From: "Rachel-Sara Berkowitz" <rachel_sara_b_b@hotmail.com>
To: <XFilesNC17ff@yahoogroups.com>
Subject: [XFNC17ff] Gabriel
Date: Wednesday, January 30, 2002 7:41 PM


Gabriel
By Ganymede

Fandom : X-Files

Pairing(s) : Krycek/OMC, Skinner/Mulder

Rating : Hard R/NC17. Lots of bad language and references to suicide.

Spoilers : Krycek is still alive, and Mulder is still in the FBI, so assume
everything and anything before Season 8.

Summary : Alex Krycek is in love. It's not a pretty picture.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own AK. Chris Carter does, and lets him waste away. I
just take him for walks and make sure he has food and clean water when he
goes on vacation. All the other characters belong to me.

FEEDBACK: Rachel_Sara_B_B@hotmail.com. All flames will be fed to the dogs
and later regurgitated on the rug.

Comments : This is about as cheerful as I get right now, being hip-deep in
finishing Missing and Presumed. There will probably be an epilogue coming at
some point in the future, when my muse is feeling more inspired, and I'm
feeling less gravid.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The fax hit Mulder's desk at 4:35 Friday afternoon. By 4:45, he was pacing
outside of the A.D.'s office, waiting for clearance from Kim to enter, the
closest thing Skinner would ever get to his own air traffic control.

After the last of the parade of suited Accounting types disappeared down the
hall, Mulder slid in front of the massive mahogany desk and dropped the fax,
fingers scorched like it was soaked in acid.

Skinner looked at the piece of paper in front of him. One bad still from a
surveillance camera, with a few sentences scribbled underneath. Absolutely
normal, run-of-the-mill crackpot stuff. Standard fare for the head of the
X-Files.

Except that the still photograph was of Mulder's ex-lover and worst
nightmare.

Alex.

Noon Saturday. Sculpture Gallery on the Mall. North-facing benches.

"What the hell game is that rat-bastard playing?" Skinner spoke to no one in
particular.

"Alex didn't send this." Certainty in Mulder's voice. Dead certainty. "Not
his style."

Jealousy prickled along the back of the larger man's neck. "And what, pray
tell, is Krycek's style?"

Mulder looked up from the photograph and flashed Skinner a gentle smile.

::I'm here. With you. He's my past, but you're my future::

"Alex wouldn't be as indirect as faxing something to my office. He'd just
break into my apartment in the middle of the night and hold me at gunpoint
while he ranted and spoke in riddles. That's his style. This," he tapped the
fax sheet with his index finger, "is from someone who wants to talk to me
*about* Alex."

"Could be a set-up." Trying to keep the green haze out of his line of
vision, push the jealousy monster back into its little box.

"Could be, but I'm going."

"I'm doing back up." No room for argument.

Another heartbreaking smile. "I was hoping you would. Take me out for
breakfast beforehand?"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Saturday dawned clear and cold, but the low-pressure front promising snow
stalled over the Carolinas. The frost-thick grass crunched under Mulder's
feet as he walked across the Mall towards the National Gallery. A few brave,
intrepid tourists were making the pilgrimage through the culture capital of
the city, but the Mall was mostly deserted.

In front of the Gallery were dozens of large pieces of sculpture, arranged
in a garden setting, complete with metal benches for quiet seated
contemplation. The Hirschorn Sculpture Gallery.

Mulder looked up at the sun, shining brightly through a cloud-free blue sky,
oriented himself north, and found a bench. 11:50.

11:55.

12:00.

12:05.

At 12:07, Mulder was seriously contemplating hieing himself somewhere warmer
– like the freezer section of his local supermarket. His butt was frozen.
His hands were cold. His ears were cold. And his contact still hadn't shown
up. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe it was a test. Maybe he was getting
frostbite…

A moment later, someone walked around the bench and sat next to him. Young
man, maybe 23 or 24. Face like an angel. Wavy brown hair, perpetually
threatening to fall in his eyes. High cheekbones, big brown eyes fringed by
the longest lashes Mulder had ever seen. Sitting very still, but something
about him was in constant motion, monitoring the surroundings. This careful
awareness of everything that happened within thirty feet was at odds with
the air of vulnerability that radiated off him.

