Release
Don't panic about not being able to move. Ran into that muscle relaxant in
an odd case in Seattle. I really don't share your love of handcuffs, so I
thought this might be a good idea.
Scared? You should be. You hurt me pretty badly, you fucker. So right now
I'm not giving you another chance at it.
I don't know whether the muscle relaxant lets you focus your eyes, though
they do seem to be tracking somewhat. But you wouldn't recognize this place
anyway. This is a friend's cabin in the Berkshires, and it's a little after
sunset on Tuesday. He lent it to me for the autumn leaf viewing season.
That a fair trade for that derelict prison you tricked me into back in May?
You son of a bitch.
So, let's do some viewing. Don't worry, you won't be too cold when I pull
the blankets back; can you smell the wood smoke from the fireplace? These,
by the way, are old linen and eiderdown. You sounded pretty resentful about
the privileges of the rich, so I thought I'd share them with you.
Oh, yes, you do look nice that way. Mind you, you lack a certain something
without that perpetual wary tension, but it's nice to see you utterly
relaxed. I bet you'd look like this after sex, if you ever let yourself.
Yes, you're already stripped. I don't think you'd bathed for a week. But
it's hard to get the full impression while wrestling a wet corpse in the
shower, so I thought I'd take another look.
What an amazing number of scars, and that's just the ones that show. Must
take a lot to stand up to that much pain; are you the captain of your soul,
Alex, or just a timorous cowering beastie? Seeing you like this does remind
me of the poets.
Here. I'm going to touch all your scars, feel them with my fingertips. Does
this hurt, physically I mean? I'll be gentle.
Interesting texture, this stump. Looks like you needed several follow-up
surgeries, which is hardly surprising. One of the benefits of America,
comrade: better medical skills. Hmm, the shoulder isn't atrophying, so you
must still use those muscles for the prosthesis.
And this must be that pimp's signature you were talking about, this
combined E and S. I hope he's dead now? And all these bullet holes: my, my.
You must be a survivor, or possibly a pasta strainer. What are these, knife
or razor, or broken glass? But I know you can't answer me yet.
Fuck, those are cigarette burns on your shoulder, aren't they. Shit!
Oh, Alex, your poor knees. That's not just from sliding your bike a few
times, is it. God... And that cut must have just missed the tendons in your
foot. Your feet are cold, Alex. I'm going to warm them in my hands for a
little while.
Here, I'll tuck the blankets back over them after I've turned you over.
There we go. No, Alex, I'm not going to rape you. That's your game, not
mine.
I'm going to make love to you. After a while, that is. And don't think I'm
being kind; you handed me all your weaknesses on a platter in Alcatraz, so
I know it's the cruelest thing I could do. Think about it as revenge, if
you want. Or not.
Right now, though, I'm only looking. 'Whenas in black my Alex goes...'
Sorry, I can't think of a poetic term for your leather jacket. Nice jacket,
by the way; it's always suited you. I sent it to the cleaner, since your
enemies could have tracked you from several blocks away just by the smell,
and all the skunks in this valley were coming to mate with it.
This must be the exit wound from one of those bullets. How in hell did you
survive this? And all those bite scars on your neck and shoulders; I rather
expected those, after your comments in Alcatraz. Looks like they set pretty
hard. I wonder if they infected, or if you doused them with hydrogen
peroxide and lost another layer of flesh.
My bitemarks are all right, since you ask. (I'll assume you asked.) I doubt
I'd have gotten around to getting help, so I'd probably have succumbed to
various infections—God, Alex, you really tore me up inside. But when I
finally got the handcuffs off, I took your advice and checked out the Lost
& Found, and managed enough clothing that I wouldn't be arrested for
indecent exposure on the boat back.
But not enough to entirely conceal what you'd done to me. One guy who came
over on the first boat saw the facial bruising and the way I moved, and he
turned around and took me straight onto the boat and said he was going to
get me to help. He was gay, you know? Worked in a community clinic and an
AIDS hospice, and knew what he was seeing. Hell, in San Francisco, I guess
that's hardly coincidental.
It's a sad indictment of our society that some groups are so
disenfranchised they find it necessary to band against the same system that
provides the rest of us with the privileges they seek. But I suppose that's
hardly news to you.
He and his lover took me in for a couple of days; I was too tired to even
argue. So they stitched me up and gave me a cornucopia (a pharmacopia?) of
antibiotics, kept me off the record, and generally pulled me back together
while I read that file on the Miller case and made some phone calls.
