7:33 PM
Monument Police Station, New Mexico
So, the elusive Alex Krycek. I have no idea why we're all here, because the casefile that Skinner handed me is sitting, unread and forgotten, on my kitchen counter. I eye Krycek coolly as Mulder gets in his face, jerks him by the collar of his leather jacket a few times, raises his hand as if to slug him, then slams him back in the chair so hard it almost tips over. To his credit, Krycek regains his balance quickly, the smug expression never once leaving his face. I realize that Mulder is looking at me like I'm supposed to say something. What could I say? Truth be told, I haven't been listening to either of them for the past ten minutes. Mulder's face reflects his confusion at my silence, and even Krycek seems a little more unsure than he was a second ago. That's right. I'm the one with the chain- -I rein Mulder in when he gets out of control. Not this time. You're on your own, just like me.
Mulder spins away to continue his interrogation, refocussing his energy on Krycek. Krycek, however, is watching me now. I meet his eyes, noting that they narrow slightly as we size each other up.
He's bigger that I remember. Either he's been working out, or those butt ugly suits were really good at hiding his physique. The Leave it to Beaver haircut is gone, a harsh buzz in its place. I can see blood on his lips from a cut Mulder must have caused before I got here. There is an air of cold, calculating arrogance about Krycek. He's no longer the fresh faced rookie who pukes at the sight of a dead body and follows Mulder around like a lost puppy. No, he is something else entirely.
And he looks good.
Krycek keeps staring back at me as Mulder rails, unaware than no one in the room is paying attention to him. I resist the tug at the corner of my mouth. The mere mention of Krycek's name is enough to send Mulder into cataplexy. Something must have happened while they were partners. Krycek's betrayal isn't enough to cause this devotional hatred. I've asked Mulder about it enough times to realize just how stubborn my partner is. Still, even though he continues to claim that nothing else happened, I have an idea.
When Mulder really gets on a roll he can go for hours. I settle back against the wall to continue the staring contest. Yeah, Krycek's a killer, but I've got two X chromosomes. If I pull out the eyebrow arch he's a dead man. I get a sudden flashback to the milkshake I had before getting on the plane. They didn't have strawberry, so I had to settle for banana. I sense a new dream coming on.
I lick my lips and note that Krycek's gaze follows the movement. Interesting. I do it once more just for fun. Sure enough, his eyes lock onto my tongue as it sweeps across my upper lip. On a whim I run my fingers under the collar of my blouse, all the way down to the V and back up again. Man, this blouse really is low cut. No wonder Skinner's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Krycek's adams apple bobs once. Very interesting. I feel naughty. Three acts of outright defiance in one day. I think that's some sort of record for me.
Apparently Mulder has realized that he's shouting to himself, because he grabs Krycek by the lapels to get his attention. I wonder where he got that leather jacket. It looks expensive, despite the obvious wear. Mulder slaps Krycek on the side of the head and the smirk falters briefly as he breaks eye contact. I win. But I'm supposed to be making sure that Mulder doesn't beat him to a pulp. Somehow I think that if Krycek really wanted to hurt Mulder, Mulder would be on the floor faster than you could say 'the speed of light'. But I'm the responsible one here. And Krycek already has more than enough reason to charge Mulder with assault.
"Mulder." The commanding tone of my voice surprises even me. It's the first time I've spoken since laying eyes on our prisoner. Two sets of eyes snap toward me. If I can believe it, Krycek looks a little relieved. Mulder looks startled, like I just woke him from a dream where he was beating on Alex Krycek.
"Mulder, I think you should step outside for a moment."
"Scully--"
"Now Mulder. He's handcuffed to the chair. I'll be fine."
Mulder lets go of Krycek's jacket and gives him one last parting swat, avoiding my glare as he leaves the room. "If he pulls anything, I'll be right outside," he says before shutting the door behind him. Mulder must have scowled at Krycek because Krycek's smirking over my shoulder. When the door bangs shut he relaxes, shoulders sinking, eyelids drooping slightly.
"You two do an excellent good cop bad cop."
Those are the first words I've really heard out of his mouth since Mulder's interrogation began. His voice is different than I remember, too. Lower. Harsher.
"Is that what you think this is?"
He shrugs. "What else could it be? Mulder flies off the handle. You fix it. It's always that way."
I can't help but snort. Isn't that the truth? He looks surprised by my tiny outburst but remains silent. If it weren't for the fact that I've been wearing these pumps since seven this morning, I think I could just stand here and stare at him for days. There's something fascinating about this Alex Krycek. The other one was clean cut, geeky, easy to brush off and ignore. This one exudes confidence, even when he's letting Mulder beat him up. I wonder how he makes such a good spy. He has a little too much presence, is a little too good looking . . .
"You know, your interrogation tactics leave much to be desired."
