He'd been twisted in so many knots over the last year he was having a hard
time remembering his own name, not to mention his most dearly held beliefs.
And with a name like Fox, unforgettable as that was, it was doubly
indicative of the truly shitty year 1997 had been.
Well, with a few bright highlights. Scully went into remission.
Cancerman died.
Maybe.
Special Agent Mulder, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Paranormal Activities
(X Files) division, took careful aim with his thirty sixth rubber band that
evening and scored a direct hit on the fore landing light of the flying
saucer hovering mid-air over his oft-abused motto, I Want To Believe. The
poster was getting a bit ratty around the edges, but it still gave him a
little shiver whenever he looked at it. Because with all the crap life (and
the US Government, not to mention various and sundry alien entities no one
else would admit to) kept throwing at him, he did want to believe. So much
it hurt.
But then, he was used to the pain. Lost his sister, and his childhood with
her. Lost his father, and his entire view of the structure of the world
around him was wrenched out of focus. His mother would barely even look at
him, much less speak with him, and god only knew what she'd come out with if
she ever did open up to him. He wasn't all that sure he wanted to know some
truths. Even if he had to hear them.
He could feel his thoughts dragging him down, winding him up tighter and
tighter. His eyes felt like sandpaper, his thoughts were chasing themselves
in useless loops over and around the same set of interlaced conspiracies,
and he was feeling like a kitten tied in yarn right before being tossed in
the deep end of the swimming pool. The incongruous thought that he was
starving popped out of that mental image somehow, and his hand was halfway
to the phone to call for pizza when he remembered that he was still at work.
And getting Little Caesar through the metal detectors was a real bitch.
Fingers still lightly resting on the plastic handset, he was startled half
out of his seat by the ringing of the phone bell. He snatched the receiver
up and pressed it to his ear automatically.
"Mulder!" He hadn't meant to sound so enthusiastic, but hey, he'd
been surprised. The voice tentatively questioning in his ear caused him
to fall heavily back into his chair.
"Uhm, Agent Fox Mulder?" It sounded like he wasn't sure he had the right
number. Through the numbness hiding the growing red haze of his thoughts,
Mulder was quite sure he did.
"What the fuck do you want, Krycek? And where the hell are you? Last I
checked you were wandering around the Siberian forest with your Red Army
buddies!"
There was dead silence on the other end of the line. Then a throat was
cleared, and the voice sounded again, even more tentatively.
"I don't know if this is the right number—"
"Don't be such a prick, Krycek. I'm not in the mood to play your stupid mind
games!" The growl was even more pronounced now, as Mulder clenched his jaw
to keep from screaming into the phone.
"Who's Krycek?" A damned good actor, apparently. He sounded
honestly puzzled.
It was Mulder's turn to stare at the wall in disbelief. What did he think he
was pulling now? "What are you up to, Alex?" He consciously softened his
voice, inviting confidence, trying to mask the feral desire to rip the other
man's head from his shoulders.
"Well, that's closer, anyway." The voice lightened somewhat, but it still
sounded uncertain and wary. "My name's Alec Neekto. I'm a computer
programmer."
Mulder made a strangled noise, and the other man took it for encouragement,
not rampant disbelief at Krycek's incredible balls.
"There have been some... strange things happening recently. An e-mail buddy
of mine recommended I call you, and told me to tell you that Tindall sent
me. Uhm, I mean, the Tin Man."
Mulder closed his eyes, his fingers clenching around the handset. Tindall
was a hacker he'd met several months before through the Lone Gunmen. Tin man
was both paranoid and very shy, but had been extremely helpful with hacking
into the Defense Department's biological weapons R&D database. Just the
mention of that particular name over an open line into FBI headquarters made
Mulder's skin crawl. Before Krycek, or whoever the hell he was calling
himself, could say another word, he broke in.
"Meet me. Diner at Walnut and Madison. Called Hazelnut's. Half an hour." He
cradled the receiver before he could get an answer. Maybe it was the
coward's way out, but if the other man couldn't make it he didn't want to
hear it. Failure to appear equated with hoax, and that was the way he was
going to look at it. Grabbing his coat and flicking the light off on the way
out the door, he took the stairs up to the ground level two at a time.
He didn't think about what would happen if the man showed up. He didn't
think it would ever happen. Ratboy? In a public, well lit place? Where he
could be seen, taken in, no handy bolt holes to lunge into? Nah. Never
happen.
Exactly thirty minutes from the time he hung up the phone, Krycek walked in
the door of Hazelnut's. Mulder nearly dropped his coffee. The traitorous
bastard stood in the doorway for a few moments, back-lit, a clear target.
Half of Mulder's brain couldn't believe Krycek was being so damned stupid...
or suicidal. The other half was too busy sighing wistfully at the sight to
care. He'd known the younger man was good looking when they were partnered,
but subsequent betrayals had tarnished that knowledge. After not seeing him
for months, and as ragged as he had looked the last time Mulder had
seen him, looking at him now was almost like looking at a different person.
His suit fit, for starters. Tailored fine dark wool, cobalt blue threads
weaving through the charcoal cloth, picking up lights in Krycek's eyes. The
matching tie and creamy linen shirt showed off his coloring beautifully.
Mulder bit his tongue. It had been a very long time since a man had affected
him like this. The first time he'd seen Krycek he'd thought he was
beautiful, and known he was off limits. But this Krycek... alike and yet
different. His hair was longer, just brushing his collar, with a hint of
wave to it. His face was fine-boned, slender, slight shadows under his eyes,
but without the lines of stress and fatigue that had been so prevalent last
time they'd met. Clean, close shaven, hands well cared for and
fidgeting slightly. Poised on the balls of his feet, but not as if to fight.
More as if to flee.
When he made no move to come forward, Mulder half-lifted a menu card and
waved it at him. A look of transparent relief came over his face, and Mulder
found himself shaking his head in disbelief. Whatever the hell had happened
to Krycek to clean him up had also taken every last atom of his survival
instincts away from him. Or at least so it appeared. He stopped at the edge
of the table and looked down at Mulder, half relieved, half fearful.
"Agent Mulder?" His voice was the same, only the slight hesitation wavering
below the words was unusual. Mulder kept the tip of his tongue between his
teeth and nodded toward the opposite bench in the small booth. Krycek
glanced around once, then sank onto the hard plastic cushion. "I wasn't
quite sure where this place was, but I looked it up. I have a Thomas Guide
and it really comes in handy sometimes. Much better than the Rand McNally. I
don't really get out and about all that much. Too busy with work and my
computer, I guess. Why did you hang up like that?"
