Mulder didn't move from where he crouched behind a truck. Krycek's car's
interior light was on as the smoker caught Krycek's wrist and forced him closer
with the lighter. Krycek fought for less than a heartbeat, and then let the
smoking man manipulate him. Mulder felt his nails dig into his palms as the
smoker took the lighter from Krycek and then slowly pulled Krycek down to his
lap. Krycek didn't fight that, either. The smoker leaned back against his seat
and sucked on his cigarette.
Mulder crawled away, not wanting to see Krycek's head come back up again. His
palms began to ache as he realized that his nails were still embedded into the
skin. He went up to his apartment and slammed the door behind him.
Krycek knocked on the door half an hour later. Mulder yanked the door open, but
Krycek didn't look at him as he slouched against the doorframe.
"Hey," he said.
"What are you doing here?" Mulder asked.
"I was in the neighbourhood," he said.
Bullshit. Mulder had a call to go down the parking garage under his building.
He had almost called out to him as the smoker drove up and Krycek ducked inside
the car. "And?" Mulder asked.
"And I thought you'd like me to come up," Krycek said.
No, Mulder thought viciously. It was much more fun to watch him go down.
"Neat-o," he said, standing out of the way.
Krycek almost looked relieved. "If this is a bad time, I could come back," he
said, standing straight for the first time.
Mulder stepped out of the way. "By all means, come in."
Krycek stepped past him, but then jumped as Mulder grabbed his jacket. Mulder
went to kiss him, but Krycek put his hand over his mouth. "Let me use the
washroom," he said.
Mulder pushed him against the wall. "What if I said no?" he asked.
Krycek tensed. "You into kink, Mulder?"
"And if I was?" Mulder asked, working his leg between Krycek's thighs.
Krycek winced. "Just let me use the can."
Mulder let him go.
Krycek went into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. The water started,
and Mulder went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer before moving to the
couch. Krycek took about ten minutes, while Mulder drummed his fingers on his
thigh. The door finally opened and Krycek leaned against the wall.
"Come here," Mulder ordered. Krycek joined him on the couch, sitting close
enough so that their thighs touched. Krycek went to kiss him, but Mulder grabbed
his head and forced him down. Krycek tensed, unsure, but then undid Mulder's
jeans like the good little whore he was.
Mulder wasn't hard, and for the first time, Krycek's mouth did nothing for him.
There had been nights where even smelling Krycek's jacket got him excited.
Krycek tried for a few minutes but Mulder eventually pushed him away. Krycek
lost his balance and fell off the couch, and then looked at him, eyebrows almost
touching. His eyes widened as Mulder suddenly stood up and stuffed himself back
into his jeans.
Krycek didn't get off his knees as he scrambled back. Mulder felt a rush
starting in the base of his spine; it had been a long time since he had felt that
much power over Krycek. The power struggle had ended once Krycek's visits had
started to become regular, but he had forgotten how much of a thrill it was.
Mulder backhanded him, and Krycek fell to his side. He didn't protest, which
made Mulder angrier. He lashed out with his foot and caught Krycek in the ribs.
With only his socks on, he doubted he would have broken anything, but seeing
Krycek curl up to protect himself made Mulder feel god-like. The power went to
his cock, and he backed Krycek up to the wall.
"Get up," he snarled.
Krycek gasped, holding onto his side, but tried to push to his feet. Mulder held
him down to his knees and Krycek got the point. He undid Mulder's jeans again,
but this time Mulder's cock was hard. Krycek took him down his throat, and
Mulder focused on Krycek subjugating himself again, and the thrill of it was
enough to over-ride the part of him that actually pitied the man. He
concentrated on Krycek moving his mouth up and down. Krycek moved mechanically,
but Mulder was beyond caring.
He grabbed the back of Krycek's head and forced himself down the throat. Krycek
gagged, once, but kept his teeth covered and took it. He came, holding Krycek
tight against him until the last shudder passed before letting him go.
Krycek sat back on his heels and coughed. Mulder stood over him for another
heartbeat before going back to where he had put his beer. Krycek hugged his
jacket closer to his body and looked up. "You mind if I spend the night?" he
asked.
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Mulder said. He grabbed the remote control and turned on
the television.
Krycek stood up and went to the fridge. It opened and closed, and then he sat
down next to Mulder. Mulder said nothing to him, pretty sure he wanted Krycek to
leave, but then Krycek curled up beside him and put his head on Mulder's thigh.
Mulder ignored him, and within minutes, Krycek was asleep. Mulder left him there
and went into the bedroom.
He woke up the next morning and had a shower. By the time he finished, Krycek
was sitting up on the couch. "Why didn't you wake me?"
"You looked like you needed to sleep."
He opened to say something, but closed it again and stretched his back muscles.
"The bed would have been more comfortable," he said, with only a slight amount of
accusation.
"I'm sure it would have. I have an early meeting this morning."
Krycek took the hint; he grabbed his jacket and left.
Over his months of deskwork, Mulder had tracked down Krycek address. It hadn't
been easy. Krycek had rented a car once, and Mulder had tracked down the false
name to a false credit card with a false address, but he was able to trace back
from the credit history. The smoker paid Krycek through a fruit import company,
and the cheques had to go to a real address.
After three days of no Krycek, Mulder paid him a visit after work. The apartment
Krycek kept was in a good neighbourhood and not what Mulder had expected at all
for his assassin/whore.
He banged on the door, but there was no answer. He banged louder. "I know
you're in there," he said, not knowing that at all. Eventually, the door jerked
open. "I have neighbours," Krycek snapped.
Mulder stepped back. Krycek didn't look so good; his normally white skin was
sallow, and Mulder had never seen him unshaven before.
Krycek stepped away and let Mulder inside. He locked the door, and without being
told, he turned around and braced himself against the wall, spreading his legs.
His head bowed forward.
"Skipping the preamble?" Mulder asked.
"It's what you came here for," Krycek said to the wall.
Mulder stepped up behind him, and Krycek tensed. "Where is it?" he asked,
shoving his hands into Krycek's jeans' pockets. He didn't find the lube, but he
palmed the little white lighter Krycek had used for the smoker.
"In my jacket."
Mulder moved away. Krycek remained against the wall for a minute, and then put
his hands down. He moved stiffly back to the couch and lowered himself down.
