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"On The Dark Side"
When it finally happened, it occurred with mind-numbing swiftness. The last coherent memory she had entailed struggling through her testimony before Section Chief Blevins; the next, waking to the sounds and smells of the ER at Trinity. The moments in between were a surreal blur in her mind; no amount of concentration yielded anything more than disjointed recollections against the vague backdrop of fear.
And now, Mulder stood before her, playing to the hostile room that was her immediate family, trying to convince them that an alien microchip would be her salvation.
And failing miserably.
She fingered the vial that held her supposed deliverance; such a tiny object full of so much uncertainty, so much promise –
An object… come into her possession…
"…you'll know it when you see it… and you'll know what to do with it, too…"
"I'd like to try this," she said and everyone in the room turned to her as one.
Her mother's lips parted in a little 'o', the worry creasing a line between her eyes, "Dana… are you …sure?" she asked. Bill paced back and forth a couple of times, shot a disparaging look at Mulder and walked out the door. Mulder settled his face into a wan smile, patted her foot and shuffled after her brother.
"Mom, I'm out of options," she answered, "But if this chip was made by the same people who made the other one…then-" she took a deep breath; let it out in a heavy sigh, "… I don't know. At this point…it couldn't hurt." Her mother offered a wobbly smile of encouragement that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"He's dead." The cultured accent gave the blunt statement elegance. It could have been crude and laced with profanity; no matter. The effect on Krycek would have been the same.
He smiled. After a protracted silence, he finally asked, "When?"
"Does it matter?" the British man asked.
Krycek almost laughed, but checked himself. The Smoker still had friends pocketed everywhere. And they were probably listening. "Guess not," he said. "Does this change anything?" he asked, more as a formality than any real concern.
"Only for the better, my boy… only for the better." It was a bold statement, but not unwarranted. The British man had been quietly working toward this end for the better part of a year. It was a major coup. "Good night, Alex. I suspect you'll sleep well tonight." And he hung up.
Krycek palmed his phone thoughtfully, and a slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He picked up his keys and walked out into the first sunshine he'd seen in a week.
Two hours later, dressed in scrubs and a lab coat with a surgical mask tied loosely around his face, Krycek made his way quickly through the halls of the hospital. His badge read 'Doctor Vic Takayama' and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to get away with it for too long. No one gave him a second glance, though. Apparently, face masks were standard in the oncology wing.
He stopped at the nurse's station, and glanced around before picking up the patient list. Krycek located the room number quickly and ducked around the corner. As he approached her room, he slowed and looked through the window; no visitors. She was turned on her side, toward the outside window.
Giving a quick glance up the corridor, he walked to the door, hesitating only a moment before pushing down on the handle. Once inside, he turned to look back through the window and his shoe squeaked on the floor. She rolled onto her back, looked blankly at him for a moment before letting out a little gasp of shock.
"Alex!" She pulled the sheet up to her neck, "Go a-WAY."
He chuckled softly as he approached her bed. "What's the matter, Dana? I've seen everything that hospital gown reveals, you know…"
Dana rolled onto her back, and narrowed her eyes. "Alex…" her voice was soft, pleading, her lip quivering slightly. Something lurched inside him and he moved to her bedside. He reached up to stroke her hair. "Get bent," she whispered.
And he laughed. "That's the spirit," he said. He reached behind him and pulled the visitor's chair up close to the bed and sat on the edge of it. "Did you do it?" he asked.
She smiled and, in spite of the dark circles under her eyes and the fatigue from long nights being poked and prodded every two hours, the spark was still there. "What do you think?" she countered.
Alex leaned in close, his nose almost touching hers, and pulled the mask away from his face, "I think you're beautiful, that's what I think." It was an unguarded comment; out of character for him, and his mouth felt suddenly dry. She appeared to be as affected by it as he felt and the awkward silence stretched for a bit.
She collected herself first. "You seem chipper… Doctor Takayama." She had just let him off the hook, and they both knew it.
He glanced down at the forgotten badge. "Yeah – first one I came to. Not a particularly good match, eh?" He shifted in the chair, leaned back and studied her. Color still off, hair disheveled and on the down-side of thin. "Alright… let's have it."
Her eyebrow quirked up; always a good sign. "Have what?" she asked.
"The prognosis, Dana." He crossed his arm over his chest and looked down at his shoes, "Are you…" He took a deep breath; changed tacks, "Did it work?" His voice sounded dry and thin to his own ears.
She rolled away from him and lifted the hair at the back of her neck. Her fingers gingerly traced over the gauze and tape. "It's in there, Alex…" she didn't roll back toward him, "doing…whatever …" She trailed off, sighed heavily; then, "The first round of tests have been …well, nothing is worse, at least."
His fingers itched to trace the vaguely punk look of her shaved hairline; instead he pulled a foot up and tapped her bottom lightly. "Hey-" she didn't look at him, so he continued, "don't be rude…I'm visiting on borrowed time, here."
She rolled back over and fixed him with a mildly disgusted look. "I look terrible. I'm not exactly comfortable with you seeing me like-" she looked herself over quickly, "Like this."
He snorted. "'Vanity, vanity…all is-'" he quoted mock seriously. Her eyes filled anew and she turned away. "Hey… Dana, hey-" he came off the chair and sat on the side of her bed, "I didn't mean – you don't look that bad –" Damn. "I didn't mean it that way…" She didn't turn back around and her shoulders began to shake a little. Crap. "Hey," he said it almost gently, "I'm sorry…"
But she was …laughing. She managed a little strangled, "Gotcha!" and he rolled to his feet with a disgusted grunt.
"Shut up, Dana." Alex remained standing by her bedside, and glanced back at the door. She turned back toward him, her face still tightly screwed up in an attempt at suppressing a smile. "Taking advantage of my pity..." He leaned down and 'tsk'd' a couple of times, "You..." he growled, "are in so much trouble." Before she could deflect him, he planted a lusty kiss on her lips. "I should get out of here," he announced and moved toward the door.
"Not so fast," she stopped him, "Now that I've actually had it implanted in my neck, I'd like to know where the chip came from, Alex." She was no longer smiling.
Not for the first time, he was struck with how quickly she could transition from pleasure to business. Seamlessly. He was impressed. "Our dearly departed good friend, Ol' Smokey." The smile left his face, "But don't ask how," he looked at her pointedly, "I will not tell you, Dana."
Her face balanced precariously between stubbornness and resignation. They locked eyes, silently challenging each other for a tense moment, but she opted for surrender first. "When can I expect your next…appearance?" she asked casually.
His mouth curled; she was trying to be cool. "As soon as you hit the door to your apartment, after this little…vacation is over." He moved toward the door again.
"Just a minute – you said 'departed'-" She looked at him expectantly, "Cancer Man is…is dead?"
"As a doornail," he said without the slightest trace of emotion, "Shot, long-range by a sniper, shortly after you were taken to the emergency room." He gripped the doorknob, "If he weren't… I wouldn't be here." With that, he slipped out the door and disappeared down the hall.
Leaving her, once again, with more questions than answers.
-End, Chapter 25-
AN: Once again, thank you for reading. I particularly liked the last two chapters, as well. Sneaky and smoldering is my favorite way to write Alex Krycek. (For Sara –aka southern cross: You're always missed when you don't make an appearance, but never taken for granted. I, too, am a mom of two children, so I know free time is of a premium. Any amount you give to my story is a gift, and muchly appreciated.)