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Getting a Life I
by Josan He released the seat belt, got out of the vehicle, then slipped into his black
leather jacket. His face expressionless, he pulled out the Smith & Wesson from
a pocket, checked it and slipped it back in again. He didn't bother with the
Sig on his hip and the Beretta at the small of his back, though he did pat the
other pocket of the jacket just to confirm that the replacement clips of
ammunition hadn't fallen out during the trip up here.
He'd gotten a call this morning before leaving for work, from a neighbour who
periodically checked on his place up here in the mountains. Jefferson had
wanted to know if there was a reason for the smoke coming out of his chimney.
He had been wondering if someone had dropped off a friend as there was no
vehicle that he could see parked in the usual spots. And no lights on, unless
the friend went to bed as the sun set.
Considering this was March, that bedtime would be really early.
Skinner had thanked Jefferson, indicating that he would investigate. Which was
a subtle hint for Jefferson to avoid the place. He'd packed the few things he
needed, had gone in to the office to handle the meetings which couldn't be
postponed, then taken off early for the weekend, a fact which had amazed Kim
into forgetting to ask him if he would be available at all.
Passing an airport on the way up to the mountains, he'd exchanged his
Bureau-issued car for the innocuous black SUV and continued on his way.
The setting sun was shining brilliantly as it did this time of the year. He
pulled on a pair of tight black leather gloves, then settled his sunglasses
firmly on his nose. Checking around to verify that there was no one else in the
immediate vicinity, Skinner slipped silently into the woods that surrounded his
get-away.
Jefferson had been right: there was a thin plume of smoke escaping from his
chimney. Someone had obviously made himself at home. In his home. He waited
patiently for the sun to finish setting, for the sky to be the grey/black that
created so many shadows that yet another, even a moving one, would probably not
garner any notice.
The door from the car port was still locked. Holding his keys tightly in one
hand, his Sig in the other, Skinner turned the well-oiled lock, opening the door
cautiously. He listened for sounds of any kind.
None.
Automatically slipping into his Marine training, Skinner silently entered his
cabin.
Feet carefully treading up the short flight of steps to the main floor, Skinner
made no sounds of any kind to alert whoever had invaded his place.
The great room was the heart of his cabin. The wall facing the lake was
composed of glass panels which allowed in not only the view but also the light
and heat of a south-east exposure. Usually, the ceiling fans set high up in the
beams which supported the roof would be spinning, redirecting the heat downward.
They were still. As was everything that Skinner could see from his entry
position.
Moving even more carefully, Skinner approached the fireplace, so far not easily
visible as there was a long leather couch between him and the hearth. Not the
usual place for the couch.
The fire was not a big one. Skinner figured it was barely large enough to
provide heat for the two figures who lay close to it, one on the couch, the
other on the floor.
He recognized the comforter which should have been on his bed, in the loft
overlooking the great room. It was wrapped around the smallish lump on the
couch. On closer inspection, a child's face was barely visible from its cocoon.
A child whose breathing indicated illness of some kind.
Skinner used his teeth to remove the glove from his free hand so that he could
gauge the condition of the child. Barely moving the comforter out of the way,
he could feel the heat radiating from the small face.
Shit! thought Skinner. He pulled the covering off a few more inches and decided
that the features were of a boy. Gently, he resettled the comforter.
Even more carefully, he made his way around the couch to the mound on the floor.
Here again he recognized a blanket from his bed, wrapped around a figure who
still hadn't moved. Crouching by the head of the body, weapon at the ready,
Skinner reached over and gave the figure a sharp shake. Then another.
He waited, ready for anything.
The body moved. The head rose. Turned to face him.
Jesus! thought Skinner.
"Krycek?" he said.
Alex Krycek sat propped up against the front edge of the couch, eyes squinting,
focused with effort on the man who was examining the sleeping child.
"What's wrong with him?" Skinner tucked in the comforter a little more snugly
around the boy's shoulders.
"Don't really know." Krycek's voice was a croaked whisper. "He's been warmer
than usual the last couple of days. He said he ached a bit. He's been really
hot since yesterday."
Skinner's lip curled. "So what was wrong with getting him to a doctor? Beyond
your ability?"
Krycek grinned humourlessly and let his head fall backwards onto the seat of the
couch. Skinner had noticed that he hadn't moved quickly to the position he now
maintained. He had assumed that was the man's response to the weapon in his
hand, but now, examining him more closely...
The face was sunken under the several days' growth of beard. The eyes, glassy
and red. The lips, dry and cracked.
Skinner reached over and lay his hand on Krycek's forehead, a gesture which
Krycek surprisingly allowed. Shit! Not so surprising. The kid wasn't the only
one burning with fever.
He snarled, "What the fuck's the matter with you, Krycek? I can understand you
not taking care of someone else, but you usually take better care of yourself."
Krycek laboriously raised his head. For a moment, Skinner thought he would try
defending himself against Skinner's verbal onslaught, but the effort proved to
be too much. He closed his eyes and let his head sag back.
Fucking shit! thought Skinner. There was something seriously wrong.
Eyes intent on Krycek's closed face, Skinner tugged gently on the blanket until
Krycek allowed it to be pulled back.
Even by the near darkness of the light coming in, he could see that the right
side of Krycek's clothing gleamed with wetness.
He lightly passed a finger over the damp jeans and shook his head at the red
stain.
"When did this happen?"
"About a week ago."
"A week! Fuck, Krycek, where the hell did you leave your brains?"
Krycek wisely understood a rhetorical question when he heard one. But he did
rouse himself enough to ask, "What are you doing with that cell phone?"
Skinner growled, "Calling the local EMU."
"Why don't you just shoot the kid now?"
Skinner hesitated, silenced the cell phone. "Who's after him?"
Krycek closed his eyes, resting his head back on the couch. "Consortium. I
stole him from them."
Skinner's reaction coloured the air for a few moments. Krycek nodded once in
appreciation.
"That doesn't negate the fact that you both need medical attention." Skinner
thought a moment and redialled the phone. "Like it or not, you're going to have
to trust me on this, Krycek."
Krycek watched from half-opened eyes, barely understanding the one-sided
conversation.
"Fischer? What you doing? Hey, remember Qui Nhon? Remember that night
when...yeah, when the sky lit up... It's the anniversary tomorrow. Thought you
might like to come up here, drink a few to the guys we lost there. Remember
Jones and Filmore? Yeah. Nah, why don't you come up now. That'll give you
time to toss back a few and toast the sunrise. Yeah. I'll expect you by
midnight."
All Krycek asked was "Who's Fischer?"
"Doctor. Used to be with the Marines. He retired a couple of years ago."
Krycek gave a slight nod and closed his eyes, not unhappy to be forced to accept
the situation.
Skinner sighed, loudly. Well, there wasn't much he could do right now other
than deal with the situation at hand.
He pulled off his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his sweat shirt and set to
getting things organized.
He saw to the fire, building it up so that it would heat up the room more
efficiently. He noticed that one of his pots was sitting to the side, probably
being used to heat up some food, then found a couple of opened tins of what had
once contained soup in the corner. Krycek hadn't been all that irresponsible,
he thought.
He went to the electrical panel hidden in the small closet under the stairs and
switched on those connections that had been set to off the last time he'd left.
The hot water heater would take a couple of hours to provide the water necessary
for a bath or two. It had taken only a whiff to understand that Krycek and the
boy had been living in their clothes for some time.
He went through the house, turning on lights, plugging in the refrigerator, the
small washer and dryer that were hidden in a closet off the kitchen area. In
the kitchen, he set a pan of water to heat on the stove.
"Okay. Let me take a look at that."
Skinner placed a bowl of tepid water on the floor by Krycek. Next to it, he
dropped a couple of towels.
Krycek roused enough to push his hand away. "The kid first."
Skinner sat back on his heels. "You sure?"
Krycek's smile was more of a grimace. "Not dead yet. And don't intend dying
in the few next minutes." Then he raised his head, voice intent. "Please,
Skinner. The boy first."
The boy's clothes were rank with the smell of illness and dirt. He was in need
of a bath. The thermometer that Skinner had dug up in the medicine cabinet read
over 103. Calling up whatever medical knowledge he has accumulated over the
years, remembering a particularly trying visit with his sister when one of her
kids had fallen ill, he knew that, before anything else, he had to do something
to bring the kid's temperature down.
"Is he injured in any way?"
Krycek responded only when Skinner snapped at him, loudly repeating the
question. "No. Nothing."
"Did he hit his head?"
"No."
Skinner passed a hand over his scalp. "Okay. A cool bath." He stood up, went
to the kitchen, muttering. "Not too cold. Don't want the kid to go into
shock." He pulled out several other pans and filled them with water. Once
every burner on the stove was working at heating up water, he went into the
bathroom and made certain that the baseboard heater in there was turned to its
highest to get the chill out of the room. He draped a bath sheet over the rack
above the heater. Then he let the water in the tub run until he had about three
inches of water. It took a refill of the pans for him to decide that the water
in the tub would be cool to the boy yet not so cold as to make him even more
ill.
"Does he have a name?" Skinner carefully unwrapped the boy and scooped him into
his arms. Shit! The kid was a light-weight. If Krycek hadn't been so ill
himself, Skinner might not have been able to stop himself from kicking his ribs
in. Why the hell had he waited until the boy was so sick...
He sighed. Stupid question. If the Consortium was after Krycek and the boy...
He still hadn't had an answer from the man. With bare control, he nudged him on
the left hip with his booted foot. Krycek woke gasping. He looked around the
room in a panic until he realized that Skinner was carrying the boy in his arms.
"Name? Does the boy have a name?"
Krycek passed his tongue over his lips, trying to moisten them enough to answer.
He would have loved a glass of water but he wasn't sure Skinner would bring it
to him if he asked. Besides, the kid was the priority. "Yeah. Davy. We
decided on Davy."
We decided? thought Skinner as he carried the boy to the bathroom.
As soon as the boy was comfortable, he was going to get answers from Krycek,
even if he had to beat the shit out of him in order to get them.
Skinner gently undressed the boy and then carefully lowered him into the tepid
water, an inch at a time.
He figured, looking at him, that the boy was around seven or eight years old.
Thin but probably, he reluctantly acknowledged, naturally so. Apart from the
dirt, the dried sweat, the fever, he seemed to be okay. There were some bruises
on him but those seemed to point to a boy's regular wear and tear, not abuse.
That, apart from the signs of illness, he had been kindly treated.
When the boy's legs and bottom rested on the floor of the tub, Skinner moved him
so that his head rested against his biceps, his shoulders on his arm. With his
free hand, Skinner scooped up water and let it trickle over the boy's chest and
shoulders. Apart from the occasional restless movement, the boy was quiet.
Skinner spoke to him in the calm, soothing tone that had proven so effective
with nervous or hysterical witnesses when he had been a field agent.
"It's going to be okay, Davy. You've only got a bit of a temperature. This is
going to get it down. It's going to be all right."
As he worked on the boy, eventually soaping and then rinsing him off, Skinner
gradually grew aware of certain facts. That his hands and feet were slim and
long, hinting that he would be tall. That the boy's dark brown hair seemed to be
growing out of a really bad cut. That his facial bone structure was fine,
hinting at something almost oriental.
No, not oriental. Slavic.
Skinner wet his hand and used the moisture to stroke the crust of dried saliva
off the boy's mouth and cheeks. When the boy turned his head, Skinner found he
really wasn't all that surprised to notice that the boy's ear rose into a
slightly peaked formation. Even less so when the boy opened his eyes and their
green was probably a match for the eyes that were no doubt closed in the other
room.
"Hi, Davy." Skinner gentled his voice. "I'm a friend of Alex Krycek. My name
is Walter. You're here in my house. It's going to be all right. You're just a
little bit hot, that's all."
The boy's fevered eyes looked around the room as though searching for someone.
Skinner repeated his words, hoping to ease the fear he saw darkening the boy's
eyes. Eyes which blanked before they closed. The boy made a barely audible
mewling sound which he quickly silenced by pulling in his lower lip with his
front teeth.
And then the small body tensed in his arms, as though bracing for something.
Skinner looked from the boy to the door which he had partially closed in order
to keep the heat in the small room. He glared at it, determinedly. Then the
boy shivered and Skinner refocused his attention on him.
Quickly, he washed the boy's hair then pulled the bath sheet off the rack. With
one hand, he flicked it open and wrapped the unresisting boy in it. All the
while rubbing him dry, Skinner carried him back into the great room, which he
was pleased to feel had warmed up from the combined heat of the fire and the
baseboard heaters.
He noticed Krycek had returned to his position of sleeping on the floor.
Skinner lay the boy back on the couch, pulled the damp towel from around him and
covered him with the comforter. The boy's eyes, he noticed, never left Krycek.
A couple of minutes later, he pulled the covering back just enough to slip one
of his fire-warmed t-shirts over the boy's head.
Still ignoring Krycek, he went into the kitchen, opened a can of chicken noodle
soup and set it to warm up while he checked out the medicine cabinet for
something to continue working on the boy's temperature. With some difficulty,
he quartered a Tylenol, poured some of the broth into a mug and, with calm
patience, managed to get the boy to swallow the bitter pill and most of the
broth.
Once he was certain the boy had taken all the liquid he could, he settled him
back on the couch. He went and got some clean linen and, pulling together two
leather armchairs, made the boy a bed. He watched as the boy...
He suddenly realized that he had been avoiding thinking of the child by his
name. Because he was Krycek's... What? Son?
Not the kid's fault, that.
He watched as Davy settled back into sleep.
And then, finally, he went to deal with Alex Krycek.
The fact that Krycek barely roused as Skinner uncovered him, undid the jacket he
was wearing, to examine the source of the blood indicated that Krycek was a lot
sicker than the boy.
"Fuck!" Skinner hissed as he pulled the sodden sweater up far enough to reveal
the blood soaked towel that was serving as bandage.
Krycek did mutter, probably in Russian, as Skinner carefully inched back the
towel to reveal what must have originally been a gunshot wound, just over his
hip. By the light, even he could make out that the wound had become infected,
probably due to being reopened several times.
Skinner sighed. Fischer would have his work cut out for him when he got here.