"What happened?" Mulder asked, but Krycek shook his head. "Tell me," Mulder
said, lowering his voice.
Krycek hesitated, but only for a second. He pulled off his shirt and let Mulder
see the purple bruise over the left side of his ribcage. "Did I do that?" he
asked. He hadn't thought he kicked that hard.
"No. Someone saw your handy-work and thought it needed something," Krycek said,
quietly.
"Ribs?"
"No, I feel more like pizza tonight."
Mulder glared at him. "Did you break any ribs?"
"No."
"You've gone to the doctor?"
"I don't need a doctor to tell me I've broken ribs," Krycek said, and suddenly he
was angry. "Where do you get off coming here? You don't want to fuck, I don't
want to talk and I don't have a television."
"Do you want me to leave?" Mulder asked.
"Yes. I want you to leave. I want you to get the fuck out of my life."
Mulder threw the lighter at him. Krycek caught it out of reflex, and then stared
at it. "You bastard," he finally said.
"I'm the bastard? I wasn't the guy blowing the black lung asshole in his car the
other night."
Krycek flushed. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but Mulder
grabbed him by the shirt and threw him against the wall. Krycek hit, hard and
grunted in pain. His arms came down, hugging his chest, which left the rest of
his body vulnerable.
"Don't ever lie to me," Mulder growled, grabbing him by the hair. The shortness
to it didn't give him a grip, so he settled on pinning Krycek to the wall with
his elbow against Krycek's throat.
"What makes you so special?" Krycek managed. He winced again, expecting more
pain, but Mulder had to force himself not to press harder.
"What are you telling him? How long have you reported to him?"
Krycek looked away. Mulder viciously pushed Krycek's left elbow, and Krycek
choked out a cry of pain. He looked back at Mulder, eyes wide and nostrils
flared, and then brought his knee up hard into Mulder's groin.
The pain knocked him to his knees, and Krycek pushed him away. Mulder held
himself as the throb of pain echoed his heartbeat for what seemed like forever,
and then finally became aware of Krycek pacing. "Get out of my apartment,"
Krycek finally said when Mulder was able to push himself up to his elbows. "How
dare you come here. This is my home, and you bring your filth with you into it."
"Were you under orders to fuck me?" Mulder demanded.
Krycek flushed for a heartbeat, but then his mouth tightened. "Fuck you,
Mulder."
"Did the smoking man tell you to get involved with me? It's a simple question,
Krycek. I deserve an answer."
"Deserve? That's the difference between you and me, Mulder, I figured out a long
time ago that world owes me jack-shit," Krycek snapped. He went to the door and
opened it partway as he stood between the door and the wall. He pulled out his
gun from behind him, and pointed it Mulder. "Now get the fuck out before I shoot
you."
"What about all your neighbours?" Mulder asked, pushing painfully to his feet.
Krycek laughed. "Believe me, Mulder, I shoot you and they are my last concern."
That night, Mulder couldn't sleep. The clock on his nightstand said 3:23, but
every time he closed his eyes, his mind wouldn't let Krycek go. He didn't
understand why; Krycek had betrayed him. Krycek had fucked him to spy on him and
reported back to the smoker like the good little whore he was. He knew that, but
something was still wrong and he didn't...couldn't understand what.
Or he wouldn't let himself. Krycek had seemed honestly in pain, and not from his
ribs. The truths he knew were only half, and it wasn't enough. He turned on the
bedside lamp, slipped into yesterday's jeans, and grabbed his car keys.
The apartment was unlocked and empty. Mulder walked through the living room to
the single, small bedroom. The only dents in the carpet were from the bed, and
Mulder wondered how Krycek could have lived in the minimalist environment. He
wanted to know what Krycek did with himself to fill up the hours between being
the smoker's bitch, but in his mind he suddenly saw Krycek calming himself by
staring at the blank walls. Was it enough to put down the disgust? Obviously
not, Krycek had been full of self-loathe.
There was nothing else to learn. He went back to his car, suddenly exhausted,
but by the time he got back to his place it was already almost five. He lay in
his bed for an hour before it was time to wake up.
Mulder stumbled through his day, thinking of all the times in college where he
had skipped sleeping for days and didn't feel the difference in his energy
levels. Scully covered for him, prodding him once in a meeting when Skinner
asked him a question. He mumbled something cryptic; Skinner had shook his head
and continued.
"What's wrong with you, Mulder?" Scully asked.
"I didn't sleep last night."
"Something in the water?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"If I say yes, will you promise not to shoot me?"
"No," she said, and then glanced at the clock. It was almost four o'clock, and
they had worked through lunch at the meeting. "Go home, Mulder."
He didn't argue. He picked up some take out and once he was home, he popped in a
video from his secret drawer. It was the first time he had taken them out since
Krycek had made himself available, and the cheerful lighting and faked moans
didn't draw him in. He watched, dispassionately, for twenty minutes and then
turned it off. He stood up and went for a run instead.
He returned an hour later, but his door wasn't locked. He pulled his gun out,
but pointed at the ground as he pushed the door open.
Krycek looked up from the video. He had muted it, and the bodies writhing
against each other seemed even more ridiculous without the cheesy music. "I
thought you told me to get out of your life," Mulder said, not putting his gun
away.
"We all have our orders."
"So you admit you're his whore."
"No, I won't. I blow him occasionally. That doesn't make me his whore."
"It sure as hell doesn't make you his bridge partner."
Krycek clenched his fists as he stood up. "Go back to your fucking videos,
Mulder. I'm sure you'll never have to question your right hand's motives," he
said.
"What about your motives, Krycek? You report back to him, don't you?"
"Report what, Mulder?" Krycek demanded. His voice shook he sounded that angry.
"That you don't like eggrolls but love springrolls? That you have a preference
for Ivory soap? When have I ever asked you anything remotely sensitive? Do you
think that piddly little lock on your desk would keep me out if I didn't want it
to? Clue in here, Mulder, I don't come here to spy on you!"
"Why do you come here then?" Mulder demanded.
Krycek started to laugh. It started out as a single guffaw, but soon Krycek was
against the wall, holding his sides. He finally managed to take a deep breath
and wiped the tears from his face. "You really don't get it, do you, Mulder?" he
asked.
"Humour me," Mulder said flatly.
"I needed you," Krycek said. "I needed you and you beat the crap out of me."
