He hit hard, yelping at the sudden, sharp pain that lanced through his left
thigh when he impacted with the floor below. He covered his head instinctively,
coughing on the fog of dust that swirled around him, squeezing his eyes shut
tight against the sting of pained tears that pricked at his eyes.
Finally, the cacophony stilled into silence, and he blew out a hard breath,
holding himself very still. He lay rigid where he had fallen, afraid to do
anything that might convince the rest of the structure to fall down on top of
him.
Coming here, he admitted, had been a bad idea in a long history of bad ideas.
He'd known the lab was unstable after the quake that had hit it last week, and
Alex's superiors hadn't wasted the effort to rebuild it after they bugged out.
He should have known something like this would happen, with his track record
in the luck department. Never mind that this was the only way he could possibly
have convinced Mulder to meet with him. For someone who had such a burning drive
to hunt down the truth, Mulder had a glaring blind spot when it came to
identifying true sincerity.
Tentatively, he uncurled, blinking rapidly to clear away the fine layer of dust
that clung to his eyelashes. Dirt still swirled lazily in the air around him,
making him cough, and he rubbed a hand across the front of his chest absently,
trying to ease the dull ache there.
A movement off to one side caught his attention, but before he could turn to
identify it, he found himself staring down the barrel of a Sig Sauer 226. He
froze, feeling his breath catch against the rawness of his throat, and let his
gaze slide up to meet Mulder's face.
Which was glaring at him with a look of self-righteous betrayal. And of course
to Mulder it would seem logical that Alex had planned for them both to be
nearly buried alive.
"Relax, Mulder," he said, wincing at the strained croak his voice made. He wiped
tentatively at the tears that beaded at the corners of his eyes, being careful
to keep his hands in plain sight. "I told you the place wasn't exactly sound.
You're the one who insisted on coming inside."
"Shut up, Krycek." Mulder's voice was rough, and he coughed violently, looking
well and truly pissed. The barrel of the gun did not waver.
Alex watched him warily. Mulder was moving stiffly, apparently bruised but not
seriously harmed by the fall. Alex wasn't sure whether the thought was a relief
or not, and he quickly turned his attention to the room around them. Light from
the floor above filtered down through the slowly settling dust cloud around
them, providing a faint, blue-tinged illumination. He glanced up, frowning when
he saw the ragged hole they'd fallen through.
"No chance we're getting out that way without bringing the whole place down on
us," he commented, shifting to ease the pressure on his elbow. He suppressed a
smile when Mulder tensed, gaze narrowing in on him sharply; Mulder could be so
predictable sometimes. Alex sat up gingerly, keeping his movements slow more out
of reaction to the aches that pulsed through him than from any real fear that
Mulder would shoot him.
They appeared to be in some kind of underground storage room, although anything
of interest had been effectively removed long before they'd gotten there. The
walls were covered with a series of narrow shelving, and the hard concrete floor
was empty except for a littering of debris. A single doorway, sans door, opened
onto blackness at the far side of the room.
Seemingly satisfied that Alex wasn't planning any immediate treachery, Mulder
made a short circuit of the room, apparently looking for hidden traps or
invisible men lying in wait to ambush them. Gotta love those FBI reflexes. Alex
slithered back to lean against the wall nearest him, grinning slightly at the
warning look Mulder shot at him, and stretched his legs out, brushing the
accumulated layer of dirt off the knees of his jeans.
Mulder had one of those industrial-strength flashlights in his hand now, and he
was shining it into the next room. Alex leaned his head back against the wall,
trying to ignore the dull throbbing in his thigh. God, he hated this job. Why
had he ever decided to get involved in espionage, anyway? Why couldn't he have
chosen to be, say, a dentist? Or a florist. He would have made a damn good
florist. The thought made him chuckle despite himself.
Instantly, Mulder was there again, looming like retribution itself. "I'm glad
you're enjoying yourself," he said scathingly, and apparently Alex did have a
death wish after all, because he couldn't help laughing at the sheer absurdity
of the situation.
"Yeah, sure, Mulder." He was reasonably certain that Mulder wouldn't kill him
outright, at least not before he heard the full story of why Alex had called him
here. Probably. "I'm having a ball. How about you?"
Mulder's expression clearly said that he wasn't amused, and Alex flinched,
half-expecting some kind of a blow. God knew Mulder hadn't been shy about
dealing out pain therapy in the past. But Mulder only sneered at him—good
expression of genuine contempt there—and turned away as if Alex wasn't worth
the effort.
It stung, and Alex wasn't quite sure why.
Mulder leaned hard against the wall across from him and slid down to the floor,
propping the arm that held the flashlight on one bent knee. Alex dropped his
gaze, brow furrowing against the brightness of the light, and fingered absently
at the long rip that had appeared in the sleeve of his leather jacket during the
fall. Damn it.
"The hallway out there's caved in," Mulder said matter-of-factly, and Alex's gut
clenched. "And I don't think you'll be climbing out of here with that leg of
yours." Apparently Alex hadn't been as successful in hiding the pain in his
thigh as he thought he'd been. Mulder's voice stayed even as he continued, "So
why don't you cut the bullshit and tell me why you dragged me all the way out
here."
