Christmas Carol Redux
by Satina
Date: Christmas Day, 2003
Pairing: M/K
Rating: R for Sexual Content
Archive: If it's posted to your list, consider it yours. If not, just ask.
Feedback: Pretty, pretty please. Send it here.
Series/Sequel: There's more coming, but this stands on its own.
Spoilers: This takes place just after Apocrypha and includes all Krycek episodes leading up to it. It also helps if you've read, "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens.
My website: http://themkshrine.angelfire.com
Disclaimers: I think CC deserves coal in his stocking. But they're his, not mine.
Summary: It's Christmas Eve. Mulder has a revealing experience.
Notes: This is dedicated to my wonderful family at MSKipperVille.
"Merry Christmas, Mulder," Scully said, smiling and putting her arms around his lower chest in a gentle hug.
He awkwardly put his arms around her small frame and gave her a squeeze.
"I guess I'll see you in a couple of weeks," she said brightly, stepping away and smiling up at him.
"Have a great holiday vacation, Scully," Mulder replied. "You deserve it."
"Thank you, Mulder," she said. "You have some fun, too, okay?" she added, her lips firming into that concerned maternal smile that always made him feel a little sick and shamed, somehow.
"Hey, I'm a fun guy," said Mulder, trying to muster up some enthusiasm for the game. "And with my new present," he said, holding up the boxed set of 'Alien' movies, "how could I have anything *but* fun?"
"I'm glad you like it," said Scully, her smile softening back into its non-pitying, non-threatening gentleness. "Thank you for the Mel Gibson montage," she added, the smile quirking into a grin.
"Nothing says Christmas cheer like Mel Gibson's ass," said Mulder, happy that Scully liked her gift, too.
"You should work for Hallmark, Mulder," said Scully, arching her brows and grabbing up her coat.
"Nah, couldn't handle the psychological manipulation and mind-control," said Mulder, stepping back to let her grab her briefcase and laptop off the drafting table that served as her workspace.
She gave him another smile that fairly gleamed in its apparent eagerness to get on with her holiday, then settled the strap of her bag on her shoulder and stepped past him and out the door.
Mulder's smile faded, and he turned back to his office, surveying the now empty room. Two weeks without Scully. Nine days without work.
Mulder hated Christmas.
He sighed and went to his desk, tugging his suitjacket from the back of his chair and slipping into it, then grabbing his long coat from its stand and donning that as well. He grabbed up a huge sack of files that he hoped would keep him occupied over the holiday break, and flipped off the lights, closing the door gently. He walked down to the elevator and got on, shifting the files and nearly dropping them as he reached for the button. He pushed Level One, but the elevator skipped it and went to the top floor of the Hoover before opening, and a laughing, chattering bunch of people got on, crowding Mulder to the back of the elevator, bumping and nearly tumbling his precarious stack of files.
"Is that your bag of gifts for all the good little green girls and boys?" a man Mulder vaguely recognized asked him, nudging his arm. Mulder smiled and said nothing, trying not to grind his teeth. The man's tone wasn't cruel, but if Mulder heard one more reference to 'little green men' he wasn't going be held responsible for his actions.
"Hey, just kidding," the other agent said, still trying to be friendly. "The boss has actually got you taking home work over the holidays?" he asked, looking mildly disapproving.
"Yeah," said Mulder, trying to smile some more, then quickly looking away so as to discourage any further discourse on the subject. He saw the other man nod out of the corner of his eye and then step over to make conversation with another person. Mulder sighed softly with relief and tried to turn invisible.
The other people didn't speak to him, but several shot him quick glances as they all breathlessly discussed and compared holiday plans and early presents. Two of the women were carrying large, fragrant bouquets and everyone but Mulder ended up taking a whiff of them.
Each floor all the way down, the car picked up a few more passengers, and each addition seemed to heighten the energy of the crowd, until when the packed elevator finally made its stop at the first floor, everyone was smiling and wishing each other Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Happy Kwaanza, and various generic Happy Holidays. Mulder gritted his teeth and stoically refused to join in, even when one of the cuter agents from Check Fraud actually turned and put her small hand on his shoulder, giving him a blinding smile meant just for him and telling him she hoped he had a great holiday. He smiled and nodded and said, "You too," wishing she'd take her hand off him. She did, and he quickly broke away from the sweet smelling crowd and strode to his car.
He huffed loudly as he dumped the files into the passenger seat of the car, wondering how the hell people could get so excited about a holiday that was obviously just a huge commercial mindfuck designed to bolster the failing consumer economy. Didn't people realize it was all just a huge manipulation, a construct designed to make people feel guilty if they didn't max out every card in their wallet buying crap for other people who were frantically doing the same?
Mulder turned on the radio, heard two bars of "Grandma Got Ran Over By a Reindeer," sneered, and switched it off in disgust. The traffic was hell, and he had time at the freeway onramp to dig through his pile of CD's and choose a good one, and soon the melancholy, beautiful sounds of Cold Play filled the car, relaxing him. The entire CD had time to run its course before he actually got back off the freeway, and he got into another line at the Burger King.
Thirty minutes later, he was shoving his Whopper into his mouth, licking dripping sauce from his fingers and slipping a little on the icy roads as he attempted to keep it from dribbling onto his tie. He cursed as his bag of files slid off the seat and dumped half its contents onto the floor. By the time he pulled into his parking spot, he already felt nauseous and bloated, and his coat had a new stain that remarkably resembled an angel. Or a vampire bat, he thought, reaching into the footwell to put the spilled files back into their bag.
He rolled his eyes at the array of green and red lights that the superintendent had strung along the stairs leading up to his building, and lost his footing a little on a patch of ice. As he reached the door, one of his neighbors, a fifty-something woman with salt-and-pepper hair, was headed out. She smiled and held the door open for him. He made it a point to know the names of all his neighbors, so he knew her name was Amanda Dreifus. She smelled vaguely of catbox and hairspray. He mustered up a smile and nodded to her.
"Aren't the lights Mr. Camden put up pretty?" she said as Mulder stepped past her, slipping again as his dress shoes hit wet linoleum.
"Almost as pretty as the blood and brains will be when someone finally falls down those damned steps to their death because he didn't salt them," replied Mulder, barely catching himself before falling on his ass. He didn't look back to see Mrs. Dreifus's reaction, just continuing on to the elevator, careful to avoid the wet patches. He stepped on and hit the fourth floor button, letting out a long, relieved sigh, almost home.
Then the elevator jerked to a stop between floors, the lights flickering.
"Fuck," he said passionlessly under his breath. On top of everything else, his bladder decided this would be a dandy time to start screaming at him about the extra-large Coke he'd consumed with his Whopper. He let out another sigh, this one not so relieved, and set his bag down on the floor. He walked over to the the panel and punched the emergency alarm. It did nothing. "Shit," he said with rising emotion, making a fist and pounding the red button again.
"Don't worry, Fox, nothing's actually wrong with the elevator."
Mulder's mouth dropped open, his eyes going wide as he spun around to seek out the source of that voice.
"Duh-Dad?" he gasped, swallowing. He took a small step backward.
"I'm not here to harm you."
"Whuh-what *are* you here for, then?" asked Mulder, a bit breathless. He let his eyes roam over the diaphonous figure in front of him, several different reactions all tripping and falling over one another as he struggled to make sense of what was happening. Excitement over seeing his father again. Fear over confronting what appeared to be a ghost. Intrigue over being involved in something paranormal.
"I'm here to make amends, son," said the specter sadly. "I've wronged you so badly, and I can't stand to watch you suffer any longer."
"Are you...going to tell me about the Conspiracy?" said Mulder, breathless excitement being added to the roster of emotions.
