Title: Bang 3

Author/pseudonym: Barb G.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Mulder/Krycek Krycek/CSM

Archive: (yes or no) yes

Series: (if yes, title of series, part #) Bang 3

Category: drama

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

This has been brought to you Beta'ed by Dr. Ruthless and Carol, who caught all the mistakes that are fixed. Any and all mistakes still contained herein are mine.

Bang 3

by Barb G

"Please, don't kill me," the man babbled. His hands shook so much on the shovel handle that he was completely useless.

Krycek pressed his gun against the man's temple. He had to crouch down to do it; the man had already dug four feet into the wet soil. "Hurry up," he said. The stupidity of people never stopped amazing him. What the hell did the mark think Krycek was going to do after the grave had been dug?

It had been a lot simpler when Krycek had both his arms. The corpse never begged him while he dug the hole, it never blubbered or wet itself or offered to pay back the money or bribe him. It just lay there, and Krycek could work in peace. Having to make the mark dig his own grave was morbid, but there was no other way around it.

He glanced at his watch; it was almost two. He couldn't wait any longer. He shot the man when the next shovel of soil was at its apex, and the body crumpled into the grave. He jumped down to pull the shovel from it, and then covered over the grave as quickly as he could. He scattered dried leaves over the freshly turned soil and dragged some deadwood over it. It didn't make the grave completely disappear, but no one would find it without looking.

He ran back to his car, still parked on the side-road. There was enough light from the full moon to keep him from breaking his neck, but he was glad when he got to the car and could crank the heat up. He drove home, damning the speed-limits, and made it back to the apartment by three.

The television was on. Krycek went to unlock the door, but it was already unlocked. He threw it open, and the smoker looked up from the late night movie. Pedro was there on the couch as well, but was as far away from the smoker as he get. He looked up, saw Krycek, and started to shake again.

"Come here," Krycek said, softly. Pedro was up and off the couch before the smoker could stop him. Krycek dropped to his knees and caught the boy. He didn't ask how the smoker got in; Pedro would never open the door, which meant the man had a spare key. The thought made him sick to his stomach. "If you hurt him, I'll fucking kill you," Krycek said. He remained on his knees while he spoke; Pedro clung to him so tight that it was restricting his breathing but he did nothing to make the boy let him go. Pedro started to cry, and Krycek patted his back ineffectually with his hand.

"Leaving a child unattended is illegal," the smoker said. "Any number of horrible things could have happened to him."

The threat made him swallow. "Not tonight, please," he said. "Not with him like this."

The smoker stood up. Pedro gasped again, trying to push himself tighter against Krycek.

"As long as we have an agreement."

Krycek nodded. He picked up the boy and stood. Pedro clung to him. "Tomorrow."

The smoker nodded and left. Krycek locked the door. He'd get redundancy locks in the morning and show Pedro how to use them.

He brought the boy to his own room. He was too tired and sore to sleep in Pedro's tiny bed, but Pedro didn't seem to mind. The boy wouldn't let him go even long enough to get changed, so Krycek kept his arm on and hoped the straps wouldn't chafe too badly. It took a long time for the boy to settle, and Krycek didn't sleep until the quiet sobbing became only slightly ragged breathing.

Pedro poked him again. Krycek flinched, needing more sleep, but he became aware of the banging on the door. It was odd that he had slept through it. He stood up, grungy from the night in his clothes. "Stay here," he said.

He answered the door. Mulder passed him a coffee-cup, and if he had been slightly less furious with the man, he would have kissed him right there. "Make up coffee?" Mulder asked, hopefully.

Pedro came out of the bedroom, suspicious, and not even the cup of hot chocolate or the donut bought his affection. He snatched the donut from Mulder and then ducked behind Krycek again. "Is he always like that?"

Krycek glanced behind him. "Yes," he said. He glanced down at himself. He had to shower and change, and he still had to get to the smoker's office.

"Busy night last night?"

"You don't want to know," he half-turned around and unpeeled Pedro's hand from his shirt. "Pedro, stop it. Mulder isn't a bad man."

Pedro shook his head.

"I'm serious. I have to go have a shower."

The boy scrunched up his face again. Krycek ignored the sound Mulder made and dropped down to Pedro's level. "Look. He's a jerk sometimes but he's not a bad man. He's my friend. If anyone tries to hurt you, he'll get his gun out and shoot them. So take it easy, okay?"

The iron grip loosened slightly. "You got a hell of a way with kids, Krycek," Mulder said. "You should open a daycare. I can see your motto, 'better care or beware'."

"Funny, Mulder," Krycek snapped. He stood up and went to his bedroom to grab clean clothes. He had the fastest shower in his life, scrubbing at his skin, and then applying cream to the angry red marks the straps had made to his shoulder and back. He refitted his arm, made a face, and finished getting dressed.

"I have to go out for a couple hours. Could you please watch him for me?" Krycek asked. Pedro wasn't in the main room, but the door to his bedroom was shut. Mulder grabbed his arm.

"What? I'm not a babysitter!"

