Savage Garden: Chained To You
We were standing all alone
I feel the magic all around you
And when you looked into my eyes
I feel the magic all around you
And I think about it all the time
I feel the magic building around you
Tell me it's madness
Byers took the key from the receptionist and picked up his briefcase,
turning to go to the elevator.
That was when he caught sight of a man out of the corner of his eye, sitting
across the room in a dark business suit and green shirt. An emerald silk
shirt, to be exact. Arntzen had told him that's what he'd be wearing. The
man was sitting in the lounge of the hotel lobby, obviously awaiting Byers'
arrival.
Byers frowned, wondering why Arntzen would choose to meet in such a public
place rather than in the hotel room, considering the sensitive nature of the
information they were exchanging. Then Byers realized: paranoia was the
best and only friend for people in Arntzen's position. Byers could well
understand, as being a relentless pursuer of the exposure of secrets gave
him an insight into the world of the same shadows he fought so tirelessly to
bring to the light of public knowledge.
Arntzen had dark hair and there was something about him that Byers found
remarkably familiar. He was about ten feet away from Arntzen when he
suddenly realized who his contact really was. Shit. Shit. He found
himself standing frozen in indecision, wondering if he should continue with
this rendezvous or make a run for it.
Krycek looked up and saw Byers, and his brilliant eyes narrowed in
recognition. After a few tense moments of deliberation, Krycek muttered,
"You're my contact?"
"I-," Byers mouth was dry, "yes." This was Alex Krycek; he couldn't begin
to fathom in this moment what it could mean, apart from the obvious
compromising of both their positions. Arntzen was Krycek. He'd been
exchanging information with Krycek all this time and hadn't even realized
it. Krycek was one of the most dangerous people he knew. And Krycek
appeared to not have realized it had been him, either. Mulder would be
furious if he found out that all the data Byers and the two other Gunmen had
been providing him with recently, on the latest oilrig snafu concerning the
oiliens on the offshore drilling platform off Galveston, had been coming
from Krycek. It immediately rendered the information suspect. Byers'
credibility was shot, both with 'Arntzen' and with Mulder. He just hoped
he'd be able to get out of this without getting shot, himself.
Byers gulped, wondering how he could get out of the hotel, away from this
terrifying meeting. Deal with the repercussions afterward. Try to minimize
the damage. Figure out how to verify the quality and validity of the
information somehow. Damn.
Krycek looked pissed off. "Did Mulder put you up to this?"
Byers swallowed and licked his lips. If he said no, there was no guarantee
that Krycek wouldn't simply eradicate him just for the sake of security, and
besides Krycek probably wouldn't even believe him. If he said yes, Krycek
would undoubtedly have to cover his tracks to ensure the anonymity of his
Arntzen alias and eradicate him for the sake of security, on principle...
Krycek sighed and passed his hand over his face. "Stop looking so
terrified. I'm not going to kill you," he added, as if reading Byers'
mind. "Come on, let's go upstairs and sort out this mess somewhere less
visible." He got to his feet, and Byers swallowed as he was reminded of
just how big Krycek was. At the moment Krycek seemed larger than life, like
a panther, but then Byers could still feel his heart pounding in his chest
and throughout his veins as if it was trying to leap out of his body
altogether.
Walking past him with a slight smirk lifting the corners of his mouth,
Krycek said, "Small world, isn't it?"
Somehow, the thought of Alex Krycek taking him seriously seemed remote at
best, especially considering Krycek's level of involvement with the
Resistance. If anything, the entire outfit and endeavor of the Lone Gunmen
seemed paltry compared to the circles Krycek cruised in. Indeed, the
comparison was apt, for like any shark Krycek was not to be trusted. Mulder
had ranted about the man for so many years that it seemed all the epithets
were second nature to Byers now and they came easily to mind. 'Rat-bastard,
liar, traitor, murderer...'
Even as he woodenly followed Krycek into the elevator to go to the seventh
floor, he felt like a lamb obediently allowing himself to be led to the
slaughter. As they stood there, the elevator lifting them up towards
whatever fate Krycek had in mind for them, to the same room that Byers had
imagined would afford him a conspiracy-revealing illumination, Byers found
himself steadfastly avoiding looking at the man.
