Subj: Comeuppance III Date: 98-01-18 10:06:39 EST From: xfsox@yahoo.com (Sox) To: xapen@aol.com Category: Slash/PG-13 Spoilers: Term/Tempus Fugit/Max Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Chris Carter does. Another installment in the Comeuppance series. As you might know, this is Krycek/Pendrell, and this part is very angsty, non-explicit and sort of sad. (Well, *I* was sad...). A big thanks to everyone who has given me positive vibes for this series, especially, Abree, Odie, Trill, Emu, Walter, Giz, Janis, Leigh, torch, Tina, Jerry and many others. I appreciate it! With gratitude to my beta readers Sue, Nancy, Brinson & Callisto. %%%%%%% COMEUPPANCE III: ABSENCE ~~~~~~~~ by DB Kate xfsox@yahoo.com Alex Krycek still had feeling in his left arm. Small pin-pricking sensations, the occasional ache when it rained, or a sharp twitch of a nerve in his little finger, making him blink with surprise when it flared. He'd tried to grow used to these sensations, for he had a good tolerance for pain, and very fortunately, he still had his stoic nature. Unfortunately, he no longer had a left arm. And yet, there they were. The feelings that never quite left his phantom limb, haunting pains lingering in fingers that no longer existed, brought on by nerves violently cut short, but still functional and aware of their duties to their host. Nerves that weren't unlike his life. He wouldn't exactly call it a life, it was more the mere shadow of an existence now, in a violent, but dutiful place, perhaps to be cut short at any moment. Alex Krycek eternally had a gun in his jacket, a knife in his shoe ... And blood on his hands. But like his arm, he wanted to live, so he played the games that were required of him. I have a cause, a purpose still, and even though I am invisible, I am still needed, he'd convinced himself more than once. Needed as he was tonight, waiting, like so many other nights, for a secret contact in a downtown bar. But tonight wasn't a good example of how needed he was. He'd been sent out into an open bar, a seedy place to be sure, but public enough to make him more nervous than was his wont. This isn't the way for an invisible soldier to operate. Unless I'm to be cut off from the body. At this thought, Krycek grew jittery, his knee jumping faster the longer he waited. Visions of setups and double-crosses flooded his mind as he sat. Some might call it paranoia, but he knew, that in his current situation, these thoughts were merely heightened awareness. They'd tried to kill him before, they'll try it again. Sure as sin. The thoughts of treachery grew stronger, thicker, more frantic by the moment, and finally, he rose from his chair with a jerk. I'm getting the fuck out here, he thought, as he strode past the bar, toward the door. I'll die some other night, thank you. "Hey!" said a voice behind Krycek. He cursed softly under his breath, as he felt a warm hand grab onto his good arm. This was his only arm, and reaching for his gun had now become problematic. He turned slowly... carefully, around. And Krycek blinked when he saw who it was. Brian. Oh, it's only Brian. Krycek's eyes widened as he looked at the man in front of him, swaying on the barstool, his eyes glassy and enormous against a pale face. Brian Pendrell swallowed harshly, his entire body teetering woozily. "I'm sorry, Alex. Did I startle you?" he asked, trying very hard to sit upright and still, but failing miserably. Krycek paused. It looked like Brian, but it couldn't be him. The Brian he knew barely touched booze, perhaps an eggnog at Christmas, or a glass of champagne at a wedding. He'd never gotten drunk at parties, let alone by himself in a rat hole of a bar like this. But it was Brian and he was drunk, absurdly so. "No, you didn't startle me," answered Krycek cautiously, glancing over his shoulder with fear, almost smelling the danger. He couldn't stay...but yet, he couldn't leave his former lover here. Not like this. "Good, because I..." began Pendrell, but stopped suddenly as if struck. For he'd seen Krycek's vacant left sleeve. Pendrell ran his hand over the empty arm of the leather jacket, his expression crestfallen and his eyes huge. "Oh," he said, and it was a small open mouthed sound, filled with distress. "Oh." Krycek looked at him coldly. "It was an accident. That's all. " But Pendrell didn't take notice of Alex's anger. He continued to run a measured hand over the sleeve, sorrowfully, and without a thought of where he was, suddenly reached up and gently cupped his palm against Krycek's cheek, a gesture of acceptance as well as concern. Krycek swallowed harshly, the warmth from Pendrell's hand spreading down his neck and chest, and the tingling sensations in his phantom limb became almost painful in their intensity. With his eyes closed, he leaned into the caress, almost letting the trembling hand hold him upright, but not for long, for at that moment, Krycek heard the sound that he'd been fearing all night. The sound of a back door opening Krycek's head jerked up and he saw the two men slowly enter the bar, shadowed against the street light. Panic filled him, but instead of running, he made an instant decision. He grabbed Pendrell's arm and yanked him off of the barstool. "I think I should take you home now, Brian. How about it?" "Now?" asked Pendrell wobbling uncertainly, his balance precarious and his head tilting with his addled vision. "But can't we..." But Krycek grabbed his arm once more, and pulled him toward the door, as the two men began to advance. "Yeah, I think now is a real good time." "But I..." "Come on." Together, they ran out the door. %%%%%%%% Part Two Krycek caught Pendrell for the fourth time that evening as he tripped over the threshold of his apartment door. "Ooops," muttered Pendrell, his eyes wavering in and out of focus. He turned to Krycek with drunken indignation. "That wasn't there this morning." Krycek propped Pendrell up against the foyer wall and closed the door with a sigh. "Right. Now, you still have that coffee maker?" he asked, reaching back quickly when he saw Pendrell slide down the wall the moment he let him go. "Uh, huh. It's in the scitchen...disketchn...thacatchin...over there," replied Pendrell doubtfully, waving his arm in the kitchen's general direction, as Krycek hauled him up. "That way." Krycek shook his head, pulled Brian over to the dining room and gently forced him into a chair. "Sit. I'll make the coffee. Try not to fall out of that, OK?" Krycek went into the kitchen and began to hunt for the coffee and filters. He found them easily, for, as always, little, perhaps nothing, had changed since the last time he'd been there. It seemed as though time had stopped for himself and Brian somewhere along the way, and even though they were no longer together, they were hardly ever apart. Krycek began to measure out the coffee, but the scoop fell from his hand when he suddenly felt two arms wrap around his waist and a warm breath against the back of his neck. "Don't want coffee," said a small voice, a whisper tickling his hairline. "Wanna go to bed. I'll be sober, promise, Alex. I promise." "Coffee first," replied Krycek, closing his eyes and trying not to shiver as the breaths turned into soft kisses along the sensitive areas that lie on the back of his neck. "Bed first," replied Brian, tugging on him from behind, his lips against Krycek's earlobe. "Don't want coffee. I want you." Krycek shook his head, but allowed himself to be dragged backwards down the short hallway into the bedroom, praying that Brian wouldn't trip and kill them both. Brian was never meant to be like this, there's something wrong here, Krycek thought, as he felt himself topple back onto Pendrell, who had finally slipped, but by some grace of god, managed to fall onto the bed, pulling Krycek with him. With a groan, Krycek sat up and stared at Pendrell, who was looking paler and sicker by the moment, a shadow of the healthy, happy person Krycek once knew and loved. "Why are you doing this?" asked Krycek, sadly. "You never drank before, why start now?" Pendrell merely shrugged in reply, but his eyes were filled with misery, his hands held apart in a helpless gesture. "I don't know. Nothing better to do." "That can't be true," replied Krycek with exasperation. "You've got a great career, lots of friends..." But Pendrell interrupted him. "I have no one." His voice became hoarse, filled with drunken despair. "You were right, Alex. She doesn't even know I'm alive. I tried, I tried so hard. I gave up so much. My time...my friends. I'm completely alone now, and it's my own fault. I can't believe I was so stupid. I can't believe I gave you up." At this, something inside of Krycek broke open. "You still have me," he replied softly. "I may not always be here, but a part of me is. Always." But Pendrell shook his head again, miserably. "No, I fucked up, Alex. And I'm sorry, I'm sorrier than you could ever imagine." Krycek sat quietly on the bed's edge and ran his hand over the pale cheeks of the man beside him, trying to cheer him, but Pendrell was inconsolable...distraught. Krycek wondered if there was any way to take away a past that had brought such unhappiness to them both. He tilted Pendrell's chin up toward him, looked carefully into huge blue eyes and once again, caressed the cool cheek in front of him. He watched as Brian turned to place a kiss inside his palm, warm lips against the hard, scarred flesh and trembled as he did so, amazed at his own response. He kissed Brian's lips...quietly, and tasted the tang of beer and smoke and felt him finally smile, the lips shivering as they curled. Krycek reached inside Brian's jacket and gently loosened his gun holster, feeling the leather and metal give way underneath his fingers and when it was unfastened, he stared at it for a long moment, thinking of how it was such an incongruous piece of apparel for a man who looked so young and innocent. He slid it off and carefully placed it on the nightstand. He then pulled his own firearm out of his jacket, and for the first time in many years, put it down, on the nightstand... Out of reach. "Hey...hey...remember our...our, you know," stumbled Pendrell, swaying slightly, a smile still curled on his lips. "Remember the first time we did this?" Krycek nodded with a tiny grin. "Yes. Hard to forget." Brian's eyes were closed, the drunken smile widening. "We broke the table...or was it the lamp?" "Both," replied Krycek. "And the TV stand..." "That too?" replied Pendrell, his eyes popping open. "God..." "That too," replied Krycek, slipping Brian's jacket off, one arm, then the other. "And we never did solve that case, did we?" said Pendrell, somewhat sadly. Krycek kissed his shoulder, feeling the scratch of crisp cotton against his lips. "We were busy with other things, but you tried your best." "Busy? Sure, I was too busy trying to seduce you," sighed Pendrell. "Not exactly the best way to solve a case." "Really? I don't remember it that way," said Krycek, pulling Brian closer, so that their foreheads touched, with green eyes shining into blue, lashes touching. "I distinctly remember it being the other way around." "No, I remember fixing the motel computer that night," said Pendrell, his lips brushing against Krycek's. "Did you really think they only had one room left?" "Did you think that I really cared?" replied Krycek, before taking Brian's mouth under his own. Soon, Krycek felt the familiar feelings return, the warmth spreading through his chest, and down his legs, the small trembling sensations in his abdomen and the wonderful hard, aching throb between his legs. Desire was taking him, and it was a desire for so much more than the man beside him. It was a pure and hopeful yearning for his own life, his decency...his very soul. He'd been longing for these things, these intangible, invisible parts of his humanity for so long, but only at this moment did he think he had a chance of finding them. Because he now knew he was in the right place. Krycek felt his jacket being slid off his shoulders, and suddenly, the kisses stopped. "Oh my god, Alex," said Pendrell, pulling back and finally seeing the ruined flesh of Krycek's stump. The crude scars of the unprofessional amputation and its aftermath were still visible. "Oh, my god..." Krycek flushed, his eyes turning hard. "I told you. It was an accident. A bad surgeon. A mistake." He was about to say more, but his lips were immediately covered with small, fevered kisses and Krycek gave up all thoughts of talk. He closed his eyes against the lips that fell over his eyelids, his forehead, his shoulders, even his ruined arm, with tiny embraces of warmth and acceptance flooding over him. Krycek groaned against Brian's throat and gently pushed him down into the warm bed. Soon, he felt the terrible anger, the jealousies, and the madness that had driven him onward for the past three years, fade into an almost giddy kaleidoscope of happiness and surrender. Insane thoughts of running away filled Krycek's mind, and for the first time in his life, he discovered the courage to finally grasp the ring. "Ever been to Russia, Brian?" asked Krycek, his lips tracing a slow pattern down Brian's neck. Pendrell shook his head against the pillow, with his eyes closed and his ever-present sweet smile on his lips. "No, never." Krycek spoke softly against Pendrell's throat. "I have a house there. Right on the Neva River. You can see the Winter Palace and the great churches from the front windows. I'll take you to the Hermitage, show you the paintings of Catherine the Great and the statues my ancestors stole from all over the world." Pendrell laughed at this, a small puff of sound. "Come with me to