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Part One: Midnight Angel Take the hope from the heart of a man Death left a sour taste in his mouth, a burning stench in his nostrils, and no matter how many times he washed, he still couldn't rid himself of the feel of it on his skin. He wasn't sure if it was intention or boredom that had caused him to dress in black, looking every bit the reaper he likened himself to. The knuckles of his right hand were bleached white with the vicious fist his fingers had locked themselves in. A meager defense against the cold. Not even the vodka burning in his stomach could warm him. No one bothered to question him here. No one knew his name, or even dared look him in the eye. He kept to himself, as much a loner as ever. The others didn't know just how lucky they were. He only spoke to those men he meant to destroy. The mercenary was a role he played very well. And yet, as he stepped onto the sidewalk in the treacherously frigid night air, his attention was drawn immediately to the wisp of fragility that stood before him. She didn't belong there. That much was obvious. The blushing luminescence of her flesh glowed virgin-white in the neon lights. Blue flashes of color danced over her dark hair, landing in a halo atop her head as she paused to adjust her sandal. She was about as natural standing in front of the tattoo parlors and seedy bars that filled his gaze as the nun that once slapped a ruler across his palm. The only difference was, the Sister had been an old woman...this was just a girl. His first impulse was to keep walking, to disappear into the oily black shadows and never look back. His second urge was to crush her like a flower, breathing her heady scent in and savoring every nuance. In the end, he merely stared. Dressed in a powdery-blue velvet blouse, her cut-off jeans swishing around her thighs like a lover's whisper, she glided away from him. As the broken sidewalk between them widened with each step, he fought the compulsion to follow. This wasn't his scene. True, he hadn't been with a woman in a long time, but that didn't make him desperate enough to chase some candy-scented teen-ager to her daddy's BMW. He didn't need to run his palm over the beaded chain around her ankle, nor to run his fingers through the chocolate silk of her hair. He had no intention of tasting her bubble gum flavored lips. He didn't itch for the feel of her manicured nails scratching at his back. So why the fuck was he following her? It had been a long time since he'd noticed the subtly sway of a woman's hips. Females as a whole had never been one of his top priorities...but that was not to say that he was at all interested in men. His only concern in the male body was in knowing just where to strike to do the most damage. From the first memory he could recall, his Cold-War immigrant parents had been teaching him just what it took to survive...what it meant to sacrifice. The soft peal of a woman's laughter, in a world where the law was "betray or be betrayed," could very well be deadly. **Cheat, steal, lie. Kill precisely and quickly. Trust no one. Finish anyone who gets in your way.** It was a hollow way to live...but it was the only way to stay alive. Tuning out the song of the city, horns blaring, helicopters flapping by in utter darkness, he concentrated on the soft heartbeat of her shoes on the concrete. Stalking her like an unsuspecting rabbit. At times almost close enough to touch, yet sometimes lost among a crowd of carousing strangers. The rapid tattoo of his heart was almost enough to make him pause. He was a skillful hunter and had long ago trained himself to become apathetic to the kill. This instance may have been different, but he was shocked by his own excitement. The thrill racing through his veins like mercury hit a fever pitch as she rounded the corner and he lost sight of her. Gone, in the blink of an eye. Reaching the spot where she once stood, he swiveled around, scanning the area, only to find nothing. Disappeared. And yet, not quite. The smell of her still lingered in the air, soft and sweet like wildflowers in spring. With just a hint of spice that made his eyes close in sheer surrender. For just a moment, he wasn't a killer anymore. He wasn't a cold-blooded murderer with only destruction and perseverance on his mind. He was just a man, overcome with the latent lust and hunger for a beautiful woman. Never once, not even in his lowest hour, had he ever been a rapist. The idea of forcing an innocent woman left him with only cold distaste. And he had no desire to overpower this delicate creature...but he did want her. With an intensity that left him trembling. Yet he wasn't prepared for the instant when he opened his eyes to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Standing on the lower steps of a staircase, hidden in the shadows of the corner building, she held the pistol with two hands. Her grip wavered slightly as she met his gaze with wide blue eyes, her nostrils flaring with the effort to keep her flustered nerves under control. "You mind telling me who the hell you are and why you're following me?" A moment passed in silence and he felt a slow smile spreading across his face. "Last I heard, this was a public sidewalk." Her finger twitched slightly on the trigger, but he didn't flinch. He had to fight the urge to check his watch out of boredom. "Public sidewalk, my ass. That doesn't give you the right to follow me home." He glanced up at the door frame above her. Apartment 2A. His gaze drifted over the flaked paint, chipped bricks and graffiti-laden concrete, the sagging and well-worn wooden steps she stood on. And suddenly his earlier image of the spoiled little rich girl went up in flames. "Look, I made a mistake. Do you think you could flick the safety back on that thing before you accidentally blow my head off?" "I don't think so. Who are you?" He backed up a step, raising his hands slightly to show her he meant no harm. The very thought was so ridiculous he almost laughed. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry I bothered you." "Stop right there." Her aim became more determined...centering right on his groin. He froze. "I've seen you before. Who are you?" Fuck. He should have walked away when he'd had the chance. "Alex." She blinked slowly, licked her lips, and hesitantly lowered the gun. Still, she didn't flip on the safety. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually this paranoid. I just moved here and the idea of being raped doesn't really appeal to me, you know?" Somehow he managed a slight smirk. "You're right to be suspicious. For all you know, I could be a serial killer." Her eyes crinkled, a dimple curving her cheek. "What a way to go." Heat spread through his torso, lighting blazing flames along the way, burning a fire storm to his suddenly too-tight jeans. He'd spent most of his life attracted to violence. Although his intelligence had always been impressive, it was his seemingly effortless skill at marksmanship that had gotten him noticed at Quantico. It was no mistake, however. With former KGB agents as parents, and the knowledge that the world was most certainly coming to an end, he'd learned how to fight before he learned to talk. Resistance was in his blood. So why did he find himself so enticed by this stainless angel? "I didn't mean to be so rude." She rubbed her arm briskly. "It's cold out here. Do you have a place to stay for the night?" "Why, are you inviting me in?" "No...I was going to refer you to the 6th Street Shelter. I volunteer there sometimes. They're good people." "I have a place." "Oh." She stared at him for a minute, her eyes sweeping over him in a strangely daring caress. She opened her mouth as if to say something, only to close it again. And then she finally got the nerve. "Well the least I can do is offer you a cup of coffee, after pulling a gun on you." "You don't remain suspicious very long." "Well, you look harmless enough, Alex...besides, I still have the gun, and my walls are very thin. Mrs. Kitts could have the cops here in seconds, should I scream." Trusting. Naive and trusting. He hadn't encountered the combination in quite some time...but given where he usually spent his time, that wasn't surprising. A man with no loyalties had no place asking for trust. Just the same, he had no trust for anyone else. What was it that Rudyard Kipling had once said? "The female of the species is more deadly than the male." And it made sense. The most wicked of thorns were often carried by the prettiest flowers. He had no proof of her innocence. Nothing more than some gut feeling. And yet he followed her up those dark stairs. She wisely kept the gun close to her side, out of his reach, ready to use should she sense any danger. Funny. She obviously wouldn't know danger if it stung her on the ass. And what an interesting ass it was. He was hypnotized by the rhythmic sway. Had to fight the urge to mold his palm to the curve. Once she reached the top of the stairs, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she used her free hand to unlock the door. Flipping a switch near the door, she illuminated the penthouse loft to a soft pinkish glow. Stepping aside, she motioned for him to go ahead. "I hope you don't mind the mess. I don't have many visitors." His gaze swept around the room. The bare wood floor was barely visible under the yards of paint-spattered drop cloths. Canvases of different shapes and sizes leaned against the walls, and more still were mounted on various easels around the room. Each in a different state of completion. Some covered with bright splashes of oil paint, others in acrylic, and still others with only pencil drawings in place. But they were all disturbing. When he would have expected this woman's soul to be composed of flowers and poetry, instead he was greeted with harsh lines and blurred shapes. She met his stare, her cheeks flushed. "They aren't finished. I can't seem to get them right. But this is the stuff that's selling at the galleries. They can't keep them in stock....well, except mine. Mine they can't get rid of." He stepped closer to one of the canvases, running his fingers over the dried paint. "You're not much of a talker, are you?" she asked. His touch skimmed over the scrawled red paint that made up her signature. Sabryn Jaegar. He almost didn't notice when she stepped away from him to the minuscule counter space that made up her kitchen. "Do you like your coffee black?" "Do you have tea?" He could feel Sabryn's eyes on him, but didn't look up. "Uh...sure." The rest of her high-ceiling apartment consisted of a tiny bathroom area, kept separate by a wall of glass bricks, and corner that served as her bedroom. The weathered iron frame of her bed was barely recognizable under the mound of twisted blankets and sheets. Having not slept a normal night in years, he recognized the signs of nightmares immediately. Large windows lined two walls of the loft, allowing him to see the busy street below. There were no pictures sitting on her few pieces of furniture, no signs of a live-in lover or even the occasional boyfriend. The huge place was as empty and cavernous as an airplane hangar. "You live here alone?" She froze in the process of putting a mug in the microwave. It took her a moment to decide just how to answer him. In the end, he knew, she decided on the truth. "Yes. I'm not a city girl." She turned a bit, to face him. "I grew up on a farm, but I'm not exactly a country bumpkin either. I guess I don't really belong anywhere." He couldn't picture her on a farm. Of course, he doubted anyone could say the same of him either, even though he'd been born in rural Colorado. Still, there was a good reason he didn't resemble a farm boy...instead of raising pigs or sheep, his father had been raising a son that one day might have to fight his own future. A boy fluent in Russian, and possessing basic knowledge of several other languages, rather than knowing how to drive a tractor or milk a cow. A boy who knew how to find the information his father sought by any means necessary. A favorite of his teachers, a straight A student, a driven athlete. A man who'd graduated with honors, and went on to get a double major in college, entering the FBI Academy at Quantico to become a Special Agent. It was only a means to an end. Just as his father before him, Alex Krycek was first and foremost a spy. Some would call him a traitor. But those bastards didn't know what they were up against. In this world, there was no one country or government that he resisted. They were all the same corrupt, lying, back-stabbing syndicate. Treason was the game they started. "Are you from around here, Alex?" "No," he said, his voice barely audible even to his own ears. "I'm not from anywhere." "That's an odd thing to say. But don't worry, I understand. I don't really talk about myself all that much either...except, around you. I guess you just do that to me." He could think of a lot of things he'd like to do to her, but making her talk wasn't real high on that list. "I'm sorry I don't have anywhere for you to sit." She headed towards the bed, trying in vain to smooth down the rumpled covers. After a moment, she just tossed them to the floor. "I guess this will have to do." He nodded at the gun she'd tucked into her waist band. "That's a dangerous place to keep that thing. At least for me anyway." "Hmm? Oh..." She blushed a bit. "I'm sorry, I just--I'm being stupid. My brother gave this to me when I moved into the city. I'm not really all that comfortable with it, but--" "But you're even less comfortable with me." "No. That's the problem. I am comfortable with you, but sometimes I guess I'm too trusting and I really shouldn't be. Isn't that dumb?" "Not at all. You should be cautious. This world is all going to hell, anyway." "You sound like my brother." Considering him carefully, she finally set the pistol down on her night stand...potentially making a fatal mistake. She was lucky he didn't favor killing women. She headed back to the kitchen and he settled himself onto her bed. The squeak of the springs made him wince. "I'm not even sure why I invited you up here," she mused. "I don't do this sort of thing every day, you know." "You invited me because you're lonely." She laughed, but the smile didn't stay on her face for long. "Why would you think that?" "You live alone, in an apartment where you don't have many visitors. You're away from your family. You spend your nights working with strangers just for a bit of companionship. There are