by Basingstoke
Skinner opened his eyes enough to see the man standing over him. "You."
Krycek smiled through the beard. "In the flesh."
Skinner closed his eyes again, too weak to put Krycek down like the dog he
was. Too weak to do anything at all but lie there in pain. "What do you
want?"
"To see how you were doing." One of Krycek's hands spidered over his left
shoulder. With great effort, Skinner swatted him away with his right hand.
"Not very well. I assume you're behind whatever the hell this is?"
Krycek rested his hand on the bed rail. "You're a good boxer, Skinner."
"Fuck you. Fuck off. Do whatever you're going to do and leave." Skinner
opened his eyes enough to glare at Krycek.
"You know, I didn't have this in mind, exactly, when I started, but it's
nice and... symmetrical. Appropriate." Krycek's eyes were glittering. He
looked like the assassin he was.
"What are you talking about?"
Krycek extended his left arm and prodded Skinner's chest. The hand was
hard, plastic-feeling. "We match. Ask Mulder about Tunguska some time."
"Son of a bitch."
"If only Scully had arrived sooner... of course, it's a good thing she
arrived as soon as she did, or they'd both be gone, and you'd be eating
breakfast with your toes."
Skinner shook his head. "What does it matter when I'll be dead in three
hours anyway?" He trusted Scully, but fatalism was a weapon of its own.
Krycek took something out of his pocket. "That was the original plan.
Plans can change." He touched a pen to the screen and Skinner felt
lightheaded. His headache immediately relented and his breathing became a
little easier. "Give it a few hours to clear and you'll be right as rain.
For the time being."
"What do you want?" Skinner groaned.
"Insurance." Krycek's hand touched his truncated shoulder again, slowly,
gently. "How interesting that I found...revenge." He stepped back.
"Goodnight, Walt."
The door closed.
his is interesting," Krycek said.
