by Josan
Had to be a neighbour as the intercom hadn't rung. Wondered who the hell
needed anything at this time of the night?
"Yes?" He froze. Started slamming the door shut.
Krycek's hand blocked the door before it had gone half- way. He held up a
palm pilot in the other.
Skinner's face formed a grotesque mask of hatred.
"What the fuck," he forced out between clenched teeth, "do you want now,
Krycek?"
"Like I said in the car, I'd let you know." Krycek waited until it became
obvious that Skinner had no intention of moving. He spoke softly.
"Let me in, Skinner. I need to talk to you."
Skinner didn't move, not until Krycek held up the palm pilot again. Then he
turned and went to pick up his drink, stood by the window
looking out over the city.
Krycek stepped into Skinner's apartment, quietly closed the door. One quick
look told him the place hadn't changed at all since the night he
had spent on Skinner's balcony. He felt a small flare-up of anger, pushed it
down. This was going to be dicey enough without old business
interferring.
He walked over to the coffee table, took something out of his pocket, set it
down. Skinner had been watching his reflection in the window.
"What's that?" he growled at Krycek's image.
"Scrambler. It'll mess up any signal that's being picked up from this room."
Skinner's voice grew even colder. "What you're telling me is that my home is
bugged." He finished his drink. "So, Krycek," he turned to
face the man he had forgotten was an enemy, "I'm their new 'Saturday Night
Live' show?"
Krycek ignored the question. Placed his hand with the palm pilot in his
jacket pocket. "They've got your car bugged, too."
"Is there no part of my life they haven't bugged?" He didn't expect an
answer. "What do you want, Krycek? Get to the point and then get
out here."
Krycek meet Skinner's hatred with resigned patience. "The point is you've
got to be more careful."
"Of you?" Skinner spat. "Certainly."
"No, not of me. Spender. He wants you dead."
Skinner raised a cold eyebrow. "Spender? You're confused, Krycek. Spender is
dead."
"No. He's very much alive. I recently... dropped in on him."
"Another of your experiments in resurrection?"
Krycek shook his head slightly. "No. If it were up to me, he'd be six feet
under, weighted down in a steel coffin. No. He's still around. And
he's still pissed off at you."
"I should care?" Skinner's voice betrayed the problem he was having
controlling his anger. At Krycek. More at himself. For having been
duped into thinking he and Krycek had a truce of some kind.
Krycek was beginning to lose patience. He was putting himself at risk here,
coming to Skinner this way. If they were keeping close watch
on Skinner, someone was going to wonder why all they were picking up was
static. He didn't have much time.
"Shit! Yes, you should bloody well care. Come on Skinner, you're neither
stupid nor blind. Spender's been trying to eliminate you since the
moment it became obvious to him that you weren't going to be his man."
"Think about it. That thing with the hooker. The attempt on your wife that
he tried to set you up for. You think the Cardinale thing was
chance? Hell, the only reason he didn't succeed is that Cardinale was always
quick off the shot. That's how come Melissa Scully died."
Skinner clenched his fists. "You'd have done better, I suppose." His voice
was laden with scorn.
"Yes," Krycek snapped back. "I'm a professional. And I'm good. I hit what I
aim at after I've identified my target. I don't make mistakes
and I rarely miss."
"So that's why they gave you the contract." Skinner felt as disgusted as he
sounded. "I'm surprised you took so long. All those nice, easy
chances. Beryl's. San Antonio. What the hell were you waiting for?"
"Maybe I was waiting for a chance to keep you alive." Krycek's voice got
louder.
"Excuse me if I find that hard to believe."
"Why is it so hard, Skinner? I took care of the Rumanian when he had you in
his sights."
"Right," Skinner scoffed. "Just so you would have the pleasure of offing me
yourself. How did you get the nanocytes in me? Or is that
none of my business?"
Krycek shrugged. "Ortega. When he touched your hand. In the hall."
"What the hell did I ever do to Ortega?"
"Nothing. You were his passage to the Cayman Islands and a bank account. He
approached Spender with his invention. Spender wanted
proof that it would work. He chose you as the test subject."
"So where's Ortega now?"
"Dead."
Skinner jammed his hands into his pants pockets. After a moment's thought,
"You killed him."
Krycek nodded. "Yes. I killed him."
Skinner looked Krycek over like he was something that had crawled out from
under a rock.
"Why so shocked, Skinner? It is what I do." Krycek raised his chin,
meeting Skinner's disgust right on. "Besides, it's not like he was
some gift to humanity. He developed those things for his own benefit. To sell
to the highest bidder. If Spender didn't pay him what he
wanted, he would have offered his toys to anyone with a big enough bank
account."
