MULDER THE VAMPIRE SLAYER
Round One, Part Three

Right after Scully's apartment door clicked shut behind his back, he remembered that he didn't have his car with him.

Mulder groaned.

It wasn't like he objected the little work out, but he could still feel his knees wobbling, a slight nausea, and cold sweat running on his back to remind him that there was a rather unpleasant after effect of a sudden splurge of adrenaline. Some warmth and security from a car's confined, and closed space was what he needed at the moment.

The fact that Scully's dead-like neighborhood gave him the impression of walking in the middle of a cemetery, and the nearest major street where there was a possibility to find some public transportation was still ten minutes away, had also worsened his mood.

//So there was Fox Mulder, vampiric pop culture obsessive extra-ordinaire, all-american schizophrenic federal government official, and no longer-virginal cult pagan retiree walking down the street in fear over monsters lurking in the night, ready to snatch naughty kids and weird adults for dinner//, he thought unhappily.

Damn. He hated darkness.

Scratch that.

He hated night.

A dead, pitch black night without any stars and breeze. A night where he felt trapped inside a box with its corners condensed into some small dots, leaving him no space to move or sweat or pee, like mummies inside rubber cloth.

Mulder shivered. Come to think of it, *this* felt like that. This night felt like that horrible, horrible rubber cloth. Suffocating. The air felt dead, and no sounds, no sounds at all. Not even sounds of breath.

That's why when a finger tapped his left shoulder out from nowhere, he practically jumped three feet up and shrieked like a banshee.

"Hey, hey, hey. Relax."

It took a long moment for Mulder to finally feel his blood returning to his head, but it was long enough to make some teeny-tiny part, which was functioning marginally at the moment, of his brain to send recognition signals.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Mulder shouted, half in relief, half in irritation. "Don't you ever do that again!"

//What was his name again?//

Alex Krycek.

The man grinned so wide, it looked like his mouth was about to outgrow his face. Yet, despite the obvious amusement shining from his eyes, he also looked... *stunned*.

"You scream like a... a..." He stopped, then suddenly his eyes glazed over and his body hunched forward. For one horrendous second, Mulder thought that the man was about to topple over to the ground, but a sudden guffaw of a hysterical laughter left him no doubt.

"I'm glad you find this amusing," Mulder said drily.

Krycek straightened his back, face still contorted with laughter and surprise.

"I've never...," he stopped, laughter finally subsided, yet his face was still showing disbelief. "I've never laughed like this."

//And it wasn't even funny//. Mulder gave him a weird look.

Then looked. *Really* looked.

"I didn't hear you coming," he said carefully.

Apparently, the sudden fit of laughter had released some inhibitions in that man, because Krycek appeared more relaxed and friendly. The air of mystery surrounding him was no longer intimidating. In fact, Mulder grudgingly realized, the vibe coming from this man felt *warm*.

"It's a good thing to know that I didn't lose my touch." Krycek smiled indulgently.

"The last time we met I had my feet on your chest." Mulder raised his eyebrow.

"I got prepared, you got careless. We're even now."

Mulder stared unblinking. There was no sound. No breeze. None whatsoever when this man approached him. He was sure he was not demented. This was not his imagination. But the last time they met wasn't he aware of him?

"Have you been following me since then?"

Krycek didn't answer for a moment. Mulder found himself gazing into the black pool of the man's eyes, strangely wishing for some lights to reveal its true green. It was funny to remember that he had thought those eyes were like jade, cold and emotionless. It was nothing like that at all. In fact, those eyes were now roving intently on his neck and chest.

"You're supposed to wear it."

Mulder felt warmth on his cheeks. He just *hated* when an attractive man looked at him like that. It did strange things to his brain.

"Huh?"

//See?//

"The cross I gave you. You can't possibly keep it inside the box forever. You'll forget when you need it."

Mulder felt his fingers crept into his pocket, feeling the box.

"Well, excuse me, I'm not exactly into a Gaultier-Madonna-look at the moment. This wedding chain you gave me is *huge*. It would disproportionate my face and lo and behold, there goes my beauty waving at me a 'hello-and-goodbye'."

Krycek's grin was genuine. "I didn't know that you're a clown."

"I thought the nose give me away."

The man tried hard not to laugh. "It wasn't red and swollen."

"You should see me on Monday morning. The weekend blue balls had turned into snot."

Krycek bent down a little then release another fit of laughter.

Watching him struggling to compose himself, face radiating disbelief over his own reaction, did wonders to Mulder. It was so clear before his eyes that this man wasn't easily amused, and laughter was a rare incident. Mulder knew what it felt like, and he also knew that for someone being restrained over simple, joyful things for a long time, a small chance of release could actually tilt the whole universe to a different axis.

//He told me that he's a friend//, he thought.

Somehow, he believed him now.

Mulder watched the dark, thick hair tumble haphazardly on a fine forehead, and decided that this was actually the best sight he had ever seen since his arrival in Washington DC. He should congratulate himself.

He felt himself grinning.

