. He had no blisters and didn't feel ill. He was worried. Krycek was helpless now and he found he didn't like the idea at all. 'Why should I care,' he repeated endlessly. 'He's a murdering, lying bastard and deserves whatever comes his way.' But, the words sounded hollow and called up no corresponding rage in his heart.
The guards came in; they tied Krycek's legs together and taped his good arm to his torso, making it immoveable. They picked him up and Mulder protested, "What are you doing?" He cried out, "Where are you taking him?"
The guards did not respond, and began to take Krycek out of the room. Suddenly, Krycek flexed his whole body in protest, the guards, taken by surprise dropped him. Krycek rolled over awkwardly. Nevertheless, he was awake and aware. When the guard bent over to lift him up, Mulder could see Krycek grabbed the man's keys with his teeth, turned his head, stared Mulder straight in the eye, winked, and dropped them by his side, making an effort to get them as close to Mulder's reach as possible.
Mulder could hardly believe that none of the guards noticed, but they did not and as soon as they were out the door, Krycek flexing and kicking with both his feet. Mulder used his fork to reach the keys. He unlocked his cell, and decided that the guards, busy with Krycek, would not miss him for some time.
He made his way upstairs, his sense of direction kicking in from when he'd been brought to this place. He saw that the man's office was empty and he went in. He searched the desk and found his wallet, Krycek's wallet, several weapons, and vials of tear gas. He thought the Glock was probably Krycek's. In the bottom drawer, he found two gas masks. Quickly, he scooped them up, tucked the guns at his waist, and put on the mask. He was going to get the hell out of here if he had to gas and shoot everyone in his way.
As he followed the sounds of Krycek thrashing and the guards trying to hold on to him, Mulder realized he wasn't going to leave without the other man, lying, murdering bastard though he was. He cut through the foyer, getting to the end of a corridor before the guards intersected with it. He didn't wait, there were four of them and only one of him, so he shot at their feet as they approached. Once more, they dropped Krycek. Mulder reached out with one hand, shooting with the other and tried to drag Krycek closer. Krycek helped the best he could, scooting like a caterpillar. As soon as he was around the corner with Mulder, Mulder flipped down the gas mask, slapped one on Krycek's face and started throwing gas pellets.
When all was confusion and coughing on the other side of the hallway, Mulder used the letter opener he'd liberated from the desk, to cut through Krycek's bindings. He got Krycek to his feet at the same moment that they heard more guards thundering their way. "Go, go," Krycek pushed Mulder. Mulder went. They ran like hell, heading for the back door, which while it was further away, had the benefit of many cars parked nearby and surely, one of them had keys in the ignition.
They made it to the door when the first shots were fired. They could hear the fat man yelling to get them alive, but the guards had had enough and were shooting to kill. They flew through the back door, Krycek grabbed the letter opener, which was still in Mulder's hand, and jimmied the door open on a black sedan. Even with one hand, he had the wires crossed and the car started in less than sixty seconds. Mulder jumped in the back seat and Krycek gunned the engine, they squealed around the first turn, leaving rubber. Mulder began to fire through the back window, spraying glass everywhere, but there was no time to worry about that. Besides, the gas mask protected his face from the glass.
They took the hard turn, where Krycek had hidden several days before, with no room to spare, scraping the paint off the rear fender and showering their pursuit with sparks.
Krycek drove out into the oncoming traffic, ignoring the red light and swerved in and out, hairsbreadths from other cars, until they were lost in traffic and saw the signs for I-66 East to Washington ahead of them.
Krycek made a U-turn and pulled into a parking lot. "Don't say a word, Mulder," he warned, jumped out of the sedan and hot-wired another car. Mulder only said, "Hot damn, Krycek," and they were off again in a Lexus, going seventy in less that ten seconds.
Krycek took the first exit, slowing down to a sedate pace and made for the alternate country route back to the highway. After he got his breath back, the mask off and whisked the leftover glass from his shirt, Mulder was amazed to recognize the road they were on, Skyline Drive, and the mountain behind them, growing smaller with each mile. He said nothing; fate, it seemed, ruled his life and for the moment, he went with it and made no argument.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Krycek took the more meandering roads, slowly going east. He hoped the Lexus hadn't been reported missing, or that no one had the idea to trace the GPS and find them. After a while, they came to an intersection at the center of a small town, there was a McDonald's drive thru, "Pull in," Mulder said from the back seat. "I found our wallets in the office and grabbed them."
Krycek smiled, "Good thinking," He said amicably.
"I do my best," Mulder said sarcastically, but Krycek could see he was smiling through the rearview mirror.
Waiting for their food, Mulder moved to the front seat, he tossed Krycek's wallet into his lap and said, "Your treat."
"Cheap bastard," Krycek replied, taking out a twenty.
"What happens now?" Krycek asked as they pulled into a parking space under a tree to eat.
Mulder, his mouth full, mumbled, "I need to go home first and get some clothes and shoes. I'll call Scully and make sure she is okay and then go downtown and find Skinner. I want the FBI to get right on that man's case."
Krycek nodded, swallowed his mouthful, "I need to ditch the car, but you should call it in and make excuses to the owner."
Mulder grunted an agreement, his mouth full again, "You have somewhere to go?"
Krycek was struck by Mulder's question. For the past few days, he'd forgotten how much Mulder held against him and now he was asking this. "Yeah," he said gruffly.
"The Brit," Mulder began, "He's in DC?"
"Close enough," Krycek replied, hoping Mulder would lay off the questions so he didn't have prevaricate.
Mulder, interested, began to form another question, met Krycek's curiously pleading eyes, and took a sip of his shake instead.
"You warned me about Weikamp at his request," Mulder said, not quite making it a question.
Krycek nodded.
"Then the resistance stepped up and started torching previous abductees, why?"
Krycek swallowed, "No one knows." He said. "Things are in a state of flux, to say the least."
Mulder nodded, "Cassandra Spender was a successful hybrid, wasn't she?"
Krycek started the car, "Yes," he said briefly. After he backed out of the parking space, he said, "It changes everything."
Mulder frowned and bit into his second sandwich.
Krycek drove east.
At length, Mulder asked, "Is the Smoker dead?"
Krycek glanced at him quickly, and looked back at the road. "He was shot and is recovering somewhere. They haven't told me where."
"Are you going to kill him?" Mulder asked pleasantly.
Krycek smiled, "Now, why would I confess something like that to a federal agent?"
Mulder looked out the window; it was easy, talking to Krycek, as if it was an everyday thing. Mulder shivered, here there be dragons, he thought. Nothing to do with Krycek was an everyday thing. The man was dangerous, too dangerous to take for granted. "Get him before I do," Mulder said in a low voice.
