SquidgeWorld Archive

Five ways Alex Krycek and Fox Mulder never met
by Sallycandance

~1~

High School sucks for everybody. Those who are not cool, or not cool enough (whatever that means), the geeks, the nerds, the losers, have to deal with mockery and physical abuse by the self-proclaimed campus-kings. While the latter vent their peer-pressure induced frustration on those not big enough to fight back. It is like a big pot full of boiling tomato-sauce, and the teachers try their best to keep the lid on to prevent collateral splattering.

Alex Krycek had the fortune and misfortune to belong to a gang. They were four guys, each offspring of at least one Russian parent and all of them arch enemies, or suspicious allies, of about a dozen other gangs, depending on the date of the day and the turn of the tide.
Alex didn’t hang around other people, he kept to his three closest friends, even if that meant spending nights perfectly suited for star-gazing at Suzy’s (shabby) Diner, smoking Morley’s and talking nonsense. He was an angry kid and he had learned early in his high school career to piss off others, before they had the chance to piss him off. He was a wise-cracking, know-it-all, been-there-done-that guy and he looked down upon everyone else on the planet, because nobody could even assume how fucked up life was.

On one of the worse days, Alex’s parents had had another dramatic argument over breakfast and he was sure that divorce was just going to be a formality now. He was running late for class. Smoking three cigarettes to ease his tension, he had lost track of time on his way to school and would be way too late for Mr Seaver’s literature class. He decided to skip altogether and headed for the men’s room (because they weren’t boys anymore).

When he pushed open the doors, he nearly bumped into two wannabe star-quarterbacks, who were leaving the bathroom, laughing maliciously. One of them barked a, “Fucking freak!” and Alex would have liked to teach him a lesson then and there, but noticed in time that a) he was alone and no match, muscle-wise, and that b) they weren’t talking to him anyway. Besides, he was in no mood for anything at the moment, he even toyed with the idea of leaving the grounds and spend the rest of the day somewhere far away from both school and his home.

So he let it go and slipped inside the brightly lit room to have another smoke before the next period.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t alone. In front of the mirrors stood a student his age. Alex even recognized him vaguely, as he was meticulously inspecting his face. He had no intention of starting a conversation with the guy, and made for one of the stalls. A familiar voice stopped him, though.
“You’ll have to say something vile and miscreant quickly, if you want your friends to keep on respecting you, who are, no doubt, standing behind the bathroom door, listening.”

Alex turned, “What?” and then he recognized the guy. His name had slipped him, but he sat in some of his classes. The voice had sounded familiar because he was one of those over-communicative egg-heads, who was always challenging the teacher’s opinion on everything. Alex dimly recalled rumours about something that had to do with aliens, which was why he was officially stamped a ‘freak’ by scholastic opinion.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t come here to pick on me, too? I seem to be the target of the day—so here’s your chance.”

Alex shook his head. He was more discouraged than angry, and he really didn’t feel like bullying. In fact, he felt a lot like his opposite looked. Fishing for his pack of Morley’s, he made a step towards the other, “Quite the shiner you got there.”

“Oh, you noticed, huh?!”

He offered him a cigarette, which the other one declined, “No thanks, I intent to live a few years longer than cancer infested lungs would allow me. If I make it through today, that is.” Despite his situation, he managed a chuckle. Alex liked that—he disrespected (and occasionally beat up) whiners.

He lit his smoke, then held out a hand, “Alex.”

“Fox. But call me Mulder, please—it’s a long story.”

Alex looked at his watch, “Plenty of time. Say, I was gonna go spend the day at Suzy’s—care to join me?”

~2~

The new man in town never had it easy. Sure, at the academy they had given the NATS a detailed map for Quantico, and there were already rumours going round as to which topless bars were worth the entry fee. But Alex Krycek wasn’t one for topless bar cruising. At least not when the models had breasts.

So he spent the first week completely shut away in his new apartment, getting acquainted with the nearest surroundings and the proper use of his brand new espresso machine (the manual was provided in Italian, French, Spanish and German—he shouldn’t have bought it at that little Italian import store in the first place). But on the ninth night he got tired of rereading the papers for their classes, he had already finished the latest Grisham and was bored out of his wits. He decided to give the “Queer in Quantico” brochure a try at last and turned to the ‘Clubbing in Virginia’ pages.