Krycek looked at him, suddenly feeling tired. "Don't do this to me, Mulder. Don't make me barter every little thing in my life for sex."

Mulder flushed. Krycek watched the skin-tone darken and wondered if that was because Mulder had been thinking it or he hadn't. "Two hours," Mulder finally said.

Krycek kissed him, which surprised the hell out of both of them. "Thank you," he said, needlessly. He went to Pedro's door and knocked before letting himself in. "I gotta go out for a little while," he said.

Pedro stood up from his puzzle and went to grab his jacket.

"You stay here with Mulder."

The boy went dejectedly back to his puzzle.

Krycek walked. It took him half-an-hour, and the smoker's receptionist didn't stop him from just going in. "You're late," the smoker said, simply.

"Slept in," Krycek said. He hugged his jacket to his sides as he sat down in front of the man's desk.

"When are you going to learn to stop testing me, Alex? You will never win."

"Leave the kid alone. He's less than nothing. You freaked the shit out of him last night."

"I believe that was the intention."

Alex bit his lip to keep from answering; there was no point to it. He waited, not willing to suggest they actually hurry it along but he glanced down to his watch again. "Do you have to be somewhere?" the smoker asked.

"Mulder's watching the kid," he said. There was no point in lying, the smoker probably knew it before he left the apartment.

"I thought you said it was over."

Alex bit his lip again. He studied the man, thinking how easy it would be to kill him, but there had only been one case of someone killing their handler, and it had taken the henchman over 72 hours to die. He narrowed his eyes as the smoker stood up, but didn't join him. His shoulders tensed when the smoker walked behind him. The smoker put his hands over Krycek's shoulder, and Krycek tensed.

"Still, after all these years, you hate it," the smoker said. He began what almost felt like a massage, but Krycek didn't relax for it. It was obvious the man was going to try to fuck with his head first, and he hated that worse. "Why is that, Alex?"

"You expected me to develop a taste for it?" Krycek demanded.

"Yes," the smoker said. "Eventually."

"Fuck you."

The smoker backed away from him. "Get rid of the kid, Alex. He's a door into your defenses. Don't be stupid."

Krycek felt the hangman's noose loosen. He stood up. "No."

"I could order you to," the smoker said.

"You could," Krycek said. "That doesn't mean I'd obey you any more."

"He'll be your end, Krycek. Get out of my office."

"Yes, sir." Krycek said. He tried not to walk too quickly, but he expected to be called back until the elevator slid shut. The smoker had him. Literally. In their fucked-up relationship, the smoker had every right to force him, and he didn't. That confused the hell out of Krycek, and he walked home, slowly, thinking hard, but the only motive he could come up with was the smoker knew he had pushed too hard and that had been his reprieve.

He walked past a park half a block from his apartment, and heard the sounds of children screaming in a game of tag. Krycek stopped for a moment, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of bringing Pedro out to it; it was yet another way of him fucking the boy over. It took him a moment to see that one of the smaller children in the game of tag was Pedro. Mulder sat in the shade, and Krycek finally took in that it was a beautiful autumn day. He opened the wrought iron gate, and Pedro saw him in the next heartbeat. He abandoned the game and streaked towards him, flat out. Mulder stood as Krycek had to brace himself to catch Pedro.

Pedro grabbed his shirt and sniffed deeply. "Bad man," he accused.

"Nice to see you, too," Krycek said.

Pedro's accusing look didn't alter.

"Pedro, don't, not now," Krycek said, and the boy relaxed somewhat, but Mulder interrupted them.

"Lunch?"

Krycek's stomach suddenly reminded him that it did exist and was getting tired of being ignored, but he shook his head. "We should be going," he said.

"I promised Pedro I'd take him for ice cream," Mulder said. He bent over, leaning on his knees. "Didn't I, Pedro?"

He spoke slowly in the tone that most people reserve for stupid animals. Pedro looked at Krycek in disgust, and Krycek put his hand on the boy's head. "Mulder, he understands just fine," Krycek said.

"I want ice cream," Pedro said, suddenly.

They both stared at him. "I want ice cream," Pedro repeated, speaking more slowly. He looked back and forth between the two of them and frowned. "Alex?"

"Ice cream it is," Krycek said. Pedro took his hand again, and led the way out of the park.

Pedro didn't look up from the banana split. "He said you went to the smoker," Mulder said.

"He's my boss, Mulder," Krycek said. "Do I ask you about every time you go see Skinner?"

Mulder leaned into his space. "I don't suck Skinner's dick," he hissed.

"Really?" Krycek asked. "I thought you did."

Mulder pulled away in disgust. Pedro looked up, alarmed. "It's okay," Krycek said. Pedro glared at Mulder and went back to his dish.

"He doesn't like me much, does he?" Mulder asked.

"He doesn't like anyone," Krycek said.

Mulder put his hand under the table, and Krycek felt it on his thigh. He pushed it off. Mulder took the brush-off well and toyed with his fries again.

The next day, Krycek brought Pedro back to the speech pathologist. Pedro stiffened as Amanda opened her office door. Krycek put a hand on his back to propel him forward, but the boy locked his legs and wouldn't move.

