What the Brit had me doing now almost made me long for those
days. At least I'd been free. Free to get killed, but...
When I made that deal for my life, I thought he'd take me on as a
thug or assassin, maybe even a whore. I could deal with those; I've
done them before, and they didn't touch me.
But the bastard had made me his fucking secretary.
Having a one-armed man type your memos and documents was
even more senseless than making him your chauffeur—the other
part of my job as his personal assistant. Who would have thought
the Syndicate kept any written records anyway? He had me filing
things for him. I was answering the fucking phone, for God's sake,
wearing one of those headsets like a Time/Life operator. "But all
of my operatives are checking in much more frequently now that
you answer, Alex." Bite me, limey. "After the last few years, I
would have thought you'd appreciate a little peace and quiet. If
you get too bored, I could always demote you to moving target for
my people to practice on."
He would too, or maybe discipline me himself. The man looked
soft, cultured, but...
Nobody else stayed here in this office/apartment, though other
operatives dropped by all the time for assignments and deliveries,
but I'd figured he had me under surveillance. My first day here I'd
slacked off a bit, didn't complete all the tasks he'd given me, just to
test him.
Five thugs had showed up to taser and beat the shit out of me.
The second day he'd given me an annoying shit as an office mate.
Killing the guy had earned me another beating, but it had been
more than worth it. At least it had told the Brit that Alex Krycek
didn't work well with others. No one had been sent to replace the
little Dilbert-loving bastard I'd offed.
Choosing the right fight, the best moment, while letting the rest
slide enabled you to survive and thrive. I could be patient.
But I was bored most of the time, and this job gave me too much
time to think.
What did he want from me? Did he want me to beg to be allowed
back on the streets? I wouldn't. You never let them know what
you really wanted or needed, not if you didn't want that knowledge
used against you.
So, like so many corporate employees, I spent most of the day
cruising the Internet while making it look like I was working. At
least I was picking up valuable computer skills in researching and
hacking. Also like those drones, I collected any rumors that
reached me, especially ones concerning Mulder. It never failed to
amaze me how jobs like this made you invisible, a piece of
furniture. In the past few days alone I'd picked up enough
information to buy my way into more than a few places.
Damn, Mulder had been the last person I'd held a gun on for
business, and it made me feel nostalgic... That and the memory of
his reaction to that kiss. I could have him if I wanted him.
I did. I would.
He'd been having a rough time lately with his near-execution by
the militia, followed soon after by involuntary institutionalization.
He was ripe...
The Brit hadn't told me to make Mulder my business, but he hadn't
told me not to, either. I suspected he'd approve of some of what I
intended to do.
Not that what he thought made a difference if he never found out
about it.
I lived and worked here, but he didn't mind me going out to take
lunch breaks. I found an Internet-ready coffee bar and sent my
favorite toy a message.
****
To: mfluder@lycosmail.com
Meet me at our old watering hole for more information.
K
****
While we'd been partners, I had occasionally taken him to a bar I'd
frequented while still at Quantico. It had all been part of my plan
to get him out among normal people, insinuate my way into his
life, and shake up his routine. Given time, I would have been able
to affect his decisions, and maybe I might have been able to make
him start questioning his choices in life, as per my ultimately
shortsighted bosses' instructions. Given time, I might have been
able to make him need me... and finally finessed myself into a life
of power, security, and comfort, instead of a hardscrabble
existence that mainly consisted of me trying to save my ass by
leaping from one treacherous employer to the next.
Might have beens. My bosses had fucked up, and I'd paid the
price. Considering the past was only useful if it helped me shape
the future.
I worked my way through a bland, rubbery sandwich and waited.
****
To: ak47@altavista.net
This better be worth it.
——you wrote:
****
I couldn't help smirking. He had no idea...
****
To: mfluder@lycosmail.com
It is. Be there at 9.
——you wrote:
****
Five minutes later I had confirmation and a date.
He even showed up early. How flattering. He'd also come fully
armed; the set of his shoulders suggested a gun harness, while his
walk told me he wore his ankle holster. Not that he was being too
obvious about it. I just knew him and how he moved very
intimately, though not as intimately as I would have liked.
