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Post by Alex Krycek on Dec 1, 2008 13:27:23 GMT -5
Krycek had slept well, better, at least, than he usually did after meeting up with Mulder. There was a small bruise on his cheek from where Mulder had punched him, but he whistled as he glanced at it in the mirror. He could handle this. And for once, things seemed as though they would be looking up.
It took him a while to dress - he had a hard time fastening things with one hand and often would try to move his left hand over there, his brain feeling it even if it no longer existed, and growing frustrated when nothing happened besides the movement of his shoulder - but he did it clear-minded. He was thinking about the first time he'd met Mulder in person. He hadn't been at all free then, and everything about the meeting had been planned, his investigation into the same crime, all of it. When he had stepped up to introduce himself to Mulder and inform him they were both assigned to it, he might as well have recited from a script, no matter how easily the words came.
But the feeling had been genuine. He hadn't been lying to Mulder when he'd told him about admiring him in the academy, even when among other cadets the man was a joke. Alex Krycek too had been in pursuit of the truth about the supernatural - it had been a preoccupation for him while he was very young. Why else would the Syndicate contact him? He'd shown all the traits they needed.
And it had never occurred to Alex Krycek that it was a contradiction to look forward to working with a man he felt so strongly about even when his work was going to be to thwart him at every turn. And when Mulder had brushed him off from the start, had disregarded him, his bristling indignation and wounded sense of self had also been genuine.
Krycek reflected on this with the sense of someone recalling the follies of youth, which he was. In a new light it took on different meaning. Mulder had had every reason to trust Krycek in the beginning, even though he had been completely untrustworthy; Krycek was spotless as a glass of milk now and Mulder very much hated him. The situation was the same, though, as it had been when he was a young, smooth-shaven FBI agent in blue suits. He wanted Mulder's trust and had to earn it. So how to go about this?
Krycek ran his hand over his hair, which had dried quickly but was still slightly damp from behind washed, and calmly left his room. He glanced to his right as he exited, recognizing the room Mulder was in (for he'd counted how many down it was), and continued downstairs to order breakfast.
He ordered several slabs of toast, some sausages, scrambled eggs, and made sure he got two plates and two forks for it, paid with the francs he found in his pocket, and returned upstairs with a hop in his step.
Sliding up to Mulder's room, he cautiously kicked at the door (for his hand was busy and therefore he couldn't very well knock). "Mulder?" he called in. He had no idea how light or heavy a sleeper he was - some assassin he was - but didn't imagine he couldn't hear him. Unless, of course, he was deliberately avoiding him. He tried to lighten the mood, or at least to say something so preposterous that Mulder got impatient about hitting or insulting him and opened the door to do so. "Room service. It ain't easy with one hand, you know."
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Post by Fox Mulder on Dec 1, 2008 14:04:22 GMT -5
Mulder had, as always, slept lightly. It had taken him some time to achieve even that, with a watchful ear out for both Emilie and Krycek--though for entirely different reasons. Eventually, however, without even the aid of the television, he'd drifted off... Only to awaken instantly (if still groggy) at Krycek's knock.
No, not knock. Mulder smirked to himself. One-armed bastard. But the only sort of room service he could imagine Krycek dealing in was the kind he'd already had.
"I don't like your particular brand of services," he said from behind the door, running a hand through his hair which only served to heighten its resemblance to a sleepy hedgehog. "I've sampled them before." Though last time Krycek hadn't exactly offered them, just, you know, broken in. Out of misplaced curiosity, Mulder yanked open the door--and was surprised to indeed see food.
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Post by Alex Krycek on Dec 1, 2008 14:30:23 GMT -5
Krycek rolled his eyes but did not suppress a smile from behind the door, though he was moments away from calling for Mulder to hurry up. He was good at waiting, but balancing two stacked plates of food against his chest was not easy for him. Krycek had never been in the habit of traditional table-mannered eating, or, at any rate, had fallen out of it shortly after getting assigned to other things, but he occasionally missed the opportunities allowed by two hands to eat more reasonably. Not being able to use a fork and a knife was hard sometimes, and sandwiches needed to be grasped with two hands, usually. It took so much getting used to.