"No," Pedro said. He concentrated for a moment, face tightening.

Amanda frowned. "Mr. Jackson?"

Krycek knelt down again, and Pedro grabbed him tightly. "He had a really bad scare last night," Krycek said.

"Pedro?" Amanda asked.

Krycek stood up. Pedro gripped onto his thigh. "I'm sorry, he does this," Krycek said.

"Then we shouldn't push it. Maybe some other time," she said, glancing to the clock on the wall. "You were my last session."

Pedro still hadn't moved off his thigh. It was an invitation, and Krycek knew it, but he was too tired and didn't want to leave Pedro alone for the night.

"I have a thing tonight, but are you free tomorrow?" he asked. He winced at the awkwardness, feeling like a teenager.

She laughed. "I could be," she said.

"Dinner?" he asked, as Pedro tightened his grip on his thigh. He winced, trying to adjust Pedro's grip down a couple inches.

"Call me," she said. She walked around the secretary's desk and rummaged through it. She pulled out a business card and gave him it. "Please."

He took it. Pedro tugged on his shirt, and Krycek let the boy pull him away.

"What happened?" Krycek asked, once they were on the street.

Pedro shook his head.

"Pedro, don't do this. Tell me," Krycek said.

The boy shook his head again. "Was it about last night?"

Pedro shook his head. "What then?"

Pedro tugged on his hand again. Krycek exhaled, but let the boy pull him down. "Eventually you are going to tell me what happened," he said.

"Bad man."

"I told you, the bad man isn't going to hurt you anymore."

Pedro looked up at him. "Bad man!"

"Okay, bad man," Krycek agreed. He took Pedro home.

#

Amanda paused, just before she opened the door. "Would you like to come up?" she asked.

"No. With the boy..." he didn't finish. He almost would have liked to, but his stomach tightened. It wasn't worry, but he was...anxious...to get home. She smiled like she understood and got out of the car.

Pedro was curled up on the sofa when he got home. He paid off the teenager from down the hall, and then picked up the boy and took him into his room. Pedro didn't wake up, and Krycek carefully closed the door behind him.

He showered, suddenly exhausted, but once he made it to his bed, he couldn't sleep. He groped for the phone, dialing the number in the dark. Mulder finally answered it. "Hello?"

"Did I wake you?" Krycek asked, cradling the phone on his shoulder.

"Krycek?" Mulder asked. Krycek heard something fall, and the bed creaked as Mulder retrieved it. "It's...three o'clock in the morning."

"Uh-huh," Krycek said. He slipped his hand under the blanket and sighed.

"What are you doing, Krycek?" Mulder asked. Krycek heard the blankets rustle.

"Isn't it, obvious?" Krycek ran his hand down his belly, letting his legs fall open.

"If you're doing what I think you're doing, don't you need me to be more...active?"

"No," Krycek said. "Not really." He rubbed his lower belly, feeling the thrill start in the base of his spine.

The blankets rustled again. "Would you like me to be? More active, I mean," Mulder asked. His voice had dropped as well.

"If you want," Krycek said. His fingers worked down to the base of his cock, and he hissed as he jumped at the touch. "Or you can talk about cattle mutilations, I'm good with either."

"You just told me more about your personality than I ever want to know, Krycek."

"Um-huh?" Krycek asked. His hand was dry, and he struggled to keep the phone in place as he reached for the bed-side table drawer.

"It doesn't really matter what I say, does it?" Mulder asked.

"Anyone ever called you a tease before, Mulder?" Krycek asked. He pushed the pump down a couple times, and brought the hand cream back under the blankets.

"Not really. Spooky, sorry son of a bitch, freak," Mulder said, and Krycek almost saw him counting them off on his fingers. The cream against his skin was cold, and he shuddered.

"Freak," Krycek muttered under his breath. "Say something sexy."

"The average length of an adult male penis is 6.5 inches," Mulder said.

With his hand otherwise occupied, Krycek had to turn his face into the pillow to keep from making a sound. He lost control of the phone, and it took some awkward shimmying to get it back where it belonged. "Mulder, please," Krycek finally managed. The cream had warmed to body temperature while he managed the phone, and if he squeezed his hand slightly just below the tip, his entire body shuddered again. "Don't do this to me."

"You're doing it all to yourself," Mulder said, but Krycek heard the blankets move again. "If I were there, you wouldn't have to."

Finally. Krycek relaxed, stretching out. He kept his hand moving lazily even if it did make him break out in a sweat. "I'd put you on your knees in front of me," Mulder continued.

"This is supposed to be my jerk-off fantasy," Krycek said, but his breath caught and his hand squeezed just a little bit harder.

"This is your jerk-off fantasy."

"You think you're what I think about?" Krycek demanded. He closed his eyes, moving his hips as much as he dared to keep the bed from squeaking.

"You called me, remember?"

"You're what I think about," Krycek confessed. He could deny it in the morning.

"Me, too, Krycek."

Krycek had to laugh, but it sounded weak in his ear. "You're what you think about? Among those names did anyone toss out megalomaniac?"

