I sipped at my coffee, looking down the slope at the rushing
creek. The
coffee burned my throat like acid.
Why did I agree to this? Oh, yeah, Mulder, that asshole.
I could still hear the whiney, nasal bickering from inside the
cabin. I just
wanted my arm fixed, nothing special. But Langly had to convince
me he knew
what he was doing with special modifications. I put my cup down
to scrub my
hand over my scraggly beard. I had given up shaving for the
winter. I
hadn't bothered since spring began months ago, either
I heard the footsteps, but didn't move. Byers appeared beside me
with my
prosthesis. I took it from his hands.
"Langly's finished with it, Krycek. You can put it on again."
I unbuttoned my flannel shirt and began strapping it on. Byers
continued to
stand there and watch me. When I had the unit in place and
tested it, to my
surprise, it worked better than it had before. It was smoother
and faster
than it had been brand new.
Sonofabitch, that blond freak really can do this stuff well.
As I tested my new-ish limb, I noticed the brushed brown suede
shoes still on
the wooden boards. In an effort to unnerve the man, I slowly
dragged my eyes
up the length of his body. He just kept those deep blue saucers
on me.
I never knew his eyes were that damn big.
"Can I help you?" I asked with a little more venom than
necessary.
"I thought it was a lie, you know. Before Mulder left, when he
mentioned
you. I mean, there was so much emotion when he talked about you.
He said you
were a liar. I thought that story about your arm was a lie. I
guess I
should have looked for the truth in you the way I looked for it
in everyone
else."
"Yeah, well, maybe I never gave you much to look for."
"I'm sorry, Krycek."
"You can use my given name, you know. It really is Alex."
"OK, Alex. You may call me John."
"Got it, John. Hey, who made this coffee?" I lift my mug,
showing him my
cup of black, sweet liquid.
"I think Langly did. It's...um...strong. Sorry. I think my
coffee is
better, don't you?"
I raised the offensive brew to my lips. As my face returned to
its usual
serene expression, I turned to the bearded man. "You tell him
that I don't
care how many times he fixes my arm. If he ever makes coffee
again, I'll
kill him myself."
I felt bad when the shock spread over Byers composed countenance.
Yeah, I
know, I'm a former assassin, but this coffee really is shit. He
went in the
house without another word. I chuckled a bit at my power to
still shock the
innocent.
I stood and chucked the leftover half cup of mud into the grass,
hoping it
wouldn't kill the patch, turned and entered the cottage where I
resided with
the other three outcasts. Well, we're really not outcasts.
We're hiding.
Sorta.
Langly and Frohike were at the worktable they had set up in the
dining-room-
turned-hobby-den. They said they wanted to be able to watch the
TV while
they worked, and the TV was in the living room. So we ate at the
kitchen
table.
Why did I let Walter send them here again? He's gonna have to
pull strings
to get himself in Arlington if this doesn't get better.
I rinsed the mug in the sink and watched the three men working
together.
They were repairing the hard drive of one of the hidden satellite
dishes.
The sole reason we were in the mountains was to monitor the
Northern
Hemispheric skies. Mulder had his crew in Australia.
Lucky bastard, warm temps and some of the best fucking beer in
the world.
And the hottest chicks who love Americans, to boot. I get a cold
mountain,
three geeky guys and Coors. Fuck me!
They worked well together, as I watched them. They didn't speak
to each
other, maybe a few words here and there, but usually, they flowed
around each
other, just fixing the electronics, each with a different piece
to repair.
It was like poetry, ballet and magic in my presence. It was sad
that they
had to hide. What will THEY do to us next?
That was it for me—and I knew I had to do something. I couldn't
let this
go. My "death" was simple. Fake bullets, hide me from THEM and
Mulder and
Skinner smell like roses for having taken out the triple agent
threat. Then,
they take their considerable collective wealth and hide me until
I come back
out. Not a bad trade. When Skinner contacted me, and Mulder
sent the
message almost begging me, to help these three, I was none too
happy.
After almost a month of living with them, I was coming around to
their unique
charms. We were stuck with each other. I needed their
technological know-
how, they needed my protection, just in case. It was interesting
to see the
looks on their faces when they saw my arsenal. Byers was
frightened, Langly
was impressed like a teenager, and Frohike looked almost aroused.