"Fox," said William Mulder's spirit, tilting his head. "There are more important secrets to be learned here than that."
Mulder let out a sigh. Now his excitement dampened down into a fifth, much more familiar emotion. Frustrated resignation. He smiled humorlessly and shook his head. "Sure there are. Okay, so go ahead. What are you here to tell me?"
"You're wasting your life, Fox."
"What?" Mulder said, frowning. "Oh great. Just what I need. Next thing you're gonna start calling me Spooky," he mumbled. "You of all people should understand, Dad," he said, his voice rising with incredulity. "You know what's going on! More than I do, even! How can you say I'm wasting my life, trying to stop the alien invasion?"
"I of all people *do* understand, Fox, and that's why I'm here. I wasted my life, too. I wasted it trying to prevent something that was not mine to prevent...or even to worry about. I threw my life away trying to stay in control of something uncontrollable, forgetting that the only thing I really had control over was my own life. My own happiness."
Mulder frowned.
William Mulder sighed. "I'm very proud of you, Fox. Don't misunderstand me. You've become more of a man than I ever was, and I couldn't be more impressed with the way you've turned out."
Mulder's mouth actually dropped open, then he closed it slowly, brow lowering into a frown. "Wait. How do I know you're really my father?" he said, paranoia washing away the fear and replacing it with a shrewd calculation.
William Mulder nodded, gaze dropping to the floor between him and his son. Then he looked up, and the sadness in his eyes made Mulder's breath catch in his throat. "That scar on your head," he said, lifting a pale, transparent hand and indicating Mulder's right temple. "It's from a burn you sustained when I threw a kettle of hot water across the kitchen at you when you were seven years old. Your mother was furious when she saw it, because it was two days before school pictures were taken. You lied and told her you had fallen off your bicycle. I never told her otherwise. The scab is obvious in the photograph."
Mulder gasped. He'd never told anyone about that. Only he and his father knew what had really happened that scary day in the kitchen. He swallowed and breathed out slowly. Then he raised his eyes again, his lips parting as he realized that this meant that his father was indeed proud of him.
"I'm sorry, Fox. I was such a coward. My whole life. That was the first time I made you bear the responsibility for my mistakes, but sadly, it was not the last. You are not to blame for your sister's disappearance, Fox. You never were. It was all my fault, and I let everyone place the burden on you. I'll be paying for that for a long, long time, son. Karma does exist, never doubt it." Mulder's father's eyes didn't hold bitterness, though, just a sad resignation to his fate, and a sorrow deeper than words.
"Dad," said Mulder, his voice breaking. "Where is she?"
William Mulder's eyes focused in on Mulder's tightly. "Look into the phenomena of walk-ins," he said. "And know that your sister is safe. Tonight is not the night to learn the details, son, but they will be revealed to you in time."
Mulder's heart began to pound at being given not only a piece of the answer, but a place to go to work on finding the rest. "Is that what you came to tell me?" he asked, eager to get to his apartment and start looking up everything he could find on walk-ins.
"No," said the spirit, surprising Mulder into a frown. "I don't want you to step away from your pursuit of the truth, son, but I also can't stand to see you give up your whole life for it. There are other things just as important, Fox, and you need to stop ignoring those things."
"What things?" said Mulder, truly at a loss.
"Love," said his father softly.
"Whuh..." Mulder breathed.
"Men are not meant to go through life without the love of their fellow men...and women," added Mulder's father, the trace of a smile looking unfamiliar on him.
"Scully?" asked Mulder on another breath, swallowing.
"She does love you," said William Mulder's spirit, nodding gently. Then he smiled again. "My time with you is up, Fox. But the night has only just begun. Please, pay close attention to what you're given. Don't let these lessons become the kind of lost opportunity that my time on this Earth was made up of. Merry Christmas, Fox. I love you." And the figure of his father vanished, leaving Mulder staring at the old, stained paneling behind the spot he had been occupying.
He jumped, gasping, as the elevator started up again, and was just calming his breathing and heartrate down to normal when the doors opened, letting him out at his floor. He bent down to pick up his bag of files, feeling the excitement thrumming through his limbs at the prospect of tracking down the mystery of his sister.
Walk-ins. Walk-ins. What did he know about walk-ins...? Mulder dropped the bag of files on his couch and quickly got out of his coat and suit jacket, kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning his sleeves as he headed for his computer. He turned it on and began the boot-up process, making a quick trip to the bathroom and then making himself a glass of Alka-Seltzer, the cheeseburger still sitting in the pit of his gut like a bowling ball.
He sat down at the computer and typed 'walk-ins' into a search engine, gulping down fizzy, salty liquid as the results came up on the screen. Mostly closet-design sites, but a few of the others looked very promising. He set the glass down and went to click on one of the most interesting choices.
The screen went black. As did the rest of his apartment. Not even the refrigerator or aquarium bubbler made a sound. The power was out.
"Shit!" Mulder hissed, glancing out the window to gauge the extent of the blackout. The lights in the surrounding buildings and on the streets seemed fine, however. "Just our building, then," Mulder mumbled to himself. "Probably that stupid Mr. Camden's fault." He was going to get up and search out his emergency candles, then decided to sit and wait a moment and see if the lights came back on.
When the computer screen flickered back to life, he started to release a sigh of relief, but it caught in his throat as he realized the room was still dark. The fridge was still silent. The fish still without their merry bubbles. Just the computer screen was lit, and Mulder's mouth fell open as the images on it began to register.
It was some sort of streaming media file. A movie. Of a couple, kissing. They were in a dim hallway, the man against the wall, the woman kissing him furiously, almost climbing him. His hands moved up and down her body, grabbing her long red-brown hair and releasing it, clutching at the fabric of her trenchcoat, but the woman seemed to be the aggressor. She had a hold of the man's head on both sides, holding him in place for her assault. She broke away to take a breath, and the man's flustered, breathless, dazed face came into view.
"Huh?" Mulder cried out. He stared at the young man's tousled, too-long brown hair, his half-closed, dark hazel eyes, his kiss-plumped too-fat lower lip. "What the fuck?" His head swiveled around, checking the apartment as if he'd be able to see the person who'd obviously filmed him at Oxford eight years ago and was now putting his life on the Internet. Of course, the apartment was dark and silent and empty. Except for Mulder. He raised a hand to his mouth and continued watching, wondering what the hell the blackmailer would ask of him.
"So you'll come then?" the woman asked a young, flustered Fox Mulder, dragging one long-nailed finger down the side of his face, leaving a faint red welt. Phoebe never did anything half-way.
"Okay," young Fox gasped, licking his lips.
Phoebe smiled and leaned up for another kiss, biting down hard on his lower lip, leaving it just slightly bloody as she pulled away, trailing a hand down his body, over his obvious erection.
Mulder shifted in his desk chair.
"See you at eight," she said, giving him a hard squeeze.
Young Mulder grunted, leaning forward slightly, and Older and Wiser Mulder grunted in sympathy, his own cock swelling just slightly at the memory of her rough touch.
The scene changed to show a party, with all kinds of young, beautiful, aristocratic students dancing and drinking and kissing and petting. Mulder squirmed as he caught sight of himself sitting in the corner of a sofa, watching Phoebe dance between three people. She slid her front up against a young man who grabbed her ass, then she ducked out from under his arms and backed into another young man, rubbing her ass against his front. As his arms came up around her, sliding over her breasts, the third person, a woman, stepped in and Phoebe grabbed her by the hair, yanking her in for a hard, possessive kiss as the man behind her ground into her backside.