The abrupt question on the end of the soft ramblings caught Mulder
by surprise—again. He carefully unclenched his teeth, rolled his tongue
in his mouth to stop the initial, instinctive response to Krycek's attempt
at a verbal thrust, and took a deep breath.
"Drop the act, Krycek. You're not fooling anybody and you're sure as hell
not impressing me." Tired eyes met his with convincing incomprehension. Then
they closed, briefly, and Mulder was caught by the length and silkiness of
the dark lashes. Shit. He had it bad, and it wasn't going to go away easily
this time. His resistance was too low. Listening with one ear to the quiet
litany of lies issuing from his companion, Mulder ran a mental checklist of
all the reasons why he should hate Alex Krycek. Most of them began and ended
with betrayal. Balanced against this truly impressive list was the
undeniable fact that he'd wanted him for what felt like forever, and he was
worn a little too thin around the edges to hide that desire successfully.
Even from himself. He tuned back in just as Krycek was leaning forward
and patting his knuckle with one gentle index finger.
"Are you listening to me at all?" A hint of anger and frustration
was pushing aside the hesitation. Mulder thought about it for a split second
then reeled the whole pack of bologna back at him.
"Your name is Alec Neekto, age thirty four, computer programmer working on
defense contracts for a private software development company out of Reston,
Virginia. Three weeks ago you noticed irregularities in your data that led
you to believe someone was going through your files. When you reported it,
no one believed you. Two days after that someone went through your
apartment. Nothing was taken. Again, you reported it but no one believed
you. Eleven days ago you began hearing strange noises on your phone that
made you believe it was tapped. When you attempted to ascertain if this
was the case you were dismissed as a crank. Five days ago someone began to
follow you, and you decided against going to the police because 'they
wouldn't believe you anyway.' You got my name from an e-mail buddy you met
in a chat room about six months ago, one hacker with the handle Tin Man, who
recommended me to help you when you told him what had been happening. Get it
all so far?"
Krycek stared at him. It was a masterful performance, although the gaping
jaw was probably overkill. Unable to resist the temptation, he put one
finger under that square jaw and snapped it shut. Krycek blushed.
Mulder's own jaw dropped. He didn't know Krycek knew how to blush.
The now painfully red young man opposite him slowly slumped into his seat,
brought his elbows up to the table and dropped his face into his hands. "You
don't believe me either. You think I'm this Crutcheck person."
Before Mulder could correct his pronunciation, he scrabbled wildly in his
pocket. Mulder tensed, expecting a gun. The thin square of worn black
leather Krycek pulled out wasn't nearly as threatening, and he relaxed.
Fractionally. It didn't do to get too relaxed in Krycek's company.
"Here!" A Virginia state driver's license, social security card, Chevron
card and photo id card from Techtron Industries landed on the table on front
of him. Carefully aligning them side by side, he took his time memorizing
them. All were in the name of Alec Neekto, and the license gave a home
residence of 839 Dunlap Street #19, Reston, Virginia. They looked genuine.
This, of course, proved nothing. Although he had to admit they were higher
quality than he would have expected a down-on-his-luck Russian agent to be
able to afford. They'd even been nicely weathered.
He looked up coolly into the rapidly heating glare Krycek was giving him.
"So? Good forgeries. Do you give recommendations?"
An inarticulate exclamation answered his facetious question as
Krycek gathered the cards up and stuffed them back into his wallet. "What
do you want from me?" he finally hissed, his voice cracking on the
last word. He blushed again, and Mulder could see that he was shaking.
A niggling doubt caught at the back of his mind. This man wearing Krycek's
face had all the self-protective instincts of a newborn infant. His
documents were good—damned good. But then again, Krycek was an
accomplished liar, and had fooled too many people in the past, Mulder
included, for him to swallow this too easily. He gathered up his coat,
tossed a couple dollars on the tabletop for the untouched coffee, and stood
quickly. Krycek stared up at him, looking for all the world like a spaniel
about to be abandoned.
"C'mon," Mulder invited, one hard hand around the other man's biceps giving
him no opportunity to refuse the invitation. "Let's go home."
Krycek didn't make a sound as the two men hustled to Mulder's car. Mulder
checked every direction, and didn't see anyone watching. They settled in,
and as soon as the seat belt clicked shut over his passenger he headed
toward the address from the license. Checking the mirrors often and doubling
back three times, he ensured that they weren't followed. Two blocks from the
apartment complex, Krycek ventured a question.
"Mr. Mulder?" Mulder snorted in disbelief at the act but nodded anyway. "How
do you know where I live?"
Mulder stared at him, then looked back at the road just in time to stop at a
red light without rear-ending a Lexus idling importantly in front of them.
He swallowed twice, considered and discarded several scathing replies, and
answered simply, "Your license." If Krycek wanted to play dimwits, he was
more than happy to play along.
Amazingly, Krycek chuckled. "Oh. Of course. How stupid of me."
Mulder agreed, silently, then wondered what was going on in the other man's
head, trying to triple think his way around what had proven in the past to
be a truly Machiavellian mind. Krycek let himself out of the car and led the
way to his apartment door. As they stepped off the elevator into the
hallway, he gave a small cry and started forward at a near-run. Mulder
instinctively grabbed him and pulled him back against the wall, holding him
still by the simple expedient of covering him with his body.
"Where the hell are you going?" he whispered fiercely into the ear next to
his mouth.
"They-" the indignant bellow was swiftly quieted by Mulder's hand over his
mouth. His lips continued to move, and Mulder's body reacted to the feeling
of those lip fluttering against his palm, that strong body moving under his.
Angry at his Pavlovian response to Krycek's nearness, he slapped the back of
the other man's head against the wall, lightly enough not to knock him out
but heavily enough to stop all motion. A muffled squeak of protest and pain
withered under his glare.
"Quietly, damnit. They may still be there. Are you carrying?" At the look of
dumb ignorance meeting his own, he lost what little patience he had left. "A
gun, fuckhead, are you carrying your gun?"
The ignorance gave way to horror, and Krycek shook his head as hard as he
could beneath the hand holding his lower face. Mulder sighed and let him go,
slowly. "I am an idiot."