"Ohhh, big word. Do you want to be on your knees or not?"

"I'm on my knees." Krycek swallowed, but it didn't help his dry throat any. His body flushed, and he had to purposely slow down. "And?"

"And what? I'm handcuffed to the wall. What exactly do you want me to do about it?"

The logical part of his brain realized how completely illogical this all was, but he stopped breathing. His hand froze, and it took a moment for his body to work again while his heartbeat echoed hollowly in his throat. "You're an evil man, Mulder," he finally said. "Are your hands behind you or are you dangling from them?"

"I'd like to say behind me, but you have an evil streak in you."

Mulder, stretched and naked in front of him. Krycek felt his mouth dry as much as his throat. He would have liked to scratch his nails down the white skin of Mulder's chest, just to see the harsh red welts raise, but then realized that this was his fantasy and he could do whatever he wanted. "Evil," he agreed.

He was losing his power of speech. It wouldn't be long now. His body felt sensitive enough that the sheets were starting to feel prickly. His hand was moving too fast against his dick; he could never convince it to slow down and the warm flush was now a heat wave across his body. "Mulder--"

"Anything you want, Krycek," Mulder said.

Krycek hung up the phone. He closed his eyes and slept for the whole night.

Pedro woke him up again. "Going somewhere?" he asked.

Pedro just looked at him.

"What's a matter, you done with talking?"

Pedro tugged on his arm. Krycek sat up, but kept the blankets around his waist. "Look, I need to get dressed," he said.

Pedro tugged on his arm again. "No, Pedro. Go wait for me in the other room."

Pedro shook his head, face tense.

The bedroom door opened. Krycek pulled the boy over him and between him and the bed. He reached under his pillow, clicking off the safety of his gun. "Get out," he said.

"Put the gun away," the smoker said.

"Pedro, stay here," he said. He stood up, motioning the smoker out with the gun.

The smoker tried to intimidate him, looking down at his naked body. "Up late again? Busy on the phone last night?" the smoker asked.

Krycek flushed, but jammed his gun against the smoker's jaw and slammed the man's head against the wall three times. "That's how you knock."

The smoker shook his head. He tried to push away, but even one-handed, Krycek was able to muscle him in place. "The consequences of your actions will go under review, Krycek," the smoker gritted out.

"I'm not your whore anymore, Spender. Fuck you. The next time I see you in my home I will fucking shoot you in the testicles and dance as you bleed to death," he growled. The smoker's eyes widened, and Krycek almost pulled the trigger just to spite the man. He backed off, slightly, and motioned towards the door. "Now get the fuck out of here."

The smoker groped for the door and slammed it behind him.

Krycek paused, and the realization of when he had just done hit him hard.

Krycek turned around. Pedro stared at him from the door, eyes wide. "Bad man?" he asked.

"He's gone," Krycek said. He walked past the boy, body covered in cold sweat, and shook his head. "Get your coat and shoes on, Pedro, we have to go out."

"Bad man--"

Krycek turned on him. "Not now, Pedro. Go get dressed!" he snapped.

Pedro left. Krycek dressed quickly. Pedro was tying his shoe when Krycek came out again, and he dropped down to tie the other one. He grabbed the boy's hand, locked the door, and they ran down to his car.

They had given him that much time. He drove straight to Mulder's and banged on the door until Mulder answered it. His hair was wild and he wore sweats. Pedro howled as Krycek pushed him towards Mulder. "Take him."

"Krycek?"

Krycek swallowed. "Look, I'm in a whole lot of shit. Take the boy. If I'm still around in a couple days, I'll get a hold of you."

"Alex, no!" Pedro howled. "No, no, no, no, no!"

Krycek dropped to his knees. Pedro wrapped his arms around his neck. "Alex, don't go!"

Mulder stood back, but Krycek ignored him. "Pedro, look at me," Krycek said, trying to pull the boy back, but the boy's grip was like iron. Krycek finally wrapped his arm around the boy. "I'm not going because I want to," he said, softly. "I'll be back."

"You won't! You said you won't!"

"Pedro...please, I need you to be brave. The bad man isn't going to hurt you any more."

Pedro froze, but broke away from him. The boy went into the apartment without looking back. "Krycek, you can't just leave him here. What am I going to do?" Mulder asked.

Krycek pulled out a bankcard. "The PIN number is your phone number. There should be enough there to keep him in schools for a long time. Take care of him, Mulder."

Mulder grabbed his arm. "What about you?"

Krycek looked at Pedro, sitting with his back to the door. "Don't worry about me," he said.

"The kid obviously does," Mulder said.

"The kid's a cynic."

"Takes after his dad."

Krycek paused, not letting himself flush. "I gotta get going before they come looking."

"Krycek, you could always give evidence--"

Krycek laughed. "Not a chance, Mulder. They know how to kill a person and how not to."

"Be careful?"

"I'll try."

They grabbed him just outside of his apartment. He had been expecting them, but they surprised him. The two men jumped him, but they knew which arm to secure. He struggled, but couldn't break free in the time it took the sedan to screech to a halt. He stopped fighting as they forced him inside; there was no need for added bruises.

