The animal I wanted
It sometimes happened that you might be familiar with a man for
several years thinking he was a wild animal, and you would regard him with
contempt. And then suddenly a moment would arrive when some uncontrollable
impulse would lay his soul bare, and you would behold in it such riches, such
sensitivity and warmth, such a vivid awareness of its own suffering and the
suffering of others, that the scales would fall from your eyes and at first you
would hardly be able to believe that you had seen and heard.
It wasn't the kind of place Mulder usually frequented. Candles on the tables,
low lighting, salads that cost more than a whole meal at the Golden Dragon.
Scully seemed to like it though. Smiling nervously, she tore off a bit of
whole-wheat panini bread and dipped it delicately into the small dish of
rosemary-flavored olive oil that was provided in place of butter. Mulder
perused the menu. Grilled swordfish sounded safe enough, albeit accompanied by
jicama-root puree and "braised lavender lentils," whatever the hell that was.
"Good evening." A statuesque blonde appeared beside their table. "I'm Danielle,
your sommelier. Would you like to choose a bottle of wine for your meal?"
Scully ran a finger down the wine list. "We had this Byron Santa Maria
chardonnay one time. It's good. It's chardonnay, but it almost tastes like
Chablis. What do you think?"
Mulder was thinking that Danielle was pretty hot. He was also thinking that six
months ago Scully wouldn't have known chardonnay from a can of Dr. Pepper, let
alone from Chablis. "Well, I find that vintage to be a bit obsequious and
curmudgeonly."
Scully rolled her eyes and turned a polite smile to Danielle. "Half a bottle."
"So the Harvard Medical Letter has a wine column these days?" He knew her actual
answer before she said it.
"Paul's taught me a lot about wine."
Paul taught me about wine. Paul took me to the opera. Paul and I are going to
Vermont for the weekend.
Paul was Scully's boyfriend. Also a doctor. They had met at a medical conference
and been going out for close to a year now. In one corner of his mind, Mulder
knew it was getting serious between them, but he didn't want to face that,
didn't want to consider that possibility.
Another attractive young person materialized at their table. Chiseled features,
dazzling smile. "I'm Brian, your waiter. Are you ready to order?"
"I'll have the tagliarini in prosciutto and fennel sauce," Scully said.
"Mulder?"
Mulder was thinking that Brian was pretty hot. He was also thinking that he
really had to get laid more.
As Brian vanished with their orders and menus, Mulder turned back to Scully.
"So...what's the big news?"
To his surprise and consternation, Scully's blue eyes filled with tears.
"Mulder—I—"
"What? What?" A cold dread sharpened his voice as he leaned across the
table. All he could think was that her cancer had returned.
Scully's eyes widened as she realized where his thoughts were going. "Oh, no,
no—it's nothing bad. Mulder, I'm getting married!"
Mulder knew his mouth was hanging open in a dumbstruck daze. Reluctantly, his
eyes went to her left hand, splayed prominently on the tabletop to catch his
attention. A small, perfect, platinum-and-diamond band, courtesy of that
tasteful asshole, Paul, now graced her third finger. "Hey, that's great," he
mumbled weakly. "Congratulations."
Scully was smiling radiantly as she dabbed her eyes with the napkin, using only
her right hand. Mulder realized he was probably supposed to admire the ring.
"Uh...nice ring."
"Nice of you to notice. I've been wearing it all day." Her wry tone couldn't
quite hide the undercurrent of injured reproach.
Danielle appeared at that moment with their wine. "Ooh, beautiful ring," she
cooed to Scully.
"Skinner noticed," Scully told him as Danielle glided away and they sipped their
wine. "Kim noticed." She was teasing him now.
Mulder tried to think of something to say beyond, "Oh." He took another swallow
of wine. It really was quite good, prompting a fresh spate of resentment against
the paragon that was Paul. "Well, I mean, that's wonderful. I'm sure you'll be
very happy. You can buy a house together in Georgetown, discuss the latest
autopsy results, and go antiquing on weekends..." He grinned halfheartedly to
show her he was teasing too.
"Mulder..." Her grave expression gave him pause. "There's more."
Mulder stared at her. "Bad or good?" he managed finally.
Scully hesitated. The hesitation, and her look, told him all he needed to know.
Good for her, bad for Mulder. "It looks like Paul is going to be offered a
really good position soon, at McLean's Hospital." She glanced at him and saw it
still wasn't sinking in. "In Montreal."
"Montreal, Canada?"
Scully looked stricken.
"You're moving to Canada?"
"Not for six months or so. It takes—"
"You're quitting the X-Files?"
Scully's small hand came up to shush him. She dropped her voice, no doubt hoping
he would do the same. "Mulder, it's not like—"
"You're leaving me?" His voice came out in a wounded bellow. At a table
across from them a twenty-something college kid remarked smugly to his date,
"See, I told you two-thirds of all marriages end in divorce."
"Mulder." Scully was leaning across the table, concern in her eyes.
Mulder sat back in his chair, trying to get himself under control. He wanted to
punch somebody; the name "Paul" came to mind. But for Scully's sake he had to
stop acting like a jerk and pretend to be happy for her.
"I'm sorry." He couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I
just—"
Scully reached out to touch his arm. "I know you'll meet somebody too someday.
Someone who'll really knock you out of your orbit."
Mulder couldn't imagine it.
Deep in his heart he knew he didn't love Scully that way. He wasn't jealous in
that way. It was just that he had always felt, selfishly he knew, that she was
his. The two of them an unshakable team; Scully at his back, following
him on his quest for the Truth. Seeing her so happy now, moving on without him,
only served to emphasize how alone he felt sometimes. He had never felt that
kind of spark. He had thought he might, sometimes, but they always turned out to
be terribly wrong for him.
"I've met people. But it always ended badly." He shrugged. "Phoebe. Diana.
Alex—"
Alex Krycek?
"Alex?" Scully frowned quizzically. "I don't remember her."
Jesus, why had he thought of Krycek? And how had he almost said Alex's name
aloud to Scully as a possible lover? The idea was ludicrous, for so many
reasons. His mind was just wandering, back to business.
"Speaking of meeting someone, I have to go meet someone at ten. No, no—" he
held up a hand. "It's business—a source. Krycek."
An eyebrow rose. "Krycek?"
"Yeah, the one and only. I got an e-mail saying he wanted to set up a meeting
tonight. Something big."
He put Scully in a cab, blathering all the right reassurances and wishes for her
happiness, and walked the dark streets back to his apartment. It was just
drizzling, a fine cool mist hitting his face in irritating counterpoint to his
mood. He felt utterly ground down tonight, sick of the world and all its
denizens. He wasn't even that interested in whatever earthshaking bit of
information Krycek was bringing him. Something to do with colonization, the
Consortium, he supposed, but how was he going to investigate and fight them
without Scully by his side? He needed her, needed her cool intellect to bounce
his ideas off, needed someone in his corner when the rest of the world was
laughing in his face.
And if he could admit it to himself, he wasn't ready to see Krycek tonight. Just
seeing the carefully cryptic e-mail had sent an uncomfortable frisson of
eagerness and upheaval through him. He was still haunted by the last meeting.
Krycek had brought him information that time too, but that was not all he had
done. Mulder could still see Krycek's face vividly in his mind's eye. Krycek had
told him about the Air Force base, the rebel alien. He had gazed at Mulder, a
ravenous intensity in his eyes. Mulder had stared back, too stunned to do more
than that.
Then, with a swift finality, as though he had been steeling himself to do it and
could wait no longer, Krycek had leaned down and kissed him.
Krycek had taken a chance, doing that. He had taken even more of a chance a
moment later, when he let the gun drop from his hand, tossing it at Mulder's
feet and walking away. Mulder could have shot him in that moment. Instead, he
had sat for hours in the dark, replaying the meeting over and over in his head.
Sometimes Mulder let his thoughts wander when he was really tired, let himself
fantasize that instead of letting Krycek walk away he had reached up and grabbed
him, held him there, pulled his mouth down to Mulder's. Krycek's lips against
the corner of Mulder's mouth had felt warm, firm, and unexpectedly soft. He had
smelled of leather and some other, indefinable Krycek-scent. Idly he wondered
how Alex would have tasted.
Tasted? Alex?
He walked faster, his mind unwilling to go there. He felt too weary and angry
tonight to even conjure up a good smacking-the-shit-out-of-Krycek fantasy,
although the thought did give him a little satisfaction. But that kiss,
disturbing and unnerving, kept prodding his consciousness, like a body
resurfacing in a lake.
Christ, Mulder. You have got to get a grip.
He was supposed to get a call from Krycek giving instructions on where and when
to meet tonight. Trudging along in the rain, he was strongly tempted to just
turn his cell phone off. But he knew he wouldn't do that. As much as he dreaded
the thought of having to meet with Krycek again, his scientific curiosity
plucked at the back of his mind and urged him onward. If he didn't find out what
Krycek had to offer, he knew, it would worry and eat at him until he slowly went
insane. He had to know. He always had to know.
Waiting at the corner for the light to change, his attention was caught by two
men who stood on the opposite corner, one of them holding the leash of a large,
exuberant dog. They were not kissing, or even touching, but instantly he knew
they were lovers. The way they stood, heads together, smiling at some private
joke. The one with the dog was tall, blond, bearded, wearing a thick navy
sweater. He held the leash with casual authority and gestured expansively. The
other man, younger and slimmer, had dark hair falling into his face and big dark
eyes. Wearing a dark jacket and jeans, he stood with his shoulders hunched
against the rain, laughing. For a moment Mulder's breath caught. Alex.
He shook his head. Alex—Krycek—looked nothing like that. He was older,
more solid and muscular, and Mulder had never seen him laugh or smile that way.
The light changed then, and they passed each other, crossing the street. The man
with the dog nodded amiably to Mulder, and the dark one flashed him a quick
smile before turning his full attention back to his friend. The older man
responded, placing a hand on the dark one's back in a protective caress. Mulder
felt desolation settling heavy in his stomach like a rough chunk of ice. How
long had it been since he had a lover to walk with in the rain, neither of them
caring how wet they got. He could imagine the two of them hurrying home to
someplace warm and bright, peeling off wet clothes and laughing, the dog
bounding around their legs.
He was a no-partner, no-lover, no-Truth son of a bitch. And instead of curling
up warmly with someone he loved, he would get to slog back out in the rain
tonight and meet with a double-crossing sociopathic rat to receive some
questionable information.
Life doesn't get much better than this, he thought with a mordant grin.
Outside the apartment building on Hegal Place, he shook water from his hair. His
apartment would be dark and quiet. He would have a beer, feed the fish, and wait
for his treacherous informant to call.
As soon as he unlocked the apartment door, he knew Krycek was in there. Maybe he
heard or saw some small sound or movement, or maybe smelled him, Mulder wasn't
sure. Instinctively, he froze, his hand going to his gun.
"What the hell are you doing in my apartment, Krycek?"
"It's raining," Krycek said in that gravelly purr, and the hair went up all
along Mulder's neck. Krycek's voice could always do that to him, stir things in
him he could not control. He flipped on the light and sure enough, Krycek was
standing there, all in black as usual, a gun in his hand.
Pointedly, Mulder drew his own weapon. "You melt in the rain?"
Krycek put out his left hand in a placating gesture. Moving slowly and
carefully, he stepped over to Mulder's desk and laid his gun down, then stepped
back, his hands raised.
Cautiously, Mulder moved over to the desk. He stashed the gun away in the bottom
right drawer, where Krycek would not be able to retrieve it easily. Krycek was
gazing at him intently, lips parted slightly, obviously anxious to impart his
ultra-momentous information.
"So what do you want?" Mulder asked, not bothering to keep the edge from his
voice. "Let me guess. You're getting married and moving to Canada."
A shadow of puzzlement and something like hurt creased Krycek's face for just a
second. "Yeah, I am going away, but—" He waved his hand dismissively.
"Here." Almost sparking with excitement and pride, he reached into his jacket
and extracted—
—an apple?
"What is this, Krycek? Teacher Appreciation Day at the Rat Academy?"
Krycek now produced a vial of amber liquid and held it out reverently to Mulder,
along with the apple.
"Passed your drug test, huh?"
Again the little frown. Clearly, Mulder's flippancy wasn't going over any too
well. But tonight of all nights, Mulder didn't feel like playing audience to
Krycek's one-man circus. Couldn't the man ever just hand over his information
and leave? Krycek's expression took on an almost radiant intensity. "This is it,
Mulder. The vaccine."
Mulder felt a shiver of excitement go down his spine. He reached to take the
little vial and held it up to the light. Thick, pale-gold, it shimmered dully, a
mysterious promise.
"And this," Krycek held up the apple, "this is the method of distribution."
"You're going to put it in apples?"
Krycek's eyes glittered exultantly. "It is in apples. This apple contains
the working vaccine. A quick, easy and painless way to get it out to the general
population."
Mulder lifted the apple and examined it wonderingly. It looked like a regular
garden-variety fruit, betraying no hint of its monumental significance. If this
was for real, it was huge, as immense as Krycek had led him to believe. The
black-oil cancer was key to the aliens' plans for colonization. But he was
damned if he would act impressed in front of Krycek. "How did you get hold of
this?"
Now Krycek understood that his offering was not unappreciated, simply
mistrusted. A little smile settled on his face and he relaxed somewhat. "You
don't want to know that. But it's real."
Mulder rubbed his chin. "Why me? If this is real, why not go peddle it to the
highest bidder?"
"Believe it or not, Mulder, I wasn't trying to get rich off any of this. In
fact—" Krycek hesitated for a second, looking down, "—a lot of this
research came out of my pocket."
"Blood money," Mulder said flatly. Krycek acknowledged this with a weary shrug.
Up close, he looked even less like the carefree young man Mulder had noticed
earlier outside. There was a hunted look in the green eyes, ringed now with dark
circles, and small worry lines beginning to settle in place. If the man outside
had been a pampered pet, Krycek resembled an alley cat who had never known a
home, or an affectionate touch, in his life.
Or wanted it.
Mulder squinted at the vial again. "Not much here."
Krycek extracted a padded manila envelope from his jacket. With a significant
look at Mulder, he laid it on Mulder's desk and tapped it with a fingertip.
"There are six disks in there. Location and layout of the lab where it's being
produced, the formulas, the test runs, and all kinds of other information.
You're going to have to go in and get it."
Mulder kept his voice deliberately even. "What do you mean?"
Krycek was staring at him with a strange intensity. Despite himself, Mulder felt
a thrill go through him, felt his body responding.