The Mulder on the sofa swallowed and blinked, looking away and then back again, and the Mulder on the desk chair shifted, sighing. Then he watched as the second man came up behind the woman being kissed by Phoebe, pressing himself along her back. The group writhed and moved against each other for a little while longer, then Phoebe gave the woman a violent shove away from her, but grabbed her hand and the one of the man feeling her up from behind, and began to drag them off the dancefloor and toward the stairs. The second man followed the woman, and all four of them went upstairs together, groping and laughing.
The Mulder on the sofa watched all of this with dark, glazed eyes, then looked down into his lap, sighing. The camera zoomed in and froze on his desolate, lonely face. The Mulder on the desk chair flushed hotly, grinding his teeth as he witnessed his humiliation. When the Instant Message box popped up in the middle of the screen, he actually jumped back a little.
GCPast: Having fun yet, Mulder? Is that your idea of a good time?
Mulder scowled at the box. Who the hell was GCPast? And how did they rig his power to go off and still keep his computer on? And why the hell had they decided eight years ago to videotape one of his more humiliating Christmases?
MFLuder: What do you want?
GCPast: I'm here to show you what a mess you've made of your life, so that maybe you won't continue to make the same mistakes.
Mulder frowned at the monitor. Was this asshole actually trying to get him to believe this was for his own good?!
MFLuder: Thanks, but no thanks. I lived through it once. I don't need to see it again.
GCPast: But you didn't learn from it what you were meant to learn, Fox.
MFLuder: What's it to you?
GCPast: It's my job to make sure that your future doesn't mirror your past.
MFLuder: Why don't you just leave me the fuck alone?
GCPast: Do you like being alone, Fox? Is that what you really want?
The Instant Messenger box disappeared for a moment, leaving him with the close-up image of his younger self, eyes downcast. Then it came back, mercifully covering the embarassing image.
MFLuder: What the hell do you want from me?
GCPast: I want you to choose happiness over loneliness and rejection, Fox.
MFLuder: Oh, so now it's my fault that Phoebe's a manipulative slut?
GCPast: No, it's your fault you let her manipulate and use *you*. Over and over. Shall we look at some more?
MFLuder: No! Like I said, I lived through it once, I don't need to see it again to remember what a bitch she was. Why don't you just tell me what you want and we can end this ridiculous bullshit?
GCPast: You have a pattern, Fox, of trying to love people who will never love you back. People who you know are going to end up hurting you. And you ignore and mistreat the people who actually love you.
Mulder's stomach roiled with guilt as Scully's face came to mind. Everything that she'd been through because of him. Her life was a lonely mess because she'd become a part of his.
GCPast: Your father blames himself, and it's true that the responsibility is, in great measure, his to bear. You felt you could never be good enough to earn his love. But you always had it, Fox. It was he who did not know how to show it.
Mulder gaped at the screen. This was getting more and more disturbing every moment.
GCPast: You know something about that, though, don't you, Fox? Not being able to show someone how you feel?
Mulder swallowed, staring at the IM box and frowning.
GCPast: You're not the only one. Watch.
And the IM box dissolved, along with the image of younger Mulder, as another one took its place.
Mulder frowned more deeply as he watched the familiar halls of Quantico take shape before him on the screen, but he didn't recognize the people it showed. A young man and a young woman, both well-dressed and attractive, leaving a classroom.
"I wonder what happened to him to make him lose it like that," said the girl, a cute little Asian-American girl with a tight, slim figure smoothed into perfect wool slacks and a super-soft-looking sweater.
"I hear he was a freak before he ever got into the Bureau," said the young man, tall, brown haired, dressed in a turtleneck and chinos. "Some people think he even killed his own sister."
Mulder slumped in his chair, sighing, the old pain of those accusations and rumors making him nauseous.
"So do you think he made up the story about aliens?" Kim asked, frowning. "Or do you think it was more of a psychotic break, his ego trying to protect itself from the knowledge of what he'd done?"
"Well, if he made it up, he's sure working hard to maintain the fantasy, throwing away his whole career on the premise of chasing men from outer space. I think he actually believes in it. I just don't see why the Bureau would let him pursue his delusions on company time."
"Maybe because they know a hell of a lot more about it than you do," said another voice, as a third person joined their party.
Mulder gaped at the screen again, actually shaking his head slowly as he took in the third figure's dark brown hair, plain beige dress shirt, black trousers and defiantly lifted chin. God, he looked so young! He didn't even look old enough to be at the Academy, with that lock of almost-black hair falling nearly into his way-too-pretty eyes.
"What do you know about it?" scowled the young man as they all three stopped in the middle of the hall.
"I know he had the highest solve rate of any single agent in the VCU," young Alex Krycek said, eyes narrowing.
"Yeah, before he decided to flush his career down the toilet and chase aliens and werewolves," said Kim, a sneer twisting her pretty pink lips.
Young Krycek turned on her, eyes flashing. "Do you even know what the hell you're talking about? Have you even read up on the X-files?"
"I don't waste my time on ghost stories," replied the young woman, a defiant lift to her own delicate chin, though she easily stood a head shorter than Krycek.
"Maybe you should shut the hell up about things you know nothing about, then," said Krycek, his jaw tightening.
"Hey, back off," said the young man, stepping in front of the girl, whose mouth was open in angry shock.
Mulder just stared, his own mouth still hanging partly open.
"What, are you one those Spooky-philes, or something? Do you have his graduation picture tacked up above your bed?" The young man's chest puffed out, a smug grin indicating he was very happy to have found this weakness in his opponent's argument. "I hear he might have been a little light in the loafers, as well as being a psycho, so who knows? You might even have a chance with him."
The sound of Krycek's books hitting the floor drowned out the soft smack of his fist impacting the other man's jaw, and the young man staggered back, blood streaming from his mouth, then recovered himself in a half-second and charged Krycek, slamming him into the opposite wall and sinking a punch into his gut. Krycek grunted out his breath and fell forward, then raised up and brought his left fist up under the young man's chin in a sharp uppercut, then fell on him as the man tumbled back onto the floor, landing punch after punch in a flurry of moves so fast that it almost appeared that the injuries were creating themselves.
Kim leapt forward, tossing her own bookbag to the side as she wrapped her left arm around Krycek's throat from behind, doubling him over with a swift right blow to the kidneys. She quickly followed up with another and another, as Krycek rolled onto the floor next to the man he'd downed. He threw the young woman off him finally and turned, ready to punch her in the face, when three instructors swarmed in, each grabbing one of their scrapping students and yanking them away from one another.
"What the hell is going on, here?" yelled the one who had hold of Krycek, who was trying to shake off the man's grip, his hair now having fallen completely into his sweaty face, pretty mouth twisted in an enraged sneer.
"This lunatic attacked me!" spat the young man in the other instructor's hold. "I was only defending myself!"
"It's true!" Kim chimed in. "We were just talking and this guy jumped on Andrew and started beating him! I was just trying to pull him off him!"
"Let's get these three to the office and get the whole story," the teacher said to the other two instructors. "Do I need to get my cuffs, or will you go quietly?" he asked Krycek.
"I'm fine," scowled Krycek, tossing his head and trying to get the hair out of his eyes.
"Good. You know, this isn't the first time your temper has gotten you into trouble like this, Krycek," said the teacher, starting to lead him down the hall. "You might have just ended your career in the Bureau before it's ever begun. Is that what you want?"
Krycek said nothing, and the teacher shook him. "I said, is that what you want, Mr. Krycek?"
"No, sir," Krycek ground out, running his hand through his hair and finally getting it off his face.
"The Bureau has no room for agents who physically attack their fellow agents whenever they have a disagreement," the teacher went on. The camera followed them down the hall and around a corner, and Mulder had a vague thought that this was the strangest surveillance coverage he'd ever seen.
"I was provoked," Krycek said lowly, under his breath.
