Title: "Scar Tissue"
Fandoms: Nikita/The X-Files
Pairing: Michael [Roy Dupuis]/Alex [Nick Lea] (ooh! Canadian men! Go Canada!)
Author: MonaR. (aka Mona Ramsey, aka Mona)
Series: Ninth request story for the monaslash list.
Webpage: The skeleton of one is at http://www.geocities.com/soho/studios/1126/
Rating: R.
Warnings: Some slash (m/m) content.
Archive: Absolutely, but where? No, seriously - where?
Notes: I don't use betas. :( Any mistakes are solely my fault and the fault of my *#^&@ spellcheck. ** is used for emphasis, // for thought. Any weird characters should be hunted down and killed.
Spoilers: No.
Summary: Alex Krycek receives his indoctrination to Section. Strangely enough, he seems to fit in well.

{Zoe wrote: "Then how about a nice La Femme Nikita/X-Files crossover, where Michael is in charge of assimilating Krycek into Section...? <eg>" A cast of killers? I'm intrigued, I admit it. . .}

"Scar Tissue"
by MonaR.

Alex came to with a start, his head snapping up. The jolt that awakened him felt like an electrical charge that re-started his heart - which wouldn't have been too far off the mark, considering that the last thing that he could remember was the unmistakable sound of a silencer as the bullets ripped into his body, and then the step-towards-the-light glow of his own death.

He gasped for breath, fighting off an uncharacteristic wave of panic. It was ridiculous, of course - he quite obviously was *not* dead. He was alive, sitting up in a chair, bound, gagged, and blindfolded - just another typical day in the life of Alex Krycek. If he could have, he would have laughed at it; he half-expected Mulder or Scully or even Skinner to whip off his blindfold and start waving a gun in his face, demanding answers to questions they couldn't even begin to fathom. At least, that would have been the *good* version of events - if it was the Consortium who had decided to jerk his chain a little, then he wouldn't get a chance to see the face of his assailant. Although, he *was* still alive, so they probably didn't intend to kill him, but perhaps just taunt him a little, prod and poke at him to see what information would come out. He searched his memory, wondering what he could give up *this* time - or maybe who - to ensure a few more months of survival.

"Ah," a low, slightly accented male voice said, from right in front of Alex, "so you're not dead, after all."

The gag was untied and pulled from his mouth, and Alex coughed a couple of times, feeling the unmistakable pain of broken ribs as the breath wheezed in and out of his lungs. He didn't try to speak.

"It'll probably hurt for a while," the disembodied voice said, again. "Or, it might hurt forever. It depends."

"On what?" Alex asked, evenly.

"On you. Whatever happens to you from now on will be your choice."

Alex tried to laugh, but it was lost in another wave of dry coughs. "Let me guess - you're going to make me an offer I can't refuse, right? Believe me, you're not the first to try."

"You're free to refuse any offer I make, whenever you'd like," the voice said, pleasantly.

"Yeah. Refuse and die, I suppose."

"No. Somehow, I don't think the threat of death holds much sway with you, does it? Death is simple, and final. Pain is another matter, entirely."

That made Alex grin. He waggled the bare shoulder to which his prosthetic was normally attached. "Yeah, so I've heard."

There was an unmistakable spark of levity in the soft voice. "I'm glad I won't have to explain it to you, then."

"No," Alex said, shaking his head. He stopped when he realized how dizzy that small movement made him. "What do you want from me?"

"Oh, I don't want anything *from* you," the voice said, very close to Alex's ear. "I just want *you*." Before Alex could react to that intimate statement, the voice continued. "You're tired. I'll leave you alone - to rest."

Before Alex could do anything but say, "Wait - " a door opened and closed. It was too late. "I'm not tired," he said, before a sudden yawn split his face. The chair was singularly uncomfortable, and he ached everywhere, wondering how he could ever possibly rest. The familiar, longing ache of the arm that was no longer his started again, and he moaned, softly. He yawned again, and his mind seemed to fog over, suppressing every instinct but to sleep.