no signs of a boyfriend. No birthday cards or trinkets that might be gifts from friends--" "What are you, a detective?" She crossed her arms. "And anyway, just because you're alone, that doesn't make you lonely." "No--" "Are *you* lonely, Alex?" He stared at her, unblinking. "No, Sabryn, I'm not." She narrowed her eyes a moment, before turning and removing the mug of steaming water from the microwave. He watched her work, with an economy of movement and a delicate touch that made her the artist she was. Setting a plastic bear-shaped honey bottle on the night stand, she handed him his tea. "Never would have pegged you for a tea man. Then again, that sounds a bit like an oxymoron." He couldn't resist taking a look at her grin, over the rim of the mug. As she settled herself down on the footstool opposite him, he had to wonder what the hell he was doing here. He knew what he really wanted from her, but he was a fool to think he was ever going to get it. "Just what do you do for a living, Alex?" "What would you say if I told you I'm a spy?" "I'd say someone's been watching too many Schwarzenegger movies." She tilted her head to the side. "But that doesn't mean you don't have the right look. That whole 'Man in Black' persona really works for you." Christ. He actually laughed. He hadn't heard the sound in so long, it was almost rusty. "So, Mr. Spy...just who are you spying on? If you're after Clinton's secrets, I'm afraid they're already out there." He had to clear his throat. "No, that man is just a figure head...no pun intended." The soft giggle that escaped her plush, glossy lips made the room feel about twenty degrees hotter. The dark ache centering in his groin grew that much more painful. She didn't tear away her silver-laced gaze when he looked at her, didn't cower in fear in his presence. But she didn't know who she was truly dealing with. If presented with his true face, she'd have no problem clarifying the blurred shapes in her perplexing abstract paintings. The startling images of malevolence and catastrophe, so foreign to her that she couldn't even contemplate their likeness on canvas, would be as clear as glass. "Believe me, you don't want to know the things I know. Not in a million years." "You're certainly full of mystery, I'll give you that." "Everyone has their secrets." "What about family? Is that too personal a question?" "What do you want to know?" "Is there a Mrs. Spy?" "No." "Oh, that's right. Spies don't fall in love. I bet you just skip around from one woman to the next, like James Bond, never settling down, never daring to get attached." "Pussy Galore?" he asked, wryly. The girl actually snorted, nearly choking on her own sip of tea. "Something like that." "Yeah, something like that." "Still, it's hard to believe a man doesn't get lonely living that kind of existence. No one to come home to at night. No one to trust. No one to love." He swallowed the rest of his tea in one gulp, heedless of the scalding he gave his throat. Standing abruptly, he handed her his mug. "I should go." "Did I--um, yeah. It's getting late." "Th-Thank you for the tea." Sabryn set down both the mugs she was holding and held out her hand. "It was nice to have met you, Alex." He didn't give a damn about shaking her hand. Touching innocence wasn't enough. He wanted to consume her, possess her, be overwhelmed by her. Hold her, rock her, fuck her...destroy her. That's what it all came down to, wasn't it? The moment he let himself have her, he'd ruin her. He couldn't let that happen. And still.... And still, he wanted her. Brushing aside her outstretched hand, he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her closer. Barely noticing the hands she shoved against his chest to stop the assault. Ignoring the look of shock and alarm in her pretty blue-gray eyes. Pressing his mouth to hers with a gentleness he didn't know he was capable of. When she quit fighting him, he knew he was screwed. Her mouth softened below him, opening slightly, reciprocating the kiss. And he had to stop before it was too late. He walked away from her, leaving her to breathlessly stumble without his support. He could feel her staring after him, but he didn't bother to look back. As he reached the door, he paused and flipped the button on the knob so the door would lock behind him. "You should really be more careful," he said, his head turned to the side. "The only men that aren't dead in this world are deadly." He didn't wait around for her response. He stepped out the door and down the stairs with bitter determination. Not looking back once. Wiping the image of her face from his mind. He stepped back into a world where he was on his own. Where he used people for his own selfish motives and didn't give a damn who he stepped on along the way. Didn't she get it? He wasn't lonely. No one else mattered. *** Part Two: Sabryn Summary: What price do we pay to keep our secrets? For Allison Elizabeth, with love. Special thanks to my beta girls, Ginny & Diadem. He rais'd a mortal to the skies, Sweat-damp sheets spilled onto the floor next to her, illuminated by the soft blue glow of her lap-top computer. Her eyes half-closed with exhaustion, Sabryn typed a silent communication to a friend she'd never met. Although she'd once sworn never to set foot in a chat room, boredom and insomnia had months ago led her to a conversation with a man who could sympathize. Now, alone in a one on one conversation with her friend, over instant messaging, she didn't feel quite so lonely. Although he only knew her as "Lailah," he knew more of her secrets than she could count.
Sabryn closed her lap top and sighed. Her friend was right. It was best that she just forget her visitor from the other night. He wasn't coming back. Tossing her sheets out of the way, thankful they'd dried of the perspiration she'd shed during the night, she settled back and stared at the lights dancing across her ceiling. She had to forget Alex...along with the sinful dreams of him that made her sweat far more than her usual nightmares. Saturday morning's sun flooded the loft like a broken dam, waking her from the only sleep she'd had all night. Without curtains on the massive wall of picture windows, she had no need for an alarm. Yawning, she stumbled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom to shower and change her clothes. She didn't bother with her hair, other than to pull it away from her face with an old scarf. Dressed in a ratty pair of sweat pants and a clean T-shirt, she slipped on her shoes, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door. The deli around the corner was her only stop before heading to the 6th Street Shelter. She pulled a plastic-wrapped sandwich from the cooler, along with a bottle of berry-flavored iced tea. As she stood in line to pay for her purchases, she couldn't help the urge to look over her shoulder. She could feel someone's gaze on her. Yet, as she turned around, she had to look down to see the person standing behind her. The little girl stared up at her with big brown eyes, twirling a sandy ringlet around her finger. Holding her mother's hand with barely the grip of two fingers. "Amanda, it's not polite to stare." Sabryn flinched a moment before she realized the woman wasn't talking to her. The girl's name was Amanda. She looked down at the little girl once more, only to see the child quickly avert her gaze. "Ma'am...can I help you?" Her attention torn away from the child, Sabryn blushed and moved up to the register. The same familiar teenager she saw every day rang up her bill. And just as always, she reached into her wallet to pull out the $2.25...only to realize she didn't have enough. She'd forgotten to stop at the ATM machine. Then again, it didn't really matter. She didn't have any money in the bank. She'd spent every penny from her last painting sold to pay for the rent on her apartment. Unless she sold another painting fast, things were going to get very desperate. She would have to--- No. She refused to even think about that. Turning a pleading look on the cashier, she said, "Do you take checks?" He shook his head, pointing to the sign on the register. "Sorry, no checks." "I'm sorry, I just...I'm short by a dollar and eighty-five cents. Is there any way you can put me on a tab? "No, I can't--" "I come here every day. You know I'll pay you back." Behind her, the woman with the little girl--Amanda--tapped her foot impatiently. "I'd be glad to help you, but my boss isn't here and I don't want to get in any trouble." Just as she was about to give up and return her food to the cooler, Sabryn started as someone brushed past her and tossed a five-dollar bill onto the counter. "Keep the change. Maybe next time you won't be so rude to your customers." Sabryn swallowed heavily, staring up at her generous benefactor. "Alex." He barely glanced at her. Grabbing a package of peanut butter crackers from the nearby rack, he turned around and headed back out the door...leaving Sabryn and the cashier staring after him. Quickly recovering from her surprise, she picked up her lunch and hurried after him. He was nearly to the end of the block by the time she caught up, breathless and clutching her side. "Will you slow down! My legs aren't as long as yours." "I didn't know I was supposed to be waiting for you." "Well you could at least give me a chance to say thank you." "I didn't do it to earn points with you. You were holding up the line and I'm in a hurry." She stopped walking, staring at the back of his head. But as he kept walking, she couldn't keep her gaze from drifting lower. She swallowed heavily, watching the way his jeans molded so nicely to his ass. My, my. There was no denying he was a handsome man. The first time she'd seen him, she'd been more intimidated by his looks than she was by the gun in her hand. His piercing green eyes looked far more deadly than any man-made weapon. But for all of his masculine beauty, he was the most aggravating man she'd ever met. "Well thank you so much for being so concerned about me, Mr. Spy!" When he didn't stop, she clenched her fist so hard she squished her sandwich. Taking a deep breath, she started after him once more. "You may not care about manners, but I do. Where I come from, when someone does you a favor, you give them your gratitude." Finally, he stopped. Turning slowly, he pinned her with his lethal gaze. "No one's stopping you." "Oh, for God's sake...thank you. I truly appreciate what you did and I intend to pay you back." "It's not necessary." "Well it would make me feel better." "You don't owe me anything." She regarded him carefully, finally noticing the way he never really met her eyes. "Did I do something--I get the feeling you don't like me." Something akin to a laugh escaped his lips as he started walking once more. "I don't like anyone." "Then why did you kiss me?" "Momentary lapse in brain function." She felt her mouth drop open. "Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you are? You can't just kiss me like that and then act like it's all my fault. If you'll remember right, I tried to stop you and you wouldn't let me." "Do you always talk this much?" "In fact," she continued, "this was all your fault. You're the one who followed me home. I should have called the cops and had your ass hauled off the jail for...for...stalking." He turned so fast she almost slammed right into him. "Yes, you should have, Sabryn. And if you know what's good for you, you'll walk away right now." Crossing her arms, she stared up at him unblinking. "Why should I? Is Dr. No going to get me and subject me to all sorts of mind-blowing tortures?" His voice was a barely audible, flesh-caressing whisper. "No, honey, but I just might." Standing there on shaking legs, shivering slightly in the brisk winter breeze, she watched him walk away. Not even daring to follow. *** Folding the wool blanket with absent-minded motions, Sabryn stared out the window at the slowly setting sun. The pile of laundered pillows and bed clothes next to her teetered precariously, but she barely even blinked. "Girl, what planet are you on?" Sucking in a sharp breath, she turned to see Olivia picking up a couple of pillows that had fallen to the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was just thinking." "Certainly not of this task, if the smile on your face was any indication." Lord, she could feel her cheeks blazing. "I, uh...I didn't realize I was smiling." "It's a man, isn't it?" Olivia leaned her hip against the table and tilted her head to the side, sending a cascade of tiny braids falling over her shoulder. "I know that smile. Doesn't matter who's wearin' it." "Just thinking about the Brad Pitt movie I rented the other night." "Uh-huh...and I spend all my time daydreaming about Tom Cruise, too." She grinned, scratching her temple. "Well, actually, I do. But I don't smile like that." Sabryn set down the last blanket and took a deep breath. Although Olivia was a friend, they weren't all that close. They knew very little about each other, outside of the shelter, and Sabryn wasn't accustomed to talking about herself. But she needed to talk to someone. "I'm in trouble, Livie." "What kind of trouble?" "I met a man--" "Yep, that's trouble." "No, you don't understand." She licked her lips, trying to decide how best to word what she wanted to say. "I'm not good at dealing with this kind of situation. There are just things about me that...that I would be scared to tell a man like this. Things about my past." Olivia nodded, obviously aware that she wasn't going to get anything more out of her. "And you're serious about this man?" Sabryn had to laugh. "No, of course not. He's arrogant, rude, ill-mannered, impatient, secretive--" "You like him." "No." "That's not what I'm hearing." "Then you're not listening very well. I just--" She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease the ache that had suddenly developed. "I'm trying to think of the future. If not this man, there is sure to be some man who will want to know about my past, and I have no idea what to say." "If you love him, and he loves you, then you'll tell him. It's as simple as that." "Maybe you're right." "Of course I am. I'm always right." Sabryn grinned, picking up the stack of linens and taking them to the nearest cot. As she started to unload the stack, one by one on each bed, Olivia followed with the accompanying pillows. "So, who is this arrogant man?" "A friend, Livie. He's just a friend." *** After a dinner of cold, leftover pizza, Sabryn sat on her bed surfing the web. She was bored out