When Mulder opened the door, he took advantage of it and his surprise to put his foot in the door and slip in nonchalantly, wanting to get the plates down onto a table as soon as he could, lest he drop them. He couldn't immediately see one, and placed it onto a dresser surface, carefully, lifting the top plate piled high with both breakfasts and setting it down beside the empty plate beneath it, picking up one of the forks and carefully rearranging things, then lifting one of those plates and going to sit on the first space available, Mulder's unmade bed.
Now that he had time to glance up at Mulder, it made him smile, not mockingly, but with voyeuristic humor. Krycek might have been completely awake, but Mulder looked like a kid who'd been woken up early on Saturday. He had seen the man completely exhausted before, but never still vulnerable from sleep.
He pointed with a fork to the other plate. "Brought breakfast." It was still hot. He didn't consciously know why that had been his course of action, but he had known he hadn't wanted to give Mulder time to think too much on him loathingly before actually seeing him, and, nestled in his unconscious, he had first won Mulder over through carefully bringing coffee in the mornings at the FBI. It seemed fitting.
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Post by Fox Mulder on Dec 1, 2008 15:15:06 GMT -5
Mulder looked at Krycek, then at the breakfast as if the man had brought a rabid possum into his room that was going to stop playing dead at any moment.
"Why?" he asked. "What'd you do to it?" He was vaguely reminded of the coffee, and wondered now if Krycek had ever spit in it. "Poison, or more sophomoric condiments?"
Even so, it smelled good, and he was hungry--there really wasn't a time he couldn't eat--and he went over to examine it more closely. The food last night had been good. And part of him thought he should see what Emilie was up to, make sure she was all right and hadn't run off in the night. The last thing she needed right now was Krycek gumming things up.
"What are you doing up so early, anyway?" he grumbled. "It's very suspicious, you know. People without nefarious plans sleep in." But his words had little sting and more than a trace of petulance.
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Post by Alex Krycek on Dec 1, 2008 15:49:57 GMT -5
Naturally Mulder would distrust him. Krycek smiled good-naturedly, as he would at a wounded child who had trust issues whom he was trying to win over. Which wasn't entirely far off the mark. Even in the beginning, without automatically distrusting Krycek as he did now for numerous good reasons, Mulder had clearly borne the impression of a vaguely, deeply hurt child. He didn't let anybody in. Krycek had been enormously offended at first about the fact of this, particularly in light of how quickly he'd bonded with Agent Scully. He supposed that she was easy to associate with a long-lost sister, whereas Krycek probably just brought up memories of his school days, not pleasant ones, either. Nonetheless, Krycek had brooded over that for a while. He disliked being thrown around like somebody's old rag.
What did he do to the breakfast? "I carried it up the stairs," he said patiently. Aware that Mulder was not going to just eat it, Krycek scooped up eggs in his toast, folding it like a taco, and took a bite. He was hungry himself, and he was liked eggs. He had wondered what it might be best to get Mulder, but in the end, his own tastes had won.
Listening to Mulder groan about him was easier to be patient about when he was still sleepy-eyed with his hair standing up on top of his head than it was when the man was shoving him into walls. Instead of answering directly, he said mildly, "Your food's going to get cold." He paused to eat a sausage. He managed to do this very quickly, considering his condition. "I think of it more as, unmotivated, cheerless people sleep in. Even if they do have nefarious plans." He spoke from experience. Krycek only got up bright and early when he felt good about it, regardless of what he had to do. There were plenty of times when he had laid around in bed and not felt like doing anything.
