NAME: Mik

CATEGORY: M/K

RATING: NC-17. M/K/? This story contains slash i.e. m/m sex. So, if you don't like that type of thing - STOP NOW! Forewarned is forearmed. Proceed with caution. Of course if you have four arms you can throw caution to the wind, or perhaps lend one to Krycek.

SUMMARY: Entropy - chaos. Bent - not straight. 'nuff said.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist...

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is after everything, the season in the shower notwithstanding.

KEYWORDS: story slash angst Mulder Krycek NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20^th Century Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use...unless you count cheap thrills. Other characters belong to me...or someone else but they left them at my house so I'm playing with them.

Author's notes:

If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

Bentropy Four

by Mik

"No."

No fucking way.

He was just sitting there, looking at me. Looking at me exactly the same way he used to do from across his desk in his office, back in the days when he was my boss. The amazing thing was he didn't look out of place. He just looked...like him. "Good morning, Mulder," he said in that pleasantly lethal voice he had greeted me with for years. The voice that said, 'Cross me today and I'll turn your shorts into a sling for your ass.'

"M - morning." Yeah, I stammered. I have been astounded by a lot of things in my life. I have seen things no one would believe. I've believed in a lot of things no one else has ever seen. But I would have been less surprised to see a little grey man sipping tea with the queen of England on my bed than I was to see him.

"Shut the door."

I pushed it shut obediently. What the hell...

He got up and crossed to the counter by the sink. "I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of making coffee." He filled one of those horrible plastic things that pass for coffee cups. "Sit down."

"Umm...Sir?" I was suddenly aware of what I must look like...coming in at eight in the morning, uncombed, unshaved, in a borrowed shirt that was just a fraction too small, and reeking of sweat and another man's cum. I sidestepped him as he approached with the cup. "Not that I'm not...well...just thrilled to see you, but..." I waited 'til he put the cup down on the end of the dresser and returned to the bed, "what the hell are you doing here?"

He hitched his slacks and settled down, making himself comfortable. He took a sip from his own cup and leaned over to put the coffee on the bedside table. "I could ask the same of you, Mulder," he responded easily.

"Excuse me? Unless my memory has recently been wiped, this is my hotel room."

"Yes," he admitted equitably. "But aren't you supposed to be in Northern California now?"

I knew it. I knew they wouldn't let me walk away. I spent all that time on the road watching for signs of being followed and observed for nothing. They knew where I was headed all along. I was furious and afraid. "You know...when I was a kid, I was taught that a person's activities were private unless he was breaking the law or otherwise deemed a threat to society. Have I jaywalked or something recently?"

He looked up at me and there was an air of tolerant dismay to him. "We had people waiting to look out for you, Mulder, keep you safe. You're very vulnerable on your own."

"No, Mulder, you can't. You know what's going on out there." He flicked a finger toward the window, an economical movement, so in keeping with his minimalist style, but at the same time very threatening. "And you can't even take care of yourself on a personal level. Look at you ... it's eight in the morning and you're -"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" I put up both hands angrily. "I know there was some doubt about my parentage along the way, but I'm pretty damned sure you aren't my father."

He stood, fixing me in place across the room from him in that simple but intimidating gesture. "Damn it, Mulder, you don't understand the work that went into getting you out safely," he said, his jaw locked tight. "What did you think? That you just walked away? You were aided all along the way. We had people in place to assure your safety, to make sure you were not harmed or even disturbed. And you threw it away. Why?"

For a moment, staring at him, hearing him bark at me like a Doberman on Quaaludes, I was actually homesick for the days when I chafed under his thumb. I shook my head. "I didn't ask for -"

"You asked for protection by the very nature of your existence, or hadn't you figured that out by now?" He waited a moment. It was obvious that he was waiting for his words to sink in. But they couldn't. I was fully saturated by the knowledge and comprehension of everything that had gone on before, and all that I needed to get away from. "Why, Mulder? What was worth risking your life?"

I could only answer with a long slow blink. It was the only response I could trust myself to make. Any more than that and I'd hit him, or scream, or worse, break down and sob. I could never get away, no matter how much I tried to pretend otherwise. "How did you find me?"

He shook his head again. "Do you realize who made those arrangements for you? All those careful plans, with doubling back and changing your identity for you?"

No. Impossible. I was there when they did it. I saw them making the arrangements...I looked at him again. I'd seen Krycek die, too. "Is Alex Krycek dead?" I asked him.

That got him. I don't think anything else I could have said or done short of vanishing in a puff of smoke could have unseated him, but that did. He didn't have to say a word. I knew it now. Krycek was alive. All I had to do was find him. "Never mind." I reached for my coffee. "If you'll excuse me, I need a shower and a nap."

