Title: Russian to a Party
Disclaimer: Chris Carter owns Alex Krycek, not me, no money here.
Notes: This really changed direction halfway through...300 words. Written for Seema's OPI Nail Polish Challenge, all responses to which will be archived yon.
"Glad you could join us, Alex," the man in the blue suit said. The man’s voice, trained to a blandness that many politicians would have envied, grated unpleasantly on Alex’s ears, but he forced a polite smile to his face and returned the greeting. "A minor problem with traffic," was how he excused his tardiness, neglecting to mention the exact circumstances of the problem – he had been unable to evade his tail quickly enough to avoid a confrontation and had ended up killing the man, rolling the corpse in a tarp and dumping it in an alley, entirely unwilling to bring any trace of his violent existence to this cultured house.
He was dressed for the occasion in slacks and a cashmere sweater – all black, of course, he wouldn’t compromise his image any further – and had regretfully left his leather in the car. Boots, however, were a necessity. He had almost forgotten how to run in anything else, and he wouldn’t put himself at that kind of disadvantage in this company. It was practically a sign of his respect.
"Still," his host said, "you’re here now and that’s all that matters. Nicky refused to open his presents without you." He turned a reproachful gaze on Alex, which was totally ignored as the aforementioned Nicky came barrelling out of the inner room, yelling, "Uncle Sasha!"
Alex picked him up, a real smile breaking free, and swung the child around joyfully. "How are you, my little Nikolasha?" he asked. The suited man frowned at the foreign endearments, but let it pass. He had given up hoping that Krycek would miss any event in the child’s life unless it was totally unavoidable, and he would always make up for any disappointments with yet more visits. But Alex would never miss his son’s birthday.