I step over to the table and slide myself onto the edge. My feet are dangling above the linoleum, but these damn shoes are giving me blisters anyway so I let them fall to the floor and flex my toes. He's looking at my feet now, and I lean toward him.
"What makes you think I give a damn about anything you have to say?" It's not harsh--just the plain statement of the truth.
He leans forward, as far as he can with his wrists cuffed to the chair, trying to crowd my space. He's close enough that I can see there's still blood oozing out of his lip. And a shadow of a bruise is beginning to form on his left temple. Geez Mulder.
"Well, Scully, if you don't care what I have to say then why are you here?"
"Because Skinner gave me the ticket and told me to keep a leash on him." No need to explain who 'he' is. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. What is wrong with me today? We stare at each other a beat, and then to my utter disbelief, Alex Krycek, spy and assassin, starts to laugh. I wonder if Mulder will think it's some sort of demented war cry and batter down the door. I watch Krycek's shoulders shake with glee as he lowers his head to the table to contain himself. Every once in a while he snorts. It's almost five minutes before he's silent again. His head is only ten inches from my thigh. I wonder what he'd do if I started petting him. His hair looks soft, and I figure he should let it grow out. A woman likes something she can run her fingers through. Like Mulder's hair. Only not on Mulder.
Krycek turns his head and looks up at me with one eye. "Do you always do what you're told Agent Scully?"
I stop the childish "Do you?" just in time. Since I know the answer to that would be "Of course not," I don't see the point. Instead I pull a tissue from my pocket and dip it in the water glass behind me. I'm getting thirsty for another milkshake. But first things first. I reach for Krycek's face, surprised that he doesn't jerk away. He lets me cradle his chin in my palm while I dab the blood from his lip. The laughing has split open the cut again.
"You'll need stitches for that."
"I'll manage. You never answered my question."
"I'll answer yours if you answer mine." I start probing around his temple.
He grins. His even white teeth show when he grins. The spy guild must have good dental. He could be a model in a toothpaste ad. "Ooh, I love a game. But I thought you didn't care what I have to say."
I don't. But this is my job. I can't just walk out of here and say that I stared at him for an hour.
"Why are you in New Mexico?"
He doesn't even hesitate before answering. "I was following Mulder."
I'm fairly certain that's the first bit of truth anyone has gotten out of him all day. "Why?"
"Uh-huh. My turn. Do you always do what you're told?"
He'd probably laugh at what I considered rebellious. Waiting until the next day to do the dishes. Running a yellow light at a busy intersection. Waiting until the last minute to file my taxes. What I'm doing right now. And what am I doing right now? Playing twenty questions with a known felon while I tend his wounds and wonder how soft his hair is.
"No," I answer.
"Like what?" He realizes his mistake and leans away from my grasp, patiently waiting for my next question.
"Why were you following Agent Mulder?"
"The usual. Looking out for his sorry ass."
I can't quite bring myself to believe that one. Still, he's pretty smooth about it. His arms must be throbbing by now, but he just cocks his head and stares up at me like the answer's obvious. But what do I expect him to say? 'The usual--trying to kill him', 'The usual--trying to thwart his attempts to expose the government conspiracy to conceal the existence of extraterrestrials'. That last one seems a little long winded for Krycek. He doesn't strike me as a man of many words.
I watch him relax and tense his shoulders, wiggle his fingers to get some feeling back into them. I bet that if he really wanted to, he could stand up and knock me unconscious with that metal chair, handcuffs or no. I wonder why he doesn't. Probably because he'd never get past Mulder and all the police in the building.
I know I told Mulder I'd be all right, but there's all sorts of ways a man like Krycek could hurt a small woman like me. He doesn't look especially big sitting all slumped in that chair, but I think he's the same height as Mulder. Disguised strength. Making himself look small, vulnerable, frumpy clothes. Except for the jacket. I think that when Alex Krycek dies I want his leather jacket. And those eyelashes. No man should have glittering green eyes framed by the darkest, longest eyelashes I've ever seen. It's just not fair. If we can find eyewitnesses to his crimes, I bet they'll be able to identify him by those eyelashes alone. My eyes drift from his, down his nose to his lips. Suddenly I realize his mouth is moving.
"Are you listening to me Agent Scully?"
Shit. He must have asked me something. Or he could have just confessed to a dozen murders and I wasn't paying attention.
"Yes," I answer, and realize he just used up his question. I can't help but grin. "My turn."
It's funny the way his face goes from annoyed to confused to depreciating. He finally grins back at me like we're sharing some private joke and waits for my question. I win. There's only one thing I really want to know here. I couldn't care less why he was following Mulder--people follow Mulder all the time and he's still alive and well. And any confession I get out of him won't stand up in court because of Mulder's earlier beating. It would be dismissed because the confession was made under duress. At least, that's what he'd argue. And he'd win.