And no, I don't appear to be HIV-positive. I assume you aren't either, and
were just trying to scare me? I wonder how often you used to yell "Fire" in
a crowded theatre when you were a kid. Or did you prefer "My snake got
loose!"
I didn't tell Scully what you did to me, in case you're wondering. I told
her you'd beaten me unconscious, which is pretty well true, and she
apparently decided that was enough to account for the visible bruises and
my mood. Moods. Yeah, I was pretty depressed and angry, just like you
wanted. But I needed to finish the case. You son of a bitch, you planned
that one just right.
But I've been talking for a while, and you're probably getting chilled.
Here, let me pull the blankets back up; I can always admire your body art
some other time.
You need to sleep. And I'm going to join you. No, Alex, I'm not going to do
anything except hold you. Fully dressed. I hope you're not allergic to
wool? Here, let me get an arm around you and settle you onto my shoulder.
Are you crying?
Shh, shh, it's all right. It's all right, Alex. Good morning, sunshine. Sorry the needle woke you up; you slept through
last night's shot completely. I'm aiming for a lighter dose so you can
regain a few voluntary motions, but I know better than to give you a chance
to recover yet. You'd certainly kill me.
I'm afraid it's time for, how would you put it? Mister Bedpan. Look, I'm
not trying to humiliate you here, and I promise it's better than losing
control later. Believe me, I don't like this part any more than you do.
So let's see, some light conversation might be in order.
Hmm. You know, Krycek, even I find it hard to come up with witty repartee
without a conversation partner.
I could recite the entire script of Godzilla Versus Mecha-Godzilla, but I
gather from your expression that you'd prefer slow death by evisceration.
What else can I think of? Usually I don't do soliloquies except when
delivering reports.
Reports, that's a good idea. You're probably wondering how I tracked you
down.
That crack you made back at Alcatraz about going to work told me that you'd
come by a private boat rather than the tourist ferry, so I had three
friends check out boat rentals. I can't believe you actually rented it
rather than just stealing one; are you slipping, or did you want to be
caught? But the ID you used matched up with some other information, and
they were able to track a lot of your movements since then.
Monday, you checked into a cheap motel in Baltimore with the same ID. Oh,
what a tangled web we weave, when we apparently get too tired or suicidal
to deceive. But I suspect you were half trying to be caught. I don't know
how you've kept yourself going since May; that must have left you with even
less to live for than I had.
Here, let me empty this damned thing and clean you off. Never thought I'd
end up as a valet.
I'll be back in a minute, Alex. I've got some soup warming on the stove,
since I thought you could use some breakfast. I'm back. This is clam chowder; you should be able to swallow the broth if
we're both careful. Silver spoon to complete the decadence. There you go.
There you go. Yeah.
Don't drool, Alex, or I'll have to get you a bib. Hey, that's a good glare.
You must be recovering at least a little bit. I'll have to watch that.
So, where were we? I told you how we found you, but not why. You see, one
of the reasons I survived what you did to me is that you gave someone
besides myself to think about. No, really.
You really shouldn't vent in front of a supposedly brilliant profiler like
myself unless you want to be analyzed. So, did you?
I don't believe you're stupid enough to envy me. Jesus, Krycek, couldn't
you pick someone worth it? Would you REALLY have wanted my father, or my
sister? Hell, if you want to envy someone, I could suggest enough better
candidates to fill a phone book.
But no, you picked me to hate. Was it your mother's murder that started
that, the fact that I solved it when you couldn't? Or something later, in
the FBI? Or just my conversational brilliance and natty collection of
baseball cards?
You told me too much even while you were raping me, Alex. You told me how
lonely you are, and how desperately you want to love and be loved. And you
made it clear how obsessed you are with everything I do. You fucking idiot,
why didn't you just ASK? Did it ever occur to you that it might have been
mutual? I could hardly make the first move on a junior agent without some
sign of interest. But no, you'd rather go for rape. You fucking asshole.
Not very bright, either. You try so hard to play the tough guy, and then
you show me how much you're hurting.
You know why we reacted so strongly to each other from the beginning,
Krycek? Alex? It's because we recognized each other.
We'd never met, but we both knew that pain when we saw it.
I don't mean you didn't fool me at first; you're really quite good at
deception. But even when I still thought you were an eager young rookie who
worshipped the halls I walked in, I wondered who had put those shadows in
your eyes.
You want to know how I survived Alcatraz, Alex? It's because every bruise
and tear you gave me was a yell, maybe not for help, but for me to hear
you. And I did.
