Title: Bang 2

Author/pseudonym: Barb G.

Rating: nc-17

Pairing: Mulder/Krycek Krycek/CSM

Date: April 9th

Archive : (yes or no) yes

Series: (if yes, title of series, part #) Bang 2

Category: drama

Disclaimer: They belong to Chris Carter, who would probably never suffer them such foolishness

Summary: Krycek struggles with the smoker, Mulder, and an added problem

Warnings: Violence, bad words, and some mention of child abuse

Bang 2

by Barb G

Stomach wounds were messy. All the way to the hospital, Krycek imagined the poisons rushing into the boy's system and he knew how much it was a painful and slow way to die. He had sniffed the wound, though, and hadn't smelled anything. There didn't appear to be any intestinal rupturing. Pedro didn't complain when Krycek bundled him up and brought him down to the car. The boy didn't seem to be going into shock while he held the balled up T-shirt to his stomach, and there wasn't as much blood as Krycek feared there would be.

"What were you doing there, kid?" Krycek asked.

The boy shook his head. "Papa," he said.

"And your mother?"

Pedro shook his head again.

Krycek braced the wheel with his knee and touched the boy's forehead with the back of his hand. Hot, but not burning. Pedro closed his eyes and shuddered, but they were already at the hospital.

He took the boy to the county hospital. Two tired looking orderlies brought him a gurney when he carried the boy through the automatic doors. The doctors took over as a rent-a-cop tried to ask him questions, which Krycek answered them with half-truths. He found the boy on the street. Three men had run off when he drove up. The boy was bleeding and Krycek brought him in. They didn't look like they believed him, but their suspicion lifted slightly as Krycek voluntarily remained in the rent-a-cop's custody to find out how the boy was doing.

A doctor finally pushed the door open and nodded to him. Krycek stood up and went to him. "The three men, was one of them wounded?" the man asked.

"It was too dark for me to tell," Krycek said.

"The .22 bullet had gone through someone else, which slowed it down considerably. The boy will have a scar, but the real danger is past."

"Can I see him?"

The doctor looked at him, sharply, but Krycek kept his face impassively innocent. "He's not out of recovery yet."

"I'll wait," he said, and sat down again.

He waited until six the next morning before Pedro woke up again. When they finally allowed Krycek to see him, the boy looked up from his restricted, clear breakfast and made a face. "Bad food," he said, quietly. An IV dripped into his vein and he looked fragile in the gown they had him in.

"Sorry, kid," Krycek said. The boy fussed with the pillow that was behind him, and Krycek moved to adjust it. Pedro leaned forward, and Krycek saw the welts over the boy's back. They almost matched his own, but the marks had broken the skin and it looked like over half of them were infected. He adjusted the pillow and Pedro leaned back carefully.

The boy flushed, but Krycek didn't mention what he saw. The embarrassment melted away, and the boy looked up again. "You?" Pedro asked.

"Alex," Krycek said. His name sounded odd, but Pedro nodded like there was nothing wrong with using his first name. Of course there wasn't, but it was still weird. Awkward.

The doctor came in, and Pedro shrank back as the man glanced to Krycek and motioned outside. "May I see you outside, please?"

Krycek followed him out. He expected to be told about the bodies found and then have a nice police escort all the way to the station, but he was beyond caring about that. When nothing was said about it, he decided the smoker and his cleaners had gotten there first. "I think you've done all you can," the doctor said.

"What's going to happen to him?" Krycek asked. It was weird pretending to be a regular citizen. "Did they find his family?"

"Family services are going to be here shortly. He'll be in their custody. That's all we can do, Mr. Jackson."

"His...back?" Krycek asked. "I adjusted his pillow and..." he added quickly at the doctor's sharp look.

"He shows signs of being abused. Again, family services will look after it."