Thirty seconds later, he was unconscious.


The next time Alex awoke, the blindfold was gone. A bare room of unrelenting stark white greeted him, lit so dazzlingly that he had to shut his eyes and blink several times before he could focus.

"Feel better?"

It was the same voice that had greeted him before, coming from directly behind him. Alex turned his head - way too fast, and winced as a combination of concussion and white glare greeted him. "Oh, much," he said, sarcastically.

"Good." The man walked around in front of Alex, giving him a face to go along with the voice - handsome, angular features, short, dark hair with a slight curl, eyes that gave away nothing. He produced a knife, and reached around Alex's body to release the ropes that held him.

"Don't you find this a compromising position?" Alex joked weakly. They both knew that he was in no shape to put up any sort of fight to whatever his captor had in mind for him.

"I would have thought fear of being compromised would have been the last thing on your mind."

Alex shrugged, moving his arm so that the blood could start to move through it again. "Death and taxes are a certainty; it leaves more time for the little things."

"That's an interesting perspective."

"It works for me. So," Alex asked, "have we come to the part of this visit where you tell me why I'm here?"

"Don't you want to know where 'here' is?"

Alex shook his head, noting with some relief that things were starting to hurt a little less. "It's a useless question. You've blindfolded me up to this point, so you obviously don't want me to know. When I leave, it will either be with another blindfold - or in a body bag."

"Who said anything about leaving?" The man grasped Alex's good arm and pulled him slowly to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"If I can't, will you carry me?" Alex grinned. He leaned heavily on his captor's arm.

"If you can't, I'll leave you here until you can."

"I can walk," Alex said, not at all sure that that was true or not, knowing that being left here longer would mean another dose of whatever drug they had given him to make him sleep. He had no idea how much time had passed since his 'death', but knew that the sooner that he got up and started to move around, the sooner he could start formulating a plan to get out of - wherever this was.

"Good." The man opened the door. "Mr. Krycek - welcome to Section."


It was what the FBI would have been like if they gave more than a cursory nod to the fact that they were now working in the 1990s, not the 1950s - there was sophisticated computer, satellite, tracking, and radar equipment everywhere, absolutely top-of-the-line stuff, obviously the sign of a private company. Security measures everywhere seemed beyond breach, down to the retinal, fingerprint, *and* DNA scanning required to enter several of the passages they walked through. They passed by a great number of people, none of whom gave Alex so much as a second glance, all of whom were well-dressed in stylish, modern clothing - no Scully-esque suits on *these* women, no garish ties for the men - and most of whom were exceptionally well-armed, if the discreet bulges Alex recognized in said clothing were any indication. A few of those people gave Alex's captor a short nod of acknowledgment, which was greeted in kind.

The internal surveillance was a little harder to discern than the security - there were no visible cameras, but that was just the mark of a sophisticated spy network. One thing was obvious - whoever was running the show, it was *not* the FBI, or the Consortium. It was far too efficient and self-sufficient to be under any official governmental auspices, for that matter. Alex wondered for the first time if he was even in the country he had been taken from, still; this place had a subtly European flavour to it.

Nothing that Alex saw was pointed out or explained to him; he was merely allowed to absorb it without question. It was a show of power that would have been ruined by a running commentary. The entire complex simply spoke for itself.

They ended up in another small room, this time more subtly lit and, although still spartan, with more furniture than a chair. Alex was eased down on his back on a bed built into the wall. "Let me guess," he said, the first time that they'd spoken since he'd been released from the first room, "I'm supposed to sleep again, now?"

"I think that would be a good idea. You're weak."

"Thanks," Alex said, with no small humour. "You planning on giving me some more of whatever you shot into me before?"

"We haven't given you anything. Like I said, you're weak. We didn't *have* to give you anything."

Alex shook his head. "Whatever." He leaned back on the bed, putting his arm underneath his head. "Sure, I'll sleep."

The man nodded and turned his back, headed for the door.

