i love mulder. mulder loves krycek. krycek loves guns and mulder. it's really fucked up but also sweet. then they have hot, aggressive sex. /prompts always welcome. i'm nice.
when I first got into slash fic, this was one of the first m/k fanarts that I found and it still remains a favorite to this day. It’s so beautiful :3 and the title of the piece is “Stop Pretending Tonight” which just about makes me want to sob my eyes out.
the artist, i learned recently, is NaSyu, who can be found @malaikat and her deviant art can be found here. she’s moved on to more detailed paintings now but her work is still amazing. her commissions are closed currently but she /does/ take them. imagine if she painted this? i’d have to kill myself it’d be so beautiful.
Notes: I think I covered all we talked about, Anon, and I hope you like it. I’ve literally never written smut before so I hope it hits your good spot. Insert winky face. In this story, Mulder teeters between “cross-dresser” and “transsexual”. The lines got a little blurred as I was writing it. Btw, as a side note, “The Girl & The Goat” is a bar I used to go to when I lived in Chicago, Illinois. It was not actually a gay bar, I just decided to half-steal the name since I’ve always liked it…. I think it was on Belmont? Can’t remember. Doesn’t matter. OH! Also, this was only semi-beta’d.
Skinner is alone tonight. Walter is alone.
He’s sitting at an isolated barstool in a place called “Girl & Goat”, nursing a scotch and soda. His thick fingers trace the rim of the glass as his dark eyes scan the crowd. He’s made eye contact with a few of the folks in the place, the lads and the ladies, but none have made him interested enough to get up and make conversation. A few have tried with him, thin blokes and square shouldered girls, but he’s made it clear to them he’d rather be left to drink in peace. They’re all a little confused but they leave without a fuss: why else would he be here? No one comes to the Girl & Goat just so they can drink and leave alone.
Walter doesn’t want to leave alone but he usually does. He just… it just hasn’t worked out from him.
aw man, i can't wait to read your take on clyde bruckman and quagmire
*puts them on the list* :D Thank you so much for writing me, I’m glad you’re excited to see more! I’m sorry that I’ve been so lazy with getting the Pilot done but I SWEAR I WILL lmfaoo
so, thanks to your request. and other’s, here’s what’s up next:
Beyond the Sea
Darkness Falls
Clyde Bruckman’s
Quagmire
I’m not sure in the order in which I’ll do them--some, like Beyond the Sea, definitely need to be structured more (i.e. Krycek’s past and how it will relate to his encounter with Boggs) but I’m excited to do them all and to know people out there are excited to read them.
I just want you to know, anon, and everyone else who’s written me with requests or praises about the series: it means the WORLD to me. I hope these upcoming episodes will live up to your expectations!
mythology episodes (marked with **) will be posted in order. MOTW episodes will be posted randomly. a summary will be added with each fic when complete and posted. feel free to request any motw episode between season 1 and season 7.
what song reminds you most of Krycek? one i think of is I'll be good by jaymes young
I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you, anon! I had never heard “I’ll Be Good” by Jaymes Young before but I listened to it after I got your ask and I totally agree--that’s a great Krycek song.
Particularly this line(s): My past has tasted bitter / For years now / So I wield an iron fist / Grace is just weakness / Or so I've been told
I loooooovveeeee that for Krycek and totally goes in line with how I see him as a character. In “Terma”, Mulder says to Scully that Krycek wants to bring down the same men they do, he just is willing to do that through any means necessary. I think that line is really telling because it brings the audience to remember that there /is/ some morality in Krycek--he wants to end colonization, he wants to save the world but he’ll do it on his /own/ terms. Unlike Mulder (and Scully but Mulder is really his other-half in a character-sense) who is hindered by his moral compass. That line, to me, is so perfect because it goes so well in with the idea that Krycek’s /made/ himself the way he is. He wants to win this fight. Morality just gets in the way.
OKAY SO I THOUGHT ABOUT THIS and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be so obvious but after thinking about it, I have to go with “Little Lion Man” by Mumford & Sons. I totally made a Krycek gifset using that song like a week ago lmfaoooo so I was trying to think of a different one but I really do like it for him.
tbh, Mumford & Sons is like my go-to Krycek (and m/k) music. lmfao. They’re sorta’ folksy but very rock-based so you get this interesting natural sound that’s also hardened by rock chords and tempos. That’s very Krycek to me: the human (folk) beneath the killer (rock).
“Little Lion Man” is great, too because it really does touch on that no-fear, rough-scrapper attitude of life (that Krycek definitely has) and how that can come back to bite you in the ass (poor Krycek~ our bb~)
Thanks for writing me, anon! I love to talk about Krycek so please write me again! :D and come off anon, we can gush about Krycek together lmfaooo
written for the @txf-fic-write-in 30 min prompt: life before 1993. I explored Krycek at seven years old in 1972. NOT EDITED lmfao fyi
Dagmar is a strong woman. It is not only in her features that made Dagmar that way, it was the very presence of her being. Her hair was black and long, tied back into a ponytail that hung limply down her broad back. Her face was lined deeply with wrinkles across her forehead and in the crevice of her mouth. Her eyes are deepset and blue, but they're big and wide and they cast a icy gaze on anyone who catches them. It isn't to say that Dagmar isn't beautiful--she is. Her intensity makes her beautiful, the softness of her face is masked by the cold way she handles herself but she is beautiful.
