The Animal I Wanted by Ladyluck The animal I wanted Couldn't get into the world I can hear it crying When I sit like this away from life —Kenneth Patchen It sometimes happened that you might be familiar with a man for several years thinking he was a wild animal, and you would regard him with contempt. And then suddenly a moment would arrive when some uncontrollable impulse would lay his soul bare, and you would behold in it such riches, such sensitivity and warmth, such a vivid awareness of its own suffering and the suffering of others, that the scales would fall from your eyes and at first you would hardly be able to believe that you had seen and heard. —Fyodor Dostoyevsky It wasn't the kind of place Mulder usually frequented. Candles on the tables, low lighting, salads that cost more than a whole meal at the Golden Dragon. Scully seemed to like it though. Smiling nervously, she tore off a bit of whole-wheat panini bread and dipped it delicately into the small dish of rosemary-flavored olive oil that was provided in place of butter. Mulder perused the menu. Grilled swordfish sounded safe enough, albeit accompanied by jicama-root puree and "braised lavender lentils," whatever the hell that was. "Good evening." A statuesque blonde appeared beside their table. "I'm Danielle, your sommelier. Would you like to choose a bottle of wine for your meal?" Scully ran a finger down the wine list. "We had this Byron Santa Maria chardonnay one time. It's good. It's chardonnay, but it almost tastes like Chablis. What do you think?" Mulder was thinking that Danielle was pretty hot. He was also thinking that six months ago Scully wouldn't have known chardonnay from a can of Dr. Pepper, let alone from Chablis. "Well, I find that vintage to be a bit obsequious and curmudgeonly." Scully rolled her eyes and turned a polite smile to Danielle. "Half a bottle." "So the Harvard Medical Letter has a wine column these days?" He knew her actual answer before she said it. "Paul's taught me a lot about wine." // Paul taught me about wine. Paul took me to the opera. Paul and I are going to Vermont for the weekend. // Paul was Scully's boyfriend. Also a doctor. They had met at a medical conference and been going out for close to a year now. In one corner of his mind, Mulder knew it was getting serious between them, but he didn't want to face that, didn't want to consider that possibility. Another attractive young person materialized at their table. Chiseled features, dazzling smile. "I'm Brian, your waiter. Are you ready to order?" "I'll have the tagliarini in prosciutto and fennel sauce," Scully said. "Mulder?" Mulder was thinking that Brian was pretty hot. He was also thinking that he really had to get laid more. As Brian vanished with their orders and menus, Mulder turned back to Scully. "So...what's the big news?" To his surprise and consternation, Scully's blue eyes filled with tears. "Mulder—I—" "What? What?" A cold dread sharpened his voice as he leaned across the table. All he could think was that her cancer had returned. Scully's eyes widened as she realized where his thoughts were going. "Oh, no, no—it's nothing bad. Mulder, I'm getting married!" Mulder knew his mouth was hanging open in a dumbstruck daze. Reluctantly, his eyes went to her left hand, splayed prominently on the tabletop to catch his attention. A small, perfect, platinum-and-diamond band, courtesy of that tasteful asshole, Paul, now graced her third finger. "Hey, that's great," he mumbled weakly. "Congratulations." Scully was smiling radiantly as she dabbed her eyes with the napkin, using only her right hand. Mulder realized he was probably supposed to admire the ring. "Uh...nice ring." "Nice of you to notice. I've been wearing it all day." Her wry tone couldn't quite hide the undercurrent of injured reproach. Danielle appeared at that moment with their wine. "Ooh, beautiful ring," she cooed to Scully. "Skinner noticed," Scully told him as Danielle glided away and they sipped their wine. "Kim noticed." She was teasing him now. Mulder tried to think of something to say beyond, "Oh." He took another swallow of wine. It really was quite good, prompting a fresh spate of resentment against the paragon that was Paul. "Well, I mean, that's wonderful. I'm sure you'll be very happy. You can buy a house together in Georgetown, discuss the latest autopsy results, and go antiquing on weekends..." He grinned halfheartedly to show her he was teasing too. "Mulder..." Her grave expression gave him pause. "There's more." Mulder stared at her. "Bad or good?" he managed finally. Scully hesitated. The hesitation, and her look, told him all he needed to know. Good for her, bad for Mulder. "It looks like Paul is going to be offered a really good position soon, at McLean's Hospital." She glanced at him and saw it still wasn't sinking in. "In Montreal." "Montreal, Canada?" Scully looked stricken. "You're moving to Canada?" "Not for six months or so. It takes—" "You're quitting the X-Files?" Scully's small hand came up to shush him. She dropped her voice, no doubt hoping he would do the same. "Mulder, it's not like—" "You're leaving me?" His voice came out in a wounded bellow. At a table across from them a twenty-something college kid remarked smugly to his date, "See, I told you two-thirds of all marriages end in divorce." "Mulder." Scully was leaning across the table, concern in her eyes. Mulder sat back in his chair, trying to get himself under control. He wanted to punch somebody; the name "Paul" came to mind. But for Scully's sake he had to stop acting like a jerk and pretend to be happy for her. "I'm sorry." He couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I just—" Scully reached out to touch his arm. "I know you'll meet somebody too someday. Someone who'll really knock you out of your orbit." Mulder couldn't imagine it. Deep in his heart he knew he didn't love Scully that way. He wasn't jealous in that way. It was just that he had always felt, selfishly he knew, that she was his. The two of them an unshakable team; Scully at his back, following him on his quest for the Truth. Seeing her so happy now, moving on without him, only served to emphasize how alone he felt sometimes. He had never felt that kind of spark. He had thought he might, sometimes, but they always turned out to be terribly wrong for him. "I've met people. But it always ended badly." He shrugged. "Phoebe. Diana. Alex—" // Alex Krycek? // "Alex?" Scully frowned quizzically. "I don't remember her." Jesus, why had he thought of Krycek? And how had he almost said Alex's name aloud to Scully as a possible lover? The idea was ludicrous, for so many reasons. His mind was just wandering, back to business. "Speaking of meeting someone, I have to go meet someone at ten. No, no—" he held up a hand. "It's business—a source. Krycek." An eyebrow rose. "Krycek?" "Yeah, the one and only. I got an e-mail saying he wanted to set up a meeting tonight. Something big." He put Scully in a cab, blathering all the right reassurances and wishes for her happiness, and walked the dark streets back to his apartment. It was just drizzling, a fine cool mist hitting his face in irritating counterpoint to his mood. He felt utterly ground down tonight, sick of the world and all its denizens. He wasn't even that interested in whatever earthshaking bit of information Krycek was bringing him. Something to do with colonization, the Consortium, he supposed, but how was he going to investigate and fight them without Scully by his side? He needed her, needed her cool intellect to bounce his ideas off, needed someone in his corner when the rest of the world was laughing in his face. And if he could admit it to himself, he wasn't ready to see Krycek tonight. Just seeing the carefully cryptic e-mail had sent an uncomfortable frisson of eagerness and upheaval through him. He was still haunted by the last meeting. Krycek had brought him information that time too, but that was not all he had done. Mulder could still see Krycek's face vividly in his mind's eye. Krycek had told him about the Air Force base, the rebel alien. He had gazed at Mulder, a ravenous intensity in his eyes. Mulder had stared back, too stunned to do more than that. Then, with a swift finality, as though he had been steeling himself to do it and could wait no longer, Krycek had leaned down and kissed him. Krycek had taken a chance, doing that. He had taken even more of a chance a moment later, when he let the gun drop from his hand, tossing it at Mulder's feet and walking away. Mulder could have shot him in that moment. Instead, he had sat for hours in the dark, replaying the meeting over and over in his head. Sometimes Mulder let his thoughts wander when he was really tired, let himself fantasize that instead of letting Krycek walk away he had reached up and grabbed him, held him there, pulled his mouth down to Mulder's. Krycek's lips against the corner of Mulder's mouth had felt warm, firm, and unexpectedly soft. He had smelled of leather and some other, indefinable Krycek-scent. Idly he wondered how Alex would have tasted. // Tasted? // // Alex? // He walked faster, his mind unwilling to go there. He felt too weary and angry tonight to even conjure up a good smacking-the-shit-out-of-Krycek fantasy, although the thought did give him a little satisfaction. But that kiss, disturbing and unnerving, kept prodding his consciousness, like a body resurfacing in a lake. // Christ, Mulder. You have got to get a grip. // He was supposed to get a call from Krycek giving instructions on where and when to meet tonight. Trudging along in the rain, he was strongly tempted to just turn his cell phone off. But he knew he wouldn't do that. As much as he dreaded the thought of having to meet with Krycek again, his scientific curiosity plucked at the back of his mind and urged him onward. If he didn't find out what Krycek had to offer, he knew, it would worry and eat at him until he slowly went insane. He had to know. He always had to know. Waiting at the corner for the light to change, his attention was caught by two men who stood on the opposite corner, one of them holding the leash of a large, exuberant dog. They were not kissing, or even touching, but instantly he knew they were lovers. The way they stood, heads together, smiling at some private joke. The one with the dog was tall, blond, bearded, wearing a thick navy sweater. He held the leash with casual authority and gestured expansively. The other man, younger and slimmer, had dark hair falling into his face and big dark eyes. Wearing a dark jacket and jeans, he stood with his shoulders hunched against the rain, laughing. For a moment Mulder's breath caught. Alex. He shook his head. Alex—Krycek—looked nothing like that. He was older, more solid and muscular, and Mulder had never seen him laugh or smile that way. The light changed then, and they passed each other, crossing the street. The man with the dog nodded amiably to Mulder, and the dark one flashed him a quick smile before turning his full attention back to his friend. The older man responded, placing a hand on the dark one's back in a protective caress. Mulder felt desolation settling heavy in his stomach like a rough chunk of ice. How long had it been since he had a lover to walk with in the rain, neither of them caring how wet they got. He could imagine the two of them hurrying home to someplace warm and bright, peeling off wet clothes and laughing, the dog bounding around their legs. He was a no-partner, no-lover, no-Truth son of a bitch. And instead of curling up warmly with someone he loved, he would get to slog back out in the rain tonight and meet with a double-crossing sociopathic rat to receive some questionable information. Life doesn't get much better than this, he thought with a mordant grin. Outside the apartment building on Hegal Place, he shook water from his hair. His apartment would be dark and quiet. He would have a beer, feed the fish, and wait for his treacherous informant to call. As soon as he unlocked the apartment door, he knew Krycek was in there. Maybe he heard or saw some small sound or movement, or maybe smelled him, Mulder wasn't sure. Instinctively, he froze, his hand going to his gun. "What the hell are you doing in my apartment, Krycek?" "It's raining," Krycek said in that gravelly purr, and the hair went up all along Mulder's neck. Krycek's voice could always do that to him, stir things in him he could not control. He flipped on the light and sure enough, Krycek was standing there, all in black as usual, a gun in his hand. Pointedly, Mulder drew his own weapon. "You melt in the rain?" Krycek put out his left hand in a placating gesture. Moving slowly and carefully, he stepped over to Mulder's desk and laid his gun down, then stepped back, his hands raised. Cautiously, Mulder moved over to the desk. He stashed the gun away in the bottom right drawer, where Krycek would not be able to retrieve it easily. Krycek was gazing at him intently, lips parted slightly, obviously anxious to impart his ultra-momentous information. "So what do you want?" Mulder asked, not bothering to keep the edge from his voice. "Let me guess. You're getting married and moving to Canada." A shadow of puzzlement and something like hurt creased Krycek's face for just a second. "Yeah, I am going away, but—" He waved his hand dismissively. "Here." Almost sparking with excitement and pride, he reached into his jacket and extracted— —an apple? "What is this, Krycek? Teacher Appreciation Day at the Rat Academy?" Krycek now produced a vial of amber liquid and held it out reverently to Mulder, along with the apple. "Passed your drug test, huh?" Again the little frown. Clearly, Mulder's flippancy wasn't going over any too well. But tonight of all nights, Mulder didn't feel like playing audience to Krycek's one-man circus. Couldn't the man ever just hand over his information and leave? Krycek's expression took on an almost radiant intensity. "This is it, Mulder. The vaccine." Mulder felt a shiver of excitement go down his spine. He reached to take the little vial and held it up to the light. Thick, pale-gold, it shimmered dully, a mysterious promise. "And this," Krycek held up the apple, "this is the method of distribution." "You're going to put it in apples?" Krycek's eyes glittered exultantly. "It is in apples. This apple contains the working vaccine. A quick, easy and painless way to get it out to the general population." Mulder lifted the apple and examined it wonderingly. It looked like a regular garden-variety fruit, betraying no hint of its monumental significance. If this was for real, it was huge, as immense as Krycek had led him to believe. The black-oil cancer was key to the aliens' plans for colonization. But he was damned if he would act impressed in front of Krycek. "How did you get hold of this?" Now Krycek understood that his offering was not unappreciated, simply mistrusted. A little smile settled on his face and he relaxed somewhat. "You don't want to know that. But it's real." Mulder rubbed his chin. "Why me? If this is real, why not go peddle it to the highest bidder?" "Believe it or not, Mulder, I wasn't trying to get rich off any of this. In fact—" Krycek hesitated for a second, looking down, "—a lot of this research came out of my pocket." "Blood money," Mulder said flatly. Krycek acknowledged this with a weary shrug. Up close, he looked even less like the carefree young man Mulder had noticed earlier outside. There was a hunted look in the green eyes, ringed now with dark circles, and small worry lines beginning to settle in place. If the man outside had been a pampered pet, Krycek resembled an alley cat who had never known a home, or an affectionate touch, in his life. // Or wanted it. // Mulder squinted at the vial again. "Not much here." Krycek extracted a padded manila envelope from his jacket. With a significant look at Mulder, he laid it on Mulder's desk and tapped it with a fingertip. "There are six disks in there. Location and layout of the lab where it's being produced, the formulas, the test runs, and all kinds of other information. You're going to have to go in and get it." Mulder kept his voice deliberately even. "What do you mean?" Krycek was staring at him with a strange intensity. Despite himself, Mulder felt a thrill go through him, felt his body responding. "I—I've pretty much burned all my bridges with this," Krycek said. For a moment the mask slipped and Krycek looked exhausted, lonely and scared. Then his eyes turned cool and hard once more. // He's leaving me too. // "Where are you going?" Mulder asked roughly. "I'm going to have to—disappear for awhile." Krycek looked down. A long, low rumble of thunder sounded outside. "I'm one man, and there are a lot of people after me." "News flash, Krycek. They're not after you just because you're pretty. They're after you because you double-crossed them, betrayed them, fucked them over..." Mulder realized he was starting to pace in agitation. Everybody was leaving. Suddenly he wanted to lash out, strike somebody. "You wouldn't be one man alone if you hadn't done that to me." A blue-white streak of lightning pulsed through the sky. Mulder saw a terrible sadness on Krycek's face, before Krycek turned away, ducking his head. "I know." His voice was almost a whisper. "How do I know this isn't a setup?" "It's real." Krycek's voice shook slightly. "I swear." He seemed to realize almost instantaneously what his word was worth to Mulder. "What do you want from me?" "Last time you kissed me," Mulder said. Krycek stood still, watching him warily. "What are you going to do this time, blow me?" He meant it as sarcasm, but Krycek appeared to take it seriously. He stared at Mulder, a strange expression playing over his face. "Is that what you really want?" And Mulder could feel it, through the haze of time, a memory pressing up, a memory he had tried to push away for so many years. They had been sitting at a stakeout, both of them bored and impatient, skirting the edge of small talk but not really knowing each other well enough yet to go deeper. Mulder was not in a great mood; he disliked this kind of grunt work. Alex hated it even more than Mulder did, grew antsy when caged up in for any length of time in an unmoving car or van. He stretched, arching back like a cat, turned a probing gaze to Mulder. "Know any good ways to pass the time?" Mulder could sense it in the car between them, a tension greater than the boredom and skittish restlessness; a kind of hunger. He could feel it as his eyes roamed over Alex's body, impressive even in the cheap suit. Alex's dark hair was tousled from running his hands through it. Alex bit his lip and Mulder looked away. His professional training and senior status called upon him to say something soothing here, calm Alex down and rein him in a bit. "Why don't you blow me?" Alex looked startled, but he didn't laugh or say, "Go to hell." He swallowed hard, slanting a look from under his lashes, then turned slightly to face Mulder. His eyes swept Mulder's, then raked down to Mulder's crotch, the hunger surging into them now full force. Mulder knew he should say something—"Stop, this isn't wise, I was only kidding." He should, he should...but his mouth felt dry and heat roiled up from his belly, making it impossible to speak. He fought back an almost irresistible impulse to grab Alex by the hair and force his head down into Mulder's lap. Something broke between them, a barrier that should have had the solidity of a brick wall: FBI; partners; both men. Mulder felt it crumble like a child's clay pot, feather away like chalk dust in a breeze. He was left with Alex's eyes, intense and seeking, Alex's lips parting in helpless supplication. Alex leaned forward fractionally, one hand reaching tentatively for Mulder. Would he have actually done it? They would never know; at that moment their quarry appeared, skulking through the basement door, and they were both instantly jolted back into action. They had never spoken of it again, and Mulder was left to wonder. Wonder. And fantasize. Alex's mouth on him... And Mulder heard his own voice ask, "Why not?" Mulder stepped back to lean against the wall, clutching the gun he still held like a talisman. Krycek shrugged the leather jacket from his shoulders and laid it on the couch. He looked at Mulder almost uncertainly, smoothing down the charcoal shirt he wore underneath. Mulder willed himself to return the gaze, level and challenging, although a dizzying sense of surreality was overtaking him. Krycek walked closer, standing only a couple of feet from Mulder now, staring into his eyes. Krycek's lips were parted, and Mulder had a sudden powerful urge to kiss him. // Fuck, no, I'm not kissing Krycek. // Krycek seemed to sense Mulder's aversion to the kiss, and dipped his head in acceptance with a small, wry smile. // He's enjoying this too much, the slimy bastard. // Krycek laid his hand on Mulder's waist, slipping a finger through Mulder's belt loop. It was a lover's gesture, making Mulder pull back. The tip of Krycek's tongue came out to brush his lower lip. He caressed the hard curve of Mulder's hip, then slid his hand down the outside of Mulder's thigh. The thick lashes fluttered and for a second Krycek's smile turned brilliant. Mulder's stomach flipped over. This wasn't what he had wanted; it wasn't what he had planned. Krycek shouldn't act like he wanted this, like he was the one in control. He shouldn't touch Mulder like that, shouldn't look at him like that. And Mulder's own body shouldn't be responding like this, tense and heated, every nerve pounding. A tremendous crack of thunder sounded, making them both jump. Their eyes met instantly, as though seeking solace. Krycek got down on one knee. His movements had a formal grace, almost ritualistic. Mulder put out his hand to grab Krycek by the hair. Krycek's hair felt silky, slightly damp from the rain. He pushed back into Mulder's touch with a small husky sound. Mulder felt it like an unexpected electric shock. In his fantasies he took Krycek roughly by the hair, fucked his mouth, and slapped him hard, leaving Krycek with blood and Mulder's come running down his face. In his fantasies Krycek's hair was not soft, he didn't part his lips like that, or gaze up at Mulder with those eyes so full of feeling. In his fantasies Mulder didn't have to look in Krycek's eyes at all. Why should he have to? Why should he care about the pain and longing and whatever else it was he saw there; why should he feel bad about Krycek going away, being on the run? // He didn't. // Why should he want to stroke the soft hair, to run his hands down Krycek's body, to take his mouth and explore every inch of— // He didn't. He didn't. He didn't. // "Very nice, Krycek," Mulder sneered. "Whose little fucktoy are you these days?" Krycek flinched sharply at that and froze, staring at Mulder with narrowed eyes. He pulled his head back angrily and scrambled to his feet. A dark flush spread across his cheeks. "Not yours, Mulder, that's for sure." "You were a minute ago." Krycek's eyes flashed briefly, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Stupid mistake," he said hoarsely. "It won't happen again." He started for the couch, but Mulder blocked his way. "Let me get my jacket." He gestured at the desk. "And my gun." "Do you think I'm an idiot, Krycek?" Mulder felt himself close to losing control. Damn Krycek for always doing this to him. "What kind of game are you playing?" Krycek's eyes were once again brilliant with feeling for a second, before he looked away. "No game, Mulder. This is it for me. I'm—" He made an abrupt movement, reaching under his left arm to adjust something. Mulder cursed himself for his stupidity. He had taken the gun, but he had not bothered to check Krycek for other weapons. And he did not at any cost want to touch the man now. He waved the gun at Krycek. "Take your shirt off." Krycek went still for a second. "Why?" "Just take it off." "Take it off me." Mulder cocked the safety on the gun, leveling it at Krycek's head. "I said take it off." Krycek seemed to be weighing the situation for a moment. Then he shrugged, pulling the charcoal shirt off and tossing it aside. He raised his chin and met Mulder's eyes with a mixture of defensiveness and defiance. "Is this what you wanted to see, Mulder?" Mulder felt sick as he stared at what Krycek had been adjusting: the artificial arm that did not even remotely resemble a real one. With his jacket and gloves on Krycek could hide it, although an observant person would see a difference in the movement. But this...Krycek's own arm ended about six inches below the shoulder, and the prosthesis fitted over that, held in place by straps across his chest and shoulder. It was dull, flesh-colored, with hinges at the wrist and elbow, and it hung stiffly at Krycek's side, a horrible contrast to the graceful way he rested his right hand on his hip. Mulder looked at those long fingers, remembered the quickness of Krycek's hands, and he ached. In Tunguska he had wanted to kill Krycek, had hated him for laughing it up with the guards while Mulder was held down and infiltrated with the black oil. Skinner had told him much later that it was rumored Krycek had lost his arm, and Mulder had felt only a dull, hollow sense of vindication. Finally, he told himself, Krycek was getting a fitting retribution. But now, faced with the reality, he felt a long, anguished scream of outrage building inside him. "Yeah, Mulder, I have one arm. Are you going to gawk at it all night?" Krycek stood rigidly, not looking at Mulder. He was trying to sound bored and impatient, and not quite succeeding. "I'm sorry." Mulder did not know whether he was apologizing for staring, or something bigger than that: that it had ever happened in the first place, that he was whole while Krycek was not. "I don't need your fucking pity, Mulder! Anything I want from you, I could still take, and don't you forget it." Krycek's voice was low and harsh. Mulder was suddenly sick and tired of all this. "Haven't you already taken enough?" "Oh, the old familiar shit, I killed your father." Krycek reached down for his shirt. He pulled it on with a practiced economy of movement. "Well, whatever turns you on, Mulder." Mulder's hand tightened on the gun. "Nothing about you turns me on, you lowlife psychopath." He pulled out his handcuffs and flung them at Krycek with enough force that Krycek had to duck and grab for them. "Put these on." He knew he should cuff Krycek himself but there was no way he was touching that prosthetic arm. Or any other part of Krycek. "Bullshit." Krycek stood holding the cuffs. His eyes glittered and his teeth were clenched; Mulder had the impression Krycek was trying to get himself under control. "It turns you on to hit me." "You want me to hit you now, Krycek? Put the fucking cuffs on." Again Mulder felt that strange reluctance to touch Krycek. Which only left the gun. "Why? And what are you going to do?" Krycek spoke derisively, but Mulder could hear the edge under the words. "Kill an unarmed man in the middle of your living room?" Mulder had had enough of Krycek's crap. He flicked the safety back once more, letting his eyes go cold. "Don't tempt me, Krycek. You broke into my house and you did have a weapon." Krycek's already pale skin paled further as he suddenly seemed to realize that Mulder was serious. He gave an angry hiss and, awkwardly, using the prosthetic, snapped the cuff around his right wrist. He looked pointedly at the left. Mulder nodded. Rationally, he knew Krycek could remove the left arm, rendering the cuff moot, but it wouldn't be that easy to do, and he was too worked up to really care. Krycek was breathing hard. He fastened the cuff around the prosthetic arm. He stared at Mulder in fury, his voice rough and taunting. "It turns you on to think I killed your father, doesn't it, Mulder?" Mulder's hand shook on the gun. "Shut your lying, fucked-up mouth, Krycek!" Krycek stared at him, his eyes burning with intensity. "Because you hated him." Mulder felt himself so ready, so ready, to squeeze that trigger. "I said shut up." "He never did you any good, Mulder." Krycek's voice was venomous with contempt. "He hurt you, and he abused you, and you just kept crawling back, wanting him to love you, even though you could never be good enough...you are one pathetic son of a bitch." An incoherent yell burst from Mulder's throat, and he slammed his gun hand across Krycek's face. Krycek's head snapped back and he grunted in pain with the force of the blow. He stumbled, trying to regain his footing, and Mulder hit him again, even harder, driving into Krycek with all his rage and frustration. With his hands cuffed and no way to catch himself, Krycek crashed heavily into the sharp edge of Mulder's desk. He sank to the floor and stayed there, crouched down on one knee, his breathing labored. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about, Krycek!" Mulder spat out the words. "What would you know about love? You're a cold-hearted, less than human, trigger-happy piece of scum." Krycek's eyes were narrowed and almost black. Blood trickled down his face from a cut on his cheekbone. His voice was a constricted rasp. "That didn't stop you from asking me to blow you." Something snapped inside Mulder, and whatever last vestiges of restraint he might have had where Krycek was concerned finally crumbled away. "Get up." Krycek got to his feet with difficulty, his mouth open in a snarl of pain. He braced himself against the edge of the desk, doubled over with his arm pressed to his side. "Enjoy playing your sick games, Krycek? How about when the tables are turned?" Krycek just looked at him in confusion. "Take off your pants." One corner of Krycek's mouth went up, and small frown lines appeared between his eyes. "You're not serious." Mulder stepped back to the desk, feeling behind him in the drawer until he located his second pair of handcuffs. He felt feverish, almost in a trance. Was he really going to go through with this? "Off." When Krycek still didn't move, Mulder raised the gun, making sure Krycek noticed. "Now. You have one minute." Krycek obeyed, stripping off his jeans and boots as quickly as he could with the cuffs on. He was shaking a little, and Mulder felt a fierce satisfaction at the sight. Mulder yanked a chair into place in front of the metal radiator. "Get over here and bend over this. Keep your hands in front of you." The green eyes widened in shock, horror and another emotion he couldn't quite read. "No, Mulder. Not you." Mulder waved the second pair of handcuffs. "Stop acting like a scared little virgin and get over there." For a minute Krycek just stood frozen, staring at Mulder with a look of desperation. He was still wearing his black briefs, but that wouldn't be much of a problem, Mulder thought. Mulder's raw fury was ebbing somewhat, a little shaken by the entreaty in Krycek's eyes. Actually, the longer this went on, the more he was losing the stomach for what he was about to do. "Not this way," Krycek said, his voice going husky. At that, Mulder's rage surged back. // You think you can call the shots, Krycek? You want it like before, when you were the lying little hustler? // "I have the gun. And don't think I won't use it. Now get over here and get on your knees." Slowly, Krycek did as he was told, getting into position over the chair. Mulder linked the second pair of handcuffs through the ones Krycek was wearing, and locked them around the foot of the radiator. Krycek winced slightly as Mulder pulled his arms into place, though otherwise he didn't move or make a sound. He was keeping very still, his shoulders hunched, every muscle rigid, his right hand clenched into a fist. Mulder started to unbuckle his belt. Against his will, he was disturbed by the sight of Krycek's unnatural stillness, his tense submission, the automatic way he had gotten into position. Without thinking, he reached out and touched Krycek's back briefly. Krycek lowered his head slightly, tucking his face against his shoulder like a child. He made a very tiny sound of despair, almost inaudible. Mulder's stomach clenched at that. He couldn't go through with this. He wasn't a rapist. No one, not even Krycek, deserved that. Buckling his belt, he pressed the muzzle of the gun to the back of Krycek's head and reached to grab him by the hair, to warn him not to try anything while Mulder undid the cuffs. The feel of the dark hair, warm and still slightly damp, brought uncomfortable memories of himself, a short while ago, running his hands through it while Krycek... Shit! Mulder gripped Krycek's hair harder than he had meant to, yanking his head back a little. It was as if a bomb exploded. With a savage suddenness, like a snake uncoiling to strike, Krycek ripped his head from Mulder's hold, twisting to the side and slamming his foot up into Mulder's hip with enough force to knock him backwards across the room. "Get your fucking hands off me!" Mulder lay gasping for breath, trying to clear his head. A wave of heat was swimming over him, blurring his vision to red. His hipbone was throbbing. The pain in his chest felt like a heart attack. Krycek was panting, sprawled against the radiator with his mouth open. The force of his sudden violent motion had caused the handcuffs to bite into his wrist, and there was blood running down his hand. The chair, knocked aside, lay some feet away. Mulder felt like he was drowning, trying to pull the air into his lungs. He pressed both hands against his forehead, where a pounding headache was starting. Breathe. Fuck. Just breathe. He brought his gun up, tried to find his voice. "I should kill you for that, Krycek." "Do it." Mulder sucked in air. "I'm not a killer." "No?" Krycek cocked his head, spitting the words at Mulder. "Well, I'm not a sadist. Or a fucking rapist!" "I'm not either, Krycek. Not with anyone else. It's you. You're like a virus that infects everything around you, dragging them down to your sick and filthy level." "I'm sick and filthy? You're a fucking monster, Mulder!" Krycek's voice rose to a ragged yell of fury and pain. "I would have given you what you wanted! Why did you have to take it that way?" The words seemed to hang in the air, burning into them both. Krycek leaned against the radiator, his eyes closed, gulping in breaths of air. Mulder got to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom, where he vomited his dinner violently. He did not know how long he sat crouched over the bowl, unable to stop the heaving and retching that racked his body. He could not get the scene in the living room, or Krycek's words, out of his head. // Why did you have to take it that way? // // Why? Because I didn't want it your way, you smiling up at me like a little happy cocksucking cunt. I wanted it my way. I wanted you to hurt, to scream, to bleed. I wanted to rip your fucking heart out just like you ripped out mine. // He stripped his clothes off and got into the shower, letting the hot water soothe his headache away, wash away the traces of Krycek's words, Krycek's touch, the sight of Krycek's arm. He wished he hadn't cuffed Krycek to the radiator, wished the murdering prick wouldn't be there when he came out. Briefly, he entertained the thought of just tossing the handcuff key to Krycek and telling him to get the hell out. The warmth of the shower sluiced through his hair and down his back as he soaped up. Jesus, his hip ached. Krycek packed a hell of a kick. Mulder sometimes forgot that he was that strong, since Krycek almost never fought back no matter what Mulder did to him. Even in the cell in Tunguska, Krycek hadn't hit him back, only pushed Mulder away. // Don't touch me again. // But he always did touch Alex. Seeing that face, hearing that voice—it got to him every time, reminding him of those first days working together, when he had felt that immediate, undeniable connection. Even in those geeky suits and ridiculously gelled hair, Alex had been striking. Mulder had been prepared to feel a physical attraction. He hadn't been prepared for Alex's quick mind, the way he could take an idea of Mulder's and run with it, coaxing a spark into flame. The way he accepted Mulder's ideas—seriously, thoughtfully, without any of Scully's cool disbelief. He hadn't been prepared for the way Alex looked at him, looked up to him, almost reverently sometimes. Alex could be sweetly deferential, bringing him coffee, asking how he slept—but he didn't let Mulder get away with any crap. Mulder hadn't been prepared for Alex's sense of humor, or the almost magnetic need he felt to be near Alex, to put his hands on him. He hadn't been prepared to like his new partner so much, to take such an interest in Alex, in every sense of the word. And, although he had accused Krycek of being a plant from the start, the truth was he hadn't been prepared for the betrayal, the knife Krycek had coolly and casually twisted in his back. He was left with the knowledge that while he was struggling with his feelings for Alex, Krycek had been playing him for a patsy. Like a total fool, Mulder had been wrestling with the ethics of the situation—as if Krycek would know an ethic if it bit him on the ass. Alex was younger than Mulder, more innocent—ha!—and as the senior partner, Mulder was technically Alex's superior. He hadn't wanted to take advantage of the young man. Meanwhile Krycek had been taking meetings with Cancerman, plotting to have Scully abducted, killing people with complete aplomb. Even now, six years later, he still felt that betrayal, that pain, compounded by the knowledge of all the other terrible things Krycek had done to him since, the murder of his father chief among them. But the hell of it was, he couldn't shake that other memory, the attraction he had felt. Each time they met, it steamrolled him again; when he looked at Krycek he was still suffused with—desire? No, he wouldn't call it that. Wanting, maybe. Wanting the Alex he had thought he knew, the Alex he could never have. Instead, he would be faced with Krycek, cynical and malevolent in dusty black, armed to the teeth and sure to be fresh off some heinous bit of wrongdoing, double-crossing and treachery. And he would be filled with the uncontrollable urge to strike out, to exact some measure of vengeance and relief from the ache, the agonized denial that still, after all these years, leapt up inside him. He didn't know if Krycek could be hurt emotionally, the way he had hurt Mulder. Did he even have a heart? Sometimes Krycek seemed to show emotions, but who knew how real they were. The man was a master of deceit. But he could certainly be hurt physically, and Mulder took a savage satisfaction in doing just that, seeing Krycek bleed and gasp for breath, hearing him grunt and cry out, watching the flicker of fear in his eyes when Mulder grabbed him, the pained submission. He didn't want to think about why Krycek had fought back this time. His mind didn't want to go there. // It's him; he's the sick and twisted one. I would never do that to anyone else, never even imagine doing it. // He shuddered. The whole encounter felt like acid seeping through his body, leaving him raw inside. Suddenly his knees went weak, the adrenaline rage fading, and he slumped to a sitting position in the tub. He sat hugging his knees, the water pouring down on him, wanting to scream, to cry, but feeling too empty and gouged out to do more than rock back and forth, letting his breath come out in a soundless whimper. Mulder remained under the shower until the water began to turn lukewarm. Finally he forced himself to get out, get dressed, and go back in there. He got as far as the doorway. Instantly, from his position by the radiator, Krycek stiffened. Eyeing Mulder warily, he shifted position and flexed one foot, obviously intending to repeat the kick should Mulder try anything further. Mulder stared back, wordless, in shock. The brief insanity that had led him to try—that—was past and the idea of touching Krycek in any way was utterly repugnant to him now. Krycek did not move, but the green eyes, shaded heavily with apprehension and accusation, stayed on Mulder. There was nothing to say. Mulder retreated to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and got a beer, if only to give his shaking hands something to do. As part of Mulder's training as a psychologist, he had done some volunteer work in a rape counseling center. Specters of traumatized victims appeared uncomfortably in his mind; sobbing, ashamed, devastated. But that wasn't Krycek. Other than the bruises beginning to darken on Krycek's face, he hadn't resembled a victim in any way. Phrases from the counseling came back to him: "No one 'asks for' rape." "Rape is an act of aggression, not sexual desire." Strangely, that one gave some comfort to Mulder. Krycek, who apparently regarded sex as just another tool in his mindfucking arsenal, had goaded Mulder beyond tolerance, and Mulder had responded as any normal man would, by wanting to beat the shit out of him. He hadn't raped Krycek, hadn't even really tried. The most he had done was pull Krycek's hair a little. And Krycek had gotten his licks in too. Mulder's hip and tailbone were still sore as hell. Mulder paced the kitchen, sipping the beer he didn't really want and surely didn't need, after the three glasses of wine he'd had at dinner. He was not a drinker and would almost certainly wake up with a hangover tomorrow. Irrationally, he resented Krycek for that, too. The whole situation was so out of control. He wished there were someone he could call, someone he could turn to. But Skinner would only tell him to bring Krycek into custody, where Krycek would unquestionably not last long. And Scully...he could just hear it. "After I left you, I tried to rape Krycek and he's currently handcuffed to my radiator. What the hell do I do now?" "Oh, Mulder, how terrible! I'll run right over and shoot him for you and dispose of the body and sit up holding your hand all night." Ha. More like: "Mulder, you pathetic asswipe. I can't even get engaged without you screwing up my day? I can't tell you how glad I am to be leaving you!" Okay, she wouldn't use those terms but those would sure as hell be her sentiments. No, this one was all his. "Mulder." The husky, hesitant voice calling from the other room broke into his thoughts. Mulder froze, gripping the bottle. "Mulder!" The voice was more insistent and demanding this time. Mulder downed the last of the beer and walked out of the kitchen. Krycek looked at him, his gaze fiercely knowing. The apartment was not that large; had he heard Mulder vomiting and retching before? It certainly wouldn't have escaped him that Mulder had stayed under the shower for forty-five minutes and then immediately gone to hide out in the kitchen. "You've had your fun, Mulder. Uncuff me and let me go." Mulder leaned back against the wall with his hands in his pockets, still at a loss as to what to do. Bringing Krycek in was out of the question, as was letting him go. Mulder didn't trust for a second that this wasn't some kind of a setup. And even if Krycek was telling the truth, if, amazingly, that apple did contain a working vaccine—let him go—where? Krycek would disappear, to hide out somewhere far away or be hunted down by the Consortium. Either way, Mulder would never see him again, and, worse, would never know if he was alive or dead. // Not that I give a shit about that. I just don't trust him. // Another crack of thunder sounded outside. The rain was coming down hard now, great sheets of it. "It's still raining," Mulder pointed out inanely. Krycek stared at him in furious disbelief. "You're the great profiler, Mulder." Krycek's voice became taunting. "What's the profile of a rapist? Let me guess—lives alone, obsessed with porn, no social life, no impulse control..." "Shut the fuck up, Krycek," Mulder snapped. "I didn't rape you. I barely even touched you." His voice was returning now, along with his anger. "You really want to know what rape means, I can take you into custody and dump you in the DC holding pens overnight. With a face and ass like yours, you should get a first-hand definition of the word." "Not necessary," Krycek said, and there was something so dark and disquieting in his voice and eyes that Mulder felt his stomach go cold. Unbidden, the memory flashed of Krycek on his knees, his body rigid and motionless. // Fuck, I never asked to know anything, I don't want to feel anything for him. // "Unless you want another murder on your hands," Krycek said softly. Lightning clawed the sky, a huge bolt, stopping time for an instant of ghostly blue. Mulder stared at it, noticing one of his windows was open a couple of inches. Numbly, relieved to have this small thing to focus on, he walked over to shut it. Krycek twisted his head, watching Mulder uneasily. The windowsill was wet. Mulder ran a finger along it. He gazed down out the window, to where the water ran in rivers through the streets below. "I suppose this is by-the-book FBI procedure for dealing with a source," Krycek said. "Agent Mulder." Mulder snorted disgustedly. "You're lecturing me on FBI procedure, Krycek? That's a good one." He moved away from the window. Krycek shifted, seeming to relax a bit now that Mulder was back in his direct line of sight. "Hey," Krycek said, sounding slightly defensive, "I went through the training. I went to Quantico." Mulder sat down on the couch, nudging aside Krycek's leather jacket. "What happened?" "What do you care?" Mulder decided he didn't care; anything Krycek told him was liable to be a pack of lies anyway. "Whatever." He reached for the leather jacket and began going through the pockets, ignoring Krycek's growl of outrage. One outer pocket held the black leather gloves and a pair of designer sunglasses. Two cough drops and a Snickers bar were in the other. The inside pockets held a small cell phone, a notebook—nothing written in it—and a wallet, all encased in black leather. "What, do you have a black leather fetish, Krycek?" Mulder scrutinized the cell phone, realizing with annoyance that Krycek's gun was bigger, and his cell phone smaller and cooler, than Mulder's. "I'm hurt, Krycek, you never gave me your phone number." He tucked the cell phone away in his pocket. He would have to find out who Krycek had been calling with this phone. "Wonder who does have it." Krycek opened his mouth but then didn't say anything, merely stared at Mulder's pocket. Mulder unwrapped the Snickers bar and took a bite, flipping open Krycek's wallet. "Are you eating my fucking candy bar?" Krycek growled. The wallet held almost two hundred dollars in twenties and tens, and two credit cards and a driver's license under the name Daniel Stone. No pictures, papers or anything else remotely personal or interesting. Mulder tossed the jacket aside and picked up Krycek's black jeans. In the pockets he found a twenty-dollar bill, a ring of keys and a nasty-looking switchblade. "Satisfied?" Krycek snapped. "Can I have my stuff back now? And leave?" Mulder dropped the jeans back to the floor. He ate the last bite of candy and tossed the wadded wrapper at Krycek. "You look comfy where you are." Krycek stared balefully up at him. "Unlock these fucking things and let me go, you psycho sonofabitch!" Krycek was sweating; unable to wipe his face with his hands, he gave an angry toss of his head. Mulder turned and went into the bedroom. Wanting to punch holes in the walls, he sat on the edge of the bed, holding his head. He didn't want to hit Krycek again. He didn't even want to see Krycek again. But Krycek was yelling his name and would not shut up. Exasperated, ready to explode, Mulder strode back out to the living room. Instantly, Krycek's eyes locked on his. "You have to let me go." Krycek's voice took on a desperate edge. "They're going to kill me, Mulder." "And I should care about this—why?" Krycek shifted, wincing and gritting his teeth in pain. "Mulder, I swear to you, if you let me go, I'll forget all of this ever happened. I'll—I'll disappear and you'll never have to see me again. I swear. I'll never come near you again." "Let you go, Krycek? You want me to let you go? All right, maybe I'll do that." Mulder paced the room, stopping just behind Krycek, so that Krycek had to tip his head back to look directly up at him. Krycek tensed all over when he did that. "Maybe I'll put you out there, in the rain, just as you are, how about that." Mulder paused to let Krycek imagine being out in the downpour, half-dressed and handcuffed, with no weapon, cash or keys. Krycek swallowed, watching him warily. Mulder paced to the door and back again. "Or maybe I'll just shoot you with your own gun, and tell the cops it was suicide. I could probably fake a crime scene well enough—" Krycek was frowning slightly, following Mulder with his eyes. "You're drunk, Mulder," he said quietly. The words hit Mulder like a brick to the side of the head. His hands were shaking again, and he made his way to the couch and dropped onto it like a stone. His father's rages, spiraling out of control. His mother's voice, brittle with reproach and unshed tears. // "You're drunk, Bill." // Another deafening crack of thunder sounded, with a simultaneous blast of light across the sky. Mulder's hatred focused with laser like intensity on the crouched figure of Krycek. He retrieved his gun and walked back to kneel down by the radiator, staring into Krycek's eyes. Lifting the gun, he placed the barrel under Krycek's chin. "You are like my personal demon from hell, Krycek." Mulder spoke slowly. Krycek blinked, recoiling slightly. "If it were up to me, I'd like nothing better than to watch you die in as painful a manner as possible." Krycek was staring at him wide-eyed, a look of stunned despair on his face. Mulder pressed the gun harder against his throat, pushing Krycek's head back. "Understand me, Krycek?" Krycek could not move his head much, with the gun jammed under his chin, but he gave a tiny nod. Mulder stepped back. "Why are you doing this to me?" Krycek asked, his voice cracking. "Don't you know what I gave you tonight?" Mulder turned. "What, is that supposed to change everything?" Krycek shook his head. "Are you so self-centered that it doesn't?" he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. Mulder went into the bedroom. He stripped out of his clothes and lay down, naked, staring at the ceiling, the same as he did every night. But despite what he had told Krycek, nothing was the same. Everything had changed, terribly. The alarm clock went off next to Mulder's head. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to wake up, when a soft sound from his living room brought back the realization of all that had happened. Naked and still muzzy with sleep, he plodded out to take a look. Krycek was half-leaning, half-lying against the radiator, his left knee drawn up and his left arm pressed to his side. At first glance he appeared to be asleep, but he was not. As Mulder approached, Krycek's head came up and he stared at Mulder with the expression of a starving man about to be killed by a plate of prime rib. Absently scratching the hair on his chest, Mulder gazed back. He had not been embarrassed to be naked in front of Krycek at first, but Krycek's look was disconcerting. Krycek cleared his throat and started to speak. Mulder didn't want to hear it. He turned and headed for the bathroom. As he washed up and dressed for work, he heard Krycek yell his name a couple of times, then subside into silence. Steeling himself, Mulder walked out to face his nemesis. At least he was dressed this time. "Yeah, Krycek?" Krycek spoke through gritted teeth. "What are you going to do now?" "I'm going to work. Some of us do work for a living." "So you're going to just leave me here?" Krycek looked like he was fighting to keep his temper under control. He sucked in a couple of angry breaths. "Still think you're so much better than me, Mulder?" Despite a pounding headache from all the wine, Mulder felt stronger in the morning light. The guilt and the ghosts were receding, allowing the situation to take on manageable proportions. "Yeah, Krycek, I do." He kept his voice calm and hard. "I didn't murder anyone in your family, or your friends, or hurt them. Oh, right, you probably don't have a family, or friends." Krycek flinched slightly at the words. "I don't kill people just because it's expedient. I don't claim to love this country and then turn around and peddle secrets to the Russians, the French, the Tunisians, and God knows who else." Again the little flinch, the long lashes fluttering. "All I've done is knock you around a little, and can you honestly say that you don't deserve it?" Krycek laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Deserve? You think there's any justice in the world, that people get what they deserve? It's all random, Mulder. It's fate and cunning and power. There's no justice...not divine, not yours and not mine." "If you really believe that," Mulder said, "then what's the point of laws, government - hell, the Bureau? Why not just have anarchy?" "Most people are stupid. They need to be led." "Nice view of human nature, Krycek." "One that you don't share?" Krycek's eyes glittered. "Give me a break. You don't think you're better and brighter than just about everyone around you?" Mulder fought back an involuntary smile as the truth of that pierced home. Still, he would not give Krycek the satisfaction of knowing he'd scored a point. He made his face a bored mask. "I've got to go." Krycek stared back, his eyes murderous. "You better at least let me use the bathroom. Unless you want me to piss on your rug." Mulder had no doubt that he would do just that. Krycek was no better than an animal. Irritation mingling with an uncomfortable nudge of guilt, he fetched his gun and unlocked Krycek's left wrist, leaving the cuff dangling from his right. Krycek stretched and flexed his arms, wincing, before getting slowly to his feet. Holding his left side, he limped off toward the bathroom, shutting the door pointedly in Mulder's face and locking it. Mulder stifled a reflexive objection. There was no way Krycek could escape; they were too high up, and the window was sealed shut under an archeological number of paint layers. "I'm right outside, Krycek," he called warningly through the door. "Don't take too long." He heard an indistinct mutter that sounded like "Fuck you." Mulder leaned against the wall outside, keeping the gun trained on the door. A few minutes passed. He heard the toilet flush and the water running and waited for the door to open, but it did not. Mulder rapped on the door impatiently. "Let's go, Krycek!" He heard only silence in return. What the hell was Krycek doing in there? Mulder banged on the door, harder this time. "Krycek! Get out here now, before I shoot you right through this fucking door!" No response, then another mutter that might have been "No," or "Let me go," or maybe "Fuck you" again. "Goddammit, Krycek! If I have to take this lock off, you're going downtown with me and Skinner can have you! Now unlock the door." More silence. Then: "You're not cuffing me to that radiator again," Krycek said hoarsely. Mulder closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. With irritation, he realized his threat to shoot was pretty much an empty one. It would only wreck his bathroom, and Krycek could easily hide in the shower, where Mulder couldn't get a straight shot. He recalled that he had an old bicycle chain and lock, which gave him an idea. Still holding the gun, in case Krycek did decide to emerge, he went to get the chain and locks, plus a screwdriver. There was no sound from Krycek as Mulder unscrewed the bathroom doorknob and removed it. Slowly and cautiously, he stepped back, keeping the gun cocked, and kicked the door open, fully expecting to have to grapple with Krycek. To his surprise, Krycek was just sitting against the wall, gazing at Mulder with a numb, fatalistic look in his eyes. Hands at his sides, wearing only his shirt, briefs and socks, the rat looked as though he had reached the end of his rope and no longer cared what Mulder might do to him. A warning clicked in Mulder's mind. With nothing to lose, Krycek would be doubly dangerous. Picking up the chain and locks, Mulder advanced into the bathroom and crouched down in front of Krycek. Krycek gazed at him in exhausted suspicion but made no move. "Okay, Krycek. You can stay in here." Mulder was still holding the gun. With his other hand, he reached out carefully to open the door of the under-sink cabinet. "I'll make this long enough so you can get water and use the toilet." He looped the chain around the pipe under the sink and locked it in place, then used the smaller padlock to attach the chain to the handcuffs. Krycek sat up a bit as Mulder attached the cuff. His eyes roamed to the pipe under the sink and Mulder could see it, the life coming back into Krycek, the green gaze sharpening to a wolf stare as Krycek checked out the pipe, taking note of the fact that it had a removable trap. Mulder's eyes met Krycek's. He could feel the awareness spark between them, the challenge that gleamed from beneath Krycek's half-lowered lashes. They were sitting very close, close enough to touch, although they were both assiduously avoiding that. Mulder reached over to the pipe and tried to loosen the trap with his hand. He could not. Still, Krycek was strong, and determined, and he would have a good eight hours to work on it while Mulder was at the Bureau. Mulder went out to his toolbox and fetched a wrench, tightening the connection until he was fairly certain Krycek would not be able to undo it by hand. Before he left, he made sure to remove all the tools from the bathroom. Outside, he bought a newspaper and then stopped off at the coffee shop where he usually got coffee and a bagel for breakfast. It hit him with a little jolt that he would have to take something to Krycek as well. As little as he cared for the rat bastard, Mulder couldn't just let him starve. Krycek looked up sharply when Mulder returned, smirking as he spotted the bag Mulder carried. "Rosie's?" A small gleam appeared in his eyes. "Good glazed donuts there." Mulder felt a jolt of irritation at the realization that either he and Krycek were neighbors, which he seriously doubted, or Krycek had spent more time than Mulder cared to think about skulking around outside Mulder's apartment, stuffing himself with donuts. "I got bagels." He handed the bag to Krycek. Krycek took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. "Got any cream and sugar?" Mulder looked at him in annoyance. "No." He turned to go. "So you're just going to leave me here?" Krycek said. His eyes narrowed at Mulder's bland nod. "What the hell am I supposed to do all day, look at your fucking walls?" Mulder raised his eyebrows. "Hey, play with yourself all day for all I care." Krycek gave him a level stare that let him know his flippancy was not appreciated. Mulder relented, grabbing a couple of books off his coffee table. Hurrying back, he tossed them into the bathroom near Krycek. "Here." Krycek started to reach for the books, then suddenly drew back, his expression changing into anger and revulsion. As if they were a pair of scorpions, he actually kicked the books away from him. Mulder looked at him with incredulity. Krycek really was more of a lunatic than even Mulder had imagined. "I'm not reading that crap!" Krycek said, sounding outraged. Glancing down, Mulder saw that the books were a couple that Langley had lent him on possible methods of communicating with extraterrestrial life. They weren't bad; less scientific and more new-agey than Mulder would have preferred, perhaps, but they did contain several interesting theories. "I spent my whole fucking life fighting against this shit, Mulder! Why the hell would I want to communicate—" Krycek sneered out the word as though it were something filthy "—with them?" Mulder rolled his eyes. "How can you be so—" "They're terrorists, Mulder, plain and simple! You don't reason with them, you don't—" "Look, I know you had a bad experience with—" "A bad experience?" Krycek's expression became an open-mouthed snarl. "You don't know anything, Mulder, nothing!" Mulder walked out, slamming the door. Keeping an assassin in his bathroom was not proving to be one of the smarter things he had ever done. Despite the large mound of case files and paperwork awaiting his attention, Mulder spent the morning checking out the six disks Krycek had given him. The first one contained several files with names like "Phytogenesis Experiments," and "Bacillium Trials I." He was starting to feel baffled and irritated when he spotted a file entitled, "ReadMulder." Opening it, he read: ["Mulder: This disk contains the plant genetics experiments and trial runs that led to the production of the apples containing the vaccine gene. There's a list of sources if you want to do further reading on it. I don't fully understand all the underlying science myself, but the scientists doing the work will be able to answer your questions. In the file marked 'Oliver Technologies' you will find their names and bios, and information on the place in northern Maryland where the work is being done. It's three scientists, one office in a bioengineering facility. As far as they know they are working on a top-secret project for the government. That should make it fairly easy when you take over for me. A. K."] Mulder perused some of the files, but they were fairly incomprehensible to him. He ran Oliver Technologies and the names of the three scientists through the FBI database. They all checked out. It was beginning to look like Krycek just might be telling the truth. Mulder put in the second disk. This time he went directly to the " ReadMulder" file. ["Mulder: This contains the layout of the lab in Trenton where the Consortium is manufacturing the vaccine. I was only able to smuggle out a limited amount to use in developing the vaccine apples. You will have to go in and get the rest. I've laid out my plans for how to stage a raid on the place after hours, which are also included here..."] And so on, each disk meticulously organized and methodically explained. ["Mulder: This contains the original formula for making the vaccine, plus as much as I could find on the experiments that led up to it..."] ["Mulder: These are Consortium files on the colonization plans, and their plans for selling the vaccine. Also my own files containing my ideas for distribution and possible avenues to go about it..."] ["Mulder: This is information on the Consortium, whatever dirt I could dig up. I hope you can someday use it to bring them down..."] Mulder went through that one for a couple of hours. It did indeed contain a good deal of hair-raising and potentially explosive information on Consortium activities, going back several years. There were, however, some glaring omissions. There was no mention of Mulder, or Scully, or Samantha. And there was no mention at all of Krycek, or his involvement with any of it. Mulder inserted the sixth and last disk. To his surprise, instead of a list of files, the screen filled with gibberish. He wondered if the disk was damaged in some way, or if it contained more Consortium files that had somehow been encoded. Not having the knowledge or patience for these things himself, he made plans to bring it to the Lone Gunmen after work. The Gunmen labored over it for hours, fortified with Mulder's bribe of three large mushroom and pepperoni pizzas, but even they were unable to unlock the code. "This is some encryption program," Byers said, sounding both frustrated and admiring, when they were finally forced to admit defeat. Lying on the Gunmen's couch, chowing down on a slice of pizza, Mulder's thoughts went to the rat in his bathroom. Did Krycek have the code? It was after nine o'clock when Mulder finally made his way back home. He wondered if Krycek would still be there when he returned, and wondered which scenario he was hoping for: Krycek gone, probably forever, or Krycek in his apartment, making his life hell. Just in case, he stopped at the Chinese place on the corner and picked up some lo mein and spareribs. There was no sound when he entered and switched on the light, and he felt a curious desolation. So the bastard had managed to escape somehow. Then he spotted the black leather jacket still draped over the back of the couch. A wave of mingled relief and dread hit him. He set the food down and drew his gun as he headed down the hall. Except that the bruises on his face had darkened to purple, Krycek looked just as Mulder had left him that morning, chained to the sink. He stared up at Mulder through narrowed, furious eyes as Mulder approached the bathroom. "Where the hell have you been all night?" he snarled. "Gee, honey, did'ja miss me? I just stopped to have a beer with the guys after work." Krycek's expression flared into full-blown rage. He cursed volubly at Mulder for several minutes in English and Russian and maybe a few other languages as well. Feeling a strange, almost giddy lightness, Mulder waited patiently until Krycek paused for breath. "You hungry?" "What do you think?" Krycek snapped. "All you gave me all day was a fucking bagel." Mulder smiled blandly. "And you didn't even say thank you." He watched Krycek's pride struggle with his ratlike survival instincts. Survival won out, as Mulder had known it would. "Thanks, Mulder, you're all heart. Now are you going to give me something to eat, or do I have to gnaw my other arm off?" Mulder got a can of Coke from his refrigerator and brought it and the bag of takeout to Krycek. As Krycek sucked the meat from the spareribs with piranha-like speed and efficiency, Mulder lowered himself to the floor in the hall. "I took a look at the disks you gave me," he said. "One of them is encoded." Strong emotion surged up into Krycek's eyes for a moment, before he bent his head once more over the food, effectively hiding his face from Mulder. "Do you know what's on it?" There was no response beyond chewing. Mulder decided to try a different angle. "Can you trust those scientists you're working with on the apples?" He was a little surprised when Krycek answered readily, looking up at him. "So far they've been okay. I didn't want to use outside people, but..." "Why did you? I thought you were funding this yourself. Why not just hire your own people and do it autonomously?" With an incredulous snort, Krycek rolled his eyes sideways to the wall, as though hoping to find a more intelligent response there. "Yeah, in my secret underground laboratory, Mulder. And then I will rule the world!" "Krycek—" "Christ, Mulder, you don't get it, do you?" Krycek was shaking his head. "You just never get it! I'm one fucking man, Mulder. One man, expendable, and I'm being watched like a hawk. I can't just produce something like this on my own. I don't have that kind of power, or that kind of money. I had to work within the system—I've always had to work within the system. I had to work with the Consortium people and smuggle their vaccine out when I could." A dark undercurrent ran through Krycek's voice for a moment. "I hate those men, Mulder." "But you have no trouble getting in bed with them to further your interests." Krycek pushed the sparerib container, now reduced to a pile of clean bones, aside. He popped the top of the Coke and took a long drink. "You do whatever it takes, Mulder." Krycek emphasized the words with a little flick of his eyebrows. "You fund what you can under the table, you push it where it needs to go, you never know who you can trust so you keep them guessing, you play all sides against the middle—" "You're good at that," Mulder said coolly. "Yeah, well, be very fucking glad I am, Mulder! If I was as fine a human being as you, you wouldn't have that vaccine in your hands right now, because it wouldn't exist, or if it did exist, they would have hoarded it all for themselves." Krycek stared at him, the intensity of his gaze leaving Mulder feeling scalded and off-balance. // Are you so self-centered that this doesn't make a difference? // "I just have a hard time picturing you as altruistic, Krycek," he said dryly. Krycek opened the lo mein and started slurping down noodles. "Call it what you want. But we're on the same side here, fighting for the same things." Mulder was distracted by the way the oily lo mein was making Krycek's lips shine. There was a little smudge of sparerib sauce above Krycek's lip, just at the corner. Mulder found himself becoming weirdly hypnotized by it. "You've been inside the Consortium lab?" he asked abruptly. "You know your way around?" Krycek nodded. "Sure." "And your suggestion was that I should somehow convince the Bureau to get behind this raid?" Mulder frowned. "They'll never go for that." "Not if they know what it is. But let's say they think it's some kind of drug lab, something along those lines—" "They'd destroy everything—" "It's evidence—" "No." Mulder shook his head. "How about a virus—bacteriological warfare?" "Then you get CDC and all that. Keep it simple." Krycek leaned forward. "Who can you trust? Can you trust Skinner?" A lot more than I can trust you, probably, Mulder thought. He shrugged his suit jacket off, loosened his tie. "He's okay." "Would he authorize something? We need Bureau manpower. It can't be just you and me." // You and me? You were planning to run off. // Krycek gave Mulder a wry, knowing look, as if reading his thoughts. He sat back, sipping his soda. Mulder felt energized. He felt the connection humming, something deeper and more substantial than the crazy physical thing that always seemed to spark between them. Something that went back to when they were partners. That intellectual connection, the way they worked a case so well together—that at least had been real, hadn't it? Hadn't it? Krycek finished the soda and tipped the can up, shaking it to get the last few drops before crumpling it and tossing it in the trash. Mulder knew the salty Chinese food must be making him thirsty. He also knew with certainty that Krycek would not ask him for another soda, or try to awkwardly drink from the sink in front of Mulder. "So," Mulder said, "are you going to give me the code for that disk?" Krycek's eyes glinted. He raised his wrist. "Are you going to let me go, Mulder?" The bones of Krycek's hand and wrist were long and graceful. That sucked the air from Mulder's lungs for a second. He could see that Krycek's wrist was red and raw under the cuff. He knew he should probably take a look at it, but he was reluctant to uncuff Krycek, for many reasons. He hooked a finger through his tie and pulled it over his head, stalling for time. "Where would you go?" he asked finally. They stared at each other. Despite Mulder's sinking suspicion that his was the weaker position, it was Krycek who broke first, his eyes sliding away from Mulder's and going flat with unhappiness. "You can't keep me chained up in your bathroom all night," he said hoarsely. // And what would be the alternative? Have a beer together on the couch and watch the game? Cuddle up in the waterbed? // // Turn him loose to disappear? // "It's not so bad, Krycek." Mulder said, keeping his voice a deliberate monotone. "I'm sure you've been in worse situations than this." Krycek's head dropped in angry defeat. "Can I get a fucking blanket at least?" Mulder got up, went out to the closet and found an extra blanket and a pillow. He brought them back to Krycek. "Here." Krycek took them without a word. Mulder went to the kitchen and got another Coke and a water glass. Krycek's eyes widened slightly when Mulder handed him the soda and set the glass on the sink. There was still a smudge of sparerib sauce on Krycek's lip, and his tongue absently came out to lick it away. He didn't fully succeed. Mulder own lips tingled. He started to turn away quickly, then remembered he still had the day's newspaper. He pulled it from his briefcase and handed it to Krycek. Krycek took it, continuing to gaze at Mulder without speaking. In the bedroom, Mulder stripped off his clothes, leaving his boxers on this time. He fed the fish, checked his phone messages, picked up Krycek's jeans and boots from the floor and put them away in the closet. Feeling restless and unable to concentrate, he sprawled on the couch to watch TV. His mind kept going back to the lab, the vaccine, and how to work it. And from there, disturbingly, to Krycek, fixating on that small spot of sparerib sauce above Krycek's mouth. With an almost bodily rush of relief, he gave in and allowed himself to fantasize. // He would crouch down next to Krycek, as close as they had been in the bathroom that morning. Krycek would stare at him like he had that day he kissed Mulder, lips parted, eyes intense. Mulder would lick the tip of one finger and touch it to that spot on Krycek's lip... // Mulder felt a tightening in his groin. He slid down so he was lying along the couch and let his hand wander to the waistband of his sweatpants. // When he rubbed the sauce from Krycek's lip, Krycek would open his mouth a little wider, and catch Mulder's fingertip in his teeth, very lightly. Mulder would feel Krycek's tongue press against his finger and he would... // // He would... // // What? // That brought his fantasies grinding to a halt. Any thoughts of kissing Krycek, undressing Krycek—having sex with Krycek—slammed his mind up against last night like a wave splintering on a jagged shoal. Krycek's arm, the way he had stared at the wall, like he wanted to escape from his own body. Krycek's little mocking smile, taunting Mulder. Krycek bent over the chair, his head down, trembling. The look in his eyes afterward. Mulder sat up, feeling suddenly ill. No, he didn't want to do any of that with Krycek. And Krycek didn't truly want to do any of that with him. Despite Krycek's display of apparent willingness last night, Mulder didn't believe for a minute that any of it had been real. No more than the adoring looks young Alex had sent his way had been real. Mulder rubbed a hand across his face. He had never felt less sexy in his life. What he really wanted was a long, hot shower. But Krycek was there, ensconced in his bathroom like some kind of malevolent, captive beast. Mulder subsided irritably back onto the couch to watch the Crocodile Hunter jubilantly pursuing poisonous pit vipers halfway around the globe, until his eyes finally closed. Pressure in his bladder brought Mulder awake, to an uneasy feeling he couldn't quite identify. He stumbled into the bathroom— —and was brought up short by a pair of cold green eyes: Alex Krycek, chained to his sink. Mulder stood in the doorway for a moment, nonplussed. Didn't that motherfucker ever sleep? "Go ahead and pee, Mulder," Krycek rasped mockingly. "It's nothing I haven't seen before." "What, you hang around in public bathrooms for kicks, Krycek?" Mulder stepped up to the plate, but apparently his bat was feeling a little performance anxiety, for nothing was happening. Shit, he was too tired for this. "Run some water," Krycek suggested. "Shut the hell up, Krycek." Mulder was damned if he was going to run the water, or slink out of his own bathroom to pee in the kitchen sink. Nothing. Mulder stretched, cracking his back and neck. Krycek started to whistle tunelessly. Mulder really wanted to turn around and kick him in the nuts. But that would erode what little dignity he had left. He closed his eyes and waited, tried to think meditative thoughts and relax. Finally, he felt it start to happen. Trying to act nonchalant, he peed and tucked himself away. Krycek was still whistling. Not wanting to chance walking in on Krycek again while half-asleep, Mulder started to pull the door shut. "Hey, leave it open! I'm not going to escape." Krycek seemed suddenly agitated. Mulder ignored him and snapped off the light. "At least leave the damn light on, Mulder!" "Why, Krycek, I always thought cockroaches liked the dark." Mulder stepped out, closing the door. "Mulder! Open this fucking door!" Krycek's voice was angry and desperate. Mulder could hear him cursing and screaming, sounding increasingly frantic, as Mulder walked back to the couch. Fuck Krycek anyway. A few hours in the dark weren't going to kill him. Why couldn't he just go to sleep and let Mulder do the same? The sudden hard crash of something hitting the bathroom door made Mulder jump and duck. More crashes followed, then the sound of glass breaking. "GODDAMN IT MULDER! LET ME OUT OF HERE!" The rat bastard was destroying his bathroom. Mulder stormed back to stand outside the door. "Krycek!" He had to raise his voice to be heard over Krycek's screaming and the loud slams of things smashing against the door. "Krycek! Shut the fuck up and listen! I can't open the door unless you stop throwing things." Silence for a moment. Mulder waited. "Okay...open it!" Krycek rasped. "Okay, I'm opening the door, Krycek. You try anything and you're—" Too late, he realized he didn't have his gun. "Try anything and it gets shut again, for good." "Just—open—it." Krycek sounded like he was about to lose it completely. Slowly and cautiously, Mulder opened the door and flipped on the light. Krycek was half-crouched by the sink; Mulder could hear his harsh, rapid breathing from the doorway. His eyes looked dark and wild, the pupils dilated. The exertion had torn open the wound on his wrist, and fresh blood was running down his arm. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Krycek?" As Mulder had feared, his bathroom was completely trashed. Krycek had apparently seized everything he could get hold of and flung it at the door. Shampoo, shaving cream and scouring powder were splattered all over the walls and the door. There was broken glass on the floor—the water glass. "All right, I'm just going to get a broom and clean up some of this mess. Don't try anything and don't touch anything." He made Krycek get up and shake out the blanket and pillow, then started sweeping up the broken glass. Krycek resumed his position on the floor. Mulder noticed he was holding the prosthetic hand strangely, curled into a fist between his knees. Concealing a piece of broken glass? "Open your hands," Mulder ordered. With a weary grimace, Krycek obeyed, tossing the shard of glass to the floor. He was breathing heavily, gulping in air as though he had just run a marathon. "Panic attack, Krycek?" Mulder asked. "You afraid of the dark?" Krycek looked away. "Fuck you, Mulder," he panted raggedly. Mulder dumped the broken glass into the trash. "Beasties that crawl in the—" // Shit. // // The silo. // The silo where Krycek had been locked up after the black oilien left his body, left there in the dark with—it—for God knew how long. How he had gotten out, Mulder had no idea. Jesus. Mulder's skin crawled just thinking about it. "Shit...Alex." At the sound of his first name Krycek jerked slightly, as if prodded with an electric shock. "I forgot." Grudgingly, he looked at the way Alex was sitting, awkwardly favoring his left side. "I—are you in a lot of pain there?" "You broke my fucking ribs, asshole." "I think I have some Vicodin..." Mulder crossed the hall to the closet where he kept medical supplies, hunting through the bottles on the shelf until he found the one he wanted. "It's expired, but it might still work." He tossed the bottle to Krycek, remembering a moment too late that it had a childproof cap. That didn't seem to faze Krycek; he had it open in a matter of seconds and was gulping down two of the pills, not even waiting for water. "Hey, take it easy, those things aren't candy." Mulder stepped back, studying Krycek. "Your arm's bleeding." Krycek snorted. "What is this—good cop, bad cop, in one convenient schizophrenic package?" Mulder bent a little closer, watching Krycek tense up. "If I unlock the cuff, will you let me take a look at it without trying to jump me or kick me?" Krycek gazed at him for a long minute, locking eyes. The face of an angel, and such old, world-weary eyes he had. Mulder had an impulse to end all this now, uncuff Krycek, patch him up and let him go. Or maybe even...let him stay. Very slowly, Mulder reached toward Krycek's arm. Krycek drew back, his eyes hardening. "No?" "No," Krycek whispered. Mulder moved back. "What the hell is your problem, Krycek? I just want to clean it up, put a bandage on it." Krycek closed his eyes for a second, as if in pain, then opened them. "No," he said, his voice flat. "No. Don't touch me." "Whatever," Mulder snapped. Absurdly, he felt hurt and angry. Rejected. Savagely, he yanked a couple of towels from the rod, noting with satisfaction how Krycek winced and blinked as he did so. He mopped up the mess as best he could, then threw the towels into the tub. Krycek flinched again as Mulder slammed the shaving cream canister onto the sink, but as Mulder continued to bang things around, he settled back and simply sat there looking amused, to Mulder's extreme annoyance. Having done at least a perfunctory cleanup, Mulder wiped his hands on his boxers and stood in the doorway for a second. He rested his hand on the doorknob, casually pulling the door halfway shut. That wiped the smirk from Krycek's face; Mulder could see the tiny flash of fear in his expression, Krycek's eyes darting from the door to the light switch. Mulder had the briefest of impulses to leave him there in the dark again, but no matter how repellent he might find Krycek, he couldn't do that to him. And he didn't want a repeat of the earlier scene, especially since Krycek seemed to have calmed down somewhat. "Don't worry, I won't close it again. I don't need my neighbors giving me a hard time because you're having a hissy fit in here at two a.m. But I better not hear another sound for the rest of the night, or I'll come in here and knock you senseless." Mulder awoke to the realization that his alarm clock had been going off for more than twenty minutes. He stretched wearily. Athough he had overslept, he felt exhausted, as though he had been running all night. He also had to pee again, but there was no way in hell he was peeing in front of Krycek this time. He would just have to do it in the shower. Of course, his tub was filled with sodden, goo-encrusted towels from last night's little episode. Cursing under his breath, Mulder dumped them into a laundry bag and used a clean towel to wipe down the tub a little. And it went without saying that Krycek would not be sleeping. He did look a little less tense and on edge this morning; no doubt Mulder's Vicodin had eased some of the pain from his broken ribs. He sat leaning against the sink with his knees drawn up, watching Mulder through half-closed eyes. Mulder turned on the water in the shower. He felt a bit awkward stripping in front of Krycek, but Krycek had already seen it all that first morning. To his annoyance, his cock was half-hard. Krycek's wolf eyes fixed on it. "So," he drawled mockingly, "do I get to watch you jack off in the shower this morning?" Mulder really wanted to smack him, but the bruising along the right side of Krycek's face was an uncomfortable reminder of how much of that he had already done. "In your dreams, Krycek." He slapped the shower curtain shut. He dressed carefully, taking some time to decide whether a red and gold striped tie or the blue one with chess pieces would go better with his navy Armani suit. He didn't know if it would make a difference to Skinner, but it never hurt to look professional and sharp. He was going to have to really lay on the powers of persuasion to get his boss to both authorize a move on the lab in Trenton and offer some protection to Krycek. In the back of his mind he questioned whether that was necessary, why he didn't just cut Krycek loose. // Too late now. You're stuck with him. // Glancing at his watch, he saw that he was already going to be a few minutes late, but there was something he was still wondering about. As always, curiosity won out over duty, and he headed down the hall to the bathroom. Krycek was sitting back against the wall, seemingly dozing. He lifted his head as Mulder approached, letting his eyes sweep up and down Mulder's body. Mulder felt a strange rush. It had been a long time since another man so openly checked him out. Krycek shifted back, his eyes widening and his chin lifting fractionally, looking—impressed? Appreciative? Definitely, Mulder decided, and despite himself felt a swift sharp jab of gratification. He leaned against the doorjamb, giving Krycek a little smirk. "So, Krycek. How did you get out of that silo?" As Mulder had hoped, the question seemed to startle Krycek. "I—I don't know." "Slipped your mind, an insignificant thing like that?" Mulder said dryly. "Fuck you, Mulder! Why should I tell you anything?" "Maybe I'll be nice to you, give you a donut this time." Krycek swallowed and abruptly looked away. "It's the truth, Mulder. I don't know." His voice was low; it sounded like he was keeping it under careful control. "I—I was in there for—I don't know how long, I must've passed out eventually—" A minute but visible shudder ran through him. Mulder felt a grim sympathy, combined with a rabid curiosity. Krycek had had actual physical contact with the alien, had spent hours, possibly days, in its presence, had seen and touched the alien ship. But he could see, in the tense twitch of Krycek's muscles and the fine sweat that had broken out on the other man's face, how stressful this was for Krycek. He would not answer those questions easily, and certainly not to satisfy Mulder's alien lust. "I woke up in a VA hospital. They—I was told that militia found me." "They denied it." Krycek hissed out a breath. "Like I said, I don't know." "Spender, probably," Mulder mused. "When we were there looking for you, he—" "You—you were looking for me?" Krycek stared at him, his eyes round with astonishment and a kind of hope. "I knew you were there. But there are about two hundred of those silos, and Cancerman got in the way before we could find the right one. Surrounded us, drove us away." "You knew I was there..." Krycek sounded almost like he was talking to himself. "I called your name, in the dark...I started to go a little crazy after a while. I thought you might hear me somehow...even, maybe, in your mind...they do call you Spooky..." He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, pulling in a deep breath, then opened them, staring fervently at Mulder. "You were really trying to find me? Why?" Suddenly, absurdly, Mulder wanted to lie, to tell Krycek what he so desperately wanted to hear: that someone had cared, that he hadn't been simply abandoned there to die in the silo. // I called your name... // But it wasn't the truth. "I knew you had the black oil in you. I knew you were heading for the alien craft, and you would lead us to it." Something flickered briefly in Krycek's eyes, before he looked down and away from Mulder. A small, cynical smile appeared. "Yeah...you wanted the spaceship. And leaving me to rot down there, that would work out pretty well. That's what you always wanted, isn't it? All those times...you would beat the hell out of me, and I always thought—" Krycek broke off. Mulder felt stung; hurting Krycek bothered him more than he would have expected. "You thought what?" "But you really wanted a reason to kill me, didn't you? You couldn't just shoot me in cold blood; you're not a killer like me. You wanted me to fight you. You wanted me to make you do it." Mulder wasn't sure what he was talking about. He was still feeling bad, thinking about the silo, Krycek's earlier painful admission. He moved closer, crouching down a little. "Krycek." He spoke gently. "I just assumed...they'd take you out." Krycek stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Take me out and kill me, you mean." "I..." Mulder had nothing to say. It was true. And it hadn't bothered him much then, but it did now. Krycek spit at him, actually spit at him. Mulder stared at him in disbelief. "This was a good suit, you know, asshole!" He got to his feet; otherwise he would have surely punched Krycek in the face again. "Fuck off, Mulder!" "You know, if you want anyone to care whether you live or die, you ought to stop acting like such a damn animal all the time." "Well, thanks for finally opening my eyes, Mulder," Krycek said venomously. "To everything." "What the hell are you babbling about now, Krycek?" "I mean it. In my line of work, I really can't afford to have a weak spot." "Your line of work? Part-time assassin and full-time traitorous scum?" Mulder leaned against the bathroom doorway. "And what would your weak spot be? Your propensity for sucking dick? Your phobia about small, closed spaces? Or just—" he let his eyes linger on Krycek's prosthetic arm, "—the obvious." Krycek stared up at him, his face a mask of utter hatred. It hit Mulder with a little shock that he had never seen that expression on Krycek's face before. Anger, yes, derision or controlled coldness—but Krycek had never looked like he hated Mulder. "Go ahead and do it now, if that's what you really want, Mulder." Krycek's voice was low and deadly. "Because I guarantee you, the second your back is turned, the second I get a chance, you better believe I'll do it to you. In a heartbeat." Mulder went into the bedroom to change his suit. He ripped the tie from his neck and flung it into a corner, more shaken than he cared to admit by the scene in his bathroom. Krycek was unbelievable, a subhuman asshole. Briefly he fantasized about putting a bullet through Krycek's head and ending this hellish duet right now. But it would be too complicated to explain to the police why Krycek was here, and dressed as he was. No, he should just turn Krycek in, let Skinner throw him into the most maximum-security facility around, one where they had lockdowns every night and big tattooed guys named Bubba. He collected his keys and briefcase and headed for the door. Of course Krycek couldn't let him leave in peace. The raspy voice followed him down the hall. "Mulder! Where's my fucking donut?" Mulder paused. "I said if you were good you'd get a donut. You acted like an animal, Krycek, messed up my suit." He started out the door. "If I'm an animal you made me one!" Krycek yelled angrily after him. "You chained me up here like a dog." Mulder slammed the door shut quickly, meeting the startled eyes of Mrs. Fonseca from apartment 46. He gave her an attempt at a friendly and casual smile, hoping she hadn't heard any of Krycek's little tirade. His neighbors thought he was strange enough as it was. He stopped in at Rosie's for his morning bagel and coffee. Against his will, he found himself thinking of the man in his bathroom. Krycek was obviously hungry, or he wouldn't have reminded Mulder of the donut a few scant minutes after he had been threatening Mulder's life. // Oh, CRAP. Why can't I just shoot him and get it over with? // "Make that two coffees." Rosie didn't miss a beat in pouring. "Black?" "Yeah—no, wait, cream and sugar in one. And give me another bagel and a glazed donut." He unlocked the apartment door stealthily, in case Krycek was inclined to start hollering again. But the apartment was absolutely silent. Uneasy at this, he set the coffees down and drew his gun, moving down the hall toward the bathroom. "Krycek?" "Mulder." The relief in Krycek's voice was audible. Mulder stepped into the bathroom. Krycek was crouched against the sink, sweaty and wide-eyed, another shard of glass clutched in his hand. When he saw it was Mulder he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "Yeah it's me. Who were you expecting?" Krycek fixed him with a hard stare. "Could be anybody. Your apartment's like Grand Central Station. If anyone knows I'm here I'm a sitting duck." Mulder absorbed this disquieting thought—goons invading his apartment to murder Krycek in his bathroom. Krycek had looked really scared there for a moment. Still, this was the same Krycek who had pulled a man over Skinner's balcony to his death while dangling off the rail. Mulder had no doubt he'd be more than a match for whatever they sent. "Who's likely to know you're here?" he demanded. "Nobody, I hope. I was careful—but you never know." Krycek set the shard of glass down and flexed his hand. "So why'd you come back? Did you bring me a donut?" Mulder regarded him steadily for a moment. Where the hell had Krycek hidden that second piece of glass last night? "Yeah, I brought you a goddamn donut." He went into the front hall to fetch it. Returning, he handed Krycek his coffee and tossed the bag with the bagel and