"Agent Mulder?"

"That's me." The young man didn't offer his hand. Mulder didn't either.

"My name is Gabriel Cohen. Thank you for meeting with me today on such short
notice."

Words polite, but short. Clipped. Still monitoring. Trained to monitor.
Secret Service? Maybe, but more likely a product of the police academy.

"You're a cop." Not a question, a statement of fact.

Gabriel looked startled, then pulled out a narrow black wallet and handed it
to Mulder, flipping it open as he passed it. Police badge.  ID. Detective
Gabriel Cohen, NYPD, assigned to Major Case Squad in the Bronx.

Mulder examined the photograph carefully. He wanted to examine the man
sitting next to him, but this was safer, less likely to spook. Same hair as
in the video. Same curve of the jaw. Same full mouth.

::Krycek, what the f*ck did you do?::

"Big bald guy over there – is he with you?" Leaning over conspiratorially.

Mulder glanced over to one of the benches on the far side of the garden.
Skinner was planted there, wearing his sheepskin coat, reading the paper and
drinking a cup of coffee, not even sparing a look in their direction.

Nodding. "That's Walter. He's my…"

::Partner? Lover? The best thing that ever happened to me?::

"It's none of my business." Closed off voice, but that haunting, vulnerable
look in his eyes. "You might as well call him over here. That is, if you're
convinced that I'm not an axe murderer."

"Relatively convinced, at least." Mulder smiled, a warmth that was not
reciprocated. He gestured to Skinner, who quickly folded his paper and
jogged over to join them. Mulder introduced them with a minimum of words.

"It's colder than a witch's tit out here, Detective. Any way we could
reconvene this meeting in a warmer locale?" Mulder was clutching Skinner's
cup of coffee, trying to retain any bit of warmth seeping through the
Styrofoam. Skinner blew on his hands, stamping his feet.

Gabriel shook his head. "It's safer out here. Less ears. Anyways, I won't
take up much more of your time."

"I'm assuming this meeting has something to do with Alex Krycek."

Gabriel looked blank. "Who?"

Mulder sounded annoyed. "Alex Krycek. The man in the picture. Detective,
it's too cold to be out here playing games with you…"

Gabriel started to laugh, a dark, quiet sound, as he stared off towards the
White House at the far end of the Mall. "Figures. Son-of-a-b*tch lies to me
about everything else. Why should he tell me the truth about this?"

Skinner and Mulder exchanged a complicated look. This conversation was
spinning in a direction neither had expected.

"What name did he give you, Detective?" Skinner, in his best
'Let's-Wrap-This-Meeting-Up' voice.

The young man pulled himself up, looked Skinner straight in the eye. "The
only name he ever used around me was Rafael. Occasionally shortened to Rafe.
That was one of the things I came here to discuss with Agent Mulder. I need
information on this Alex…"

"Krycek." Mulder supplied the last name. "What information do you need,
Detective?"

//Please, Rafe….please don't make me do this…//

Jaw set in a hard line. "I need to know who he works for."

Another complicated look passed between Skinner and Mulder. "I'm not sure
what you mean, Detective…" Mulder started.

"Who pulls his strings. Who he reports to. What country's security
organization he does his dirty deeds for."

"Detective…"

Gabriel's eyes were wide, sparking with anger and just a hint of fear.
"Dammit, does Rafael work for the KGB or not?"

"The answer to that question is no, Detective." Skinner's command voice.
"Alex Krycek is persona non grata in the former Soviet Union. If he showed
up there, he'd be executed on sight."

"Then who? One of the other former iron curtain countries?" Voice a little
too loud, a little too intense. Scared. "Who *does* he work for?"

"No one." Mulder, quietly. "He's on his own. Anything he's doing right now
he's doing for his own benefit."

Gabriel was up, pacing in front of the nearest statue. "That doesn't make
any f*cking sense! If he's not doing this for the Russians, then it's got to
be someone. Why the hell else…"

"Detective." Gabriel froze at Skinner's bark. "Sit. Down. Now."

