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[hearthtales]

many curiosities the godling doe has happened upon in their travels (they, themself, make for one as well; not quite deity, not quite fae, but some bastard-between which marries two warring worlds). and for awhile, kaen had thought there might be very little that could catch them unawares. but this - the creature maude pointedly told them of which occupies the inn - is one which stands amongst their most strange encounters. it is, they think, an equine; but not quite, not... living, exactly. the creature inspiring in them a distant, fleeting sense of connection and familiarity. though the longer they look upon it, the more cloudy their mind becomes. damned they are, cursed to their curiosity; kaen has no sense of fear, only an awe as they gaze upon it with a wordless smile, blue eyes twinkling, stones 'pon cheeks gleaming with a rush of light. / kaen for feld, as promised!

nothing about the creature belongs in the hallway.

it is too large, too crooked, too wrong. it is dust and bone and wood, formed from smoke that swept down the walls and twisted into a bare semblance of a horse. no warning preceded its appearance aside from a whisper of air. a lamp on the table in the hall casts strange, flickering shadows on its form.

and yet, the guest doesn’t run. they stay. they smile.

feldmire’s interest latches onto them instantly. no one arrived at the inn without the creature noticing. maude could hide nothing from it, despite her best efforts at times. no secrets existed between them — at least, feldmire liked to think so. something about this newest guest sparked feldmire’s curiosity the moment it saw them. they had stayed in the inn less than a day before it showed itself on a whim.

now… now, they’ve caught its focus entirely.

its bony jaws split into a smile in return. twin rings of amber glimmer in its dark eye sockets. “little faun,” it greets. the honeyed syllables drip into the silence, rich and silken. it takes a step closer to them, head tilting to one side, and the floor creaks beneath its sharp hooves. “you are different, aren’t you? most would run away, or faint. are you not afraid?”

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1 // read on AO3 // @today-in-fic

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

CHAPTER 2

U Street NW  3rd District  11:00am

I tried to tell myself I was rested, but that was a lie. Insomnia is a bitch and she makes a hell of a bedfellow. I couldn’t be bothered with the percolator in my apartment, though day old coffee hadn’t stopped me before. I didn't bother shaving, instead deciding to give my five o’clock shadow an extra half hour. My dress shirt lightly concealed the white bandage on my shoulder and I found a set of grey pants and matching suit jacket. I remembered my raw brimmed fedora and locked the door behind me. I debated whether or not to take the car but I didn’t want to deal with public transit this afternoon. The starter on the Pontiac needed a wake up call and after some persuading I made my way out of Alexandria.

I drove across the bridge and further into the district, stopping about a block away from the precinct so I could hop into the corner diner. I needed a decent cup of joe and some bacon and eggs. Sure it was almost lunch but I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. 

When I arrived at headquarters the bullpen was buzzing like a hornet’s nest. I removed my hat and took a seat at my desk.  My shoulder burned and I felt the stitches pull slightly as I reached down to unearth a group of files from a bottom drawer. I winced as I placed everything I had on Vincenti atop my desk. From behind the stack of papers I watched a parade of suits and uniforms flow in and out of the captain’s office. A cloud of Morley cigarette smoke signaled each time the door opened or closed; it reminded me of how they choose the Pope in the Vatican. I was waiting for that smoke to turn black when I saw Skinner in the doorway. His eyes narrowed and he flicked two fingers like an impatient father. I gathered the assortment of files I was reviewing and brushed past the remaining uniforms that were heading back downstairs.

“Nice of you to join the party, Mulder.”

“Well after my patch job I decided to take a powder and take my phone off the hook. My shoulder is fine by the way.” Skinner took a seat behind his desk and asked me to close the door.

“Funeral arrangements have been made at Arlington. We’re still waiting to receive the final report from the coroner. This of course will tell me how he died but I want to know why. I know you and Detective Spender had been working for some time on the Vincenti ring.”

“Well you did make it a top priority for vice if I’m not mistaken. At the request of the mayor?” I questioned as I glanced at a crowded ashtray then lowered into one of Skinner’s leather chairs.

“Last year, the mayor asked the commissioner for help decreasing drug related crime in the district. And this precinct’s vice squad had a no-nonsense reputation which the commissioner spoke so highly of.” Skinner stated as he pressed back in his chair. “I assume those files you have are related to the case?”

I handed him the papers.

“Since you gave us this assignment, Spender and I discovered Vincenti likes to run operations out of the Navy Yard. Spender wanted to find an informant, or at least pressure someone into being an informant. We staked out a flophouse near the old factory and watched for any dealings. Saw a street-savvy kid who looked like an easy mark and followed him. I remember Spender turning on the bad cop routine and pinned the kid to the wall. We told him he could stay anonymous but he gave us a name; Dimitri Kristoff.”

“A Russian?” Skinner questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“A Russian alias. He gave us that and a phone number,” I replied with a shrug, “At the time, the less we knew the better. Spender may have contacted him and pushed for more info. Eventually we were able to build a file on our friend Dimitri.”