"Physical violence doesn't solve anything," said the teacher with a note of disgust in his voice. "You can't just beat people into agreeing with you. And with your record, Mr. Krycek," the teacher went on, speaking more quietly so that only his charge could hear him. "You really ought to be trying harder than this."
Krycek sighed and closed his eyes, then opened them and focused straight ahead, letting the teacher continue to lead him to the office. The image zoomed in and froze on Krycek's face, angry and defeated, eyes gleaming with a slight hint of moisture.
The IM box reappeared.
GCPast: Rather illuminating, don't you think, Fox?
Mulder stared at the screen, still unable to do anything else. He could still see Krycek's scared, angry eyes, the long lashes clumped together with telltale wetness. His face was red and sweaty, his hair a complete tangled mess, his mouth tightened defiantly. Mulder had seen him look that way before, but never with such a young, fresh-faced appearance rounding out the picture. He rubbed his hand over his mouth. Then he read the IM box again.
MFLuder: Why did you show me that? How did you get that footage?
GCPast: I already told you why I'm doing this. As for how I got the footage, let's just say I have access at a very high level.
Mulder stared at the screen. High level access, indeed. The footage was flawless, following the action as it happened, the camera moving with the people, picking up the sound perfectly. Mulder began to suspect this was more than just ordinary surveillance footage.
MFLuder: You said you were showing me my past so that I wouldn't make the same mistakes. What mistake did I make, there? Seems like that was Krycek's mistake, not mine.
Mulder felt a little pang of guilt at the fact that Krycek's mistake had involved sticking up for Mulder, but he tamped it down, trying to focus on finding out just what this GCPast wanted from him.
GCPast: Yes, it's true that he acted impulsively, and it's true that it was one of many, many mistakes he has made. But it's also true that intention is rather important when making judgements on someone's actions, don't you think?
Mulder's eyes narrowed. He decided to let that comment go unanswered.
MFLuder: You still haven't shown me how this is supposed to keep me from making *my* mistakes. Is this a lesson to me on not to hit first, ask questions later?
He regretted the question as soon as it was sent, but there was no taking it back.
GCPast: There are a lot of lessons here, Fox, and far be it from me to keep you from learning that particular one. But I do want to make sure you're getting the main point, here. Are you, Fox?
Mulder sighed, scowling slightly at the screen. He raised his fingers to the keyboard and began typing, slowly.
MFLuder: Your point is that when Krycek claimed that others had made fun of me, and that he had followed my work, that wasn't part of the lie. That he really did admire me back then, and that he even went to the mat in defense of me. That doesn't change what he did later, though.
Mulder hit the button to send the IM with more force than necessary.
GCPast: No, it doesn't change it, but remember, Fox, what I said about intention. And watch.
The box and image of young Krycek's face faded away and was replaced by a new one. Mulder sat up straighter in his seat, fully along for the ride now, anxious and dreading what he might see, yet eager to learn more about the one person in his life he could never seem to get a grip on. Maybe he would even learn what had happened to Krycek after they'd both been run off the road on the way back from the airport. Maybe he'd find out where the tape was. He watched closely as the new image formed.
"Are you going to return her?" came Krycek's voice, a little breathless, as usual, and quiet. His face came into focus, intent, serious, his eyes blinking and showing a hint of nervousness. The shot panned to the person he was addressing.
"I haven't decided, yet," the smoking man said, taking a drag and puffing it out pensively. "She could potentially continue to be as much of a liability as she proved to be when you made your initial report."
Krycek swallowed and a muscle in his jaw twitched. "I think it would be more prudent to give her back to him," he said. "She can be your trump card. In the event that you need to reign Mulder in on something really important, you can always use the implant. He'll do anything for her. We've seen evidence of that, now."
Mulder ground his teeth, scowling.
"I suppose that's true," said the smoker, pursing his lips. "But she could also prove to be more trouble than she's worth. With her at his side, Mulder is much more effective. Much more dangerous. No," he said, tamping out his cigarette butt. "I think termination is the wiser course of action."
"Mulder's reckless behavior is worse than ever since her abduction," Krycek said, his voice rising. "His obsessive search for the truth is consuming him now more than ever before." Krycek swallowed and shifted a little, lifting his chin in that defiant gesture Mulder remembered from the other 'video'. "It's my opinion that she gives him balance. I think that if she's not around, he's more likely to take careless risks and thus give us more trouble. Sir."
Mulder frowned.
The smoking man narrowed his eyes and studied Krycek for several long, uncomfortable moments. Krycek fidgeted slightly under the power of it, and Mulder shifted in unconscious sympathy as he waited for the old man to speak.
"Very well, Alex. I'll allow you to return her to him. We expect you to continue to monitor the situation between them as before and make regular reports." The smoking man looked at Krycek. "Is that all you wanted to see me about?"
"Yes, sir," replied Krycek, his shoulders relaxing just marginally. The camera was capturing him from the chest up, so the subtle change was probably only noticeable to Mulder. "Thank you, sir."
"You're dismissed," said the smoker, picking up the phone, and Krycek nodded and turned sharply on his heel, heading out of the well-appointed office. The camera zoomed in on his face, and though it was incredibly subtle, Mulder could have sworn there was almost a smile playing around Krycek's lips. The image froze.
GCPast: What do you think about intention, Fox?
Mulder blinked at the screen. He let out a long sigh.
MFLuder: I'm not sure what his intention was.
GCPast: Yes, it's hard to say, isn't it? Shall we speculate? What are the options?
Mulder sighed again, frowning. He didn't really want to play this game. The IM box stayed unchanged for several minutes, until finally, frustrated by the 'silence', Mulder began typing.
MFLuder: He thought I'd be easier to control if they gave her back.
GCPast: That's what he said, yes. And I wonder why that would be as important to him as it might be to the one you call the smoking man.
Mulder chewed the inside of his lip, wondering the same thing.
MFLuder: He didn't want me messing things up for them. For him, maybe.
GCPast: Yes, he did say something about not wanting you taking unnecessary risks, the way you had been.
Mulder's eyes narrowed. He wasn't stupid. He could see what this...IM box...was implying.
MFLuder: You're trying to convince me that he wanted them to return Scully to me to keep me safe? Make me happy? That he cared about me enough to ask for that from the smoking man?
Surprisingly, the IM box stayed silent on that subject.
MFLuder: Just because he once admired me doesn't mean he'd care enough about me to go to his boss like that, making a request that might even reveal some hidden vulnerability of his, some weakness for them to exploit.
To go to the mat for me again, he thought but didn't type.
GCPast: No, it doesn't necessarily mean that, I suppose. He might have had some other intention entirely.
The IM box began to dissolve before Mulder could do so much as type his agreement with that fact, and the image behind it was replaced with another, very similar image of Krycek back in the smoker's office.
"I have an assignment for you, Alex."
The 'camera' panned over to Alex, his hair longer, looking very young in a dark green polo shirt and black jeans. He just nodded and reached forward to take the manilla envelope from his employer's outstretched hand. He opened it and shook out the photograph, and though Mulder couldn't see the photo itself, the look of shock on Krycek's face, his lips parted with it, took up the whole screen as he looked up at the smoker, frowning.
"It's necessary, Alex. We've been as lenient with him as we can be. He's becoming too much of risk to us. We can no longer tolerate his indiscretions and convenient morality."
"But...Mulder..." Alex nearly whispered.
Mulder's heart pounded. Was Krycek being assigned to assassinate him?
"Yes, Mulder will take it very hard, no doubt, but if we allow him to find out what Bill Mulder so very much wants to tell him, *he* will be the one you'll be assigned to kill next." The smoker's mouth pulled into a knowing smile. "And we don't want that, do we, Alex?"