Gabriel complied, mouth closed, jaw clenched, face red with cold and other
darker emotions.

Skinner continued. "What dirty deeds in particular is Alex Krycek doing?"

Gabriel looked away, at the frost-encrusted grass, at the few dried-up brown
leaves that remained, glistening in the cold sunlight. One deep breath, then
a hard swallow, as he pulled his courage together.

Looking Skinner in the eye for the first time. "He's blackmailing me."

Skinner didn't break his gaze. "What does he have on you, Detective?"

Gabriel looked down, studied his feet for a moment, hands clenched in fists
under the leather gloves.

"He unearthed some irregularities in my background."

Skinner's voice went cold. "So you falsified your application to get into
the Academy. What were you covering up, Detective?"

Gabriel met Skinner's glare, glacial for glacial. "I falsified *nothing*. I
got into the academy the same way I got my badge – through hard work and a
hell of a lot of sweat equity." Words spat through clenched teeth. "I am a
damn good cop and there is no way in hell that I will let you, or Rafael, or
anyone else steal that from me." Turning away from Skinner towards the
smaller man, starting to stand up. "I won't take up any more of your time,
Agent Mulder. Thank you for meeting with me."

"Gabriel." One arm across his wrist, gentle hazel eyes on his face. "Please
don't leave. I want to help you, but I can't unless you talk to me."

Gabriel stood very still, closed his eyes for a long heartbeat, took several
deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. Opening his eyes, he blinked at
the bright winter sunlight. "All right. I'll stay."

Soft smile. "Thank you. Now can we *please* go someplace warm? I'm freezing
my tokis off out here!"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Can we please try this again, Detective?" Skinner, in what Mulder
recognized as his best contrite voice – the closest he would come to an
apology. "What is Krycek blackmailing you with?"

Gabriel looked around the small luncheonette, then back to his cup of
coffee, searching for answers in the swirl of creamer, white on brown
holding the solution.

Quiet voice. No inflection whatsoever.

"I'll spare you the gory details, and give you the Reader's Digest Condensed
Version." Long pause, while he stirred the coffee. "When I was thirteen, I
killed a man."

"Who was he?" Mulder, voice nearly as quiet.

"My father."

No one at the table said anything for a few moments, as the pie arrived and
coffee cups were refilled.

"I spent six months in Juvenile Hall. When I got out, I had a new family,
new name, new hometown. I haven't seen my birth mother or my sister since
then." Cold smile. "In four years, I went from ten dollar blow jobs to
graduating with honors and a scholarship to Brandeis."

"Background checks don't go back past the age of sixteen, do they?" Skinner,
sampling the blackberry cobbler.

"Nope. Even if they had, they wouldn't have found anything interesting.
Gabriel Cohen has lived a very boring life."

"Who had the interesting life?"

"Dmitri Vassilev. But his juvenile records were sealed by court order when
he turned sixteen."

"Doesn't take much to unseal those records. A fifty slipped to the right
clerk at the right time, and they're all yours." Another bite of blackberry
cobbler. "By the way, what district do you work in?"

"Williamsburg/Crown Heights." A slight grin played around the edges of
Gabriel's mouth. "Where else would you put a cop who's fluent in Russian,
German, Hebrew and English?"

Skinner looked up from his plate and the remnants of his cobbler, surprise
written across his handsome face. "Fluent in four languages, and a graduate
of Brandeis? Hell, I can think of six departments in the FBI that would be
salivating over that resume."

Pain flashed behind Gabriel's brown eyes, and then disappeared. Skinner did
some quick calculations.

"That's why you're here in town, isn't it, Detective? That's why you needed
the answers to those questions. Somebody wants to interview you."

Another deep breath. "Several some bodies. Two meetings yesterday, another
on Monday. That's why I need to know who pulls Rafael's strings. If he is
working for the Russians, I won't let myself get within ten feet of
classified information. I won't set myself up for that kind of fall."

"What is he blackmailing you for currently, Detective?"

Gabriel looked away, stirring his coffee, fascinated by the cracks in the
linoleum countertop, pretending not to have heard the question.