Somehow he doubted “Stephano’s Spanking Shack” would be a good choice, so he settled for the other bar in Dumfries with the promising name “The Poet’s Corner”. In his mind he could already see a bunch of wannabe literates with thick glasses and corduroy jackets, ordering Guinness and ranting about the hidden layers of meaning in the James Bond novels. Still, it beat sitting at home, staring at a unintelligible Italian manual for a kitchen gizmo, which had the primary features of looking shiny and doing nothing, especially not coffee.

He was right about the Guinness. “The Poet’s Corner” was designed after the Irish pubs and right outside was a metal sign, advertising the famous brew. And although the interior matched Alex’s imagination, the customers didn’t. It was past eleven, the little room was filled to the brim, but not with poets and aspiring artists, but with suits and well-manicured men. Even the bartender was neatly dressed. Luckily, Alex’s wardrobe fitted precisely, although he felt a little out of place—for the occasion he had chosen a casual suit with an informal tie. For a fraction, it felt a little awkward not to be the best-dressed man in the room.

But the feeling quickly subsided when he strode towards the bar. He was going to stay a while and wait for someone to maybe chat him up, but changed his plans when he recognized a familiar face at the other end of the counter. A guest lecturer, from, what was it, ah yes, behavioural science. He had given a class on serial killing this morning. A young FBI agent, Alex estimated him to be in his second or third year at the bureau. One of his superiors was probably pissed at him and had sent the guy to do some lecturing.

He walked towards the slumped figure, who was sitting alone, nipping a beer.

“Agent Mulder.” The addressed looked up. Let tired eyes wander over Alex’s appearance, as if he was checking him out. Apparently he didn’t recognize him, because the look on his face stayed blank.

Alex outstretched a hand, “Alex Krycek, I sat in on your class this morning at the academy.”

Now something in the other man’s eyes changed and a warmer, friendlier look spread across his face, “You did? Wait a minute, I remember you—you were the one asking all the questions.”

Alex smiled, “Yeah, that was me. I didn’t offend you, or anything, did I?”

Now it was Mulder’s turn to grin, “Not at all. I think you have great potential. Keep on questioning everything they tell you, it’s the only way to the truth!” He indicated for Alex to stand next to him at the bar (all the stools were taken) and waved a hand at the bartender to bring two more Guinness. When they arrived, they picked them up to clink.

“To the truth,” Alex toasted.

~3~

“I don’t wanna bathe!”

“No arguing, golubchik, you take bath now! I want you to be clean and neat for baby shower.”

Alex knew that all the protesting in the world wouldn’t prevent his mother from forcing him to take a bath, so he let himself be heaved into the tub. Like any sensible four-year old he disliked being clean. Bathrooms were one part of hell, exactly like weird parties at strange people’s houses. But would his parents let him stay home with his babysitter Lynne? No! His mother had made a point of telling him three times today that there would be other children his age and that he would have fun.

Not all cleaned up he wouldn’t!

The Krycek’s had only recently moved to Chilmark and had not yet made a lot of friends. All the greater was his mother’s joy to be invited to a baby shower in the neighbourhood.

Rubbing bubblegum scented foam into Alex’s hair, she explained for the tenth time, “Mrs Mulder has little son your age, Aleksey. You know him, he is in your kindergarten. But maybe different group.”

Like he knew any kid of the name of Fox! What a loser that could be—he probably didn’t even have any cool toys! Just in case, Alex slid his Buck Rogers sonic ray gun in his pocket before they left the house.

The Mulders only lived a block away and Alex was not yet done pouting before they reached the door. Mrs Mulder, a friendly, smiling lady who was very pregnant, opened the door and welcomed them. She bent down to Alex and said, “Fox is so much looking forward to meeting you, Alex. You know, I think my husband Bill is making pancakes in the kitchen. Why don’t you go and check, hm?”

“Cool!” Of course he loved pancakes, who didn’t! Excitedly he rushed to the kitchen, as fast as his toddler-legs allowed. He was just about to race around the corner, when he bumped into another four-year old. Their foreheads clonked together with the sound of bone hitting bone. Alex’s world turned black and starry for a moment.

He found himself sitting on the kitchen floor, opposite Fox Mulder, who was beaming sheepishly. Behind them, Mr Mulder’s legs appeared, asking whether anyone had hurt himself. The boys looked at each other. It had hurt, but they would never admit to that. Instead, they shook their heads and grinned conspiratorially.

“Do you know Buck Rogers?” Fox asked.

~4~

For Agent Alex Krycek it was one of those days again.

The morning had brought two overdue bills, a shredded newspaper and a divorce petition from his soon-to-be ex-wife. He ran out of toothpaste before he had brushed his teeth, the toast in his fridge had gotten mouldy overnight and he found he had no matching socks left in his drawer.