Krycek frowned, "Don't think such foolhardy thoughts, Mulder." He said. "Whacking that bastard isn't worth your career."
Mulder laughed bitterly, "Was it worth yours to do what he asked?"
Krycek bit his lip, and they drove on in silence.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Krycek continued his vague way east, ending up on McLean Road into Arlington, then King Street into Alexandria and Mulder's neighborhood. Krycek stopped outside the Metro Station, "I'll say good-bye here." He stared to get out of the car.
"You don't have any shoes on, Krycek and you're wearing what looks like prison issue. Come to my place, I'll let you wear something more suited to roaming the city."
Krycek sighed, "Why would you do that for me, Mulder? And how do I know you won't arrest me and call Skinner?"
Mulder twiddled his fingers, "You got me the keys, Krycek. Who knows what that lunatic had in mind next? It's only a shirt, a pair of pants and some flip flops, not the crown jewels."
Krycek closed the car door, reversed and made his back onto the street. He knew he was being stupid, but something in him wanted to trust Mulder, to see this adventure to the end without acrimony. It had been such a long time between anything resembling trust or friendship. Or attraction, his mind whispered. Still, he was careful when they approached Mulder's parking lot. Both men scanned the area for anyone who stuck out or for an FBI presence.
No one was there. They made their way to Mulder's apartment, using the stairs instead of the elevator, but no one was in the hall either, and the door was locked. Inside, both men breathed again. Mulder picked up his cell phone, which was sitting innocently on his dining room table next to his gun, and called Scully. She was home, unharmed and full of news. He cut her off and said he would call later. He waved Krycek into his strangely decorated bedroom and opened a chest drawer. He turned to hand Krycek a shirt and saw him gazing at the mirrored waterbed, a bemused look on his face.
"Don't ask me," He said, with a nervous laugh. "I went away for a few days and came home to find it this way."
Krycek grinned, sat on the waterbed, sloshing it and laughed. "Only you, Mulder. Only you."
"Yeah," Mulder said with a grin and sat on the other side of the bed. "It's comfortable; I keep the lights off and ignore the mirror."
Krycek threw him what could only be called a roguish grin and raised his eyebrows. "I bet the image in the mirror is just fine," He said.
Mulder practically jumped off the bed. "Your feet are smaller than mine," He said hurriedly, "Take the flip-flops, they're at the bottom of the closet." He walked quickly out of the room, Krycek's low, mocking laugh, ringing in his ears.
Mulder was opening a bottle of water when Krycek joined him, dressed in a blue long-sleeved t-shirt and a well worn pair of jeans that were just a little too tight and a little too long. Krycek had looped the arm of the t-shirt so it didn't flap where his arm was missing.
In a totally natural and unconscious gesture, Mulder handed Krycek the open water. "Thanks," Krycek said, surprised and pleased. He saluted Mulder with the bottle and said, "I should be on my way." As he reached for the doorknob, he turned towards Mulder. "Watch your back, once the Smoker returns; you will be a prime target again and not just by strange kidnappers. You did me a good turn, I won't forget it."
Mulder reached out, Krycek wasn't sure why he did, but was surprised again when Mulder patted his cheek, "Next time, I read you your rights. Understood?"
Krycek grinned; "Sure, Mulder, anything you say," and he darted forward and kissed Mulder on the cheek.
"Hey!" Mulder yelled.
"See ya," Krycek called as he went out the door.
Once he was gone, Mulder began to laugh. "All's well that ends well," He said aloud and picked up the phone to call Skinner.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Every effort was made to find the man; Mulder looked at thousands of mug shots, read thousands of descriptions, had three different FBI artists draw his picture, and spent every evening with the Gunmen until they told him to go away and meant it. Scully began to call it his lost weekend or, jokingly, say he'd been abducted by an alien posing as a used car salesmen.
Two weeks later and no progress had been made. The building in Front Royal was empty and none of the neighboring business admitted they had ever seen any black sedans or groups of thuggish employees. Mulder had insisted that forensics test every inch of the floor in the room where the cells had been. Krycek had bled and spit on the floors and he hoped for some DNA, there was nothing.
Mulder and Scully were assigned a sensitive detail escorting several royals from a Middle Eastern nation around Washington. The assignment was fraught with dozens of small irritants and Scully took to wearing her oversized coat all the time, because the head of the entourage objected to a woman wearing pants. The younger of the two princes had requested Mulder; he was a science fiction fanatic and a member of several alien believing groups. He tried Mulder's patience to its absolute end as he argued about the science on Star Trek.
As they toured DC and the surrounding countryside, Mulder found himself looking for Krycek. Krycek was a bastard, but at least his conversation wasn't puerile or inane. Mulder held his temper, because it kept Kersh off his back. Kersh hadn't believed a word about the man or the time Mulder had spent as a prisoner and threatened to write a negative report and use it as grounds to fire him.
Mulder grew tired of the bullshit, Scully grew tired of Mulder's negative mood, and Skinner changed his routine in case any of it was real.
A month passed, and because he had been a good boy, Mulder and Scully were allowed to investigate an actual X File. They had to report to Jeffrey Spender and Diana Fowley, but at least they weren't sent along. Mulder's research had turned up a significant anomaly in Wyoming, where dozens of sheep farmers reported that their animal's coats had turned a rusty orange-red color and once sheared, never grew their wool back. Tests on the wool had proved inconclusive, but no amount of washing, bleaching or dyeing made the wool white again.
The senator from Wyoming, who was also the head of the Domestic Intelligence Appropriations Committee, had called upon Kersh to investigate. He sent Mulder and Scully.
Scully put her foot down, she would do tests on the sheep and the wool, but she was not going to the barns where the shearing took place. She said the barns were rife with fleas, ticks and the terrible odor of lanolin and sheep feces and that she'd had her fill of such creepy-crawly horrors on other case files.
Mulder left her at the local coroner's office, where a mobile lab had been set up, and went to the barns of the first farm alone. He had to admit, if only to himself, he had never been close to a sheep in his life. The best he could remember, there had been one at a petting zoo near Providence, but Samantha had burst into tears when they got close enough to see that the wool wasn't really white, like all the Nursery Rhymes, but was grayish and tinged with dirty stains. So he hadn't actually ever petted one.
It did stink, a hundred and fifty yards away from the shearing shed, and he was gagging. The farmer, none too pleased with a Federal Agent in a suit and tie on his property, found it amusing. Indeed, up close as well as from the photographs, the sheep were red. For a moment, Mulder thought of Christmas sheep as the newest fad. He took samples of wool from several sheep, and more photos. He had the vet take some blood samples, took them from the vet, and secreted several in small spaces in the car. Just in case the blood showed something not from earth, he wasn't going to lose all the samples in a fire or other unnatural disaster. He wanted the Gunmen to get a chance at it too.
