Illusion
Author's Notes: For my transgressions, an apology.
Rated: T slash
Beta: No beta, no plot, no real idea! Merely sad ramblings from my fever-stricken brain. Maybe some day it will grow up to be a story.
It was dark where he was, and he thought that in all his life he had never been able to face the light. They had brought him in, cuffed him and sat him in this room out in Putzville Indiana, and he knew that they'd had no idea who the hell he was. He cursed the jerk that had set him up. He was usually so careful, but the mention of Mulder had proven to be his undoing. He'd taken the bait, and now he was regretting it.
He'd been scoping out a government facility, had stolen the secrets that it held and sent them without a qualm to his controller. At least the data had gone, but the fucking bastard who had been with him had informed on him, and now here he was, and here he'd been since 2 am. He was tired.
Worse than tired, he was dirty, felt used, and old, and ragged. His whiskers itched, his eyes burned and his clothes needed changing. Somewhere in the small hours of the morning, he'd felt the acrid, clammy sweat of nightsoil pervading his skin, and now he wished wholeheartedly for a shower.
Idly he wondered what they were waiting for. They hadn't tried to question him, and they hadn't given him any indication that they were going to do so. They had merely placed him here in this dark and dirty room, left him with the fly-blown lightbulb and its pale, washed out glow, and gone.
Here he was, with his thoughts, and his weariness.
He thought that his purpose in life was to wait. People saw him as action, but that was wrong. He was a waiting presence and no more.
Fucking sleeping beauty, waiting for the handsome prince!
Like that would ever happen!
He was drooping now, his head resting on the table, and a thin line of drool emerging from his mouth to dampen his cheek as his breathing slowed and he slept.
A sudden noise had him sitting upright, at bay, attempting to wipe his cheek, with its trace of vulnerability, on his shoulder. The door opened slowly, very slowly, and a man came in, calling over his shoulder to those behind him that he would be grateful for a few minutes with the prisoner. As he closed the door, the prisoner closed his eyes, two sets of shutters, each closing out the world.
"I thought it would be you." Fox Mulder's voice reached flatly into the fluttering panic inside his head, and dragged acceptance from him. This at least he could deal with.
"Hooray for profilers!" Even in exhaustion the sarcasm in his voice flicked on the raw, chocolate brown and abrasive. He opened his eyes, leveled them on Mulder and allowed them to aim and fire disdain.
"Son of a..." Mulder moved in, took hold of his chin, forcing it roughly up as he raised his fist, then stopping as he saw the gleam of triumph in the eyes of his adversary, hidden too late. "What are you trying to do?"
"Trying to get you out of here, you asshole. You're being set up. I'm bait. Run, Fox. Run away really fast." He couldn't play the games any more, and he wanted Mulder safe. All he could do was tell the truth in words that dragged against his tongue like barbed wire.
Mulder leaned down, still holding the other man's chin as he studied the defiance, and that which lay behind it.
"You're afraid, aren't you, Alex?"
"Not for myself."
"I don't understand."
"They hate you. They hate what you stand for. They'll kill you just because..."
Mulder, uncharacteristically without his sarcastic facade, merely nodded, and bent again to unlock the cuffs that held Krycek to the chair.
"Let's go." Krycek looked at him in disbelief, shaken to the core at this turn of events.
"What...?"
"Let's get out of here. You can tell me about it later."
Krycek nodded, gulped, and stood shakily. Mulder still held his chin, and the whisker stained face was still forced in Mulder's direction. He felt somehow as though he'd been cored, the essence sucked from him by this man whom he loved, and wanted to be ignorant of that.
Mulder's lips dipping to meet his were a shock, a flash flood of cold water down his spine. The mouth that touched his made him quiver and then moan at the sheer, sweet heaven of his kiss.
Tongue against tongue, moist and searching, Mulder sought out and discovered all of the secrets Alex had, as he pulled him into an embrace that made him feel safe, even though he knew that the thought was ridiculous.
As they fell apart, both shaken at the events they had uncovered, Mulder lifted a finger to flip the end of Krycek's nose, earning him a look of sheer incredulity.
"I've just always wanted to do that. It's good to give in to your impulses once in a while."
Cuffing his companion, Mulder knocked on the door of the cell, and led Krycek out of the facility and over to where his car was waiting.
"Get in." The words were terse, as though they were still under observation, and who knew? That was still entirely possible.
Mumbling imprecations beneath his breath, Krycek climbed into the car, suffering the transfer of the handcuff to the door handle with a faint sneer. "Where are you taking me?"
"I'll think of something," was the laconic reply as Mulder pulled away from the parking lot and out onto the highway.
"Oh, I'll bet you will," replied Krycek, as Mulder dropped his hand from the wheel to lie along Alex's thigh. "I just bet you will."
End
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