Alex shook his head, feeling vaguely amused. "Like you'd honestly believe
anything I tell you at this point."
Mulder smiled thinly. "Try me."
All too aware of the gun that Mulder was still holding loosely on him, Alex
shifted uncomfortably, stifling a wince at the pain that shot through his hip
when he moved. Mulder was right; he wouldn't be climbing out of here on his own.
He sighed heavily, scrubbing at his eyes. "I don't know what you want me to say,
Mulder. I wanted to give you information about the experiments they were doing
here, up until the quake hit last week. You're the one who insisted on coming
all the way out here to see the place for yourself."
Mulder hissed softly. "Why should I believe you?"
Alex gave him a lopsided smile. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I want the
same thing you do, Mulder."
And for a moment he thought Mulder really was going to shoot him. With a
visible effort, Mulder forced himself to relax, setting the flashlight down on
the floor beside him and rubbing at his opposite arm slowly. "I don't trust you,
Krycek."
Alex pressed his lips together. "I know." It was the one crime Fox Mulder could
never truly forgive—betrayal. Even if it was for his own damn good.
A sudden memory flashed across Alex's mind: the jarring impact of the row of
telephones behind his back in Hong Kong, the rough heat of Mulder's body
pressing against him, choking the breath out of him. He closed his eyes, feeling
suddenly tired, and rubbed absently at the pain in his thigh.
"Why'd you do it, Krycek?" Mulder's voice was soft.
Alex smiled despite himself. "Which 'it' are you referring to?"
Which probably wasn't the wisest thing to say under the circumstances, but it
was true nonetheless. Betrayal on top of betrayal on top of betrayal, and why
had he ever decided this was a line of work he might want to get into? He'd
learned too late that he just wasn't suited for undercover work. He never could
seem to keep himself emotionally distanced.
But of course, by the time he'd figured that out, it had been too late. Far, far
too late, and how had he deceived himself into thinking he'd ever actually had a
choice about any of it?
Mulder's answering smile was thin, brittle. His eyes glinted sharply in the
shadows behind the flashlight, like edges of broken glass. "You tell me."
Alex ducked his head against the sudden flare of pain that moved through him.
Another memory surfaced: sitting on the edge of Mulder's desk downstairs in the
basement office, handing him a cup of bad coffee and laughing over the details
of their latest case. Casual Mulder, with his jacket thrown over the back of his
chair and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, looking up at him with bright
hazel eyes.
Viciously, he shoved the memory away. "Are you looking for a confession?"
Slightest edge of contempt in his voice. That was good; never let them know how
much they were making you hurt.
"Something like that." And now there was an edge to the words that sounded
strangely earnest. "I just want to understand why you do what you do, Krycek. Is
that so much to ask? You're asking me to trust you. Give me a reason."
Alex looked up, caught off guard by the strained emotion behind the words.
Mulder's expression hadn't changed, but there was a tension in him that seemed
almost beseeching. But of course, Mulder always wanted to believe.
"So that's the deal, then?" Alex said, keeping the words carefully
inflectionless. "In order for you to believe the information I've given you, I
have to give you more information that you're not going to believe?"
Mulder's eyes glinted. "I could just climb out of here and leave you here to
rot."
There was that. Alex closed his eyes with a sigh. Of course Mulder, holding him
hostage with absolutely nothing to lose, would want to rake in every bit of
Truth-with-a-capital-T he could get his hands on. How unbearably quaint. "What
do you want to know?"
"Who do you work for?"
Hmm. Interesting opening question. "I work for a lot of people, Mulder."
Mulder bared his teeth at him. "Okay, then. Let me rephrase that. Who are you
loyal to?"
Alex smiled slightly, showing some teeth of his own. "Me." He could practically
feel the frustration rising off Mulder now, and he raised a hand to forestall
the interrogation. "Face it, Mulder. There just aren't answers to the questions
you want to ask. Not answers you want to hear, anyway."
Mulder seemed to consider that seriously for a moment. "Did you enjoy it?" he
asked at last. His jaw was tight.
And there was just no safe answer to that question. Alex looked away, worrying
at his lower lip.
"Come on, Krycek, you can tell me." Mulder's voice was steely. "Did you enjoy
it? Fucking me over, I mean." God, how could he be so calm ?
"No." Alex bent one leg and rested the side of his face against his knee,
feeling beat up and worn out and so very, very tired. And that was the real crux
of the matter for Mulder, wasn't it? Forget his father's murder, or Scully's
sister's, or the role Alex had played in the theft of the DAT tape and Scully's
abduction. All those weeks of intimate medical torture Mulder had to be
imagining she'd gone through, and none of it could compare to the fact that he
had trusted Alex, and Alex had let him down.
"No." Mulder echoed the word flatly, as if he couldn't believe Alex had said it.
The hand with the gun twitched slightly. "What does that mean , Alex?"
Alex flinched at the sound of his name. Unbidden, another memory surfaced:
sitting on the couch in Mulder's apartment, drinking watery beer and watching a
Nicks game on TV, Mulder's hand warm against the back of his neck, stroking him
softly, so very softly....
