From: "Heywi Pleione" <heywi@hotmail.com>
Date: Thu, 06 Jan 2000 23:15:07 CET
Subject: Annual Annihilation by Heywi
Source: direct

Title: Annual annihilation
Author: Heywi
E-mail address: heywi@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Category: V H (dark)
Spoilers: Terma
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Krycek is on his way to an
important
meeting.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to 1013.
Remember that Christmas is a time for sharing
(and giving, but we'll have to forget that)


London, England
24th December 1999

A man walked along one of London's most crowded streets. He wasn't
in a hurry, but he didn't want to be late for his appointment
either, so he strode hastily forward through the slushy snow that
covered the sidewalk. Flurrying snowflakes stung his face like
thousands of small needles, their movements brought almost
horizontal by the harsh wind. He buried his head deeper into his
comforter to escape the freezing cold, but also to block out the
sounds of the overly sweet Christmas melodies that flooded out from
various shops. The music made him slightly nauseous, and if he yet
again walked into someone stacked with gaudy parcels and glittery
packages, he was going to hit that someone.
Tinsel-glitter-jingle-jangle fucking madness.
He carried only one package, small and easily covered by his coat,
and it was there for reasons of safety, not of joy.
Holidays. Well, it wasn't like he had to care, as he'd never been
celebrating them much anyway. Not that he had some sob-story to
tell about that, like certain other people he'd met. No names. But
boy, was the fibbie whiny. Not to forget resentful, vengeful and an
all around pain in the ass. It wasn't like whiny-boy had lost
anything very essential to live a normal life. He at least had a
choice to give up the girl, but you can't get a new arm for
Christmas. It doesn't matter how nice you have been, you just can't
get it. Not that he'd ever been very nice, and if he had, he
probably hadn't lost it in the first place.
He was very bad indeed, and he disliked the whole spectacle to
boot. Always Santa's least favorite boy, prone to get enough
charcoal on Christmas morning to melt the Statue of Liberty into a
big reeking puddle.
It had been all the too-sweet smiles and the false joy that had
made him lose his patience with the whole thing. He'd been about
ten years old, and not very keen on being either nice or happy.
Those were such childish feelings, unnecessary and false. It was
all just a big lie anyway. He glared at an innocent passer-by. They
didn't know what waited in the dark behind the next corner, what
was going on behind their backs. They all lived in a giant, shiny
soap-bubble, soon going 'splat' against the hard edge of Reality.
His reality.
His thoughts of work and the people that he associated with it
evoked the ever-present, but today somewhat dulled, nervousness
he'd achieved from always being pursued in some way. His eyes
flickered cautiously back and forward. Nothing suspicious anywhere.
He really didn't think there'd be, but you never know, especially
since the FBI weren't the only ones after him at the time. But hey,
didn't the cops have to celebrate too? Christmas? Chanukah?
Whatever.
He had passed through the most crowded part of the street and
turned, with a glance over his shoulder, into an alleyway.
Right where you belong, Alexei, he thought ironically as he nearly
stumbled over a stinking garbage can. Here the air was calm, and
the silence was remarkable after the windy bedlam on the street.
He was alone in the alley, probably the only one that had entered
it this day, and he had to shove his feet through heavy, untouched
snow when he walked. The smell of fog and exhaust fumes hung heavy
in the air, and the fresh snow crunched under his feet.
He continued to walk through the city, using the smaller streets
and the alleys, more because of habit than any expectations of real
danger.
He was still thinking about holidays when he noticed that something
in his surroundings was amiss. He left his mind for a moment, to
look around, and noticed that the snowfall had stopped. He smiled
smugly, maybe now all the ordinary people wouldn't get any more
soft white snow for Christmas. Poor pathetic bastards. They
probably didn't care, just sent out all their nice Dads to buy fake
snow on cans, making the producer's day and spurring all the big
companies to continue ruining the atmosphere with CFC, thus making
all following winters just as unwhite as they could ever be, due to
global warming.
The corners of his mouth raised slightly at the thought. Some
conspiracy. He knew someone who'd be interested. Maybe he'd send
whiny-boy an anonymous letter later, Mulder had to have something
to do over Christmas too, hadn't he?
