Chapter Text
Outside White Bear, Minnesota
November 21
4:35pm
White horizon, white sky, white fields. Each inhalation brought a shockto his system. Alex Krycek never thought that North America could be so cold, and it was only November. What was this godforsaken state like in February? The freezing wind crept into his collar, cut through his jeans and ruffled his hair. Thank god he'd grown a beard, otherwise his chin would be frostbitten by now. He continued trudging down the county two-laner, a worn satchel slung over his shoulder. Leather gloves did little to block the cold, and his fingers were numb on the strap. He concentrated on his feet; since he couldn't feel them anymore, he wanted to make sure he wasn't stepping in any potholes.
Figures the damn car would break down out in the middle of nowhere. That'll teach me to steal older cars, no matter how easy they are to hot-wire. At least the heater had worked. The farmhouse he had passed miles back was finally close enough for him to feel relieved. Smoke trickled up from the chimney, a welcome sign that someone was home. A few trees and scattered outbuildings broke up the monotonous skyline behind it, peeling red paint and rusted metal fittings showing the age of the structures. Everything across the road was dreary flat farmland. Blowing white snow blanketed everything, and more was coming down.
As he approached the driveway, he noticed there was something colorful attached to the mailbox. A tree limb, taller than he was and markedly curved, was propped against it, tied to the supporting post with heavy twine. Fluttering in the snowy breeze, bright scarves were tied to the branch, providing a vivid contrast to the white world beyond. Stopping at the corner, he observed bright mirror bits sewn into one, tiny crystal beads adorning another, and a string of bells tied to the bent tip of the bough, tinkling as they swayed.
He looked right - barren fields. He looked left - a small, two-story farmhouse, sheltered by a few husky pine trees, with this bizarre flag out front. The mailbox said Braedenhurst Farm. He checked inside; no mail. There was a nondescript blue sedan parked behind a battered red pickup truck at the end of the driveway, and a pile of cordwood stacked alongside the house. He could hear the music of distant wind chimes, but couldn't see where they were. The sound of an approaching car helped him decide; ducking his head into the collar of his jacket, Krycek started up the driveway towards the house.
The front porch steps were blanketed in virgin snow, so he walked to the back of the house. The tiny stoop was well-swept and salted, and a pathhad been shoveled to the smaller of the two barns. As he started to knock, he noticed a small, neatly-typed note tacked to the door: "Log Lady says- did you forget your log?" He hesitated, wondering what it meant, then decided it was some kind of inside joke, and rapped his deadened knuckles against the heavy wood.
He was trying to read the bumper stickers on the truck from where he stood when his knock was answered and he spun around quickly into the bright smile of the middle-aged woman framed in the doorway. He realized with a start that her nose was pierced in two places, tiny gold rings gleaming against the curve of her right nostril. Not what he expected in a farming community.
"Hi, c'mon in, welcome to the farm." She backed up, holding theinner door open for him as he stepped over the lintel, automatically knocking his toes against the last step to shake off any remaining road slush. "I thoughtI heard a car, but I wasn't sure. Just hang your coat up and leave your shoes in the hall, there." This over her shoulder as she disappeared intothe house. He was in a small, dark room. There were hooks along the wall, some with coats on them, and he could make out several pairs of shoes and boots on the floor. Bemused, he toe-tugged his shoes off, feeling a trace of cold water through his socks when he stepped towards the closed door the woman had gone through.
He walked into the biggest, warmest kitchen he had ever seen. The windows were very tall, and had calico curtains blocking the dull noon light. Something was baking; he could smell bread, and garlic, and peppers. There were cabinets and shelves everywhere; a huge wooden table took up the left-center of the room, while a black potbellied stove was on a brick pedestal to the right, emitting muffled crackling sounds and the soothing odor of woodsmoke. The table was covered with knick-knacks, plates and mugs, a bowl full of Hershey's Kisses, a variety of kitchen tools, boxesof tea, and other random items. Celtic music played faintly in the background, coming from the living room he could through the arched doorway beyond the stove.
