Rated NC-17 for graphic descriptions of intravenous drug use, rape, violence, and foul language. Phew. PLEASE ah, what's that catchy phrase? Oh yes, Consider Your Limits before reading. Thanks. You'll save us both a lot of BS.
Author's Note- We're picking up approximately forty eight hours after Waiting For The Man ends here, mid binge as it were. Yes, you do need to read that for this to make any sense at all. If that one gave you the willies, or pissed you off, or gave you bad dreams, so will this one, okay? You know it has to get worse...Mulder shows up. <eg>
I don't know how many days it's been, only that I've come up out of sleep twice. It doesn't matter, I got the room for a whole week, and the heroin won't last that long. I'm barely awake now, it takes tremendous effort to hold my eyes open. I don't want to doze anymore, though, this is too pleasant. My headphones are still on my ears, but the tape has stopped again. I flip it over and "What Goes On" starts over again. I've been switching back and forth between the two cassettes, letting the switch from 60's underground rock to 80's heavy metal take me up and down in my high.
It's good. I can count on G&R to keep me awake when I'm nodding out, and Lou to calm me down when I get too antsy.
My brain's been very quiet for a while now, just letting me drift. Earlier it was processing at lightning speed. My thoughts playing leap frog in my head, jumping ahead of me and dragging me along for the ride. I spent a long time considering my enemies, and their possible weaknesses, and what the most satisfying ways of seeking revenge would be. I don't remember what they were now, but I know the plans I made were brilliant. It doesn't matter, I'll remember later, or maybe I won't. Either one is fine with me. Nothing could jar me from the state of perfect contentedness I'm in right now, not even if Cancer Man appeared in front of me at this very moment. I'd smile, and offer him solutions to his many problems, all of which my hyperactive brain has been working on whenever there's nothing more interesting to think about. As Lou Reed would say, everything is "all right."
I'm flat on my back, staring idly at the window. Not out the window, it's too dirty to do anything but let in a little light. I don't know if that's a sunset or a sunrise I'm seeing, but the cast of the pink light is pretty on the floor.
The room is getting lighter not darker, it must be sunrise. This is deeply philosophical for me, but I'm having a hard time getting the ideas to stay in one place long enough to put them in order. The light is so beautiful it hurts, and I have to turn my head. It feels so strange to move now. Earlier, I was stumbling around the place, singing along with Lou and dancing my ass off. Now, I can feel every tiny shift of muscle and nerve and bone in the back of my neck. It's unsettling.
It seems as though each minuscule movement of my eyes causes gravity to shift around me. Up and down and sideways keep moving around and trading places. It almost looks like it's the room that's moving, and not my eyes. I can feel it though, the optical nerves are sluggish, but responsive. It takes almost more concentration than I have to redirect them when something moves rapidly at the far right corner of my peripheral vision.
It's the doorknob, falling to the floor. Why is the doorknob falling? Oh look, it's Mulder. I've never had a hallucination of this magnitude on smack before, but if my brain wants to give me Mulder, out of breath, with his gun in my face, I'll go there.
"Hi Mulder. How are you?" I concentrate carefully on enunciation, trying to keep my head from bobbing. I tell my eyes that we really want to see this, but they don't want to open any wider.
My vision doesn't talk. He's pretty though, so pretty. I see this Mulder more than any other. The very, very angry one, with the gun in my face. It's almost endearing at this point. Poor Mulder, he wants to so badly, but he'll never let himself do it. Really, Mulder, you should just ease up on yourself a little. Murder can be extremely satisfying.
He comes closer, until he is in my face, right behind the gun. He's still panting. There's sweat on his upper lip and he smells like the outdoors. I forgot what outside smells like. It's very musty here, the predominant smells are mold and grease, with an underlying sour sweet rotting smell common to old buildings. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm overdosing, or if somehow this could actually be real. The moisture of his breath on my face is too real to be a picture my mind made.
"What the fuck are you doing?" He snarls at me.
Oh lord, this is not a dream. Mulder kicked the door in. I finish the process of turning my head I had started before he interrupted me. Well, at least he closed the door, and put the chair back to hold it shut.
I wonder how he found me? Before I can get my eyes back to him, he cracks me across the face with the back of his hand, hard. It snaps my head back to the left, and when I stop seeing stars, I'm staring up at him.
