Title: Where Do I Go From Here?
Author: Mare (MareZX@aol.com)
Rating: R (language, sexual situations)
Category: V
Spoilers: PatientX/Red and the Black
Summary: Musings of a one-armed man, after the events of Patient X/The Red and the Black
Notes: This is just a little post-RatB vignette, something I felt was necessary as a sort of counterpoint to the inevitable flood of slash fic RatB is sure to inspire. We had 88 minutes worth of film to ponder in those two eps, not just those 2 seconds...
The disclaimer song & dance: Not mine. Property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, etc., no copyright infringement intended.

WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE?
By Mare
3/19/98 - 3/23/98

Where do I go from here?

I seem to come to crossroads in my life on a regular basis. I think this is the fifth time I've asked myself that question in the last... oh, three years or so. How many crossroads is one life allowed?

This was a big one, though. This one shook everything up. Everything I worked for, everything I thought I believed in... changed now. Now I have to trust people who betrayed me. And I have to ask people I betrayed to trust me.

The stakes are higher this time; a lot higher. Suddenly it's not just my own survival that matters; it's the survival of the whole human race. And I hold one of the keys to that. Pretty funny, isn't it? Alex Krycek, freedom fighter. Who knew?

The tale I spun for the old man was all true -- maybe the first time in my life I told the unvarnished truth. Up to that point, I was the only one who knew what was going on. And I think I'm still the only one who knows what started it. It's those black oil aliens... oiliens, I guess. They're the ones that want to take over the earth. Why Earth? I could never figure that out. They're so much more advanced than we are... well, not physically, but in just about every other way. What the hell do they want this puny little planet and its stupid inhabitants for anyway? I would've asked that one that inhabited me if I knew about the invasion plan back then. If I knew how to communicate with it. If I even knew I was inhabited.

Anyway, the oiliens didn't plan this by themselves... and this I should've known. How could I not know who was helping them? Who did my parasite take me to see? Who locked me in that missile silo? The smoker. The black-lunged son of a bitch, Mulder calls him. (Damn, I wish these people had names.) I hear they all think he's dead. I know better. He's the only one who could've set this plan in motion. Why would he do that?

Guess I have a little more insight than the old man on this one. I know how Old Smokey feels... yeah, it was a surprise to realize that, but it's true. When he tried to kill me that first time... hell, the second time, too... what was my first course of action? Revenge. Selling government secrets, threatening exposure, sabotaging their projects... just a little run of the mill mayhem. He does things on a grander scale. After they tried to have him killed (and I know he knew it was them; he's funny like that), he pushed up the date for the annihilation of the human race. Makes perfect sense to me.

Okay, so I didn't tell the old man the *whole* truth. I never told him my theory about Old Smokey, which, now that I think about it, could probably come back to haunt me. Mental note: talk to the old man. Maybe somebody could... take care of the problem for good this time. Hell, I'd be happy to do it.

Strange that I'd end up working with the Consortium again, after that last experience. Couple big differences, though. Last time, I was strictly a minion of the Morley Man; I had very little contact with the syndicate at all. They only found out who I am when I took that DAT. Funny how it's always the little things that make you important, isn't it? A little plastic cassette... a tiny vial of orangey liquid...

No, this time is different. I think working with the old man will be quite a change from working for the smoker. Notice I said with, not for. This time I have leverage. Sure, I gave him the vaccine... but is he sure I was completely straight with him? I'm sure he's not -- he didn't get where he is without covering his ass. He must know I'm holding something back - in this case, the exact ingredients in the vaccine. They can analyze it and break it down all they want, but one ingredient won't be found in that breakdown. I get the feeling he does know this. But he hasn't asked me yet. I wonder if he will. I wonder... how long he expects this association to last.

So where do I go from here?

I'd like to say I can go home, but the concept of home is just that for me - a concept. I don't have a home. Can't even remember the last time I felt I did. Pathetic, isn't it? Still, that allows me to go just about anywhere I want. Trouble is, anywhere doesn't feel like home.

The one place I know I can't go is Russia. Not that that's such a big loss, really. Russia was dear old Dad's motherland, not mine. No, I've always been 100% American... my little foray into treason notwithstanding (not that I see it as treason per se; those were primarily Consortium secrets, not government secrets)... which really makes me wonder how I managed to acquire such power over there. I was never told exactly what he did, but Dad must've been very high up in the Russian version of the Consortium for them to actively recruit a legacy like me. An American legacy. They must've been desperate, too.