"Why?" Krycek asked shakily, then reached up and fingered the back of his
skull. "That hurt." There was a definite whine in his voice. "Why'd you
have to-" His voice cut off and his eyes widened as Mulder pulled his own
Glock from its holster and motioned Krycek to get behind him. Swallowing
heavily, Krycek shut up and plastered himself against the wall, staring with
fascination at Mulder's weapon. Mulder stared back at him for a moment,
wondering just how far Krycek was willing to go with this fantasy and if he
was willing to get both of them killed to save his cover. Then he took a
gamble, turned his back on the other man, and crept into the opened door of
the apartment.
The place had been completely torn apart. A stifled, distressed gurgle from
behind him at the door frame assured him that Krycek had seen the damage as
well. Before Mulder could stop him, Krycek headed into the bedroom,
muttering curses under his breath. Mulder hurried to follow, trying to look
all directions at once to make sure the intruders truly were gone. Before he
got past the doorway into the back room, there was a scuffling noise and a
cut-off yell. Mulder instinctively brought his weapon up, as a large body
crashed past him and out the door. He took off at a dead run, trying to
catch the suspect.
He lost him on the stairwell. By the time he got to the lobby the door was
swinging slowly shut, and there was no sign of the intruder. Mulder spit
out a curse, holstered his gun, and climbed back up the stairs.
Krycek was lying in a heap next to the bed, a dazed look on his face and a
trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. From the looks of
him, the intruder had clocked him across the jaw then ran for it. And Krycek
hadn't put up even a semblance of a fight. Mulder went into the kitchen,
jury-rigged an ice pack out of a dish towel and the last ice cubes in the
freezer, and rejoined Krycek in the bedroom. By this time the other man had
managed to pull himself up onto the side of the bed. He was staring at the
wreckage in a daze. Mulder handed him the ice, then guided his limp hand up
to the side of his jaw, already swelling. Krycek looked at him, not saying a
word, confusion and shock in every line of his body.
Mulder pulled out his cell phone and hit the first fast dial button. Time
to call in the big guns. "Hello, Scully? I need help."
Mulder had been his usual informative self, which meant that by the time
Scully pulled up in front of his apartment she knew the usual zip nada. His
life wasn't immediately in danger, something big was happening that could be
anything from government conspiracies to alien landings, and he was out of
his depth. It had boiled down to 'meet me at my apartment, Scully, I need
you.'
Maybe it was time she took Kreske up on his e-mail invitation to spend a
weekend in San Diego. Visit her nephew, ignore her brother, play footsie
with a cute cop. She needed the break.
But right now, Mulder needed her. So she packed up her little black doctor's
bag, her extra clip and her slogging through the mud shoes and went.
As soon as she walked through the door she dropped the bag, tensed in the
shoes and pulled her gun.
"Federal agent, freeze! Put your hands where I can see them, Krycek!"
This did not get the reaction she was expecting. The shaky, pale young
double agent in the Saville Row suit promptly whacked himself in the eye
with what looked to be an attempt at an ice bag while trying to throw his
hands in the air. Then he grunted in pain, reached up to grab at his
now-sore eye, whacked his bruised, swollen jaw, and yelped, "Ow!
Owowowowowow!" Then he fell to the floor, curled up in a ball, threw both
hands over his head, and whined, yes, it was definitely a whine, "Help me,
Mulder! Don't let her kill me! God, lady, don't shoot! I'm not
Crutchiwhosit, honest to god, help me out here, Mulder!"
Scully lowered her weapon until it was resting, barrel still pointing at the
quivering mass of humanity balled up on the floor, and stared at him. Behind
her, Mulder sighed.
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto."
She tossed a glare back over her shoulder. He shrugged, then handed her a
wallet. She looked at the offering, looked back at the man making no attempt
to move from his fetal position at her feet, and holstered her weapon.
"This had better be good," she said calmly as she pulled a driver's license
and various other identification cards out. Mulder shrugged, edged past her
and gently patted Krycek's head. The whining slowed to an occasional
whimper.
Scully looked through the papers, looked back at Mulder crouched down next
to Krycek's doppelganger, and finally stared into wet green eyes staring
accusingly up at her.
"Alec? Neekto?" she asked skeptically.
He tried to nod, was immediately reminded that his jaw was twice its normal
size, and sniffed, long and loud. "Yeah, I AM." He did his very best attempt
at belligerent. He looked about four years old to Scully. She looked at
Mulder.
"Explain." So he did, or at least he tried to. By the time he finished, she
was more than half tempted to believe they'd both lost their marbles. As she
opened her mouth to share this belief with the men, all hell broke loose.
Four men wearing black camouflage and full face masks streamed through the
door. Scully didn't have time to draw her gun before the first one took her
out with a swift sideways blow to the head. Groggy, but not completely
unconscious, she saw Mulder fighting two of the men desperately. Reaching
for her gun, she was shocked to see the previously piteously whining Krycek
lookalike lash out with hands and feet, taking two of the attackers down.
She called a warning, but as her mouth closed around the words three more of
the commandos came through the doorway. Forcing herself up from the wall,
ignoring the fierce pain in her head, she took one down with a kick to the
stomach and dropped another with a chop to the throat. Then Mulder was
flying past her, dragging Krycek alongside and scooping her wrist up into
his grasp as he went past. From along the corridor they could hear more
boots clattering up the stairs.
They went down the back way, along the fire escape.
No one had the breath to say much until they got several blocks away. Then
Mulder led them to a small, out of the way diner in a quiet residential
block. Scully was reaching for her cell phone when her partner's hand on
hers stopped her.
"I'm calling for back-up, Mulder," she said determinedly. He shook his head.
"Can't do that, Scully."
"Why not?" It was an odd duet coming from both Scully and Krycek. He looked
at both of them before addressing her.
"Look at him." He gestured to Krycek. "What'll happen if we take him into
custody? Which we'd have to do if we call in anyone official on this."
"Why?" The lookalike asked plaintively. The partners ignored him.
"And that would be a bad thing?" She wasn't so sure.
"No, not if you want him to end up like Cardinale, or any one of the others
the Consortium doesn't want to talk."
"Consortium? Cardinals? What the hell are you talking about?" The
increasingly agitated voice was still just background noise to them.
"You have a point. So what do you propose we do about it?"
Krycek, or whoever he was, made an abortive attempt to rise. Mulder threw
one leg over his thighs under the table and anchored him to the seat. He
subsided, ungracefully, giving little twists and shoves to show that he was
not intimidated.