Russia," repeated Krycek, his hands and voice soft and demanding at once. "Call in your vacation days and I'll take care of the paperwork. All you'll have to do is pack." Pendrell laughed again, hoarsely. "Pack..." "That's right, pack. I'll take care of the rest. You can sleep on the plane," continued Krycek, punctuating each point with a caress. "You won't have a care in the world. I'll show you the white nights, the Northern Lights..." "I've never seen the Northern Lights," whispered Pendrell against Krycek's ear. "They're amazing. Every color you could imagine. " "Amazing," murmured Pendrell. "Did I tell you exactly how lonely I've been, Alex? How much I've missed you?" "No. Did I tell you how much I still love you?" whispered Krycek against Brian's lips, with words that were more kisses than sound. "You love me?" Pendrell repeated, his voice fading and his eyes closing. Krycek looked down upon the man beneath him with a tenderness he didn't know he possessed. "Yes, I love you. Promise me you'll come with me." Pendrell merely nodded, the small, drunken smile relaxing and his breaths became long and rhythmic against Krycek's cheek. "I'll come with you." he whispered, before sleep took him and Krycek's lips upon his forehead were the last thing he felt. "I promise." The next morning, when Brian Pendrell awoke, he opened his aching eyes and found his bed empty once more. His heart sank until he saw the note on the pillow next to him, written out in Alex's careful handwriting. "Be packed by midnight, and remember... 'L'absence est a l'amour ce qu'estau feu le vent." Indeed it is, thought Pendrell, his smile as bright as the morning itself. Indeed it is. %%%%%%% Part Three Seven o'clock that evening, Brian Pendrell sat, carefully weighing the box in his hand. It was tiny and white, a gift of desperation he'd bought weeks before, one that was to be bestowed upon a woman for whom he'd given up the past two years of his life for, trading reality and love, for a life of hopeless wishes and broken hopes. "Maybe I should forget it," he said aloud, almost hoping that some voice, somewhere, would agree with him. But yet... Maybe he should just go, wish her a happy birthday and finally say to hell with it. Alex wasn't due to return until midnight, and with any luck, he'd be back way before then. Then, he could go to Russia with Alex. He could see the Northern Lights. And he could forget Dana Scully, once and for all. It all sounded so good, he could barely resist. A few beers, perhaps a laugh or two, they could all be waiting for him in the pub. And when he returned home, a beautiful man, with two plane tickets and a brilliant smile, would be waiting for him. He grinned at the thought as he rose, grabbed his trench coat and headed for the door. His luck was certainly changing for the better, that was for sure. And tomorrow was the start of a brand new day for them both. Alex and him. %%%%%%%% Part Four Later that evening, on one side of Washington, a man in a dark suit was handing Alex Krycek the keys to a riverside house that lay in the heart of St. Petersburg. On another side of Washington, a man with a gun was entering a bar. A few minutes later, a pair of plane tickets were charged to the credit card of one Alexander Arntzen. A moment after that, sirens were heard racing through a freezing March night. When Alex Krycek left the darkened building, he walked down the chilly street and took a deep, glad breath of air. And on a cold barroom floor, Brian Pendrell lay choking to death under the eyes of one Dana Scully, the woman who, at last, was beside him... Beseeching him to take one more breath. %%%%%%% Part Five "Brian, listen to me." Alex Krycek could no longer feel his left arm. Gone were the small pin-pricking sensations, the sharp twitches and pains from tiny nerves making him blink with surprise when they flared. He felt nothing below the mangled and scarred flesh of his stump, and suddenly, his balance had deserted him completely, all of his limbs simultaneously refusing to obey him. Krycek stumbled as he ran down the hall toward the traumatic care unit of the DC hospital where Brian Pendrell lay, quiet and still, underneath a sea of tubes, wires and a single, stark, handwritten sign. //Living Will. Do Not Resuscitate.// For once, Krycek's contacts had actually come through for him, alerting him to a downed agent in the vicinity of one Headless Woman Pub in downtown DC. He knew the place well enough, it was a known hangout for slumming fibbies and the occasional government stooge. He hadn't thought much of it, until he had arrived back at Brian's apartment. And saw his note. //Went to the pub for quick one. Be back ASAP. Love, Brian.