Alex thinks she's the most beautiful woman in the world. He sits at a picnic table in the Washington DC, there is an American hotdog in the plate in front of him but he doesn't want to eat it. His mother is sitting across from him and she doesn't have a plate. She's not hungry and she doesn't eat American food. She's says it's disgusting. Alex agrees but he doesn't really know why. The truth is, it's because it's 1972 and he's 7 years old and he thinks his mother is the world--her word is law. American food is disgusting. America is disgusting. They are slaves here.
Besides Dagmar sits Alex's father, Boris, who eats everything he can. He's had three helpings of American potato salad even though he's a thin man with a wiry body. One wonders where he puts it all away. He doesn't like the food in America either but he says that it's all they have now.
"If you are wanting to be bigger," his father says to Alex, pointing his dirty fork at his son from across the table. His accent is thick but he knows English better than his wife, "Then you are eating what the big boys are eating. America is big boy."
Dagmar scoffs, curling a dark pink lip in contempt, "America is coward. America is fat cat. Fat cat get eaten by dog."
His father turns his own sharp pair of green eyes towards his wife and sneers, "Is not so fat that it cannot share. We are here, eating food they are making."
Alex is too young to understand so he say nothing but instead watches the tense way his parents handle each other. Ever since they left the Soviet Union, they've been this way. It's hard to recall but... once, he thought, they weren't like this. His mother never smiled, of course, but she was happier once. She spits in Russian at her husband and turns away to glower.
"Alex," his father ignores his wife but he's angry, his hollow face is furious, "Be eating your food or you are starving."
"Yes," his mother retorts, "become great big American fat cat, Alex. Is why we are leaving Soviet Union. To be American pigs."
Alex thinks, for a moment, his father is going to smack her, he's so angry. His bony fingers are tightening so hard on the plastic fork he has that it snaps in his hands. If he hits her, she'll hit back. Dagmar is no wilting flower. Boris opens his mouth to speak when a figure moves beside them.
"Ah, if it isn't my favorite scientists," comes a smooth voice. Alex knows this man as his parents' boss. He stops at the picnic table, cigarette in his hand. Boris smiles and greets him politely, containing himself when this man is around. His mother can hardly stand to look at the smoker. She hates the way her husband cowers to him--is respectful, like a dog, she says, "Are you enjoying the picnic? We have it every year."
"Hello, Mr. Spender," Boris says, standing from his place, "Is very beautiful. We are thanking you very much."
"Good, good," Spender says, puffing away. When he finishes that cigarette, he'll light another. He greets Dagmar with a nod but knows she will not talk to him. It doesn't seem to both him and he smiles, bringing the cigarette to his lips, "I like to know that my colleagues are well cared for."
He turns his attention to Alex, who's sitting quietly. Like a good boy.
"Are you enjoying the picnic, Alex? I see you haven't touched your hotdog."
Alex doesn't know what to say so he looks at his parents. His mother is looking away, his father silently begs him to respond. Alex just nods and says, "Yes, thank you, sir."
"Very good," Spender seems pleased. He glances over his shoulder and then back to the boy, "The other children are playing, Alex, would you like to join them? My son. Jeffrey is about your age. There is another boy, Bill's son, Fox, and his daughter, Samantha, are there, too, playing games by the water. I'm sure they will let you play."
The idea sends thrills of excitement through Alex. He'd love to play games with the other children. He has no one to talk to.
"No!" his mother snaps, finally pulling herself to the conversation. She weaves a small story but everyone knows why she doesn't let him. She hates these people, "Alex is not finishing his food. Alex will stay here."
Spender is silent for a minute but then, rolling his cigarette, nods, "Be a good boy for your parents, Alex. They are my best scientists. Enjoy everyone."
When Spender leaves, Boris sits back down and the arguing begins. He's telling his wife this is not why they came here. He's telling her she needs to show Spender some respect. He was the one who snuck them out of the USSR to begin with. She's just sneering and saying that he only did that to work them like slaves. They were respected in Russia, here they are foreign dogs.
Alex looks longingly at the other children playing by the lake. He wishes he could play with them, too. He never gets to play with the other children.
Bellefleur actually seemed like a nice town, a good place for someone to hang their hat, Krycek thought as the agents drove through the place, on their way to the cemetery. There was a commercial quaintness to it all and yet it was large enough that you could still meet new people. It was nice.
They hadn't spoken much since Mulder's stint with tagging the roadway earlier and Krycek was okay with that. It gave him time to think. He'd read over the case files half a dozen times at this point but he continued to scan through the pages, giving an impression he was lost in thought regarding it. It was Mulder he was thinking of in reality—and Spender.
After everything he had been through, it seemed surreal that Krycek sat where he did, next to Fox Mulder, in a car in Oregon, hoping to solve the mystery of some kids' strange bumps. He remembered when Spender had come to him with the assignment, telling him he'd like to see Krycek on it. He'd told him that he believed he was the best man for the job—Krycek wouldn't prove him wrong. It just begged the question: why? What was so important about Fox Mulder and the X-Files? Couldn't any poor slob be dropped besides Spooky Mulder? Spender had made it seem a privilege, a task that only the best of the best could accomplish—and he'd believed in Alex.
That made Krycek's chest fill with pride again. Spender believed in him. He'd be the best. For Spender, for his mother and his father. He'd wondered what they'd say now, if they saw him. Their son, the FBI agent. The PhD wouldn't surprise them—they'd always expected that of him, always instilled in him the determination to be better, to be smart. Krycek let out a sudden, gruff laugh—they would have HATED the Navy, though.