"He's blackmailing you for sex, isn't he?" Mulder's quiet voice cut through
the background lunch rush chatter.

//You're so beautiful like this, Gabriel – all open and wanting. Like a
debauched angel//

Long pause, then a sigh. "Yeah.' Almost inaudible. Gabriel ran his fingers
through his hair, pushing the bangs out of his eyes. "It's such a f*cking
mess."

"Talk to me." Pleading. "I…we might be able to help."

"I don't know what he wants. I don't know why he's doing this, why he
targeted me. I have nothing – no access to classified information, no
leverage with anyone important. I'm pretty much your average nobody cop. The
only secrets I know are about my own department, and believe me, Rafael
knows *way* more police secrets than I do. He's let me in on a few of them
that would curl your hair. Hell – he knows my schedule before I do."

Another deep breath, and a drink of coffee. "The first couple of months were
just…awful. Rafe would show up every couple of weeks, always in the middle
of the night. He'd beat the crap out of me, take what he wanted, then leave
me to clean up the blood and broken furniture. I'd show up for work with
black eyes, ligature marks, bruises, you name it. No one ever asked, or
seemed to notice. Even the time he beat me so badly I ended up in the
hospital with four broken ribs…" His eyes went shiny, and he looked away,
blinking back the tears.

"Then I had the worst week of my life."

"What happened?" Mulder looked at him, head cocked, studying. Calculating.

"On Monday, my partner, Chris O'Rourke, failed his random drug test. On
Tuesday, he got suspended. On Wednesday…" Hard swallow, teeth clenched,
mouth set in a firm line. "On Wednesday he put the barrel of a shotgun in
his mouth and pulled the trigger."


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
When the roof door clanged shut behind Gabriel, the whiskey bottle in his
hand was full.

By the time the other man arrived, there were only two inches of amber
liquid left at the bottom.

Gabriel didn't know how many hours he spent up on that roof, watching the
moonrise, drinking, pacing, and screaming out his anger at the gods. When
the other man silently crept across the trash-strewn roof, Gabriel was
standing by the edge, looking down on the busy street fourteen stories
below.

The night air shimmered with thick concrete-reinforced city heat. The sounds
of car horns and occasional voices quieted by the distance to a distant hum.

"…Just another f*ckup in a long line of f*ckups, Chris. But this one you
can't lie, charm, or sweet-talk your way out of. Not that you won't try, I'm
sure. You're up there right now, glad-handing St. Peter himself…"

"Gabriel."

He froze. He knew that voice, knew the way it burned down his back, pooling
at the base of his spine.

"Keep your hands where I can see them, and turn around slowly."

::f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck::

His revolver still tucked under his T-shirt. Backup in the ankle holster.
Neither close enough that he could get them out without getting perforated.
For only having one arm, the other man was a crack shot. The E.R. had
already dug two of his bullets out of Gabriel's flesh.

Gabriel held the whiskey bottle to his mouth and quickly swallowed the last
dregs, wincing as it stung on the way down. Carefully, unsteadily, he turned
around, into the glare of the sodium lights.

Into the green-eyed gaze of his nemesis.

His controller.

His one-armed demon.

Rafael.

Gabriel didn't bother to hide the hatred in his eyes. "You son-of-a-b*tch."
Carefully enunciated venom-filled voice more deadly than a rattler. "You
couldn't even wait for his body to cool before you showed up to stuff my
ass. I guess I should be grateful that you didn't bend me over his coffin at
the viewing."

No effect, not even a blink.

"Put your guns on the ground. Now. You know the drill."

"Go f*ck yourself."

"*Now*, Gabriel. I won't give you another chance."

"Whaddaya gonna do, Rafe?" Words starting to slur. "Ya gonna kill me? Shoot
me in the heart and leave my body up here to rot? Nobody'll find it for
weeks." Walking slowly, trying to control the concrete roof weaving under
his feet, brown eyes locked on Rafael.

"You think you have the stones to shoot me, Rafe? I don't." One step closer,
then two. "Go ahead. Show me." Three steps. "Shoot me. Do it, you
c*cksucking son-of-a-b*tch." Four steps, and he was right in front of the
larger man. "Do it. Shoot me." Screaming, eyes wild. "Do it! DO IT!"