"I said, what the fuck are you doing?"
I laugh softly, and touch my cheek. It's hot, and I think he split my lip, it's wet. "Flying."
Why are you here? Maybe I'm wrong, maybe you can pull that trigger. The gun is pushed into my left cheek, right under my eye. Okay, Mulder, let's do it. Only I want to see your eyes. The Sig's steady, but he's shaking, violently. When I finally drag my eyes from the Sig's barrel back up to his eyes, I realize it's rage. It turns his eyes green. A thousand questions burst to the surface of my mind, but almost instantly, I realize none of it matters. It's a totally appropriate revelation for the last moment of my life. I'm glad it's him, and not another of Cancer Man's hired help.
I give him the cockiest grin I can manage, holding onto the vision of his face in front of me hungrily. I couldn't ask for more than this, this is the face I want to take into death. "Go for it." I tell him, slurring the words badly. It's so surreal. I feel as if my last shot dropped me into the middle of a Quentin Tarentino movie.
The full, sensuous lips curl up in disgust. I can see the disappointment and the rage burning in his eyes. I can smell his anger radiating off his body, leaning over me on the bed. He's careful not to touch me anywhere when he stands up, Returning his gun to it's place under his arm reluctantly. I remember the one under the bed, and wonder why I didn't go for it, or why I'm not doing it now, while his back is turned. It should be instinct, automatic, even this far gone. I won't though, it's just something I know, a premonition. I am not his killer. It's a tremendous relief.
So, if neither of us is going to die, what happens next? I guess it's too much to hope for, that he'll just leave, just go, and let me get back to my oblivion. He's in the bathroom, breaking something. I try to concentrate, figure out what he's doing, but it's way beyond me. I do manage to find the stop button on my walkman. Maybe he won't shout at me now.
He's back. Back in my face, his hands gripping bunches of my shirt, pulling me up off the bed. I feel my t-shirt start to rip, and his spit on my cheek when he shouts. His lips are very, very close. I could kiss him if I wanted to. I'm trying to figure out why I don't. I always want to, when he's this close, and right now he's not even hurting me.
He shouts again, "HOW MUCH?"
Oh lord, Mulder, leave me alone. For crying out loud, I'm happy. I get to indulge myself this way so rarely, just go the fuck away.
He's shaking me, determined to make me talk, "I said HOW MUCH? Alex!"
I laugh, licking my lips slowly to moisten them, they're cracked, and my tongue is thick. "Lots."
"You fucked up piece of shit!"
That makes me laugh, a lot. Do you think you're going to offend me, Mulder? I know that. You might have managed to embarrass me, if you'd gotten here before I got the shit in my veins. Now, I don't care. I don't care that you're standing here and I'm lying on a rickety bed with my pants around my ankles and the syringe on the night stand. I really don't. You can use this any way you want to, it's only what I expect from you, after all.
His fist slams into my face, and he growls at me, pronouncing each word distinctly, to be certain that they will burn through the fog in my brain. "You. Stupid. Fuck!"
He didn't punch me as hard as he usually does. I wonder why. It's not because I'm incapacitated, he had no moral problem with socking me a good one when he had me handcuffed in his car. Maybe I just can't feel it...
"Hit me again, gorgeous." I mumble, doing my best to make eyes at him, although it feels like I'm blinking in slow motion. If we're going to do this, then I should rise to the challenge. After all, I don't want him to think that I can't handle it.
He complies, another backhanded crack, to the side of my head. It knocks my head sideways, and makes the world spin dramatically, for a long time. Why does he only hit me in the face? He likes it way too much. I wonder if he really thinks I'm not smart enough to figure out just how deeply he's repressed the sexual tension that once existed between us? Somewhere in that messed up, amazing mind, he still thinks of me as "his", even though I never was. I've always been his enemy, his catalyst, his fate. I realize that I am mumbling these things to him, telling him that there's no point in lying about it, not anymore.
"You're nothing! You're worthless! You are not my anything, Krycek! If I killed you right now I'd be doing you a favor, and I'm not about to do you any favors! You fuck up everything! I wasted all my time tracking you down, I came here to kill you! You're not even worth killing. Why should I bother shooting a pathetic, one armed junkie? Jesus, I at least thought you'd get yourself out of Russia in one piece, you used to be good enough at that."