"Find out what's behind the story," Mulder managed to say, containing
Krycek's straining body with some effort. She looked at the two of them
calculatingly.
"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" She rounded on Krycek. He jumped,
and Mulder tightened his hold. Then he made a sinuous little sideways shift,
and Mulder reacted with a strangled noise and what looked suspiciously like
the beginnings of a blush. Scully ignored the by-play and fixed bright
accusing eyes on the ringer.
"Aikido," he ground out huskily. "Studied it for years." He and Mulder
appeared to be nearly sitting in one another's laps. Scully shook her head,
partly to show that she didn't buy the story, partly to clear it. She really
had to get out more. She was starting to feel like the audience at a peep
show.
"What about your apartment, Mulder?" Turning to her partner, she was
surprised at the intensity of the stare he was giving Krycek. Maybe he's
looking for plastic surgery scars, she thought, then repeated the question.
The second time, he responded.
"It's happened before. By the time we get back it'll be cleaned up. But they
might come back. They seemed pretty intent on taking Krycek-"
"Neekto." Truculently, if a little stifled.
"-here," Mulder continued, ignoring him. "Might be a good idea if we went
someplace quiet. Got a friend in Newport News, we could use his house."
"Think he'd mind?" she asked with a touch of sarcasm. "He might not be too
happy if the goons in black find you there and decide to redecorate."
He shrugged. "He'll be okay with it. He's in Japan for the next three
months. And his sister's a partier. We could always blame it on Sheryl."
She smiled unwillingly. "That's mature, Mulder, mess it up and blame it on
the kids." He smiled back at her, unrepentant.
Krycek, or Neekto, squirmed.
A nice, quiet two story house on a nice quiet street in a nice quiet
neighborhood. Perfect camouflage for debriefing a government witnesses with
no stress, no pressure. And in this case, no luck. Krycek was determined
that he was Neekto. He showed no signs of any combat training other than the
Aikido he already admitted to, and seemed to be extremely uncomfortable with
guns. His conversation centered around computers, obscure British police
dramas from the early eighties, and instrumental music. Probing questions
and slyly laid conversational traps exposed not a damned thing that wasn't
completely in character for Alec Neekto. There wasn't a glimpse of Krycek.
Mulder didn't have the slightest urge to slug him.
After three days of Scully ferreting around at headquarters and Mulder
ferreting around in Krycek/Neekto's mind, the agent was ready to give it up
and just call the guy Al. At least both alter egos had that in common.
After three nights with the man, Mulder was looking for a convent to join.
Or better yet, a monastery.
The story was iron clad, the cover was the most perfect he'd ever seen. An
afternoon spent bonding with the Lone Gunmen had proven that his computer
ability, at least, was genuine. And after nine meals with him, and three
long nights laying in the living room listening to him breathe, Mulder was
losing track of his priorities.
He'd long been aware that gender was a non-issue in his lovers. He was drawn
toward people who intrigued him, and who would hurt him given half a chance.
Fully aware of his own obsessive tendencies and his attraction toward
anything and anyone that could prove hazardous to his health, his desire for
Krycek had been just one more urge sublimated into his search for the truth
through his work. That sublimation had been eased and encouraged by the
double agent's subsequent betrayals.
Now, that search, and his investigative instincts, were concentrating on the
same subject as his libido. It was stretching him to his limits.
The morning of the fourth day, it snapped.
It shouldn't have taken him by surprise. Any talking Alec had done for the
last few days that didn't involve hacking code had been about men.
Musicians, actors, characters in television shows... all guys. And he'd felt
the other man watching him, gauging his reaction. Codes and subcodes, all
very familiar to Mulder, even if it had been a long time since he'd been a
codetalker in this particular substrata of society. Matched with the
brushing hands, the 'accidental' bumps between their shoulders when they
walked or their thighs when they sat, the staring and the lingering eye
contact, and he was left in no doubt whatsoever that the want was returned.
He just didn't trust him.
And his body didn't seem to give a damn.
Three year old buried urges about the man who might or might not be scamming
him were joined with new needs for the man he was getting to know, and when
Alec leaned toward him over the file they were studying and kissed the side
of his mouth, he turned his head.
Toward the touch, not away.
Alec moaned, shifted closer. Canted his head sideways.
Techtron's financial records for software development division for the last
two years hit the floor with a dull thud. Neither man noticed, except to
wriggle closer to one another, with the paper impediment removed.
It had been awhile, but the movements came back. It was a lot like riding a
bike. Of course, an eidetic memory helped, and he had done quite a bit of
studying along with his field research. He knew where the sensitive nerves
were, and the likely response if he bit lightly just over the jugular,
sucked gently on the Adam's apple, tugged at an earlobe. His hands roamed
over the crisp linen shirt, sought out buttons, thanked Whomever that Alec
wasn't given to undershirts as he dove his fingertips into the light fur on
the warm chest.
As his own hands were exploring, so Alec's were roving over his own body,
shifting off his shirt, tugging at his belt, sliding along his zipper.
Mulder wasn't really aware of moving, too caught up in the taste of the skin
under his mouth, but he helped as best he could without losing contact with
his target. He had forgotten just how good this was, heated hands sweeping
over his back, along his ass, strong legs winding through his, forcing his
thighs apart.
Alec drew his head back, thrust one hand through Mulder's hair, and pulled
their faces together. As Mulder covered Alec's open mouth with his own,
taking it in a wet, deep kiss, they slid off the side of the sofa and ended
up in a heap on the floor. He would have laughed at the ungraceful slide,
but before he could get the breath, Alec's hand closed around his erection,
and his attention narrowed to those thin bands of steel around him. He
arched into the hold, losing Alec's kiss as his head fell back. Mulder's
fingers dug into the carpet as Alec slid down his body, never ceasing the
squeezing caress of his fist, until he could take Mulder's cock in his
mouth.
At the first full touch of hot wet warmth over the head of his cock, Mulder
tried to scream. Then fist and mouth began to work in tandem, and he opened
his eyes to concentrate on the sight of that face, the face of his enemy,
the face of his betrayer. Lips distended, cheek hollowing and filling, eyes
closed, lashes brushing flushed cheeks, a lock of dark hair falling over his
sweating forehead. The tips of the lock of hair caught in the lashes of his
left eye. There was a mixture of pre-ejaculate and saliva coating his lips
and smearing down on to his chin. Mulder could feel the movements of his
throat against the head of his cock, as the long, slender fingers rolled his
balls from side to side within the sac.
