Misprision: (pronounced, miss-prizz-ee-on); adjective; Middle English, a mistake, misdirection or a misunderstanding, deliberate concealment or deflection in the release of information - from Old French 'mesprendre' to mistake, ... was still in common usage in 16th century England.
Emily Dickinson
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---
Chapter Nine
This time when he came round he was no longer bound. His right wrist was heavily strapped and in an elevated sling so that his hand was palm down against his left shoulder. The effect of this made him feel distinctly uneasy, but at least the pain in his right arm was less noticeable. All the probes had been removed and he was lying in a soft bed with pillows and covers. He was no longer in the room within a room. This was was more like the old bedroom he'd had when he was six and was about as homelike as life within the consortium ever got. Luxury like this was almost unheard of in Spender's little underworld, especially when it came to providing for Alex's comfort. He frowned as he tried to work out how he had got here from his prior location. He hurt like hell all over, his head felt as if it would explode with the next beat of his heart and his throat was on fire. He was covered in sweat and yet he felt cold clear through to his bones. He was so hungry and thirsty that he could almost feel his body consuming itself. He blinked a little and and tried to clear his throat, but that just intensified the pain to the point where he felt that he'd rather die than try that again.
Although he was no longer in Spender's little chamber of horrors he barely dared to hope that he was now safe from the old bastard's clutches. Yet if he was merely being rested before a new round of tests, torture and questions he really didn't think he could take it. Far better to be shot trying to escape than to allow himself to relax and become soft in this cosy environment. It was decision time. Either he allowed them to continue to play their sickening games with him in the vain hope that he could continue to protect the young woman they'd held hostage to his good behaviour all these years, or he resigned himself to the fact that he could never save her and took the opportunity that presented itself now by leaving. He had done it before after all, and with her blessing.
There was no choice as far as he could see. Soon he would be unable to take anymore of Spender's treatment and he'd give the man all the ammunition he needed to defeat the rebellion. If he did that no one would be safe, no matter who they were. Sighing internally, decision made, he began to focus his depleted energy on trying to get up out of the bed, on trying to figure out where he could find some clothing and a weapon, not to mention just how the hell he was going to get to the rebellion with information without drawing Spender along after him. As he struggled to get his brain in gear he also managed to wriggle himself up into a sitting position. Shit! It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, even the loss of his arm. His vision greyed around the edges a little as he fought to breathe and push back the feeling of dizziness and nausea. This was getting old fast. If he wanted to get old though, he needed to leave now. No more time for messing around.
Carefully he swung his legs around to hang over the side of the bed. Feeling his energy reserves plummeting as he did so, he realised he was going nowhere. It hit him that he was weaker than a new born kitten, naked, sick, and totally without defences. His left arm ended about four inches above the elbow, and his right arm was tied around his neck! Try as he might he couldn't figure out how the hell he was going to unfasten it. Intellectually he knew that even if he did manage to get it free, the arm would probably be worse than useless. He recalled the pain as he had broken the wrist during his last struggles, and the sharper pain as Spender had grabbed his wrist and ground the bones together. His legs felt like jelly and his head was swimming again. He could feel the cold sweat as it formed on his skin and the fear that grew in the pit of his stomach overwhelmed him to the point where he let out a high pitched whimpering moan of despair before he was even conscious of doing so.
The door to the room opened and a large male figure stood, momentarily, in the door way. Not Spender, not Graaf either. Whoever it was wasted no time in entering the room and coming to deal with him. He braced himself mentally for whatever form of punishment he was about to face. He could not have been more surprised, therefore, to hear a gruff voice airing its concern for him.
"Jesus, Krycek! Don't you know when you've had enough boy? Here. Lie back and let's make sure you haven't added to your problems with this madness."
Large comforting hands gently put him back into a position which eased the pains in his body somewhat. A cool cloth was passed over his face, wiping the stinging sweat away from his eyes. Finally, and best of all, his mouth was flooded with cold moisture, as his visitor fed him ice chips, careful not to choke him or cause him any further distress. The sigh that escaped him this time was of ecstasy rather than despair. His eyes fluttered closed in an acknowledgement of the blissfulness of the moment. Then it seemed as if he'd been jerked back from the realm of Valhalla to the pit of Hades. He groaned deeply, despite the protest of his throat and his eyes flew open as his brain registered for the first time the face of the man who had come to his aid. Assistant Director, Walter Skinner of the FBI. The same man who, the last time they had been alone, had handcuffed him to a balcony railing seventeen storeys up in the middle of November, and had left him there all night.
'So finally Spender decides to indulge in his bizarre sense of humour.' Alex thought. 'Having told me for years that Skinner was off limits to me because he had his own plans for the AD, he gets the bastard to come here and finish me off. I suppose you could call it poetic justice.'
"Shhh." Skinner said, offering more of the ice and frowning as Alex tried at first to resist him. As Alex gave into his need for more liquid, no matter what the consequences, a gentle smile stole across Skinner's face.
"You should try to relax and rest Krycek. Conrad says it will be some time before you are fit again, but we need your help, so the sooner you accept ours the sooner we can do whatever it is we need to do to prevent Spender from selling us all down the river."
Alex was unable to prevent the shudder that ran through his body.'So this is how they are going to play it,' he thought, 'good cop, bad cop time at the OK Corral.
Remembering just in time how much it would hurt he managed to refrain from snorting indignantly but he did manage to convey his disgust to Skinner with the scornful look in his eyes. Skinner looked hurt for a moment before he donned his usual mask of bland indifference.
"I suppose it is too much to hope that you actually might care enough about anyone other than yourself that you'd even consider helping us out." He said.
Alex refused to respond, but then he started a little and his gaze turned from antagonistic to fearful for a moment. Skinner wondered what had caused the look of alarm that crossed Krycek's face. he didn't have to wait long to find out. Mulder had entered the room unnoticed by either occupant, his face clouded with anger. Seemingly without conscious thought he approached the bed and the man lying on it.
"You Rat Bastard, you fucking bastard!" He yelled. "You knew where she was all the time and you never fucking told me."
Before Skinner could make a move to stop him Mulder had balled up his fist and dealt Alex a stunning blow to the side of his head. On other occasions Alex had managed to shrug off such attacks from Mulder, though they had left his head ringing for a couple of days afterwards. Now, however, Alex was so weakened by the prolonged period of restraint and torture that he was unable to deal with this blow with his usual blase attitude. His head was already splitting before the blow, now it felt as though all of the grey matter inside his head was pouring out through his eyes and ears. He was retching and choking and struggling for breath when he dimly heard another male voice.
"For god's sake Mulder! Whatever your fight is with this man do you think you could manage not to kill him? We did just rescue him from these bastards and I'd like to get him fully recovered which he can't do if you decide to pound him into the ground."
Unbelievably, Alex heard Mulder apologise. Not to him of course, but to the unknown man, who was even now pressing a cold cloth to Alex's neck and to his temple in a soothing gesture.
'This could be very interesting.' Alex managed to think tiredly, as his fatigue and the assault began to lull him into what passed for sleep around here of late. 'Very interesting indeed. Can't wait to see what other little scenarios Spender has cooked up for me.'
end of chapter 9
Many thanks to Ursula for sterling efforts to kill the typo....above and beyond the call of duty. Any mistakes still remaining are my fault not hers.
Feedback is welcomed at any time
sharonmarais@sam27.demon.co.uk