Category: Slash - Mulder/Krycek Rating: NC-17 (for sexual situations and adult content) Spoilers: TF/Max/Redux II Disclaimer: We own them, OK? (Well, actually Chris Carter owns them, but he has such a laugh when we say that.) Summary: A sequel to Comeuppance III: Absence. You'd probably have to be familiar with that universe to make sense of this piece. The series can be found at "The Socks Shoppe" at http://members.aol.com/xapen/shop.html or via E-mail from dbkate@yahoo.com KATE THANKS: First off, for Alicia, who not only encouraged me to finish this, but generously contributed her time and considerable writing talent to make it a reality. Thanks, Alicia! Also, many thanks to our beta readers Trillian, Te & Brinson. ALICIA THANKS: First, last, and in between--Kate, for allowing me to get my sweaty mitts on this fic. If I bring the Absolut, can we do it again sometime? Please? Also, of course, thanks to the invaluable beta readers of the world. Feedback: Oh, yes...please. ******** COMEUPPANCE IV: TWO BULLETS AN X-FILES FANFIC by DB Kate & Alicia dbkate@yahoo.com azrkruzhol@aol.com ******** "Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain; Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again." - William Shakespeare - Sonnets ******** The wraith in Fox Mulder's living room was speaking to him. A pale, thin creature it was, sitting across from him in his old brown recliner, and addressing him very softly. It had a terrible face, perfectly white and horribly starved, with translucent skin stretched and hollowed out over sharp cheekbones. As it spoke, Mulder gaped and stared dumbly at its empty left sleeve. He wondered at the sight as best he could, now that the bullets had flown in his living room and the blood of another creature had completely soaked through the small rug that lay underneath his coffee table. The blood of a creature that looked exactly like himself. He'd returned home that evening from Scully's bedside, still trembling with relief at her recovery and shaken to the core by the news of the smoker's death. Thrown himself onto his couch without a thought of danger or security, simply trying to digest the day's events the best he could. But a moment later, he'd opened his eyes and looked up, only to see his own face looming overhead. It was a perfect replica of himself, down to the tiny scar on his left cheek and the small mole on his thumb. A perfect replica, indeed. Except for the gun in its left hand. But when the shot rang out, it wasn't Fox Mulder who fell. It was his replica, and the smoking gun didn't belong to it. It belonged to the wraith. . . Otherwise known as Alex Krycek. For that was the name of the ghostly apparition who sat across from Mulder, with one leg casually slung over the chair's arm and the gun held loosely in his single hand. Mulder swallowed dryly as everything swirled around him, this night having just turned into something that was almost too much to bear. "They're new and improved," said Krycek, waving a gaunt hand over the creature that lay on Fox Mulder's floor, bloody and still. "They've almost perfected the hybridization process for these aliens. They not only change shape, they bleed red and I hear they can even read minds." He grinned at Mulder with a cracked smile. "Ain't that something?" "What do you want, Krycek?" whispered Mulder, not sure exactly what part of hell he'd suddenly found himself in. "Why are you here?" "They've finally decided to kill you this time, Mulder. And to make things even more fun, you were going to be replaced," said Krycek, nodding at the dead clone. "By Fox Mulder Jr. over here. Lucky for you I came in when I did, eh?" "What do you want, Krycek?" repeated Mulder, the shock dissipating rapidly, his cheek beginning to twitch in anger. He rose off the couch slightly and then sat back down, his shaking knees refusing to support him just yet. Krycek stared at him, green eyes bright above stark cheeks. "I'm here to make you the offer of a lifetime, Mulder." "Forget it." "You haven't heard what it is yet." "I don't care what it is. You're a liar and a killer, Krycek." "They're coming for you, Mulder." "Let them come," replied Mulder, scanning the room for his firearm. It was nowhere to be seen. "With what I'm about to offer you, Mulder, you'll be able to save yourself, your work and that precious partner of yours. Perhaps more ..." said Krycek calmly. "Bullshit." "His name was Vladmir." "What?" asked Mulder, his eyes narrowing. "Whose name was Vladmir?" "The smoker. Cancerman. Or whatever you used to call him," replied Krycek casually, observing Mulder's shocked expression with satisfaction. "That's his first name. His last one, along with documentation of his deeds, his employers, even a copy of his birth certificate, are all waiting for you in a locker on the other side of this country. Along with a few other items of interest. "And I have the key to that locker right here," finished Krycek, a small bit of silver appearing as if from nowhere to dangle from his little finger. "Why should I believe that?" "Because I'm telling the truth. Because I need your help. Because you have no more options." Krycek placed the gun on the table and continued indifferently. "Look, Mulder, they're coming to kill you. Since they've failed tonight, it's tomorrow at the latest. Face it. Cancerman, the only protection you ever had, is history and they're not kidding this time. I'm the last chance you have. But I'm not going to help you for free." "Why help me at all?" asked Mulder, heart pounding hotly in his throat. Krycek looked away. "Because there's something I need to do and I think you're the only one who can help me do it. So I'm willing to make a deal and save your ass in the bargain." "You want me to help you do what?" "I want you to find him for me," replied Krycek, pulling a photograph out of his leather jacket and tossing it onto the coffee table next to his gun. Mulder picked up the picture and saw a brutal face with dark eyes and a thick mustache. The features bore the look of a killer--a killer Mulder knew well. Garrett. A killer of hundreds of innocents aboard an airplane that was never meant to be doomed. Brian Pendrell's killer. Mulder threw Krycek a questioning glance. "You see, even with all my connections, I still can't find him," said Krycek, leaning forward and tapping the photograph lightly, his features cold. "You were the last person who saw him. I believe you can help me. Besides, I was never the great investigator you are, Mulder. Was I?" "Why do you want to find him?" "That's irrelevant. You find him, you get the key to the Consortium and a new lease on life. It's that simple." "I still need a reason." "The guarantee of your imminent demise if you don't, isn't good enough for you?" Mulder shook his head. "No." "Okay." Krycek's eyes went dull, seeing something very different than the room around him. "You want a reason? I'll give you a reason. I want to find him because I have two bullets ... see?" Krycek held the two dull glints of silver skyward, nestled between three fingers. "And one of them is meant for him." He flipped a bullet casually onto the photograph of Garrett, where it rolled to a stop between his eyes. "And this other one ..." continued Krycek, staring at the remaining bullet, as the brittle smile cracked its way onto his features once more. Opaque green eyes flashed at Mulder from across the room. "This one is all mine," Krycek whispered. And the bullet disappeared into his palm like a toy in the hand of an illusionist. ********* Fox Mulder stared out of the passenger side window and watched as trees and hills flew past him in the dark. It was cold, colder than it should be for May, but he hadn't bothered to put on his jacket and the hairs on his arms rose in protest to the chill. An hour earlier, he'd reluctantly exited his apartment with Krycek and left a message on Scully's answering machine, explaining both as much and as little as he could, trusting her to believe in him and not to fear. He felt terrible guilt at leaving her without true explanations, but she needed her time to recover ... to heal. Completely, without worrying about him. He sighed and closed his eyes. A voice next to him interrupted his thoughts. "Do you like the road, Mulder?" "Why do you ask?" he replied, not looking up. Krycek shrugged. "Just wondering." Mulder leaned back, the exhaustion seeping in. "How about you, Krycek? Can I ask you some questions?" "Me? Oh, I like the road. I like to imagine myself running on it, faster than the cars. Wouldn't that be great, Mulder? Just speeding on the ground, your feet not even hitting the tar, no, not once, just the yellow line rolling past underneath? Huh?" asked Krycek, a thin smile on his lips. "Wouldn't that be great?" "Why are you going to kill Garrett?" asked Mulder, his eyes now open and hard. Krycek chuckled and hit the gas pedal harder. The surrounding woods began to blur. "Who said I was going to kill him?" "Then that little display you gave me in my apartment was just another ruse?" "Mulder, I'm not going to kill Garrett. I'm going to murder him." "What the hell's the difference?" "There is a difference and it's a very distinct one. You kill people you don't give a shit about-- say, in a war, or you run them over with your car or maybe even shoot them in the head for money. It's pretty simple, almost idiotically straightforward. But murder takes a lot more thought, care ...love, even. It's a lot like seducing someone and the outcome is, in reality, almost the same." "And what makes you think I'm going to allow you to *murder* Garrett once we find him?" Krycek laughed out loud at this. "Because you'll have one hell of a time stopping me." Mulder shook his head and began to breathe harshly through his mouth. "You're insane, Krycek. But that's a moot point. Now, tell me ... that bullet you say you've saved for yourself. Are you really going to use it? Are you really going to take that gun and exterminate yourself after killing Garrett? Or is this just another trick pulled out of the bag of Alex the Rat? Another nice surprise, maybe?" "There are no surprises left for you, Mulder, even if I were lying," replied Krycek, almost sadly. "Those men, the ones who want you dead, I know them. Everything that's going to follow this, you'll no doubt expect, in some way. To be honest, this is your last chance to surprise them. You should take advantage of it." "I don't believe you, and you know it," replied Mulder, as the car started to rock with speed. "I'm not lying, but then again, you don't have to believe me," said Krycek, pressing the pedal to the floor. The hood began to tremble. "You know, Mulder, we may never get what we want from this life, but we're both going to get what we need ... sooner or later. "I swear it." ******** The motel they stopped at still had its Christmas lights up. After circling cautiously for a few moments, Krycek drove the car up to the office and paid in cash. When he returned, he motioned at Mulder to get out and jangled the lone room key at him. He nodded toward a door across a small stretch of gravel. "Where's my room?" asked Mulder, following, a huge plastic Santa blinking from the roof behind him. "Right here," replied Krycek, opening the motel room door. He made an ushering gesture inside with his single arm. Mulder glared at him. "I'm not sharing a room with you. And if I get my own I'll have to use my credit card; I don't have any cash." "Sure, lead them right to us ... good idea," replied Krycek indifferently. "See you in Hell." "I'm not sharing a room with you." "OK. Sleep in the car," Krycek said with a shrug. He gave a short chuckle. "I'll bring you a bowl of water in the morning. 'Night." Krycek turned to leave as Mulder bounded up to him and grabbed him by the shirt. "I want my own room," he snarled. Krycek knocked Mulder's arm off with a single, furious gesture. "Look, I don't trust you either, Mulder," he hissed. "You're not going to be in another room, making phone calls behind my back, calling your little partner and then I'd be waking up to her and Skinner in my face, taking pot shots at my jaw. No fuckin' way." With that, Krycek turned around and went into the room. "Jesus," said Mulder, as he grabbed his bag and followed Krycek inside. He slammed the door behind him and ran his hands through his hair, breathing harshly as he looked at the seedy, yellow surroundings. "Fuck." "Oh, and I get the bed," said Krycek, tossing his knapsack onto the dull canary bedspread. He threw a pillow at Mulder, hitting him square in the chest. "You're welcome to the tub." Mulder stared at him for a moment, threw down his bag and then planted himself defiantly in the chair next to the bed. Krycek smirked. "Suit yourself. But just to warn you ... I snore." "Fuck you," replied Mulder evenly. "No thanks. Got a big day ahead tomorrow," replied Krycek, still grinning. "Ask me some other time." Ignoring Mulder's grimace, he gave him another sharp smile before hitting the bed. "I might change my mind." ******** Two hours later, Fox Mulder heard steady breathing emerging from underneath the blankets. He had no inclination to sleep and was glad for it. Turning up the television a bit louder, he watched to see if there was any response from the bed. When none came, he walked over to the coat rack where his and Krycek's meager luggage lay side by side. Quietly, he picked up Krycek's knapsack and zipped it open. Glancing back at the still figure on the bed, he silently moved into the room's other chair and emptied the bag's contents onto a small desk. Soon, an array of items were laid out in front of him, tiny bits and pieces of Krycek's travels. Wrinkled receipts, loose change ... and one small book. Mulder examined it curiously. It was an old book of poetry, a battered soft-cover, entitled "Into The Garden" by Pablo Neruda. He opened it gingerly, and saw an inscription, carefully written out onto the opening leaf. A, "Secretly, between the shadow and the soul" Forever, B Mulder flipped through the pages and a small stack of photographs tumbled out onto the desk. He sorted through them carefully and stopped when he saw Krycek, young and smiling, standing next to another person ... a person with a familiar face. The photograph was so intimate, Mulder had to look away for a moment. The two men weren't even touching; they were merely standing next to one another, but there was obviously much more than simple friendship in their stance. Krycek's tie was pressed, and his hair was slicked back, away from luminous green eyes and warm, ruddy cheeks. There was something strange about his face, something missing. The hardened look of guile and duplicity was nowhere to be found, only a sincere and direct openness that Mulder had never seen before. Krycek looked almost a child, a boy in his father's best suit, trying his hardest to be good at something, something that was probably beyond the reach of such innocence. The man next to him looked even younger, if that were possible, and Mulder tried to shake the vision from his eyes, just to make sure that what he was seeing wasn't an illusion. But Brian Pendrell continued to stare back at him from the picture ... unseeing. Mulder put down the photograph and picked up the others, all of them in the same vein, except for one--a vertical strip of four black and white pictures, obviously taken in an airport photo booth. There were only the two faces in each frame, side by side, smiling. By the third one they were laughing and by the fourth one they were in a deep kiss, with Krycek's head tilted into Pendrell's, their mirth obvious even under concealed lips. "So, I'm the rat, am I?" came a voice from behind Mulder. Mulder whirled around to see Krycek aiming his gun at him, his hand quaking dangerously. "Even I don't go through your shit, Mulder," said Krycek, his voice frighteningly dry. "But no, I'm always the one who can't be trusted. Well, if you have something clever to say about what you've found, go ahead; now's your big chance." "Krycek, I ..." began Mulder. "Say it, Mulder!" Krycek spat. "Go on ... say it!" Mulder slowly put the photographs down. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't know." "That wasn't very clever," Krycek replied disdainfully, lowering the gun. Mulder slid the pictures back between the open pages of the book. "I had no idea you even knew him, Krycek." Krycek replied slowly ... bitterly. "Went through Quantico with him. They partnered us right out of the Academy and he worked field forensics with me until he got promoted to Sci- Crime. We had three months of cases together and then a year of ..." Here he stopped, either unable or unwilling to continue. Mulder hesitated. "Krycek, I have to know something. Scully gave Pendrell a lot of sensitive information and I--" Krycek interrupted him. "He knew nothing. Absolutely no have been. We were through before I was partnered with you anyway," he said resentfully. "He dumped me, you know. On a bright spring day." Mulder tried not to look surprised, but failed. "*He* dumped *you*?" "Oh, yeah. He *thought* he'd fallen in love with someone else, so staying with me, while thinking about this other person, was as bad, if not worse, than actual betrayal. He always had this interesting concept of fairness." Mulder looked up at Krycek and stared at his trembling eyelids. "And I'd say that's right about when I started my life of crime," said Krycek, the cracked smile returning to his lips. "You know, Mulder ..." He held his arm and his stump out in a gesture of display, beside an emaciated body, underneath a terrifyingly thin and white face. "I wasn't always like this," he whispered. Fox Mulder found that he had no reply. Krycek quickly walked away and grabbed his leather jacket. He shrugged it on, gracefully, with one arm. "Where are you going?" asked Mulder, quietly folding the book shut. Krycek waved a pack of cigarettes at him with annoyance as he walked to the door. "Gotta have some suicide insurance. Just in case I miss." He slammed the door in his wake and Mulder rose to look out the window. He peered through the curtains at Krycek, who sat on the car hood, cigarette dangling from trembling lips, small wisps of smoke rising behind the lighter. Mulder watched as Krycek lay back and put his hand tightly over his eyes, as if trying to block some unknown apocalypse from his view. Mulder shut the curtain and, walking back to the desk, picked up the book once more. And slid it back into Krycek's knapsack, without another look. ******** The next morning they raced on toward Philadelphia, with Krycek speeding the entire way. According to his connections, this was the last place Garrett had been seen, he told Mulder, and while the trail had grown cold by the time Krycek had reached there last week, he had reason to believe Garrett was still in the vicinity. "He's one of those creeps involved with the genetically altered 'super-soldier' experiments, among other things," said Krycek, with surprising contempt. "He has his fingers in a lot of pies, but this seems to be his specialty, according to my sources." "Then go to Litchfield," said Mulder quickly, a memory striking. "Why?" "If he's involved in the soldier experiments, there's a good chance he's there. That's