of her mind. Her internet friend wasn't on-line, and she'd had her fill of fan fiction for the week. There was nothing on TV, and she refused to call her brother without something to discuss. He'd just tell her he told her so...he'd said she couldn't handle living alone. Well, she could handle it just fine. She just needed a little entertainment. She briefly considered going down the bar where she'd once seen Alex exiting, but she didn't have any money and he'd made it clear that he didn't want her around. She didn't need to be told twice. Still, it didn't stop the slight hurt she'd felt at his words. Why did men always have to be so rude? In the end, she closed down her computer and went to bed. Silently praying for a peaceful night's sleep, she settled under the covers and closed her eyes. Yet, when sleep finally came, the peace didn't last for long. She is running, the cool spring air whipping her hair out behind her and plastering her nightgown to her thin legs. Ahead of her, her brother laughs menacingly, holding her teddy bear just out of reach, daring her to catch him. Dried wheat stalks, brown and mottled black from the winter freeze, cut into her bare feet, pushing woody slivers into her numb flesh. She is crying, but more out of frustration than fear or sadness. Her brother is a bully, but she cannot tell her mama, or she'd be nothing but a big baby. Johnny races up the hill, cackling evilly, taunting her with the threat of throwing her precious bear into the creek. The pale, smiling moon is high in the sky. She has never been out this late in her papa's fields and the dense black velvet shadows frighten her senseless. She still believes in the boogie man, and if not for her need to feel like a big girl she never would have pestered her parents into letting her camp out with her brother. If only she hadn't cried.... Reaching the crest of the hill, her ten-year-old brother takes one look at the ratty stuffed animal is his hand and pitches it into the water below. With the sodden plop, she screams. Scrambling past him, she darts into the water, unaware of the change until she is already ankle deep. The creek is warm. Steaming hot, like bath water, on a chilly April night. The damp edge of her nightgown brushes her skinny leg and she shudders. Behind her, she can hear Johnny's laughter come to a sudden halt. And there is no noise. It's as if God turned down the volume on the world. Pulling her dripping teddy bear from the mud and clutching it to her chest, she stares up at the night sky with trepidation. The warm water under her, combined with the sight above her makes her want to wet her pants. She calls for her brother, but no sound leaves her throat. She tries to spot him behind her, but he is lost in blinding light. She tries to move, but is frozen in place. Out of nowhere, something hits her hard in the chest, knocking the wind out of her, slamming her to the ground, splashing water all over her and soaking her clothes. And yet, she doesn't stay down. The last thing she hears is her fearless, domineering brother, screaming her name in utter terror. "Mandy!" Sabryn awoke with a scream, doubling over in her bed with the urge to vomit. The dream was always the same, and she never remembered it all, but it always left her with the same feeling--inescapable fright. Her stomach clenched, and every muscle aching, she climbed out of the wet mass of sheets and made her way to the bathroom. Once in the darkened space, she lowered herself to the cool floor and struggled to control her pounding heart. Leaning her forehead against the cold porcelain toilet, she fought her nausea with the same determination as a hangover victim. No one else she knew had such powerful nightmares...then again, they weren't just dreams, were they? Memories, struggling desperately to break free from the tangled web of her mind. At the age of seven, she'd faced something so horrible her mind was afraid to remember it all. For years afterwards, she'd been taunted by class mates, shunned by potential boyfriends, made a laughingstock of her small town, and treated as a liar by her own family. All for a moment she couldn't recall. That April night, Amanda Megan Pruitt died...and Sabryn Jaegar was born. When the sickness passed and she could stand once more, she slipped off her baseball jersey and got into the shower. The chilly water slid down her flesh, washing away the last tired traces of the night. Cleansing her of the ache as well. Minutes later, dressed in an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt, she turned on the coffee pot. She readied her canvas and began to draw. Ignoring the darkness outside, before the dawn. Sweeping her gaze across the canvas, seeing the complete picture in her mind. And when the outline was done, she began to paint. Her eyelids were drooping by the time the light began to fill her apartment. She painted long into the morning, unaware of anything but the canvas, resigning herself to cold coffee once she added the finishing touches. With a thinned bit of red, she signed her name at the bottom and stood back to survey her work. She stared into Alex's eyes, smiling slightly at her choice of color. The Phthalocyanine green caught every nuance perfectly. Standing in shadows as mysterious as his gaze, reaching forward with a beseeching hand, he looked as if he might step right out of the painting. She laughed softly. "And wouldn't I shit if he did just that." With one last glance, she set down her paint palate and set about cleaning her brushes. It was becoming a beautiful day...and as she stared absently out the window at the street below, she caught a glimpse of her subject staring up at her building as he leaned against the street lamp across the way. She had to blink to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her. Was that really Alex? "Huh. Will wonders never cease." Without wasting time, she picked up her keys and headed for the door. "He doesn't care about anyone, my ass." *** Part Three: Human Touch Summary: When does loneliness become too much to endure? For Ginny, who's never seen a Krycek ep but still loves him anyway. Special thanks to Diadem, my cheering section extraordinaire. The belief that there is only one truth, and that oneself is in possession of it, is the root of all evil in the world. She tip-toed down the stairs, her bare feet crowned with toenails painted a garish purple, looking disheveled and exhausted. Still, there was a sly little smirk playing about her lips and a glitter in her eyes that he was coming to know all too well. Stuffing her keys in the pocket of her paint-spattered jeans, she glided across the deserted street and headed straight towards him. A woman on a mission. He wasn't sure whether to stand his ground or head for the hills. She was nothing but trouble. So why the fuck couldn't he stay away from her? "Why, Alex, I do believe you're spying on me." She looked absurdly proud of herself after that comment. "May I ask why?" "You ask a lot of questions about me. I have a right to be suspicious." "Oh, I see. You think I want something from you. State secrets and government intrigue. Or could it be that, just maybe--shock, horror!--I'm just trying to get to know you? To make a friend?" "I don't need any friends." She nodded, licking her lips. "And that explains why you're standing in front of my apartment this early in the morning." Christ, did she ever stop talking? "I was walking past and saw the light on. I was curious." "Curiosity killed the cat...quite literally, in fact. My cat was killed when he was trying to find mice in our neighbor's field. He ate poison and died." She examined her fingernail a moment, before meeting his gaze once more. "You just happened to be walking past my apartment this early in the morning?" "I had business." "Spy business. Sounds like fun. Can I come along some time?" This really had been a mistake. True, he'd had business in the area, but he'd had no excuse for stopping here. Not really. He'd told her the truth when he'd said he was suspicious of her, that he wondered just what compelled her to ask so many questions about him, but that wasn't everything. It wasn't just her that was a mystery to him, it was his attraction to her. He'd been with plenty of women more beautiful than her. More exciting, mysterious, intelligent, powerful. But they'd all wanted something from him. They'd used him. Maybe it was that more than anything that kept him coming back to Sabryn's door. She seemed, for all intents and purposes, innocent. And some masochistic part of him wanted to prove once and for all that she wasn't. "I don't think you want to play the games I play," he said finally, chewing on the corner of his lip. "And how do you know what I want? You don't take the time to get to know me. You don't seem to like me, anyway." "I never said that." She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "Talking to you is about as confounding as consulting a Magic 8-ball." "You're going to freeze to death if you keep walking around barefoot in the middle of winter." Looking down at her feet, she winced. "Damn it. I didn't even realize." With a smile, she added, "I was painting you." "You were what?" "Painting your portrait. It's really strange, because I've never done a portrait before...at least not a real portrait. I've painted my dog, and my cat...before he died. But I never painted a person before. I don't even know what compelled me--" She rambled on, totally unaware that he'd stopped listening to her. "Show it to me." "Hmm?" "Show me the painting." She suddenly flushed bright red. "Oh...ok." Alex followed her up those stairs once more, glancing quickly at the street around them, not even completely sure what he was looking for. And glad he didn't spot it. It took him a moment to recognize the pounding of his heart and ringing in his ears as panic. It was an emotion he hadn't experienced in a very long time. He waited impatiently as she unlocked the door, flexing his right hand in and out of an involuntary fist. A habit it was useless trying to break. When she opened the door and he caught sight of the wet paint, the smell of fresh acrylic, he let out his breath. He wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting. Some cultures believed that taking one's picture would capture their soul on film. But he wasn't superstitious enough to think the same could happen on canvas. He hadn't been preparing himself to see a pitchfork and a pair of horns. And yet, it shocked the hell out of him to see what he did. She hadn't painted him dressed in black like Death come alive, nor had she placed a gun in his outstretched hand. Instead of painting him as the spy and murderer he was, she pictured him as an ordinary man. Standing in foggy shadows, like those of a dream. Reaching out for someone, with almost hopeful eyes. Wearing pure, unsullied white. Innocent. Clean. Human. He had to fight the urge to laugh. Hell, she didn't know him at all. Even so, she had to trash the damned thing. His face was easily recognizable, and he no more wanted it trapped on canvas than he wanted to see it on a surveillance video. "You have to get rid of it." "What? This took me hours." "What the hell possessed you to paint me anyway? Torch the damned thing." "Over my dead body." He stepped past her, standing just before the painting. "The eyes are all wrong, anyway. Too blue." Completely ignoring her shriek of protest, he stuck his finger in the wet paint and smeared a squiggly line across his own angelic face. "You asshole!" "You're just now beginning to figure that out?" He grabbed the damp rag below the easel and wiped the paint off his finger. "Believe me, I just saved you a lot of trouble." "You can't just walk into someone's home and destroy their hard work." "I do whatever the hell I want to, sweet heart." She looked like she wanted to hit him, with every ounce of her soul, but to her credit she didn't make a move. "You know I can just repaint it. I'll do it over a million times if I have to." "You stubborn little--" "And don't you forget it." Slamming the door shut, she stalked over to the kitchen. A quick inspection of her bread made her wrinkle her nose, just before she threw it in the garbage. "I'm hungry. Did you want something to eat?" "Like what?" "Well, at the moment, macaroni and cheese is all I have." He should have grabbed the remains of the mutilated painting and left. Walked as far away from her as he could, and never looked back. Against his better judgment, he stayed. "Macaroni and cheese, it is." She eyed him with something related to disdain. "Are you sure you don't want Filet Mignon, Mr. Spy?" "You said it was all you had." "I was just making sure you didn't want me to go to the market or something." "You don't have any money." "That's right, so if you've come up here looking for your five dollars, you're going to be disappointed." "I told you that you didn't owe me anything." "Then what do you want? Surely you didn't come up here just to destroy my painting?" He was silent for a long time, casually making his way to the only sitting place in the apartment. And when he lowered himself onto the bed, and met her stare with half-closed eyes, he could almost hear the sudden intake of her breath. "I think you know exactly what I want from you." It was a remark meant to startle her, to take some of the bravado out of her smug expression...but it was her response that truly provoked shock. In Alex. "So why don't you take it? I'm not afraid of you." Suddenly without words, he settled back against her pillow and watched her work. As she ran water in the pan and opened the box of pasta, she completely ignored him. Letting him do as he would. And God, it was almost erotic. She was daring him to take her. All he had to do was seize what she'd offered. Grab her, throw her down on the squeaky bed and fuck her senseless. Hell, make her speechless. That'd be a first. Staring at her over the length of his supine body, he couldn't help but grin at his own arousal. And it finally dawned on him. The girl made him feel alive. For the first time in years. She made his breath quicken, his heart race. Not just the thrill of the hunt, or some sexual gratification. She made him feel human by her very defiance. Sure, maybe she was using him, and he was definitely using her...but this time it wasn't malicious. It wasn't life or death. He just wanted her. The tension drained from his body, slipping away like a tremulous shiver. His head sank into the softness of her pillow, surrounding him with