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| 2008-12-03 01:35 |
| OOC: trying to catch up with things |
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Because clearly I'm a slacker and my brain's dribbling about, apologies for the numerous delays on numerous threads and possibly ones that got accidentally dropped -- but promising here to get back in line with my people. Honest. Trying to hunt down the stray threads now...
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| 2008-09-08 20:10 |
| (no subject) |
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He spends a lot of time out walking, a number of reasons and a number of paths he is taking. Dog is with him most of the time, walking by his side and his nose pressed to Alex's thigh. He's not quite sure where spending all the time with Harkness comes from, but as he's walking up to the spa it's not to see him. It's not to see the dogs either. They'd agreed on Wednesday, and here it is just Monday- but- he lets himself in, makes his way to Ianto's office.
They've settled into an odd routine of him being here every second day. It's the off day now, it's past tea as the brits would say. He isn't sure what Ianto's up to, if he's up to something with Harkness - maybe that. Wouldn't be surprised. He finds the house fairly quiet except for the click from the keyboard in the office.
He knocks, then pushes the door somewhat open. "Hey."
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| 2008-09-08 08:10 |
| Neat little envelope |
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He keeps the photo packed into his jeans backpocket as he leaves the shore, leaves the forest. He goes home, straight home, then goes about the business of his day, the normal routines. He stays in at night, writes out his bills for the next months that have arrived in the mail. It takes more than just a little shuffling around to make ends meet. Without a computer he still sends his money in with the mail. A number of neat envelopes sit on his desk until the next morning, the next day. He adds a few more the following night, covering that month's water and electricity. The following morning he walks Dog around to the post office to drop them off, a bit mournful to see his money go like that.
Two days later a plain white envelope arrives at one of the houses in Margate, amidst the usual spam mail and bills, addressed to the house, no-one in particular with only a simple message inside.
( Inside the plain white envelope )
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| 2008-08-18 20:02 |
| One year |
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The lights are out in the house, saving money and having to look at the state of it. Moon's shining in from outside, Dog's curled against his leg one moment, in the garden the next, chasing random squirrels and field mice. He didn't know they had that in the town. Squirrels. It's like wildlife. He watches them some nights, up that one lonely tree in his backyard and down again, along the fence and disappearing through a hole as Dog's barking indignantly.
He lift the bottle in mock-cheers. "One year." When the clock ticks over to the next day, it is one year. A sad little anniversary, with a bottle of beer, Dog and- strange to think where he's come from, come to in a year.
Dog. Job. Ianto and not-Ianto and maybe. Puppies. House. Too many people to count fucked, pissed-off, fucked-over, made up or at least tried. Too many new faces, now gone again. Trying to think who was here when he arrived, with a shitty bus, just a sidetrip and then stuck. The guys owning the cafe... anyone else from the early days... Ianto came pretty soon after, a week, two later?
He rubs the back of his hand over his eyes. One fucking year. One. Fucking. Year. And Mulder still in the hospital - fencing and Cesare's Rome and a turtle for Q - Mulder still between dead and alive and him still hiding? Still calling it hiding now? Or just pausing in mid-move, hanging out on a couch again like in the beginning, his house now, not just an apartment.
Ianto and not-Ianto and maybe. A dark house and Dog hunting squirrels outside. Him and a bottle of beer. "To the year," he says again. "To me," with a roll of the eyes and an unamused snort. He shakes his head, shakes himself out of it and moves towards the backdoor, watching Dog.
"You got it?" he says, laughing, as the squirrel's making for the fence again.
A house, a job, dogs. And he's talking to Ianto again. Talking, somehow talking. One year, going uphill from here, maybe?
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| 2008-07-30 07:16 |
| Bringing by dog food |
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Another warm night spent in a house that knew nothing of isolation and would probably stare blankly at the idea of a/c, he was almost glad to be awake and starting the day. A quick coffee sloshed down, Dog fed and the house was left behind. Ever since Timothy's offered him full-time - and paid - his days began and ended with and contained only dogs. Admittedly it did not do much for his house. It was still in its state of wild disarray and brokeness, if that was a word, as it had been when he bought it. Not exactly the feeling of a home yet, but maybe someday it would have it.
First thing at work was always to check on all the dogs, make sure they are fed, his responsibility. Really, it was an excuse to spend and hour or two just sitting on floors, petting dogs that seemed ecstatic before and still begging for more after their breakfast. That morning found him in front of the puppies' door, a small good morning thrown him for them as well, his hand already on the handle, when he realized they wouldn't be there anymore. He stood in the hallway for a few moments, stearing at the sign on the door that no-one's removed, then turned and walked by out to the kennels.