were they were developing the last batch of them," replied Mulder, the tiny Eves smiling evilly in his memory. "And if he's not, we can at least take a look at their records." Krycek nodded and hit the pedal with a grin. "You're good, Mulder. As always." "Whatever," replied Mulder, his head starting to ache. He wondered, not for the first time, if his holy grail, his truth, was really worth it. It really doesn't get much lower than this, he thought. On a mission with a suicidal madman, to murder a killer. Mulder ran shaking hands through his hair and pushed the thought from his mind. I'll think about all this tomorrow, he said to himself, as he and Krycek hurtled toward Litchfield. If I get a tomorrow. ******** They found themselves in front of a large warehouse, surrounded by a live electric fence and two hundred acres of meadow. Krycek rubbed a black-gloved hand across his lips thoughtfully and looked up to examine the power lines surrounding the complex. With surprising grace and speed, he leapt up and scaled a nearby pole, using his single arm to pull himself up. Mulder watched in amazement as he reached the top, opened the box and quickly disconnected three small wires. The buzz emanating from the electric fence was immediately silenced. "Ever thought about working for the electric company instead?" asked Mulder dryly, when Krycek came down. "Nah," replied Krycek, with a straight face. "Too dangerous." He pulled out his gun and checked the clip. "Krycek, I've been thinking." "Stop the presses," replied Krycek sardonically, opening the fence with one furious kick. "I understand why you might want this man dead. But I believe he's more valuable alive. Why not reconsider?" Krycek's eyes narrowed and the sharp rage filled them once again. "Because he's got a bullet waiting for him, Mulder. As do I. So just shut up and wait until I finish the job. Then you and I can part ways." Mulder sighed in exhausted frustration. "Fine. Whatever." Krycek began to jog toward the warehouse and Mulder reluctantly followed. It was a huge, dark place, but surprisingly empty except for a few boxes, rolling tables and ... Garrett. For there he was. Standing at the north door of the building, with a surprised expression at the sight of the two men before him. Mulder gasped at the familiar sight of Garrett's sharp face and cold eyes. But instead of confronting them, Garrett immediately turned and fled, his feet flailing out from behind him, the sound of his boots echoing throughout the warehouse. When Krycek saw him, he took off after him, howling like a maddened bullet. Mulder ran after Krycek, but it was impossible to keep up. Through twisting metal hallways he raced, a pain beginning to sear through his side, while in front of him, Krycek sped tirelessly, leaping over boxes and metal tables in his haste, not faltering once. Mulder kept running, but eventually he began to stumble, barely able to catch his breath. He was forced to walk a few dozen yards, holding on to the stitch in his side, and when he rounded the far corner of the facility, he finally caught up with Krycek. Leaning with his forehead against a wall, slamming against it with his bare fist. Mulder took a deep breath and limped up to Krycek. "He got away?" Krycek nodded and Mulder watched as he slammed his hand into the warehouse wall, again and again, crying out with rage and frustration. "Son of a bitch!" screamed Krycek, his palm beginning to bleed and leave streaks of crimson on the walls. Mulder put a hand on Krycek's shoulder and quietly pulled him away. Slowly, they made their way out the warehouse door, and when they finally reached the car, Krycek slid down against its doors, his eyes shut tightly. "Son of a bitch," Krycek gasped, his head tilted back against the car door, his face streaked with tears. "Goddamn it." Mulder crouched down next to him and touched Krycek's cheek with a sad, inquisitive gesture. The skin was burning hot, and red patches of fever were visible against Krycek's pale cheeks. "Goddamn it," moaned Krycek, as he raised Mulder's palm from his cheek to his eyes. He covered them tightly and rocked back and forth with Mulder's hand blinding him as a song of grief and anger fell from his lips. "You keep covering your eyes like that," Mulder said softly to the man in front of him. "Why?" "Because I don't want to see any more, all right?" Krycek wept into his palm. "I just don't want to see any more." ******** continued in TWO BULLETS (2/4) All comments are very welcome. Send to: dbkate@yahoo.com azrkruzhol@aol.com ********** COMEUPPANCE IV: TWO BULLETS (2/4) by DB Kate & Alicia (All disclaimers in Part One) dbkate@yahoo.com azrkruzhol@aol.com ********** The scream that woke Mulder up that night pierced the air like a knife. After they left the warehouse, they'd quickly found another motel, a miserable dull brown place, dark, ancient and musty. Mulder had joined Krycek in the room without an argument and watched as he curled up into the bed, ashen-faced and feverish. When he turned on the light in response to the agonized cries, he saw a deathly pale and shivering man, looking as though he'd been abandoned in the middle of a nightmare from which there was no return. Mulder hesitated for a long moment, then went into the bathroom, wet a washcloth and returned to the bedside with it. Krycek's eyes were wide open, his breathing coming in small gasps, his limbs trembling violently. Mulder held the cloth against Krycek's forehead, only to have it slapped away. "I'm fine," Krycek choked. "Leave me alone." "It doesn't take four years of clinical experience to diagnose depression," said Mulder angrily, shoving Krycek's hand away and holding the cloth tightly over Krycek's eyes, feeling the fever burn even through the cold wetness. "But if you want to see my credentials ..." "Shut the fuck up, Mulder, and just leave me alone for two minutes," gasped Krycek breathlessly. "Krycek, you're sick," said Mulder, with exasperation. "You're malnourished, feverish, seriously depressed ..." "When did you start giving such a high holy shit about me? Just shut up, Mulder," Krycek choked as he fought to steady his breathing. "All I need you to do for me is find this bastard, turn around and leave after I hand you the fucking key. That's it." "That's enough to make me an accomplice to murder. And assist in a suicide, leading a sick man to his death. Even if that man's you, it's still not right." "So? Mulder, these men would kill you in a second. They took your sister. They've tortured and tried to murder your partner. You blame me for your father's death, but it was they who killed him in the end. And now they want you dead. He's one of them, so I'd think you should be happy there'll be one less of them in the world." Krycek looked up at him with contempt. "And as far as your concern for me goes, don't even kid yourself." Mulder shook his head and furiously threw the washcloth down. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. "Move over," he said, sitting down and swinging his legs up onto the bed. "What?" snapped Krycek, his entire body still shivering. "I said, move over." Mulder shoved his way into the bed and lay down with Krycek still quaking. Mulder silently lay next to him for a long time, staring at the ceiling, at the swirling patterns of stucco, feeling the bed shake from Krycek's shivers. "Why don't you talk to me?" asked Mulder quietly, after a few moments. Krycek laughed weakly. "Oh, shit. Do I have to pay for this therapy, Herr Doctor?" "No. It's like heroin. First one's free." "What do you want me to talk about? My childhood? The time my Aunt Hilda hit me with a slipper, maybe? Forget it." "Forgotten. Why don't you tell me about Pendrell instead?" At this, Krycek turned his head and stared suspiciously at the man who lay beside him. "Why?" "Because I'm curious. It was unexpected and, to be totally honest, he didn't seem to be your type." Mulder shrugged, turning his head toward Krycek with a curious glance. "I always pictured you with someone a bit more ... I dunno ... impulsive?" "I was impulsive enough for us both, obviously," Krycek responded, the trembling slowly subsiding. "Beyond that, who knows why two people get together?" "There had to be something. His golf swing?" A tiny smile curled the corners of Krycek's lips. "Not exactly." "So, you both were young and he was just a nice guy?" Krycek slowly shook his head. "No. I mean, he was a nice guy, but not always. He had his moments," he said, blinking at some hidden memory. "Like when he said, *Hey, Krycek, when I'm dead, be sure to kill yourself*?" Krycek shook his head again. "You don't get it, do you, Mulder? Some people, they just stick with you. Sometimes it's not even about the person anymore, but what they've come to represent--about life, about love, even about yourself. And when they die, you've lost all that ... and the rest becomes pointless." Krycek continued, "You've never had anyone stick to you like that, Mulder? No matter what you did or where you went, they just kept beating themselves into your brain, until the memory itself took on a life of its own?" A picture of Phoebe Green flashed behind Mulder's eyes, but he shut it out. "So, yeah, sure. I guess you can say we were young and he was just a nice guy. But now, he's just a nice guy who stumbled into the grave and pulled my ass in right along with him," said Krycek, his eyes faraway, focused somewhere beyond the ceiling. "What more can I say?" "You don't have to go quietly, Krycek. You have options," replied Mulder carefully, turning over and facing the man beside him. "Life is about options and since all of us are going to die eventually anyway, why not explore a few? What do you have to lose?" Krycek's eyes hardened. "I've made some promises to myself and one of them was to start keeping my promises." "Well, this is a fine time to start." Krycek turned to face him, their cheeks almost touching. "Do you want me to start lying to you again?" Mulder looked at Krycek, at seal-brown hair falling into green eyes, curling damply against pale cheeks. "No," he replied slowly, wondering why he had the sudden urge to run a finger along the jaw beside him, perhaps push the dark hair into place, away from those tortured eyes. He felt his heart skip a beat and marveled at the sudden flush of feeling. "No, I don't want you to lie to me anymore." he said softly. "Then don't ask me to start lying to myself again," replied Krycek quietly, his face unreadable. With that, Krycek turned onto his other side and reached for the light. "Goodnight, Dr. Freud. Thanks for the freebie," Krycek said as he clicked the lamp off and settled in underneath the blankets. "You should have gone into psychiatry. You probably would have been better off." "Maybe," replied Mulder, as he lay still on the bed and wondered why his heart was pounding as a wave onto a shore. ******** Mulder awoke at dawn to the patter of rain against the motel room windows, the aroma of coffee brewing in the office next door ... And felt a warm arm around his waist. He looked down underneath the covers with sleepy confusion, until he realized who it was. Krycek. He must have done it in his sleep, he thought. Mulder shifted slightly, uncomfortably, trying to wake Krycek up, just enough to get him to move his arm, without waking him up enough to start a fight. Mulder moved again, grimacing at his dilemma, when he felt something. A warm breath on the back of his neck and the trembling vibrations of lips speaking against his skin. Krycek was talking in his sleep, and Mulder soon was able to make out small words of love and desire, a litany of passionate promises. Mulder thought about who it was Krycek was dreaming of. He lay back and listened, filled with curiosity that was soon tempered with confusion, as he felt the slow stirring of desire send a strong ache throbbing throughout his body. But, after a few moments, he ignored both his confusion and his response and concentrated instead on leaning back, further into Krycek's embrace, trying to imagine himself melting into the warmth of the man behind him. He slowly relaxed, sinking deeper, and felt the warmth permeate his entire body, finally letting his mind calm. All the miserable sharp hurts that had been plaguing him left his muscle, bone and soul as he drifted. The soft voice behind him slowly faded away, and soon, all that was heard in the room was the steady, quiet breathing of two men sleeping. Warm ... and at peace. ******** When they arose, Krycek's fever was down. He still looked like death, but wouldn't hear of delaying their search for a reason a trivial as his own health. Mulder tried to force some breakfast down him, but had to settle for a cup of coffee and a Danish, eaten in the car on the way back to the facility where they'd seen Garrett. Even though they hadn't been able to catch him, Mulder hoped there'd be some information at the building that would put them back on his trail. There wasn't much to find. The warehouse was just as it had been the previous day: virtually empty. But Krycek was driven--//Is that how I seem to Scully?// Mulder wondered--and after several hours of laborious searching he did manage to put his hand on a shipping label. An address in Shamokin, an hour and a half to the southwest. Mulder drove, not wanting to tax Krycek's febrile strength any more than absolutely necessary. The younger man, though still emotionally taut, soon dozed off to the droning monotony of the sedan traveling 60 mph over good roads. //Krycek and Pendrell. Who would've ... ?// Not that he had ever been unaware how attractive his former partner was, physically. But the rage that filled him at Krycek's betrayal had left little room for appreciation of him as a man or even as a person. Still, despite his actions, Krycek had never seemed the truly pathological type. So maybe, as he said, he'd been relatively normal once. Normal enough that a guy like Brian Pendrell could have cared for him. Cared deeply, to judge from the photos, the note he'd inadvertently spied upon. And apparently--even more startling--Alex Krycek had returned the affection, so much so that he was now embarked upon a vendetta one of the goals of which was self-immolation. //I never would have guessed he felt that deeply about anything--much less any*one*.// And the thought that followed close upon the last, to be pushed away before ever being fully acknowledged: //I wonder if anyone could ever feel that deeply about *me.*// As the miles ticked away, Mulder found himself sneaking ever-closer glances at his sleeping companion. ******** "According to the information we got in Litchfield, this is the sister facility to the one up north." They'd reached central Pennsylvania by the late afternoon, both exhausted despite Krycek's nap. Fortunately or unfortunately, this facility was a far cry from the abandoned, haphazardly protected site they had entered before. The fence was strong and regularly patrolled. Cars entered and exited through a security post staffed by two well-built, well-armed men. They certainly couldn't go barging in here the way they had the previous day. "Maybe we don't need to get inside," Mulder said without too much hope. Krycek's knee shook as he sat gazing out the car window from where they'd parked, a distance away from the property's perimeter so as not to attract unwanted attention. "He's been here. I recognized the address from the information I downloaded on the project." "This place is crawling with security measures," said Mulder, glancing around uneasily. "This isn't going to be easy." "I don't care," said Krycek sharply. "I only need a minute this time." Mulder shook his head, no longer willing to argue. "Yeah. But it's getting that minute that will be the hard part." Krycek turned to Mulder, a look of mixed exasperation and regret crossing his face. "Look, I'm sorry. But I have to do this. I can't explain it to you any more than I already have. I don't fully understand it myself." "Yes, but--" "I'm not asking you to accept or forgive me. I never did. Besides, we have a deal, remember? A business deal." Mulder's expression was unreadable. "I understood that." "Then just let me handle my part of the bargain." They sat in silence then, the only motion the vibration of Krycek's knee and the trickle of raindrops down the windshield. Hazel eyes and emerald green were trained on the huge gray building, still and silent in the distance. The minutes passed slowly as they waited to see what changes nightfall would bring. "You were talking in your sleep last night," said Mulder, finally, as the lights began to flicker through the warehouse windows. Krycek looked perturbed for a brief second, then shrugged. "Really? Did I say anything interesting?" "I think you were under the impression that I was ... somebody else," replied Mulder carefully. "Oh, yeah? Maybe I was dreaming about you, Mulder. You never know." Mulder swallowed harshly, unwilling to explore why that concept left him suddenly dry- mouthed. "Were you?" he asked cautiously. After a long moment, Krycek turned to Mulder with a grin that, though tiny, actually brought a brief sparkle to his eyes. "Sorry, don't remember." They turned back to their surveillance, silence falling over the car once again. ******** Hours later, they decided they had learned enough of the security patrols' patterns to make an infiltration at least theoretically possible. It was too late to go in that night, though. Even Krycek was forced to admit that. So they wearily turned their sights toward yet another roadside motel, where they stumbled into the sagging beds as soon as they could kick off their shoes and toss their already-rumpled outer clothes to the floor. ******** This time it was Mulder who woke screaming. That in itself was hardly unusual, but the dream that had launched him into shuddering, agitated wakefulness was not one from his regular playlist. Before he could fully recall what exactly had triggered his cries, Krycek was at his side, gently gripping one shoulder. "Are you okay, Mulder?" 'Yeah. Just ... give me a minute. I'm fine." "Seems to me I've heard that somewhere before. But you're not clinically depressed, of course. Or if you are, I'm not qualified to diagnose it." Krycek stood and turned away in disgust, and Mulder's shoulder felt suddenly cold where the younger man's hand had briefly rested. "It's no big deal, Krycek." "No? This a common occurrence for you? You must be a hell of a lot of fun to live with. Never a dull moment." "Well, that's not much of a problem most of the time... .No, don't make any smart remarks, Krycek. Just go back to sleep." Mulder lay back down and turned on his side, hoping to drift off again without further conversation. But a soft voice from the other bed stole into his waning consciousness. "Pleasant dreams, Mulder. And don't worry. I'm here." //What the hell is that supposed to mean?