the scent of her mint shampoo. And yet that wasn't all. He could smell her, every little nuance, warm and spicy against his skin. He breathed in deeply, wanting to drag that smell down to the depths of his soul. That musky, earthy scent that was so sexual...and so pure all at the same time. He had to fight the growl that burned in his throat. Tried to ignore the feel of her sheets against his touch. The sound of her soft sigh as she waited for the water to boil was almost enough to make him scream. How long had it been since he'd been in a woman's bed? He couldn't remember if it had ever happened. Parked cars, couches, beaches, public rest rooms...hell, he'd even fucked a woman in a Russian tanker ship. He scowled at the memory. But not once had he ever been in a bed like this. Even so, it was so easy to imagine himself here, legs tangled with hers, slick with sweat, bed-springs squeaking a rhythmic protest as he pounded himself into her over and over again. Her head thrown back in ecstasy, her fingernails digging into his clenching ass, her lips parting for one single word- "Alex?" Snapped out of his reverie, he met her bored stare. "Yeah?" "Do you want salt and pepper?" He hadn't realized she'd finished so quickly. Sitting up, he scooted back against the headboard, despite the objection of his too-tight jeans. "No, I don't." She handed him the bowl, full of steaming bright-orange macaroni, barely giving him a chance to grasp the dish before she moved away. Sitting carefully on the end of her bed, out of his reach, she tentatively took a bite. A moment later, he did the same. Whoever would have thought he'd be sitting here with this girl, eating food he hadn't tasted since his childhood? Taking his second bite, he glanced up at her and found her staring at his hand. With the bowl in his lap, and his right hand wrapped around the fork, his left hand was immobile at his side. As it almost always was. Covered in a black leather glove. Sabryn quickly averted her gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare." "I've gotten used to people staring." She chanced another look at the prosthesis he wore. "Would I be rude in asking when it happened?" "Almost three years ago." "There is a man at the shelter who lost his hand in an industrial accident. He was right-handed, and had to learn to do things all over again. And even though it's not supposed to be legal, he lost his job because of it." She licked her lip. "Did that happen to you?" "No. My arm was cut off in Russia, to save me from medical experimentation." She raised her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. All you had to say was you didn't want to talk about it." "Fine. I don't want to talk about it." Her eyelids drooping, she sighed heavily and lay down across the bottom of the bed. Picking at her food with the sharp tines of her fork, she gave him a bored look. "You're one of the strangest people I've ever met, you know." "The feeling's mutual." "Still, I like you. You're interesting...in a stay-out-of-my-business, I'm-a-top-secret-spy-man sort of way." He shook his head, biting back the little smirk that tugged at his lips. "Why were you up so early this morning?" She yawned, her eyes growing moist in the corner. "I don't sleep much." "Nightmares?" "All the time...well, when I'm not dreaming of you." "Me?" She blushed, laying her head down on her arm. "Nothing too exciting." He had a feeling that was an understatement. She wouldn't meet his gaze with those sleepy eyes. "Ever since I was a little girl, I've always had the same dream," she whispered, fighting to keep her eyes open. "And it still scares me every time." "A dream about what?" "Mmm...it's starts out in my daddy's field, with my brother Johnny..." "And?" This time, she didn't open her eyes again. Breathing deep and even, she was fast asleep on the end of her bed, lying so close that he could have nudged her with his foot. Her hand was still curled around her fork, her food sitting forgotten in front of her. A tiny wisp of her hair blew up with her every exhalation. Alex watched her for a moment, waiting for the moment when she would return to lucidity once again, but that moment didn't come. Careful of the squeaking mattress, he eased himself off the bed one limb at a time. Extracting the fork from her fingers, he picked up her bowl and took the dishes to the sink. And once he was sure she was still sleeping, he set to work. Starting with the night stand by her bed, the most dangerous of places considering where she lay, he began searching her apartment. Moving with deft silence, with stealthful movements that barely made a sound. She slept on undisturbed, completely unaware that her life was now an open book. He wasn't even sure what the hell he was looking for...but his attraction to the girl made him suspicious in the least. And he wasn't about to set himself up to be ambushed. If she had secrets, he wanted to know about them now. He was determined to be one step ahead of the game. He flipped through her magazines carefully, looking for any hidden papers or documents. Picking up the prescription bottles on her night stand, he found two different sedatives and something for nausea. She kept a box of chocolates in the top drawer, along with an unopened box of condoms. He had to chance a look at her face with that last revelation. At least the girl was smart. At the very bottom of the drawer, he found a worn picture of a little girl holding the hand of a man dressed in a suit. They were both smiling, standing in front of an old barn. Holding a scruffy teddy bear in her other hand, the girl looked to be about five or so. And she looked an awful lot like the woman sleeping on the bed behind him. Flipping the picture over, he read the names written on the back. Steven and Amanda Megan. With one last glance at the picture, he put it away and moved on. A search of the cupboards produced nothing out of the ordinary. They were almost bare. In the last drawer, next to the phone, he found an address book. It was almost bare as well. Most of the numbers written down were for pizza and Chinese food delivery. She'd written down the number for the shelter she volunteered at, and several art galleries in the area. But the only personal numbers in the whole book were for an Olivia Jordan, and Johnny...her brother. The sudden emptiness of her life filled him with unexpected regret. He almost felt guilty. But like so many times before, he refused to let the emotion last for long. He quickly searched through the cases of paper back books. From the looks of things, the girl did a lot of reading. Everything from Dean Koontz to romance to Calvin and Hobbes. Her video collection was nearly as impressive. At least she was well entertained in her own company. His last search took him to the area of the loft that served as her bathroom. Her medicine cabinet was neat and orderly. Several tubes of toothpaste. Antacids. Emotrol for an upset stomach. Deodorant, tampons, shampoo, soap, floss, fluoride rinse. Nothing out of the ordinary. No birth control pills. The cabinet next to the sink obviously made up for her lack of a dresser. Her clothes were neatly folded and stacked, next to a colorful array of towels. The silky little bits of fabric that passed for her underwear caught more than a moment of his attention. But just as he was about to close the cabinet door, he heard the soft sound of a whimper coming from the bed. He froze for a moment, sure that she was awake, but when the sound persisted, followed by the rustle of sheets, he knew what was happening. Stepping out of the bathroom, he caught sight of Sabryn, lying on her side at the end of the bed. Just as before, but this time her hands had a violent, white-knuckled grip on the sheet below her. Her hair was spread out beside her, tangled across her face. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, fueling the eerie little cries that escaped her parted lips. Alex stood motionless, knowing it was best not to intervene. The chances were she would keep on sleeping and not even remember the dream. But the sudden piercing intake of her breath, followed by a wrenching sob, was too much for him to ignore. Stepping closer, he reached out with his right hand to brush the hair from her face. Her eyelids fluttered, lashes sweeping his flesh in rapid spasms. Pulling the damp strands from her forehead, he let his fingers trail across her skin, unaware of his own soft murmur until she finally opened her eyes. She twitched below his touch, before settling back to the mattress and letting out a shaky breath. Swallowing heavily, she closed her eyes once more. Seeming to fight the moisture that clung to those long lashes. And before he could move away, she grasped his hand and held on tight. The strength of her grip. The warmth of her hand. The rapid pulse beating under his finger tip. The softness of her skin and the light perfume of her body just inches from his. Her touch, so human and welcoming. It was enough to make his chest ache. To bring an awful, tight, crushing, collapsing pain to his lungs. He couldn't breathe, and yet...and yet the air around him tasted so fucking sweet. She turned her head and looked up at him, a slight smile curving her lips. "You have nice hands...I mean...a nice hand." When he didn't say a word, she continued. "Not callused, like my dad's. Not a worker's hand. But not really soft either. Strong. Determined. Long fingers...you know, they call these artist's fingers. Funny. I'm the painter, and my fingers are short and clumsy. But your fingers...your hand...there's just something beautiful about it." His fumbling brain finally found a moment of clarity. "I should go." She acted as if she hadn't heard him. "Thank you. It was nice to wake up to a comforting face." Sitting up carefully, she pushed her hair over her shoulder and took a look around. From him to the loft, and then back again. "Well, if you have to go, I won't stop you." Scratching the back of his neck, he nodded and headed for the door. Just as he'd opened it, and flipped the switch so it would lock behind him, he heard her say, "And if you were looking for my journal...it's on my lap top, Alex." *** Part Four: As Heaven Is Wide Summary: Who would dare betray the betrayer? For Bori. Thanks for being such a dear friend, and always knowing how to put a smile on my face faster than Godiva's Pecan Caramel Truffle ice cream. No man chooses evil because it is evil; Assaulted by loud music and the smell of sweaty smoke-ridden bodies, Alex pushed his way through the crowd. Gorgeous girls, barely dressed and shimmering in the flashing lights, pressed up against him, trying to entice him to dance. The pulse of the song, vibrating through his body from his head to his feet, was about as drugging as the heavy fog of marijuana and tobacco smoke lingering in the air. He might have stopped to take advantage of the women offering themselves to him so freely, but he barely noticed them. Purposefully making his way to the back of the club, staring directly at his target through the mirrored lenses of his wrap-around sunglasses, Alex lightly caressed the delicate piece of machinery in his pocket. Sitting alone in a shadowed booth far from the crowd, Walter Skinner looked more than a little uncomfortable. Wearing a T-shirt and wind breaker, a far cry from his FBI regulation suit and tie, he was obviously working on his second drink for the night. It wasn't surprising that the man was unsettled. Alex literally held his life in his hand. Upon spotting him, Skinner slid a large Manila envelope across the table. Alex didn't sit down, nor did he touch the envelope. He merely stared, intimidating the man with an icy gaze he could no doubt feel, but couldn't see. "I got what you asked for, Krycek. Can I go now?" Finally relinquishing his control of the palm pilot in his pocket, Alex flipped open the envelope and spilled its contents on the table. "Jesus, do you have to do that here?" "What's wrong, Skinner? Afraid someone might see you handing over Top Secret documents to the enemy?" "You son-of-a-bitch. You had me go behind the backs of people who trust me, and for what? Information on smallpox inoculations. What the hell do you want with this stuff, Krycek?" "You know what you need to know." "This is for 'him' isn't it? C.G.B. Spender? He didn't die at El Rico like the others, did he?" Satisfied that all the evidence he'd asked for was present, Alex slipped the documents back in the envelope. One step closer. True, he had no problem fucking with Skinner. The man was of no consequence to him. But as long as he was useful, Alex planned on keeping him on a tight leash. And completely in the dark. He didn't need to know anything more than he already did. And besides, the Assistant Director was a hell of a lot of fun to toy with. "What do you care, Skinner? You got the X-Files reopened. If you're so worried about Spender, have your agents find him." "Even if you did tell me where to find him, I'd never believe you. You're a pathological liar." Alex had to grin. He couldn't deny it. Lies served him well, as long as he kept his story straight. Still, Skinner was no saint either. "I'll be in contact when I need you again." "What does it mean, Krycek? First nano-technology that almost kills me just to prove some point...now smallpox. What the hell are you planning?" He didn't bother to answer. He had the man under his thumb, and didn't give a shit about his complaints. One day he'd tell Skinner exactly what was going on, when the moment was right. When it served his purpose. Until then, he left him sitting there in that dark booth, drowning in scorching whisky, deafening music, and his own misery. She wasn't sure quite how many days had past since she'd last seen Alex, but as Sabryn sat on the roof of her apartment catching the last rays of the dying sun, she missed him. Her lap top computer sat open on her thighs, the cursor blinking at her impatiently. The small patio area on the roof, accessible from the fire escape outside her window, was a nice place to escape...if one didn't mind the smell of hot tar in the summer time. These days, with the long winter nights, she barely ever made it up here. Night was the one time she would never set foot on the roof. Releasing her lip from the brutal grasp of her teeth, she finally typed a message into the small window and hit send.
