Fan Fic Fan Art Fan Video Submissions Share or Link Challenges 155 Word Vignettes Character Notes Scene Notes Miscellaneous Notes
SMC RSS Feed Email Digest

Search Tips

  • Searches are not case sensitive
  • OR will show results from the term in front of and behind, the word or
  • The - (minus) symbol will exclude results containing the term that directly follows it
  • All other terms are required in your search results
  • Place quotes around specific terms, such as "baby alien"
  • Parenthesis have no impact on your search results
  • View a list of common keywords in a new window/tab

Include Ratings:

Include Archive Types:





  • Title: Yes or No
  • Archive: Anywhere
  • Author: ServeToResist
  • Description: Krycek meets the new woman operative in the Syndicate.
  • Word Count: 1000-1500 Words

'What a pain in the ass that woman is,' he thought to himself.  'One coup for the Syndicate in western Europe and she thinks she can take that seat at the board table.  The one I've been working my ass for for a chance at since I was 16.'

He picked up his shot glass and took a drink of the Grey Goose vodka contained within its walls.  The ice-cold liquid was smooth and clean on his tongue, and he made no pretense when she noticed him watching her.  He swallowed hard, and ran his fingers along the rim of the leaded crystal shot glass.  Everything here was so fucking pretentious.  The people most of all.

She was still looking at him.  He wouldn't give her the pleasure of looking away first.  He took another drink of vodka.

Grey Goose.  It was all right, as far as vodkas popular in the States went.  Sometimes he yearned for the bars in Moscow, where he didn't have to remind them to serve the vodka neat, and even if it was the well brand, it was always Russian.

She was still looking at him.  That was okay.  She was easy on the eyes.

He finished his vodka, not taking his eyes off her.  That seat in the board room had been empty since Deep Throat had been eliminated.  And no seat in the board room would be occupied by a non-voting Syndicate member.

His ass wanted to sit in that seat.  His brain was going to put it there.  This woman, whoever she was, would not take that away from him.

She was still watching him.  He felt a twinge of admiration - very few people could withstand his scrutiny.  Even the Smoking Man showed signs of discomfort, if he watched him long enough.

He couldn't remember her codename.  That was going to be a problem.  All that research he'd done on her was going to be useless if he couldn't remember how to address her.

Pleats?  Too young.
Diamonds?  Too girly.

Well, he didn't need to talk to her anyway.  She wasn't anything to concern himself with.  This was only the first time she'd been here in the offices.  He remembered the first time he'd been here.  It was after his first assassination.  When he didn't crack under the pressure of becoming a killer.  Hell, he had been killing for this cause since before he could drink.  Legally.

This woman was going to be here for a while.  Her job with the United Nations had transferred her here from France.  Luckily, he was working locally for a while, and she wouldn't have time to weasel her way in while he was in Russia.

What was her codename, anyway?  Pretender?  No, that's not it either.

A smile crept across his lips at the though of a trip back to Russia.  He missed his homeland.  He missed his cheap apartment in Moscow, and his favorite tea shop in Saint Petersburg, and the nightclubs full of fast Russian women.

She smirked at him, and took a sip of her pale pink drink, "Here I am thinking that you resent my sudden rise in the ranks, Genie, and you're smiling at me.  I must have been mistaken."

"Why would I resent you?  You've done good work, and you deserve to be in this room as much as I do."  Damn it, what was her codename.

"It's not this room you should be worried about," she gestured to indicate the large room they waited in, filled with moderately comfortable chairs and small tables.

"I don't know what other room there is to worry about," he answered, still not taking his eyes off her.  "Rewards are distributed according to contribution, and a place at the board table, the most coveted reward, will be rewarded to the person who has the most the contribute."

"Well said, Genie.  How long have you been working for the Syndicate?"

"Longer than you, I strongly suspect."

"And you think you're in the running for that empty chair?"

"If it's due to me."

"Do you think I'm in the running?"

"If it's due to you."

She raised an eyebrow, "I don't find you mysterious, Genie, no matter how nebulously you speak.  I know what you do for the Syndicate, and I know only one hired gun has ever been given a voting position."

A sneer replaced his smile, "Maybe so, maybe not.  But no woman has ever sat at that table."

"Maybe the Syndicate should change with the times."

He snorted, "What do you think the odds of that are?"

"They just need the right person to come along."

He let his eyes drift to the crisp collar of her pristine white button-up shirt.  Not a mar showed on her fair porcelain skin.  His mind went to the myriad of scars that crossed his body and arms, thanks to several dangerous campaigns, one involving shrapnel.  His eyes drifted back to hers, "Are you the right person?"

"I think I am, Genie."

She made his codename sound like an insult.  Like she was saying Jeanie.  Sure, it a name assigned when he first started working for the Syndicate, and it was completely random, but still, it was his.  It deserved more respect than that.

What was her codename?  Whisperer?

The board room door opened.  Men filed out, leaving.  No one had anything to say to either of them.  These men were obligated only to one another, and no one else.  Any appointments had to wait until they were done with whatever world-changing decision they had to make.

Neither he nor this newcomer commanded enough respect to have their appointments kept.

He glanced toward the board room door.  Everyone else was gone.

"Do you know which chair it is?"

"I've only seen the board table with a few people seated."

"Come on, I'll show you," he stood and walked into the board room, not caring if she followed.

She did.  He stood with his hands on the back of the chair, massaging the stiff leather, "This is it.  This was Deep Throat's chair.  They're big shoes to fill."

"And a nice chair to fill, too.  Do you really think you stand a chance, Genie?"

"Probably about as much chance as you.  You're a woman, I'm Russian.  They're about as generously inclined toward either of our constituencies."

Her hand stroked the leather of the chair's arm, "What good does it do to have a vote?  We're all just puppets anyway."

He looked up at her sharply, "Perhaps so, but I prefer to be a puppet with some voice in my own fate."  His hand brushed against hers, and he looked down.  Her skin was soft and a little cool.  Neither of them broke the contact.

He looked up, and met her eyes.  A sneer touched his lips, "They won't be back for a while."

"You can't sit at the board table if you don't have a vote."

"I wasn't talking about sitting at the table."  His eyes didn't leave hers.  They were such a sparkling jewel-toned green.

Her eyes didn't leave his, "They would be most upset with any disrespect of their table."

"They would."

Her eyes flicked to the table, taking in the smooth mahogany, with such a perfect sheen.  She looked back up at him, "There must be cameras."

He shook his head, "Why would they want any proof of their secretive decisions?  Plausible deniability is one of their favorite phrases."

She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

He moved the chair out of the way, and traced his fingertips along the dark wood of the table, "One of us might earn this seat - this spot at the table.  But the rules only state that the chairs can only be occupied by a voting member.  They don't say anything about the spot at the table."

She moved into the spot as he moved away, caressing the wood of the table.

He stood between her and the chair, so she was between him and the table, "Yes or no?"

She blinked, and her intense green eyes met his again, "Yes."

He half-lifted, half-shoved her surprisingly firm ass onto the table, and his mouth met hers for a rough kiss, "I thought you would agree, Provenance."

Step 1. Serve
Step 2. Resist from Within

This archive cross-referenced with: