Jeffrey sat with his bloodshot eyes glued to the glass of the television.
You could be locked up in a government facility for ANY extended period of time, but when you got out you could always rely on television for the same old crap. Sitcoms, reality shows, crime shows...they'd all been the source of Jeffrey's attention since Krycek had left.
How many days ago was that, now?
It was hard to tell, even with the stack of pizza boxes on the ground. Jeffrey was getting awfully sick of pizza, but he didn't have all that much choice. It's not as if he could leave the hotel room; a severely disfigured man might draw some attention in a town so blatantly travelled by supersoldiers.
It was then that the phone rang and Jeffrey jumped three feet straight into the air. The ring only lasted a second but time slowed down horribly as the man sized up the device. Ideas played tug-o-war with his mind, contemplating whether or not he should answer it.
It could be Krycek, with some direly important information to relay. Or it could but a supersoldier. But if it was a supersoldier, why make phone calls?
Jeffrey eyed the gun Krycek had left on the desk beside the television unit, then reached over and plucked the phone from the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Is this a secure line?"
Jeffrey froze. It was a woman's voice.
"Who is this?"
"Are you Jeffrey Spender?"
"Who is this?!"
"I believe we met some time ago, but I fear you probably wouldn't recognize me based on my previous form."
"Likewise."
Jeffrey's mind raced. Women. What women did he meet a few years ago? Agent Scully? No, this woman had a slight, somewhat implacable accent. Then something clicked.
"Marita Covarrubias?"
"So you do remember. Good. Now you need to listen to me carefully, Jeffrey. Where is Krycek?"
"You mean you don't know?" Jeffrey, who had relaxed a little at her recognition, tensed once again.
"He was with you. Where did he go?"
"To find Mulder."
"Alone?"
"I'd be sort of useless to him."
He heard Marita pause, and exhale slightly.
"There have been incidents, here. The supersoldiers are mobile. I'd think it to be dangerous to remain in your immediate area."
At this point Jeffrey began to panic.
"What do you want me to do?" he cried. "I...I can't walk very well anymore...and people would notice me! My face is horribly scarred."
"Then lie low. I'll do what I can to help you get out of there discreetly, but you need to help me find Krycek."
"I'm sorry, I--" Jeffrey's mind raced. "I don't--"
Click.
"Marita?...Marita!"
---
It was not fun to saw through the chains of handcuffs with a butter knife. Especially when you were holding said knife with your teeth. Krycek had been working at the tedious task since he swiped the utensil at breakfast that morning, and was eagerly awaiting for it to release itself. It probably wouldn't have lasted this long, but he HAD to have gone and gotten his arm sawed off. Worst mistake of his life.
His efforts paid off; with a clink, the metal snapped metal and he found himself freed of his binds, spitting the butter knife out and sitting up, stretching for the first time in a while, then going to make himself some lunch, a meal he was awaiting greedily.
Of course, Mulder then went and came home at such an inopportune time.
As Krycek froze, a piece of toast hanging from his mouth, Mulder hardly seemed to notice his escape.
"We have to go," Mulder muttered, rushing in, throwing things into a bag. "Now."
Krycek raised an eyebrow, still consuming his lunch.
"What are you waiting for?"
"What are we running from, exactly?"
Mulder stopped, looked at him, seemed to notice the lack of handcuffs but didn't seem to care.
"What do you think?"
"Ah."
"Come on, get to the car."
---
Krycek wasn't expecting them to pull up to a dingy trailer in the middle of the desert, nor was he expecting Gibson Praise to get out when Mulder pushed him ahead towards the door, gun at his back.
The boy and the man exchanged brief glances.
"What's he doing here?" they both managed in exact, uncanny unison, that despite being so unlikely, happens so often anyways.
"He's one of the guys that kidnapped me!"
"Krycek thinks he knows what--" Mulder tried to intervene.
"Hey, keep that freaky little mind-reader away from me!" Krycek cried, squirming back against Mulder.
"Gibson--"
"Aaah!"
Mulder sighed, frowned, and thought very angry thoughts. Gibson paused and gave him a terrified look. The ex-agent then kneed Krycek in the tailbone.
"Ow."
"Mulder! Those thoughts are not very nice!"
"Neither is interrupting," Mulder retorted. "Now let's be quiet, I'm sure every official within a five mile radius can hear you two."
Krycek was pushed up the steps and into the trailer. Every step of the way he saw Gibson's eyes on him, and he tried to recoil away. He remembered too well the feeling of the psychic's eyes not only on his body but his mind. It was not a feeling he, in any way, enjoyed. So prying...the kid had no sense of respect for privacy.
Except now Gibson was giving him a very peculiar look...
"Now, listen to me, Gibson," Mulder said, dumping Krycek into a seat and turning his attention to the boy. "We have to go. Don't follow us. Stay here, stay safe. Eric will bring you food, alright?"
"Mulder, they'll hurt you if they find you."
"Then let's hope they won't find me."
Krycek cleared his throat.
"Okay, wait. What?"
"You and I are going on an adventure, Krycek," Mulder gave him a wicked grin.
"Oh, God."
Mulder tossed him a CD.
"Take this out to the car, won't you?"
Krycek eyed the disc. Curious. Was it that it was generally unimportant, or did Mulder trust him enough to give him classified information?
He decided it was probably just his porn stash, then manoeuvred out to the car.
---
"He's not normal."
"What was your first clue?"
The two looked out the window towards the car, where Krycek was entertaining himself by adjusting the rear-view mirror.
"No, I mean..." Gibson muttered. "I met him before, but he's different now."
"How so?"
Gibson stared, unblinking, as if trying to read the other man's mind at a distance.
"Like...he's not completely human."
Mulder gave the boy a bleak stare.
"He's like me."
They stood silently for a minute. Thoughts ravaged Mulder's mind, ones he hoped Gibson to pick up on, but he was too busy concentrating on Krycek. A sweat broke out on Mulder's neck, and he rubbed his chin. How? How could Krycek be like Gibson?
"Because..." the boy answered almost immediately. "His mind...the way he thinks...it's just different...No, I don't think he can read minds like me. But...he can do something."
Mulder shook his head, biting his lip, the way he grew when stressed.
"He's telling you the truth, though," Gibson said suddenly, staring up at Mulder. "He really does want to help."
The man stopped, looking at the psychic in disbelief. He didn't want to believe him.
"You're sure?"
Gibson gave him an exasperated stare.
Mulder shrugged and turned back to the window. Krycek was done playing with the mirror, noticed him, and waved awkwardly.
"What do I do, Gibson?"
"Trust him."
"How? You know what he's done," Mulder sighed. "Even if he does want to help...what if I don't want to help him?"
"I don't know," Gibson replied. "But...I liked him. He wasn't as mean as the others."
"Krycek? Not mean? You have to be kidding."
"He was still human. I mean, not in the way that we look the same, but those bad men did things that changed them. It took away their hearts. But he wasn't like that. That's why I was never afraid of him."
Mulder ran a hand down his face, contemplating the situation in the best equilibrium of heart and mind he could muster. Gibson eyed him.
"I know you can't read minds, Mulder. But at least try sometimes."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'll let you figure it out."