Finally, Krycek took a really deep breath and wiped his face. He looked at Mulder with brightness in his eyes and strangely Mulder thought as if the man was suddenly lit from the inside. Their eyes met and for a moment, for one blissful moment, there was nothing and no-one in the whole universe but two men, strangers to one another, looking at each other with a deep, intimate sense of connection.

"Ah, Mulder," Krycek said softly, his voice sweet as a whisper after his loud, rambunctious laugher a few moments earlier. "What you do to me."

"So, are you *my* friend now?"

"I thought you didn't want it."

The moment was still there and time still stopped, Mulder had thought fleetingly. Because whatever they both had said, with eyes locked into another, there was not a word that could have betrayed them. Strangely, Mulder just knew that he was asking if Krycek was his, whatever it was, and Krycek was answering: yes, yes, yes.

Then they both blinked and the world turned back on its axis.

"You can't just be reckless like that, here," Krycek said.

"What do you mean?"

He looked exasperated. "Your unawareness of me following you around! Your blurry instinct of knowing which is which and who is what!"

Mulder sighed, "Are we actually talking in English?"

But Krycek's face was serious. Very serious.

"Look. I think it is best if we clear something up first, okay? I thought that you're strong enough... never mind. I was wrong."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I saw you at the bar, and at the range of zero to ten, you scored only six. So, there's some change in my plan."

Mulder gave him an incredulous look. "It's about that nonsense thing. What do you call it? The vampiric Mafia."

"The Brotherhood."

"Yeah. Don Corleone turned Batman."

"Will you stop being an asshole?"

"*Asshole*?"

"I'm very serious, Mulder," Krycek said suddenly with a grim tone. "It seems that I should now stay with you. You aren't ready. You got that? You aren't ready, and now I should make you ready."

//Okay//, Mulder thought. For some reason, his brain was still disfunctioning. //What word had he said that was most significant?//

He stared at Krycek like an idiot.

"I'm not ready? I killed Scully's attacker with a bat of my eyes!" Which also reminded him that Scully was being kissed by a girl. A revelation that played some part of turning his brain into oatmeal porridge.

//"…stay with you…"// the sudden significance of Krycek's words finally penetrated his thick skull. Mulder gasped a little. //What does he mean by *staying-with-me?*//

"How long before you're aware that she's one of them?"

"I—"

"Long enough. I saw that. And did you actually sense that she's one of them?"

Mulder remembered the sudden anger of watching the girl kiss Scully. He thought that it was jealousy.

"Actually, what I felt at that moment was something else," he said, a bit sheepishly. "Did you say something about staying with me?"

The man gave him a sidelong glance. "That bothers you?"

"I don't need a watchdog."

"You only scored six, remember? You need a big, bad German Shepherd."

Images of the strange man turning furry and drooling all the time gave Mulder headache.

Krycek nodded. "Come on, we need to talk." He went to Mulder's side and put one of his hands to his shoulder. "First thing first, you need to know who I am."

Mulder lingered for a moment, then walked silently behind Krycek. He watched the lithe figure, seemingly strung and alert, and felt a very strange sense of relief. He thought briefly of Mark, his ex who had the nerve of thinking that Mulder was still his, wondering about his reaction in seeing him with someone this graceful. He must have been burned with jealousy.

//German Shepherd//, he thought wistfully. "Sit, boy," he mumbled.

Krycek turned quickly and stared at him with a strange mixture of amusement, puzzlement, and something else Mulder did not recognize.

"You said something?" he asked in a surprisingly gentle tone.

"Sorry," Mulder grinned, realizing that since his arrival in Washington DC, this was the first time he finally felt safe. "I just can't help it."

**********************

There was always a fine line between evil and human weakness. It was a curse spanned into all generations. The moment Adam and Eve succumbed to the devil and finally tasted lust, the bonding of sin and men had crystalized and immortalized forever. Evil was an attraction. Evilness was a seduction.

And the Devil was God.

The man stared into the bright reflection of the sons of Adam and Eve munching God's gift inside the McDonald's restaurant. Such images enthralled him. It brought vivid memories of his family, dying and rotting slowly, stomachs empty except gut worms trying to survive by eating their host's intestines, until finally fading away. It brought remembrance of acres and acres of dusty land, unable to produce one single potato, and turned the whole of Ireland into nightmare.

The man slowly took a roll of cigarette out of his pocket, and put it between his lips.

These people, the sons of Adam and Eve, the sons of the surviving Irish on the pilgrimage to America, had taken life for granted. They ate when they no longer needed to eat. They threw the remaining food they could not finish. They did not share when all they needed to give up only cost five dollars.

They forgot why they existed. They did not remember the tears, blood, and dying souls of people in famine trying to keep alive.

Another man passed by, then stopped in front of him. "You have a light?" the stranger asked.

The man slowly took out his lighter. The glistening gold under the neon light provoked a greedy shine on the stranger's eyes. He took the gold zippo carefully, and grinned toward him, "Nice thing."