Seated at the table was an odd assortment of people, all looking at him, their conversation interrupted by his entrance. A heavyset redneck in jeans and flannel, wool-clad feet propped up on an adjoining chair, one big toe peeking through a raveled hole. A plump little woman with a long braid, clad in a flowing, colorful silk blouse and matching full skirt. A skinny, stoner-haired blond wearing a Ramones T-shirt over a thermal jersey, his narrow face dominated by heavy, black-framed glasses. An impeccably-groomed black man, tall and elegant in tortoise-shell spectacles, a pintucked linen shirt and wool trousers. And the woman who had met him at the door was standing to his left as he entered the room, in the process of closing the fridge. She was very thin and wore a heavy knit black tunic and black leggings. A heavy pendant, dome-shaped and dripping with tiny bells, hung from a cord around her neck. A black crocheted skullcap snugly covered her close-cropped hair.
"Do you have any more stuff to bring in? You can dump it in the living room, if you want, or take it upstairs and stake out crash space. Is there anyone with you?" He shook his head no, wondering what she was talking about. Melting snow from his hair dripped inside his shirt collar, and he rubbed at the back of his neck with still-freezing fingers.
"Would you like tea, or coffee?" she inquired, placing a cartonof half-and-half on the table. "I've got regular tea or a bunch of herbal stuff - it's all on the table, help yourself." She gestured at thestove. "Kettle's always hot, just add some water if it feels low. And there's always cold stuff in the fridge."
Krycek felt a wave of suspicion - didn't they care who he was? They acted like they were expecting him. He walked to the stove, feeling the heat wafting up. Ignoring the kettle for a moment, he held his hands above the cast iron gratefully, thawing. Turning to warm his back, he faced these strange people, wondering what to say to them.
"You haven't been here before, have you." She winked at him. "I'mRose, and this is Harv," pointing at the redneck, "Connie," turningto the other woman in the room, "and her husband Taylor." The elegant man smiledand lifted his coffee cup in salute. Alex lifted his hand in response, still wondering what was going on. "And this is..."
"Langly," the skinny blond stated firmly, glaring at her.
Rose grinned. "My brother. He hates his first name," she explained. "We're starting to think about lunch - are you hungry?" Withoutwaiting for his answer, she turned to stir a large pot on the stove. Against his will, his mouth began watering as the scent of peppers and garlic intensified. The long pause became awkward, but for once he didn't have a clue as towhat to say.
"He looks lost, Rose." This from Harv. Connie nodded her agreement.
Rose looked him over more carefully, setting the spoon down on the counter. "Hey, are you OK? What's your name? Who are you here with?"
He looked into her pale gray eyes, uneasy yet touched. No one had been concerned about him since....well, since Diane. Months ago. "I....mycar broke down. I just wanted to use your phone." He waited for their outburst, feeling vaguely ashamed of himself.
Her eyes widened, and a grin spread like wildfire across her face. "Oh,no! And I thought you were here for the party. Oh, you poor thing," andshe laughed. "I'm sorry, you must be so confused."
Langly was grinning, too. "Harsh deal, dude. You must think we're pretty far out, eh?"
Alex smiled back, relieved. That was exactly what he had been thinking.
Rose picked up a mug, plunking a tea-bag into it, and walked over towards him, swinging her narrow hips to avoid the kitchen chairs. "You see,we're having a party this weekend and I just assumed you were a guest. Phil said he might bring a friend, I thought you were him." She pulled two ofthe chairs over by the stove and motioned for him to sit down. He did, dropping his bag by his side. Carefully pouring hot water into the cup, she sat next to him. "So what's your name?"
"Alex." It came out before he could stop it with a pseudonym.
She handed him the mug and started when their hands touched. "You'reso cold...." She took his other gloved hand in hers, clasping it firmlyand peered worriedly at his face. "How far did you say your car was?"
"About three miles."
Her eyes widened. "You walked three miles dressed in just that jacket?"
Taylor added, "You must not be from around here, then."
Connie snorted delicately. "He must not be from the upper Midwest atall! It's November and he's walking further than from the car to the door!" Everyone chuckled.