"Where's the kid?" the driver demanded.

Krycek stared out the window. The guy to his left whacked him across the mouth, and he cut the inside of his mouth open. Hot, coppery blood filled his mouth, and he swallowed rather than spit. He grunted, but didn't look up.

"Where's the kid?" the driver repeated.

"What kid?" Krycek demanded.

"He's gotta be with Mulder," the guy who hit him said.

"Shit."

Krycek coughed, trying to shift so that his ribcage didn't hurt so much, but they whacked him again and he settled down.

Once inside the consortium office, they took him to the seventeenth floor; the floor that the elevator didn't stop at. He kept careful grip on the banister down the steep stairs, but knew they probably wouldn't kill him before his mock trial. Instead of offices, they had interrogation and holding rooms. The new type of cubicles for the modern office. A bald man, twice as thick as Krycek, stood up. "Strip."

Krycek didn't bother fighting. There was no way off seventeen if they didn't want him gone. He pulled off his shirt, shivering. The big man took it and folded it neatly. "Your arm, too, Mr. Krycek."

Krycek stepped back. The big man didn't interpret it as an escape attempt, because he only held out his hand. "It's only policy, Mr. Krycek."

"How many other one-armed operatives do you have?" Krycek asked.

"Nothing to hang yourself with. You will be given it back for your trial."

The man's voice was gentle. When Krycek got out of here, he decided to spare the man's life. He undid the buckles, even more awkward with someone watching, and passed it to the man. He undid his jeans with his single hand, and had to struggle with it. He had to pull off his boots and socks, but the man shook his head as he went to pull down his shorts. They were leaving him with some decency. He already liked them better than the smoker.

Still, it was cold in the barren cell and he felt off-balanced without the weight of the false arm. The smoker didn't come to see him, but other operatives that he had either worked with or against for the past five years came up. There was nothing behind the bars but a single chair, and he sat down to watch the changing parade in front of him. He ignored their looks, it was like being a zoo animal or a corpse set up for the viewing. More the latter than the former.

The man with the squeaky voice ended the freak show. Krycek didn't know exactly how long he had been kept in there, but it was short enough that his bladder never crossed the line between pressing and urgent.

"This way, Mr. Krycek," the man said.

Krycek followed him, and the floor was cold to his bare feet. His heels were numb by the time they crossed the seventeenth floor to the interrogation rooms. "Do you need to use the washroom?" the man asked.

Krycek nodded. The toilet was in another cubicle without a door, but he was beyond modesty. He closed his eyes, and the pain from his bladder lessened. He wondered if he would be pissing blood by morning, but then forced himself not to think about it.

"This is your second visit to the seventeenth floor, Mr. Krycek," the man said. His file was open on the desk in front of him, and Krycek didn't even try to read what was on it. "The first time was after that unfortunate inoculation incident. I have to say, Mr. Krycek. You are the first agent to visit the floor twice. How are your ribs, by the way?"

Krycek touched the rough bones under his finger. "Healed," he said. He barely remembered his last visit here. Only the manicured man had saved his life, getting him out, cleaning him up. He had spent some time in England, healing, and remembered hearing the man's grandchildren playing from his sickroom. It seemed a long time ago. He actually missed the old man; he was the first person who hadn't wanted anything from him.

The squeaky voiced man let him reminisce for a moment longer. "I don't think there will be another handler as willing to take you on, Mr. Krycek. Rogue agents usually end up as mulch, and we both know that."

Krycek nodded. "I know," he said.

"You weren't a bad operative, Mr. Krycek. What changed?"

Krycek glanced to where they kept the iron bars, and waited. The man's assistant pulled him to his feet by his throat and slammed his fist into Krycek's ribs. Krycek coughed, but didn't respond.

"No operative has ever returned to the seventeenth floor, Mr. Krycek. The first method we had obviously made an impression on you. They say you tried to adopt a child. Why was that?"

Krycek shook his head again. The man nodded, and the assistant punched him again. "One more time," the man said. Krycek groaned as the man punched him a third time. His breath was knocked from him, but with the hand over his throat, he couldn't have inhaled even if it were possible. The assistant dropped him, and he fell down on the stool. They left him alone until he could breathe again.

"Well, that is not going to work," the man said, and left the cubicle for a moment. When he returned, he carried a black, doctor's bag. "I had hoped not to come down to this," the man said, sounding genuinely disappointed. He pulled out a vial and filled a syringe. "My own little creation. It should make things easier for you."

Krycek bolted out of his chair. "No!" he said, backing up. "I can't...not that."

The man stood up and nodded, and suddenly men surrounded Krycek. He fought, kicking and lashing out, but the immobilized him. The jab of pain in his arm made him tense, but they chained him to the chair and waited.

The shifting sounds started first. He'd hear a conversation from across the floor as if it was beside him, yet couldn't hear the beating of his heart from his chest. Colours joined the sounds in their weird dance, and he let his head fall to his chest to keep them from touching him.