// Mulder wondered, but sleep was taking him again, and maybe he'd just dreamed the words. ******** Mulder rose in the morning and padded into the bathroom. They hadn't set an alarm, since their assault on the facility wouldn't take place until the evening anyway. Still mostly asleep, he was halfway through his morning piss before he became aware of another presence in the small room. Alex had just finished brushing his teeth when Mulder wandered in. He grinned briefly at Mulder's startled reaction. "Good morning, Mulder. You look better than you did at 2 AM." "Gee, thanks, Krycek. Your opinion means a lot to me." The glowing green eyes flickered down, and Mulder mentally kicked himself. //He's already depressed enough; I don't need to put him down too.// "I'm ... sorry, Krycek. I'm not very civil in the morning. I ... I'm sorry I woke you up last night." "That's okay, Mulder. I wasn't dreaming anything interesting anyway." That brittle voice was back; Mulder remembered the soft tones of the night before and couldn't stand it. He turned toward his former partner. "I wish I could do something to help, Alex ..." Those unfathomable eyes turned to his, questioning, and Mulder found himself moving forward, closer, closer, drawn into those unfathomable pools of pain until almost without his volition he felt Krycek's mouth under his. Both men froze for a moment, and then Mulder's brain went into overload at the searing sensation of Alex's kiss. Alex kissed with all the passion, hope, and despair of a man who knows he cannot have what he most wants and has resigned himself to dying for lack of it. And even as Mulder's befuddled mind struggled to understand how he'd managed to put himself in this situation, his body reacted unthinkingly and suddenly his fingers were entwined in Krycek's dark hair, pulling him closer, trying to drag him to safety ... . Then shocked green eyes blinked into hazel ones and both men pulled back, confused, shaken. "I ... I need ... I need a run," Krycek mumbled. "Yeah. Right. I'll see you ... later," Mulder responded, but before the words were even out of his mouth the bathroom door had banged shut and he was alone. ******** continued in TWO BULLETS (3/4) All comments are very welcome. Send to: dbkate@yahoo.com azrkruzhol@aol.com ********* COMEUPPANCE IV: TWO BULLETS (3/4) by DB Kate & Alicia (All disclaimers in Part One) dbkate@yahoo.com azrkruzhol@aol.com ********** Mulder showered quickly in Alex's absence, and was fully dressed by the time Krycek returned, spent and sweating. "I'll just be a couple of minutes, Mulder." "Yeah. Take your time. We're not in any hurry." Again, Mulder found himself speaking to a closing door. //Okay, so we kissed. No big deal. It's not like I've never kissed a man before,// Mulder thought. //Who he is, what he's done, doesn't matter right now. He's still a human being, and he's in so much pain ... It didn't need to mean anything.// Then why did the idea of Alex Krycek using that second bullet suddenly leave his palms clammy, his knees weak? ******** They passed the rest of the day catching up on meals, napping, preparing as best they could for the operation they had planned for just after dark. They didn't talk much, except to go over their course of action, and if Alex noticed Mulder glancing at him from time to time with a slightly puzzled expression on his face, he didn't acknowledge it. ******** When they arrived once more at their target site, Alex turned to Mulder as he shut off the ignition. "Mulder, I just wanted to say ... in case I don't have a chance later ... thanks." "Thanks for what?" The hazel eyes didn't quite meet his. "For helping me with this ... . For treating me like a human being." "You are a human being, Krycek. You deserve to be treated with some respect." "Well, I know I'm not exactly your favorite person, Mulder, and I know how hard that must have made ... all of this." Mulder took a breath, held it a beat before speaking. "I guess ... I never thought very much about you before, Krycek. I never knew why you did the things you did. I still don't understand, but ... I guess I realize now that there were reasons, whether or not I'd agree with them. And no matter what you may have done, I'm truly sorry that you lost someone you loved." Alex's eyes seemed to glow briefly in the darkness, but when he finally spoke again he was all business. "Well, we'd better get this show on the road." Moving quietly, Alex got out of the car. With a sigh, Mulder followed him toward the huge warehouse. ******** The previous night's surveillance paid off and, with that information combined with Krycek's electrical talents, they were able to penetrate the perimeter without being spotted. Alex headed decisively toward the main building. They hadn't been able to observe how things were set up on the interior, of course, but to their relief the main line of defense seemed to be the external patrol, at least now, after normal working hours. The building they entered showed no signs of life. They peered down hallways, opened doors, not entirely sure what to expect, until ... Through yet another unmarked door, they entered a room occupying what had to be the majority of the building. And in that room-- Tanks. Thousands of tanks. Though Mulder had seen things like this before--on a much smaller scale--he swallowed harshly, the wonder and terror sticking as one in his throat. Krycek initially seemed to take his surroundings in stride, but even he eventually began to look disconcerted at the endless lines of floating creatures, dull water and strange lights. "This is a new type of facility," he finally said, eyes constantly shifting through the dim, green glow reflected off the tanks. "I've never seen one like this before." "You can tell the difference between them?" asked Mulder, biting his lip, partly in awe ... partly in horror. "What each one is for?" "Yeah," replied Krycek distractedly. "They each have their own decor, so to speak. But this ... this is a new one to me." "We have to get into the security area," said Mulder, his curiosity tempered with wariness. "Any information on Garrett should be in there." "If this place is set up like the other facilities I've seen, the security area should be here on the ground floor," Krycek answered, his attention still on the looming tanks. "Let's go, then. The longer we stand around, the more chance of someone noticing us." They set off in the direction Krycek indicated, continuing through the room of tanks toward a door on the opposite wall. As they moved stealthily through the quiet halls, they paused cautiously before each doorway, glancing inside before passing into range of any possible weapon pointed at them from within. Krycek was on point and, as they neared what they hoped would prove to be the area they sought, he suddenly froze. Mulder, focused on covering their rear, nearly tripped over the younger man before Krycek yanked him back and motioned for him to stop. Unlike the other rooms they had passed, this one was not empty. From where they stood, pressed against the wall, they could see a man seated at a computer monitor, intent on the data flickering across the screen. But it wasn't simply the man's presence that had turned Krycek into a living statue. The red-haired man wore a white lab coat, and had a pleasant-looking face. A familiar face. Mulder gasped as he realized just how familiar. But Brian Pendrell continued to stare at the computer screen...unseeing. Mulder gaped as Krycek raised his gun and pointed it directly at his former lover. His attention apparently caught by the motion of the gun reflected in the screen, Pendrell turned and stared at them. But Alex Krycek held the gun steady in front of him. "You have twenty seconds to tell me something," said Krycek, coldly, though is voice trembled just a bit. "Tell me something that no one else but he could know. Because if you don't, your head is coming off." Pendrell looked away, his eyes oddly lifeless. "What can I say?" "Ten seconds," replied Krycek, cocking the trigger. "Alex ..." replied Pendrell, faintly, almost curiously, still not meeting Krycek's eyes. Krycek strode forward and pressed the gun against the smaller man's throat, the barrel digging into soft flesh. "Five seconds." Pendrell finally looked up at him, with the same soft, blank expression. "L'absence est a l'amour ce qu'est au feu le vent," he said, as he reached up and pressed his fingers lightly against Krycek's cheek. The gun fell from Krycek's hand and clattered to the floor. Slowly, he turned to Mulder with a puzzled expression, not unlike a man who's suddenly lost a limb and is now left staring ... shocked ... at the raw and gushing stump. "He lives," Krycek whispered, his eyes no longer focused. A moment later, Fox Mulder was pinning Alex Krycek to the cold warehouse floor, holding both of his hands over Krycek's mouth. Trying desperately to muffle his screams. ******** Mulder paced the meager length of the motel room, long steps across dull beige carpeting. "Alex, listen to me. There's something wrong with him," Mulder finally whispered to Krycek, who was lying on the bed in a fetal position. Pendrell, seated next to him, stared at the wall incuriously, his eyes blinking in slow, steady beats. With much difficulty Mulder had hustled both of them out of the facility and into the car, driving like a madman to the nearest sanctuary. A motel named "The Wooden Horse." Once there, it became obvious that some new and serious wrenches had been thrown into their plan. Although Pendrell had appeared normal before they approached him at the facility, and had obviously recognized Krycek, he seemed to have lapsed into a state of near catatonia after their escape. Not for the first time, Mulder wished he had Scully's medical knowledge. Psychoanalysis--of Pendrell, anyway--did not seem likely to be particularly useful under these circumstances. "Well, Mulder," replied Krycek from the bed, his eyes wide open, a shrill edge of hysteria in his