"I'll be OK, it's just pretty windy out." Her slender hands onhis were warm, as warm as the cup of steeping tea, and his scar tissue ached beneath the soft black leather. He could feel his toes again, tingling with returning feeling. He looked for a place to put the tea down; she read his motions and took it from him. He peeled the gloves off his hands and leaned down to rub his stockinged feet, to give himself a chance to think about what to do now. It was so cold outside, his main concern when the car broke down had been to find shelter. Expecting the distrust he was used to inthe city, he didn't know how to react to this kind, concerned woman and her weird friends. He saw that her feet were bare, and she had rings on her toes. Very weird. He sat up. "I just need to get my car taken careof...."
Taylor spoke up for the first time. "What happened to it? Do you wantme to come take a look at it? I'm pretty good with cars." He looked downat himself. "Of course, I should probably change out of my work clothesfirst."
Alex hedged. "No, the electricals all went. I think it needs a mechanicto look at it."
"Here, I know just who to call." Rose got up and went to the phone.
"No, you don't have to..." He raised his hand in half-protest,wanting to resist their kindness. Kindness meant trust. Trust was dangerous.
"It's no problem, really." She dialed quickly. "Yeah, I needto talk to Verne." She smiled at Alex and explained over the receiver, "My brother-in-law, he runs the garage in town. Harv, would you get the bread out of the oven?" She concentrated on the phone. "Verne? It'sRose, I need a favor..."
Harv fiddled with the oven while Connie murmured something to Taylor, andhe whispered a reply in her ear. They both smiled. Krycek strained to hear: were they were talking about him?
Taylor stood. "I'm going to go change clothes, I'll be right back."He strolled into the living room and out of sight.
Stupid, Alex, they don't know you from Adam. They're just some funky commune or something. There was a feel to the place very like a commune. He looked around the room again. The fridge was covered with faded cartoons, newspaper articles, pictures of strangers, a few postcards, magnets shaped like cows and fruit. A 50's style poster on one cabinet warned of the horrors of hog cholera, and a rainbow koosh shared a basket with a tumble of apples and bananas.
He realized that Rose had asked him a question. "Sorry?"
"What kind of car is it?"
Uh-oh. "Aah, brown sedan, vinyl top, 2-door. Early 80's."
Fortunately, she didn't ask for more, just repeated it into the phone. "Yeah, about three miles east of here. Thanks, Verne. And can you comeby to pick him up? Sure, he can hang out here until then. OK, bye. Yeah, I'll be at dinner Sunday. Bye." She hung up and grinned at him. "He'sin the middle of something, but he'll be by around eight to get you and thecar and take you to town. OK?" When he didn't respond, she frowned a little. "He's Triple-A, so if you're Triple-A it won't cost you anything. Isthat what's bothering you?" She sat down next to him and put a hand on hisknee, peering worriedly into his eyes.
He stood up and hefted the satchel, feeling flustered. "Can I use your bathroom?"
****************
The bathroom was small, but cluttered like the rest of the house. The clock radio on the shelf said it was 5:07 p.m. as he dropped his satchel to the floor. He had to spend three hours with these people? What if they wanted to talk? What if they wanted to know what he was doing out here, or whathe did for a living?
At the same time, Alex felt drawn to them. Living on the run meant just that - no time to stop, no friends to endanger (he thought of Diane, and tried not to), never staying too long in one place, never making more thana casual acquaintance. Using people and things for one purpose: survival. Despite having recovered his transcripts of the tape, despite having made two good deals and being on the verge of another, Krycek still lived dayto day, always anxious of the shadows behind him.
He thought of Dylan, enjoying her no-doubt-temperate L.A. winter. Shouldhe call her? Their partnership was tenuous at best, based on greed and a grudging mutual respect. He'd given her a linguistic puzzle she couldn't resist, and she'd helped him out of a few jams. Like that meant anythingin the shadow world they inhabited. They'd have parted company long ago, ifit weren't for her skill at translating the transcripts of the DAT tape he'd made, and the obscene amounts of cash he scored with every successful sell. And now they didn't have to give a cut to Kallenchuk. Krycek bared his teeth in a feral grin at his reflection above the sink. After all this time, he was still angry at her. Stupid cow, to let Mulder get that close. Now he had to worry about the Dynamic Duo on his tail, too.