Cleaning made up most of the rest of the day, not surprising, and walks with two or three of them later in the afternoon, to get them out by the sea, have them stretch their legs a little. Peter was around somewhere, repairing something when Alex rummaged through their food supplies and filled a bag with the things they'd given the puppies here. A note written and tacked to the door and he left the shelter behind for a few hours, carrying the bag over his shoulder, to make his way towards the spa.
Anxiety, yes. He hoped they'd liked it there, adjusted. It had seemed good the night before, even when it had been quite a surprise sprung on Ianto. It had been- good- even, to see Ianto again. With every step bringing him closer to the spa he hoped the puppies could stay there, no drawbacks on that leaving him to have to give them to families, individually, like even Timothy had urged.
Midmorning had the spa awake and running. As he raised his hand to the bell, bag of food at his feet, he remembered Ianto's words and just pushed the door open. Eyes adjusting to the dark he stepped into the hallway, pushing his bag further into the house. "Hello?" he called. "Ianto?"
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| 2008-07-16 01:25 |
| He would, wouldn't he |
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"Alex, this week." Timothy has been getting impatient after the 'not now's and 'soon's of the last few weeks, the promises and sideways glances. Not yet, not with his house like this but he couldn't tell Timothy that. Not yet, not with him like this, but he couldn't tell him that either. "This week, or- you know I don't have a choice, Alex, I can't just keep on feeding them here, have them take up the space." He wouldn't kill them, but there were always people looking for puppies.
( Read more... )
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| 2008-07-12 00:29 |
| Later the same day, the same clearing and the guns packed |
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The woods are more silent as the day's moving into the night. Still enough sun out, another hour or two for him to see what he is aiming at. He'd gone home, gotten cleaned up and got rid of the feel of that gun under his chin: one moment, one twitch away from sure death. Cleaning the guns had been necessity as well as ritual, and it kept him busy for a while. They hadn't taken too much damage, a few scratches, more dirt and sand in places where it shouldn't go, but by the time he was done the mechanism had their easy glide back.
It is a bit of a gamble to go back to the same place after it's been discovered. For all he knew Harkness had informed the cops. He is careful picking his way along the trail, listening for sounds that don't belong there. And then- it is his place. Has been ever since he came here. His. And the chances of Harkness being back here, tonight, at least, are slim.
The clearing lies deserted and a short scan of ground and trees shows the cartridges disappeared. Picked up then by Harkness? He shrugs it off and drops the backpack where he's standing, kneeling to pull both Glock and SOCOM out. He weighs the latter in his hand, arm and shoulder tensing, then relaxing as he moves into position, easy stance. Sticking to the routine now.
He chooses the tree Harkness had him pressed against, empties the magazine. One bullet hits, the others disappear in the undergrowth left and right. He rubs his face on his shoulder, the cut on the lip catches on the fabric, then he shoves a new clip in and focuses once more.
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| 2008-07-10 00:46 |
| Target Practice |
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Krycek pulls the backpack higher onto his shoulder as he checks the trail again he is following further into the woods. His months in Margate with its regular visits to that clearing have eaten a small path into the undergrowth, and he ducks under a low branch before following the winding trail to the right. The contents in his backpack shift with quiet clanging noises. Past another few trees and the clearing lies before him: birds are calling to one another, slight wind in the leaves.
He crouches down and pulls his backpack open. Another moment of silence as he listens for any disturbance but it remains quiet. SOCOM between his knees he screws the silencer on, frown on his face as he handles the gun. He is still not quite there with that one, the recoil- His teeth clench in annoyance but he slides the gun into the back of his jeans, then he picks up the Glock, the suppressor comes on.
The familiar weight lies easy in his hand, the grip, the feel of it as an extension of his arm. His expression lifts into a smile. He raises his arm to shoulder height and aims the full round at the much-used tree 25yards away. Every single one of the bullets hits and he grins, satisfied with that.
Glock shoved into his pocket he pulls the SOCOM from his jeans. At a good four pounds it is more than double the Glock's weight and there is no denying that that alone makes it a gun you should shoot with both hands on the gun. Shit luck there then. He rolls his shoulder a little, then lifts his arm, elbow straight and fires the first shot. The recoil pulls the shot up, it goes careening a good foot or two past the tree. Under his breath, "Shit!" He shakes his head and aligns gun, arm and eye again, shifts his stance just a little, the finger on the trigger: the second shot misses the target by about the same as the first.
