Title: Human Touch Author: Eider Fagaras Categories: Slash, Mulder's POV Pairing: Yep, M/K Spoilers: till Biogenesis Rating: PG-13, really Disclaimer: Hope they'll give us some material to work on, next season. Summary: Mulder visits Krycek in jail for the last time. Notes: Many, many thanx to Araxdelan for beta-reading this snip and for giving a home to my fic! I didn't exactly listen to her for everything (sorry!), so if you find something that doesn't sound English, my fault. Originally written as an apology for my friend Yvi. September 2000 fagaras@lycos.com ============ Human Touch ============ He's sleeping on the bench, his face turned away from me. He looks peaceful, at least as far as I can tell by his unmoving leather-covered back. Suprising, since his detention also means his death, as it does for every single member of this not so secret little consortium of theirs. Suprising but not totally unexpected: twice they tried to get to him, and twice they failed leaving a corpse, their own. A corrupted guardian would play the bad duck each time and we'd find him in the morning, lying dead in front of the prisoner's cell. After the first murder attempt, we moved Krycek into another more secured jail, replacing the spacy bars by a thick iron door. I still haven't figured that second one out but the scenario was the same: a body sprawled at the outside of the room, with no killing mark on him and no way for Krycek to reach from the inside, but nevertheless lifeless. In the months since my very peculiar encounter with the alien artifact, I've become good -- more than ever -- at reading people's minds, good at letting their emotions, fears or pleasures wash over me. But with him, with Alex Krycek, the connection is completely blank, empty, infinite. I feel nothing emating from him, as if his very existence should be questioned. It intrigues me. No, actually, it frightens me like Hell. He already has much impact on my being without his mind-chasm, as I named it, adding any hoodoo on it. "You came to kill me," his voice is everything like I remember: soft, husky and seductive at the same time. As well as tired, expectant and confident. He didn't ask any question. It was an affirmation. "I came to kill a myth." He's silent for a moment, then a deep chuckle rises from his throat. He sits back to the wall, facing me and bends a leg, boot flat on the bench to lay his prosthesis on, mimicking a figure of pure relaxation. "My, but you must be desperate to throw me nice words, Mulder. Please, take your best shot, I'm as unarmed as a baby," he smirks and opens his arms wide in invitation. I open the door with the keys the new and now third guardian gave to me -- me, the nice FBI agent. It seems Smokey Man and his ghouls didn't manage to blackmail or terrify that one. Perhaps they thought they didn't need to since they concluded I would be more than happy to do the job. As I close the door of the cell behind me, I feel a crackle in Krycek, as if colors and sounds suddenly fulfilled his aching soul for a too brief moment before being sized by the snow-white abyss and being assimilated. I shiver, suddenly cold, and make a mental note not to watch science-fi TV marathons while writing case reports ever again. Krycek straightens as I stop in front of him. He's waiting for a blow, a gun or a knife, I can sense it. His eyes are hard, his mouth set into a firm line. Fear, fear, his fear penetrates my mind. Maybe he's not inhuman, after all. Maybe his soul is not a chasm but a wall. I take a step forward and his fingers clench. Another step and he brings his good hand against his chest in such a self-protective way that I cannot help but flinch internaly. He tenses as I take his face between my hands. His cheeks are cold under my thumbs. I lower my head slowly, enjoying the look of utter panic and uncomprehension displayed in his eyes. They are shining, beautiful. Scully once told me they were green. And pretty. I certainly believe her, she was right about the pretty comment. Another cosmic joke on Spooky, Krycek having eyes I can't see. His mouth open beneath mine. Is it by surprise or offering, I don't know, but I've never been one to decline an opportunity. I lightly caress his soft lips with my tongue and tangle my fingers through his dark hair, trying to ease the tension from his knotted body. He's still, as rigid as a marble statue. For a second, I'm afraid I was mistaken about him, that Krycek is a lost cause and that I'll never have the joy of discovering his true and mysterious self. The second after though, his trecherous lips claim mine, his hot tongue assaults my mouth and ravages me, his body melts against me -- or rather shapes my limbs around his. Long after, we step back from each other, breathless, flushed and more excited than ever. There is now a breach in his mind, brillant, vibrant and colorful. I now know how to reach him. I'll never forget that. I walk backward, open the door and stop into the corridor. Our eyes are lock, they seem not to want to depart. Quite unwillingly, I finally break the strong contact -- the most powerful, deep gutt-twisting link that I ever felt with a human being, in fact -- and stride toward the exit of the prison. I sense two sun-emeralds following my movements, quickly joined by the passion of a soul I have yet to uncover bare-naked. A heavy silence weights on my heart for seconds far too long, then I hear footsteps and let the grin appear. He's curious, though not completely convinced. I'll work on it. It just needs human touch. -The End- =========