"I—I've pretty much burned all my bridges with this," Krycek said. For a
moment the mask slipped and Krycek looked exhausted, lonely and scared. Then his
eyes turned cool and hard once more.
He's leaving me too.
"Where are you going?" Mulder asked roughly.
"I'm going to have to—disappear for awhile." Krycek looked down. A long,
low rumble of thunder sounded outside. "I'm one man, and there are a lot of
people after me."
"News flash, Krycek. They're not after you just because you're pretty. They're
after you because you double-crossed them, betrayed them, fucked them over..."
Mulder realized he was starting to pace in agitation. Everybody was leaving.
Suddenly he wanted to lash out, strike somebody. "You wouldn't be one man
alone if you hadn't done that to me."
A blue-white streak of lightning pulsed through the sky. Mulder saw a terrible
sadness on Krycek's face, before Krycek turned away, ducking his head. "I know."
His voice was almost a whisper.
"How do I know this isn't a setup?"
"It's real." Krycek's voice shook slightly. "I swear." He seemed to realize
almost instantaneously what his word was worth to Mulder. "What do you want from
me?"
"Last time you kissed me," Mulder said. Krycek stood still, watching him warily.
"What are you going to do this time, blow me?"
He meant it as sarcasm, but Krycek appeared to take it seriously. He stared at
Mulder, a strange expression playing over his face. "Is that what you really
want?"
And Mulder could feel it, through the haze of time, a memory pressing up, a
memory he had tried to push away for so many years.
They had been sitting at a stakeout, both of them bored and impatient, skirting
the edge of small talk but not really knowing each other well enough yet to go
deeper. Mulder was not in a great mood; he disliked this kind of grunt work.
Alex hated it even more than Mulder did, grew antsy when caged up in for any
length of time in an unmoving car or van. He stretched, arching back like a cat,
turned a probing gaze to Mulder.
"Know any good ways to pass the time?"
Mulder could sense it in the car between them, a tension greater than the
boredom and skittish restlessness; a kind of hunger. He could feel it as his
eyes roamed over Alex's body, impressive even in the cheap suit. Alex's dark
hair was tousled from running his hands through it. Alex bit his lip and Mulder
looked away. His professional training and senior status called upon him to say
something soothing here, calm Alex down and rein him in a bit.
"Why don't you blow me?"
Alex looked startled, but he didn't laugh or say, "Go to hell." He swallowed
hard, slanting a look from under his lashes, then turned slightly to face
Mulder. His eyes swept Mulder's, then raked down to Mulder's crotch, the hunger
surging into them now full force.
Mulder knew he should say something—"Stop, this isn't wise, I was only
kidding." He should, he should...but his mouth felt dry and heat roiled
up from his belly, making it impossible to speak. He fought back an almost
irresistible impulse to grab Alex by the hair and force his head down into
Mulder's lap.
Something broke between them, a barrier that should have had the solidity of a
brick wall: FBI; partners; both men. Mulder felt it crumble like a child's clay
pot, feather away like chalk dust in a breeze. He was left with Alex's eyes,
intense and seeking, Alex's lips parting in helpless supplication.
Alex leaned forward fractionally, one hand reaching tentatively for Mulder.
Would he have actually done it? They would never know; at that moment their
quarry appeared, skulking through the basement door, and they were both
instantly jolted back into action. They had never spoken of it again, and Mulder
was left to wonder.
Wonder. And fantasize. Alex's mouth on him...
And Mulder heard his own voice ask, "Why not?"
Mulder stepped back to lean against the wall, clutching the gun he still held
like a talisman. Krycek shrugged the leather jacket from his shoulders and laid
it on the couch. He looked at Mulder almost uncertainly, smoothing down the
charcoal shirt he wore underneath. Mulder willed himself to return the gaze,
level and challenging, although a dizzying sense of surreality was overtaking
him. Krycek walked closer, standing only a couple of feet from Mulder now,
staring into his eyes. Krycek's lips were parted, and Mulder had a sudden
powerful urge to kiss him.
Fuck, no, I'm not kissing Krycek.
Krycek seemed to sense Mulder's aversion to the kiss, and dipped his head in
acceptance with a small, wry smile.
He's enjoying this too much, the slimy bastard.
Krycek laid his hand on Mulder's waist, slipping a finger through Mulder's belt
loop. It was a lover's gesture, making Mulder pull back. The tip of Krycek's
tongue came out to brush his lower lip. He caressed the hard curve of Mulder's
hip, then slid his hand down the outside of Mulder's thigh. The thick lashes
fluttered and for a second Krycek's smile turned brilliant.
Mulder's stomach flipped over. This wasn't what he had wanted; it wasn't what he
had planned. Krycek shouldn't act like he wanted this, like he was the one in
control. He shouldn't touch Mulder like that, shouldn't look at him like that.
And Mulder's own body shouldn't be responding like this, tense and heated, every
nerve pounding. A tremendous crack of thunder sounded, making them both jump.
Their eyes met instantly, as though seeking solace.
Krycek got down on one knee. His movements had a formal grace, almost
ritualistic.
Mulder put out his hand to grab Krycek by the hair. Krycek's hair felt silky,
slightly damp from the rain. He pushed back into Mulder's touch with a small
husky sound. Mulder felt it like an unexpected electric shock. In his fantasies
he took Krycek roughly by the hair, fucked his mouth, and slapped him hard,
leaving Krycek with blood and Mulder's come running down his face.
In his fantasies Krycek's hair was not soft, he didn't part his lips like that,
or gaze up at Mulder with those eyes so full of feeling. In his fantasies Mulder
didn't have to look in Krycek's eyes at all. Why should he have to? Why should
he care about the pain and longing and whatever else it was he saw there; why
should he feel bad about Krycek going away, being on the run?
He didn't.
Why should he want to stroke the soft hair, to run his hands down Krycek's body,
to take his mouth and explore every inch of—
He didn't. He didn't. He didn't.
"Very nice, Krycek," Mulder sneered. "Whose little fucktoy are you these days?"
Krycek flinched sharply at that and froze, staring at Mulder with narrowed eyes.
He pulled his head back angrily and scrambled to his feet. A dark flush spread
across his cheeks. "Not yours, Mulder, that's for sure."
"You were a minute ago."
Krycek's eyes flashed briefly, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"Stupid mistake," he said hoarsely. "It won't happen again." He started for the
couch, but Mulder blocked his way. "Let me get my jacket." He gestured at the
desk. "And my gun."
"Do you think I'm an idiot, Krycek?" Mulder felt himself close to losing
control. Damn Krycek for always doing this to him. "What kind of game are you
playing?"
Krycek's eyes were once again brilliant with feeling for a second, before he
looked away. "No game, Mulder. This is it for me. I'm—" He made an abrupt
movement, reaching under his left arm to adjust something. Mulder cursed himself
for his stupidity. He had taken the gun, but he had not bothered to check Krycek
for other weapons. And he did not at any cost want to touch the man now.
He waved the gun at Krycek. "Take your shirt off."
Krycek went still for a second. "Why?"
"Just take it off."
"Take it off me."
Mulder cocked the safety on the gun, leveling it at Krycek's head. "I said take
it off."
Krycek seemed to be weighing the situation for a moment. Then he shrugged,
pulling the charcoal shirt off and tossing it aside. He raised his chin and met
Mulder's eyes with a mixture of defensiveness and defiance. "Is this what you
wanted to see, Mulder?"
Mulder felt sick as he stared at what Krycek had been adjusting: the artificial
arm that did not even remotely resemble a real one. With his jacket and gloves
on Krycek could hide it, although an observant person would see a difference in
the movement. But this...Krycek's own arm ended about six inches below the
shoulder, and the prosthesis fitted over that, held in place by straps across
his chest and shoulder. It was dull, flesh-colored, with hinges at the wrist and
elbow, and it hung stiffly at Krycek's side, a horrible contrast to the graceful
way he rested his right hand on his hip. Mulder looked at those long fingers,
remembered the quickness of Krycek's hands, and he ached.
In Tunguska he had wanted to kill Krycek, had hated him for laughing it up with
the guards while Mulder was held down and infiltrated with the black oil.
Skinner had told him much later that it was rumored Krycek had lost his arm, and
Mulder had felt only a dull, hollow sense of vindication. Finally, he told
himself, Krycek was getting a fitting retribution. But now, faced with the
reality, he felt a long, anguished scream of outrage building inside him.
"Yeah, Mulder, I have one arm. Are you going to gawk at it all night?" Krycek
stood rigidly, not looking at Mulder. He was trying to sound bored and
impatient, and not quite succeeding.
"I'm sorry." Mulder did not know whether he was apologizing for staring, or
something bigger than that: that it had ever happened in the first place, that
he was whole while Krycek was not.
"I don't need your fucking pity, Mulder! Anything I want from you, I could still
take, and don't you forget it." Krycek's voice was low and harsh.
Mulder was suddenly sick and tired of all this. "Haven't you already taken
enough?"
"Oh, the old familiar shit, I killed your father." Krycek reached down for his
shirt. He pulled it on with a practiced economy of movement. "Well, whatever
turns you on, Mulder."
Mulder's hand tightened on the gun. "Nothing about you turns me on, you lowlife
psychopath." He pulled out his handcuffs and flung them at Krycek with enough
force that Krycek had to duck and grab for them. "Put these on." He knew he
should cuff Krycek himself but there was no way he was touching that prosthetic
arm. Or any other part of Krycek.
"Bullshit." Krycek stood holding the cuffs. His eyes glittered and his teeth
were clenched; Mulder had the impression Krycek was trying to get himself under
control. "It turns you on to hit me."
"You want me to hit you now, Krycek? Put the fucking cuffs on." Again Mulder
felt that strange reluctance to touch Krycek. Which only left the gun.
"Why? And what are you going to do?" Krycek spoke derisively, but Mulder could
hear the edge under the words. "Kill an unarmed man in the middle of your living
room?"
Mulder had had enough of Krycek's crap. He flicked the safety back once more,
letting his eyes go cold. "Don't tempt me, Krycek. You broke into my house and
you did have a weapon."
Krycek's already pale skin paled further as he suddenly seemed to realize that
Mulder was serious. He gave an angry hiss and, awkwardly, using the prosthetic,
snapped the cuff around his right wrist. He looked pointedly at the left. Mulder
nodded. Rationally, he knew Krycek could remove the left arm, rendering the cuff
moot, but it wouldn't be that easy to do, and he was too worked up to really
care.
Krycek was breathing hard. He fastened the cuff around the prosthetic arm. He
stared at Mulder in fury, his voice rough and taunting. "It turns you on to
think I killed your father, doesn't it, Mulder?"
Mulder's hand shook on the gun. "Shut your lying, fucked-up mouth, Krycek!"
Krycek stared at him, his eyes burning with intensity. "Because you hated him."
Mulder felt himself so ready, so ready, to squeeze that trigger. "I said
shut up."
"He never did you any good, Mulder." Krycek's voice was venomous with contempt.
"He hurt you, and he abused you, and you just kept crawling back, wanting him to
love you, even though you could never be good enough...you are one pathetic son
of a bitch."
An incoherent yell burst from Mulder's throat, and he slammed his gun hand
across Krycek's face. Krycek's head snapped back and he grunted in pain with the
force of the blow. He stumbled, trying to regain his footing, and Mulder hit him
again, even harder, driving into Krycek with all his rage and frustration. With
his hands cuffed and no way to catch himself, Krycek crashed heavily into the
sharp edge of Mulder's desk. He sank to the floor and stayed there, crouched
down on one knee, his breathing labored.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about, Krycek!" Mulder spat out the
words. "What would you know about love? You're a cold-hearted, less than human,
trigger-happy piece of scum."
Krycek's eyes were narrowed and almost black. Blood trickled down his face from
a cut on his cheekbone. His voice was a constricted rasp. "That didn't stop you
from asking me to blow you."
Something snapped inside Mulder, and whatever last vestiges of restraint he
might have had where Krycek was concerned finally crumbled away. "Get up."
Krycek got to his feet with difficulty, his mouth open in a snarl of pain. He
braced himself against the edge of the desk, doubled over with his arm pressed
to his side.
"Enjoy playing your sick games, Krycek? How about when the tables are turned?"
Krycek just looked at him in confusion.
"Take off your pants."
One corner of Krycek's mouth went up, and small frown lines appeared between his
eyes. "You're not serious."
Mulder stepped back to the desk, feeling behind him in the drawer until he
located his second pair of handcuffs. He felt feverish, almost in a trance. Was
he really going to go through with this?
"Off." When Krycek still didn't move, Mulder raised the gun, making sure Krycek
noticed. "Now. You have one minute."
Krycek obeyed, stripping off his jeans and boots as quickly as he could with the
cuffs on. He was shaking a little, and Mulder felt a fierce satisfaction at the
sight.
Mulder yanked a chair into place in front of the metal radiator. "Get over here
and bend over this. Keep your hands in front of you."
The green eyes widened in shock, horror and another emotion he couldn't quite
read.
"No, Mulder. Not you."
Mulder waved the second pair of handcuffs. "Stop acting like a scared little
virgin and get over there."
For a minute Krycek just stood frozen, staring at Mulder with a look of
desperation. He was still wearing his black briefs, but that wouldn't be much of
a problem, Mulder thought. Mulder's raw fury was ebbing somewhat, a little
shaken by the entreaty in Krycek's eyes. Actually, the longer this went on, the
more he was losing the stomach for what he was about to do.
"Not this way," Krycek said, his voice going husky.
At that, Mulder's rage surged back. You think you can call the shots, Krycek?
You want it like before, when you were the lying little hustler?
"I have the gun. And don't think I won't use it. Now get over here and
get on your knees."
Slowly, Krycek did as he was told, getting into position over the chair. Mulder
linked the second pair of handcuffs through the ones Krycek was wearing, and
locked them around the foot of the radiator. Krycek winced slightly as Mulder
pulled his arms into place, though otherwise he didn't move or make a sound. He
was keeping very still, his shoulders hunched, every muscle rigid, his right
hand clenched into a fist.
Mulder started to unbuckle his belt. Against his will, he was disturbed by the
sight of Krycek's unnatural stillness, his tense submission, the automatic way
he had gotten into position. Without thinking, he reached out and touched
Krycek's back briefly.
Krycek lowered his head slightly, tucking his face against his shoulder like a
child. He made a very tiny sound of despair, almost inaudible. Mulder's stomach
clenched at that. He couldn't go through with this. He wasn't a rapist. No one,
not even Krycek, deserved that.