"Why did you blow the smoker?"
Krycek looked at him. "Do you think I'm free to do whatever I want?" he asked.
"The smoker owns my ass, Mulder. Can you even comprehend what that means?"
"It means you suck him off in cars whenever he wants."
Krycek stood up to go. He made it to the door before he turned around. "No. It
means a hell of a lot of things, but it doesn't mean he has the right to fuck me.
They're grooming the next generation, Mulder, and they don't want any butt-boys
in their ranks."
"So what's your excuse?"
"You're off limits. The smoker...lets me come to you if I play by his rules.
His rules suck, Mulder."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Why did you treat me like shit?"
"Why did you move?"
"Why did you go look for me?"
"Fuck you, Krycek."
Krycek didn't turn around. "What was I supposed to say?"
"You should have trusted me."
"You shouldn't have assumed the worst."
"What else do you assume when your lover is going down on another man?"
Krycek shuddered. It was barely visible, but Mulder saw it. "Look at him,
Mulder. Would you deliberately put your lips on anything that man had unless you
had to?"
Mulder moved to where he stood against the wall. "And as long as you continue
this, the arrangement stands?"
Krycek nodded and bowed his head. Mulder lifted up his turtleneck shirt, so that
he could see the bruise. Krycek tried to shy away, but Mulder dropped to his
knees and sat back. Krycek froze, unsure, and then carefully turned around.
"Even with this?" he asked.
"You didn't do that," Krycek said.
"No, but I started it."
"Do you think that's the worst thing I've ever been though?" Krycek asked,
quietly.
Mulder kissed his thigh. "Bedroom, now," he said.
Krycek caught his wrist. "One thing," he said.
Mulder moved next to him and fit into his body. "What?" he asked, kissing his
way down Krycek's neck.
"Hit me again, I'll kill you," Krycek said in a flat voice. He pushed Mulder
away for a second. "Tell me you understand."
Mulder had been trying to get his hands under Krycek's jeans. Mulder looked at
him, but Krycek's face didn't change. "I understand," he said, solemnly.
Krycek nodded, and then closed his eyes and rested against Mulder for the first
time. "Good," he said, but almost didn't speak loud enough to be heard. Mulder
held him up against the wall, but stepped back.
"Bedroom?" he asked.
Krycek nodded again without opening his eyes. Mulder kissed him and brought him
back. They made it to the bedroom without knocking anything over. Mulder tugged
on Krycek's shirt again, and Krycek let him pull it off. He raised his arms for
Mulder, but as Mulder was over him, trying to pull it off, Krycek raised himself
off the bed and rubbed his forehead against Mulder's belly. The motion went
straight to his groin, and he had to stop himself from collapsing over Krycek.
Krycek had locked his fingers together, and wasn't giving Mulder an inch of
reprieve as he began to kiss his was across Mulder's abdomen. Krycek couldn't
undo Mulder's buttons, and apparently had had to settle on working his tongue
between the button gaps. Mulder tightened the T-shirt around Krycek's wrist and
shoved the rest of it between the bladder and the bed. It wasn't a secure hold,
but it was enough to give off the illusion. Krycek settled down immediately and
smiled.
Mulder slid down Krycek and tugged on the man's jeans. He now had Krycek's
complete co-operation. They pulled down easily enough and Mulder threw them over
his shoulder. Krycek kept his eyes closed and didn't fight as Mulder lifted his
legs up.
Mulder reached into the bedside table drawer and pulled out the lube. Krycek
didn't move as Mulder popped the lid and squeezed out some. Krycek tensed as
Mulder slowly worked in his finger inside of him, but then relaxed around him.
Mulder fumbled with the condom, finally rolling it on, and then slipped inside.
They rarely actually fucked. It just didn't fit into the relationship. It was
much easier to suck and run than it was to actually get the preparation out of
the way before they had sex. Krycek was tight against him. He put his hands
over Krycek's hips, holding him down as he started to fuck.
Krycek still hadn't opened his eyes, and he stretched his neck out to make him
all the more vulnerable. Mulder moved one of his hands up to Krycek's throat
without actually applying pressure, and Krycek pressed into it.
Mulder broke away. "Up," he ordered.
Krycek tensed under him. "No," he muttered.
"Krycek, get up or I'll stop."
Krycek pulled his wrist out of the T-shirt and struggled to sit up. Mulder
pulled him up and guided him down to his hands and knees. Krycek bowed his head,
hugging the pillow to his cheek as Mulder took him again so he could reach down
his body and take his cock in his own hand. Mulder kissed the back of his neck,
licking off the sweat, and gripped Krycek's hips tighter. It was better, even
through the condom. There was no resistance to his thrusts; he felt like he
could bury himself inside of Krycek forever. Sweat beaded on his back, and he
took a moment to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand.
Krycek was making sounds in the back of his throat, tiny, vulnerable sounds that
weren't whimpers or moans. It always bothered him that Krycek didn't speak, but
he loved those noises. He found himself torturing Krycek purposefully to pull
more of them from him. The base of his spine began to warm as the orgasm
approached, and he didn't try to fight it.
Krycek pushed his face into the pillow. It almost sounded like he was sobbing
into it, but when Mulder touched his shoulder, Krycek shrank back. Krycek moved
his hand frantically over his cock, and Mulder would have wondered about how much
Krycek was enjoying it if he himself wasn't almost ready to come himself.
Krycek's body shuddered, and Mulder felt the muscles tighten around his cock. He
tried to fight it, but Krycek's sounds that managed to escape the pillow made it
impossible. The sudden warmth flooded him as he came, and just as he rolled off
Krycek, Krycek turned his head and started to gasp. His face was flushed, and
Mulder wiped the sweat off his forehead just before he fell asleep.
Part 2
Krycek woke up and managed to work his way from under Mulder's outstretched arms.
He pulled his jeans on, trying to silence his growling stomach. He padded out
into the main room, but there was nothing in the fridge or cupboards that
resembled food. He opened the Chinese take-out box, and almost risked it before
deciding it wasn't worth it.
He didn't bother with his shirt, but grabbed his jacket and zipped it up before
opening the door.
The hall lights were out, and the smell of cigarettes was strong. Krycek tried
to slam the door shut, but someone stronger than him threw it open. Krycek tried
to step away, but he was up against the wall with a gun pointed at his belly
before he could. He reached for his gun, but it was on the floor of the bedroom.