Eyes squeezed to slits, forehead crunched in concentration he prepares for the third shot.
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| 2008-06-28 23:59 |
| "Secret Files on al-Qaeda and Iraq left on train" |
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It's not that he didn't have- but then a look around the house showed that it was that indeed- no money and too much time on his hands without any real incentive to do something about the place. Dog was walking in and out, sniffing at his thighs for a pet and trotting off again into the garden once he got it and sometimes when he didn't as Krycek was too busy staring into space.
He leaned over the arm of the couch serving as his bed and grappled for the stack of old newspapers haphazardly stuffed into the corner between couch and wall. Like drawing a lucky number, the fishing fingers swirled among the pages ('buy a ticket, get rich today') until he decided on one. More than a week old- a few, really, the date showed but he didn't care much. It passed the minutes and he couldn't remember having read more than the front headline of this one. Bunch of rubbish. He spread the paper across the couch, the bedding over his knees, flicked through page to page, headline to headline- Gordon Brown? Hadn't felt him affect Margate much.
A small sidenote on page 27 caught his eye, reading it, disbelieving, then-
( Secret Files on al-Qaeda and Iraq left on train )
-laughing, loud in the quiet house and unable to stop, an edge of despair, an edge of hysterics and the memories of something he actually missed. He didn't believe for one minute it was an oversight but he'd rarely seen drops done worse than that and ending in such a disaster. It was telling it didn't get more than a sidenote, too.
Equally telling, and more uncomfortable, that it was tugging at his heartstrings, made his fingers itch. Eyes reading the lines again and again and again, and the chuckle stuck in his throat until misery turned it dark and unforgiving. That's when he fell silent, fingers smudging the ink of the article, the letters turning illegible.
* As seen in The Times (International Edition), June 12 2008, p. 27
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| 2008-06-07 20:57 |
| Switching gears and Closing doors |
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The sun was already out as the door fell into the lock behind him. He blinked uneasily into it - sneaking about in broad daylight carried the tang of something not quite right with it. Dewdrops clung to the TARDIS but it, too, stood silent in the garden. The door to the garden creaked as he pushed it open and then close behind him. Dog followed along happily, nuzzling the sidewalk and the nice-neighborhood fences. He chanced a last look- and- time to go. He had his backpack slung over his shoulder.
( Read more... )
( Read more... )
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| 2008-05-25 23:34 |
| Free Afternoon |
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Follows a couple weeks after this conversation between Iago and Alex, approx. mid-December '07.
Hand deep in his pocket, he looks left and right along the street before he ducks into the cafe. It's the early afternoon, he is off work and Ianto is at the spa. He's left Dog with him for the day to run along the grounds there, enjoy some freedom.
He has five pounds left to last him another two weeks if he doesn't rely on Ianto to pay his way, too. He glances about the cafe, finds him at one table, hesitates, then grits his teeth and walks over, pulls out a chair and sits down across from him.
He waits for the other to speak first.
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| 2008-04-03 11:26 |
| Moving up to fencing lessons |
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Picking up after this conversation with Ianto and following the thread of this conversation with Holmes
Dog is with him as they find the store. He left his backpack at the shelter, spent the night with the dogs - not on the beach, someone would have just found him there -, and now he has Depeche Mode running through his mind like a curse. The stranger in the door is the same as before So the question answer's nowhere.
He nods to an old woman, she's been in the shop a few times, and he grips Dog's leash tighter as her face pulls into slight fear. Rain begins drizzling as he slips into the store through the half-open door. A teen behind the counter, and a guy older than him fumbling with running shoes. The bell rings and he nods a greeting. Dog slinks in behind him and they don't make him stay outside. He shortens the leash, keeps him just by his side, as he makes his way down the aisles past balls and shoes and clothes to the fencing part. Two shelves, not more, and more confusion than clarity between the description of items and prices.
( Read more... )
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| 2008-03-19 12:25 |
| At the shelter. |
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March still has Margate writhing in winds and rain, and he is slowly beginning to hate it. He pulls his coat tighter as he follows the promenade leading him closer to the city limits. Sun's staying hidden behind thick clouds, rain splatters down on him every now and then, like it can't quite decide. If Dog was with him he'd have walked along the beach but Ianto's taken him to the spa for the day, mumbling something about Phedre, but he hadn't really listened.