Krycek's swallow was audible, then he shook his head slowly and slipped the photo back into its manilla sheath. His voice came out gravelly and torn as his eyes focused on something on the floor. "When?"
"Tonight. Mulder's already on his way over there. It should take him another hour and a half to reach the house. You should have plenty of time to get there in time to prevent something terrible from happening." The smoker lit a cigarette and looked away from Alex, obviously finished with the conversation.
"Yes, sir," was Alex's hushed reply. "I'll leave now if there's nothing else."
"Go," said the old man with a dismissive gesture, and Krycek turned and walked out of the office. The camera zoomed in on his resigned face, and Mulder thought he could see it actually aging right in front him. When the image was of Krycek's tired, sad eyes and nothing else, it froze.
The IM box came up, and before it had a chance to say anything, Mulder typed.
MFLuder: So you're saying it was him or me. My dad, I mean. That Krycek had to kill him to save me.
GCPast: I'm not saying anything, Fox, just showing you the things you didn't see before. The things you didn't know were happening all around you.
Mulder scowled.
MFLuder: You make it sound like I'm just oblivious, that I have no idea what's really going on.
The IM box said nothing.
Mulder clenched his jaw and typed, punching the keys.
MFLuder: What the hell am I supposed to do with all of this?
GCPast: I told you why I'm here. The rest is up to you.
MFLuder: Am I just supposed to find Krycek and say, "Hey, sorry I hit you all the time, I didn't know you liked me?" He's still a killer, and he still lied to me. And we don't have any proof that he cares about me, anyway.
GCPast: It's not like you to ignore evidence, Fox, but as I said, it's up to you.
The IM box dissolved away and with it, Krycek's haunted, dark, storm-shaken eyes. Mulder sighed and waited to see what would come up next.
The scene came into view, and Mulder immediately recognized Scully and her mother, taking food off of cookie sheets and arranging it on plates. But wait, Scully was wearing the little gold angel pin her mother had gotten her for Christmas just this year. She had sent it to Scully attached to a card that came with a pot full of poinsettias. Scully had been wearing it for the two days since then with every outfit.
Which meant he was looking at...the present time. Mulder briefly considered calling Scully and warning her that her mother's house was under surveillance, then finally gave in to the fact that this was not being done with hidden cameras and mics. He was having a bonafide paranormal Christmas experience. He settled in to watch.
"I'm sorry that Fox couldn't come, sweetheart," said Maggie, placing pieces of fudge in a semicircle on a gleaming silver plate.
"Me too, mom," said Scully, licking her fingers and picking up her own tray. "It's nothing personal, though. He just doesn't go in for all this Christmas stuff."
"He's Jewish, isn't he?" Maggie asked, taking little, round white cookies off another sheet and making a little pile of them.
"Well, his father's side was Jewish, yes," replied Scully. "But I think it's just that he's not the sentimental type." She smiled and Maggie returned it somewhat sadly, and Scully turned and carried her tray through the kitchen archway and into the living room.
The room was full of people, among them Scully's brother, Bill, and her other brother Charles, as well as their two wives and assorted children of unidentifiable ages. At least to Mulder, who had very little contact with kids outside of his criminal investigations. Scully set her tray of goodies on the coffee table and Maggie came in moments later and added hers. Soon, family members were swarming around the food, complimenting them both.
"Fox is a wonderful man," said Maggie, smiling proudly as her family loaded up on sugar and fat. "Have you two ever discussed taking your partnership to another level?"
Mulder and Scully both rolled their eyes in unison, and the symmetry made Mulder smile.
"Mom, I've told you, we're best friends and that's all. I love him," she said, and Mulder felt his face flush. He'd known it, of course, but they'd never even come close to telling one another. It was a bit shocking to hear her just say it out loud like that. Pleasantly shocking. "But I'm not 'in love' with him. Besides," she said, smiling. "I don't think I could handle more of Mulder than I've already got, working with him every day."
"I agree. There's enough damned Fox Mulder in our family to last a lifetime," said Bill, talking through a white-powdered mouthful of Russian teacake. "Isn't it enough that he's taken Missy away? Do you want him to have Dana, too?" he asked his mother, frowning.
Mulder swallowed and felt sick.
Dana turned around, eyes flashing. "Mulder didn't kill Missy, Bill. A man named Luis Cardinale did."
"But it's his fault she was killed," argued Bill, stepping up to square off with his sister, who stood a foot and a half shorter than him but looked taller than that as she stood in her righteous anger and her three-inch pumps.
"If you want to blame somebody, blame me," said Scully firmly. "I'm the one who chose to work for the FBI. I'm the one who chose to work on the X-files. I'm the one who brought our family into this, not Mulder."
"He's going to get you killed, Dana!" said Bill, glaring down at her.
"Dammit, Bill, I make my own decisions, you know! It's not as though Mulder forces me to do this! I love my job! Do you understand that?" Scully was shouting, now, the color high in her cheeks, her blue eyes throwing sparks. "I can't imagine doing anything else with my life! I look forward to going to work every day, and I feel like I'm making a difference for people with the work I do! Now, like I said, if you want to blame me for bringing our family into this, then go ahead, but Goddamnit, leave Mulder out of it!"
Mulder stared at the screen, stunned by his partner's vehemence. He'd had no idea that she felt that strongly about the work. Or about his lack of culpability in her sister's murder. He'd always assumed that she, too, blamed him for Missy's death, but that she was too kind to say anything to him, knowing he hadn't hurt her on purpose. To see her stand there and take responsibility for her being in the FBI, for her family's involvement in something as dangerous and unpredictable as the X-files could sometimes be...it changed so many things.
The camera froze on Scully's flushed, angry face and the familiar little box appeared.
GCPresent: Merry Christmas, Fox!
Mulder stared at the name. It was different. As was the tone. He wasn't sure what to do.
GCPresent: Don't those chocolate crinkle cookies look scrumptious? Maybe she'd give you the recipe!
Mulder actually took his hands away from the keyboard as if scared.
GCPresent: She's a real jewel, your Scully. Feisty, too. I thought she might just clock that brother of her one!
Mulder blinked. GCPast , and now GCPresent . Past and Present. But what did GC stand for?
Then it hit him. And he felt so stupid for not seeing it before that he actually smacked his fist down on his thigh. Then he lifted his hands, which were trembling a little, and typed.
MFLuder: Is this for real?
GCPresent: Well, it ain't Memorex, Fox.
Mulder took a careful breath and let it out.
MFLuder: So I now have the pleasure of addressing the Ghost of Christmas Present? Does that make me Scrooge, then?
GCPresent: You're no Scrooge, Fox. Do you think he's the only one that ever got this treatment? The truth is, this method works. And if it ain't broke, why fix it? Of course, it has undergone some revisions over the many years...
Mulder stared at the words, stunned. He considered for a moment that maybe it was all an elaborate hoax, maybe put on by the Gunmen, who might have access to the kind of technology it would take...but how would they have gotten footage of him and Phoebe, of Krycek, for God's sake?
No, he had to face the extreme possibility that this was real. All of it. He swallowed and let out a deep exhalation.
MFLuder: So I'm supposed to go through all this and come out a changed man, someone who loves Christmas and his fellow man from now on?
GCPresent: What's the matter with that? Would you rather hate Christmas and your fellow man?
MFLuder: I don't hate my fellow man. And I've just never really had any reason to like Christmas. What's the big deal, anyway, how I feel about some Christian holiday? I'm part Jew, you know.
GCPresent: Yes, I know, Fox. I'm not here to make you a Christmas-freak or something. Christmas is just one name, one symbol, one holiday, one representation of something far, far simpler. It's not about trees and presents and Santa Clause, Fox. It doesn't even have to be about Jesus Christ, specifically.