Through the safety of the China, through the hundreds of protective layers of scar tissue, he's hit a soft spot. I hear myself speak, the words drawn out slowly, trying to make it more intelligible for him. "I'm sorry about that, Mulder." I give him another lopsided grin, fairly sure that I'm doing okay, that it doesn't show in my eyes.
His eyes are still frighteningly bright, lit up with the passion of his hatred. Or is that his hatred of his passion? I laugh, bitterly, and realize a minute too late that he doesn't understand. He thinks I'm being sarcastic, and that I'm laughing in his face. No, tovarich, I mean it, I am sorry. I always have been. I'm sorry that I'm not what you want me to be, that I didn't live up to your expectations. You are the only person I have ever felt regret or shame for, ever. I'm only laughing at the pointlessness. You're so right, Mulder, you would be doing us both a favor if you pulled the trigger. I wish you would.
I watch the anger turn to wild, ugly, fury in his features and curl up a little, instinctively, to defend myself. It's the wrong thing to do, he hits me again, in the mouth, and this time he doesn't hold anything back. I don't know if he broke my jaw or not, but it feels horrible. I don't want to have to move my mouth ever again.
"You want to be sorry? I'll make you fucking sorry." His voice doesn't sound right. He's on top of me before I know it, knocking the breath out of me, and then I can't get another one because his hands are around my throat. He's so close that I can see my own reflection in his eyes. "How long are you gonna lie here with your pants around your ankles shooting dope? What are you waiting for? Were you waiting for me to come and do it for you? You can't even kill yourself! Why should I bother?"
He's not making any sense, or maybe it's me. It's awfully hard to tell. I know I'm about to pass out, and that's probably not a good idea, but I don't want to hurt him. I really don't. I know that it's wrong, I should. It's what they pay me for, and after everything that's happened, it's the only thing to do, to be his enemy, but I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to reach for the gun lying on the right side, under the bed. I think I could reach it, but I'm not going to find out, the world is already turning gray, there's the high pitched buzz in my ears, and then a wave of nausea before I fall into blackness.
I come to on my stomach, choking. The first sensation is the pain in my jaw, and then the weight of Mulder on top of me. He's still talking.
"You want to be sorry? Now? That's a joke. I don't want your remorse, it's not worth anything. Your not even a worthy opponent any more. I hated you, but I always respected your strength. You always had that, survival. This is pathetic! Where is your strength now, Krycek? Let's see how much you can take." Suddenly, I realize he's ripping off my underwear, and being none to delicate about it. For a second there I thought he was going to take my balls with them. I moan a little, trying to voice my displeasure. I open my eyes, and then shut them again quickly, when light pierces my brain. My throat hurts, it burns to swallow, and my mouth is very dry. I almost ask him for a glass of water, and then I stop myself, biting my lip. My mouth has gotten me in enough trouble.
For a few seconds, I'm just really confused. I don't understand how I got turned over on my stomach, or why he's pulling off my underwear. Then vaguely, my brain begins to form an idea... Revenge, for the gulag. He thinks I turned my back on him.
Dragging my head up off the bed a little, I make a tremendous effort to speak clearly. "You don't want to do this, Mulder."
I'm on drugs, I don't know why I have to be the voice of reason. If he does this to me, now, nothing will ever be the same. I'm not even sure I'll be able to live through it, and then there's Mulder. He's going to have to live with it too, forever. Don't, Mulder, please. Just go away, just go away...
"Shut the fuck up! Don't tell me what I want. You do not know anything about what I want."
His weight is pinning me down, making it hard to breath. The shoulder that's missing an arm is being pressed hard against the flimsy mattress with it's broken springs, and it hurts. I'm scared, but I resist the urge to dive for the gun under the bed, resolutely. I am not his killer, I am not his killer... I repeat it over and over again in my head, afraid that I'll forget.
"Take it! Just take it." He growls in my ear, a nasty, spiteful sound, and I feel the roughness of his slacks against the back of my thighs as he pushes them down. The hand that holds the gun is pushing it into the back of my neck. He is so paranoid. Anyone should be able to see that I can't move, that I couldn't if I tried to. I've got too much smack in me to make this anything but a hazy nightmare that I will eventually wake up from. I try to tell him this, try to make him understand how pointless this is, that it will give him no pleasure.