"Wait," Alex said. "I know better than to ask where or why or even what, but how about one other question: why?"

"Why are you alive?"

Alex nodded.

"There will be time for all of your questions soon enough. I'd suggest you sleep, Mr. Krycek." The door closed softly behind him, effectively shutting Alex in his newest cage.


The two faces staring at him evenly gave away nothing but a barren sort of scrutiny, as if he was a bug on a slide under a microscope-lens. Alex fought the hysterical urge to shift uncomfortably in his chair. It was his third day - at least his third day *conscious* - inside this bunker/fortress, and this was the first time that he'd been deemed strong enough to come in direct contact with anyone except his captor and a doctor who examined him with wordless efficiency. He had coaxed out the name of his captor on the second day, and ever since, Michael had been bringing him his food and water, and affording him just enough company to ensure that he didn't attempt anything foolish, like an escape, although the walk through the compound had effectively discouraged him from trying anything like that. That had been the point of that exercise, and Alex knew it all too well, and was more than willing to wait and hedge his bets until a better opportunity presented itself.

The woman sitting to the left was good-looking in an unostentatious manner, and managed to combine a quiet manner with the impression of utter self-confidence. The man, on the other hand, gave no impression at all - his bland, distinguished good looks suggested nothing more sinister than that he was a bank president or CEO of a mid-level company. Michael stood to one side of the room, leaning against the door frame with his hands crossed over his chest.

The woman opened a thick folder and began peeling through it. It was set on the desk at such an angle that Alex could see very clearly the photographs and some of the documents, while others remained shadowed. It was all about him, of course; an espionage agency-version of 'this is your life': surveillance photos, mug shots, original FBI identification badge and resume, letters with official seals from several different international governments and government agencies - he honestly wouldn't have been surprised to see his permanent record from kindergarten in there, somewhere. The woman waited until he peeled his eyes away before closing the folder and addressing him directly. "Mr. Krycek - "

"Alex," he said. "I think that we can be on informal terms, here."

She smiled, impressed that he did not ask for names in return. "Alex, then. You may call me Madeline; this," she indicated the man on her left, "is Operations. Normally I would start out by answering your questions as to why you've been brought to Section, but I don't suppose I need to do that with you, do I?"

He shook his head. "That's pretty obvious. You have my life in your hands, so I think we can probably get right down to the explanation of what it is you want me to do." He glanced at the man beside her. "Or should I just say, who you want me to kill."

"Do you like killing, Alex?" Operations asked him.

"Not particularly," Alex said, shrugging. "I've found that it's an occupational hazard I can't avoid."

"But you aren't averse to doing it, if necessary."

"Not if it's a question of my life or someone else's, no."

"We've gone to a great deal of trouble to erase all traces of your existence, Alex," Madeline said. "We'd be disappointed if we eventually had to erase you, as well."

Alex smiled. "But you would do it."

"If necessary, yes," she said. "I can see that we understand each other. We don't *want* to kill you, but we will. Not everyone that we recruit is suited to a life in Section; although we do screen candidates rigorously, some simply do not have the temperament to sustain a productive life here. Some do not understand the necessity of killing - "

"And some enjoy it *too* much," Operations said, sharply.

Alex turned his head to look at him, trying to discern some of the inner demons he kept so deeply in check, then turned his head to look at Michael. "And what is his story?" he asked.

"If you decide to stay, Michael will be your instructor, and, eventually, your direct supervisor. Most of our operatives work in regulated teams - "

Alex shook his head. "I don't play well with others."

She smiled. "Yes, we know that. We think that we can place you in a way that would be satisfactory to everyone."

He nodded. "Are you going to tell me what you want me to do?"

"No. Not yet. You're still too weak to go out on assignment, and we need to see first-hand what your capabilities are."

"So I'm just supposed to stay here and perform for you?"

"Something like that. I'm sure that Michael has explained to you that you may refuse at any time. And, of course, you may attempt to escape, if you'd like. It's pretty standard."