donut at his feet. Krycek took a long sip of the coffee, then set it down and reached for the bag, too quickly. He grunted sharply, gritting his teeth, as the cuff jerked into his mangled wrist. Mulder felt it like an electric shock in his own body, his stomach constricting in sympathy. Before he could think better of it, he dug the handcuff key from his pocket and unlocked the cuff. Krycek pulled the wrist tightly against his chest, not having a hand to rub it with. The wound looked bad, swollen and dark with dried blood. Mulder went to check in his closet, where he kept the medical supplies. He found peroxide and gauze pads but no surgical tape to make a bandage. Briefly he considered using duct tape, although he didn't think Krycek would like that idea. Then he spotted an old Ace bandage; it would do. In the bathroom, Krycek had begun eating the donut. He looked at Mulder with suspicion. "Stand up a minute. Put that down." Krycek obeyed slowly. Mulder turned on the water in the sink. "Wash your hand off." Krycek stuck his hand under the stream and hissed with pain as the running water hit the open wound. He didn't use the prosthetic to wash, only for balance on the edge of the sink. The water turned faintly pink. Mulder uncapped the peroxide and shut off the faucet. Krycek stiffened at the sight of the peroxide bottle and pulled back. For a moment Mulder feared he might have to grab Krycek by the hand and make him hold still. He did not want to do that, did not want to touch Krycek other than what was absolutely necessary. He waited. Krycek flexed his wrist, clenched his fist and extended his hand. The bathroom was not large, and they had to stand close in order to both reach the sink. Krycek pressed back against the wall as far as he could. Mulder poured peroxide on the wound, and Krycek jerked away with a strangled curse, his fist cocking for a minute like he wanted to fight, before visibly willing himself to extend it once more. Mulder used a gauze pad to dry it off, then laid a couple more over the wound before wrapping the Ace bandage around it. He looked only at the arm as he worked, not meeting Krycek's eyes. As soon as he was finished, he stepped back quickly, retreating from the bathroom in relief. "Go ahead. Eat. I'll cuff you again when you're finished." Krycek was looking a little pale and shaken, but he managed to mutter, "That's something to look forward to." He ate the donut quickly; as Mulder had suspected, he did seem hungry. He looked pleased to find that Mulder had brought him a bagel as well, and Mulder felt irrationally gratified. Krycek disposed of the bagel in a few swift bites, then sat drinking his coffee in long swallows. He looked up at Mulder. "You don't have to cuff me. I won't go anywhere." "Nice try, Krycek." "I'm safer here than anywhere else. Why would I leave?" "So you brought me this information hoping I would adopt you?" Mulder gave him a condescending smirk. "Save it for someone who hasn't heard your bullshit time and again." "I haven't lied to you that much. Wiekamp, the rebels—that was real." Mulder stared at him. He remembered, all too well. // "Krycek, you're a murderer, a liar, and a coward. Now, because you stick a gun in my chest, I'm supposed to believe you're my friend?" // He recalled how Krycek had winced at those words, his frustration evident. For a moment he had seemed close to tears. Krycek had said something to him in Russian, had called him 'tovarisch.' He was pretty sure that meant 'friend.' "What did you say to me that day, the Russian words?" Krycek shrugged, not meeting his eyes. Mulder kept a hard gaze on him. Finally Krycek said, "I just wished you good luck." "'Good luck, friend,'" Mulder said. Krycek didn't answer, but Mulder could tell from the way he stiffened, ever so slightly, that he hadn't expected Mulder to know that. Krycek had finished his coffee and Mulder stepped closer, intending to put the cuff back on. Krycek was looking at him with a strange, troubled expression. For a second Mulder's world tilted on its axis and time blurred. He had a wild, nearly uncontrollable urge to lean down and return that kiss. He could almost feel the roughness of Krycek's unshaven jaw against his fingertips as, in his mind, he lifted Krycek's chin and brought that lovely mouth to his. Krycek's lips were parted slightly, his eyes a brilliant green. There was so much silence in the bathroom that the faint ticking of Mulder's watch sounded like a bomb. Mulder wet his dry lips. Krycek stared at Mulder's mouth with a look of concentration. He was holding his injured arm curled against his chest again. Mulder cleared his throat and asked the question. "Why did you kiss me that day?" Krycek flushed a deep red, the color spreading down along his neck and the portion of chest exposed at the open collar of his shirt. He looked away, closing his eyes a moment, then opened them to gaze at Mulder, the slightly wild look returning. His voice when he spoke was a low, no-nonsense growl. "There's only so much I can take, Mulder. Either let me go now, or back off." Mulder felt his own heart pounding like an immobilized rabbit. Krycek's eyes, his words, hammered in Mulder's mind as he tried to consider his choices calmly. // Let him go...to possibly fuck me over in every sense of the word. // // Or back off. // Mulder backed off. He snapped the cuff back onto Krycek's wrist, hooking him to the chain, then retreated out of the bathroom and into the living room, where he stood staring blindly at the windows. How the hell did Krycek have the balls to give him, Mulder, an ultimatum? Krycek was the one chained up, injured, half-naked. Yet Mulder had lost his nerve in that moment, for reasons he did not want to examine too closely. Whatever. Whatever. He had to get to work. Glancing at his watch he saw that he would already be almost half an hour late. He started for the door, wondered if he should tell Krycek he was leaving, wondered if Krycek wanted anything more, some non-alien reading material perhaps. He hunted through the bookshelves and found an old copy of Herman Hesse's "Steppenwolf." Krycek was sitting with the blanket haphazardly covering his lower body when Mulder stepped into the bathroom again. Mulder held out the book. "Here—I read this in college. You might like it. It's about this loner—sort of half-man, half-wolf. Very philosophical." Krycek reached for the book, wincing a little as the cuff chafed against his wrist. "I read this in college, too," he said. "I remember I liked it." Mulder looked at him curiously. "Yeah, I went to college," Krycek said, smirking. "Not Oxford, but—I didn't jump right into the Bureau off a third-grade education." "Where?" Krycek stared at him warily. "NYU." "NYU?" Mulder's surprise was more at Krycek's actually telling him that than at the name. "Is that where you grew up, New York?" "No." Krycek's posture and voice were definitely wary now, a stillness and finality in his tone telling Mulder he'd get no further with his questions. Mulder felt annoyed. No doubt Krycek knew every last detail about Mulder, from his childhood nicknames to his shoe size. Yet Krycek insisted on remaining an enigma to Mulder. "Alex Krycek, International Man of Mystery?" Mulder asked derisively. Krycek looked away, biting his lip. "It's necessary," he said quietly, a definite note of regret in his voice. "Sure Alex. If they do come to kill you today, you can take pride in the fact that you never divulged your hometown to me." He saw the expressive eyes widen a bit, shock mixing with rueful laughter, and Alex registering the fact that Mulder was using his first name again. "Crappy Haven." "Nice name for a town." "It's near Leakwood." Mulder raised his eyebrows. Alex's little smirk returned. "You're the G-man, you figure it out." Mulder shook his head at the bizarreness of the situation. Less than half an hour ago they'd been literally ready to kill each other and now here they were having this almost—friendly—conversation. "Gotta get to work," he said, turning to go. He was almost at the door when he heard Krycek's voice, very soft. "See you later." Skinner's initial reaction to Krycek's name was disgusted suspicion, as Mulder had known it would be. After a few hours of viewing the information on the disks Krycek had given Mulder, however, the A. D. had much less to say. Mulder got a call at his desk a half hour later. Skinner wasn't giving him a definite go-ahead, but he would consider making the raid on the lab. He would also supply a safe house in Pennsylvania to take Alex to. Mulder felt jubilant. He wished Scully were in the office so he could share the story of his amazing powers of coercion, but she was out all morning on an assignment. He also had a feeling she might not be as enthusiastic about this as he was. He almost wished he had given Krycek back his cell phone. He had a crazy wish to tell Alex the story. Alex would appreciate it. That thought reminded him of their conversation earlier. Although he really should be finishing his paperwork before he took off for Pennsylvania, he decided to sneak a few minutes to investigate Alex's origins instead. Most of Alex's personnel files had been sealed. Okay, obviously Alex's hometown was not named Crappy Haven. Most likely it was Happy Haven or something similar. And Leakwood - Teakwood? Lakewood? After an hour's search through various Lakewoods, he hit on a promising candidate: a medium-sized city near Seattle, most notable as home to the Lakewood-Fort Lewis military base. Happy Haven was a housing project in a crime-ridden section on the outskirts of the town. It fit, Mulder thought. Krycek was certainly bright, and well-spoken, but every now and then you could hear the street-rat intonations in his voice. Mulder paused to put it all together. So, Alex had been born in the Seattle area, obviously without much money, since he had grown up in a rough housing project. He had traveled clear across the country to go to college. Then Quantico—and somewhere in there he had become involved with the Consortium and the KGB. But when? How? Why? And why the fuck couldn't Alex have just said Seattle? Was he trying to waste Mulder's time, divert him from something else? Or was there something he wanted Mulder to find? Whatever it was, Mulder hadn't found it. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was almost two o'clock. He headed out to get a sandwich and drop off his suit at the dry cleaners. He found Scully eating a tuna salad at his desk when he returned. "I suppose you've heard, Mulder? We're being sent to Pennsylvania for a couple of weeks to guard Krycek?" Mulder nodded, a bit guiltily. He wondered if he should tell Scully that he was the driving force behind this assignment. Scully looked at him and rolled her eyes. She was not happy about any of this. In her place, Mulder knew, he would have been ranting about it and questioning why Krycek's life was worth protecting at all. But Scully, unhappy as she was about having to leave home and Paul for a couple of weeks, would nevertheless accept it as part of her job. Scully tossed the salad container in the trash. "Does anybody even know where Krycek is?" "I know where Krycek is. But that reminds me...he's going to need some medical attention." Scully frowned. "What kind of medical attention? What's happened?" "He's a little beat up. Nothing life-threatening. Can you come to my apartment, around seven or so?" He could have just asked her to come back with him after work, he knew, but he didn't really want her to see Krycek there in his underwear, chained to Mulder's bathroom sink. "Mulder, you know...I had plans tonight." Her tone was resigned, slightly resentful. Mulder didn't miss the past tense. "If we've got to leave for Pennsylvania tomorrow, I wanted to—" Spend the night with Paul, Mulder finished mentally. He gritted his teeth, trying not to let his annoyance show. "Half an hour, forty-five minutes tops, Scully. But hey, if you've got a date, that's certainly more important than someone needing medical care." Scully's mouth tightened and there was unhappiness in her blue eyes. Mulder was being a bastard, he knew, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Once, she would have come over anytime for him, no questions asked. Now she had Paul. // And what do I have? An invertebrate scum-sucker chained to my sink. // Some impulse made Mulder call out, "It's me, Krycek," as he opened the door. He smirked to himself. // Honey, I'm home. // There was no answer, and Mulder frowned as he walked toward the bathroom. He was shocked at Krycek's appearance. The rat didn't look well at all. He was sitting with his head on his knees, wrapped in the blanket, looking sweaty and pale. Mulder suppressed the sharp spike of guilt that flared up. Krycek had seemed feisty enough that morning, after all. But, Mulder supposed, spending two days on the cold and hard bathroom floor with broken bones and without much food or sleep, plus the stress of fearing for his life, had to have taken a toll. And the Vicodins that Krycek had taken earlier had undoubtedly worn off by now. Krycek lifted his head as Mulder approached, regarding Mulder with a wary, cold expression. "Your information checks out," Mulder informed him. "No shit," Krycek whispered hoarsely. The world-weary look had returned to his eyes. He leaned his head back against the wall. "Skinner's actually considering making the raid." Krycek nodded slowly. Mulder was becoming concerned. Krycek was moving as though everything hurt him, speaking in that flat whisper. Mulder stepped into the bathroom and reached down to unlock the cuff. Krycek's eyes widened as Mulder produced the key, and he turned his head to gaze at the cuffs, as if he couldn't really believe Mulder was unlocking them. The cuff removed, he flexed his wrist and tucked it up against his body. "Does this mean I'm free to go?" "Actually, you're a protected witness now. We're supposed to take you to a safe house in Pennsylvania tomorrow night." Krycek didn't look at all pleased at this development. "Who's this we?" "Me and Scully. She'll be here to look at your injuries in a little while." "Did you tell her how I got them?" Krycek raised his eyebrows, his voice taunting. "Did you tell her how you get your kicks, Mulder? What does she think of you now?" The questions struck a nerve in Mulder, but he wouldn't show that to Krycek. "It's no worse than anything you've done, Krycek." Krycek's lashes fluttered, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "Come on out of here and get on the bed." Krycek's face went hard. "Why?" Mulder made his voice as mild as he could. "I think you'll be more comfortable there." He backed up a few steps and held out his hand to Krycek, who ignored him and pulled himself up by the edge of the sink instead. Krycek stumbled and swayed on his feet, and Mulder stepped forward quickly. Krycek stared a warning at him, then ran through a few brief stretches. Even moving stiffly as he was, in obvious pain, his movements had a sensual grace. Mulder turned away, walking toward the bedroom. In Mulder's bedroom, Krycek looked around curiously. He piled up the pillows and sat heavily on the bed. His look of shock as it rippled was almost comical. "A waterbed, Mulder? You surprise me." Mulder shrugged. "It wasn't my idea. Someone else bought it." In fact, it had just appeared in his apartment one day, following a bizarre interlude during which he suspected someone else had taken possession of his body for a while. Just one of those things that always seemed to happen to him. But he didn't feel like going into it, although he had a feeling that if anyone would understand, Krycek would. Krycek settled back with difficulty against the pillows, gritting his teeth. He looked at Mulder, frowning. "Someone else—? Hope you two had fun on it." "It wasn't like that, Ale—uh, Krycek. I've never had anyone on this bed but you." Instantly, Krycek seemed to perk up a little. He tilted his head, looking up at Mulder through the thick lashes and smirking coldly. "That's pretty fucking optimistic, Mulder, considering what you did to me." "I meant to sleep in it. Christ, Krycek. Would you cut the crap for five minutes?" Krycek twisted to the side, rubbing his chest. "You going to give me my pants back now? Or is Scully going to have to share in your kinky fantasies?" Mulder took a step toward the bed. "Shut it, Krycek." For a second Mulder saw anger flash in Krycek's eyes. "What are you going to do, Mulder? Beat me up some more?" Mulder studied him. Krycek didn't look good; he was flushed and sweating, with dark circles under his eyes, and the way he continually shifted about on the bed, like he couldn't get comfortable, suggested that he was in considerable pain. "Did you take all those Vicodin already?" How many had there been—five, six? Leave it to Krycek to gulp them all down in one sitting. Krycek narrowed his eyes and didn't answer. "Hungry?" "Not really." That raspy whisper again. "I got some Chinese - mu shu pork and fried rice." Krycek closed his eyes and shook his head. Mulder felt a little uneasy at that. Krycek really must be in bad shape if he was refusing food. "Want soup? Tea?" "Tea, yeah, okay." Mulder used the little bags of tea that had come with the Chinese food. When he returned to the bedroom Krycek was sitting against the headboard, leaning his head on one knee. His hand shook slightly as he reached for the cup. Mulder noticed he wasn't using the prosthetic at all, just letting it hang at his side. Krycek took a sip and grimaced. "Don't you believe in sugar, Mulder?" "I'll get you some." Mulder rose automatically. Krycek gaped at him as if he had suddenly shapeshifted. Ignoring Krycek's reaction to this surely unexpected solicitude, Mulder hunted in his kitchen for sugar. He found a bag that was mostly lumps and had two dead moths in it, which he tossed. He returned to the bedroom. "Sorry, no sugar." "No sugar?" Krycek sounded disbelieving. "Honey?" "Don't call me honey." Krycek stared at him uncomprehendingly, then frowned, looking more confused than annoyed. "There's duck sauce," Mulder offered. Krycek continued to regard him with that puzzled frown for a moment. Then he shook his head with a weary grimace and closed his eyes, sipping the tea. Alarm bells were starting to sound in Mulder's head now. Krycek not eating was bad enough; Krycek not responding to Mulder's needling was really off. Krycek lifted his head. "My pants, Mulder?" "Sure." Mulder left the room, relieved to make an escape. He started for the living room to retrieve Krycek's jeans, but was interrupted by the doorbell. Scully gave him a distracted little smile as she came in, toting a hefty black doctor's bag. "I brought all kinds of supplies...I didn't know what was needed..." She stood looking around somewhat nervously, as though expecting Krycek to leap out and ambush her at any moment. Well, Mulder reflected, she had good reason to feel uneasy. If Cardinale could be believed, Krycek had been present at the murder of Scully's sister Melissa, and they had probably been there gunning for Scully. A hard wave of protectiveness roared up within Mulder. "Where is he?" "On the bed." Mulder put a hand on her back, shepherding her toward the bedroom. Scully shot him a questioning look. "How badly is he hurt?" "Just banged up." Krycek was sitting with his head back, arms at his sides. He shot Mulder a murderous look as Scully walked in, no doubt because Mulder had not brought his jeans as promised. Scully stared at the man on the bed, frowning. "When did you find him?" "Monday." "And you've had him...staying here...since Monday?" "Chained under the sink, actually," Krycek rasped. Mulder wondered if he was taking some sick pleasure from all this. Scully turned a look of disbelief on him. "Mulder, are you out of your mind? He's a wanted criminal." "Hey, thanks a fucking lot for your concern, Scully," Krycek said, a note of bitterness in his voice. "Why is he—where are his clothes?" "I told him to take them off. I thought it would be, uh, easier." Mulder was too conscious of the intensity of Krycek's stare, the waves of fury that seemed to be coming off him, even though he hadn't moved a muscle. Or said anything, thankfully. But then, to admit why Mulder had made him strip would probably be just as humiliating to Krycek as to him. "He has a leg injury?" "No," Krycek snapped. "My ribs are broken." Scully gave him a dubious look. "You should take your shirt off, then." For a second, Krycek seemed about to refuse, before he angrily lowered his eyes and pulled the shirt off. Mulder felt an involuntary guilty start at the sight of the darkly mottled bruising along Krycek's left side, uglier than he had expected. "Those are some bruises, Krycek," Scully said. "What happened to you?" Krycek raised his eyebrows mockingly. "He didn't tell you?" Mulder saw her shocked realization, as she looked from Krycek to Mulder and back again. But she let it drop, picking up her bag and walking over to the bed. "Okay. Let's take a look at those ribs." She probed gently along his ribs, and Krycek grunted in pain, jerking back from her touch. Scully glanced up at him. "Sorry." He looked away. She returned to her examination. "Mmm, yeah, these are probably crack—Mulder!" Scully had her hands on the spot where the bruising was worst, almost black. "This is a pretty bad break. You could have punctured a lung." She touched the prosthetic arm. "Can you take this off?" Krycek's face darkened and he tensed visibly, but he said nothing as he undid the straps. Mulder did not know if he was ready to see this, and then, as what remained of Krycek's arm was exposed, he knew he was not. The scars were hideous, the stump seamed with burn marks and the ragged, ripped tracks where the knife had cut. Krycek must have put up a hell of a fight. Scully gave a little involuntary gasp at the sight; Krycek did not respond, but Mulder saw him clench his fist. He was relieved that Krycek was not looking at him, could not see whatever was on his face. // Alex, Christ, I didn't know. I wanted you to suffer, but not like this. Not like this. // The skin of Krycek's arm and chest where the prosthetic's straps had been was reddened and rubbed raw in several places. Mulder recalled his difficulty using the arm before. "Have you had this on the whole time?" Scully delicately probed at a couple of sores that were actually bleeding a little. Krycek was rigid, taking careful, controlled breaths. "Why didn't you—?" But Mulder knew why. It was the same reason why Krycek had refused to sleep for the last two nights. He would have felt too vulnerable, too helpless with only one hand, which was cuffed. Even though it must have been too painful by now to use it much, Mulder knew he would have felt safer with it on. Scully turned to shoot Mulder another perplexed and somewhat angry look, which might have gratified Krycek had he seen it. But he had turned his head and was staring out the window, his body immobile in that almost unnatural stillness Mulder had seen before. He really, really hates this, Mulder thought. He wanted to leave the room; the combination of Scully's condemnation, his own unbidden feelings of guilt, and Krycek's extreme tension was making it hard to stay and watch. But Krycek was not someone you could take your eyes off for even a second. Scully reached for her bag. "I can tape those ribs up for you. And I'll put a dressing on those sores." Krycek shook his head, still gazing fixedly out the window. "Just leave it alone. They'll heal." "It'll help. You must be in a lot of pain." "Leave it alone," Krycek growled at her. Scully hesitated a moment more, then went on to inspect the bruises and cuts on his face, taking his chin in her hand and turning his head gently. Krycek stared fiercely up at her. "You'll probably have a little scar here," Scully said, one finger tracing the cut on his cheekbone. "Probably could have used stitches." Mulder felt a pang at that, though Krycek didn't react. Scully straightened up. "I'll give you something for pain, and—" She noticed the Ace bandage on Krycek's arm at the same time as Mulder said, "His wrist is cut, too." Krycek watched as if mesmerized, opening and closing his hand, as the bandage came off. At the sight of the ugly-looking gash, the swollen flesh around it, Scully shot Mulder a look, definitely angry now, and horrified. "This is getting infected. Mulder, why—?" "He wouldn't let me get near him," Mulder mumbled, conscious of the lameness of his reply when he saw Krycek's look of cold triumph. Fuck him, anyway. Mulder had tried. "Yeah, go ahead and smirk, you lowlife moron, you trying to lose this arm as well?" "Mulder." There was a warning in Scully's voice. She began to disinfect the wound. Krycek hissed in pain, then stiffened and held still as she worked. Mulder could see the strain on his face; Krycek looked away, then looked back, repeatedly. "This is an anesthetic I'm putting on, so that should help," Scully said. She wrapped gauze steadily around Krycek's wrist and hand, forming a thick bandage, then taped it in place. "Don't get it wet." She reached in her bag and took out the ear thermometer. "I'm just going to check your temperature, Krycek, make sure there's no infection." Krycek reared back, pulling his head away. "What the hell is that?" "A thermometer." She didn't add, "you dimwit," but her tone definitely implied it. "In your ear. It only takes a second." Krycek looked ready to fight, but he allowed her to take the reading. "You do have a temp, 101. I'm going to give you some antibiotics for that." She sorted through her medical bag to find the medications she needed. Mulder moved to the window, looked out at the moon sliding through the clouds. Anything not to have to look at Krycek. "No, you're not shooting me up with anything!" Mulder turned swiftly. Scully was filling a syringe with something from a small bottle. "It's a tetanus shot. For the infection in your arm." "No," Krycek rasped. "Just leave me the hell alone!" Scully ignored him, reaching for his arm anyway. Instantly, Krycek jerked away, his hand shooting up to knock the syringe from her hand. Scully stumbled backwards. In three quick steps Mulder crossed the room, getting between Scully and Krycek. He shoved Krycek back on the bed, pulling out his gun and pressing the cold steel to Krycek's forehead. "Simmer down there, asshole, or a tetanus shot will be the least of your worries. Scully, give me the cuffs." Krycek's eyes widened. "You can't cuff me again!" Mulder snapped the cuff in place around Krycek's bandaged wrist and yanked his arm back to lock the other cuff around the bedpost, ignoring Krycek's harsh snarl of pain. "Mulder!" Scully's voice was shocked, warning him. "He's hurt!" Krycek yanked at the restraint, cursing furiously. Mulder could see the muscles in his arm standing out. "I'm going to fucking kill you, Mulder! Let me loose!" "Krycek! Stop that! You're going to aggravate that injury!" Scully said. Krycek shifted on the bed, bringing his leg up slightly. Mulder moved over and sat on Krycek's knee, pressing it to the bed. "Do I have to cuff your feet, too?" "Fucking psycho sadist!" Scully dug through her medical bag, filling another syringe. Up close, Krycek's arm looked even worse, the horrible mutilation of it, the bloody places where the skin was rubbed away. "Get the hell away from me!" Krycek was getting more frenzied now, struggling so violently against the restraint that Mulder could feel the water in the mattress surging back and forth. Krycek spit at Mulder again, his eyes wild. Mulder felt shaken by Krycek's feral rage. He wondered if Krycek was on the verge of another panic attack, or something worse. "You need to take the tetanus, Krycek." Scully raised her voice slightly to be heard. "I'm going to have to sedate you if you can't calm down." Mulder got up slowly off Krycek's leg, keeping the gun trained on him. He stepped backward, putting out a hand. "All right, take it easy, Krycek." Scully busied herself filling a second syringe. She approached and laid both syringes on the bedside table. Krycek was panting, his teeth bared, his eyes wide. Mulder didn't want to watch this anymore. "Scully...just leave him alone for now, give him some space." Mulder was surprised by the gentleness and compassion in his own voice. Both of them turned to look at him in utter amazement. Scully took advantage of Krycek's momentary distraction to grab the second syringe and jab it into Krycek's bicep, swiftly pressing the plunger. "You fucking bitch!" "Jesus, Scully. I told you not to do that!" Again they were both staring at him. Krycek looked disoriented for a second. He made a small motion with the stump of his left arm, like he wanted to rub the spot on his arm where the needle had gone in, before stopping himself and looking first at Scully, then at Mulder, with burning, suspicious eyes. Absurdly, Mulder had an impulse to go to him, to rub the pain away himself. "It's just a sedative, Krycek, something to calm you down and help you sleep," Scully said. Krycek cursed at her in Russian. Mulder waved the gun. "Hope those words all mean 'doctor,' Krycek." Scully retrieved her medical bag. Carefully giving Krycek a wide berth, she walked to the doorway, motioning Mulder with a dip of her head to follow her out. "Scully, was that necessary?" "He's not the first person to get hysterical at the sight of a needle," Scully said coolly. "I gave him 10 mg. of Haldol. That should put him out in a few minutes, and then when he's under I'll administer the tetanus. He'll be a lot less dangerous this way, too. Haldol is pretty strong stuff." She cast another glance at Krycek. "Mulder, what happened here? Was he like this? Is that why—?" Mulder knew Scully was expecting him to say that Krycek had attacked him and he had to subdue or disarm him. Not that he had knocked an unarmed, handcuffed man into a desk with enough force to break his ribs severely. But he didn't want to lie to her. And he didn't want to lie in front of Krycek. Despite the Haldol, which should have been putting him under but didn't seem to be doing a damn thing, Krycek was staring Mulder down. If Mulder lied, it would be a weakness, tantamount to admitting he had been in the wrong here. And what explanation could he ever give for keeping Krycek chained to the sink for two days? "Did he attack you...or threaten you?" She wanted so much to find a reason for this, he knew. Her mind just couldn't conceive of such a thing—to beat a person that badly, chain him up like an animal and deny him medical care for his injuries. What did she think of him now? And what could he say? // He had a gun, but he gave it to me voluntarily, when he first came in. He threatened to kill me, after I had kept him chained up for a couple of days. He kicked me when I tried to rape him. // "Yeah," he mumbled, "something like that." "But when did you—what did you—you should have brought him into custody!" "You know he'd never be safe in custody." "It doesn't look like he was safe here!" The words hurt, more than she could have imagined, he knew. They stood for a few moments in uncomfortable silence. He knew she had seen a side of him that deeply troubled her. He had no explanation, other than what Krycek was, all he had done. But who was Mulder now, with what he had done. Scully snuck a glance at her watch. Mulder felt like the lowest of the low. Not only had he beaten the shit out of an unarmed man, he was now forcing his best friend to spend the night administering medical care to a rabid maniac instead of having a last enjoyable evening with her fiance. "Um, you want a soda?" Scully gave him a little smile, looking relieved to be off the subject of Krycek. "Sure...thanks." Mulder fetched the sodas, then pulled over a couple of chairs so they could sit comfortably while still keeping an eye on their charge in the bedroom. Scully kicked her shoes off, curling up in the chair and sighing. "I've still got packing to do." Mulder tried to lighten the mood. "Packing? We're going to a cabin in the woods. Throw in some jeans, a couple of those lumberjack shirts, your chainsaw..." "And we were supposed to have lunch with my mom on Saturday." Mulder shrugged off another pang of guilt. "So, is it going to be a white wedding?" Scully gave him a small grin. "I thought I'd wear red, actually." "Woo-hoo. And I'll wear my Elvis jumpsuit." "Mulder." The suddenly serious tone of her voice brought his full attention around to her. She was sitting up straight in the chair, biting her lip. "I need to ask you something." Mulder had a sudden hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Two possibilities occurred to him, neither very pleasant. One was that she was going to ask him to spell out exactly what had happened with Krycek. And he would not be able to lie to her. The other was that she was going to ask to be removed from the assignment altogether. Her next words floored him. "Would...would you stand up with me in the wedding, Mulder?" Mulder could manage nothing more articulate than, "Huh?" Scully reddened, looking down. "As my—my attendant. I mean, I know it's traditionally female, and it would have been—" She broke off, glancing in the direction of the bedroom. Mulder knew what she had been going to say. It would have been Melissa. A spark of rage shot through him, burning off the guilt he had felt earlier for beating Krycek. Krycek had helped to murder Scully's sister. He deserved every beating he got, and then some. He reached to gently squeeze her hand. "I know. I'm sorry." "I don't really have a female friend that's closer...you're my best friend..." Mulder realized he had never answered her question. "I'd be honored." Her eyes were damp, and her mouth twisted for a second. "Oh, damn. Sorry." "Not as sorry as I'll be, standing up there in lilac chiffon." Scully laughed shakily, and Mulder smiled back at her. Despite his words and his smile, however, a cloud of depression was settling on him at the idea, and not just because lilac wasn't his color. // That should be me up there with her, and not as her attendant. // But even as he thought that, his mind was jumping ahead, picturing the two of them making wedding plans, saying wedding vows, picking out china patterns together - // Jesus, NO! // He didn't really want to marry Scully. He didn't even really want to sleep with her. Looking at her now, he could note objectively how attractive she was, and yet she did not stir that overpowering desire in him, that crazy need that made his heart beat a little faster. For some reason his eyes went to Krycek on the bed, the slitted green eyes that still watched him like a hawk. If he had to selfishly admit it, what he wanted was not to marry Scully, and not to stand by her side at her wedding. What he wanted was to have her at his side, on his side. Without her as a buffer he would go back to being a marginal outcast. "You're really leaving the X-Files, huh?" She was silent a long moment before replying, her expression saying everything she could not. "I couldn't do that all my life, Mulder." No, of course not. Who could? Who believed in all this as strongly as he did? Maybe you could not have both. Maybe some people, like Scully, were meant to forge those human bonds, to get married, have children, make that the center of their lives. And maybe some were meant to be searchers, their dogged quest burning everything else away. Maybe some would always walk alone. And once again, his eyes returned to Alex. Forty minutes later, Krycek still wasn't out. He was fighting the Haldol mightily. His eyes would flutter closed or his head start to slump, then he'd startle awake, jerking his chin up and shaking his head. Worse, despite the sedative, he was showing signs of panic, his movements becoming more erratic and agitated. "I can't give him more Haldol," Scully murmured. "Not in conjunction with any kind of pain medication." Mulder was trying to sort out his emotions. One part of him still wanted to hurt Krycek, to fill another syringe of Haldol—fuck the pain medication, let him suffer—and plunge it into Krycek's arm. Or better yet, just whack him over the head with the butt of the gun, and see how fast he'd lose consciousness then. But he was also feeling the leaden weight of guilt, remembering what he had done, and what he had almost done. It went far beyond subduing Krycek, or even revenge. // Mulder, what happened here? // // Not you, Mulder. // And he couldn't deny that he was impressed by Krycek's spirit, his refusal to go under without a fight, despite all the pain he must be in, despite his evident exhaustion. How could Alex be so goddamn strong? With everything he had been through— // Alex? // Well, he also couldn't deny that, even battered and bloody as he was, sporting three days beard growth and his hair spiky with sweat, Krycek looked pretty good there cuffed to his bed in those black briefs. Like some kind of seriously kinky wet dream. // Jesus. No, I didn't think that. // He became aware that Scully was speaking to him. "I'm sorry...what?" "I said, he's shivering, Mulder. Have you got an extra clean blanket somewhere?" "Oh...sure, yeah." "Well, I'd better get comfortable," Scully sighed, "This looks like it might take a while." She cast another surreptitious glance at her watch. "He'll need to be closely monitored while he's like this. He may be having a bad reaction to the Haldol." Mulder looked at Krycek, shaking on the bed. His eyes were half-hidden under long thick lashes but, incredibly, still never closed for more than a few seconds at a time. He had irritated the wound on his arm and fresh blood was seeping through the bandage. Shackled to the bed, naked save for his underwear, in front of two of his bitter enemies, one of whom had brutally beaten him, nearly raped him, and kept him chained to a sink for two days, and the other who had injected him with drugs against his will. And they expected him to relax, calm down and go to sleep? Unwillingly, Mulder felt a strong sympathy. Krycek's eyes were on him, the repository of all he had done and every disturbing emotion he was feeling. "You go on and have your date, Scully. I'll baby-sit him." At her dubious glance he added. "Really. That was just a—temporary insanity, rage, whatever. I'm not going to beat him again." When she still hesitated, he smiled down at her, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hey, I know it's your last night with Paul for a while. You'll get plenty of us in the cabin. Go on and enjoy your night." She searched his face for several long moments, then nodded, giving him a tentative smile back. "Okay. Stay there with him until he goes to sleep. Call me immediately if he starts to get agitated again or seems to be in any distress. Once he does go out, you can give him that tetanus shot. I'll leave the other meds as well." She rummaged through her medical bag. "He'll probably still be a little unsteady when he wakes, and pretty thirsty. You can give him some water, and more Demerol if he needs it." While Scully laid out medications and other supplies, Mulder retrieved the blanket from the bathroom and got an old comforter from the closet. On the bed, Krycek looked the same as before, except that he had drawn his legs up, probably in an attempt to keep warm. Eyes glassy from the drug, he tensed and regarded Mulder warily as he approached. He didn't move or speak as Mulder laid the comforter over him. Because of the way Krycek was sitting, the comforter didn't quite cover his chest. Mulder noticed, distractingly, that Alex's nipples were brown and perfectly round, encircled by fine dark hairs. They were also erect, no doubt from cold, and Mulder had an overwhelming urge to put his mouth on them, to suck and lick and bite, so strong it was almost a physical force. He could just imagine the scenario that would ensue if he actually tried such a thing, however. He laid the blanket on top of the comforter and retreated from the bedroom. Mulder saw Scully to the door, dispensing reassurances all the way. Returning to the bedroom, he set the two bottles of pills down on the bedside table. "Scully left these for you—antibiotics, and pain medication. You should probably take some now." Krycek's head lolled back a little as he continued to watch Mulder with that same flat, slightly clouded expression. Mulder went to fetch a glass of water, and immediately realized he had a problem. He would either have to uncuff Krycek, or force-feed him the pills. What the hell—Krycek really wasn't in custody anymore. And he did seem to have calmed down quite a bit. He pulled out the key and undid the cuff. Krycek's arm fell limply from the cuff in the first instant, before his muscle control kicked in and he stretched and flexed it. He rubbed his arm against his hip, shook it, and rolled his shoulders back, obviously feeling some pain from being cuffed. Krycek looked dazed, his movements disjointed from the drug. He made another small, abortive gesture with the stump of his other arm, as if he wanted to rub his right arm with it, then caught himself. It got to Mulder. He wondered if that was habitual, or if it was the Haldol fogging Krycek's mind, making him forget he no longer had two good arms. Without really thinking, Mulder reached to grasp Krycek's arm, kneading and massaging up and down the taut muscles to bring the circulation back. Krycek's skin felt warm and smooth. Mulder couldn't believe he was doing this, couldn't believe Krycek was letting him do it. Alex had his eyes closed, his head tipped back a little. // Damn, he looks hot. // No, no, he wasn't thinking that, not even as he moved further up, massaging the muscles of Alex's right shoulder, and Alex let his head drop back more, exposing his neck and Mulder had another deep rush of desire to put his mouth there. Not even when Alex let out a very soft little sigh and his hand, which had been lying on the bed, came up to tentatively brush along Mulder's arm. Then Mulder reached over to rub Alex's left shoulder. Krycek's head snapped up, his eyes blinking rapidly. His hand closed around Mulder's wrist, pushing him away, the panicked expression returning to his eyes. "Easy, Krycek, settle down, relax," Mulder said in his most soothing tones. He moved his hand slowly back. What had he been thinking? Drugged or not, this was still a dangerous man. "Not gonna hurt you, just take it easy..." He reached for the pills, unsnapping the caps and shaking one of each into his hand. "Here...take these...it'll help with the pain." Krycek swallowed the pills without incident. Mulder wondered if he should try to give him the tetanus shot, but decided not to risk it. "Do you need anything else? Are you hungry?" Krycek frowned at him, looking vaguely distrustful, but then seemed too weary to care. "I want a shower," he mumbled. "You what?" "Come on, Mulder. I haven't washed in three days. I stink. Let me..." Krycek seemed to lose his train of thought, his eyes fluttering closed, and then doggedly opening again. "You're too groggy to take a shower right now, Krycek. You'd probably pass out in the tub and hit your head or drown or something, and then Scully would have my neck. Just wait until the morning." Krycek started to push the blankets aside. "I'm all sweaty," he complained. His hair and face did look damp with sweat. Mulder hoped that meant the fever had broken. But now Krycek was seriously attempting to get out of bed. "Krycek, whoa, hey, Alex. Wait, okay? Just wait a minute." Hearing his first name seemed to quiet Krycek down somewhat, and he lay back on the pillows, simply watching Mulder again. Mulder went into the bathroom. He filled a bowl with hot water and a little liquid soap and got a clean towel and washcloth. When he returned to the bedroom Krycek regarded him, head tilted to one side and a confused, pensive look on his face. Mulder set the bowl down on the bedside table, hoping Krycek wouldn't see fit to knock it all over him. He immersed the washcloth in the water and wrung it out, then held it out to Krycek. "Here. Wash off." Krycek just looked at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds; then he slowly took the washcloth and began scrubbing at his face and chest. His movements were halting, his coordination off. When he reached up to wash the back of his neck, the washcloth slipped from his hand, falling behind him. Krycek twisted his head, looking for it, then sat motionless, as if stymied by this new development. Mulder reached behind Krycek to retrieve the washcloth. It felt cool on his hand. He dipped it into the bowl of hot water, wrung it out again, and began slowly to wash Krycek's back. Krycek put up no resistance. Mulder gently bent him forward a bit, and Krycek sat with his head on his hand, not saying anything. Mulder moved the washcloth in steady circles over the broad planes of Krycek's back, then moved up to his neck, feeling the ends of Krycek's hair brush his fingers. This close, he could definitely smell Alex, and he certainly didn't stink; in fact, he smelled fantastic, musky and enticing. Mulder drew the washcloth down along the strongly muscled lines of Alex's neck, and Alex gave another of those little sighs, almost a tiny moan of pleasure. Mulder nearly dropped the washcloth. He dipped the cloth in the bowl again and then dabbed it carefully up along Krycek's temple, near the hairline, where there was some dried blood Krycek had missed. Rinsing out the blood, he did Krycek's arm, scrubbing more vigorously, careful not to touch the bandage. Krycek made another sound, definitely pleasurable now. "Enjoying yourself there, Krycek?" Krycek lifted his head and took the washcloth from Mulder to wipe his face again. "Ahh, a sponge bath from Nurse Mulder." The words were slightly slurred, but mocking nonetheless. "Now I can die a happy man." Mulder resisted the urge to dump the rest of the water over Krycek's head and reached for the towel instead. "Shut up, Krycek, you're not going to die." He rubbed Krycek's back and neck dry. Drying Krycek's arm, he wondered how Krycek managed to wash his right arm on his own. He handed the towel to Krycek to dry off his face and chest. Krycek started to lie back again, but Mulder stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Wait