Scully did her tests. There was no presence of red dye or other coloring agents, the wool tested as normal wool on all counts. She performed an autopsy on one of the sheep slaughtered for mutton. All its organs tested normal. There were no differences between a regular sheep and the red one. She reported all her findings to Mulder and emailed them to Jeff Spender, Skinner, and Kersh.
Mulder, knowing that several ewes were due to calve anytime, acted on a hunch, wearing jeans and spraying himself liberally with insect repellant, he waited, hidden in the barn that night. Sure enough, when a mother- to-be started baaing in an agitated manner, the vet arrived. Mulder watched carefully. As soon as the infant was born, the vet implanted a tiny sensor in the animal's spinal cord. By the time the mother had licked the infant dry, it had turned a pale red.
Mulder, holding on to his patience, waited for the vet to leave. When he returned to the motel, he woke Scully and together, they went back to the barn. Although the incision was tiny, Scully could see it in the newly born kid. She had Mulder hold it while she removed the disc. She removed several more from kids and sheep of all ages.
They returned to the mobile lab and Scully got started. She examined the disc under a microscope, taking pictures of everything she saw. Mulder bugged her until she was willing to upload to the Gunmen in real time. With their commentary now streaming from her laptop, Scully continued. There were markings on the discs, but not in any known language or code. Carefully, she broke open a disc and magnified its inner workings. None of them had ever seen such miniature components.
Byers and Langly gave her conflicting advice on how to examine the disc, but she went her own way, crushing several before one yielded to her careful examination. They all agreed it was a sensor, but none of them could determine its purpose. Scully packed the remaining discs, sealed the open ones in Petri cups, and insisted they go to bed. They would leave in the morning after confessing to the farmer that they had no leads. Once at the labs at Quantico, Scully thought she could find out more about them.
During the night, Mulder's rental car was ransacked; Scully's room was flooded when the fire alarm went off and the spigots in the ceiling of her room rained down. In the ensuing confusion, her entire stash of samples was taken and her laptop's memory was erased.
At eight in the morning, Kersh called. He said the senator from Wyoming was no longer concerned with the red sheep problem and that Mulder and Scully were to return forthwith to Washington. Mulder protested in vain. He went back to the farm, but the owner had local and state police standing by and Mulder was not allowed entry. He drove three hours to the next sheep ranch and found he was barred there too.
Mulder was furious; Scully sympathized, but insisted they return home. She had decided that the vet was playing some elaborate hoax on the ranchers for monetary gain. This meant, of course, that the red coloring and the discs were entirely man made, probably in Japan or Indonesia.
Mulder's last hope was that the Gunmen had the information from last night and could investigate further once he was back. Walking from the car to his apartment, Mulder looked around. No one was there and all the cars looked familiar. Mulder scuffed his shoes in the loose gravel, kicking some ahead of him. He felt aimless and worthless. Nothing was going well or making sense anymore. Skinner's tepid help notwithstanding, he couldn't get Kersh off Mulder's back.
Mulder rode the elevator and brooded. He opened the door to his apartment before he realized the lock had been picked. He quickly dropped his bag, gun in hand he slid inside the doorway.
The lights were dimmed, music was playing, and Alex fucking Krycek was sitting on his couch drinking a cold beer and chilling out. Mulder aimed his gun at Krycek's head, "give me a reason," he said in a bad imitation of Dirty Harry. Krycek grinned and handed him a beer.
Mulder sighed, put his gun back in its holster, and took the beer. He sat down and took a long swallow. "That's better," Krycek, crooned. Mulder frowned, and took another sip.
"To what do I owe" Mulder began and realized he was going to say pleasure and stopped.
Krycek waggled his eyebrows and pursed his lips. But, he made no comment.
They sat and drank the beers. Krycek handed Mulder a sandwich and Mulder ate that too.
"I got a lead on the car salesman," Krycek said in a low voice.
Mulder sat up; Krycek put a finger over his lips. Mulder nodded.
Krycek got up and turned the music on louder, he handed Mulder a note and sat down.
Dulles, coming not going, drove downtown to the Capitol Hill Hilton, room 646
Mulder smiled, mouthed, "we got the bastard." He took out his cell phone and, stepping into the hall, made the call to the FBI.
On his way back inside, he stopped into the kitchen and brought out two more beers.
They sat and drank, listening to the music. Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Instantly, Krycek was on his feet, gun out and at the door. He looked through the peephole, sighed, and opened the door. "You're late," He barked, took the package from the man's hands and shut the door. He turned to find Mulder directly behind him. He smiled, signaled once more for silence, and kissed Mulder's cheek. Krycek opened the package at the dining room table; he brought out a transmitter/receiver unit. Plugged it into the wall and turned it on. The sound of the traffic outside the window became loud and clear. "We can talk now," Shrugging, "He was supposed to bring this unit earlier."
"I see," Mulder said, and didn't see at all. "You could have simply left me a note."
Krycek laughed, "What fun is that?"
Mulder frowned at him, "You think taking unneeded risks are fun?"
"Nah," Krycek answered, moving closer on the couch. "Seeing you is fun; why do you smell so bad?"
Mulder jumped up. "This has not been a good week, Krycek," He said and paced.
Krycek waited.
"I was on an X File, on a sheep ranch in Wyoming. Sheep smell terrible."
"You had to get personal with sheep?" Krycek asked, trying not to laugh. "Sounds promisingly kinky of you."
Mulder glowered at Krycek.
Krycek, his face entirely bland and innocent, stared back.
Reluctantly, Mulder laughed, "I never knew you were this way."
"What way?" Krycek asked, but with a knowing grin.
Mulder threw his hands up, "Like this, joking around and dumb."
Krycek pretended to be offended, "I am not dumb; you're just uptight all the time. If you can't laugh at the insanity, it takes you hostage and squeezes all the life out of you."
Mulder sighed, "It's been a shitty week."
Krycek smiled, "I understand. Want me to wash your back?"
Mulder frowned, "No, I do not want you to wash my back. I do not want you to flirt with me. You've delivered your message. Go away." Mulder hunched a shoulder and turned away."
"That's not very nice." Krycek said chidingly.
"Nice? Nice?" Mulder said in a surprised voice. "Since when is nice a part of what you are? You've been a lying, murdering, traitorous bastard since the day we met. And now, you want to play nice? Go to hell, Krycek."
Krycek, his face serious, stood. "I did what I had to do, just the same as you do every day when you risk yourself, Scully and anyone else who has the misfortune to try to help you or gets in your way. Your list of causalities far outnumbers mine, Agent Mulder. And more of them are for the sake of ego, too. Your motives are pure, right? So when others fall under the wheel of your, oh so pure ambition, it's their fault? You wear a hair shirt to remind you that everything you sacrifice and others sacrifice, willingly or not, is part of your holy quest. Wake up and smell the coffee, Mulder. The dead no longer give a damn and the living don't care what you suffer. Life still goes on, no matter how much you deny it, or are afraid of it or shy away from it." Krycek got into Mulder's personal space. "Sex, affection, and desire are part of life, you idiot. Without it, why bother to live at all or fight so hard?"
