"There are strange flowers of reason to match each error of the senses."
He stands like he always does, at least the relatively few times I've seen him. Legs shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. Upper body poised. Ready to attack or retreat in one single smooth motion. He is muscular but sleek, like a panther, and his eyes are green; in harmony with the image. He wears all black and his dark hair is cut close to his head, further pressing the illusion. It is completely logical I should see him this way, in this meaning-laden manner. He is a danger to me.
Unconnected thoughts passing through my mind are to be expected. I am in fight-or-flight mode and my brain is focused on my body and potential action. I think that I have never seen a man so beautiful before. His hands are large and one is covered by a black leather glove.
Mulder is speaking to him, but his eyes are on mine as I hold the sleek, deadly Sig Sauer pointed at his chest. I notice that he is speaking calmly, smoothly. He argues well, but I am distracted from his words by the throaty purring sound of his voice. It is completely sensible I would pay attention to the indications given by his tone, which is more likely to signal true intent than the things he is saying.
Mulder replies angrily and I see Krycek's lips twist a little in amusement. Now my partner is attacking him, trying to pummel him into the hard cement floor of the deserted warehouse into which Krycek has lured us. The larger, heavier man is not trying to strike back at Mulder though I can see the pain of Mulder's blow to his ribs in tightened lines around the no-longer smiling mouth. It is immanently rational for me to shout out a command for Mulder to stop. If the tableau becomes disordered, my force advantage with the gun could be lost. Krycek too may be carrying a weapon which he could use the distraction to draw.
I see my partner's surprise and chagrin as he pulls away from Krycek, who is still on the ground favoring his side. Mulder is looking at me for reassurance after the harsh way I have shouted at him. In spite of this, I naturally keep my eyes trained on the green ones looking up at me with such arrogance even from his disadvantaged position. It would be irrational to let anything distract me from tracking a potential threat.
Situations like this one have been all too common in my life in the last six years. Mulder, myself, an enemy, and a gun. This time, the gun is in /my/ hand, where I intend for it to stay. There have been too many times when a sudden emotional outburst on someone's part has tipped the balance of power against me. I do /not/ like being helpless. Each move I make now I intend to perform with exactitude. If Mulder would think rationally, he'd see that we are in power here, and Krycek can only wrest the advantage from us if we allow it. The equation is so simple. Act under pressure, lose. Act with forethought and logic, win.
Mulder likes to mock my rationality, but it has provided me with safety in insecure moments many times before. It has also, on occasion, saved his ass. I hope that it will save his ass again. The tense, observant man slowly standing with his hands raised over his head in response to my command may or may not have a gun. But he certainly has the ability to control Mulder. And through Mulder, me. His eyes have still never left mine. I am certain, watching the tiny muscles around them flicker, that he also is weighing each move carefully, choosing his path logically. He did not strike my emotional partner, though he could have. He did not attempt to use him as a shield.
When I ask him what he wants, my voice hums too loudly in the dense silence that has fallen. Another wry twist of his mouth, and he shrugs almost casually. He tells us he has come to trade information. He will tell us where the insects and grain that were geared for colonization are being stored if we will tell him what we know about what happened to Jeffrey Spender. Stray thoughts cross my mind; admiration for his acting ability, curiosity about his true thoughts. Consciousness of the roughness on his cheeks from days without shaving. Of course he is lying. He must be able to find out everything we know through the damn surveillance devices. Unless he is no longer given access to them? But this man could probably achieve anything he attempted, let alone get a few tapes. It only makes sense to believe he's that competent, given what I know of his history and the fact that he is still even alive.
When I point this out, he laughs. Mulder moves aggressively and I stop him with a harsh word. I'm right, Krycek says. His real motivation is just to give us the information so we can work with him to defeat the remaining members of the Consortium. He does not respond to Mulder's attack on his ability to honor any alliance. He simply looks at me and waits.
We are alone, Mulder and I. We have only a few elements of power on our side. Krycek has abilities and knowledge that could greatly help us. He is also a proven liar at least, and maybe a murderer and traitor as well. His eyes meet mine as I carefully consider. My partner is silent, considering also. He yearns to find answers and he knows Krycek has at least some of them. He is tempted. I will make a logical choice, Mulder is a creature of impulse and faith.
I hesitate, reflecting. I have a sudden certainty that this proposal is for real, that Krycek's wish to ally himself with us is genuine. I meet his eyes again, and they seem to soften for a moment.
Taking intuition into account when making important decisions on little data is only reasonable.