All he could do was recover the wound with a clean towel, using the sweater to
hold it in place. With some difficulty, he managed to rouse Krycek enough to
feed him a couple of Tylenol and get him to swallow some of the reheated broth.
The enthusiasm with which he did that made Skinner kick himself mentally. He
went and got a large glass of water.
"Thanks," muttered Krycek.
Skinner grunted then covered the man with a second blanket, allowing him to slip
back into whatever world his fevered mind inhabited.
Skinner had done all he could for now. He checked the cupboards and found a
container of stew that he heated up for a meal while waiting for Fischer to
arrive. He could only hope that the man had fully understood his message and
would show up, prepared.
Fischer had.
He pulled into the car port just after eleven. Anyone watching would have
concluded that he was someone coming for a long weekend of lazing around. He
handed Skinner several boxesone containing fresh foodall the while
chatting as though this were a long-planned sojourn.
Once inside, his tone changed.
"Okay. Where's the kid with the fever? That is what you meant when you
referred to Filmore?"
Skinner nodded, pointing to the make-shift bed and the child.
"Jones was for a seriously wounded man?"
Skinner pointed to Krycek, unconscious on the floor. "But the kid first." When
Fischer cocked an eyebrow at that, Skinner shrugged. "He insisted."
It didn't take a long examination for Fischer's diagnosis. "He's picked up that
new flu making the rounds. Makes their temperature spike. The cool bath
helped. We'll give him another in the morning if this children's Tylenol
doesn't work by then."
He smiled at the semi-awake child as he poured some liquid into a child's dosage
spoon. "It's okay, Davy. I'm a doctor. You're going to be fine. Can you
swallow this stuff for me? Tastes like cherry. Promise. That's a boy."
Gently, he tucked the boy back into his cocoon.
Beckoning to Skinner, he washed his hands thoroughly in the bathroom. "What the
hell is going on, Walt? That kid is terrified. He only relaxed when he caught
sight of Krycek."
"Damned if I know. That'll have to wait until Krycek is able to answer
questions."
"He needs washing," was the first thing out of Fischer's mouth as he pulled back
Krycek's blankets.
"Shower or bath?"
"Neither. Sponge bath. He can't afford to get that wound more infected than it
is. Shit! Thing looks like it hasn't been allowed to even scab over properly.
Entry from side, exit in front. He was shot from behind. Damn! The whole area
is seriously infected."
Together, Skinner and Fischer managed to strip the clothes off the inert Krycek
and quickly wash him down in front of the built up fire. Fischer was less than
pleased at the condition of Krycek's stump when they removed the prosthesis.
"This is going to need treatment as well. By the way, is this the same Krycek
that I've heard you refer to as 'that ratbastard'?"
Skinner nodded. "So?"
"Hell, he's more of a cat than a rat if he's managed to survive this long."
Skinner grunted. "He does have the habit of landing on his feet more often than
not."
"Guess this was one of the 'not' times."
At Fischer's suggestion, Skinner made up a bed on the couch. Then, with the
wounded area carefully packed, together they lifted Krycek up off the floor and
onto the couch. Skinner moved one of the floor lamps closer and Fischer proved
once more why he had a reputation of being a successful medic under less than
auspicious circumstances.
Skinner was surprised to find himself wincing whenever Krycek moaned or jerked
under Fischer's hands. The wound was ugly and Skinner wondered how Krycek had
endured the pain that had to accompany that level of infection. Also made him
wonder how he'd found his way here since there was no vehicle anywhere that he
could see. He'd figured out that the door off the deck was probably the one
Krycek had picked open for access.
Skinner changed the bowl of water several times until Fischer was content that
he had done all he could. He finished by injecting a syringe filled with
antibiotics into Krycek's hip. "Well, now we wait and see what happens," he
yawned, fidgeting with the drip that he had set up to rehydrate Krycek.
Skinner checked his watch. It was nearly two in the morning. "Give me a few
minutes to get the rental in here and then you hit the bed upstairs. I'll take
first watch."
Fischer nodded, checking one last time on his patients while Skinner went to get
the SUV. "Call me if it looks as though either of them is deteriorating."
By morning, Davy was alert enough to sit up, check on the whereabouts of Krycek,
then allow himself to be taken to the bathroom. He swallowed another dose of
liquid Tylenol, drank most of the glass of eggnog that Skinner had put together
from the milk and eggs Fischer had brought, with sugar and a bit of cinnamon for
taste. He politely whispered "Thank you," before settling back in his cocoon
and going back to sleep.
"Down to just under 101." Fischer put the ear thermometer back into his medical
bag. "He should be back to himself in the next couple of days. On the other
hand, Krycek...." He shrugged.
Skinner refused to allow himself to admit that Krycek's condition worried him.
He'd been given another shot of antibiotics, but the infection seemed determined
to hang in. Apart from some small sounds, he'd been unresponsive to Fischer's
changing his bandages. His fever was still high. Fischer had gotten him to
swallow more Tylenol for that as well.
"He's lost a fair amount of blood. He really needs to be in a hospital,"
suggested Fischer.
Skinner shook his head. "He'd be dead within a day, two at best. Can we move
him?"
Fischer poured himself another coffee. They were sitting in the kitchen, both
of them tiredly enjoying the warm sun that gave the cabin's pine interior a
golden glow. "What have you got in mind?"
"Moving them to my place. I can't stay here. This week is packed filled with
meetings that I can't get out of. Besides, my building is pretty secure. And I
know people I can contact to verify that my apartment is clean before we move
them in. It'll also be easier for you to check in on them."
Fischer thought a bit. "Shouldn't be a problem for the boy. Krycek... It's
more than the infection that's got him down like he is. It's as though he's got
no resources left of his own to help his body with the fight."
Skinner nodded. "He was pretty honed down the last time I saw him. In Mulder's
room at the hospital." And he was still more than suspicious that whatever
Krycek had been doing there had more to do with Mulder's return from the dead
than the medical care he had been getting at the time. "He's skin and bones
right now. Probably been living hard for some time."
"Well, let's see how he is by tomorrow. I think night would be the safest time
to get them into your place without attracting too much attention."
Skinner drove into the lighted parking lot of his apartment building and braced
himself when he caught sight of the disreputable VW van parked to one side,
waiting for them. He checked in the rear view mirror as he had often on the
drive back. Fischer was pulling into one of the visitor parking spots.
Three shadows moved from the van. Skinner looked over at the small bundle
asleep on the passenger seat. Davy had occasionally wakened on the trip down,
but had slipped back into sleep each time after silently checking that Krycek
was still on the back seat of the SUV.
"Assistant Director."
Skinner had to think a moment before he remembered which name for the face.
"Byers. Thanks for coming out."
"Thank you for trusting us." Byers nodded to the parking garage doors. "We've
already set up a loop for that camera and the others inside. The elevator is
clean, too. We thought it might be prudent to wait for your arrival before
checking out your apartment."
Fischer raised his eyebrows in Skinner's direction. "Secure building, I think
you said."
Skinner shrugged. "From what I understand, if there's a way in, these men will
find it. Gentlemen, Doctor Joe Fischer."
"Colonel, retired, Marine Corps," said Langley, grinning at the large black man.
"We checked you out," said Frohike. "Well," he added when Fischer looked
threatening, "Skinner said he wanted the place totally secure. Just because
he trusts you..."
"I'm sorry," offered Byers, "but since you did request complete confidentiality,
we did feel it important."
"Thank you," Skinner tried to sound less shocked than he was. He'd only
contacted them that afternoon from a public phone booth. He barely remembered
having mentioned Fischer by name.
"So, why all the secrecy?" Langley peered into the SUV. "Shit! Is that
Krycek? Whew! No wonder you want the place checked out."
Byers glared at the two men. "You do know that there's a contract out on him?
Seems he stole something and someone wants it back."
"I don't like this," muttered Frohike.
"It's the boy," Skinner explained. "That's what he's 'stolen' from them. From
the Consortium. And if they get him back, there's a good chance he won't get any
older."
The three men silently exchanged messages with eyebrows, shrugs, and small nods
of head. Byers spoke for them. "Okay. Let's get in there. If you'll give me
the keys, we'll go up and check out the apartment, clean it out if we find
anything. It might be best if you waited here, in the vehicle, until we come
get you."
Fischer scooped the now awakened Davy into his arms and took the passenger seat.
"Who the hell are they?"
"Mulder's Lone Gunmen."
"They going to tell Mulder?"
"No. Byers indicated that they have a solid reputation of keeping their mouths
shut, unless it has something to do with government conspiracy."
They found one bug, in his office.
"Dead. Battery ran out a long time ago. I guess no one's interested in you any
more, Skinner." Frohike snickered as he said that.
Fischer grinned as he entered, carrying Davy in his arms. Langley had his arms
full with the medical supplies. Skinner was pushing a still unconscious Krycek
in the wheeled office chair that the men had brought down to help. Byers
followed close by, holding the drip.
"Where is Davy going to sleep?" Fischer smiled at the boy who was focused on
the man being rolled in.
"Spare room. The bed is already made up. Krycek will go in my room." At
Frohike's raised eyebrows, he added, "That way I can hear both of them if
something goes wrong."
That, however, was easier said than done. It took Skinner and Fischer both to
move Krycek up the stairs, with Byers following behind, providing support. Davy
watched wide-eyed through the open door, from the foot of the bed with Frohike
who was looking at him as though encountering an alien life form.
Skinner left Fischer to settle Krycek properly and went to deal with the boy.
"Would you like me to leave this light on?" Skinner pointed to the table lamp
at the far side of the bed. "I know that sometimes new places can be difficult
at the best of times. And these last few days must have seemed pretty crazy."
Davy nodded, relaxing somewhat when Skinner turned the light on to low.
Skinner gave the boy another dose of meds. "There. Glass of water on the table
by the light if you need it. Bathroom's next door if you need that, too. No?
Then sleep well. I'll see you in the morning." He tucked the boy snugly under
the blankets.
Skinner left the door partially open, not only for the boy but so that he could
hear him if something was wrong.
Downstairs, he thanked the Gunmen, slipped Byers the agreed-upon cash and
stopped himself in time from reminding them of their promise of secrecy. These
men were professionals. They had given him their word and they would keep it.
At the door, Frohike hesitated, then turned to face Skinner.
"If you need something more done to keep the boy safe, call."
The other two men nodded in agreement.
"Kids don't do well in Consortium hands," muttered Langley as they left to set
all the cameras back to normal.
The next morning, Skinner found Davy sitting up in bed, face worried. He
smiled, hoping to ease the boy's tension. "You're looking a lot better today.
But the doctor still wants you taking the medicine so..." Skinner sat on the
side of the bed, offering the child's medicine spoon. Eyes holding his, the boy
leaned over and opened his mouth. Skinner tilted the spoon. "There, that's done
for the morning. Now, what's next?"
"Please," the boy whispered, "Alex?"
Skinner nodded. The boy never spoke more than one or two words, always at a
whisper. He wondered if there was something wrong with his voice. He'd mention
it to Fischer when he arrived.
Still smiling, Skinner pulled a pair of his gym socks out of his pants pocket.
"Here. These'll have to do instead of slippers. And," he reached for the
sleeveless sweat shirt he had brought in with him, "we'll pull this over your
t-shirt so that you don't catch a chill. Fischer won't be pleased with me if
you have a relapse. Okay. Now let's go check on Kry... On Alex."
He held out his hand to the boy who, between the socks that rose to above his
knees and the sweat shirt that came down below them, looked even more forlorn.
At first, the boy was a little unsteady on his feet but determinedly followed
Skinner out of the bedroom, down the hall to the only other bedroom in the
condo.
Krycek was still fevered, sleeping deeply under the influence of that and the
medications. Davy stood by the bedside and looked too lost for Skinner's peace
of mind. "He's going to be okay, Davy. See, the bag that's dripping the
colourless liquid into his arm? That's for his body, to help it fight the
infection. And he's getting some food that way, too. He's just sleeping right
now, but soon, he'll wake up."
His words didn't seem to be reassuring the boy. Skinner crouched next to the
boy, trying to get Davy to look at him. "Davy. I won't lie to you. Alex is
very ill, but he's getting all the care he needs. And right now, what he needs
most is sleep. He's getting that and all the right stuff to make him better.
Understand?"
Face far too serious, Davy gave a slight nod. Then he leaned over and
whispered, "Can I touch him?"
Skinner nodded. "I think that might do him a lot of good. And tell him that
you're okay. That Skinner is taking care of you both. That I promise you'll
both be safe."
The boy nodded, let go of Skinner's hand and carefully crawled up onto the bed.
Equally carefully, he made his way around Krycek's legs and to his left side.
There, he looked over to Skinner as though waiting for permission. Skinner
smiled and that seemed to be enough for the boy. He leaned over and lay his
hand on Krycek's shoulder, placed his mouth close to Krycek's ear and whispered
into it. Skinner had no idea what the boy said, but from the few sounds that he
did catch, he realized that the boy was speaking to the sleeping man in Russian.
After a moment, the boy rested his head on Krycek's shoulder, sighed, picked
himself up and made his way back to Skinner's side.
"Please," he whispered, " the bathroom?"
Skinner showed Davy to the main bathroom, pointed out the new toothbrush and the
paste that he'd laid out on the vanity and then shut the door, allowing the
child privacy.
They made their way gingerly down the stairs, the boy still a little wobbly on
his legs. In the kitchen, Skinner poured him a glass of orange juice, watched
him sip it as he prepared a bowl of cereal for the boy. "It's just corn
flakes," he said as he placed the bowl in front of Davy, "but if you tell me
what you prefer, I'll pick some up before I come home tonight."
The boy looked up from spooning the cereal, afraid.
"Doctor Fischer, you remember him? Well, he's coming to spend the day with you.
Just in case Alex needs him. So you see, you'll be in good hands."
The boy didn't look much reassured, but he went back to eating his breakfast.
"You're back earlier than planned." Fischer hit 'mute' on the remote and sat up
on the couch. "It's barely seven o'clock."
Skinner shed his coat, grinning. "I delegated a couple of meetings to some poor
jerk who began by thanking me but will probably end up cursing me when he really
understands just how tedious these things are. How are the patients?"
Fischer rose from the couch, stretching. "Davy slept on and off all day. His
temp is back to normal. His appetite also seems to be back to normal. Which
means he would be bouncing off the walls by tomorrow afternoon, if he were a
normal child."