Krycek had his own opinion of the value of family services, and of the foster homes they might find for Pedro. He left, but didn't go far. For three days, Krycek waited. It took that long for Pedro to be taken off the IV and put on pills. Family services still hadn't come for the boy, so Krycek went for him. No one challenged him once he found a lab-coat in the doctor's lounge. He put it on, awkwardly, and then snagged a wheelchair.

Pedro was thrilled to see him again, but Krycek pressed a finger against his lip and the boy kept quiet. Pedro watched him, eyes dark, but didn't ask any questions.

He bought the boy new clothes, and then brought him home to the new place he had found. He had to act like a real citizen around the landlady, but the neighbours were quiet. He paid for it on the company account so the smoker would know where he was, and charged the rental furniture to their credit card.

Pedro looked up from the television as Krycek approached him with a pill and a glass of orange juice. He had cut the pill in half, but wondered if it was still too strong. As Pedro sat up to swallow it, he winced. Krycek had to excuse himself to the bedroom to make a phone call, and Pedro watched him go. Krycek was pretty sure none of the stitches had torn, but couldn't tell what was going on inside.

The smoker answered on the third ring. "This had better be important."

"It's me."

"Alex. Where are you?"

He gave the new address, pausing so that the smoker could write it down. "I'll be there in half-an-hour."

"Sir?" the word didn't hurt as much as he thought it would.

"Yes?" the smoker asked, and Krycek heard the chair creek as he sat back down again. Krycek winced, but he needed the favour.

"Bring a doctor, please?" he asked.

"Are you hurt?" the smoker asked.

"It's not me."

The smoker clicked off.

Half an hour later, there was a knock on the door. Pedro looked up, startled, but Krycek motioned that it would be all right. Pedro settled back down on his side gingerly, and Krycek got the door.

The smoker and a middle-aged woman stood in the door. Krycek stood still as the smoker scanned him up and down. "I told you, it wasn't me," Krycek said in a low voice.

Pedro glanced up from the couch. The woman moved to him. "What happened?" she asked.

"He got shot."

She didn't ask any more questions. The smoker motioned one of the backrooms, and Krycek led him to the master bedroom.

Krycek had barely shut the door before the smoker backhanded him. He fell hard against the wall, but turned around and wiped the blood off his lip. The smoker forced him up against the wall, and Krycek let him.

"What the hell is that?" the smoker demanded.

"A kid. You've heard of them before?" Krycek asked. The smoker belted him again, and Krycek winced and lowered his eyes.

"You are not keeping him."

"I am not giving him up."

The smoker grabbed his throat. Krycek coughed and fought, but the smoker caught his wrist, easily. "I said, you are not keeping him."

Krycek met his eyes even though his throat was being crushed. "Not...giving...up," he managed.

The smoker removed his hand, but only to fit up against his body. Krycek turned his face, hating the way the smoker moved against him, but he didn't push the man back. "Do you really want him to know what a whore you are?" the smoker asked, breathing into Krycek's ear. The man's tongue snaked out, and Krycek flinched as it flicked him.

"He's not going to find out," Krycek said. He kept his voice flat. The smoker undid Krycek's jeans, and Krycek tensed as the man yanked them down.

"And what would you do for this...pet of yours, Alex?" the smoker asked, backing away. Krycek suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable, but he supposed that was the plan. He could smell the cigarette smoke on his skin now; it seemed to cling to his sudden sweat.

"What do you want me to do?" Krycek asked, flatly.

"A small...token of your appreciation would be appreciated. As would a more willing...attitude towards this relationship."

"Relationship," the word made Krycek's lip curl. "This is no relationship."

"Ah-ah, Alex. No surliness. Don't let the fact that the good doctor is a woman suggest that she would be any less willing to put your boy down."

"A more willing attitude, you got it. Anything else?"

"Perhaps if I could see your attitude adjustment I would be more willing to believe you, Alex. You want me to believe you, don't you?"

Krycek made a face, but he knelt down. He hadn't felt less turned on in his life, and to be forced to jerk-off in front of the smoker made his testicles shrivel up even more. The smoker had never asked him to participate beyond taking it before. He worked his hand up his shirt, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. The smoker sat down on the bed but didn't stop studying him. Krycek moved his hand down his belly and then lower. He closed his eyes, expecting to be told to open them again, but the smoker said nothing.