An inadvertent glance, though, revealed Krycek was watching him out of the
corner of his eye, that slightly mocking smirk ever-present on the man's
face.
Byers stood up straighter, his spine stiffening. He'd be damned if he was
going to let Krycek get to him. After all, Byers knew that he was on the
side of the angels—something Krycek could only ever dream of, considering
Krycek's involvement with the Syndicate and the heinous deeds he'd committed
against Mulder, Skinner, Scully and others over the years. He'd be damned
if he let Krycek's amusement over his initial doubts and dread leach him of
the dignity that was left him.
Byers held the passkey in his hand and Krycek let him precede him down the
hall towards the room. A simple swipe and Room 404 was open. Krycek
quickly went to the window, looking out of it by seeming force of habit as
Byers placed the briefcase on the bed.
Byers cleared his throat. "Mr Krycek, Agent Mulder has no idea that I am
the one providing him with this information that you've given me. And I had
no idea that it was you, or else I would have reconsidered my answer when
you contacted me two months ago."
"Yeah, that's obvious." Krycek seemed to feel more at ease and confident
about their surroundings and location now. He turned his gaze upon Byers
fully, leaving Byers feeling slightly awkward at being the focus of that
intense attention. "Ex-Agent Mulder—I understand he was fired." Krycek
smiled almost bitterly. "So, no one knows you're here?"
Another pang of doubt and misgiving went through Byers at these words. He'd
thought Krycek was dead, as had everyone else. But Krycek merely snorted at
Byers' expression and he went to sit down in one of the seats by the
window. "Come on, stop looking at me like I'm an ogre. I don't enjoy
eating people—even when they beg me to," he commented, rather obliquely.
Byers chose not to pursue any understanding of what Krycek might have meant
by that.
Folding his arms before him resolutely and standing tall, Byers said,
"Considering that neither of us was truly aware of each other's identity,
this whole operation has been compromised now that we've met. You probably
believe that you were set-up, whereas I have no reason to believe that
anything you've given me so far has any real validity whatsoever, now."
Krycek stared at him. "You must be more rattled than you look. It's
precisely because we didn't know who we were that proves the veracity of my
information to you, and your sincere intentions in this sorry enterprise.
It's just inconvenient, is all." He cast a disparaging look around the
hotel room. "Look, I contacted you because you were sending out clear
signals that you had a direct line to a federal public dissemination point.
When you said it was the FBI, I figured it made more sense to do this
through a middle-man than to go stirring up Mulder's hornet's nest of a
psyche by taking it to him directly."
Byers found himself nodding. "It... has become a little more tedious and
officious doing things through him. Being dead for three months seems to
have left him even more sarcastic and cynical than before. Still, he's the
only one who seems to care about the truth, or stopping the extraterrestrial
threat," Byers added, not wanting to do Mulder an injustice by responding
too readily to Krycek's very salient point regarding Mulder's psychological
bull-in-a-china-shop mentality.
Krycek stopped and regarded him with a seemingly new expression, one that
seemed almost warily respectful. "You're a good man, a decent man, aren't
you, John?"
"Compared to some, perhaps," Byers responded, not entirely sure what Krycek
was getting at.
Krycek snorted. "Don't get flustered. I only mean that you really believe
in the purity of your intentions and your goals, like Mulder does."
Stiffly, Byers replied, "Well, I don't think Mulder or myself belong on
pedestals. We're just doing what little we can in a fight against a
slow-moving but evil behemoth. Neither time nor the government are on our
side."
"Right. 'Fight the future' and all that crap." Krycek grinned, tightly.
"I thought you were supposed to be dead," Byers stated, just as curtly.
Krycek regarded him, expressionless. "Well. Let's just say that I have
friends in high places. Very high. Shall we get on with it?" Krycek
nodded towards the briefcase on the bed. Whether he was referring to his
guardian angel or to extraterrestrial intervention, Byers wasn't sure.
A simple exchange of information: 'Arntzen' had promised to supply him with
proof positive of the presence of various aliens who had assumed their
host-bodies' identities as specified within the Census Bureau's data.