He took a step from the bedside, as if he meant to stop me. "Mulder, I -"

I burned him with a look. "There is no more Mulder, remember? You took that away from me. You took my identity away. I'm nameless, a no one. Mulder's gone, dead, has ceased to be. He is an ex parrot." I knew he wouldn't get the Monty Python reference, but what the hell, I liked it. "Now, get out of my room."

"No." I reached into my hip pocket and pulled out my wallet. "Look." I spread it open and flashed my identification at him. "Does that say Mulder anywhere on it?" I flung my wallet at him. "Go ahead. Take a good look. Is there anything in there that says I'm Fox Mulder? No. Is there anything in there to prove Fox Mulder even exists? Not a damn thing."

He deflected my wallet with one hand and grabbed my arm as I started for the bathroom door. In another minute he had me back against a wall, hard. His eyes were blazing, his breath was harsh.

I looked up at him, and grinned insolently. "Just like the good old days, isn't it, Sir?"

"Mulder, you don't seem to understand," he said in that low, inch from death delivery, "your life isn't worth shit, no matter who you are. You're marked. You're dead. And if you don't straighten up and play it safe, you're going to end up under another marble rock, and no one's going to give a fuck what name is inscribed there. You'll be dead, and this time there will be no one digging you up."

I put my hands on his chest. "And you think this is living? Think again." I pushed. Just enough to back him away from me. "Now, get out of my room."

Something in his face had changed. He seemed distracted by something. He let his eyes dip down over the USC jersey. When his eyes came back to mine, they were bewildered, alarmed...shocked...maybe even disgusted. He released me as if I'd burst into flames. "Take a shower," he said, with effort, backing off me. "We'll talk."

I considered the table, shot him a look as he tried very hard not to look at me in my dishabille, and marched to the dresser to pull out clean shorts and socks, and rummage for a tee shirt that was probably grey...or green, who knows?

I shook my head. "I'm going to take a nap. I've been up all night."

"Well ..." he didn't seem to know what else to say. "Eat first."

I smiled to myself. I couldn't help it. "Yes, Sir," I murmured and picked up the bowl of peaches. So this is what the hotel meant by a complimentary breakfast. Huh, tell my stomach this is a compliment.

"You didn't have your gun last night," Skinner stated, as if there was a possibility that I wasn't aware of it.

"Mulder, you must."

There was something so fervent about his words that I put the bowl down and looked at him directly. "Who's after me?"

He arched a brow at me. "You really need to ask that?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, I thought maybe the players had been changed in the last few months." I sat down and opened the cornflakes. "How...how's Scully?"

"She's fine."

He said it so fast and so tersely that I knew she wasn't fine, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know what was wrong. I'd spent so long trying to put her and everything else behind me. "And ... the kid?" It was hard for me to realize even yet that I'd fathered a son. I had seen him, held him a couple of times, but it just didn't seem ... real.

"Seems well." Skinner answered just like I would have done...like a man who had no clue what constituted 'well' for a child.

I chewed cornflakes for a moment. "Why did you come out here, Skinner?"

"You were expected in San Francisco three days ago. There were concerns."

"So ... how did you find me?" I glanced around the room, wondering which of my possessions had some kind of ... my gun! "What kind of tracking device do you have on my gun?"

He flushed. I'd never seen him do that before. He flicked a hand nervously. "Simple SKU code. Every time you passed through a scanner...airports, grocery stores, hotels..."

"You mean..." I glanced over the mess on the table. "...like on the side of a box of cereal?"

He nodded.

I said a word. Then I said a few more.

He sat there, not arguing. I was starting to think maybe he didn't like it, either.

"Okay. You found me. I'm alive. I don't exist, but I still breathe. You can go back to DC and tell them the job's done. Besides, I'll be up in San Francisco in a few days." I picked up my coffee and toasted him with it. "Thanks for breakfast."

"Why did you come down here? What are you looking for?" He looked very directly at me...well, at my body. I'm not sure if it was my imagination but he seemed to be looking at my crotch.

I squirmed a little, almost feeling I should protect the boys from his glare. "I wanted to look up some old friends," I told him honestly.

"One of those old friends said he was seen recently...and asking about me." I waited 'til he was meeting my eyes again. "Any idea why he's looking for me?"

"He's an assassin, Mulder."

"And he's still alive," I prompted.

He sighed heavily. "There is evidence to suggest that he...uh...survived."

