An Alex Krycek backstory for the Sanctuary universe
Krycek and Mulder on the flight to
"Still feeling sick?" Mulder turns and asks me.
Bad Cop was replaced about two hours ago by a guy who realizes he's going to need my help when we land. Anyway, Mulder's focus is forward now, like a bloodhound sniffing the wind and salivating at what he finds. But his tone catches me off-guard. It almost sounds as if he cares.
I turn away from the gray clouds outside the window and shrug. "What, do I look that bad?"
"A little green around the gills." He doesn't quite smile. "Anyway, I remembered you having a little trouble the last time we flew together."
Mulder stretches carefully against the lack of leg space while I turn away, swallow and study the knees of my jeans. It took me months to remember what happened on that plane.
"You know what was in that pouch, don't you, Krycek?" The corner of his mouth lifts, as if the idea's just hit him.
"How the hell would I know what was in the pouch? Word about the courier just dropped into my lap, a lucky break. It was information destined for the smoking man. I told you I'd give him to you, Mulder."
He sits up straighter. "You haven't given me anything."
"No? Then what are we doing on this plane?" I snort and let my head drop back against the headrest. "Because I've got better things to do with my time."
"Like what? Rot in jail?"
I want to strangle him. "I handed you that group, Mulder; doesn't that count for anything?" My voice spikes and I force it down; it's giving me away. "You have any idea what they were planning? Because I don't think Mayhew plans on talking anytime soon."
He gives me a half-interested look.
"They were going to take out a whole city block--boom! No strategic target, just one hell of a lot of collateral damage."
Mulder's eyes go big momentarily, then he grunts. "Then what were you doing with them?"
"I told you before. They got me out of that silo. I had to act grateful for a while. 'Til I got my strength back, anyway." I shrug. "And then I found out what they were planning. I wasn't just going to let them go through with it."
His eyebrows go up at my last remark but he doesn't tear into it the way I expect him to. Takes me by surprise; I was already throwing up a mental shield. I turn to the window and squint at the sudden burst of sunlight coming through the glass.
"He locked you in there, didn't he?" he says after a moment. I can hear the sunflower seed positioned between his teeth. "Smoky?"
After a beat, I nod. I don't know why Mulder let me have the window seat; probably just so he could block my access to the aisle. All of a sudden memory pulls me toward the terror of the silo. My fingers tighten against the armrest. Slowly, deliberately, I will the picture from my head.
"It was in you, wasn't it?"
I glance at him, expecting to find... I don't know. But all I see is curiosity. As a matter of fact, he's only half looking at me.
I study the window edges, the multiple panes of glass and the handle on the little pull-down shade. For a minute I think he's connected the dots--the Oil, me, the rock we're chasing that they're sure to have analyzed by now. My pulse spikes and sweat starts to bead on my forehead. I get sucked so far into my worry that when his voice comes again I nearly jump, though it's barely a whisper.
"What was it like?"
"I'm not going there for you, Mulder," I mumble, and I shoot him a look that warns him to back off. But his eyes are on his tray table. One finger traces the edge of it.
"What was it like?" he says again, as if he's completely missed the chance I just gave him to plunge the knife in and twist it.
His jaw quivers slightly and he sets it. His lower lip pushes forward, the way it does when he's deep in thought. I think he actually wants to know.
"What happened to those other people, Mulder? That woman in the bathroom and her husband, the diver?"
He pulls himself back to reality and glances at me. "They were okay in the end. After a little recuperation time. But they had no memory of the time when they were... possessed by it." He looks at the aisle carpet, then back at me. There's a softness in his face, almost a sadness. "What about you? Did you remember?"
Things went this way before between us, him fighting my intrusion into his little world and then opening up, the two of us beginning to form some kind of team. It had been a start, anyway.
When he doesn't say anything more, I look over at him. He exhales slowly, holding back the flow of air, and the corner of his mouth twitches. "What was... How would...?" He sighs and leans forward, breathing into cupped hands. "Would they have done that to a little girl, infec--"
Great, there it is. This is all about her. You should've known, Aleksei, you starry-eyed son of a bitch. What he really wants to know is whether it would have taken away his sister's memory of him. If she passed him on the street, would she walk right by without any sort of recognition that there was something between them?
Not easy playing the shadow-brother, is it, Mulder?
"Keep the faith, Mulder," I say when I finally get my mouth moving. "I bet she's every bit as stubborn as you. She wouldn't let go of you that easily."
I glance at my watch and then out through the window. An hour until we land. Five at most until we reach the camp. Beside me, Mulder reclines his seat, leans back and closes his eyes. I stare through passing clouds. He'll keep toying with the question, wondering whether the Oil ever took her and if so, what it would have been like.
My stomach knots, threatening to mutiny with the memories. A few hours and he'll be finding out the answer to his question.
The second hand sweeps steady circles on my watch in ultra-slow motion, like something out of a dream. You've got to understand why I'm doing this, Mulder. In the end it's for your own good. Anyway, you're not the only fool trying to keep a little flame alive.
Mulder shifts in his seat. He swallows and grimaces, little creases forming at the corners of his mouth.
I swallow, close my eyes and feel the buzzing that rushes through my veins. I tell myself I'm doing the right thing. I'm doing it for his own good.
I've nearly got myself convinced.
© bardsmaid 2005 |