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Post by Fox Mulder on Dec 1, 2008 17:09:47 GMT -5
Mulder eyed Krycek's plate narrowly, wishing he'd been quicker and grabbed the one Krycek was willing to eat before half of it had disappeared down the man's throat. Then he examined his own again, and found nothing obviously untoward--perhaps if the eggs had been scrambled, it would have been harder to notice any tampering.
"Well," he said. "That still doesn't explain why you're up."
But he grabbed the fork and popped a goodly piece of egg into his mouth, finding it quite good and hungry enough not to really care, otherwise. Maybe, he hoped futilely, Krycek had been expecting a Princess Bride switch and would be disappointed that Mulder hadn't grabbed his breakfast--but that didn't really seem plausible, what with the way it was almost gone.
"If I die, I'll kill you," he said, already feeling better.
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Post by Alex Krycek on Dec 2, 2008 10:08:11 GMT -5
Krycek watched Mulder eat rather warmly. The man was such a lost cause. If he had really been this man's partner he might have been more worried about him. As it was, Krycek had been in much worse situations himself and if Mulder acted like an undergraduate who didn't know how to cook that was his business.
"Wouldn't want to risk that, would I," said Krycek before setting about polishing off the rest of his own plate. It was weirdly nice to be sharing breakfast, even if he were imposing himself on someone who would have dearly loved to throw him out a window to do it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done it. Of course, the moment he'd thought of that, the memory came shooting into his mind as though something in his subconscious was determined not to let him have a good time. He almost choked, but swallowed and continued, slight change in his mood not likely to be noticed by Mulder. He probably had not noted he was cheery before.
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Post by Fox Mulder on Dec 2, 2008 10:43:32 GMT -5
Mulder sopped up some egg yolk with his toast. It was good, and he wasn't offering any pretense that he wasn't enjoying the meal--even standing up by the dresser as he was. The only meals he ever shared were in diners in towns he only remembered the names of because they were etched indelibly in his memory in typed letters on case files. But he didn't notice Krycek's change of mood, at least not consciously.
"No, you wouldn't," he said laconically. "I'm a very dangerous man." He felt much more awake now, though he wished Krycek had brought the coffee like he was supposed to. Then he remembered the one arm thing. Only then did he remember the evil thing, and grimaced. "So. Just come by to chat, then?"
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Post by Alex Krycek on Dec 2, 2008 11:06:25 GMT -5
Krycek had no issues licking his fingers, and had learned the hard way not to waste food. Krycek had been eating variations on this same meal for breakfast for two weeks now - with a few exceptions in which he ordered something more French, like a pastry or a croissant or just coffee or something, which just weren't filled enough; he was American and needed American breakfast - and he still hadn't tired of it. He liked the simplicity and relative freedom of living at an inn, which, at the same time, wasn't independent enough to make him feel lost in solitude. Someone else cooked everything - even though Krycek did happen to know how to cook, incidentally - and the room was small and simple. He was anonymous, but surrounded by others. It was a nice feeling, one he hadn't had in a long time, not since he'd first left his small hometown for college life. The world had seemed so large then, filled with limitless possibilities, and yet his view had been too small for ambiguities or distress. It had been a long time since he'd felt that way, and that he could feel that way now, even knowing what he did know about the world and the nature of the human heart, was encouraging.
Mulder's words brought this to mind, very much. Even in the pleasant people-filled environment of the inn, there had been more solitude than Krycek would have liked. It was almost lonely. Well, it was, although he would prefer not to use that word because of the connotations it held. He felt again the relief he had in first seeing Mulder. He was so familiar, even though there was nothing familiar about most of this. They'd certainly never been in a situation like this before. He laughed, Mulder's tone having sounded so much like a warning. "You think I'm using you for something," he said though his laughter, shaking his head. It was obvious he did, and it made sense, besides. "Yes, that's exactly what I've come by for, whether you think so or not. Hey, what happened to 'I Want To Believe'?"
