The Warehouse
An apology snippet
by Darth Nonie


Krycek's breath caught as the thug shoved him roughly forward through the
door. A warehouse: bad news. Business tended to be conducted in offices and
homes, cars and secluded nooks. Warehouses were for torture or death.

Staring uselessly into the dark space, he failed to see the unevenness of
the doorway, and tripped. With his arm taped back like that, he couldn't
even catch himself as he fell. One kneecap caught, but not in time to stop
his momentum, so he twisted desperately aside to take the impact on his
shoulder, not his face. His left shoulder. And the pain jarred all the way
down the stump and across his ribs.

Shit. Oh, shit. This was bad.

A match flared in the darkness, and he saw the hated lines of that
too-familiar face. Shit. The man drew on his cigarette and held the smoke
for a savoring moment before he let it plume into the dark air. His voice
was that smiling raspy tenor that haunted Krycek's nightmares.

"Well, well, well. Alex, you've been a bad boy. A very bad boy." He shook
his head, savoring Krycek's terror just as he did the smoke.

Krycek tried to get his legs under him, but one of the thugs behind him set
a boot-heel lightly on his neck, and he subsided. Other hands bound his
ankles together with more duct tape.

"Whh--" Krycek moistened his mouth and tried again. "What are you going to
do about it?"

"I?" The light voice was quizzical. "I shall do nothing, my dear boy. That
is why I employ others. Myself, I have places to be, but I promise I am
leaving you in good hands. You will *not* make this mistake again."

And he tossed his cigarette to the floor near Krycek's face, and ground it
out lightly with the toe of his shoe.

Without a look back, he strolled to the warehouse door and out, the thugs
falling into place behind him.

In the darkness of the warehouse, Krycek heard a low, ominous chuckle. Then
a bright beam of light snapped on and caught him in the eyes, blinding him.
Who the hell?

The beam was redirected upward, and Krycek heard the clank as the powerful
flashlight was set down to illuminate the area more indirectly. Still
blinking, with jagged pain running through his head as his abused eyes ran
with involuntary tears, Krycek slowly made out the figure of a man.

A large, balding man. Very large. His jacket was tossed over a nearby steel
drum, and he was rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt.

"Skinner! Why--?"

The gravel voice was deep and disturbingly happy. "You might say I owe the
bastard a favor. This is what he asked for.

"And I owe you a favor too, Krycek. *Agent* Krycek. I owe you for a lot of
things, none of them pleasant. And this time you made one mistake too many.

"That smoking asshole isn't the only one with power around here. And you,
Krycek--you stupid, stupid fool--you offended *Te*!"

Skinner dropped to a crouch next to Krycek's bound body. Sitting back on
his heels, he tangled his massive hand in Krycek's hair and shook it.

"Working for the KGB wasn't very bright, Krycek. And working for the
Consortium was worse. But the worst, the stupidest thing you've ever done--
You posted an off-topic message to Nick-Fixx."

Krycek yelped involuntarily as Skinner let go, dropping his head to the
cold concrete. "But Skinner--" God, was he pleading? "Skinner, I *AM* Nick.
Doesn't that get me any breaks here?"

The older man's smile was pure evil now. "Oh no. Not at all. Nixxers
LIKE to see you get beaten up. No way out."

"Skinner, they'll never forgive you if you kill me!"

"Why not? They have before."

The large dark room was cold, the air soundless for a moment. Then, hating
himself for it, Krycek heard his voice break. "What are you going to do
with me?"

"I'm going to pound you through the floor. And there is not one fucking
thing you can do about it."

Krycek remembered Skinner's fist--that one blow to the gut that had wiped
him out, left him bruised and hurting for a month. And now, there was no
Mulder there to prevent Skinner from continuing until Krycek was nothing
but a broken, bloody heap.

And then Skinner's huge hands closed on his belt, and he began to
understand what kind of pounding he was in for.

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