TREACHERY 3: Finally (between Terma and PX)

Disclaimed in Part One. I hate T3, I'm planning to rewrite it.

Alex Krycek knocked on the door of the old house, which looked 
deserted. No-one answered, of course. He swore silently, and walked 
backwards. He pulled an about face, and walked up the neighbours' 
drive. He knocked on the door, and an old woman answered.

He put on his most charming face.

"Uh, hello, ma'am." 

Contrary to belief, he could be polite when it was necessary. She 
smiled at him.

"Hello there, young man. Can I help you?"

He nodded. "I hope so. Tell me, do you remember the family who used to 
live in that house?"

She smiled again, indicating for him to step inside the house. He did. 
She showed him to the lounge, introducing herself as Mrs. Hamilton. 

"Yes, I do. The Kryceks, I believe they were from Russia. Had several 
children, three girls and..two boys." 

Her face changed when she said 'two', like she was unsure. He couldn't 
blame her for that.

"Do you know where they moved? Or why?" he asked, locking eyes with 
her. 

"They moved because Mr. Krycek put a bullet through his head. On his 
daughter's twenty-fifth birthday, it was. Sascha's. Poor girl was 
devastated. They moved out of town, I have the address.."

She walked out of the room, headed for the kitchen. He sat there, 
staring into space. So his father was dead. On what would have been 
Alex's twenty fifth birthday. He remembered that, his twenty fifth. 
Celebrated by getting royally screwed over by the syndicate. And 
assigned to Fox Mulder.

The lady came back, and handed him an address. "Mrs. Krycek lives 
there. Sascha, Natasha, Chris and Tatyana have all left home by now. 
But that's where she lives."

"Thank you." Krycek said, looking her in the eye. Being sincere for the 
first time in more years than he cared to remember. 

She smiled, one of the first times he'd recieved a sincere smile in 
more years than he cared to remember.

And he walked out, checking the address and hailing a cab with his 
right hand.

*****

Krycek took a deep breath, smoothing down his white shirt, and 
straightening his leather jacket. There wasn't a helluva lot he could 
do about his left arm, or the dirt caked into his jeans. His hair was 
longer than what could be considered neat, but he preferred it long. 
Slowly, he walked up the path, to the door.

He used the knocker, standing nervously to one side. His mother 
answered the door, looking at him like he was either a thug - which he 
did look like, or simply a complete and utter stranger. Krycek's heart 
felt like a knife was twisting in it. 

"Uh..Mrs. Krycek?" 

*Stupid fucking question, Alex. Of course she is*

She nodded, her face clouded with doubt and not a little suspicion.

"Who are you?"

Krycek ignored her question. "Can I come in?"

She stood her ground, shaking her head. He stared her in the eyes, 
wondering if she even remembered her youngest son.

"Uh.." Krycek stammered, for once in his life unsure of where he stood. 
He'd missed his mother more than he'd care to admit. "Do..do you have 
any idea of who I am?"

She shook her head, eyes scouring his body for a possible clue. He 
sighed, the sigh slightly tinged with a sob trying to fight its way up. 
His own mother didn't recognise him. *Shows what you've become, doesn't 
it.*

Apparently she heard, because she visibly softened and stepped aside, 
allowing Alex to enter the house. 

Entering the living room, he saw out of the corner of his eye, 
pictures. He tried to ignore them, turning instead to face his mother.

"What is your name?" she asked, the Russian accent still recognisible 
in her voice, after all these years.

He went to say something else, a lie, but stopped, and looked at his 
boots.

"Alex Krycek. I'm Alexander Krycek."

He kept his eyes down for a good thirty seconds, then looked up to see 
his mother with her hand over her mouth, disbelieving. He thought he 
heard an audible gasp.

"Alexi?" she whispered, unbelieving. He looked her in the eyes, and 
recognition dawned on her face. She walked forward, and wrapped her two 
arms around him. He leant down into her shoulder, and made no move to 
stop the tears. He embraced her tightly with his right arm, sobbing 
into her hair, which smelt like he remembered. She still used the same 
shampoo, he guessed. Suddenly, his mother pulled back, and reached for 
his left arm - hanging at his side.

Suddenly ashamed, he pulled back, resisting, frowning. She stepped 
forward, and reached for his hand. And pulled it to the front of his 
body.

Krycek involuntarily felt tears running down his face as she touched 
it, feeling the inhuman plastic. She turned bright green eyes up to 
meet his, tears gathering.

`What happened?' she asked in gentle Russian. He shook his head, and 
replied in Russian as well, `I can't tell you'.

She led him over to the couch, and sat down beside him, the two hugging 
each other so as never to let go again. After ten minutes of all out 
sobbing, Alex smiled, his first sincere smile for far too long. His 
mother turned to him, again, and smoothed a lock of hair out of his 
eyes. 

"Alex," she began, "Why did you leave?"

He looked away, out the window. "I.." he trailed off, suddenly not 
being able to remember. It had made sense to a distressed eight year 
old, perfectly so. "I had to get away from Dad before he killed me."

That was the truth. His father's temper that night had truly scared 
him, and he'd been afraid of what his father could have done. His 
mother nodded, and Alex realised it was about an agreement. He leant 
back, taking in a deep breath.

"Where are Sasch and Tatyana?"

His mother stood up, walked to the kitchen. He watched her go, and she 
came back within a few minutes.

She held a photo album. "Like to see your siblings?"

He nodded, and she sat beside him, opening the album on their two laps. 
Alex kept it together for a few minutes, but after seeing a picture of 
Sascha crying on her twenty-first, remembering him, he lost it. Broke 
down, out of guilt. 

His mother comforted him, but couldn't stop him crying like a baby. He 
couldn't believe himself, showing this weakness. It had been almost two 
years since he last cried, and that was when he was in the silo by 
himself. Scratch that, it was actually less than a year ago. When the 
fact he no longer had a left arm had hit him. He'd locked himself in 
the cupboard of the nearest store and sobbed until they kicked him out. 
But it sure wasn't often that Alex Krycek cried.

*****

Krycek glanced at the clock. 11:17pm. He stood up, stretching. His 
mother had told him Tatyana was in NYC, and he intended to find her. 
She'd only moved a month ago, and his mother didn't have her exact 
address, although she wrote often enough.

After scrawling a note to his mother, in his child-like block 
handwriting, he wrapped his leather jacket around himself, and took off 
into the pitch black night.

To find his baby sister.