Alex grinned at her candor. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. I've seen enough of your security already." He hesitated, and then said, "I only have one other question."

"Go ahead."

"Are you planning on giving me my arm back, at any point?"

"Ah, yes, your prosthetic. Unfortunately, it was destroyed when we brought you in." Madeline beyond him, to Michael. "We're working on having it replaced."

"Tomorrow," Michael said.

Alex nodded, and looked at the two of them before standing. "If that's all, then - "

"All for now. I look forward to seeing what you can do, Alex," Madeline said.

Operations remained silent, watching them as Alex and Michael left the room. "I don't approve of this," he said. "He can't be trusted."

"No-one can be trusted," Madeline said, absently. "The trick is knowing how much rope is enough to give them, and then seeing what they do with it."

"He'll hang himself. They all do."

"I don't think so," Madeleine said. "Not this one."


Alex shifted, watching the 'fingers' of his new prosthetic arm move at his command. The interface of muscle and microchip was impressive; although it would take some time to get used to, the new arm was a marked improvement on his last one. He could almost *feel* it.

"You're pleased with it?"

Alex grinned at Michael, who was watching him play with his new 'toy'. "It's almost better than the real thing was. Actually," he added, "it *is* better than the real one was - if this one gets torn off, it won't hurt anywhere near as much."

Michael allowed a fleeting smile. "That's a good attitude."

"Believe me, I've mourned my real arm long enough. I don't have any time to spend weeping over the fake ones." He practiced picking up a pencil from the table in front of him, pleased when all of the fingers obeyed his command. "I think I've got the hang of it."

"Don't push it. You have more exercises to do before you can handle anything more complicated than that pencil."

"Yeah. So," Alex said, looking up at his keeper. "What are we doing for the rest of the day?"

"You're continuing your exercises. I have business elsewhere."

"Doing what?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you what happened to the curious cat?"

"I'm not a cat," Alex said. "Curiosity is part of my business."

"Not anymore. You'll find that Section is run on a strictly 'need to know' basis."

"What I don't know, can't kill me?"

"Something like that," Michael agreed. He stood up

Alex put the pencil down, and tried to pick it up again. "You've got to eat, right?" he asked, without looking up.

Even without seeing him, he could tell that Michael was startled by the question. He nodded. "Yes."

"So how about eating with me tonight?"

Michael was so still that Alex couldn't even tell if he was breathing. "Okay," he said. "Your place or mine?"

Alex grinned. "Your place has to be a *hell* of a lot nicer than mine," he said, indicating the spartan room that they were in. "Am I allowed out for good behavior if I'm on your leash?"

"I think I can arrange that."

"Excellent. When?"

"Seven o'clock."

"I'll be here," Alex said, grinning again.

Michael shook his head, the ghost-smile once again appearing and disappearing. "I'll see you then."


Alex settled on the couch of Michael's apartment, and looked around as his host opened a bottle of wine. Everything in the apartment was tasteful, subtle, and masculine - sleek, dark furniture, unobtrusive stereo and home-theatre system, hardwood floors.

"Perhaps you'd prefer something else," Michael said. "Beer? Vodka?"

Alex shook his head. "Whatever you're having is fine," he said, and reached for the glass that Michael handed him. After one sip, he over-corrected a muscle movement by a fraction of a millimeter and ended up tipping the glass too much to one side. "Dammit - "

Michael relieved him of the glass. "Don't worry about it," he said, settling the half-full glass on the table in front of Alex. He retrieved a towel and wiped up the small spill from the floor.

Alex was wincing, rubbing his good hand over his forehead.

"Is something wrong?"

"I've got a headache," Alex admitted. "It takes a lot of concentration to figure out what I'm doing with this thing - one minor twitch from the wrong muscle, and things go flying, or tipping over."

"Here." Michael kneeled between Alex's parted knees and started to rub his temples in a gentle circular motion, relieving some of the stress. Alex, though startled at first, slowly relaxed into the warm touch of Michael's fingers. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch, fighting off the stress headache. Before Alex knew what was happening, those fingers moved into his hair, and he was being kissed. Kissing back was an automatic response, as was grasping Michael's closest arm hard, and twisting it behind his back. He opened his eyes to find Michael regarding him with an ironic smile.