In his darkness again, it was easier for Krycek to imagine, but he had to force the fantasy. It was a matter of will. If he could survive them cutting off his arm and vomiting the black oil, he could make his body obey this simple task as well. It was a simple response to stimulus, like eyes closing during a sneeze.

He heard the smoker shift as he finally managed to bring his penis to full erection, and then it was a simple matter of finding his trigger. It used to be a lot easier when he had two hands, but if he rocked on his heels right...there and squeezed ever so slightly at the tip, it almost worked. His stomach tightened as he almost had it and he suddenly realized he had been holding his breath. He gasped, and the sudden rush of air made his stomach unclench enough to almost... almost...

And he was gone, shooting over his hand. The smoker stood up, and Krycek didn't open his eyes until he felt the man standing over him again. He was suddenly exhausted to the point of his muscles aching, but he forced himself to look up.

"Get cleaned up, that's disgusting," the smoker said, condescension clear in his voice. Krycek pulled off his T-shirt and wiped his hand on it before changing into the only other one he had. The doctor glanced to them as they exited the room.

"You said he'd been shot?" she said.

Pedro looked at him, eyes wide again, and Krycek tried to smile to calm him down, but the boy obviously didn't like the smoker in the same room as him. "His doctor said the bullet had gone through someone else first."

"That would explain it. The damage was mild despite the blood loss. Lots of fluids, Mr. Krycek," she said, and then lowered her voice. "There is...other damage done as well. His back and some tearing. You are giving him antibiotics?"

Krycek went to the kitchen and brought back the bottle. She took it and read the label carefully. "Half a pill, twice a day. If the infection hasn't cleared up in seven days, you will contact me again?"

Krycek glanced at the smoker, who nodded. Krycek nodded as well.

"Very good," she said. She glanced to the smoker, and they left together. Krycek locked the door behind them.

"Bad man," Pedro said.

Krycek sat down next to him, and Pedro curled up next to him, using his lap as a pillow. "Very bad man," Krycek agreed.

The boy reached up and touched the forming bruise on the side of Krycek's face. It was a gentle touch, and Krycek sighed. "Ow?" Pedro asked.

"It doesn't hurt that much."

Pedro relaxed against him, still watching the mindless television, and Krycek found himself nodding off.

They slept like that until morning. Pedro woke him up by moving. He heard the boy's stomach growl, and patted the boy on the head as he stood up. They had breakfast together, cereal, still too-green bananas and orange juice. Krycek looked at him, trying to figure out how old the boy would be, and figured around seven, maybe. He looked pretty small for his age. Without being told to he tried to take his dishes to the sink, but Krycek took them from him. "Stay."

The boy looked at him, confused, but Krycek tried to smile convincingly. Pedro returned to the sofa, and Krycek quickly did the dishes. He went to have a shower, but just as he stripped off his shirt, the doorbell rang. He ran out of the bathroom before Pedro could get up, and grabbed his gun from his jacket. "Get down," he repeated. Pedro ducked behind the couch as Krycek glanced through the peep-hole.

There was no mistaking the Armani. He opened the door, but didn't let Mulder in. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Mulder tried to push the door open, but Krycek pressed it shut with his knee. "You can't be seen here, Mulder.

"I've already been seen here, Krycek. You might as well let me in."

"No," Krycek said.

"Ow," Pedro said behind him. Krycek turned to him, and saw the boy looking at what must have been the faint bruising from his own beating.

"Yes, ow," Krycek said, softening his voice. Mulder struggled with the door again, but Krycek kept it half closed.

"The bad man?"

"Yes, the bad man. Go sit down for me, will you? You shouldn't be standing up."

Pedro touched his stomach, and then tottered back to the couch. Krycek gave up and let Mulder inside.