Whatever power I had there is gone now, though. The second I picked up that vaccine vial, I knew I'd never be able to go back. They won't kill me because I stole the kid and the vaccine, though; it will be because I stole what the vaccine means to them. They might have the one that works, but the Consortium has something else they don't -- money. I'm sure some sort of deal would've been struck sooner or later. That's what I really stole from them.

To be honest, I'm not quite clear anymore on just what it was I originally wanted from the old man and his pals. Did I really expect them to buy my information and my vaccine with a full partnership in their little group? If it had worked, I just might've been able to rule the world. As the only one with crucial pieces of information about both the war and the vaccine, it would've been easy... except that, the minute I made that phone call to the old man, I knew I didn't have a prayer. It was a stupid plan, probably too ambitious. It did expose the real loyalties of the syndicate members, though, which was also crucial information. All things considered, though I didn't get there quite the way I thought I would, I probably ended up exactly where I'm supposed to be. On the right side, at least.

Until now, it's been really hard to tell what the right side was. Obviously the Consortium -- or at least the Morley Man -- has had dealings with both the oiliens and the shapeshifters in the past. The oiliens are a confusing bunch, though. The one that inhabited me wasn't the same as the ones from the rock, and both were different from the one I had the kid infected with. They're all related, though, and the vaccine apparently works against the second and third types. Trouble is, what if it's the first type that invades?

But I digress. Where was I? Oh, yeah, the Consortium and the aliens. Yeah, they definitely had something going with the oiliens, if they knew what the invasion date was to be and assisted in the abductions. Those chips collect an awful lot of data, stuff the oiliens need if they're to inhabit Earth. I think the abductees with the chips were supposed to be the first invasion targets, which must be why the rebels were torching them.

And the shapeshifters? They seem to be somehow under the control of the oiliens. I mean, they're already here, colonizing, probably preparing the way for the oiliens. I know they have a deal with the Consortium because it's their DNA that's now used in the hybrid program. They tried gene splicing with the greys' DNA -- that was Bill Mulder's project, I believe -- but that didn't work too well, and all the hybrids died. Using the shapeshifters worked a whole lot better. The clone project is humming right along, I understand. What the shapeshifters got out of lending their DNA to this program I don't understand yet, but I bet I will sooner or later. In light of their work for the oiliens, though, it seems pretty subversive, doesn't it?

Anyway, now I find myself on the side of the rebels. Strange place for me, isn't it? It's the only way to survive, though, and if there's one thing I've always been, it's a survivor. Had to be. Look at what I was doing: infiltrating the Consortium for the Russians, infiltrating the FBI for the Consortium... if I didn't have that survival instinct, I'd've been dead a long time ago. See, changing sides is easy. It's staying alive that's hard.

Which brings me back to my deal with the old man. I swear, I thought I was dead when I saw him standing in that doorway, pointing a gun at me. But ultimately, I think it had to happen. Marita's betrayal, much as it hurt both of us, was what banded us together... and it was only through our deal that we know who's on what side. The rest of the Consortium is apparently siding with the oiliens. It's just the old man and me on the side of the rebels.

So where do I go from here?

It was inevitable that this deal would bring me back into contact with the one person I most definitely don't want to see again -- Fox Mulder. I always seem to come out with the short end of the stick whenever I run across him. Every time I see him, he beats the shit out of me -- usually when I can't defend myself. If I had half a chance, all it would take is one good hit... then he'd never touch me again. But I was never allowed that half a chance. The whole time, the Consortium people were beating into my head that he's vital to the success of the projects and not to be harmed. Okay, how is he vital to the projects? So vital that he's now being recruited to stop the invasion? What makes everybody think he's the only one who can do it? He has no clue. He doesn't know even half the stuff I know, and what he does know he doesn't even believe anymore. He's the key to stopping the invasion? Oh, puh-leeze.

Still, the old man told me to go to Mulder, so I went. I wouldn't have unless there was something really good in it for me. The old man made sure there was. He followed through on his end of the bargain -- he found a friendly shapeshifter and we got rid of that damn prosthetic arm. Seemed only fitting, seeing as how it's mostly Mulder's fault my arm got hacked off in the first place. Too bad he won't allow me payback for that. Because, y'know, payback's a bitch... and it's not like Mulder doesn't deserve it.