He had never seen anything so erotic in his life. And he'd seen a lot of
erotica.
As much as his mind was telling him this was Neekto, his body was screaming
that it was Krycek. The past and the present pulled together as he felt his
climax gathering in his gut, and exploded into a mind-numbing fuzzy red haze
as he came. Every muscle in his body clenched, he could swear even his hair
was standing up straight, and his fingers and toes curled. Then he
collapsed.
Sweaty, hot hands pushed urgently at his thighs, and he obligingly moved
them the few inches his lover demanded. Then those hands were shoving at the
outside of his hips, and he felt the slick thrust of Alec's cock sliding at
the apex, splitting his spent balls, rubbing at the sensitive skin of his
perineum. The sensation was actually painful after his full-throttle climax,
but before he could gather himself enough to decide if the pain was a bad or
a good thing, the heaving body atop his stilled. Alec thrust twice, then
shuddered, leaning in over Mulder's torso and burying his face in the curve
of his shoulder. Mulder lifted weighted arms up and around the shaking back,
cuddling him close, soothing him. Turning his head slightly he dropped a
feather kiss on the thin skin behind Alec's ear. Alec sighed, burrowed
closer, and panted, trying to get his breath back.
By the time they were both calm enough to get untangled from one another,
Mulder had a crick in his neck and what felt like a permanent indentation
from the folder crumpled at the small of his back (now undoubtedly covered
with semen, and he was not about to try to explain that to Scully). Alec
finally got enough strength back to shift himself up to his knees. They
stared at one another for a long moment, Mulder splayed spread-eagle with
his legs lying alongside Alec's knees, arms relaxed at his sides, Alec
kneeling over him. Mulder suddenly grinned up at his uncertain lover.
"Will you still respect me in the morning?" Alec looked at him like he'd
lost his mind, then snorted with laughter.
"It still is morning, or hadn't you noticed?" He shoved himself to his feet
and extended a hand to help Mulder up. Mulder took it, but didn't drop it
when he was standing. Instead, he twined their fingers closer together,
leaned forward and lightly kissed Alec, licking at the last few drops of his
own spendings.
"We are out of our fucking minds." Before Alec could answer, a shrill
ringing from somewhere in the mound of clothes caused Mulder to drop his
hand and start digging through the material. Alec watched him, mouth opening
then closing several times as if he wanted to say something but didn't quite
know what it was. Mulder could sympathize.
Finally locating his cell phone, he brought it up to his ear.
"Mulder."
"Are you all right?" Why did she always ask that? After all, he had managed
to answer it. He stifled the question and nodded once, forgetting as usual
that she couldn't see him.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Scully. What have you found?"
"Well, he's not who he said he was." Mulder's eyes closed in pain. Shit.
This was exactly what he had expected. "But it doesn't look like he's who we
thought he was, either." His eyes popped back open and he stared over at
Alec, who was watching him with open concern.
"Care to elucidate on that one?"
"He is a programmer, but for the DoD, not Techtron. His records go back only
eleven years, then they're sealed and it would take Frohicke to pull them
out, and land us all in prison. And get this, Mulder—he has language
capabilities listed. English is not his first language. Russian is."
Mulder swallowed heavily. "Can you get away?"
"In about a half hour. Watch your back, Mulder." His lips tightened at the
concern in her voice, and the reasons behind it.
"I will, Scully. You too—they know we have him, and by now they'll
undoubtedly be bringing in the big guns to find him."
He listened for her agreement, then slowly closed the phone. Taking a deep
breath, he began to dress, tossing Alec his clothes as he came across them.
Alec tried to ask him several times what Scully had said, but Mulder shook
his head, cutting him off each time. When they were both fully dressed and
Mulder had brought out cans of orange juice for both of them, they settled
back on the couch. Alec stared at Mulder. Mulder stared at the mess of come
and paperwork on the carpet. He nudged it with one toe.
"Who are you?" he finally asked very quietly. Alec made an impatient noise,
and Mulder simply looked at him. The other man swallowed, took a gulp of
juice, and licked his lips.
"Everything I've told you is true, but it's not all there is."
"Is it ever?" Mulder interjected cynically. Alec looked at him miserably,
and Mulder nodded for him to continue. "Go ahead, spill it."
Alec squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then did
just that. "I come from a small town just outside of Kaunas in what is now
Lithuania. I was a computer scientist, my specialty was creating programs
that would encrypt and protect classified data. During the course of my work
I proved valuable to certain members of the international community." He
stared hard at Mulder, as if willing him to believe. "Don't misunderstand
me, Mulder. I was, and still am, a Communist. This was well known to those
around me, and when democracy came to my country it took that country away
from me. I was mistrusted, and was no longer allowed to do my work. A few
months after the declaration of democracy, Doctor Jeremy Smits, a man I had
worked with on a joint project with MIT, and a friend, helped to smuggle me
to the United States. He arranged, with help from friends at the State
Department, to get the papers I needed to become a citizen. He also arranged
for my job at the Department of Defense. But I can't tell people that. It's
classified! I didn't lie to you," he stumbled over the narrative at the
strangled "bullshit!" Mulder couldn't quite bite back. "No more than I have
been forced to lie to anyone! To everyone. My work is top secret, except for
that which I do for Techtron. And there has never been a threat from my
primary employers. I only started working on this project with Techtron last
year, and nothing else has changed. These men, they must be after me because
of the contract work! Nothing else makes any sense!"
Mulder stared hard at him for a moment, then shook his head. "You actually
expect this to make sense? You really are naīve." He got up slowly from the
couch, gathered the ruined papers from the floor, and headed for the door.
"Come on. We have some digging to do."
Behind his back, Mulder heard a soft whisper, "But do you believe me?" He
stopped, looked at the sticky papers in his hand, and leaned against the
door jamb, still keeping his back to his erstwhile lover.
"I want to." Then he settled down at the table and pulled his briefcase
toward him. "Sit down and dig."
Alec sat down and began digging.
Forty five minutes later and no clues the wiser, Scully interrupted their
search with take-out Chinese boxes and suspicious glares. Mulder shrugged,
gave her an apologetic look, and told her what Alec had told him. Alec kept
his head down and munched fried rice.