Krycek grabbed Mulder and shook him. "If you're really not interested, fine, but if you're putting up roadblocks to keep me out, remember this," Krycek pushed Mulder against the wall and kissed him on the mouth. He held Mulder there until Mulder gasped for breath. "I want you, fuck knows why. I help you, which is a fucked up thing to do. Fuck, Mulder, you haunt me when I'm away from you. I don't know why, but you'll have to do better than telling me to go to Hell for me to stop." He let go and stepped back, breathing hard, his mouth red and wet.
Mulder, panting, bitch slapped Krycek across the face. He stepped closer and did it again. Krycek began to turn away. Mulder said, "No way you run away, Krycek." He grabbed Krycek with both hands, swung him around until it was Krycek's back against the wall and moved in. He cupped Krycek's jaw tightly and kissed him roughly, hungrily and deeply. Krycek growled deep in his throat and Mulder moaned in return.
"So, fucked up," Krycek murmured between kisses.
"You too," Mulder said back. They stumbled into the bedroom and sloshed onto the bed, rolling atop one another and creating waves that buffeted them together and apart until they were both gasping and moaning.
Mulder, trying to unfasten Krycek's shirt, gave up and yanked it, tearing the buttons off.
Krycek laughed deep in his throat and bit Mulder's neck, hard.
With a great deal of ripping, grasping, and wiggling, they were naked at last. Chest to chest, skin hot, sweaty, and available, Krycek was the first to venture below the waist, cupping Mulder's erection and balls. Mulder huffed out a long "fuck" and Krycek, hearing Mulder's response, let Mulder fuck into his hand, going faster and faster. Mulder came with a lush groan.
"So hot, Mulder," Krycek whispered into Mulder's shoulder. Nevertheless, Mulder heard it and sighed happily. He gently pushed Krycek onto his back and surveyed the man. Krycek let him look, arching his hips slightly as if he couldn't help it. Mulder, faced with such need and his own having been met, for the moment, wrapped his hand around Krycek's cock. Krycek arched up, Mulder, finding the empurpled hardness in his hand not at all strange, jerked down on Krycek's uplift, and just like that, he was giving another man a hand job for the first time in his life. He found his breaths matched Krycek's and as Krycek pushed and panted, Mulder grinned. Knowing Krycek was exactly on the edge of orgasm; Mulder twisted his wrist hard, held the hot thing tight in his hand and Krycek cried out, and came.
Breathing like steam engines, they subsided, mashed together. The bed quieted under their steadying breaths and soon, they closed their eyes.
Mulder woke first, figured he'd been asleep for about a half an hour, and adjusted his neck into a more comfortable position. He'd been laying on Krycek's stump. He looked at it now, the flesh was normal, if dry and the scars were fierce. The joining of the skin at the end looked as if it had been soldered together with a blowtorch, because even now, almost two years later, the scar was a reddened ridge. There was scant muscle tone and the stump was thinner than Krycek's good arm.
He wondered which peasants had done this to Krycek, and under what conditions. Obviously, there had been no careful surgery. Mulder, stroking the end of the stump lightly, shivered at the thought of the agony Krycek had been through, he'd made no effort to find Krycek. He'd been glad the man was gone and would've killed him if he had found him anyway. Still, the sight of the stump, up close and next to him, made the whole thing real.
Krycek shifted, opening his eyes and saw Mulder, his mouth turned down in distress, looking and touching his mutilated arm. In his heart, he blamed Mulder for much of what had happened in Russia. Seeing him now, privately rehashing that time and Krycek's misfortune, Krycek let it all go. "It wasn't your fault," He said to Mulder in a soft voice.
"I know," Mulder, said just as softly, but he looked saddened anyway.
Krycek rolled on his side, the stump under his body and stroked Mulder's forehead with his good hand. "Life goes on," Krycek said.
Mulder, his eyes closed, allowed Krycek to comfort him. He didn't find it strange that Krycek was actually gentle. There had always been something Mulder could never identify in Krycek's demeanor, something that had called out all of Mulder's worst emotions. But those feelings, Mulder acknowledged now, had never been passionless.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Later, they ordered food, took turns in the shower, and said little. Both were content and the silence was easy going. When the food came, they sat at the table, passed each other containers, and took turns pouring the drinks. Just before they were done, the phone rang. The central Virginia field agents had captured the fat man when he was driving towards Front Royal. They'd been following the man's entourage all day and had found his headquarters, all the furnishings Mulder had described and videos of Mulder's incarceration were there. They had him dead-to-rights and had arrested him cleanly. Mulder, looking at Krycek sitting at his table, said, "Keep him on a suicide watch and don't let anyone, and I mean, anyone, in to see or speak to him. I'll be in by nine in the morning."
He hung up, "They got him," Mulder said with a smile and toasted Krycek with his glass of tea. Krycek smiled and toasted him back.
"I had no idea that this man existed or wanted you until the Brit called me and sent me to check out the situation. He wanted a good report of your condition before he paid the ransom." Krycek said somewhat bitterly.
Mulder shredded his napkin, slowly he said, "How many times have you done that, followed orders and checked in on me for one of them?"
Krycek frowned, "Once or twice, I'm not your babysitter or anything." He said, remembering he thought that very thing a few days before. "Only the Smoker bears you ill will, Mulder. The rest of them seem to want you around, although I do not know why."
"They knew my father," Mulder said in a low voice.
Krycek took a deep breath, "I know. He was part of the project."
Not looking at Krycek, Mulder stood, gathering up the plates and flatware for something to do, "He got out years ago, after my sister was taken. He had nothing to do with them for years."
Krycek drew lines on the tabletop with his finger. "He still got a salary, Mulder, up until the end. After that, your mother got a large settlement, and she knew who it was from and she kept it."
Mulder took his handful to the kitchen. On his return, he stood behind Krycek's chair and put his hands on Krycek's shoulders. "There's certainly a lot of guilt to go around, isn't there?"
Krycek leaned his head on Mulder's abdomen, but Mulder could feel he was tense despite the gesture. "I'm not sure it's guilt, Mulder." Krycek began. "The project is beyond anyone's ability to comprehend, let alone manage. When they were younger, they imagined a brave new world, and any sacrifice, subterfuge, or skullduggery was worth it. I think they counted the loss of their middle class lives well worth it." Speaking carefully, "You see it as guilt because you think of it as betrayal to the norm you expected as a child. Your life was torn apart, you saw your mother suffer and your father drink himself into oblivion, whatever the cost to you, they didn't care or consider it important."