Skinner paused in removing his weapon then continued, storing it on a high shelf
in the closet. Not its usual place, but now there was a child in his home.
"What's wrong with him?"
Fischer shrugged. "Very restrained. Very quiet. Too quiet. He came with me
every time I checked in on Krycek. He talked more to a sleeping man than he
spoke to me all day. He's not familiar with television programs. Watched them
as though he wasn't certain of what he was watching."
"Shit, Joe! Daytime television stinks."
"Hey! Nickelodeon, I'll have you know."
Skinner grinned at the image of Joe Fischer watching children's programming.
"And the other patient?"
"The antibiotics finally seem to be doing their job. Temperature dropped to
around 101. He woke once, was alert enough to speak to the boy then. When I
told him where he was, he slipped back into sleep. He's begun to be restless, a
good sign. Though I'd like him to remain quiet at least another day for those
wounds to close properly. I've set him up with another drip for the night, but
tomorrow we have to get him eating something. Which brings up the problem of
tomorrow. I can't be here. I have a funding meeting to attend and I can't miss
it."
Skinner nodded. "I remembered you mentioning that. I had Kim rearrange my
meetings for the day, and I delegated the others she couldn't."
Fischer shook his head in stunned amazement. "I can't believe what I'm hearing.
You, Walter S. Skinner, A-type supreme, not only using the word 'delegating',
but actually doing it. Pigs everywhere have got to be flying."
"Fuck off." Skinner picked up several bags and brought them into the living
room where he dropped them on the couch.
Fischer caught sight of a name on one of the bags and dug into it. "A nerf
football?" With a hoot, he dug into the others. He pulled out a puzzle of a
Harry Potter scene, a packaged set of the four books, the largest of the
Crayola crayon boxes with several colouring books, one of which was themed
trucks and cars. In yet another bag, he found a boy's set of pyjamas, socks,
underwear, a sweat suit with Shrek and Donkey grinning up at him. "Does he
even know who they are?" he asked with a laugh.
"He will." Skinner opened another bag and tossed the "Shrek" video onto the
couch, following that with "Monster, Inc." and "Peter Pan".
"Shit, Walt! I can't picture you..."
"I didn't. I sent Kim."
"Didn't she ask why you'd want all this stuff?"
Skinner shook his head, dropping into his favourite armchair. "Nope. That's
why she's such a good PA. I just told her I needed some clothes and things to
occupy an eight-year-old boy and this is what she came up with."
The clothes, the crayons and the colouring books were a huge success. Davy had
no idea who Harry Potter was, didn't recognize either Shrek or Peter Pan. He
also had no idea what to do with the football until Skinner gave him a
demonstration. He watched, a bemused expression on his face, as Skinner
explained the principal of the game, showed him how to throw the football.
Skinner made a mental note to send Kim for different kinds of balls.
They spent the morning quietly. Though Skinner had indeed delegateda fact
which had stunned his PA as much as his request for her help with a personal
matterhe had brought home a briefcase filled with work. As he worked on the
table, Davy seemed content to join him with his colouring. At mid-morning, when
he went to check up on Krycek, Davy came along, face worried, quietly
approaching the bed.
Skinner sat at the side of the bed and gently shook the man, trying to rouse
him. The previous day that had gotten no response. This morning, Krycek moaned
slightlywhich caused Davy to move closer to the bedand then opened his
eyes.
"Alex?"
Krycek turned his head towards the boy, eyes slitted against the light.
"Daveed?" he croaked.
Skinner slipped his hand under Krycek's head, helped him raise it so that he
could sip at the glass of water Skinner held to his mouth.
Davy lay his hand on Krycek's chest, smiled at him and, without warning, burst
into tears.
Krycek tried to get up, but hadn't the strength. Skinner pushed him back,
scooped up Davy and settled him on the bed, at Krycek's uninjured side. The
boy lay his head against Krycek's, wrapped his arms around him and wept.
"He's all right, Krycek," Skinner answered the weak glare directed at him.
"He's been worried about you."
"He was sick," Krycek's voice was rough.
Skinner nodded. "Flu. He's all right now. I called Fischer, remember?"
It was obvious that Krycek didn't and that he was also too weak to deal with
Davy. Skinner sat on the side of the bed. "It's been five days and though Davy
got better right away, you've been sleeping all this time."
"F... Five!"
Skinner nodded, reaching over to stroke Davy's back. The boy was slowly
quieting. "We moved you here, to my place. I got the Lone Gunmen in to check
it out for any kind of bugs and either I or Fischer has been here with you two
ever since." Skinner directed his next words to the boy though he was looking
at Krycek. "Davy's been very good and he took his medicine so he's better.
Just like you're going to take yours. I'm going downstairs for a minute, to get
them. Davy here can keep you company until I come back."
By the time Skinner returned, Davy had calmed considerably and had probably
brought Krycek up to date on their situation. Whatever strength the man had had
on waking was now gone. Krycek was struggling to keep his eyes open. "Here,
drink this." Skinner raised Krycek enough so that he could swallow the Tylenol
and drink down the juice he'd doctored with protein powder. Davy sat up and
watched as Krycek settled back into sleep.
"Come on, Davy. Let's leave Alex to sleep and maybe he'll wake up again this
afternoon."
Reluctantly, Davy slipped off the bed and, with one last look at the man
sleeping, went out of the room.
Skinner sat him up on the kitchen counter and used a warm wet cloth to wipe the
traces of the boy's tears off his face. He offered him a tissue to blow his
nose then just took him in his arms and held him. "Alex is going to be okay,
Davy. He's tough. He's not going to let something like this kill him, but he
is weak. He needs sleep and care. And we're going to see to it that he gets
it, right?"
Head drooping onto Skinner's shoulder, Davy nodded.
Skinner held the emotionally exhausted child as he fell asleep and then settled
him on the couch. The boy was less tense, less quiet when he awoke. He actually
spoke to Skinner in complete sentences rather than the usual one or two words.
And though he was disappointed that Krycek didn't wake the next two times they
checked in on him, he seemed to accept that Krycek was getting better.
Skinner was hanging up his suit in the closet Friday afternoon when he realized
Krycek was watching him. Between Kim's re-arranging of his schedule, his new
habit of delegating and Fischer, they had gotten to the weekend with someone
always in the apartment.
Both Fischer and Krycek were less than pleased with Krycek's recovery. He still
had a low grade fever that he couldn't seem to shake off and the infection,
though much less than it had been, was stubbornly hanging around. Krycek was
off the drip, but found a trip to the bathroom taxing. He slept most of the
day, with Davy checking in on him whenever he could.
Davy was proving to be more of an enigma than Skinner and Fischer thought a boy
his age should be.
He was a little more talkative though if asked a question about himself, or the
time before Skinner had arrived at the cabin, he would look blankly at them and
grow very quiet. They stopped questioning him on that.
If Skinner asked for a food preference, the boy just shrugged, though he was
wary of any new thing that appeared on his plate. He would try it and then
decide if it was something to his taste. Not that Skinner was offering him
anything exotic in his choice of meals, but things the boy should be familiar
with, it appeared he wasn't.
When Skinner had handed him the Harry Potter books, Davy had looked at them as
though they were a mystery. Skinner had assumed that the boy had never learnt
to read. Yet when Skinner had begun reading one to him, Davy had suddenly lit
up and slowly begun reading along with him. He was now working his way through
the books on his own.
Kim had subtly inquired as to the success of her shopping and then had picked up
Skinner's even more subtle comment that the boy was still around. He'd come
home from the office with several more packages. Davy now had another sweat
suit, with a monster truck emblazoned on the top. Kim had also sent over a
couple of pairs of jeans, a sweater and a winter jacket that her son had
outgrown.
"How're you feeling?" Skinner rested his shoulder against the closet door,
looking over at the man gingerly pulling himself up into a sitting position.
Krycek sighed. "I don't understand why it's taking so long."
Skinner moved away from the door, scoffed. "Gees, Krycek. Maybe if you took
better care of yourself..." Then he shook his head. "You feeling well enough
to explain a few things to me?"
There was a soft knock on the door and it was Skinner's turn to sigh. It was as
though there was a psychic connection between Krycek and Davy. Every time
Krycek woke, the boy seemed to know it.
"Tonight?" offered Krycek. "When he's asleep."
Skinner nodded as he opened the door and the boy came in to join Krycek on the
bed.
Skinner watched Krycek make himself comfortable against the mound of pillows.
Like the boy, he needed a decent haircut. Not that the longer hair was
irritating, but the scruffiness of it bugged him. And that beard didn't help
any.
He found himself comparing this Krycek to the one who had played at being a
green agent, the one who had spent the night on his balcony, the one who had
held a palm pilot in his hand, and decided that this was yet another Krycek. He
pulled up a chair to his side of the bed, sat and propped his feet, one ankle on
top of the other, on the bed itself.
"Where do you want me to begin?" Krycek had asked for a glass of water which he
now held in his hand.
They both knew they were in for a long discussion.
Skinner greeted the question with a raised eyebrow. "What if I said back to
when you were admitted to Quantico?"
Krycek cocked his head slightly. "Then I start there." Tone serious to match
his expression, he went on. "Look, I owe you my life. And Davy's as well. If
you hadn't shown up when you did..." He shrugged and took a sip of water.
"I haven't decided yet if saving your skin was worth it. Davy, on the other
hand...Your son is entirely another matter."
"My son?" Krycek's voice was dry. "What ever made you think Davy's my son?"
Skinner's voice was equally dry. "The eyes. The ears. The shape of his face.
If he's not your son, what is he? Your brother? Your nephew?"
Krycek's smile was humourless. "Daveed's not any of those. What he is is my
clone."
Skinner grew very still. "Your...clone?"
Krycek nodded. "Seems Samantha Mulder's genes weren't the only ones conducive
to cloning."
"Does Davy know..."
"That he's a clone? Yes, he knows."
And then Krycek shut up, knowing that Skinner needed time to absorb the truth
about Davy, to think about what Krycek had told him.
When Skinner spoke, it was obvious that the subject made him uneasy. "How long
have you known about this...cloning?"
"Consortium cloning? It wasn't exactly a closed secret in some levels of the
organization. They've been working on this for years. They've been successful
to some degree or another since the 50's. And they've been getting better at it
with every trial. They don't always develop what they want, but with the right
genes and a little luck, they can replicate a person."
"And they decided to 'replicate' you."
Krycek shrugged. "I didn't know about that part of their work until a few years
ago. I didn't have much to do with those labs. We all had to undergo testing
on a regular basis and cell donation was part of that."
"We?" Skinner was in full A.D. mode, his voice expressionless, alert for
nuances in the other's voice, in his 'story'.
Krycek leaned back into the pillows. "You know," he said, casually, "Samantha
Mulder was not the only child given to the Consortium. I know that Mulder acts
as though she was, but anyone who reached a certain level within the
organization had to provide a ... Had to show proof of loyalty. The handing
over of a child or some family member provided not only a guarantee, in most
cases..."
Skinner caught the slight change in tone, bitterness quickly recovered.
"...of co-operation, but also a gene pool to work from and with."
"How old were you?"
Krycek shrugged. "I have no real idea. Well, I do. I was seven. But I found
that out when I hacked into their data banks. Wenone of usremembered much
because they played around with our memories. Without real memories of home,
mom and dad, we were easier to control and train."
"Is that what happened to Davy? His memories were wiped out?"
Krycek nodded and took a drink of water.
"That's why he didn't remember he could read. Or what foods he likes."
Again, Krycek nodded.
"How the hell could they do that to him!" Skinner's anger slipped out. He sat
straight in the chair, no longer at ease.
"Actually," said Krycek, "they didn't. I arranged for that."
The look Skinner turned on him should have turned him into stone. "You
fucking..." But Skinner stopped himself. There had to be a reason. Krycek
never did anything without a reason. "Why?" he snarled.
Krycek looked down at the glass in his hand. "I found him by accident. In a
lab that some Rebels and I had gone in to blow up. They were in the process
of...ah...'eliminating' clones that they considered flawed or at the end of
their usefulness."
Skinner jerked in his chair, but forced himself to sit still. He knew he wasn't
going to like what Krycek was going to tell him.
"They had determined early on in their cloning experiments that the only way to
reproduce a viable human clone was the traditional way. Nine months in a womb.
They could arrange for multiple births, but not all the clones were adequate for
whatever they wanted them. Those were easily dealt with right away. Deformed
or blind clones, weak ones were eliminated at birth. The others were handed
over to the labs for certain testing until they proved their worth. Even those
were further tested and their future training, if they were to have any,
depended on how well they did."
"Jesus!" Skinner closed his eyes, shook his head.
"Davy was among those they decided didn't have the right stuff. They'd handed
several of them over to 'technicians' who were using them to...to amuse
themselves before they killed them. When I got to that part of the labs, Davy
was one of three who was still alive."
Skinner looked up, face almost feral. "Where are the others?"
Krycek met his anger and disgust right on. "Dead. And, yes, I killed them.
Skinner, they were still alive, but they'd been torn apart, had been mu...."
Skinner raised his hand and stopped him. He had to swallow several times before
he could get the words out. "And Davy?"
"He was the smallest of the lot. They had just started on him when I got there.
I didn't clue in to who he was until after I'd cleaned up the place."
Skinner didn't ask what had comprised the 'cleaning up'.
"I couldn't bring myself to kill him. I got him out and to a doctor that the
Consortium sometimes used. I killed him, too, so that they wouldn't know.
"Shit, Skinner. He'd never been outside. They'd kept him in a lab like a test
rat. He shook all the time. Was afraid of sleeping for the nightmares. He
cried almost constantly, silently, as though he didn't know he was doing it.
His wounds were superficial and his body healed, but his mind...
"I knew of another lab. The techs there were proficient at wiping out memories.
So that's what I did. I took him there and had them wipe out whatever they had
done to him, whatever they had had him do."
Skinner growled, "That could have left him a total vegetable."
Krycek shrugged. "They were experts. They knew what to erase and what to leave
in. His motor and language skills were barely affected. His ability to think
is fine. Mulder's had it done to him several times and he's not a vegetable.
They've done it to me and, in spite of what you think of me, I'm not one
either."
Skinner ignored Mulder for "Were?"