Aliens in strategically chosen positions; human hosts with roles that
afforded the aliens the best possible placement for their objectives. In
return, Byers had brought detailed files downloaded from the Department of
Defense archives, recent data on the major projects currently headed by the
Department of Agriculture and the FDA, hacked and obtained by Langley and
himself over the course of the last week. Of course, knowing that it was
Krycek who wanted this information changed the slant of the data, in Byers'
mind. Suddenly he wanted to understand what Krycek's real interest in these
projects could be. Suddenly the projects had gained a suspicious flavor.
He could see no reason why he shouldn't go ahead with the trade. But
knowing that it was Krycek also made him wonder how trustworthy the evidence
really was, that 'Arntzen' had promised him, and just what Krycek intended
to do with the DOD files.
Krycek didn't seem to have anything printed out, on hardcopy, on him as far
as Byers could tell. He cursed himself for allowing himself to be
railroaded, swept along in Krycek's wake without fully examining the
circumstances downstairs.
He too threw a glance towards the briefcase and then back over at Krycek.
Krycek merely grinned and stood up, reaching into an inner jacket pocket to
withdraw a capsule that he tossed to Byers.
Byers caught it, fumbling for a moment, then stared down at it.
"Microfilm?"
"Take it out and have a look." Krycek had gone to the briefcase and was
opening it, rifling through the contents with a sharp eye. After having
satisfied himself with it, he snapped the lid shut.
Byers peeled off the lid of the capsule and shook out a rolled up film into
his palm. Holding it against the light of the window, he peered at it,
scrutinizing the tiny print. It was impossible to see what was on it. He
sighed, inaudibly. There was no way to tell if he'd been had.
Without looking over at him, Krycek was sitting back down in his seat.
"Check the ID code printed on the tab on the edge of the film."
Byers scanned the edge for it and saw the code as directed. Then looked
back up at Krycek. "The same password you used to contact me, in your
communications."
Krycek shrugged. "Unoriginal, I know. But I didn't have the luxury of
time. It was the only thing that sprang to mind."
And just how is that supposed to convince me of its authenticity? Byers
wanted to ask. But he didn't dare, at this point. He could check it out
later. Maybe that was Krycek's point, all along. Byers took a deep breath
and put the film away, sliding it into his coat pocket. "So, what happens
now?"
"Well, there is the little unfortunate matter of my 'death'," Krycek
commented. "Right now, I can't think of any reason why you would keep
silent about my continued existence to, say, AD Skinner, or even Mulder
himself."
That sounded slightly, vaguely, threatening to Byers. With a nonchalance he
didn't feel, he shrugged. "I can't think of any reason why I shouldn't. It
isn't necessary and in fact my involvement with you would only cast my own
motives in a suspicious light. I would have nothing to gain by blowing the
whistle on you now."
Krycek smiled, this time almost benevolently, kindly. Byers could hardly
trust it; it was a wolf's grin and Krycek had no reputation for compassion.
"And I have nothing to gain by intimidating you. I don't even have to try,
after all."
"If that's a warning, then I accept it as such," Byers said awkwardly,
feeling like he was way out of his depth, fencing with someone far more
skilled than himself. Not only that, the combined fear and sheer
vicariousness of this little meeting with Krycek was leaving him in a state
of nervous arousal. He just prayed it didn't grow too obvious to the other
man.
Krycek tilted his head and had the temerity to actually look taken aback.
"What has Mulder been saying about me behind my back? Let me guess: I'm
the devil himself. All good little conspiracy-hounds should avoid contact
with me, because I might give them some real answers and cause them to
question some of the crusader bullshit."
"Why don't you, then?" Byers said, wanting to call his bluff. Some little
demon inside his head was pushing him to see how Krycek would react.
"Would you believe anything I told you?" was Krycek's immediate reply.
Byers moved to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. "I'm more
open-minded than you seem to take me for. Certainly, I'm more open to
possibilities than Mulder is. He discards things that don't seem to
instantly validate his current theories, particularly where you're
concerned."