a sec. Sc—" No, better not to mention Scully's name; he didn't want to see Krycek go berserk again. "I mean, I've got some stuff here." Scully had left a tube of antiseptic/anesthetic salve and bandages for the sores Krycek had gotten from leaving his prosthetic arm on for so long. Mulder applied it gingerly to the sores on Krycek's back, then taped gauze pads in place over them, so that Krycek wouldn't irritate them any more while he slept. He lifted Krycek's hand, squeezed a generous amount onto Krycek's fingers. "Here—put some on your chest and arm." Krycek slowly complied. He was shivering again. Reluctantly, Mulder got a clean T-shirt out of his drawer. He wasn't really sure he wanted Krycek wearing his clothes, but Krycek had been wearing his own shirt for three days straight. He tossed the shirt over to Krycek, then carried the bowl of water and washcloth out. He didn't want to watch Krycek struggle with the shirt, or worse, have to help him put it on. When he returned Krycek was lying back against the pillows, shirt on, looking totally exhausted. His eyes followed Mulder as Mulder moved around the room, the thick lashes lowering every couple of seconds like they were too heavy to hold open. "Go to sleep, Krycek. You'll feel better." "I don't like to sleep," Krycek mumbled. "Just let your eyes stay closed. It's easy—even babies can do it." Krycek was shaking his head. "No—I don't anymore—I used to sleep—I could sleep anywhere, anytime—it was useful, but now—" His eyes closed again, and Mulder had a bit of hope, but after a few moments they opened once more. "They woke me up." "Who woke you up?" Was Krycek hearing voices? He wondered if he should call Scully. "In the middle of the night—I was asleep—they—they woke me up—they had this knife—it was red, glowing red—" Mulder froze. His blood turned to ice. He heard loud, rapid breathing, and he thought it was Krycek's until he realized it was his own. // It could have happened to me. // "I thought I knew—what pain was—and—and what fear was—I was wrong." Krycek panted out the words, rolling his head from side to side. "I thought I had—nothing to lose. I was wrong—just—just so fucking wrong." Mulder could not speak, could not breathe, could not at all costs make himself move any closer to Krycek His stomach was churning, and he thought he might be sick. "I tried to fight them—tried to fight them off—but I—" Krycek continued to toss his head around in that strange way, as if he were trying to twist away from something, but lethargically. "There were too many of them—I tried, Mulder, I tried." Involuntarily, Mulder's eyes went to the hideous mapwork of scars. "I'm sure you did." "I screamed so much—my fucking voice was gone—and then I—" Suddenly Krycek brought his hand to his mouth, biting down hard on the heel. His eyes looked huge and almost black, the pupils dilated. "Jesus, Krycek..." Mulder felt out of his depth. Krycek raked his fingers up through his hair, then shut his eyes, his hand curling into a fist against his mouth. He kept his eyes closed so long Mulder had a faint hope he might actually be asleep, until Krycek spoke again, sounding breathless. "You ever read that story, it's science fiction, 'I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream?'" "What?" "Harlan Ellison, I think Mulder, you would definitely—" Mulder rubbed his head. "Krycek, please...would you fucking go to sleep?" "I don't like to sleep." Krycek repeated. "Not even in my own bed...never anymore...I can't do it. I don't want to do it..." He sounded suddenly annoyed, resentful of his own need for sleep. Mulder sighed and gave up. "Okay, whatever. I don't sleep all that much myself. I guess it's just going to be a long night." He decided he might as well get washed and changed, even if he had to spend the night sitting in this chair. He didn't really feel sleepy, just drained. Krycek turned his head in alarm as Mulder started to leave the room. "Where ya goin'?" His voice sounded rough, and somehow younger. His hair was tousled, making him look younger as well and stirring something in Mulder that he usually kept tamped down. Alex. Mulder tore his eyes away. "Just going to brush my teeth. I'll be back." In the bathroom, he took his time, not really eager to return to the bedroom. A sickening jolt of memory hit him. It was a case he and Scully had worked—a rogue AI that had imprisoned him within a virtual reality. In an eerie coincidence, he had found himself in a hospital bed, his left arm amputated just below the shoulder. Mulder's stomach clenched at the memory. He had screamed, too, in panicked, desperate disbelief. They had taken his right arm, too, before Scully rescued him. She had released him from the machine and showed him that it had all been a dream of sorts. He had two working arms. But no one had come to rescue Alex. Mulder's nightmare was Alex's reality. In Tunguska, the owner of the truck he had hijacked had wanted to cut Mulder's arm off, to save him from the experiments, just as he had done with his own son. It was the woman of the house who had saved Mulder, by helping him get away. It had been a pure stroke of luck that she spoke English, as Mulder spoke no Russian. Krycek spoke Russian. Krycek could be persuasive; Mulder could testify to that. It had just been Krycek's bad luck to land in a mob. And maybe he had been injured from jumping off the truck like that. He could hear Alex's voice, hoarse, terrified, pleading. "I tried to fight them off, Mulder. I tried..." As though he feared Mulder would think less of him for letting them cut his arm off. Again the nausea hit Mulder. He leaned over the sink, gulping air open-mouthed. It was reminiscent of the other night, and he grimaced in ironic recognition. Krycek was literally making him sick. A noise from the bedroom pulled him out of his thoughts. It sounded as though Krycek had managed to turn on the TV or the radio. Mulder hurried back, stopping dead in the doorway at the sight that greeted him. Krycek was gazing up at his image in the overhead mirror with seeming fascination, singing to himself in that dark, sandpapery voice. "Welcome, my friend. Welcome to the machine..." Mulder shook his head, torn between amusement and a strong wish to knock Krycek unconscious. He didn't have a half bad voice, but Mulder certainly didn't want to hear it at this hour, in his bedroom. "Mulder, you wild and crazy guy!" Krycek greeted him with a mocking grin. "Waterbeds, mirrors on the ceiling...what else have you got hidden away?" Mulder stared at him, speechless. Before he left the room Krycek had appeared to be experiencing some sort of post-traumatic stress reaction. Now he seemed high as a kite. "Better living through pharmaceuticals, eh, Krycek?" Mulder muttered, coming around to flop into the chair. He wished to hell he had a TV in the bedroom. The mindlessness of late-night TV always worked well to lull him into, if not sleep, at least a certain amount of brain-dead peace, like a white-noise machine. It might shut Krycek up and calm him down as well. Maybe he could drag Krycek out to lie on the couch. But then where would Mulder sleep? Mulder slumped down in the chair, propping his feet on the bed. Krycek didn't appear to notice; he went on singing and mumbling to himself for a while, then subsided back onto the pillows again in a kind of stupor. He let his eyes close for several minutes at a time now, but still he did not sleep. Periodically, he would tip his head back, open his eyes wide, and seek out his reflection overhead, as if to reassure himself that he still existed. Mulder dozed, in the chair. He was startled out of sleep by a hoarse voice speaking his name. "Mulder?" He shook himself awake, and for a brief dizzying moment was stunned to see his hated enemy in his bed, staring at him, looking as disoriented as he felt. "Mulder? What happened? Where are we?" Mulder was getting his bearings now, recalling the situation, but it appeared Krycek was not. He was frowning, looking confused but somehow trusting, his eyes on Mulder's. Mulder sat up. "How do you feel?" "Like shit," Krycek said in his gravelly whisper. "My side hurts like hell...my arms..." Mulder had a moment's fear, not knowing how pronounced this apparent memory loss was, that Krycek was going to panic at finding he had only one arm. But he seemed to accept this without comment. Maybe it was just the past few days that he didn't remember. Krycek was looking around the room. He started to speak again, then swallowed a couple of times and moistened his lips. Remembering how Scully had said the drugs would make him thirsty, Mulder handed him the glass of water. Krycek took it and drank deeply. "You want something for the pain?" Without waiting for Krycek's answer he opened the pill container and extracted one. There was a moment of confusion as Krycek, still holding the glass of water in his lone hand, stared at the pill. Mentally kicking himself, Mulder reached to hold the glass while Krycek swallowed the pill. Krycek gave a nod of thanks as he handed the glass back again. The waterbed rippled as he settled back on the pillows, and he seemed perturbed by the motion. "Are we on a boat?" Mulder had to laugh at that. "No. You're on a waterbed." Krycek's look of confusion increased. "Where?" There was no way around it now. "My apartment." "You have a waterbed?" Mulder rolled his eyes. "Yeah." Krycek's eyes were fixed on his intently. "Why am I...in your bed?" Mulder searched for a way to answer that. He decided to keep it simple for now. "You needed a place to sleep." "But..." The little frown lines between Krycek's eyes deepened. "What happened?" "You don't remember anything?" Mulder suddenly had an insane hope that that might be true. But, he realized, even if Krycek had somehow blocked it out, he would still have to explain all this to him. And Scully knew. Mulder had seen it in her eyes, her lowered opinion of him. Krycek was shaking his head. "I feel really..." Mulder hurriedly scanned the room for his trash basket. "Are you going to be sick?" Another shake of the head. "I just...my mind isn't clear." Realization seemed to dawn on him. "I was drugged." "Yeah." "Who drugged me? You?" "Uh, no." Technically, Mulder supposed this was correct, since it was Scully who had done it, and on her own initiative. He just hoped Krycek's next question wasn't, "Who beat me up?" Mulder wondered if Krycek was having some sort of bad drug reaction, lingering effects of the Haldol, but he seemed to be okay apart from the memory loss. It didn't seem serious enough to warrant waking Scully at this hour. Maybe he should check Krycek's pulse? He reached for Krycek's wrist, realizing too late that it was heavily bandaged. He could check the carotid pulse, but grabbing Krycek by the neck didn't seem like a smart thing to do. Seeing Mulder reach for him, Krycek took Mulder's outstretched hand. He seemed as baffled as Mulder as to why they were holding hands, but he didn't pull away. "You're not in any danger right now, Krycek." Mulder said, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible. He was beginning to think the Haldol had been a good idea after all; this drugged, docile version of Krycek was a lot easier to get along with. "Why don't you just get some more sleep and we'll talk about it in the morning." He gave Krycek's hand a light squeeze and released it. Krycek nodded. His eyes remained open, however, gazing at Mulder. He opened his mouth to speak, looked away, then looked back. "Mulder...did you...were we..." He looked away again, brought his fist up to his mouth for a moment. "Fuck," he muttered softly. His eyes met Mulder's again. "Have you been sleeping in that chair all night?" Mulder almost laughed again; did Krycek think he was in Mulder's bed for that reason? "Yeah, I have." "Why?" Again, he gave the simplest answer. "You were drugged. Someone had to watch over you. Now go to sleep." He was tired and uncomfortable from dozing in the chair; once Krycek was asleep, he could go stretch out on the couch. Krycek ignored the last command and continued to regard Mulder with that troubled, strangely trusting expression. "Mulder...you ever wish...things had been different? That you hadn't made some of the choices you made?" Mulder sighed. "Yeah...every goddamn day, Krycek." "I know why they did this," Krycek said, his voice husky. "I have something for you." He gave Mulder a small, ironic smile. "Something that's probably going to get me killed. I—oh, fuck!" Krycek stiffened, the placid look vanishing, his eyes rounding in absolute fear. "I had it on me—I was going to bring it to you—" Without thinking, Mulder reached over to rub Krycek's arm reassuringly. "You brought it to me, Alex. I have it." Krycek closed his eyes and sank back on the pillows, sighing with relief. He gazed at Mulder with a kind of puzzled hope on his face. "And you looked out for me." His voice cracked slightly on the words. "Thank you." Mulder looked away. He didn't want to hear this. "We're brothers in this, you and I," Krycek said, his voice deepening. Mulder stared at him. Whatever it was he felt for Krycek, he wouldn't term it filial devotion. "I always knew that...I tried to watch out for you...not let them get to you. So many things...I wish I would've known better. I was flying blind...just trying to keep one jump ahead. But I think...we could've been friends, if things were different." Krycek's eyes fixed on his. "I could use a friend...maybe you could too." Mulder nodded, feeling a strange sadness. "I've done some terrible things. And I can't undo them now, but maybe...with this vaccine, if I can just do some good, before—" Krycek swallowed. "I get so fucking scared sometimes, Mulder." "That they're going to kill you?" Krycek laughed softly, shaking his head. "No...I'm sure that's gonna happen. No, I just don't know...where they have people, or who they've gotten to. I worked so hard and so long for this and I—I don't want to see it stopped." He sighed and turned his head to gaze at Mulder. "That's why I brought it to you. You're the most...I know they would never get to you." Krycek stretched out his hand again. Mulder handed him the glass of water and Krycek looked at it a moment, then drank it slowly down. "Thanks." This time Krycek reached to set the glass down, moving with some difficulty, then once again extended his hand to Mulder. Wonderingly, Mulder took it. Krycek sat up a bit, his hand gripping Mulder's, his eyes fixing intently on Mulder. "You're—you're the only one, Mulder. The only one, ever." Mulder pulled his hand from Krycek's, unable to take this any longer. "Shit, Krycek, I'm not! I don't know dick about truth, or justice, or—" He broke off, as Krycek stared at him in shock and dismay. // Oh, fuck, nice going, Mulder. In two seconds he'll be panicking again. // "No, no, look, I just meant—I'm not perfect. But you're right. They haven't gotten to me, and they never will." Saying that, he was suddenly seeing himself in that new light. Not a marginal crackpot loser, but a man of integrity. A crusader. "I'm going to try to keep you safe too," he said. At Krycek's wistful look, he added, "It's my job." Krycek nodded slowly. He shifted position, and the bed lurched, causing him to tip awkwardly. His breathing became suddenly more labored. Alarmed, Mulder leaned forward sharply. "You okay, Krycek? Are you having trouble breathing?" Krycek grimaced. "No—it just—hurts when I move. They must've kicked my fucking ribs in." A flash of anger stirred in his eyes. "Took my damn limb too, huh?" It took Mulder a moment to realize he meant the prosthetic. "No, no, it's here...you just took it off." Krycek sighed in relief again. Mulder decided he probably should check Krycek for fever and take his pulse, just to be on the safe side. "Alex...I'm going to touch your neck for a minute, okay? It's just to take your pulse." Krycek tipped his head back obediently, and again Mulder felt that stirring of desire at the sight. Ignoring it, he laid the palm of his hand flat against Krycek's forehead. Krycek's skin felt cool, his hair faintly damp. Moving lower, Mulder placed his fingers carefully on Krycek's neck and started feeling around for the pulse. Krycek chuckled softly. He reached to cover Mulder's hand with his own, guiding Mulder's fingers to the right spot and holding them firmly in place. Mulder felt the beating under his fingers, slow and strong, like a living thing pressing up against him. Alex's hand was warm over his, almost a caress. Alex's eyes were half-closed, gazing at Mulder under the curtain of dark lashes. "That feels good," Mulder said. "I mean, your pulse, it feels steady." Krycek gave him an odd little smile. "At least I'm alive, right?" Mulder took his fingers from Krycek's neck and sat back in the chair. "You are." "My grandfather had a saying," Krycek paused, then said something in Russian. "It means something like, now I can die a happy man. I know they're going to kill me, Mulder. But I don't care anymore. I just want—" Krycek's voice was hoarse with emotion, shaking slightly. "Krycek. You're not dying. We're going to take you to a safe house tomorrow." Krycek regarded him steadily for a moment, then settled back. Mulder watched him, bemused. Krycek, talking about his grandfather? Expressing // remorse? // Holding Mulder's hand? Could this really be the same Krycek who had killed and double-crossed God knew how many people? Who had almost torn his bed apart earlier, spitting, cursing, snarling death threats? Was he truly remorseful, or was it all some kind of act? Krycek certainly was a master manipulator and near-pathological liar. Or was he just drug-addled, saying anything that came into his head without really meaning it? Although he seemed lucid enough at the moment. "Alex," he said in sudden surprise. Krycek turned his head, blinking. "You're talking clearer now," Mulder said. "The drugs are wearing off." Krycek nodded. "You outlasted the Haldol." Mulder shook his head. "You are one amazingly tenacious bastard." Krycek had his head back on the pillows, the covers tucked up to his chin like a kid. His eyes looked very dark in the dim light. "Painkillers helping at all?" Krycek nodded, then yawned. Mulder had an insane wish to reach over and ruffle his hair. "Will you get some sleep now?" Krycek gazed at him a moment more, then solemnly closed his eyes. Mulder awoke in the chair once more, this time only because of his cramped position. It was very early, the sky outside barely tinted with indigo. He looked over at Krycek in his bed, finally asleep after three days. Krycek looked quite peaceful, almost vulnerable, curled up there, long lashes fanned against his cheek. Mulder wondered if he should check Krycek for fever or maybe take his pulse again, but decided not to chance waking him up. Krycek's breathing was steady and deep; that was good enough for Mulder. With Krycek asleep at last, Mulder was free to move to the couch. He sighed gratefully as he stretched out there, easing his stiff muscles. Despite his fatigue, his eyes would not close yet, and he stared at the ceiling, feeling a surreal bemusement. He laid a hand flat against the wall, keenly aware of the man sleeping there on the other side. Like a bitter wind through crumbling walls, Krycek's presence had infiltrated every corner of Mulder's home over the past two nights. It was still there, the inescapable awareness that Mulder was not alone, that someone else was occupying his space, changing the very atmosphere. Somehow, though, it had shifted, lost its pernicious quality. Tonight Mulder could almost take some comfort in it. He lay listening to the soft, even breathing from his bedroom, the rhythm of it lapping at his consciousness, lulling him to sleep. Mulder awakened to full daylight and the sound of his cell phone ringing. "Hi, it's me." Scully sounded way too alert for this hour of the morning. "How's Krycek doing?" "Krycek?" Mulder hauled himself off the couch and plodded to the bedroom doorway to check. "Still sleeping. Finally. He wouldn't let the Haldol put him under." Scully made a small skeptical sound. "But then he had some kind of weird drug reaction in the middle of the night." "What?" Scully's tone sharpened. "Why didn't you call me?" "It wasn't like that...he just seemed disoriented, didn't remember where he was. And he was very...talkative." "Right...that's common with those meds." Scully dismissed the whole bizarre night in a few words. "Did he give you any new information?" "No...it was mostly just...whatever came into his mind." Krycek's mind evidently didn't interest Scully. "Any fever?" "I'm not taking his temperature, Scully." He flipped a pencil back and forth, absently gazing at the fish tank. He would have to remember to put one of those two-week feeder tablets in the tank before he left. "Oh, we're going to need a few things here, got a pen? Okay, breakfast stuff for now...and get a toothbrush and razor, stuff like that..." "He's going to need some clothes too, " Scully said. Mulder had not thought of that. Of course Krycek could not go back to wherever he lived, that would be too dangerous. "Yeah...get some jeans and sweats, T-shirts..." "What size?" Oh, this was a bizarre fucking moment; he was actually checking the labels in Krycek's clothing to find out what size he was. "Socks and underwear too, I suppose." Mulder estimated the sizes on that. He showered and dressed, then looked in at the bedroom doorway again. Krycek hadn't changed position, and Mulder was startled to realize that he was now awake, staring up at Mulder. Once again that disturbing mix of emotions swept Mulder: guilt, sympathy, rage, repulsion, lust—and some other, indefinable stirring. Damn, it was exhausting being around Alex all the time. How the hell were they going to last a couple of weeks in a small cabin together? "How do you feel?" Krycek did not answer. The pensive, trusting look from last night was gone, replaced with his usual wary, sardonic gaze. "Do you know where you are?" Krycek sat up, watching Mulder suspiciously. "Yeah." "Do you remember what happened?" Krycek went still. The green eyes glittered suddenly, and Mulder could see a muscle jump along his jaw. His voice was rough when he spoke. "You beat the crap out of me, held me prisoner and shot me up with something. Does that sum it up pretty well?" // Except that I threatened to rape you. We're both pretending that didn't happen. // Mulder cautiously came into the room and sat in the chair. He could see Krycek tense up as he got near. "I didn't know if you were telling me the truth at first. Sorry if I gave you a hard time." "You're sorry, Mulder." "I know you risked a lot to get us this." Krycek stared him down. "Well, I can see how you got into Oxford." Mulder deliberately kept his voice even. "Alex...I'm trying to apologize, okay? Stop being such a ballbuster." "So it's Alex, now, since I'm useful to you." There was a trace of bitterness under the mocking tone. "Don't push it with the martyr act, Krycek. We both know you wouldn't be risking your hot little ass if you weren't getting something out of this too." "Believe it or not, Mulder, I just want to make sure this happens. This is what we've worked for, the vaccine. As to what I'm getting out of it—" Krycek shook his head, "—hopefully it'll be quick and painless." Mulder's first impulse was to tell him not to be so dramatic, but he could hear the resignation in Krycek's voice, see the sadness in his eyes. Again he felt an unwilling sympathy. Krycek really must have burned bridges if Mulder was his last hope. Krycek looked down, away from Mulder. Mulder studied him a moment. "They've tried to kill you before. You always managed to get away. Aren't you smart enough to outwit them this time too?" Krycek sighed. "I don't know, Mulder," he said, his voice low and deep. "I don't know." They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Krycek raised his head. "Can I get cleaned up now?" "Sure." Mulder got to his feet. He started to hunt down a towel, then spotted the syringe of tetanus booster on the table. Maybe he could convince Krycek to let Mulder give him the shot, and avoid another bad scene with Scully. "Actually, wait a sec. Alex, uh, Krycek..." Krycek cocked his head. "That's my name." His eyes went to the syringe and Mulder could see him pull back a bit. "Tetanus booster," Mulder told him. "I can give it to you now, or Scully'll do it when she gets here." Krycek regarded him for a moment, then held out his hand. "Give it to me," he said in that soft, gravelly voice. "I'll do it." Mulder weighed the distinct possibility that Krycek meant to stab him in the eye with it or something similar, against the fragile trust that was slowly developing. With all that Alex had been through, he clearly didn't like having anyone do anything to him, even something as minor as this. And Mulder still had his gun, after all. Without a word, he picked up an alcohol prep pad and dropped it and the syringe into Krycek's outstretched hand. Krycek's eyes flicked to Mulder's face, for just an instant. Then he laid the syringe on the bed, tore the prep open with his teeth and swabbed a spot on his thigh. Smoothly and efficiently, he lifted the syringe and injected the contents, then handed the syringe and the used prep and wrapper back to Mulder. Mulder felt oddly exhilarated as he walked to the trash to dispose of the used syringe, as if they had both passed some kind of test. When he turned back Krycek had gotten off the bed and was standing up, stretching. "I'm going to take a shower now, okay?" His expression was still wary, measuring. "Sure...hold on." Mulder pulled open drawers until he found a sweatshirt and sweatpants. He tossed them on the bed. "Where are my clothes?" "These are clean, and you'll be more comfortable. You hungry?" Again that suspicious look, like Krycek thought it might be a trick question. "Yeah." "I'll see what I can rustle up." Mulder tossed him a towel. "Here...go ahead. Borrow my razor if you want, but leave my toothbrush alone." While Krycek showered, Mulder retrieved Krycek's jeans and boots from the closet. He laid the clothes on the end of the bed, then found an old duffel Krycek could use to pack. He brought Krycek's leather jacket in as well. The jacket smelled like Alex. Mulder wasn't sure how he knew Alex's scent, but he did. The visceral reaction of his own body, quickening all over, was unexpected. He stood holding the jacket for a moment, breathing deeply, then hurriedly dropped it on the bed. All he needed was for Krycek to come out of the bathroom and find Mulder sniffing his jacket. In the kitchen, he set about procuring some breakfast, but the pickings were slim indeed. He made coffee, but the remaining inch of milk in the container had soured, and the loaf of bread he was going to use to make toast had green mold. His refrigerator contained beer, batteries, and the uneaten mu shu pork from last night. A search through the cabinets turned up only a package of Oreos that had been there longer than he cared to think. But they would have to do. Hearing the shower stop, he poured two cups of coffee and set them on the table along with the Oreos. Krycek came out of the bathroom, clean-shaven and toweling his hair. Mulder could hear him in the bedroom, probably checking his things to make sure Mulder hadn't taken anything. Apparently satisfied, he padded out to the kitchen. The prosthetic arm was still off, and he had tucked his left sleeve into the waistband on the pants. Mulder realized he had given Krycek his favorite sweatshirt to wear. The thought didn't bother him as much as he would have expected. "Scully's picking up some food," Mulder informed him. "All I have right now is black coffee and Oreos." Krycek shrugged. He approached the table somewhat hesitantly and pulled up a chair. "They're kind of old," Mulder said. "It's fine." Krycek started wolfing down the cookies. "Scully'll pick up some real food. She'd probably be revolted by this." Krycek shrugged again, one corner of his mouth turning up. Mulder found himself returning the little smile. Jesus, this was surreal, he and Alex Krycek sharing a male bonding moment, for Chrissakes, over their guy breakfast in the face of Scully's disapproval. They drank their coffee in silence for a while. Mulder mentally made preparations for the trip. Krycek shifted in the chair, rubbing his bandaged wrist against his leg like it irritated him. Mulder noticed the bandage was soaked through. "That bothering you?" he asked. "You weren't supposed to get it wet." "How the hell am I supposed to wash without getting my hand wet?" "Well, Scully'll change the bandage when she gets here." "I can do it." Krycek said curtly. "Unless you plan on using your toes, or chewing that bandage off, Krycek, that's not gonna happen." But Krycek turned away, biting at the bandage. Mulder watched as he held one end of the bandage between his teeth and slowly unwound it from his wrist. With a self-satisfied glance at Mulder, Krycek walked over and tossed the bandage into the trash. "Okay, you got it off. You're still going to have to wait for Scully to put a clean one on." Mulder paused a moment for Krycek to realize the truth of this. "Or I can do it." Krycek gritted his teeth in annoyance, then capitulated. "Do it." Mulder was a little surprised; he had meant the words more as a joking threat than a real offer. Scully was a doctor, after all. But Krycek seemed more comfortable with Mulder than with her, even though to Mulder's mind the Haldol injection paled beside what he had done to Krycek. "Okay," he said, "sit down." He fetched the supplies Scully had left and rested Krycek's arm on a folded towel, unsure where to begin. The wound was a mess. "Shit, you really did a number on this, Krycek." "Well, you didn't have to cuff me again, asshole!" Seeing Mulder's uncertainty, Krycek sighed in impatience. "Take the Betadine and gauze pads and just clean it, Mulder." Mulder could feel his frustration, almost palpable, at not being able to do it himself. He followed Krycek's instructions, trying to be as gentle as he could, but still Krycek tensed and growled with pain while Mulder cleaned the wound. Mulder could feel him straining, wanting to pull away. He took hold of Krycek's arm to hold him still. "Shit, Mulder...what are you doing?" "I'm not a doctor, I just play one," Mulder said blandly. "It must be rough not having another hand to punch me with." "Very funny. Don't worry...I can make do." Mulder glanced up at him. "I'm sure you could, but since I'm not hurting you on purpose, how about you calm down and let me do this." He squeezed some of the antiseptic cream on the wound, spreading it gingerly with the gauze. Krycek sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth. Mulder was about to make a crack about Krycek being a big baby about pain; then he remembered Krycek's story about the loss of his arm. Alex had endured pain to a degree Mulder could not even imagine. More gently, he said, "Okay, the worst is over. I just have to bandage it up now." He started wrapping the gauze around Krycek's wrist, then wound it up across Alex's hand like he had seen Scully do. Krycek stopped him, pulling back a little. "Don't put it around my hand." Mulder looked at him in surprise. "Why not? Scully did it that way." "I don't like it around my hand. I can't hold my gun the same way." Mulder started to argue, then realized how vulnerable Krycek must feel, having his lone hand pinned like this. Oddly, he felt no satisfaction, only an unwilling sympathy. "Fine, whatever." He wrapped Krycek's wrist and taped it. "You don't even have your gun." "But you're going to give it back to me, before I go anywhere with you." "Yeah, like I need you in the back seat with a gun pointed at my head." The standoff was broken by the arrival of Scully, her diminutive frame laden with shopping bags. Mulder hurried over to help her. She handed him a bulky bag that smelled of coffee and fresh bagels. Mulder unloaded it on the kitchen table. Besides the bagels and coffee, it contained muffins, fruit, and a half-gallon of orange juice. "Now that's breakfast," Krycek said, his eyes glinting at Mulder. Mulder gave him a small smirk. Despite having downed half a package of Oreos, Krycek managed to devour a bagel, a banana, two muffins and three glasses of orange juice. Mulder looked on, bemused. Scully had said Krycek might be thirsty from the drugs; she hadn't mentioned he'd have the appetite of a pack of starving wolverines. "Okay," Scully said, sipping her coffee. "We'll be leaving around eight o'clock tonight. Krycek, I got you some clothes and toiletries, and the antibiotics and painkillers." She indicated the bags by the door. "Are there any other medications you need to take, or anything else special you'll need?" Krycek thought a moment. "I need a battery charger." Scully frowned. "A battery charger?" Mulder also looked at Krycek questioningly. He had searched all Krycek's stuff, and hadn't seen anything that required batteries. Krycek gazed coolly at Mulder, then shot a look pointedly at his left sleeve. "It takes batteries?" Mulder asked, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. "Cool." Krycek looked like he wanted to bounce something off Mulder's head, and so did Scully, whose expression clearly conveyed, "You are being an insensitive clod." "Here, Krycek," Scully said briskly. She produced a pad and pencil and handed them to Krycek. "Write down exactly what type and whatever else you need. The Bureau will pay for it." Krycek smirked. "I could use a new car." "We requisitioned a car," Scully said quellingly. "I'm going to pick it up in a little while." She set her black doctor's bag on the table and went to wash her hands. "Mulder, could you give us a moment, please?" Krycek stiffened at her words, darting a swift wide-eyed glance Mulder's way. Mulder retreated to the living room. As he busied himself with packing, sorting his mail and feeding the fish, he caught glimpses of Scully examining Krycek. She was being very matter-of-fact and clinical, her manner designed to put Krycek at ease, but Krycek nevertheless had pulled back in his seat as far as possible, and was gripping the edge of the table, looking ready to spring from the chair at any moment. Finally, Scully shut her bag. Mulder walked over and leaned in the kitchen doorway. Both of them looked at him with apparent relief. Scully glanced over at Krycek. "It's going to be a long drive tonight. I suggest you get some rest before we go." Her tone was clearly dismissive. Krycek did not object. He rose without a word and headed for the bedroom. Mulder watched him go, as Scully began detailing a conversation she'd had with Skinner about Bureau funds. Krycek was a bit bigger than Mulder, with broader hips, and Mulder's sweatpants were snug on him. It didn't look like he was wearing anything underneath. // Wow. // "Mulder, are you listening?" // Did she see me staring at Krycek's ass? // "Well, I'd better go," Scully sighed. "I've got a million errands to run." Mulder didn't feel too guilty. Million errands or no, he knew she vastly preferred that to having guard duty over Krycek. After she had left, Mulder brought the shopping bags into the bedroom. Krycek was sitting on the bed. He picked through the clothes without much enthusiasm. "Not your style, Krycek? Well, I wasn't going to tell Scully to buy you black underwear." Krycek stared at him with an incredulous and somewhat squeamish frown. "I wouldn't have told Scully to buy me underwear at all." "What, you like to go commando? Or is this a fit of uncharacteristic modesty?" "Not everyone walks around naked all the time." Krycek leaned back, spreading his legs a bit. "Fox Mulder, FBI. I'm so gorgeous, I have to share my body with the world." Mulder was about to come back with a biting retort, but the realization of why Krycek might not want to share his body with the world brought him up short. "Fox Mulder, FBI." Krycek smirked. "Have ya seen my waterbed?" Mulder favored him with a bland smile. "Maybe you should pack a bag next time you decide to go on the lam." Krycek's eyes flashed briefly, but he controlled himself. "Maybe I did. Took me a lot of time and money, getting those papers and everything together, not that you'd give a shit." "Where were you going to go?" Krycek's look was stony, and he didn't answer. The idea of Alex alone, hunted and on the run, disturbed Mulder, even though in his logical mind he knew it was undoubtedly the way Krycek had spent most of his life. Saving his own ass was Krycek's primary mission in life. In Hong Kong he had taunted Mulder and then slipped out the window, leaving Mulder handcuffed to a dead woman with her killers on the other side of the door. In Tunguska he had talked his way out of the cell and most likely into a warm bed and a decent meal, while Mulder was strapped to a table under chicken wire, undergoing an agonizing infiltration of the black oil. Still, though, this was different. Then Krycek had had the Consortium or the KGB or whoever he'd been working for to offer him some protection. Now, he only had Mulder. That was disturbing. Almost as disturbing as the strange satisfaction Mulder was feeling at seeing Alex there in his bed, wearing his clothes, looking quite like he belonged there. "Well, look on the bright side, Krycek. Now you've got two federal agents to protect you." Krycek looked up at him with a weary cynicism. "Yeah, but who's gonna protect me from you?" Mulder was about to retort, "Likewise," and leave, but there was still something hanging over them, something he needed to clear up. As little as he wanted to talk about this, he knew it had to be done. Mulder cleared his throat. Krycek watched him uneasily. He decided the best way to do this was to face it head-on. "Krycek, listen...what I tried to...when I was going to..." On the bed Krycek went stone-still, looking like he would rather be anywhere else in the world than here, listening to this. Mulder knew the feeling. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. "I wouldn't have gone through with that. I barely even unbuckled my belt. I just grabbed your hair like that to keep you still while I uncuffed you." Krycek was silent, his eyes averted. Mulder could feel his wariness. "Why?" Krycek asked finally, softly. // Why did you have to take it that way? // Mulder stared at the floor, unable to look at Krycek any longer. "I was just angry...it was stupid. I guess I was playing out some domination fantasy, but the reality...it wasn't like that. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it." "You—you have domination fantasies? About me?" Krycek's voice sounded strained. "No, I just—in general—I—" Mulder spluttered. // In your dreams. // In the dream, he had thrown Krycek up against a wall as he often had, preparatory to beating him up. He had one arm against Krycek's neck and his other hand on Krycek's chest. Only this time, instead of punching Krycek, he moved in closer and began to kiss that luscious mouth hard, fucking Krycek with his tongue, grinding his hips into Krycek's. In the dream Krycek's eyes were half-closed, and he put his hands on Mulder's hips, pulling Mulder closer. Mulder had woken up sweating, rock-hard, filled with a restless ache for a man he hated. "Jesus, no!" Mulder looked up, appalled. Krycek's head jerked up too, his eyes wide. "No," Mulder repeated. He had to get out of there. "I'm not a rapist, Krycek!" He was aware of how angry he suddenly sounded. "I just wanted you to know that." Breathing hard, he hurried from the room. Krycek stayed in the bedroom for the next few hours, either napping or hiding from Mulder. Mulder didn't know which and he didn't care to check. It was late afternoon when Krycek finally emerged. Mulder had taken a nap himself and was working at the computer. Not speaking to Mulder, Krycek padded rather cautiously in the direction of the kitchen. Mulder could hear him puttering around, opening the refrigerator and the cabinets. // Well, hell, make yourself at home there, Krycek. // But in truth he felt relief and a certain satisfaction that Krycek was doing just that. He did not want to have to deal with Krycek right now, did not want to play host. Mulder smelled food and his own stomach rumbled, but he stayed at the computer, waiting until Krycek had finished and returned to the bedroom before venturing into the kitchen himself. Everything was washed up and put away; there was no sign that Krycek had ever been there. Scully showed up around seven with supplies and takeout food. Mulder picked on chicken nuggets while she outlined plans for the drive. "What's our route?" Mulder asked. Scully spread the map out on the table. "Yeah," Krycek's voice said from behind them. "I'd like to know that too." They both turned, startled. There was a silence, and then Scully spoke. "Pennsylvania turnpike to 476. It's out near Wilkes-Barre." Krycek walked over to the table to look down at the map. He had changed into his own jeans and boots, but was still wearing Mulder's sweatshirt. He traced a line on the map with one finger. "Where, exactly? How long does it take to get there?" "I estimate eight to ten hours," Scully said. "So we'll take two to three hour shifts driving." "We drive, Krycek," Mulder said. "You can sit in the back." Krycek raised his head to give him a level stare. "Let's get something straight. Either I'm still your prisoner, or we're working together now. If we're working together, then give me all the information, we all take shifts driving, and you let me have my gun back." Mulder stared back, feeling the familiar overwhelming urge to punch Krycek. Scully broke the standoff. "That's fine, Krycek, you can drive. But you'll have to let me bandage your arm so you can put the prosthetic on." Mulder stood for a moment, not moving. Krycek stepped closer to the map. "Who knows where this place is?" "Just Skinner, a couple of other people in the Bureau, and me," Scully said. "You've been there before?" Scully nodded. "A few years ago." "Since you know where the place is, you should take the last shift driving." Krycek's attitude was really starting to get to Mulder. "Who put you in charge, Krycek?" "We need to have a plan in place." Scully looked from one to the other. "Since we are going to have to work together, I think we should keep the hostilities to a minimum." She was staring hard at Krycek as she said it, even though Mulder knew most of the hostility was coming from him. Mulder retrieved Krycek's gun from the desk drawer and laid it on the table. Krycek strapped it back on. He looked hard, cool and menacing. Mulder couldn't believe he had ever thought of Krycek as vulnerable. Or appealing, for that matter. They ate and cleaned up quickly, then loaded up the car, trying to be as quick and inconspicuous as possible. Because of Alex's broken ribs, Mulder had to carry Krycek's bag down as well as his own. It gave him some petty satisfaction at seeing how much it bugged Krycek not to be able to carry it himself. The car was a large black Lincoln Town Car. They put the luggage into the cavernous trunk alongside the groceries Scully had bought for the trip. "What'd they do—impound this from the Mob?" Mulder asked. Krycek peered over his shoulder into the trunk. "You could fit a couple of bodies in there." Mulder got behind the wheel and started the car. The big engine rumbled to life. "Anybody know any good road games?" Mulder said. "Are we there yet?" Scully and Alex asked simultaneously. They both gave uncomfortable half-smiles and lapsed into silence. "Don't make me turn this car around," Mulder said. Mulder had the radio tuned to a talk station, listening to some skinhead argue with the host over the constitutionality of gun laws. It never failed to fascinate him, the endless permutations of human behavior and logic. "How fast are you going?" Krycek rasped from the back seat. Mulder glanced at the speedometer. Eighty. Oops. "Sixty-five." "Bullshit." "Why don't you take a nap, Krycek? You'll feel better." "There's a rest stop coming up. Why don't you pull in there." Krycek's voice was hard. Mulder looked at the dashboard clock. Dammit, he had only been driving two and a half hours. He was not giving the wheel up to Krycek. "Told you to go before we left the house." "For heaven's sake, Mulder," Scully said, sounding irritated. Shit. He had thought she was asleep. "Pull in there and let him use the bathroom." He could see Krycek smirking in the rear-view mirror. Annoyed, Mulder swiftly cut over to the right lane, prompting honking from another car and angry exclamations from both his passengers. Scully was glaring at him as they pulled into a parking space at the rest stop. Krycek got out and strode off toward the building. Mulder got out too and stood stretching, idly gazing at Krycek's departing rear. "Mulder." He became aware that Scully was talking to him. He turned his attention to her. "What, Miss Daisy?" Scully brushed him off, not to be dissuaded from her intended lecture. "Look, I know you don't like him and you don't trust him. I don't either. But he is a protected informant as of now, and we have to—" "What if he's setting us up, Scully?" Mulder interrupted her. "He's done it before. Are we supposed to just roll over and let him fu—uh, betray us?" "Of course not. We keep our eyes and ears open...we stay on guard. But these—pissing contests—and petty cruelties aren't helping the situation any." She started to walk towards the building, then turned. "And you have got to control your temper! You can't beat him up any more, Mulder! I'm surprised he's even walking around today." "Want a cinnabun?" Mulder said, as they headed for the rest station. "I know you want a cinnabun. It's calling you, Scully." Scully smacked him on the arm. "No, listen. Scull-leeeee....Scuuullllll-leeeeee..." "I never eat anything bigger than my head, Mulder." Krycek was leaning against the car, sipping from a cup of coffee, as they returned. "So...want me to take the wheel for a bit?" His voice was soft, almost diffident. No more of the Alpha Male posturing. Mulder wondered what he was up to. "Sure, that's a good idea," Scully said. Krycek held out his hand to Mulder for the keys. So that was it. Getting Scully to go along with him. Goddamn rat bastard. Mulder realized he couldn't very well withhold the keys now without looking petty and ridiculous. Reluctantly, he handed them to Krycek, who walked around the car and got into the driver's seat. Mulder turned to Scully. "Since you have to drive next, why don't you take the back seat and catch a nap?" She nodded and got in back. Krycek looked at him curiously as Mulder slid into the passenger seat next to him. Mulder told himself it was just to keep an eye on the man. Hell, he only had one arm. He could run them right off the road. Krycek started the car. The first thing he did was change the radio station. "Hey, I was listening to that." "I hate talk radio." Krycek fiddled with the dial until he found a station he liked. "This is the Stones, Mulder. Classic." "No Satisfaction, huh," Mulder smirked. "You don't like to sing along, do you?" "Yeah. While I'm driving. I also play air guitar. 