Krycek shrugged. "I wasn't that successful. Someone got out and told them that
it was me and that I had a clone with me. My clone. Things got a lot more
interesting after that, but I thought we were pretty much ahead of them until
someone I thought was safe turned out not to be."
"What the hell were you going to do with the boy?"
Krycek's voice dripped bitter sarcasm. "What do you think? Use him for sex?
As a punching bag? Maybe I was going to sell him to some experimental lab?"
The two men glared at each other until finally Skinner sighed loudly. "No," his
voice was tired, "I don't think that. But what were you going to do with him?"
Krycek also sighed, let his head fall back on the pillows. "God knew. I sure
as hell didn't. I just knew that I couldn't leave him behind. If they didn't
kill him, they'd start with the testing all over again. There'd already been
enough of that."
There was silence in the room while both men dealt with thoughts and memories.
Skinner sat back in his chair and carefully examined the man before him. Krycek
had been seven when he'd been handed over to technicians who... What? Had
tested him and found that he'd satisfied their qualifications for further
training. Who had had his memories of home and family wiped so that he had to
hack into data banks to find out who he had been. Who had been taught to kill
without emotion.
Who had still had enough humanity in him to try and save a part of himself.
"How did you get to my place? We never found a car."
Krycek roused himself and emptied the glass. "I got us into the back of some
truck at a truck stop further up state. I knew about your place because they
had once sent me to bug it, about the time you did some work for Spender in
exchange for the info on Scully. I figured since you don't go out there as much
as you used to, that maybe they hadn't updated the bugs. That we would be safe
until I got better. Davy wasn't sick then.
"We got out of the truck when the driver stopped to fill up with gas at the stop
on the highway. Then we walked there."
Skinner scowled. That stop was at least ten miles away. No wonder the wound
hadn't closed up.
"How long ago did you rescue Davy?"
"About three months ago."
"And the memory wipe?"
Krycek shrugged. "A couple of weeks after that."
"And Davy remembers nothing about the time before that."
Krycek shook his head. "Ask Mulder if he remembers anything about his visit to a
bio-lab when he was eleven. And the one when he was fifteen. And the other
when he returned from England."
"What were they testing him for?"
"For any sign that his DNA was modifying from the changes they had made to it
when he was a kid. They were trying to understand why Samantha's had taken but
Mulder's hadn't."
"And?"
Krycek yawned. "Seems Mulder had Mulder DNA, Samantha hadn't. By the time they
figured that out, the man whose DNA was the determining factor was dead. Had
been long dead. Had been blown to bits stepping on a land mine in Vietnam."
"So Spender isn't Mulder's father?"
"Spender," Krycek's grin was humourlessly satisfied, "was no one's father.
Not even Jeffrey's."
After some silence, Skinner got up, put the chair back in its place. He went
over and took the glass from Krycek "What are you going to do with Davy?"
Krycek tossed a couple of the pillows to the foot of the bed. "Find him a safe
place."
Skinner said nothing, just nodded in agreement.
Fischer was finally satisfied. "Took you long enough but you're looking good.
If you're going to continue getting shot, Krycek, make sure you stay in shape.
Three meals a day and at least six hours of sleep a night. Next time, you may
not be so lucky."
It had taken another three weeks for Fischer to be satisfied that Krycek's wound
wouldn't give him any more trouble. That he'd put on some weight and gotten his
energy back.
Three weeks during which Krycek had watched Skinner and Davy.
After that first week, Krycek had insisted that he could come downstairs and
that neither man need to re-organize his life for them. Skinner hadn't been
sure, but there was only so much he could delegate and Kim could re-arrange.
Fischer had to return to his clinic.
They'd gotten Krycek downstairs that Sunday and settled him on the couch.
Skinner showed Davy how to use the microwave to heat up meals. He made the boy
promise that he'd never take anything out without oven mitts on his hands, that
only Krycek would open the containers. He set up his cell phone to a special
ring so that when he called, Davy would know who it was and would answer.
Krycek noticed that Skinner called at least three times a day, just to check up
on them.
Krycek scoffed quietly to himself. Who the hell was he kidding? Skinner was
checking up on Davy. Seeing that the boy was fine. That he was still here.
Every morning before he left the room where the two of them were still sleeping
each on his side of the bed, Skinner got him to state unequivocally that both he
and Davy would be still here when Skinner got back from work.
And that was another thing that seemed slightly out of the norm for Skinner. At
least in Krycek's mind. They were still sharing the oversized king in Skinner's
room. He'd offered to sleep somewhere else, but Skinner had vetoed that idea.
Krycek couldn't share with Davy because he, Krycek, moved around too much,
muttered too much in his sleep. He'd wake the boy and the boy needed his sleep.
When Krycek had used that same argument as the reason he should then move to the
couch downstairs, Skinner had vetoed that on the grounds that Krycek needed
decent sleep and, comfortable though the couch was for a nap, it wasn't
conducive for a good night's sleep. Not when there would be more than a few on
it. Besides, Skinner pointed out, Krycek slept better if someone woke him
before the muttering turned into nightmares.
Krycek found that argument hard to ignore. When he'd gotten here, he'd been too
ill, too drugged for the nightmares to play havoc with his sleep. He'd been
able to sympathize with his clone's fear of sleep because he'd often been there
himself, and still had trouble with nightmares when he was ill or overly tired.
And, yes, having someone wake him, touch or even hold him until he was back in
this world, did help.
It was also stupid time for him, that time between. It was then that his
resistence was low, that he answered Skinner's questions about these same
nightmares. At about the same time that Skinner had learnt he wasn't
comfortable in the dark because of his time in the silo, a small lamp appeared
at his side of the bed, a light with a soft glow that helped keep those dreams
at bay.
And Skinner learnt that if he was muttering in Russian, he was reliving the time
of his alien possession, when all he had been able to do was watch his body
betray him and deliver what he had hoped would be his ticket out from under
Consortium clutches to Spender himself. Or in the forests of Tunguska, having
his arm cut off. If he spoke Arabic, he was back in Tunisia, a one-armed man in
a cell filled with other men who thought he'd be an easy target. Which was how
Skinner also found out that the reason Spender had arranged for this experience
had been the "loss" of Orgel's documentation which meant that the subtle
reprogramming of a certain palm pilot could not be reversed.
"Why, Krycek?" Skinner had been rubbing his hand up and down Krycek's back,
soothing him after a particularly entrenched dream.
"If I threw the thing away, they'd try something else. This way, they could
still use the nanos on you, but only to a certain extent."
"They still sent you."
"Yeah, but you had to admit it wasn't anything like that first time." Krycek
was still trembling from the aftermath of a Tunisian dream. He had been able to
defend himself from the men sharing his cell; the guards had been something
else. He'd endured because he'd fully intended to make it out. "And that time,
I didn't have any choice. At least I brought you back. Someone else wouldn't
have bothered."
Strangely, thought Krycek, their time in bed together, sharing platonically,
seemed to have defused past tensions between them. Skinner had brought up the
night he'd spent on the balcony, but Krycek had shrugged it away. All things
considered, it hadn't been much of a punishment. More revenge for what had
happened between them up till then.
"Still, I shouldn't have hit you so hard. I could have ruptured something."
Krycek shook his head. "Don't worry about it. You didn't."
And over the past weeks, Krycek noticed how Skinner smiled every time Davy spoke
to him, how he listened patiently as Davy read something or talked about a
program he and Krycek had watched during the day. Davy's artwork was finding
its way to the fridge door, to the room Skinner used as his home office.
Saturdays, Skinner would pick up a couple of kids' videos along with groceries
and all three of them would sit, watching children's classics that Skinner knew
but that neither Davy nor Krycek had ever seen. And Krycek knew that wasn't
normal Saturday fare on the Skinner television.
He also knew that gradually there were things being added to Davy's closet, more
books for the shelving unit by his bed. On a shelf in the living room, next to
a framed commendation from the White House, there now sat a model car that Davy
and Skinner had put together one Sunday afternoon. Krycek had lazed on the
couch, pretending to read, all the while listening to Skinner explain what the
next step was and then patiently helping Davy with it.
The day that Fischer had finally given him a clean bill of health was also the
day that Krycek forced himself to make a decision.
He was helping Davy get ready for bed that evening when the boy said, "Alex, do
you remember the time you told me that, when you were scared, you went to a safe
spot deep inside you?"
Krycek finished turning down the bed and then sat next to the boy looking up at
him with a near blank look on his face. It had been some time since he'd seen
that look. The first had been after the memory wipe. "Yes, Davy, I remember. I
told you that when we were running away from the bad people who were trying to
catch us. Why?"
"Well, I didn't know what you meant then, Alex. But I do now. This time here,
with Walter, that's going to be my safe spot."
Krycek found he couldn't say anything to that, but he understood that now he was
better, Davy was expecting them to take off again.
He tucked Davy into bed and then sat by him until the boy fell asleep.
He went back downstairs to find Skinner in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee.
"Want some? It's decaf." Skinner reached up for a second mug.
Krycek waited until they were sitting at the table. "I have to leave."
Skinner nodded, placed his mug carefully back on the table. "Yes. I figured
that would happen once Fischer gave you a clean bill of health."
Krycek placed his mug on the table, stared at it. He knew he would never forget
the dark blue of the mug against the white tabletop. "I can't bring Davy with
me. It wouldn't be fair."
"No," agreed Skinner, very quietly. "It wouldn't."
Krycek looked up. "Do you want him?"
"Want him?"
Krycek felt his face harden. "Not just for a while. Permanently."
"Per..." Skinner was stunned.
"Look, if not, you have to tell me. They are places I can take him to, places
where he'll probably be okay..."
"Probably!" Skinner barely managed to hold down the tone of his voice.
"Jesus, Krycek. The kid deserves more than a fucking 'probably'!"
"Yeah, I know. Skinner, hear me out and think about it, okay?"
Krycek watched as Skinner took a deep breath, obviously trying to control his
growing anger. Then he closed his eyes, sighed loudly and the anger was gone.
Krycek continued. "I've watched you with Daveed. You're good with him. He
likes you and I think you like him. He needs... Jesus, Skinner! He needs a
home. A chance to be someone, something other than my fucking clone. He needs
someone who isn't freaked out by the fact that he is a clone. Someone who
will... Who will care for him. See to it that he grows up properly. That he'll
get the chance to grow up safe. Understand? I can't give him that. I know
that.
"I also know that taking on a kid like him is no easy task. And that there are
financial considerations. There are accounts that I can access that..."
"Shut the fuck up!" Skinner's fist came down loud on the table. Krycek wisely
shut up. Skinner stood, passed his hands over his scalp and took a nervous pace
around the room. He stopped once, opened his mouth and then paced some more.
He was calmer when he took back his seat.
"Yes, I'll take him. Yes, I do like him. Fuck that, I love the kid. I'll take
good care of him. And I'll do it without fucking Consortium money, you
understand!" He took a calming breath. "How do we go about doing this so that
he's not traumatized by your leaving?"
Krycek made a choked laughing sound. "I doubt he'll be traumatized. He might
miss me a day or two, but if you keep him busy, he probably won't notice I'm not
here."
Skinner looked stunned. "You really believe that?"
Krycek shrugged, trying hard to look nonchalant about the situation.
"Jesus, Krycek, are you really that blind? The kid loves you. Hell, he
worships you."
For a moment, Krycek thought he might shatter. He forced himself to breathe
shallowly until the pain passed.
"And don't try and tell me you don't love him, Krycek." Skinner's voice had
gentled. "You're a top-notch liar, but even you aren't that good."
Krycek said nothing, merely concentrated on the blue of the mug against the
white of the table.
Finally, Skinner cleared his throat. "Okay, as I said, how are we going to do
this?"
Krycek had to try twice to get the words out. "I'll talk to him tomorrow before
I leave. I'll need at least a day to get in touch with my contacts. To let
them know that I'm back in the game."
"These contacts of yours..."
"They're with the Rebels. I gave up long ago trusting human beings." Even
Krycek was taken aback by the bitterness in his voice.
Skinner couldn't help pointing out, "Yet you're trusting me with Davy."
Krycek noticed that if he concentrated on staring at the handle of the mug, the
blue seemed to run onto the white of the table.
Davy listened warily as Krycek explained that he was going to be staying with
Skinner. That he, Krycek, had to leave and it wouldn't be fair to Davy to drag
him around with him. That Skinner was very happy to have Davy staying with him.
At no time did Krycek mention that the stay was a permanent one, that he
wouldn't be coming back for the boy.
Davy nodded, eyes sad, and was very quiet for the rest of the day. Krycek's
eyes followed him around all the time and he tried to tell himself that was just
because he needed to make sure the boy wasn't reacting badly.
At Davy's request, they watched "Shrek" yet again. Krycek lay on the couch, the
boy snug in his arms, and recited the boy's favourite dialogue along with Davy.
Later, Davy pretended to nap, still in Krycek's arms.
Supper was very quiet, too, that evening. Skinner was used to hearing the boy
recount his day and ask him questions about his. He looked at Krycek,
concerned, but then realized that Krycek was not paying the least amount of
attention to him.
That all Krycek saw or heard right then was Davy.
Skinner, wearing only his jeans, listened to the shower being shut off. With a
sigh, he went back to turning down the bed.
The evening had been hard on all of them. Davy had been restless, whiny, as
though suddenly realizing that when he woke, the man who had been his one
constant in the little time that he could remember would not be here. Krycek
had become more and more remote, more wooden, as though already moved on to this
other world of his.
Except that when it had come time to put Davy to bed, Krycek had gone up with
the boy tightly wrapped round him, holding on just as tightly. And he'd stayed
in Davy's room long after the boy had fallen asleep.
He'd come out as Skinner had come upstairs, gone into the ensuite bathroom and
turned on the shower.
Skinner wondered if Krycek was leaving immediately or if he was going catch some
sleep then sneak out before Davy woke up.
Instead, Krycek walked into the bedroom, naked, and slowly knelt in the open
space between the bed and the bathroom.
"Krycek?"
Krycek sat back on his heels, placed his hand on his knee, lowered his head in a
submissive position.
What the hell? thought Skinner.
Krycek's voice was almost monotone. "There are things I did to you and to
people you care about. Things for which I fully accept responsibility. Things
which, even now when you mention them, make you angry. That you haven't
forgiven because they are unforgivable."