"I thought you were the one who didn't believe in coincidences?" she
challenged Mulder. Surely he couldn't actually buy this, she thought with
total disbelief. He actually appeared to be considering it.
He poked at a stray shrimp and wagged a chopstick in her general direction.
"I don't. And I'm not saying that there isn't a conspiracy going on here —
Alec wouldn't be targeted if there wasn't."
She noted his use of the alternate first name and sighed internally. He was
buying it. Not that it should surprise her, after all. It was a weird
mystery, and Mulder lived for them. She watched him swallow the shrimp and
waited patiently for his justifications.
"I'm just saying I don't think he is part of it. He's looking more and more
like a victim, Scully."
"But why? We still haven't clarified that!"
He tapped a printout with one finger. Alec craned his neck to see what he
was pointing out.
"The data compressor? What's the big deal with that? It's not even part of
the more highly classified stuff." He cocked his head to the side, and just
for a moment, took Mulder's breath away. He was a dead ringer for Krycek.
Scully noticed Mulder's choke and asked quickly, "Are you okay?" At his nod,
she backed up Alec's question. "What link do you think you've found?"
"It's not the compression program itself," he managed, his voice smoothing
out as he worked the knot out of his throat. "It's the funding. It looks
familiar—too familiar. There was a similar funding structure behind the
farms where the... children were found."
She heard the carefully unstated 'clones' and shot a glance at Alec. He
appeared confused.
"What's wrong with the funding? Not that I'm a genius with grants, but it
looked pretty straightforward to me."
"It is, on the surface." Mulder warmed to his topic. "But scratch that
surface and you find a network of companies with untraceable holdings. I
recognize some of the names. Scully and I have run across them before.
They're fronts for a Consortium of what can at best be called businessmen
and at worst monsters, who for some time used a man who is your doppelganger
for some of their dirtiest work." He shoved the chopstick into the box and
pushed back from the table, slumping in his chair and looking very tired. "I
think they didn't take into account your presence in the project, Alec. And
I think someone panicked, and decided to get rid of you. Perhaps someone at
Techtron recognized, or thought he recognized you, and is trying to take you
out on the off chance that you are Krycek."
Scully pushed around a grain of rice and looked back and forth between the
two men. Mulder was stretching on this one. From the... odd feeling she was
getting between the two of them, she'd be willing to bet something was going
on. She just wasn't sure what. And she wasn't completely sure she wanted to
know. Neekto, or whoever the hell he was, had gotten under Mulder's skin.
Badly.
Before she could expand on the thought, Mulder was sitting straight up, then
diving sideways, knocking Neekto out of his chair and screaming for her to
get down. She hit the deck sideways, feeling the chair skid away from her,
and heard the whine of small arms fire over her head. Risking a look as she
scuttled for cover, she saw that the bullets had buried themselves in the
back of Neekto's chair. Right at heart-level.
She pulled her Sig Sauer out and flicked off the safety, bringing it around
on the intruder. For an instant she froze, her weapon trained on a slender,
pale man with dark hair, hugging the wall and aiming past her.
Krycek.
She screamed warning and fired directly after, instinctively protecting
their charge. Krycek ducked through the side hall into the sitting room,
then got off a few more shots around the door jamb. He was using a Magnum,
large caliber, and they were sitting ducks. Mulder was trying to get a clear
shot when Alec's nerve gave, and he ran. Shouting something about 'fucking
guns' and 'nyet' and 'pachyemoo', he hit the door running. Mulder yelled
'Shit!', gave Scully a 'get the hell out of here' hand signal, and followed.
Scully was right behind him.
Once in the front drive, Mulder caught up with Alec, wrestling him behind a
hedge and trying to shake some sense into him. Scully skidded around the
side of the hedge, waved off the gun Mulder pointed at her, and cocked her
head in a silent question. Mulder shook his own head in a negative reply,
and she nodded. He had his hands full. She'd go see about taking down
Krycek. He'd join her as soon as he got Alec calm, quiet and hidden.
That answered one thing. Unless he was twins, he sure as hell wasn't Krycek.
It was a game of cat and mouse throughout the house. She was nearly to the
end of the clip when he finally made a mistake, and she nailed him for it.
It was a clean shot through the shoulder, taking him down but not killing
him. She was a professional, after all, and as much as she would have liked
some vengeance for the part the man had played in her abduction and the
death of her sister, she wanted to see justice done even more badly.
Coming up cautiously alongside the still body, she gave him a visual
once-over. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, several days
beard growth shadowing his face. There was a lot of blood pooling under his
torso, and it was still flowing fast. Keeping her pistol ready, she leaned
down with one hand to his throat, finding a fast, weak pulse.
She turned her head, calling strongly, "Mulder!" Then there was a flash of
movement and her vision exploded into a million tiny white spots that slowly
faded away into black.
Mulder had to practically sit on Alec to get him to listen. The younger man
was terrified, shaking like a leaf and having difficulty stringing words
together. Eventually he managed to apologize, barely.
"Bad memories. Sorry. Scully?" It was hard to understand coming from stiff
lips over a clenched jaw, but it was enough.
"You stay here." Alec shook his head wildly. Mulder growled softly under his
breath. He didn't have time for this. "YES!" he commanded in a whispered
scream. "I have to go back up my partner! Move and I'll shoot you myself!"
This appeared to settle the argument. Before he could pull away, Alec
reached over and kissed him, once, drawing back immediately.
"Watch yourself." The shaking had finally passed. Now he simply looked
dazed, and scared even more for Mulder than for himself. Mulder grinned
quickly at him.
"Always." He ignored the quiet "why don't I believe that?" behind him and
made his way into the house. Three feet inside the front door he heard
Scully call out that she had the rat bastard.
"Scully? Where are you?" When she didn't answer, he felt a sick churning in
his stomach. This was not a good sign. Tearing through the rest of the house
as quickly as he could without leaving himself open to getting his head
blown off, he finally located her. She was lying in a puddle of blood in the
back bedroom. "Oh, Jesus, Scully," he whispered, then put out a hand to feel
her pulse. It was strong and steady. He closed his eyes for a heart beat
with the relief then looked her over thoroughly. It looked like the blood
wasn't hers.
"Is she okay?"
Mulder had spun and cocked his weapon at Alec before he even realized he was
moving. Jerking the barrel toward the ceiling, he hissed, "Don't you ever
fucking listen?" Uncocking the Glock he turned back to his partner. She was
just coming around. As she started to shake the muzziness out of her head,
they all heard the same thing.