voice. "Maybe our Consortium pals haven't perfected reanimating the dead yet. Give them a little time. I'm sure they'll get it right eventually." Mulder sat and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, rubbing it, feeling the tense muscle soften under his hand. "Alex, you have to pull yourself together. If not for your own sake, for his." "And how am I supposed to do that?" asked Krycek breathlessly, as if he were choking, or dying ... or both. "It's safe to say I wasn't quite expecting this." There he stopped, once again perhaps unwilling ... or unable ... to go on. Mulder looked back at Pendrell, then at Krycek. With a sigh, he lowered his head and leaned it against Krycek's cheek, feeling the cold sweat of shock on his skin and the hot blush of blood underneath. "Well," Mulder whispered into Krycek's ear, "I think you were right in the beginning. We may not get what we want, but we get what we need ... sooner or later." Krycek's eyes closed tightly, a small coil of saltwater rolling down one cheek. "You know, for a minute there, I almost thought that ... that ... we'd been given another chance. That we could go back to the way it was before ... before ... ." His voice cracked and trailed away. Mulder pressed his lips to Krycek's cheek, the hot tear burning its way across them. "If it makes you feel any better, I thought so too." He looked once more at the man behind them, who was taking no notice of them or their actions. "And maybe it's not hopeless. Maybe you can get help for him; maybe this is only temporary ... he talked to you at the facility, he can't be completely ..." Mulder pushed aside the questions running through his head--why he felt this overwhelming need to comfort Krycek, why the idea of Krycek and Pendrell together stirred a maelstrom of feelings within him: hope for both men's happiness, combined with the sickening pain of a part of *him* being cut away. He forced himself to continue. "But right now he needs you to make decisions for him. I know it's hard, Alex, but you don't have the luxury of time." The dark head turned sluggishly, that luminous face lifting once again to face him. "You're right, Mulder. You're right. I've got to think, but I have to do it fast." Krycek slumped forward again, then pushed himself to his feet. "I'm gonna take a shower, then get some sleep. I'll decide what to do by morning. Don't worry, I'll keep our bargain in mind. You'll get your information." With that, Krycek headed for the bathroom, leaving Mulder with only his questions--and the uncommunicative Pendrell--for company. ******** "I'm taking him to Russia." Krycek tossed his spare pair of jeans into his knapsack with a sharp, impatient gesture, glancing at the clock. Eight-thirty AM, plenty of time to catch a train to Philadelphia and connect with an eastbound flight. "That's where we were headed the last time. Maybe this time we'll actually get there," he said, taking a sweeping look around the room. "Sure will miss these fine accommodations." Mulder merely nodded in reply. He'd lain awake most of the night, uncomfortably aware of the two bodies on the bed next to his. The one, whole in form but not in mind, splayed carelessly across the sheets. The other with its single arm curved protectively about the first. An occasional muffled sob had broken the silence, but Krycek and Mulder had tacitly agreed to pretend neither noticed. "Well then, here's the key," said Krycek, folding the small piece of silver into Mulder's palm. He took Mulder's face between his fingers, tilting his chin up until their eyes met. "I've kept my promise to you, Mulder. No matter what you've thought or think of me, even now, please ... just try to remember this part." Mulder nodded again, biting his lip, trying to ignore the strange ache in his heart. "Look," said Krycek gently, pulling Mulder toward him until their foreheads touched. "This is the way it was meant to be. The only escape for me was always either him or death. I can't go back to what I was; that's no longer an option. I'm sorry, but we never had a chance, Mulder. I wish ... I wish it were different." Mulder returned Krycek's gaze, his face pale. "I understand." "I knew you would," whispered Krycek, his lips moving to Mulder's forehead. He looked down for a moment, and then with a quick motion he yanked something from his pocket and gently slipped it into Mulder's palm. Mulder felt a small metallic object pressed into his hand and glanced down at it curiously. It was a bullet, tiny and cold. He looked up at Krycek with confusion. "What's this?" "That was the one I meant for Garrett," Krycek whispered. "I guess I don't need it anymore." Mulder stared at the green eyes, gone red and dull with lack of sleep. "What about the other one?" Krycek didn't reply. Instead, he turned to kneel in front of Pendrell, caressing the passive face with his hand. "My God, what have they done to you?" he said, miserably, tears threatening his voice. He kissed the pale forehead in front of him gently and whispered against it. "My poor Brian, what have they done?" ******** Mulder stared at the key in his hand as the two men walked away from him at the train station. Well, you get what you need, Mulder, the little voice said. You get what you need. ******** The train, with its handful of staff and passengers, rocked slowly as it made its way through the fields of Pennsylvania. They had been traveling for about an hour now, passing through one small town after another on their way eastward. Alex could have ventured no opinion on the scenery. Except for occasional searching looks at his companion, he stared blankly into space, seeing nothing except the past. Two young men at Quantico, laughing together as they strode across the grounds. A stolen weekend in Key West, building sandcastles during the day and making love all night long. Lazy evenings sitting by the fire, reading poetry to one another. The day Brian had told him of his love for Scully, and the desperate events he had set in motion as a result. At that thought, another face entered his consciousness. Dark hair, sleek--not like Brian's wiry mane. Soft, smooth skin with a tiny mole that begged to be kissed. Hazel eyes that changed with every movement. Eyes that had looked at him, over the past few days, in a way he'd never hoped to see. That had made him wonder whether his life was really over after all. Alex brought his gaze back to focus on Pendrell. However tantalizing his thoughts of Fox Mulder might be, he was committed to this man. For better or worse. For what he and Brian had shared in the past, he'd lock away the might-have-beens and not look back. No matter what. No matter what. Alex began to turn toward the window, seeking an outward focus to distract him from his unsettling thoughts. Just then, the form in the next seat shimmered for a moment ... And then disappeared. To be replaced with the form of Steven Garrett. Krycek gaped, then blanched as he remembered his own words to Mulder days before. //They're new and improved.// //They even bleed red. I hear they can read minds.// Garrett smiled at Krycek. "Miss me?" ******** //Idiot.// //I am most certainly an idiot,// thought Alex Krycek, as he attempted to yank once more at the handcuff that bound him to the rust-covered pipe in the filthy basement of God-knows- where. He hissed with pain as the cuff cut sharply into his wrist's already bloody, torn skin and bruised bone. Shit, shit, shit, he chanted silently. //Idiot.// Although Alex had reacted swiftly, he was no match for his erstwhile traveling companion. Garrett was armed and, like most of the shapeshifters, strong as hell. It had been no hard task for him to force Krycek from the train and into a car that was already waiting at the next station. //The bastard took you for a fool, Alex. He knew you were looking for him, but he didn't care, because he was probably hunting for you. How easy it was to turn the tables and let you "find" him. And you thought you were being so clever . . . so noble . . . so good. You had it all planned out, didn't you, Alex? Now look at you and your stupid sorry ass. And Mulder . . . .// Krycek closed his eyes tightly against the thought of Mulder. Against the memory of warm words on a rainy night, warm arms . . . warm, hungry lips against his. //Damn it,// he thought, grimacing against the irony of it all. //I leave the last person on earth I think could help me, to go with a person who wants me dead, when it would have been the exact opposite not so long ago. Oh, this is rich,// Krycek thought bitterly, as his hand grew numb from the elevation and tightness of the steel cuff. //Well, this son-of-a-bitch Garrett can kill me if he wants to.// //But I'll give him something he won't forget first.// "We've been looking for you for quite some time," said Garrett when he returned, his voice the strange, flat monotone common to all the shapeshifters Alex had encountered. "I'm surprised you didn't realize that earlier." Krycek smiled, a thin, grim slash cut into his face. "You'd be surprised at what I realize now." "What would that be?" Garrett smirked. Alex's voice lowered to a whisper, sharp and bitterly cold. "I've realized that I'm going to kill you, Garrett, even if I have to come back from the fucking dead to do it. So when you kill me, you son-of-a-bitch, you'd better make damn sure you cut off my head and put it someplace where I can't find it, because that's the only way you'll ever be free of me." "What? Do you still want vengeance for the death of your young friend?" Garrett asked, with an almost bemused expression on his face. "You are strange creatures, you humans. You are so obsessed with killing me, so you can exact payment for this man who is long dead, for something as pointless as revenge." Krycek showed all his teeth in something that might have passed for a smile. "No, Garrett. I'm not going to kill you for revenge. I'm going to kill you simply because it will be my pleasure." But Garrett wasn't fazed. "That man, the one you mistook me for. He's insignificant--even to you, now. You're thinking about someone else." Krycek felt the blood drain from his face. //Mind-reading . . . they can read minds, idiot.