Gabriel was prepared for the muzzle flash, for the sharp punch of a bullet
entering his chest. He was ready to bleed. Ready to die. He wasn't prepared
for the speed of the older man, tackling him, slamming Gabriel's head into
the concrete roof, then grabbing him by the hair and slamming his head down
again.

The blackness and the buzzing in his ears slowly receded, but his back was
still pressed up against something hard and uncomfortable. When Gabriel
finally pried his eyes open, he was sitting on the filthy roof, leaning
against the metal door to the stairway, his hands cuffed behind his back.

::Arrogant f*ck used my own cuffs on me. Again::

"That wasn't very smart, Gabriel."

Gabriel shrugged, making his head throb painfully. "What can I say – you
never gave me much credit for brains." A quick check showed that both his
guns were AWOL, too.

Rafe pulled a nearby milk crate over and sat down on it, a few feet in front
of Gabriel. The gun he had been holding was no longer in evidence – probably
stashed somewhere along with Gabriel's.

"What were you planning on doing up here tonight, Gabe?"

"Dunno. Hadn't gotten that far in the process. Why the f*ck do you care?"
Met the older man's eyes again. Egging him on. Daring him. "Afraid of losing
your investment?"

"I didn't follow you up here to 'stuff your ass', Gabriel. I came here to
make sure you don't do anything stupid, anything you'll regret later."

Gabriel snarled. "Don't you *dare* pull the 'looking out for your best
interest' routine on me. You have the ethics and morals of a cockroach, you
psychotic piece of sh*t …"

Rafael backhanded him. Hard. Gabriel's head impacted on the metal door, and
the night sky started to spin loosely in its orbit. He could feel the blood
trickling down his jaw from the corner of his mouth, as he tried to breathe
slowly and steadily through his nose.

"Behave, Gabriel."

"Or what? You'll shoot me again?"

"No. I'll just pistol-whip you into unconsciousness; since you seemed to
dislike it so much the last time I did it.  Once again – what were you
planning on doing up here?"

"What the f*ck do you *think* I'm doing up here? Less than twelve hours ago,
I buried my partner. Later that same afternoon, my chief tells me that I'm
now on 'Administrative Leave', pending a review from the department
head-shrink. Please check your badge and your gun at the door."

Rafael just looked at him, handsome face completely expressionless.

Gabriel's voice dropped to nearly a whisper, eyes glued to the dirty
concrete. "I couldn't stand the way they were all looking at me – at the
viewing, at the wake, today at the funeral. Whispering behind my back. His
partner's a junkie who swallowed his gun, and now he's about to do the same
thing." Hard swallow. The inside of his mouth tasted like old pennies. "I
just wanted to be alone for a while, get drunk in peace."  He laughed, a
harsh sound completely stripped of mirth. "At the funeral, I overheard
someone proclaiming that I am destined to commit suicide. Seven years ago,
my first partner hung himself six months after retirement, and now my second
partner blew the back of his head off with a shotgun."

"What's so funny about that?"

"They got it all wrong. First my father, then you – I'm destined to be
someone's whore."

Another slap, this one with the prosthetic, knocked Gabriel flat on the
ground, nose hitting the filthy concrete. A moment later, he was dragged
upright by his T-shirt and slammed into the metal door, plastic and metal
forearm pressed against his throat. Rafe's face was a mere few inches from
his own, and Gabriel could clearly see the anger in the larger man's green
eyes.

"Don't let them do that to you." Hissing at him. "Don't let them decide what
your destiny is. Steal your destiny from the hands of fate, if you have to.
Don't. Let. Them. Win."

"Don't let *you* win, you mean."

A hard shake that made his teeth rattle. "For a smart boy, you can be a
complete f*cking idiot about the really important stuff. I'm not your enemy
here. Right now, I'm the only one who's trying to keep you alive. You need
me, Gabriel."

