Chapter 3: Nostalgia
The car pulled up to the FBI building later that morning. Krycek stared out the window quietly, and Mulder kept a suspicious eye on him. The assassin was very keen on not locking eyes with him, and he was very curious as to why. He was pondering asking the other man why, but decided against it. To him, that would sound like he was concerned if something was wrong. That would be a bad impression to lie down. Krycek might abuse that thought; but the FBI agent still wanted to know what was wrong. He blocked it out of his mind as he parked the car.
Putting it off as he was "not letting Krycek stay in the car alone", he locked the car as they both walked up the steps of the skyscraper and headed inside. Alex found himself being led into the X-Files office, where Scully had been waiting for them. As Mulder yawned, she sighed and handed him a semi-thick folder with Gibson Praise's picture on the inside on top of several documents. He glanced at it for a moment before handing it to Krycek, for whatever reason unknown to the three of them, with an expectant look.
"So, are either of you going to tell me where I'm supposed to find Spender or what?" she asked. Krycek was flipping through the pages of the file curiously when Mulder cleared his throat, making him look up.
"Oh, right. Yeah." He closed the pages and took a tired breath, looking over Mulder's desk, finally grabbing a notepad and scribbling an address over it. "Fort Wayne, Indiana."
"How remote," Scully said sarcastically.
"And you didn't get that from me," he added.
"Right," she said slowly, an inquiring eye held on him. "Mulder, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Mulder shrugged, apparently not protesting. She took him outside the door and shut it, concealing them in the hallway. He heard their voices briefly, but shut them out as he yawned. He tucked the folder of Gibson's file under his arm and shoved his hands into the pockets of the dark jeans around his hips. He let his eyes wander around the room, looking at the posters and bulletin boards. The metal filing cabinets made the room awfully cramped for his liking, and he felt a moment of nostalgia, thinking of when he had been assigned to the X-Files, way back when.
He remembered double crossing the agency a hundred times over. Back then the adrenaline was a constant feeling, afraid but excited to see when they would finally realize. He had his share of adrenaline rushes still, caught in life risking situations, but remembering the days when he began all of it made him want to smile.
He wandered slowly over to the bulletin board, breathing silently with tired eyes running over the photographs pinned there. Reading the newspaper clippings, he shifted his gaze to the "I WANT TO BELIEVE" poster infamously tacked up behind his chair. He finally smiled, letting his eyes wander now to the floor. Crumpled papers and sunflower seed shells littered the waist basket and the edges of the floor around it. This fed his smile again at the memory of his adversary's old habit.
There was a light but loud tap that made his eyes snap to the desk, turning around. A pencil rolled to the edge of the wood and halted. He cocked an eyebrow and picked it up gently, examining it before looking up.
A group of newly sharpened and never used pencils hung from the ceiling over his head. He remembered Mulder had a habit of doing that as well, when he was bored, or thinking of a troubling topic. The man was rather interesting when he was in deep though, now that Krycek thought about it. He looked at the pencil in his fingers and ran his thumb over it. He
(of a troubling topic)
looked up again quietly and
(troubling topic)
tossed the pencil back up. The dull thk of it hitting the ceiling was the only sound in the room. It stuck now stationery above his head. He kept his eyes on it for a moment until he heard the door open.
"Come on, Krycek."
He nodded tiredly, and with one last look at the pencil, he walked through the door Mulder held open. Scully gave them a glance before they headed down the hallway.
"I'll be leaving for Indiana tonight. Mulder?" she started.
"I know, I heard you the first time. We're going."
"Be careful," she warned.
"Because we never are," he said skeptically. Krycek took an inward sigh and strolled down the hallway after Mulder.
"What was that all about?" he asked.
"Scully says that Skinner can cover our trail for about twenty four hours. After that the Bureau is bound to find out we're gone. She's passing off her trip to Indiana as a family emergency," Mulder explained as they entered the elevator. "She said our flight to Arizona was cancelled by the FBI —"
"Why?" he interrupted.
"I guess they don't want us looking for Gibson. Apparently they know something we don't."
"How could they, the Syndicate doesn't even know about Gibson."
"Apparently somebody connected with the Bureau does. So we have to take a flight into San Francisco, we'll rent a car and drive from there. Scully arranged everything so we can't be tracked for a short amount of time. They'll think we've given up, but by the time they find out we're gone, they'll probably come looking for us. So we need to travel like we're not us."
"How are we going to do that?" Krycek asked plainly.
"I don't know, I haven't gotten that far yet."
"Oh, that's confident."
"Give me some credit, would you? I'm trying here, Jesus."
"Well, you said Skinner was supposed to keep them from finding out where we're going! How could the FBI possibly know about this thing?" he shot impatiently as they reached the car. Mulder looked over the top of the vehicle at the other man.
"How the fuck am I supposed to know? You're the one leading me to this case, as far as I'm concerned, you told them and you're leading me into a trap," he added as he opened his door to get in.
"What? That's not even — Mulder —"
"Get in the car, our flight's in half an hour."
Krycek stared in the car with a look of confusion, almost hurt, if Mulder looked hard enough, but mostly frustration. He sat down angrily and slammed his door shut, staring straight ahead through the windshield as Mulder started the car.
"I didn't tell anyone," he stated flatly.
"Whatever, Krycek."
"Don't get angry at me," he started.
"I'm not," Mulder shot back, almost cutting him off. He backed the car up and drove out of the parking lot into the street. They drove a few miles and Mulder pulled onto a freeway, staring ahead without a word. Nothing but a stern look on his face, his eyes narrowed.
"You're never going to trust me, are you?" Alex asked after a long silence.
"Just because I believe you about this case doesn't mean I trust you," he snapped.
Krycek swallowed dryly and set his elbow on the door's armrest, running his fingers through his hair stressfully. He wish for once this man would trust him, or cut him a break once in a while. He hadn't told anyone but him and Scully about Spender and Gibson. He didn't know who had tattled, but for once, he wasn't the rat. This all felt strange to him, like he was almost doing the right thing. That idea sank his stomach so low it hurt his chest. He glanced sideways at the man driving, keeping his hands in his hair gently. He
(felt his hands go through the taller man's brown hair the warmth of his body)
clenched his teeth, frustrated with himself, reminding himself it was his own hand in his hair, not Mulder's. These thoughts were driving him crazy, and he wished they would stop, ignoring the honest part of his mind (Author: Yes, it exists.) which told him that no matter how much he claimed he despised them, he wanted them to stay. Still, he knew that Mulder hated him, and he hated Mulder still, they would always be enemies, and these thoughts were probably just some lie that sprouted in his brain when he decided to even pursue this dumb case. But watching Mulder's eyes at the thought of saving his sister gave him almost a inspiring feeling. Was it that which had driven him to come to Mulder with this knowledge? It must have been, it was the only solution he had.
He felt a bitter taste starting in his mouth, and he gritted his teeth for a second. Finally, he dropped his hand from his hair onto his lap and let his head fall back onto the seat.