The smoker backhanded him for trying.
"Where is he?" the smoker asked.
Krycek bit his lip, but the man just nodded to his enforcer, the one who knocked
the door open, and he headed to the bedroom. Krycek opened his mouth to warn
Mulder, but the smoker slapped his hand over Krycek's mouth and he couldn't
speak.
The sound of struggle didn't last very long in the bedroom. The smoker waited
for the silence, and then moved his hand. "I didn't do anything," Krycek said in
a low voice. "Why are you doing this?"
"You didn't pay for it," the man said. "Did you think I'd let you have a free
one?"
"I was going to stop by this morning."
"Forgive me if I fail to believe you."
The enforcer brought Mulder out at gunpoint and forced him down on the couch.
"What the hell are you doing here? Get the hell out of my house."
The enforcer jammed his gun under Mulder's jaw, and Krycek jumped forward, but
the smoker knocked him back again. Mulder's hair was wild, but at least the
enforcer had allowed him sweatpants. Krycek moved away from the wall, running
his hand down smoker's gun hand. "You want to get it on, let's go," Krycek said.
He worked his hand across the man's chest and down to his abdomen.
"I don't think so, Alex. You broke the rules; you have to pay."
Mulder tried to stand up, but the enforcer brought his gun down over his shoulder
and he fell back to the couch with a cry. Krycek tried to go to him, but the
smoker slammed him against the wall again. "Don't hurt him."
"You're in no position to ask for favours," the smoker snapped.
Krycek tensed, forcing his body to get over the initial disgust. He moved closer,
and even through the man's breath smelled of smoke, Krycek kissed his mouth.
"Leave him alone, please," he whispered.
"That's better, you're finally remembering your manners," the smoker said. He
moved his thigh, pressing it against Krycek's legs, and Krycek willingly spread
them, letting the man nudge him. He gritted his teeth to prepare for the sudden
pain, but didn't try to move away from it. He looked up at the smoker, and
suddenly knew what was expected. He began to move against the thigh.
"Have you met Hans?" the smoker asked, and Krycek knew he wasn't supposed to
stop. Mulder wasn't looking at him; he was staring at the desk instead. Krycek
briefly wondered were Mulder hid his spare gun and hoped that he wasn't thinking
of using it. The smoker was there for disciplinary reasons; no one had to die.
Krycek glanced to the enforcer. He had seen him around at various functions, but
they had never talked. He was part of the stupid, obedient corps that the
consortium kept around as disposable. "Haven't had the pleasure," Krycek said,
carefully, and winced as the smoker kneed him. There was no real force to the
movement, but Krycek spread his legs more so the smoker could force his thigh
harder against him.
"Oh, you will. Or rather, he will. He was in a foul mood having to come here
with me this early in the morning. I think you owe him a thank you."
Mulder was still a bit dazed over the blow. Krycek shook his head. "Not here,"
he said.
"Oh, here, Krycek. And if you aren't going to show Hans a good time, I think
he's taken a liking to your friend."
Krycek tensed. "Okay. I'll show him a good time. I'll show both of you a real
good time, just not here," he said, and pressed himself harder against the
smoker's thigh. He picked up the man's other hand and brought it to his lips.
"Please."
"I've never heard you beg before," the smoker said. "You think it would have
moved me more. Hans? Take him."
"No!" Krycek almost screamed. "No, you want me, I'm better than him. I swear,
his blowjobs suck. All teeth." He backed away from the smoker, and felt almost
bowlegged.
"Krycek, no," Mulder said, sitting up again. Hans turned to him, pointing his
gun, but Krycek grabbed his hand.
"Don't."
Hans turned to him, and the gun pressed up against Krycek's chest. Krycek stood
there and took the pain, and didn't wince as Hans scraped the gun up over his
throat and pressed it into the same soft spot. "Open your mouth," Hans said.
Krycek hated the taste of gun oil, but he did. Hans pressed the gun against his
teeth, and Krycek obediently covered them with his teeth to keep the metal from
clanking on them. Without being told to, Krycek dropped to his knees, and Hans
hissed in appreciation. Krycek closed his eyes, but opened his mouth wider to
accept more of the gun barrel. He could hear Mulder's breathing, but he wasn't
speaking.
Hans undid his zipper. It was a universal sound, and Krycek sat up taller on his
heels. He didn't want to open his eyes again, preferring his darkness, and Hans
grabbed the back of his head and pulled him to him. The man's cock hit his nose,
but before he could yank back, Hans forced it in his mouth. Krycek only covered
his teeth and tried to breathe when Hans let him; it was the only participation
Hans wanted.
Mulder moaned from the couch. Krycek almost opened his eyes to see, but kept to
his darkness. It was easier. Hans was already cursing him a slut, and he
ignored the painful grasp on the back of his head as Hans stood up on the tips of
his toes to come. Krycek swallowed it and sat back down on his heels, wiping his
mouth. Hans backed away from him, and he waited.
Finally Mulder slipped down to the floor with him. "Alex?" he asked.
It was the first time Mulder had called him by name. He opened his eyes and
Mulder reached up and wiped a trace of semen from the corner of his mouth. "Are
you done with him?" Mulder asked, harshly.
The smoker only laughed. "Not even close. Consider this a temporary reprieve."
Krycek pushed to his feet. Hans moved faster than he did, and blocked his path.
"Where are you going?" the smoker asked.
Krycek kept his shoulders bowed and his head down. "Bathroom," he said.
The smoker walked next to him. Hans' gun was out and at Mulder in the next
instant as Hans pushed Mulder back to the couch. "Do you want to wash out your
mouth?" the smoker asked, false sympathy dripping.
Krycek nodded.
"Pity," the smoker said, and then looked at Hans. "Keep him here. If he tries
to get away from you, shoot him."
Krycek tried to pull away from him, "Not the bedroom," he said. He tried to
plant his heels and brace himself against the doorway with his hand, but the
smoker leaned into him.
"Tell me if you want Hans to help you remember your manners. It would mean that
you would owe him another favor, though. Would you want that?"
Krycek craned his neck in time to see Hans lick his lips, and he stopped
fighting. He stood in the middle of the bedroom as the smoker shut the door
behind them. Krycek dropped to his knees again, but the smoker shook his head.