Monument Police Station, New Mexico
So, the elusive Alex Krycek. I have no idea why we're all here, because the casefile that Skinner handed me is sitting, unread and forgotten, on my kitchen counter. I eye Krycek coolly as Mulder gets in his face, jerks him by the collar of his leather jacket a few times, raises his hand as if to slug him, then slams him back in the chair so hard it almost tips over. To his credit, Krycek regains his balance quickly, the smug expression never once leaving his face. I realize that Mulder is looking at me like I'm supposed to say something. What could I say? Truth be told, I haven't been listening to either of them for the past ten minutes. Mulder's face reflects his confusion at my silence, and even Krycek seems a little more unsure than he was a second ago. That's right. I'm the one with the chain- -I rein Mulder in when he gets out of control. Not this time. You're on your own, just like me.
Mulder spins away to continue his interrogation, refocussing his energy on Krycek. Krycek, however, is watching me now. I meet his eyes, noting that they narrow slightly as we size each other up.
He's bigger that I remember. Either he's been working out, or those butt ugly suits were really good at hiding his physique. The Leave it to Beaver haircut is gone, a harsh buzz in its place. I can see blood on his lips from a cut Mulder must have caused before I got here. There is an air of cold, calculating arrogance about Krycek. He's no longer the fresh faced rookie who pukes at the sight of a dead body and follows Mulder around like a lost puppy. No, he is something else entirely.
And he looks good.
Krycek keeps staring back at me as Mulder rails, unaware than no one in the room is paying attention to him. I resist the tug at the corner of my mouth. The mere mention of Krycek's name is enough to send Mulder into cataplexy. Something must have happened while they were partners. Krycek's betrayal isn't enough to cause this devotional hatred. I've asked Mulder about it enough times to realize just how stubborn my partner is. Still, even though he continues to claim that nothing else happened, I have an idea.
When Mulder really gets on a roll he can go for hours. I settle back against the wall to continue the staring contest. Yeah, Krycek's a killer, but I've got two X chromosomes. If I pull out the eyebrow arch he's a dead man. I get a sudden flashback to the milkshake I had before getting on the plane. They didn't have strawberry, so I had to settle for banana. I sense a new dream coming on.
I lick my lips and note that Krycek's gaze follows the movement. Interesting. I do it once more just for fun. Sure enough, his eyes lock onto my tongue as it sweeps across my upper lip. On a whim I run my fingers under the collar of my blouse, all the way down to the V and back up again. Man, this blouse really is low cut. No wonder Skinner's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Krycek's adams apple bobs once. Very interesting. I feel naughty. Three acts of outright defiance in one day. I think that's some sort of record for me.
Apparently Mulder has realized that he's shouting to himself, because he grabs Krycek by the lapels to get his attention. I wonder where he got that leather jacket. It looks expensive, despite the obvious wear. Mulder slaps Krycek on the side of the head and the smirk falters briefly as he breaks eye contact. I win. But I'm supposed to be making sure that Mulder doesn't beat him to a pulp. Somehow I think that if Krycek really wanted to hurt Mulder, Mulder would be on the floor faster than you could say 'the speed of light'. But I'm the responsible one here. And Krycek already has more than enough reason to charge Mulder with assault.
"Mulder." The commanding tone of my voice surprises even me. It's the first time I've spoken since laying eyes on our prisoner. Two sets of eyes snap toward me. If I can believe it, Krycek looks a little relieved. Mulder looks startled, like I just woke him from a dream where he was beating on Alex Krycek.
"Mulder, I think you should step outside for a moment."
"Scully--"
"Now Mulder. He's handcuffed to the chair. I'll be fine."
Mulder lets go of Krycek's jacket and gives him one last parting swat, avoiding my glare as he leaves the room. "If he pulls anything, I'll be right outside," he says before shutting the door behind him. Mulder must have scowled at Krycek because Krycek's smirking over my shoulder. When the door bangs shut he relaxes, shoulders sinking, eyelids drooping slightly.
"You two do an excellent good cop bad cop."
Those are the first words I've really heard out of his mouth since Mulder's interrogation began. His voice is different than I remember, too. Lower. Harsher.
"Is that what you think this is?"
He shrugs. "What else could it be? Mulder flies off the handle. You fix it. It's always that way."
I can't help but snort. Isn't that the truth? He looks surprised by my tiny outburst but remains silent. If it weren't for the fact that I've been wearing these pumps since seven this morning, I think I could just stand here and stare at him for days. There's something fascinating about this Alex Krycek. The other one was clean cut, geeky, easy to brush off and ignore. This one exudes confidence, even when he's letting Mulder beat him up. I wonder how he makes such a good spy. He has a little too much presence, is a little too good looking . . .
"You know, your interrogation tactics leave much to be desired."