Buckling his belt, he pressed the muzzle of the gun to the back of Krycek's head
and reached to grab him by the hair, to warn him not to try anything while
Mulder undid the cuffs. The feel of the dark hair, warm and still slightly damp,
brought uncomfortable memories of himself, a short while ago, running his hands
through it while Krycek...
Shit! Mulder gripped Krycek's hair harder than he had meant to, yanking his head
back a little.
It was as if a bomb exploded. With a savage suddenness, like a snake uncoiling
to strike, Krycek ripped his head from Mulder's hold, twisting to the side and
slamming his foot up into Mulder's hip with enough force to knock him backwards
across the room.
"Get your fucking hands off me!"
Mulder lay gasping for breath, trying to clear his head. A wave of heat was
swimming over him, blurring his vision to red. His hipbone was throbbing. The
pain in his chest felt like a heart attack.
Krycek was panting, sprawled against the radiator with his mouth open. The force
of his sudden violent motion had caused the handcuffs to bite into his wrist,
and there was blood running down his hand. The chair, knocked aside, lay some
feet away.
Mulder felt like he was drowning, trying to pull the air into his lungs. He
pressed both hands against his forehead, where a pounding headache was starting.
Breathe. Fuck. Just breathe. He brought his gun up, tried to find his voice. "I
should kill you for that, Krycek."
"Do it."
Mulder sucked in air. "I'm not a killer."
"No?" Krycek cocked his head, spitting the words at Mulder. "Well, I'm not a
sadist. Or a fucking rapist!"
"I'm not either, Krycek. Not with anyone else. It's you. You're like a virus
that infects everything around you, dragging them down to your sick and filthy
level."
"I'm sick and filthy? You're a fucking monster, Mulder!" Krycek's voice
rose to a ragged yell of fury and pain. "I would have given you what you wanted!
Why did you have to take it that way?"
The words seemed to hang in the air, burning into them both. Krycek leaned
against the radiator, his eyes closed, gulping in breaths of air. Mulder got to
his feet and stumbled into the bathroom, where he vomited his dinner violently.
He did not know how long he sat crouched over the bowl, unable to stop the
heaving and retching that racked his body. He could not get the scene in the
living room, or Krycek's words, out of his head.
Why did you have to take it that way? Why? Because I didn't want it your way, you smiling up at me like a little
happy cocksucking cunt. I wanted it my way. I wanted you to hurt, to scream, to
bleed. I wanted to rip your fucking heart out just like you ripped out mine.
He stripped his clothes off and got into the shower, letting the hot water
soothe his headache away, wash away the traces of Krycek's words, Krycek's
touch, the sight of Krycek's arm. He wished he hadn't cuffed Krycek to the
radiator, wished the murdering prick wouldn't be there when he came out.
Briefly, he entertained the thought of just tossing the handcuff key to Krycek
and telling him to get the hell out. The warmth of the shower sluiced through
his hair and down his back as he soaped up. Jesus, his hip ached. Krycek packed
a hell of a kick. Mulder sometimes forgot that he was that strong, since Krycek
almost never fought back no matter what Mulder did to him. Even in the cell in
Tunguska, Krycek hadn't hit him back, only pushed Mulder away. Don't touch me
again.
But he always did touch Alex. Seeing that face, hearing that voice—it got
to him every time, reminding him of those first days working together, when he
had felt that immediate, undeniable connection. Even in those geeky suits and
ridiculously gelled hair, Alex had been striking. Mulder had been prepared to
feel a physical attraction. He hadn't been prepared for Alex's quick mind, the
way he could take an idea of Mulder's and run with it, coaxing a spark into
flame. The way he accepted Mulder's ideas—seriously, thoughtfully, without
any of Scully's cool disbelief. He hadn't been prepared for the way Alex looked
at him, looked up to him, almost reverently sometimes. Alex could be sweetly
deferential, bringing him coffee, asking how he slept—but he didn't let
Mulder get away with any crap. Mulder hadn't been prepared for Alex's sense of
humor, or the almost magnetic need he felt to be near Alex, to put his hands on
him. He hadn't been prepared to like his new partner so much, to take such an
interest in Alex, in every sense of the word.
And, although he had accused Krycek of being a plant from the start, the truth
was he hadn't been prepared for the betrayal, the knife Krycek had coolly and
casually twisted in his back. He was left with the knowledge that while he was
struggling with his feelings for Alex, Krycek had been playing him for a patsy.
Like a total fool, Mulder had been wrestling with the ethics of the
situation—as if Krycek would know an ethic if it bit him on the ass. Alex
was younger than Mulder, more innocent—ha!—and as the senior partner,
Mulder was technically Alex's superior. He hadn't wanted to take advantage of
the young man. Meanwhile Krycek had been taking meetings with Cancerman,
plotting to have Scully abducted, killing people with complete aplomb.
Even now, six years later, he still felt that betrayal, that pain, compounded by
the knowledge of all the other terrible things Krycek had done to him since, the
murder of his father chief among them.
But the hell of it was, he couldn't shake that other memory, the attraction he
had felt. Each time they met, it steamrolled him again; when he looked at Krycek
he was still suffused with—desire? No, he wouldn't call it that.
Wanting, maybe. Wanting the Alex he had thought he knew, the Alex he
could never have. Instead, he would be faced with Krycek, cynical and malevolent
in dusty black, armed to the teeth and sure to be fresh off some heinous bit of
wrongdoing, double-crossing and treachery.
And he would be filled with the uncontrollable urge to strike out, to exact some
measure of vengeance and relief from the ache, the agonized denial that still,
after all these years, leapt up inside him. He didn't know if Krycek could be
hurt emotionally, the way he had hurt Mulder. Did he even have a heart?
Sometimes Krycek seemed to show emotions, but who knew how real they were. The
man was a master of deceit.
But he could certainly be hurt physically, and Mulder took a savage satisfaction
in doing just that, seeing Krycek bleed and gasp for breath, hearing him grunt
and cry out, watching the flicker of fear in his eyes when Mulder grabbed him,
the pained submission.
He didn't want to think about why Krycek had fought back this time. His mind
didn't want to go there.
It's him; he's the sick and twisted one. I would never do that to anyone
else, never even imagine doing it.
He shuddered. The whole encounter felt like acid seeping through his body,
leaving him raw inside. Suddenly his knees went weak, the adrenaline rage
fading, and he slumped to a sitting position in the tub. He sat hugging his
knees, the water pouring down on him, wanting to scream, to cry, but feeling too
empty and gouged out to do more than rock back and forth, letting his breath
come out in a soundless whimper.
Mulder remained under the shower until the water began to turn lukewarm. Finally
he forced himself to get out, get dressed, and go back in there. He got as far
as the doorway. Instantly, from his position by the radiator, Krycek stiffened.
Eyeing Mulder warily, he shifted position and flexed one foot, obviously
intending to repeat the kick should Mulder try anything further.
Mulder stared back, wordless, in shock. The brief insanity that had led him to
try—that—was past and the idea of touching Krycek in any way
was utterly repugnant to him now. Krycek did not move, but the green eyes,
shaded heavily with apprehension and accusation, stayed on Mulder.
There was nothing to say. Mulder retreated to the kitchen. He opened the
refrigerator and got a beer, if only to give his shaking hands something to do.
As part of Mulder's training as a psychologist, he had done some volunteer work
in a rape counseling center. Specters of traumatized victims appeared
uncomfortably in his mind; sobbing, ashamed, devastated. But that wasn't Krycek.
Other than the bruises beginning to darken on Krycek's face, he hadn't resembled
a victim in any way.
Phrases from the counseling came back to him: "No one 'asks for' rape." "Rape is
an act of aggression, not sexual desire."
Strangely, that one gave some comfort to Mulder. Krycek, who apparently regarded
sex as just another tool in his mindfucking arsenal, had goaded Mulder beyond
tolerance, and Mulder had responded as any normal man would, by wanting to beat
the shit out of him. He hadn't raped Krycek, hadn't even really tried. The most
he had done was pull Krycek's hair a little.
And Krycek had gotten his licks in too. Mulder's hip and tailbone were still
sore as hell.
Mulder paced the kitchen, sipping the beer he didn't really want and surely
didn't need, after the three glasses of wine he'd had at dinner. He was not a
drinker and would almost certainly wake up with a hangover tomorrow.
Irrationally, he resented Krycek for that, too.
The whole situation was so out of control. He wished there were someone he could
call, someone he could turn to. But Skinner would only tell him to bring Krycek
into custody, where Krycek would unquestionably not last long. And Scully...he
could just hear it.
"After I left you, I tried to rape Krycek and he's currently handcuffed to my
radiator. What the hell do I do now?"
"Oh, Mulder, how terrible! I'll run right over and shoot him for you and dispose
of the body and sit up holding your hand all night."
Ha. More like:
"Mulder, you pathetic asswipe. I can't even get engaged without you screwing up
my day? I can't tell you how glad I am to be leaving you!"
Okay, she wouldn't use those terms but those would sure as hell be her
sentiments. No, this one was all his.
"Mulder."
The husky, hesitant voice calling from the other room broke into his thoughts.
Mulder froze, gripping the bottle.
"Mulder!" The voice was more insistent and demanding this time. Mulder downed
the last of the beer and walked out of the kitchen. Krycek looked at him, his
gaze fiercely knowing. The apartment was not that large; had he heard Mulder
vomiting and retching before? It certainly wouldn't have escaped him that Mulder
had stayed under the shower for forty-five minutes and then immediately gone to
hide out in the kitchen.
"You've had your fun, Mulder. Uncuff me and let me go."
Mulder leaned back against the wall with his hands in his pockets, still at a
loss as to what to do. Bringing Krycek in was out of the question, as was
letting him go. Mulder didn't trust for a second that this wasn't some kind of a
setup. And even if Krycek was telling the truth, if, amazingly, that apple did
contain a working vaccine—let him go—where? Krycek would disappear, to
hide out somewhere far away or be hunted down by the Consortium. Either way,
Mulder would never see him again, and, worse, would never know if he was alive
or dead.
Not that I give a shit about that. I just don't trust him.
Another crack of thunder sounded outside. The rain was coming down hard now,
great sheets of it.
"It's still raining," Mulder pointed out inanely. Krycek stared at him in
furious disbelief.
"You're the great profiler, Mulder." Krycek's voice became taunting. "What's the
profile of a rapist? Let me guess—lives alone, obsessed with porn, no
social life, no impulse control..."
"Shut the fuck up, Krycek," Mulder snapped. "I didn't rape you. I barely even
touched you." His voice was returning now, along with his anger. "You really
want to know what rape means, I can take you into custody and dump you in
the DC holding pens overnight. With a face and ass like yours, you should get a
first-hand definition of the word."
"Not necessary," Krycek said, and there was something so dark and disquieting in
his voice and eyes that Mulder felt his stomach go cold. Unbidden, the memory
flashed of Krycek on his knees, his body rigid and motionless.
Fuck, I never asked to know anything, I don't want to feel anything for him.
"Unless you want another murder on your hands," Krycek said softly.
Lightning clawed the sky, a huge bolt, stopping time for an instant of ghostly
blue. Mulder stared at it, noticing one of his windows was open a couple of
inches. Numbly, relieved to have this small thing to focus on, he walked over to
shut it. Krycek twisted his head, watching Mulder uneasily. The windowsill was
wet. Mulder ran a finger along it. He gazed down out the window, to where the
water ran in rivers through the streets below.
"I suppose this is by-the-book FBI procedure for dealing with a source," Krycek
said. "Agent Mulder."
Mulder snorted disgustedly. "You're lecturing me on FBI procedure, Krycek?
That's a good one." He moved away from the window. Krycek shifted, seeming to
relax a bit now that Mulder was back in his direct line of sight.
"Hey," Krycek said, sounding slightly defensive, "I went through the training. I
went to Quantico."
Mulder sat down on the couch, nudging aside Krycek's leather jacket. "What
happened?"
"What do you care?"
Mulder decided he didn't care; anything Krycek told him was liable to be a pack
of lies anyway. "Whatever." He reached for the leather jacket and began going
through the pockets, ignoring Krycek's growl of outrage.
One outer pocket held the black leather gloves and a pair of designer
sunglasses. Two cough drops and a Snickers bar were in the other. The inside
pockets held a small cell phone, a notebook—nothing written in it—and
a wallet, all encased in black leather.
"What, do you have a black leather fetish, Krycek?"
Mulder scrutinized the cell phone, realizing with annoyance that Krycek's gun
was bigger, and his cell phone smaller and cooler, than Mulder's. "I'm hurt,
Krycek, you never gave me your phone number." He tucked the cell phone
away in his pocket. He would have to find out who Krycek had been calling with
this phone. "Wonder who does have it." Krycek opened his mouth but then didn't
say anything, merely stared at Mulder's pocket. Mulder unwrapped the Snickers
bar and took a bite, flipping open Krycek's wallet.
"Are you eating my fucking candy bar?" Krycek growled.
The wallet held almost two hundred dollars in twenties and tens, and two credit
cards and a driver's license under the name Daniel Stone. No pictures, papers or
anything else remotely personal or interesting. Mulder tossed the jacket aside
and picked up Krycek's black jeans. In the pockets he found a twenty-dollar
bill, a ring of keys and a nasty-looking switchblade.
"Satisfied?" Krycek snapped. "Can I have my stuff back now? And leave?"
Mulder dropped the jeans back to the floor. He ate the last bite of candy and
tossed the wadded wrapper at Krycek. "You look comfy where you are."
Krycek stared balefully up at him. "Unlock these fucking things and let me go,
you psycho sonofabitch!" Krycek was sweating; unable to wipe his face with his
hands, he gave an angry toss of his head. Mulder turned and went into the
bedroom. Wanting to punch holes in the walls, he sat on the edge of the bed,
holding his head.
He didn't want to hit Krycek again. He didn't even want to see Krycek
again. But Krycek was yelling his name and would not shut up. Exasperated, ready
to explode, Mulder strode back out to the living room. Instantly, Krycek's eyes
locked on his.
"You have to let me go." Krycek's voice took on a desperate edge. "They're going
to kill me, Mulder."
"And I should care about this—why?"
Krycek shifted, wincing and gritting his teeth in pain. "Mulder, I swear to you,
if you let me go, I'll forget all of this ever happened. I'll—I'll
disappear and you'll never have to see me again. I swear. I'll never come near
you again."