The thought of those guns cheered me immeasurably. He'd
dressed up to see me. How sweet.
He'd put sunglasses on as soon as he entered the room, not an
uncommon affectation for this pretentious crowd. He didn't do it
for the same reasons, though. He knew his eyes could give him
away.
But he also couldn't hide from me, and I think he knew that too, no
matter how hard he tried to deny it.
When the cuffs of his leather jacket pulled back up his arms a little,
I could swear I saw faint marks from the padded shackles the
hospital had put him in. I'd heard he'd struggled like mad to get
free when his attacker—whether human or giant bug was
undetermined, accounts varied—had entered his room. Of course
he had, even doped up, there was no surprise there, but the
accompanying mental picture was worth a few moments of
appreciative contemplation.
He couldn't be making me want him more if he'd tried.
He'd dressed like I tended to: in leather, cotton, and denim. It
made me smile darkly. By contrast, I'd arrived in a sportsjacket,
gray sweater, tailored navy blue pants, and shiny dress shoes, like a
better-dressed version of the Agent Krycek I had been.
The leather gloves didn't quite fit that picture, but neither did the
plastic of my left hand poking out from my sleeve. I preferred the
gloves.
My choice of rendezvous and outfit should keep him off guard.
The past was my weapon.
All my instincts had snapped back into place the moment Mulder
had agreed to meet me. Office work and semi-voluntary captivity
hadn't blunted my edge after all, only forced me to put a thin skin
of dullness over my hunter-self to keep me sane.
I felt the old excitement. Mulder had always challenged me,
forced me to improvise to match his ever-shifting self, to anticipate
his odd, speeding brain. As difficult as walking the wire without a
net was, you never could beat the euphoric sense of hard-earned
accomplishment you got when you made it through.
He settled at a table in the corner and sat facing the room. It let
him see everything except the dark hall to the restrooms, where I
stood. If I'd known that shackling him to a bed would make him
grow a sense of caution and a brain, I would have—
Oh, hell, I would have done it for other reasons too. I just hadn't
gotten a chance.
I walked up to him, and he turned a minute before I reached him.
Very nice. I smirked and asked, "Hey, baby, what's your sign?"
He'd taken his usual deadpan face into the dead zone, made it a
perfect null, but that was the way he usually reacted to pain. Dark
plastic shielded eyes that usually showed the torment he couldn't
express any other way.
His voice made a perfect match with his face. "Libra. You?"
Why not? "Gemini."
His face still barely moved, yet he somehow gave the impression
of being wired, jittery. I wondered how well he was sleeping.
"What am I here for?" he asked.
I just had to crack the dull disinterest and stone mask. I only
needed the right tool... "Education. But not here. Outside
somewhere."
A look of distrust flashed across his blank face. Lovely.
"Whatever. But I'll only give you a few minutes."
"That's all I need." //To give you the information.//
We walked out into a night that glistened from an earlier rainfall.
The air smelled clean and brisk. Mulder had to take his shades off,
so I'd have a chance to see his eyes once we were under the next
streetlight.
He obviously didn't intend to give me time to put a plan or scheme
into action. "Spill, Krycek."
I smiled. "On the open street?"
"Alley then."
"You wish is my command." Sucker.
He followed me into deep shadows, carefully steeping over trash
and debris. When he grabbed me by the arm, I let him stop me.
"Here is fine," he said.
I moved in so close I could feel the heat he gave off and inhale his
air. "The old men aren't as unified as they'd like you to believe.
They have hidden factions you might be able to take advantage of,
if you're smart."
"That's it?"
"Not quite." This close, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do first. I
had so damned many options...
I made the mistake of thinking he would be predictable. "This
close" meant I couldn't move in time to avoid his hands as he
grabbed me and hauled me in. Then I didn't want to. His lips
were soft, hot, and demanding against mine as he tried to pull all
the air out of me. When he brushed his hips against mine and then
back, in that fleeting touch I could feel that he was almost as hard
as I was.
I'd forgotten how useful a fucked-in-the-head Mulder could be, but
it looked like he wanted to help me remember...
He let go and pulled back. "Was the rest of what you wanted to
tell me something like that?" he asked, panting slightly.
