Chapter Two
Krycek was already waiting in the train station cafeteria the next day,
eyes hidden behind classic secret-service sunglasses. He was wearing
the
same inevitable dark suit, his agency-issue travel bag and briefcase
stacked neatly beside him. Mulder felt obscurely irritated at this
agency uniform, though his own dark trench coat was far from radical.
Something about this man got under his skin.
He flopped down on the bench across from him, crossed his legs, and
said
"So - are you being punished or am I?"
Krycek turned a politely deadpan face towards him and raised one eyebrow
quizzically. An agency-issue expression, too, thought Mulder,
even more
annoyed.
"You must know what I'm talking about. My regular partner is
mysteriously reassigned on some "medical emergency" I've never even
heard of, the case we're currently on is shunted off to one side and
I'm
sent on a call they would usually dismiss as a joke with someone I've
never seen before. That briefcase looks new, Krycek - did they tell
you
it's probably bugged? Now, have I stepped on someone's toes, or are
you
being stuck with the Agency Madman because you failed shoe-shining
at
the academy or something?"
Krycek removed the sunglasses and turned upon Mulder those unexpectedly
dark eyes. They were smudged beneath with shadow, and looked decades
older than the rest of him in the cheap fluorescent lighting. He smiled,
taking up the gauntlet he had been thrown.
"Madman? I think you give yourself too much credit, Mulder. And if you
give me a chance you might be surprised. I asked to work with you."
As he spoke, he opened the briefcase and silently indicated to Mulder
a
wire, exposed where he had torn away the lining beside the metal struts.
He smiled even wider, snapped the case shut again and, without further
comment, picked up his gear and started towards their train. "Meet
me in
the dining car." he called back over his shoulder.
Despite himself, Mulder was intrigued. This was not what he had been
expecting, this - what? Cooperation? Offer of allegiance? Pure mindfuck?
He felt thrown off balance. Fighting impatience still edged with
irritation, he settled into his own sleeping-cabin, doing his best
to
ignore the chatter of the blond french-canadian cabin attendant who
assumed he was going ski-ing. "Going to Mont Longlac? I ski there all
the time, very good skiing, monsieur!"" Mulder pressed five dollars
into
his hand and the boy retreated, finally leaving him in silence.
When the train pulled away from the station, he headed to the dining
car. Krycek sat at a table near the back staring abstractedly out the
window. He had changed into different clothes, black slacks and a
close-fitting dark shirt, casually undone at the collar. He was not,
Mulder noticed, carrying the briefcase. The dark colours highlighted
his
unusual colouring, made his skin look even paler, his hair and eyes
darker. As bars of light from the setting sun flickered over his
features, he was getting curious glances from more than one other
passenger. Most agents did their best to be business-dress
inconspicuous. Mulder wondered if Krycek had chosen this deliberate
difference to disarm him further.
He sat. Krycek looked away from the window and pushed one of the two
cups of coffee before him across the table to Mulder, who took it
without a word. He was not going to be the one to break the silence.
Krycek raised the infuriating eyebrow again, and, attracting more looks
now, lifted his shirt to show he wasn't wearing a wire. The flesh
revealed was as pale as milk, hairless, muscles clearly defined but
without excess bulk. "Satisfied?" he asked.
"How much for a lap dance?" Mulder asked. The dark eyes looked at him
intently, analytically, appearing to think the comment over much too
seriously, and Mulder flushed uncomfortably. Finally Krycek grinned,
the
expression changing his face, revealing an unexpectedly mischievous
aspect.
'You're from an agency family, aren't you - your father's one of the
big
white-coats?" Krycek asked. Mulder was instantly suspicious again.
"Why?" he asked.
Krycek laughed. "I forgot that the agency paranoia must be twice as
strong in you if you're second generation. Forget it. No more questions.
I'll just give you my basic statistics." Cocking his head he assumed
the
deadpan expressionless tone of an agency briefing.
"Of Ukrainian extraction, I grew up in a small lumber town in the
Pacific Northwest. I was a merchant sailor for a couple of years, then
went back to school where I joined the officer corps for the discount
on
my tuition. I studied any number of useless things until I was recruited
for Intelligence and ended up at the Agency." The affected tone dropped
from his voice and he looked at Mulder more steadily now.