"I know," Mulder said in a choked voice. "I know, I don't see the world through rose colored glasses and I am not nave. But, Alex, there has been so much suffering and so many innocent lives ruined. Someone has to take a stand and try to expose them, stop them."
This time Krycek said, "I know." And he turned his face into Mulder's belly and Mulder held him tight.
Mulder held Krycek and felt surprised. Comforting Krycek Alex; was such an outrageous idea. But, as he threaded his hand through the man's soft hair, Alex sighed deeply. Mulder echoed the heartfelt sigh with one of his own. Tenderness won and Mulder leaned down and kissed Alex's forehead, giving and taking comfort in a perfect moment of peace.
They watched television until the eleven o'clock news was over.
Reluctantly, Alex got up. "I should be on my way." He said.
Mulder stood, "The bed's big enough for both of us." He said boldly.
Alex smiled his roguish smile, but shook his head. "You've got a big day ahead of you and I need to report that the kidnapper has been arrested. Make Kersh eat crow tomorrow, Mulder." He moved closer to the door.
Mulder laughed, "Oh, I intend to, Alex." Mulder slung his arms around Alex before he got into his coat. It fell to the floor while Mulder kissed Alex. Mulder felt drugged by the kisses, there was nothing untoward in kissing Alex Krycek; his mouth was sweet, hot, and responsive. Almost the exact same height, they meshed perfectly. Mulder was reluctant to let go.
Alex ended the kisses, breathing roughly; he stooped to pick up his coat. "I'll take a rain check, Mulder, if that's all right with you?" He said with a grin.
Mulder smiled back, "Anytime, Alex, anytime."
Alex closed the door quietly behind him.
Mulder locked the door automatically, but stood there for a while thinking about the surprising day. He liked kissing Alex a great deal; he liked the other forays into the erotic too. Smiling, he turned off the lights, saw Alex's sound-box and turned it off. If the bad guys wanted to hear him snore all night, it was all the same to him.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Kersh was belligerent, although the proof was more than adequate. He faulted Mulder for being without his weapon or his phone, trying to attach blame that way. When all else failed, and he had to admit Mulder's absence had indeed, been an abduction, he began to rant about Krycek, a known felon, in Mulder's company and yet, Mulder had helped him and let him go.
Scowling, Skinner spoke up at last. Krycek was a slippery bastard, he said. Krycek had the means and the opportunity to kill Mulder anytime during their incarceration, but he had not. Whatever Mulder had done to get out alive, including Krycek's escape, was his primary, by the book, mission.
Kersh mumbled a rejoinder and let the subject of Krycek drop.
Kersh wanted agents of his own to interrogate the fat man. Skinner protested again, Mulder was a psychologist and knew the man. He was the best one for the job. Kersh could have whatever personal agents he wanted in the room, but Mulder should be the lead.
Kersh argued the point. For once, Mulder obeyed Scully's squeeze on his knee and remained quiet. Skinner rose to the task, putting his faith in Mulder ahead of his job and forcing Kersh, who really didn't want to lose Skinner, into a corner.
Defeated, Kersh threatened that he would be watching and if Mulder stepped over the line, it would be for the last time.
After the meeting disbanded, everyone was depressed. Skinner and Scully went to lunch; Mulder sent the fat man's fingerprints and DNA to the Gunmen and went to his office to wait. Fortunately, Diana and Jeffrey were out working. Mulder rearranged his desk, now Diana's domain. Tossing her stuff, willy-nilly into a bottom drawer, Mulder took out his nameplate again. Satisfied, he threw pencils at the ceiling, thought about kissing Alex Krycek, and waited for the Gunmen to call back.
The phone rang just a pencil fitted perfectly in the ceiling above him, smiling Mulder answered, "Mulder."
"What kind of crap are you pulling now?" A belligerent Frohike said.
"What?" Mulder said, paying attention.
"The DNA is from a woman who died in a suspicious train wreck in 1977 and the fingerprints belong to Harold Johnston, the former police chief of Phoenix, Arizona in 1990 who died in a boating accident in Puerto Vihella in 1992. What gives, Mulder?"
"Hmm," Mulder said. "That's interesting, don't you think? I mean he had to know we would find this out as soon as he was arrested."
Byers got on an extension, "This is a deep cover, Mulder. Civilians don't usually have access to this kind of thing. Are you sure he wasn't working for a covert organization." "I don't know anything." Mulder said. "But I saw the blood being drawn; was it switched or is this some kind of weird phenomenon?"
Byers, speaking slowly said, "Mulder, a male cannot have female DNA. Is this person a transgender or cross-dressing?"
Mulder looked at the phone; he recognized Byers was trying not to laugh at his lack of scientific knowledge. "The guards at the FBI brig said he was male, or rather, made no mention of any sex change, and they gave him a full cavity search."
Byers sighed, "We can't do more with the samples you sent. We are looking into the lives of these people; maybe they came across or belonged to some underground criminal enterprise. We'll let you know." Byers hung up.
"At least you're never boring," Frohike said and hung up too.
Mulder sat with the phone in his hand, bemused. A pencil landed on his head, spooked, he jumped, and hung up the phone.
So, Mulder thought, the fat man had contacts within the FBI itself. Contacts that were willing to continue to foster the man's anonymity. He wondered if he had ever been able to send the Smoker's fingerprints and DNA to the lab if he would have gotten the same nonsensical results. The very protection the man relied on had to be his greatest vulnerability. If Mulder could make him believe his security had been breached, then he might get something out of him.
Mulder almost ran to his car, careened across the Wilson Bridge and rushed to his apartment. He grabbed Krycek's sound box and went back to the office as quickly as he could manage. He waited for Scully and Skinner to return, having sent a message to Skinner's secretary to have him come to the basement office.
Scully and Skinner arrived together. Mulder put a finger in front of his lips and turned on the box, immediately, the sounds from the hall and the offices on the next floor filled the room. "I can't take the chance anyone is listening," Mulder said.
He explained about the blood work and DNA. "So, it's got to be an inside source that's protecting him. I have no idea who could get the thing done this quickly. No one knew he was taken into custody except the few of us." He concluded.
Skinner frowned, "I'm sick of this." He said gruffly. "I have always believed the Director had to have good reasons for allowing the Smoker free reign here. Every time I approached him with the Smoker's malevolence, he has said to let it go. Now, we have another mystery man with Mulder as his target. In all honesty, except for your theories about the Smoker's organization, most of the cases you handle are weird, bizarre and don't step on anyone's protected domains. If this man isn't related to the Smoker's organization, as he claims he is not, then who the hell can he be?" Mulder felt like grinning, finally, after all these years, Skinner had reached his breaking point with all the bullshit. He didn't grin, but he shook his head in mock sympathy for Skinner's frustration.
