Author: MJ
Title: Rahab's Tale
Fandom: XF
Pairing: WMM/K
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Oh, the movie, 2F/1S, Paper Clip...
Note: Sequel to "Abishag's Tale" by MJ and "Beloved Disciple" by Merri-Todd
Webster



Rahab's Tale
By MJ

A sequel to "Abishag's Tale"


("But Joshua had said unto the two men that had spied out the country, Go
into the harlot's house, and bring out thence the woman, and all that she
hath, as ye sware unto her. And the young men that were spies went in, and
brought out Rahab, and her father, and her mother, and her brethren, and all
that she had... And they burnt the city with fire, and all that was
therein... And Joshua saved Rahab the harlot alive, and her father's
household, and all that she had; and she dwelleth in Israel even unto this
day; because she hid the messengers, which Joshua sent to spy out Jericho."
Joshua 6: xxii - xxv)
Thanks to Kass and JiM for beta and comments.
For Merri-Todd Webster, who also loves the Bible, John Neville, and Nick.




The message was hand-delivered, hand-written. The stationery cost a week's
worth of my former salary, if I was any judge. I'd thought that will
readings only took place in television murder mysteries. Now I was invited
to one.

The solicitor's office made the Consortium headquarters in New York look
cheap. There was enough oak paneling, enough leather, enough antiques, to
open a store. It stood to reason. The old man had never settled for doing
anything halfway. Naturally, his solicitor's offices dated back to the
current gentleman's great-grandfather's practice. I should have expected it.

I wasn't the only person present, by any means. His wife was there, a pillar
of restraint. They rarely lived under the same roof, but she had been
devoted to him in her own way, as had I, in mine. Like Bill Mulder's wife,
she also had a fair knowledge of the Consortium's activities, though not a
complete working understanding of its plans. His three children were there
-- the heir and his two sisters. I had met his grandchildren, but never his
children; all three, even the youngest, were older than I was. My stomach
turned. I knew, without a doubt, exactly what this looked like to them.
Their father's young trick was walking off with a chunk of the estate. They
probably wanted me dead more than the smoker did.

Nothing could be further from the truth than what they were thinking. And
yet they couldn't have been more correct. But they'd never know that. Not
if I had anything to do with it. The closest we had ever been physically had
been the night before he flew to DC. We spent the night in the same bed; he
held me. He never took off more than his dressing gown. But these three --
hell, the heir hadn't even bothered to visit his son in the hospital when the
boy broke his leg; he couldn't be bothered. No more had any of the three
bothered to worry about their father in years. But when they heard he was
dead -- oh, when the will was read, there they were, waiting for their
handout. Scared that daddy's toyboy was going to take their justly deserved
earnings from them.

They'd worked so hard for their money, after all.

His wife looked over at me, smiled grimly, nodded. She'd been there at the
house one day while I was studying that smoking bastard Spender's files. She
knew her husband was teaching me his business, whatever else might have been
happening between us. She stopped me at one point, shortly before tea. We
were alone in the library; she had been writing a few letters. She cleared
her throat, standing at my side.

"Mr. Krycek. Alex." I turned, looked up at her. "Spender. Do you know
him?"

"I used to work for him. Until he tried to kill me."

"He tries to kill everyone, eventually. If you ever have the chance... kill
him before he kills my husband."

"Do you really think he'd dare to try?"

"I don't think he'd dare not to try, if the opportunity arises." She rang
for the tea at that point, dropped the conversation. I know she thinks that
the smoker planted the explosives in her husband's car. Car bombs, after
all, are his speed. I think the old man planted it himself, personally. He
knew that if Spender won, there wasn't anything left to live for anyway, and
his own health, if he won, was hardly the best any more. As long as his
grandchildren, he'd said, had a future, his own was highly irrelevant.

Oh, Christ Jesus, they're gonna try skinning me alive. The son and the older
sister, especially, if I'm guessing right. That man's easy to read; he's
dumb as an ox. I'd have him beaten at poker so fast it wouldn't be funny;
maybe I should challenge him to an all-night poker session for his cut of the
estate. The flat in Mayfair -- he probably wanted it for that little
so-called actress his wife doesn't know about. I don't know quite what I'll
do with it yet -- it's fairly ostentatious for a safe house -- but then,
maybe I don't really need a safe house any more.