Footsteps, heading toward them from the front of the house.
Mulder made a split second decision. Grabbing Scully's gun, he pressed it
into her hand. Cupping her chin, he saw the pain and the lingering dizziness
from the blow, but he also saw enough awareness to be able to defend
herself.
"Stay with her." This time Alec wouldn't disobey. Mulder was ice cold, and
there was no doubt that he would shoot Alec if Scully was left alone.
Alec came forward, crouching next to Scully and steadying her. "Go to it,
Mulder. We're okay." It was said with more bravado than certainty, but with
Scully's ginger nod backing it up, Mulder went to hunt Krycek.
Peering around corners, hearing his heart beat in his ears, concentrating on
the stealthy sounds that would give his prey away hopefully before he gave
himself away, Mulder stalked Krycek from room to room. From the back den to
the center hall, up the stairs, ducking at a draft of air, squinting into
late afternoon sunlight glinting in through the three narrow windows along
the side wall of the stairway, by the time Mulder cornered Krycek he was
jumpier than he could quite control. Adrenaline, the copper bite of fear on
the back of his tongue, the iron tension in his flexed arms as he held his
gun ready all combined to make time run slower, draw out the chase. He heard
the light slap of tread skipping back down the stairs, toward his wounded
partner and their charge, and threw himself onto the upper landing, bringing
his gun to bear on a black leather clad back heading halfway down the
stairwell.
"Krycek! Stop!" He didn't really expect the bastard to do it. A twisting
turn, one gloved hand flung out against the banister for balance, the other
leveling a fucking huge gun directly at Mulder's head. He didn't consciously
make the decision to squeeze the trigger. But he felt the kick of the
recoil, felt the jerk of the Glock against his palm. Watched the impact of
the two slugs as they buried themselves, one mid-abdomen, one directly in
the center of his chest.
Mulder stared at the crumpled, unmoving body, shaking slightly, and slowly
lowered his gun. His knee hurt where he'd landed on it. He could smell the
blood and the cordite from the fired rounds. The smell caught at the back of
his throat and nearly made him gag. With a rush of sound and sight, reality
slammed back into real time around him, and he heard a voice screaming his
name.
"Mulder! We need help!" Alec. Scully. Shit.
He paused just long enough to verify that Krycek was, indeed, dead, then
vaulted down the rest of the steps and swung into the side room, Glock up
and ready.
The room was empty.
Swinging in a tight circle, he caught sight of Alec peering out at him from
around the side of a heavy desk. Skittering around the side, he saw that the
other man had bundled Scully up and tucked her behind the solid drawers,
trying to barricade them as much as possible from any incoming threat. She
was groggy, obviously concussed, and Mulder gave Alec full marks for getting
her to a safe spot.
Guessed the guy wasn't completely useless in a dangerous situation.
Keeping a look-out for any other threats, Mulder demanded, "What happened?"
Alec swallowed twice before he could say anything. "Scully started to get
really dizzy, so I helped her move over by the desk so she could lean on it.
Then I heard somebody coming in the front, so I grabbed her and got her
around back of the desk so they wouldn't see us. She fainted, I think, her
head must be killing her. I looked out and saw a couple guys in black, like
the ones that hit my apartment. Then I heard gunshots, and they took off. I
yelled for you as soon as they were out of sight."
A muffled groan from Scully took their attention. She looked a little
better, but still dazed and pale. Mulder took out his cell phone and hit the
third fast dial button. Two reroutings through the switchboard he had
Director Skinner on the line. The explanation was terse and to the point,
and eleven minutes later an ambulance, forensics team, back up and the AD
were all on the way. Mulder's ears were burning, but that was nothing new.
With Alec's help, Mulder gently transferred Scully to the couch to await the
ambulance.
"Stop fussing, Mulder, I'm fine," she grumbled, her standard response to any
sort of injury that wasn't immediately life threatening.
"Of course you are, Scully," he responded automatically with his standard
response to hers, and they shared a small, conspiratorial grin. Then she
winced as the movement set off the pain in her head, and he patted her
shoulder. "The cavalry will be here in a minute, Scully. I need to check the
body." They both knew that Mulder had to get there first if there was
anything to salvage that they didn't want disappearing into a black hole
somewhere. "Will you be okay?"
She shooed him away. "I'll be fine, Mulder, really."
He smiled down at her, then glanced over at Alec. The young man had been
very quiet while everything was going down, and now looked rather pale
himself. Mulder had a jarring moment when Krycek's feral snarl overlay the
calm features, then shook himself out of it.
Krycek was dead. Scully was injured, Alec was traumatized, he was damned
tired. Time to get this cleaned up and go forward.
Holding his hand out to Alec, Mulder pulled him toward the door. "Watch the
door for me?" he invited. Alec nodded, and followed him into the hall. There
was a tiny quiver running through the other man's slender frame, and Mulder
pulled him into the shadow of the entryway, out of sight of Scully. "Are you
okay?"
Alec stared at him for a long moment, then slowly burrowed into his arms.
Burying his face in Mulder's shoulder, he said softly, "I hate guns. The old
ways of government didn't leave my country without a fight. My brother and
my father were both killed in the years leading up to secession. I was just
a teenager when my brother was killed. I found him, in his car, the side of
his head was missing." A sharp shudder went through him, and Mulder
tightened his hold. "I was eleven." He took a deep breath and pulled away
from Mulder. His face was drawn with remembered pain, and his eyes were very
old. "I truly hate guns."
Mulder nodded, then lifted one hand to touch his cheek. "It's okay, Alec.
I'm sorry. Just... stay here, and show the paramedics where to find Scully
when they get here, all right? And when you see a balding guy with glasses
who looks like he's chewing glass... warn me so I can hide."
The attempt at humor lightened the atmosphere somewhat, and Alec smiled
slightly before pushing Mulder toward the stairs. "Sentry on duty," he
called quietly. Mulder threw a grin over his shoulder then turned to face
the corpse.
Except there wasn't one.
"FUCK." He closed his eyes, pounded his fist against the banister in
frustration, and threw a command over his shoulder. "Stay here, I'm going to
go find him. He can't be very far away!" He pounded up the stairs, doing a
thorough reconnaissance of all the rooms, knowing it was hopeless. Sometime
while he was seeing to Scully a clean up had taken place, and he hadn't even
known it. Damning himself for missing his opportunities once again, he made
certain he checked every single room.