Sabryn closed her lap top, unable to stifle her grin. Even so, she was nervous. Meeting her friend would be a big step. She didn't even know his name. But the little she did know about him was comforting. He understood her past better than anyone. He was truly interested in getting to know her, and wanted to hear her story...not to laugh at her or ridicule, but in hopes of understanding her better. It was the first time in her life she felt truly accepted. Picking up her empty water glass and her computer, she started to make her way to the fire escape, only to freeze in mid-motion. She could hear someone climbing up the ladder. Only accessible to the street by pushing something under it and climbing up, the fire escape was only really convenient to her apartment. She swore under her breath, wishing she'd thought to bring her gun with her. She had the urge to yell out "freeze," but she had nothing to back up her command. Backing away from the ladder, she was about to find a place to hide when she saw the unruly thatch of dark blond hair. She let out a heavy groan and dropped her armload back onto the lawn chair. "Damn it, Johnny, you scared the shit out of me!" He peeked over the low wall surrounding the roof and gave her a guilty smile. "Sorry. I yelled, but I guess you didn't hear me." "I gave you that key for emergencies, not so you could break into my house." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a large wad of bills. "I thought this was an emergency. You need rent money, don't you?" She literally squealed, rushing over to him as finally stepped onto the roof, and hugged him until he was nearly choking. "Oh, God, thank you! You have no idea what a life saver you are." Suddenly pulling back from him, she looked him in the eye. "But what about Carly and the kids?" "This money isn't from me, it's from Mom and Dad. They wired it to me this morning." Sabryn backed away from him altogether. "Mom and Dad?" "Mandy, I know you said you didn't want to take money from them--" "Don't call me that." "Sorry...Bryn. They're worried about you, you know." "They could have been a hell of a lot more worried a long time ago, but they didn't give a damn about me then." "They're old fashioned people living in an old fashioned town. What did you expect?" "I expected to be believed, God damn it!" "Don't yell at me, I'm on your side." She collapsed onto the lawn chair, burying her head in her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm just so angry. I don't want anything from them but respect, but that's the one thing they won't give." He knelt down in front of her, running a hand over her hair. "I know, Bryn. It's not fair, and I'm not defending them...but you need the money. Take it. Pay your rent, and when you sell another painting, you can pay them back and not worry about it again." She met his gaze with burning eyes, fighting the suffocating knot in her throat. "Fine." "They do love you, no matter what they believe about that night." Sabryn merely looked away, unable to bear his piercing stare. Clearing his throat, he stroked her hair once more before gingerly settling down onto the bird-dropping speckled folding chair next to her. "I saw your new painting down there. Who is he?" Uh-oh. Johnny was curious. That was never a good sign. "Just a friend, John." "You certainly didn't paint him like a friend." She had to laugh. "Oh really? And how did I paint him, naked and tangled in sheets?" "Have you seen him naked and tangled in sheets?" She gasped, punching him in the arm. "No, I haven't, but I'm sure he'd look wonderful!" "Does this 'friend' have a name?" he asked, rubbing his arm. "Alex." "Just Alex? Like Cher?" "I don't know his last name." "Hmm." Sabryn could almost see the wheels turning in her brother's head. "And yet you painted him anyway. What does he do for a living?" "I don't know." Johnny's eyebrows rose. "I imagine I don't have to tell you to be careful." "I'm not stupid. I keep my gun loaded, like a good little soldier." "This isn't funny, Bryn. I'm serious." "So am I. I'm twenty-five years old, John. You don't have to keep treating me like that little seven-year-old." "I'm just watching out for you," he said, standing up. "That's what big brothers do." Sabryn followed him to the fire escape, carrying her computer, grabbing his arm before he started for the ladder. Pulling him into her embrace, she planted a kiss on his cheek. "I know, and I thank you. You've always believed in me." "And I always will." Pulling away, he grasped the ladder and started climbing down. Waiting until he got halfway down, she did the same. He stood on the fire escape below her, and grasped her waist to steady her as she got closer to the bottom. Taking the computer from her, he held her wrist as she stepped inside the window and then followed her into the apartment. Sitting in the cab of the jet black Dodge Durango, Alex stared up at the fire escape with his jaw clenched. Irrational anger burned like acid in his throat, filling his stomach with flames of rage. And even though the platform two stories above the street now stood empty, he could still see her standing there. Her arms around a tall blond man, her perfect lips brushing his cheek. He could see the man's hands on her as she climbed down the ladder. So possessive. So familiar. So fucking nauseating. So much for innocence. Logic told him to start the truck and go. To forget what he'd seen along with the girl. But bitter vengeance made him want to rip the man in half. Still, he'd been betrayed enough times to know that wouldn't help matters any. And more importantly, the girl meant nothing to him. He'd been suspicious about her interest in him, but now he knew truth. She already had a lover. Her interest in him had been purely "professional." She wanted something from him. And he'd be damned if he didn't find out exactly what it was. Despite the urge to rush into things, he waited until the other man left. Stepping out of the stairwell and climbing into a beige sedan, he didn't look the type to carry on a torrid sexual relationship. But appearances could be deceptive. Releasing his tight grip on the steering wheel, Alex opened the door and stepped out of the truck. He shut the door behind him and set the alarm with his key chain. His long strides took him across the street and up the stairs in seconds. Sabryn had barely closed the door when she was nearly startled out of her skin by the loud pounding. Her gaze skipped to the box under her bed, containing her pistol, but she decided against it. In all likelihood, Johnny had just forgotten something. "Who is it?" "Alex." Her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird trying to beat its way out of a cage. Her fingers fumbled as she quickly turned the lock and opened the door. She winced at the shakiness of her own voice, as she said, "Long time, no see." "I'm sure you were just waiting for me to return." Tugging absently on the thick braid of hair resting on her shoulder, she stepped aside and motioned for him to come in. "I'm afraid that if you've come to demolish my painting again, the paint is already dry." "There's more than one way to destroy something." Sabryn felt an absurd little shiver at the sound of his voice. There was something almost dangerous on the edge of that husky whisper, something lethal in the dark glitter of his eyes. She ignored the silly impulse to take a step backwards. She couldn't remember ever being quite so uncomfortable in his presence before. His gaze swept over her face in an almost palpable caress. But he didn't make a move towards her. "Who was he?" "Who?" "You know who I'm talking about. The man that just left here." "Spying on me again?" "Who was he, Sabryn?" "My brother, Johnny. Not that it's any of your business." "He had blond hair." "That's right. He takes after our father. Any more questions, Spy Man? Do you want me to take a lie detector test?" "You little smart ass." She barely had an indication of what he had in mind before she was dragged from where she was standing and slammed against the solid wall of his chest. Her fingers encountered the buttery-soft leather of his jacket, and she couldn't help the little fists she made in the fabric. Toe to toe with him, she could barely see over his shoulder without lifting herself up. Staring up into his potent gaze, she didn't bother holding back the shiver that raced up her spine. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his breath stirring the hair over her forehead. "I hate to tell you this, but you're the one who grabbed me." "You talk too much." "Yeah, well you're no GQ Man Of The Year, but you don't hear me complaining about it." "I don't like you." Judging from the sensation of his jeans pressing so tightly against her stomach, that was one hell of a lie. Fine. She could play along. "I don't like you, either." The words were barely out of her mouth before her lips were smothered beneath his own. She closed her eyes, surrendering to his voracious appetite. Her fingers clenched his jacket, holding on for dear life. Kissing Alex was about as sweet and innocent as a tornado. He bit and sucked at her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth with the slightest parting of her lips. His right hand slid down her back, his fingers curving under her ass and lifting her up the length of his body. Christ, he was strong. And determined. The moment she wrapped her arms around his neck and hooked her ankles behind his legs, he was on the move. She didn't bother to pull away from the intoxicating kiss. She knew exactly where he was headed. Straight for the bed. *** Part Five: Fallen Summary: Lust and longing become to much to bear. For Marina, from one Krycekaholic to another. Special thanks to Ginny for standing by with the cattle prod to get my slacker self back in gear. NC17! If you are under age, please read no further. You've been warned! "It is one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall." It was only sex. And his heart was only beating so God-damned fast because he hadn't fucked a woman in months. Because she smelled so damned good, and felt so amazing beneath him as he pushed her down onto the creaking mattress. She tasted as sweet as chocolate, wrapped around him like a trailing limb of ivy. He could feel her bare foot sliding up his leg, teasing, tickling his denim-clad thigh. Her fingers tangled in his hair, fingernails lightly scraping the back of his neck until it almost made him growl. He wasn't quite sure what made him slow down, instead of plunging into her like a bat out of hell. Maybe it was the beyond-lustful look in her eyes. That wasn't just desire he was seeing there. It was something else, something he didn't want to put a name to. He tried to ignore it, to smother it as easily as he crushed her lips beneath his own. But ignoring the baby-powder fresh scent of her sheets wasn't as easy. Alex stripped off his jacket, dropping it to the floor without heed. His boots were ripped off with the same careless effort, one at a time, in between kisses from her soft ripe mouth. And the moment his feet were finally bare, he settled his weight on top of her and ground himself into every soft curve of her body. A strange orange glow from the setting sun spilled across the bed, rippling over the pearl-white sheets, glittering on her dark hair like bits of gold. Her flushed skin turned the color of rich cream, all the more tempting him to explore her rapidly rising and falling chest. Mining that gorgeous mouth and feeling her little moans vibrate against his lips made him horny as hell, but he was ready to explore. Bracing himself on his prosthetic arm, a barely tolerable sensation even when he was as turned on as now, he slid his right hand down between them and began popping open the buttons of her sweater. Just on the edge of his vision, he could see her turn her head and close her eyes...the flush creeping over her cheeks nearly as pink as the bra he was uncovering. Even so, her embarrassment couldn't hide her excitement. She nearly bucked him right off the bed when he took one of those perked nipples into his mouth. Wet lace and the taste of her, mixed with the slight trace of perfume. Deep panting, spasming breaths leaving her throat. Her fingers clenching in his hair, threatening to rip the strands right out of his head. Her back arching, pushing herself harder against his mouth. She was about to lose it, and he'd barely even touched her. Glancing up at her face, he met her wide blue eyes...and it was suddenly as clear as glass. He hadn't been wrong about her innocence. He just hadn't known *how* innocent she truly was. *** Sabryn dropped her hand from his hair, sensing the change in his demeanor. A ripple of panic seized her chest. It was just like before. Now that he'd teased, he was going to leave exactly like the few boys before him. None of them had truly wanted her either. They'd just wanted to laugh at the town freak. She was about to push away from him, to open the door and order him to get out, when he startled her by opening the top button of her jeans. Holding her breath, sucking in her stomach in a pathetic attempt to make her jeans look a little less tight, she watched him ease the zipper down to the bottom. He wasn't stopping. Not even close. A moment later he began easing the denim off of her hips. Her breath shuddered out of her mouth with the wet suction of his mouth on her ear lobe. She lifted her hips, nearly flinching at the touch of his hand on her ass. Aside from his clothing, there was nothing between them but a flimsy layer of lace and satin. *This can't be happening to me...* It was becoming hard to keep her eyes open. When her jeans were finally pushed down far enough, she kicked free of them and let them fall to the floor. Lying across her bed, with a great deal of his long legs hanging off the bed, he pressed tight against her body and peeled her unbuttoned sweater from her arms. *If only Mama could see me now...