"So, what did you do, blow his brains out?"
"In a way. I used his nanocytes on him. Sort of poetic justice, don't you
think? I got them into him the same way he got them into you. And
I had to be there when he programmed the palm pilot. It was easy enough to
re-program it for him as well. Spender got the proof he
wanted. It's just unfortunate that it won't do him any good. Seems Ortega's
documentation, all of it, has disappeared."
"I've got them in me, and I'm still alive."
"Yeah, the Elders were finally persuaded that you were worth more to them
alive than dead. So far they've overruled Spender's plans for
you. He wasn't too happy about that, but he's not in their good graces right
now. He'll be monitoring you, hoping you'll give him any
excuse to take you out. That's why you have to be careful."
"So, if I read you right, I should thank you for that oh-so-pleasant
experience, for the hospital stay. For the experience of dying."
"And for the fact that you're still alive."
"Well, did you ever think that maybe death would be preferable than to being
under your control? Is that how you convinced them,
your Elders?"
"Yes. Right now," Krycek stated quietly, "they trust me more than Spender."
"Do they know yet what a mistake that is?"
Krycek's head snapped back as if slapped. "Right now," he ground out, "I
have them believing that if you die, Mulder and Scully will
track them down like bloodhounds to the very last of them. That this way,
they'll come after me, not the Consortium. Which keeps them
alive as well as you."
"I see," scorned Skinner. "A noble martyr to the cause. What do you think
will happen to you if they do get you? Are you going to spin
them a fairy tale too?"
"It's up to me to see they don't get me."
Skinner took a hand out of his pocket, pointed to Krycek's pocket with the
palm pilot. "Better make sure you keep that thing with you at all
times. They won't be the only ones looking to take you out."
Krycek let out a sigh of frustration. "Look, Skinner, I don't care what you
think about me. All that should matter to you is that you're alive."
"With a choke chain around my neck."
"A chain that can come off. Jesus, Skinner, there is nothing stopping you
from making the Consortium's life difficult. You just keep on
supporting Mulder and his crusade, covering up for him as need be. But do it
discretely. They just have to think that they've got you under
their thumb. Fuck, Skinner, isn't that better than being dead!"
Skinner turned and went back to stare out of the window. Krycek checked his
watch: he'd been here too long already.
"I hated it."
Krycek barely heard Skinner. "Yeah, well," he tried to show he understood,
"at least you were in a hospital with people around you who
cared for you. Scully barely left your side. Not like being in the middle of a
forest in some god-forsaken area wondering if you were going
to bleed to death or just die from the pain."
He didn't get the response he was hoping for.
Skinner turned his head slightly and spat out, "So sorry for you, boy. But
then you didn't die either. My loss."
He went to refill his drink. He didn't see Krycek's hand come up like it was
reaching for something, hesitate and go back to the pocket.
When Krycek spoke his voice was cold, almost bitter. "Well, we all make
decisions, Skinner. Take chances. I took the chance that you'd
understand. Guess I was wrong. Just be careful, Skinner. Much as you hate it, I
may not be around the next time Spender decides to take
you out."
Skinner turned to see Krycek pick the scrambler off the coffee table. "I
would just rather never set eyes on you ever again."
At the door, Krycek tossed over his shoulder, "I don't think you'll be
that lucky."
Three days later, Agent Scully requested a private meeting
with the Assistant Director. He was wary of her request but granted it because
it
would cause questions he couldn't answer if he refused.
Scully placed a folder on his desk in front of him and sat down.
"What is this, Agent Scully?"
"It would seem to be the missing documentation on Ortega's research. It was
delivered last night to my apartment by courier. There is no
indication of the sender. And the courier company picked it up from another
courier."
"Sir, if this is Ortega's work, and I believe it is, it seems the nanolytes
will disintegrate, for want of a better word, if not periodically
activated."
"How often is periodically, Agent Scully?" Skinner sat back in his chair,
face in the shadows.
"As nearly as I can conclude, non-activation over a period of six to eight
months causes the blood to de-activate them."
Skinner touched the edge of the file, moved it a bit so it sat perfectly
square in front of him. "Thank you for that information, Agent
Scully."
She stood to leave. "Sir, maybe he won't..." But she obviously didn't
believe that enough to even finish her thought.
Skinner waited till the door closed behind her to open the file and read the
contents. When he finished, he sat back in his chair, reached
under his desk and pulled out his briefcase. He opened it.
There, lying on a pile of reports he would be reading that night at home,
was the palm pilot that Krycek had left behind on the couch.
The Confrontation
kinner put down the scotch he'd been drinking and went to answer the
knock on his door.
