Getting into trouble.
It's four in the morning. The dawn is still an hour away, and Vic is crouched on the hilltop overlooking Sonny Walker's estate out in the New Jersey countryside.
He'd lain awake, listening to Mulder's even breathing, his own thoughts racing so fast that sleep was a distant possibility, and he'd finally decided that he'd got one chance and one chance alone to find out about Walker and his interest in the perfume formula he'd stolen. Having made up his mind, he slid out of the bed he shared with Mulder and dressed himself silently.
He checked his gun, then stuck it into the back of his waistband. He didn't expect to be caught, but it made him feel safer to have it. He'd got knives in his boots, and a set of knuckles in one pocket of his jean jacket, and now, as he studied the gated estate, he thought that he'd been wise to arm himself.
He identified a place where a large tree grew close enough to the wall to assist him to get up and over it, and scurried down to begin his attempt.
Dropping to the ground on the inside of the wall, Vic crept to the house and studied it. There were locks, of course, and an alarm system that he would have to bypass, but it didn't seem as though he'd have too much trouble getting in. Finding a drainpipe that ran up the old, red brick building within a couple of feet from an open window on the second floor, Vic began to climb.
The window seemed to be unprotected. There were drapes, but they were open, and he couldn't see any evidence of an alarm. Scrambling in took no time at all, and Vic found himself in a small sitting room that held bookshelves and a couch, but little more.
Opening the door carefully, he prowled into the corridor and moved along it towards the stairs. Ghosting down them to the ground floor, he began to look for an office, silently checking door after door until he found the room he'd been seeking.
The computer was on, and the screensaver - depicting Marvin the Martian and his bombs - flickered across the monitor as Vic went to check it out. He sat down at the terminal and activated the screen and was about to call up the index and find out just what information the machine held, when he heard a faint click.
Before he could turn around, the cold of a gunbarrel touched the back of his neck.
He was caught. No way to get out of this. Vic swallowed.
"Get up."
The voice was harsh, and when he didn't move immediately, the blow to his head that followed split his scalp and made his ears ring.
Stumbling to his feet, he was shoved roughly away from the computer, eyes watering as the lights came on and he saw that he was faced by impossible odds.
Two guards, both huge, both bearing Mausers, both with identical expressions of angry amusement, stood sneering at him as he smacked into the wall and paused, gasping, to wipe away the blood from his eyes.
"I just..." he began.
"Save it for Mr. Walker." One guard reached out a ham-like fist and hauled Vic to his feet, shaking him viciously, as the other moved in and frisked him, finding his gun and relieving him of it.
"Nasty!" The snort of laughter from the man who'd taken his gun was enough to convince Vic that they were enjoying manhandling him, but as ever, he couldn't resist the wisecrack that would enrage them.
"I guess you'd know, wouldn't you?"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. The blow to his kidneys felled him to his knees, and the vicious kick to his groin completed his downfall, leaving him groveling on the floor, clutching his bruised testicles and moaning.
"What's going on?"
The new voice came from someone at the door. Vic couldn't see who had spoken, but it seemed reasonable to assume that it was Walker himself.
"An intruder, Mr. Walker. He doesn't seem to understand that private means private."
"Oh, really?" There were footsteps, and suddenly the man whose photograph Vic had seen was standing over him. "Who are you?"
"I am Zoltan, emperor of the universe," gritted Vic.
"Well, Zoltan..." The voice turned silky. "I fear that you're going to be nursing imperial bruises for some time." Walker turned to his cohorts. "Hurt him. Hurt him badly, and throw him out."
He left the room then, and Vic suddenly wished he'd stayed in bed.
The boot that connected with his ribs sent a bloom of agony flashing before him. The one that connected with his head made him see stars before a blanket of blackness descended on him, and he knew nothing more.
~~~
He came to some time after dawn, lying face down in a patch of brambles. Every part of him hurt. his vision was obscured by crusted blood, and he knew without moving that he had at least one broken rib.
Squirming out of the vicious, thorny hedge was painful, but the rest of him hurt so badly that he almost welcomed the scratches that helped keep him from losing consciousness again.
Dropping onto the long grass, he fumbled for his phone, finding it still in his pocket. Hitting Mulder's number in his address book, he held it to his ear, waiting for his lover to pick up and wondering whether he would make it.