* Sabryn almost laughed out loud. Bernadette Pruitt would have an apoplectic fit if she knew what her daughter was doing right now. If she knew who her little Amanda Megan was with. This man would be her mother's worst nightmare. A stranger, dark and dangerous, with no past and no known future. A man who didn't give a damn about anyone and most likely lived off of one night stands. A self-proclaimed "spy" and no doubt a liar. Hell yes, Mama would hate him. And that only made Sabryn want him all the more. All her life she'd been a good little girl, and it had gotten her nowhere. She'd been doubted and ridiculed, turned into the family embarrassment. But she wasn't home now, and no one knew her here. She didn't give a damn about being good anymore. This time, if she was going to get blamed for something, she was going to make it worth while. She was going to get fucked by the bad boy. "You don't have to treat me like a doll. I'm not going to break." "I didn't know I was." She pulled his hand from where it was resting on her hip and dragged it up to cover her breast. "Touch me. This may be a first for me, but I was kind of hoping it would be good." His eyes narrowed for a moment, in obvious defiance to the challenge. But it wasn't long before he took the bait. Yet instead of caressing his fingers over the cotton candy lace, he flicked open the catch between her breasts and pushed the bra out of the way. Catching her nipple between two fingers, he pinched hard enough to make her gasp. "Like this?" "S-Something like that." He lowered his head, rubbing the softness of his lips over her, before sucking her into his mouth once more with no impediments. The silky wet sweep of his tongue, combined with the delicious pulling power of his mouth sent lightning currents speeding through her veins. Made her fingers clench in the dark green cotton of his shirt. And when his right hand slid so slowly down the length of her torso to slip under the elastic of her panties, the shudder that passed through her made the entire bed shake. "Something like this?" he asked, his voice dangerously low as his fingers brushed the curls between her legs. She had to fight the urge to clamp the thighs together in embarrassment...or to push her hand down on top of his and show him just where to go. The latter won out in the end. "Mmm, yes." "What do you want, Sabryn?" She licked her lips. "I want you, inside me." His hand moved beneath her touch, his palm cupping her, his fingertips teasing the damp folds of her sex. Barely slipping inside and pulling out again, back and forth, in and out, making her arch her hips to follow his retreating fingers. Her finger nails dug into his arm, but he didn't even flinch. "Alex, please..." "Please what?" "More." He ground the heel of his hand against her harder, using the knuckle of his thumb to rub against the spot that made her want to scream. His fingers dipped deeper, the longest one slipping inside her and feeling much larger than she'd expected. Sabryn bit her lip, hopelessly caught in his heated emerald gaze. Her over-sensitized chest brushed against the textured fabric of his shirt, her legs tangled with the rough denim of his jeans, and delicious invasion of his fingers between her thighs was enough to leave her panting. And even though he was obviously aroused, there was little proof in the controlled expression on his face. It was only truly evident in his eyes. She was playing with fire. "For a girl who doesn't like me, you certainly are wet. You can't wait for me to fuck you, can you?" She had to be about as red as a strawberry. "So get on with it." The slow thrusting of his fingers suddenly stopped, and she nearly gasped. "Right here, in front of these big windows?" She looked over her shoulder, out the window at the building across the street. She'd thought about it plenty of times before. The other building had tinted glass...she had no idea if someone was watching her. It was part of the reason she dressed herself in the bathroom. "Someone could be watching us right now. Maybe even video taping the event...so they can watch my hand moving between your legs over and over again." The shudder ripping through her made him grin. "Does that excite you, baby?" He knew it did. He must have felt her thighs tighten around his wrist. "Do you want me to do it to you right here, with them watching?" Her throat suddenly dry, all she could do was nod. He pulled his hand out of her panties, shocking the hell out of her by popping his fingers into his mouth to clean off his fingers. She watched mutely as he sat up and opened the drawer of her night stand, pulling out the box of condoms she'd bought with courageous optimism the day she moved into her apartment. "I knew you'd been going through my things." "Just looking for your phone book." "Liar." He merely grinned. "You don't trust me, do you? Otherwise, you might have told me your last name." "It's Krycek. You never asked." "Nice to meet you, Alex Krycek." He reached for the edge of his shirt, baring a glorious expanse of taut stomach. A narrow line of dark hair ran down from his navel, disappearing beneath the waist band of his pants. Olivia had called it a treasure trail. Sabryn had to smile. Treasure indeed. With the hem of his shirt out of the way, she could see just how tight his jeans really were. Damn. She was surprised the man hadn't popped a seam. He peeled his shirt up and over his chest, pulling his right arm out of the sleeve before slipping it over his head. He met her gaze for a moment, pausing slightly, before carefully removing the garment altogether. The prosthesis he wore to replace his left arm wasn't pretty, but she certainly wasn't repulsed by it. He met her stare with arrogant challenge, almost as if daring her to comment or turn away. She did neither. "Do you want me to leave it on, or remove it?" Reaching out to touch the flesh colored plastic, she wrapped her fingers around his palm. "It doesn't matter to me. Whatever makes you more comfortable." He held her gaze for a moment, before moving from the bed and reaching for the button on his jeans. He stood facing her as he unzipped the pants and pushed them off his hips, letting them fall to the floor. The gray boxer-briefs he wore underneath received the same treatment. And all she could do was stare. He sure as hell wasn't a Playgirl centerfold. Hell no, he was real and potent and incredibly hard. She wasn't sure when she'd started to sink deeper into the mattress, but she had to fight the urge to back up. What the hell had she been thinking? She couldn't handle a man like this. Yet even as the thought crossed her mind, the burning heat centering deep within her was growing out of control. He still had that same controlled expression on his face...but his eyes were laughing at her. He pressed his knee onto the bed, and climbed onto the squeaking mattress until he was facing her. On his knees. Completely and utterly aroused. Ripping open the box of condoms, he pulled out one of the shiny foil packets and tore it open with his teeth. Centering the little rolled up piece of latex on the swollen head of his cock, he grabbed her hand before she could even form a protest. She sat there in stunned silence, watching him guide her fingers, feeling the throbbing heat of him below her touch as the thin sheath unraveled to cover him. And when he released her, she was still holding his cock in her hand. She swallowed heavily, letting her fingertips trace the rigid vein on the underside before sliding down to cup his heavy balls in a delicate grip. She could hear his breath catch in his throat. Shrugging her bra off of her shoulders, she let it drop away from her...switching hands to accommodate her exploration. His breath stirred her hair, and she could feel him releasing it from the braid until it spilled across her shoulders. Thrusting his fingers into her hair, he pulled her forward and met her mouth in wet, wanton kiss. Her mouth felt bruised, crushed, plundered. Swollen with the taste of him. Wet with the feel of him. Hot and demanding with the promise of what was to come. He didn't let her explorations continue for long. With a firm grip, he pulled her away from him and turned her around to face the window. "You said you wanted them to see...well I want you to see, too. Everything I do to you." Now that the night was growing dark, the brightness of the lamps in her apartment cast their reflections on the gigantic window. She watched the frantic heaving of her own chest, struggling to fuel her rapidly beating heart. On her knees, with him kneeling behind her, naked except for a pair of skimpy panties, she looked wickedly decadent. His right arm slid around her waist, his fingers catching the waist band of her panties and shoving them down. Just far enough that they couldn't stretch anymore with the angle of her spread thighs. She could feel his erection rubbing against her lower back, sliding against the cleft of her ass with each subtle thrust of his hips. "Put your hands up there." Sabryn leaned forward slightly to wrap her sweaty hands around the iron head board of her bed. She felt utterly exposed, not only to him but to whomever might be watching. Still, she couldn't tear her gaze away from the reflection in the window. She couldn't believe her eyes. Even misted with a slight bit of perspiration, with her hair all wild around her shoulders, and with her lips slack with the effort to aid her breathing, she looked beautiful. Sexy. And with this man behind her, she felt gorgeous. "Can you see them watching us? All of them, in every apartment. Waiting for my next move. Breathless." Breathless indeed. She twitched slightly at the touch of his fingers, parting the dewy petals of her sex, guiding himself into place, poised on the brink. "They've been waiting for this every night. Watching you. Needing to see you scream as you cum." He flexed his hips slightly, torturing her with the slight pressure that wasn't nearly enough. "You've been waiting too, haven't you?" Damn it, she didn't want to be teased. Her back was arched in desperation, and she pushed back against him, trying to force him inside her with her own movement. But he wasn't about to let her take control. This was his game, and she didn't even know the rules. "Alex, do it." "Hmm?" "Fuck me. Please." Meeting his gaze in the reflection on the window, she pleaded him with her eyes, and nearly screamed the moment he thrust forward and began filling her with his throbbing shaft. He wasn't violent, didn't hurt her, but it wasn't gentle either. He didn't baby her or murmur patient words of comfort. He didn't waste a second. Pushing into her so deep she could feel his hips pressed hard against her ass, he leaned forward and braced his hands next to hers on the head board. With his chest to her back and thighs slamming against hers, he did just as she asked. He fucked her until she was nearly mindless. Surrounded by the sound of his breathing, so close to her ear, shallow pants that sounded more and more like grunts with every move he made, Sabryn stared helplessly at their reflections. She never seen or felt anything so erotic in her life. His dominant, bestial position completely consumed her. Possessed her. Each deep, writhing, filling, forceful thrust made her gasp. The heated, musky, sexual smell of his body merged with hers filled her nostrils. The bed below them seemed to be screaming with each slamming movement, the springs sending out an angry protest. The wet slapping sound of their bodies would have embarrassed her at any other time, but she was beyond feeling anything now but the quivering ache he was creating inside of her. Her thighs shook, her body spasmed beneath him. And he fucked her, over and over, like some great wild beast, growling in her ear. As if that weren't enough, holding her gaze in the window, he slipped his hand off of the iron railing and pushing his fingers right against the throbbing heart of her sex. The place that screamed for his touch. The sensitive bundle of nerves that made her buck hard against him with every brush of his finger. And she couldn't stand it any more. She pushed away from the head board and backed hard against him, pushing upright on her knees, wrapping her arm around his neck and meeting his frantic kiss. His thrusts became violent, desperate, nearly bruising in intensity. And as he broke away from her lips, he held her gaze as he whispered, "Cum for me, baby...they're watching." Oh, she was so close...so close. She may have been a virgin, but she knew an orgasm when she felt one. She was a good girl, yes, but she sure as hell wasn't a saint. And yet, she needed more. Just a little more to push her over the edge. Sliding her hand over his, she pushed her fingers down hard. Pressing him into her swollen flesh and rubbing to the right of her clit. Right...right there.... "Alex!" "Look up. Watch us." Somehow, even spasming as she was, she looked at the reflection in the glass and gasped. She could see him moving between her legs, his thick penis thrusting into her, his heavy balls rising, swinging with every movement. His fingers moving, slick with her juices, pushing her hard into orgasm. Her breasts bouncing with every fierce thrust. His tongue sliding up the side of her neck. "Oh God..." With a few last commanding thrusts, he buried his face in the side of her neck and groaned. She could feel him throbbing inside her, convulsing with his release. She couldn't catch her breath, could barely even swallow her throat was so dry. And when he finally pulled out of her and tossed the condom in the nearby trash, she nearly fell over without his support. Carefully lowering herself, her thighs quivering, she sat down on her ankles and watched him get off the bed and head for the bathroom. He walked through her apartment nude, with no modesty whatsoever. And when she expected him to just wash up and leave, he surprised the hell out of her by bringing back a wet wash cloth and tending to her instead. "Lay down." It took her a moment. Hell, she was sore in places she'd never even imagined. Laying down on her damp sheets, feeling like a big sweaty, sticky mess, she watched him with open curiosity as he pulled off her panties and bathed her with the cold cloth. Some spy. He was capable of more tenderness than most people she knew. When he was finished he quickly wiped the cloth over himself and tossed it to the floor. Settling down onto the bed next to her, he didn't seem to mind a bit when she curled up against his side and laid her head on his shoulder. "So, was it good for you?" he asked with obvious amusement. She had to grin. "Well, I suppose it was ok. I'm sure you'll get better with practice." By the time he swatted her ass, she was already laughing obnoxiously. But minutes later, when they were both growing drowsy and comfortable, she had to remind herself not to fall for this man. It was only sex. *** The clock on her night stand read 4:08 as Alex zipped up his jeans and reached for his shirt. He'd been careful not to wake her as he slipped from the noisy bed. She slept on undisturbed, curled up in the sheets, her face buried in the pillow where his head had once rested. Seemingly free of nightmares, she'd spent several hours curled up against his side. Warm and