// Instantly he blanked out what he could of his thoughts, instead picturing brick walls, the ocean . . . the wall. Anything besides Mulder. Garrett smiled. "Yes. And that is a person I'm very interested in. I'm interested in all you know about him and how much you think he knows about the colonization, the Project. His thoughts earlier were too chaotic for me to follow very well." Alex looked straight ahead, staring at the damp walls. He tried to imagine innocuous patterns in the dirt and the peeling paint. He tried to think, think hard about his hand, his fingers . . . his fifth grade teacher, anything but Mulder and the Project. But it wasn't working. "You brought him with you to Litchfield," said Garrett, musingly. "You explained the experiments." //The wall . . . count the bricks, Krycek,// went the chant. Garrett's forehead creased with concentration. "He saw the hybrid creation environments. You discussed it together." //The floor . . . count the cracks. Here's an ocean, vast and calm. Think only of that.// Garrett's eyes suddenly widened, showing blank, strange irises. "And the key you gave him--was the key to the Commandant's identity?" asked Garrett, his voice still flat, but now deeply menacing. "That was quite a mistake . . . 'comrade.'" Krycek grimaced against the hopeless intrusion into his thoughts, his very soul. //No, no . . . I can beat this still, I can . . . .// The first kick caught him squarely in the chest. Heaving, gasping, Krycek tried to slide back, down . . . anywhere, but the steel cuff held him fast. Another kick followed hard on the heels of the first, and Krycek heard a rib crack, but felt no pain. But he screamed for good measure anyway, using the last bit of air left in his lungs, and began to kick, kick blindly in front of him, trying to just get a piece, one tiny part of the . . . the thing before him, the one who'd taken away his happiness, twice, and now was trying to take his life as well. //I don't want to die. I don't.// Krycek felt a sharp pain in his jaw, then numbness throughout the side of his head. He didn't see the blood that was now dripping from his nostrils, felt only a vague stuffiness where Garrett's boot had met his face. Krycek continued to kick blindly, feeling insane with elation as one leg cracked into Garrett's shin, the other one catching his groin. //I want to live. I don't want to die.// Growling with pain, Garrett backed off, breathing hard. He clutched his groin and glared at Krycek, who lay before him, gasping, bleeding . . . And laughing. "You stupid son-of-a-bitch," Krycek gasped, tears running freely down his cheeks, his laughter echoing off the walls. "You know nothing. And I swear, you can't kill me, you'll never kill me." Garrett pulled out the long, sharp weapon of his world's hunters. It emerged from its short handle with a hiss. But Krycek continued to laugh, a hoarse sobbing sound. "Go on, use it! But I've still won. Mulder still has the key, the key I gave him, and he'll blow you and your precious Project apart. You think you know me, but you don't know him. *I* know him, and I believe in him. I know he won't let me down, not even now." Garrett's cheek twitched as he approached, but Krycek refused to back down. Instead he looked up, straight into the eyes of his betrayer. Krycek was finally fearless, and joyful in the knowledge of his final triumph. "I've won," he whispered as Garrett raised the weapon high over his head. "You think you've taken everything from me: my lover, my thoughts, my life--but I swear, I've still won whether you know it or not." Garrett turned white with rage, as Krycek continued, smiling bloodily. "So deal with it, you ugly son-of-a-bitch." With a hiss of rage, Garrett brought the weapon down, in a slashing motion, aiming for Krycek's throat. Krycek didn't flinch, even as he felt the air swish toward him . . . Even as the shot rang out. Garrett's eyes widened, then went completely blank as the bullet entered the back of his neck. Red blood dripped from his throat and mouth as he fell to his knees before Krycek, choking. The light of life, whatever life he had, left his eyes and a strange luminescence entered them, then quickly faded. He twitched once, twice . . . then was still. Krycek stared for a long moment at the body of the creature before him, the shock suddenly making him very cold. He shivered, and scrabbled back toward the wall, hardly daring to look up, wondering who, or what, could possibly have saved him. And why anyone would have bothered. But as it was, Krycek didn't have to look up. For the gunman was walking toward him, a hazy figure in the basement's dusk. The figure stopped, examined Garrett and then knelt before Krycek, unlocking the handcuff before putting a warm hand against his bloody and cold cheek. "Alex?" asked the figure. "Yes?" whispered Krycek in reply, feeling the warmth from that hand permeate his entire body. "I hope you don't mind," said Fox Mulder, before gently gathering a trembling, sobbing Krycek into his arms. "But I used your bullet." ******** continued in TWO BULLETS (4/4) All comments are very welcome. Send to: dbkate@yahoo.com azrkruzhol@aol.com ******** COMEUPPANCE IV: TWO BULLETS (4/4) by DB Kate & Alicia (All disclaimers in Part One) dbkate@yahoo.com azrkruzhol@aol.com ******** Krycek refused to go to a hospital, and Mulder didn't force the issue. He did stop by a pharmacy and pick up some first aid supplies before heading to a hotel a few steps up the ladder from their previous accommodations. Alex insisted on walking unaided up to the room, but once there collapsed on the bed. Mulder went into the bathroom and reappeared a few moments later with a washcloth and a basin of warm water. Soaking the cloth, he sat on the bed and proceeded to gently wipe the blood and dirt from Krycek's face. "I think you got lucky. Looks like your nose isn't broken." Krycek moved his head just a fraction. "How can you tell? Feels like a mountain of hamburger to me." "Well, it's swollen, but it looks even to me. Can you breathe through it?" "Ow. . . . Yeah, I think so." Mulder rose. "Okay, let's get your clothes off and see how bad the rest of you looks." "Gee, thanks, Mulder, you really know how to flatter a guy." "Oh, shut up, Alex. Fishing for compliments right now isn't going to get you anywhere." With Mulder's help, Alex was soon stripped down to his boxers. Despite his long and intimate acquaintance with physical injury, Mulder sucked in a breath at the sight of Krycek's chest, already deep purple with bruises, and the bloody mess of his wrist. "Are you sure you don't want to make a quick trip to the hospital? You really ought to get some X-rays done." "No, Mulder. No hospitals." Mulder sighed in resignation and picked up the washcloth once again. Once the wounds had been cleaned and bound to the best of his ability, Mulder rinsed out the washcloth a final time. As he returned to the bedroom, a hoarse voice broke the silence. "Mulder? Can I ask you something?" "Sure." "How did you find me--us?" Krycek asked. Mulder was silent for a few moments. "After I left you at the train station, I just felt uneasy. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about the whole situation didn't seem to fit. I decided to follow along in the car for a bit and see if I could figure it out. I didn't want to intrude, you know--" "No need to apologize, Mulder. You saved my life. And you killed that . . . thing . . . when I couldn't." "I was there when Garrett took you off the train, but I lost sight of him for a minute when you hit the main highway. I'm sorry I couldn't get to him before he did all this to you." "Don't worry, Mulder. It's nothing new." Krycek sighed. "You've done as bad to me yourself in your time." Mulder winced at the bleakness that had returned to a voice he had hoped would now be free of it. "Alex . . ." he said, moving to sit on the bed next to the injured man. "I really am sorry. I hoped this would be a new beginning for you . . . for the two of you." "Yeah, Mulder, well . . . I should have known you can't go backward in life. Only forward." As Alex spoke, his jade-green eyes moved to Mulder's, his gaze holding the other man in place. "I'm sorry, too, Mulder. Sorry I was so caught up in the past that I couldn't value . . ." He suddenly looked down again and his words trailed off into nothingness. "Value what, Alex?" Krycek remained silent. "Alex? . . ." The hesitant hope in Mulder's voice caught at Alex's heart, forced him to speak once more. "You. Value you. I was so busy wishing for what Brian and I once had--even though I knew, I *knew* deep down he was gone--" Krycek's head tossed back and forth on the pillow, eyes looking anywhere but at the other man. "--that I threw away any chance that you and I . . . but what am I saying? You and I were doomed a long time ago, weren't we? I saw to that . . . ." Mulder didn't move, didn't speak, and Krycek finally forced himself to look up into the hazel eyes that would grind his already-broken heart into powder. The acceptance he found in those eyes left him momentarily stunned. Mulder