"Let you go, Krycek? You want me to let you go? All right, maybe I'll do that."
Mulder paced the room, stopping just behind Krycek, so that Krycek had to tip
his head back to look directly up at him. Krycek tensed all over when he did
that. "Maybe I'll put you out there, in the rain, just as you are, how about
that." Mulder paused to let Krycek imagine being out in the downpour,
half-dressed and handcuffed, with no weapon, cash or keys. Krycek swallowed,
watching him warily. Mulder paced to the door and back again. "Or maybe I'll
just shoot you with your own gun, and tell the cops it was suicide. I could
probably fake a crime scene well enough—"
Krycek was frowning slightly, following Mulder with his eyes. "You're drunk,
Mulder," he said quietly.
The words hit Mulder like a brick to the side of the head. His hands were
shaking again, and he made his way to the couch and dropped onto it like a
stone.
His father's rages, spiraling out of control. His mother's voice, brittle with
reproach and unshed tears.
"You're drunk, Bill."
Another deafening crack of thunder sounded, with a simultaneous blast of light
across the sky. Mulder's hatred focused with laser like intensity on the
crouched figure of Krycek. He retrieved his gun and walked back to kneel down by
the radiator, staring into Krycek's eyes. Lifting the gun, he placed the barrel
under Krycek's chin.
"You are like my personal demon from hell, Krycek." Mulder spoke slowly. Krycek
blinked, recoiling slightly. "If it were up to me, I'd like nothing better than
to watch you die in as painful a manner as possible." Krycek was staring at him
wide-eyed, a look of stunned despair on his face. Mulder pressed the gun harder
against his throat, pushing Krycek's head back. "Understand me, Krycek?"
Krycek could not move his head much, with the gun jammed under his chin, but he
gave a tiny nod. Mulder stepped back.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Krycek asked, his voice cracking. "Don't you
know what I gave you tonight?"
Mulder turned. "What, is that supposed to change everything?"
Krycek shook his head. "Are you so self-centered that it doesn't?" he asked, his
voice hardly more than a whisper.
Mulder went into the bedroom. He stripped out of his clothes and lay down,
naked, staring at the ceiling, the same as he did every night. But despite what
he had told Krycek, nothing was the same. Everything had changed, terribly.
The alarm clock went off next to Mulder's head. He was sitting on the edge of
the bed, trying to wake up, when a soft sound from his living room brought back
the realization of all that had happened. Naked and still muzzy with sleep, he
plodded out to take a look. Krycek was half-leaning, half-lying against the
radiator, his left knee drawn up and his left arm pressed to his side. At first
glance he appeared to be asleep, but he was not. As Mulder approached, Krycek's
head came up and he stared at Mulder with the expression of a starving man about
to be killed by a plate of prime rib.
Absently scratching the hair on his chest, Mulder gazed back. He had not been
embarrassed to be naked in front of Krycek at first, but Krycek's look was
disconcerting. Krycek cleared his throat and started to speak. Mulder didn't
want to hear it. He turned and headed for the bathroom. As he washed up and
dressed for work, he heard Krycek yell his name a couple of times, then subside
into silence.
Steeling himself, Mulder walked out to face his nemesis. At least he was dressed
this time. "Yeah, Krycek?"
Krycek spoke through gritted teeth. "What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to work. Some of us do work for a living."
"So you're going to just leave me here?" Krycek looked like he was fighting to
keep his temper under control. He sucked in a couple of angry breaths. "Still
think you're so much better than me, Mulder?"
Despite a pounding headache from all the wine, Mulder felt stronger in the
morning light. The guilt and the ghosts were receding, allowing the situation to
take on manageable proportions. "Yeah, Krycek, I do." He kept his voice calm and
hard. "I didn't murder anyone in your family, or your friends, or hurt them. Oh,
right, you probably don't have a family, or friends." Krycek flinched slightly
at the words.
"I don't kill people just because it's expedient. I don't claim to love this
country and then turn around and peddle secrets to the Russians, the French, the
Tunisians, and God knows who else." Again the little flinch, the long lashes
fluttering.
"All I've done is knock you around a little, and can you honestly say that you
don't deserve it?"
Krycek laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Deserve? You think there's any
justice in the world, that people get what they deserve? It's all
random, Mulder. It's fate and cunning and power. There's no justice...not
divine, not yours and not mine."
"If you really believe that," Mulder said, "then what's the point of laws,
government—hell, the Bureau? Why not just have anarchy?"
"Most people are stupid. They need to be led."
"Nice view of human nature, Krycek."
"One that you don't share?" Krycek's eyes glittered. "Give me a break. You don't
think you're better and brighter than just about everyone around you?"
Mulder fought back an involuntary smile as the truth of that pierced home.
Still, he would not give Krycek the satisfaction of knowing he'd scored a point.
He made his face a bored mask. "I've got to go."
Krycek stared back, his eyes murderous. "You better at least let me use the
bathroom. Unless you want me to piss on your rug."
Mulder had no doubt that he would do just that. Krycek was no better than an
animal. Irritation mingling with an uncomfortable nudge of guilt, he fetched his
gun and unlocked Krycek's left wrist, leaving the cuff dangling from his right.
Krycek stretched and flexed his arms, wincing, before getting slowly to his
feet. Holding his left side, he limped off toward the bathroom, shutting the
door pointedly in Mulder's face and locking it. Mulder stifled a reflexive
objection. There was no way Krycek could escape; they were too high up, and the
window was sealed shut under an archeological number of paint layers.
"I'm right outside, Krycek," he called warningly through the door. "Don't take
too long."
He heard an indistinct mutter that sounded like "Fuck you." Mulder leaned
against the wall outside, keeping the gun trained on the door. A few minutes
passed. He heard the toilet flush and the water running and waited for the door
to open, but it did not.
Mulder rapped on the door impatiently. "Let's go, Krycek!" He heard only silence
in return. What the hell was Krycek doing in there? Mulder banged on the door,
harder this time. "Krycek! Get out here now, before I shoot you right
through this fucking door!"
No response, then another mutter that might have been "No," or "Let me go," or
maybe "Fuck you" again.
"Goddammit, Krycek! If I have to take this lock off, you're going downtown with
me and Skinner can have you! Now unlock the door."
More silence. Then: "You're not cuffing me to that radiator again," Krycek said
hoarsely.
Mulder closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. With irritation, he realized his
threat to shoot was pretty much an empty one. It would only wreck his bathroom,
and Krycek could easily hide in the shower, where Mulder couldn't get a straight
shot. He recalled that he had an old bicycle chain and lock, which gave him an
idea. Still holding the gun, in case Krycek did decide to emerge, he went to
get the chain and locks, plus a screwdriver.
There was no sound from Krycek as Mulder unscrewed the bathroom doorknob and
removed it. Slowly and cautiously, he stepped back, keeping the gun cocked, and
kicked the door open, fully expecting to have to grapple with Krycek. To his
surprise, Krycek was just sitting against the wall, gazing at Mulder with a
numb, fatalistic look in his eyes. Hands at his sides, wearing only his shirt,
briefs and socks, the rat looked as though he had reached the end of his rope
and no longer cared what Mulder might do to him. A warning clicked in Mulder's
mind. With nothing to lose, Krycek would be doubly dangerous.
Picking up the chain and locks, Mulder advanced into the bathroom and crouched
down in front of Krycek. Krycek gazed at him in exhausted suspicion but made no
move.
"Okay, Krycek. You can stay in here." Mulder was still holding the gun. With his
other hand, he reached out carefully to open the door of the under-sink cabinet.
"I'll make this long enough so you can get water and use the toilet." He looped
the chain around the pipe under the sink and locked it in place, then used the
smaller padlock to attach the chain to the handcuffs.
Krycek sat up a bit as Mulder attached the cuff. His eyes roamed to the pipe
under the sink and Mulder could see it, the life coming back into Krycek, the
green gaze sharpening to a wolf stare as Krycek checked out the pipe, taking
note of the fact that it had a removable trap.
Mulder's eyes met Krycek's. He could feel the awareness spark between them, the
challenge that gleamed from beneath Krycek's half-lowered lashes. They were
sitting very close, close enough to touch, although they were both assiduously
avoiding that. Mulder reached over to the pipe and tried to loosen the trap with
his hand. He could not. Still, Krycek was strong, and determined, and he would
have a good eight hours to work on it while Mulder was at the Bureau. Mulder
went out to his toolbox and fetched a wrench, tightening the connection until he
was fairly certain Krycek would not be able to undo it by hand. Before he left,
he made sure to remove all the tools from the bathroom.
Outside, he bought a newspaper and then stopped off at the coffee shop where he
usually got coffee and a bagel for breakfast. It hit him with a little jolt that
he would have to take something to Krycek as well. As little as he cared for the
rat bastard, Mulder couldn't just let him starve.
Krycek looked up sharply when Mulder returned, smirking as he spotted the bag
Mulder carried. "Rosie's?" A small gleam appeared in his eyes. "Good glazed
donuts there."
Mulder felt a jolt of irritation at the realization that either he and Krycek
were neighbors, which he seriously doubted, or Krycek had spent more time than
Mulder cared to think about skulking around outside Mulder's apartment, stuffing
himself with donuts.
"I got bagels." He handed the bag to Krycek.
Krycek took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. "Got any cream and sugar?"
Mulder looked at him in annoyance. "No." He turned to go.
"So you're just going to leave me here?" Krycek said. His eyes narrowed at
Mulder's bland nod. "What the hell am I supposed to do all day, look at your
fucking walls?"
Mulder raised his eyebrows. "Hey, play with yourself all day for all I care."
Krycek gave him a level stare that let him know his flippancy was not
appreciated. Mulder relented, grabbing a couple of books off his coffee table.
Hurrying back, he tossed them into the bathroom near Krycek. "Here."
Krycek started to reach for the books, then suddenly drew back, his expression
changing into anger and revulsion. As if they were a pair of scorpions, he
actually kicked the books away from him. Mulder looked at him with incredulity.
Krycek really was more of a lunatic than even Mulder had imagined.
"I'm not reading that crap!" Krycek said, sounding outraged.
Glancing down, Mulder saw that the books were a couple that Langley had lent him
on possible methods of communicating with extraterrestrial life. They weren't
bad; less scientific and more new-agey than Mulder would have preferred,
perhaps, but they did contain several interesting theories.
"I spent my whole fucking life fighting against this shit, Mulder! Why the hell
would I want to communicate—" Krycek sneered out the word as though
it were something filthy "—with them?"
Mulder rolled his eyes. "How can you be so—"
"They're terrorists, Mulder, plain and simple! You don't reason with them, you
don't—"
"Look, I know you had a bad experience with—"
"A bad experience?" Krycek's expression became an open-mouthed snarl.
"You don't know anything, Mulder, nothing!"
Mulder walked out, slamming the door. Keeping an assassin in his bathroom was
not proving to be one of the smarter things he had ever done.
Despite the large mound of case files and paperwork awaiting his attention,
Mulder spent the morning checking out the six disks Krycek had given him. The
first one contained several files with names like "Phytogenesis Experiments,"
and "Bacillium Trials I." He was starting to feel baffled and irritated when he
spotted a file entitled, "ReadMulder." Opening it, he read:
["Mulder: This disk contains the plant genetics experiments and trial runs that
led to the production of the apples containing the vaccine gene. There's a list
of sources if you want to do further reading on it. I don't fully understand all
the underlying science myself, but the scientists doing the work will be able to
answer your questions. In the file marked 'Oliver Technologies' you will find
their names and bios, and information on the place in northern Maryland where
the work is being done. It's three scientists, one office in a bioengineering
facility. As far as they know they are working on a top-secret project for the
government. That should make it fairly easy when you take over for me. A. K."]
Mulder perused some of the files, but they were fairly incomprehensible to him.
He ran Oliver Technologies and the names of the three scientists through the FBI
database. They all checked out. It was beginning to look like Krycek just might
be telling the truth.
Mulder put in the second disk. This time he went directly to the " ReadMulder"
file.
["Mulder: This contains the layout of the lab in Trenton where the Consortium is
manufacturing the vaccine. I was only able to smuggle out a limited amount to
use in developing the vaccine apples. You will have to go in and get the rest.
I've laid out my plans for how to stage a raid on the place after hours, which
are also included here..."]
And so on, each disk meticulously organized and methodically explained.
["Mulder: This contains the original formula for making the vaccine, plus as
much as I could find on the experiments that led up to it..."]
["Mulder: These are Consortium files on the colonization plans, and their plans
for selling the vaccine. Also my own files containing my ideas for distribution
and possible avenues to go about it..."]
["Mulder: This is information on the Consortium, whatever dirt I could dig up. I
hope you can someday use it to bring them down..."]
Mulder went through that one for a couple of hours. It did indeed contain a good
deal of hair-raising and potentially explosive information on Consortium
activities, going back several years. There were, however, some glaring
omissions. There was no mention of Mulder, or Scully, or Samantha. And there was
no mention at all of Krycek, or his involvement with any of it.
Mulder inserted the sixth and last disk. To his surprise, instead of a list of
files, the screen filled with gibberish. He wondered if the disk was damaged in
some way, or if it contained more Consortium files that had somehow been
encoded. Not having the knowledge or patience for these things himself, he made
plans to bring it to the Lone Gunmen after work.
The Gunmen labored over it for hours, fortified with Mulder's bribe of three
large mushroom and pepperoni pizzas, but even they were unable to unlock the
code.
"This is some encryption program," Byers said, sounding both frustrated and
admiring, when they were finally forced to admit defeat. Lying on the Gunmen's
couch, chowing down on a slice of pizza, Mulder's thoughts went to the rat in
his bathroom. Did Krycek have the code?
It was after nine o'clock when Mulder finally made his way back home. He
wondered if Krycek would still be there when he returned, and wondered which
scenario he was hoping for: Krycek gone, probably forever, or Krycek in his
apartment, making his life hell. Just in case, he stopped at the Chinese place
on the corner and picked up some lo mein and spareribs.
There was no sound when he entered and switched on the light, and he felt a
curious desolation. So the bastard had managed to escape somehow. Then he
spotted the black leather jacket still draped over the back of the couch. A wave
of mingled relief and dread hit him. He set the food down and drew his gun as he
headed down the hall.
Except that the bruises on his face had darkened to purple, Krycek looked just
as Mulder had left him that morning, chained to the sink. He stared up at Mulder
through narrowed, furious eyes as Mulder approached the bathroom. "Where the
hell have you been all night?" he snarled.