The military, his mother had said once, was for people without the wits to think.
Mulder looked over at him, having finished his sunflower seeds and discarded the bag on Krycek's side of the car, "Something funny?"
"What? Oh, no," Krycek waved his hand to dismiss Mulder's curiosity, "I was just… thinking about something."
"Care to share?"
"It was about my parents, is all."
"Oh?" Mulder questioned, his interest a little piqued—perhaps a bit interested in learning about his new partner, "What ab—"
"Cemetery's there. Pull in here, this is the lot," Krycek cut him off, pointing towards the right side of the road. They could see the crane already waiting for them, along with several official looking people who stood around expectedly for their FBI guests to arrive.
"Rule one, Krycek, always arrive fashionably late," Mulder quipped as he turned off the engine. That made Krycek smile.
John Truitt, from the County Coroner's Office, greeted them when they arrived at the site. They were hardly out of the car before him and his assistant hurried over in their sensible brown and gray suits to shake their hands. Krycek was pleased with being introduced by Mulder—he was sure the man would have opted to cut him out if he could. They four men began to make their way over to Ray Soames's grave and were discussing the facilities that would be made available to the FBI agents when another car pulled up.
They didn't notice him until he abruptly shouted, "Excuse me!"
This caught their attention and Mulder and Krycek whirled to the name. He was in good shape, mid-40s and his blonde hair was beginning to dull with gray. From the passenger seat of his car, a young girl popped out. She was thin and wiry, with mousey brown hair the hung in a half-combed limpness on her shoulders, bangs on her forehead. The irritated man went to her as she got out, attempting to put her back in the car. The girl seemed unthreatened but unhappy and it was clear the man had a paternal relationship with her, just by the way the small squabbling bit proceeded.
When he finally got the arguing girl in the car, the man made his way back over to the agents, already fired up and ready, "I don't know who you people think you are. You think you can just come up here and do whatever you damn well please, don't you?"
Krycek gave Mulder points for the blank face he wore because Krycek was sure his own face registered surprise.
"I'm sorry," Mulder started, "you are…"
"I'm Doctor Jay Nemman. I'm county medical examiner," snapped the other, with a squaring of his shoulders that meant he demanded respect from such a title.
Mulder responded without hesitation, "Surely you must have been informed of our intention to come up here."
"No," Dr. Nemman deflated a bit, seemingly now to question his own aggressive charge, "No, we've been away."
Krycek took his moment, "Well, that answers a question we had. The question of why you hadn't done the recent autopsy on Karen Swenson. You're aware of the tissue sample that was taken from the girl's body."
Mulder gave Krycek a brief glance and Krycek wasn't sure if it was annoyance or appreciation. He didn't give it a second thought. The surprise that moved across Nemman's face was apparent but it faded quickly with a newly engaged anger.
"Wh-what's the insinuation here? Are you saying that I missed something on those other kids' exams?"
"We're not insinuating anything, sir," Mulder finished and, along with the others, turned back to head up the grave and get the metaphorical show on the road. He was grabbed by Nemman who yanked Mulder back to face him, face turning red.
"Wait a minute! I think you are! And you're making an accusation, then you'd better have something to back it up. I—"
"Daddy, please!"
It was the girl from the car. She'd witnessed the entire event and, with an air of worry and a quivering of fear in her voice, she called out to her father again, "Please, let's just go home… Let's go home, please."
At first, it didn't seem like Dr. Nemman would comply with his daughter's wishes. He held onto Mulder with a vice grip and then, draining himself of all indignation, managed one last hard glare at the agents—first Mulder, than Krycek and returned to his car.
Watching Dr. Nemman and his daughter drive off, the agents stood side by side for a moment before Mulder opened his mouth to speak.
Krycek, unknowingly, cut him off before he got the chance, "Guy obviously needed a longer vacation."
In unison the two men glanced at each other, confirming each other's feelings. Krycek's comment had made Mulder smirk with genuine amusement and as they turned to head back towards Ray Soames's grave, Krycek felt a little accomplished. As the crane finished it work, Krycek had already re-pulled some of the files from the satchel he had at his side.
He attempted to read over the loud machinery to Mulder, who stood watching the grave be cleared out and the coffin lifted via harness, "Ray Soames was the third victim. After graduating high school, he spent time in a state mental hospital treated for post-adolescent schizophrenia."
"Soames actually confessed to the first two murders," Mulder responded, eyes never leaving the work site, "He pleaded to be locked up but couldn't produce any evidence that he committed the crimes. Did you happen to read his cause of death?"
Mulder turned his attention to Krycek when he asked that, eyebrow raised in challenge. Krycek was pretty sure he remembered but he glanced at the file again, just to make sure.
"Exposure," he confirmed. Then hesitated, thinking just a second, "Missing for only seven hours… How does a twenty-year-old boy die of exposure on a warm summer's night?"
"Hmmm," Mulder nodded, like Krycek had read his mind, "Maybe he forgot to put his socks on. My mother always warned me of that."
Krycek smiled and went to respond but something else consumed their attention.
"Look out!" one of the workers called before Ray Soames's coffin came crashing down, the harness having snapped and dropped it. The people, including the agents, jumped at the sound and several of them scrambled to get out of the way. The coffin rolled down the small incline before getting stopped on a sturdy tombstone, Mulder running down the hill to be the first one there. Krycek and Truitt followed closely behind.