He made his way through a snowdrift at the end of the alley, and
entered a cross-street. He put his hand over his eyes to shun the
strong light from the streetlamps and scurried over to the other
side of the road and began walking forward again.
It was less noise here, only a few cars drove by. He followed some
of them with his eyes. Some drove fast, they were probably on their
way home to their family in a little pastel box of a house in the
suburbs. Others drove slowly, probably looking for female company
for the evening, or maybe just for, say, ten minutes before they
went home to their family, in another little pastel box.
Some life they led. Like ants.
Sometimes he wished that he was one of those drivers, a costume-
clad lawyer, doctor, business executive, all successful and safe
(and stuck) in their seemingly so mighty positions.
He was raised to reach for such a life. Well, he had reached a good
position in the world, not just one his parents would approve of.
If they knew. He snickered.
At this moment he didn't want to change his life. The 24th was,
despite the holiday it represented, always one of the best evenings
of the year, if he could attend to the meeting. He always did his
best to make it possible. Ever since they had quit working together
they tried to see each other at least once a year.
Usually they met in more fashionable places, like expensive
restaurants or famous hotels, just for fun, but this year it hadn't
been enough time to plan for that. Besides, he liked comfortable
clothing better than a stiff, hired costume.
He had been costume-clad for work for a while, all dressed up every
day, doing dirty work no one ever cared about except from when he
and his partner had found something uncomfortable for the ones
without faces, but with too much power (which was surprisingly
often). He hadn't endured it for very long, it wasn't free enough
and the salary was way too low (although it had included a special
bonus he got for leaking information to somebody who cared more of
his work than he did.).
The payment and the clothes were actually the only things that
differed from his current work, apart from that he killed more
often now, and didn't have to do any paperwork.
Maybe it was just superficial, but the money he got gave him more
satisfaction than truth or justice. He created his own truth and
justice anyway. He could buy it if he wanted to.
He saw his reflection in a mirror in a shop-window and stopped. He
was startled for a moment of how the greenish complexion he got
from the street lamp reminded him of the Grinch who stole
Christmas. Not very far-fetched, he thought wryly, though I'm a lot
more good-looking. But we're both mean, green (I, at least when
standing under a greenish street lamp or feeling really sick.) and
efficient when it comes to playing with people.
He made a big, toothy grin at the mirror, trying to look even more
like the evil cartoon monster. His teeth shone in the bright light.
Fun, that, to play games. Mind-games. He lent a little closer to
the window, to make a more serious check on his appearance. He told
himself that he didn't need to be vain, it wasn't like he was going
on a date or something. Just a meeting with an old friend, like
almost every Christmas Eve since eight years or so. She wouldn't
care how he looked.
Another thought interrupted him: she will care if you are late. She
wouldn't like that, and it just wouldn't do. He was a professional
thug, but a reasonably polite one.
He speeded up his steps, now near his final destination. He drew
his hand through his hair and checked on the box in the inner
pocket.
Everything was on order. Just one block left now.
The club he was going to wasn't very fashionable, some would
consider it downright cheap, but it was safe, warm, had liquor and
his company were probably waiting impatiently on the inside. He
could see her with his mind's eye, tapping her foot and snapping
orders to the bartender, impatient and fidgety.
She reminded him of home, and times past. Not strange, counting the
fact that the had known each other practically forever.
Funny how they would end up in the same business as well. They used
to joke about it when they met, comparing notes and techniques.
After all, there weren't many double- (or was it triple-?) crossing
spies/assassins/agents out there, at least not many who it was
possible to get a closer connection to than a hurried cooperation
in some operation brought on stage by someone else, even more
unreachable. Like the smoker or others of his kind.
The blue neon sign stating the name of the club cast an eerie light
on the glittering snow on the sidewalk, and reflected in the
opposite house's windows. The street was empty, and the windows
black, there was only office buildings on this block.
He pushed his good shoulder against the old door to open it.