"Gee, honey, did'ja miss me? I just stopped to have a beer with the guys after
work."
Krycek's expression flared into full-blown rage. He cursed volubly at Mulder for
several minutes in English and Russian and maybe a few other languages as well.
Feeling a strange, almost giddy lightness, Mulder waited patiently until Krycek
paused for breath. "You hungry?"
"What do you think?" Krycek snapped. "All you gave me all day was a fucking
bagel."
Mulder smiled blandly. "And you didn't even say thank you."
He watched Krycek's pride struggle with his ratlike survival instincts. Survival
won out, as Mulder had known it would. "Thanks, Mulder, you're all heart.
Now are you going to give me something to eat, or do I have to gnaw my other arm
off?"
Mulder got a can of Coke from his refrigerator and brought it and the bag of
takeout to Krycek. As Krycek sucked the meat from the spareribs with
piranha-like speed and efficiency, Mulder lowered himself to the floor in the
hall. "I took a look at the disks you gave me," he said. "One of them is
encoded."
Strong emotion surged up into Krycek's eyes for a moment, before he bent his
head once more over the food, effectively hiding his face from Mulder.
"Do you know what's on it?"
There was no response beyond chewing. Mulder decided to try a different angle.
"Can you trust those scientists you're working with on the apples?"
He was a little surprised when Krycek answered readily, looking up at him. "So
far they've been okay. I didn't want to use outside people, but..."
"Why did you? I thought you were funding this yourself. Why not just hire your
own people and do it autonomously?"
With an incredulous snort, Krycek rolled his eyes sideways to the wall, as
though hoping to find a more intelligent response there. "Yeah, in my secret
underground laboratory, Mulder. And then I will rule the world!"
"Krycek—"
"Christ, Mulder, you don't get it, do you?" Krycek was shaking his head. "You
just never get it! I'm one fucking man, Mulder. One man, expendable, and
I'm being watched like a hawk. I can't just produce something like this on my
own. I don't have that kind of power, or that kind of money. I had to work
within the system—I've always had to work within the system. I had to work
with the Consortium people and smuggle their vaccine out when I could." A dark
undercurrent ran through Krycek's voice for a moment. "I hate those men,
Mulder."
"But you have no trouble getting in bed with them to further your interests."
Krycek pushed the sparerib container, now reduced to a pile of clean bones,
aside. He popped the top of the Coke and took a long drink. "You do whatever it
takes, Mulder." Krycek emphasized the words with a little flick of his eyebrows.
"You fund what you can under the table, you push it where it needs to go, you
never know who you can trust so you keep them guessing, you play all sides
against the middle—"
"You're good at that," Mulder said coolly.
"Yeah, well, be very fucking glad I am, Mulder! If I was as fine a human being
as you, you wouldn't have that vaccine in your hands right now, because it
wouldn't exist, or if it did exist, they would have hoarded it all for
themselves." Krycek stared at him, the intensity of his gaze leaving Mulder
feeling scalded and off-balance.
Are you so self-centered that this doesn't make a difference?
"I just have a hard time picturing you as altruistic, Krycek," he said dryly.
Krycek opened the lo mein and started slurping down noodles. "Call it what you
want. But we're on the same side here, fighting for the same things."
Mulder was distracted by the way the oily lo mein was making Krycek's lips
shine. There was a little smudge of sparerib sauce above Krycek's lip, just at
the corner. Mulder found himself becoming weirdly hypnotized by it.
"You've been inside the Consortium lab?" he asked abruptly. "You know your way
around?"
Krycek nodded. "Sure."
"And your suggestion was that I should somehow convince the Bureau to get behind
this raid?" Mulder frowned. "They'll never go for that."
"Not if they know what it is. But let's say they think it's some kind of drug
lab, something along those lines—"
"They'd destroy everything—"
"It's evidence—"
"No." Mulder shook his head. "How about a virus—bacteriological warfare?"
"Then you get CDC and all that. Keep it simple." Krycek leaned forward. "Who can
you trust? Can you trust Skinner?"
A lot more than I can trust you, probably, Mulder thought. He shrugged his suit
jacket off, loosened his tie. "He's okay."
"Would he authorize something? We need Bureau manpower. It can't be just you and
me."
You and me? You were planning to run off.
Krycek gave Mulder a wry, knowing look, as if reading his thoughts. He sat back,
sipping his soda. Mulder felt energized. He felt the connection humming,
something deeper and more substantial than the crazy physical thing that always
seemed to spark between them. Something that went back to when they were
partners. That intellectual connection, the way they worked a case so well
together—that at least had been real, hadn't it?
Hadn't it?
Krycek finished the soda and tipped the can up, shaking it to get the last few
drops before crumpling it and tossing it in the trash. Mulder knew the salty
Chinese food must be making him thirsty. He also knew with certainty that Krycek
would not ask him for another soda, or try to awkwardly drink from the sink in
front of Mulder.
"So," Mulder said, "are you going to give me the code for that disk?"
Krycek's eyes glinted. He raised his wrist. "Are you going to let me go,
Mulder?" The bones of Krycek's hand and wrist were long and graceful. That
sucked the air from Mulder's lungs for a second. He could see that Krycek's
wrist was red and raw under the cuff. He knew he should probably take a look at
it, but he was reluctant to uncuff Krycek, for many reasons. He hooked a finger
through his tie and pulled it over his head, stalling for time.
"Where would you go?" he asked finally. They stared at each other. Despite
Mulder's sinking suspicion that his was the weaker position, it was Krycek who
broke first, his eyes sliding away from Mulder's and going flat with
unhappiness.
"You can't keep me chained up in your bathroom all night," he said hoarsely.
And what would be the alternative? Have a beer together on the couch and
watch the game? Cuddle up in the waterbed? Turn him loose to disappear?
"It's not so bad, Krycek." Mulder said, keeping his voice a deliberate monotone.
"I'm sure you've been in worse situations than this."
Krycek's head dropped in angry defeat. "Can I get a fucking blanket at least?"
Mulder got up, went out to the closet and found an extra blanket and a pillow.
He brought them back to Krycek. "Here." Krycek took them without a word. Mulder
went to the kitchen and got another Coke and a water glass. Krycek's eyes
widened slightly when Mulder handed him the soda and set the glass on the sink.
There was still a smudge of sparerib sauce on Krycek's lip, and his tongue
absently came out to lick it away. He didn't fully succeed. Mulder own lips
tingled. He started to turn away quickly, then remembered he still had the day's
newspaper. He pulled it from his briefcase and handed it to Krycek. Krycek took
it, continuing to gaze at Mulder without speaking.
In the bedroom, Mulder stripped off his clothes, leaving his boxers on this
time. He fed the fish, checked his phone messages, picked up Krycek's jeans and
boots from the floor and put them away in the closet. Feeling restless and
unable to concentrate, he sprawled on the couch to watch TV. His mind kept going
back to the lab, the vaccine, and how to work it. And from there, disturbingly,
to Krycek, fixating on that small spot of sparerib sauce above Krycek's mouth.
With an almost bodily rush of relief, he gave in and allowed himself to
fantasize.
He would crouch down next to Krycek, as close as they had been in the
bathroom that morning. Krycek would stare at him like he had that day he kissed
Mulder, lips parted, eyes intense. Mulder would lick the tip of one finger and
touch it to that spot on Krycek's lip...
Mulder felt a tightening in his groin. He slid down so he was lying along the
couch and let his hand wander to the waistband of his sweatpants.
When he rubbed the sauce from Krycek's lip, Krycek would open his mouth a
little wider, and catch Mulder's fingertip in his teeth, very lightly. Mulder
would feel Krycek's tongue press against his finger and he would... He would... What?
That brought his fantasies grinding to a halt. Any thoughts of kissing Krycek,
undressing Krycek—having sex with Krycek—slammed his mind up
against last night like a wave splintering on a jagged shoal.
Krycek's arm, the way he had stared at the wall, like he wanted to escape from
his own body. Krycek's little mocking smile, taunting Mulder. Krycek bent over
the chair, his head down, trembling. The look in his eyes afterward.
Mulder sat up, feeling suddenly ill. No, he didn't want to do any of that with
Krycek.
And Krycek didn't truly want to do any of that with him. Despite Krycek's
display of apparent willingness last night, Mulder didn't believe for a minute
that any of it had been real. No more than the adoring looks young Alex had sent
his way had been real.
Mulder rubbed a hand across his face. He had never felt less sexy in his life.
What he really wanted was a long, hot shower. But Krycek was there, ensconced in
his bathroom like some kind of malevolent, captive beast. Mulder subsided
irritably back onto the couch to watch the Crocodile Hunter jubilantly pursuing
poisonous pit vipers halfway around the globe, until his eyes finally closed.
Pressure in his bladder brought Mulder awake, to an uneasy feeling he couldn't
quite identify. He stumbled into the bathroom—
—and was brought up short by a pair of cold green eyes: Alex Krycek,
chained to his sink.
Mulder stood in the doorway for a moment, nonplussed. Didn't that motherfucker
ever sleep?
"Go ahead and pee, Mulder," Krycek rasped mockingly. "It's nothing I haven't
seen before."
"What, you hang around in public bathrooms for kicks, Krycek?" Mulder stepped up
to the plate, but apparently his bat was feeling a little performance anxiety,
for nothing was happening. Shit, he was too tired for this.
"Run some water," Krycek suggested.
"Shut the hell up, Krycek." Mulder was damned if he was going to run the water,
or slink out of his own bathroom to pee in the kitchen sink.
Nothing. Mulder stretched, cracking his back and neck.
Krycek started to whistle tunelessly. Mulder really wanted to turn around and
kick him in the nuts. But that would erode what little dignity he had left. He
closed his eyes and waited, tried to think meditative thoughts and relax.
Finally, he felt it start to happen. Trying to act nonchalant, he peed and
tucked himself away. Krycek was still whistling. Not wanting to chance walking
in on Krycek again while half-asleep, Mulder started to pull the door shut.
"Hey, leave it open! I'm not going to escape." Krycek seemed suddenly agitated.
Mulder ignored him and snapped off the light.
"At least leave the damn light on, Mulder!"
"Why, Krycek, I always thought cockroaches liked the dark." Mulder stepped out,
closing the door.
"Mulder! Open this fucking door!" Krycek's voice was angry and desperate. Mulder
could hear him cursing and screaming, sounding increasingly frantic, as Mulder
walked back to the couch. Fuck Krycek anyway. A few hours in the dark weren't
going to kill him. Why couldn't he just go to sleep and let Mulder do the same?
The sudden hard crash of something hitting the bathroom door made Mulder jump
and duck. More crashes followed, then the sound of glass breaking.
"GODDAMN IT MULDER! LET ME OUT OF HERE!"
The rat bastard was destroying his bathroom. Mulder stormed back to stand
outside the door.
"Krycek!" He had to raise his voice to be heard over Krycek's screaming and the
loud slams of things smashing against the door. "Krycek! Shut the fuck up and
listen! I can't open the door unless you stop throwing things."
Silence for a moment. Mulder waited. "Okay...open it!" Krycek rasped.
"Okay, I'm opening the door, Krycek. You try anything and you're—" Too
late, he realized he didn't have his gun. "Try anything and it gets shut again,
for good."
"Just—open—it." Krycek sounded like he was about to lose it
completely.
Slowly and cautiously, Mulder opened the door and flipped on the light. Krycek
was half-crouched by the sink; Mulder could hear his harsh, rapid breathing from
the doorway. His eyes looked dark and wild, the pupils dilated. The exertion had
torn open the wound on his wrist, and fresh blood was running down his arm.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Krycek?"
As Mulder had feared, his bathroom was completely trashed. Krycek had apparently
seized everything he could get hold of and flung it at the door. Shampoo,
shaving cream and scouring powder were splattered all over the walls and the
door. There was broken glass on the floor—the water glass.
"All right, I'm just going to get a broom and clean up some of this mess. Don't
try anything and don't touch anything."
He made Krycek get up and shake out the blanket and pillow, then started
sweeping up the broken glass. Krycek resumed his position on the floor. Mulder
noticed he was holding the prosthetic hand strangely, curled into a fist between
his knees. Concealing a piece of broken glass?
"Open your hands," Mulder ordered. With a weary grimace, Krycek obeyed, tossing
the shard of glass to the floor. He was breathing heavily, gulping in air as
though he had just run a marathon.
"Panic attack, Krycek?" Mulder asked. "You afraid of the dark?"
Krycek looked away. "Fuck you, Mulder," he panted raggedly.
Mulder dumped the broken glass into the trash. "Beasties that crawl in
the—"
Shit. The silo.
The silo where Krycek had been locked up after the black oilien left his body,
left there in the dark with—it—for God knew how long. How he had
gotten out, Mulder had no idea.
Jesus. Mulder's skin crawled just thinking about it.
"Shit...Alex."
At the sound of his first name Krycek jerked slightly, as if prodded with an
electric shock.
"I forgot." Grudgingly, he looked at the way Alex was sitting, awkwardly
favoring his left side. "I—are you in a lot of pain there?"
"You broke my fucking ribs, asshole."
"I think I have some Vicodin..." Mulder crossed the hall to the closet where he
kept medical supplies, hunting through the bottles on the shelf until he found
the one he wanted. "It's expired, but it might still work." He tossed the bottle
to Krycek, remembering a moment too late that it had a childproof cap. That
didn't seem to faze Krycek; he had it open in a matter of seconds and was
gulping down two of the pills, not even waiting for water.
"Hey, take it easy, those things aren't candy." Mulder stepped back, studying
Krycek. "Your arm's bleeding."
Krycek snorted. "What is this—good cop, bad cop, in one convenient
schizophrenic package?"
Mulder bent a little closer, watching Krycek tense up. "If I unlock the cuff,
will you let me take a look at it without trying to jump me or kick me?"
Krycek gazed at him for a long minute, locking eyes. The face of an angel, and
such old, world-weary eyes he had. Mulder had an impulse to end all this now,
uncuff Krycek, patch him up and let him go. Or maybe even...let him stay.
Very slowly, Mulder reached toward Krycek's arm.
Krycek drew back, his eyes hardening.
"No?"
"No," Krycek whispered.
Mulder moved back. "What the hell is your problem, Krycek? I just want to clean
it up, put a bandage on it."
Krycek closed his eyes for a second, as if in pain, then opened them. "No," he
said, his voice flat. "No. Don't touch me."
"Whatever," Mulder snapped. Absurdly, he felt hurt and angry. Rejected.