As Mulder went to lift the busted lid, Truitt grabbed him and weakly supplied, "This isn't procedure."
"You're kidding," Krycek deadpanned, picking up the skill already from Mulder. The sarcastic remark had made it's point and Mulder took his chance to open the lid of the coffin. The smell hit them all first. Decay and death. Despite his bravado before, Krycek was the first to cover his mouth and step back—although the others followed suit. Mulder seemed mystified though as he stared down at the body.
It wasn't just the smell that would repulse a person. Whatever was in Ray Soame's coffin, it wasn't anything human. Gray and old, a mummified corpse of something long and unnatural lay in the silks. Mulder cleared his throat, glancing back at Krycek.
"It's probably a safe bet Ray Soames never made the varsity basketball team," he half-joked but Krycek was far too nauseated to respond, keeping hand firmly over his nose and mouth. He just wanted Mulder to close the lid and he got his wish when the other agent turned to Truitt and demanded, "Seal this up, right now! Nobody sees or touches this. Nobody!"
Truitt nodded and hurriedly went to close the lid.
8:56 PM
BELLEFLEUR COUNTY CORONER'S OFFICE
Flash.
"This is amazing, Krycek. You know what this could mean?"
Flash.
"It's almost too big to even comprehend."
Flash. Mulder was liberal with his camera, zipping around the examination table with a frenzied excitement as he snapped pictures, flashbulb filling the room with white light every time he did. He'd taken off his suit and jacket, tossing them to a nearby empty table to work. He had his sleeves rolled up like he meant business. Krycek had opted to stand clear, away from Mulder and the… corpse. He'd taken a corner of the room, arms crossed, mask over his face. Mulder had snorted when Krycek had requested a mask but Krycek had also chosen to ignore that. It was a decaying corpse, he'd reasoned, it was perfectly rational to want a little protection on his mouth and nose.
"If it's almost too big to comprehend," Krycek finally spoke, black eyebrow raised, "don't you think that should make you doubt it?"
Mulder either didn't hear him or just didn't respond. He snapped another picture.
Dr. Carter, the medical examiner, was a woman in her 50s, with short, white hair that stuck out in a strange non-style. She worked diligently despite the agents peering over her. Speaking into her recorder, her voice was even, "Subject is a hundred and fifty-six centimeters in length, weighing fifty-two pounds in extremis. Corpse is in advance stages of decay and desiccation. Distinguishing features include large ocular cavities…"
Mulder took another picture and Carter winced at the flash hit her in the face again. Her fingers continued to examine, speaking as she did, "oblate cranium… indicates subject is not human."
That got Mulder even more excited and the flashing increased. Maintaining her professional demeanor, the medical examiner just tried to ignore it. Krycek too pity on her and when Mulder came with distance, he reached out and tapped the other man on the arm,
"Hey, why don't we give a rest with the flash, huh?"
With the glare of a petulant child, Mulder lowered the camera. The sharp look he was giving Krycek, who went back to standing stoic and cross-armed, was replaced with interest as Mulder turned to Dr. Carter,
"If it's not human," he asked, oozing with enthusiasm, "what is it?"
"It's mammalian. My guess? It's a chimpanzee or something from the ape family," Carter responded, still looking at the body. She looked up at Mulder and snapped off one of her gloves, "Possibly an orangutan."
Nothing seemed to dampen Mulder's fires and he ordered, "I want tissue samples and x-rays. I'd like blood type and toxicology and a full genetic make-up."
"Gotcha," was all Dr. Carter replied. Krycek cleared his throat, getting Mulder's attention. When Mulder looked at him, he waved the other man over.
"Mulder," he started, removing the mask and lowering his voice when Mulder was close enough. He didn't want to share his conversation with Dr. Carter, "That's an awful lot to do for an orangutan."
"An orangutan?" Mulder whispered back, leaning in close to Krycek as he spoke. The disbelief was evident on his face, "Come on, Krycek, in Ray Soames's grave? Try explaining that to the good townsfolk. Or Ray Soames's family. What we can't do here, we'll order to go."
Krycek sighed, "You're serious? You don't honestly believe this is some kind of extraterrestrial? This is somebody's sick joke, Mulder."
It was admirable, Krycek thought, the way Mulder never gave up.
"We can do the x-rays here, can't we? Is there any reason we can't do them right now?" he sounded to Krycek like a boy asking for just one more cookie. The soft look that came over Mulder's face surprised Krycek. Mulder clenched his jaw in thought and then spoke equally as softly, "I'm not crazy, Krycek… I have the same doubts you do."
Krycek seemed resolved and, letting out one last sigh, nodded his head—as if he could have stopped Mulder anyhow.
"Alright, well, you get your x-rays, I'm going to ask the desk guys where the best seafood place is. I'm starving."
There seemed to be relief—was it relief?—on Mulder's face and, with a small smile, he nodded approval at Krycek's plan. He could go for some dinner, too.
9:44 PM
BECKETT'S SEAFOOD & STEAKS
"Has anyone ever told you that you eat like an animal?"
"They have actually. Are you going to finish that?"
"No, you can have it," Mulder said, switching plates with Krycek. The salmon was good, sure, but he just wasn't hungry. Spread out on the cloth-covered table were the x-rays taken from the corpse found in Ray Soames's grave and Dr. Carter's notes. Even Krycek had to admit, they were fascinating—then his food had come and he'd gotten lost in devouring his fish. Mulder had ordered a sensible dinner for one of salmon and a side of greens. Krycek, on the other hand, had ordered a plate almost double in size and finished it—and now was eating the rest of Mulder's picked through food.