He'd lain awake, listening to Mulder's even breathing, his own thoughts racing so fast that sleep was a distant possibility, and he'd finally decided that he'd got one chance and one chance alone to find out about Walker and his interest in the perfume formula he'd stolen. Having made up his mind, he slid out of the bed he shared with Mulder and dressed himself silently.
He checked his gun, then stuck it into the back of his waistband. He didn't expect to be caught, but it made him feel safer to have it. He'd got knives in his boots, and a set of knuckles in one pocket of his jean jacket, and now, as he studied the gated estate, he thought that he'd been wise to arm himself.
He identified a place where a large tree grew close enough to the wall to assist him to get up and over it, and scurried down to begin his attempt.
Dropping to the ground on the inside of the wall, Vic crept to the house and studied it. There were locks, of course, and an alarm system that he would have to bypass, but it didn't seem as though he'd have too much trouble getting in. Finding a drainpipe that ran up the old, red brick building within a couple of feet from an open window on the second floor, Vic began to climb.
The window seemed to be unprotected. There were drapes, but they were open, and he couldn't see any evidence of an alarm. Scrambling in took no time at all, and Vic found himself in a small sitting room that held bookshelves and a couch, but little more.
Opening the door carefully, he prowled into the corridor and moved along it towards the stairs. Ghosting down them to the ground floor, he began to look for an office, silently checking door after door until he found the room he'd been seeking.
The computer was on, and the screensaver - depicting Marvin the Martian and his bombs - flickered across the monitor as Vic went to check it out. He sat down at the terminal and activated the screen and was about to call up the index and find out just what information the machine held, when he heard a faint click.
Before he could turn around, the cold of a gunbarrel touched the back of his neck.
He was caught. No way to get out of this. Vic swallowed.
"Get up."
The voice was harsh, and when he didn't move immediately, the blow to his head that followed split his scalp and made his ears ring.
Stumbling to his feet, he was shoved roughly away from the computer, eyes watering as the lights came on and he saw that he was faced by impossible odds.
Two guards, both huge, both bearing Mausers, both with identical expressions of angry amusement, stood sneering at him as he smacked into the wall and paused, gasping, to wipe away the blood from his eyes.
"I just..." he began.
"Save it for Mr. Walker." One guard reached out a ham-like fist and hauled Vic to his feet, shaking him viciously, as the other moved in and frisked him, finding his gun and relieving him of it.
"Nasty!" The snort of laughter from the man who'd taken his gun was enough to convince Vic that they were enjoying manhandling him, but as ever, he couldn't resist the wisecrack that would enrage them.
"I guess you'd know, wouldn't you?"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. The blow to his kidneys felled him to his knees, and the vicious kick to his groin completed his downfall, leaving him groveling on the floor, clutching his bruised testicles and moaning.
"What's going on?"
The new voice came from someone at the door. Vic couldn't see who had spoken, but it seemed reasonable to assume that it was Walker himself.
"An intruder, Mr. Walker. He doesn't seem to understand that private means private."
"Oh, really?" There were footsteps, and suddenly the man whose photograph Vic had seen was standing over him. "Who are you?"
"I am Zoltan, emperor of the universe," gritted Vic.
"Well, Zoltan..." The voice turned silky. "I fear that you're going to be nursing imperial bruises for some time." Walker turned to his cohorts. "Hurt him. Hurt him badly, and throw him out."
He left the room then, and Vic suddenly wished he'd stayed in bed.
The boot that connected with his ribs sent a bloom of agony flashing before him. The one that connected with his head made him see stars before a blanket of blackness descended on him, and he knew nothing more.
~~~
He came to some time after dawn, lying face down in a patch of brambles. Every part of him hurt. his vision was obscured by crusted blood, and he knew without moving that he had at least one broken rib.
Squirming out of the vicious, thorny hedge was painful, but the rest of him hurt so badly that he almost welcomed the scratches that helped keep him from losing consciousness again.
Dropping onto the long grass, he fumbled for his phone, finding it still in his pocket. Hitting Mulder's number in his address book, he held it to his ear, waiting for his lover to pick up and wondering whether he would make it.