"Krycek, what..."
Krycek kept on as though Skinner hadn't spoken. "Things that as Davy grows up,
gets older, looks more and more like me, you will remember and may find get in
the way." Krycek looked up, meeting Skinner's slow understanding of the scene.
"You may find that you will wish then you had punished me, had hurt me now as
you had been hurt. And that seeing Davy every day will only make that anger
grow."
Skinner stepped out from his side of the bed, shaking his head. "Krycek! I
know that Davy has nothing to do with whatever has passed between us. I would
never hold him to account for that. Jesus, Krycek! He's a kid!"
"He's a kid now. But in a few years? When he really looks like me, when you
have nightmares of the nanos, of my killing you. When he's not a kid anymore.
When you think of the revenge you could have taken and didn't."
Krycek ignored Skinner's strong "NO!"
"So I'm offering you a chance to get your own back on me. Before I leave."
"Jesus!"
"For Davy's sake."
Skinner sat on the foot of the bed and looked at the man kneeling before him.
Once, he would have been delighted with this picture. Krycek, in his hands,
waiting for punishment. His punishment. And, yes, god knew, he had dreamt of
this, had thought of what he'd do to the rat if he ever fell into his hands,
away from watching eyes. And Krycek knew that. Knew what was going through his
mind right now.
And was knowingly offering himself up to Skinner for the sake of the child who
had been made from him.
Much as he might have wanted this not that long ago, Skinner also knew that
having both the child and the man in his home for the past month had changed
many things, including his need for his pound of flesh.
"Krycek...." He raised his hand and dropped it in frustration. What could he
say that would make Krycek understand.
"You don't have to worry about my waking Davy up. I was well trained. But you
can gag me if you like, just to be certain. I only ask that whatever it is you
do to me, I can still walk out of here before he wakes up."
"Krycek...."
"No, please. I need to know that Davy won't suffer for what I've done."
"And you think this...my beating you..."
Krycek shrugged. "It will get it out of your system. No matter what happens in
the future, you'll know that you made me hurt. That you made me pay."
Skinner stood up, to take a turn around the room, to try and get his emotions in
perspective. At the gesture, Krycek lowered his head, offering his body to
whatever Skinner wished to do to it.
Skinner went to the window , pulled back the curtain. He stared out into the
dark and forced himself to clear his mind. He hated to admit it, but Krycek had
a point. Would he be able to see Davy growing up into the man who had held the
palm pilot and not hold that against him? Could he separate the two?
He shifted the focus of his sight. In the glass, he could see the reflection of
the man waiting for his punishment.
Instead of putting Krycek's face on Davy, Skinner made himself put Davy's face
on Krycek. The child who had been given away. Had had his mind wiped. Had been
"tested"... Fuck! What fucking brutality did that word hide? What had Krycek
said about his decision to have Davy's mind wiped? So that he wouldn't remember
what had been done to him, what he had had to do.
He turned and took a good look at what the Consortium with its labs and its
technicians had been capable of producing.
Rat-bastard. Liar extraordinaire. A top notch assassin. A man who survived at
any cost.
But not Davy's.
Davy had allowed Krycek to let down his defences enough so that Skinner had
gleamed a certain sense about Krycek's existence within the Consortium. He had
also relaxed enough to use this time as a much-needed respite. Neither he nor
Davy had left the apartment once since they'd arrived. Skinner had gone out and
bought all sorts of things for Davy to keep him occupied, but Krycek had been
more than happy to forage in Skinner's closet and drawers for clothing, to read
what he found on Skinner's shelves, to listen to his selection of music, to
watch whatever television programs Skinner selected.
There had been discussions as well. Hell, they couldn't spend this much time in
each other's presence without doing some talking. Krycek was well read, well
travelled. He was a repository of inside information. He had personal
information about international situations Skinner only knew about from
listening to news reports.
Skinner learnt that Krycek had a particularly cynical perspective on world
politics, a biting wit that had made Skinner chuckle or even laugh when Krycek
allowed it out.
That he could sit with a child and watch the same movie over and over again as
if each time were the first, yet ignore replays of sports action, muttering
pejorative comments about the average intelligence of commentators who thought
no one would see what they were seeing, assuming they could get it straight.
A man who was content to sit quietly reading while Skinner caught up on work, in
a silent apartment that he was so used to working in before a man and his clone
child had moved in.
A man, Skinner was suddenly astonished to understand, he was going to miss.
Skinner had finally acknowledged to himself, after Sharon had divorced him, that
he did pay too much attention to some male agents. She had accused him of
Mulder. And he would admit that the man was beautiful to look at, to fantasize
about as he jerked off.
But Mulder hadn't been the only agent who had served under him to fill that
function.
Now, thought Skinner, might be a good time to also acknowledge that a full
bladder wasn't the only reason behind his morning erection these last couple of
weeks. A month of sleeping in the same bed with the man, carefully rousing him
when he'd had a nightmare, remembering the two or three times he had had to hold
him after one... The feel of the man in his arms...
Krycek had never pulled away from these moments of comfort. He hadn't initiated
anything, but he certainly hadn't protested or hurried to return to his side of
the bed.
But Krycek had indicated that he wouldn't be coming back.
Maybe, thought Skinner, he needed some reason to come back Something to come
back for. To a place where he might find himself welcomed back.
And then he knew what he was going to do.
"I can do anything I want with you, so long as you can walk out when I'm
through?"
Krycek raised his head just enough so that his answer could be heard. "Yes,"
"All right. Get on the bed."
Krycek grew so still Skinner doubted he was even breathing. Then, with a small
shudder, Krycek rose to his feet and went over to the bed. "How do you want
me?"
There was no more expression in the voice than there was on the face.
"On your back, in the middle of the bed."
Skinner stripped off the jeans and then went over to his bureau, knowing that
his instructions would be carried out. When he turned around, Krycek lay on his
back, in the middle of the bed that they had shared for a month.
"Put your hand on the spindle and grip it."
Skinner knelt on the bed and cuffed Krycek's wrist to the spindle. Then he sat
back on his heels and examined the man staring blankly at the ceiling.
He was still thin, much slimmer than he'd been those years ago as an agent.
He'd been using Skinner's Soliflex to get back into shape and Skinner knew he
went through a series of exercises every day for flexibility. All things
considered, it was an attractive body.
The face, once so young and, god knows, pretty, was older, harder. It was a
face that had learnt the hard way to keep thoughts secret. And the eyes had
learnt that lesson as well. At the moment, they revealed nothing of what had to
be going through Krycek's mind. Unless that too had been trained to withdraw.
Skinner reached out with a finger and slowly traced the collarbone from shoulder
to neck, and back again. Krycek didn't react.
Skinner smiled to himself. He moved the finger down to a brown nipple that
hesitated before showing its appreciation of his attention. With a more open
smile, Skinner concentrated on pleasing that nipple.
When he was certain that he was beginning to get Krycek's attention, when his
brain clued in that what Skinner was doing to him didn't hurt, Skinner let loose
all the fantasies he had ever had about this particular body.
Skinner was used to quick snatches of sex when he finally had enough of his
hand. He'd go to another town, go cruising and then find relief in a toilet
stall, in a dark corner. Maybe a motel bed, if he was certain that the area was
safe enough for him.
Tonight, he had to show this man that he had feelings for him. That he wanted
him to come back. And not just for Davy.
It pleased him to know that he had at least until the early morning hours to do
this. That he could do so with the lights on, so that he could judge just how
successful he was in this plan of his. So that he could watch the blankness on
Krycek's face gradually replaced by confusion, by responses he didn't seem to be
able to hide in spite of his training.
Or just maybe because no one had ever taken the time to drive him to the edge of
orgasm, to retrench only to begin the assault on his senses all over again.
The body laid out for Skinner's pleasure gradually looked oiled in the light,
the sheets darkened with the spreading dampness of sweat. Krycek rocked,
writhed, bucked. His hand whitely gripped the spindle as his body arched
upward. He held the sounds back as long as he could by drawing in his lower lip
with his front teethlike Davy did, thought Skinnerand then gave up.
Skinner found he was thankful that Davy, once asleep, did so soundly.
Using only his hands, his mouth, tongue, teeth, his skin rubbing against
Krycek's, Skinner brought them both up to the point where even a breath of air
against a body part was blissfully painful. Then, and only then, did he once
more reach for the lube, this time to grease his condomed cock. Teeth gritted,
only then did he ever so slowly penetrate Krycek's asshole, did his greased hand
once more pump Krycek's erect cock, did he finally allow Krycek to have an
orgasm. Then, and only then, did he allow himself the same intense pleasure.
They lay side by side, chests heaving, gasped breathing the only sounds. Krycek
slipped into post-coital sleep while Skinner fought to stay awake long enough to
free Krycek's wrist, to clean them both. He left the curtains open but turned
off the lights, then got into bed. He pushed and pulled Krycek until they were
both in a dry part of the bed, Krycek in his arms, and then Skinner,
self-satisfied grin plastered on his face, permitted himself to doze off.
The room was still dark when a small noise woke him. Krycek was dressed, by the
door.
"Alex?"
Krycek froze.
"When you're done whatever it is you feel you have to do, you come back. If you
need help, you call. You have the number for my secure line at work and you
know the number here. I'd like it if you contacted me on a regular basis, just
to let me know how you are, but I also know that might be asking too much. I do
insist, however," here his voice slipped into the stern A.D., "that if you are
hurt in any way, you get a message to me. I will go get you, no matter where
you are on this planet. I want your word on all that, Alex."
Krycek had been standing very still during all this. Now he looked over his
shoulder. "Skinner..."
"Your word, Alex. And your word that you will not take stupid chances. We want
you back, Alex. Davy and I. In as close to one piece as is possible. Is
that understood?"
Skinner watched as Alex Krycek rested his forehead against the bedroom door.
"Skinner..." Painfully whispered.
"Your word, Alex. I'm waiting."
There was no motion for a long minute then a small nod.
"Sorry, Alex. I need to hear the words. I need something that'll tell me
you'll make every effort to come back."
There was a choked off laugh from the door. "God, you're crazy!"
"Not the words I wanted to hear, but they will do." Skinner's voice dropped in
tone. "Go do what you have to do, Alex, then come back. We'll be waiting for
you."
The door opened and closed. Skinner stared at it until the sky at the
uncurtained window lightened.
Skinner closed the door behind him and looked around his once pristine
apartment.
Several months ago, his cleaning service would barely have found anything
different since their previous visit. Today...
He sighed.
His and Davy's bikes were leaning against the wall where once there had stood a
small, delicate looking table, a leftover from his marriage. There were legos
on the coffee table along with several kids' magazines and a nerf baseball. A
small sweater had been thrown onto the couch. The dining room table was filled
with a half-finished jigsaw puzzle and their latest mechano projectDavy's
version of an Enterprise-type vessel. There was a small running shoe peering
out from under Skinner's favourite chair. Probably the one Davy had not been
able to find this morning.
Skinner looked around and wondered what had happened to his once well-organized,
uncluttered life.
"Papa!"
He grinned, crouching, arms open to catch the body hurling itself onto him.
The past three months hadn't been all that easy. He was the first to
acknowledge that both he and Krycek hadn't seriously considered all the
ramifications of their decision about Davy.
There were problems of supervisionafter all, Skinner still had to go in to
work every dayand educationDavy had never had any official schooling.
Which had brought up the problem of documentation. Legally, Davy did not exist.
And also legally, Skinner had no rights to him. Then there was the additional
problem of keeping Davy's existence secret until all this had been cleared up.
Skinner didn't want to wake one morning to find Children's Services at his door,
demanding Davy.
The people who had surprising come to his rescue were the Lone Gunmen.
That first day after Krycek had left, Davy had been fairly accepting. Skinner
had decided to take him out of the apartment, to show him the town.
Davy sat in the car, eyes wide open, head swiveling every which way at the
novelty, trying to take it all in. Skinner wondered if it were too much for the
boy. He wouldn't remember much of what he was seeing. So, with a flash of
inspiration, he headed for the National Zoological Park It was a Thursday and
the Park wasn't filled with tourists. And it was a different perspective for
Skinner, seeing the animals from Davy's eyes, animals that the boy had seen only
in television programs.
They got home late, late enough that all Davy had the energy to do was eat some
supper then fall asleep. With a smile, Skinner undressed the boy and tucked him
into bed.
He complimented himself on his handling of the situation.
It was a different matter the next morning.
Davy didn't come down at his usual time. Skinner assumed that the boy was still
tuckered out from the previous day. Eventually, he decided to check up on the
boy.
The bed was empty.
Fighting the urge to panic, Skinner looked around the room, finding the boy
curled up tightly into a ball in a corner.
"Davy?" He crouched in front of the boy.
The boy untucked his head from his knees and looked up at Skinner, eyes
terrifyingly blank.
"Davy?" Skinner forced his voice into calm tones. "What's the matter, Davy?"
The boy swallowed and, visibly bracing himself, spoke in such a soft voice that
Skinner had to bend forward to hear it. "Alex is gone."
Careful not to startle the boy, Skinner placed his hand on the boy's knees.
"Yes, Davy, he is."
"Are you going to give me back to them now?"
"No! Davy, never!" Skinner took his time, gently drawing the boy into his
arms, and once there, holding on to him as tightly as he thought the child could
bear. "No way. You're mine and I don't intend allowing 'them' anywhere near
you." He rested his cheek onto the boy's head. "Alex left you with me because
he knew I'd take care of you. That I would never ever allow anyone to hurt
you. That I will keep you safe."
Then he stood, carried the child over to his bed and sat on it, still holding
the boy tightly, crooning to him and hoping that he could carry out the promises
he was making, suddenly wondering if there were any of those Consortium
technicians still around so that he could kill them.
By day's end, Skinner knew that the smooth sailing of the previous day had been
an illusion. Davy was terrified to let him out of his sight. And Skinner had
realized that there was a limit to the amount of time he could take off from
work, that he needed someone to look after the boy while he was at work. That
there was the additional problem of security for the boy.
Friday night, Davy started the night in his bed, woke screaming and spent the
rest of the night tightly clutching Skinner in Skinner's bed. It took hours for
the boy to calm down enough to sleep, even more hours until Skinner joined him.