"What's that?" Mulder demanded.

"A kid. Jesus, didn't any one take Sex Ed?" Krycek demanded.

"What are you doing with it?"

"He's mine."

Pedro looked at Mulder with hostility, obviously not liking his tone. "Bad man?" he asked.

Krycek glanced at Mulder and then went into the kitchen to get the kid another glass of juice. "Not most of the time."

"What's wrong with him?" Mulder asked, peering at the kid like a lab experiment.

"Nothing."

"He doesn't speak much, does he?"

"He gets his point across," Krycek said, suddenly feeling defensive. He went into his room and grabbed a shirt, and struggled with his false arm. "Do you mind not talking in front of him like he isn't here?"

"Have you completely lost it?" Mulder demanded.

Pedro frowned again, and Krycek sat down next to him, smoothing his hair. "Good-bye, Mulder. You were just leaving."

"Krycek--"

"Any longer, Mulder, and the smoker might think you and I got busy. Do you want him to think that?"

Mulder left without saying another word.

Pedro looked at him, confused. "He's a friend," Krycek said. "Not a bad man."

Pedro touched his back. "Alex?"

The bruises were faint enough that it didn't hurt too much. "I screwed up. The bad man punished me."

Pedro stared at him, shocked. "I happens even to adults sometimes," Krycek said. Pedro put his head on Krycek's thigh and sighed as Krycek put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "What happened to you?"

"Bad man," Pedro said. "Hurt me."

"Where was your father?"

Pedro shrugged. "Waiting."

Krycek stroked his hair. "The man in the building?" he asked. There had been two.

Pedro nodded. There was no anger in the boy. He was simply stating facts. No wonder he viewed Krycek as a savior.

The boy fell asleep again, so Krycek turned off the television and just stared at the wall. It was...calming. Pedro made snuffling sounds in his sleep, but only sounded alarmed when Krycek removed his hand.

The second night, Krycek moved the boy to the second bedroom. Pedro settled right down, but Krycek stayed with him until the boy started to dream.

Around midnight, someone knocked on the door. Krycek stood up and let the smoker in. "Mulder was here," Krycek said before the smoker could speak. The man nodded, and Krycek continued. "I sent him away."

"I know. I have a job for you to do."

"Now?" Krycek asked.

The smoker just looked at him. Krycek glanced towards the second bedroom. "Whatever," he said. "Who?"

The smoker gave him an envelope and turned to leave. "Sir?" Krycek asked.

The smoker turned again. "Yes?"

Krycek flushed. "I would...like to see Mulder tomorrow night."

"I thought you said you sent him away?"

"I did."

The smoker stroked Krycek's cheek, but Krycek shuddered and stood still for it, remembering what the smoker said about a more willing attitude. "My bedroom," he said. There was a lock on the door. The smoker put his hand over the back of Krycek's neck and forced him closer. Krycek kissed the man, tasting the nicotine off his lips, and then backed away to the bedroom. The smoker followed.

Thankfully, the smoker was quiet about it. Krycek wiped his mouth, ignoring his swollen lips, and got off his knees. "Very good, Alex. You almost convinced me you actually wanted to do that," the smoker said.

Krycek got off his knees. "Tomorrow?" he asked.

"Oh, you've earned tomorrow, Alex."

He looked down as the smoker left. Krycek checked in to Pedro's room, but the boy was a lump on the bed. Krycek left him and locked the door.

The job was simple; they wanted the body to be found. He left it propped up on its easy chair and left it with the remote in its hand. It only took an hour and a half, and the first thing he did was check on the boy, but his bed was empty. Krycek froze, searching the apartment, but the boy was nowhere. Krycek went back to his room, and heard the frantic breathing from the closet.

He opened the door. Pedro looked up at him, eyes wide and face as white as it had been when he had first been shot. "Door opened," Pedro said.

Krycek held out his hand, and Pedro slowly climbed to his feet, painfully. He had been in the closet for a while. When Pedro took his hand, the boy's skin was cold and he was shivering. "Door opened," Pedro repeated.