It was interesting to see their differences. Langly was eager to
learn how
to shoot weapons, for protection. Frohike, he knew his way
around a rifle.
Byers was the hard sell. He settled on the basics of a handgun,
knowing he
could never take up one of my high-powered sniper jobs against
another
person, even in his own defense. But he makes a hell of a cup of
coffee.
So, I think I have come to the right decision. And the sad part
is, they'll
never know.
WASHINGTON DC
OFFICES OF RUNTZ CORP.
I waited for almost four hours before I heard the footsteps in
the hall. I
heard him scrape his lazy feet down the carpeted floor.
He's drunk. Good.
The door opened and he staggered in. I could smell the bourbon
across the
room, wafting over to choke me with smoky alcoholic fingers. It
didn't stop
me from raising the gun to shoulder level, waiting for him to see
it when he
turned the light on.
The lights blinded me slightly, but my hand never moved. His
eyes widened
when he recognized the shape of the Glock 19 in my hand. The
smile grew
across his lips and I waited for him to start trying to beg me
into letting
him live.
Does the dumb shit even realize I'm not wearing a mask to
disguise
myself?
"Hey, buddy, what's the deal here? Can't we discuss this?"
I laughed at him.
"What's your name, pal?"
"Why do you give a fuck?"
"Well, I mean, you know me. Why shouldn't I know you?"
"I only know you because you ruined the lives of some friends of
mine."
"Oh, gawd, this again? Look, I was doing what I was paid to do.
Her father
is my boss. Just because they lost their minds and gave away all
their money
to find her isn't my problem. Now, why don't you put away the
gun and let's
discuss this. I mean, I'm sure we can come to a...monetary
understanding.
You think?"
"Fletcher, you couldn't pay me enough."
"Krycek! That's who you are! Alex Krycek! Aren't you dead?"
He cocked his head to the side, still drunk, and realizing a
nanosecond too
late that I wasn't kidding.
"No, but you are," and I began squeezing off rounds. He fell
slowly. I
smiled as I watched the life flow out of him, my pleasure to his
pain as
iodine to a gaping wound. I even chuckled as he reached out to
me, to try to
get help. I stepped on his hand as I left his office.
COLORADO MOUNTAINS
I sat on the back porch, drinking Byers' coffee, watching the
last magenta
and purple of sunset fade beyond the trees. The satellites were
humming
under the trickle of the creek, lulling me into contentedness. I
sipped the
brew in the cup, smiling. The footsteps creaked along the boards
behind me
and the chair beside me became filled with Melvin Frohike. I
turned to him
and smiled. He smiled back. We looked up into the sky, I
counted stars, and
he watched me.
They stare a lot. I didn't think I was this pretty. I'm
sleeping with the
Glock under my pillow.
I turned to the man at my right. "OK, Mel, what's up?"
"Al, where were you two weeks ago?"
"Why? Does it really matter?"
He smiled, chuckled silently and shook his head. "Did you kill
him?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Frohike stood up and walked to the door. He stood in the open
frame looking
at me. I continued staring at the sky.
"Aleksandr Nicholai Kryska, you can't fool me. Melvin James
Frohike is
smarter than that. So is John Fitzgerald Byers and Ringo Patrick
Langly.
Skinner called us. Morris Fletcher was found dead, shot in the
heart, head
and genitals. I assume the heart was for John, the emotional
one, the head
was for Langly, the brainy one and the balls were all mine."
"Well, maybe you're a ballsy kinda guy."
He turned to leave. I had to ask.
"Mel, one thing though?"
He turned back to me. "What's that?"
"Ringo? I thought his name was Richard."
The smile spread across his stubbled face. "Looks like you've
got quite a
bit to learn about us, too."
I laughed as he went inside. I felt comfortable at that moment.
Not as
comfortable as I could have been, with a Foster's and a hot lady,
but I was
contented. Soon enough Skinner et al. would figure a way to
finally defeat
THEM and we could integrate back into the world. Would I miss my
friends?
My friends?
Yeah, I'd miss my friends.
Denial
by Amazon X
COLORADO MOUNTAINS
LATE MORNING
LATE EVENING
For all Gunfen and Rat-lovers alike. No one is dead until Scully
autopsies
them.