Though he barely admitted to himself, he found he was as terrified of the future
as was the boy.
Saturday, Davy was a little less clingy, though back to the quiet child of
those first days. He sat colouring at the table, eyes nervously following
Skinner as he moved through the apartment.
Skinner was almost relieved when the doorbell rang. Expecting someone from the
building, he opened the door to find the Lone Gunmen who didn't bother waiting
for an invitation to enter.
Skinner watched open-mouthed as Langley ignored him for Davy. "Hey, dude, watcha
up to?"
Byers nodded politely. "Assistant Director," he said then walked into the
living room, taking a stance by the windows, obviously waiting for Skinner to
close the door.
"You went out two days ago," accused Frohike. "Now we have to check the place
again. You gotta let us know when you do these things, man."
"How..." Skinner knew he had to look as befuddled as he felt.
"Perhaps you should close the door, Assistant Director?" Byers gestured toward
the item in question as though speaking to someone who had lost whatever sense
he had.
Skinner looked at the door and slowly closed it. He took a deep breath and
turned to confront the three men who had invaded his apartment.
Frohike had already begun checking the living room for any devices. Langley was
engaging Davy in a discussion about how colouring within the lines was a
conspiracy invented by colouring book companies to try and control individual
creativity. That, to counter this, people should colour everything outside the
lines. What did Davy think?
Davy was staring up at him, uncertain. He moved his eyes to Skinner who smiled
encouragingly at him. These people were nuts, but not dangerous. He hoped.
Byers pointed to the hallway. "Check out the office first, Frohike. The
Assistant Director and I need a safe place to discuss the situation."
With a scowl and a muttered, "Like I need someone to tell me my business,"
Frohike disappeared into Skinner's home office. While he did so, Byers turned
and looked out of the window as though the view were absolutely fascinating.
Langley continued his discussion with Davy, finally getting the boy to admit
that he had never thought that colouring within lines was so hot.
"All clear." Frohike headed into the kitchen, opening the fridge door and
helping himself to a can of cola before he continued checking out the rest of
the apartment. "Cola isn't good for a kid," he told Skinner as he passed by
him. "Too much caffeine." He opened the can and chugged down a good portion of
it.
Byers stopped by the table. "Davy, do you think you can keep Ringo here
occupied and out of trouble for a little while? I need to talk privately with
Assistant Director Skinner and I don't want Ringo getting into things he
shouldn't."
"Hey!" protested Langley.
Byers waited until Davy, taken by the idea of his looking after an adult,
checked with Skinner before slowly nodding. "Excellent. I know I won't have to
worry about him while I'm in Mr. Skinner's office. Thank you." He turned to
Skinner. "Shall we?"
Once in Skinner's office, Byers opened the briefcase he had been carrying. He
handed Skinner a thick manilla envelope. "I think it would be best if you began
by looking at those." Then he sat in the armchair while Skinner took the
envelope to his side of the desk and sat down.
He read the first document, looked up to find Byers watching him with an
expression of studied innocence. He quickly scanned the rest of the
documentation, knowing that his jaw was probably hitting the top of his desk as
he did so.
Five minutes later, Skinner was shaking his head. "How the hell..."
"Krycek. He didn't give us much time, but these should pass muster."
These were a series of documentsall official lookingthat indicated that
Daveed Krycek was the natural born son of one Walter Sergei Skinner. There were
the results of blood tests, DNA tests, all attesting to that fact. There was a
death certificate for one Daschenka Ivanova Krycek, mother of said child, who
had died in a car accident. There was a doctor's assessment on Daveed Krycek's
memory loss due to the trauma of the accident. There were social workers'
reviews, testaments to his character from people who actually knew him, Fischer
among them. There were adoption papers indicating that Daveed Krycek was now a
Skinner.
Skinner was overwhelmed. "When did Krycek ask you to do all this?"
"He called us Wednesday morning. Explained that he was leaving Davy with you
and that you needed papers to prove he was yours. I apologize for the very
little that we could pull together but he really didn't give us much time. He
indicated that you really needed this something like this as soon as possible if
you were to keep the boy safe."
Skinner stared at the papers in his hands. All official. All superb forgeries.
How could he accept them? How could he not? He looked at the man watching
him, who seemed to understand what was going through his mind.
"It's for the boy," Byers said.
Skinner nodded. "Thank you." He slipped all the papers back into the envelope.
"I take it that any investigation will find these to be authentic?"
Byers raised a haughty eyebrow. "Of course."
"Of course." Skinner found he was nodding again. "How much do I owe you?"
Byers waved off his offer of payment. "Krycek took care of that, too." Then he
reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. "There's more," he
offered. "Krycek didn't think of this, but we did. You have to work and you
really can't leave the boy by himself, unattended. Not until we know for certain
that the Consortium is no longer interested in him."
The envelope contained a security background check on a woman who, it turned
out, lived three floors below. The accompanying photograph showed a woman in
her sixties, holding a Pekinese in her arms, on the way out through the
building's front door. She was short, plump and looked... The only word that
came to Skinner's mind was alive.
"Elisavetta Desbordes-Valmore. She once danced with some minor ballet company
in Kiev. Thirty-five years ago, she ran off with a Frenchman while they were
touring in France. They have four children, all grown; one living here in the
States, one in Canada and the last two in France. They're all teachers of some
kind. That's what their father did. He was teaching some course on European
economics here at Georgetown when he had a heart attack. She decided to stay
until her youngest finished her courses at the University and now that the kid
has accepted a fellowship, she's decided to stick around until that's over.
"She's been doing some private tutoring all along, mainly French and Russian, so
she's around most days, evenings too. Davy," Byers stood up, "will be safe with
her when you're at work. You just need to mention to your 'concierge' downstairs
that you need someone to keep an eye on a kid and he'll recommend her."
Skinner ignored the fact that this man seemed to know more about his building
than he did. "Why would she be willing to do this?"
"She's also worked with disadvantaged kids, but she was attacked three months
ago and she stopped going to help out. She misses the kids, but the experience
frightened her and her family too much for her to continue. Which is a pity. I
understand that she was very good with the kids. By the way, her kids will
probably want some references from you just to check you out. Use Fischer. He
knows people who worked with her."
Back in the living room, Davy was listening wide-eyed to an argument between
Frohike and Langley about whether pizza or fries would be more appealing to
aliens.
On their way out, Byers stopped. "If you ever need someone to look after the
kid, remember we're available. Last minute meetings and all that. He knows us
and I think he also knows that he'll be safe with us."
"Right on," Langley, very serious, nodded.
"We'll be dropping by, on an irregular schedule, to check out the place for you
anyway," said Frohike. "And the kid needs a computer of his own. We'll put one
together for him and bring it over next time."
Stunned yet again, Skinner could only look at Davy and nod. "Okay," he said.
Elisavetta Desbordes-Valmore, better known as Madame to her students, was more
than pleased to agree to look after a small boy who had lost his mother and his
memory in such horrible circumstances. After a week, she requested a meeting
with Skinner one evening when he came to pick Davy up.
"I love the child already," she told him. "He is intelligent, curious,
interested. But his previous life style"Skinner had invented a nomadic
existence with a mother who had believed that the '60's had been such a free
time to explain Davy's lack of schooling"has not prepared him to fit into a
class with other children his age. May I suggest that you hire a tutor who
could work with Daveed in your apartment office for a number of hours during the
day."
So, on Madame's recommendation, and with the approval of the Gunmen, Molly
Henderson, doctoral student in Educational Psychology, was engaged to work in
several hours a day around her courses, tutoring Davy in the school curriculum
so that, come September, he would be able to attend regular classes.
The settled schedule of Madame in the morning until Molly arrived, and then
Madame again until Skinner got home seemed to give Davy a sense of security.
Madame insisted that he speak to her mornings in Russian so that he wouldn't
lose that language and afternoons in the French she was teaching him. "In
today's world, one cannot speak too many languages," Madame informed Skinner
when he wondered if an eight year old boy could handle that. "Besides, Daveed
has a natural ability for languages."
When Skinner thought about it, he remembered that was also a Krycek skill.
Molly was impressed with Davy's rate of learning. "He doesn't forget much, does
he? And he catches on quickly. His math skills are excellent once he
understands the concept. He shouldn't have any problems handling school. He
really is quite intelligent."
Skinner smiled. One thing no one had ever been able to call Krycek was stupid.
Kim was the one who came up with a solution to another problem. By now, she
knew about Davy and his "relationship" to Skinner, though she had been sworn to
secrecy about his existence.
"It's all fine and good that he's being cared for and he's being taught all
sorts of things, but he needs to play with other children."
So, Saturdays, Skinner either dropped Davy off at the Cooks or picked up Kim's
two sons, Tommy, aged 10, and Jamie, aged 7, and took all three boys to the zoo,
or the movies, or a sports activity so that Davy would learn how to behave
around people his age, not just adults. After a couple of months, Kim wondered
if Davy would like to spend the night. Her sons were camping out in the back
yard and she assured Skinner that her husband would be sleeping in the tent with
the boys.
The night out was a success, though Kim and her husband indicated that sometime
in the morning, Davy had grown very quiet.
"Is there anything wrong, Davy?" Skinner waited until they were on the way home
to ask. He too noticed that Davy was more than usually quiet.
Davy shrugged, not looking at him.
"Davy? You know that you can talk to me about anything."
Davy nodded, suddenly focused on the toes of his running shoes.
Skinner said nothing, just waited. They were almost home when Davy spoke in
that soft voice he used whenever he was unsure. "They call Mr. Cook Daddy.
And Mr. Cook calls you my father."
Skinner found that he couldn't take his eyes away from the road in front of him.
"Yes. They call him Daddy because that's one name children use for their
fathers. And he calls me your father because the papers Alex and the Gunmen
arranged for us say that I am." He hadn't lied to the child when he had
explained that he had a new name and that it was to keep him safe.
"Is that why I call you Walter?"
Skinner swallowed hard. "No. That's what you called me when I found you,
remember. If you'd like," Skinner was finding that a heaviness was beginning to
develop in his stomach, "you could call me Daddy. Or Dad. I called my own
father Papa when I was your age."
"Papa?" Davy looked sideways at Skinner who also meet his look sideways.
"Yes, Davy."
"Papa." Davy rolled the word around his mouth as though tasting it.
"Yes, Davy."
"Can we have pizza for supper, Papa?"
The heaviness in Skinner's gut evaporated though the road got a little blurry.
"Yes, son, we can have pizza for supper."
About the time Davy had begun settling in, the first package of information had
appeared in Skinner's computer at work.
It wasn't much. Just some names and bank account numbers, but the names should
not have been associated with those particular bank.
The source was anonymous and when the FBI's IT whiz kids tried to trace it down,
they got lost in a maze of relays.
Skinner had no difficulty in placing a name to the source though he said
nothing.
Over the next weeks, more and more information began showing up, not just in
Skinner's computer, but in Doggett's, and Reyes's. Information that was as hard
to ignore as it was in some cases to accept. And the sender was proving
particularly intelligent about whom he was sending sensitive data to. The FBI
found that they often received data about other government agencies just as
other agencies received data concerning the FBI. Considering the cut-throat
competition between agencies for media coverage, budget funding, etc., it was a
good move. There was very little temptation to cover up something that concerned
people you felt were out to get you.
Gradually, information in other forms began appearing. Packages arrived from
different places around the world, containing disks, CDs, documentation. The
FBI set up a new team just to deal with the situation. Skinner turned down the
chance to lead it. "I'm getting too old for week- long all-nighters," he told
the Director. "Besides, I'm not hungry enough to lead such an investigation. I
don't mind advising but give it to one of those young sharks."
One package arrived with an envelope addressed to him, personally. He slid the
CD into its drive and looked at the files listed in the Directory. "It's just
some of the same information that we've already received," he told the agent who
had brought it to his office. "It's probably addressed to me because my machine
got that dump. I don't have any meetings booked for the rest of the day. I'll
check it against the original and send you anything that's new."
Skinner checked his watch against the size of the CD. He reached for his secure
phone line and punched in a number.
"Frohike, Skinner here. Could you pick up Davy from Madame's and stay with him
until I get there? Yes, I'll contact her and tell her that you're coming. I'll
tell her that she's to wait until Davy identifies you. No, I don't have any
idea when I'm going to get in. Will that be a problem? Oh, his bedtime is
eight thirty; don't let him talk you into later than nine. Thanks, Frohike. I
owe you one."
Skinner removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He loosened his tie
and undid the top button of his shirt. He picked up the phone. "Kim. I'm not
available to anyone for the rest of the day. In fact, I would appreciate not
being disturbed for any reason. Why don't you leave early today. No,
everything's fine. Yes, I'll see you tomorrow."
Skinner sat, staring at the monitor on his desk. He closed his eyes, took an
deep breath. He released it slowly and then opened his eyes. Fighting off the
feeling that he was lifting the lid of a Pandora's box, he opened the first file
of what had to be Consortium information on one Alex Krycek.
He managed to read three files before he rushed to the bathroom off his office
to vomit. After the second time, there was nothing left in his stomach to
eliminate. Still, now and then, he went in, waiting for the sensation that he
needed to vomit to pass.
He had never really approved of Krycek's having Davy's memories wiped. Now he
did. Wholeheartedly. He only wished that it had been done more often to the boy
who had grown up to with far too many memories of what had been done to him,
what he had had to do.
The details were made far more obscene by the objectivity of the reports that
described first the boy's, then the adolescent's testing and training. By the
time Krycek had been given to Peskow to polish off his talents as a assassin,
there had been very little left of the boy who was now Davy.
Whoever had put this document together had not spared the information on
Krycek's career as an assassin for the Consortium. On his infiltration into the
FBI and all that was associated with that stay. On the Consortium's inclining
that maybe their training was not holding. There were at least three
termination orders included in the files, but in two of the cases, Krycek had
eliminated those sent after him. The third had been cancelled on the orders of
someone with some power within the organization who was adding him to his team.
There were reports on Krycek's stay in Hong Kong, on his being left in the silo,
Tunguska and the loss of his arm, his killing of Orgel and the Tunisians. A
couple of reports included suspicions of possible links with the Rebels. There
was a very short one indicating that he had been incarcerated, at Spender's
request, in a Tunisian prison in the middle of a dessert.