The man stared at him without blinking. Taking the time to enjoy watching the stranger light his own cigarette, then zipped the lighter's flap shut. He watched how the stranger still kept the zippo inside his palm, his whole body screamed about its reluctance to return the precious thing back to its owner.

The man hid his smile. No worries. Everyone should get what he deserved.

The stranger took a drag and puffed silently beside him, eyes darting elsewhere, thinking about giving up to the strong temptation.

//Ah//, the man thought with satisfaction. //The son of Adam, indeed//.

Apparently, the stranger had come to a conclusion that he was way bigger, and younger, than him. He grinned wickedly, feeling very confident with himself, and started walking away. "See you around." The gold zippo was deep inside his pocket.

The man gave him a long ten minutes, before he finally moved and followed the path where the stranger had walked away. He glanced for the last time into the McDonald's restaurant, noticing that the group of men he had been watching had wrapped up their activities and were ready to depart.

He wondered whether these men would survive if the same famine that had taken his family away from him forever happened now. He wondered if these men would do anything to keep themselves alive. He wondered if these men would be envious of chances not given to them, and ready to do anything to ensure that it was given to *him*.

He wondered if these men would cheat their souls to the Devil.

He turned into a darkened alley, knowing by instinct that this was where the man with his gold zippo had gone into. His face turned up, watching the black, unlit sky, wondering if the stranger would struggle violently.

He hated the ones who moved too much.

Strength was nothing he should be worried about, but still, he was an old man then and still an old man now. In his mind, he was old and growing older. He just could not help feeling fragile.

//You don't deserve it//. Those whispers were still haunting him. Even after six hundred years. Even after he had it. After he *stole* it.

A bitter bile rose on his throat. He knew he did not deserve it. No one with wrinkles, ugliness, sagging body and dull gray hair deserved to be immortalized forever. In fact, he loathed it. He loathed the fact that he was the only one with wrinkles and dull gray hair being immortalized forever. Even until now. He had entertained the thought of turning one like his old self into his present self, but dismissed it quickly. Even he could not stand to see himself, why add another one? He certainly did not need a lover nor a companion as ugly as himself.

He heard a little grunt far away.

//That's him//, he thought with a flash of glee. His nostrils flared, recognizing the sour smell of human piss, and decided to walk slowly. It would not do to soil himself. He just needed time to let him wipe and zip.

It was all about style.

//That's right//, he nodded with a strange sort of satisfaction. //Style//.

Despite the initial knowledge, it was not his earthly ugliness that set him apart. It was *style*. He remembered his intense disappointment when the exotic creature he had stolen his gift from was not as Godliness nor even Evilness as he had imagined. That beautiful, young, smooth creature was just a primitive animal, condensed into a stone-age humanoid with a need only for food, sleep, and sex.

It was not difficult for him to set his role.

All these creatures needed was a leader with a brain and a sense of power. Someone who would give their dull life meaning and excitement. Someone who would brainwash them about their own importance and existence in the prize of doing errands. Someone who would shepherd them, group them together, and actually live like the human beings they all were before.

Civilized. And organized.

It was a long struggle alright, but he had what he had. Style. And pure, unadulterated greed and hate. He was merciless and envious. He was undefeatable that way. No beauty and indulgence could cloud his judgement. He knew where he stood because he knew what he was. The ugly one.

It took hundreds and hundreds of years. But he was there now.

He was the one with the power. He would be the *only* one with the power.

Especially after...

The sound of a zipper was heard, and he smiled ferally. He thought about the clogging cholesterol at the man's veins, and wondered if those were the things that made them even more delicious. He scratched his shoes to the ground.

"Somebody there?"

//Ah//.

"Someone's there?" This time, there was a hint of fear lurking on that tone.

He waited a moment, before he finally moved out from the shadows. His sharp eyes could see the widening pupils of those dilated eyes, the shining film of the first cold sweat, and he could hear the musical beating of a heart working much, much faster.

"You!" the stranger exclaimed in surprise and a bit fear. "What are you doing here?"

"You brought something of mine."

It must be something about his tone that made the man freeze on the spot and stare with bulging eyes and a paper-white face.

He felt the hunger and amusedly realized that it was not about his tone after all.

"Y—your face—" Amazing that this man was still coherent enough to speak.

Yet, it was a good thing that he did not struggle much.

Later, he returned to the spot, thinking about doing another McDonald's gazing, and sighed. He put the gold zippo, wiped clean from some spilt blood, back into his coat's left pocket, feeling the vibrating buzz of his cell-phone, and flipped it open.

"Yes?"

//"He has our boy."//

He pulled another cigarette then slipped it between his lips. Just like the previous one, he did not have any intention to light it.

"Well, that's too bad, isn't it?"

//"How do you think *He* would react from this?"//

"That's my problem," he shook his head slowly, thinking about the Deign he had made a pact into. He was still awed with such fact. He just could not believe that he actually did it. It was a prestige beyond belief. "You just do what you have to do."

********************

Beth's next!