Krycek blinked, obviously not expecting this from him, one of Mulder's
little sideline supporters and fellow acolyte in paranoia training. Byers
smiled, slightly. Genially.
Finally, Krycek answered, "I'd tell you, but I really would have to kill
you, afterwards."
"A little too pat, don't you think? Why haven't you killed me already?"
Byers nearly bit his tongue. He hadn't meant to come across so
challenging.
But it had an extraordinary effect on Krycek, who seemed to shrink back
within himself, withdrawing behind an impersonal mask, and didn't appear to
be enjoying the encounter anymore. His eyes narrowed. Finally, when he did
reply, his tone had an almost complaining note to it. "Why does everyone
think I'm this cold-blooded killer, this deadly assassin who goes around
bumping people off when I cross their path?"
Gee, I don't know; maybe because so many people die after meeting you, Byers
wanted to say. But he managed to remember that he was treading the razor's
edge at the moment and however much the adrenaline thrill was rushing
through him, he'd end up regretting it—for perhaps a few seconds before he
became another hotel-slaying statistic.
"If the shoe fits," he said. And quickly continued, "We can't afford to
blindly trust anyone, in this business. I understand that. But not all
exchanges have to end in disillusionment. I have my own cause, my own
goals. There's no reason why they can't converge with yours on this
occasion. Why else would I be here; why else would I happen to be your
contact under these circumstances?"
Krycek sniffed and looked away from him, towards the door. "Are you
suggesting that we not terminate our, ah, connection? But keep an open line
of further communication?"
"Why not?" Byers conveniently and temporarily forgot that Krycek was every
bit as manipulative and devious as Mulder was always raving.
Krycek reminded him of it in the next breath, however. "Why do you trust
me? How can you? And if you do, tell me why I should believe you?"
Byers stopped, wondering if anything but the honest truth was going to get
him through this with his skin intact. Before he could worry about what he
was about to say, and if it was too much, he blurted out, "Because I know
why you are always sending information to Mulder, why you inevitably show up
in the middle of things just when things are getting interesting. Why you
keep turning up like a bad penny in his life, even where you couldn't
possibly have any interest in the events but playing the wild card, just
because you can."
Krycek's eyes widened and he looked honestly startled.
Encouraged, Byers threw caution to the wind and continued, "Also, why you
don't mind letting them think the worst of you even when you have put
yourself at great personal risk in seemingly altruistic, heroic deeds."
He began to worry that he'd gone too far this time. He hadn't meant to
sound so much like he was trying to flatter him. He hoped Krycek wouldn't
take it that way. Nor as a threat, that Byers might try to use what he'd
observed against him. After a few moments of fast thinking and quick
conclusions during which Byers imagined he could see the wheels spinning in
Krycek's brain, Krycek chuckled under his breath. "Mulder underestimated
you, didn't he? They all have."
Byers shrugged, feeling the sweat trickle down from his armpits and soak his
shirt beneath his jacket. "I notice too much, I guess. It's easy to
dismiss someone when they aren't shouting their two-cents' worth at crucial
meetings." He decided to go for broke. "Why do you think I haven't said
anything until now? I've never once spoken with Mulder about this, about
what I've seen, what I've discovered, all that I know. Maybe I know him a
little too well, but I'm pretty sure he'd throw the baby out with the
bathwater in his eagerness to beat the 'truth' out of you."
Krycek licked his lips. "And you figure, what, that you, and I, can help
him far more effectively from a discreet distance?"
Byers smiled. "Isn't that the only way to tell someone something when they
can't hear it from someone too close to them?"
"Fine. I'll take that at face value, for now. Now tell me why I should
trust you." Krycek's face took on that familiar mocking expression from
before.
Damn. In a roundabout way, they'd managed to circle completely back around
to Byers having to plead for his life. "Because I do the right thing, even
if it doesn't seem to fall in line with Mulder's particular philosophies,
with the hypocrisy of the federal justice system, or with a preset standard
of public morality. Especially when the same public refuses to see what's
going on under their very noses." Byers let his voice color with the
exasperation he had felt growing over the last several years of his own
quest for justice and truth. People, it seemed, needed to be beat around
the head with the truth before they'd take heed.