'Cause I'm just an adolescent at heart." Mulder suppressed a smile. He had forgotten Krycek actually had a sense of humor. "You're wearing my shirt." Krycek threw him a look. "You want it back?" he asked, sounding a little defensive. Mulder shrugged. "I don't care." He sneaked a glance over to see how Krycek was managing to drive with one hand: just fine. Of course, driving didn't really require the use of a left hand that much, especially like this, with the car on cruise control and hardly anyone else on the highway with them. Krycek noticed his scrutiny. "I'm not speeding." A commercial came on the radio, the pitchman's fanatical voice at least twenty decibels higher than the regular programming. "MONSTER trucks!! Come on—" Mulder grimaced in irritation and reached to change it, just as Krycek reached for his coffee cup. Their hands brushed together and Krycek pulled his away quickly. "Music," Krycek told him. "Not talk." "Country? Rap?" "Fast and loud." Battling over the radio station would seem to be the sort of 'petty pissing contest' Scully had warned him about, so Mulder complied without comment. Krycek gave a little smile. He reached again for the coffee and took a long swallow, keeping his prosthetic hand on the wheel. "So," Mulder said, "Alexei, huh?" Silence. Krycek stiffened and shot Mulder a look. "Your pronunciation sucks," he said finally. "Your parents are Russian?" More silence, another slanted look. "Russian and Czech," Krycek said slowly. "But you were born in this country?" Krycek bristled visibly at that. "Yeah, I was born in this country! I'm as American as you are, Mulder! Just because I speak Russian—" "How did you get involved with the KGB?" "Is this why you wanted to sit up here?" Krycek snapped. "To interrogate me?" "I'm not interrogating you." Mulder made his voice an infuriatingly bland monotone. "Just making conversation." Krycek snorted angrily. "Why is my background the subject of this—conversation?" "You're the one that's here. If Scully was awake I'd be having a conversation with her." "You'd be asking Scully if she was really an American?" Krycek sounded bitter. // Damn, I really got to him with that one. // "Anyone ever tell you you're so cute when you're mad?" Krycek whipped his head around to stare at Mulder furiously. "Keep your eyes on the road there, Krycek." "Are you going to keep this shit up the whole way?" "Sure," Mulder said. "It's entertaining." Was he mistaken, or was that a tiny smile starting on Krycek's face? "And anyway, if my questions bother you, why don't you just start lying as usual." Krycek didn't respond, but Mulder had the abrupt sensation of a door being slammed shut. Krycek stared stonily ahead at the highway. Mulder wished suddenly that he hadn't said that. They had been almost—he wouldn't really say friendly, but the back-and-forth between them had reminded him of the days when they were partners. // And he betrayed you. Keep that in mind before you let your libido drag you under. // He was beginning to suspect that Krycek was an adolescent at heart, at least judging from his taste in music. The loud, headbanging guitar and pounding bass were making Mulder's head hurt. He preferred jazz, or at least some interesting lyrics or melody riffs. This was just a solid wall of noise. No finesse, no depth or shading, no thought or emotion beyond angry rebellion. // Just like Krycek. // He decided to mess with Krycek's head a little more. "So, Krycek...you like men or women better?" But Krycek was onto him now, not even looking Mulder's way as he said coolly, "For what?" Mulder shrugged. "What are you into, Mulder?" "Oh, I like greyhounds." Krycek raised his eyebrows a bit. "The buses?" "'I tell everyone very plainly that I take bribes, but what kind of bribes? Why, greyhound puppies. That's a totally different matter,'" Mulder said. Krycek was frowning slightly, small creases of concentration. Mulder wondered if he recognized the quote. "Gogol. The Inspector General." "Think in your case it should be whippets, Mulder." Mulder couldn't help it; he did laugh now. // Whippets. Whip it good. // The angry noise from the radio faded and a soft, acoustic melody came on, the singer earnestly pleading, "Just keep love in your heart..." Mulder sighed with relief as his ears finally got a respite. Krycek snorted. "Christ, what crap. There's nothing sappier than a hardass gone soft." "Speaking from personal experience?" Another snort from Krycek. The night was flying by, light from the streetlights sliding up and through the windows. The chain storefronts racing by now, so fast—how fast? He shot a look at the speedometer: over eighty-five and climbing. "Krycek, what the hell are you doing?" "Nice night, isn't it?" Krycek said smoothly, staring straight ahead at the road. "Thought you didn't like speeding." Krycek shot him a wolfish grin. "Only when I'm not driving." "Slow it down." Krycek didn't respond. Mulder watched in horrified fascination as the needle climbed higher, going past the hundred mark now... "Krycek, dammit, slow it down!" With the prosthetic hand, Krycek hit the window controls. The windows slid down, the rushing wind roaring into the car, whipping their hair about. Krycek's grin became full-throated laughter. The needle crept toward one-twenty. Mulder wondered how fast the car could actually go. "Pull this car over, Krycek! Now!" Mulder spun to look in back and was dumbstruck to see Scully sitting up, her gun drawn and leveled at Krycek's head. The sudden tension in Krycek's posture told Mulder that he had seen the gun too. The car slowed, the speed dropping to seventy-five, sixty, forty, and finally coasting to a stop. "Turn the car off, Krycek," Scully ordered, "and give me the keys." Slowly, Krycek obeyed. Scully pocketed the keys. "Now put your hands on your head." Krycek started to speak, but apparently thought better of it and raised his hands to his head. Scully got out of the back and walked over to open the driver's side door. "Get out of the car. Keep your hands on your head." She stepped back as Krycek got out. "Okay, give me your gun." Mulder got out of the car as well. "Scully..." She shot him a look, then turned back to Krycek. "The gun." "Are you going to leave him stranded out here without a weapon? That's something I would do!" Krycek looked from Scully to Mulder, as if gauging his chances. Mulder made his voice conversational. "Don't try it, Krycek." He leaned on the top of the car and brought his right hand down to rest on his own gun. Slowly, Krycek reached back to get the gun and handed it to Scully. "Okay, Krycek." Scully gestured with her own gun at the car. "Get in the back." As Krycek started to comply, she said, "I don't need to put the cuffs on you, I hope?" "We could just stick him in the trunk," Mulder suggested. Instantly he saw it, the incremental shift in the other man's stance. Krycek preparing to fight. Alex's chin came up, his fingers twitched slightly. "Just get in the car, Krycek," Scully said. Krycek let out a hard breath. He rolled his head around, flexing his shoulders, then abruptly turned and got into the car, slamming the door. Mulder looked at Scully over the top of the car. She moved around to the front, reholstered her gun, and held out Krycek's gun to Mulder. "Don't make any smartass remarks," she said. "I wasn't going to." "This could have gotten us all killed! He's got one arm! And he's a known sociopath. But you keep playing these games, goading him...." She shook her head. "If you can't stop this, then maybe someone not so personally involved should take your place." "It's my case," Mulder said stubbornly. "He came to me with the information." "You should have passed it right on to Skinner. Along with Krycek." "He doesn't trust Skinner." She eyed him speculatively. "I don't think trust is the operative word here, Mulder." Mulder busied himself tucking Krycek's gun inside his jacket. Scully got behind the wheel. She adjusted the seat and the mirrors, rolled the windows up, and shut the radio off. "Oh, come on, Scully...music soothes the savage beast, you know. Well, actually, it's savage breast. Most people—" Scully shot him a stinging look, and Mulder shut up. She pulled out onto the highway again. Mulder glanced back at Krycek. Alex was staring out the window, looking pissed off. "Enjoying the trip, Krycek?" Without turning, Krycek flipped him off. Mulder settled into his seat. It was going to be a long, hostile ride. Mulder was awakened from a light slumber by a high-pitched trill. He opened his eyes and looked around. The sound was Scully's cell phone. "Scully...hello, sir." She listened for a long moment. "That's not good. Who is—?" Her eyes, looking troubled, met Mulder's. "What is it, Scully?" But she was still talking to Skinner. Mulder glanced into the back seat. Krycek was leaning forward, listening intently, hyperalert. "Is there an alternate route?" Scully guided the car to the side of the road and stopped. She gestured for the map. Mulder passed it to her and helped her spread it out. She traced a finger along the route, chewing her lip. "Mm-hmm...no...I see...another couple of hours...no, we want to get there before daylight." "Scully, what's up?" "Hold on a second, sir." Scully took the phone from her ear, turning to face the back seat. "Krycek, do you know a man named Michael Chandler?" "Yeah. A real scuzzball psychopathic asshole." "He's wanted by the Consortium?" Krycek nodded. "He worked for them, then he double-crossed them. They'd love to get their hands on him." "Sounds familiar," Mulder observed. Krycek glared at him. "He's a thousand times worse than I'll ever be." "Apparently," Scully broke in impatiently, "they're not the only ones looking for him. He shot a cop, and there's a roadblock up ahead. Skinner says it's probable there'll be Consortium there too." "Jesus," Mulder said. Behind him he heard a soft "fuck" from Krycek. "Can we go around?" Krycek asked. He perused the map, frowning, while Scully spoke to Skinner again. Mulder stared at it too, wondering about the roadblock. Was it really Chandler they were looking for, or was the whole thing a ruse to catch Krycek? Had somebody leaked information as to Krycek's whereabouts? "What do you—?" Scully listened for several seconds. "Won't they be checking the trunk?" Mulder heard Krycek's quick intake of breath, almost imperceptible. He remembered Krycek's preparing to fight him when he suggested putting him in the trunk, Krycek's panic attack in Mulder's bathroom. Not a good situation. "Okay, sir, thank you...we'll keep you informed." Scully snapped the cell phone shut. "Skinner says our best bet is to have Krycek get into the trunk until we're past the roadblock. If they see our badges they shouldn't search the car." "Couldn't he just hide on the floor of the car?" Mulder asked. "If they see all the luggage in the back seat, they're bound to think we're hiding something in the trunk." From the corner of his eye he could see Krycek sitting, rigid and silent, staring fixedly at the map. "Or maybe we could disguise him somehow." Scully looked at him strangely. Mulder wasn't sure why he didn't just tell her what the problem was, other than that he was sure Alex wouldn't want him to. // Alex again? And since when do I care how he feels? // "It won't be for the whole ride," Scully said. "Just until we're a few miles past the roadblock." She hit the trunk latch and got out of the car. Mulder turned to look in back. Krycek was slowly getting out as well, not meeting Mulder's eyes. He remained silent while they loaded the luggage into the back seat, trying to make the pile of bags and boxes look as inconspicuous as possible. Krycek stood staring into the empty trunk, an absolute aura of tension—hell, fear—emanating from him. How long could he last in there? Would they make it through the roadblock? Mulder had no idea how extensive it might be, or who was waiting there. No, not a good situation at all. Mulder mentally scrambled through the alternatives. Go the long way, losing precious hours? Chance a stop at a motel? Tell Scully, and have her pull out the Haldol again? At least it was a roomy trunk. // Could fit a couple of bodies in there... // "Maybe one of us should get in with him," Mulder suggested. "It might look less suspicious, especially if it is a trap to get Krycek. Two of us, we could be transporting. This way, I'm just a guy on vacation." Two looks of disbelief. Scully pivoted to face him. "Mulder, what on earth are you talking about? You want me to get in the trunk? With Krycek?" "You're smaller." Neither one of them appeared at all happy. Krycek took two steps backward, looking even more unsettled. Scully wore an expression as though she'd been forced to pet a tarantula. She started to speak, but Krycek held up a hand. "I'll get in. Just me." Mulder opened the car door and reached in to retrieve his flashlight. He held it out to Krycek. "Here." Krycek took it. He drew a deep breath and swallowed hard, closing his eyes. "Give me my gun back, okay?" He sounded almost pleading. Mulder entertained the image of a panicked, armed Krycek: not a pretty thought. He found it almost as hard to take as the sight of Alex, visibly working up his courage and approaching the trunk. His eyes looked enormous, wide and dark. Without pausing to examine his action, Mulder pushed past Krycek, climbing into the trunk himself. "Mulder, what are you doing?" Scully sounded incredulous. "I'll ride in here with him. Scully, you're on vacation, a family reunion or something." He looked up at her, trying to convey a message with his eyes. "No details," Krycek said. "Unless they ask. Keep it simple." He was breathing hard but still, apparently, able to think clearly. "Mulder, this is insane!" Scully said. "You can't—" "Sure, it'll work. C'mon, Krycek, hop in." Krycek frowned down at Mulder. "Turn around." "What?" "Keep your gun hand free." Krycek's voice was quiet. Mulder felt like an ass. He had gotten in so quickly that he hadn't noticed he was lying on his right side. That would put them both, but especially Krycek, at a disadvantage if they were threatened by the Consortium. Awkwardly, he twisted around to lie on his left. Scully looked at Krycek, who still stood stiffly. Mulder reached into his jacket and extracted Krycek's gun. He held it out to Krycek. "If I give you this, you better not use it on any cops or you're dead meat." He stared hard at Krycek, letting the man know he meant business. Krycek nodded. He took the gun and holstered it. "Mulder..." Scully's voice was rising. Krycek hesitated, squeezing his eyes shut again, then slowly climbed into the trunk. Mulder could see what an effort it took, how much he wanted to just bolt. Krycek settled down, curling into something like a fetal position against Mulder's front. It was a very tight, uncomfortable fit; Mulder felt wedged right up against Krycek. He was beginning to question the wisdom of his decision to get in the trunk. Scully took hold of the trunk lid, preparing to close it. Krycek froze, his breathing speeding up. Mulder could feel him shaking. "Shut your eyes," Mulder murmured. He felt a brief chill of apprehension himself, whether because Krycek's fear was contagious or because he was now going to be locked in a small space with an armed and extremely nervous sociopath, he wasn't sure. The trunk lid came down, closing them together in the dark. Krycek snapped the flashlight on. Mulder could hear Krycek fighting to get his breathing under control. He tried to put a hand on Krycek's arm to calm him down, but unfortunately the tight squeeze forced him to drag his hand up over Krycek's ass. "What're you doing?" Krycek's voice had that about-to-lose-it quality again. "My hand was trapped." Mulder made his voice low and hypnotic, hoping it would work. The engine revved and the car started to move. He laid his hand against the back of Krycek's arm. "It should only be about twenty minutes to the roadblock, then another ten or fifteen past that." Krycek's fingers moved frantically over the trunk lid. Mulder had a mental image of him flipping out completely and trying to claw his way out of the trunk. // No, not good. // "You're claustrophobic, huh?" Krycek's laugh was shaky, forced out between his teeth. "I can see why they pay you the big bucks, Mulder." Mulder ignored that. "From the silo?" "No—I always was—though that didn't help." Krycek was spitting the words out, sounding about to hyperventilate. "I used to—get locked in a closet sometimes—when I was a kid—I always—I always hated that." // Fuck, who wouldn't? // Mulder felt uneasy about Krycek telling him that; it was too personal. Was Krycek starting to fall apart? "Okay, okay." Mulder increased the pressure of his hand, squeezing Krycek's arm lightly. "Alex." He remembered how Krycek had calmed and responded to his name in Mulder's apartment. "You're not in there now. This isn't going to be for very long. Just hang on, okay?" Krycek drew a deep, shaky breath. "I'm fine, Mulder." His voice sounded raw but had a flash of defiance. Mulder felt a surge of appreciation. Krycek was nothing if not tough. He gave Krycek's arm another light squeeze. "Good, Alex. We should be at the roadblock soon." He could feel the muscles in Alex's arm through the leather jacket, taut and tense under his fingers. Alex was still shaking, though not as badly. "When we pull up," Krycek hissed, "don't talk. Stay silent." "I'm not a moron, Krycek." "Gooo-oood, Mulder," Krycek said, his voice a malicious approximation of Mulder's deliberately soothing tones. // Oh, fuck him. Why didn't I just knock him out and dump him in the trunk? What am I doing in here? // He felt the familiar impulse to smack Krycek, but his range of motion was severely limited, and he realized that that might be construed as less than reassuring if Krycek was trying to stave off a panic attack. Suddenly he realized that Krycek's breathing was a little more even, that baiting Mulder was evidently taking his mind off the fear. He smiled. "Fuck you, Krycek." "Why are you in here, Mulder?" Mulder considered several possible wiseass replies but decided now was not the time. He gave Krycek the simple truth. "I didn't want a repeat of what happened in my bathroom." "Why would I do that?" "You had a panic attack." "I can control myself!" Krycek snapped. "You didn't need to do this." "Guess you would've preferred Scully," Mulder said blandly. "Too bad." But even as he said it he knew that was wrong; for whatever reason, Krycek would not have preferred Scully. He had not been willing to share the trunk with Scully, but had not batted an eye about getting in with Mulder. It was always Mulder, not Scully, he brought information to; it was Mulder he had asked to change the bandage on his arm. Mulder wondered why. Considering that she had ample reasons to dislike Krycek, Scully actually treated the man pretty decently. Even the Haldol had just been an attempt to calm him down and keep him from injuring himself further. He felt the car slowing. They must be nearing the roadblock. He gave Krycek's arm a sharp squeeze to warn him to be quiet. Krycek had one hand splayed tensely against the trunk seal, fingers twitching. He reached down to turn the flashlight off. The sudden blackness pressed in on them. "Shit," Krycek whispered, the panicked edge back in his voice. "Shit...Mulder, I can't—I've gotta get out of here." // Oh fuck not NOW, c'mon HOLD IT TOGETHER ALEX. // "You can do it, Alex." Swiftly, Mulder reached his arm around Krycek's chest, taking hold of him tightly. Krycek grunted and winced sharply, and Mulder realized he had grabbed Krycek's broken ribs. He withdrew his hand, sliding it up to grasp Krycek's shoulder, the left shoulder, and that was not good either, as Krycek stiffened in his hold, giving a convulsive little shake of his head, his fist clenching. It sounded like he was starting to hyperventilate in earnest now. // Mulder, you are a fucking idiot. He's already freaking out at being confined, and now you're grabbing him, too hard, and in all the wrong places. // Mulder relaxed his hold on Krycek's shoulder, bringing his hand down to rest gently against Krycek's chest. He could actually feel Krycek's heart pounding under his palm through the material of the sweatshirt—Mulder's sweatshirt—that Krycek was wearing. The car stopped briefly, moved forward slowly, stopped again. They must be in a line of traffic, approaching the roadblock. Mulder lifted his head slightly to whisper near Krycek's ear. "This is it. Hang on. Close your eyes. Breathe deep." Krycek's fingers scrabbled tentatively over the back of Mulder's hand. Mulder turned his hand a bit, taking hold of Krycek's and grasping it firmly. Krycek pressed back, his grip tightening to the point of pain for a moment before letting up. The car stopped again, and Mulder felt a faint vibration that he assumed was Scully rolling the window down. The minutes ticked by. Mulder could feel Krycek fighting down the fear, could feel the tension in his body, the way he hung on to Mulder's hand. He could smell the leather of Krycek's jacket, and the faint scent of Mulder's shampoo on Krycek's hair, different from what Krycek usually used. He wondered how he knew that, wondered at the bizarreness of this: the two of them curled up here like—lovers. He realized he was nervously stroking his thumb over Krycek's knuckles. He tried to make his breathing slow and deep, changed the rhythm of his touch to match that. // C'mon, Alex, breathe with me. // Deep, steady breaths. He could hear Krycek trying, not entirely succeeding. He was counting on Krycek's determination, the stubbornness that had made him resist the Haldol. It was taking too long. They had been at the roadblock almost ten minutes now. It shouldn't have taken that long for Scully to show her ID and the cops to give a cursory check of the car. He felt his own anxiety mounting, knew Krycek must be going crazy. He tried to think what explanation he would give if they did open the trunk. He tried to think what he would do if Krycek started screaming, or pulled his gun and tried to shoot his way out. Was there a way to get him in a quick chokehold? But Krycek, now that the moment of truth had arrived, actually seemed to be holding up better than Mulder. He stayed still, gripping Mulder's hand, pulling in long, shaky breaths. Like Mulder, he seemed to be listening hard for any clue as to what was going on. Mulder suddenly noticed that Krycek was stroking his hand in return, Krycek's thumb rubbing over Mulder's fingers. Had Krycek picked up on Mulder's unease; was he trying to reassure Mulder? And then, all at once, the car was starting up and they were moving again, past the roadblock, down the highway, safe. Mulder let his breath out in a rush, collapsing against Krycek's back, and felt Krycek do the same. He let go of Krycek's hand, made his own into a fist, and thumped Krycek's hand lightly. Alex thumped him back, then gave a little shuddering shake, as if trying to dissipate the tension. He stretched backward a bit, just enough to push right up against Mulder, causing an immediate and unmistakable physical reaction. Mulder decided he would not examine all this. It was just too weird, even given the number of strange and extraordinary things that he had witnessed in his life. He would not think about why it didn't bother him that Alex smelled a little like him now, and was wearing his favorite shirt, and why he kept thinking of him as Alex. He wouldn't try to understand it, any of it, not least what he was doing in here at all, pressed against a man he ostensibly loathed, getting an erection hard enough to cut diamonds. "That better be your gun I feel back there, Mulder," Krycek muttered shakily. "Extra flashlight," Mulder lied. It must just be adrenaline, an automatic reflex from the enormous relief he felt. He shifted marginally, but there was no place really to go. Krycek made a little sound, like a strangled gasp, and Mulder tensed. // Don't flip out now, Krycek, we're almost there. // But Krycek was laughing, the helpless, half-hysterical laughter that comes with the release of extreme tension. Mulder could feel Krycek's whole body shaking with it. He realized he was rubbing Alex's chest with the flat of his hand in a way that was almost—affectionate? comforting? "Alex...take it easy..." Then he was laughing too, unable to stop himself, muffling his face in Alex's black leather back. All at once Alex covered Mulder's hand with his own, impelling it downward with a definite gentle pressure. // Holy shit. Is he doing what I think...? // But then the car was slowing, stopping, the motion rocking Alex back against Mulder. Mulder's hand was resting on Alex's belly, his fingers at the button of Alex's jeans. Alex pulled his hand away and Mulder did the same. Alex drew in a few deep breaths, quivering slightly as they heard Scully's door slam. It seemed to take her forever to walk back and unlock the trunk. As soon as the lid was lifted, Krycek fairly leaped from the trunk. He strode quickly down the road until he was about fifty feet away, then paced around, gulping in air and shaking himself. Scully stared at Mulder questioningly. "He's very claustrophobic. That's why I got in there with him, to make sure he wouldn't go apeshit at a crucial time." "Mulder! And you gave him his gun? What if he had pulled it on you?" Scully was giving him her Look, the one that meant, "You are two steps above a mental patient, in my estimation." "I didn't think he would," Mulder said lamely, although in truth that probably wasn't so farfetched. Like any rat, Krycek could be ruthless when cornered. Two more minutes at that roadblock, and Krycek might have been ready to try it. "When people panic, they can be capable of almost anything," Scully said severely. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have given him something." Mulder leaned against the car. "Yeah, that worked so well the last time we tried it." "There are oral meds. I have Valium." Mulder was beginning to wonder why, himself. Valium sounded like a better idea than what he had done, and it might have helped Krycek as well. // I just couldn't let him get into that trunk alone, knowing how terrified he was. // He was stunned by that thought. Why should it bother him so much? Well, of course, if Krycek had panicked at the roadblock and attracted the wrong kind of attention, they might all be dead now, or in police custody. Scully swiveled to watch Krycek, still pacing about, then turned back to Mulder. "How did you know he was claustrophobic?" "Bad experiences in the past," Mulder said briefly, not wanting to go into it. Krycek was walking back toward them, apparently having gotten himself under control somewhat. He didn't look at Mulder as he approached, but spoke only to Scully. "Why were we so long at the roadblock?" Scully regarded him coolly. "They wanted to discuss the shooting with me. And," she smiled wryly at Mulder, "flirt with me." "Whoa, Scully," Mulder said. "We leave you alone for five minutes and you're picking up coppers at the tollbooth? What would Paul think? Sleeping at home all innocent with his two little matching down pillows—" "I hope you get a girlfriend soon, Mulder, so I can torture you as much as you do me." For some reason, Mulder found himself seeking out Alex's eyes at that. Krycek gazed back, his expression unreadable. Scully was scrutinizing Alex, probably checking for lingering signs of instability. "Are you all right, Krycek?" "Yeah." Krycek's voice was flat. He shot Mulder a hard, dark look. // Well, what the hell was I supposed to tell her, she's my partner. You didn't think she'd wonder why I was riding in the trunk? // He knew Scully was wondering, and he didn't really have a rational answer to give her. It was Krycek. That was all. Somehow around Krycek he always found himself doing all kinds of insane things he would normally never do. The car slowed and stopped. Mulder opened his eyes. They were halfway up a dirt road. Scully held a small remote control out the window and punched in a few numbers. "There's a perimeter alarm," she informed them. "What's the code?" Krycek asked. "We'll go over everything when we get settled in." Scully sounded tired and a bit impatient. She had borne the brunt of the driving, and even though she had insisted on it and refused to let either Mulder or Krycek drive, Mulder still couldn't help feeling a little guilty. From the road as they approached, the cabin, a small wood-frame structure in need of a paint job, looked unprepossessing, even a bit dilapidated. "It's made of logs?" Krycek's tone suggested that this was only marginally preferable to something constructed of Tinkertoys or Legos. "Reinforced concrete blocks inside," Scully reassured him. "Nothing's getting through those walls." Mulder noted that it had a sunken foundation as well, and that the front porch sat on a solid layer of cinderblocks. Nothing was crawling under this place, either. "Hey," he said as they got out of the car, "ten bucks says there's a deer head on the wall." They approached the cabin cautiously, guns drawn and at the ready. Mulder scanned the vicinity and Krycek stood guard at the doorframe while Scully unlocked the door. It was chilly inside, with a musty smell of disuse. The cabin interior was primarily one large room. An open kitchen was at one end, separated from the main area by a counter with a couple of barstools. There was a large couch near the brick fireplace, with a camp cot against the opposite wall. A short hallway off the main area held a bedroom, bathroom, and a smaller computer room with a printer and fax machine. The decor was rustic—exposed ceiling beams, wood paneling everywhere, a painting of ducks over the fireplace. It looked, at first glance, like any hunting cabin, but the door and window frames were reinforced with steel, and there were steel bolts on the shutters as well. Scully gazed about, looking rather unimpressed. "No deer heads, Mulder, sorry. But there is a TV. Although it probably doesn't get your favorite channels." "Call Skinner and tell him to put in a satellite dish. I'm not missing Oprah for anybody." Scully reholstered her gun. "Well, let's unload the car. I've got perishables out there." Krycek came out to the car with them and insisted on helping unload, despite Scully's admonishments to him to take it easy. Mulder saw him grimace as he set the bag down, saw how Krycek pressed his left arm to his side. He wanted to tell Krycek not to be such a macho dumbass, but he knew Scully would probably take that type of remark to be picking a fight. "You can take the bedroom, Krycek," Scully said. Krycek peered into the bedroom but did not go in. "You can have it." "You're the—one in protective custody." Scully sounded like she had been about to say something else. Krycek backed up a couple of steps. "It doesn't look any safer in there than out here." Mulder wondered if the smallish room was triggering Krycek's claustrophobia. But he hadn't seemed bothered by Mulder's bedroom. Maybe there was something else going on, some other reason why Krycek preferred to sleep out here with Mulder. All the way to the cabin, outwardly dozing, Mulder had been replaying in his head those minutes in the trunk. The feel of Alex's body pressed back against his, Alex shaking in his arms, the scent of Alex's hair. Alex's hand over his, guiding it downward. // He kissed me. He offered to blow me, back at my apartment. He wanted me to touch him. // // He wants me. // // Or he wants something from me. // "You can take the bedroom, Scully," Mulder found himself saying. "He's probably safer out here with one of us. You'll be more comfortable there anyway, and have more privacy." Scully shot him a strange look, which Mulder took to mean that he had never evinced any concern for her comfort or privacy in the past. "Okay," she said finally. "There should be another cot in the closet there." Mulder looked at the red plaid sofa. It was large enough, shabby but serviceable. "No need. I usually sleep on the couch anyway. And, hey, you can curl up and chat with your—betrothed all night long." Scully gave an exasperated sniff. "Let's just get this stuff put away right now," she said levelly, "have something to eat and get to sleep." Mulder ripped open a packet of sunflower seeds. "Fine." Krycek turned and began dragging the duffel over to the cot. Mulder noticed he had been watching their little interchange intently. While Mulder replaced light bulbs and Scully put away the groceries, Krycek prowled around the cabin, checking out everything, opening and then locking doors and windows, looking under furniture and in closets and drawers. Scully began laying out sandwich fixings. "Mulder, you want...let me see...turkey breast and cheese, mustard, no mayo. Right?" Mulder nodded. He nibbled on sunflower seeds and watched Krycek bend down to examine the titles on the bookshelf. "Krycek, you want a sandwich?" Scully asked. "Ham, cheese, turkey...?" "Yeah...fine." Scully looked somewhat irritated as she slapped cold cuts onto bread and placed it on a plate. Krycek continued his inspection of the cabin, opening the back door, which led out to a screened-in porch. Mulder followed, leaning in the doorway and watching as Krycek lifted the lid of— "Hey, a hot tub!" Mulder said. "Does it work?" Two pairs of eyes regarded him dubiously, both with the identical message: "If you imagine that I'm ever getting into a hot tub with either of you, you're crazier than I thought. And that's saying a lot." "I made you a sandwich," Scully said as Krycek stepped back in. Her tone was just a few degrees upward of arctic. "Thanks." Krycek picked up the sandwich and ate it standing up while going through the kitchen cabinets, which harbored a motley collection of condiments and canned goods left by previous occupants. He pulled out bottles of spices and opened them to sniff at the contents. Scully looked at Mulder quizzically. Mulder shrugged. Krycek opened the kitchen drawers, taking knives out and hefting them, one by one. "These aren't very big," he observed critically. Scully lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. "They're not meant as weapons, Krycek." Mulder tried to keep his voice as mild as possible. Krycek shot Mulder a look, impatient and annoyed. Scully stood up and tossed her paper plate into the trash. "Well, it's been a long day. I'm going to get some sleep. Good night—or, good morning, I should say." She gestured toward the speedily lightening sky. "Sleep tight," Mulder said. He smiled, but she didn't smile back. Krycek just nodded. Scully started to head for the bedroom, then stopped. "Krycek, how's your arm? I can take a look at it before—" "No," Krycek snapped flatly. At Scully's look, he shook his head, as though realizing he had been rude. "Sorry. I, ah, I—no." He shook his head again. Scully looked nonplussed by Krycek's apology. "Well, all right then," she said after a moment. "I'm going to bed." Krycek resumed his prowling. Fatigue was settling on Mulder like a fog, and he collected the necessary items from his suitcase and went to get ready for bed. Coming out of the bathroom, he was greeted by the unusual sight of Krycek going through a pile of clothes on the cot, switchblade out and at the ready. "The sock," Mulder intoned, "is the deadliest animal known to man." Krycek pulled a pair of sweatpants from the pile. He sat on the edge of the cot and began cutting the legs off. "I don't like to sleep in sweatpants." "They were all out of airplane jammies in your size." Krycek looked distinctly unamused. Mulder almost asked what he usually slept in, but that seemed somewhat...flirtatious. He wasn't sure he wanted to be flirting with Krycek right now. The boundaries were blurring too much as it was. He sat silently on the edge of the couch and watched Krycek sawing through the fabric of the sweatpants. Krycek seemed to be having some trouble gripping it with the prosthetic hand; the material kept slipping from his fingers and Mulder heard low hisses of frustration. Again Mulder felt that uncomfortable sympathy. He knew Krycek must be as exhausted as he was; probably more, as Alex hadn't slept much in the last few nights. But he also suspected that if he offered help, Krycek would use that switchblade to remove one of Mulder's body parts. Krycek raised his head and shot Mulder a look, bristling with defensiveness and irritation; definitely not flirtatious. The status quo restored, Mulder stretched out on the couch and turned the TV on. Krycek doggedly resumed his makeshift tailoring. Mulder studiously kept his eyes on the TV when Krycek left the room and returned wearing the cutoff sweats and Mulder's shirt. From a corner of his eye, Mulder noted that he had removed the prosthetic arm. Edginess and hostility seemed to radiate from Krycek like a force field as he made up the cot for sleeping, then turned off the lamp and got under the covers. He lay stiffly on his back staring at the ceiling, keeping the shirt on. Mulder wondered why he was being so modest. Mulder had already seen everything, after all. Well, not everything... Mulder swore to himself and flipped the channels furiously, trying to find a point of focus that would keep him from mentally undressing Krycek. That was the very last thing he needed right now. "Mulder," Krycek rasped testily. "Are you going to leave the television on all night?" Mulder felt an answering testiness. "It's bothering you?" "Just that most people don't sleep with it on." Petty pissing contests.... Mulder heaved a loud sigh and shut off the TV. He felt wide-awake, keyed up, and, most aggravatingly, aroused. This had been a mistake, telling Scully to take the bedroom. Granted, he couldn't have kept the TV on or jerked off with Scully in the room, but at least he could have talked to her. What the hell could he ever talk to Krycek about? Mulder awoke a few hours later. He had slept fitfully, restless and not entirely comfortable on the unfamiliar couch. He glanced automatically over to the cot and saw with a little jolt that it was empty. The bathroom door was partly open, the light off. Cursing under his breath, Mulder hurried to the front door and flung it open. The car was still there, parked where they had left it last night. Looking back at the cot, he saw that the duffel he had lent Krycek was still there as well, although Krycek's leather jacket and boots were gone. Mulder checked in the bathroom, just in case, and the small computer room, to no avail. Where the hell had Krycek gotten to? He hesitated outside the closed bedroom door, then left it, unable to imagine any conceivable scenario by which Krycek and Scully would have ended up in bed together. But why would Alex just take off like that? He remembered the screened porch then, and hurried over to open the door. Sure enough, Krycek was out there, sitting in a corner of a wicker settee that had seen better days. He was fully dressed, the leather jacket on, even though it was September and the temperature was in the 60's. Probably armed too, Mulder thought. "Hey." Mulder tried to make his voice as unthreatening as possible. Krycek didn't respond. His eyes, shadowed and suspicious, stayed fixed on Mulder's. "You get any sleep?" Krycek just scowled at him, an incongruous dark beast against the faded floral upholstery. Mulder rolled his eyes and started back inside. "Well, I'm going to make some coffee." Scully was just emerging from her room as he came in. She smiled at him, a bit tiredly. "Good morning." Mulder beamed at her, relieved to have some normal, friendly human interaction. "Hello there!" Scully raised an eyebrow at his exuberance. Mulder slouched on one of the stools at the counter and watched Scully make the coffee. While it perked, she opened a manila envelope and extracted a dog-eared sheaf of papers. "Instructions for the cabin." They shared a wry smile. Scully laid the papers on the counter, skimming the sentences with a fingernail. "Security codes for the perimeter...be sure to open the fireplace flue...we shouldn't leave garbage outside, there are—" "Rats?" Mulder chuckled. "Raccoons. Not to mention deer, bears and the occasional bobcat." Mulder thought how much he liked Scully's voice, and how cute she looked there in her bathrobe. Once again he wondered why he couldn't be attracted to her in that way. She was beautiful, smart, kind-hearted and, above all, sane. He cared for her; he was closer to her than anyone in the world. But somehow, something always stopped them from taking it beyond friendship. Scully poured them both cups of coffee. "The dryer gets really hot, so we should always use the lowest setting...oh, that reminds me, I want to wash all those sheets. Mine smelled kind of moldy." "Mine were okay." "Compared to what you probably have on your bed at home, I believe it." "Hey, I change my sheets once a month, whether they need it or not." Scully rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee, leaning on the counter. A ribbon of hair had slipped down from behind her ear, and Mulder almost reached out to tuck it back. Something stayed his hand; maybe the knowledge that she was with another man now. At times like these, he wished he could stop time and shut everything else out, just keep the two of them together and the future at bay. "Okay," Scully read aloud, "'to test the security system...press the green button on the control. Mulder, go hit that button there, let's just make sure it's in working order..." Coffee mug in hand, Mulder strolled over to the panel and pushed the green button. Instantly the room was filled with an earsplitting high-pitched buzz. Mulder almost dropped his coffee. Scully ducked her head, covering her ears. The door to the screen porch slammed open and Krycek charged into the room, gun in hand. Scully motioned quickly to Mulder to shut the alarm off. "Krycek, sorry, we were just testing the security system. We should have warned you." Krycek slowly lowered the gun, staring warily from Scully to Mulder and then scanning the room, as though he suspected the whole thing was a setup. Mulder could feel the easy, teasing atmosphere change, becoming charged and uncomfortable. "How does that thing work?" Krycek asked abruptly. "It's wired all around the perimeter of the property," Scully said. "If anyone crosses it, the alarm is triggered. We have a code to turn it on and off." "What about animals?" "Oh yeah," Mulder said. "Those killer raccoons—" Scully shot Mulder a quelling look. "It's calibrated for weight and mass," she said evenly. "Krycek, would you like some coffee?" Privately Mulder thought that coffee was probably the last thing Krycek needed, given his apparent sleeplessness and jumpy, ill-tempered demeanor. Still holding the gun, Krycek walked toward the kitchen. He was moving rather stiffly this morning; doubtless the long car trip had taken more out of him than he would admit. Scully poured a cup of coffee, passing it across the counter toward him. Krycek reached for the cup with the prosthetic hand, but he didn't appear to be using it as surely today. His grip was awkward, and some of the coffee spilled. "Goddammit," Krycek snarled. Scully grabbed a sponge and began mopping up the spilled coffee. "Maybe you should put your weapon away," she observed. Krycek looked infuriated by both the comment and her action. There was a strained pause. Krycek holstered his gun. He lifted the cup of coffee with his right hand, leaving it black, and stalked cautiously over to the window, peering out with narrowed eyes as though expecting to spot snipers hiding in the trees. Scully resumed reading the notes. "The hot water heater's not big, or efficient, so we'll have to take quick showers." "Hot sheets, cold showers," Mulder said. Krycek and Scully both looked at him askance. "We should keep these shutters locked," Krycek said. "This isn't bulletproof glass." "That would make the cabin pretty dark," Scully said, in the tone of one trying to be reasonable. "Yeah," Mulder said, "but since Krycek here is such a little ray of sunshine, it won't matter." Krycek's head snapped around. "This might be just a job to you," he said, sounding as though he was barely keeping his temper in check, "but it's my life." "Such as it is." Mulder knew he was going too far, but he could not seem to help himself. Krycek took a couple of steps toward Mulder. "You don't know anything about my life! Why don't you shut your damn mouth?" Scully shot Mulder a sharp look of warning, stopping his retort in its tracks. "I'm sick of your crap, Mulder!" Krycek's voice was hoarse and uneven. "Everything is just a big fucking joke to you, isn't it? Unless of course it has to do with you personally! Then it's paramount." Once again Mulder started to speak, but Krycek wasn't sticking around for it. He stormed back out to the screened porch, letting the door bang shut behind him. "Paramount?" Mulder repeated, incredulously. Turning back to Scully, he saw that she had a very strange expression on her face, almost as if she were in partial agreement with Krycek's ranting. "Mulder," Scully said, sounding exasperated, "why don't you just let him be? You can see he's not feeling well." Yes, yes, he had seen that, in the way Krycek was moving, the paleness of his skin and the shadows under his eyes. Despite that, or maybe