"I asked to work with you, Mulder, because I believe in what you do.
I
grew up in old country, close to the deep woods, real Twin Peaks
territory. I believe in extreme possibilities, maybe more extreme even
than you do. Do you believe in extra-terrestrials, Agent Mulder?"
Mulder's jaw dropped and he stared at the other man. Just what he needed
- a genuine lunatic.
Seeming to sense his thoughts, the other man grinned at him, a sharp
feral grin that revealed strong white teeth. "Who's the madman now,
Mulder? Listen, just hear me out." Krycek placed his hand on Mulder's
forearm for emphasis and leaned close, holding his gaze. His
eyes
gleamed. "You know yourself that something is up - that bug in my
briefcase was real, and so was Miller's transfer, and Dombrowsky's
promotion, and that screw-up in the evidence room that cost you so
many
favours - see, I do know something, don't I?" Mulder continued to stare
at him warily, unsure whether to trust him or not. He was informed,
but
that could just as easily mean he was part of it.
Krycek's grip on his arm tightened and he moved even closer. "It all
points to the fact that you've stumbled on something big, something
huge, and I have certain theories on what that might be. And I want
in
on the ground floor of this Mulder - I think we should grab this while
we can. Now tell me, this case you were on that they've shunted off
to
one side - did it involve a Dr. Joseph Himmelman?"
Mulder startled slightly at the name and Krycek leaned back, releasing
his arm and smiling smugly. "I thought so" he said. "He's involved
in
this somehow. It's all connected, your work, his work, the aliens."
Mulder winced at the further mention of the aliens, and Krycek abruptly
changed his tack. "Do you like working for the agency, Agent Mulder?"
Mulder blinked in surprise. He couldn't remember the last time someone
had asked him that. Startled into honesty, he struggled to put his
ambiguous relationship with the agency into words.
"I - well, I didn't intend to end up working for them like this - it
was
only supposed to be for two years - and god knows they don't take a
lot
of my work very seriously. But they seemed to be the only place with
such sophisticated resources that would let me do even the limited
work
they allow me. And I'm always finding out just a little bit more, just
a
few more answers that lead to other questions, so it seemed logical
- it
seems - well, easy to stay on . . ." his voice died away. Krycek's
dark
eyes watched him. "Easy how?" he asked.
More questions followed. Mulder had the feeling that Krycek was sounding
him out for some reason, but he couldn't tell exactly why, and he found
himself caught up in the flow of answering, his earlier antipathy
gradually fading. It had been a long time since he had talked much
about
himself, and he found Krycek an unexpectedly good listener. His gaze,
at
once attentive and neutral, drew him out without intrusion or judgement.
Mulder found himself saying things that surprised even him, sharing
ideas he hadn't even mentioned to Scully. He hadn't realized how tiring
the constant vigilance of the last months had been, how much he had
been
holding himself back, mistrustful. By the time the dining car was
cleared he knew he had said too much, knew he should be keeping his
guard up, but seemed unable to staunch the flow.
Apart from his questions Krycek had said little during dinner, but as
they left he gripped Mulder by the elbow and steered him away from
the
sleeping cars. "Let's get a drink and go to the observation level -
the
berths are too easily bugged and there should be too much background
noise there for effective surveillance."
It was dark by now and they were travelling through the snow-covered
woods of northern Ontario, the icy landscape gleaming bluely through
the
dark pine trees, the moon a pale crescent overhead. They found seats
near the front of the glass-roofed car and claimed them, settling
themselves with their drinks. Krycek unobtrusively produced an envelope
from somewhere and dropped it in Mulder's lap.
When Mulder tore it open a thin stack of photos slid into his hands.
They were printed on heavy rag-stock photo paper, marked on the back
with the unmistakable agency identification shield, but they were rough
and grainy and their subject-matter difficult to distinguish. Mulder
stared at the first one for some seconds before it resolved into an
image of a figure against a desert background. The figure looked human
at first glance, but as he looked longer he realized that the legs
were
impossibly long, the head a shape that made his stomach twist in a
primal recognition of otherness, of difference. He flipped it over
and
saw it was stamped clearance level 7. Mulder raises his eyebrows. His
own clearance was only 5.
