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Title: Subway
Category: VAR One in a pair of vignettes. The other got stuck somewhere in the goddamned renovations of Columbia station and has no idea how to get out. Suffice it to say that it, once upon a time, concerned a series of domestic-violence ads and Scully and Krycek talking about Mulder over stale Coney Island popcorn. During certain days in August, certain trains of the New York subway did not run--more specifically, a few late night expresses. A very busy station was closed down. Renovation, you understand; to make Metropolitan Transit Authority Ready for the New Millennium. Your tax dollars and your tokens at work. Mulder's stupid enough to forget this, and so, he's standing on the platform of a deserted and empty subway station waiting for the R train to go through. It's here that Alex--Krycek to Mulder--runs into him. It's like being stuck inside the humidifier from hell on the subway platform--there's no air conditioning because the MTA's too damn cheap, and the stench of rotting garbage rises up from the unused tracks. Mulder distinctly saw a cockroach scuttle out from underneath one of the overflowing trashcans and disappear into the wall. The sound of his name echoing in the hot, stale air makes Mulder jump. Tense. Grab for his gun. "Such a friendly soul." The words are purringly uttered; they crawl in the air, they float. "I wonder whatever happened today to make you so jumpy." Mulder's mind boggles to think how hot Krycek must be, what with the black leather jacket and black jeans and black boots. The man is experiencing a serious case of black hole wardrobe syndrome, and in a hell like this, he must be broiling. The one thing worse than coat and tie and sports jacket, and Krycek voluntarily wears it? And doesn't even have the decency to look warm. Just this little trickle of sweat running down his forehead--it's not really sweat. Sweat for the show of it. And then the prick practically *peels* himself off one of the columns and comes striding over with an insouciance that should be impossible in heat like this. After all, Mulder's starting to feel dizzy, the oxygen's just not getting to his brain. At least Krycek's not smoking. If he was, that infinitesimal addition of heat would cause him to melt. "What do fuck do you want this time?" The words come out harsh and grating, so awkward that Krycek just laughs. Or his approximation thereof. "Oh, nothing Mulder. Not this time." "Yeah, sure." He could shoot the son of a bitch right here, right now, and nobody'd be the wiser--bam bam bam, and it'd days before they found him. The rats and cockroaches would probably get to him first. Make the face unrecognizable. Or maybe he'd report it. No witnesses, Krycek had a reputation for violence, maybe he'd get away with it. And then, while he's lost in these personal reflections, Krycek's stepped up to him, so close that Mulder can feel the heat coming off him, a solid plane of the stuff, and in the heat, he smells like sweat and leather just the faintest edge of clean soap to give emphasis to the long sweet line of a jaw or the curves centered around the mouth, the bend of the top lip against the bottom and the little shadow cast by the bottom one, and the lips move, pull a little underneath his jaw, kiss with just the faintest breath of teeth and tongu-- Then, Krycek pulls away. Mulder can see those eyes laughing at him. "See Mulder? I don't want anything this time. I'm in New York for some shopping, for some fun. Catch a few shows on Broadway. I hear the Lion King's pretty good, but the tickets are sold out till next November." He leans in closer, till Mulder can see the fringe of lashes lined against pale skin. "Running into you was just an added bonus. "Bastard." The aftereffects of all that brain rushing from his dick back to his head again make Mulder dizzy, starts seeing three of Krycek. When the rush passes, they resolve back into one. Thank god. He can't handle one, much less three of them. Probably have a coronary. In response, Mulder's heart _thuds_ and he has to stagger against one of those tiled columns for support. It's faintly sticky, as if the masonry itself were sweating. "Look, Mulder, you can't stay here all night-- You'll get yourself mugged or raped or something. There's a station two or three blocks down the street that's got late night trains back to Queens. You've got a few tokens left right?" Mulder manages a thin, weak nod. "Yeah, well, you and switch--" here, Mulder's mind just shuts off until Krycek finishes up with, "Wouldn't want Scully to wait up for you, right?" That same strange laughter hangs in the air long after Krycek's gone, that is, until an express blows by, drowning it out and replacing the air and it's only then that Mulder comes out of his trance and tilts his head up so that the cool air blows over his face. .end Feedback to anasile@aol.com
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