A dark smile cut across my face. "Yeah."
"Then I got your message." He started to walk away.
I stared in disbelief at that unyielding back for a few moments
before grabbing him and throwing him against the wall. When I
put my arm against his throat, I could feel his pulse pounding even
through the layers of cloth. "It doesn't work like that, Mulder."
"I'm not in the mood," he gasped. His hand was almost cutting off
the circulation in my arm, and I had to resist the urge to kiss the
shackle marks revealed on his wrist. Later, later...
I brushed the hand of my prosthesis against his erection. I may not
have been able to feel his cock straining against the denim, but I
did enjoy the way his body bucked against mine. "This says
differently."
"It even responded when Skinner hauled me around and pinned me
against that table in Illinois. It's not me."
Feeling almost proud that he'd automatically assumed that I knew
exactly what incident he was referring to, I stored the mental image
of him and Skinner away to enjoy later and pondered my options.
What to do when Mulder was too fucked in the head to be any
fun? My cock knew what it wanted to do, but I didn't let it run the
show. I could mess with Mulder until he surrendered, but it
wouldn't be what I wanted, and he could probably pass it off as
rape later.
I wanted him dirty with it, so deeply implicated in his own fucking
that he couldn't shrug it off. I wanted to make him scream for me.
As always with Mulder I had to make a split second decision,
based on how I thought his labyrinthine mind ran, that would
change everything. I could lose him or hook him right here.
In the dim light I could see his eyes almost vibrating at me. I
realized that he expected me to use force on him. Why not; the
only people he'd trusted—his partner and his boss—had.
So I did the last thing he expected. I let him go and stepped away.
He froze in shock, just staring at me.
Sometimes the most direct path wasn't a straight line. Especially
not where Mulder was concerned.
"Go home and get some sleep, Mulder."
His mouth quivered, and I knew I had him. "Alex—"
That one almost had me. Bad sign, when all he had to do was
use my fucking first name. How could we hit one another and do
no damage, yet strike so deeply and painfully with kind words?
I walked away while I still could, deliberately turning my back in
the knowledge that he wouldn't shoot me. I knew how to play this
now. I could have taken him tonight, but then I wouldn't have
really had him. I could only reel him in closer by putting distance
between us. You got used to making sense of that kind of strategy
when you dealt with the Syndicate and Mulder.
He didn't try to stop me. He knew we'd meet again.
My boss was waiting for me at my apartment. "Good job, Alex. I
knew my faith in you was justified. I'm taking you off your
current assignment and putting you on a retrieval job in Canada.
You should like it; you might get to use your gun."
This had all been some kind of fucking test? I wanted to shoot him
but didn't. I wanted to ask him if he intended to send me after the
smoking bastard but didn't. He nodded in approval and left
without another word.
So what was I supposed to learn here? Patience? When to mess
with a situation and when to leave it alone? I knew those, but not
to the limey's satisfaction, I guess.
I'd already decided to apply my lessons in ways that he hadn't
intended. If I could wait and plan for the right time to make my
move on Mulder, I could sure as hell wait and plan to make my
move on my bosses too.
THE END Gemini
Oblique
by Viridian5
Not so long ago I was out on the streets, hunted like an animal,
with my starving body devouring itself for sustenance.
Subject: What's Near and Dear to Your Heart
In a half-hour, I had my answer.
From: mfluder@lycosmail.com
Subject: Re: What's Near and Dear to Your Heart
> Meet me at our old watering hole for more information.
>
> K
Subject: Re: What's Near and Dear to Your Heart
>
> This better be worth it.
>
>——you wrote:
> > Meet me at our old watering hole for more information.
> >
> > K
Be patient and keep a tight rein on your energy. The horses may
want to run off with the cart in tow, so you'll have to take control
and exude it strongly. Leave it to words and not to the whips.
Squandering your resources in irritation might leave you short on
something you'll need later. Plus, it will be a fortune spent on
nothing but frustration. A twist of fate may have you scrambling to
catch up. With patience, you will be able to avoid a feeling of
dizziness. Unforeseen obstacles may actually work to your
advantage.