"It was just me, seeing if you were still asleep. I had to go out," Krycek explained. Pedro touched his face like he was testing to see if he were real. Pedro shivered harder when Krycek brought him back to the small bed, so they spent another night on the couch. Krycek's back was killing him, but Pedro slept easily.

The next morning, Krycek woke to the sound of cartoons. His back popped as he stretched, and the sound made Pedro look up from the television. "Yesterday?" he asked.

"Last night, I had a job."

Pedro sniffed the air. "Bad man?"

"He gave me the job."

"Job?" Pedro looked at him, frowning.

"Don't worry about it," Krycek said. He stood up. "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry."

The boy watched him over his cereal bowl, but Krycek ignored the stare. He phoned into the office while Pedro was in his room getting dressed, but the smoker told him curtly that he had nothing for him. Krycek snapped the phone shut and waited for Pedro.

#

Mulder looked surprised to see him. More surprised to see the boy. "Couldn't find a babysitter?" he asked, sarcastically.

Krycek put his hand over Pedro's shoulder and the boy moved closer to him. "Let me grab my coat."

They went out to supper. Pedro was quiet the whole time, eating what Krycek ordered for him and sat there glaring at Mulder. Krycek touched the boy's hand, scowling slightly, and the boy looked down. Pedro started to lose interest in the meal half way through, and by dessert he was exhausted. Krycek carried him back to the car, and Mulder remained hesitant by the passenger door.

"You coming?" Krycek asked.

Mulder almost looked relieved.

It was a quiet ride back. Mulder kept glancing back to the sleeping boy, and Krycek concentrated on the drive. He put the boy to bed and shut the door. Mulder waited for him in his room.

"What are you doing, Krycek?"

Krycek went to him, tugging off his shirt. "Isn't it obvious?"

"About the boy."

"I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Krycek--"

"Mulder, if I have to tell you what I had to do to get this time I'm sleeping on the couch again. My back can't take another night of it, so if you don't want to be a selfish bastard, you'd shut the fuck up."

Mulder undid his jeans instead of answering him. Krycek sighed as Mulder used his hand against him. It had been over a week, and Krycek had to hold onto Mulder's shoulders.

"Doesn't take much with you, does it?" Mulder asked, kissing him.

Krycek closed his eyes. "When has it ever?" he asked.

Mulder dropped to his knees, but Krycek twisted away and kicked off his jeans as he approached the bed. Mulder stripped as well, joining him again. Mulder tried to lift up Krycek's legs, but Krycek grunted and pulled free and Mulder took the hint. It felt so good to have Mulder move against him. He muffled the sounds he was making into the back of his fist, and Mulder pressed his mouth against Krycek's shoulder to cover his own. It tickled. Sweat broke out where they touched, and when Mulder kissed him, Mulder forced him to meet his tongue.

Mulder nudged him with his thigh, and Krycek willingly spread his legs more. For all the times he had the smoker force him to submit to it, it felt nothing like it did then. Mulder held off most of his weight, and he knew exactly how to move his hipbone over Krycek's groin. He felt Mulder against his own thigh, but closed his eyes and let Mulder do all the work. It was a welcomed change from the smoker and Mulder didn't mind the added burden.

Krycek couldn't stop the sounds without choking himself any more. Mulder's breath was hot against his ear and the man's grip on his hips almost hurt. They slid against each other with the sweat between them, and every time Mulder's thigh touched him he thought he'd lose it. He gritted his teeth, thinking of the smoker to cool down his need so that Mulder would go first, but apparently Mulder had something equally vile in mind. When even the smoker's disgusting leer didn't work, he threw his head back and cried out. Mulder collapsed over him and shouted into his pillow.

They fell asleep like that, Mulder draped over him like a blanket. After struggling with the real one for a minute, Mulder left it tangled at their feet and fell asleep with Krycek.