"Big words for someone who's been knocking rather empty-handedly on the door
of the Defense Department for the last nine years," Krycek quietly said.
"You've got yourself a rather notorious reputation, too. As a member of an
annoying, high-profile conspiracy-theorist group that no one takes seriously
unless they need a scapegoat or a patsy."
Byers almost felt hurt by this; but compared to being able to continue
breathing past this encounter, he felt his ego could stand the bruising.
Besides, anything was better than Krycek getting even a moment's glimpse
into the truth of what Byers found himself looking at, each time he looked
at Krycek. Krycek's eyes were far too beautiful to be on a man's face...
His lashes were too long. "Don't tell me you've underestimated me, too?"
Krycek smiled at him, that wolfish compassion again, humoring the lamb. "If
the shoe fits, as you said. I didn't say I believed it." He shook his head
and sighed. "Why do you still think I'm going to kill you?"
Byers swallowed. "Aren't you?"
"Please." The sarcasm dripped from his words, "Like killing you would
achieve anything."
But there were things unspoken behind his voice, things that Byers knew
Krycek would much rather remain hidden. Hurt, for one; hurt that people
actually believed he killed for no purpose. A bone-weary disappointment
with the world and human beings in general for continually proving his own
certainty that there was no such thing as real trust—or anything worth
trusting. And most painful of all, the longing, suppressed over a lifetime
of battles and sorrow, for a few moments of believable camaraderie.
Byers winced. His own life was indeed a picnic in comparison. Krycek might
be a survivor, but at what cost? Any curiosity he might have had previously
as to Krycek's life and what he had been through fled as he raised his eyes
to meet Krycek's gaze. "I'm sorry."
But Byers' quiet apology seemed to shake Krycek more than anything he'd said
before. Krycek looked surprised and caught off-guard. He obviously hadn't
expected Byers to understand his position, his point of view. He dropped
his eyes to the floor.
Trying to help, Byers pointed out, "It's not a question of trust. The
stakes are too high to get caught up in ideals or platitudes right now. No
matter what side we think we're on, the priority remains the same: to stop
the advancement of the aliens' plans."
"Ever the crusader, aren't you?" Krycek observed, obviously grabbing the way
out that Byers had offered.
"I'm not the idealist that people take me for. Not anymore, not after all
I've had to witness and endure," Byers pointed out. He shrugged. "Everyone
has to grow up sometime."
Krycek smiled twistedly, with a measure of irony. "Ignorance isn't bliss."
Byers nodded. "So, I'll take this back, and you've got what you came for.
I can't afford to blow your cover, nor can you afford to take me out without
alerting them to your presence. I'd say we're at an impasse."
Krycek looked relieved that Byers had stated it as he had, instead of
playing the buddy-buddy 'alliance' routine. "Agreed." He stood up once
more and took a breath, regarding Byers thoughtfully. "I'll be in touch,"
Krycek said, and walked past him, leaving him sitting dazed on the side of
the bed, wondering why Krycek had, without speaking, accepted his word.
Trusted him.
The Lone Gunmen HQ
Doesn't he ever get tired of pretending that he doesn't want him?
John Fitzgerald Byers awoke with this single sentence running around and
around in his head. He lifted up to see what time it was. Hell, he'd only
slept for an hour. He sank back down with a sigh. He'd been thinking of
Mulder. And... The other one.
His strange, new, unspoken, tacitly-agreed alliance with Krycek all those
days ago had left him haunted and distracted throughout each passing day,
and twisting and turning with a nameless yearning echoing through him by
night.
A cocky, darkly brooding and dangerous person; Mulder's nemesis. The
'enemy'. Was it possible however that not only was he blinded by his own
idealistic need to believe in the best potential of each being he met, in
true Byers-style, but that Mulder was too afraid to give Alex Krycek the
benefit of the doubt?
Since when did the pursuit of pleasure become something meaningful, beyond
the desperate need for release? Since when did the possibility of sex
become an expression of love? And since when had it mutated from a distant,
naïve and philosophical issue to one of fateful, consequential desire?