Anyway, there I was in Mulder's apartment... finally getting the drop on him for a change. Man, it felt so good to push him around for a change, to see the fear in his eyes as he looked down the barrel of my gun for once. (Okay, it was his gun, but it was in my hand.) Despite the wisecracks, he really thought I was going to kill him, and it would've been so easy, too... except that the old man wouldn't let me.

Why he even sent me, I don't quite get. I was supposed to make Mulder trust me. Yeah, trust. Me. He wouldn't even believe me these days if I tell him the sky's blue. The old man would've been better off going there himself; Mulder was more likely to trust him. But he sent me instead. If nothing else, this would be one hell of a test of my powers of persuasion.

So I said my piece. I could see that it wasn't the words he didn't believe, it was me. He didn't think I'd help him, didn't think we were really on the same side. If it was anybody else on the planet saying those words to him, he'd probably believe, but not me. So I had to make him believe me somehow. Words wouldn't do it; action was needed.

It was right about that time, while deciding what to do, that I realized that the old man and I probably did need Mulder. If nothing else, he'd do any legwork that needed doing. After all, he does have more freedom of movement than either one of us. And all we have to do is point him in the direction of "the truth," wind him up, and watch him go. Makes our work a whole lot easier. Besides, this is a war for the survival of the human race. We'll take any help we can get, even if it is Spooky Mulder.

It didn't take long to realize that I couldn't do much to make him trust me short of shooting myself in the head with the gun I held, which I was most definitely not going to do. But... I could give it back; show of sincerity and friendship, that sort of thing. And if I did, how to keep him from using it to shoot me in the back on my way out the door? Shock him into paralysis, of course.

So I kissed him.

See, sometimes messing with people's minds is so much more satisfying than punching their lights out, and this was one of those cases. Paralysis was certainly the correct word -- the look he gave me when I stood up was absolutely priceless. You'd think I'd turned his whole world inside-out or something. Guess he's not familiar with the standard Russian greeting/luck/farewell kiss custom. (Okay, that custom involves both cheeks, but I wasn't about to push my luck with him.) Add to that the deer-in-the-headlights look he got when I pointed the gun at his head... and I had more than enough time to drop the gun in his lap, wish him luck and call him friend in Russian, and get the hell out of there.

It occurred to me later that when I called him friend, I meant it. That realization was a surprise, too. I mean, before he started using me as his private punching bag, I really had nothing personal against him. I think maybe I even felt a little guilty there for a second about all that stuff in the past. Yeah, I know. Guilt? Me? Another surprise. But a useful one, I think. It may have helped get across the idea that I was sincere, that he and I are indeed on the same side. Not that that gives him license to beat me up every time he sees me, though. He can't forget what he thinks I did to him, but I can't forget what he's done to me either. So which one of us breaks down and apologizes first? Friend or not, won't be me.

Anyway, what I did apparently worked. We know he went to the base and attempted a rescue. He doesn't remember what happened, but we think he was successful. We hope so.

Thinking back on it now, that look on Mulder's face after I stood up makes me wonder about our past encounters. I always thought he beat the shit out of me all the time because of what he thought I did. Or because he looked at me and thought "there but for the grace of God go I." Maybe I was wrong. I've heard it said that aggression sometimes masks... Oh, wait a minute. Is that possible? Nah, couldn't be. No way. Not possible. Or... is it? Is it...? Oh, man, if it is true... then I chose my gesture almost too well. A mindfuck of the highest order... and I didn't even know I was performing it...

If nothing else, this little nugget... if true, and that's a huge if... will make future encounters with the FBI's Most Unwanted very, very intriguing. Never let it be said that Alex Krycek ever passed up the opportunity for a world-class headfuck.

So where do I go from here?

"Alex?"

The sleepy voice, and the feel of fingernails gently scraping down my new arm, interrupt my reverie. Her voice. I turn over and see her, awake now, staring at me with those big blue eyes of hers.

People who know her outside call Marita cold, wooden. Not here, she's not. Not in my bed. This woman can do the most incredible things... Even now, after what she did, it all comes back. Looking at her, I feel hurt and anger... but I also feel desire like I've rarely felt before. Which, before the old man stepped in, may have been the only thing that saved her life once we connected after her recovery.