Angrily, Alex pushed the memory away. His hands were shaking now, and he curled
them into fists, pressing them against the tops of his thighs. "I don't know
what you want me to say, Mulder."
"I want you to tell me the truth ." Mulder sounded petulant, like a child who
wasn't getting his way. The comparison made Alex smile crookedly.
"Which truth do you want to hear?"
And yes, he was skating dangerously close to the edge now, judging by the look
in Mulder's eyes. Mulder, who perhaps had more reason to hate him than anyone
else alive. Alex held his gaze levelly, courting disaster, feeling a high, wild
recklessness sing through him as Mulder leaned forward, hand tightening around
his gun. Would it be so bad if Mulder just shot him now, left him to lie
bleeding here on the floor of this basement while he climbed to safety, leaving
his demons behind? There was a strange appeal to the thought, as if Alex might
be able to give Mulder that degree of peace at least, in penance for his crimes.
After another moment, Mulder leaned his head against the wall behind him,
closing his eyes. "Fuck you, Krycek."
Alex shivered.
He wondered then just what Mulder expected him to say. What did Mulder want to
hear, exactly? Did he want Alex to tell him how he'd initially been approached
by the men they both hated, how he'd been seduced by a carefully crafted web of
lies and promises until he was so far entangled that any movement he made only
drew him in deeper? Somehow, he didn't think Mulder would be impressed by the
story. Poor, disillusioned Krycek, groping at ethical straws.
Finally, Mulder spoke again. "What kind of experiments were they doing here?"
Alex looked up at him, resting his chin on his bent knee. At least it was a
fairly neutral question. "Alien hybrid research. Gene splicing. Whatever the
fuck." He shrugged. "It's all on the disk I gave you."
Mulder's hand moved reflexively to the pocket of his jacket, where he'd put the
zip disk Alex had given him earlier that evening. The disk contained all the
information Alex had been able to find on the research that had been going on
here, but of course that hadn't been enough for Mulder. No, he'd wanted Alex to
bring him here, so he could see it, so he could feel it, so he could know for
himself.
All things considered, Alex supposed he couldn't blame him.
"Why did you give it to me?" There was an odd note in Mulder's voice now that
Alex couldn't quite place.
Alex eyed him narrowly. "It may surprise you to hear this, Mulder, but
everything I do does not have some deep, nefarious purpose attached to it. This
time, I just wanted to screw over the bastard who tried to kill me. And if that
means helping you in the bargain, then so be it." Liar, his conscience told
him, but he ignored it with the ease of long practice.
Mulder's expression was inscrutable. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," he
mused, echoing Alex's words from earlier.
Alex smiled tightly. "Exactly."
More silence then, but it was heavier this time, filled with all the words they
weren't saying. Alex clung to it like a talisman, afraid to break it, afraid to
lose the tenuous balance that had somehow formed between them.
Finally, Mulder pressed his hands to his knees and stood. "Come on. Let's get
out of here."
Alex stared up at him blankly, coughing on the thin film of dust that still
floated in the air. "What?"
"Get up, Krycek. We're leaving."
Sure. Whatever. With an effort, Alex pulled himself to his feet, wincing at the
pain that stabbed through his leg.
To his surprise, Mulder didn't start climbing the shelving on the wall, but
instead moved toward the open doorway leading into the hall. Alex froze for a
moment as the significance of that sank in, feeling irrationally betrayed.
The bastard.
Mulder's eyes had a sharp glint of amusement in them as Alex moved to follow
him. Just as Alex suspected, the hall outside was clear, without any sign of a
cave-in. He could have left on his own at any time.
"Asshole," he muttered under his breath, and Mulder smiled at him, fierce and
quick.
"You're far too trusting," Mulder told him, sounding smug, and again Alex
flashed back to those earlier times, when everything had been new and
untarnished and still innocent between them.
Why had Mulder tricked him into staying here to talk to him? Maybe he'd felt
he needed some kind of verification, some reassurance to convince him that the
information Alex was giving him was real. Maybe he'd just wanted to see Alex
squirm, one last time. After all, he never seemed to give up an opportunity to
make him suffer for his crimes.
Or perhaps Mulder had been looking for some kind of closure, too.
"As soon as we get out of here, I don't ever want to see you again." Mulder's
voice was cold, and Alex nodded tiredly. He'd figured it would be too much to
hope to get a thank you out of this.
Then Mulder was moving down the hall, and Alex limped after him, wondering just
what they'd accomplished here tonight. Probably nothing. Mulder still hated him,
still didn't trust him, probably still wanted to see him dead.
But he hadn't killed him.
That was something, as far as Alex was concerned. Maybe, in its own way, it was
everything.
Because it meant that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance Mulder could
forgive him.
They were nearing the end of the hall now. Giving Mulder one last glance, Alex
started up the stairs toward the surface above.
And tried to believe.
The End
7/3/02
Descent
by Rushlight
The world teetered on edge for one endless moment before collapsing inward,
shattering in a cascade of debris and billowing dust. Alex flailed, groping for
purchase as the floor opened up around him, swallowing him whole with a
tremulous shriek of metal and old wood.
