These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this. This story will eventually involve sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is *not* your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??) Feedback is *very* much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :) Second in the Tapestry Series. You might want to read 'Endings' first, just so we're all on the same page, here. For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason. More to come... Weft - Beginnings by Amirin #115 *********************** It's only been three days and I'm already losing my mind. It's almost ten in the morning and I'm still in bed. I can't remember the last time I ate. I haven't left my apartment since I went to the Hoover the day after Scully's funeral and told Skinner that I was taking all the vacation time I had coming, plus the Bereavement Leave. Nineteen weeks. Nineteen fucking weeks coming and I can't get out of bed. Krycek kept his word. Skinner told me. He heard a door slam when he entered the warehouse, found Kersh first, then found Scully, still under the leather jacket, which he gave to me for some unfathomable reason. Krycek called his cell phone as he made his escape and told him what had happened. How I was in Philly and Scully had fallen into Kersh's trap all by herself. How Kersh had killed Scully. How he'd killed Kersh. How he didn't give a damn if Skinner believed him or not, which Skinner did, oddly enough. Krycek never mentioned I was there. Covered for me. I left enough of a paper trail in Philly to place me far away from the scene. No questions. Skinner was so careful when he told me Scully was dead. Shit. Kept stressing that it wasn't my fault. Krycek took the heat for it. Even told Skinner he felt badly that he couldn't save us both. Just a little too late. Told Skinner that Kersh needed killing. Badly. Skinner agreed. If it isn't guilt weighing so heavily on me that I can't get out of bed, then what is it? And what the hell am I supposed to do for the next eighteen weeks, three days and...eleven hours? And do I really want to bother answering my cell? Shit, if it's Skinner checking up on me and I don't answer, he'll be over here before I can make the place look like I haven't spent the last three days in bed. Fuck. "Mulder." "I woke you?" Krycek. Shit. "No." "I can't believe this. It's ten AM, and I woke you." "I'm awake. I'm just not up yet. And what the fuck do you want?" "How fast can you get to St. Louis?" "What's in St. Louis?" "Besides me?" "I'm hanging up." "Don't. Wait. Shit. Mulder, you need to come to St. Louis." "I'm on vacation." "Yeah, and leave. Nineteen weeks. I know." "How the fuck do you know?" "Mulder." "I'm hanging up." "You keep saying that. Listen to me. Just listen. You're losing it and it's only been three days. What are you going to be like in eighteen and a half weeks, huh? Get your ass on a plane and come to St. Louis. There's something here you've got to see." "Aside from the Cardinals?" "I don't believe this. I'm talking x-file and he's talking baseball." "I say tomato, you say tomahto." "I have *never* said tomahto." "Barbarian." "Come to St. Louis. Or I'll come after you and drag your feeling-sorry-for-yourself ass back here and I will not be in a good mood, Mulder. I'm warning you." "I've got your jacket. Skinner gave it to me." "Bring it with you. I can steal it back when I break into your hotel room." "Gee, that's so nice." "Anything to make you feel at home, Mulder." "Fuck you." "Get your ass to St. Louis. Your flight leaves in an hour and forty. USAir. Be on it. You'll be met at the airport." "I'm traveling under my own name?" "Yes. I didn't have time to get a fake ID for you." "You don't bring me flowers anymore." "Mulder. Your plane lands at 1:20 local time. If you aren't on it, I *will* come after you. Don't make me do that." "Fine." "You're coming?" "I said fine." "Bring the jacket." "Right. Just to give you an excuse to break into my hotel room." "Like I need an excuse." "You need the practice. You haven't broken into my apartment in weeks." "What, you think I'm losing my touch? Fine, I'll make a note of it. 'Break into Mulder's apartment'. Is Thursday good for you?" "Asshole." "Hey, I'm writing it *in ink*. What the fuck do you want?" "I'm in ink?" "You're in ink." "Wow. I feel so special." "Asshole. Get out of bed, for Christ's sake." "And come to St. Louis." "You've heard this song before." "I could hum a few bars." "I'm hanging up." Shit. Okay. Up, get dressed, pack, call a cab, go to the airport, pick up my ticket at USAir, and go to fucking St. Louis. Why was I doing this? I spent most of the flight wondering why. Why Krycek had booked me in first class. Why the car he'd hired to take me from the airport to the hotel was a fucking limo. With a bar. Fully stocked. I spent the ride to the hotel staring out the window, looking at the scenery. Wondering when he'd get in touch. And how. Shit. The cell. He's a fucking mind-reader. "Mulder." "Tell me you're in St. Louis." "I'm in St. Louis." "Where are you?" "Pulling up to the hotel. Christ, I'm staying at the Hilton?" "Enjoy it." "Where are you?" "Somewhere else." "That's specific." "There's a package for you at the desk. Look it over. I'll call you when you need to move." "Krycek?" "Yeah." "Why are you doing this?" "All in good time, Mulder. Pig out on the room service. Watch the alcohol. It's all covered." "Pay per view?" "Playboy channel." "Oh, you know what I like." "I'm hanging up." According to the desk clerk, my reservation was for a suite. It's bigger than my apartment. It's got a card key. I'd like to see Krycek break into this. I tossed the envelope on the king-sized bed as I came in. Then checked the rooms out, looked at the view, gaped at the size of the shower. The menu for room service was right by the phone and I found I was suddenly starving. One of everything sounded good, but I held back. I ripped open the envelope waiting for the food to arrive. A set of keys to a car in the hotel parking garage. A map of some buildings near a set of train tracks. A list of what I could expect to find there. Shit. Enough fire power to stage a small coup. Explosives. Chemicals. This was nasty shit, but I couldn't see the x-file. Yet. I shrugged and opened the small envelope. A ticket for the Cards season opener. Right behind the dugout. Great seat. Krycek was sending me to a baseball game. Son of a bitch. It *was* an x-file. ***************end