Savagely, he yanked a couple of towels from the rod, noting with satisfaction
how Krycek winced and blinked as he did so. He mopped up the mess as best he
could, then threw the towels into the tub. Krycek flinched again as Mulder
slammed the shaving cream canister onto the sink, but as Mulder continued to
bang things around, he settled back and simply sat there looking amused, to
Mulder's extreme annoyance.
Having done at least a perfunctory cleanup, Mulder wiped his hands on his boxers
and stood in the doorway for a second. He rested his hand on the doorknob,
casually pulling the door halfway shut. That wiped the smirk from Krycek's face;
Mulder could see the tiny flash of fear in his expression, Krycek's eyes darting
from the door to the light switch. Mulder had the briefest of impulses to leave
him there in the dark again, but no matter how repellent he might find Krycek,
he couldn't do that to him. And he didn't want a repeat of the earlier scene,
especially since Krycek seemed to have calmed down somewhat.
"Don't worry, I won't close it again. I don't need my neighbors giving me a hard
time because you're having a hissy fit in here at two a.m. But I better not hear
another sound for the rest of the night, or I'll come in here and knock you
senseless."
Mulder awoke to the realization that his alarm clock had been going off for more
than twenty minutes. He stretched wearily. Athough he had overslept, he felt
exhausted, as though he had been running all night. He also had to pee again,
but there was no way in hell he was peeing in front of Krycek this time. He
would just have to do it in the shower.
Of course, his tub was filled with sodden, goo-encrusted towels from last
night's little episode. Cursing under his breath, Mulder dumped them into a
laundry bag and used a clean towel to wipe down the tub a little. And it went
without saying that Krycek would not be sleeping. He did look a little less
tense and on edge this morning; no doubt Mulder's Vicodin had eased some of the
pain from his broken ribs. He sat leaning against the sink with his knees drawn
up, watching Mulder through half-closed eyes.
Mulder turned on the water in the shower. He felt a bit awkward stripping in
front of Krycek, but Krycek had already seen it all that first morning. To his
annoyance, his cock was half-hard.
Krycek's wolf eyes fixed on it. "So," he drawled mockingly, "do I get to watch
you jack off in the shower this morning?"
Mulder really wanted to smack him, but the bruising along the right side of
Krycek's face was an uncomfortable reminder of how much of that he had already
done. "In your dreams, Krycek." He slapped the shower curtain shut.
He dressed carefully, taking some time to decide whether a red and gold striped
tie or the blue one with chess pieces would go better with his navy Armani suit.
He didn't know if it would make a difference to Skinner, but it never hurt to
look professional and sharp. He was going to have to really lay on the powers of
persuasion to get his boss to both authorize a move on the lab in Trenton and
offer some protection to Krycek. In the back of his mind he questioned whether
that was necessary, why he didn't just cut Krycek loose.
Too late now. You're stuck with him.
Glancing at his watch, he saw that he was already going to be a few minutes
late, but there was something he was still wondering about. As always, curiosity
won out over duty, and he headed down the hall to the bathroom. Krycek was
sitting back against the wall, seemingly dozing. He lifted his head as Mulder
approached, letting his eyes sweep up and down Mulder's body. Mulder felt a
strange rush. It had been a long time since another man so openly checked him
out. Krycek shifted back, his eyes widening and his chin lifting fractionally,
looking—impressed? Appreciative? Definitely, Mulder decided, and despite
himself felt a swift sharp jab of gratification. He leaned against the doorjamb,
giving Krycek a little smirk.
"So, Krycek. How did you get out of that silo?"
As Mulder had hoped, the question seemed to startle Krycek. "I—I don't
know."
"Slipped your mind, an insignificant thing like that?" Mulder said dryly.
"Fuck you, Mulder! Why should I tell you anything?"
"Maybe I'll be nice to you, give you a donut this time."
Krycek swallowed and abruptly looked away. "It's the truth, Mulder. I don't
know." His voice was low; it sounded like he was keeping it under careful
control. "I—I was in there for—I don't know how long, I must've passed
out eventually—" A minute but visible shudder ran through him. Mulder felt
a grim sympathy, combined with a rabid curiosity. Krycek had had actual physical
contact with the alien, had spent hours, possibly days, in its presence, had
seen and touched the alien ship. But he could see, in the tense twitch of
Krycek's muscles and the fine sweat that had broken out on the other man's face,
how stressful this was for Krycek. He would not answer those questions easily,
and certainly not to satisfy Mulder's alien lust.
"I woke up in a VA hospital. They—I was told that militia found me."
"They denied it."
Krycek hissed out a breath. "Like I said, I don't know."
"Spender, probably," Mulder mused. "When we were there looking for you,
he—"
"You—you were looking for me?" Krycek stared at him, his eyes round with
astonishment and a kind of hope.
"I knew you were there. But there are about two hundred of those silos, and
Cancerman got in the way before we could find the right one. Surrounded us,
drove us away."
"You knew I was there..." Krycek sounded almost like he was talking to himself.
"I called your name, in the dark...I started to go a little crazy after a while.
I thought you might hear me somehow...even, maybe, in your mind...they do call
you Spooky..." He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, pulling in a deep
breath, then opened them, staring fervently at Mulder. "You were really trying
to find me? Why?"
Suddenly, absurdly, Mulder wanted to lie, to tell Krycek what he so desperately
wanted to hear: that someone had cared, that he hadn't been simply abandoned
there to die in the silo.
I called your name...
But it wasn't the truth.
"I knew you had the black oil in you. I knew you were heading for the alien
craft, and you would lead us to it."
Something flickered briefly in Krycek's eyes, before he looked down and away
from Mulder. A small, cynical smile appeared. "Yeah...you wanted the spaceship.
And leaving me to rot down there, that would work out pretty well. That's what
you always wanted, isn't it? All those times...you would beat the hell out of
me, and I always thought—" Krycek broke off.
Mulder felt stung; hurting Krycek bothered him more than he would have expected.
"You thought what?"
"But you really wanted a reason to kill me, didn't you? You couldn't just shoot
me in cold blood; you're not a killer like me. You wanted me to fight you. You
wanted me to make you do it."
Mulder wasn't sure what he was talking about. He was still feeling bad, thinking
about the silo, Krycek's earlier painful admission. He moved closer, crouching
down a little.
"Krycek." He spoke gently. "I just assumed...they'd take you out."
Krycek stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Take me out and kill me, you mean."
"I..." Mulder had nothing to say. It was true. And it hadn't bothered him much
then, but it did now.
Krycek spit at him, actually spit at him. Mulder stared at him in
disbelief.
"This was a good suit, you know, asshole!" He got to his feet; otherwise he
would have surely punched Krycek in the face again.
"Fuck off, Mulder!"
"You know, if you want anyone to care whether you live or die, you ought to stop
acting like such a damn animal all the time."
"Well, thanks for finally opening my eyes, Mulder," Krycek said venomously. "To
everything."
"What the hell are you babbling about now, Krycek?"
"I mean it. In my line of work, I really can't afford to have a weak spot."
"Your line of work? Part-time assassin and full-time traitorous scum?"
Mulder leaned against the bathroom doorway. "And what would your weak spot be?
Your propensity for sucking dick? Your phobia about small, closed spaces? Or
just—" he let his eyes linger on Krycek's prosthetic arm, "—the
obvious."
Krycek stared up at him, his face a mask of utter hatred. It hit Mulder with a
little shock that he had never seen that expression on Krycek's face before.
Anger, yes, derision or controlled coldness—but Krycek had never looked
like he hated Mulder.
"Go ahead and do it now, if that's what you really want, Mulder." Krycek's voice
was low and deadly. "Because I guarantee you, the second your back is turned,
the second I get a chance, you better believe I'll do it to you. In a
heartbeat."
Mulder went into the bedroom to change his suit. He ripped the tie from his neck
and flung it into a corner, more shaken than he cared to admit by the scene in
his bathroom. Krycek was unbelievable, a subhuman asshole. Briefly he fantasized
about putting a bullet through Krycek's head and ending this hellish duet right
now. But it would be too complicated to explain to the police why Krycek was
here, and dressed as he was. No, he should just turn Krycek in, let Skinner
throw him into the most maximum-security facility around, one where they had
lockdowns every night and big tattooed guys named Bubba.
He collected his keys and briefcase and headed for the door. Of course Krycek
couldn't let him leave in peace. The raspy voice followed him down the hall.
"Mulder! Where's my fucking donut?"
Mulder paused. "I said if you were good you'd get a donut. You acted like an
animal, Krycek, messed up my suit." He started out the door.
"If I'm an animal you made me one!" Krycek yelled angrily after him. "You
chained me up here like a dog."
Mulder slammed the door shut quickly, meeting the startled eyes of Mrs. Fonseca
from apartment 46. He gave her an attempt at a friendly and casual smile, hoping
she hadn't heard any of Krycek's little tirade. His neighbors thought he was
strange enough as it was.
He stopped in at Rosie's for his morning bagel and coffee. Against his will, he
found himself thinking of the man in his bathroom. Krycek was obviously hungry,
or he wouldn't have reminded Mulder of the donut a few scant minutes after he
had been threatening Mulder's life.
Oh, CRAP. Why can't I just shoot him and get it over with?
"Make that two coffees."
Rosie didn't miss a beat in pouring. "Black?"
"Yeah—no, wait, cream and sugar in one. And give me another bagel and a
glazed donut."
He unlocked the apartment door stealthily, in case Krycek was inclined to start
hollering again. But the apartment was absolutely silent. Uneasy at this, he set
the coffees down and drew his gun, moving down the hall toward the bathroom.
"Krycek?"
"Mulder." The relief in Krycek's voice was audible. Mulder stepped into the
bathroom. Krycek was crouched against the sink, sweaty and wide-eyed, another
shard of glass clutched in his hand. When he saw it was Mulder he closed his
eyes, swallowing hard.
"Yeah it's me. Who were you expecting?"
Krycek fixed him with a hard stare. "Could be anybody. Your apartment's like
Grand Central Station. If anyone knows I'm here I'm a sitting duck."
Mulder absorbed this disquieting thought—goons invading his apartment to
murder Krycek in his bathroom. Krycek had looked really scared there for a
moment. Still, this was the same Krycek who had pulled a man over Skinner's
balcony to his death while dangling off the rail. Mulder had no doubt he'd be
more than a match for whatever they sent. "Who's likely to know you're here?" he
demanded.
"Nobody, I hope. I was careful—but you never know." Krycek set the shard of
glass down and flexed his hand. "So why'd you come back? Did you bring me a
donut?"
Mulder regarded him steadily for a moment. Where the hell had Krycek hidden that
second piece of glass last night? "Yeah, I brought you a goddamn donut." He went
into the front hall to fetch it. Returning, he handed Krycek his coffee and
tossed the bag with the bagel and donut at his feet. Krycek took a long sip of
the coffee, then set it down and reached for the bag, too quickly. He grunted
sharply, gritting his teeth, as the cuff jerked into his mangled wrist. Mulder
felt it like an electric shock in his own body, his stomach constricting in
sympathy. Before he could think better of it, he dug the handcuff key from his
pocket and unlocked the cuff. Krycek pulled the wrist tightly against his chest,
not having a hand to rub it with. The wound looked bad, swollen and dark with
dried blood. Mulder went to check in his closet, where he kept the medical
supplies. He found peroxide and gauze pads but no surgical tape to make a
bandage. Briefly he considered using duct tape, although he didn't think Krycek
would like that idea. Then he spotted an old Ace bandage; it would do.
In the bathroom, Krycek had begun eating the donut. He looked at Mulder with
suspicion.
"Stand up a minute. Put that down." Krycek obeyed slowly. Mulder turned on the
water in the sink. "Wash your hand off."
Krycek stuck his hand under the stream and hissed with pain as the running water
hit the open wound. He didn't use the prosthetic to wash, only for balance on
the edge of the sink. The water turned faintly pink. Mulder uncapped the
peroxide and shut off the faucet. Krycek stiffened at the sight of the peroxide
bottle and pulled back. For a moment Mulder feared he might have to grab Krycek
by the hand and make him hold still. He did not want to do that, did not want to
touch Krycek other than what was absolutely necessary. He waited. Krycek flexed
his wrist, clenched his fist and extended his hand.
The bathroom was not large, and they had to stand close in order to both reach
the sink. Krycek pressed back against the wall as far as he could. Mulder poured
peroxide on the wound, and Krycek jerked away with a strangled curse, his fist
cocking for a minute like he wanted to fight, before visibly willing himself to
extend it once more. Mulder used a gauze pad to dry it off, then laid a couple
more over the wound before wrapping the Ace bandage around it. He looked only at
the arm as he worked, not meeting Krycek's eyes. As soon as he was finished, he
stepped back quickly, retreating from the bathroom in relief.
"Go ahead. Eat. I'll cuff you again when you're finished."
Krycek was looking a little pale and shaken, but he managed to mutter, "That's
something to look forward to." He ate the donut quickly; as Mulder had
suspected, he did seem hungry. He looked pleased to find that Mulder had brought
him a bagel as well, and Mulder felt irrationally gratified.
Krycek disposed of the bagel in a few swift bites, then sat drinking his coffee
in long swallows. He looked up at Mulder. "You don't have to cuff me. I won't go
anywhere."
"Nice try, Krycek."
"I'm safer here than anywhere else. Why would I leave?"
"So you brought me this information hoping I would adopt you?" Mulder gave him a
condescending smirk. "Save it for someone who hasn't heard your bullshit time
and again."
"I haven't lied to you that much. Wiekamp, the rebels—that was real."
Mulder stared at him. He remembered, all too well.
"Krycek, you're a murderer, a liar, and a coward. Now, because you stick a
gun in my chest, I'm supposed to believe you're my friend?"
He recalled how Krycek had winced at those words, his frustration evident. For a
moment he had seemed close to tears.
Krycek had said something to him in Russian, had called him 'tovarisch.' He was
pretty sure that meant 'friend.'
"What did you say to me that day, the Russian words?"
Krycek shrugged, not meeting his eyes. Mulder kept a hard gaze on him. Finally
Krycek said, "I just wished you good luck."
"'Good luck, friend,'" Mulder said. Krycek didn't answer, but Mulder could tell
from the way he stiffened, ever so slightly, that he hadn't expected Mulder to
know that. Krycek had finished his coffee and Mulder stepped closer, intending
to put the cuff back on. Krycek was looking at him with a strange, troubled
expression. For a second Mulder's world tilted on its axis and time blurred. He
had a wild, nearly uncontrollable urge to lean down and return that kiss. He
could almost feel the roughness of Krycek's unshaven jaw against his fingertips
as, in his mind, he lifted Krycek's chin and brought that lovely mouth to his.
