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.  :)

Tenth in the Tapestry Series.  You might want to read the others first,
just so we're all on the same page, here.

Thanks to my MediaWest roommates for helping me with Nicky.

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 - Shaking  by Amirin <groh@iquest.net>  #136


***********************

The instructions he'd left on my pillow were brief.  Just a map, and a 
note that read 'Head to Riverview, Connecticut, and see what's 
shaking'.  Nothing else.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

My new car?  The keys were delivered with breakfast.

Just your average stick, he'd said.  Shit.  This was the saffron of 
stick shifts.  A 1926 Auburn Duesenberg.  Turquoise and cream.  With an 
AM radio.  This was a 'family car'?

Dear god.

How does he *do* this?

I got on the road, wondered how much a beauty like this machine went 
for and debated on keeping it.  

Connecticut wasn't all that far and in a few hours I was passing the
'Welcome to Riverview' billboard will all the usual plaques and badges 
for the various organizations.  So hometown, so . . . *normal*.  He'd 
said things were going to get more normal.  You can't get much more 
normal than Smalltown, USA.

I drove around the town square a half a dozen times until the car 
started getting attention and pulled off onto a quiet sidestreet to 
look around.  Shops in brick buildings of beauty and character, small 
diners, a theatre with a lightbulb marquee, the bus depot.  The 
library.  That seemed as good place to start as any.  

It felt weird, not having my every move spelled out and scheduled.  But 
I thought I could handle it.  I was an FBI agent, for Christ's sake.

I got back on the circle for a bit, headed down a one-way street, cut
through the parking lot behind the bank, and finally made my way to
'Visitor Parking'.

The air-conditioning was a welcome blast of cool relief and I smiled
automatically at the people who turned and looked at me.  Hell, I 
couldn't seem to help it.

I wandered the stacks aimlessly, not really knowing what I was looking 
for, until the sign pointing to the room devoted to 'Riverview's 
History, A Look Back' caught my eye.  The prints of the town's 
forefathers were on the wall next to the pictures detailing the tragic 
fire at the courthouse back in 1962, and the subsequent reconstruction, 
finished in 1966.  That's when I caught a name in the alphabetical list 
of craftsmen and builders who'd worked on the project.  N. Krychekov.  

Coincidence, my ass.

I decided to leave the Auburn where it was and walked the distance 
across the square, taking in the usual cannons and antique bombers 
which hadn't seen action for half a century, and scuffed my way up the 
stone steps of the Monrovia County Courthouse.

I wandered around the building, admired the work done on the stairs, 
the rotunda, the stained-glass windows, and wondered where the hand of 
Alex's father would be found in evidence.  The courthouse was a work of 
art, literally, and I spent damned near an hour looking the place over.

"May I help you, Sir?"

I turned around to find a lady with a friendly smile that reminded me 
of soup and cookies.

"Just admiring the architecture, Mrs. . . ?"

"Franklin, Maggie Franklin, Mr. . . .?"

"Mulder," I answered and was going to leave it at that when a amusingly
reproving look was cast my way.  "Fox Mulder.  An amazing job,
considering how badly it was burned."

"It took four years to complete," she slid smoothly into the role of 
tour guide.  "And four million dollars."

"Quite a chunk of change for 1966."

"It *is* the county seat."

"Money well spent."  

I was still looking the place over, following the curve of the overhead
balcony with my eyes.  "Is there any way to find out who did what 
during the rebuilding?  The men who worked on it?"

"Most of them are long gone," she started to demure, looking at me
curiously, but caved under the pleading look I sent her.  "I'll take 
you to Records," she decided finally.  "Gert can probably help you."

She led the way up the staircase - the steps, marble, the banister, 
polished brass - down another corridor to a room almost at the end of 
the hall, and smiled at the older lady behind the counter.

"Gert, this gentleman is looking for some more information on the men 
who worked on the reconstruction.  Can you help him?"

"What are you looking for, Mr. . .?"

"Mulder," I answered and added, before the sweet smile turned 
reproving, "Fox Mulder.  And, actually, I'm looking for a who, more 
than a what."

"All righty, then, *who* are you looking for?" 

A faint click behind me signaled Maggie's departure and I grinned at 
the grandmotherly lady in front of me.  Geez, she was even tinier than 
Scully.

"I'm trying to find an 'N. Krychekov', with a 'K'.  Can you help me?"

"That name sounds familiar.  Let's check the roster," she said, and got
busy with numerous dusty volumes.  I was over by the window, looking 
out at the square, when she looked up and beamed in victory.

"You found him," I guessed and walked around the counter to look over 
her shoulder.  "Nickolai Krychekov, woodworker."  The list of smaller 
projects he'd worked on was impressive and his talents certainly 
contributed to the beautiful whole.

"Of course, Nicky Krycek," she said aloud and chuckled, then answered 
my unspoken question.  "He shortened the last name when he married 
Bets.  Elizabeth Potter," she explained.  "Beautiful girl, just lovely. 
The most striking green eyes, and lashes that were the envy of half the 
women in town.  Smart as a whip, too.  Sweetest thing you'd ever laid 
eyes on, that was our Bets."

"Was?" I echoed.  

"They both died tragically many years back, she and Nicky, still so 
young . . . " she trailed off into memories and I actually hated to 
disturb her. 

"Did they have any children before they died?" I asked nonchalantly and
grinned inwardly when she nodded.

"Oh, my, yes," she said with a mischievous grin.  "Alex.  His 
grandmother raised him after their deaths.  Absolute devil of a boy, 
but with the smile of one of God's own angels.  Track star through high 
school..."

"Which high school?" I interrupted hurriedly, and kicked myself for not
thinking of this sooner.

"Riverview West," she answered, with a puzzled look on her face.

"How do I get there?"

"Down Seventh Avenue, past the railroad tracks, just before you get to 
the old mill..."

I gave her a peck on the cheek with a rushed 'thanks' and tore out of 
the room.

Finding Seventh Avenue was no problem; the first street after Main was,
well, First.  I just kept heading north until I hit Seventh and barely
noticed the rumbling bump as I passed over the train tracks.  I saw the
school immediately.

Big place, football field to die for, old wooden bleachers, and a 
cinder track running around the perimeter.  I headed for 'Visitor 
Parking' again, carefully parked the Auburn, and walked into the 
building, heading directly for the office.

I was passing the gym, with its required sound of bouncing basketballs,
when I saw the trophy case.  I glanced through it, the large banner 
marking the Year Of Glory for the track team of 1985.  Pennants galore, 
plus, jackpot of jackpots, the team photo.  And Alex Krycek, center 
frame, with his arm around the shoulders of a young Asian, a C. Keng.

"Hello, there!"  A way-too-damned-chipper voice startled me and I 
turned around to see the stereotypical Varsity cheerleader right at my 
elbow.  She was bouncing up and down on the toes of her tennies and I 
was seriously tempted to put a hand on her head, just to get her to 
hold still.  "Can I help you?" she asked earnestly.

"I'm just looking around, thanks."

"Tiff, we're gonna be late," one of the other girls hissed, prompting a
glare from 'Tiff' that really reminded me of Scully.

"Tiffany, Lisa, isn't Mrs. Wilkins expecting you, ladies?"  

Thank God, an authority figure.

"Yes, Ms. Armstrong," the girls chorused and, with a few breathless 
"Bye"s and giggles, headed off to find Mrs. Wilkins.

Shrewd eyes a lot like Walter's had my number before I could draw 
another breath.

"Good morning, Mrs..."

"It's afternoon, Mr...?"

I sighed and surrendered.  Immediately.  "Mulder, Fox Mulder."  I was
getting better at this.  "Gert at the courthouse pointed me your way," 
I started and found the eyes thawing just a trifle.  "I'm trying to 
find Alex Krycek, or someone who knows him."

"You've found him," she stated firmly, nodding at the case, her gaze
softening just a little more.  "Alex is one of our legends."

"Hometown hero," I muttered, looking at the picture of a young Krycek 
with a genuine smile on his face, eyes glittering merrily right through 
the black and white photo.

"Quite a few of his old track records are still standing, to this day," 
the lady winced.  "I'm sorry, I'm being rude.  Ginnie Armstrong, nice 
to meet you."

I shook her hand with some distraction, searching Alex's face for a 
hint of the man I knew.  

"Is there anyone around here who's still in touch with him?" I asked 
her.

"Probably Chae, if anyone," Ginnie nodded to the photo, indicating the 
young Asian.  "He's in Chesterton, about an hour and a half's drive 
north of here.  Done well for himself, a doctor."

"Doctor?"

"Pediatrician," she clarified.  "He and Alex were thicker'n thieves all
through school.  If anyone knows how to reach Alex, it would be Chae."

I turned back to the photo and looked at the boy's name again.  Chae
Keng.  Oh, shit.  

I started laughing as I thanked a somewhat bewildered Ginnie and headed 
to the parking lot.  Chae Keng?  I'd just found what was *shaking* in 
Riverview.

"Cute, Alex.  Very cute."

The hour and a half drive to Chesterton passed quickly.  I stopped to 
check out the local phone book while I got the tank filled at a station 
where the guy seemed horrified to find me about to pump my own gas.  

I found Dr. Keng in the yellow pages, with a listing for the local
hospital, and drove over, as soon as the guy from the gas station was 
done worshipping my car.

It didn't take long to find Keng's office and introduce myself to his
receptionist.  I told her it was personal and had to insist that I 
didn't have a child with me.

I read through the magazines for almost another hour in the waiting 
room.  The doctor showed up about the time I started getting hungry.

"You don't strike me as being the GQ type, Mr. Mulder," a dry voice 
stated.

"I'm just impressed the magazines aren't three years old."

"I do my best.  Amy said this was personal," he tilted his chin toward 
his receptionist.

"It is.  It's about Alex Krycek."

One black eyebrow arched smoothly, but there was no other reaction.  
The guy had been expecting me; I just knew it.

"This isn't a real good time, Agent Mulder."  

My eyes lit up.  Hah.  I hadn't introduced myself as *Agent* Mulder.

"I know that Alex has been in touch with you, recently, and I'd like to 
talk to you, if you have a moment."

"It would take more than a moment, I'm afraid."  

He didn't even bother asking me how I knew what I knew.  

"Fortunately, I'm working a short day, today, so I have the time."

"I appreciate that."  

Yeah, more than you know, Doc.

"Why don't you stop by my place later this evening?  I'll be home after
seven."

"I look forward to it," I replied, grinning again.  The doctor gave me
directions for a decent hotel nearby to stay in for the night and a
restaurant that sounded like it could meet my exacting specifications 
for grease-laden and high-caloried food and I took off like a hound on 
a scent.

I checked into the hotel first, getting a king-size room out of habit 
and paying for it with cash.  More habit.

The diner was glorious.  I could smell the food a block and a half 
away.  Sometimes, there just isn't anything in life better than a 
hamburger, loaded, and french fries.

I still wished Alex was there.

I debated calling him, or trying to, but left it alone.  There wasn't
really a reason to; he knew where I was, I knew he'd come when he 
could.

I polished off lunch and thought about going back to the hotel but it 
was too nice a day to waste it watching Jerry Springer.

The food was making me drowsy, though, and a short nap sounded good 
before I went anywhere else.  I caught a sign for a city park on the 
way and that sounded like a good idea, just finding a tree to doze 
under.

I parked by the tennis courts and took a trail to the lake, surrounded 
by huge, old trees.  Finding one away from people proved relatively 
easy and after checking my gun and cell, I made myself comfortable.

My mind flashed back to Alex's eyes smiling out from a photograph just
before I fell asleep.


~~~end