Mulder waited a moment for the IM to continue, and when it didn't, he impatiently typed,
MFLuder: What, then?
GCPresent: An excuse to open your heart. To say the things you don't normally say. To do the loving things you don't normally allow yourself to do. To show all those feelings you're normally too afraid to show. To take a chance on loving others, and to open yourself to receiving their love in return.
Mulder read and re-read the words. He thought about Scully standing up to her brother on his behalf, making it clear that her work on the X-files was her choice, and not one she regretted, regardless of the risks. Then he thought about Krycek standing up for him, too, a young, impulsive, somewhat hot-tempered Quantico student who would later lobby for the return of his partner and choose Mulder's father's death over the possibility of Mulder's own.
GCPresent: Ah...now you're getting it. But I'm not finished yet.
MFLuder: Of course not. I still need to see my death, after all, and repent my evil ways.
GCPresent: Not my area, Fox, and no one has ever said you were evil. Now just sit back and grab yourself a cup of egg nog.
The IM box dissolved, and Scully's face was replaced by that of...Mrs. Dreifus? Mulder frowned and studied the image more closely. Sure enough, it was his neighbor, Mrs. Dreifus, sitting in an unfamiliar living room, talking to unfamiliar people. About a familiar subject.
"He's such a good-looking young man," she said, shaking her head, a concerned frown on her face. "I'm going to take him a fruitcake when I get home. He seems so sad."
"Does he have a girlfriend?" asked one of the unfamiliar people, another woman about Mrs. Dreifus's age, a little thinner and with darker hair.
"No, not that I know of," said Mrs. Dreifus, shaking her head sadly. "The only person I ever see go in there is the little redhead, and they act more like business partners than sweethearts. No, I don't think she's the one."
The other lady shook her head. "That's a shame. No one to spend Christmas with, then? Family?"
Mrs. Dreifus shook her head again. "I don't think so. He didn't act like he had anything fun planned tonight," she said sadly. "He works for the FBI. A very stressful job, I imagine. He really needs someone to come home to at night. To help carry some of the burden."
The other woman nodded, and the camera stopped on Mrs. Dreifus's small, sad smile.
Mulder sat, stunned again. He'd had no idea his neighbors thought anything of him, other than to wish he lived in some other building. He felt very guilty for having been so rude to Mrs. Dreifus on the steps earlier that night. He vowed to invite her in to thank her when she showed up with that fruitcake. He wondered if he had any tea in the cupboard. Old ladies liked tea, didn't they?
GCPresent: She's a real sweetie, that one. Her boy was killed in Vietnam, and she tends to mother the young men around her.
MFLuder: I had no idea she even knew who I was.
GCPresent: What was that you said about not having any idea of what's really going on, Fox? ;-) Seems that the people around you have all kinds of feelings about you that you are completely unaware of.
Mulder thought about Krycek and chewed his lip. He hadn't seen Krycek's present, yet.
GCPresent: Yes, Fox. I do have one more thing to show you before my time with you is up. Pay very close attention to this one. I leave you now with my best wishes for your health and happiness. Merry Christmas, dear Fox.
Mulder frowned at the sobering tone of the previously joyous Ghost of Christmas Present, and watched the IM box dissolve and take sweet Mrs. Dreifus's face with it. The screen went black, and at first Mulder thought maybe there was some astral plane malfunction and the power in the screen had gone the way of the rest of his apartment.
Then he heard the sobbing.
"Please...someone help me...please...please..." The voice was raw, a jagged, torn whisper. Mulder's throat closed as he recognized it, even as he tried hard not to. Then he saw movement in the darkness, and he heard the sound of something soft impacting with something hard. Again. Again. "Please!" the voice rose, trying to cry past the hoarseness and failing. "God, please, somebody let me out!" The easily recognized voice was gone, just a soft, desperate whisper that never stopped, coupled with slow, persistent thuds of what must be fists hitting metal. "I'll be good," the voice whispered, and the darkness sharpened a little, showing Mulder the vague outline of a form huddled on the floor, fists thudding against a wall or door over and over, tirelessly. Then the figure seemed to fall in on itself further, shaking with whispered sobs. It knelt with its face to the floor, hands curled into fists, and cried, nearly silently, for a long time, then finally went quiet, lapsing into raspy, heavy breathing. Asleep, it seemed, at least for now.
Mulder's own fist came up to his mouth, and he blinked as he watched the screen. It was Krycek. In the silo.
He let out a slow, shaky exhale. He had known the man was there. Had been going to find him, or at least to find the ship in there with him. But the smoking man had found Mulder before he could get to him, had shoved him around and thrown him in the back of an army truck, hauling him and Scully away from the site.
And Mulder hadn't gone back.
That was a week ago.
The scene started to change, and Mulder watched, breath caught. The view moved from inside Krycek's dark prison to the outer hall, lit with sodium lamps along the ceiling. There were no more guards. No more bodies. The camera continued to pan, slowly going down hallway after hallway, all empty, until it got to the outer door, still sporting the damaged lock Mulder and Scully had pushed their way past a week ago. It was just as lonely and desolate outside of the silo. No guards, no trucks, no smoking man waiting to take him away.
There was no one there. No one there to get Krycek out, and no one there to stop anyone else who tried. As Mulder scanned the surrounding area carefully just to be sure, the screen slowly faded to black.
A small box slowly took shape in the center of the silent monitor.
GCFuture: Do you need more?
Mulder licked his lips and lowered his trembling fingers to the keys.
MFLuder: No.
He didn't think things were going to get better. Not unless they changed. Not unless he changed them.
He sent it, then added,
MFLuder: Thank you.
GCFuture: You're welcome, Fox. Merry Christmas.
Mulder smiled tremulously.
MFLuder: Merry Christmas.
Suddenly, his lights came on, his fridge began humming, and his fishtank bubbled back to life. His search results came up on his computer screen, taking the place of the IM box with their promises of information, information, and more information. His eyes scanned the links for a moment, then he reached out, switched off the computer, and picked up his cellphone.
"Yes, I need you to get me on a flight to Terma, North Dakota. ASAP. It's an emergency," he told the Bureau travel agent.
Seven hours later, he was hauling his black bag out of the rental car into the freezing cold 2 a.m. darkness of the Black Crow night. Just as his 'vision' or whatever it had been had shown him, there was no one around. No one and nothing. It was quite possibly the most desolate place he'd ever been. It was very hard to even believe that there was life, eight stories down inside the frozen ground, but Mulder had long ago given up on doubting his experience and was moving forward with complete faith that Krycek was here.
He stepped into the silo and got on the elevator, watching his breath suspend itself in the air all around him. He had his high-powered flashlight in one hand, gun in the other, just in case. His ears popped as he descended into the ground, and when the doors opened they were ringing with the thick, heavy silence. The only sound was his footsteps, jogging down the hallways, using his memory to recall the turns that would take him to the correct door. 1013. He rounded what felt like the thirtieth corner and shone the light down the hall. There it was. At the end of the hall. The door he'd caught a glimpse of a week ago in person and seven hours ago on his computer screen. He took a deep breath and began walking toward it, his footsteps echoing so loudly off the thick walls that he wondered why they didn't shake the very ground.
There was no sound. No thumping of Krycek's fists against the door. No pleading or sobbing or whispered cries for help. But he knew Krycek was down here. And he was relatively sure that he was still alive. After all, why would the spirits show him something that he had no power to change?