Someone tried to shake him awake, but he was so tired he just grunted. "Mr. Krycek?" the man asked.

"What?"

"We still need to ask you some questions. "The boy. You wanted to adopt him."

Krycek yawned, but shook his head. "Not adopt," he said, sounding like the boy. "I just...took him."

"Why, Mr. Krycek?"

"Why not? Fucked up kid, fucked up life. I didn't want him."

"You didn't want him?"

"To fuck himself over. Took him in. Sweet kid."

"You're very fond of him?" Krycek nodded. "What did Spender say about that?"

"Burden, doorway, kid had to go."

"But you didn't want the kid to leave."

Krycek shook his head. "Told him, if ever back in my 'partment I'd fucking shoot him. Kid had enough strangers in his life. "Fucker kept coming back, terrorizing the kid. Not again."

"Where is the boy now?"

"Mulder's."

"You left the boy with Agent Mulder?" the man demanded.

Krycek nodded. The pain slacked off, and he was able to take a breath without it hurting.

"You were under orders not to have contact with Agent Mulder. Did your handler know?"

Krycek opened his mouth, but the shooting pain crashed down the vein of his neck. He nodded again.

"And he allowed it," the man continued.

"We had...an arrangement," Krycek said, not looking up.

"And what were the terms of this arrangement."

Krycek looked at him. He inhaled until it became painful to do so. "He..." New sweat broke out down his back and it chilled him. "I..." he winced, trying to force the words out without feeling them.

"He exchanged sexual favours for sexual favours," the man said.

Krycek nodded, gratefully.

"Good. And how long has this deal been going on?"

"Three years," Krycek said, not looking up.

"You can go back to your room now, Mr. Krycek."

Krycek pushed to his feet, but had to grip onto the wall. Whatever the shot inside him was, it had started to make him shiver as his body came down from it. His knees and elbows ached, and his head began to throb. "Help him," the man said, and the bald guard took him by the elbow.

The cell was cold. Krycek forsook the chair and curled up against the bars. He hugged his arm to his body, but it didn't seem to warm him any. It took practice for him push away the pain, but nothing could stop the worry.

He had never worried before. He had nothing to worry about. He hadn't planned on the kid; obviously, but he wasn't going to give the boy up easily. He assumed Mulder would send the kid to the state; Pedro wasn't his responsibility.

Krycek pressed the palm of his hand against his temple, and forced himself not to think about it. It had to be evening; half the lights were off and the amount of guards had halved, but the guard came to the door. Krycek looked up, trying not to shiver.

"They haven't given you a blanket?"

Krycek didn't answer; it seemed obvious enough. They wouldn't bother to keep a dead man warm the night before his execution.

The man looked down the aisle, and then unlocked the door. He took off his jacket and tossed it to Krycek. Krycek wrapped it around, grateful for the residual body heat, but didn't look up again.

He slept, uneasily, and woke when the door being unlocked. "Up," the guard said.

Krycek looked up, not recognizing the man. He pushed to his feet, struggling with the jacket so that it was over his shoulders. "Out."

Krycek went where the guard pointed, and stumbled as the man pushed him. He walked past the room where they had shot him up the night before, and the aisle between the row of cells and cubicles was narrow, claustrophobic. The guard hadn't told him to stop. Past the open toilet was an open shower. "Clean yourself up," the man ordered.

There was no privacy. Krycek shrugged off the coat and pulled down his shorts. The shower only had a single water tap, and drops of dried blood covered the cement walls of the shower. He showered quickly, and not just because the water was cold. He didn't think the shower was used for the living.

He stood, shivering, but the guard had disappeared. Escape wasn't an option; there was no way off the floor and they would damage him more for his trouble.

The bald man came around the corner, carrying a bundle of clothes and his arm. The man put the bundle down on the floor. "I don't have a towel," the man said, almost apologetic as he passed Krycek his arm.

Krycek really didn't care. He strapped his arm on, and even the straps against his cold, wet skin didn't bother him. He felt human again just from the balancing weight of it. "Thank you," he said.

The guard nodded, and then turned around to give him the illusion of privacy as he dressed. Completely unneeded, since Krycek had spent the past five minutes dripping naked in front of him, but it was a nice touch. He combed his hair with his fingers as the bald man turned back around. "What's going to happen?" Krycek asked.

The bald man looked at him, and Krycek almost took it back. It wasn't his place to ask questions, and the man had every right to ignore him, but the man jerked his thumb up. "You're wanted upstairs."

Krycek tensed, "Upstairs?" he asked. If he was going to go through a mock-trial, they would have been held inside of the cubicles in the center of the seventeenth floor.

"They are waiting for you, Mr. Krycek."

He took the stairs up, alone.

He was ushered into another office, almost identical to every office he had seen in the building. Dark wood, leather chairs, dim lighting, the only difference was the room had a plastic sheet spread out on the floor. He walked over it and stood on the carpet between it and the desk. The squeaky-voiced man waited behind the desk, but Krycek ignored the smoker, sitting behind him. Other members of the consortium sat around the room, and Krycek was suddenly aware of how his clothes stuck to his skin.