“That might give a little more motive for Spender’s murder,” Skinner stated as he leafed through the file, “Do you think Spender was sold a bad tip or do you suspect the kid?” 

“If Spender was dealt a bad hand he must have kept it pretty close to his chest. We were partners but I personally wasn’t very close to him. I kept Dimitri at arm’s length and I don’t think he’d squeal. You could stake my no-nonsense reputation on it.” I replied as I shifted in my seat, “Frankly if the kid knows what’s good for him he would get out of the game all together.”

“Admirable,” Skinner said while he closed the file and placed it back on top of the stack. I could see the wheels in his head turning, grinding as he tried to rearrange the puzzle pieces. He removed his wire-frame glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was something itching at the back of my head.

“Sir. Can I speak off the record?”

“What is it?”

“I think Spender might have gotten in too deep with Vincenti.”

“Do you think he was working for him?”

“Not directly but he might have been pulling a side job. Thinking he could take a little off the top and offer the precinct’s blind eye as collateral.” 

“He wouldn’t have been that stupid, Mulder. He wasn’t a green recruit fresh out of the academy. He had several years climbing the ranks before getting in with the vice unit. Not to mention his military history.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely, sir. He also has connections to The Hill and those connections have mob ties.”

Skinner leaned forward on his desk and put his glasses back on. I could see the wheels turning again. 

“Surveillance can post-up in one of the abandoned warehouses at the Navy Yard and gather more intel, see if Vincenti makes an appearance. They’ll be coming out of the woodwork once this hits the papers. In the meantime I want you to find your junior informant and bring him in for questioning.”

  I rose from my seat and reached for my files with a wince and headed towards the door.  

“And Mulder,” Skinner began before I had a chance to leave, “it will be military dress blues for Arlington. Regardless of your opinion, the precinct lost a man with high honors.”

 I nodded in response and headed back into the fray, closing the door behind me. I weaved back to my desk, dropped the files, and searched in my drawer for a memo with Dimitri’s phone number.

I listened to the phone ring on a seemingly endless loop, the long shrill sound reverberated in my left ear and I could feel my eyelids get heavy.  The ring evolved into white noise and I was one dim chime away from disconnecting the call when I heard the receiver click on the other end.

“You’re lucky I’m a patient man, Dimitri,” I started as I tried to stifle a yawn, “we need to arrange a meeting.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he responded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, detective, I’m no good to you. My sources are as dry as the Sahara.”

“Is that so?” I questioned as I switched the phone to my opposite ear. “Well how about we just meet for a coffee.”

“That’s sweet detective but lunch dates aren’t really my style. I like something with a bit more spirit if you catch my meaning.”

“Fine. I can meet you in the nearest alley and serve up my fist to your goddamn nose. That spirited enough for you?” I heard him laugh through the phone, my fingers tightened on the receiver. “Georgetown University library.  I’m giving you three hours.”

“You gonna have a carnation on your lapel so I know it’s you?”

“Try a grey fedora and a pissed off look on my face.”

And I ended the conversation then left the office to get something to eat. 

------

3:35pm

Georgetown’s gothic spires, stonework, and green fields reminded me of my stint at Oxford. My professors felt that I could use more than a State-side education and my father agreed. He shipped me off to England hoping I would return top of my class. I studied psychology, took in the local pubs, local women, and managed a little bit of travel. After completing my academics I knew I wanted to return to Europe. However, in 1941 I was shipped off to the Pacific in a crisp Marine Corps uniform. Never got to see the Old World before things changed. 

I found a bench near the library at the edge of campus and checked my watch. Some students took their studies outside due to the favorable weather. 

Springtime in the city. 

I surveyed the quad: A male student was more focused on a small group of chatty sweater girls than his textbooks, a professor struggled with a satchel as he hurried into a nearby building. I clocked a young man in a pork pie hat headed my direction but he stopped suddenly to retrieve a gauzy scarf that was snatched by the breeze. He caught up with the shapely owner and said something to make her smile. The man adjusted his hat and continued towards me. 

“Nice weather isn’t it?” he began, “Spring is truly in the air and the winds of change are a-blowin’.”

“Dimitri?”

“One in the same, detective.”

“I take it you’ve heard?”

“It hasn’t made the papers, but yes,” he replied as he took a seat on the far end of the bench. I fixed the brim of my fedora as another breeze rolled across the quad.

“I need some answers from you.”

“Well it depends on what you’re asking,” Dimitri said as he took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and tapped them against his palm.

“Do you know who bumped off Spender?”

“That’s a tall order.”

“Did you set him up last night?”

 Dimitri took a drag off the cigarette then exhaled a short plume of smoke. 

“I got an alibi if you’re interested,” he said confidently as he flicked away fresh ash.

“Let me guess; you were home all night, listened to the radio, brushed your teeth then went to bed like a good boy,” I replied as I shifted positions. 

“Nah, I’m not the homebody type. Never was good company.”

“I can see why. I honestly hate being around you at the moment.”

He laughed and placed the cigarette between his lips. His glance followed a co-Ed as she walked down the path towards the library.  