Scully stared at Skinner, something like amazement on her face. She turned to Mulder and grinned, "Now you know how we feel." She said, including herself with Mulder's very long history of not being taken seriously.
Skinner stopped pacing.
"Maybe he is related to the same organization," Mulder said. "Maybe he was tossed out and is trying to get back in if he shows he can destroy the X Files once and for all."
"That would presume he believed the X Files would die with you," Skinner said.
"Well," Mulder griped, "wouldn't it? Essentially, without me, all it would be is a halfhearted unit trying to finish cases other departments gave up on or dropped."
Skinner almost smiled, "Yes," he said. "Think of it, a unit that actually followed procedure. I wouldn't know what to do with all my free time."
Mulder grinned and then, frowned, "Come on Skinner, without the X Files, you would be bored to death."
Skinner looked stern, "I might sleep nights."
"Scully," Mulder asked, "Is there anyone you know in the labs who would be willing to spill a few beans?"
Scully tapped the desk with a pink tinged nail, "I can back trace who handled the specimens. That might eliminate some of the techs."
Mulder agreed. Once Scully and Skinner left the office, Mulder used his cell phone to dial a long series of numbers, waiting after each group for a moment, and adding more number. At last, he smiled and said into the phone, "I've got something you want to see." He hung up.
Mulder went back to thinking and tossing pencils at the ceiling. A short while later, he heard a tattoo on the door, Chuck walked in. Once more, Mulder hushed his visitor before he could speak, gesturing for him to come look at Krycek's sound box. He turned it off and on. Chuck raised his brows when he heard the ambient noise level rise. He touched the box, turned it over, took a small screwdriver from a pocket, and opened the back. The miniaturized components made him whistle. "Wow," he said. "Where'd this come from?"
Mulder smiled, "I thought it would interest you."
"This is a new concept design for surveillance equipment, Mulder. The military is in the testing phase with a prototype that doesn't come near to the elegance of this design." Chuck stroked the box lightly with a forefinger, clearing itching to take it apart.
Mulder grinned as he watched his friend's amazement.
Chuck said, "Mulder, this is top secret stuff. You could be arrested for having it, let alone using it. The technology here is very advanced, more than I've seen before. Be careful."
Mulder nodded, "Can you duplicate it?"
Chuck pursed his lips, "If I knew who made these components, maybe."
Mulder frowned, "I need it for the time being," He said. "I'll pass it along once what I'm investigating is over."
Chuck grinned, "You could sell it on the black market and retire."
As Chuck walked toward the door, Mulder said to himself, "I wonder why he didn't do just that?" Alone, he turned it off, there was alien technology here, or he would eat his Yankees cap.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Mulder, armed with almost no new information, went to see the fat man in his cell at Quantico. The drive on I-95 was horrendously slow and gave him time to plan what he was going to say.
For once, the security detail had followed his orders and the man had been watched closely, but not interrogated.
He took a seat on a stool in the cell; on a second stool, he put the Krycek' sound box. He smiled his best charming smile and said, "The shoe's on the other foot."
The man glanced quickly at the box, and other than a blink, was in no way discomposed. He smiled back, rubbing his stomach and was silent.
"You present me with a conundrum," Mulder said pleasantly. "I like that in a criminal."
Another agent came in, a cup of tea and a pastry on top of another stool. He set it down by Mulder. Mulder picked up the cup and saluted the man before drinking a sip. Mulder saw the man almost lick his lips, stopping himself before his tongue made an entire circle across his lips. Mulder grinned.
Mulder put down the cup, took a bite of the pastry, and deliberately, talked through his mouthful, "Your blood and DNA are worthless, but you knew that already. The videos in your office will convict you anyway." Mulder swallowed. "I can see you don't care and aren't worried. I guess that means you feel that your connections will protect you." Mulder nodded sagely, "They probably do. My enemies are always well insulated from prosecution. However, so many of them die in custody that I have lost count."
The fat man smiled. Mulder smiled back. He got up, took a handkerchief out of his pocket, and covered the surveillance monitor, and then he switched the box on. He turned back and took out his gun, aiming it directly at the fat man's head. "I am so damn tired of being the goat, asshole, and I have nothing left to lose."
The fat man lost his smile and turned a pasty green.
"Do I have your attention?" Mulder asked.
The man nodded.
"Good," Said Mulder. "Tell me who you are and what you were doing by abducting me." He paused, "and don't bother with the price on my head bullshit."
The man pressed his lips together, and stayed silent, although he kept his eyes on the gun in Mulder's hand.
Mulder used his left hand to remove a small vial from his coat pocket. It was filled with a thick black substance. "I'm immune, you know." Mulder said pleasantly. He shook the bottle, "Are you?"
"You won't let that loose," The fat man blustered.
Mulder grinned, "Try me," He said.
Mulder put the vial on the plate with the remaining bite of his pastry. He fished in his pockets and withdrew a pair of gloves; he put them on. He also took out a small blowtorch, "When it's done with you and starts pouring out your eyes, I'm going to burn it. Unfortunately, it will burn your face off too."
The fat man's double chin began to quiver.
Mulder picked up the vial, "Fire stops them when they are in a fluid state, you know." He said very, very softly.
"Agent Mulder," The man said from a dry throat. "Calm down, there's no need for such extreme measures."
"I think there is," Mulder replied and began to open the top.
"Okay, okay," The man, said, almost sobbing with fear. "I headed a small lab for them. I was working on Purity for years. I discovered that certain human genomes where more resistant to the black oil than others were. Once I made my report, they shut me down. Me! I'd given them thirty years and they shut me down without a word."
Mulder nodded, unmoved. "Exactly how did you discover this?"
The man began to bluster again and Mulder fully unscrewed the top of the vial.
"I was supplied with tissue samples," The man said in a hurry.
Mulder snarled, "And who were these samples from?" His voice was deadly serious.
The fat man was shaking, "Abductees," he moaned, "abductees."
Mulder began to tip the vial towards the man, "You have a list of these abductees?" He queried.
The man turned deathly white and didn't answer.
"They will kill you if you tell me?" Mulder asked.
The man nodded.
"I'll kill you if you don't." Mulder stated. "My threat is definitely more immanent."
"The Mulder strain is the most resistant," He blurted.
Mulder smiled, and the man shook harder. "How do you know that?"
Sweat ran down the fat man's face, his jowls shaking like jello. "Samples, Agent Mulder, lots, and lots of samples."
"Where's the data?" Mulder ground out as his hand tipped the vial.
"They took it," The fat man gasped and grabbed his chest.
Mulder was implacable, "Was my sister one of your samples?"
The man began to keel over, moaning and clutching his chest.