"Tell us of your deal," the squeaky man said.

Krycek shook his head.

"You are trying our patience, Alex. Tell us of the deal you have with your handler or we will have to extract it from you."

He glanced to the smoker, but the man's face was impassive. "There was no deal," he said.

The squeaky man stood up. "You disappoint me, Alex. I thought you would have been more co-operative."

Krycek stepped back, and the plastic under his foot crackled. He recognized the saw the squeaky man took out as a surgical bone saw, and there was no way he was going to let them cut off his other arm. "We had a deal," he said, too quickly. The smoker suddenly looked alarmed, but when he went to stand up, two other consortium men blocked his path. "I'd fuck him if he'd let me be with Mulder."

The squeaky-voiced man put the saw away. "Thank you, Mr. Krycek," he said, and then nodded to the two men. They manhandled the smoker out of the room, and the rest of the consortium filed out, leaving Krycek alone on the plastic with the squeaky man.

"You may go, Mr. Krycek."

"I'm not...betraying Mulder." Krycek said.

"No one has asked you to betray Mulder, Mr. Krycek."

Krycek took another step back, but no one stopped him. He made it to the office door, and then the elevator, and then into the lobby, and still, no one stopped him. He almost ran to the street to hail a cab, but didn't want to let his control slip.

Mulder answered the door, barely getting out of the way in time as Pedro streaked past him. Pedro hit Krycek hard, and the sudden pain from his ribs knocked him down. Pedro ignored his grimace, and sat down over his stomach. "You left," he accused.

"Off," Krycek groaned. Pedro froze for a second, and then pulled on his T-shirt.

"Bad man," Pedro said, managing to lift the shirt high enough to see the beginning of the purple bruises. "Ow," he said, tracing the bruises.

"Ow," Krycek agreed, through gritted teeth. "Now please, get off me."

Pedro reluctantly got up, but only long enough for Mulder to help him to his feet and then reattached himself around Krycek's thigh. "What happened?" Mulder asked.

"Not now," Krycek said, putting his hand over Pedro's head. Pedro didn't look up from hugging Krycek's leg. Mulder stepped back, and Krycek realized he was still in the hall.

Pedro moved with him into the apartment. Mulder sat down, but when Krycek went to join him, but Pedro wormed his way in between them. Krycek went to push him down, but put his arm around the boy and pulled him closer instead. Pedro pulled into him, and Krycek sighed, putting his head over the boy's.

"Krycek?"

He opened his eyes, not realizing that he had closed them. "Huh."

"Anything I can do?"

"Food?" Krycek asked.

Mulder got off the couch. Krycek curled up over his space, and it only took Pedro a minute to worm under his arm and curl up next to him. Pedro smelled clean, like shampoo and toothpaste. He hugged the boy as close as he could without it hurting his ribs, and fell asleep.

He woke up, and it was dark inside again. Pedro was gone, and when he tried sat up, his ribs throbbed. "He's in the bedroom," Mulder said, guiding him back to his lap.

Krycek jumped. He hadn't realized he had been using Mulder's lap as a pillow. His stomach suddenly became aware that it hadn't been used in over thirty hours and growled, painfully. Krycek sighed, not willing to move. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" Mulder asked.

Krycek shook his head. "Not much to tell. They shot me up with some shit and I told them everything."

"Everything?" Mulder asked, and his hand stopped stroking Krycek's hair for a moment.

Krycek nodded.

"And they..." Mulder didn't finish.

"They let me go," Krycek said.

Mulder didn't relax. Krycek sighed, and then groaned as he rolled onto his back. "I never would have come back if you were in danger," he said.

"I really thought you were dead."

Mulder's voice was thick. Krycek reached up to touch his face. "Me, too," he said.

Mulder lifted up his shirt again, and Krycek glanced down to the bruises. "Um...yeah," he said. "I fell down?"

Mulder just looked at him. He put his hand over Krycek's belly. "The food's cold but it's edible."

Krycek sat up, but made a face as the straps rubbed his skin. "What are you going to do about the kid?" Mulder asked.

"What about him?" Krycek asked. "He's coming home with me in the morning."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what are you going to do with him?"

"Mulder, stop asking. He's mine."

"You can't just take a kid. You need...paperwork...and identification."

Krycek struggled with his jacket, standing up. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"The boy is asleep."

"He wakes up easily," Krycek said. He went into the bedroom, and Pedro jerked away when Krycek touched his shoulder. "Come on, we're going."

"Home?" Pedro asked, blinking.

"Yeah, home," Krycek said. Pedro sat up. Krycek offered his hand, and Pedro gripped it tightly.

"Krycek--" he began.

Krycek stared at him, blankly.

Mulder stepped out of his way.

"Home," Pedro announced, stepping into the apartment. It hadn't changed any, but it felt different. He went through the kitchen, trying to find something, and ended up smearing some of the cheese food on a slice of bread. Pedro pulled back a chair and sat down to watch him. Krycek swallowed the mouthful and looked at the boy. "You hungry too?"

Pedro nodded, solemnly.