"No point, Mulder... No satisfaction. Don't..." The gun hits me, at the side of my head, and I see stars, the pain explodes slowly behind my eyes. I don't know if hurts more or less because I'm doped, I only know it hurts.
"Shut the fuck up! You are nothing. This means nothing."
His words aren't meant to comfort me, but they do. I take them up as a mantra in my head. I am nothing, he is nothing, this is nothing, means nothing, feels nothing. I am nothing, he is nothing, this is nothing..."
He's dropped the gun behind him somewhere, and his hands are touching me roughly, forcing the cheeks of my ass apart to push against me. His cock is half hard, and he pumps it against my skin, determination in his movements. Oh no, Mulder, don't, please don't. I can't move, and I won't let myself beg. I go back to that nothing sing-song, not caring that I'm mumbling aloud. "I am nothing, this is nothing, you are nothing, everything is nothing..."
"SHUT UP!" He roars in my ear, his hand releasing the back of my neck to cover my mouth as his cock pushes hard against me, forcing it's way between my cheeks, searching for a way in.
No no no no no, my brain is stuck in frozen, horrified denial. This isn't Mulder, this isn't happening...
Oh yes, it is, because horrible, burning, pain is ripping through me and my body is contorting without my knowledge or consent, trying to get away from the thing that's hurting me. His hand is at the back of my head again, pushing my face into the mattress, and it makes me remember my jaw. Why do we have to do this, Mulder? I don't understand. Help me, talk to me, please. Tell me why this has to happen.
He doesn't talk, he only holds me down, his iron grip unrelenting, his other hand is between the cheeks of my ass, trying to force his cock deeper inside.
"Noo!" I moan, not really expecting it to stop. It's only that I have to remind him that it's me he's doing this too, that I am alive beneath him. I'm afraid he'll forget.
"Alex," his voice grates in my ear, too close. I didn't know he was that close. Now I can't figure out if he's inside of me, or if it's just his cock, hard and vicious, ripping me open. I don't feel like I know where I stop anymore, because his voice is inside my head and he's touching me everywhere and he's so heavy I can't hold him away from me.
That's all he says, just my name. I hear myself sob, and push my face as hard as I can into the bed, actually trying to suffocate myself, which I know is almost impossible. No, Mulder, please, please not like this... Oh god it hurts, it hurts so much, and it's wrong. I can feel my insides tearing and rearranging around him, and it makes me feel so sick.
I can hear his voice again, but I can't understand the words, they run together in my mind, giving me something to think about instead of the pain. I listen to the sound of his voice, and I'm so very, very grateful for the China in my veins, which prevents me from comprehending what he's saying, or much of anything that's brought me to this position. It's horrible, and I want to curl away from him, but I can't. His fist is pressing into the small of my back, giving me all his weight and holding me down. I squirm, but it hurts more. He slams into me harder, tearing more of my insides apart. I don't want to tear for him, I don't want to break, but it's happening. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, I never, ever thought this would happen to me, and most especially, not Mulder.
"Why?" I hear myself cry, my neck twisted under his hand, pushing the swollen side of my face against the rough bedspread.
He's panting in my ear, and I force myself to concentrate, to listen to the harsh sounds. "Teach you... teach you to feel something."
"No." In my head, it's a very complicated statement, an answer, and a declaration. I know he doesn't hear it, doesn't understand. I promise myself I'll remember, I'll say it again when I can find the words. I'll make him understand he can't force anything but his cock on me. Not even my brain is responding, let alone my emotions.
I keep my eyes tightly shut, not wanting to see any of this. I want to have as few memories as possible. He is slamming into me, his hand choking me when he falls down with each thrust. I try to think about the shot I'm going to give myself when this is over, try to think about anything but Mulder inside me.
His voice is in my head again, his breath harsh in my ear, "You wanted this..." It's a horrible, angry accusation, and I have to argue.
I hear myself sob when I let the words out. "Not like this!"
"Like this!" He growls back, and I don't know how to disbelieve him. He is so certain, so angry. I don't know anything but what he tells me right now. All I can feel is pain, and a sickening awareness of Mulder surrounding me, nothing like I wanted... I fight his certainty, shaking my head violently when he lets go. "No, not like this..." I'm crying, I can feel the wetness on my cheeks, and my breath comes in loud, sobbing gasps. It hurts so much, I want him to stop, I want him to make it stop so badly.