"Always the operative?"

"What was that?" Alex demanded, instantly suspicious.

"It was a kiss," Michael said. "What did you think it was?"

"It felt more like a test, to me." Michael didn't say anything, and Alex finally released his arm. "Why did you bring me here?"

"You asked *me* to have dinner," Michael pointed out.

"I didn't say anything about being the main course."

This time he was rewarded with a genuine smile from Michael. Alex was so surprised - again - that he almost laughed out loud.

"You've never had sex with a man?" Michael asked him.

"Of course."

"Never with a co-worker, then?"

Alex shook his head. "Two out of two."

"I'll have to assume that it's me."

"It's not you."

"Then what?"

"I don't like being put in a vulnerable position."

"I don't have a problem with you being on top, Alex."

Alex *did* laugh out loud at that smooth statement. "Well, if you put it that way," he said, and pressed his body against Michael's, shoving him against the table. The lightweight, chrome-and-glass piece skittered out of the way across the floor, and Michael ended up on his back, Alex lying across him.


Dinner was very, very late that night.

Alex watched the wine swirl in his glass. He found that his arm had a lot less tension and more freedom of movement in it now. "Was that part of my initiation into Section?"

Michael lay across the couch, naked, watching Alex, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor. "If you're asking me if I have sex with everyone under my authority, the answer is no."

"That wasn't my question."

"If you're asking if I was ordered to have sex with you, the answer to that is no, as well."

Alex smiled, still looking at the wine in the glass.

"I thought it might help," Michael said.

"It did. I don't know *what* was helped, but I'm sure it was something."


Alex lay his head back, resting it on Michael's bare thigh. "This go in a report somewhere?"

"Of course."

"And the gruesome twosome can read it, I assume?"

"I'm sure they'll be more impressed with the video than the written report." There was a touch of humour in Michael's voice, but Alex wasn't sure that what he said wasn't true, nevertheless.

Alex turned his head, and kissed the tip of Michael's soft, warm penis. "Can I have this whenever I want?"

"Within reason."

"What if I don't want to be reasonable?" Alex climbed up on the couch, straddling the supine man. "You already know that I don't play well with others. I don't share my toys well, either. When I find something I want, I want it all the time."

"But you don't always get it, do you?"

Alex stopped, his mouth hovering over Michael's neck. A twinge of pain flared through his phantom-arm. "Nobody gets what they want all the time," he said. "You get what you get."

"A philosopher and an assassin?" Michael said. "Do you have any other surprises?"

"Dozens. Hundreds," Alex said, kissing his neck. "Thousands. Try me."

"Oh, I intend to," Michael said. "Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Alex said. "I look at you, and I see myself." He smiled. "I've always wanted to fuck myself, you know. I've been told to try so often, I always wondered what it would be like." He bit into the soft flesh of Michael's bicep, noting the twitch of muscle and skin. "It's like looking in a mirror. You can be anything I want, can't you? Any fantasy, anything I dream of."

"Anything," Michael echoed.

"You change, you adapt. We survive. Kill us, take our limbs, and we keep coming back. The bastards always win. The good guys don't stand a chance."

"That's an interesting way to look at it, Alex."

"It's the only way, Michael." Alex toyed with a nipple, then pulled back. "Are you the rope that I'm supposed to hang myself with? Are you going to be my mark?"

"What if I were?"

"I'd kill you," Alex said. "And then I'd miss you." He kissed Michael on the mouth.

"Maybe that question was your test," Michael said.

"No," Alex replied, shaking his head. "Too easy. Too obvious. They'll wait. I'm not comfortable enough, yet." He lay down, and pressed his ear over Michael's heart. "They always wait until you get comfortable," he said, and yawned. Too soon, he was asleep.

"Alex?" Michael whispered.

There was no answer.

The End