soft. Comforting. And the moment he'd realized he could get used to that feel was the moment he'd known he had to leave. Grabbing his boots and his jacket, he took one last look at her before heading for the door. He didn't want to be around when she woke up...and realized what the hell she'd done. *** Sabryn heard the door shut and opened her eyes. She hadn't slept at all during the night. There was no way she'd be able to manage it with a strange man in her bed. Not when she could feast her eyes on the gorgeous length of his body from beneath her lashes. She would have been crazy if she hadn't looked. And yet, now that he was gone, her apartment felt more empty, more lonely than ever. Slipping out of her bed, she went to the bathroom and got dressed. She went about her morning routine of making coffee. Walking over to her easel, she took down the painting she'd done of Alex and leaned it against the wall, replacing it with freshly stretched canvas. She readied her paints and brushes, and began to draw. But it wasn't long before she had to stop. Before she looked at her rumpled bed and grinned widely. Before she did a little dance and squealed like a girl. She couldn't remember ever being so happy in her entire life. *** Part Six: Shadows Of The Night Summary: What happens when the past starts catching up with you? For Diadem and Ginny, my sublime beta girls. I owe you each a box of chocolates. "If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." "Have you lost your mind or did you start takin' drugs?" Sabryn peeked her head around the glass-brick wall of the bathroom and laughed. "Neither." Olivia Jordan folded her arms over her chest and sat her plump rear down on the bouncy bed. "You slept with a man you just met, and you don't think that's crazy?" "You're telling me you've never done that?" "I'm not *you*, Sabryn. I'm not the one who blushes every time a man looks at me. And now you're going off to meet some other man--what the hell has gotten into you?" Holding the unzipped halves of her dress together, she stepped out of the bathroom. "What do you think of this one?" "I liked the other dress better." "The red one? It was too tight." "What do you care? You're seein' two men at once." Sabryn rolled her eyes. "I told you, he's a friend I met on the internet. I'm not dating him. And I'm not dating Alex either." "No, you just slept with him." "There wasn't any sleeping involved." "I can imagine." Olivia tossed her braids over her shoulder, creating a terrible clatter as all the little beads clashed together. "If you don't plan on 'dating' this 'friend,' why do you care so much about what you're wearing?" "Well I don't want to look like a lazy slob. If I show up in paint-splattered jeans and a dirty T-shirt, what is he going to think of me?" "You're just hopin' he's good lookin'." Olivia slid off the bed and walked over to the painting that was leaning against the wall. "Mmm mm mm. Is this him?" Sabryn stepped out of the bathroom again, in yet another dress, and glanced fondly at the portrait. "Yes. That's Alex." "You're gonna have to tell me where you've been hangin' out when you leave work." "I didn't meet him at a club, Livie. He followed me home." Olivia turned her wide brown eyes on Sabryn. "You fucked a man who followed you home like some stray dog?" Sabryn grabbed the painting and turned it around to face the wall. "Do you like this dress or not?" She barely gave the coffee-colored slip dress a second glance. "It's nice." "Gee, thanks for your help." "I just think you oughta be careful, girl. It ain't gonna do you a damn bit of good to fall in love with some man you barely know...especially when you're runnin' off to meet another one." "I'm not in love, Livie. You don't have anything to worry about." *** There was something so appropriate about sitting in a darkened room of the Watergate Hotel, waiting for a viper to arrive. The curtains were drawn to smother the morning sunlight, the bed neatly made and the room freshly cleaned. Still, there was a familiar smell in the air, that of stale perfume and tobacco, and he had to breathe through his mouth to keep from sneezing. Gaining entrance to the room hadn't been a problem. He'd picked enough locks in his lifetime to make it almost second nature. Actually walking in the room had been another problem altogether. He hadn't known if she'd be present...or if she'd be alone. Luckily, the place was empty. He'd already searched the room wearing his leather gloves. Not because he was afraid of leaving fingerprints, but rather because he didn't especially want to feel Diana Fowley's underwear against his flesh. Not quite an hour later, the sound of her key turning in the door alerted him to her presence. She stepped through the door, wearing a navy blue business suit, her lipstick worn except for a narrow line around the edge of her lips. Her dark hair was still in the same classic style. The woman probably wore so much hair spray that it never moved. Alex flexed his hand on the arm of the chair, waiting for her to notice him, meeting the scent of her Poison perfume before her gaze. She was reaching to turn on the nearby lamp when he spoke. "Where have you been, dear? I've been worried." She started, letting out a sharp gasp. "Jesus. What the hell are you doing in my room, Krycek?" "Waiting. Late night?" She flipped on the lamp, causing him to squint in the orangy glow. She tossed her purse down in the nearby chair and unbuttoned her jacket, making it very clear that she was carrying her weapon. "What I do is none of your business. Now get out." He stood up slowly, certainly not in any hurry. Walking over to where she stood, he gave her an appraising look that caused her eyebrow to arch. "You smell like cigarettes, Diana. Do you like the taste of him in your mouth?" "Depends on which taste you're speaking of." He nearly gagged. "Do you have a thing for old men, or just this one in particular?" Shrugging off her jacket, she hung it over the back of the chair and headed for the door. "I told you to leave." "Surely a beautiful woman such as yourself could do better. Maybe someone better looking...a little less geriatric?" She laughed. "You?" "I don't see Mulder beating down your door." "You bastard. Get out." He stepped closer, nearly touching her, staring down into those defiant brown eyes. "I could make you cum harder than Mulder ever did. And I sure as hell know I'd be better than that dried up old prune." She let out a shuddering breath, refusing to back away from his dominant stance. "What do you want from me, Krycek?" "What makes you think I want anything other than this?" "Because I have a brain in my head. You don't do anything unless there's something in it for you." "I'm not the only one. I admit I'd do a lot of things to save my own ass, but fucking Old Spender isn't one of them. Tell the truth, Diana. You don't want him. He's just your ticket to freedom when the colonists come. You'd rather be his whore than slave to a bunch of little gray men." She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist. "Fuck you." "You learn to play the game, get in with the high rollers, and walk away with the chips, isn't that right?" "You should know better than I do, Krycek. You've been playing a lot longer than I have." He released her wrist, waiting for a slap that didn't come. Holding her gaze, he flipped open the top button of her blouse, revealing even more of her long neck. She shuddered at the touch of his knuckles sliding down the length of her throat. "Don't you think it's time both of us had a little reward?" She licked her lips, removing just a bit more of that lingering lipstick. Sliding his thumb along her jaw, he tilted her head up and leaned forward, until their lips were almost touching. His whispered words made her breath catch. "I guarantee you won't regret it. You won't even remember the old man after this." Diana shoved her hands between them, pressing against his chest. "Why the hell is this any different than what I'm doing to Spender? Fucking me just to get back in the game is pretty low, even for you." "I never said I wanted anything from you. Just a good lay." "Don't patronize me. What do you want?" "Just this." He kissed her then, hard and deep, making her fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt. She didn't try to fight him, didn't scream. The taste of tobacco in her mouth nearly obliterated the sweet flavor of Sabryn's kisses, and for a moment he almost felt guilty. The unfamiliar sensation burned in his gut, before he forcefully pushed it away...nearly as hard as he slammed Diana up against the wall. She moaned, rubbing up against him like a kitten. So she liked it rough. The sudden vision of her squealing in delight as C.G.B. Spender spanked her was almost enough to make him laugh out loud. Pulling away from her mouth with a suctioned pop, he nibbled his way down her long, creased neck. Listening to the sound of her trembling breath. Pressing her hard against his body. Praying like hell that she thought the erection in his pants was because of her. "When are they coming, Diana?" "...hmm?" "The colonists...when do they arrive?" She shoved him away from her once more. "Is that what this is about? You want to use me for information?" "You know what I want to use you for. I'd just like to know how many nights we have left." She smiled, her lipstick-lined lips puffy from his attack. "You only want me at night?" He smirked. "Hungry, aren't you?" "New Year's day. The Millennium. Isn't that ironic?" Fuck! "What about Cassandra? They need her for the hybrid genes..." "We have enough of her genetic material from the testing. Besides, I've been told she will be found before then. It's only a matter of time." She started reaching for him when he abruptly pulled away. He spit the nauseating taste of her out of his mouth and reached for the door. "You son-of-a-bitch! Where the hell do you think you're going?" "Certainly not to your bed. A man would have to be insane, or just out of prison, to be desperate enough to fuck you." Diana pulled her gun out of her holster, aiming it straight at his back and cocking it just as he turned the door knob. He turned his head slightly, unable to hide his smirk. "We wouldn't want to ruin this nice carpet, now would we?" "Don't beg, Diana. It's so unattractive." He stepped out into the hallway, shut the door behind him, and walked away. The vicious scream that followed his retreat was sheer poetry. *** Sabryn stepped out of the cab, wishing she'd saved some money and just taken the bus. Still, it was nice to have a little time to herself as she nervously rode into downtown Washington. It had given her a chance to calm down. But now as she stepped onto the curb and felt the chilly wind blow her blazer away from her, stirring her thin skirt around her thighs, her sudden shiver wasn't from the cold. She was as apprehensive as hell. But she'd gotten herself this far, and she wasn't about to turn back now. Just this morning she'd made plans to meet her internet confidant on the bench in front of the American Cafe. She thought it was about time she told her story to someone who was ready to believe her. Someone who knew what she'd gone through. Having met him in a chat room discussion almost four months ago, she knew this was a man she could trust. He knew exactly what it was like to face the ridicule and doubt that came along with claiming to have experienced alien contact. She swallowed heavily, settling down onto the wooden bench and tucking her purse close to her side. Nestled in the little bag was the pistol her brother had given her the day she moved to Arlington. She may have been brazen by meeting this man, but she wasn't stupid. She wasn't about to put her safety in someone else's hands. She made sure she met him in public, and wasn't about to let him take her elsewhere until she knew him better. *You slept with a man you just met, and you don't think that's crazy?* Olivia's words rang in her head, sounding so much like her mother's that she almost cringed. But her friend was right. She'd been foolish. Her strictly careful conscience had been nowhere to be found last night. She'd been reckless and wild. Out of her mind, and seemingly out of her body. But, damn, it had been wonderful. And even though she'd since showered and changed her sheets, she could still detect the scent of him. Lingering, haunting her with visions of his body driving into hers. His deep, consuming kisses. His slow, appraising looks that traveled the whole length of her body, caressing every inch of her flesh... "Lailah?" Sabryn snapped out of her reverie, looking up at the man who stood before her. She had to squint in the cold winter sunlight. Standing before her, almost awkwardly in his designer suit and tie, holding out his hand to her with a gentle smile, he wasn't anything like she'd imagined. She expected to meet some long-haired, Sci-Fi convention-attending trekkie...not a handsome man with well groomed hair and intelligent eyes. Clearing her throat, she took his hand and stood up. "I think I should introduce myself properly. Sabryn Jaegar. I take it you're Stargazer 73?" He gave her a sweet smile that no doubt charmed the socks off of the woman he worked with. She had a hard time resisting it herself. "It's nice to meet you, Sabryn. But there's no need to be so formal. I think it's safe to tell you my real name." "Which is?" "Special Agent Fox Mulder." She swallowed heavily. "You're an FBI agent?" "Is that a problem?" "I--I just thought--" "You didn't expect someone Federal to show up and talk to you about alien abductions." She bit her lip. "I don't blame you. Look, why don't we step inside and get something to eat, and then I'll explain myself. I guarantee you won't regret it." She glanced back at the curb where she'd departed the cab, wondering for a moment if it was too late to flee. "All right. Let's go in." *** Nearly thirty minutes and half a sandwich later, Sabryn wiped her mouth with the paper napkin. She tucked a loose strand of hair over her ear and watched Agent Mulder take a sip of his iced tea. After listening to his explanation of his job, she was still just as baffled as ever. But she was also highly intrigued. She'd never imagined half the things he'd claimed to have witnessed. And his almost detached description of the night his younger sister disappeared made her heart ache. It was obvious by the way he spoke he still cared very much for the missing girl, even if he was trying to hide it. "Samantha was abducted in 1973...that's where the 73 in your screen name came from?" He nodded, taking another bite of the giant meatball sub. "And she's part of the reason you became so interested in the X-files...and the UFO phenomena chat room where we met?" Swallowing, he nodded again. "Most of the time I just 'listen in'. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that a lot of those people are lying about their experiences." She didn't comment, but a spontaneous irritation itched the back of her throat. "Those people that do have real experiences, however, are worth every hoax and vicious liar. I was just waiting for a story like yours to come along. Which, of course, is not to say that I completely believe your claims. I want to...but I have no proof that you're any more sincere than anyone else. I really have nothing but a gut feeling." "I understand." "Still, there are certain things about what you've told me that caught my attention. I definitely don't meet with every single person I've talked to." "Why did you want to meet with me?" "You don't have to sound so worried. You aren't under investigation." I'm sorry, this is just awkward for me. I've told you so many things about myself, without ever really knowing who you were. If I'd known you were an FBI agent..." "You never would have told me anything." "Maybe." "I'll be honest with you. You remind me of my sister. You have ever since I first heard your story. I've spent every moment since she disappeared looking for her, around every corner I turned. And if there's even the slightest chance that your experience can help me find her, I'm willing to take the risk." She certainly couldn't say no to that...especially not when looking at that slightly pouty lower lip of his. "Does that expression work on your partner?" "On Scully? All the time. She can't resist me." Sabryn laughed. "All right. What do you want to know?" "What do you remember about that night? I know you've described it to me before, but sometimes if you say it out loud, you can remember things you might have left out." She took a deep breath. She was forced to relive that night, over and over, every time she dreamed. Nothing ever changed. And she certainly didn't want to talk about it now. But she'd hoped in coming here that she might relieve the terror of that night by speaking of it to a person who understood. She hoped that impulse had been a good one. "It was April, and my parents had just bought my brother a new tent because it was on sale. He and my father planned to go hunting that summer. But Johnny didn't want to wait to try out the tent, and he decided to sleep out in the field over night. Being the nuisance that I was, I wanted to do everything my brother did...so I begged my mama until she finally relented and let me sleep in the tent too. "I was only seven years old, and I'd never slept outside before. I was still afraid of the dark, and it was so cold outside. I laid there shivering in my sleeping bag, wanting so badly to go back in the house, but knowing that Johnny would call me a wimp. He didn't even want me out there to begin with. But I was so scared. I--I thought he was asleep, and I was awake all alone, and I started crying." She reached for her water glass, picking it up with a shaky hand, nearly sloshing it all over herself. After she was done sipping, Agent Mulder took the glass from her and handed her a fresh napkin. "Thank you." She cleared her throat. "Johnny heard me crying and started laughing. He was always so mean to me. I don't know if he was planning it all along, but he grabbed my teddy bear and took off running. I'd had that bear since I was a baby and I carried it with me everywhere. So I ran outside, barefoot, chasing him through Daddy's field. The shadows were so dark, like looming monsters, and I was crying so hard I could barely see. Johnny ran ahead of me, and when he got to the top of a small hill, he threw my bear into the creek that ran through our property. "Neither one of us noticed anything was wrong until it was too late. It was so quiet. It may have been a cold April night, but there should have been some noise. We didn't even hear any wind blowing through the trees. It was just dead silent. And the creek was so warm. For a moment I almost thought I'd wet my pants or something." She blushed slightly, looking away from his intense gaze. When he reached across the table and touched her hand, she nearly flinched. "I looked up at the sky. Johnny had stopped laughing and was looking up like he was seeing a ghost. But it was worse than that. I'd been around airplanes before, because my uncle was a pilot, but I knew this wasn't just an ordinary plane. There was something very wrong. And it was only a moment later that some...some *force* hit me in the chest and knocked me on my ass. I landed in the creek water and Johnny screamed. I'd never heard him sound so scared. And I felt myself being lifted, flying through the air like an angel. I thought I was dead." "And that's all you remember?" Sabryn nodded. "How did you get home?" "I--I don't know. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital room. My entire family was there, and Johnny still looked so scared. They asked me what happened, and I told them what I remembered...but they looked at me like I was crazy. I tried to get Johnny to tell them, but he wouldn't say a word." "He never told them what he saw?" "He did, later. After a few years. By then the whole town knew my story and they thought I was a liar. Johnny tried to defend me, but it was too late. No one believed him either. They just thought he was playing along. But it was me they blamed for the hoax. I was the one they glared at for bringing all of those reporters into our sleepy little town. I was the one the other kids made fun of, and called the 'Martian Girl.' I was the one my parents didn't believe, and got punished for making our family the laughingstock of town. If we hadn't been so poor, we might have moved to another town. But that wasn't an option." Agent Mulder squeezed her hand, offering her a sympathetic smile. "I know what that feels like, to grow up a loner...a 'liar.'" She coughed, trying to ease the tightness in her throat. "I don't tell my story to very many people. They never believe me, anyway." He set his napkin on the table and pushed his plate to the side. "Did your parents ever go to a fertility clinic?" "No." "You're certain? No fertility treatments with an OB-GYN?" "Not that I know of." "Did you ever have any strange illnesses as a child, something they might have taken you to a specialist for?" "No. Why?" "I'm just thinking out loud for a moment." "I was rarely ever sick as a child. All I had were the nightmares." "Did you see a psychiatrist? Have you been through any sort of memory regression therapy?" She shook her head. "Do you think that would help?" "I don't know...but if you're willing, we could give it a shot sometime. I know several good doctors. Or if you're more comfortable with me, I could try it myself. My specialty is criminal behavior, but I am a licensed psychologist. I've had the necessary training." "I--I don't know..." "I'll let you think about it. I'm going to have to get back to work, anyway." She started to reach for her purse when he waved her hand away. "I'll pay for this." "No, it's all right...I have money now." "Good. Save it." "Agent Mulder, I can't let you do that." "Yes, you can. And please, call me Fox." "I thought you told me over instant messaging that your partner calls you Mulder." "She does. That's different." Sabryn raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. As he paid for their meal and led her outside to catch her a cab, she couldn't help but notice how comfortable she suddenly was. Her initial shyness had all but disappeared. "It was nice finally meeting you, Fox." "You too, Sabryn." Opening the door of the cab for her, he handed a folded up wad of money to the driver. "Take her wherever she wants to go." "Will do," the driver said, grinning. Sabryn could only shake her head. "Thank you." "You're welcome." Before he put his wallet away, he handed her his business card. "Keep in touch. If you remember anything else, no matter how small the detail, call me." "I will." He grinned, tapping on the roof, and gave her a wave as the cab drove away. *** Part Seven: Walk Through Fire Summary: Secrets and lies are meaningless with time For Ben. "Time is the fire in which we burn." She sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the old painting with unfocused eyes. The blurred abstract shapes made little more sense to her than when she'd first painted them. Even so, there was a strange electricity about it. An almost palpable spark in the air. It was nearly two in the morning when she'd been awakened from a restless sleep with an inexplicable urge. Crawling from that warm bed, she'd pulled all of her old unfinished paintings from the stacks leaning against the wall and laid them on the floor. End to end, the weird shapes illuminated only by the lamp on her night stand. Staring at them for endless hours. And without so much as an idea in her head, she picked up her tray of paint tubes and started squeezing their contents out onto the palate. Using a knife and an assortment of brushes, she set to work. Smashing the paint into the canvas with ferocious intensity. Mixing the colors directly on the painting. Pressing with such force that she began to work up a sweat. She only paused once, to tie the hair away from her face and mop the perspiration from her brow. Moving from canvas to canvas, unaware of the mess she was creating all over her floor, she worked at a frantic pace. Her eyes swept wildly back and forth, taking in the whole scene with manic concentration. The muscles in her arms quivered, making her strokes even more haphazard. Finally, at nine in the morning, she stood back and looked at the mess on her floor with stunned eyes. She felt as if she'd just woke from a coma. The fuzziness in her mind slowly dissipated as she started cleaning the dozens of brushes and sponges she'd mussed. Paint covered her arms, smeared her sweats and dotted her floor. She didn't remember making such a huge mess. More importantly, however, she didn't remember what had urged her to paint the gigantic five-canvas collection behind her. Standing at the sink, with blue-green water dripping from her brushes, she glanced over her shoulder apprehensively. She hadn't needed to dream during the night. Her entire nightmare was lying on her apartment floor. *** "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Alex laid his forehead against the steering wheel, his burning eyes closed, dialing the number on his cell phone by touch alone. When the receptionist answered, he asked for the first available flight to Moscow. Just as he suspected, most flights were booked for the holiday season. She told him the best she could do was put him on a stand-by list. Mentally cursing, he gave her the name Arntzen and spelled it for her. He was waiting for her confirmation when he started at a tapping on the passenger side window. Sabryn stood there looking through the tinted glass, smiling awkwardly. Lowering the window, he turned off the phone. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to say hello." She brushed her hair away from her eyes, her hand laden down with shopping bags. Noting the direction of his gaze, she said, "Last minute Christmas presents." Unlocking the door, he reached across to push it open for her. "Get in. It's freezing out there." She smiled, and didn't waste a minute climbing into the truck and closing the door. He rolled up the window as she stashed her bags in front of her. She nodded towards the nearby bar. "Were you going to go in?" "I was supposed to meet someone. He never showed." "Oh. I'm sorry. Was it important?" He sighed heavily. "Not anymore." They sat for a moment in fumbling silence. He could see the slight pink of her cheeks, but he had no idea if it was from the cold, or being in his presence for the first time since that night they'd shared. She chewed on her lip for a second or two, before turning to him with deliberate assertion. "Do you want to fuck me?" He nearly choked. "Now?" "No..." This time he was certain she was blushing. "No, that's not what I meant. I--what is this thing between us? Are we just friends who got a little carried away one day, or what? I'm not asking you for an affair or anything...I'd just like to know where things stand." "It was just fucking, Sabryn, and you shouldn't expect anything more from me." "I don't," she said, rather defensively. "I'd just like to know..." "What?" "Am I the only one? I know it's a little late to be asking this, but the idea of having sex with someone who's also seeing other people really creeps me out." He ran his hand through his short hair, imagining he could actually feel his headache throbbing through his skull. "You're the only one." "Oh. Good." She sounded entirely too pleased with that revelation. "Well, I should get going. You probably have to get back to work or something." "I don't exactly have set hours." "What do you really do, anyway? I promise I won't laugh. You don't have to lie to me." It figured. The one time he told the truth about something, she didn't believe him. "I already told you." She shook her head. "My brother used to be ashamed to tell people he worked as a janitor when he was younger. Honestly, hard work is nothing to laugh at." "Put your seat belt on." "What?" "You don't believe me...I'll prove it to you." She opened her mouth to speak, and then abruptly closed it again. Reaching for her seat belt, she nodded. "All right. Prove it." *** Sabryn flexed her fingers around the soft tan leather of the bucket seat, fighting the urge to fidget like a child. He drove in silence, and although watching him effortlessly work the stick shift and clutch was fascinating, she was bored out of her mind. There was only so much staring she could do before she was met with his suspicious gaze. She made do with studying him out of the corner of her eye. But it wasn't long before she grew restless once again. "Where are you taking me?" "You'll see." That certainly hadn't gotten her anywhere. Glancing around the large cab of the Dodge Durango, she had to shake her head at the luxury of the vehicle. "This sure is a nice truck. Selling state secrets must be pretty lucrative." If she wasn't mistaken, the beginning of a smile was forming on his face. "It can be, if you know what you're doing. Especially if you're a good thief." |
Midnight Angelby Isahunter |