"Mulder," he made an impatient face. "You're not going to start in about clones again -"

I shrugged. "For all I know, you're a clone. I can't imagine my old boss flying all the way to Los Angeles to check up on a former employee who gave him more grief than satisfaction." Made sense...for a moment my heart began to pound. "Why did you come all the way out here, Assistant Director, Sir?"

I watched him work on the answer. His face remained composed, but I could still see him prepare and reject a dozen answers before he paused, sighed, and almost smiled at me. "I don't suppose you'd accept that I was worried for you? You were a pain in my ass for a long time, but..." he sighed again, "I still respected you and even...yes, I even liked you. When you seemed to go astray...I got concerned and thought I'd come out and make sure you were still breathing."

"Wow," I chuckled around the rim of the cup. "Talk about an X-file."

"Go ahead and laugh, but it happens to be true." He glanced around my room. "You have two beds."

I nodded and tossed back the rest of the coffee. "It's all they had."

"Mulder, I didn't have time to...I don't..." He looked at the second bed pointedly. "Would you mind? I've been up all night myself."

I thought about it. Well, if he was going to kill me, he'd had plenty of chance already. And if he was going to morph into something really icky, I was too tired to care. "As long as you don't snore." I got up and tossed away the debris of breakfast, including that doughnut, and got out my toothbrush. While I brushed and flossed and ran a comb through my hair, he turned down the other bed and unlaced his shoes and removed his tie. "Put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign out, will you? Housekeeping comes early, I think."

I stretched out over my bed, with a sigh and...

He didn't snore, but he breathed hard. Deep and loud, like a bear settled in for hibernation and liking it. He was still asleep when I woke a little after one. I thought about waking him, considered his similarity to a bear and decided I'd sooner try to stop an airbus from taking off than waking up a bear from sound sleep. I thought about packing and haring out, but that would just make him mad. And make him hunt me down again. So, instead, I picked up my jeans from the bathroom floor, and shimmied into them, grabbed my wallet, my room key and my cell phone and went outside for a little privacy.

Leaning against my rental car, I pulled Peyton's card out of my wallet and dialed his cell. A plane roared overhead, and I tipped my head back to watch it. It was still low enough I could almost read the numbers above the wheel wells. I heard him answer just as the plane passed. "Hello, Peyton?"

"Hey, you're a miracle worker!" I told him with genuine admiration. "Where can I meet you? Can I see them now?"

"No." I realized then his voice was a bit hushed. "I'm still at work, but I'll meet you tonight, at the club, if you want."

"That would be great. I'll buy you a coke and a slow dance." I fingered his card thoughtfully. The bent corner was smoothed back. I shot a glance at the door of my hotel room. The sonofabitch went through my wallet after all. "See you there. About seven?"

"Oh, no," I countered, "thank you." I ended the call, pulled down the antenna, slipped his card back into my wallet, and started to put my wallet in my jeans. I looked at the door again. I pulled out Peyton's card. I should destroy it, I thought. I don't need it. I know his numbers...but...okay, I liked having it. I tucked it back into place. Skinner probably recorded the numbers already anyway. I needed to tell him to be careful what he said over the phone from now on. Let the little cookie monster know what it felt like to be spied upon.

Skinner rolled over with a snort as I stepped back inside. I wonder if he'd actually slept all the time I did, or if he was blackbagging my effects? I did sleep hard, and I ate and drank food and coffee he prepared. Who knows... maybe he doped me so he could have an easier time of going through my things, or installing more devices. Still, I didn't feel doped.

He sat up, stretching thoroughly while I loaded my jeans with everything I needed to be gone for several hours, and feeling his curious eyes on me, I very defiantly strapped my ankle holster into place. "Going out?" he murmured.

He swung around to the side of the bed. "Need some help?"

"No, thanks." I stood. "My friends don't really want to be found by a high ranking member of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." I reached for the door.

He looked parentally anxious ... a sort of concerned if clueless frown. "You're not doing anything illegal, are you, Mulder?"

I laughed. I kept laughing all the way to the car.

I spent most of the afternoon killing time to meet Peyton, trying to recall everything that Krycek had ever said or done in reference to the time he had spent in Los Angeles, and keeping a wary eye out for Skinner or one of his agents observing me. I admit I made it easier for them to find me but hard to observe me. I went to a local office supply store and picked up some yellow pads and a couple of mechanical pencils, then camped out at 'our' Starbucks, drinking Americanos, eating sticky buns and crumble cakes, and doodling with the appearance of intent.

