Title: Denial

Author: Amazon X

E-Mail: yankeestarbuck@yahoo.com

Website: http://yankeestarbuck.tripod.com 

Category: Gen, Alex POV

Rating: R, for language

Summary: Sometimes, you have to help your friends.

Archive: Tell me where my babies live, just keep the 'nym. 

Disclaimers: I think CC can say he gives them up now.

Notes: This was a post-ep challenge for "Jump the Shark" from
Ursula, at "Alex H-C or D". She was very sad about the non-ep, and decided
that if Alex is still around, the Three Musketeers are still around. This is
for all Gunfen and Rat-lovers alike.

Author's Notes: Thank you to Ursula for giving me this challenge.
Mostly, thank you to my fabulous and amazing beta, Cynth, the woman
without whom I cannot work. She is amazing at her job and she works wonders on
my ego! I love you, woman, Godivas on their way to you!


I sipped at my coffee, looking down the slope at the rushing
creek. The 
coffee burned my throat like acid.

//Why did I agree to this? Oh, yeah, Mulder, that asshole.//

I could still hear the whiney, nasal bickering from inside the
cabin. I just 
wanted my arm fixed, nothing special. But Langly had to convince
me he knew 
what he was doing with special modifications. I put my cup down
to scrub my 
hand over my scraggly beard. I had given up shaving for the
winter. I 
hadn't bothered since spring began months ago, either

I heard the footsteps, but didn't move. Byers appeared beside me
with my 
prosthesis. I took it from his hands.

"Langly's finished with it, Krycek. You can put it on again."

I unbuttoned my flannel shirt and began strapping it on. Byers
continued to 
stand there and watch me. When I had the unit in place and
tested it, to my 
surprise, it worked better than it had before. It was smoother
and faster 
than it had been brand new.

//Sonofabitch, that blond freak really can do this stuff well.//

As I tested my new-ish limb, I noticed the brushed brown suede
shoes still on 
the wooden boards. In an effort to unnerve the man, I slowly
dragged my eyes 
up the length of his body. He just kept those deep blue saucers
on me.

//I never knew his eyes were that damn big.//

"Can I help you?" I asked with a little more venom than

"I thought it was a lie, you know. Before Mulder left, when he
you...I mean, there was so much emotion when he talked about you. 
He said you 
were a liar. I thought that story about your arm was a lie. I
guess I 
should have looked for the truth in you the way I looked for it
in everyone 

"Yeah, well, maybe I never gave you much to look for."

"I'm sorry, Krycek."

"You *can* use my given name, you know. It really *is* Alex."

"OK, Alex. You may call me John."

"Got it, John. Hey, who made this coffee?" I lift my mug,
showing him my 
cup of black, sweet liquid.

"I think Langly did. It's...um...strong. Sorry. I think my
coffee is 
better, don't you?"

I raised the offensive brew to my lips. As my face returned to
its usual 
serene expression, I turned to the bearded man. "You tell him
that I don't 
care how many times he fixes my arm. If he ever makes coffee
again, I'll 
kill him myself."

I felt bad when the shock spread over Byers composed countenance.
Yeah, I 
know, I'm a former assassin, but this coffee really is shit. He
went in the 
house without another word. I chuckled a bit at my power to
still shock the 

I stood and chucked the leftover half cup of mud into the grass,
hoping it 
wouldn't kill the patch, turned and entered the cottage where I
resided with 
the other three outcasts. Well, we're really not outcasts. 
We're hiding. 

Langly and Frohike were at the worktable they had set up in the
turned-hobby-den. They said they wanted to be able to watch the
TV while 
they worked, and the TV was in the living room. So we ate at the

//Why did I let Walter send them here again? He's gonna have to
pull strings 
to get *himself* in Arlington if this doesn't get better.//

I rinsed the mug in the sink and watched the three men working
They were repairing the hard drive of one of the hidden satellite
The sole reason we were in the mountains was to monitor the
Hemispheric skies. Mulder had his crew in Australia.

//Lucky bastard, warm temps and some of the best fucking beer in
the world. 
And the hottest chicks who love Americans, to boot. I get a cold
three geeky guys and Coors. Fuck me!//

They worked well together, as I watched them. They didn't speak
to each 
other, maybe a few words here and there, but usually, they flowed
around each 
other, just fixing the electronics, each with a different piece
to repair. 
It was like poetry, ballet and magic in my presence. It was sad
that they 
had to hide. What will THEY do to us next?