"Not this time."
Krycek blanched. "You said you wouldn't fuck me," he said.
"And you said you wouldn't fuck with me, Alex. It looks like we both lied. Take
off your clothes."
Krycek only hugged his jacket more tightly around him. He could hear Mulder's
voice on the other side, but he couldn't make out the words. The smoker went
through Mulder's dresser, but only until he found a sturdy belt. "You're still
dressed, Alex. Shall I ask Hans to join us?"
Krycek unzipped his jacket and kicked his shoes off. He stood up to slip out of
his jeans and jolted as the smoker touched his shoulder. "Against the bed, Alex.
Kneel on the floor and put your arms on the bed."
Krycek obeyed. The smoker didn't play any mind games with him; he didn't make
Krycek count them out or thank him for each blow, but he had to grit his teeth to
keep from screaming once the welts started to form. He wondered how much Mulder
would be hearing, and whether he would do anything stupid
The pain seemed to continue forever, and he wondered about the smoker's stamina.
He had been in pain for so long the blows started to become welcomed. "Fucker,"
the smoker finally snapped, wrapping the belt around Krycek's throat.
The rape was hard and over. Krycek's back hurt more than his ass, and the
choking pressure kept him from feeling the man's oily skin over him. Considering
that Mulder had taken the time to prepare him less than two hours ago, there was
no tearing or pain. When the smoker finished, Krycek curled up on the floor and
stayed in the room as the smoker left. He was there for over ten minutes before
the door opened again, but Krycek didn't look up to see who it was.
"Krycek?" Mulder asked.
So they were back to Krycek again. Interesting. Krycek didn't stir as Mulder
knelt down beside him. He didn't have to ask any questions; the smoker had been
kind enough to leave the used condom on the floor beside him. Krycek couldn't
break through the apathy far enough to want to do something about it, though.
Mulder undid the belt and threw it across the room. "Krycek, I—" he said.
Krycek broke away from him and crawled to return it. Mulder backed away when he
brought it back. "What are you doing?" Mulder demanded.
"Hit me," Krycek finally said, offering the belt.
"Forget that!"
Krycek's hand tightened on the leather. "Mulder, please," he said.
"You made my promise never to hit you again."
"This is different," Krycek waited until he was sure Mulder had denied him, and
then pushed to his feet. "Where are you going?" Mulder demanded, angrily.
"There are people out there who would be glad to do this for me," Krycek said,
letting his voice drop with the threat.
Mulder grabbed the belt from him. "You want me to beat you?" Mulder demanded,
pushing Krycek back against the bed again. Krycek took the step backwards, and
then dropped to his knees, assuming the same position that the smoker had made
him take. Mulder stood behind him, unsure, and the first blow that hit him was
so gentle it almost made Krycek sick to his stomach.
He turned his head so he could look at Mulder, but it was an awkward angle and he
went back to staring straight ahead. "I'm asking you to do this for me," he
said, voice soft. "Mulder, please. I don't want a stranger to do it."
Mulder pulled away from him, and Krycek buried his face into the blankets. He
sighed, willing his muscles to have the strength to push up and walk away, when
the first real blow hit him across his back. Krycek cried out, almost out of
surprise, but the feel of the noise escaping him was satisfying. He had bottled
it up too much.
Mulder almost waited too long for the next one, but at least he was expecting it.
He sobbed, choking a scream, and didn't have to wait for the next one. His
entire body was on fire again, but there was no shame in his tears or in his
screams. Mulder hit him for the sixth time, and Krycek shook his head. "Stop,"
he whispered.
He heard the belt drop and Mulder was over him, helping him up to the bed in the
next instant. He was already naked, and the soft blankets felt good against his
skin. He was still crying, but didn't bother to make himself stop.
Mulder left him for a heartbeat, but only long enough to bring back a bowl of hot
water and a cloth. The cloth became raspy as it became wet, but Mulder was
gentle. None of the marks had broken the skin, but he could feel the heat
radiate from them. The chill of the water helped, and he had fallen asleep
before Mulder finished.
He woke up in the middle of the night, frozen. Mulder had left him over the
blankets to keep from moving him, and after a careful shift, Krycek made it under
the blankets. Mulder moved over him, even though he must have been an iceberg
suddenly in Mulder's bed, but the man's warm skin and the smell of him helped him
slide back to sleep.
The next morning he woke to Mulder's alarm, but didn't get dressed until Mulder
was in the shower. It took more effort to pull his T-shirt over his back than he
wanted Mulder to see. The muscles ached dully as he walked, but he slipped his
shoes on and left before Mulder got out of the bathroom.
He didn't want to explain himself; the shame was deeper than that. He drove his
car away, cursing at the lumbar supports that pressed into the worst of his
welts. It was an uncomfortable, but Krycek spent all day in the car, watching
the smoker's office. It was a long shot, Hans could have just been moonlighting
for the smoker and the consortium was too big for Krycek to start looking under
every rock. He had seen the smoker's face when he spoke of Hans, and hoped that
the smoker had used Hans in the past.
By the second day, Krycek's knotted muscles made even moving his head painful and
his stomach had stopped growling. A tan van stopped and as Hans got out without
bothering to pay the meter, Krycek shrank lower. Hans walked past him, but the
man wasn't looking for him. He went up to the smoker's office, and twenty
minutes later came back down again.
Krycek gave him a half a block lead.
The van didn't have any windows, which made shadowing it slightly easier. Krycek
kept five or six car lengths away and with the regular traffic, there was no way
to tell Hans had been singled out. He didn't drive like he knew he had a tail,
and pulled out next to an abandoned building. Krycek circled around and parked
in the alleyway.
He heard the screams and the shots before he reached the stairwell. He pulled
his own gun, and ran up the first two flights. He cocked his head, trying to
locate any more sounds, and heard the gasps of someone dying coming from one of
the rooms down the hall. He moved carefully across the floor, and heard more
rustling in the third door on the right.
Krycek took a deep breath and kicked in the door. The two men and the boy on the
floor didn't look up, but Hans froze. "Give me the gun," Krycek said.
Hans laughed, turning around. "Well, if it isn't the little rat, come to play
again," he said, without dropping his gun.
Hans tried to approach him, but Krycek dropped the gun down from the kill shot.