The information stopped suddenly with his release from that hell-hole.
Skinner stared at the screen long after he had closed the final file.
He had enough documented information that he could easily present a case which
would put Krycek away for the rest of his life.
He hit the eject button.
Holding the CD in his hand, he opened his top drawer and pulled out a small
Swiss Army knife. Mind consciously blank, he used one of the blades to gouge
closely placed lines first on one side of the CD, then on the other.
He put away the knife, slipped on his jacket and shoved the mutilated CD into a
pocket. He turned off his computer, the lights to his office and made his way
down to the garage and his car.
He took the long way home.
It was almost two o'clock in the morning when he let himself into his apartment.
Byers and Langley were dozing at either end of the couch. Frohike came out of
the kitchen, gun in hand. He and Skinner stared at each other for a moment.
"You look like hell," Frohike growled.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
Their voices woke the other men. Byers stood up, stretched and then nudged
Langley.
"Davy is sound asleep," continued Frohike. "I checked up on him a half hour
ago."
"Thanks. I really appreciate this."
"No problem," said Byers. "We enjoyed ourselves. He's a nice kid."
"Yeah," agreed Langley. "Even if he is Krycek."
Byers was the last to leave. As he got to the door, Skinner called him back.
He put his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the CD. "This needs to be
properly disposed."
Byers took the mangled CD. He said nothing, merely nodded and left.
On the way up to bed, Skinner opened the door to Davy's room.
The child was sleeping on his stomach, arms and legs spread out as though
claiming his space. Skinner pulled the sheet up a little higher.
"Papa?" The voice was sleep laden.
"Yes, Davy."
"I beat Ringo at Stratego."
Skinner smiled and sat by the boy. He bent and placed a kiss on the boy's head.
"Congratulations."
He slipped his shoes off, joined Davy on the bed and spent the rest of the night
watching the child sleep.
Skinner was finishing up some work in his office when the intercom buzzer
sounded. He glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight. He grinned, wondering if
the Gunmen had finally decided to warn him they were visiting the way most
people did. He'd gotten use to their showing up to check out the apartment at
odd times. This was later than the norm, but he'd learnt that the norm didn't
have much meaning where they were concerned.
"Yes?"
"It's me. Krycek. May I come up?"
"Jesus! Alex! Yes, of course. You need help?"
"No. I... I'll see you in...."
"Get up here."
Skinner hit the release for the lobby doors and opened the door to the
apartment, sticking his head out to watch for the elevator.
Seven months. Krycek's voice had sounded...tired. Was he hurt?
He should have foreseen this. The information dumps had been trickling down to
nothing these last few weeks.
Not that the response to them had done anything other than increase. Shit was
flying everywhere. People were resigning, disappearing. Bank accounts were
being frozen, auditors working overtime. Like Capone, many of the untouchables
who were protected by connections and status were being taken down through their
finances. The IRS was on a hiring spree.
The elevator door opened and Krycek stepped out. He stood waiting until the
doors closed behind him before he started walking down the hallway, face
completely expressionless.
He's too fucking thin, thought Skinner, watching the man slowly approaching.
He's limping. He's aged.
Krycek still hadn't said anything when he stopped in front of Skinner and the
open door. He waited, as though expecting Skinner to say something. Instead
Skinner grabbed him by the arm, pulled him into the apartment and shut the door.
"Jesus, Alex, what the fuck have you been doing to yourself?"
Before Krycek could answer, Skinner pulled him into a tight hug and held onto
him.
At first, Krycek was stiff. Then he sighed and, all of a sudden, it was as
though his bones melted. He leaned heavily into Skinner, his right arm holding
on as tightly as Skinner was to him.
They stayed that way, Skinner silently welcoming and offering support, for long
minutes. Finally Skinner muttered, "'Bout bloody time you came home."
Krycek made a choked sound and began pulling back. "Wasn't sure that you'd want
me to show up here."
Skinner raised a hand to stroke the side of Krycek's face. He understood that
Krycek was referring to a certain CD. "Don't be an ass. I told you to come
home when you were done. Nothing's changed that."
"You sure?" Krycek's voice was hesitant. His eyes were searching Skinner's
face for any hint that the words were just that, words.
Skinner nodded and pulled Krycek into another hug. "You're limping."
"Not important," whispered Krycek from Skinner's shoulder.
"You're too thin. Have you been eating at all?"
This time there was a laugh. Not a big one, but something that definitely
indicated humour. "I'm fine, Skinner."
Skinner's response to that was to grab a handful of hair and pull back so that
he could check out Krycek's face. The skin was stretched taut over the bone
structure but the eyes were alive. "I doubt that Fischer will agree with you.
Remember, he said three meals a day and at least six hours of sleep. If you
don't, I can promise you that he will."
Krycek grinned. "Yeah, but that was if I continued to get shot. I didn't get
shot. I got hit by shrapnel."
Skinner grinned back. "I don't think that excuse is going to carry much weight.
You hungry?"
Still in the warmth of Skinner's arms, Krycek shook his head. "No. I ate on
the plane."
Skinner's eyebrow quirked at that, but he didn't comment. "You got any stuff,
any luggage anywhere?"
Another shake of the head. "I'm travelling even lighter these days than I used
to."
Holding on to Krycek's arm, Skinner reached over to reset the security system.
He turned off the light and, with a smile, started up the stairs. "You'll want
to look in on Davy." He went slowly, not certain how much weight Krycek could
put on that leg.
Krycek stopped at the first landing. "Did the Gunmen..."
Skinner looked back. "Did they ever! By the time they were through, Daveed
Krycek Skinner had more documentation proving he was my son than he would have
had if he had truly been my son."
"You kept the Krycek? Was that a good idea?"
Skinner had caught the surprise in Krycek's eyes at Davy's full name. "He's
yours too, Alex."
Skinner quietly opened the door to Davy's room. By the soft light of the night
lamp, it was easy to see that Davy had pushed the covers partially off while in
his usual possession of the bed. Skinner often thought that the boy was
unconsciously putting a claim on all the space he would eventually fill.
Krycek hesitantly made his way to the side of the bed. For several minutes all
he did was look, then he lifted the bedclothes and covered the boy.
Back in the hallway, Krycek spoke softly. "He's grown."
Skinner grinned. "He eats three meals a day." He opened the door to his bedroom
and waited until Krycek made his way inside. "You want a shower?"
Krycek shook his head again.
Skinner nodded. "Okay." Then he stepped up to Krycek and began undressing him.
Krycek raised his hand, whether to help or to try and stop him, Skinner couldn't
tell. The hand dropped and Krycek allowed Skinner to strip him down to his
shorts and t-shirt. Apart from lifting his feet, the only thing Krycek did was
remove his prosthesis. Skinner took it from him and placed on the bureau top
that had been its resting place when Krycek had last been here.
As Krycek got into the bed, Skinner also quickly stripped down to his skivvies
and joined him. He pulled the once more tensed man into his arms, made sure the
covers were tucked in around both of them and, with a loud sigh, he rested his
chin on Krycek's head. "Go to sleep, Alex.."
"You sure that's what you want me to do?"
Skinner knew from Krycek's tone that this wasn't what he had been expecting. He
smiled. "I just want to hold you. Besides, I don't want you falling asleep in
the middle of anything we're both too tired to see through."
There was no response from Krycek, though he gradually relaxed against Skinner.
"Welcome home, Alex," Skinner murmured into Krycek's hair.
Again no verbal response. Krycek merely sighed, and then he actually snuggled a
little closer to Skinner.
"Papa. You didn't wake me. I'm going to be late for school."
Skinner looked up from his coffee and newspaper to see Davy, in his pyjamas,
standing in the entrance of the kitchen, sleepily rubbing his eyes.
"There's a reason for that." Skinner folded the sports section and tossed it
onto the table. "You're not going to school today."
Since September, Davy had been attending a school that was favoured by
diplomatic families. Its academic standing was almost as high as its security
clearance. Davy was still finding his way around after two months, not certain
that he liked having that many people around him all that time. The fact that,
for some unknown reason, he was being given the day off was an immediate
success. Skinner found himself with an armful of Davy.
"So what are we going to do today instead?" He fingered the collar of
Skinner's sweat shirt, understanding that for some reason Skinner was also
taking the day off work.
Skinner grinned, hugged Davy tightly, got one back in return. "I have a
surprise for you."
He stood up, refilled his coffee, poured a second cup and filled a glass with
juice. He put all three on a tray. "Come on."
At the door to his bedroom, he gestured to Davy. "You'd better knock on the
door first. Okay, now do it again, harder. Good. Now, open the door."
Krycek had heard the knocking and was sitting up in bed, trying hard to wake up.
What the knocking hadn't accomplished the screamed "ALEX!" did.
He barely had time to brace himself when he was hit by a small torpedo.
Skinner placed the tray on the chair by the door, went to draw the curtains,
allowing Krycek and Davy some privacy. He looked outside, finding he was
grinning stupidly at some stupid pigeon flying by as he could hear Davy and
Krycek murmuring to each other in Russian. At Madame's insistenceshe had
been shocked that he had not kept at least that facet of his maternal
grandparents' Russian legacyhe was being tutored in the rudiments of the
language. He knew that if he wanted to, if he listened in, he could probably
understand what they were saying to each other. But he didn't. Last night, he
and Krycek had had some time to reconnect. This time was Davy's.
When their voices quieted, Skinner went into the bathroom and came out with a
damp face cloth. Krycek had his face buried in Davy's hair while Davy's was
hidden against his throat. Skinner sat next to them, waiting patiently until
first Krycek then Davy raised his head.
"Papa," Davy's voice was heavy with tears, "Alex is back."
Skinner noticed that Krycek reacted to Davy's calling him Papa. He smiled at
the boy, offered him the cloth to wipe his face. "Really?" He exaggerated his
disbelief to the boy's giggle. "I was wondering what this lump in the bed was
this morning."
Giving Krycek a bit more time to collect himself, Skinner went to get the tray.
With a grin at the look of appreciation that flashed across Krycek's face as he
handed him the coffee, Skinner settled with the tray at the foot of the bed.
As Davy took a sip of his juice, he suddenly frowned.
"What's wrong, Davy?"
Davy looked from his glass to Alex, back to his glass and then, when Skinner
asked again, "Davy?", at Skinner. "Is Alex staying?"
"I think," said Skinner, "that's something you need to ask Alex."
Davy faced Alex. "Are you?"
Krycek wriggled, uncomfortable. He peered at Skinner over the rim of the coffee
cup he was holding to his mouth as though expecting Skinner to answer for him.
Skinner only smiled back at him, obviously waiting to hear his answer as well.
He took a deep breath, raised his chin. "If it's all right?"
Skinner looked very seriously at Davy. "Well, it's all right with me. Is it all
right with you, Davy?"
Davy's grin put the sun to shame. "And you won't go away again?"
Krycek shrugged, not knowing how to answer that.
Skinner answered for him. "No. He's here to stay. Even if I have to cuff him
to the bed, he's staying with us."
Davy laughed. "Cuff him to the bed!" he whooped.
Krycek looked up at Skinner from under his eyelashes. Skin slightly flushed, he
looked shy, though there was agreement in his voice when he muttered, "Promises,
promises."
Skinner's laughter joined Davy's happiness.
They were sprawled in the living room, Skinner at one end of the couch, Alex at
the other, with Davy moving back and forth between them. They'd all eaten a
hardy breakfast. Well, Krycek had insisted that it had been a hardy one for
him. Skinner had decided to put in a call to Fischer once everyone had settled
down. Just to be sure that there was nothing seriously wrong with Krycek. And
he wanted that leg looked at.
"So, Davy, why don't you tell Alex our news?"
Barely able to contain his happiness, Davy bounced on the couch. "Alex! I'm
going to get a dog!'
Skinner grinned to himself. Leave it to Davy to prioritize the important stuff,
he thought, watching Krycek's face.
"That's great, Davy. What kind of dog are you getting?"
Davy sat cross-legged and turned very serious. This was something that had
occupied a lot of his thoughts lately. "Well, not a Boris."
Skinner answered Krycek's unasked question. "Madame's peke."
Krycek nodded, having been told in no little detail by Davy of his life since
Krycek had left.
"Not that it's a bad dog," Davy hurried to clarify, "it's just not a real dog.
Papa says that it's an okay dog for an apartment. But it's not the kind of dog
I want. I want a big dog. Not a toy."
Skinner held back his laughter as Krycek nodded along with Davy who nodded at
every point he was making.
"Papa says a big dog needs a yard to run in, not sidewalks. So that's why we're
moving."
Krycek grew very still. He looked over to the man who was watching his
reaction. "Moving?"
Skinner winced at the blandness of the tone. Krycek was in for a few surprises
and he wondered if the man was in the right frame of mind for all of them.
"Yes, we are. To Middlebury, Vermont." He waited for that to sink in before he
added, "This weekend."
Krycek grew even more still, his eyes blanked out.
"Davy, why don't you explain to Alex the plan the Gunmen put together so that
Alex would know where we were."
"The plan?"
Skinner noticed that Krycek's eyes regained some life. "Yes. There was no way
that we would leave without assurances that you would know how to find us. In
fact," Skinner moved off the couch and went to the telephone. He punched in a
series of numbers and, from the answering machine speaker, Krycek and Davy could
hear, "Skinner. Byers here. Alex Krycek landed at Washington National at
10:56, on a flight from Sydney, Australia that stopped over for refueling and
customs at Hilo, Hawaii. He got into a cab at 11:12 which left him off at your
condo at 11:31. Let us know if we're to keep surveillance on him, will you?
Say hello to Davy."
Krycek was stunned. "The Gunmen?"
Skinner took back his place on the couch. "I have no idea how they do it. I'm
just glad that they're on our side. They promised us, when this idea of moving
came up, that they would let you know where we were, so that we wouldn't worry
about your finding us."
Davy had caught the sudden tension in the room when he'd mentioned their moving.
"They keep their promises, Alex," he told Krycek sincerely.
Krycek nodded though Skinner wondered just how he really felt about all this.
"Davy, why don't you go get the pictures and plans of the house so that Alex can
see for himself where we're off to?"
Krycek waited until Davy disappeared up the stairs. "This weekend?"