He stopped in front of the door, wondering how hard it would be to pick the lock. He set down the flashlight, beam-up, and reached for the handle on the door. He shook it, heart in his throat, but it was solidly locked. He thought maybe his rattling of the door would rouse Krycek, but he heard and saw nothing as he bent to retrieve his lock picks from his bag. Fortunately, although it had been used to house futuristic technology, the lock on the door had not been changed since it had been decommissioned, and after a few sweaty minutes of careful manipulation, he heard the soft, satisfying click of admittance and let out a deep, heavy sigh. He picked up the flashlight and stood.
The door opened inward, and Mulder had to shove hard to push it open. He stepped inside and was assailed with the reek of unwashed human, sweat, urine, and feces. He flashed the light around and could see nothing but the smooth, round walls and the cold, hard concrete floor. He frowned and panned more slowly, and as he turned in a complete circle, the light hit on something of a different color just a few feet to the right of him. Behind the door. Where Krycek would be if he'd collapsed at the foot of it as Mulder had watched him do in the vision.
Mulder swallowed and rushed over to what looked like a bundle of rags on the floor, dropping carefully to his knees and laying his pack down.
"Krycek," Mulder said quietly, hearing his voice echo off the walls of the silo eerily. God, was he even still breathing? Mulder put his hands out and laid them on the huddled figure, patting him down. He was still wearing the leather jacket Mulder had found him in in Hong Kong, and Mulder had to push it aside to put his fingers on Krycek's neck to feel for his pulse. It was there, but weak, and Krycek didn't respond when Mulder touched him.
"Krycek," Mulder said again, then felt bad for the impersonality. "Alex, it's me, Fox Mulder," he said, making his voice more gentle. The body beneath his hands was stiff, still curled into the tight, clenched fetal position, hands curled into fists. Mulder clenched his jaw and couldn't help but brush his hand through the filthy hair, matted with sweat and dirt and oil. He took hold of Alex's hunched shoulders and tried to pull him sideways, into his lap, to unfold his body and lay him down. For a moment, it seemed he was making no headway, then he gave another hard pull backward and the dirt-covered body slowly unfolded somewhat and rolled sideways into Mulder's lap.
Mulder looked down into Alex's face. His eyes were matted shut with old, filthy oil, which covered his face except for the tracks cut through it down both cheeks. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and his breath came from between them in low, rasping wheezes.
Mulder's throat closed. When he spoke again, his own voice was choked. "Alex, wake up, if you can. I'm gonna get you out of here. I'm here to get you *out*, Alex. I'm gonna get you out."
He stroked his hand over Alex's greasy matted head awkwardly, holding him with his other hand on his chest, taking comfort in the faint heartbeat he could feel through the filthy cotton of his shirt. He wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't strong enough to carry Alex out unconscious. At least he didn't think he was. Alex had to wake up. He had to.
Mulder bent in lower, his breath washing over Alex's face as he shook him.
"Alex, please, wake up! I'm going to get you out of here but you've gotta wake up and help me! Wake up, Alex, and let's get outta here!"
He stopped talking when he saw Alex's eyelids twitch, then he saw those poor, cracked lips start to move.
"...out..." Krycek whispered.
"Yes!" Mulder fairly shouted. "I'm going to get you out, Alex! I'm going to take you out of here! Can you hear me? It's Fox Mulder, Alex."
Mulder watched as Alex's Adam's apple bobbed, the throat swallowing painfully, obviously dry and torn.
"I have water, Alex," said Mulder, using the man's name as much as possible in an effort to reach him. "Can you sit up a little? I'll get it for you." He reached for the pack beside him and unzipped it, fishing out one of the bottles of Evian he'd brought with him.
"...water..." croaked Alex, and Mulder smiled and nodded, even though Alex's eyes were still shut and he couldn't see him.
"Yes, water, Alex. Do you want some water? Here, just sit up a little bit." Mulder moved around, trying to prop Alex's head up on his chest, holding him up from behind. He wanted to be able to see Alex's face, but there was nothing else to prop him against besides Mulder, so he'd have to settle for this. Alex lolled against Mulder's chest, and Mulder held onto him with his left hand while he used his teeth to open the bottle in his right. He put the bottle to Alex's lips and tipped it a little.
Alex choked and sputtered, then gasped and began swallowing frantically, but Mulder pulled the bottle away after only a few gulps.
"Easy, Alex, take it slow. You can have as much as you want, buddy, but we have to do this slow so you don't puke all over yourself. And me," he added, as Alex's hands came up to weakly grab at the bottle and bring it back to his lips. Mulder grimaced as he saw that they were bloody and raw, caked with oil and dirt. The nails were ragged and torn, fingertips all bloody messes. He brought the bottle back to Alex's lips and tipped some more water into his mouth, and this time, Alex's breathing was more regular and controlled as he methodically swallowed several times. Mulder reluctantly pulled it away again, despite Alex's attempts to keep it in place with both of his own hands. He was weak enough that he was no match for Mulder, though, and Mulder set the bottle aside.
"You can have more, Alex, you just need to wake up some more so I can take you out of here," he said, gently taking hold of Alex's grasping hands and trying to lower them.
"...who..." Krycek croaked, submitting to Mulder's hands with a gasp.
"It's me, Mulder," he said, bending in close to Alex's ear. "Fox Mulder. I'm going to take you out of here, Alex. You're going to be okay."
"...Muhlllrrr?" Alex's body tensed and he started to turn, using his arms for leverage as he pushed himself up. Mulder watched, frowning, as Alex slowly dragged himself around to face Mulder, prying his gummy eyes open. They were red and looked more than half-crazed in the low light, staring out of his blackened face. "Zzzzat you?"
Mulder smiled. "Yeah, it's me, Alex. It's Mulder. Hey, what do you say we blow this joint, huh?"
Alex blinked slowly and turned his head even more slowly, taking in the open door. His eyes widened and he gasped, struggling to get to his feet.
Mulder jumped up and grabbed for him, helping him get to a standing position. Alex began to stagger toward the door, but Mulder called out, "Wait," and let go just long enough to reach down and grab his bag and the bottle of water. "Here, you wanna carry this?" he said, offering the bottle to Alex, who was looking more and more capable of holding it.
"Gotta get outta here," Alex whispered. "Please..."
"Yes, Alex, we're going to get out of here now. Here, you take the water bottle in case you get thirsty." Mulder took hold of Alex's shoulder to help steady him and Alex began stumbling through the open doorway and into the hallway outside. He drove himself forward steadily, clutching the water bottle but ignoring it. Mulder directed him at the turns with pressure on his shoulder, and Alex let himself be led, until they were stepping onto the elevator and the doors were closing.
"Out...out...out..." Alex whispered under his breath, closing his eyes and opening them, his cracked lips trembling.
Mulder just nodded and sighed. "Yes, Alex. You're getting out."
Alex didn't look at him, just staring at the doors and whispering the same word over and over until they opened. When they did, he choked out a dry sob and staggered forward, half-falling against the door and pushing it open with his body. Mulder caught him before he fell down as it swung open.
"Out," Alex sobbed, and he fell to his knees and began to weep. "I'm out...I'm really out." He turned his face to the sky.
Mulder bent down next to him, feeling incredibly embarassed and awkward, but Alex just cried openly, his whole filthy, exhausted body shaking with it. Mulder figured it was probably something Alex had to do, and so he just crouched there, his hand on Alex's shoulder, waiting for him to be done.
Alex finally seemed to cry himself out, looking almost ready to just fall asleep right there on his knees on the freezing cold ground. Mulder put his arms around him from the side and pulled upward.