::Yeah. Like I need another bullet hole in my skull::

The fist grasping his shirt and the forearm holding him upright disappeared.
Gabriel leaned heavily into the graffiti-ed door. Quickly, sinuously, with a
grace Gabriel didn't expect from someone with only one arm, Rafael pulled
his ever-present leather jacket off and draped it over Gabriel's shoulders,
covering his handcuffed arms. Leaning over, whispering in the younger man's
ear. "We're going to go for a little walk down to my car now. Try anything
stupid, and you'll end up in the hospital."

"Where the hell are you taking me?"

"First, we're going over to your apartment so you can pack some clothes.
Then you're going to leave a message for your chief, letting him know you've
decided to go someplace quiet for a few days, get your head together." Evil
smile that made Gabriel's blood flow cold. "You and I are going on a little
vacation."

::Oh, sh*t. I am so f*cked…::

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Why *did* you go up on that roof, Detective?" Skinner, digging into his
second piece of cobbler.

Gabriel shrugged. "I'm not sure. Maybe I would have swallowed my gun that
night. I won't lie and tell you that I didn't think long and hard about it.
After that weekend, though, everything with Rafael changed. He stopped using
me as a punching bag when he came over. He started getting really….weird."

"Weird how?" Mulder was still watching the younger man with a strange,
intense look on his face.

Slow chuckle. "Bizarre sh*t. He'd still break into my apartment in the
middle of the night. But now, instead of beating me until I was unconscious,
he'd just cuff me to the bed and f*ck me into the mattress. Then he'd call
and order Chinese food and feed me pot stickers while he watched late night
infomercials.

He got really possessive. I ended up in the hospital once, after a bust went
to hell in a particularly spectacular way. Nothing serious, just a skull
fracture and a bad concussion. He showed up in my hospital room, made sure I
was all right, then disappeared. Two days later, when I got back to work, I
found out that all three men we apprehended died in lockup that night.  They
still don't know how it happened. When I asked Rafe about it later, all he
would say was that *he* was the only person who was allowed to injure me.

Does any of this make sense to you, Agent Mulder? 'Cuz it sure doesn't to
me…"

"Actually, in a bizarre sort of way, it does." Another one of those smiles
that made Skinner melt. "Alex - - Rafael – whatever the hell he's going by
this week - - is trying to take care of you. Show you how he feels about
you."

Gabriel put his head down on the linoleum table for a long moment. "You're
kidding, right?"  Peeked up. "You're not kidding. So this is how a psychotic
contract killer expresses his love?"

"Afraid so."

"Jes*s Chr*st on a pogo stick." More slow laughter bubbled to the surface.
"Rafael, you are the most f*cked up puppy…" His pager beeped, interrupting
his reverie. Gabriel glanced at the pager attached to his belt, and started
sliding out of the booth. "Sh*t – I have to take this call. It's my chief.
Thank you very much for the information. I'll probably be talking to you
again soon, Agent Mulder." He grabbed his jacket and walked quickly to the
pay phone by the back door.

"We should have told him, Mulder." Skinner, eyes dark.

"How the hell was I supposed to bring that one up in conversation, Walt?
'Oh, by the way, your Rafael sent us a video of the two of you having sex
while you were tied to a bed.' It just didn't fit in with the feng shui of
the afternoon."

Skinner reached over to rub the younger man's shoulders. "I'm not blaming
you, Fox. This whole situation is just a real mess. Krycek sends us his own
homemade porn, which we both figure is his attempt to make you jealous. Now
it turns out to be crime scene footage."

"He wanted us to tell Gabriel." Mulder turned halfway around in the bench
seat to face his lover. "He was using it to isolate Gabriel even more from
anyone who could help him. If we had told him, he would have been mortified.
Beyond mortified. He would have been too humiliated to accept any assistance
from us, which is exactly what Krycek wanted."

"Possessive, violent, psychotic assassin in love. How f*cked up is that?"
Resting his hand on top of Mulder's.

"I'm going to help Gabriel as much as I can. I managed to extricate myself
from Alex's web, and hopefully he can do the same, without ending up
bullet-riddled, or worse."

Walt smiled gently. "I knew you would. Somehow, I don't think we've heard
the last from Gabriel – or Rafael."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++