That was it for me--and I knew I had to do something. I couldn't
let this 
go. My "death" was simple. Fake bullets, hide me from THEM and
Mulder and 
Skinner smell like roses for having taken out the triple agent
threat. Then, 
they take their considerable collective wealth and hide me until
I come back 
out. Not a bad trade. When Skinner contacted me, and Mulder
sent the 
message almost begging me, to help these three, I was none too

After almost a month of living with them, I was coming around to
their unique 
charms. We were stuck with each other. I needed their
technological know-
how, they needed my protection, just in case. It was interesting
to see the 
looks on their faces when they saw my arsenal. Byers was
frightened, Langly 
was impressed like a teenager, and Frohike looked almost aroused.

It was interesting to see their differences. Langly was eager to
learn how 
to shoot weapons, for protection. Frohike, he knew his way
around a rifle. 
Byers was the hard sell. He settled on the basics of a handgun,
knowing he 
could never take up one of my high-powered sniper jobs against
person, even in his own defense. But he makes a hell of a cup of

So, I think I have come to the right decision. And the sad part
is, they'll 
never know.


I waited for almost four hours before I heard the footsteps in
the hall. I 
heard him scrape his lazy feet down the carpeted floor.

//He's drunk. Good.//

The door opened and he staggered in. I could smell the bourbon
across the 
room, wafting over to choke me with smoky alcoholic fingers. It
didn't stop 
me from raising the gun to shoulder level, waiting for him to see
it when he 
turned the light on.

The lights blinded me slightly, but my hand never moved. His
eyes widened 
when he recognized the shape of the Glock 19 in my hand. The
smile grew 
across his lips and I waited for him to start trying to beg me
into letting 
him live.

//Does the dumb shit even realize I'm not wearing a mask to

"Hey, buddy, what's the deal here? Can't we discuss this?"

I laughed at him.

"What's your name, pal?"

"Why do you give a fuck?"

"Well, I mean, you know me. Why shouldn't I know you?"

"I only know you because you ruined the lives of some friends of

"Oh, gawd, this again? Look, I was doing what I was paid to do.
Her father 
is my boss. Just because they lost their minds and gave away all
their money 
to find her isn't my problem. Now, why don't you put away the
gun and let's 
discuss this. I mean, I'm sure we can come to a...monetary
You think?"

"Fletcher, you couldn't pay me enough."

"Krycek! That's who you are! Alex Krycek! Aren't you dead?"

He cocked his head to the side, still drunk, and realizing a
nanosecond too 
late that I wasn't kidding.

"No, but you are," and I began squeezing off rounds. He fell
slowly. I 
smiled as I watched the life flow out of him, my pleasure to his
pain as 
iodine to a gaping wound. I even chuckled as he reached out to
me, to try to 
get help. I stepped on his hand as I left his office.


I sat on the back porch, drinking Byers' coffee, watching the
last magenta 
and purple of sunset fade beyond the trees. The satellites were
under the trickle of the creek, lulling me into contentedness. I
sipped the 
brew in the cup, smiling. The footsteps creaked along the boards
behind me 
and the chair beside me became filled with Melvin Frohike. I
turned to him 
and smiled. He smiled back. We looked up into the sky, I
counted stars, and 
he watched me.

//They stare a lot. I didn't think I was this pretty. I'm
sleeping with the 
Glock under my pillow.//

I turned to the man at my right. "OK, Mel, what's up?"

"Al, where were you two weeks ago?"

"Why? Does it really matter?"

He smiled, chuckled silently and shook his head. "Did you kill

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Frohike stood up and walked to the door. He stood in the open
frame looking 
at me. I continued staring at the sky.

"Aleksandr Nicholai Kryska, you can't fool me. Melvin James
Frohike is 
smarter than that. So is John Fitzgerald Byers and Ringo Patrick
Skinner called us. Morris Fletcher was found dead, shot in the
heart, head 
and genitals. I assume the heart was for John, the emotional
one, the head 
was for Langly, the brainy one and the balls were all mine."

"Well, maybe you're a ballsy kinda guy."

He turned to leave. I had to ask.

"Mel, one thing though?"

He turned back to me. "What's that?" 

"Ringo? I thought his name was Richard." 

The smile spread across his stubbled face. "Looks like you've
got quite a 
bit to learn about us, too."

I laughed as he went inside. I felt comfortable at that moment.
Not as 
comfortable as I could have been, with a Foster's and a hot lady,
but I was 
contented. Soon enough Skinner et al. would figure a way to
finally defeat 
THEM and we could integrate back into the world. Would I miss my

//My friends?//

Yeah, I'd miss my friends.

For all Gunfen and Rat-lovers alike. No one is dead until Scully

Read me at http://yankeestarbuck.tripod.com