At the bureau, his colleague yelled at him for no reason, his superior assigned him a cold case with absolutely no fresh leads whatsoever and the cafeteria was closed down for today because one of the microwaves had exploded. So he spent the entire morning and afternoon in his office, staring at his case, fumbling with old evidence of no value, running entirely on coffee and mars bars from the vending machine (because he only liked snickers bars and those were sold out, naturally), and feeling miserable for himself. Why on earth had he joined the FBI anyway? Oh, he remembered—the magazine ads had made it sound so romantic and exciting. Yeah, whatever.

When he finally went home at six, he had to swap his own car for a company wagon because his VW miraculously refused to start. He was agitated, frustrated and hungry.

And that was before he got stuck in Washington D.C. rush hour traffic.

When the cars before him came to a full stop, he decided that it simply figured. Well, at least on the bright side, now he was save from anything else—what was the worst that could happen in still-standing mid-traffic?

He heard a crash, felt a sharp tremor and knew he should never have asked. Of course some jerk had ignored the blinking traffic-jam warning signs and had crashed smack into Alex’s borrowed car. This was too much. He let his head fall onto the steering wheel and waited for the sun to go down on him.

Someone knocked on his driver’s seat window.

“You okay?” The words were muted through the closed panes. Without lifting his head, Alex wound down the window with his left hand. The voice repeated, “Are you alright? I’m sorry I bumped into you—I didn’t see the traffic stopped after the corner.”

“That’s okay. Just… leave me your insurance card.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? I wasn’t going fast, I don’t even think anything’s broken, apart from the tail light. Can I… do you need help?”

Finally, Alex looked up and the man straight into the eyes. “What I need is for this day to be over. And maybe pizza.”

“I can’t help you with the first one, but I just passed this Italian take away restaurant across the street. I could treat us to something, if you wait here.”

Alex stared at the traffic that stretched out before him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll be right back. I’m Fox Mulder, by the way. And by the looks of your car, we actually work for the same government company.”

“Alex Krycek. Yeah, the government has always had a hideous taste in cars.” Maybe the day was starting to get better at last.

~5~

Of course he knew Agent Mulder. Fox ‘Spooky’ Mulder. Alex had heard stories about him at the FBI academy. Of course, the tales varied and changed, based on the inclinations of the people who told them—Godforsaken freak versus gifted truthseeker. Alex always leaned towards truthseeker himself. But by keeping his mouth shut he had made more, and influential, friends in high places, which helped him to get a good position at the FBI, right after he graduated from Quantico.

Just working in the same building as Mulder made his day every day anew. And when one day he stumbled across an incident that practically screamed X-file, he made an effort to get assigned to the case. He knew the official X-file offices had been closed down, and he knew he’d stand a good chance with taking this case.

He was right. Only two hours after he had asked for the job, he heard that Agent Mulder wanted it, too. The opportunity was almost too good, he almost feared that A.D. Skinner might not go with his idea of working the case together.

But he did, and a few minutes later Alex headed down to Agent Mulder’s temporary workstation. He stopped shy of reaching the table, though. The other agent looked forlorn, sitting at a cluttered desk, transcribing surveillance tapes. There were sunflower seeds in a heap on a file, and empty seed shells were strewn everywhere. Mulder had taken off his jacket and was sitting hunched and bored over a notepad in a crumpled, white shirt, wearing a deep red tie, like Alex’s. Oblivious to his surroundings, concentrating on the voices inside the headphone. It wouldn’t do to wait for Mulder to take notice of him.

He made another step, thus closing the distance between them and addressed the other agent by name.

Mulder looked up, surprised and irritated that someone would disrupt his tedious work. Alex tried an open smile. He held out the case-file and said, “It’s your 302. Assistant Director Skinner just approved it.”

Mulder took the folder, scanned its content and his irritation became more visible. “There’s a mistake here. There’s been another agent assigned to the case.”

“That would be me.” Alex held out a hand encouragingly, “Krycek. Alex Krycek.”

Agent Fox Mulder, formerly responsible for the X-files office, alien hunter, UFO searcher, believer, looked him straight into the eyes. As if he was looking for something to tell him how to react to this obvious intrusion into his area of expertise. Maybe he found his questions answered there, maybe Alex Krycek reminded him of another partner who had been assigned to him and who he had misjudged at the beginning.

Finally he smiled back, “Good to meet you, Agent Krycek.” and they shook hands.
.

~~~the end~~~