// Krycek had stolen the car that'd taken him to the hospital. When he entered the intensive care unit, breathless and enraged, he ignored the signs that bid him to "Wash His Hands" before entering, and teetered to the side of Brian's bed, praying in every language he knew. But one look had been enough. For Brian was dying, and there was nothing he could do. Krycek had once heard somewhere that people looked peaceful in the moments before they died, but he now knew that was a lie. Brian Pendrell didn't look calm, he didn't look peaceful, tranquil or accepting. He looked exactly how he must have felt. Frightened. White, cold and terrified. Krycek's cheek twitched, a sharp, surprising motion. "Brian, listen to me," he repeated matter-of-factly to the man who lay in front of him, looking very small and helpless underneath endless wires, machines and white sheets. "I want you to look at something." Krycek grabbed the cold hand beneath him and grasped it, the five weak fingers held up deliberately by two of his own strong ones. His voice was quiet, but imploring, begging the man in front of him to listen...to know. "Remember the book we read, the night we were together for the first time? Remember when I read it aloud to you? Brian, listen to me now. I memorized it that night...and I want you to listen," said Krycek, leaning in toward Pendrell, his voice lowering to a whisper. "I loved you so I drew these tides of men into my hands..." The respirator began a slow, warning beep. One of the night nurses, the one with a thin face and weary eyes, walked in from her desk and rang for a doctor. And began to stare at her watch. "...and wrote my will across the sky in stars to earn your freedom," Slowly, the beeps multiplied, turning into desperate whines, with numbers and lines plummeting, and a phalanx of machines protesting at once, sounding furiously above the weak and temporal creature they'd dutifully been attached to. "...the seven pillared worthy house, that your eyes might be shining for me." Krycek was still whispering against Pendrell's cheek, his lips trembling against skin that was turning bitter cold, his fingers still tightly holding onto the ones beneath him. "See our two hands? See these seven fingers? This is that house, Brian, our house. The house of seven pillars." The furious beeps turned into a whining buzz. And then there was silence. The nurse clicked her watch off. With a small blue pen, she marked the time of death in Pendrell's chart, and she'd just turned to ring for the doctor once more, when she felt something cold and metallic against her cheek. A gun. "Do something," said Krycek hoarsely, his hand shaking violently. He pressed the gun closer to the nurse's cheek and it tapped out a cold, trembling rhythm against her face. "Do something." he repeated with desperation, his voice numb and faraway. "Do something now." The nurse didn't scream in fright at the sight of the gun. She made no sound, her eyes merely filling with pity and pain. With the cold barrel of Krycek's gun still against her cheek, she reached out a hand to Krycek's face and caressed it. "I am so sorry," she whispered. "But there's nothing I can do." And the shame filled Krycek, and it stood side by side with his grief. He lowered the gun, his eyes filled with remorse. "But, you don't understand," he said imploringly, as she pulled the sheet up over the peaceful face that rested there. He stared for a long moment at the thin white cloth and the motionless figure still outlined in its folds, his breathing growing harsher and more labored. He looked at the nurse with grief-stricken eyes. "You don't understand..." he repeated. "I can't feel my arm anymore," he whispered to her, before taking a trembling step back... And running out the door. %%%%%%%% Part Six One week later a burial was held in Arlington Cemetery, with nearly four hundred agents and one flag-draped casket in attendance. That evening, all that was left were the dozens of large bouquets that lined the fresh grave... And one small note. "L'absence est a l'amour ce qu'estau feu le vent; il eteint le petit, il allume le grand." //Absence is to love what wind is to fire// //It extinguishes the small// //It enkindles the great// %%%%%% Fini. All comments welcome. xfsox@yahoo.com %%%%%%% "Si j'ecris quatre mots, j'en effacerai trois." "No, it's not lean. It's bacon. Bacon is a pig's ass. And a pig's ass is fat." - Gizzie//"A Day In The Deli"