""Not much to look at, these photos, are they?" asked Krycek quietly.
"That's because they were taken nearly forty years ago when first
contact occurred. These show their craft, their appearances, the
technology they carried on them." Mulder flipped through them, looking
at the almost-human forms, the strange organic shape that sat in a
charred circle on the sand, the enigmatic lumps of might-be metal.
"Think about that, Mulder. Forty years ago. And still no public word
from the government on them, no large-scale contact, peaceful or
hostile."
"No alien autopsy?" asked Mulder dryly.
"Not that I could find" said Krycek. "And also no surviving members
of
the original scientific team assembled to deal with the possibility
of
extra-terrestrial contact. Not a one. And all their files are closed"
He
spoke in a confidential murmur that forced Mulder close to hear. "I
know
what you're going to say, Mulder, photos don't prove anything, they
can
be too easily faked. But that's a genuine agency stamp, so if they
are
faked, they want someone to believe that they're real. Isn't that enough
to convince you that something big is happening? And somehow
you're
involved, Mulder - I think they're trying to set you up".
Mulder shook his head automatically at the suggestion but there was
no
conviction to it. It seemed all too plausible given recent events.
"Why
are you telling me this? If it's true, you're putting yourself at risk."
Krycek grinned his feral grin again, nodded, and spoke with elaborate
unconcern. "What would you think, Mulder, if I told you that I had
been
approached by a certain faction within the agency, the same faction
through which I gained access to those photos? And that this group
of
individuals made mention of certain steps taken on behalf of a Dr.
J.
Himmelman? And that this same faction asked me to make sure that you
were at a certain place at a certain time? You know something
of value,
even if you don't know what it is, and they want it. But if we can
figure out what it is, we'll be in a position of power ourselves."
Mulder didn't answer. His head was swimming with new information and
ideas, re-examining the past months. Factions? Plots to set him up?
Aliens, for christ sake? He stretched the tension-knotted muscles in
his
neck, looking up through the roof of the observation car at the stars
above. He had forgotten how brilliant they could be away from the city,
how bright they seemed when the darkness around them was complete.
He
tested the new idea in his mind - aliens. A part of him thrilled in
a
comic-book way to the idea. His world seemed to be shifting again,
in
directions he would never have predicted.
The silence stretched on, but it was not uncomfortable. Krycek sat
quietly beside him, patient, letting his partner absorb what he had
been
told. Part of Mulder wanted to leave, go back to his cabin, review
some
old cases and try to figure out the connections. But he felt strangely
reluctant to move. The rocking of the train and the moonlight on the
snow as they traveled had a hypnotic effect, and he didn't want to
break
the fragile sense of peace he felt, the release from his usual need
to
justify himself and what he believed in. The car was dim and nearly
empty now, he and Krycek the only ones at the front, watching the train
hurtle forward into the night. Mulder could see his own faint reflection
in the glass of the ceiling, a pale and nebulous shape pierced here
and
there by the stars in the distant winter sky, constellations swirling
just beneath his skin. It reminded him of a movie he had once seen,
a
woman's dream of being sealed in a glass egg, set to drift alone through
the universe forever.
Only he wasn't quite so alone. Krycek shifted in his seat and his face
flashed for a moment on the glass beside Mulder's, hair and eyes pools
of darkness set with sharp diamond points. Mulder lowered his glance
from the ceiling and looked over at the man beside him.
Krycek too looked like he was watching the stars. His head was tilted
back, the planes of his face and the tendons in his throat shaded
sharply in light and shadow, the graceful arc of his collar-bone visible
in the open neck of his shirt. He was slender but his shoulders were
broad, the bones strong, and Mulder noticed that the muscles in his
forearms were powerful, wrapped taut and clearly defined around the
bone. His fingers were long and elegant, but his nails were ragged
as
though he bit them. It seemed an adolescent habit for this oddly ageless
man, and Mulder smiled to himself at the thought.
"Something funny?" asked Krycek and Mulder was suddenly embarrassed
at
how closely he had been scrutinizing his new partner. The other man
turned his head toward him, bringing them close in the darkness. Mulder
could sense that he was smiling, could smell the slightly spicy scent
of
his after-shave, and became abruptly aware of the warmth where their
legs touched as the train rocked and swayed. The peace he had been
feeling disappeared, leaving him awkward and anxious, eager to get
away,
some irrational part of his mind signaling "danger!" He rose too quickly
to his feet, nearly falling backwards as the train moved.