because of it, he had felt the irresistible urge to goad the man. Scully sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "Maybe we're letting our history with him get in the way," she said. "Maybe we should ask to be replaced on this assignment by agents who aren't so personally involved." "That's ridiculous, Scully! You know who'd get this kind of assignment - a couple of yahoos who'd sit around watching talk shows all day and probably not give a crap if he got blown away right under their noses!" Scully stared at him, looking taken aback. Mulder was stunned by the vehemence of his own reaction. Hadn't he wanted to kill Krycek himself many times in the past? Why should he be so upset by the thought now? "We need him," Mulder said. "For the raid, and—the information he has." If Krycek was telling the truth about this vaccine—always a huge 'if'—if the vaccine was real, and the apples were really a viable means of distribution—this could be huge. It could help save many, many lives, and possibly even prevent colonization. As Mulder understood it, purity, the black oil, was necessary for the colonization plans. That was the tremendous irony of it—that so many people might owe their lives to this man, whose face they would never see, whose name they would never know, whose death they would never mourn. As long as she was here, Scully would, of course, do her damnedest to keep Krycek alive. She would look after him medically, Mulder knew, and would even try to be sensitive to his needs and feelings. But she did not personally care for Krycek, and, given a choice, would speed back to her boyfriend and her wedding so fast Mulder could almost taste the dust. // Face it, Mulder, she has a life now. A life that doesn't include you. // Scully pulled a box of cornflakes from the cupboard and poured two bowls. He could tell from the way she would not meet his eyes that she was upset with him. They ate in silence. Finally Mulder could stand it no longer. "Scully, you mad at me?" Scully sighed, looking uncomfortable. "Mulder, it's hard enough that we have to be stuck out here with a sociopathic weasel like Kry—" She cast a glance at the door to the screened porch. Mulder almost choked on his cereal. "Scully, you do turn a phrase." "But with you always—" Mulder felt a perverse need to defend Krycek. "Well, he did bring us something pretty big, Scully. The magic apple." Scully went to the sink. She washed up her bowl and spoon and placed them in the drainer. "As I recall, the serpent brought Adam and Eve an apple, too. And look what it got them." "Knowledge." An eyebrow shot ceilingward. "Okay, okay, I'll try to get along." Mulder finished eating and dumped the bowl into the sink. "Look, I'll just see if he wants something to eat." Krycek was sitting at the farthest corner of the porch, crouched over a little with his hand up under his jacket. He looked to be rubbing or clawing at the stump of his arm. He stiffened, pulling the hand away, as Mulder walked closer. "Hey," Mulder said, "you okay?" No response. Mulder tried again. "Want some cornflakes?" Krycek shook his head with an irritated gesture. Mulder stepped out onto the porch. "What's the matter? Your arm hurts?" Krycek was silent for a minute, then, "Sometimes," he said, his tone grudging and defensive. "Why don't you take some of the painkillers Scully gave you? That might help." "I'm okay," Krycek snapped. As Mulder continued to gaze at him he said angrily, "Look, Mulder, I can't afford to get addicted to painkillers." "You weren't too worried about that when you were gulping down my Vicodins like they were M-and-M's." Krycek bared his teeth. "Fuck off." Mulder stepped closer. "Or is it the cabin that's bothering you—being closed up here?" Krycek made a small jerky movement at that, in the process knocking his empty coffee cup from the seat beside him to the floor. Mulder automatically reached to get it, bending quickly toward Krycek. In an instant, Krycek was up on his feet and in Mulder's face, his voice deepening to a low growl. "Mulder. Don't touch me. Don't hit me. Don't try to be nice. Don't try to get inside my head. Just get away from me and leave me alone." "Just getting the cup," Mulder said. He held it up, giving Krycek a bland smirk. Going back inside, he showered and shaved, put the TV on to get the news and weather, washed up the breakfast dishes. Finally, even though Krycek still remained out on the porch, he pulled out the laptop and began to go over the disks. There was still much he did not understand, and he felt an impatient excitement humming through him. He wanted to drag Krycek in and start questioning him, immediately. But both Scully and Krycek had told him in no uncertain terms to leave Krycek alone right now. Mulder cursed under his breath. Why did Krycek always have to be such a difficult, unreasonable son of a bitch? He spent a few hours poring over the material, memorizing what he could. The lab layout and the raid plans were pretty straightforward, but the other information, all those files detailing the plant experiments, the alien genetic structure—where the hell had Krycek gotten all this? Deeply immersed, he only stopped when Scully heated up some frozen burritos for lunch and urged him to take a break. All the while Krycek remained out on the porch, sullenly refusing offers of food and medication. When Mulder stuck his head out Krycek was working on his gun, disassembling and reassembling it. Mulder was beginning to think it had been a serious mistake to give that gun back to Krycek. Around four o'clock Krycek finally caved, came inside, took the painkillers and ate a burrito. He hunted through the bookshelf, selected a couple of books and settled on the cot with his back against the wall to read. Covertly, Mulder watched him gradually relaxing from his rigidly crouched posture as the Demerol kicked in. After awhile he removed his boots, wrapped his arm around his body and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He dozed lightly, like a cat, the green eyes opening at any sound or motion. Mulder paced around a bit, feeling restless. He was tired of being stuck in the cabin; babysitting the surly assassin was not the most enthralling assignment he had ever been given. Scully was doing paperwork at the table. Mulder came up behind her, reading over her shoulder. Scully shot a look back at him. "Yes, Mulder?" Mulder made a decision. "I'm going out for a run. I won't be long." "Okay," Scully said, sounding indifferent. She returned to her work. On the cot, Krycek had opened his eyes halfway and was regarding Mulder with a heavy-lidded but intent gaze. Mulder ran through a few brief stretches, half-expecting Krycek to start bitching at him for being derelict in his duty by leaving the cabin. // If he does, I'm gonna haul his ass up off that cot and make him start explaining phytogenesis, and how the hell they managed to get their hands on alien DNA. // But Krycek said nothing, and Mulder headed out. It was a beautiful day, one of those still, lazy September afternoons when the very air seemed to be stretched out and sunning itself. Mulder felt a sense of freedom as he sprinted along the light-dappled trails. Far off he saw a building that he took at first to be a barn. As he came nearer he saw that it was an old church. It looked to be long abandoned. Vining plants grew thickly up the stone walls, almost obscuring one window, and the door hung partially ajar. The rusty hinges gave a loud screech when Mulder pulled it open and stepped inside. He paused a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the interior. There was an odor of dust and mildew and a deeper, older layer underlying that, as though in decaying the church was returning itself to the earth. Mulder walked slowly down the aisle, letting his hand brush over the splintery wood of the pews. High on one wall were a pair of stained-glass windows, broken and cracked now, tinting the floor and the pews in hues of rose and royal blue. The church had a timeless quality, and he wondered how old it was—a hundred, two hundred years? Who had worshiped here, and where had they all gone now? In the front, by the altar, sunlight streamed in through what appeared to be a large hole in the roof. Mulder approached, feeling almost pulled toward it. The very air seemed alive, iridescent dust motes dancing in the light. He walked forward into the shaft of light. A peculiar vertiginous sensation bubbled through his blood, like a shaken soda can. He stumbled briefly, then steadied himself, rubbing his eyes. Before him was a door, its paint peeling, its frame chipped. He opened it and stepped outside. He found himself in a cemetery, a very old one by the look of the flat, worn grey gravestones. Walking curiously about, he noted that some of the dates went back to the 1800's and even the late 1700's. A serene, languid feeling assailed him, and he almost wanted to sit here in the sun and do nothing for a while. Equally strongly, though, he wanted to keep running. He jogged on, through a stand of white birch trees. Rounding a bend, he saw a figure in the distance. He could not tell if it was a man or a woman. As he approached he could see that it was an old woman, dressed shapelessly in layers of long clothing. She was digging a large hole in the ground, moving stiffly but steadily. A blanket-wrapped bundle lay on the ground near her feet. A body, Mulder wondered, and was that a grave she was digging? The old woman took no notice as he approached. She finished digging and set the shovel aside. She looked to be praying, her lips moving to form almost inaudible words in an unfamiliar language. Mulder waited in silence, not wanting to be disrespectful. Now that he was closer, he could see that the blanket-wrapped bundle was not big enough to be an adult human. A child perhaps, or a pet. Probably the latter. She looked long past childbearing age. Her hair in two braids was grey, and the lines in her face were as deep and worn as a dry creek bed. She wore a pair of men's work shirts over a long skirt and, under that, what looked to be a pair of men's pajama pants and high-top sneakers. Around her neck were several strings of beads, accented not only with feathers and shells, but also bits of bone and claw, bottle caps, pieces of children's toys. In the city she would have been taken for homeless, even ridiculed, but here, in what was clearly her home, she had an accustomed ease and dignity. The old woman looked up. Mulder nodded. "Hello." "Ho." She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her face, then knelt to the bundle. Again she said something in her language before beginning to unwrap it. As she pulled the blanket aside, Mulder could see a glimpse of silvery-brown fur, a slender paw. "Is that a coyote?" he asked in surprise. "He was part coyote." She stroked the animal's fur, then took a small pouch from her pocket and laid it between the forepaws. She said a few more words, chanting softly, before wrapping the blanket back up and starting to lift the bundle. Mulder stepped forward to help her carry it over and lower it into the open grave. The old woman picked up the shovel and Mulder held out a hand, offering assistance. She handed it to him. "A good friend?" Mulder asked. She nodded slowly, watching the shovelfuls of dirt settle over the blanket. "He was wild, that one. He used to come around and steal the meat I put up to dry. I shouted at him, I threw stones, I shot my gun at him. I even thought of poisoning him. But I could not." "Because he was a living thing?" She gave a sudden chortle. "Because I lived to fight with him!" Mulder looked up. Overhead, a hawk was circling. The old woman wiped her face again, then turned her head to spit in the grass. "So one day, I came outside and he was there. I sat down with him, and I asked him not to take my meat. I said, if you don't take it, I will give you all the parts I don't use. So that was what we did." Mulder paused in the shoveling. "Just like that?" The old woman nodded again. "When I had meat, I would put some by one tree. At first he came sometimes, then every day. Then he would bring me meat sometimes, things he killed. He would sit with me by the steps. He drove off a bobcat. And the hunters," her face darkened, "when they came, he warned me." "I'm not a hunter," Mulder hastened to reassure her. "I know who you are. You live in that cabin up there. With a woman and another man." There was obviously no point in denying it, so Mulder went on the offensive. "How did you know that?" The old woman just laughed. "You, her, him." She chuckled. "You are winkte, eh?" "What's that?" Strangely, Mulder was not all that troubled by the knowledge that they, even Alex, might have been seen. The old woman seemed a part of the woods, as earthy and guileless as any creature or tree. "Two-spirited, we would say in my language..." The old woman made a gesture with her hand, vaguely seeming to sketch a fork in the road. "A woman and a man." Mulder started to object, to say it wasn't like that, but maybe it was like that. He held out his hand. "Fox Mulder." The old woman's bony hand grasped his in a surprisingly hard grip. "Tomasina." She turned his hand over, staring at the back as though it contained a map to a familiar land. "Fox, eh? Tokala." She gave his hand a brisk pat before letting go and showing him a bright, gaptoothed grin. "The fox is my spirit animal!" "Really?" Mulder paused in his shoveling to look at her, not sure she was serious. Tomasina chuckled. "I was young, a young girl. You wouldn't think it, eh?" Her look at Mulder was almost coy. "Run faster than the boys, beat them at wrestling, shoot longer. Ah, I was beautiful then. Hair so long I could sit on it." Mulder grinned back. "The boys must've liked you." "Some liked me," Tomasina agreed. "Some were scared of me. Some...some liked me very much. But I wanted none of them!" She made a flat vigorous gesture with her palm. "I wanted to be a hunter. Like my brothers." "Like the fox?" Mulder guessed. Tomasina nodded. "First time I saw the fox, I was ten. Walking over in these woods." She pointed. "I saw it there. And it saw me. But it didn't run." She held a hand up in front of her face, steady. "Foxes...they spook easy." Her glance at Mulder was shrewd. "I followed it a little ways and it let me." Mulder placed the last shovelful of dirt atop the grave. Tomasina moved, tamping it down with rhythmic stamps of her feet. "When I was eighteen, I started to think about the things a woman thinks about. Having babies, lying with a man." Her eyes danced over Mulder's body with an appreciative chuckle. "Um-hmm," Mulder said. Tomasina lifted a rake from the ground and carefully smoothed the dirt over the grave before continuing her story. "But I was confused, in my heart. I liked my freedom. So I went and sat up on the big hill there, where we go." Her eyes focused on a distant ridge, her fingers drawing a line in the air. "I waited many hours. At dusk, the fox came out of the woods. A she-fox. She lay down on the ground a little ways away and showed me her belly." Tomasina's hand shaped a rounded mound. "It was big, many babies. Her teats were swollen, ready to give milk. I knew then, it was time. Beautiful wild thing like the fox..." She nodded slowly, her hand smoothing her own belly. "All things...all things lie with each other. All things love each other in that way." Mulder felt a strange, empty ache. He shook it off. "So you settled down and had your babies?" "I had four babies." She held up four wrinkled fingers. "I lost one." She bent down one finger, and the other fingers bent down too. "Had a good husband. Lost him too, years ago." "And you stopped hunting?" "I never stopped hunting!" Tomasina's small dark eyes were aglow. Chortling with glee, she slapped Mulder on the arm. "Never stopped wrestling either." Mulder laughed with her. It felt good. Tomasina walked a short distance away, to where a small pile of stones lay. She gathered the stones and returned, handing a couple to Mulder. Kneeling at the grave again, she began to lay them in a circular pattern. Mulder followed her lead, placing his alongside hers. She began a song, half-singing, half-chanting the syllables. Her voice had a mournful power. Again Mulder felt that loneliness, that sadness blow through him. The last notes were still echoing when she got to her feet and began gathering up her tools. Mulder stood and stretched. He pointed at the far-off ridge. "That place, where you go, what is it called?" Tomasina did not answer for a moment, binding her tools tightly together with a leather strap. "It is...the spirit place, the spirit tree.... People go there when they need..." she seemed to be searching for the word, "...the way to go." // I need guidance, I need to know the way to go. My family is dead, my best friend is leaving me, and I'm feeling a strange attraction to an unsuitable assassin. // Mulder tried to remember what little he knew of these things. "They fast, right?" Tomasina shrugged. "Yah...you could fast." "And they wait there for their spirit animal to come?" "Sometimes it comes...sometimes it doesn't." Tomasina lifted the bundle of tools onto her back and fastened the strap. "So long, tokala." "Tokala—that means fox?" "Different meanings. A fox," she made a gesture with her hand, "a quick fox. It also means someone who—" She tapped her head with a finger. "Someone who's crazy?" Tomasina's eyes were very bright. "Someone who knows his own mind. Some say go here, some say go there, but tokala—you will go where you should go." "You think I should go up on the ridge, by the spirit tree?" Her smile was an ironic gleam. "It's a pretty walk there." Mulder was itching to make the hike, but he had already been away from the cabin for a couple of hours now at least. He thanked Tomasina and reluctantly started back down the path. Feeling unaccountably disoriented, he had a hard time finding the trail back to the old cemetery although he generally had an excellent sense of direction. Finally he located the right path and saw the clearing with the church. Jogging back towards the cabin, he made sure to stop and turn off the alarm. He glanced at his watch and saw, vexingly, that it had stopped. Scully was still at the table when he hurried into the cabin. Krycek was sitting at the counter. "Scully, I'm sorry to take so long, my watch stopped." Scully glanced up in cool surprise. "I think I can manage for an hour without you, Mulder." Behind him, Mulder heard Krycek snicker at that. He looked at his watch again; was it possible that only an hour had elapsed? It had seemed like much longer. "Skinner wanted you to check in," Scully said. Mulder pulled out his cell phone and punched in the number. From the corner of his eye he watched Krycek peeling an orange. Alex held the orange in the palm of his prosthetic hand, carefully unwinding a spiral of rind with his knife. He seemed absorbed in the task. Mulder watched the minute adjustments he made with the hand, turning the orange by degrees. "Skinner," his boss's voice barked into his ear. "Sir." Krycek looked up and Mulder let his eyes unfocus and wander to another spot, a tactic he used whenever he got caught staring at someone. "I've been going over the information you gave me again," Skinner said without preamble. "It seems...remarkably thorough." Mulder smirked inwardly at Skinner's grudging tone. If possible, Skinner loathed Krycek even more than Mulder did. "How about the plans for the raid on the lab?" Now it was Krycek watching Mulder, listening openly as Mulder spoke to Skinner. "They'll need a few modifications," Skinner said slowly, "but it's a go." Forgetting that he disliked the man, Mulder gave Krycek an exultant thumbs-up. Krycek's eyes widened with excitement; he looked more alive than he had all day. "When?" Mulder demanded. "I can't tell you that yet, Agent Mulder. Just be ready to go sometime in the next couple of days." Krycek looked like he wanted to leap across the room and grab the phone. Mulder gave him an impatient shrug. Alex was sitting with his legs spread apart, straddling the stool. Mulder stared at the long and powerful thighs, encased in tight denim. Skinner was talking, going over the logistics of the raid. Mulder tore his gaze away. "How many besides us?" "Four men," Skinner said. Mulder held up four fingers. Krycek nodded. "I'm putting myself on the line for this," Skinner said. "We all are. I hope you're right about this one, Mulder." "I believe I am," Mulder said. Krycek's eyes were fixed on his. The air was full of the scent of oranges. They went over the plans after dinner, Krycek explaining the information on the disks to Scully. "This is the lab where the vaccine is being created. The Consortium runs it. We need to go in and get all the active vaccine, plus all their files on it." Scully looked astonished as the detailed instructions and photos of the lab came up on the screen. "Where did you get these disks?" There was a pause, then Krycek said, "I made them." "You put this information together?" Scully's eyebrows went up. "Very impressive." Krycek didn't respond. He seemed almost disconcerted by Scully's praise. Mulder felt admiration for Scully's fairness. She didn't like Krycek, but she would give praise where it was due. Mulder had been impressed as well—all the hours of work this must have taken, the danger Krycek must have placed himself in—but he could not bring himself to tell Krycek that. Scully peered at the screen, where Krycek had pulled up a paper on the apple experiments. "How did you find out about this research?" Krycek shrugged, scrolling through the files. "Originally I read about it in National Geographic." Scully rolled her eyes. "Very funny." Krycek glanced up at her with a little frown, looking confused and put out. Scully gave him a look that suggested he had better stop screwing around with her, and fast. "You read about the black oil vaccine in National Geographic." Now it was Krycek's turn to roll his eyes. "Not the black oil. These scientists don't even know what it is they're working with. They think it's got something to do with germ warfare." He shrugged, raising his eyebrows. "Which of course it does, just on a much larger scale than they imagine." "So who's behind all this?" Scully asked. "As far as they know," Krycek smiled slightly, "the FBI." He glanced up at Mulder and Scully. "Top-secret, eyes only, government project." Krycek looked quite pleased with himself at this, and Mulder was once again beset by a host of ambivalent feelings. Krycek's using the Bureau as his cover rankled, and was a painful reminder of how easily Mulder himself had been deceived by the man. He's got some pair of balls, Mulder thought, which brought another discomfiting image to mind. On the other hand, this was an incredible project if Krycek had indeed succeeded in carrying it off. "So who is behind all this?" Scully was asking. "Not the FBI, I gather, and not the Consortium?" "The Consortium developed the vaccine," Krycek said. "They don't know anything about this project. One man who used to work with them, the Englishman, he helped me." "He helped you. So—you?" Scully looked stunned. Mulder waited, curious to see what Krycek would say. Krycek had made it sound to Mulder as though he were the driving force behind all this. Was that in fact true? Krycek for his part focused fixedly on the screen, a faint flush along his cheekbones. He slanted a tiny glance up at Mulder. Scully was staring at Mulder as well, looking perturbed. Mulder, who had been uncharacteristically silent for the past several minutes, now felt the weight of both those looks. Mulder gestured toward the incomprehensible scientific treatises on the screen. "Tell me about all of this. Like, why apples?" Krycek seemed relieved to be talking about the actual research rather than his part in it. "The first choice was tomatoes, because it's much easier to use an annual plant than a tree—they grow faster, and all. But for some reason they wouldn't take the gene—it just ended up in weird mutations, and—" For a second Krycek's voice and face betrayed some of the frustration he must have felt. "Well, you're working with something here that's completely alien, not just to tomato plants, but to our whole world." There was a sudden dark undertone to Krycek's voice, and Scully gave a little unconscious shiver. Mulder had a strong impulse to put his arm around her, protect her from all of this. But he remained where he was. "Papayas are relatively fast-growing," Krycek went on, pointing and clicking at something on the screen, "but outside of Hawaii not that many Americans eat papayas. This kind of thing had been done with apples before, making them resistant to fire blight, for example, so we knew it was possible. And everyone eats apples." "I gather the apples did take the gene, then?" Scully asked. Krycek nodded, looking at Mulder. "After a lot of trial and error, of course. The way it's done is, the gene for the virus is injected into a bacterium. Then the bacterium attaches itself to the plant's roots and infects the plant." "So this bacterium," Mulder could not resist, "it's like the rat of the plant world." Krycek gave him the fed-up look he usually wore when one of his dead-serious proclamations was met by a smartass remark from Mulder. This time, however, Mulder saw a hint of amusement dawn in Alex's eyes as well. Scully leaned closer, reading the pages on the screen. "Can you print this out for me? I'd like to read it before I go to sleep tonight." She started to leave the room, then turned back. "Krycek. If the Englishman helped you, why isn't he protecting you now? Where is he?" "He knew I was coming to you," Alex said quietly. He shrugged. "He has a family." Mulder wondered if the Englishman had believed Krycek to be safer under FBI protection, or if he had not cared what happened to Alex once the vaccine was successfully delivered. Probably the truth lay somewhere in between the two. Sitting with his head bowed, waiting for the pages to print, Krycek looked tired and a little lonely. He rubbed the back of his head, then extracted the pages from the printer and handed them to Scully with a hopeful expression. Flames, everything in flames. Mulder felt the electroshocks of fear over his skin, his heart pounding too hard, his mind racing like a panicked animal. Shit, he had to get out but there was no way out and he thought he heard screaming but he couldn't make his way to the voice he heard. A burned piece of paper fluttered to the floor in front of him. He saw his own name on it and he understood that his work was being destroyed. Then he was running, chunks of rubble crashing down and the horrible stench of burning bodies all around him. His chest ached and his side hurt and his throat felt scorched. He was running, running, searching. Everyone, everything he loved was gone, destroyed. Through the smoke and ash, he heard a familiar voice calling him, and he reached for it blindly, with a surge of desperate joy. He needed that courage, that strength. // Christ, yes, you. Give me your hand, bring me home... // "Mulder. Mulder." Slowly he surfaced, blinking, the room coming into focus. Alex Krycek was standing a few feet away, speaking his name in a low voice. Instinctively, Mulder started to reach for his gun, before he remembered he was supposed to be keeping Krycek safe, not shooting him. "You okay?" Krycek's voice was husky with sleep. He was wearing only the cutoff sweats and the prosthetic arm was off. "You were...." Mulder could only imagine what he had been doing. The emotions the dream had unleashed, the adrenaline, were still pounding through him. He felt shaken and raw. That Krycek had seen him like this was beyond humiliating. But Alex's voice had held no mockery, simply confusion and—concern? Mulder pulled himself to a sitting position, rubbing both hands over his face. "I'm fine." Krycek regarded him for a few moments longer. "Want some tea?" What he wanted was to crawl into a small dark hole and scream and cry like a baby for about a week. Or, failing that, a stiff shot of whiskey. But, like it or not, he was still on duty, protecting Krycek. And he wouldn't show any of that to his nemesis. He nodded. As Krycek moved past him toward the kitchen area, Mulder felt the unexpected brush of Alex's hand on his shoulder, then a brief gentle squeeze. Krycek's hand was warm. Mulder could still feel it, the ghost of his touch, as Krycek flipped on the kitchen light and turned on the water to fill the kettle. Mulder raised his head a little to look at Krycek, grateful for the darkness that allowed him to watch unobserved. Maybe because he had just woken up, Alex seemed unguarded and relaxed, free of his usual hypervigilance. The loss of his arm didn't seem to hinder him really, just slowing him down a bit. He filled the kettle, then set it down to turn off the water. Striking the match, he used the heel of his hand to hold the box in place. Mulder wondered if losing the arm put him off balance. Probably, but he didn't show it. Mulder felt a small jump of gladness when Krycek got out two mugs instead of one. He knew that he would not be in any shape to go back to sleep anytime soon, and sitting up with another person was much preferable to sitting up alone. Even if that person was the disturbing, compelling—and unexpectedly compassionate—Alex Krycek. While the water boiled, Krycek padded down the hall to the bathroom. Mulder sat listening to the small sounds of the kettle and the soft low hooting of an owl outside. He could still feel the slight warmth where Alex had squeezed his shoulder. It felt oddly comforting. Air screeched through the old pipes as the toilet flushed. Krycek returned, moving with that casually graceful asymmetry. He leaned against the sink, looking down, idly scratching the back of one calf with his other foot. Mulder felt a curious breathlessness catch at his throat. The first whistling notes of the kettle sounded. Krycek raised his head, pulled from his reverie. Mulder found he was holding his breath as Krycek poured the boiling water into the cups, not wanting Alex to get burned. But Alex seemed easy with this; doubtless it was what he did in his own kitchen at home. Mulder wondered what his home was like, where he lived. Krycek got a jar of honey from one of the cabinets. It was old, encrusted, a scant half-inch of amber in the bottom. He tucked it under his truncated arm to try to unscrew the top, but after several attempts it became apparent that it wasn't budging. Mulder debated whether he should go over to help. Alex laid the jar down in the sink and hoisted the kettle to pour some of the boiling water over it, melting the honey inside and liquefying it. He let a few seconds go by, then ran cold water over it to cool it and lifted the jar from the sink. The lid unscrewed easily now, and he poured some into the cups. Once again Mulder was impressed by his tenacity. It would have been so much easier to just use the sugar. But apparently Alex preferred honey and was determined to have it. Mulder made a mental note to add it to the shopping list. Alex started to lift one of the cups of tea, then stopped, scanning the kitchen. He found a dishtowel and painstakingly folded it. Surprisingly, this small action seemed to give him more trouble than making the tea. Mulder wondered if it was because this was not part of his normal routine, whereas making tea evidently was. Alex was wrapping the towel around the cup, so that he could carry it to Mulder with the handle extended and Mulder would not have to grasp a hot cup. Mulder was touched by the unexpected thoughtfulness of the gesture, as he had been by Alex's hand on his shoulder earlier. This Krycek—quiet, peaceful, considerate—was a far cry from the ruthless, amoral rat he was accustomed to. He took the tea from Alex's outstretched hand. "Thanks." "It helps," Alex said. He walked back to the kitchen to get his own tea. // He sounds like he knows what it's like, like he has nightmares too. // Well, that was hardly surprising, considering some of the nightmarish things that had happened to Krycek. Mulder wondered who sat up with Alex when he had nightmares. He seemed so solitary, but maybe he had a friend somewhere—or a lover. Mulder was surprised by how discomfited he was at that thought. Holding the hot tea carefully away from his body, Alex walked past Mulder. Too late, Mulder thought to move over on the couch and make room, but Alex was already settling down on the cot, sliding back against the wall. They drank their tea in silence for a while. The owl hooted again and Alex cocked his head, listening. He had left one small light on in the kitchen, and Mulder could see his expression: wide-eyed, looking a bit like an owl himself. // I forgot how fucking beautiful he is. // He had a momentary crazy impulse to just walk over to the cot. But even if that were somehow a good idea, it would take more energy than he had right now. The dream was still with him, too strongly. Bile rose up as he heard the screaming in his head once more, smelled the burning flesh. He set the tea down and rested his head in his hands. "Mulder?" Just the simple question, no snideness, Krycek sounding almost hesitant. Mulder opened his mouth, pulling in some deep breaths. He shook his head to clear it. If Scully were up, he might have talked to her about the dream, but he could not bring himself to spill his guts like that to Krycek. On the other hand, if Scully were up, she would never just sit here quietly like this. She'd be fussing, asking questions, wanting to do something, explain it away, make it better. He heard Alex shift on the bed. Quickly, he raised his head, trying to plaster some semblance of a normal expression onto his face. "So...how about those Yankees?" He was conscious of Krycek's open-mouthed expression, staring at him for a second, then Alex said, "Baseball bores the hell out of me," a hint of laughter in his husky voice. "Basketball?" Mulder said. "Knicks or Wizards?" "Lakers. All the way." "Lakers? Aw, no, you can't be serious. The Lakers—they're like the Microsoft of basketball." "O'Neal—" "O'Neal is an anomaly. He's like a football player, for Chrissakes." "'He doth bestride the earth like a colossus.'" Mulder felt a flash of surprise that Alex was quoting Shakespeare to him, and an immediate intuition—call it a profiler's hunch—that Alex was trying to impress him. He remembered the younger Alex doing that, tossing out quotes or insights or bits of esoteric information, like a cat bringing freshly killed tidbits for its owner's appreciation. For a minute he felt almost dizzy with a sense of dÈjý vu. "'And we petty men walk under his huge legs, and peep about?'" He refrained from telling Alex that the exact quote was 'narrow world' rather than simply 'earth,' because Alex had that same look he remembered, pleased with Mulder's response, and with himself at Mulder's acceptance of his offering. Mulder closed his eyes. It still ached; it always would. With a little start, he realized that he was mourning not only the loss of Innocent Alex, but Innocent Mulder as well. He was less trusting now, more jaded and cynical. If he did meet anyone at this point, would he be open, would he even be capable of feeling that kind of attraction again? Alex was speaking again, making some point about the superiority of the current Laker team. "Huh? Yeah...Lakers...the Lakers have no soul. Now the Knicks—" Mulder launched himself automatically into a rant on the subject, the kind of spiel he could do in his sleep, while his mind was elsewhere, sifting and sorting, picking up the pieces. Alex sat listening, occasionally interjecting a comment but not really arguing too much. Winding down, Mulder kept his voice casual as he segued into the question. "So why the Lakers? L.A.'s not that close to Seattle." There was a fractional hesitation before Alex answered lightly, shrugging. "Just like to back a winner." Mulder nodded, sipping his tea, not speaking. Alex suddenly sighed hard, leaning his head back against the wall and turning his face away as though unhappy with something. Mulder waited. Alex turned back. "I grew up all over the place. We finally kind of stayed around Seattle." Mulder nodded again. "Why'd you move around so much?" Alex looked down. He hesitated once more. "Various reasons." His voice was low, and Mulder had another flash of intuition—that this was not more evasion, but Alex finding it hard to talk, that this was painful to him. With a little surprise, he realized he could push it right now, and Alex would probably tell him. In a paranoid corner of his mind he wondered why. Alex his partner had done this—taking care of Mulder, trying to impress—as a way of gaining Mulder's trust. Was that what he was trying to do now? What was he after? The silence lengthened, growing slightly uncomfortable. Krycek stole quick glances at Mulder from under his lashes, then cleared his throat softly. Mulder was generally not a particularly patient person. In his early days at the Bureau, he had never let a lull develop in his interchanges with suspects and witnesses, preferring to pepper them with questions and get the hell out. But over time, he had learned to wait, coming to understand that most people could not tolerate a lengthy silence, and would jump in and start talking to fill it up. He sat back and regarded Krycek appraisingly. // I'm not as gullible as I once was, Krycek. You won't be gaining my trust again, but I might just be able to gain some of yours. // Abruptly, Alex's low voice broke the stillness. "My father was in the military." Mulder nodded. "He was finally stationed at Lakewood-Fort Lewis?" Something didn't fit here. Alex had told him he grew up in a housing project near, not on, the military base. Another wild goose chase, a way to waste Mulder's time and keep him away from whatever was on that sixth disk that Krycek didn't want him to see? "For a while. Then, um...he died." Krycek was not looking at Mulder; his voice was low, almost casual, but Mulder's instincts now told him that Krycek was telling him the truth. "Mmh." Mulder was unsure what to say; 'I'm sorry' seemed a little too ironic. "How old were you?" "Eight." Eight. The same age Samantha had been when she was taken. Something stirred in Mulder's chest, like wings beating against his breastbone. "That sucks." Alex looked up startled, as though he hadn't expected any kind of understanding from Mulder. "Everyone kept—kept telling me they were sorry. I didn't know—what was real after awhile, who to trust. I just hated everyone." Mulder caught his breath as a flash of pain hit him, memories flaring up. After Sam disappeared, of people coming up to him. The words of sympathy that barely covered the avidly curious looks. Missing Sam, the terrible ache of her not being there, and having to be nice to everyone, thank them and act like he gave a shit about their feelings. "Shit...yeah. I remember that." At Krycek's puzzled frown, he elaborated. "With my sister. I just wanted to punch somebody." Alex gave a small hoarse chuckle. "You probably did." "Probably," Mulder agreed. "What did you do? Take your BB gun and shoot someone?" One corner of Alex's mouth twisted up. "Sure." They were crossing into dangerous territory now, but somehow it brought a strange comfort. Maybe it was the darkness, the quiet of the night, or the connection of shared pain; maybe they were just tired. Whatever, there was a sense of laying down their weapons—and, Mulder realized with a little start, their shields too—to simply sit with each other and acknowledge the past. "Actually," Krycek said, "I just sat and watched TV for hours. Not even watched, I just sat there. It was like I was invisible. And I went out back and threw rocks at things sometimes." "Things?" "People's cars sometimes." Mulder wondered why it should be easier to talk about this to Krycek rather than Scully or Frohike or one of his other friends. Maybe because Krycek was who he was, he wouldn't expect Mulder to weep or be better than he was. Mulder could admit he had despised people, even hit people, and Krycek would accept that, would understand perfectly, because he had done the same. Another silence fell, this one not uncomfortable so much as melancholy, both of them separately mired in their own dark memories. A question tugged at Mulder's mind, and he turned his attention back to Alex. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Something flickered over Alex's face and he looked quickly down. "No." Mulder was silent, feeling a kind of hollow relief. Alex stared into his tea, frowning. His voice was low when he spoke. "My mother was pregnant with twins when my father died, but—but she lost it. Them." Mulder heard the small careful correction. The ache in his chest was suddenly overwhelming, making it hard to listen. He could feel himself spacing out, almost dissociating, and he reached for the appropriate words. "That must have been rough." "It was—it was rough on her. She was really young when I was born—she didn't—ah, anyway, they planned this, they were looking forward—so she—she got really depressed and—couldn't cope." Alex's voice was low and strained, the words tumbling out with a breathless urgency. "You know, she would—drink and—stuff like that. I was—I—I ended up staying with other people a lot of the time." Mulder leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He saw again the look of frozen anguish on his mother's face, heard, night after night, the hushed, bitter voices floating up the stairs. "She never got over it," Mulder said, a statement, not a question. "She changed. Everything changed after it happened." He heard Krycek's quick, almost imperceptible intake of breath. Mulder opened his eyes, studying the younger man. He had seen this before, with people who normally didn't talk about their past, or their pain. It was like picking a scab off an unhealed wound; once they got started, it all flowed out. He hadn't expected that from Krycek, though. Krycek was too smart, too cagey, too practiced a dissembler. For some reason Krycek was choosing to open up to Mulder tonight. But he hadn't counted on the emotions, Mulder thought. Unless Krycek was a very, very good actor, that was real pain Mulder was hearing and seeing. Mulder had more questions: Were you close to your father? How did he die? Is your mother still alive? Who were the 'other people' you stayed with? Who was it that locked you in the closet? And, most strongly: Why are you telling me all this? But he didn't feel like pushing it right now. Krycek was sitting motionless, staring off at the far wall. He had his knees pulled up and his single arm wrapped around himself, gripping the stump of the other one just above where it had been cut off. Telltale body language; not the kind of thing Mulder thought he would or could fake. // It must have been rough on you too, Alex. Still is, isn't it? Even after all these years. You try to forget, you think you move on, but it's always there. Because you couldn't understand, and you still can't, how it could happen like that, how your life could get so fucked up in a single day. // The silence was becoming a tangible presence; Mulder could almost feel it shatter when he cleared his throat. "Did I tell you the weird thing that happened while I was out running today?" Alex stared at him for a moment, looking a bit lost. Earlier, Mulder had told Scully about it, and of course Krycek must have been listening. But he said nothing as Mulder began to tell the story. Mulder shut his eyes, recalling each detail of the light, the trees, and the old woman's tale. He only left out the part about her having seen them. Better not to fuel Krycek's paranoia. And the part about her saying he was two-spirited. "Sounds like an X-file," Krycek said quietly. The faint amusement was back, and something else, a current of interest. Mulder felt a strange gladness at that. "My whole life has been an X-file," he said wryly. He heard a soft sound of agreement from Krycek. There was a pause, then Krycek asked, "Were you always interested in this stuff?" Mulder was silent, nonplussed. "I mean, like you said...things changed, and..." It was a curiously delicate way for Krycek to phrase it. Krycek was usually quite direct, if not always truthful. Mulder felt an automatic flash of anger—How the hell would I know? I was twelve!—but the question intrigued him nonetheless. // Who would I have been, if Sam hadn't been taken, if I hadn't devoted my life to trying to uncover the truth? Would I be happy now? Would there have been anyone else to do the work I've done? // "I can't answer that," Mulder said. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, feeling a heaviness settle upon him. They sat without speaking for a while. "Well," Krycek said suddenly. "You've probably had some interesting cases, anyway." Mulder hesitated. "Yeah, interesting, and kind of—farfetched." Krycek gave a little shrug, as he had when Mulder had told him there was nothing but Oreos for breakfast. Mulder found it oddly endearing. "With all the crap I've seen in my life, you think I'm going to balk at ghosts and werewolves?" "Ghosts and werewolves." Mulder nodded, remembering. "We've had those. And the Flukeman—now that was pretty unusual...." Mulder found he enjoyed talking to Krycek about these things. Alex didn't sit there with an eyebrow raised, murmuring, "Giant sentient mushrooms, Mulder?" He simply accepted it as a given, his quick mind turning over the threads of the case, leaping to make the connections as Mulder laid it out. Mulder was relishing the discussion so much that he pretended not to notice when Alex started yawning, then leaned his head forward to rest it on his arm. He was in the middle of a particularly animated description of the Great Mutato when Scully's door opened and she shuffled out, yawning and peering around quizzically. "I heard voices. Is everything okay?" Mulder grinned at her. "Fine. We were just discussing some of the old cases." Scully glanced at Krycek. "You were discussing, you mean, Mulder. Your audience is pretty much asleep." Mulder looked over at Alex, who did indeed appear to be nodding off. Alex blinked, trying to stifle a yawn. "You should let him get some rest," Scully pointed out. "He's still recuperating from injuries and infection." Glancing at the clock, Mulder saw with some surprise that it was almost 5:00 a.m. "Alex, you look like you're starting to fade out there. I should let you get to sleep." Alex's head came up. He stared at Mulder for a second. Mulder realized he had called him Alex, had spoken to him in the affectionate, big-brother tones he used to use when they were partners. He had almost felt like they were partners again, kicking the cases back and forth, finding that connection. Mulder looked away, not wanting to see the wistful look in Alex's eyes. He didn't want Alex to want that from him; he didn't want to give it. They could never go back to that. // Never go back? We never really had that in the first place. Don't get nostalgic for something that was all a twisted mirage. // Alex crawled under the covers. He mumbled something that might have been "Good night," and Mulder grunted in return. Scully's door clicked shut. Mulder lay staring at the window, the very faint easing of the darkness. He did not know if he would sleep soon, or at all; often he did not after a dream like that. He might watch the sky grow progressively lighter, the dawn arriving and filling the day while Scully and Alex slept. But at least he no longer felt so shaken. He was too tired to examine it right now, but his mind had been eased by whatever had transpired here tonight. He heard Alex's breathing even out and deepen and he turned his head to gaze at the figure on the cot, struck by the innocence that visited Alex in sleep. // Alex, what the hell happened to you? On our first case together, when that Vietnam vet was describing the atrocities he'd seen, you flinched and looked away. You couldn't watch Scully doing the autopsy either. How did you go from being a sensitive kid to a stone cold killer? I remember the look in your eyes when you shot Cole, how devastated you were to find out he didn't have a gun. I asked you if it was the first time you'd killed somebody and you didn't answer. I thought you were too upset to speak; I almost wanted to put my arms around you and hold you. Were you inwardly laughing at me? // // You were so young then. Were you just in over your head, and I didn't see it? // // Or was it all, always, an act? // THE ANIMAL I WANTED by: Ladyluck - ereshkigal44@yahoo.com Oh, what a genius must inform the skies! And can the salamander-heart remain Cold and untouched amid these sacred fires? - Edward Young Mulder slept later than usual the next morning. He fasted, not eating or drinking anything but a little water. Wondering how to broach the subject of his planned expedition to the ridge, he made desultory small talk with Scully. She seemed preoccupied, however, barely registering the words as she repeatedly glanced at the clock. At exactly eleven o'clock, her cell phone rang. She had it open before the second ring. "Eleven on the dot," Mulder commented. "Pretty anal, don't you think?" Scully ignored him completely as she spoke into the phone. "Hiii..." Her voice curved warmly around the single syllable. Paul said something on the other end and she answered with a girlish giggle. Her lips shaped a private smile. Suddenly seeming to notice the presence of Mulder and Krycek, she carried the phone into the bedroom. Mulder stared after her, feeling like the last remaining inhabitant of a ghost town. Welcome to Basementville. Population: One loser. He wanted to punch the wall, but he would not do that in front of Krycek. Turning, he caught Krycek gazing at him with a strangely troubled expression. Alex's hair was damp from showering. Mulder could see that he had his gun on, but at least he had left the leather jacket off this morning. He had also removed the bandage from his wrist. Mulder gestured at it. "Uh, before I go, you want me to—?" Krycek glanced down at it as well. "Nah, leave it." His voice sounded strained. "It'll heal up in the air." He held out his hand, palm up, flexing the wrist. It still looked pretty raw to Mulder, but he wasn't going to push the issue. He suddenly wanted to touch Alex, just reach out and take hold of him. But he did not, although they were standing close enough. Still smiling, Scully came out of the bedroom. Mulder talked quickly, telling her of his plans. He had arguments ready if she protested, but she only nodded in a distracted way. "Sure, fine. Just let me get dressed." She headed off, humming under her breath. Mulder was dumbstruck. He had never seen Scully act this way. Slowly, he collected the things he needed—water, his cell phone, a sweater, a small first-aid kit—and loaded them into his backpack. He had to get out of the cabin. Being around Scully like this was too depressing. He didn't begrudge her happiness, but it was too much of a reminder that she would be leaving him soon, and too much of a contrast to the bleak emptiness of his own personal life. And being around Alex—Krycek—twenty-four hours a day was just too much, period. "Okay, Mulder. Go commune with the squirrels and the bears." Scully came back into the room. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail that made her look young and cute. Mulder reached out and flipped it up, played with it. Scully pulled her head away with an indulgent, abstracted smile. Her gaze fell on Krycek and her voice became businesslike. "Krycek, sit down, I'll take a look at your arm and bandage it up." Mulder hoisted his backpack and headed for the door. He would let Krycek and Scully fight it out over that particular subject. Alex was watching him. He didn't look happy. He had never liked being left behind on anything when they were partners. // Left behind? There's no reason why you should include him in any part of your life. He's an informant, nothing more. All he's supposed to do is stay in the cabin and lay low. // He felt a sense of excitement as he approached the old church. Again that peculiar stirring sensation went through him as he stepped into the stream of light and walked through the door. He jogged along the trail, out into the clearing where he had met Tomasina the day before. Her coyote-dog's grave was there, with its ring of stones. Mulder found a smooth round stone and laid it on the grave with the others. He remained there a moment in silence, not knowing any prayers. Then, remembering the direction Tomasina had gone the previous day, he started off down that trail. He had a strong wish to see her again, to tell her what he planned to do. The day was warming up and he sipped from his water bottle as he walked. He had gone no more than half a mile when he saw a cabin in the distance. It was well tended and neat, with a few chickens and a couple of benches out front. A battered blue Toyota was parked under the trees. There was no answer when he knocked. He tried a couple of times more, then headed around to the back. A vegetable garden was growing there— tomatoes, sage, the pendulous pods of beans, a sprawling patch of squash and pumpkin vines. Tomasina stood among the vines. She had made a basket of her skirt and was filling it with tomatoes. A few reddish-brown chickens pecked aimlessly around her feet like windblown leaves, and a black and white cat lay sunning itself. "Tokala." As before, she seemed unsurprised to see him. She lifted a basket of beans and handed it to him to carry as she started back toward the house. Mulder followed, as did the cat. Around the front of the house, she sat on one of the benches and began unloading the tomatoes from her skirt into another basket. "So, you are going up there?" She indicated the ridge with her hand. Mulder seated himself on the other bench, letting his backpack drop in the dust. The cat came over to inspect it, its scrawny tail quivering with excitement. "What is that place?" "It doesn't have a name. People go up there to do hanblecheya." "That means...some kind of spiritual quest, right?" "Yah, white people call it 'vision quest.' For us, Lakota, it is 'the long night of prayer' or 'long night of crying.' It takes a year to prepare. There are things you need to gather, people you need to go to." She placed the last of the tomatoes in the bowl, and brushed off her skirt. "Some fast four days, some do eight." She sorted through the tomatoes and selected a large one, then handed it to Mulder with a grin. Mulder felt a little awkward, not wanting to refuse the gift, but also not wanting to say that he was fasting, since his fast had only been for about sixteen hours. It felt a little ridiculous, now. He held the tomato in his hand. It was warm from the sun, weighty and ripe. Tomasina passed a bowl over to him. "You know how to shell beans?" Without waiting for an answer, she picked one out of the basket and demonstrated, her fingers expertly splitting the pod. A cascade of plump brown beans skittered into the bowl. Less adroitly, Mulder followed suit. They passed several minutes in this way. Tomasina was focused on her work, seemingly content to have Mulder sit there shelling beans for her all day. Finally, Mulder's curiosity surfaced. "So I shouldn't go up there?" "You can go there. It will not be hanblecheya, but you can pray." She shrugged, her fingers never pausing in their work. "The animals don't mind. The trees don't mind." "The trees?" Tomasina's face creased in thought. She reached down to stroke the cat. "All things are," she waved a hand in the air, indicating the surroundings, "...here, with us..." Mulder wasn't quite sure what she meant, but he had certainly heard stranger ideas in his time. "Those are white birch trees, right?" "Sycamore. They look like white birch now, when they are young. They will be big in your time." Mulder shelled the last bean pod with a sense of satisfaction. He passed the bowl over to Tomasina. She patted the beans. "Thank you, Tokala." She rose, gathering the empty pods. Mulder stood up too. "I feel like I should thank you." She swept the bean pods into her skirt and carried them over to a metal pail on the ground. "Next time, you can bring me some tobacco," she grinned. "That is the traditional way." "I guess you haven't read the Surgeon General's warnings." "Tobacco is sacred to us," Tomasina said. "When you plant tobacco, it is not like any other plant. It sucks everything out of the ground, everything. So it is very powerful." She brushed her skirt off, then turned to Mulder. "So. What is your prayer?" At his hesitation, she clarified. "What you are searching for. Why you go there today." Mulder lifted his backpack. He pondered how to answer. 'The truth' sounded too pretentious. "I don't even know." She gave a bright caw of laughter and slapped him lightly on the arm, her hand as dry and light as one of the bean pods. "So you will pray to find out what you are praying for!" It was a long walk to the ridge, but a pleasant one, as Tomasina had advised. The sun was high, splashing down through the trees. Mulder removed his shirt, enjoying the feel of the warmth on his bare skin. An image of Alex staring at him with that unhappy look as he left suddenly came into his mind. He tried to push it away. There were good reasons why Alex had to stay locked up in the cabin. // Besides, with that pale skin, he doesn't look like he gets out much anyway. // The trail became steeper. Walking along here, he could look down the side of the bluff and see the whole area spread out below. He was glad to note that the trees were too thick overhead for the cabin to be visible. He knew his destination right away. There was a kind of majestic silence in the grove. A very large tree stood in the center of a ring of smaller ones. Mulder dropped to the ground under it to rest. He was tired and a little lightheaded from not eating all day. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on why he was here. What did he want? What was he searching for? Confused fragments of thought floated through his mind. The truth...Samantha...the raid...Scully leaving...his family...the tomato in his backpack, succulent and ripe... He shook his head, feeling restless and somewhat foolish. The truth. He tried to focus on that. That was his quest, the central focus of his life now for lo these many years. But the image that came to mind instead was Alex standing in the kitchen, looking down, rubbing his bare foot along the back of his other leg. Alex's legs were long and muscular, but his ankles and feet, like his wrist and hand, were slender and elegant. Without realizing it, Mulder had been running his hands over his bare chest and belly. He became conscious of that at the same time as he realized he was hard. Like the old cartoons where an angel stood on one shoulder and a devil on the other, one part of Mulder looked on in horrified disgust at the idea of jacking off in this sacred place. The other part noted dispassionately that he was bored, horny, and most importantly, completely alone for once. Would the trees mind? Would the animals mind? Slowly, Mulder's hand began its familiar journey...sliding up and down, then circling around. Mulder allowed himself to imagine getting up off the couch, going into the kitchen there, putting his hands on Alex, touching his ass and sucking his nipples.... Alex had seemed different there in the middle of the night—relaxed, introspective, almost friendly. How would he have reacted? Would he have welcomed Mulder's touch? // Who cares how he'd react? This is your fantasy. Forget all that crap and take his pants off already. // // Oh yeah. Oh yeah. // Mulder's hand quickened its pace. Alex's ass, in all its glory, for his pleasure. // Oh...yeah. // He teased himself a little, but it had been too long and his impatient need overrode the wish to make it last. Breathing hard, he fisted his cock fiercely and felt it break over him like a wave; with a sharp cry he came and he could no longer deny it: he wanted Alex Krycek. // Just his ass. The rest of him can go to... // But he was remembering, in the hazy torpor of release, just why Alex had been standing in that kitchen. Alex making tea, Alex's touch on his shoulder, Alex forcing himself to stay awake listening to Mulder's stories. Mulder wiped his hands on the grass. Idly, he wondered what Krycek did for release. Unlike Mulder and Scully, Alex had no privacy, and shower time was severely limited because of the hot-water problem. Again Mulder felt a sneaking sympathy for the rat, stuck in the cabin all the time, not able to go outside, nothing much to do. The sexual tension that was driving Mulder crazy had to be getting to him too. Feeling relaxed and drowsy, he tried to take deep breaths and get into a meditative state of mind, but he felt his eyelids growing heavy. He had not slept more than a few hours the night before, and now sleep overtook him. In the twilight state just before he woke he knew he had dreamed, very vividly. He had been with Samantha, sitting in the tall grass. Her long hair was tangled and full of bits of weeds and straw. She held the body of a large insect on her palm. Big eyes, iridescent green shell. "Look, a locus! They're very rare. They only come out every seventeen years." "Locust" He emphasized the "t" sound. "A locus is a place. Anyway, that's a cicada." He had the strong sensations of sunlight, Sam's laughter, and a feeling of peace. He opened his eyes. It was late, and his mouth felt very dry. Reaching for his backpack to get a bottle of water, he realized he was not alone. A small black spotted lizard—no, a newt—sat atop it. It regarded him calmly, not blinking. He reached over and ran a finger lightly along its back. The skin was smooth and faintly moist. Mulder chuckled softly. "So...are you my spirit animal?" Looking at his watch, he saw it had only registered three hours passing, although he was positive this time that it had been much more. It occurred to him that he should call Scully and let her know he was okay and would be heading back. Reaching for the backpack to pull out his cell phone, he saw that the newt had disappeared. He punched in Scully's number repeatedly, but he could not get a signal on his cell. Swearing under his breath, he tossed it back into the pack and pulled his shirt on. He had just better hope he didn't trip over a root and fall down the side of the bluff and break something. He took a less scenic route down, hoping it would be quicker, although it would not take him past Tomasina's place. He soon realized, however, that he was hopelessly lost. His eidetic memory was exceptional, and he tried picturing landmarks in his mind, but every tree, every path, appeared identical, an endless maze of green and brown. His cell phone still refused to work, and he was almost out of water. Frustrated and exhausted, he sat down on a fallen log to rest. The dream came back to him. Samantha's smile, her fascination with the strange bug. His own words. "A locus is a place. Anyway, that's a cicada." Had he really been such an insufferable prat? A tiny movement caught the corner of his eye, and he looked up to see something skitter over the end. It was another newt, this one slightly smaller. It sat still, curling itself almost into a circle. // Spirit animal my ass, these things are probably common as mosquitoes out here. // He got to his feet. He saw that he was at a kind of crossroads of trails. He could figure out which way was west, of course, but where was he in relation to the cabin? His movement seemed to disturb the newt. It hopped off the log and ran down the path a short way before vanishing. "That way, huh? Well, good as any, I suppose." Mulder shouldered the pack and started down the path the newt had gone. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, he realized he was passing familiar landmarks, and he broke into a jog as he saw the stones of the old cemetery ahead. As soon as he entered the cabin, he knew something was wrong. Krycek was standing by the window, Scully a few feet from the door. Krycek had his gun drawn and Scully's hand was raised, as if warding him off. Her face was tense and pale. Mulder felt a disbelieving fury boil up within him. He cursed himself for having been so stupid as to leave her alone with the treacherous bastard. // Was he threatening her? I'll break every bone in his fucking body, injuries or no. I don't care what information he has. I'll shove that gun so far down his throat—// "Mulder," Scully said in a carefully controlled voice, "you cannot forget to turn off the perimeter alarm as you come in." Stunned, Mulder felt like ten kinds of ass as he realized the truth of the situation. Krycek, with his hair-trigger jumpiness, had pulled his gun at the sound of the alarm. Scully must have been trying to calm him down when Mulder walked in. No doubt she had been worried about the absent Mulder as well. Mulder let his backpack drop to the floor. "I'm sorry," he told her. Scully nodded. She ran a hand through her bangs. Krycek reholstered his gun, his eyes hard. Mulder felt the familiar stubborn defensiveness taking over, as it did whenever Skinner called him on the carpet, or his father before that. He was no good at smooth apologies. Or any sort of apologies, really. His stomach growled, reminding him that he had not eaten all day. With the other two watching in silence, he went to the refrigerator. Wrapping a wad of turkey breast in a slice of bread, he ate it in three quick bites. Scully came over to the counter and perched on a stool. She gave him a half-smile, letting him know he was forgiven. "So, did you meet your spirit animal?" "Yep." Mulder took a long drink of water, washing down the dry sandwich. "I suppose I did. Guess what it was." "A fox!" Scully said immediately, as if anticipating the punch line to a joke. "Uh...no." "A bear? A wolf? An eagle? A stag?" "A newt." At her blank look, he elaborated. "Little lizard-thing? With yellow spots. It crawled onto my backpack while I was, uh, meditating." He had expected some amusement at this, but not the raucous guffaws that greeted him, Scully all but pounding the countertop in her hilarity. "I don't think it's that funny, Scully," Mulder said stiffly, after a few minutes of this. "A salamander." The husky, quiet voice from behind him startled Mulder. He had not thought Krycek was listening, but of course he always was. He turned, ready to quash the rat with a cutting comment, but Krycek only regarded him thoughtfully. "The salamander was a mythic animal," Krycek said. "Supposedly it could walk through fire and stay alive." Mulder felt a little jolt at the words. He had not told Alex the content of his dream, or about his fear of fire. Only Scully, and Phoebe Green, knew about that. "They can regenerate body parts, too," Scully said. "Do you remember that case we had, Mulder, where the guy was using salamander cells to regrow limbs and—" Scully was still giggling a bit from the newt revelation; perhaps Alex imagined she was laughing at him. Doubtless her remark struck a nerve. Mulder saw him flinch slightly, then his face harden and shut, before he strode swiftly past them and out onto the screened porch. Mulder felt a disproportionate irritation at Scully, but the stricken look on her face dispelled it. He might, after all, have made a similar comment himself. "I didn't think—I didn't mean to—" Scully glanced toward the screened porch and sighed. "Do you think I hurt his feelings?" "I'm sure he's heard worse." Scully shook her head with a little rueful laugh. "It seems so weird to be saying that about Krycek. I don't usually think of him as having feelings." Mulder didn't want to have this conversation. Feeling thoroughly disgruntled by the whole damn day so far, he turned and headed for the shower. Krycek was at the refrigerator when he emerged. Scully was unloading clothes from the dryer. She gave a little yelp as a heated bit of metal burned her hand. "Dammit, this thing is too hot! I had it on the lowest setting, too." Tired from his hike, Mulder stretched out on the couch and turned on the TV. "So...what's for dinner, Scully?" Scully rubbed her hand in an irritated way. "Whatever you're making, Mulder." Mulder frowned at the screen. "Just shove something frozen in the oven." "I'd think you could shove something as easily as I could," Scully said tartly. They glared at each other, teetering on the knife-edge between humor and hostility. Mulder was just about to make a crack about it being like one of those old snowbound movies where everyone ends up going psycho and killing each other, when Krycek's voice spoke up matter-of- factly. "I'll make dinner." Scully regarded him skeptically. "Can you cook?" "Can we?" Mulder asked her. Scully conceded the point with a wry smile. Opening a cabinet, Krycek surveyed the contents and pulled out a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce. He hunted through the shelves and selected cans of mushrooms and black olives and various spices, methodically lining them up on the counter. Mulder noticed that his wrist was bandaged again. Score one for the indomitable Dr. Scully. Mulder went to the refrigerator to get a soda and felt Krycek bristle at the intrusion. He settled back on the couch, occasionally glancing over at Krycek. Alex did seem to know his way around the kitchen. He seemed calmer too, totally absorbed in what he was doing as he stirred the sauce. Mulder watched him taste it, then transfer the spoon to the prosthetic hand and add a pinch of something. He lifted the box of salt and poured a small amount into his hand, stroking it momentarily with his thumb before adding it to the pot. There was only one small moment of tension, when Scully would not allow Krycek to carry the heavy pasta pot to the sink to be drained. She stepped in to do it while Krycek backed out of the kitchen, plainly resentful. But the moment passed uneventfully, and Krycek's equanimity seemed restored as he served up the food and waited for them to try it. "This is really good, Krycek," Scully said. Mulder tasted it. It was indeed quite good. "Any fresh-grated Parmesan cheese?" he inquired. Krycek shot him a look, then smirked and pushed a battered-looking canister of Kraft across the table. Scully got some spoons from the drawer. She twirled the strands of pasta around her fork, holding it in place with a spoon. "Paul showed me how to do this. His grandmother was Italian." "Paul's probably one of those guys who eats fried chicken with a knife and fork," Mulder said. He took a big forkful of spaghetti, slurping the strands into his mouth as messily and noisily as possible. Scully rolled her eyes. "That's charming, Mulder. It's no wonder you're unfamiliar with the concept of the second date." "I'm unfamiliar with the concept of the first date." Krycek ate rapidly and efficiently, watching them without joining in the conversation. Mulder suddenly remembered the tomato Tomasina had given him. He retrieved it from his backpack and set it in the center of the table. Krycek drew back slightly, staring at it as though he expected it to attack him at any moment. "What's that?" // Jeez, Krycek, paranoid much? // Mulder gave him a condescending smirk. "That is a tomato, Krycek. Your basic vegetable. Or fruit, really." Krycek frowned and started to speak. Mulder ignored him. "It's from Tomasina's garden." "The Lakota woman? Who was burying her dog?" Scully asked. Mulder nodded. He cut the tomato into slices and placed them on a plate. Krycek eyed them for a moment, then gingerly speared a couple with his fork. "I miss my dog," Scully said. "Queequeg." "I'm sorry, Scully, that was not a dog, it was a powderpuff with a yip. A German Shepherd, that's a dog." Mulder helped himself to more pasta, ignoring Krycek's satisfied smirk. "And what kind of name for a dog is Queequeg?" Scully buttered a piece of bread. "When I was growing up, we had a dog named Panjandrum," she said. At Mulder's expression, she laughed. "Didn't you ever have any pets as a kid?" Mulder snorted. "You kidding? If a dog hair entered the atmosphere, my mother would have had the vacuum out before it ever settled on the furniture." He shrugged. "I always wanted a dog." "A German Shepherd?" Krycek's voice was quiet. Mulder mentally kicked himself. He hadn't meant to reveal anything like that in front of Krycek. But Alex was just looking at him thoughtfully. "Well, how about you, Krycek?" Mulder said. "Any childhood pets with ridiculous names?" Krycek shook his head. Mulder was about to change the subject—he had a few questions about the upcoming raid—when Krycek spoke up, very softly. "In one place we lived, the neighbors had a dog. I kind of...co-opted it." Scully raised an eyebrow. "You stole your neighbors' dog?" "Not stole it." Krycek glanced at Mulder. "This old couple lived in back of us and they had a dog, but they never played with him or anything. I used to sneak him pieces of baloney and pretend he was my dog." A small silence fell. Krycek sat looking down at the table, playing with a spoon. Scully had a curious expression on her face. "So what was this dog's name?" Mulder asked. "Something better than Queequeg or Panjandrum, I hope." Krycek looked about to speak, then hesitated. "Blackie," he said, shrugging. "They didn't have much imagination." The hesitation was not lost on Mulder. He wondered what Alex's own secret name for the dog had been. He wasn't going to press it, though; it was astounding enough that Krycek had told them about the dog at all. Krycek finished the last slice of tomato. He rose swiftly and took his plate to the sink. "I'll pull up those files." He hurried off to the computer room, not looking at either of them. Scully rose too, slowly. "Mulder, I think it's you on the dishes tonight, since Krycek cooked." Mulder started to say, "What about you?" But her steely glare stopped him. He could almost read her thoughts. // After you dumped Krycek on me all afternoon while you were up on a hill playing with yourself? And set off the damn alarm to boot? I don't think so. // "Sure, Scully, glad to." Mulder washed up the dishes. They had not been kidding about the hot water heater; the water, lukewarm for the first few minutes, soon faded to cold. He grumbled a bit, but Scully did not take the hint and offer to do them. She took her printouts and said she was tired and wanted to turn in early. Mulder might have expected that he and Alex would be the tired ones, after staying up all night talking, but he felt energized, ready to tackle the disks for a while. Krycek had some website up on the screen when Mulder entered, red and gold with Old English lettering. "I found a few things on salamanders," he said, his voice elaborately casual. "Really?" Mulder tried for the same half-interested tone. He grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to Krycek in front of the computer. Alex tapped the screen. His eyes were bright. A border of entwined salamanders danced down the side of the page. "Yeah, look...apparently the legends date back to ancient Egypt." Mulder perused the words on the screen, all too conscious of Alex's sidelong glances at him as he read. He remembered Alex doing that when they worked together, peeping at Mulder from under those lashes, hyper- attuned to Mulder's reaction. The urge to touch Alex was suddenly overpowering. He could swear he felt heat coming off Alex's body. "This count in Scotland," Alex said, clicking to pull up another site, "supposedly a mystic...it says here that he spent six weeks in a trance, sitting in front of his fireplace. At the end of the six weeks a salamander crawled out of the flames." "It probably crawled out to tell him he was an asshole for staring into a fire for six weeks," Mulder said. "Just like mine probably came to tell me I'm an asshole for thinking I could attain some kind of instant enlightenment by skipping breakfast and sitting under a tree for a couple of hours." Krycek was looking at him oddly, and Mulder immediately regretted the words. What the hell had he been thinking, admitting weakness to his worst enemy like that? Although he could hardly call Alex his worst enemy any more. "So that's what you've been doing," he said, "looking up salamanders on the Internet? Aren't we supposed to be going over the stuff on the disks?" "Mulder, I put these disks together. I didn't need to go over them." But Krycek reached for the mouse, bringing the information up on the screen. He looked at Mulder often as he talked, sometimes tapping the screen with a finger for emphasis. Mulder focused on the tiny gold earring Krycek now sported. He wondered when and where Alex had picked that up. He certainly hadn't worn an earring in his days at the Bureau. Sitting here like this was starting to drive Mulder crazy. Alex seemed uncomfortable too. Not usually a fidgety person, he kept shifting in his seat and surreptitiously rubbing or scratching at the stump of his arm when he thought Mulder wasn't looking. Mulder shoved his chair back and stood up. "You want to go outside a while, get some air?" "Yeah," Alex said, sounding surprised. He got his jacket off the cot. Stepping outside, Mulder felt the breeze on his bare arms. He became aware of a high-pitched, constant drone, like a ringing in his ears. "What's that sound?" "Crickets, my friend." Alex sounded amused. Mulder leaned on the railing. "Crickets. Where the hell are all the normal noises? Like car alarms going off, the sanitation truck coming at the crack of dawn—" "—two drunks fighting at four a.m." "Jeez, Krycek, what neighborhood do you live in?" "They were very upscale drunks," Alex said. He realized he was enjoying himself, being out here with Alex. It was so strange...he hated Krycek, he was intensely attracted to him at times...but now, as with the other night, he found himself liking Alex. And despite his words, he wasn't really missing the city. The way the air smelled out here, the pale bark of the trees in the moonlight, the inconceivably starry night, uncluttered by streetlights and neon—it all exhilarated him. "Look at the sky," he told Alex. Alex stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing upwards. "Yeah, not like the city, huh? You can see all the constellations out here." "You know the constellations?" "I did once. In another part of the world." Alex's smile was almost shy. "They're not in the same places in the sky here...I'll see if I can recognize some." Mulder wanted to ask him where, and when, but he was transfixed by that little smile. He could not remember when, if ever, he had seen Krycek smile like that. If he started questioning Krycek now, Alex would probably withdraw, close off again. "There's Perseus." Mulder traced the shape in the sky as Alex watched. "That's Scorpio, over there." He studied Alex as the younger man stood with his head tipped back, looking up at the stars, still smiling slightly. The surprising thought occurred that he could look at Alex's face forever and not get tired of watching him. Alex glanced over at him, and Mulder returned his gaze to the sky. More and more stars were becoming visible as his eyes adjusted, an infinite pointillist network of galaxies, possibly civilizations, spreading out across the blackness. Mulder stared upward, feeling a ferocious hunger to know them, touch them, and seek out their secrets. Was Sam out there, somewhere, looking back at this world, and did it only seem like another star to her? Or was it all a crazy lie? Was she simply dead here on earth, her bones mingling with the dirt, another routine unsolved murder that he had been too clueless to solve or even discover? He had never felt so small or lonely. Krycek hated and feared the aliens, and Mulder knew he had his reasons for wanting to drive them off the earth, or even wipe them all out. But Mulder could not forget what he had seen and felt, amidst the chaotic terror of Sam being taken. That light, that voice, comforting him, filling him with a sense of solace and wonder. Turning his head, he found Alex looking back at him again. The sadness he saw in Alex's eyes startled him. He felt an understanding pass between them, the sudden deep, almost clairvoyant sense that they were both wishing for the same thing. // If I could only tell you, if I could only make you understand, what it was like for me... // "Mulder," Alex said. "Listen..." It sounded like he was shivering as he spoke. "You cold?" "I'm okay." "Maybe we should go back inside, get back to work." Mulder started for the door. Alex did not move. "That sixth disk..." The words stopped Mulder in his tracks, and he turned around, all attention now. "What's on it? And how do I break the code?" "I'll give you what you need. But you have to promise me something." There was a definite tremor in Alex's voice now. "I don't want you to open it until after I'm gone." Mulder narrowed his eyes. "Gone where, Krycek? As far as I know, you're not going anywhere." But a part of his mind was wondering what was going to happen to Krycek after this. They couldn't stay out here in the cabin forever. Once the raid was completed, Mulder and Scully would probably be called back to D.C. But where would Alex go? "If I—if anything happens," Krycek said, "there are things on it I want you to have. But not before then." He quieted Mulder's objections and questions with a gesture. "It doesn't have anything to do with the vaccine project, or the raid, I swear." He extended his hand. "Promise me." Alex had held out his hand to Mulder like that the first time they met. Mulder had not taken it then, but he did now. Alex's eyes were intently locked on his in that way he had, like he could burn a hole right into Mulder's very soul. His skin felt hot against Mulder's palm. Too hot. Still holding Alex's hand, Mulder reached out with his other hand and did what he had been wanting to all day: he touched Alex, laying his fingertips lightly against Alex's forehead. Alex pulled back. "Jesus, Alex, you're burning up." "Promise me, Mulder. I'm giving it to you, but you won't open it until I'm gone." "Okay, yeah. I promise." He felt Alex's grip ease up. "Now get your ass inside the cabin." Alex nodded. He started to raise his hand as though to rub at his arm again, then stopped himself. Mulder did not miss the slight grimace of pain that tightened his features. "Your arm hurting again?" Alex shrugged, his head down. "I—I get these phantom pains in it." His voice was very low. Mulder held the door open and Alex walked over to the cot and sank heavily onto it, shrugging off his leather jacket. "I don't have my arm any more, but it still hurts like a bitch sometimes." Mulder remembered the other day on the porch: Alex hunched in misery, refusing the pain medication. He frowned. "All the time?" "No...just sometimes...like when I'm sick." "That sucks." "I'm not sick very often." Alex bent to undo his boots. "Does anything help?" "Sometimes if I cause pain in the other arm, that does the trick." Alex smirked wearily. "Or heat." "Why don't you take a hot bath or something?" "No hot water," Alex reminded him. "Want me to get Scully?" Alex looked up, shaking his head irritably. "Fuck no." "No, of course not...you're sick and in pain, why would you need a doctor?" Alex pulled his shirt off. His teeth were chattering. "I just need some sleep." He undid the prosthesis and put it away, then unzipped his jeans and struggled out of them, still sitting on the edge of the cot. Mulder was surprised Alex was undressing like this in front of him. Usually he would get changed in the bathroom. Maybe he felt too sick right now to care. Mulder stood, feeling a confused sympathy, wanting to help him and not knowing how. He could not avoid the guilt as well, knowing Alex was sick right now because of what Mulder had done to him. An idea suddenly hit, and he located a couple of large bath towels and tossed them into the dryer with the heat setting on 'high.' In the kitchen, he filled a glass with water. The prescription bottles stood on the counter. It didn't look like Alex had taken any of them. What the hell was wrong with Krycek? Mulder could understand him not wanting to have Scully examine his arm, or give him an injection, but what was the big deal about swallowing a damn pill? He collected the various pills and brought them over to Alex. Krycek bristled slightly, but it seemed more reflexive than anything. He swallowed the antibiotic and Advil, but shook his head at the Demerol. Even the small movement of taking the pills seemed to cause him pain. Mulder couldn't help feeling somewhat impatient with Alex's erratic resistance to taking the medication. "Why are you so paranoid about getting addicted? You don't seem like you have an addictive personality." One corner of Alex's mouth twitched up. "There's no such thing, Mulder. Enough pain and anyone would shoot themselves full of anything." // I thought I knew what pain was...I was wrong. // Mulder set the Demerol and water on the little table next to the cot. "Can you—you were awake for—the whole thing?" he whispered. "Yeah..." The word was more a breath than a whisper. Mulder closed his eyes for a second. "Shit." He couldn't even imagine it. His mind wouldn't go there, and it could have been him. Gingerly, he reached out to touch Alex's arm, maybe rub it for him. It wasn't really what he wanted to do. He wanted to kick something, smash something. He was aware of a harsh, burning rage. Alex flinched back from his touch. "No, Mulder...not now." As though that might be just too much to handle at the moment. For just a moment, his eyes fixed on Mulder's with a kind of desperate faith. Mulder noticed that Alex was sweating, although it was not that warm in the cabin, and he still shivered slightly. His single hand was clenched tightly into a fist. "Please," Alex said roughly. He bowed his head, his gaze dropping away from Mulder's. Mulder closed his eyes for a second, trying to get himself under control. He felt as if he was being sucked into a black hole, strung out into filaments of unspent emotion. The intensity of Krycek's suffering, the terrible flashbacks this was obviously triggering, his humiliation at having to beg Mulder not to touch him—it was almost unbearable. // Why, Alex? Why did you jump off that truck? Why did you follow me into there in the first place? Why couldn't you be honest with me? Why couldn't I save you? // Mulder headed into the bathroom. Brushing his teeth, he all at once felt shaky and utterly weak, as though all the strength had been sucked out of him. He leaned heavily on the mirror, but his body was turning to jelly, and he slid down to sit on the floor. The yellow tiles were hard and cold, and, seen up close like this, none too clean. His father had lain on a bathroom floor like this one, bleeding, dying. Mulder had held him in his arms. He remembered the consciousness fading from the old man's eyes, the awful sense of helplessness and despair that coursed through him. "Forgive me," Bill Mulder had whispered, but Mulder had never gotten the chance to forgive him or be forgiven by him. Alex had done that to him. And Alex had sat on a bathroom floor like this one for two days, chained to the sink. Exhausted, in a lot of pain, probably hungry as well. And scared, Mulder knew. Afraid he was about to be killed, phobic about being shut up in there, maybe scared of Mulder as well. Mulder had done that to him. It was no place to die. No place to spend two days of your life. But it was the only place at this moment where he could be alone. He felt weighted down with sorrow: for his father, dead before his time; for Alex, fighting off all that pain and terror; and for himself, flooded with the memories and caught between the two. He had not cried in a long while, and he did not cry easily, but now the grief engulfed him. Sitting on the chilly, cracked tiles, he pressed his face into his folded arms as the sobs shuddered through him, trying to be as soundless as possible. The buzz of the dryer stopping jolted Mulder back to himself. Slowly, he rose and splashed cold water on his face. He took a few deep breaths and walked out to the machine. The towels inside were almost too hot to touch. He carried them over to the man on the cot. "Krycek." Alex opened his eyes. "Here," Mulder said, "lean forward a little." He sat on the edge of the cot and wrapped the hot towels around Alex's arm and shoulder, then tucked the blanket up around him to keep the heat in. Alex drew in a shivery gulp of air. He made that little sound again, somewhere between a sigh and a moan of pleasure. Mulder felt it go through his own body, his nipples hardening, his belly tightening. He knew he should get up, go over to the couch, but he felt oddly reluctant to move. They were sitting too close. Mulder was extremely aware of every movement, every breath and sound from Alex, the scent of his sweat mixed with the fresh-laundry smell of the towels. Alex's eyes looked dark, the pupils dilated. It was too much, the tidal pull Mulder felt every time they got near each other. The urge to grab Alex, kiss him fiercely, hit him hard, hurt him... He realized he had no wish to hurt Alex right now. How the hell could you hurt someone who had been through that, who relived it and felt the effects on a daily basis? Or he could take the other road. Just give in to those desires. Stop fighting it. Scratch the itch once and for all and then move on. Alex's mouth was less than a foot from his, and he didn't look like he would put up much resistance. But Mulder didn't know if he was ready to go there. Not now, not yet. And Alex was sick, and hurting; he didn't need Mulder coming on to him. Not to mention that, sick or not, he was also dangerous, unpredictable, and not in a very good mood right now. Mulder stood up. He stretched unthinkingly and walked back to the couch to get undressed. "Mulder." That smoky, insistent voice. So many times over the years Alex had said his name in just that way, and always Mulder was drawn inexorably to it, like a fish on a line. "Yeah?" There was silence for a moment. Mulder's mind whirled. "Thanks." Alex's voice was very soft, but full of emotion. Mulder was speechless. Was Krycek really so unused to simple kindness, to someone taking care of him? Or had he picked up on Mulder's anger? Was he thanking Mulder for not hurting him this time? Or for not pushing this beyond what it was—companionship maybe, an uneasy truce. Mulder found his voice. "No problem." He lay down on the couch. If Alex wanted anything more than that, he would just have to come over and get it. He must have slept surprisingly well, because the next thing he knew, it was daylight, and the crickets had been replaced by the equally grating twitter of birds. His cabin mates were both already up and having coffee when he awakened. Scully was seated at the table, flipping through some papers, and Krycek stood gazing out the kitchen window. Mulder dragged himself up into a sitting position. Scully looked up. "Good morning." Mulder waved to her. He made his way to the counter and watched Krycek pouring a cup of coffee. "Hey," Mulder greeted him. "Feeling better?" Alex just nodded. He measured half a spoonful of sugar into the coffee, stirred it, and passed it to Mulder. "Thanks," Mulder said, trying not to show his surprise. // Krycek's fixing me coffee? How the hell does he know how I take my coffee? // "You weren't feeling well last night, Krycek?" Scully said. Alex glanced at Mulder warily before muttering, "I'm okay." "You know what we need? Bagels," Mulder said. "We need a corner grocery where we can get some bagels. And the morning paper." "Mmm...someplace with a salad bar," Scully sighed. "And homemade muffins," Alex said. Mulder looked up and was floored to see that Alex was smiling. Not his usual sardonic smirk, or the phony kiss-ass smile he had sported in his brief sojourn at the Bureau, but a genuine, if tentative, smile. It was a good look on him. // But then, what isn't? He does intense and sarcastic pretty well too. // "Yeah," Mulder managed to say. "Blueberry..." "Cranberry," Scully said. Mulder noticed another unbelievable thing. Scully was actually smiling back. Maybe the aliens had already colonized the earth and replaced them both with happy clones. "Banana walnut," Alex said. He refilled his cup of coffee, plopping two spoons of sugar and a hefty dollop of cream into his cup. Mulder