I step over to the table and slide myself onto the edge. My feet are dangling above the linoleum, but these damn shoes are giving me blisters anyway so I let them fall to the floor and flex my toes. He's looking at my feet now, and I lean toward him.
"What makes you think I give a damn about anything you have to say?" It's not harsh--just the plain statement of the truth.
He leans forward, as far as he can with his wrists cuffed to the chair, trying to crowd my space. He's close enough that I can see there's still blood oozing out of his lip. And a shadow of a bruise is beginning to form on his left temple. Geez Mulder.
"Well, Scully, if you don't care what I have to say then why are you here?"
"Because Skinner gave me the ticket and told me to keep a leash on him." No need to explain who 'he' is. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. What is wrong with me today? We stare at each other a beat, and then to my utter disbelief, Alex Krycek, spy and assassin, starts to laugh. I wonder if Mulder will think it's some sort of demented war cry and batter down the door. I watch Krycek's shoulders shake with glee as he lowers his head to the table to contain himself. Every once in a while he snorts. It's almost five minutes before he's silent again. His head is only ten inches from my thigh. I wonder what he'd do if I started petting him. His hair looks soft, and I figure he should let it grow out. A woman likes something she can run her fingers through. Like Mulder's hair. Only not on Mulder.
Krycek turns his head and looks up at me with one eye. "Do you always do what you're told Agent Scully?"
I stop the childish "Do you?" just in time. Since I know the answer to that would be "Of course not," I don't see the point. Instead I pull a tissue from my pocket and dip it in the water glass behind me. I'm getting thirsty for another milkshake. But first things first. I reach for Krycek's face, surprised that he doesn't jerk away. He lets me cradle his chin in my palm while I dab the blood from his lip. The laughing has split open the cut again.
"You'll need stitches for that."
"I'll manage. You never answered my question."
"I'll answer yours if you answer mine." I start probing around his temple.
He grins. His even white teeth show when he grins. The spy guild must have good dental. He could be a model in a toothpaste ad. "Ooh, I love a game. But I thought you didn't care what I have to say."
I don't. But this is my job. I can't just walk out of here and say that I stared at him for an hour.
"Why are you in New Mexico?"
He doesn't even hesitate before answering. "I was following Mulder."
I'm fairly certain that's the first bit of truth anyone has gotten out of him all day. "Why?"
"Uh-huh. My turn. Do you always do what you're told?"
He'd probably laugh at what I considered rebellious. Waiting until the next day to do the dishes. Running a yellow light at a busy intersection. Waiting until the last minute to file my taxes. What I'm doing right now. And what am I doing right now? Playing twenty questions with a known felon while I tend his wounds and wonder how soft his hair is.
"No," I answer.
"Like what?" He realizes his mistake and leans away from my grasp, patiently waiting for my next question.
"Why were you following Agent Mulder?"
"The usual. Looking out for his sorry ass."
I can't quite bring myself to believe that one. Still, he's pretty smooth about it. His arms must be throbbing by now, but he just cocks his head and stares up at me like the answer's obvious. But what do I expect him to say? 'The usual--trying to kill him', 'The usual--trying to thwart his attempts to expose the government conspiracy to conceal the existence of extraterrestrials'. That last one seems a little long winded for Krycek. He doesn't strike me as a man of many words.
I watch him relax and tense his shoulders, wiggle his fingers to get some feeling back into them. I bet that if he really wanted to, he could stand up and knock me unconscious with that metal chair, handcuffs or no. I wonder why he doesn't. Probably because he'd never get past Mulder and all the police in the building.
I know I told Mulder I'd be all right, but there's all sorts of ways a man like Krycek could hurt a small woman like me. He doesn't look especially big sitting all slumped in that chair, but I think he's the same height as Mulder. Disguised strength. Making himself look small, vulnerable, frumpy clothes. Except for the jacket. I think that when Alex Krycek dies I want his leather jacket. And those eyelashes. No man should have glittering green eyes framed by the darkest, longest eyelashes I've ever seen. It's just not fair. If we can find eyewitnesses to his crimes, I bet they'll be able to identify him by those eyelashes alone. My eyes drift from his, down his nose to his lips. Suddenly I realize his mouth is moving.
"Are you listening to me Agent Scully?"
Shit. He must have asked me something. Or he could have just confessed to a dozen murders and I wasn't paying attention.
"Yes," I answer, and realize he just used up his question. I can't help but grin. "My turn."
It's funny the way his face goes from annoyed to confused to depreciating. He finally grins back at me like we're sharing some private joke and waits for my question. I win. There's only one thing I really want to know here. I couldn't care less why he was following Mulder--people follow Mulder all the time and he's still alive and well. And any confession I get out of him won't stand up in court because of Mulder's earlier beating. It would be dismissed because the confession was made under duress. At least, that's what he'd argue. And he'd win.