[apharsites] A nightmare.
Monk’s on top of a wall, far from the apartments, surveying the ground and then he sees it, he sees him - Krycek, just standing there, staring at the detective and grinning that smile of his - and with a leap of faith, Monk hits the ground running.
There’s the sound of bone hitting bone as they collide into one another, both equally full of rage and hatred and the desire to just kill, and it’s just like last time they met. There aren’t words, there’s just unadulterated physical violence.
And it goes on and on for what Monk thinks could be forever, all the punching and scraping and yelling, but it all stops suddenly when Krycek leaps back, wipes his mouth, and takes a breath.
“You won’t get me with a pebble this time.”
Monk sneers and dusts himself off, bracing himself. “I wouldn’t bet on it. You’re not as strong as you think you are.”
“I’ve been going easy on you,” the vampire says softly, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been training.”
“So have I.”
Krycek doesn’t bother to ask. He simply laughs and then, with all the speed he can muster, charges Monk and hits the human’s chest head on, ribs cracking under the impact as they both head toward a wall.
And then they hit, and there’s silence.
Monk’s in the worst pain he’s ever felt when his eyes finally open he’s somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere dark and dank and...
... he’s in the sewers.
He blinks away the pain and forces his eyes to focus, and when he does he sees bars, and realizes he’s in a cage, and suddenly this feeling of pure dread invades his whole body, flipping his stomach every which way.
On the opposite side of the room are a pair of eyes and a set of sharp teeth, and Monk can barely make out the figure they belong to, but he knows.
“That was your last mistake, Monk,” Krycek says, voice a low growl as he steps forward. “Can’t believe you actually came looking for me. Just how stupid are you?”
Monk says nothing; instead, he mentally curses and kicks himself over and over, wishing he hadn’t been so reckless. He should have listened...
“It’s pointless to start regretting your choice now,” Krycek points out nonchalantly, pacing an imaginary line back and forth in front of the cage. “But I will make sure that your friends find out what happened to you.”
“No they won’t, because nothing’s going to happen to me, you’re not going to do anything to me you son of a--”
Monk’s cut off by a pain that shoots through his chest, knocking the breath clear from his lungs.
“Broke a few ribs there, buddy,” Krycek informs him, kneeling to get eye level with the detective. “Better not get too worked up.”
It’s too late for that. Monk’s eyes are almost glowing with rage, his chest is shakily but steadily rising and falling with each pained breath, and his hands are balled into fists so tight his knuckles have gone white. “You’re not going to get away with this. Neither is Harth... they’ll find you, and they’ll kill you.”
“You think there are only two of us? Get real.”
Krycek retrieves a key from his pocket, then continues, “Fine. If you want to be the hero, go ahead. Kill me.”
The door swings open, and the vampire stands.
Monk can’t gather the strength to stand. Stinging sensations cause him to whimper as he moves, bringing tears to his eyes. “Damnit...”
“Yeah,” Krycek grins, at length. “That’s what I thought.”
And then the vampire lunges at the detective for one last time, fangs bared and aimed and they hit their target straight on, piercing through skin and tissue and muscle and they just rip and tear and all Monk can do is scream.
“By the way,” Krycek mumbles, teeth still embedded in Monk’s neck as he draws the final drops of blood, “I like what you did with my tooth. Really creative.”
Then, black.
And on the ground, right outside the apartments, lies Monk’s necklace with fresh blood on the tooth.
There’s the sound of bone hitting bone as they collide into one another, both equally full of rage and hatred and the desire to just kill, and it’s just like last time they met. There aren’t words, there’s just unadulterated physical violence.
And it goes on and on for what Monk thinks could be forever, all the punching and scraping and yelling, but it all stops suddenly when Krycek leaps back, wipes his mouth, and takes a breath.
“You won’t get me with a pebble this time.”
Monk sneers and dusts himself off, bracing himself. “I wouldn’t bet on it. You’re not as strong as you think you are.”
“I’ve been going easy on you,” the vampire says softly, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been training.”
“So have I.”
Krycek doesn’t bother to ask. He simply laughs and then, with all the speed he can muster, charges Monk and hits the human’s chest head on, ribs cracking under the impact as they both head toward a wall.
And then they hit, and there’s silence.
Monk’s in the worst pain he’s ever felt when his eyes finally open he’s somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere dark and dank and...
... he’s in the sewers.
He blinks away the pain and forces his eyes to focus, and when he does he sees bars, and realizes he’s in a cage, and suddenly this feeling of pure dread invades his whole body, flipping his stomach every which way.
On the opposite side of the room are a pair of eyes and a set of sharp teeth, and Monk can barely make out the figure they belong to, but he knows.
“That was your last mistake, Monk,” Krycek says, voice a low growl as he steps forward. “Can’t believe you actually came looking for me. Just how stupid are you?”
Monk says nothing; instead, he mentally curses and kicks himself over and over, wishing he hadn’t been so reckless. He should have listened...
“It’s pointless to start regretting your choice now,” Krycek points out nonchalantly, pacing an imaginary line back and forth in front of the cage. “But I will make sure that your friends find out what happened to you.”
“No they won’t, because nothing’s going to happen to me, you’re not going to do anything to me you son of a--”
Monk’s cut off by a pain that shoots through his chest, knocking the breath clear from his lungs.
“Broke a few ribs there, buddy,” Krycek informs him, kneeling to get eye level with the detective. “Better not get too worked up.”
It’s too late for that. Monk’s eyes are almost glowing with rage, his chest is shakily but steadily rising and falling with each pained breath, and his hands are balled into fists so tight his knuckles have gone white. “You’re not going to get away with this. Neither is Harth... they’ll find you, and they’ll kill you.”
“You think there are only two of us? Get real.”
Krycek retrieves a key from his pocket, then continues, “Fine. If you want to be the hero, go ahead. Kill me.”
The door swings open, and the vampire stands.
Monk can’t gather the strength to stand. Stinging sensations cause him to whimper as he moves, bringing tears to his eyes. “Damnit...”
“Yeah,” Krycek grins, at length. “That’s what I thought.”
And then the vampire lunges at the detective for one last time, fangs bared and aimed and they hit their target straight on, piercing through skin and tissue and muscle and they just rip and tear and all Monk can do is scream.
“By the way,” Krycek mumbles, teeth still embedded in Monk’s neck as he draws the final drops of blood, “I like what you did with my tooth. Really creative.”
Then, black.
And on the ground, right outside the apartments, lies Monk’s necklace with fresh blood on the tooth.