Krycek's lips were parted slightly, his eyes a brilliant green. There was so
much silence in the bathroom that the faint ticking of Mulder's watch sounded
like a bomb.
Mulder wet his dry lips. Krycek stared at Mulder's mouth with a look of
concentration. He was holding his injured arm curled against his chest again.
Mulder cleared his throat and asked the question.
"Why did you kiss me that day?"
Krycek flushed a deep red, the color spreading down along his neck and the
portion of chest exposed at the open collar of his shirt. He looked away,
closing his eyes a moment, then opened them to gaze at Mulder, the slightly wild
look returning. His voice when he spoke was a low, no-nonsense growl. "There's
only so much I can take, Mulder. Either let me go now, or back off."
Mulder felt his own heart pounding like an immobilized rabbit. Krycek's eyes,
his words, hammered in Mulder's mind as he tried to consider his choices calmly.
Let him go...to possibly fuck me over in every sense of the word. Or back off.
Mulder backed off. He snapped the cuff back onto Krycek's wrist, hooking him to
the chain, then retreated out of the bathroom and into the living room, where he
stood staring blindly at the windows. How the hell did Krycek have the balls to
give him, Mulder, an ultimatum? Krycek was the one chained up, injured,
half-naked. Yet Mulder had lost his nerve in that moment, for reasons he did not
want to examine too closely.
Whatever. Whatever. He had to get to work. Glancing at his watch he saw that he
would already be almost half an hour late. He started for the door, wondered if
he should tell Krycek he was leaving, wondered if Krycek wanted anything more,
some non-alien reading material perhaps. He hunted through the bookshelves and
found an old copy of Herman Hesse's "Steppenwolf."
Krycek was sitting with the blanket haphazardly covering his lower body when
Mulder stepped into the bathroom again. Mulder held out the book. "Here—I
read this in college. You might like it. It's about this loner—sort of
half-man, half-wolf. Very philosophical."
Krycek reached for the book, wincing a little as the cuff chafed against his
wrist. "I read this in college, too," he said. "I remember I liked it."
Mulder looked at him curiously.
"Yeah, I went to college," Krycek said, smirking. "Not Oxford, but—I didn't
jump right into the Bureau off a third-grade education."
"Where?"
Krycek stared at him warily. "NYU."
"NYU?" Mulder's surprise was more at Krycek's actually telling him that than at
the name. "Is that where you grew up, New York?"
"No." Krycek's posture and voice were definitely wary now, a stillness and
finality in his tone telling Mulder he'd get no further with his questions.
Mulder felt annoyed. No doubt Krycek knew every last detail about Mulder, from
his childhood nicknames to his shoe size. Yet Krycek insisted on remaining an
enigma to Mulder.
"Alex Krycek, International Man of Mystery?" Mulder asked derisively.
Krycek looked away, biting his lip. "It's necessary," he said quietly, a
definite note of regret in his voice.
"Sure Alex. If they do come to kill you today, you can take pride in the fact
that you never divulged your hometown to me."
He saw the expressive eyes widen a bit, shock mixing with rueful laughter, and
Alex registering the fact that Mulder was using his first name again.
"Crappy Haven."
"Nice name for a town."
"It's near Leakwood."
Mulder raised his eyebrows.
Alex's little smirk returned. "You're the G-man, you figure it out."
Mulder shook his head at the bizarreness of the situation. Less than half an
hour ago they'd been literally ready to kill each other and now here they were
having this almost—friendly—conversation.
"Gotta get to work," he said, turning to go. He was almost at the door when he
heard Krycek's voice, very soft.
"See you later."
Skinner's initial reaction to Krycek's name was disgusted suspicion, as Mulder
had known it would be. After a few hours of viewing the information on the disks
Krycek had given Mulder, however, the A. D. had much less to say. Mulder got a
call at his desk a half hour later. Skinner wasn't giving him a definite
go-ahead, but he would consider making the raid on the lab. He would also supply
a safe house in Pennsylvania to take Alex to. Mulder felt jubilant. He wished
Scully were in the office so he could share the story of his amazing powers of
coercion, but she was out all morning on an assignment. He also had a feeling
she might not be as enthusiastic about this as he was.
He almost wished he had given Krycek back his cell phone. He had a crazy wish to
tell Alex the story. Alex would appreciate it.
That thought reminded him of their conversation earlier. Although he really
should be finishing his paperwork before he took off for Pennsylvania, he
decided to sneak a few minutes to investigate Alex's origins instead. Most of
Alex's personnel files had been sealed.
Okay, obviously Alex's hometown was not named Crappy Haven. Most likely it was
Happy Haven or something similar. And Leakwood—Teakwood? Lakewood?
After an hour's search through various Lakewoods, he hit on a promising
candidate: a medium-sized city near Seattle, most notable as home to the
Lakewood-Fort Lewis military base. Happy Haven was a housing project in a
crime-ridden section on the outskirts of the town.
It fit, Mulder thought. Krycek was certainly bright, and well-spoken, but every
now and then you could hear the street-rat intonations in his voice.
Mulder paused to put it all together. So, Alex had been born in the Seattle
area, obviously without much money, since he had grown up in a rough housing
project. He had traveled clear across the country to go to college. Then
Quantico—and somewhere in there he had become involved with the Consortium
and the KGB. But when? How?
Why?
And why the fuck couldn't Alex have just said Seattle? Was he trying to waste
Mulder's time, divert him from something else? Or was there something he wanted
Mulder to find?
Whatever it was, Mulder hadn't found it. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it
was almost two o'clock. He headed out to get a sandwich and drop off his suit at
the dry cleaners. He found Scully eating a tuna salad at his desk when he
returned.
"I suppose you've heard, Mulder? We're being sent to Pennsylvania for a couple
of weeks to guard Krycek?"
Mulder nodded, a bit guiltily. He wondered if he should tell Scully that he was
the driving force behind this assignment. Scully looked at him and rolled her
eyes. She was not happy about any of this. In her place, Mulder knew, he would
have been ranting about it and questioning why Krycek's life was worth
protecting at all. But Scully, unhappy as she was about having to leave home and
Paul for a couple of weeks, would nevertheless accept it as part of her job.
Scully tossed the salad container in the trash. "Does anybody even know where
Krycek is?"
"I know where Krycek is. But that reminds me...he's going to need some medical
attention."
Scully frowned. "What kind of medical attention? What's happened?"
"He's a little beat up. Nothing life-threatening. Can you come to my apartment,
around seven or so?" He could have just asked her to come back with him after
work, he knew, but he didn't really want her to see Krycek there in his
underwear, chained to Mulder's bathroom sink.
"Mulder, you know...I had plans tonight." Her tone was resigned, slightly
resentful. Mulder didn't miss the past tense. "If we've got to leave for
Pennsylvania tomorrow, I wanted to—"
Spend the night with Paul, Mulder finished mentally. He gritted his teeth,
trying not to let his annoyance show. "Half an hour, forty-five minutes tops,
Scully. But hey, if you've got a date, that's certainly more important than
someone needing medical care."
Scully's mouth tightened and there was unhappiness in her blue eyes. Mulder was
being a bastard, he knew, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Once, she would
have come over anytime for him, no questions asked. Now she had Paul.
And what do I have? An invertebrate scum-sucker chained to my sink.
Some impulse made Mulder call out, "It's me, Krycek," as he opened the door. He
smirked to himself. Honey, I'm home.
There was no answer, and Mulder frowned as he walked toward the bathroom. He was
shocked at Krycek's appearance. The rat didn't look well at all. He was sitting
with his head on his knees, wrapped in the blanket, looking sweaty and pale.
Mulder suppressed the sharp spike of guilt that flared up. Krycek had seemed
feisty enough that morning, after all. But, Mulder supposed, spending two days
on the cold and hard bathroom floor with broken bones and without much food or
sleep, plus the stress of fearing for his life, had to have taken a toll. And
the Vicodins that Krycek had taken earlier had undoubtedly worn off by now.
Krycek lifted his head as Mulder approached, regarding Mulder with a wary, cold
expression.
"Your information checks out," Mulder informed him.
"No shit," Krycek whispered hoarsely. The world-weary look had returned to his
eyes. He leaned his head back against the wall.
"Skinner's actually considering making the raid."
Krycek nodded slowly. Mulder was becoming concerned. Krycek was moving as though
everything hurt him, speaking in that flat whisper. Mulder stepped into the
bathroom and reached down to unlock the cuff. Krycek's eyes widened as Mulder
produced the key, and he turned his head to gaze at the cuffs, as if he couldn't
really believe Mulder was unlocking them. The cuff removed, he flexed his wrist
and tucked it up against his body.
"Does this mean I'm free to go?"
"Actually, you're a protected witness now. We're supposed to take you to a safe
house in Pennsylvania tomorrow night."
Krycek didn't look at all pleased at this development. "Who's this we?"
"Me and Scully. She'll be here to look at your injuries in a little while."
"Did you tell her how I got them?" Krycek raised his eyebrows, his voice
taunting. "Did you tell her how you get your kicks, Mulder? What does she think
of you now?"
The questions struck a nerve in Mulder, but he wouldn't show that to Krycek.
"It's no worse than anything you've done, Krycek."
Krycek's lashes fluttered, and he closed his eyes for a moment.
"Come on out of here and get on the bed."
Krycek's face went hard. "Why?"
Mulder made his voice as mild as he could. "I think you'll be more comfortable
there." He backed up a few steps and held out his hand to Krycek, who ignored
him and pulled himself up by the edge of the sink instead. Krycek stumbled and
swayed on his feet, and Mulder stepped forward quickly. Krycek stared a warning
at him, then ran through a few brief stretches. Even moving stiffly as he was,
in obvious pain, his movements had a sensual grace. Mulder turned away, walking
toward the bedroom.
In Mulder's bedroom, Krycek looked around curiously. He piled up the pillows and
sat heavily on the bed. His look of shock as it rippled was almost comical. "A
waterbed, Mulder? You surprise me."
Mulder shrugged. "It wasn't my idea. Someone else bought it." In fact, it had
just appeared in his apartment one day, following a bizarre interlude during
which he suspected someone else had taken possession of his body for a while.
Just one of those things that always seemed to happen to him. But he didn't feel
like going into it, although he had a feeling that if anyone would understand,
Krycek would.
Krycek settled back with difficulty against the pillows, gritting his teeth. He
looked at Mulder, frowning. "Someone else—? Hope you two had fun on it."
"It wasn't like that, Ale—uh, Krycek. I've never had anyone on this bed but
you."
Instantly, Krycek seemed to perk up a little. He tilted his head, looking up at
Mulder through the thick lashes and smirking coldly. "That's pretty fucking
optimistic, Mulder, considering what you did to me."
"I meant to sleep in it. Christ, Krycek. Would you cut the crap for five
minutes?"
Krycek twisted to the side, rubbing his chest. "You going to give me my pants
back now? Or is Scully going to have to share in your kinky fantasies?"
Mulder took a step toward the bed. "Shut it, Krycek."
For a second Mulder saw anger flash in Krycek's eyes. "What are you going to do,
Mulder? Beat me up some more?"
Mulder studied him. Krycek didn't look good; he was flushed and sweating, with
dark circles under his eyes, and the way he continually shifted about on the
bed, like he couldn't get comfortable, suggested that he was in considerable
pain.
"Did you take all those Vicodin already?" How many had there been—five,
six? Leave it to Krycek to gulp them all down in one sitting.
Krycek narrowed his eyes and didn't answer.
"Hungry?"
"Not really." That raspy whisper again.
"I got some Chinese—mu shu pork and fried rice."
Krycek closed his eyes and shook his head. Mulder felt a little uneasy at that.
Krycek really must be in bad shape if he was refusing food.
"Want soup? Tea?"
"Tea, yeah, okay."
Mulder used the little bags of tea that had come with the Chinese food. When he
returned to the bedroom Krycek was sitting against the headboard, leaning his
head on one knee. His hand shook slightly as he reached for the cup. Mulder
noticed he wasn't using the prosthetic at all, just letting it hang at his side.
Krycek took a sip and grimaced. "Don't you believe in sugar, Mulder?"
"I'll get you some." Mulder rose automatically. Krycek gaped at him as if he had
suddenly shapeshifted. Ignoring Krycek's reaction to this surely unexpected
solicitude, Mulder hunted in his kitchen for sugar. He found a bag that was
mostly lumps and had two dead moths in it, which he tossed.
He returned to the bedroom. "Sorry, no sugar."
"No sugar?" Krycek sounded disbelieving. "Honey?"
"Don't call me honey."
Krycek stared at him uncomprehendingly, then frowned, looking more confused than
annoyed.
"There's duck sauce," Mulder offered.
Krycek continued to regard him with that puzzled frown for a moment. Then he
shook his head with a weary grimace and closed his eyes, sipping the tea. Alarm
bells were starting to sound in Mulder's head now. Krycek not eating was bad
enough; Krycek not responding to Mulder's needling was really off.
Krycek lifted his head. "My pants, Mulder?"
"Sure." Mulder left the room, relieved to make an escape. He started for the
living room to retrieve Krycek's jeans, but was interrupted by the doorbell.
Scully gave him a distracted little smile as she came in, toting a hefty black
doctor's bag. "I brought all kinds of supplies...I didn't know what was
needed..." She stood looking around somewhat nervously, as though expecting
Krycek to leap out and ambush her at any moment. Well, Mulder reflected, she had
good reason to feel uneasy. If Cardinale could be believed, Krycek had been
present at the murder of Scully's sister Melissa, and they had probably been
there gunning for Scully. A hard wave of protectiveness roared up within Mulder.
"Where is he?"
"On the bed." Mulder put a hand on her back, shepherding her toward the bedroom.
Scully shot him a questioning look. "How badly is he hurt?"
"Just banged up."
Krycek was sitting with his head back, arms at his sides. He shot Mulder a
murderous look as Scully walked in, no doubt because Mulder had not brought his
jeans as promised.
Scully stared at the man on the bed, frowning. "When did you find him?"
"Monday."
"And you've had him...staying here...since Monday?"
"Chained under the sink, actually," Krycek rasped. Mulder wondered if he was
taking some sick pleasure from all this.
Scully turned a look of disbelief on him. "Mulder, are you out of your mind?