"Mulder, please...no more." I'm begging, but I don't care. It doesn't matter, nothing matters, all I can feel is pain.
He collapses on top of me without warning, groaning in my hair. The bedsprings screech, digging into me. He doesn't move, and my mind screams in the silence, panicked by the immovable weight on top of me. He's so heavy. He doesn't look that heavy. I whimper when he pulls out, I can't help it, it burns, bad. I push my face farther into the bedspread, praying for the sound of the door slamming. I need that shot, more than I have ever needed anything in my life.
I can hear him pulling his pants up, the zipper is pulled with a vicious jerk. It takes all the effort I can summon, but I manage to turn my head, so I can talk to him. My jaw feels like it's in the wrong place, and I cough when I try to talk at first. "You... you didn't get any of me. Didn't mean anything... I got a piece of you, Mulder, you didn't get anything, I'm all right. You're not." I won't open my eyes, but I can feel him looking at me, and then he bolts.
The door slams, and then swings open again behind him. I open my eyes slowly, focussing on the chair, lying on it's side on the floor. I have to get up, and shut the door. Fucking bastard, couldn't even shut the fucking door behind him. I drag myself slowly off the bed, hitting the floor hard on my hand and knees, and begin the long crawl across the room to secure my privacy.
It feels like it takes years to drag myself across the room, but finally, I make it to the chair. Pushing it ahead of me, I drag it the last few feet to the door. My hand's shaking, it takes me three tries just to pick up the doorknob. Pain makes my movements even slower and more clumsy than they were in the first place, and the chair is a lot heavier than it looks.
The side of the door is split where he kicked it in, and the chain on the lock is broken. Avoiding the jagged pieces of the splintered wood, I try to push the door knob back into the hole. I can put it back in, but I can't make it lock again. Fuck it, he's not going to come back, and I need to get to the bathroom, where the drugs are.
I close the door, and shove the chair back against it. That's going to have to be good enough. There's blood running down the back of my legs, crawling hurts. I don't think I'm high anymore, or maybe it's just that the shock is starting to wear off. I can't believe he did that to me. Someone is moaning, very loud. I wish they'd shut up, I need all the concentration I have left to get to the bathroom. Oh God, it's me. I'm crying.
"Come on, Alexi. Don't crack up on me now, keep it together." I mumble to myself, focussing my watery vision on the bed. I make my way back to grab the syringe from the night stand, then head for the doorway to the bathroom. Almost there... Oh God, it hurts, so bad.
I grab the door frame, using the leverage to pull myself the last few feet into the safety of the small room. The momentum sends me falling forward onto my stomach, but I don't care. I kick the door shut behind me. I don't want to have to look at that room again. I'm going to stay right here, curled up on the floor. As soon as I get my shot, I'm not going to move at all. I don't care what happens, I don't care if I die here, but I'm not going out there again.
There's glass all over the floor. It's the mirror, I suppose he broke it. I guess I should be grateful, I don't want to know what my face looks like. In fact, I think I may avoid mirrors for a good long time.
The entire process takes way too long. By the time I have the China cooking in the spoon, my hand is shaking so badly I'm afraid I'm going to drop the needle before I can draw it up. I won't allow myself to think beyond getting the smack in my veins. If I can do that, then maybe I can convince myself that none of this ever happened.
Been hidin' out
And layin' low
It's nothin' new ta me
Well you can always find a place to go
If you can keep your sanity
They break down the doors
And they rape my rights but
They won't touch me
They scream and yell
And fight all night
You can't tell me
I lose my head
I close my eyes
They won't touch me
'Cause I got somethin'
I been buildin' up inside
For so fuckin' long
They're out ta get me
They won't catch me
They won't break me
Sometimes it's easy to forget where you're goin'
Sometimes it's harder to leave
And everytime you think you know just what you're doin'
That's when your troubles exceed
They push me in a corner
Just to get me to fight but
They won't touch me
They preach and yell
And fight all night
You can't tell me
I lose my head
I close my eyes
They won't touch me
'Cause I got somethin' I been buildin' up inside
I'm already gone
Some people got a chip on their shoulder
An some would say it was me
But I didn't buy that fifth of whisky
That you gave me
So I'd be quick to disagree
They're out to get me
They won't catch me
So you can suck me
Take that one to heart