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Post by Fox Mulder on Dec 2, 2008 11:34:40 GMT -5
Mulder, too, was used to being alone. He did well enough in the short-term, when he didn't immediately alienate someone; but sooner or later, people actually started listening to him and looked past his mild and mildly handsome exterior and became concerned about what they saw. And he didn't cultivate relationships. Other things were more important; or had been, until Scully. That was a relationship worth cultivating, even if he didn't always do his part and generally expected, once it was established, that it would continue on along the same tracks unless something (like cancer or being transported into another time) derailed it.
So he didn't think about being lonely very often, because there wasn't any point and besides which, it was a sacrifice. Which made it sort of noble.
And he certainly didn't think about Krycek as something familiar or, god forbid, comforting. He was pretty comfortable hating Krycek, not least because he presented a face for the shadow company ranged against him. And what a smug, smooth, pretty face it was. What was the meaning of that, by the way? He'd wondered that in the past--why Krycek? Aside from the utterly ruthless (and entirely malleable) nature of the man, what was it about him that had convinced those bastards this was the face to gain Spooky Mulder's confidence?
If it hadn't been for Scully, perhaps he'd have--eventually--been more receptive. But he had his partner. And she'd proven herself. Krycek had proven himself too, and very quickly. And now he was trying to prove something else, some sort of breakfast gofer.
"I don't think that applies in situations of proven enmity," he said. "It's all in the context. Besides... maybe I'm not that good at it anymore." Until Poe, after all, he'd given up on the original context for that quote. "Food's good, though. And I'm not dead." Which was sort of like "thank you," if you squinted and were desperate enough.
He ate the last bit of sausage and wondered where it had all gone.
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Post by Alex Krycek on Dec 2, 2008 12:24:38 GMT -5
((Because Mulder had called him Casanova in an early episode. They combed through their archives, wrung their hands, and finally stumbled upon wee Alex and said, aha! We need to send in Casanova! ))
Mulder's words were so Mulder and it was comforting, in its own little way, all over again - Mulder irritably tearing to pieces his mild, easily-pieced together arguments on the basis of technicalities, how many times had he seen that before? Although speaking of context, this was a first - he'd never seen Mulder in the morning over breakfast. Maybe if he'd stayed around longer, he might have.
Krycek wondered, not for the first time, exactly, but most seriously, and with the air of an epiphany, what it would have been like if he had been Mulder's partner - not just some cigarette-smoking bastard's puppet. If he might have ever earned Mulder's respect then. He had taken an interest in the material, after all - and he'd done his research, too. Beyond that, Krycek was a little more creative than he had posed as being - he had been young, that was true, but he had been mildly unconventional when he was young, though not nearly to the same degree Mulder had been - and he thought that might have come out eventually. The most significant thing in this train of thought was the question of what his life would have been like, if it would have turned out better, or if maybe he was doomed to what he had. Maybe it was better that they didn't know.
He chewed and swallowed. "No," Krycek admitted freely with a shrug. "Dead men don't talk. Not to me, anyway." If they could, they'd certainly have had a lot to say. Krycek glanced to his right, noticed a small side-dresser that a lamp was perched on, and put his plate down on that. He could take them down later, whenever he got something to drink - tea, he was thinking. He liked caffeine, but he wasn't often in the mood for coffee. Or maybe Mulder would like to put those hands of his to use and help.
"So. I'm waiting." He looked to Mulder expectantly and with a smile. Hadn't he said last night that he'd decide whether or not he trusted Krycek and how much?
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Post by Fox Mulder on Dec 2, 2008 15:16:24 GMT -5
Mulder could not know what Krycek was thinking, of course, and did not habitually think of him as he was during those few days of partnership; subsequent events had recolored that so that layered over the conservative suit and pretty-boy subservience partner!Krycek was already rotten underneath. The betrayal had been real enough, for despite himself Mulder often let his guard down when he was presented with someone purporting to be his friend, but he didn't think of it that way anymore. He'd reordered things so that Krycek had never been that trustworthy--but the feeling of betrayal lingered.