"Pizza?"

Pedro nodded again.

Krycek picked up the phone, and was halfway through the order, when the doorbell rang. "Don't get that," Krycek called, and the doorbell rang again. He finished the call, but Pedro had opened the door.

Amanda looked up from holding onto the boy's arm. Pedro jerked back, bolting into Krycek's room, and Amanda stood up. "Alex."

"What are you doing here, Amanda?" Krycek asked.

She had a gun out before he finished the sentence. He didn't have his gun with him, and he stepped between her and his bedroom. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Did you ever wonder why I was able to take you in with less than six hours notice?" she asked. "You shouldn't have turned him in, Krycek. Did you think that he would let you get away with it?"

Krycek turned cold. "If you're going to shoot me, let's go outside," Krycek said, lowering his voice.

"The boy is part of the hit, Krycek."

"No."

"No?" she asked. "You don't have much choice."

Krycek took a step forward. "He's just a boy," he said. He knew it was begging, and that nothing a mark had said to him saved the mark's life, but he realized that he had to try. He continued, digging his own grave. "Amanda, please. He's just a kid."

"Bad man," Pedro said behind him. Pedro didn't differentiate between bad men and bad women. Krycek could have slapped himself again.

"Go back into the bedroom," Krycek said, not turning around until he heard the safety click off.

Pedro stood with Krycek's gun in his hand. The boy's hands shook with the weight, but Krycek dove for the kid as he heard a gun going off, then he grabbed his gun from the boy and covered him with his body. He hadn't been hit and he didn't feel the boy shudder with pain, but he waited for the second bullet to tear through him. It bought them seconds, but that didn't matter. Pedro was limp in his arms, accepting, and Krycek held him tighter.

The bullet never happen. "Krycek?" Mulder asked from the doorway.

Krycek didn't move for a heartbeat, but then sat up and cradled the boy to his chest so he wouldn't see Amanda's body lying on the floor. He picked the boy up and carried him into his bedroom.

Pedro's face was white when Krycek pried the gun from his hand. "You never, ever touch this again," he snapped, stopping himself from throwing the boy on the bed. "Do you hear me?"

Pedro looked up at him, terrified. Krycek threw the gun in the corner of his room. He went to shake the boy, but when he put his hand over the boy's shoulder, he suddenly gathered the boy and held him to his chest. "You scared me," he said.

Pedro started to cry. Krycek held him, rocking him back and forth as Mulder came to the door. "Krycek, I have to do something about the..." he paused.

Krycek shook his head. "Give me a minute and I'll take care of it," he said.

"Krycek--"

"A minute, Mulder," Krycek snapped. Pedro still shuddered in his arm, and he shushed the boy. He picked up the phone and dialed a number without looking at the keypad. He gave his address to the machine, and hung up.

By the time the pizza came, the body had been taken care of. Even the bloodstain on the carpet had been lifted. Pedro clung to him as he paid the pizza boy off, and stayed by his side as they sat at the kitchen table to eat.

"Why did you come back?" Krycek asked when the pizza no longer held his interest. His stomach was pleasantly full for the first time, and Pedro was asleep with his arms folded on the table.

"I wanted to tell you I was sorry," Mulder said. Krycek knew he had been shocked when Krycek sat down and ate after what had happened, but Krycek had always been a pragmatist.

"When you're sorry enough to shoot the very best," Krycek said. He reached for his beer, but didn't realize it was empty until he had brought it to his lips. "Have I thanked you?"

Mulder shook his head.

"Thank you," Krycek said. Mulder ignored the pizza grease on his hand as he took it between his. Krycek could feel it fuzzily, and realized the two beers had hit him harder with the starvation.

"Put Pedro to bed," Mulder said.

Krycek nodded and stood. He picked the boy up and carried him to the bedroom and then joined Mulder back into the room.

"What happened to the smoker?" Mulder asked.

Krycek drew his finger across his throat. He refrained from adding sound effects.

"You know that for sure?"

"Not many people come back from where he went," Krycek said. He had, twice, but he ignored the niggling doubt. He sat down beside Mulder, and winced as they tried to kiss. "Sorry," he said. He must have hit the floor harder than he thought.

"Don't apologize," Mulder said. He stood up and pulled Krycek to his feet. It was light outside, but they pulled off their clothes and collapsed into bed. Krycek sighed, ignoring his pillow for Mulder's arm. "Tomorrow, can you get me a list of the best boarding schools in the state?" he asked.

"You're sending him away?"

"He knows were I keep my spare gun. He could have shot his head off."

"First thing tomorrow," Mulder promised.

"You still think I'll fuck him over, don't you?"

"Not anymore," Mulder said.

Krycek looked up at him. "What changed?"

"You love him."

"Mulder--" Krycek began, but fell silent and lay back down. "Forget it."

"One day you are going to have tell him that."

"He knows I do," Krycek said.

"What makes you say that?" Mulder demanded.

Krycek closed his eyes. "I haven't told you, and you know, right?"

Mulder touched his cheek, and Krycek turned to the touch. "I know," Mulder whispered.

~End~