Skinner nodded.
"What about your work?"
"Ah. Well," Skinner stretched out his legs, crossed one ankle on top of the
other, "By Friday, you will be looking at a retired Assistant Director."
"Retired? Why?"
Skinner shook his head. "Alex. Other than the fact it's time, I have to admit
that a lot of the data you dropped on us has made a first class cynic out of me.
I knew that things aren't perfect in this world. Certainly not in this town.
But some of the information... Well, enough is enough. I turned down the
opportunity to head the Bureau's investigation into all this and... Hell, Alex,
I'm fifty years old. I don't want to spend the rest of my life tied to a desk "
Davy came running down the stairs with a file. "See, Alex. This is the house
we bought."
Krycek looked at the official real estate photo of a large, two-storey wooden
house with a full veranda, painted white with slate trim. There were a couple
of large trees in front.
"These we took when we went to see it." Davy started dropping photo after photo
of the front, sides and back of the house, several of the back yardhuge in
Krycek's estimationtaken from different angles.
Skinner waited until Davy paused for breath. "There are five large rooms
upstairs. Davy's put dibs on the front one for his bedroom. I thought the back
one would do for us. Then there's an office for you and one for me as well as a
spare bedroom for visitors. The downstairs has a huge kitchen, a living
room..."
"The woman called it a parlour," Davy informed Krycek.
"...with a fireplace. A dining room next to it. On the other side, there's
another room that the last owners used as their den and one that looks like a TV
room. By themselves, they're too small to be of much use, but I thought if we
pulled down the wall between them, it would make a good-sized
family/entertainment room."
"There's a fireplace in your bedroom, too," added Davy. "The woman said that it
was perfect for those romantic... Papa, what did she call them?"
"Interludes." Skinner smiled, keeping watch on Krycek's face.
"Yeah, interludes. She said that she was certain that any woman would
appreciate that feature. Then Papa said that he was certain his man would, too."
Krycek cocked an eyebrow in Skinner's direction. "And what was her reaction to
that little bit of information?"
"She smiled and said that we would find the village welcoming. It's a college
town. Liberal Arts. We won't be the only male couple there."
Skinner sent Davy down to Madame's, to invite her to meet Alex. Once the boy
had left, he tossed a manilla envelope onto Krycek's lap.
"What is this?"
Skinner grinned. "Open it up."
"I don't know if I can take another surprise."
"Alex. You weren't around. I had to make decisions about Davy and his life
without you."
"But moving?"
Skinner sat back. "Alex. I was brought up in a small town, not a city. I want
that for Davy as well. I want him to be able to get on his bike and not need me
or you to accompany him when he heads to the park, to play baseball with his
friends. I want him to be able to play street hockey. To have friends over on
the spur of the moment, without it requiring us to play phone tag with the
parents' voice mail. Where he doesn't have to worry about getting into a car
being driven by a security service because he can walk home from school safely.
And I want him in a school where he won't feel so different because his parents
aren't diplomats."
"Parents?" Krycek's tone was brusque. " Davy doesn't have parents. He's a
clone."
"He has parents. You and me. Read the file, Alex."
The Gunmen had produced another of their small masterpieces. Alexander
Ivanovitch Krycek, twin brother to Daschenka Ivanova Krycek, the biological
mother of Daveed Krycek Skinner, shared in the adoption of the aforementioned
child. With the usual slew of documentation to back up Krycek's relationship to
the boy and all the approvals necessary for his adoptionincluding the
biological father's permission and approvalof his nephew.
"My nephew?"
"Well, that was the closest blood relationship we could come up with for you."
Krycek stared silently at the papers before clearing his throat. "Why?"
Skinner shrugged, trying to defuse the tension that suddenly overwhelmed the
room. "If something should happen to me, you need legal rights to take care of
Davy. This way, all that's taken care of before we have to deal with any
situation."
"No, that's not what I mean. Why bother? You had to prepare this some time
ago. It's not like you knew I'd be coming back."
"I knew that if you didn't, it would be because you were dead. I figured, in
spite of everything, you'd managed to live this long and I simply assumed that
you would continue living. As for the papers, well, face it. Davy may call me
Papa, but he also needs you in his life."
The sound of the door opening put an end to the conversation. Skinner rose to
greet Madame and smiled at Krycek. "We'll take this up later. Come meet Madame
Desbordes-Valmore. You'll like her and I know she's dying to meet you."
Krycek lay back against the pillows on what now seemed to be his side the bed
and watched Skinner go through his small nightly rituals. They hadn't changed
at all from the nights he had spent sleeping celibately in this bed. It was
something he had wondered about while he'd been gone: whether Skinner's rituals
would have changed.
It was rather reassuring that some things in this world were constant.
He'd met Madame who had been, as Skinner had said, delighted to meet him.
Seemed his "nephew" had told her what a brave and wonderful man he was. He'd
expected to hear Skinner at least snicker at that, but instead, in halting
Russianyet another surprise in this day of surprisesSkinner had agreed,
adding that it was a pity that Krycek's deeds could not be discussed because of
secrecy. Because what he'd done had been nothing short of heroic.
Madame and Davy both had beamed proudly at him.
He'd been stunned speechless.
He'd dozed off on the couch after lunch, watching "Shrek" with Davy in his arms.
When he'd awakened, Fischer had been glaring at him. The glare hadn't lessened
when they'd moved upstairs, to this room, and Fischer's inspection of him. As
Skinner had predicted, his point that being hit by shrapnel was not the same as
being shot did not go over well.
Fischer had ended up giving him a vitamin shot in the hipwhich still hurt,
damn him!as well as reading him a lecture about taking care of himself
because there were people who needed him in one piece, healthy and well. And
not just Davy.
Which was a close as Fischer came to acknowledging that Krycek was still in
Skinner's bedroom.
When Krycek asked, Fischer was pleased to inform him that Davy was in fine
health, was growing as he should for a child his age. He also took the
opportunity to indicate that it had been time for Skinner to retire. That his
blood pressure was a bit high. That his ulcer was kicking up too often for
Fischer's peace of mind. And that he needed to keep watch on his cholesterol.
And thatlike other men he could mentionin his opinion, Skinner wasn't
going to do all that unless someone held him to it. The glare accompanying
those words had been pretty pointed.
He informed Krycek that he had already made contact with a family practice
doctor in Middlebury whom he highly recommended. The fact that the man had once
served under him had nothing to do with anything.
"Davy will be going to school tomorrow," Skinner removed his bathrobe, revealing
that he was wearing t-shirt and shorts, and tossed it onto the chair. "He's
only got two days left and he wants to say goodbye to some of the kids he's
gotten friendly with. That'll give you the day to laze around, get some rest."
"Will I have a reason to need this rest?" Krycek kept his voice casually
inquiring. That was something else that had not gone as he had expected.
Skinner grinned at him before turning off the night stand lamp. "You got your
orders from Fischer and I got mine."
"Which were?" Krycek wasn't sure how he felt about Fischer discussing him with
someone else.
"Which were that you were to get rid of the purple circles from around your eyes
and put on five pounds before I jumped on your bones." Skinner propped up the
pillows on his side of the bed and waited for Krycek's reaction.
Krycek lay back, staring at the ceiling. "He told me that he doesn't like your
blood pressure readings, your ulcer and your cholesterol levels."
Skinner sighed loudly. "Nothing like having a doctor who pulls rank on you
because he still thinks of you as a raw eighteen-year-old recruit."
"Seems the doctor in Middlebury used to serve under him." Krycek turned his
head to watch Skinner make himself comfortable.
"Damn it! That means that at the slightest sign of anyone's illness, Fischer
will be getting reports." Skinner didn't sound all that upset.
Krycek rolled to face Skinner. "Isn't that unethical?"
Skinner raised an eyebrow. "You want to try telling that to a Marine Corps
Colonel, you go straight ahead."
Krycek rested the side of his face on his upraised arm. He remembered the glare
and the lecture Fischer had read him. He sighed. Another thing that seemed to
be out of his control.
"Skinner?"
"Hmmm." Skinner flipped his pillow around, seeking that comfortable spot.
"What am I doing here?"
Skinner turned to face the man who looked honestly confused. Now that he'd read
that CD, he understood just how little experience Alex Krycek had with what most
people would call a normal life. "What did you think you would be doing here?"
Krycek sighed. "Wondering if you were going to turn me in. Wondering if you'd
turned Davy against me. Wondering what kind of sex you were going to want me to
supply."
Skinner nodded. "You don't seem very comfortable with the fact that you've been
welcomed home, Alex. I suppose, all things considered, you were more prepared
for all those 'wonderings'. Sorry. Like I told Madame, what you did was
heroic."
Krycek looked very uncomfortable.
"It was, Alex." Skinner reached over to touch the face of the man who was
suddenly avoiding his gaze. "You put your life on the line, fighting a war that
very few people even knew was going on. It doesn't take a genius to figure out
that you and the Rebels had a lot to do with those mysterious explosions, the
fires that destroyed certain facilities. Not to mention all that information
which is making the IRS orgasmic."
Krycek still didn't meet his eyes.
"Alex?"
Krycek shrugged as best he could. "I don't remember any of it. Before they let
me loose, the Rebels did a little number on my memories." He looked up. "Their
wipe-out techniques are even more refined than the Consortium's were. I
remember organizing hits with them, even getting to the locations, sometimes
entering them. But what happened once we got in, what we saw, what we did... I
know that I saw things that disgusted me. That repelled me. But that's all I
remember."
Skinner let his hand caress the frustrated worry off Krycek's face. "I'm glad
they did that for you. And if I ever run into them, I'll thank them. You don't
need any new nightmares, Alex.."
"Yeah, well, they took care of those as well. I remember those things, but it's
as though they're some movie I saw. I don't feel any connection to them."
"That's good, too." Then a thought hit him. "Alex, do you remember sending me
a CD?"
Krycek nodded. "Yeah. I thought you should know what I am. That if you
were...inviting me back because of Davy... I figured you should know..."
Skinner reached out and pulled what he now discovered was a completely naked
Krycek into his arms. "Yeah, well. Just so you should know, the CD doesn't
exist any more."
Krycek slowly settled into the position of the previous night, his head on
Skinner's shoulder, arm around his waist.
"So," said Skinner, keeping his hands still, "did you come back just because of
Davy?"
After a couple of tense heartbeats, Skinner heard the same soft tone that Davy
used when he was unsure of Skinner's reaction. "No."
Skinner pushed. "Why else did you come back, Alex?"
This response was longer in coming. Even with Krycek in his arms, Skinner had
to listen carefully to catch, "I liked it here."
Skinner rubbed his cheek on the top of the head on his chest.
"And," Krycek seemed to have found some courage. He raised his head. "I wanted
to know why...that last night...why you did what you did to me."
"What did I do to you, Alex?"
Krycek rested his chin on Skinner's shoulder. "I don't know. I offered you a
chance to punish me and what you did wasn't anything like any punishment I've
ever had."
"Are you saying that you liked what I did to you?" And then had to hold back
his surprise as he witnessed a suddenly bashful Krycek.
"Yeah," voice once more soft, yet not from a lack of confidence; more heavy,
almost erotic.
Skinner found it hard to breathe. Eyes holding Skinner's, Krycek's hand slipped
under the waistband of the shorts Skinner was wearing. When it found what it
was looking for, Skinner inhaled sharply.
"I was wondering," continued Krycek, in the tone that went directly to Skinner's
cock, "what it would be like if you repeated what you did to me, without the
cuffs. Though," his voice roughened as his fingers explored what he held in his
hand, "I wouldn't object to the cuffs again. I even wondered," Skinner gasped as
Krycek's eyes took on a delightfully wicked gleam, "what it would be like if the
cuffs were on you."
Skinner swallowed loudly and retaliated, letting his hands wander over the body
that rested on his. "I think that could be arranged."
"Which part?" Krycek captured his lower lip with his upper teeth. Skinner
grinned. Davy did the same thing when he was concentrating on something.
"All and any." Skinner let his own voice dip into the erotic. And smiled at
the reaction against his thigh. He moved so that they were both resting on a
side, face to face, hands free to explore, to raise heat and cocks.
With Krycek's help, Skinner got rid of shorts and t-shirt.
"You really are far too skinny," Skinner muttered as fingers slowly stroked over
vertebrae and ribs.
"You going to fatten me up?" Krycek's hand slipped from cock to balls.
A gasp. "That. And see to it you get plenty of rest." Skinner's fingers
teased along Krycek's crack, taunted his asshole, tormented the back of his
balls. Krycek hissed, jerked his hips against Skinner's.
"Bed rest?" Krycek's grasp on Skinner's cock tightened, loosened, tightened
again. This time Skinner was the one who jerked.
"Oh, yeah!" Skinner decided Krycek was talking too much. He used his free hand
to pull Krycek's head to his, took his mouth and played his tongue in it as his
hand played with Krycek's now erect cock.
There was no more talk. Just an unspoken resolution on both of their parts that
the other was going to come first. Krycek won, by scant seconds. Skinner used
his t-shirt to clean them and then wrapped his legs around Krycek's, keeping him
close for the rest of the night.
He figured that suited Krycek just fine as the man made no effort to move away.
|
Title: GETTING A LIFE
Author: Josan Betas: Peach and the Evil Child, thank you. Date: May, 2002 Pairing: Sk/K Rating: NC-17, in spots Warning: Existence? What's that, Existence? Archive: Only RatB and DitB for this one. Thank you. Comments: jmann@pobox.mondenet.com DISCLAIMER: Well, considering the way the secondary characters are being treated this season, I hereby dis-claim Season 9. Come to think of it, I also dis-claim a fair portion of Season 8. BTW: I treat them all much nicer. :-) BACKGROUND: After I posted IN DEATH, THERE IS LIFE, many of you wanted to know what happened to Walter Skinner in his new role as father to Zander. That particular story has a certain association for me, so, apart from ENDINGS, which gently touches on the distant future, I will not ever be returning to this particular pairing, ever again. However, that said, I too wondered what would happen to Walter in that situation. So, in a blatant plagiarization of my story, I decided to investigate. Hope you enjoy it as well. One more thing: Doctor Joseph Fischer, MD, Colonel, Marine Corps, Retired is making a guest appearance. Many of you have inquired about him so he's back too. |
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