Before long, I was on a first name basis with half the staff there, and when one of the guys announced an intention to collect hamburgers from a Fantastic's across the street, I made a 'you fly, I'll buy' deal with him, and we all ended up eating a late lunch before the commuters started coming in. I learned a lot about piercing, alternative rock and how to make milk foam up 'til it looks like meringue. All in all, a very productive afternoon.

At seven o'clock I took my leave, feeling so wired I was ready to run races, and at the same time sleepy enough to make a bed on broken glass. I tucked my copious pages of pointless artwork under my arm, bid all adieu and stumbled out to my car. I was pretty sure that no one had 'found' me.

It was a quiet night at the club. Mich was working the bar, but the kid in the glasses was there at the far end and noticed me first. He nodded toward a table on the other side of the dance floor and I went.

Peyton was there waiting for me. He looked excited. He had a manila folder on the table beside his untouched drink, but he jumped up when he saw me, and nearly up ended the table, the folder and his coke. So the hug I think he intended for me turned into a scramble to keep everything off the floor.

He blushed and glanced away. "Yeah...here are the screen grabs I did."

"What are you drinking, Jon?"

I didn't particularly want to talk to Mich, because I knew I couldn't comfortably look at the information with her hovering there, seeing everything. "Uh...scotch," I muttered. "Black Label, if you've got it. Neat."

"Scotch? Not your usual poison," she said thoughtfully.

"No, my usual poison's cyanide," I countered, wanting her to go away.

"Cyanide's for rats," she told me conversationally. "And...sorry, I'm just out."

I stiffened. Rat. Rat bastard. Krycek. Was she trying to tell me something? I looked up, questioningly, but she was looking at Peyton. "Freshen up that coke?"

"Umm...no." He pushed the glass away. "I'll have...I'll have a scotch myself. Neat."

"Peyton -" I began. I didn't want him trying to keep up with me. This was a kid who drank Coke, for God's sake!

He was ignoring me, looking at her. "Got any Glenlevit?" he asked her.

"In this place?" Mich laughed disparagingly. "I wouldn't waste it on these boys." She leaned toward him and whispered, "Got a little Glenfidditch in the back, if you're game."

Peyton smiled at her. "I am. Make it two." He indicated me with a finger.

"You got it." She moved away.

Peyton's eyes stayed on her. "She's nice."

"Uh huh." I glanced around and opened the folder. Most of the screen grabs were quotes for airfares or room rates, here in Los Angeles, and in San Diego. No names or credit card numbers. A list of movie times for a film that had come and gone and was already being ignored on video shelves. A few shots from gay porn websites, a site to email money to anywhere in the United States, an article about child pornography in Eastern Europe and Indonesia. A car rental agency. An online credit card application. A site with instructions for praying the Rosary.

I looked at him over the edge of the file.

He was smiling. "Pretty eclectic collection, huh? Do you think it's your guy?"

I looked over the collection again. None of it absolutely ruled him out but I didn't see him being interested in kiddie porn, and most of the boys in those websites looked illegally young. Of course a couple of them boasted 'Intense Russian Videos'. "I'm not sure. Maybe but...oh, shit." I closed the folder and shoved it under the table at Peyton. "Take this. Take it and go."

Peyton looked at me, hurt and bewildered. "I don't understand."

He had been standing at the door looking as if he was viewing the carnage after a poorly planned battle; dismayed and disgusted, hands on hips, ready to chew someone's ass, and not for fun and profit. He spotted me and started across the floor.

I looked at Peyton. "I'll explain later."

"Not at all," I said through clenched teeth. "Peyton Didelphis, this is Walter Skinner. Walt, this is a friend of mine, Peyton."

Skinner had enough decency to acknowledge Peyton with a nod, but his eyes were fixed on me. "How long have you been going to gay bars, Mulder?"

Mich arrived just then with two shots and a bottle. "Here we are ..." she stopped at the wall of tension around us. I guess she sensed the accusation, embarrassment and defiance passing between us like a Jacob's Ladder, because she caught Peyton's sleeve. "Come on, I know a nice quiet place where you can really appreciate this."

Peyton got up, clutching the folder against him, and tumbled after Mich.

Skinner continued to glare at me. "How long?"

"A place like this...why?" He looked ready to spit. "Cheap, anonymous sex? That's beneath you, Mulder."

I stood up, then. My face was getting hot and I wanted to hit him. "Let's take this outside."

He put a hand on me. "Mulder, why didn't you tell me?"

I brushed him away. "I think just this morning we established you aren't my father, Ozzie. Now, let me -"

He pulled me, hard, and I landed against his chest. Before I could react, he put his hands on either side of my face.

And he kissed me.

- END Four -