I've never quite been able to figure out just what kind of relationship we have. Is it just business? Something more than that? It kind of has to be, or I probably wouldn't feel that desire even after what she did to me. So is it just sex? Could be. Damn good sex, but maybe just sex. I do know it's not love. I'm not capable of that. Used to be, a long, long time ago, but... well, that's another story. Things happen, time passes, and now I'm... like this. Looking out for number one and making connections of convenience. Yeah, that's a good way to put it. Marita's a liaison of convenience. One I always thought I'd have a hard time walking away from, though... until now.

Sometimes I wonder why she took the chance and came back to my humble accommodations with me. Didn't she think I might have something to say about that little stunt she pulled? Unless... could it be that I affect her the same way she affects me? Useful thought, if true. Has to be true... why else would she come with me? It wasn't like she was going to apologize or anything. And she didn't... well, not in words, anyway. She couldn't, really. I think her mouth was full at the time.

I wonder why the old man was so desperate to save her. She screwed him over too, maybe worse than she screwed me over. Unless... she was screwing him too... nah, there's some other reason. Maybe they're related somehow. Guess I'll never know if that's true. I doubt either of them would tell me. But if they are related... he has to know that she's been helping Mulder all along. Maybe... she does because he wants her to? Nah. He wouldn't have been so mad about the kid if he knew. So why does he want her alive?

He won't let me kill her. He knows I want to... or did, back on the ship. But I'm not sure I want to anymore. Funny how mind-blowing sex can change your mind about things like that. Still, she's gotta know that she did a bad thing and won't be allowed to get away with it. The old man never said anything about not teaching her a lesson...

"Alex," she repeats softly. "What are you thinking about?"

Does she really want to know? "Everything," I tell her. "Nothing."

Her arms slither around my neck. "Let's think about this instead," she says, then pulls me down and kisses me.

There's nothing I'd like better than to indulge, but there's a plan to be formulated here. I have to reassert control. I pull away from her and my eye falls on the handcuffs on the bedside table. An idea presents itself. Hey, she has that kinky side. It's not like we haven't played with handcuffs before...

I snatch up the cuffs, lock one around her left wrist, and thread the chain through the slats in the headboard before she even realizes I'm doing it. (Here's where that new arm really comes in handy - mental note to thank the old man again for that.) A touch of fear comes into her eyes now as I secure her other wrist. "What are you doing?"

"You don't like this? You never said you didn't," I remind her, kissing down her body. All I get in reply are... sounds. Happy sounds. Oh, yeah, she wants me. Maybe I can give her more than the one thing to think about...

She always used to tell me I had a unique talent for oral sex. Don't know if that was just an ego stroke or what, but I take care to make full use of that talent now. It doesn't go unappreciated either. She always makes this little sound right before she comes if it's going to be really good for her. I love that sound... and I hear it more than once before I stop.

My lesson can't be taught without the full treatment, so that's what I give her. Make no mistake; it isn't exactly torture for me either. I think I want it as much as she does. Still, how often do you get to indulge your desires and make a point at the same time?

I leave her trembling, panting, utterly spent. She rests with her eyes closed, so at first she doesn't see me get myself back under control and start to get dressed. I'm almost ready to go by the time her breathing softens and she opens her eyes again. She watches me and calls my name softly.

I ignore her. Even after the sex, I find it surprisingly easy. What does that say about me?

"Alex," she says again. "Take these cuffs off. I need to touch you..."

I sit down on the bed and stroke her hair. "No, you need to think. You have a lot to think about, don't you?"

Real fear creeps into those big blue eyes now. I think she's realizing what I mean to do.

"Yeah, you need to think," I continue. "You need to think about what you did. You did a bad thing, Marita. Did you really think you'd get away with it? Guess you'll have think about that again, won't you? Think about what you did. Think about who you hurt. Think about the consequences."

I see panic in her eyes now as I rise from the bed. "Think about your deception, Marita. And while you're at it, think about how you'll never see me again. Never have sex quite like that again. And think about it and decide whether it's lucky for you or not that the old man won't let me kill you."

I pick up my bag and drop the key to the handcuffs in my jacket pocket as she whimpers piteously. "You should have loads of time to think here. I hope you make good use of it. Dosvedanya, lover." And with that, I'm out the door.

Where do I go from here?

-Fin-

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