It's not that I can't take on anyone who tries getting the upper hand with
me. Of course I can. It's the embarrassment of knowing what they're
thinking. And why. And realizing that I really can't take them on in the
way I'd like. It wouldn't be -- sporting. And I owe it to their father.
They may not have cared about him before today, but he cared about them, or
their children at any rate. So I let the embarrassment slide. There are
other ways to get even with them. Later. Besides, their mother understands
what's happening here, though they never will.

The Cayman Islands bank account. Yeah, that's going over like a lead
balloon, too. They're going to try to find out what it would take to buy me
off. They think I was there to be pretty and stupid. They've got a few
things to learn, haven't they? I think I'll make sure they learn them.
Nothing that would work up his wife, however. She hasn't done anything wrong
by me yet, and I don't think she would. We both know the score here. And I
have to admit I respect her. Down to the ice in her veins.

He said he'd take care of me if anything happened. I didn't expect this.

Oh. They don't care about their father's business papers and files. They
just want the money, thank you very much. Good. I'll be able to sort
through the documents and move what I need out of there. I'll be very happy
to get the stuff and get out of their sight. Once I'm done with them. Don't
think I'm done, not by a longshot. They think I was there just for
decoration? They'll find out just how decorative Alex Krycek is when he's
pissed.

They have nothing to complain about. The heir gets the house, the property,
the income from the estate. He needs it with what he spends on that bimbo of
his. The older sister -- she gets the town house, the cars, the investments.
The youngest, Daddy's favorite, gets the art collection, plus all of the
proceeds on one of his enormous insurance policies. Besides, the Earl would
be marrying her next year anyway; it's not like she's ever going to be hard
up. What Swiss bank account? He never even told me about that one. I ought
to just settle down with the cash and get listed in the stud book. Only I
don't want the female attention... and I don't want the attention. Besides,
I can't settle down. Not yet. I promised him I'd move back into the
Consortium. I promised him -- and her -- that I'd deal with Spender and his
cronies. That's what the old man trained me for. I owe it to him to do the
job.

And then I owe him one other thing.

Going back after Fox.

He knew that's what I've wanted. He told me so. He'd be disappointed in me
if I didn't at least try.

Funny disposition of property, this. I saw his records when I worked with
him. There's a house in Switzerland, I thought. A couple of other offshore
accounts. Wait, if it doesn't get listed -- I think I'm right here -- the
surviving spouse takes them. Right?

Of course, she's got the insurance proceeds, and the other house in Scotland,
the one her parents left her. She's in very good shape.

It's funny. I miss the old man already. It took me a long time to realize
how I really felt about him. Maybe I'm getting soft. They say we'll all
meet again someday. I wonder how soon I'll meet up with him.

The reading appears to be over. The solicitor says a few words to the old
lady, politely, obsequiously, the same way I used to speak to her husband.
Then he speaks to the children, rather generally, and then to me, regarding
dispositions. He returns to the heir, with whom he'll have the most
business. Someday that will probably include handling the man's divorce.
His wife will figure it out sometime. A well-placed phone call or two
someday will see to that, won't it?

The solicitor's done with the discussion. The formality of the whole ritual
has been fascinating. The heir is coming my way. looking murderous. The old
lady apparently sees it; she takes my arm immediately, thaws out long enough
to give me a blinding smile. "Mr. Krycek, would you be so kind as to help me
to my car?"

That's got them in their tracks. Let them wonder.

She turns to me on the walk down the steep staircase. "The funeral, Alex. I
expect you'll be there. Please escort me."

"Certainly."

"It will be a closed casket funeral, you understand. After all, the
explosion..." Her children are behind us on the steps. I know they're
listening to every word we're saying. And they're confused as hell. They
deserve it.

Dealing with the smoker will be a comparative pleasure after dealing with
them. I expect his call any day now. Condolences, I'm sure. And an offer
of re-employment I've been told not to refuse. The old man had plans for
Spender. And I'm the one who... um... executes... them.

"Then, Alex, there is a small matter I need you to help me with. A matter of
business, you understand."

"Yes, ma'am."

"There's a house in Geneva. I believe I'll need to go there immediately
afterwards. It would be in both of our interests if you would care to escort
me." She looks at me significantly. I nod. And say nothing. The old man
handled this matter very well indeed.

After all, there's a very good reason for a closed casket funeral in this
case.

When there's no body, there's nothing to show.

I look forward to Geneva. I hear it's lovely there this time of year.