"I have to think about all this" he said quickly "it's a lot to take
in,
I have to go back to some of my old cases, there's things I have to
re-examine, I, I don't know what I think yet - goodnight, Krycek."
Krycek rose to let him pass by, and their bodies brushed closely
together. He felt the other man's breath against his face, smelt the
faint sweet odour of the drinks they had had earlier, and he stumbled
away towards the stairs. "I'll see you for breakfast" he said too
heartily "Unless of course the aliens get you first." Krycek's snort
of
laughter followed him out of the car.
* * *
He woke later that night, disoriented, dry-mouthed, his head aching.
Still half-asleep he hunted for his bottle of aspirin and stumbled
out
of his cabin to the drinking fountain. It was at the end of the
corridor, near the tiny shower-rooms the sleeping cars had. Passing
by
one, he heard a sound from within, as though someone had cried out
in
pain, and his sleepiness lifted abruptly. His agency-trained reflexes
took over, and he carefully moved closer, trying to remain silent,
senses alert.
The door was slightly open and he peered in cautiously. In the faint
glow of the night-light over the mirror, he saw the young blond cabin
attendant, shirt half ripped off, standing bent forward over the small
sink. A dark shape behind him pushed him further down, one arm wrapped
around his shoulders, forcing his head backwards. Another sound escaped
him, a small moan, and a hand hooked forward and covered his mouth.
He
was pushing his body backwards against the other form, writhing, and
Mulder was looking for a weapon of some sort when the hand over the
boy's mouth slipped and his muffled whimpers turned into a groan, a
groan that modulated into a cry of "Yes! harder!" and Mulder suddenly
made sense of the scene.
He froze. Afraid they might discover him, he moved out of sight as much
as possible but couldn't tear his eyes off the blond boy, sweating
now,
straining, his body, naked from the waist down, undulating against
the
man behind him. The door and the shadows hid most of the other figure
from him, but he could see his hips slam against the boy's buttocks,
saw
the indistinct shape of his far hand slide down the young man's chest,
knead his pectoral muscles, then lift his cock into the small pool
of
light, the hair around it blond too, its head swollen, red and
glistening. The hidden man started to pump it, his own body moving
faster, more roughly as the young man shifted and strained against
him.
Then he let out a guttural cry and pounded wildly into the body beneath
him. Clutching the edge of the sink the boy cried out now too and came,
cock spurting over the sink, the mirror, the other man's hand. Then
he
sagged forward as if exhausted, still panting, blond hair clinging
with
sweat to his forehead. With a murmur he took the man's hand, gleaming
with his semen, and sucked two of his fingers into his mouth.
The train whistled and Mulder broke out of his trance and hurried away,
aspirin forgotten, pain in his head lost in the rush of blood through
his body. He was shaken, both disturbed and aroused. He tried to summon
the expected reactions, but found neither shock nor revulsion within
himself. He couldn't wipe the image from his mind . . . the young
man,
the shadow behind him forcing those whimpered cries from him as the
hand
pressed over his mouth, his cock shooting over the hand that held it
.
. . He tried to tell himself that it was only their obvious urgency
that
made it erotic.
There was something about the image that stuck in his mind at another
level too, something he felt he should have noticed, but thinking about
it just replayed the scene in his mind, and he turned over restlessly,
trying to focus his mind on what Krycek had told him earlier. It felt
close and claustrophobic in his cabin. He was too warm with the blanket
over him, but the draft from the door blew along his torso like cold
fingers when he threw it off. His cock was half-hard but he ignored
it
resolutely, not wanting to give in to the memory of the blond boy
groaning, the thrusting buttocks, the warmth of Krycek's breath on
his
face -
He shook his head sharply. His mind was obviously wandering. Reaching
for the aspirin again, he swallowed the tablets dry, grimacing at their
sour taste. Anything to help him sleep.
As he fell into sleep, he remembered what that nagging detail was. The
hand, the hand that had covered the young man's mouth, it had had bitten
fingernails, just like Krycek's.
==================================
Continue to next chapter.