Stray snowflakes swirled around him and into the stairway as he
entered. Warm air hit his face, and a smell of stale beer and
cigarette smoke surrounded him. He stopped at the door to button
down his coat before he continued, shutting the door with his foot.
A bell clanged somewhere as he walked down the narrow stairs, and
when he had gotten rid of his coat he went into the underground
room that made the bar. When he earlier that day had prepared the
place for their visitation, he'd noticed that they had redecorated
since the last time he was there, about two years ago. There was a
bar in the left corner of the room and a small stage accompanied
the before so lonesome piano in the niche at his right. A man with
a viola played a soft jazz tune accompanied by a clarinet.
There weren't many visitors this special evening, just lonely men
and women who for some reason didn't have anywhere else to be
tonight. The dim amber light from the few lamps obscured most of
their faces from his view, any attempts at identification would be
futile. As he maneuvered between tables he carefully, to not draw
any unwanted attention, swept his gaze over them.
He saw her immediately, she sat on the other side of the room, at
the bar. She signaled "safety" to him as soon he saw her, but he
still did another check of the surroundings before he walked over
to her. He trusted her, but not as much as he trusted himself.
"You made me wait." she stated in an indifferent alto voice when he
came close enough for private talk. Her black dress rustled
slightly when she reached out her hand to her glass.
"Am I worth the wait?" he said casually as he pulled himself up on
the barstool beside her.
"I'm not certain yet. Make me come to a decision, Alexei." She took
a sip of the drink, her dark hair falling forward and hiding her
eyes from him. He came up with a retort without thinking.
"You were late last year."
"I wasn't today. Actually, I had to skip a job to get to this."
"How touching." He caught the attention of the bartender and made
his order. "I could have done some very interesting surveillance
right now, you know," he said.
"You've been doing interesting surveillance since you was twelve
and discovered that Ms Fernandez liked to walk around naked in her
apartment on Saturday nights."
"Hey, you were there too. Come on, you know it's impossible to find
anything else to do but spy on your neighbors when you're living in
a box of sardines and your parents won't let you out after six
o'clock."
"Afraid we'd come in bad company." She shook her head in mock
seriousness before she continued:
"Now we are the bad company."
"Nah, that's you, I'm clean as a baby." At her skeptical look he
continued, "Well, almost."
"You still smell good from the last dry-cleaning? Changed
identities again?"
"A couple of times, but I'm still known by my real name."
"That's not very careful of you. You've got to watch out for
yourself better, Alex."
"Please don't call me that." He shot her a dark glare.
"Don't mix business with pleasure, eh?"
"Do you want me to call you Rosie?"
"Sorry, I take it back, Alexei" she said warily.
"Who did you piss off since the last time we spoke then?" He
grinned inwardly when she quickly changed the subject.
"Well, there's still the FBI."
"Are you ever going to shake them off your tail?"
"We have a special connection. Then we've got Interpol by proxy,
but there's this very powerful, very private group that I've got a
good connection to. They think they are invulnerable, and they give
me protection, for now." He had plans for them. Maybe she could be
of some help.
"So, are you clean in U.S.?" he asked.
"Not entirely. I'm not as hot there as I am in South America,
though. A partner of mine screwed us up in Rio half a year ago."
"You've got to get a good partner. Why not work with me for a
while?" he said tentatively.
"Go back to what we were before the "Alex-the-cop" crap? I never
got that FBI-agent stunt you were pulling there, just leaving me in
Paris. For a second I thought you were sincere" she looked at him
over the rim of her glass.
"You were a fool. I thought you knew me."
"Alexei became Alex. That was a surprise, I never thought you would
Americanize your name."
"Your 'Rosie Enrique' trick had me wondering too."
"Yes, mother would have been overjoyed, had she known about it."
"Finally a female name?"
"Something like that." She smiled and continued, more seriously:
"We never got back to working together again after that."
"We should, we were good."
"We sure was."
They sat quiet for a while, staring into their glasses, each one
thinking about all those could-have-beens and should-have-beens
that so often surface in your mind when you meet a friend you
haven't seen for a long time.
She broke the silence.
"I accept your offer. Have information sent to you-know-where."
"In which name?" he asked, and she lent forward and whispered it to
him.