Both men were seated, sans jackets and ties, at a small booth in the corner of the restaurant. It was a nice place, family oriented but not exclusive to screaming, sticky children. It was the kind of place a respectable family could take themselves for a decent meal in a quiet atmosphere. The late hour had cleared most of the restaurant out, with a few stragglers still chatting and popping crab legs. Krycek's hair was beginning to fall in front of his face, the copious gel he used starting to wear away and he brushed it back before digging into Mulder's salmon—not before squeezing the lemon slice across the pink, soft flesh. Then he ripped into it with his fork.
Mulder finally dropped the x-ray he was holding and leaned back on his chair, letting out a stream of breath from his lips. He rubbed his head, which was starting to hurt. He knew he should have worn his glasses. Between them, the vial containing the strange metallic object sat isolated like it's own morbid table decoration. Mulder reached out to take it, rolling it around gently in the glass vial, examining it. Krycek, in between bites of food, scanned the papers for the coroner's reports.
Krycek read with food in his mouth, chewing between words, "Official laboratory inspection of the body… yeah, yeah, x-ray analysis confirms… hmmm, homologous but possibly mutated mammalian physiology… does not account for small unidentified object in… yadda, yadda, nasal cavity…"
He swallowed and dropped the report back on the table, letting out a sigh just like Mulder. There was a few more minutes of silence as Krycek finished the final plate of salmon, then he spoke, "I'll admit, Mulder… it's weird. It's definitely weird."
Mulder put back down the metal object, resting his elbow on the table and his cheek on his fist, shoulders slumped. A waitress came over to collect their dishes and asked if they were going to want anything. Mulder was sure Krycek was about to ask about dessert so he cut in with a quick, "No, we're good, just the check please."
The waitress smiled and left, leaving them alone again. Krycek reached over to slip the x-ray of the naval cavity where the implant was found back over to him, "What do you think it is? No, wait, let me guess," Krycek was smiling, "It's an alien mind control device? Or, no wait, how about an alien tracking device? Am I in the ballpark? Come on, Mulder, animal, vegetable or mineral?"
Despite himself, Mulder cracked a half smile. Suddenly, without provocation, he changed the subject, "You know, Krycek, I'm going to request a new partner if you spend all night puking up that 4 pounds of salmon you wolfed down. It's my motel room, too."
"Don't worry about me, Mulder," Krycek responded, slapping his own stomach, "I can handle it. You should have seen what I could put back in the Navy. I wasn't kidding when I said people used to call me an animal."
"The Navy? I didn't know you were in the Navy."
"Oh?" Krycek grinned, recalling their first meeting, "I guess that little report of yours didn't have everything. I was. When I was a kid, I had a few reckless tendencies, when I turned 17 I started thinking that maybe the military was exactly what I needed. I wanted to be in the Air Force but…" Krycek trailed off, shrugging, "They told me I didn't have what it took to be a pilot so I went with the Navy instead. Lieutenant by the time I was discharged.”
"Why couldn't you be in the Air Force? I don't mean to pry. If it makes you feel better, they'd never let me fly a plane. I'm colorblind."
"Really?" Krycek feigned surprise but he knew that. He'd read it in Mulder's file. Mulder nodded and Krycek hummed a sound that showed interest in the information. He took a deep breath and responded to the question, actually managing to laugh even though he'd laid awake many nights still angry over the subject, "They just said I wasn't cut out for it. Something about dexterity."
"Hm. Was it in the Navy you got your PhD?"
"Yeah," Krycek nodded, pursing his lips with the memory. The waitress dropped off the check and was gone in a flash, "They helped me through school. Which I was pleased with, it took a lot of the financial burden off… of the people helping me. I don't like charity."
"Your parents must have been proud of you," Mulder said casually, mulling over the new information about his new partner. It made sense and Mulder was surprised he hadn't spotted it before. Krycek handled himself like a sailor, there was clip, tightness in his movements.
"I don't know," Krycek admitted, "They were dead by then. They died when I was young. I'm not sure they would have been. They considered themselves intellectuals, scientists actually, they weren't so much for the militant life. It was good for me, it helped me straighten out. I wouldn't be where I am today without the Navy."
"I-I'm sorry," Mulder responded, feeling a little guilty with having mentioned it but Krycek didn't seem affected, "Can… You made mention of someone helping you."
Krycek saw cigarette smoke and nicotine stained fingers.
"A friend of my parents took care of me," he replied, "I didn't live with him but he paid for my boarding school, sent me things I needed, you know, just like that. He said he owed it to my parents. I appreciate him more than I can express, I only hope I can repay him for what he's done for me one day."
Telling him everything he ever wanted to know about Fox Mulder seemed a good way for Krycek to start repaying to Spender, and the kindness he'd shown a boy with no other options. The sudden turn of conversation soured the friendly mood between them. It wasn't replaced by displeasure but there was a sullenness that suddenly grew on Krycek. Mulder thought it was the memory of his parents that had brought it on but the reality was that Krycek had suddenly remembered what his real purpose was. It was important, he realized, that he stay focused on that. Friendship had a way of clouding business.
"Well, assuming the iron gut is full," Mulder finished, referring to Krycek, "I think it's about time we head back to the motel. I want to go back over the coroner's report in better detail."