He squeezed the trigger, and Hans' hand suddenly had a bullet through it. Hans
bellowed in pain, but Krycek moved back to the kill shot. "The next one goes
through your throat. Give me the fucking gun," Krycek said, flatly.
Hans tossed the gun to him and gripped his wounded hand. Blood splattered off
his fingers, landing around the blood spilled from the two men. "You going to
kill me, rat?" Hans demanded as Krycek put his own gun away and clicked the
safety off Hans' gun.
Krycek kicked the door shut behind him. "Not right away," he said. "Drop your
pants."
"You're kidding," Hans snapped.
"Not even a little bit," Krycek said. He took a step closer, pressing his gun
into the soft spot under Hans' jaw. "Do it or you won't like what I shoot off
next," Krycek said.
Hans went stubborn, but tensed as Krycek almost lifted him off his feet. They
both heard the boy moan together, and Krycek looked over his shoulder. The boy
was only shot in the belly. He moaned again, trying to crawl, and Krycek swore.
He had been looking forward to spending the evening with Hans, but if the boy
died while he was playing, Mulder would care.
"You're lucky," Krycek said. Hans got a single bullet to the brain, and Krycek
moved to the boy who looked at him with wide, confused eyes. "I know it hurts,
but you have to press down hard on it. Let's get you out of here."
Part Two
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.
Part Three
"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.
Part Four
Mulder woke up; Krycek stood over him in bed. It was two in the morning, but he
had just gone to sleep an hour ago. Krycek hadn't visited him in over a month,
and he was seriously beginning to worry. His old cell number had been
disconnected, and he hadn't left a forwarding address once he moved with the kid
again. "Krycek?"
Krycek stripped off his clothes instead of answering. He slipped into the bed,
already reaching for him. Mulder felt ridiculous in his old sweats, but Krycek
pulled them off him easily with only once hand. Mulder opened his mouth again,
but Krycek pressed his finger against Mulder's lips and he nodded to show he
understood.
Mulder took the lube from the drawer; Krycek took it from him. Mulder lay back,
surprised, but Krycek seemed to know what he was doing. The fingers against him
were slippery as Mulder relaxed. They moved inside him, probing gently, and a
heartbeat later Krycek was inside him. It was more difficult for him with only
one hand, so Mulder wrapped his legs around him to make it easier. Krycek closed
his eyes, looking so young that Mulder suddenly felt sad. He pushed the thoughts
away; he didn't want to think of an alternate version of Krycek. The man had
showed him enough of his heart with the kid—he didn't want to be selfish and
want to see everything.
Krycek was making his sounds again, in the back of his throat. Soft, vulnerable
sounds. His entire body was tight, and he threw back his head. It wouldn't be
long now. The angle was wrong for him, he was too tired to actually want it, but
he liked that Krycek came to him like this.
It was over too soon. Krycek grunted, throwing his head back and the tendon s
and muscles of his neck stood up against his throat. Mulder suddenly wanted to
run his hands down it, to feel the frantic pulse or the silky skin against his
hands, but once Krycek collapsed over him, Mulder only held him, hushing him down
from the sobs. He wanted to ask a thousand things, but respected Krycek's
silence.
The next morning, Mulder heard the banging from the bathroom. It became violent
in the next heartbeat, and Mulder jumped to his feet and threw open the door.
Krycek was trying to scratch his back on the shower-door, but slammed himself
back onto it again. His arm was off, and the look on his face was pure rage.
"Get the fuck out of here," he snarled.
Mulder took a step forward. "Tell me where it itches," he said, dropping his
voice to a low, but Krycek glared at him. It was like trying to soothe a wild
animal. "Krycek?"
Krycek stopped throwing himself back, but his entire body trembled. "I...can't
reach it," he said. His voice was broken, and the hurt went far beyond a single
itch.
Mulder moved beside him, reaching down and ran his nails down the red and
inflamed skin. Krycek leaned back into him, trembles turning into shudders, and
Mulder scratched until Krycek's skin was red before Krycek broke away. He turned
around, but looked down at his stump and flushed. "Get out of here, Mulder," he
said, softly.
Mulder put his hand on Krycek's left shoulder. Krycek flinched, but didn't try
to get away from him. "You're beautiful," he said, softly.
"I'm a fucking freak," Krycek snapped.
"No, you're beautiful," Mulder said. He moved his hand down, but Krycek grabbed
his wrist and squeezed.
"Try to touch it again and I'll kill you," Krycek said.
Mulder moved his hand away, and Krycek leaned against the wall. "I hated you,"
he said. "I hated you for dragging me there. I wanted to hold you down and rip
your arm off to punish you."
Mulder said nothing. Krycek went to run his hand down his own shoulder, but he
couldn't touch what little arm he had left. His face twisted, and he pushed
himself up to his feet. He walked past Mulder and went into the kitchen, to the
cupboard above the sink. He took down the mickey of vodka and cracked open the
cap. He knocked back five or six swallows, before coughing.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Mulder said, suddenly uncertain. Krycek wiped
his mouth and laughed.
The laughter cut off. "Oh, fuck. You were serious," he said.
"Krycek..."
Krycek waved him away. "I gotta pick up the kid. Thanks for the fuck, Mulder."
Mulder followed him back into the bathroom, "Krycek, don't do this. You have
to—"
"I have to what, deal with it? I am fucking dealing with it. Get out of my face
about it, Mulder," Krycek growled. He strapped on his arm and yanked down his
turtle-neck. Mulder didn't stop him from leaving.
Pedro looked at him from the baby-sitter, but didn't talk to him as he went down
to Krycek's car. He waited sullenly by the door for Krycek to unlock it. "Don't
do this. It's not like I dump you every night," Krycek said.
Nothing. Pedro didn't stop glaring.
Krycek started the car, snapping down the turn-signal angrily. "Fine, whatever."
"I don't like it," the boy said.
"You don't have to like it. You have to do it, Pedro. I can't leave you alone."
"Did before."
Krycek didn't respond. Pedro screwed up his face. "You did before," he
repeated.
"Yeah, and I was wrong."
"I don't like it," Pedro repeated.
Krycek braced the wheel with his knee and put his hand on the boy's head for an
instant. "I know," he said.
Pedro's shoulders slumped. Krycek went back to driving. He stopped at the boy's
school, but Pedro wouldn't get out of the car. "I don't want to go."