hesitantly reached out and stroked the angle of Krycek's jaw, his fingers feather-light so as not to inflict further hurt on the bruised skin. Krycek shivered at the touch and Mulder nearly pulled away, but those glowing eyes held him fast. Alex reached up and ran his hand lightly over Mulder's shoulder, down his arm, to grasp his hand and press it more firmly to his cheek. The invitation in the gesture, in those beautiful eyes, was unmistakable. Mulder leaned down and for the second time--though this time with full awareness of what he was doing--met that achingly beautiful mouth. Battered lips, still tasting faintly of copper, were yet warm and firm under his as he sipped and then pulled away briefly before returning for a thorough, though gentle, possession. A velvet tongue traced the outline of his lips before moving inside to explore further. Mulder groaned into the other man's mouth, overwhelmed with sensation as Alex licked his inner lips, gums, before seeking out Mulder's tongue and beginning the dance that would continue, in different rhythms and steps, through the rest of the night. "Are you sure, Alex?" The words were barely audible, muttered into the younger man's cheek and neck. "Are *you* sure, Mulder?" was the only response. "I don't want to hurt you." This spoken into close-cropped hair. A feverish kiss in answer. Mulder returned the kiss eagerly, hands moving to stroke budded nipples, eliciting a hiss from his partner. Krycek's hand released its grip on his hair to move down, unbuttoning Mulder's shirt and stroking the soft skin of chest and stomach. Shaking his head as if to clear it, Mulder moved back, shedding his shirt. Krycek reached to unfasten Mulder's jeans, but Mulder pushed his hand away. "No. You lie back. Relax. Let me take care of things." Relaxation was rather an unlikely goal, Krycek thought, but he did subside onto the pillows, his abused ribs grateful for the respite. Mulder stood and shucked his jeans off before moving down the bed. He slid Krycek's boxers down the too-slender legs and knelt between the younger man's thighs, briefly resting his head on the flat stomach and kissing the navel before moving down to brush his face back and forth over Alex's erection. Breathing in the scent of the man he'd once wanted to kill, Mulder let all his past hatred go, focusing solely on the present. He licked slowly, once, up Alex's cock from base to tip, then returned to take his lover's balls into his mouth, one at a time, ever so gently. Alex moaned and shifted restlessly, one knee lifting and then falling back to the sheets. Mulder pressed kisses on Alex's groin, the muscles of his inner thighs, licking and sucking until the moans formed into words-- "Christ . . . Mulder, please--I can't--" "Okay. Hold still." Mulder quickly licked his fingers before moving up and capturing Alex's swollen cock in his mouth, sucking gently on the head for just a moment before taking the whole length into his mouth and throat. No more teasing. Not tonight. He stroked his slick fingers swiftly down from Alex's balls to his ass and deftly slipped one finger inside. Between the pulsing excitement Mulder's mouth was generating and the electric charge of that slender digit stroking his prostate, Alex was utterly helpless. His orgasm crashed over him with the violence of a hurricane that, despite all warnings and preparations, levels everything in its wake and leaves behind only scattered jetsam. Alex came back to himself slowly, feeling the warmth of Mulder's arms holding him close. "Mmmm," he murmured into the enveloping embrace. "Hi," Mulder answered. "Mmmm . . . wow." Krycek opened his eyes drowsily to gaze through lowered lashes at the face smiling down at him. "How you feeling?" "How do you think?" He snuggled closer into those welcoming arms for a moment, then began to extricate himself. "Good enough to want to do something for you, that's for sure." "You don't have--" "No, Mulder, I want to. And besides, you can't tell me that thing sticking into my side is comfortable, can you?" Mulder groaned a little in response. "Right. I thought so. But I do have to admit, I don't think I'm up to as much as I'd like." "That's okay, Alex." Now that he'd gotten past the polite offer, the voice carried a hint of pleading. "Maybe you could just . . ." "You don't have to ask, Mulder." Alex was already turning to take his partner's cock in his hand, simultaneously raising his mouth to Mulder's for more soul-searching kisses. Krycek kissed as if nothing else in the world were of any import--just the two of them and what they were doing to, with, for each other. For Mulder, whose mind generally pursued half a dozen thoughts at a time, the effect of Krycek's single-minded focus was overwhelmingly arousing. The combination of those melting kisses and Krycek's strong hand, slippery with Mulder's excitement, quickly brought him to whimpering helplessness. He came with a sob, lights flashing behind his eyelids. As he drifted off to sleep, Krycek delicately cradled in his arms, Mulder was at peace. For one brief moment in his life, he had not a care in the world. Except . . . That second bullet. ******** The next morning was warm and filled with the very bright sunshine peculiar to spring mornings. Mulder drove slowly back toward the coast, Krycek in the passenger seat, and both were silent as they rode, only occasionally stealing a glance at one another and then looking away with quiet smiles. At first it had felt very strange to Mulder, strange to wake up next to the man he'd spent so many nights despising, and but then the joy took over, as he remembered the passion of the evening before. He'd watched as Krycek slept, noticing how much he resembled the young man in the photographs Mulder had found in his book. The hardened look of guile and duplicity was nowhere to be found, replaced by a soft and innocent openness Mulder had never seen before. Krycek looked almost childlike as he slept, like one who'd never had the slightest inclination toward or even knowledge of all the evil in this world. All the pain he'd known. All the violence in his soul. All the wrong things he'd done . . . had they disappeared as well? All the mistakes made in distress, all of his unhappiness. Could they possibly be taken away? Erased with a kiss? Mulder mused as they drove, wondering exactly what was next for both of them, feeling frightened, but deliciously happy as well, with that deep shiver of gladness that only comes once or twice in a lifetime, if at all. After a few more hours, the Atlantic shoreline came into view, gray and grand, and Krycek finally turned to him and spoke. "Go along here," said Krycek as they came to a narrow side road that led to a thin beach. Mulder looked at him quizzically for a moment, but only shrugged in reply. He did as Krycek asked, and soon they found themselves on a small, flat, rocky beach dotted with tall grass and tiny pebbles. They exited the car together, and Krycek began to walk toward the water as the gulls cried overhead and Mulder followed, bewildered. "This looks like a good place," said Krycek musingly, staring out over the sea. "Yep. Perfect." "Perfect for what?" asked Mulder, staring at Krycek in confusion. Krycek didn't reply, but simply pulled his gun from his pocket. "What are you doing?" asked Mulder, his voice beginning to shake, his heart in his throat. "You know what I'm doing," Krycek replied, carefully checking the gun. "Have you forgotten?" Krycek flipped open the ammunition chamber and held it up for Mulder to see. It was loaded with one bullet. "Don't you remember?" he asked softly. Mulder shook his head, terror threatening to choke him. "I don't understand. I thought that was all over with. I thought--" "I made myself a promise, Mulder," interrupted Krycek. "Number one, that I was going to start keeping my promises." "Alex, I won't let you do it," said Mulder angrily. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you--" But Krycek's calm voice drowned out his protests. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but I'm telling you, I made a promise." "To hell with that damn promise!" cried Mulder, reaching toward Krycek as he flipped the chamber shut and removed the safety catch. But the younger man retreated before him, keeping his distance. "Yes, I'm keeping my promise. The promise I made last night," continued Krycek, gently. Mulder hesitated. "Last night? But . . . what . . . promise did you make last night?" he asked. "I promised myself never to let you go," Alex said softly and, raising the gun, he held it out over the great and endless sea and aimed it straight toward the horizon. He pulled the trigger. The bullet sailed from its chamber with a roar, flying out past the sand, past the sea and straight for the sun. Krycek stared after it for a moment, and then turned to Mulder, his eyes brighter than the brilliant stars of sunlight reflecting from the ocean. Mulder shook his head in amazement, and then gave a short laugh of relief. "You're crazy, Krycek." He put out his hand, and caressed the smooth, thin cheek in front of him, as watched as Krycek's eyes closed and his head tilted into the touch. He slid his fingers down the slim neck and pulled Krycek's body to his own. "But I already knew that," Mulder whispered over the waves and the gulls. "Sure you did," replied Krycek, before meeting Mulder's lips. "Sure you did." ******** THE END All feedback is GREATLY appreciated. dbkate@yahoo.com azrkruzhol@aol.com CREDIT: The song "To Mother You" by Sinead O'Connor is quoted without permission within the body of this fic. No copyright infrigment is intended.