The lost child behind those eyes, brilliant green eyes with
far-too-long-and-lustrous lashes, that seemed to say, 'whatever you think
you're reading here, you're wrong—I don't want to need anything or
anyone', and 'too much pain to believe, too much pain'.
And then the inevitably quiet and sinking knowledge that it was just a
fantasy, no matter how many times he indulged in it. Seeing him again.
Wanting to. Waiting for it. To discover on that first night that he was
mulling over that fateful exchange earlier that evening, over and over
again, instead of just walking away from each other, sealing their deal with
a kiss. More than a kiss. A silent, wordless agreement on a pact that went
far beyond any lexicon John could imagine. And then, shamelessly, happily,
in the dark, the obvious conclusion to that thought which included a measure
of solo friction and solitary hasty breaths but always ended in empty
aching. A poignant repetition every night that always ended in a terrible
sadness. Because his heart, and logic, dictated that it was a wholly
impossible wish. That was all it was, in fact. Just a whim. A fantasy.
Best to keep it buried.
But dreams refuse to ignore things the conscious mind wants to leave
forgotten. By the fourth night, John found himself waking in sweats and
feverishness, clinging to the bed as if to a life raft. He hadn't thought
it possible to experience physical yearning like pain. He tried to compare
it to the tenderness and depth of his love for Suzanne...
Suzanne Modeski was his angel, his bright star and aspiration. She made him
feel clean and want to strive to be worthy. This was different. Alex
Krycek was temptation, forbidden and deadly. A definite no-no. Unnatural,
different, and entirely too inflammatory. Not if he valued his life. And
besides, it was far too obvious to him even in the midst of this new
discovery of his own physical reactions to their 'enemy' that he was far
more likely to be rejected and humiliated and end up wishing he'd never
approached him than to have any dramatic scenes involving guns or other
weapons.
Mulder was right to fear this. For the first time, John realized Mulder's
view of Alex Krycek was not motivated by hatred at all.
His mind chattered in disbelief: it can't be love, it can't. But his heart
was thrumming in perfect rhythm: love, love, love. Something to feel,
something to believe in. Hope and distant siren calls, beckoning to indulge
in whispers of fantasies alone and safe in the dark.
And all he could do was sit and wait for Mr. Dangerous to contact him once
again.
Somehow, a tiny voice inside of him reminded him that it was just an
infatuation, that forbidden fruit is always the most tempting of all.
That's all it was. A fascination. Cruel, true; but fascinating and lovely
at the same time. A strange new symphony of dark music that pushed and
pulled at his body, at his heart and mind with it's inherent mystery and
promise of physical sensation and emotional pain. A beautiful, bad, bad
boy. Too beautiful to be anything but pain for a dreamer like himself. A
dark master who seemingly effortlessly played upon the weaknesses of the
unfulfilled.
John pulled the pillow over his head and tried to get back to sleep.
Playing With Fire
by Jami Wilsen
I Vivaldi
You were leaning in to speak to me
Acting like a mover shaker
Dancing to Madonna then you kissed me
And I think about it all the time
Sweet temptation rush all over me
And I think about it all the time
Passion desire so intense I can't take anymore because
It's bringing me to my knees
Like a wannabe
I've got to be chained to you
Felt a sudden sense of urgency
Fascination casts a spell and
You became more than just a mystery
And I think about you all the time
Is this fate is it my destiny
That I think about you all the time
I no longer pretend to have my hand on the wheel because
It's bringing me to my knees
Like a wannabe
I've got to be chained to you
I feel the magic building around you
And I think about it all the time
Tell me it's madness I barely know you
We were standing all alone
You were leaning in to speak to me
Ten steps back you're still a mystery
Acting live a mover shaker
dancing to Madonna then you kissed me
I can't take anymore because
I feel the magic all around you
It's bringing me to my knees
Like a wannabe
I've got to be chained to you
I barely know you
The Four Seasons Hotel
Downtown Houston, Texas
19:45 PM
Byers strode purposefully up to the reception desk, checked in and found
that his contact had already left a message that he'd be there at exactly
eight o'clock, and to meet him there at the hotel.
2:07 AM, a week later
