Gangland III: Outside
Disclaimers: Chris is mine, and all I claim.
Spoilers: Um... X-files stuff from a few seasons back.
Summary: Come together...
Ratings Note: R.
Author's Note: This follows directly after Gangland II, and probably will not make sense without reading it and the one before. Both are up on the crossovers section of my site, as well as at UCSL.
Acknowledgments: For my Debilla, for being there and supportive as all hell. For my Spike, for inspiring me with her "Amen."
Feedback: Yes, please: email@example.com
Alex was coming. Now, he knew it. Ghost sounds of booted feet on the tile outside his door, and yeah, all senses ready for it. Straining for it. It would either be a call or a visit -- not both -- and the call hadn't come.
And Jesus, yes, this was it. This was the time. Old man long dead, his 'secretary' in charge, but Chris had been running things for all intents and purposes since that cock-up in Antarctica. Once, just once, Chris had had a bead on both of them, lunatic and martyr, as they walked slowly down a street without even a single parked car to shield them. The call had come in, and Chris had lowered his rifle.
The Old Bastard, his own dear patron, had let them live for reasons of his own.
There had been a time when Chris believed. How perfect? Kill the world, but leave him on high. With the survivors, and whoever they'd chosen. The aliens could level the planet with a word, what choice had there been other than to deal? Perfect sense, and he had done his years on all the different fronts.
Exposing film, burning testimonials, killing everyone that looked lucid.
Not ending. Not tying loose ends. Killing.
Chris was a killer, born and bred, and he was not ashamed.
Never ashamed. If it had to be done, then let it be his will be done.
He'd made few mistakes, fewer than Alex at any rate, and was raised high and safe within the Organization.
Or so he'd thought.
A final calling come to soon, and the surviving Old Bastards had left secretary and Chris both to swing as they'd brought their families to the LZ.
And fried for it.
Divine justice and now... Now was his time.
And Alex was coming to make it official.
The room was thick with pseudo-Victorian clutter, all the little alien gifts over the years tucked behind mahogany paneling. The bed was palatial in and of itself. The sheets were not silk, but the linen was very fine. Smooth little chafe over every inch of skin.
He really should dress. He was not the young and expendable little killer whore he once was -- there were too many lines for that, now. Too much knowledge in his eyes. Too much -- never too much -- power. Oh, God, and just the thought of it. Europe, spread out like a jewel, and all his now.
And anyone left to object was in ashes.
No, the other abandoned lieutenants were all too fresh for this. Too new. Too busy scrambling to cover their asses for a reckoning that would not come. No, the Old Bastards had ignored him too long, left too many secrets out where he could take them. Roll in them until they were his own. Only as sick as your secrets.
What a fucking laugh. Only as powerful as your secrets.
Power corrupts. And who better than he to know how much? Oh, it was sweet, so fucking sweet and he was hard as a rock.
Chris laughed and took himself in hand.
Faith had never been on a plane before. Faith was sick as hell. Faith was gonna admit that at the same time she admitted she was scared.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, schooling her features to what she hoped was that grimly serene thing Alex always managed. And what a fuck-up that was. What a rush. Aliens. Dig that, B. My monsters come from the sky and you're just a fucking little worm grubbing in the dirt.
Yeah. She liked that. She liked that a lot.
Peeked through her lashes to find Alex doing the grim thing at a laptop. He's across from her, she can't see a thing. Can't tell what's going on in his eyes. Too late to move to sit next to him. It had been kind of a thing to sit here. Where she could watch.
Look but don't touch, fucker. Not in front of the help.
Right. Like she could stop him without crashing the fucking plane and it's a long ass way down. Miles. Shit. She shifted a little. Did not clutch her stomach. This was gonna be peaches and cream. Five by five. This is who she is. Faith. And she was gonna roll with it wherever it went.
No options? Like there were ever any for her.
New boss gathering some allies. All right, fine. If they look as good as he does... Brief crazy moment to wonder if the new guy is another amputee. She could get a new kink. Who knew there were any left?
Faith laughed to herself. Crossed her legs. Poked through the in-flight magazine and marveled at how much they expected to get for all that yuppie crap.
"Is there anything worth doing up here?"
"Too corny. Everybody does that shit."
Half a smile from across the way but he's back to his whatever by the time she thinks to return it. Boss-man smiles like a whore sometimes. She likes that.
"So what's the plan? Take over the world and crush it beneath our heels?"
"I almost never wear heels. But... something like that. Don't worry, there's gonna be plenty of work for you."
"Ultraviolence?" Not a tremble. Not a stutter. Not anything. Who she was. Made for this. No escaping whatever the fuck passed for a destiny these days. Right.
"All you want, Faith."
Another half-smile, and this time she can see that it reaches his eyes. A little. There's something a little fucked there. More of that I-know-more-than-you- do crap. Now that she can give a flying fuck for.
She's bored. "Let's fuck."
A full out laugh there, and Alex obediently tucks away the laptop. There. Always gonna be something she can count on.
Fucking Faith is, undeniably, a lot of fun. If there's one thing she knows, it's her own body. A useful trait for a whore, but she's far too unstable to use for that. Except, perhaps, with Chris, but then he'd always liked them a little younger.
And using Chris...
All the old memories had come back obediently to be studied and characterized. First class psychopath, at one time fixated on him. Alex knows how to control a psychopath -- be hard and be consistent. If necessary, he's able enough to teach Chris again. Show him the way to his own sick little redemption.
He's using Chris to avoid fixating too closely on Faith. A dangerous line to walk, considering he'll be seeing the man himself in just a few hours, but a necessary one. There's something sharply, brightly needy in Faith, and if there was time...
But there wasn't at the moment. A strong alliance had to be made. A little safety for himself in Europe, since most of the smoker's men were just a little too damaged to be trusted.
Trust. Now that was a laugh. Trust was something to be used and abused as needed, never something to count on, but Alex thinks he just may be able to get enough out of dear old Chris too at least be able to turn his back on Europe. For a little while.
For now, things are going as they should. He's having the plams manufactured semi-openly, as a new sort of ice-pick. The company is firmly in the red, but the smoker had given him access to all the off-shore accounts he needed before... Well.
That had been something of a working vacation, interrogating the smoker. Giving himself time to cool down and enjoy the work of it, keeping the man alive despite every cut, every mutual dig. There's something free in him now. Open and bled of hate. Whore, experiment, intergalactic messenger boy... all gone. All of it but what Alex needs to cut and paste himself a new life.
There's no one but him now, in these hours before the planes land. He feels...
Alex wonders about God, and the blasphemies roving through his mind. Of course the smoker had gotten out alive -- hadn't it been necessary? Planned, even? Of course Faith was falling in line with the program. Hadn't she been born for it? Hadn't Alex been made for this moment?
It was all coming together now, seamless and neat.
All that was left was for him to do what he was born to do. Gather. Control.
For the coming war.