“Instead I was out following a tip.”

“A tip? Related to your boss Vincentti?” I questioned. 

“You could say that,” he replied, letting the statement hang in the air. It appeared I wasn’t going to get a simple answer.   

“Let’s go for a ride,” I said as I leaned forward and rose to my feet. The kid chuckled. 

“Are you arresting me?”

“Not yet, I just want a change of scenery. My car’s this way.” 

Dimitri pulled out another cigarette as we walked, waiting until he got in my car to light it. I turned on the radio so I wouldn’t have to talk with him on the drive to the precinct. We would have plenty to talk about once we got there.

Upon arriving, I got the attention of the older uniform at the desk who led us to a vacant interrogation room. I handcuffed the kid to the table and told him to stay put as I left to find the captain.

Skinner tucked a thick file under his arm as we entered the room. I closed the door and took a seat across the table. Skinner handed me the folder. 

“Dimitri Kristoff. Or should I say Alex Krycek,” I began as I turned the page, “you’ve got a record colorful enough to hang in a gallery.” I thumbed through a series of reports. “Petty theft, bribery, breaking and entering, minor assault, and this last one - public indecency? Don’t see that too often.” I watched him shift uncomfortably in his chair. His eyes found the corner of the room and carved a path back to focus on his hands.

“A guy’s gotta make a living,” Krycek said flatly.

“Well Alex, you must have been deep up shit creek,” I said reaching the end of his file. “I want to know a few things.”

“You’ve got it all there in front of you, detective.” He gestured with a cuffed hand. “Besides I already told you everything I know.”

“Actually you haven’t. I want to know set us up that night? What was your gain in all of this?” I questioned as Skinner rounded the edge of the table. I let Krycek idle for a moment and think. He looked towards the ceiling. 

“Can I get a smoke? I got a pack in my pocket.” 

I shot Skinner a look then leaned over to uncuff one of Krycek’s hands. He cleared his throat as he reached in his shirt pocket for cigarettes and a matchbook.

“I was in a bad way when I came home from the Pacific. Better off than the boys who didn’t of course, but I was still living alone, scraping by. Did you serve Detective?”

“Marines,” I said curtly.

“Ah. Semper Fi,” he said with a quick salute, “ I was in the Army myself. I couldn’t find a decent job when I got back to the States so I got involved with a fair amount of indecent work. I tended bar at one of Vincenti’s haunts. After a conversation one night I was asked to drive them to a job they were pulling. I had driven a troop transport while I was overseas, so I figured how hard could it be? I signed on with no questions asked.” Krycek flicked a match and lit his waiting cigarette. “I put my lead foot to good use and the more jobs I ran, the more green I had for my pockets. Shakedowns and bank jobs were fine but when the heroin came into the picture I knew I needed to find a way out. I had seen enough of that when I was over there, lost a few friends to it when we got home.”

“So that’s when your moral compass pointed north?” Skinner asked. 

“I got involved with a dame. She was a honey of a blonde named Marita who was in deeper with Vincentti than I realized. She worked at a nice club the crew would frequent. I chatted her up one night and she said I was different than the others. Well, she played me for a fool. She had a strong addiction that I helped fuel and it got her killed.” Krycek let the cigarette hang on his lower lip. “Hell of a dame.”

“Okay. So the motive was revenge,” I said as I rose from my chair. “Sounds simple enough. Thought you could single-handedly take down a mob boss because of a woman. Change of heart, realized the error of your ways, and all that.”

“Why get two of my best detectives involved in the first place Krycek if you wanted to handle this yourself,” said Skinner from his corner. 

 “The top vice unit would have easily wrapped this up with a ribbon,” Krycek responded as he twisted the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray. “Apparently Detective Spender didn’t play by the rules. But that wasn’t my department.” 

I was growing impatient and paced the far side of the room.   

“Son, you better elaborate,” Skinner said with arms folded tightly.

“I’m stating that the detective might have had another agenda at that meeting. He might have been linked up with them longer than you realized. Maybe he was working as a mole all along. Or, perhaps the goon didn’t want Johnny Law getting an extra cut from the drop so he cut him out of the picture.” Krycek mimed two shots with a finger gun. He sat there grinning like a dirty rat. I ran a hand over my face and let my palm rest on the side of my jaw, feeling the muscles tighten. My eyes darted in Skinner’s direction then back at Krycek. 

CRACK

I felt my new scar tissue stretch and tear as I swung a right cross that plowed into his cheekbone. The impact knocked him sideways but not entirely to the floor thanks to the thin chain keeping him tethered to the table. I rubbed my knuckles and backed away, waiting for a retaliation.

“Mulder!” shouted Skinner as he stepped in between, “You’re dismissed.” 

I rolled my wrist and watched Krycek adjust his jaw then situate himself in the chair. No blood yet but mine coursed through my veins like a superhighway. The fact I hadn’t left the room caused Skinner to approach me. 

“Leave. Now Detective,” he said with a deep tone to his voice. I exhaled and obeyed with a heated walk to the bullpen.