Pedro's screams started an hour later. Krycek bolted awake at the first one, and barely took the time to wipe himself off before he was dressing in yesterday's clothes. Mulder was still floundering around for the light as Krycek left the room.

He ran into the second bedroom and gathered Pedro up before waking him. The screams were wordless, filled with terror. Krycek rocked him carefully, and Pedro eventually settled down to noisy sobs. Mulder finally made it to the doorway, but Krycek shook his head. Mulder went back to the bedroom.

The small bed wasn't meant for two people, and it sure wasn't meant for someone Krycek's size, but even after the boy was asleep, if Krycek tried to move, Pedro tightened his fist on the T-shirt. By morning he woke up alone in the bed with his back even more stiff. Sounds of cartoons from the other room, and he got out of bed stiffly. Mulder and the boy eating sugared cereal, watching television. "Morning," he called, going into the bathroom. He stared at himself blearily and was half way done shaving when Mulder knocked and let himself in. He waited for Krycek to finish before kissing him.

"You really are taking him in," Mulder said with amazement.

"Until something better comes along for him."

"So that's it? Instant fatherhood? What about him, Krycek? Do you think he's okay with this?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's what, seven, eight? Developmentally delayed in his speech patterns, probably never attended school, all he does is watch television all day. Do you think that's good for a kid?"

"It's a lot better than the hell his father put him through," Krycek snapped.

"But worse than what a foster home...a regular foster home would do to him."

"Do you know that for a fact, Mulder?" Krycek asked, dropping his voice to a low, deadly growl.

"Do you?" Mulder asked.

"I know how much foster homes can fuck someone, Mulder. I'm not putting him through that."

"He'd have access to state-sponsored speech pathologists," Mulder said. "Just because you want a normal life doesn't mean you have the right to fuck-up his."

"Get out."

"Krycek--"

"Get out," Krycek repeated. "And you owe me a fucking blowjob," he snapped as Mulder left the bathroom.

Pedro was upset by the time Krycek left the room. He was still inwardly seething, and his cool exterior obviously didn't fool the boy. Pedro got off the couch and went to him, touching his face. "Bad man?" he asked.

"No, he didn't hurt me," Krycek said.

Pedro glared at the door. "Bad man," he decided, apparently deciding Krycek had just lied through his teeth.

"No, not a bad man," Krycek tried again. "Just...come on."

Pedro looked confused.

"Get your jacket."

It took a minute for the boy to find where he put it, and then took Krycek's hand as they left the apartment.

He put the boy in one of the chairs in the waiting room and went into the office. The smoker glanced up, surprised at his unannounced visit, but leaned back in his chair. "Welcome," he said.

Krycek threw himself down on a chair. "I need you to arrange something for me."

The smoker smiled, and moved his hands from the desk to his lap. "Absolutely."

"No," Krycek said.

The smoker frowned. "No?" he asked.

"I need you to arrange the kid to go to a speech pathologist, and I'm not doing shit for it."

"The concept of favours seems to have escaped you, Alex."

Krycek flushed. "I've done enough to you for you to do this for me."

"You have your compensations. Mulder spent the complete evening with you."

Krycek's flush deepened. He knew he was turning red, but he didn't care. "You don't pay me enough to get the kind of specialist I need," he continued as if the smoker hadn't spoken. There was an excellent benefit package, though, that included the purchase or rental of anything that would make his life easier. The only drawback was that when someone killed him, it would all be returned to the consortium.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll a find handler who is more lenient," Krycek said, meaning it. He had been approached several times by other members, and it had always given the smoker great pleasure to treat him like shit and still have Krycek obedient.

"You wouldn't," the smoker said.

"Mulder and I are through."

The smoker paused, looking at him. "It will be arranged," he said, finally.

"Today."

The smoker put his hands on the desk. "You aren't serious."

"Today," Krycek repeated. He stood up to go.

"You go too far, Krycek," the smoker said.

The use of his last name made Krycek momentarily falter, but his back was to the smoker. He regained his composure, and turned around. "Right now, you have more enemies than I do," he said in a low voice. "How would it look if I defected on you?"