"Done. You've changed again" he commented.
"After the fiasco in SA I had to."
"Every time we meet we have different identities. Several of them
each"
"It's amusing. Have you ever tired of it?"
"Not since the first time I called myself Thomas Smith."
She actually giggled at that. He noticed that he too was amused at
the memory. He also noted that she was getting slightly drunk.
"Your first name-swap-victim." she said dreamily, looking up to the
ceiling "I wonder what the little bastard would think if he knew."
The tone had changed to wistful.
"He never did any thinking then, I don't think he has changed" he
replied, half serious. "He was so confused when he got jailed in my
place."
"Too bad I made sure he hadn't got any alibi."
"He deserved it."
He thought content about the old childhood enemy, and their final
vengeance on him when he had taken the little weasel's name on
their first professional job.
"Is he even out yet?"
At that he almost couldn't keep from choking on his drink from the
laughter that ensued. It would indeed be entertaining to tell him
after, what was it? Fifteen years now.
It was a malicious joy they felt, but, hey, wasn't that the most
satisfying kind of happiness?
They lapsed into silence again, she ordered another drink and he
watched her profoundly. Sometimes she looked just like the girl
he'd spent all his time with for over twenty years ago, sometimes
she changed to the woman he'd had a relationship with in the
eighties. But she'd always had that attitude that had made him
befriend her in the first place. No-nonsense, bright and
straightforward.
He returned his gaze to his glass and sighed deeply.
"Getting mushy Alexei?" she interrupted his thoughts.
"Maybe a little" he answered her nonchalantly, blushing just so
slight that it didn't show. He usually didn't blush, really.
"But mostly I was trying to figure out how much you have had to
drink tonight."
"That isn't something you ask a lady, Alexei"
"You are asking for this retort, Angel" he warned "but since when
were you a lady?"
"Ever since you discovered that you were a queen." Damn she was
fast!
"I'm not a queen. I did not cross-dress"
"You did too."
"That was once. And it was work related."
Damn it. She knew everything.
He had long ago realized that that was the reason to why he met up
with her year after year. There wasn't anyone who knew him like she
did. Knew his past, hell, shared his past. She knew about all the
events that had made everything turn out the way it had. And she
still stayed.
As usual the banter and talk went on, hour after hour. The fact
that they met so seldom was a nuisance, but it made their meetings
and the infrequent phone-calls to things to look forward to. He
hadn't got so many things to look forward too anymore, so it was
nice. He had to keep her on his side if he were to drag her in into
the mess he was currently chin-deep in. It wouldn't be a problem,
he was absolutely certain that she wouldn't betray him.
An hour or so before the place closed they made their way out in
the cold air, their meeting finished for the year.
He didn't hand her the little package until they had walked a good
mile down the street. They stopped and faced each other, she
eagerly tearing the wrapping apart. They probably looked like a
couple in love, him giving her a wonderful Christmas gift.
With a gasp she discovered what had been in the package. She was a
very good actress, he had to remember that (as if he already didn't
know).
She began to kiss him, and he embraced her and the black box he had
given her. A very good actress. Had to keep that in mind. Just a
kiss. A kiss of death, he mused as they became more intense. He
could feel her left hand jerk close to his chest as she forcefully
pushed two little black buttons on the small machine between them.
One second passed. They continued to kiss and the building they'd
just spent their evening in exploded in a cloud of fire. A forceful
wind and the following deafening sound made them sway. Sooty debris
began to mingle with the white snowflakes that had begun to fall
again when they had been inside.
They continued to kiss, the adrenaline in their veins enhancing the
experience, they had done it so many times before, but it still
felt new to him.
The annihilated inferno of what had used to be a building soon
attracted a crowd, and sirens were closing in.
No witnesses would be found that had seen them talking together,
and all the surveillance that might have been in the bar was burnt
beyond recognition. They were safe.
After a while they separated, and she walked down the street, away
from him and out of his sight.
He crossed the street and began to walk back to his hotel.

END


Notes: I'm not a native English-speaker, so there are probably some
errors in the text.
Feedback and constructive criticism are cherished!