Don't misunderstand me. I didn't like being raped, or even handcuffed and
beaten. But all along I could see the subtext, and it gave me a puzzle that
pulled me through.
So you can treat this as an answer, or as revenge. I'm going to give you
what you want most, which is also what you'd kill to avoid. Tough luck,
Alex. It's my turn to call the shots.
Alex? Stop pretending you're asleep; I've got to get some liquids in you.—
Let's skip the jokes, shall we? Hope you don't mind slightly lukewarm
cocoa, but I didn't want to burn your mouth.
That's good. No, don't try to move; I'll hold the cup steady. Here.
Let me just set this down. It's time for me to have a taste, and not just
of cocoa.
God, Alex, so soft—I thought your mouth would be hard like the rest of
you, all muscle and grit. Jesus.
Are you kissing me back, or trying to bite me? Just feeling your lips try
to move is making my hair stand on end. God, Alex—
I didn't know it would feel like this. Yeah, Alex, go ahead and laugh, or
is that a snarl? But I've never kissed a man before. This is all new to
me—well, except for the usual teenage handjob, and one extremely drunken
grope at Oxford.
And here you made my first real experience a particularly brutal rape.
Fuck, Alex, you really know how to show a guy a good time.
No, I'm not kinky enough to have enjoyed that. It was months before I could
even stand to see myself in the shower, and I still can't—can't touch
myself. I'm sure you're gloating, but remember: I'm the one in charge this
time.
But through all the hate I saw the need in your eyes. And you told me—I
hadn't known, but I believed you immediately—that when I was hitting you
in Hong Kong, my... my getting hard wasn't just because of the violence.
And now I can't get you out of my head.
But I don't forgive it, Krycek. Not the rape, not my father's death, none
of it. So this isn't about love; this is a counterpunch to the gut. I'm
gonna hurt you more with kindness than any of those scars hurt when you got
them.
No mercy, no quarter. Hey, Alex, that shower felt pretty good. You want one yourself if—Alex?
Alex?!
Jesus Alex how did you get your head under that pillow did you slip or were
you trying to kill yourself O God you were—Alex!
Breathe. Breathe, you son of a bitch.
Fuck!
God DAMN it, Alex! Don't ever—
Don't—
You fucking idiot! I don't think it's even possible to suffocate yourself
that way, but—
Jesus. Yeah, that's it, breathe in. Again. Again.
That's better. Here, let me prop your head up again, take some of that
strain off your neck. That better?
Damn it! I can't—I—
I just can't—
Oh, fuck... ...All right, Alex, you win. I give up. I just can't do this any more.
Satisfied? Yeah, you're a better rapist than I am. Hope you're proud of it.
Damn you! I wanted so badly to pay you back for Alcatraz, but I just can't
do it. Fuck!
I give up.
What the hell am I going to do with you? It'll be several hours before this
morning's dose wears off, and you probably won't have your full strength
back until this evening. Damn it, I want to put one bullet right through
your head, for my father and for what you did to me, but I just can't do
it. Not when you're helpless. I'm not you, Alex.
So you win.
And I—shit, I don't know what to do with myself either. I just—There's
no point—Oh, hell, Alex, I don't know if I can stand to go back and—
I am NOT crying. It's that goddamned smoke. I'm—
Damn it!
Still there, I see. All this pacing, and I still don't—I can't—
You were right, Alex. I don't even have the guts to end it. For either of
us. But I don't know how to keep going, either.
Fuck...
Hell, I'll just leave it to you. Take it as an apology. What was it you
said in Hong Kong, "Finish it"? Well, now it's my turn. Finish it, Krycek.
Kill me and get it over with. I won't even try to stop you. Not unless you
try to hurt yourself instead.
It's gonna be a long afternoon waiting for you to get your strength back.
Here, I'll leave you my gun; that should make it easier.
And until then—
Until then—
I'm gonna be cruel or kind or whatever it is, one more time. I'm going to
lie down and hold you until then, skin to skin, and share a little illusory
warmth before the end. No rape, no sex, just clinging like a frightened
child, or as though you were the child, and feel a human touch one last
time.
It's been so long since I held someone, or was held. Even now, this feels
so good.
And you, Alex, can you even remember the last time you let yourself feel?
Go ahead, feel me holding you. There's no threat, Alex. Even drugged,
you're stronger than I am. You're in charge.
Is that a smile, Alex? It's hard to see. I didn't mean to cry in your hair.
Oh God, your hand—
Lockdown II
by Nonie Rider
Hey, Krycek, you coming around? Actually, I guess I should call you Alex,
since this IS our second date.