As he had expected, the rat had been spirited away.
At the foot of the stairs, glancing to the side to make sure Scully's eyes
were closed and to the front to ensure back up had not yet arrived, then a
final time at Mulder's disappearing back, Alec stretched his right foot
forward. Using the edge of his shoe, he scrubbed the small green stain into
the carpet. There was the brief flare of carpet fibers vaporizing at contact
with the toxic substance, then nothing but a hole in the material to ever
show what had once been there. Slowly climbing the stairs, listening as
Mulder went through the rooms, he did the same with the entire trail of
droplets leading from the front door to the pool of red blood slowly seeping
into the carpeting on the steps. When all evidence of alien presence had
been eradicated, he returned to the foot of the stairs and resumed his watch
for the ambulance.
The next hour was extremely unpleasant for all involved. Scully was lucky.
She had a concussion and got to escape to the hospital. Mulder had to stand
still for the full Skinner Rips Your Head Off and Hands It To You treatment.
Alec was the only real surprise. He actually tried to stand up for Mulder to
Skinner.
That lasted almost thirty seconds before Skinner blasted him into
near-catatonia. Mulder unobtrusively tucked Alec back behind him and braced
himself for the rest of the reaming. When the boss had run out of steam,
another useless APB was put out on Krycek. Skinner took Neekto off to a safe
house, and Mulder didn't see him for several weeks.
There were occasional briefings, and Mulder kept tabs on him as best he
could from a distance, but eventually things settled down to what passed for
normal with the X Files. Eventually the report came through that no further
threat had been determined against Alec Neekto, and he had returned to his
life. There was no further contact.
Scully returned to work, sound and skeptical as always. Mulder obsessed,
chewed seeds, threw paper basketballs, and tried to forget Alec.
Of course it didn't work.
Nearly seven months after watching Alec walk away flanked by FBI bodyguards,
Mulder stepped from the elevator to find him waiting patiently beside his
apartment door. He stopped and stared, unable to think of a thing to say.
Alec grinned at him.
"Needko. Alec. Free man. Wanna party?"
The hesitation was gone, and the husky tone Mulder remembered so well from
the one and only time he'd had this man was back in full force. He dug into
his coat pocket, fumbled out his door key and handed it silently to Alec.
"yeah." The satisfied whisper cut through both of them.
It hadn't been difficult at all. Ghosts are hard to call, harder still to
contain, almost impossible to fight, and easy to banish if they never
existed.
He looked at the tired, rumpled, gorgeous agent in front of him and took the
keys. And the trust. The desire, and the belief.
The bed was a mess, but it was even messier by the time they finished. He'd
undressed Mulder with care and attention that was wasted on the inferno of
need that distracted the man. They had kissed until their lips were swollen
and sore, touched until they could map one another blindfolded, know one
another from the scent of skin alone.
They hadn't warned him about this. This heady rush of losing himself, the
pure power of knowing the man moaning beneath him was his. They probably
hadnšt known it themselves, dry bones of old withered flesh that they were.
Not for them the solidity of flesh, the grasp of needful muscles, the press
of hungry hands. Not for them, the wet slap of moist sweating skin, the
arching back, the tensed thighs, the finally yielding channel. And most
certainly not for them, the greedy clench of muscle draining him, the
convulsion of heat sparking his own, the splash of fire against his stomach,
dripping onto his groin, searing him.
Only for him. Never for them.
As Mulder gradually relaxed into sleep and he gently pulled until they were
separated again, he settled his lover deeper into the tossed linens and
smiled down at his peaceful face. Then he laughed, silently, bitterly, at
his own imaginings.
Of course it was for them.
Waiting patiently until he was certain that Mulder was deeply asleep, Alex
padded barefooted and naked into the bathroom. Shutting the door and turning
on the light, he stared into the mirror for a very long time. Then he
reached behind the toilet tank and brought out a small dull gray metal case.
Listening to make sure that Mulder still slept, he clicked the case open and
took out a syringe and an ampoule of green liquid. With no expression on his
face, he loaded the cartridge. Staring at the line of his arm as he lined
the needle up, he sank it fully into the small knot at the base of his skull
and depressed the plunger steadily until the syringe was completely empty.
Withdrawing it carefully, he replaced it in the case and hid it back behind
the tank. Reaching back with one finger, he probed the nape of his neck,
satisfied when the fingertip came back dry.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes as the fluid sped along his nervous
system, easing out the kinks and soothing the tingling nerve endings. When
the flush finally stopped itching under his skin, he opened his eyes again
and cocked his head, appraising himself in the mirror. His right hand came
up to lightly finger his left biceps, fingers trailing gently over a nearly
invisible scar circling his upper arm.
Turning from the mirror, he shut off the light, gave his eyes time to adjust
to the darkness, and slipped soundlessly into the living room. Mulder
shifted in his sleep, but didn't waken.
Rummaging quickly in his jacket pocket, he extracted a hair-thin filament
and wound it in place along the upper edge of the shelves above the fish
tank, careful not to disturb the dust accumulated there. Extending the end
of the strand to the corner of the electrical outlet directly underneath it,
he pressed firmly. It disappeared into the dried paint, just another
hairline crack amongst many. Returning to the shelf, he angled it to get the
best field of vision for the video feed it would provide and stepped back to
check his work.
Perfect. Mulder would never know it was there.
Digging a half-full baggy of chocolate candies out of his other pocket and
prepared to use a midnight case of the munchies as an alibi if need be, he
slipped back into the bedroom. Mulder still hadn't stirred. He set the bag
on the bedside table, slipped between the sheets and curled his body along
Mulder's left side. Attracted to the heat, Mulder shifted in his sleep and
threw an arm over his bedmate.
Krycek smiled down at the head nestled into his chest, running his fingers
gently through the soft brown hair. He had his second chance, in his own
twisted way, and now that the sleeper was awake, he was going to enjoy every
second of this particular dream.
Until they took it all away.
Again.
Spalniy vagon
by Brenda Antrim
definition : sleeper : n.
(1) one that sleeps.
(2) One that
achieves unexpected recognition or success.
(3) An unsuspected
espionage agent in deep cover within enemy territory that is activated after
a period of dormancy.
spal'-niy va-gon' : sleeper (Russian translation).
