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. :) Fifth in the Tapestry Series. You might want to read the others 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 - Greetings by Amirin #118 *********************** I know my jaw hit the ground when the 'stick' was rolled out of the truck. Jesus, Alex. Ferrari. Testarosa. Convertible. Black. God help me. I think I'm in love. I looked through the glove box for my next set of instructions. And thought he had to be kidding me. The man actually expected me to drive this incredible...car sounds so inadequate...to... New York? I was going to a Rangers game. Center ice. Shit. How does he *do* this? *Why* does he do this? Why do I not really give a rat's ass? Damn, driving *this* through New England all the way to New York City. Top down. Ohhh, yeah. I will owe the man for the rest of my life. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He'd been in touch sporadically for the last week. Krycek. Mulder, I hadn't heard word one from but Krycek was calling daily, letting me know that Mulder was all right, keeping me in the loop. I don't really know why. He practically handed that operation in St. Louis to Mulder on a platter. Said he just wanted to keep the man sharp. Alert. Alive. And far away from D.C. and the FBI and lots of other unpleasant letters. Don't tell *me* he's got an agenda. You think I don't know that? I haven't any idea what it is, but it got Mulder out of his damned apartment, gave him something else to think about for nineteen weeks. Other than Scully getting killed. Krycek's given me a lot to think about, too. He only calls me when I'm at home, on my cell. Told me once not to bother trying to track him down. Told me not to worry about Mulder; he was at least halfway across the country from him. Naturally, he didn't specify *which* country and only laughed when I asked him. Told me Mulder was okay and was going to be more okay as time passed. Told me Mulder liked baseball. And room service. And flying first class. And lobster. And sunrises over the ocean. And some damned Russian poet. And a dozen other things that sounded completely...I don't know what. It wasn't sinister, but in a way it was. He's dropping breadcrumbs and Mulder's following. Anywhere. *Everywhere*. I know Mulder has his cell. I could call. But what the hell do I tell him? What could I possibly tell Mulder about Alex Krycek that he doesn't already know? He's got no rudder, since Scully was killed. No direction. Mulder's compass is pointing right at Krycek and Krycek's got the time, and the money, apparently, to send Mulder all over the damned country if he wants to. So, what do I do? And what do I do now that I'm apparently in the game, as well? Or at least going to one. Krycek sent me a ticket to a Rangers game, center ice. It was delivered by special messenger this afternoon, along with lunch. The bastard bought me lunch. There was also a note that said he hoped I liked Sicilian. So, what the hell do I do? I go watch the Rangers play hockey, I guess. Christ on a crutch. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The drive to New York was automotive nirvana. The weather was perfect, the car was perfect, the day was perfect. And if the Rangers won against the Penguins, tonight, life would be perfect. Considering how bad it could have been, everything was fucking incredible. I thought about my apartment twice on the drive to the Big Apple. And one of those times was to wonder who was feeding my fish. Wouldn't surprise me one bit if Alex had taken care of that, too. He'd taken care of everything. And if I weren't enjoying it all so much, I'd be seriously pissed. But, I couldn't argue with his choices so far. Not by a damned sight. Did I mention the hotel? Sorry, I guess that should be The Hotel. He got me a room at The Plaza. Room? Ha. Try king-sized suite. Again. Just like St. Louis. I'm sensing a pattern here... I didn't even know what the 1-800 number written on the slip of paper was, until the front desk answered to confirm the reservation under yet another name that was also written on the slip of paper. Paid in full. For the next two nights. I checked in with the confirmation code, following Alex's instructions to the letter. They fell all over themselves making me comfortable. The valet damned near prostrated himself in front of the Ferrari. A long, thin envelope was waiting on the table in the living room. Brochures, an itinerary, more reservations under even more names. There was one for a late dinner after the game. At Delgatti's. For two. Who the hell was I having dinner with? Him? He'd said he was going to be gone for a couple of days. I guessed it wouldn't be too bad, whoever it was, or he would have left the Mylanta in plain sight. I grabbed a quick shower to wash the road off of me and got changed into something more hockey-ish. Kept the leather jacket on. I was getting used to it. Hailed a cab to take me to the arena; last thing I needed was for the car to get stolen. Quick ride, nice being a normal person and not an agent. Mostly. I still carried the cell. And my gun. Don't leave home with it. Found my seat with no problem. Perfect view. I could see *everything*. Couldn't have been any better. I kicked back and relaxed, as much as one can at a Rangers game. It was going to be fun... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I thought I saw a man who looked like Mulder as I was making my way to my seat. Convinced myself I was delusional; the man'd been on my mind a lot during the drive from D.C., that was all. As had Krycek. I took a look around the arena with an agent's eye but really didn't feel like I was in any danger. Public place, huge crowd. Not quite Krycek's style, from what I remembered of it. I hadn't been in my seat five minutes when I heard his voice. "If you turn around, I'll disappear." Shit. "What do you want, Krycek?" "I just wanted to say hello. It's been too long." "Not long enough." "Funny, how I knew you were going to say that. Still so predictable. Unlike Fox. You never know what the hell's going to come out of *his* mouth next." *Fox*? "Where's Mulder?" Silence met that growled demand and I was about to turn when something came around my neck. I flashed on a near-garrotting in a stairwell before a small, expensive pair of state-of-the-art binoculars dropped onto my chest. I reached up to take them and a gloved hand over my shoulder pointed almost straight ahead. "Exit sign. Nine rows down. Seventh seat from the left." Mulder. So much for delusional. "Nice jacket." "He likes my tailor." "What the hell are you up to?" "Saving his ass." "From what?" "From the same fuckers who waxed his partner." "He's in danger? Christ, why didn't you tell me? We would've gotten him into a safe house, something." "You would've gotten him killed." "*What*?" "You're still thinking in terms of 'we', Skinner. Meaning you and some people you think you can trust at the Bureau. I think in terms of 'I'. And 'he'. And that's it." A moment spared for quick thought and I got it. I thought I got it. Hell, you never knew with Krycek. "You've been keeping him moving. And visible. With a paper trail, tickets, reservations in his name..." "Until Vermont. They'll think he's there for quite a while. There are some...intriguing locations for a man of Mulder's interests in Vermont. I have associates who will be keeping things hectic for a few days, up there. They'll believe he's involved. For a while. Long enough." "Long enough to what?" "I've got some things I need to do. Places I need to go. People I need to...deal with. I'll be out of touch for a couple of days. And that's where *you* come in, Skinner. You get to play guard dog until I either make it back or send Mulder somewhere else. Fair warning: Don't interfere, whichever. You really don't look that great in black." A vague sense of movement and he was gone by the time I turned around. Christ. Now, I had to go get Mulder. What the hell were he and I going to do until Krycek got back? And what would Krycek do if I hauled Mulder into protective custody? The son-of-a-bitch would 'deal with' me, that's what. I wasn't going to think about 'how'. Shit. ********************end