The smoker reached into his drawer and pulled out his gun. Krycek didn't blink as it was pointed at him, and he even went around the desk to the man. He pulled the gun to his chest, meeting the smoker's eyes. "Go ahead. It would look even worse if you had to kill me."

"They'd never find you or your brat."

"You've been out of the field too long. You're starting to forget the difference between outside and inside secrets," Krycek pushed against the gun, and the smoker put it away. "And touch the kid, and you had better wish you killed me."

"You are getting too attached, Krycek," the smoker said.

"Maybe," he paused. "Who is he?"

"The boy?" the smoker asked, and Krycek turned around before the smoker could lord the information over him. It wasn't worth the subjugation. "You know more about him than I do. There is no record of him," the smoker called, obviously deciding it wasn't worth it either.

"Thank you," Krycek said. The smoker called him back and he turned around. "You are playing a dangerous game here, Alex. Don't let this one incident misguide you. You still belong to me."

Krycek stared at the floor.

"It does...amuse me to see you this aggressive, Alex. Don't let it happen too often or I will cease to be amused."

"Yes...sir," Krycek said.

"Good. Go. I will be in touch."

"Yes, sir."

Pedro looked up, relieved as he exited the room. He pushed himself off the chair as Krycek approached, and took his hand firmly. "Hungry," the boy announced.

"We'll go out."

The pathologist's appointment was at four. Krycek waited, sitting awkwardly in an orange chair outside her office. Other children waited to see her, and they stared at him like he was something to be feared. The door opened, and the pathologist motioned him inside. Pedro looked up, smiling, but then went back to his drawings.

"Hi, I'm Amanda," she said, offering her hand.

"Alex."

"Pedro?" she asked. Pedro looked up, but glanced to Krycek. He nodded, and the boy approached. "He must look like your wife," she said, trying to be diplomatic.

Krycek held out his hand and the boy. Pedro sat on his knee. "I'm not married," he said.

Amanda laughed, but he could hear the relief in it. He hadn't been with a woman since Russia, and that had ended...poorly. Amanda was pretty enough, and she wasn't off-limits so the smoker wouldn't demand his pounding of flesh.

It would get his mind of Mulder, at least.

#

A letter waited for him on the floor when he opened the door. Pedro went off to the kitchen, and Krycek made sure the kid was occupied by the contents of the fridge before he opened it. Actually keeping food in the fridge, caring about milk expiration dates and making sure he actually had things like carrots was almost a full-time job in itself and he wondered how people did it, day after day. Pedro was good for reminding him. Actually, the kid was practically no bother at all. He cleaned up after himself, made sure he put himself to bed, and did dozens of other things for himself that Krycek would have forgotten.

The envelope just had an address and a cleaning bill. He hated it when he had to bury the body, but when he cursed, Pedro ducked out from the fridge door to study him. "Spaghetti," the boy announced.

Krycek didn't correct him, like Amanda said he should. He'd start that shit the next day. "I don't want to cook. Let's just go out."

When Pedro got stubborn, his eyebrows almost touched. "Spaghetti," he repeated.

"I'll get you spaghetti. Just out, in a restaurant," Krycek said, putting an edge to his voice. His head was starting to ache.

Pedro only crossed his arms over his chest. "Spaghetti! Spaghetti, spaghetti, spaghetti!"

Krycek felt his temper flare up. The boy stared at him, daring him to do something, but Krycek backed away. He went into his room and slammed the door, trying to dispel the anger without actually damaging anything.

He was kidding himself. It was only a matter of time before he belted the brat. He had been just as stubborn, and his father had been just as quick to lash out. Fuck that. He wasn't going to be like his old man. He had lived with the bastard until he was twelve, when a beating made missed a week of school.