"Yeah, alright," Krycek said as he watched Mulder stand, stretch and begin to collect all the papers and x-rays scattered on their table. He tapped them into a neat little pile and, putting them under his arm, began to move from the table—not before first snatching up the keys to their rental car.
"Rookie pays," Mulder grinned, leaving Krycek behind, "I'll meet you at the car."
"Yeah, okay," Krycek watched his retreating form and removed his wallet from his pants. He huffed as he tossed money to the table, covering the check and leaving a decent tip for the waitress.
Goddammit, Krycek realized, Mulder was probably going to drive, too.
THE NEXT DAY
RAYMON COUNTY; STATE PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL
"Ray Soames was a patient of mine, yes. I oversaw his treatment for just over a year for clinical schizophrenia," Dr. Glass, a balding man in a blue suit, explained to the agents as they wanted towards the building, "Ray had an inability to grasp reality. He seemed to suffer from some kind of post-traumatic stress."
The morning had been relatively uneventful. Mulder had stayed up well into the night re-reading and re-examining the reports from Dr. Carter, making notes in a beat up pad he kept with him. Krycek had promptly fallen asleep when the reached the motel. He wasn't sure when it was that Mulder had finally gone to bed but he vaguely remembered being disturbed by the light from Mulder's side of the room often while he tried to sleep. It must have been late. Despite that, Mulder was up around five and slipping on sweatpants. He asked Krycek if he wanted to join him for a morning run—which had been met with a harsh glare from Krycek who was intolerant of mornings. They were both shaved and showered by 6:30 and ready to begin. Their breakfast was bagels and coffee (two for Krycek, who drank them silently and sullenly in the passenger seat of the car). By the time they reached the psychiatric hospital, Krycek could think straight.
"Is that something you've seen before?" Mulder asked as he kept the pace with Dr. Glass. The shortest of the trio by just a few inches, he walked sandwiched between Dr. Glass and Krycek.
"I've treated similar cases. Some of whom were Ray Soames's classmates."
"We're trying to find a connection in these deaths," Mulder explained, "Did you treat any of these kids with hypnosis?"
Dr. Glass seemed to scoff at that but for only a moment before returning to his professional state, "No, I did not."
"Are you treating any of these kids now?" Krycek cut in, looking around Mulder as he did.
The three of them came to a stop in front of building when they had ascended the steps. They huddled together and Dr. Glass crossed his arms, "Currently? Yes, I'm treating Billy Miles and Peggy O'Dell. Both have been long term patients. They've been patients of mine for about four years."
"Would it possible for us to talk to them?"
There seemed a hesitation in Dr. Glass and he sighed, "Well, you might find that difficult…" he trailed and the agents furrowed their brows in unison, "Certainly, in Billy Miles's case."
When they met Billy Miles, Dr. Glass's concerns were made clear. Billy Miles was… not the ideal candidate for questioning. He lay awake on his hospital bed, eyes wide and staring aimlessly out at nothing. They were glassy and unfocused. Beside him, a small girl with dull red hair read to him from a book. She was seated in a wheelchair.
Dr. Glass leaned into the agents, the three of them watching the scene a few feet away. Dr. Glass's voice was hushed to keep his words between them, "Billy's experiencing what we call a waking coma. Functionally, his brainwaves are flat and he's in a persistent vegetative state."
Great, Krycek thought as he squared his jaw, he's a vegetable. He looked over at Mulder who's face, per usual, remained passive.
"How'd it happen?" Krycek asked, looking back to Glass when he got nothing from Mulder.
"Both he and Peggy were involved in an automobile accident out on State road."
"We'd like to speak to her, if we can," Mulder spoke. Dr. Glass nodded and, holding up a hand to halt the agents for a moment, he began to walk over to Peggy and Billy. His voice was soft but authoritative.
"Peggy?"
The girl stopped reading and looked up at them. There was displeasure on her face, the book held primly in her small hands.
"Peggy," Dr. Glass continued, "We have some visitors. Would you like to talk to them for a moment?"
After a moment, she spoke. Her voice was quiet but had the creeping sounds of annoyance, "Billy wants me to read now," she clarified and returned to the book, reading from the pages, "'It's not sand, it's dark…'"
It was Mulder who moved first, stepping forward to kneel before Peggy. The tenderness he showed surprised Krycek, who followed him but remained away from the group, watching with a keen eye. Peggy looked at Mulder and tightened the grip on her book.
"Does he like it when you read to him?"
"Yes," she was so tense, her body seemingly coiled on a tight string, "Billy needs me close."
When Peggy said that she inhaled deep exchanging looks with Agent Mulder. She glanced then over to Agent Krycek, who observed everything silently. It was clear just from the look on her face that she didn't like /that/ agent at all. She tightened her jaw and made a show of turning away from him and regarding Mulder again. Then she dropped her face into the book again and started to read. Mulder stood up and made a few short steps back to Dr. Glass.
"Doctor, I'm wondering if we can do a cursory medical exam on Peggy."
Chaos ensued. Peggy threw down her book with a sudden surge of unexplained anger. The action shocked the orderlies and doctors but Peggy wasn't done. She flipped her neglected food tray and jerking in her wheelchair. The nurses and Dr. Glass rushed over to assist, just as surprised as the agents were.
"Stop it! Stop it!" Peggy was screaming, flailing when they tried to touch her.