"Answer me!" Mulder yelled.
"Yes, yes," The man moaned softly and passed out.
Mulder took the handkerchief off the monitor, turned off the sound box and went to the door. "We need a medic," He yelled.
In the midst of the confusion of agents and medical people, Mulder saw the head of the FBI's rescue team slide a small needle into the fat man's arm. It was a small needle and the medic's hand covered it, hiding it. If Mulder had not been staring at his hands, he would have missed it. The fat man gave a final sigh and died.
Mulder slipped out of the room, his sound box clutched to his chest. As he got into his car, he remembered that he'd seen the same medical tech before. He searched his memory. He'd seen him when Duane Barry had choked. Mulder pressed his foot to the gas pedal, shooting out of the parking lot.
"Krycek!" He said aloud, "What the fuck is going on?"
He wasn't going to find out any time soon, despite the Gunmen and Chuck, Krycek was nowhere to be found. Mulder bided his time. With the fat man dead, his goon squad soon confessed, the leads led to dead ends, but for once, Mulder was vindicated and Kersh had to lay off him for a while.
Mulder planned a visit to Capitol Hill, scrounging up the last of his political contacts. He made a case before them, explaining the conspiracy as best he could. They doubted him, he knew. However, a powerful senator did talk to the Director of the FBI and Jeff and Diana were sent to assess the Los Angeles headquarters of the FBI for a possible expansion branch of the X Files.
In retaliation, Kersh sent him and Scully to the Midwest to look into terrorist plots using large amounts of ammonium nitrate. So, he was back dealing with shit.
They were away almost three weeks. Wearily, Mulder came home. He had faxed his report in from the Kansas City office and he was free for six days, plus a weekend, because neither he nor Scully had taken anytime off during the mission. Scully had also faxed her report in and had flown to San Diego to visit her brother's family for five or six days.
Mulder kept the rental car he'd picked up at National Airport. Damn if he was taking the Metro after such a worthless, but exhausting assignment. The FBI could pay the bill too.
Mulder went to the bodega at the end of his block and stocked up on beer, frozen dinners, and various other junk foods. On his way back, he went into the video rental store and chose half a dozen films.
There was a message from Skinner on his machine, reminding his to send in his expense report and the Gunmen had left a cryptic message that Mulder understood, as there was no news about Krycek.
Mulder took a shower and settled in for a well deserved night at home and in comfort. Barely an hour later, after he'd tossed most of a chicken dinner into the garbage, someone knocked at his door.
He got his gun, but it was Krycek. Moreover, Krycek was burdened with several large boxes of Italian take out. He let the man in. Krycek grinned, "Hungry, Mulder?" He asked.
Mulder cleared the coffee table and helped Krycek with the boxes. "Yes." He answered, "But first," He put his hand on Krycek's neck and leaned in for a kiss. Mulder heard Alex catch his breath in surprise, but the kiss was all he could ask for.
They set out the food, loading the Styrofoam plates with lasagna, shrimp scampi, and large pieces of garlic bread. "You've been gone?" Krycek stated.
"More shit," Mulder answered.
Krycek grinned. "I hear the car salesman came to a bad end."
Mulder nodded, chewed and swallowed. "What did you really say to Duane Barry?" He asked mildly.
Alex dropped his fork. "Why now?" Alex asked, a little breathlessly.
Mulder shrugged, "An alternate version of his demise presented itself to me recently."
Krycek narrowed his eyes, but Mulder remained calm and bland.
They continued to eat.
Krycek took a drink, "I told him that 'they' were going to kill him and he should tell you everything before they got the chance." Krycek shrugged, "they were already there. I was supposed to find out what he had said to you so far, and report to the Smoker. As you know, events moved pretty quickly and things got out of hand."
Mulder nodded. "I thought you killed him. The coroner was in on it too, so I never got an honest report."
Krycek clicked his teeth impatiently. "I know you think I'm a mass murderer, Mulder. But, as I said once before, your list of the deceased is much longer than mine is."
Mulder put out a hand, "I know, okay. Nothing was as simple as I thought it was. A lot has happened since then, you know."
Krycek rubbed his shoulder, he had a found a prosthesis to replace the one the fat man had taken. "I know," He said slowly. Mulder nodded again, they ate the remainder of the meal in silence.
Alex took his plate and the empty containers to the kitchen garbage, Mulder followed with his. They filled their wine glasses with the dregs of the bottle and retired to the couch. Mulder turned on the TV and found an old black and white film-noire movie. He turned the sound down low and turned to Alex.
"The fat man was part of the project, a scientist who worked with DNA samples from abductees. Once he had figured out a few things, they cut him off. Because the Mulder genome seems to be at least partially resistant to the black oil, he took me hostage. He was going to deal me into another bite of the project or a big payoff. He had a heart attack during my interrogation and the medic that killed Barry, killed him too."
Alex rubbed his forehead, "Are you sure he used samples of your DNA?"
Mulder blinked in surprise, "He said so. Why do you ask?"
Alex got up and paced, after a bit, Mulder said, "What is it, Alex?"
Alex crossed his right arm over his body, "I was led to believe that Bill Mulder was not your biological father."
Mulder said, "Ahh, I've always wondered about that since I found out the Smoker had been around when I was a kid. I remember an argument between my parents when he was there. I'm sure it had something to do with which of us was chosen to be abducted. I cannot get my mother to confirm this, of course."
"I didn't know you had doubts," Alex said in a surprised voice.
Mulder crossed his legs, swinging one as a token gesture of his nervous mind, "Yes, I've wondered. I decided it didn't matter anymore, Bill Mulder was, for all intents, my father and he's dead. My mother lives in her gentle half-awake world since her stroke and doesn't recall or want to remember the past." Mulder stopped and frowned, "Or, maybe it does matter?" He looked squarely at Alex and stopped swinging his leg.
Alex shrugged, "It's only that you said it was the Mulder genome. It made me wonder who the fat man actually had samples of to determine this fact."
Mulder patted the seat next to him and Alex came and sat down. Mulder turned to Alex and took his hand, "Any of the old men could have fucked with the samples. Unless you are related to the Smoker too, it doesn't matter." He tried to grin, but felt his lips tremble slightly.
Alex looked him deeply in the eyes, "I am not any relation to the Smoker other than one of his legion of misbegotten thugs. I stole his DNA once and had it tested. I don't know who my father was, but it's not him."
Mulder smiled a genuine smile, "I'm glad. We can give Scully a sample and she can compare mine against it. Then we'll all have a definitive answer."
Alex nodded.
Mulder grinned, wagged his eyebrows, and reached for Alex, drawing him in close to him. "Since there's no chance of incest, what do you say about calling it a night?"