Krycek sighed. "No. I know. But you have to, kid."
Pedro reluctantly got out of the car and hugged his book-bag to his chest. Krycek
waited for Pedro to reach the door before getting out of the car. He drove to
the office.
The man with the squeaky voice saw him without an appointment. "What is it,
Alex?" the man asked.
"I need more jobs," Krycek said. He didn't have a handler anymore, and it was
difficult to find freelance work.
"Not busy enough?" the man asked. "I would have thought you would have
appreciated the time off.
It was difficult to remember to keep his head bowed. "No, sir. I need the
work."
"The boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"You need to work smarter, Alex. You don't need a raise."
"Sir?"
"We'll give you two agents to start. Lose either one of them and we will start
to think we were wrong about you."
Krycek nodded.
Pedro was in his room when the doorbell rang. Krycek took the cordless into the
entrance way. "Da-me," he snapped, carefully peering through the peep-hole.
"Da-me-yo. Dekakinai."
He opened the door and let Mulder in. "Boku-ga ikanai-yo. Chigau. Iie! Iie!"
he hung up and threw the phone onto the couch.
"You speak Japanese, Krycek?" Mulder asked.
"Yeah, why? You wanna drag me to Tokyo? I still have three limbs left," Krycek
snapped.
Mulder held out his hands. "Bad time?" he asked.
Krycek took a deep breath. "Forget it," he said. "I need a drink."
"The boy?"
Krycek glanced to the bedroom, "Asleep." He went to the kitchen and took out a
couple beers and sat down. He didn't look up until he realized Mulder was
staring. "What?" he asked.
"You sound rough," Mulder said. He stood up and moved to the edge of the table.
Krycek looked up, but closed his eyes again as Mulder massaged the back of his
neck. "What's wrong?"
"Do you want a fucking alphabetical listing?" Krycek asked, but sighed as Mulder
worked his fingers over the muscles.
"How about starting with just the A's?" Mulder said.
Krycek turned his head and downed the rest of his beer. "A. That would be
amputation and alcoholism," he said.
Mulder took the empty from him, but before he could slip off the table and be
equal with him, Krycek moved to his lap and started to undo his slacks. Mulder
hissed, but leaned back. Krycek licked his lips and loved the salty taste on his
lips. Mulder was quiet except for the swallowing sounds he made.
He moved his arm around so he could hold Mulder's hips, and stood up from the
chair. He wanted the only thought to be the feel of Mulder's cock against his
lips, the taste, the smell...
Mulder couldn't last. He swallowed, wiped his mouth, and stood up for another
beer. Mulder zipped up his slacks as Krycek took his beer into the living room.
Mulder followed him. "Spend the night?" Krycek asked.
Mulder nodded. Krycek leaned against him, sighed, and closed his eyes. Mulder
finally nudged him and they went into the bedroom together.
He woke to Mulder nuzzling on his neck. It was a unique sensation. Mulder was
out of practice with nuzzling, and his morning stubble teetered on the
irritating/sexy line, but then he pushed Krycek's legs open and
did...something...with his hip and Krycek forgave him everything.
He pushed his head back into the pillow as Mulder worked his erection with his
hand. Mulder moved up to him, kissing his neck, and Krycek pulled him closer.
His body flushed as he tried to move his hips up to meet Mulder's wonderful,
wonderful hand, and Mulder moved his finger down, behind his scrotum and pressed
down, slightly.
Krycek jerked up, the jolt spreading through his body. Mulder hadn't moved away
and they bumped noses. For a moment the pain stung, but Mulder moved his free
hand up to Krycek's neck and held him off the mattress. The moment passed,
losing its awkwardness, and Mulder moved down over him again.
They had kissed before. Passing by out the door, payback for a favour, but never
like this. Mulder's lips were soft, and the irritating stubble didn't even
register with him. He opened his mouth to let Mulder in, and felt Mulder's
tongue over his teeth. He tried to laugh, but Mulder wouldn't let him break away
long enough to take the breath he needed for it. "Freak," he muttered, but
Mulder didn't respond. His finger moved down again, away from the spot, and
Krycek felt it move against his opening. The finger wasn't even wet, but it
didn't try to enter him. It was enough to press down. Mulder's hip wasn't enough
friction. Krycek reached down, grabbing the man's ass and pulling him down.
Mulder laughed, and Krycek felt the man's dick against his belly for the first
time. Their legs tangled as they rocked together. Mulder let his mouth go and
moved down to his neck. Mulder's gasps were sweet, and Krycek closed his eyes.
It was too late to ask to be fucked, but he didn't need to be. Mulder bit him,
not hard enough to break the skin but enough to make Krycek bite his lip to keep
from making a sound. His hand sipped on the sweat of Mulder's back, but he
pushed down harder. Mulder sucked on his collarbone as Krycek came, and then he
collapsed against the mattress.
Eventually he opened his eyes, realizing Mulder hadn't moved off him. "Hum?" he
asked.
"I have to go to work."
"It's Saturday," Krycek said.
"Interoffice meeting, don't ask me. Are you going to be okay?"
Krycek closed his eyes. "I'll live," he said. "I have to arrange a trip to
Tokyo."
"I thought you said you weren't going," Mulder said.
"I'm not," Krycek said. "Didn't I tell you? I'm management, now."
"Should I have the airports watched?"
"If you want to waste the man-power," Krycek yawned. "You getting off me or
what?"
"Until tonight. Then I'm getting right back on."
Krycek pulled the blankets up. "Sounds like a date," he said. Mulder kissed him
again, but only flicked his tongue against Krycek's lips before getting up. The
television was still off which meant Pedro was still asleep, so Krycek closed his
eyes and went back to sleep.
The boy looked up at him as he entered the main room. Krycek's hair was still
wet from his shower, but he felt better. He had spent over an hour on the phone,
but it was arranged. "Hey, kid," he said, going into the kitchen for some
orange-juice. Pedro followed him, pulling the chair out to sit on.
Krycek pulled out the carton and poured two glasses, giving one to Pedro. "Do you
want to go for a drive?" he asked.
Pedro didn't say anything, but studied him over the glass.
"Don't look at me like that. Kids your age should go out. I don't know, see a
cow or something. You ever see a cow?"
The boy shook his head. "What was that?" Krycek asked.
"Never seen a cow," Pedro said.