Pedro pushed open the door a few minutes later. He carried with him the jar of ultra-orange cheeze-food they had brought back from the store together the day before, and he wore his jacket. "Out?" the boy asked, softly. He looked beaten, and wouldn't even look at Krycek. His entire body shook; but his eyes were dry. Accepting.

Krycek went to him, and for the first time, Pedro took a step back. Krycek knelt down in front of him and took the cheeze-jar away. "We'll eat here," he said, taking off the boy's jacket. He had to get his stupid-assed emotions under control if a cheese product made the back of his eyes ache.

"Spaghetti?" the boy asked, hopefully.

"Would you like spaghetti?" Krycek asked. He almost hugged the kid, but couldn't quite. He put his hand over Pedro's shoulder and squeezed, and the boy smiled at him. It was a cliché, but the boy's face lit up. The tension under Krycek's hand disappeared, and Pedro almost started bouncing.

"Like...spaghetti."

"Good enough. We'll work on pronouns tomorrow."

Pedro dug through the pot cupboard, and pulled out both of the pots Krycek owned. "I suppose if you're sticking around one of us has to learn to cook," he said. "My vote's on you, kid."

Pedro just looked at him, cocking his head. Krycek realized he had just said something with absolutely no meaning. He had never babbled before, if begging for his life didn't count. It felt odd...but comforting. Pedro had only been around a couple days and they hardly spoke. He opened his mouth again to try it. "Although it would be a lot easier if you actually liked crappy food."

"Like crappy food," Pedro agreed.

"I think we're having a conversation," Krycek said. It was a stupid thing to say, but Pedro smiled at him again and didn't judge him.

"Spaghetti," Pedro said again.

"Right, spaghetti," Krycek put the water on and opened the can of spaghetti sauce.

Pedro apparently liked crappy food. He rejected the red stuff from the can and got down from his chair to bring back ketchup. Cheeze-food and ketchup made an even more disgusting orange colour, but the boy sucked it down. Krycek looked down to the pebbled meat by-products on his own plate and suddenly didn't see it as being much better. He ate because he had to, and Pedro's giggling stopped him.

Pedro hadn't giggled before. He watched his cartoons with solemnity, and didn't make a sound when he wasn't speaking. "What?" Krycek asked.

Pedro pointed to his nose and giggled again. "I have sauce on my nose?"

"Nose," the boy said.

"You think it's funny?"

"Think it's funny."

"Are you going to repeat everything I say?" Krycek said, and stood up. Pedro's plate was empty, and he had eaten as much as he was going to.

"Everything," Pedro agreed, standing up as well. They mock glared at each other, and then Krycek shocked himself by actually tickling the kid. He was careful to keep to the upper body, but Pedro squealed and tried to tackle him. He ended up flat on his back with Pedro sitting on his chest.

The fooling around ended as Pedro suddenly touched his false arm. "Ow?" he asked, knocking on it.

The boy had seen him with the straps before, but he hadn't said anything about it. Krycek sat up, and the boy spilled into his lap. He braced himself with his good arm. "Not anymore." It wasn't really a lie; phantom pains didn't really count. His stomach tightened as Pedro tugged on his T-shirt. Krycek resisted for a heartbeat and then helped the boy pull the shirt off.

Pedro stared at him for a long time without saying anything. He touched the stump, right above where the cup of the prosthetic began. The crude scars were visible, even that high up his upper arm. "Ow," Pedro decided. "Bad man?"

Krycek shook his head. "They thought...they thought they were helping me."

Pedro looked at him, putting both his hands over Krycek's chest. "They?"

Krycek tensed, the boy understood a lot more than it seemed. Pedro felt it, and backed away. "I'll tell you later, okay?"

Pedro frowned, but got off him. "Bedtime," Krycek said, even though it was an hour early. Pedro didn't complain. He went into his room to change, and once Krycek heard the bedside lamp click on, he opened the door and sat down on the edge of the bed. Pedro closed his eyes, but didn't fall asleep for almost twenty minutes. Krycek waited until he started to dream again before he stood up and left. The sooner he got the job done the better.

END PART 2