"No one is going to hurt you!" Mulder attempted to reassure her bit it did little. The nurses tried to sooth her as well but were met with equal resistance. Dr. Glass ordered something to be gotten to sedate her and one of the nurses ran to fetch it. In her panic, Peggy's hand went to her face and when she pulled it away, she was bleeding violently. Her screaming only increased and she managed to fling herself off her wheelchair and crashed her body to the floor. They all went to help her, Krycek moving closer to the scene. Mulder took the opportunity to pull up Peggy's shirt, revealing to Krycek two familiar bumps.
The shock on his face was apparent and as the nurses managed to get Peggy back up, Krycek felt angry at himself. That's probably exactly what Mulder had wanted; he'd shown him he knew more than Krycek. That he was always two steps ahead. It really pissed Krycek off and when it was assured the girl was okay, he turned from the hospital room and stalked down the hall.
Mulder managed to catch up with him on the steps outside the building.
"Krycek! Krycek!" he called after him, finally falling into sync with him, "What's his name… er, Billy said he was sorry he didn't get to say goodbye."
This was the… fourth time? Yes, the fourth time Krycek wondered if he could get away with punching Agent Mulder.
"How did you know that girl was going to have the marks?"
"Lucky guess?" "Oh, cut the crap, Mulder! Just cut it out. How did you know those marks were going to be there and what else aren't you telling me about this case?"
Mulder's tone was surprisingly icy, "Why?" he asked, "So you can put it down in your little report? I don't think you're ready for what I think, Krycek."
Krycek stopped him them, putting up an arm to halt Mulder. The move was decidedly aggressive and the two men squared off in front of each other, each one puffed as if ready to tumble.
"I want the truth, Mulder. I'm here to solve this case, no matter what you think. Are you going to keep playing games or are you going to be a part of this investigation because whatever you may think… you can't do it alone."
Mulder seemed to deflate just a little but his stare was still hard, "You want the truth? I think those kids have been abducted."
Okay, now they were getting somewhere.
"By who?" Krycek asked, letting out a breath and attempting to ease the tension between them. Mulder seemed to be okay with that and his body language softened.
"By what," he clarified.
"You don't really believe it was aliens, do you?" Krycek smiled, he couldn't help it, "Look, I told you I have no problem with the idea of life outside of our planet, Mulder…"
"Well, do you have a better explanation?"
Krycek threw up his arms, "Uh, maybe the girl inside of the /psychiatric/ hospital has issues with /psychiatric/ problems. I could believe that Peggy O'Dell is suffering from some pronounced psychosis. Now, whether that's organic or as a result of those marks, I can't say. I'll give you that. But, I mean… what? You think these kids have been riding around in flying saucers? That's… There's no evidence to support that, Mulder."
"Nothing scientific, you mean. But there /is/ evidence, Krycek." Krycek eyed him shrewdly and hesitated before speaking again, "There has got to be a more solid explanation, Mulder. Look, I'm a man of numbers and certainty. Let's look at all facts," as Krycek spoke he started marking things off with his fingers, as if counting, "We've got four victims with strange marks. All of them died or near the woods. They found Karen Swenson's body in the forest in her /pajamas/, okay? Ten miles from her house. So, if we follow that, the next question that has to be asked is: How did she get there? What were those kids doing out there in the forest?"
Mulder was the one smiling now, "I bet you liked paint by numbers as a kid, Krycek."
"Clean, neat, step by step. That's how I like it."
Mulder and Krycek began to walk again, heading back towards their car. Krycek spoke as they neared it, "We've got to check out those woods. But before we do that, I need to get something more than a bagel in me. I'm starving."
Mulder chuckled as he went around to the driver's side, "Somehow I knew you'd say that."
T R E M B L E for yourself, my man
You know that you have seen this all B E F O R E
T R E M B LE L I T T L E L I O N M A N
You’ll never settle any of your S C O R E S
Your G R A C E is W A S T E D in your face
Your B O L D N E S S stands alone among the W R E C K
Now learn from your mother or else
spend your days biting your own neck
mythology episodes (marked with **) will be posted in order. MOTW episodes will be posted randomly. a summary will be added with each fic when complete and posted. feel free to request any motw episode between season 1 and season 7.
i just finished reading the first pt of your redux series and can i say how much i love this idea? i can't wait to read the rest, esp beyond the sea (one of my favourite eps)
I’m so glad you like it! :D I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to finish the Pilot episode. I had plans to finish it yesterday and get it posted but, unfortunately, I had a very bad encounter with a bunch of yellow jackets (ugh don’t ask) so I’m sort of not in a great writing place until the swelling goes down.
I will definitely get started on “Beyond the Sea” next! I think it’ll be Krycek who has the unsettling encounter with Boggs so I love the idea of exploring his deceased parents and Krycek having to face some demons~
I hope it meets your expectations! :D Thanks so much for writing me.
I'm not necessarily a slash fan but I can try. How about Mulder coming out to Scully introducing his boyfriend? And less G-rated: Mulder gets a sex toy and can't wait to try it out with boyfriend. I suppose Krycek?
I did the first prompt but am going to save the second one for a different post. the two stories have such different feels, I didn’t want to put them together. can we all give cred to poor @baronessblixen who struggled against her shipperness to send me these prompts? lmfao.
I sort of twisted the first prompt into something more… well, sad. What can I say? Breaking Mulder’s heart is my kink. Enjoy. not beta’d ‘cause i’m an arse. set sometime in early season 3.