"Good then. Grab your coat. We'll grab something on the way."
Pedro had never been outside of the city, and Krycek felt a moment's guilt for
not taking him out sooner. The boy kept looking around the car, but then settled
down. "Mulder stayed over," he said.
"Yeah, he did," Krycek said.
"You like him?"
"Why the third degree?"
Pedro looked at him, confused. "Why the questions?" Krycek repeated.
"My..." Pedro frowned, "My...dad's...friends stay over," Pedro said.
"Did you like them?"
"My...dad..." the boy tensed at the word. Krycek braced the wheel with his knee
and touched the boy's head. Pedro turned to him for just a second, and then
sighed. "The ladies were nice. Didn't hurt me then."
"Mulder isn't going to hurt you," Krycek said.
Pedro nodded, and a herd of horses by the road distracted him. He was back to
staring out the window before Krycek said anything else.
He turned down the lane. Dogs ran out to meet the car as he got out. Pedro
climbed over the seat and hid behind him as the two German shepherds bounded
towards them. "They won't bite," the woman called.
The consortium could arrange anything. Pedro spent the day watching lambs play
in the clover.
"You're him, aren't you, that's Pedro?" the farmwife said.
Krycek looked at her, but didn't answer. She held up her arms. "No names. You
were never here. But they are talking about the boy."
Krycek hesitated, but only for a moment. "What about him?" he asked.
"Nothing particular. Just that he's your weakness," she looked at him coldly.
"Now that you have something to lose you are more valuable to them."
"No names," Krycek said, turning back to Pedro.
"Of course not," she said. "The puppies are going to be weaned in a week. If you
want him to have one, let me know."
"I'll think about it."
"You do that," she said. Krycek moved away from her, scooping up Pedro from the
puppy pen.
"No," he said.
"Please, Alex, I just want—"
"No," Krycek said. He carried the boy out to the car, and Pedro didn't fight to
get down. Krycek put the boy down on the roof of the car to open the door and
pulled the boy down. Pedro slid in.
Krycek joined him. Pedro bounced around the car for a while, but eventually he
nodded off. Krycek didn't wake him, but pulled over to the side of the road to
make a phone call.
Mulder answered on the fourth ring. "Mulder."
"Hey."
Mulder coughed. "I see."
"You see? You're not alone?"
"That's not viable right now."
"Viable? What am I, sperm?"
"I have to check on that."
"Asshole. You coming tonight?" Krycek asked. Pedro's breathing was deep and
steady, but he still lowered his voice.
"I'll punch the numbers and get back to you," Mulder said.
Krycek heard the voices behind him. One was a woman, the other was gruff. Not
his favourite two people. He hung up and pulled back onto the road.
Pedro shifted in his seat, but didn't wake up. Krycek drove back to his place
and picked the boy up, but as he got out of the car he heard the gun chamber
behind him. "I am not going to ask you to raise your hand," the smoker said,
behind him.
Krycek tensed. "This isn't sanctioned," he said, keeping his voice low so as to
not wake the boy.
"It will be, after the fact. Turn around."
Krycek turned around, slowly.
"Give me the gun, Alex."
Krycek swallowed, but raised his jacket. The smoker groped him, slowly, and
pulled it out with his left hand. He made no attempt to hold it with his right.
In fact, it hadn't moved his right arm the whole time he stood there. The smoker
wore black gloves, but Krycek stared at the man's false arm. "My god," he
whispered.
"Did you think if they let me live you'd be safe?"
"I was hoping they would have killed you."
"They wanted the irony instead."
"You kill me now and they'll cut off the other arm."
"It would be worth it."
"Then what are you waiting for?"
"Oh, you don't think it will be that easy, do you, Alex? I want to make you
suffer like I've suffered."
Krycek shrugged. "Do you want to hack me up down here or should we go up?"
"So cavalier, Alex. You are not going give me the satisfaction of seeing you
shake."
Krycek said nothing on the way up from the elevator. "Do you think you are the
first person who's come to kill me?" Krycek asked. The smoker groped him again
and pulled out his keys from his jeans pocket. He went in first and heard the
smoker lock the door.
He carried the boy into his room and closed the door. It would have been easier
if he kept a weapon in Pedro's room, but he'd never go that low. He even got rid
of the gun under his pillow. The smoker waited for him.
"On your knees."
"I'm not sucking you off."
The smoker pressed the gun against his forehead. "I said get on your fucking
knees."
"And I told you I am not fucking sucking you off," Krycek snapped. The gun
pressed harder, and he wondered if he would have time to form a perfectly
circular bruise before the smoker blew his head off.
"Then you die."
Krycek closed his eyes and bowed his head. The smoker took it for acceptance,
but Krycek knew the gun would be heavy for his left hand and he wouldn't be used
to the way it felt. He waited for the smoker to adjust his grip, and then
grabbed the smoker's hand.
The gun never went off. Krycek fought with his right arm, stronger now with two
years after the amputation, and the smoker had only a month with his left.
Krycek pried the gun from the smoker's hand, and then pistol-whipped the man.
His head rolled to the side, and Krycek sat back. It would only take a heartbeat
to press the gun into the man's soft chin and pull the trigger, but that would be
too fast.
It would be much easier for the office to take care of it. The raspy voiced man
was gone, but his assistant picked up the phone.
Pedro didn't wake up, and by the time Mulder knocked on the door, the body was
gone. "Krycek?" Mulder asked. "You look..."
"I look what?" Krycek demanded.
"On anyone else I'd say...almost...shaken. Are you okay?"
Krycek sighed. He was still too jumpy to go to bed, but Mulder was content to
stay up and watch television with him until morning. It was mindless, but by the
time Pedro opened his bedroom door, Krycek was finally feeling tired. "Come
here," he called.
Pedro frowned at Mulder, but tottered over. Krycek gathered him up, ignoring the
irritation of his straps from being on for twenty four hours. Mulder looked away,
but Krycek didn't care. Pedro settled back into him, and Krycek sighed. The
word "family" left a bad taste in his mouth; but the two people on the couch were
his.
And he loved them.
Bang for a Buck
by Barb G
The smoker put a cigarette in his mouth, and then paused. Mulder saw a flash of
disgust cross Krycek's face and then he dug something out of his pocket. Krycek
flicked the lighter and shifted sideways to light the smoke.
# #