He's a wanted criminal."
"Hey, thanks a fucking lot for your concern, Scully," Krycek said, a note of
bitterness in his voice.
"Why is he—where are his clothes?"
"I told him to take them off. I thought it would be, uh, easier." Mulder was too
conscious of the intensity of Krycek's stare, the waves of fury that seemed to
be coming off him, even though he hadn't moved a muscle. Or said anything,
thankfully. But then, to admit why Mulder had made him strip would probably be
just as humiliating to Krycek as to him.
"He has a leg injury?"
"No," Krycek snapped. "My ribs are broken."
Scully gave him a dubious look. "You should take your shirt off, then."
For a second, Krycek seemed about to refuse, before he angrily lowered his eyes
and pulled the shirt off. Mulder felt an involuntary guilty start at the sight
of the darkly mottled bruising along Krycek's left side, uglier than he had
expected.
"Those are some bruises, Krycek," Scully said. "What happened to you?"
Krycek raised his eyebrows mockingly. "He didn't tell you?"
Mulder saw her shocked realization, as she looked from Krycek to Mulder and back
again. But she let it drop, picking up her bag and walking over to the bed.
"Okay. Let's take a look at those ribs." She probed gently along his ribs, and
Krycek grunted in pain, jerking back from her touch.
Scully glanced up at him. "Sorry." He looked away. She returned to her
examination. "Mmm, yeah, these are probably crack—Mulder!" Scully had her
hands on the spot where the bruising was worst, almost black. "This is a pretty
bad break. You could have punctured a lung." She touched the prosthetic arm.
"Can you take this off?"
Krycek's face darkened and he tensed visibly, but he said nothing as he undid
the straps. Mulder did not know if he was ready to see this, and then, as what
remained of Krycek's arm was exposed, he knew he was not. The scars were
hideous, the stump seamed with burn marks and the ragged, ripped tracks where
the knife had cut. Krycek must have put up a hell of a fight. Scully gave a
little involuntary gasp at the sight; Krycek did not respond, but Mulder saw him
clench his fist. He was relieved that Krycek was not looking at him, could not
see whatever was on his face.
Alex, Christ, I didn't know. I wanted you to suffer, but not like this. Not
like this.
The skin of Krycek's arm and chest where the prosthetic's straps had been was
reddened and rubbed raw in several places. Mulder recalled his difficulty using
the arm before.
"Have you had this on the whole time?" Scully delicately probed at a couple of
sores that were actually bleeding a little. Krycek was rigid, taking careful,
controlled breaths. "Why didn't you—?"
But Mulder knew why. It was the same reason why Krycek had refused to sleep for
the last two nights. He would have felt too vulnerable, too helpless with only
one hand, which was cuffed. Even though it must have been too painful by now to
use it much, Mulder knew he would have felt safer with it on.
Scully turned to shoot Mulder another perplexed and somewhat angry look, which
might have gratified Krycek had he seen it. But he had turned his head and was
staring out the window, his body immobile in that almost unnatural stillness
Mulder had seen before.
He really, really hates this, Mulder thought. He wanted to leave the room; the
combination of Scully's condemnation, his own unbidden feelings of guilt, and
Krycek's extreme tension was making it hard to stay and watch. But Krycek was
not someone you could take your eyes off for even a second.
Scully reached for her bag. "I can tape those ribs up for you. And I'll put a
dressing on those sores."
Krycek shook his head, still gazing fixedly out the window. "Just leave it
alone. They'll heal."
"It'll help. You must be in a lot of pain."
"Leave it alone," Krycek growled at her.
Scully hesitated a moment more, then went on to inspect the bruises and cuts on
his face, taking his chin in her hand and turning his head gently. Krycek stared
fiercely up at her.
"You'll probably have a little scar here," Scully said, one finger tracing the
cut on his cheekbone. "Probably could have used stitches."
Mulder felt a pang at that, though Krycek didn't react.
Scully straightened up. "I'll give you something for pain, and—" She
noticed the Ace bandage on Krycek's arm at the same time as Mulder said, "His
wrist is cut, too." Krycek watched as if mesmerized, opening and closing his
hand, as the bandage came off. At the sight of the ugly-looking gash, the
swollen flesh around it, Scully shot Mulder a look, definitely angry now, and
horrified. "This is getting infected. Mulder, why—?"
"He wouldn't let me get near him," Mulder mumbled, conscious of the lameness of
his reply when he saw Krycek's look of cold triumph. Fuck him, anyway. Mulder
had tried. "Yeah, go ahead and smirk, you lowlife moron, you trying to
lose this arm as well?"
"Mulder." There was a warning in Scully's voice. She began to disinfect the
wound. Krycek hissed in pain, then stiffened and held still as she worked.
Mulder could see the strain on his face; Krycek looked away, then looked back,
repeatedly.
"This is an anesthetic I'm putting on, so that should help," Scully said. She
wrapped gauze steadily around Krycek's wrist and hand, forming a thick bandage,
then taped it in place. "Don't get it wet." She reached in her bag and took out
the ear thermometer. "I'm just going to check your temperature, Krycek, make
sure there's no infection."
Krycek reared back, pulling his head away. "What the hell is that?"
"A thermometer." She didn't add, "you dimwit," but her tone definitely implied
it. "In your ear. It only takes a second."
Krycek looked ready to fight, but he allowed her to take the reading.
"You do have a temp, 101. I'm going to give you some antibiotics for that." She
sorted through her medical bag to find the medications she needed. Mulder moved
to the window, looked out at the moon sliding through the clouds. Anything not
to have to look at Krycek.
"No, you're not shooting me up with anything!"
Mulder turned swiftly. Scully was filling a syringe with something from a small
bottle.
"It's a tetanus shot. For the infection in your arm."
"No," Krycek rasped. "Just leave me the hell alone!"
Scully ignored him, reaching for his arm anyway. Instantly, Krycek jerked away,
his hand shooting up to knock the syringe from her hand. Scully stumbled
backwards. In three quick steps Mulder crossed the room, getting between Scully
and Krycek. He shoved Krycek back on the bed, pulling out his gun and pressing
the cold steel to Krycek's forehead.
"Simmer down there, asshole, or a tetanus shot will be the least of your
worries. Scully, give me the cuffs."
Krycek's eyes widened. "You can't cuff me again!"
Mulder snapped the cuff in place around Krycek's bandaged wrist and yanked his
arm back to lock the other cuff around the bedpost, ignoring Krycek's harsh
snarl of pain.
"Mulder!" Scully's voice was shocked, warning him. "He's hurt!"
Krycek yanked at the restraint, cursing furiously. Mulder could see the muscles
in his arm standing out.
"I'm going to fucking kill you, Mulder! Let me loose!"
"Krycek! Stop that! You're going to aggravate that injury!" Scully said.
Krycek shifted on the bed, bringing his leg up slightly. Mulder moved over and
sat on Krycek's knee, pressing it to the bed. "Do I have to cuff your feet,
too?"
"Fucking psycho sadist!"
Scully dug through her medical bag, filling another syringe. Up close, Krycek's
arm looked even worse, the horrible mutilation of it, the bloody places where
the skin was rubbed away.
"Get the hell away from me!" Krycek was getting more frenzied now, struggling so
violently against the restraint that Mulder could feel the water in the mattress
surging back and forth. Krycek spit at Mulder again, his eyes wild. Mulder felt
shaken by Krycek's feral rage. He wondered if Krycek was on the verge of another
panic attack, or something worse.
"You need to take the tetanus, Krycek." Scully raised her voice slightly to be
heard. "I'm going to have to sedate you if you can't calm down."
Mulder got up slowly off Krycek's leg, keeping the gun trained on him. He
stepped backward, putting out a hand. "All right, take it easy, Krycek." Scully
busied herself filling a second syringe. She approached and laid both syringes
on the bedside table. Krycek was panting, his teeth bared, his eyes wide. Mulder
didn't want to watch this anymore.
"Scully...just leave him alone for now, give him some space." Mulder was
surprised by the gentleness and compassion in his own voice. Both of them turned
to look at him in utter amazement. Scully took advantage of Krycek's momentary
distraction to grab the second syringe and jab it into Krycek's bicep, swiftly
pressing the plunger.
"You fucking bitch!"
"Jesus, Scully. I told you not to do that!"
Again they were both staring at him. Krycek looked disoriented for a second. He
made a small motion with the stump of his left arm, like he wanted to rub the
spot on his arm where the needle had gone in, before stopping himself and
looking first at Scully, then at Mulder, with burning, suspicious eyes.
Absurdly, Mulder had an impulse to go to him, to rub the pain away himself.
"It's just a sedative, Krycek, something to calm you down and help you sleep,"
Scully said. Krycek cursed at her in Russian.
Mulder waved the gun. "Hope those words all mean 'doctor,' Krycek."
Scully retrieved her medical bag. Carefully giving Krycek a wide berth, she
walked to the doorway, motioning Mulder with a dip of her head to follow her
out.
"Scully, was that necessary?"
"He's not the first person to get hysterical at the sight of a needle," Scully
said coolly. "I gave him 10 mg. of Haldol. That should put him out in a few
minutes, and then when he's under I'll administer the tetanus. He'll be a lot
less dangerous this way, too. Haldol is pretty strong stuff." She cast another
glance at Krycek. "Mulder, what happened here? Was he like this? Is that
why—?"
Mulder knew Scully was expecting him to say that Krycek had attacked him and he
had to subdue or disarm him. Not that he had knocked an unarmed, handcuffed man
into a desk with enough force to break his ribs severely. But he didn't want to
lie to her. And he didn't want to lie in front of Krycek. Despite the Haldol,
which should have been putting him under but didn't seem to be doing a damn
thing, Krycek was staring Mulder down. If Mulder lied, it would be a weakness,
tantamount to admitting he had been in the wrong here.
And what explanation could he ever give for keeping Krycek chained to the sink
for two days?
"Did he attack you...or threaten you?" She wanted so much to find a reason for
this, he knew. Her mind just couldn't conceive of such a thing—to beat a
person that badly, chain him up like an animal and deny him medical care for his
injuries. What did she think of him now?
And what could he say? He had a gun, but he gave it to me voluntarily, when
he first came in. He threatened to kill me, after I had kept him chained up for
a couple of days. He kicked me when I tried to rape him.
"Yeah," he mumbled, "something like that."
"But when did you—what did you—you should have brought him into
custody!"
"You know he'd never be safe in custody."
"It doesn't look like he was safe here!"
The words hurt, more than she could have imagined, he knew. They stood for a few
moments in uncomfortable silence. He knew she had seen a side of him that deeply
troubled her. He had no explanation, other than what Krycek was, all he had
done. But who was Mulder now, with what he had done.
Scully snuck a glance at her watch. Mulder felt like the lowest of the low. Not
only had he beaten the shit out of an unarmed man, he was now forcing his best
friend to spend the night administering medical care to a rabid maniac instead
of having a last enjoyable evening with her fiance.
"Um, you want a soda?"
Scully gave him a little smile, looking relieved to be off the subject of
Krycek. "Sure...thanks." Mulder fetched the sodas, then pulled over a couple of
chairs so they could sit comfortably while still keeping an eye on their charge
in the bedroom. Scully kicked her shoes off, curling up in the chair and
sighing.
"I've still got packing to do."
Mulder tried to lighten the mood. "Packing? We're going to a cabin in the woods.
Throw in some jeans, a couple of those lumberjack shirts, your chainsaw..."
"And we were supposed to have lunch with my mom on Saturday."
Mulder shrugged off another pang of guilt. "So, is it going to be a white
wedding?"
Scully gave him a small grin. "I thought I'd wear red, actually."
"Woo-hoo. And I'll wear my Elvis jumpsuit."
"Mulder." The suddenly serious tone of her voice brought his full attention
around to her. She was sitting up straight in the chair, biting her lip. "I need
to ask you something."
Mulder had a sudden hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Two possibilities
occurred to him, neither very pleasant. One was that she was going to ask him to
spell out exactly what had happened with Krycek. And he would not be able to lie
to her. The other was that she was going to ask to be removed from the
assignment altogether.
Her next words floored him. "Would...would you stand up with me in the wedding,
Mulder?"
Mulder could manage nothing more articulate than, "Huh?"
Scully reddened, looking down. "As my—my attendant. I mean, I know it's
traditionally female, and it would have been—" She broke off, glancing in
the direction of the bedroom. Mulder knew what she had been going to say. It
would have been Melissa. A spark of rage shot through him, burning off the guilt
he had felt earlier for beating Krycek. Krycek had helped to murder Scully's
sister. He deserved every beating he got, and then some.
He reached to gently squeeze her hand. "I know. I'm sorry."
"I don't really have a female friend that's closer...you're my best friend..."
Mulder realized he had never answered her question. "I'd be honored."
Her eyes were damp, and her mouth twisted for a second. "Oh, damn. Sorry."
"Not as sorry as I'll be, standing up there in lilac chiffon."
Scully laughed shakily, and Mulder smiled back at her. Despite his words and his
smile, however, a cloud of depression was settling on him at the idea, and not
just because lilac wasn't his color.
That should be me up there with her, and not as her attendant.
But even as he thought that, his mind was jumping ahead, picturing the two of
them making wedding plans, saying wedding vows, picking out china patterns
together—
Jesus, NO!
He didn't really want to marry Scully. He didn't even really want to sleep with
her. Looking at her now, he could note objectively how attractive she was, and
yet she did not stir that overpowering desire in him, that crazy need that made
his heart beat a little faster.
For some reason his eyes went to Krycek on the bed, the slitted green eyes that
still watched him like a hawk.
If he had to selfishly admit it, what he wanted was not to marry Scully, and not
to stand by her side at her wedding. What he wanted was to have her at
his side, on his side. Without her as a buffer he would go back to being
a marginal outcast.
"You're really leaving the X-Files, huh?"
She was silent a long moment before replying, her expression saying everything
she could not. "I couldn't do that all my life, Mulder."
No, of course not. Who could? Who believed in all this as strongly as he did?
Maybe you could not have both. Maybe some people, like Scully, were meant to
forge those human bonds, to get married, have children, make that the center of
their lives. And maybe some were meant to be searchers, their dogged quest
burning everything else away. Maybe some would always walk alone.
And once again, his eyes returned to Alex.
The Animal I Wanted
by Ladyluck
Chapter One
The Wolf
Couldn't get into the world
I can hear it crying
When I sit like this away from life
—Kenneth Patchen
—Fyodor Dostoyevsky