Dana Scully sits in her car outside Hegal Place and she thinks. It’s almost two in the morning and she’s been sitting there for maybe fifteen minutes. She just can’t bring herself to turn on the ignition and drive yet. She’s asking herself something. She’s asking herself and she’s hoping she’ll find the answer… but she doesn’t think she will.
She wants to know how much. She wants to know how much more Fox Mulder has to suffer. How much more pain he has to sit through, even in the overwhelming eclipse of love… he feels nothing but sorrow. And she hurts for him, too.
Four stories up, he’s sleeping, exhausted from the emotional upheaval he’s experienced tonight. The sleeve of her shirt is still damp, where his tears saturated the fabric at the wrist, when he laid his head down on her lap. He had clung to her, aching for some sort of absolution and yet resistant to anything but complete penitence. He gave the Nuns of her youth a run for their money.
“What is wrong with me?” he cried softly into her lap, droplets rolling from his eyes, “What have I done? What have I done? Forgive me, Scully, please, forgive me.”
She forgave him, of course she forgave him. Her fingers stroked the thick, dark hair. It had happened so suddenly and yet it seemed undefinably inevitable. The joy on his face when he’d seen her, when she’d woken up from her place far way, had been nothing if not pure compassion. He’d treated her like glass afterwards. Her abduction a heavy mark on his card, a trauma he hoped to carry all on his own. Along with everything else.
Everything broke. Eventually. Even Mulder.
Dana had grown up Catholic. A traditional Catholic and she’d read the Bible many times, listened to the Priest when he gave his sermons. It was the word of God, who was she to deny it? To correct it? Once, her mother had taken her aside, in a private moment, and spoke about such a subject. She said it was important to remember the tenants of Christ, to respect the church but to remember that it was run by men. God was infallible, men were not. Remember that, she’d urged her, remember that.
She remembered more, her brothers and her father talking about it at the dinner table. It was a good thing, they agreed, it was good that they were kept from the military. They’d agreed: they couldn’t be trusted. Certainly not in the line of duty, not as a man at your back, not when they needed to be counted on. They just simply could not be trusted.
Fox Mulder was the only man she trusted. Homosexual or not, she’d have no one else at her back. She’d told him that, she’d held him and she’d told him that; she hoped he’d believed her.
“There’s no shame in love, Mulder,” she’d whispered, cradling him in her arms, nose buried in his hair. Her partner, her friend, her child.
“They were right, they were right,” he’d sobbed, clinging to her. Desperate, battered by circumstance. His parents. Wealthy and poised, they turned their noses up at anything that seemed problematic.
“He looked at me,” Mulder recalled, wiping his nose, holding it together as best he could, “He looked at me and he just said… he just said, we weren’t that kind of family. My mother agreed.”
Dana Scully had never felt so angry, she’d never felt the bitter, un-quenchable disgust until she’d heard Mulder’s recollection. She could see him in her mind’s eye: Mulder, lanky and awkward, at sixteen, just trying to understand himself, trying to understand the wave of aggressive feeling that swept over all teenagers. Hoping, praying, he could look to his parents for help. Only to have them turn in disappointment. Bastards. The both of them.
It wasn’t just men who broke Mulder’s heart. It was man. One man.
“Forgive me,” he’d asked her, begged her, “Forgive me, Scully. I didn’t know. He… he tricked me. I thought… oh, Jesus,” he buried his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes against the tears, trying to block out the pain.
“I’m so ashamed, Scully, I’m so sorry. I thought he loved me. I thought… I thought he loved him and I, I, I…”
Alex Krycek.
The year they’d been partners, the year of illusion and trickery.
“It wasn’t sex, Scully, we… the sex it was secondary. He just… he made it all seem so natural. I didn’t have the X-Files but I had you. And, and,” he seemed to hesitate to add but honest longed to be free, “I had him. And now he’s laughing at me, Scully. They all are. I fell for it. I fell for it and they’re laughing.”
One droplet, then another and they began to fall. She stroked his hands. Scully didn’t know what hurt him more; the hollow love or the admission he’d felt anything at all. The shame he felt facing her.
“And he hurt you,” Mulder choked out, an angry grit through all the sorrow, “And he hurt you and I’ll never forgive him. I hate him, Scully, I hate him.”
“And he hurt you,” she came closer, to pull him to her. She felt him crumble in her arms, sinking into her embrace, “And I’ll never forgive him for that, Mulder. You don’t need to ask for my forgiveness, there’s nothing to forgive.”
Scully pressed a soft kiss to his temple and his grip on her tightened. She held him on his couch, resting him against the cushions. Soothing the pain, or trying. She didn’t know if she could ever really sooth him, not like she wanted–there would always be pain in Mulder but she just wanted to ease it.
“I love you,” he whispered against her, eyes closed. He did, she knew he did.
It wasn’t just sex that made love, it was so much more. And she’d never deny it existed between them.
“And I love you,” Scully replied, stroking his hair. She stayed there until he fell asleep and then she tucked him in, wrapping him in his second-hand indian blanket.
Fox Mulder. Her partner, her friend and her child. The mother he’d needed, the friend he’d deserved, she kissed at the hairline and left him, locking up after her as she left.
Scully finally started her car, letting out a breath. Mulder had told her of Krycek’s involvement in her abduction, and she’d soured on him understandably but she knew there forces bigger than him, men who held more blame then Krycek could ever hope to accumulate.
Now? Now she hated him with her whole body. When she saw Alex Krycek again, if she saw him again, she’d kill him. For Mulder, she’d kill him. Because that was love.