Alex laughed, he kissed Mulder, they fell against the back of the couch together, chuckling, and smearing kisses on whatever flesh of the other that was within kissing distance.
Mulder peeled the shirt off Alex and ran his hands down his bare, sleek chest. Between the garlic, the wine, and Alex's salty shoulder, Mulder felt drunk and happy. He quickly tossed his own shirt off and caught his breath when Alex began to shower him with little kisses interspersed with tiny sharp bites down his chest. He let Alex push him back on the couch and cover him, rubbing their groins together, and gnawing on his neck as if it was the sweetest desert.
Alex moved to the side and cupped Mulder's sex through his jeans. Mulder moaned and Alex smiled. "What do you want, Mulder?" Alex asked in a low throaty voice, spiking Mulder's libido a notch higher.
Mulder opened his eyes and gulped the air in as fast as he could, feeling he was in a high altitude and breathless. "Whatever you want," He gasped. "Show me so I'll know what you like."
Alex ran his finger down Mulder's erection, through his pants and felt the dampness seep into the cloth. He smiled, but there was concern in his eyes. "You're sure?" He asked. "It's kinda late in your life to change horses midstream, you know."
Mulder took a deep breath, he'd never imagined Alex could be hesitant sexually or sensitive to his lack of experience. "I'm sure, Alex." Mulder said in a firm voice, "It may be late, but I'm a fast learner." He grinned sheepishly, "And I'm not sure this is a great change given how seldom I'm in bed with another live human being."
Krycek laughed, and sobered quickly. Looking deeply into Mulder's eyes he said, "That was your choice, Mulder. You could have had anyone you wanted anytime. All you had to do was open your eyes and see how much you were desired."
Mulder felt tears sting his eyes, Alex was serious, and what he said had shocked him. He shook his head, summoning up a shaky grin, "Flattery will get you far, Alex." He said, but the joke fell flat.
Alex kissed him gently by the side of his mouth, lightly ran the tip of his tongue over Mulder's generous bottom lip and whispered, "You don't see it, but you are gorgeous, Mulder, gorgeous and ripe and oh, so, ready."
Mulder groaned, caught up in a lover's torment between the need for satisfaction and the ache in his lonely heart for reassurance. "Yes," he whispered back, "I'm ready."
Alex unzipped Mulder's pants, still whispering he told Mulder to lift up and stripped the pants and underwear from his body. He unzipped his own pants and kicked them off. Sitting by Mulder on the edge of the couch, he smoothed his own erection until he was long, hard, and swollen, "Look, Mulder," He whispered and drew Mulder's hand to his cock, "See how much I want you, need you." He kissed Mulder again and this time he was predatory, wanting a return of passion without further questions.
Mulder gave it back, responding with an openness that shocked him to the core. He felt young, young and amazed and ready for anything that this man, his lover, had to offer him, teach him, and share with him.
Alex slid off the edge of couch to his knees. He leaned over Mulder's chest, kissed, and licked his way down Mulder's torso. He took Mulder's cock in his hand and held it firmly, putting the head into his mouth and sucking strongly.
Mulder yelped and Alex grinned around his mouthful. He looked up, met Mulder's eyes, and winked. Mulder, half-sobbing and half-laughing, grinned as he gritted his teeth and tried to hold out a few moments longer. Alex was having none of that and let his fingers meander down to the base of Mulder's cock and then behind it, stroking Mulder's damp crack and fingering his small, tight opening.
Mulder took a deep breath, preparing to allow his orgasm to overtake him and felt the very tip of Alex's finger enter him. And, he was gone on a wave of heat and light and fulfillment.
Chuffing like a steam engine while Alex licked his lips and smiled at him with his eyes, Mulder lay as if he had melted. In a daze, he saw Alex move back onto the couch, push his legs apart, and position himself between them. He maneuvered Mulder's leg, the one up against the back of the couch, high and used his hand to open Mulder's ass as wide as he could. "Hold your dick, Mulder," Alex whispered darkly and Mulder felt a zing pass through his empty cock. Alex swiveled his hips, "I'm clean," He said, "and I'm not gonna fuck you all the way yet, so relax."
Mulder thought if he relaxed any more he would indeed melt.
Alex rubbed his cock along Mulder's crack, jerking a little as he pressed into his flesh and slid back and forth. Mulder could see the sweat blossom on Alex's shoulder and chest and opened his legs as wide as he could without falling off the couch. Alex moved faster, panting and as he became arrhythmic, he thrust the head of his penis into Mulder with a hard thrust. Mulder cried out, Alex withdrew and slid one more time up and back and came, flooding the base of Mulder's spine and the couch.
He lay on Mulder's chest, breathing hard. After a few moments of rather shocked silence, Mulder began to pet Alex's back and neck, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in his wake.
Even as he felt Alex move from recovery into a light sleep, Mulder didn't move. He held Alex in his arms, letting him rest on his chest undisturbed. Once more, he felt a strange, but true, realization that Alex was much more complicated than he ever imagined. This tough bastard was an exquisitely sensitive, gentle, and generous. Mulder smiled ironically, who would've guessed, who could have known. He continued to stroke the man's rapidly cooling back. I know, Mulder thought and allowed the knowledge to seep into his heart. I know. He let his eyes close and joined Alex in a nap.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Alex woke, his sweaty face glued to Mulder chest and dying for a drink. He pushed himself up and wondered why Mulder hadn't shifted him off instead of bearing his hot weight for hours. But, Mulder was asleep, a small smile on his face and the worry lines lessened in the dim light.
He rose and grimaced at the dried mess on his belly and pubic hairs. He drank the last drops in his wine glass. Old wine wasn't particularly pleasant, but it was wet. He scooped his underwear and pants off the floor and went into the shower. He turned it on lukewarm and stretched under the water, lazily rubbing some liquid body soap on his chest and working it down over the rest of his body. He hadn't intended to press ahead that quickly with Mulder. For all the man's enthusiasm, Alex felt less confidence in Mulder's newly born change of gender preference. Alex had been with women, he'd enjoyed it without being terribly impressed. He knew himself, and being gay was what he was in his heart and soul. It had never bothered him and only a few of the old men on the project had ever made an issue of it.
Mulder was in his mid-thirties and Alex thought that was awfully late in life to branch out. Nevertheless, he felt wonderful. He'd desired Mulder for damn near ever and had held that desire close. Mulder had been surprisingly open, no, Alex thought, surprisingly giving.
Alex turned off the water and reached for Mulder's towel. He dried off and put on his underwear and pants. He found some Vaseline and rubbed some into the scars on his stump. Dithering in front of the mirror, Alex looked at himself closely. He saw the shadows under his eyes that a nap did not erase and the lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He had looked younger than he was for a long time, but time had caught up to him pretty quickly these past few years. He fancied his hairline had risen a bi