Not to mention the French. And the Mob, although he suspected they'd given up after his first "disappearance" following the botched car-bombing.That was old business.
If they even suspected he was still alive. His brush with....he still had no memory of those few days, the journey from Hong Kong to North Dakotaand whatever happened in between, and that bothered him immensely. He knew that he lost the tape. He knew that he barely escaped being buried alive. And he knew...there was something down there still. And he wanted to stay as far away from it as possible.
He also knew that contacting Dylan would be an unnecessary risk. There'd been a snitch at the meeting in St. Paul, which resulted in the deaths of several would-be buyers, a loss of the down-payment they had brought, and his subsequent flight from the city. If they traced him here, they could trace her phone number and bring her down, even if he escaped. Honor among thieves? No, just protecting future dealings. He still needed her, muchas he hated to admit it. He had more than 15,000 screen-dumps-worth of Navajo that needed deciphering back in D.C., and she was the best non-Native translator he was going to find.
Krycek wanted to hear her yell at him for getting into this situation, deliver one of her scathing take-downs, a reminder of what the world was really like - cold, brutal, and uncaring. Bitch. Like the weather up here. The comfort he felt in this warm haven was seductive, and he couldn't afford to be seduced.
He rubbed his hands together under the faucet, seeing the scars again, feeling the hopelessness and the fear and the fatigue. In the mirror, his eyes had deep shadows under them - it had been a long time since he had slept well (Diane's place, a little voice said) and the nervous tensionof always watching his back hadn't helped his boyish good looks. At least the beard distorted his jawline somewhat, rounding and softening his profile, aging his face. It would be harder to identify him by his Bureau photograph.
He heard a car in the driveway and glanced out into the swirling snowfall. The bathroom was above the kitchen, so he had a good vantage point to see the new arrival. A VW bus, how perfect, he thought. Little curtains in the windows and everything. The passenger door opened and a black Labrador retriever jumped out, tongue lolling, and started sniffing at everythingin sight.
The knock on the bathroom door startled him. "Just a sec," hecalled, wiping his hands on a towel. Opening the door, he saw Langly standing there, grinning.
"Hey." He started to move past him, and Langly, after a moment,got out of his way. "Pretty strange place, huh?"
Alex paused at the top of the stairs. "Yeah."
"Yeah, Rose is my big sister. I've been out here before, but this ismy first *party* weekend at the farm. I'm from the east coast, we party way different out there." He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.
Down the hall, there were two doors; the one on the bathroom side was closed, and he could hear someone moving around behind it. Taylor, he guessed; he had not seen him return to the kitchen, and the bathroom had been empty when he came upstairs. Stepping softly, trying to avoid making the floor creak, Krycek took a quick look inside the open door. A smallish bedroom, with a sloping ceiling and two dormer windows. There was a large, high four-poster bed immediately to the right, with an ornately rosemaled chest at its foot. Two of the walls sported colorful quilts, and there was a thick fur rug on the floor. A desk with a very modern PC took up the far wall between the windows, and everything else was bookshelves. He glanced up and was surprised to see a shotgun racked above the doorway. His hand automatically went to his satchel, feeling the Smith & Wesson 659 that permanently resided in the outside pocket. He backed out into the hallway and padded back to the top of the stairs.
As he went down the stairs, he went over what he knew. Langly sounded like a last name, but Rose's last name was Braedenhurst, assuming it was her place. She acted like it was, so she's married. Verne the mechanic is her brother-in-law, but she didn't introduce Harv as her husband. No wedding ring; divorce? Or is the guy in the VW her husband? Connie and Taylor area couple. Langly's not from around here.
He turned the corner into the kitchen; a knock at the inner door and a blast of cold air from the shoe room interrupted his thoughts. The dog he had seen scrambled in first, nails clattering on the hardwood floor, and proceeded around the table, licking and snuffling at everyone. After several unidentifiable thumps in the shoe room, a violin case, followedby the man holding it, entered the room.