Still, he knew what Krycek meant now, because that conversation had been on his mind during his wakeful night. "I don't trust you," he said bluntly. "That is, I don't trust you to put anyone's welfare before your own, much less mine. That said, I don't think you're out to kill me, or you'd have done it already. And as things are... I don't think you're about to leave me alone, either. So let's just say I trust myself enough to watch you, and trust you not to do anything against your own interests. As far as our interests are the same, I guess you could say that's how much I trust you now."
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Post by Alex Krycek on Dec 2, 2008 15:53:29 GMT -5
Krycek listened and nodded well, it was one of the areas in which he was strong - he had always been good at that, and that sort of passive behavior had earned him, on occasion, more respect than he was giving up himself. And even though Mulder was being as offensive and loud as he always was, he was still giving in - however grudgingly, however disapprovingly.
After a moment, as though waiting to see if Mulder would say anything else although it was obvious that he would not, Krycek spoke. "That's a good place to start from." He stood and patted Mulder on the cheek. "Meet you downstairs for coffee, then," was his parting remark as, picking up Mulder's empty plate (but notably not his own, as though symbolic of the two of them looking out for each other), he headed towards the door.
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Post by Fox Mulder on Dec 2, 2008 18:15:12 GMT -5
Krycek was not being annoying, which was an annoyance in itself at this point. At least until the pat on his cheek reminded Mulder of other instances of inappropriate contact and he frowned. He was being reasonable and accommodating and not rising to any of Mulder's jabs, and that was frustrating because, while he had no problem being irrational, he usually needed some sort of impetus for violent behavior, however flimsy. People being passive and bringing one breakfast didn't provoke him and that was bothersome.
"Coffee," he mumbled as Krycek left, thinking that was a good idea--just on its own merits, quite apart from the man suggesting it--and then he remembered Emilie. Was it too early to knock? He should probably get dressed--or rather, tuck his shirt in and make sure everything was buttoned and all that, as he hadn't any pajamas.
He locked his door as he left and stood before Emilie's for a moment. He didn't want her waking up and not finding him in his room. But if she was asleep, he didn't want to bother her. So he went back into his room, found a pen and paper, and wrote her a note which he slid under her door.
Emilie--
Went downstairs for coffee. I'll bring some up for you. I hope you slept well.
M
It seemed sufficient. Neutral. He waited outside for a moment, to see if she was awake after all.
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Post by Alex Krycek on Dec 3, 2008 13:42:57 GMT -5
((Just so you know. Emilie is probably outside of the building busking and won't get his note until she gets back to her room. She'll have had some tea and maybe Sue!Kris served it, but won't have eaten, even though she's hungry.))
Krycek had gone downstairs with a spring in his step, feeling even better now that he wasn't hungry even if his mind seemed pregnant with memories he would rather abort. Thinking about what he and Mulder would have been if Krycek hadn't been working for some shadow organization inside the government was a heavy enough topic, but Marita on top of that. The clipped voice, the platinum hair pushed behind her ears, all of it so familiar. It wasn't some crazy illusion he had, either, some puffed-up thing. He had known Marita's flaws all too well, though he hadn't known how ruthless she could be. Krycek slipped into a booth and ordered coffee, almost forgetting that he was waiting to be joined by Mulder. He seemed preoccupied, down about something; it was a recognizeable enough expression for most people.
It was almost funny. All the people he'd betrayed because of the project, and yet that Marita would do it to him, he could hardly comprehend it, the way it felt. It made him less likely to excuse his actions verbally to Mulder. He had just been some cleanshaven punk assigned as Mulder's partner, and Mulder had taken that betrayal poorly. But Marita....No. No, he couldn't try to explain that feeling. He tried to imagine what in the world she could say to be forgiven and it just seemed to point out to him that nothing Krycek could ever say would excuse himself to Mulder.
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