Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold
e-mail: jfc@freeshell.org
Feedback: Please, to the above address!
Archive: By permission only
Rating: Probably around PG-13 for a little bad language - yeah, it's me
Category: VA
Spoilers: Not very many
Timeframe: Between "Tunguska" and "2F/1S"
Keywords: Krycek POV - songfic
Summary: Ratboy sings the blues.

DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and the whole X-Files gang, not to me. This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit. Song lyrics not used by permission either. Sorry, Pete...

COPYRIGHT: (C) July 25, 2000, Janet F. Caires-Lesgold, jfc@freeshell.org

Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much.


Thank God for hotel room service--they *always* store their vodka in the freezer. That's about the only thing that makes me appreciate this job. Accounting never questions the full bottles on the expense tab. Hallelujah.

Man, I wish this were *my* camera. If I ever decide to turn myself in, I'm hocking this thing first. Of course, there's nothing to take pictures of at the moment. Mulder hasn't been in his hotel room for about seven hours. It's good to know that the bureau is still using cheaper hotels whose cleaning staff is so easy to bribe. That way I can sit here in my posher digs across the street and just listen to the bug I planted, rather than prop myself in the window with the binoculars all day and all night. You'd think my bosses would spring for a little tripod for them, too, but nooooo... I guess my wrist isn't worth eighteen bucks for a hunk of steel.

Of course, I think that the lack of worker's comp might have something to do with it. Ha! I can just imagine what insurance like that would cost! Insurance adjuster for the Consortium--now *there's* a job that would be worse than mine: "Just *how* many employees suffered fatal accidents during the performance of their duties this month? Five *more* than last month?"

Where's that music coming from? Shit, that's really going to screw up my audio surveillance. Not next door... Wait a minute--it's coming from Mulder's room. Lemme look... Nobody's home yet. That's weird. Hmmm... His clock/radio says 6, even though I'm showing quarter after three. Y'know, I'll bet he set it for this morning, but didn't even notice that the time was completely wrong and forgot to turn it off when he left. Well, at least I've got a soundtrack to drink by now. Who is that? Oh, Daltrey... the Who. I like this song:

"No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind Blue Eyes..."

Hmph. Maybe that should be "green eyes"...

So Fox Mulder likes classic rock. Why does that not surprise me? He's about my age, okay, a little older. He's just one of those unimaginative guys whose theme music is the stuff that was on the radio when he was sixteen and a girl let him reach inside her panties for the first time. What am I thinking? This *is* Mulder, so his music is what was on the radio when he jacked off for the first time. Self-abuse, thy name is Mulder...

"No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies..."

Then again, there are the self-destructive tendencies I show by working for these losers. It's not like there *could* be any pleasure in it. There's not much difference between my quarry and me after all, is there? We're just positive and negative of the same piece of film, or so it seems. He's with the "good guys"; I'm with the "bad guys". He's doing his job for the greater good, and I'm just doing it for the money. He knows nothing at all about what's going on behind the scenes, while I know far too much. He lives for the truth--he'd say I live to lie. That's the way he sees it, just because of how much they keep him in the dark and feed him bullshit. Given the choice of being a player and being a mushroom, I'll pick player every time.

"No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do,
And I blame you..."

No, Mulder, not you, wherever you are right now. I blame Smokey Joe and his cohorts for making it necessary for me to be here right now. They may think I'm just gathering information on you per their orders. They don't know that I'm keeping an eye on you for myself, too. This way I can try to prevent them from hurting you too much and keep myself in vodka on their tab at the same time. Everybody wins.

"No one bites back as hard
On their anger,
None of my pain and woe
Can show through..."

Mulder, you can never see the strings I'm pulling for you--every time they do something else horrible to you, I just want to kill them a little bit more. Lord knows, you don't deserve any of the abuse they've given you, though I'll be the first to admit that they certainly deserve some in return. If only... Then again, neither can I let you know how I really feel about you. Why do you think I let you beat the shit out of me every time you see me? I lied in that cell, Mulder. Touch me again, please, however you want. I don't care if it hurts.

"But my dreams they aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be,
I have hours only lonely,
My love is vengeance that's never free..."

God, ain't *that* the truth? I have so little in this world, and I want so much... If I could just turn you to my way of thinking, wouldn't *that* be excellent revenge? Together we could save the world, you and me. But each of us alone is a powerless shadow, a victim, the pawn They want us to be. I wonder if I'll ever be free to love you, or if you'd ever allow that to happen...

"When my fist clenches, crack it open,
Before I use it and lose my cool,
If I smile, tell me some bad news,
Before I laugh and act like a fool.
And if I swallow anything evil,
Put your finger down my throat,
And if I shiver, please give me your blanket,
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat..."

Only you can save me, Mulder. Only you make me know I'm human. If you ever wondered why I do this, it's simple: I do it all for you. Reach out to me, show me that I've served some purpose on this earth, tell me I've made a difference: to the future of the world, and to you, too...

"No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man,
To be the sad man
Behind *green* eyes..."

Damned binoculars. Lenses must need cleaning. Sure got blurry there all of a sudden.

Who's that at the door? I asked not to be disturbed. Maybe room service mixed up their orders and sent up another bottle of vodka. Good, I could use one.




AUTHOR'S NOTES: The song of course is "Behind Blue Eyes", though my inspiration was a recent live solo recording by Pete Townshend himself rather than the original Who rendition, which I thought would more likely emanate from a radio in the middle of wherever. This one's for the gang at 'XRT. Feedback call-ins are being taken right now on the studio line!

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