"Let's get to the car, Alex. Put the heater on. Maybe some tunes..." He grunted with the effort of pulling Alex to his knees, and Alex said nothing, but obediently stood and let Mulder lead him to the car. Mulder quickly unlocked the door and helped Alex get into the front seat, pushing it back as far as it could go and then using the lever on the side to recline it completely. "Take a load off," he told Alex, closing the door and going around to his own side. The smell inside the car was not one he was going to enjoy on their ride to the hotel, but he was grateful for it as proof that he had succeeded in his mission. He'd gotten Alex out of the silo.
He looked over at his passenger as he started the car and saw that Krycek was out cold, his cracked lips slightly parted on deep, raspy breaths. He didn't think he'd ever seen someone look so deeply, irrevocably asleep. It was different than he'd seen him in the silo, though. This was a relaxed, open, lolling posture, rather than the tight, miserable ball of exhaustion he'd found on the floor. "Do you always snore like this?" he asked quietly. There was, of course, no response except more snoring.
Mulder reached to turn on the radio, then decided not to. He realized that he preferred the comforting sound of Alex's breathing, however labored it might be. It was proof that Alex was alive. It was proof that Mulder wasn't too late.
An hour later, he pulled up in front of his hotel. He turned off the engine and turned to his passenger, who was still in the exact same position, making the exact same wheezing sounds as he slept.
"Alex," said Mulder loudly, trying not to startle him. "We're here."
He didn't have anything to worry about. Alex didn't even twitch.
Mulder reached over and shook him by the shoulder. "Alex, wake up!" he said more sternly, trying now to startle the man out of his deep, deep sleep. "We're at the hotel. Time to sleep in a bed."
Alex's head moved a little and he grunted.
"Wake up, Alex!" Mulder shouted, leaning in closer and giving him a good shove. "I can't carry your ass, you know!" He wasn't angry, he was just hoping his urgent tone of voice would help break through Alex's near-coma. He gave the man another shove, firming his lips, wondering if he would have to pour water over his head to get him up.
"Wha..." Alex rasped, his eyes trying to open. He struggled for a moment, then they opened and fixed on Mulder. And he jerked back slightly, eyes widening in alarm.
Mulder frowned. He knew he deserved that kind of mistrust, but he had hoped that Alex realized that Mulder was here to help, not hurt him.
"I got us a room," he said, making his voice gentle again. "If you can get up outta that seat and walk about ten feet, you can collapse into bed and not wake up for twelve hours, if you want."
Alex blinked through his matted lashes and frowned, obviously still confused. "You...got us a room?"
Mulder smiled. "Yeah, I got us a room."
Alex swallowed, and it made Mulder's own throat hurt. "Where...?"
Mulder smiled again. "Here. Wanna go in? Maybe watch some cable?"
Alex blinked, and Mulder leaned away, opening his own door and stepping out of the car. He grabbed up his bag before coming around to Alex's side and opening his door for him. Alex peered up at him, squinting, then struggled to get up out of the seat. Mulder reached down to help him and Alex flinched again, but Mulder tried to ignore it, just taking hold of Alex's hand, trying to be careful of the horrible raw places, and helped tug him up to standing.
"I'm not gonna hurt you, Alex," Mulder said softly. "I'm just here to help you, okay?"
"Okay," Alex whispered, and Mulder turned and led him over to the door, fishing out the card key and sliding it into the slot. The door opened, and Mulder stepped in first, then turned and reached for Alex when he made no move to enter. Alex didn't flinch this time, and Mulder put a gentle hand on his arm and pulled him in.
He closed the door behind them and dropped his bag onto the nearest bed. His suitcase was already there from when he'd checked in after getting off the plane.
"You can have that bed," said Mulder, indicating the other one. "Bathroom's through there."
"Bathroom," said Alex in a whisper. Then his lip started to tremble and Mulder had to look away.
"Help yourself," he said, taking off his coat and shoes and fishing through his bag. "Um, I brought you some...toiletries and stuff," he said, pulling out a bag and tossing it on Alex's bed without looking at him.
"Can I...sleep?" asked Alex, still standing in the middle of the room.
"Of course!" said Mulder, looking up with a frown. "Bed's all yours."
"I'm...filthy..." Alex whispered. He began to slowly take off his leather jacket. He laid it carefully on a chair and then reached down with trembling hands to take hold of the hem of his shirt.
"That's okay," said Mulder, looking away quickly. He put his suitcase and other bag on the floor. "We'll just switch rooms tomorrow after you stink this one up." He straightened up and stood by the side of his bed.
Alex's shirt was off and he was fumbling at the zipper of his jeans, unable to work it with his wounded fingers and the oil that coated everything, including the zipper pull.
Mulder swallowed thickly. "Do you want some help?"
Alex looked up from where his mutilated fingers were slipping on the little pull. His eyes were red and full of shame. His lips trembled again.
Mulder stepped forward, not letting himself think about it, and reached for Alex's zipper. He didn't look up, just watching his own hands as they quickly tugged the filthy zipper down, then took hold of the sides of Alex's jeans and yanked, trying not to take underwear down with them. He stepped back quickly, looking away from where Alex's briefs had come partway down his thighs with the jeans. "Sit down before you fall down," he said roughly. And he stepped around the open-mouthed, swaying man, shutting himself into the bathroom and sighing as he leaned against the door.
He waited for around fifteen minutes, until he was reasonably sure Alex had had time to disrobe and climb into bed, and when he came out, he was glad to see that he was right. Alex was under the covers, snoring again, though not as loudly, yet. His jacket, shirt, and jeans were on the chair. His boots were on the floor under it. The smell coming from them was enough to close Mulder's throat. He grabbed up a plastic bag and shoved the clothes into it, touching them as little as possible. He filled out a laundry slip and put the bag outside the door, congratulating himself on booking them a room in a hotel nice enough to have both laundry service and room service. In an hour they'd be serving breakfast.
Not that Alex would be awake to eat anything, Mulder was sure. He walked over and stood next to Alex's bed, looking down at the man's face. It was positively filthy, smeared with dirt and blood and oil, his lashes grotesquely caked together with all three of the above. The obscene length of them had to make it even more difficult for him to open his eyes with all that crud on them. Before Mulder had made a decision to do so, he was running a washcloth under the hot water, and returning to take a seat on the side of Alex's bed.
He reached forward with the cloth and very gently started wiping away the grime on Krycek's eyes. Very quickly, the rag became dirty, and Mulder got up and rinsed it out, then grabbed the ice bucket and filled it up with warm water, carrying it out and setting it on the nightstand next to Krycek's bed. He took his seat again and went back to wiping the grime off. He got the lashes pretty well cleaned up and started on the rest of his face.
Alex didn't once react to any of it, just sleeping soundly, his snores loud and even, indicating the healthy kind of rest that would help him recover. Mulder kept working with the washcloth doggedly until he had Krycek's face reasonably clean. He didn't know why that was important to him, but it was, and he felt better once he was finished and Alex was looking a little more like himself. He'd have to do the rest on his own, though, Mulder thought, dumping the filthy water into the sink and washing out the ice bucket several times in the hot, steaming water. And he really hoped that would be soon, as Krycek didn't smell any better than his clothes did. Too bad Mulder couldn't send Alex out for laundering. Get him back all clean and fresh-smelling. Mulder shook his head and set the ice bucket on the counter.
Okay, so now what? It was officially Christmas morning, and he was in North Dakota with a nearly-comatose Alex Krycek in a rather nice hotel room. He was way too wired to sleep, and he wouldn't be able to order up any breakfast for about...he looked at the clock...another thirty minutes.
He sat down on his bed and reached for the remote, and when the TV came on, he had to smile at the black and white image. It was the old 1950's version of "A Christmas Carol." Mulder looked over at Alex and smiled.
"Guess that makes you Tiny Tim," he laughed softly. "Merry Christmas, Alex. And God bless us, everyone." He settled in to watch the show.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. :-)