( Read more... )
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| 2008-03-03 12:01 |
| Mutilated Bodies |
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"Hey?" It's a quiet call as he opens the door to their apartment. Dog pushes in between feet and door, sniffing and running off for the living room. The apartment is dark. He had not seen Ianto leave from the cafe, and he had been one of the last to leave himself. He twirls the keys between his fingers, then steps in and shuts the door behind himself, frowning. What the fuck. He shrugs it off and grabs a beer from the fridge. He refuses to play mother, but still, it rankles - wherever the hell he is.
( Read more... )
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| 2007-12-29 18:26 |
| Coming Full Circle |
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(continued from here)
Dog barks as they reach the bottom of the stairs, once, twice. The sound echoes off the walls. Alex hushes him, pulls him along by the leash. "Stop being an idiot. He doesn't give a fuck." A cold gust of wind blows at them as they step outside the door and let it fall into the lock behind them.
( Read more... )
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Krycek's left the party early or late, pleasantly buzzed, and drags himself back into the apartment. Dog greets him enthusiastically, all paws and barks before he can pet him enough to calm him down. He's the first one in then for the night. When he left the party Ianto's still been there, talking to Chris or some such, enjoying the hell out of himself apparently. Krycek walks into the kitchen, followed by Dog's excited whining and growling until he's fumbled out the container with food and scraped some into Dog's bowl. Dog inhales the wet meat, tail wagging wildly.
He leaves the lights off in the apartment, considers the couch and the bedroom, and is too exhausted to care. The teeth brushed, and the clothes lost somewhere between bathroom and bed and he slips between the sheets. Chances are Ianto's not even going to be home that night. Dog joins him on the bed. He grudgingly makes space for him.
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At night Margate does not see many stragglers. Even the universe drop-outs go to sleep at more regular hours, demons excepted maybe, and a few of the other shadies. His teeth are clenched as he puts one foot in front of the other. Too late now to take Tyler up on the offer of a swim. And it's only going to be more painful in the morning, too. The cuts on his face burn with the salt water. There's a slight breeze in the night as he walks along Canterbury Road to the apartment. A few youths greet him with beer bottles held high. It's past closing time, but they don't seem to mind standing in their own vomit. He sticks to the shadows, no need to expose himself to others at this point of the night.
Krycek gives a small sigh of relief as the apartment looms in the distance. The windows are dark. If his luck holds Laytner will be out fucking someone and Ianto asleep. He fumbles his key into the lock, makes his way up the stairs, every movement pulling at delicate places. He fits the key into the lock of the apartment door and turns it, carefully.
He steps in, holds his breath, but there are no voices and Dog doesn't come bounding towards him either. He leaves the light off, contemplates the dark apartment, then moves to the bathroom, wincing as a turn pulls at one of the bruises on his ribs. A sound then- he stills, but it's not repeated. He pushes the bathroom door open, steps in, and closes it behind himself as he turns on the light.
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| 2007-10-16 20:50 |
| Two phonecalls |
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The day has greeted him with clouds in an empty apartment. He's fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning and not woken until after Ianto must have left, wherever to. He's made himself some coffee, drunk it in the silence and wished for company. He's taken Dog with him, gone out, bought a prepaid cellphone and as he is walking back into the apartment now, he finds it still deserted.
He fixes himself another coffee, gives Dog some food and water and settles on the couch. The handwritten notes Holmes has given him the day before are crumpled as he pulls them from his jeans pocket and spreads them out on the couch table. The trail everyone has followed back then led to New Mexico. Just days before his disappearance off the radar it's been suggested to him that the trail's gone cold. That that's where Mulder's been found is too convenient to be coincidence. That he is in the hospital he's been in before, again, too convenient to be coincidence.
( Jane Brown Memorial Hospital, RI )
( Langly )
Mulder's face swims in his mind and he grabs Dog's leash and clips it on him. He needs to go out again. He pockets the phone and leaves the apartment after he's slipped the notes back into his pocket. Holmes' research's been correct then, for better or worse.
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| 2007-10-13 19:51 |
| The Morning After |
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Krycek walks back into the flat mid-morning. He'd left after the night, getting up early in the morning for a walk with Dog, bought a leash, too. He closes the door behind himself and unclips the leash from Dog's collar. He hesitates just inside the door as he watches Dog bound off.
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