shuddered. "How can you drink that? It probably doesn't even taste like coffee anymore." Alex was still smiling. "How can you drink yours black? That's barbaric." // How did he know that? // Mulder caught Alex's eye, looked at his cup, then at Alex, letting the unspoken question show on his face. Alex tilted his head, widened his eyes and smirked. He looked younger for a moment; more like the cocky kid he had seemed when Mulder first met him. Mulder got the message: I remembered. A part of him was disturbed at Alex's ability to slide into that persona so easily. Who was he, really? But another part of Mulder was reveling in the feeling of finding that connection again, that feeling of being so absolutely on the same wavelength, the way they understood each other, communicating without needing words. // I called your name. In the dark I called your name. I thought you might hear me...even in your mind... // // Oh, shit, Alex. // It was like a physical pain hitting him, and he closed his eyes in an involuntary grimace, his fingers tightening around the coffee mug. "Mulder?" They were both saying his name, his past and present partners, both staring at him in concern. "Are you all right?" That was Scully. He could feel Alex moving nearer, reaching out his hand hesitantly to touch Mulder, and Mulder wanted to grab that hand and hang on, because he was going under. // No, I'm not all right. I'm drowning, the sand is shifting from underneath my feet and I can't keep up. I thought I knew my enemy, but then I saw him...all his pain, all his fears, all his courage...all too human, like me. And I want to scream for how he's hurt me, and I want to weep for how I've hurt him. And I want him. Oh shit.... God, I want him. // He forced himself to open his eyes and take in some deep breaths through his mouth. He couldn't look at Alex. Instead, he focused on Scully, her little frown, the fuzzy slippers she was wearing. "Just a headache." "I have Advil," Scully said. "I have Demerol," Alex offered, his tone gently mocking. "Uh, those things on your feet, Scully...what are they, Muppets?" Scully gave a little roll of her eyes. "They're sheepskin from the Woodstove catalog. Paul got them for me." "Woo hoo. This is getting serious now." Alex had moved back to lean against the refrigerator, sipping his coffee. Mulder had the impression he was withdrawing a bit, not joining in with their teasing. "He got me these socks, too." "I thought Catholics frowned on socks before marriage." Alex turned his back to them. He opened the cabinets and took out a box of pancake mix and a jar of cinnamon. He set them out neatly on the counter in that systematic way, along with a banana and an egg and the measuring spoons. "We actually had to go for pre-cana," Scully said, "and Father Shannon told us—Mulder, are you listening to me?" Mulder tore his attention away from the sight of Alex bending over in those cut-off sweats, hunting for a bowl in the lower cabinets. "Sure. The priest told you to—" // Be fruitful and multiply. // Mulder caught himself just in time, cursing inwardly. Of course Scully couldn't have children. He knew how much that hurt her. And how much had Alex had to do with that? Mulder felt the pain twist again, a knife inside him. Thankfully Scully was unaware, having followed the direction of his gaze. "Krycek, you're cooking again?" She cast a glance back at Mulder, her eyebrows raised—Better him than us! Alex did not answer; he seemed to be taking no notice of them, but he stood turned slightly in their direction, breaking the egg single-handedly into the bowl with a flourish. Scully stared at Krycek, looking bemused. "Where did you learn to cook?" Alex beat the egg with a few swift strokes, smirking slightly. "What do you two do, just live on takeout?" "He won't tell you," Mulder said. "He won't answer anything even vaguely personal. If you said, hey Alex, are your eyes green, he'd find a way to avoid the question." Scully shot him a curious look. // Are your eyes green? // // Alex? // Jesus, why hadn't he just commented on how sweet his ass was? He was glad he couldn't see Krycek's face, as Alex had his back turned, opening cabinets again. Mulder rubbed a hand over his eyes. // I'm losing it, totally fucking losing it. // "Headache still bothering you?" Scully's tone was sympathetic. Mulder headed off to take a shower. He had a feeling this particular headache was not going away anytime soon. Krycek seemed antsy all morning, repeatedly badgering Mulder with questions about exactly what Skinner had said, when the raid was supposed to take place, what modifications he was making in Krycek's plans. Mulder was tempted to just flip the phone over to him and tell him he could ask Skinner himself. "Well, whenever we're going, we need groceries today," Scully said. "There's a big superstore about fifteen miles away. I'll make a run over there." Mulder could tell she wanted to get out of the cabin, which was just fine with him. It was occurring to him that he and Alex would be alone for a while. There was nothing to stop them now. He wanted this. He was tired of fighting it. He was finally going to just get it over with; just do it, and then he would be free of this crazy obsession. He headed into the computer room to check his mail. Lying atop the closed laptop was a small manila envelope with his name on the front in Krycek's neat block printing. He heard a noise behind him and, turning, saw Krycek in the doorway. Mulder lifted the envelope. "This is the instructions on how to unencrypt that sixth disk?" "Yeah." Alex looked at him. Remember your promise, his eyes said. Mulder was dying to ask what the disk contained, but he knew that he would never get a straight answer out of Krycek. His briefcase was sitting in the corner. He opened it and tucked the envelope away in the bottom pocket. A sudden thought struck him. "You gave me that disk thinking you were going to disappear. But you just now gave me the instructions to unencrypt it. How was I supposed to get anything off of it if you disappeared?" A tiny smile appeared on Alex's face. "I gave you the instructions that night." Mulder was getting tired of playing games. "Well, where the hell are they?" Alex's smile became a definite smirk. "In your computer." Realization dawned on Mulder. "That's why you were in my apartment that night. I should have known you wouldn't mind the rain." In the main room, Scully sat at the table making a grocery list. Mulder wanted to get something for Alex. He was a creative cook with whatever they had on hand—the stack of banana pancakes awaiting Mulder when he returned from the shower had been every bit as good as Krycek's spaghetti from last night—but he seemed to care more about the act of cooking than the food itself. He had mentioned muffins...cranberry? Banana? "Hey Krycek, what do you want from the store?" Krycek prowled tensely through the cabin. "Anything. I don't care." "Well, that's easy," Scully said dryly. She regarded Krycek for a moment. "Are you having pain?" Krycek looked like he wanted to snap at her, but he just said shortly, "No." Scully rolled her eyes and cast a significant glance at Mulder, suggesting that she found Krycek a royal pain in the ass. Actually, Mulder thought Alex was surprisingly low-maintenance. He was quiet and fairly neat, didn't seem to care what he ate, wore or slept on, didn't talk in his sleep or snore too loudly, and simply retreated out onto the porch when he was feeling bad in any way. He even cooked. The most annoying habit he had was this stalking about, but Mulder thought he could take care of that. Mulder turned to look at Alex. "Scully's going to go into town to get some supplies later, do a big grocery shop and all." He tried to telegraph the thought: // We'll have the cabin to ourselves for a while. So if it's pent-up sexual tension that's making you so restless and edgy, I can give you a hand with that. So to speak. // Alex paused to stare at Mulder with a distinctly predatory look, as if Mulder were a particularly tasty treat he wanted to devour. Mulder gave him a little smile. // Want me, do you? It's mutual. Just hang on a little while longer. // Scully showered. She put on her makeup. She called her mother. She called Paul. She checked her e-mail. Now it was Mulder who was pacing, while Alex had settled down to read. Finally, just when Mulder was about to drag her out to the car by her hair, Scully announced that she was leaving. Walking outside with her, Mulder got the axe from the shed and readied a couple of thick logs to split, under the pretext that he planned to spend the next two hours chopping wood. He watched her car drive away, then waited an extra ten minutes before going inside, just in case she had forgotten something or there was some problem. He heard the staccato sound of a woodpecker, then silence. He turned and headed for the cabin. Inside, Alex was sitting in the chair reading, with one bare foot balanced over the other. For some reason Mulder found that incredibly sexy. "Well, Scully's off," he said. "She said she'd be gone a couple of hours." // Get the picture? Scully's gone. We're alone here. For two hours. And I must say you're looking outrageously fuckable. // Mulder could barely restrain himself. He reached out and brushed Alex's hair back, just above his ear. Alex shivered, pulling back from Mulder's touch. He stared up at Mulder unsmiling, his green eyes wide. Distrust and tension seemed to radiate almost palpably from him. Jesus. Mulder backed off. "Uh, I'm going out to chop some wood. I'll be right outside." "You—you want some help?" Krycek asked hoarsely. // What kind of help? // But Krycek still looked like a panther about to spring. Mulder stepped back some more. "You can't chop wood with broken ribs. Just hang out." Krycek opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, then just pursed his lips, gazing at Mulder with a little frown. // Oh, shit, stop it with that mouth, or in two seconds I'll be ripping all your clothes off. // At which point Krycek would probably grab his gun and blow Mulder's head off, or possibly just crush his windpipe with a well-placed blow. Mulder turned and left the cabin, letting the door bang shut. He hoped Krycek hadn't noticed that he had a raging hard-on. Had he misread Alex's signals? Maybe Krycek just had cabin fever, or was in pain again. Maybe he was plotting to murder them both. Maybe what Mulder had taken for a shiver of desire was actually fear; maybe Krycek was worried about what Mulder might do without Scully there to restrain him. Who the hell ever knew what was going on in Krycek's head? Sighing, Mulder took up the axe again. What did he want, anyway? He had no idea what he expected to happen between them. In his fantasies, he had taken Krycek roughly, pushing him up against a wall, forcing Krycek to blow him, grabbing him by the hair and taking him from behind... Just like he had done in the apartment. But he couldn't be rough with Krycek now. Alex had broken ribs. And he wasn't even sure he wanted to anymore. So what then? Kiss him? // Well, hell, yeah. He kissed you, didn't he? // He realized he had no experience in how to seduce a man. Hell, he had precious little experience in how to seduce a woman. Most of those relationships had been initiated by the women. And all his experiences with men had been back in college. Most had been with other boys and had involved sitting around with a beer, or a bong, then boffing each other by mutual consent. In his one real relationship with a man, Cedric had been much older and more experienced. There had been attraction there too, and they had simply given in to it one afternoon, over a bottle of wine and a lengthy discussion of R.D. Laing's alternative theories of schizophrenia. Cedric had made the first move, letting his hand shift over onto Mulder's leg, and Mulder had smiled at him and Cedric had moved his hand a little higher, still talking... Mulder snorted to himself, imagining Krycek's reaction if Mulder plopped down on the bed next to him and started stroking his thigh while discoursing about alienation being the condition of modern man. Scully would probably be calling in a homicide, or at the very least taping up a few more broken bones. Alex was nothing like Cedric. Where Alex was intense, wary, action- oriented and dangerous, Cedric had been gentle, intellectual, ironic and extremely low-key. Physically, they did not resemble each other much either. Cedric was taller, lankier, with brown hair graying at the temples, and a neatly trimmed Vandyke beard. He dressed elegantly, impeccably, and never seemed to sweat. His voice was light and mellifluous, in contrast to Alex's gravelly bedroom rasp. Cedric's hands, long and graceful—there they were similar. Alex's hands were long and graceful like that. // Hand. // Mulder winced, feeling sick for a moment. Alex's eyes, those unforgettable eyes. Next to, of course, his ass and his body, Alex's eyes were his best feature, Mulder thought. That piercing, vivid green, those sinfully long lashes. Cedric's eyes were...his eyes were.... Mulder paused in his woodcutting to realize with a little shock that he had forgotten what color Cedric's eyes were, blue or brown. // Think, Mulder, you have a goddamn photographic memory. // He wasn't sure why it suddenly seemed so important to him to remember that small detail. Closing his eyes, he could recall Cedric's flat perfectly; the armchair Cedric liked to read in, the African masks on the wall, the large bay windows that threw sunlight across the floor. Cedric had told the twenty-year-old Mulder to lie in that patch of sunlight one day, nude after lovemaking. // Let me look at you there, my golden boy... // He didn't think he had loved Cedric. Had Cedric loved him? He had no idea. Cedric approached everything with the same amused, somewhat disillusioned detachment. He had savored Mulder's fine young body, and his fine young mind. There had been something—pain? disappointment? - - in his expression when Mulder fell for Phoebe Green and ended the relationship with Cedric. // Well, hell, I don't love Alex Krycek either, how could I? It's just physical—lust, curiosity... // // But I could have loved him, once. // He had imagined this, long ago. With Alex, his supposedly young and awkward partner. Mulder would have felt on surer ground there. He would have been the older, more experienced one, guiding Alex through the encounter, as Cedric had done with him. Under that green exterior, Mulder had always had the impression that Alex could be passionate, even a little willing to push the boundaries, just as he had suspected Alex's ill-fitting suits concealed a very fine body. // But that Alex doesn't exist, never did... // A sudden sharp pain ripped through his chest, causing him to stop in mid-swing and rest the axe on the ground, breathing hard. Either he had pulled a muscle from the unaccustomed exertion, or those memories still hurt like hell. Or maybe he was having a heart attack, one too many burgers and cartons of takeout catching up with him. // What a way to go, dropping dead out here in the middle of nowhere while Scully's thumbing through Brides magazine at the Piggly-Wiggly and Krycek's in there playing footsie with himself. My body'll probably be eaten by raccoons before they even notice. // A flash of movement through the window of the screened kitchen door caught his eye. Had Scully returned already? Was Alex looking for him? But the door remained closed, and he saw nothing further. He lifted his shirt to wipe his face. Alex now—older, more scarred by life, both literally and figuratively, presumably more experienced with men, but also suspicious, defensive, maybe afraid—how did Mulder go about reaching him? He had no answers, and he was tired of worrying about it. He positioned a log on the block and took up the axe again. Chopping the wood, he gave himself up to the satisfying feel of swinging the axe, splitting the logs. After awhile he was able to establish a routine, a rhythm, moving methodically through the stack of wood. He was getting into the zone, as he did when running, his body working smoothly to transport him outside himself, beyond thought and worry. He could forget the conspiracy, the nightmares that plagued him, the unsettling presence here of Alex Krycek. There was only the sound and feel of the axe connecting solidly with the wood, the light September breeze on his arms, the pull and burn of muscles he hadn't used this way in a long while. He knew he would be sore tomorrow, but satisfyingly so. Glancing over at the cabin, again he saw that glimpse of movement. This time he was sure. Alex had been standing there—doing what? Watching Mulder? He looked intently at the door for a few seconds longer, but Alex did not appear. Mulder realized how dry his throat felt. A cold drink would be great about now. He set the axe down, arched and stretched to take the stiffness out, and headed for the cabin. As Mulder pulled the door open, Alex stepped away quickly. On his face was the same stunned, ravenous look he had worn that day in Mulder's apartment when Mulder unthinkingly walked out naked. Mulder wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve. Alex ran his tongue over his lips. Mulder could feel himself getting hard again, and he tried to size up the situation. Alex's face was flushed, his eyes wide, and he was breathing a little too rapidly. // He either really wants me, or he's really scared of me. // If Alex was afraid, jumping on him was not likely to produce good results. On the other hand, Scully would be back before long and the window of opportunity would be lost. He had to act now, if he was going to. Alex stood barefoot in the kitchen, his eyes fixed on Mulder's, trembling a little. Mulder had to find out; he had to try, at least, even if he was wrong and Krycek went ballistic. He had to do this carefully. // Just go slow, be gentle, don't grab him, he's got broken ribs, don't pull his hair... // "Alex..." he said softly, experimentally. At the sound of his name, Alex gave a sharp, ragged gasp and, in another of those lightning-quick moves, leaped across the space between them, his mouth closing over Mulder's, all that pent-up passion unleashed with a force that knocked Mulder back against the door. Mulder could not catch his breath for a moment. Alex was kissing him deeply, hungrily, desperately, his hand running through Mulder's hair, up under Mulder's shirt, down to the waistband of his pants, his thigh coming in between Mulder's legs, the hard front of his jeans pressed up against Mulder's hip. And to hell with being careful, not grabbing him, going slowly—all Mulder wanted to do was lick and bite and touch Alex, feel every inch of him, make him groan. Alex was hot and hard against him, panting and growling softly, rubbing his whole body against Mulder's. // Jesus Christ, he feels incredible. // Closing his eyes, Mulder gave himself up to kissing Alex with a dazzling sense of abandon. He was a swimmer in the ocean, Alex's mouth on his the undertow carrying him out. He ran his hand up under Alex's shirt, feeling the tensile play of muscles there, brought his other hand down to Alex's ass. // Mmm, oh, fuck, paradise... // Alex sucked Mulder's bottom lip, breathing out low shuddering cries against Mulder's mouth as Mulder let his hand roam over the tight black denim, squeezing and caressing. Mulder ground his hips recklessly up against Alex's thigh, the hot need of it uncoiling in his belly. Alex spread his legs, pressing in more insistently against Mulder, his hand gripping Mulder's shoulder. Mulder was getting knocked off balance by Alex's weight; he shifted his stance abruptly to avoid an undignified tumble to the kitchen floor. Alex tensed at the sudden movement and pulled back, a wary uncertainty flickering across his face for a second. Quickly Mulder reached up, palming Alex's jaw in a rough caress. He tipped Alex's head back, kissing and nipping lightly, and fastened on the tender skin at the side of Alex's throat. Alex let out a low, guttural moan that shot through Mulder's whole body like an electric volt, causing him to tighten his mouth on Alex's throat, sucking and biting frenziedly. He slid his other hand up under Alex's shirt to rub and pinch Alex's nipples, eliciting another volley of sweet, sexy noises, then reached down to undo the button of Alex's jeans. Alex ran the back of his hand roughly along Mulder's thigh. He turned his hand, cupping Mulder, those long fingers stroking upward with deliberate pressure. Mulder's legs went weak: he heard himself gasping out the words, "Yeah...oh yeah," over and over, a jagged litany. Alex smiled at him, his lips swollen with kissing, before undoing Mulder's belt with a dexterity the two-handed would envy. Mulder fumbled for Alex's zipper and tugged it down, pushing his hand inside. Alex's cock surged into his hand, straining against the white cotton briefs. Mulder wrapped his fingers around it. Through the fabric he felt Alex's cock pulse in his hand, rock-hard and slightly damp at the tip. Mulder began to move his hand rhythmically. Alex gave a strangled cry and buried his face in Mulder's shoulder, biting down hard. Mulder brought his other hand up to stroke Alex's hair, and Alex let him for a moment, then froze, pulling away from Mulder. Mulder started to protest—shit, what did I do now, the hair again?—then he heard it too: the faint sound of wheels on gravel, Scully's car coming up the driveway. Alex let his head fall against Mulder's shoulder again, letting his breath out in a deep, frustrated growl, before stepping back and doing up his jeans. "We should..." His voice sounded hoarse. Mulder buckled his belt, trying to make his breathing return to normal. "Yeah..." He started to follow Alex from the kitchen, then on sudden impulse said, "Hey, Alex." Alex turned with a dazed look. Mulder took hold of his chin, pulling Alex toward him for a last, lingering kiss and running his other hand firmly down Alex's body and along the hard length under his jeans. Alex stood still with his eyes shut for a second, running his tongue over his lips, then fixed Mulder with a gaze so smoldering and intense that it took all Mulder's self-control not to jump on him and throw him to the floor. Instead he followed Alex out to the driveway, where Scully was unlocking the trunk of the car. He hoped she wouldn't notice the state they both were in. Scully looked up in surprise as Alex approached. "Krycek. No—don't take that. You shouldn't be lifting anything heavy with broken ribs." As Alex carried in a light bag of groceries, Scully watched him go with a frown. "Mulder. What is that red mark on his neck?" // Oh shit. Shit and damn and fuck. // "Uh, I don't know. I didn't notice anything." "I don't want to ask this, but you know that I have to, Mulder. Did you...get physical with him again?" // Did I ever. // "I didn't hit him, if that's what you're asking, Scully." "Did you touch him in any way, Mulder? Choke him, for instance, or grab him by the neck?" Mulder chose his words carefully, trying to answer without outright lying to her. "I swear that I didn't lose my temper, or do anything to hurt him, Scully." At her unconvinced expression he added, "Really. We hardly even spoke. Most of the time he was inside reading, and I was outside chopping wood." He thought she might let it drop there, but of course he underestimated Scully. When the groceries were put away and they were snacking in the kitchen, the questioning began. "Krycek. What is that on your neck?" Alex's eyes widened just a fraction, and he touched the spot with two fingers before his expression settled back into impassivity. His eyes met Mulder's for the briefest second, then he shrugged. "Bug bite, probably. This place is crawling with them." "Probably a spider bite," Mulder said. "I saw two or three of those big brown suckers when I was chopping wood." Scully took a step toward Alex, frowning. He tipped his chair back, eyeing her speculatively. "Foxy's turning into a regular Davy Crockett." Foxy? Mulder had an urge to kick the chair over, sending Krycek sprawling. Scully noticed his expression. "Mulder," she said warningly. She motioned with her head for him to follow her into the bedroom. "I swear, Scully, I might just have to knock him on his ass." "Mulder, if you do, you're on the next bus out of here." She shook her head. "This is exactly why I felt I had to hurry back as soon as I could." Mulder glanced at the clock. It was true; Scully had only been gone about an hour and fifteen minutes, rather than the promised two. Just as well, actually. Ten minutes more and she would have gotten the shock of her life. "I mean it, Mulder. You cannot touch him." // Heh. // "So what's with all the interrogation? You don't trust me to do this?" "I trust you. We just have to be constantly vigilant." The afternoon seemed to drag. Scully did paperwork with an expression of dissatisfaction. Alex paced about, looking ready to climb the walls. Mulder brought in some of the wood he had split, and Scully built a fire. Alex did not offer to cook this time, but Scully had picked up some frozen pizzas. She stuck them in the oven and glanced at her watch. "I'm going to check in with Skinner." She headed for the bedroom. Mulder leaned on the counter and beckoned Alex nearer. Alex came forward, sliding onto a stool at the counter. Mulder brought his lips close to Alex's ear. "Tonight...after she's in bed...outside." Alex nodded. Mulder had a sudden uncontrollable need to touch him. He reached out with one finger and traced the purpling mark on Alex's neck. Alex made a soft sound; he stiffened slightly and bit his lip, but did not pull away. Mulder smiled at him. "Sorry about the vampire act there. I didn't expect Scully to be such a bloodhound about it." Alex gave a low chuckle. "Yeah, I thought she'd start scraping my neck for DNA samples next." "You've got a vivid imagination." "Extremely vivid, actually," Alex said. His voice was husky, honeyed. The sudden sound of Scully's voice near the doorway made them both pull back, turning to look, but apparently she was just walking around with the phone. Mulder stepped over to get a couple of sodas from the refrigerator. When he turned back Alex was leaning on the counter, gazing at him with an expression he remembered well from their early days: that all-out, lips-parted, doe-eyed adoration. That Krycek had faked so well. Those looks had practically had Mulder eating out of his hand. // Jesus. // "You don't have to act like you're in love with me." His voice came out harsher than he intended, cold with disgust and anger. "I'm a guy. I'm already good to go." Krycek flinched back, shock and confusion evident in his face. He slid off the stool in a swift motion. Mulder thought he heard him mutter, "Asshole," under his breath as Krycek walked away to sit with his back to Mulder, staring into the fire. // Well, what the hell did he expect, that I wouldn't call him on his bullshit? Did he not even realize he was doing that? Is lying so ingrained in everything he does? // "Pizza ready?" Scully's voice behind Mulder made him jump. He slid the soda he had pulled out for Alex over to her, and she perched on a stool. "Skinner wants you to check in with him tonight." "Yup," Mulder said noncommittally. He glanced over at the back of Krycek's dark head. Alex was still watching the flames, rigid and unmoving in that way he had. He was suddenly reminded of another time, sitting with Krycek in a car just before they flew to Tunguska. Three a.m. in New York City. Mulder had come down from his interminable meeting with Marita to find Krycek asleep in the car where he had left him, handcuffed to the wheel. Alex had looked cute in sleep, younger and more defenseless. For a moment Mulder had almost smiled, almost felt a protective affection for the younger man, before the anger swelled again. Coming on top of all the betrayal and pain of the past, this whole encounter had felt like salt in an open wound. He had been disgusted to see Alex among the militia, his hair cut so short, looking like just another neo-Nazi thug. And he had been outraged that Krycek would shoot the driver of that truck so brazenly, right in front of Mulder. Did Alex think he could get away with anything, like all those other Consortium assholes? As Mulder started the car, Krycek, awake now, had asked him where they were going. And for one moment Mulder had such a wish to tell him all about it, to share this adventure with him, to feel Alex's quick and eager intelligence again. But then Krycek had said in that gravelly, insistent voice, "You're gonna keep me in the dark, aren't you?" Like Mulder was holding out on him, like he had a right to know. And Mulder had hit him. Had lashed out, punching him in the face. Alex had not hit back, had not protested. He only bowed his head and then sat, turned away from Mulder, silent and motionless as he was doing now, for over an hour as they drove to the airport. Mulder had driven in silence as well, rage and guilt mingling within him, as they did now. Mulder popped open his soda and let the cold wash down his throat. He realized he was shaking. // Fuck. // Would being around Krycek always feel like swallowing glass? "Better pull those pizzas out." Scully's voice broke into his thoughts. "I smell them burning." "Just our extra crispy crust, ma'am." Dinner passed in silence. Krycek had retreated behind his customary hard, blank look. He ate his pizza in a few quick bites and went out onto the screen porch. Mulder stared at the door. // What kind of game is he playing? What does he want? And do I still want this? // But remembering the feel of Alex's body against his, the taste of Alex's skin, he was swept by a rush of desire so intense he felt it even in his teeth and the ends of his hair. He was almost tempted to go into the bathroom and jerk off, but he didn't want to do that if there was still any chance at all that something might happen tonight. "Well," Scully said finally, "it looks like the raid is going to be sometime in the next couple of days. We should go over the plans once more." "I'll get Krycek," Mulder said. Through the door to the screened porch, he could see Krycek standing with his back to them, staring out at the sky or trees or moon. Mulder pushed open the door to the screen porch. Krycek turned. For a moment fierce emotion flashed up in Alex's eyes, so strongly that Mulder almost took a step backwards. He forced himself to hold his ground, keep his voice neutral. "We should go over those disks some more." Krycek nodded. The cool blank mask was in place once more as he followed Mulder back to the computer room. If Mulder had thought it was difficult to sit next to Alex the night before, this was a thousand times worse. He couldn't even make himself stay in the chair. Alex kept losing his train of thought as he outlined the steps of the raid. He sat stiffly, and his voice sounded higher than usual, two indicators that he was feeling stressed. "Okay, this is the back," Krycek said. "Scully, that's where you two will be, you'll go in and get the medical records." "Mulder and I will go in the back, and you go in the front," Scully said. "Will we—" Krycek interrupted her. "You and Skinner. Mulder will be with me." An eyebrow shot skyward. "Mulder is my partner. And Skinner said—" "It makes more sense that way," Krycek said coolly, not giving any reason why. "Don't fight, kiddies," Mulder said. No one laughed. Scully's arms were folded, her mouth tight. Krycek stared fixedly at the screen. "Scully, I'll go with Krycek. You can work better with Skinner than he can." From the corner of his eye he saw Krycek lean back, exhaling audibly as though he had been holding his breath. "Can you two work together?" Scully said pointedly. "Yeah," Mulder assured her, trying to sound as sincere as possible. Alex rubbed the back of his head, tugging at the dark hair. Mulder allowed himself to imagine his own hand there, gripping Alex's hair and turning him to face Mulder. // Alex would close his eyes and moan huskily as Mulder kissed him hard. His face would be level with Mulder's crotch and Mulder would unzip—// Scully's voice asking something about the vaccine supply jolted Mulder back. He tried to focus on the situation at hand, and not his hard-on. A lot depended on this raid. They went over the plans thoroughly. Krycek had covered all contingencies in almost obsessive detail. Mulder was torn between impatience and admiration, none of which he expressed aloud. The atmosphere in the room felt charged. Krycek did not look at either of them, keeping his eyes only on the screen as he spoke. "Well," Scully said finally, "I think we're good. Why don't we wrap it up for the night?" She headed for the kitchen. Mulder lingered for a moment, but Krycek ignored him, closing the files and shutting down the laptop. Well, Scully was hopefully going to bed, and then... Alex was bending over, locking up the disks. Mulder imagined grabbing him around the waist, stripping off the tight black jeans and taking him facedown on the desk. // Alex would sprawl wantonly on the desk; his ass would be like hot butter—// "Hey, look!" Scully called from the living room. "'Erin Brockovich' is on!" Mulder wanted to bang his head against the wall. He made his way out to the living room, where Scully was curled in one corner of the couch with a bowl of microwave popcorn. "You can ogle Julia Roberts' cleavage," she told Mulder. Mulder snuck a glance at Alex, who did not react. Alex sat in the armchair, eying the TV with a bored, aloof expression. Mulder flopped on the couch and took a handful of popcorn. "Bring it on." Eons passed. Erin Brockovich and her Wonderbra faced down a corrupt corporation. Seasons changed; leaves turned, fell, moldered and reemerged as young green shoots. Entire species became extinct. Alex leaned back in the chair, his eyes half-closed. Julia Roberts flashed her teeth in triumph. Novas burned out, imploded, galaxies shifted. The credits rolled. "Well, I think I'll get ready for bed," Scully said. She headed off down the hall. Instantly Alex was alert, his eyes meeting Mulder's with a guarded question. Mulder nodded imperceptibly. Ah, here was a huge benefit to sex with a man. Had Alex been a woman who had spent the entire evening pissed off at him and sulking, Mulder would almost certainly be seeing no further action tonight. But Alex was a guy, and guys were, as he himself had noted, always good to go. Scully came out in her blue pajamas, some kind of goo on her face. She bid Mulder goodnight and disappeared into the bedroom. Alex was watching intently, reminding Mulder of a cat about to spring. Mulder indicated the clock with his eyes and held up both hands, fingers spread: ten minutes. Alex nodded. Seven minutes went by. Scully's door opened. She shuffled into the kitchen in those ridiculous sheepskin slippers to pour herself a glass of water. Mulder wanted to speak, to make some kind of light small talk, but his mouth was dry and he could barely think. Alex sat motionless, staring at an infomercial on TV as if it were a ticking bomb. "Goodnight," Scully said again. Her door closed. Mulder nodded to Alex. They moved quickly, not speaking or smiling or even looking at each other; they might have been preparing for some hazardous, covert mission. Mulder pulled on a sweater. Although it was September, the nights got chilly up here already. Alex sat on the cot, putting his socks and boots on. Mulder got a flashlight, wondering if there was anything else he needed to take. He had no sexual paraphernalia here at the cabin. Should he bring a blanket? Would that be presumptuous? He couldn't say with certainty what he was expecting to happen between them now. Alex had been so distant and closed-off all night; yet he still seemed to want this as much as ever, and paradoxically, so did Mulder. Alex was painstakingly lacing up his boots. Mulder leaned against the window frame, looking out, not wanting to make Alex self-conscious by watching. The atmosphere was tense enough as it was. What was going to happen? What did he want? // To throw Krycek up against a tree, fuck him, and smack him in the head. // It was a satisfying fantasy; indeed, a shamefully familiar one. "Mulder." Krycek's voice was quiet, almost whispering. Standing by the cot, zipping up his leather jacket, he looked at Mulder uncertainly. Mulder nodded again. He crossed to the door and opened it, then followed Krycek out. They moved slowly and cautiously as Mulder locked the door and they went down the porch steps. "This is like being a teenager again, sneaking out of the house," Mulder said, low. Krycek gave him a curious look but did not reply. Mulder suddenly wanted to grab him, shake him, kiss him—maybe even apologize, although Krycek had been in the wrong, dammit! Anything to break through the huge block of ice between them. He wondered why that should be so important to him. He was certainly no stranger to the idea of having sex for sex's sake alone. The moon was nearly full, casting a bright ghostly light over everything. They headed into the woods. Reflexively, Mulder raised the flashlight, but before he could switch it on Krycek reached out to push it back down. "There's enough light," Krycek hissed. "Just give your eyes a minute to adjust." Annoyed because Krycek was giving him orders, and because he was right, Mulder followed the black leather jacket through the woods. By mutual agreement they did not go too far, to avoid setting off the perimeter alarm. Krycek stopped in a small clearing near a large sycamore tree. The white bark of the tree seemed to glow in the moonlight. Fifty feet above their heads, the wind sighed through the dark mass of branches. The woods felt alive to Mulder. "All things are here with us," Tomasina had said, and he felt it now, the multitude of living creatures all around them, going about their business, oblivious to the intensity of the moment taking place in this clearing. "That's a sycamore tree," he said inanely. "It looks like a white birch, but it's bigger." Krycek said nothing. He unzipped his jacket and leaned back against the tree, spreading his legs slightly. Mulder's heart was pounding so hard he could actually feel it as he stepped closer and Krycek's hand reached for his belt. Alex looked good in the moonlight—cool, enigmatic, in control. Mulder leaned toward him and Krycek tilted his head, smirking. "You don't need to kiss me." Krycek's voice was dry, slightly mocking. "I'm a guy. I'm good to go." Instantly, Mulder felt himself stiffen, start to make a move, and just as quickly, Krycek's hand came up, holding him off. Krycek stared at him, lifting an eyebrow in warning. His hand returned to Mulder's belt. Mulder's lips were tingling with the nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss Alex again. He lowered his eyes and reached to unbutton Krycek's jeans. Krycek caught his breath. He slid Mulder's zipper down, scooping Mulder free of his underwear in a practiced motion. Mulder's stomach flipped and a jet of molten heat shot through him, up his backbone and all the way down to his toes, as Alex began to stroke him, those long fingers moving expertly. Alex was biting his lower lip, his eyes intent on Mulder's. Mulder rolled Alex's briefs down to release his cock, finding to his chagrin that he needed two hands to do this. He was certain that fact was not lost on Krycek. Alex's cock was good-sized, thick and beautiful; Mulder could not hold back a small sound of desire and admiration. "Aaah Jesus..." Mulder didn't know he was saying the words until they were out of his mouth. The way Alex was touching him, slow and deliberate, almost as if he knew Mulder's body better than Mulder did. Krycek spit in his palm, his wet hand closing over Mulder's cock like a warm mouth. Mulder heard his own breathing, loud and rapid like a dog panting. He palmed Alex's cock, loving the way it filled his hand. Mulder stroked his thumb over the slick crown, using the precum as natural lube, then circled it along the underside. A deep low moan broke from Alex, and he rocked his head back against the tree for a second. Alex brought his hand up again, and Mulder took hold of it, pulling it from Alex's mouth to his own. He licked the palm, then, unable to resist, ran his tongue up the long fingers, letting his teeth graze over the fingertips. Alex caught his breath as Mulder slid his lips down over the first finger and sucked gently. "Oh shit..." Alex breathed shakily, closing his eyes, and Mulder knew the balance had shifted. He moved in closer, rubbing against Alex as he slowly sucked, nibbled and licked up and down each finger, taking his time. When Mulder released Alex's hand and leaned in to kiss him Alex did not resist this time. Mulder caught Alex's lower lip between his teeth, then pushed further in, feeling himself groan aloud as Alex began to stroke him again. Alex's tongue met his, fucking his mouth, quick and hard. Mulder felt Alex's breathy growl against his mouth as their tongues clashed, battling fiercely for dominion. Alex's hand came up to the back of Mulder's head, holding him firmly in place. It was the prosthetic hand, and Mulder started involuntarily, pulling back and glancing over his shoulder at it. It didn't feel all that different from a real hand—slightly harder, and the touch was a bit more tentative. But he knew, and it threw him. Only for a second, but the damage was done. He could see Alex's face tighten, the brief flash of—anger? hurt? humiliation?—in Alex's eyes before he dropped the hand and looked away. Mulder cursed himself; this time was not Alex's fault, just Mulder's own stupidity. He tried to apologize wordlessly, stroking his hand along Alex's jaw, but Alex would not turn his head back for another kiss. Mulder slipped his hand down to join Alex's, rubbing their cocks together, then cupping the heavy balls in his palm, stroking over them with his thumb. He slid two fingers back, caressing the curve of Alex's ass and the juncture of his thigh. Alex writhed under Mulder's touch with a rough, throaty cry. He spread his legs wider, bracing his foot against the tree and lifting his hips to thrust into Mulder's hand. The sounds Alex made were driving Mulder wild. He ground his cock harder against Alex's, Alex's hand frantically working the two of them together. He could tell Alex was close, too, from his rapid shallow breathing. Pleasure and tension were blazing through Mulder's body, blocking everything else out. "I'm coming," he got out, and then he was beyond words. Alex stroked him, deliberately, drawing it out: once, twice, three times. Then Alex's hand tightened and quickened the pace, and Mulder felt himself crashing over the precipice with an intense rush. His vision filled with tiny pinpricks of light and a loud groan broke from between his clenched teeth. Not wanting to yell, he slammed his fist against the tree instead, almost hitting Alex. Alex startled and jerked away, staring at Mulder open-mouthed. Mulder steadied himself against the tree with one hand. He petted Alex's damp hair in reassurance, kissed his jaw. Incongruously, laughter was bubbling up within him. Alex stood watching Mulder, his cock in his hand as though offering it to Mulder. Mulder reached down to caress him, clumsily, as he tried to catch his breath. It was his left hand, and he knew he wasn't doing it very well. Alex shuddered lightly. He covered Mulder's hand with his own, his grip tightening as he increased the pace and pressure. Alex had his head thrown back, eyes shut, gasping out hoarsely with every breath. He braced himself with the prosthetic hand but did not touch Mulder again with it. Mulder leaned against Alex in a muzzy languor, his body still humming. Alex's hand moved furiously over Mulder's, his little sounds increasing in urgency. Close, frenzied, he seemed almost to take no notice of Mulder; he was using Mulder's hand to get himself off, but Mulder didn't mind. He licked and nibbled Alex's neck and the spot just behind Alex's ear, Alex's breath hot against his face. Reaching down, he cupped his hand around Alex's balls, feeling them taut and heavy as a pair of plums in his hand. Alex stiffened, the muscles of his neck and shoulders going rigid. Alex's hand squeezed Mulder's forcefully, almost painfully, and then Alex erupted with a series of hoarse yells. Mulder lifted his head to look at him. Alex had the most incredible expression on his face, as if he were gazing into some unimaginable vision. His cries softened to whimpers, his grip slackening as he let Mulder finish bringing him off. Mulder's hand was slippery, the air around them redolent with the scent of sex. Suddenly Alex grunted sharply, his voice becoming more conscious as he grabbed his side. Grimacing in pain, he put out a hand, motioning Mulder backwards. Mulder stepped away, and Alex slid shakily down to a crouched position, his hand still pressed to his side. "You all right?" Alex raised his head to glance at Mulder. "Yeah..." he said breathlessly. "It just—my ribs—" He pulled a wad of napkins from his jacket pocket and handed some to Mulder. They cleaned up in silence. Alex zipped his jeans. He shifted position, straightening up a bit to sit with his back against the tree. Mulder settled on the ground next to him. // I just had sex with Alex Krycek. And I know he's an amoral killer, but he was so...hot, fantastic, wild... // Mulder felt a little uncertain as to what to do now. Women liked to be held and talked to, and Mulder was good at that. But Alex was just sitting quietly with his eyes closed. Was he in pain? Still pissed off? Having second thoughts? Mulder laid a hand on Alex's knee, his thumb worrying at a tiny hole in the knee of Alex's jeans. Funny about Krycek. Some of his things were obviously expensive, state-of-the-art, but his clothes and boots looked well worn. He wondered if Krycek had money. In this, as in everything else, he was a mass of contradictions. "How're you doing?" Alex opened his eyes to look at Mulder, and then quickly looked down. Mulder studied him, trying to read his signals. Alex didn't seem upset, just a little overwhelmed maybe, and very self-contained. "Great." Alex spoke in a husky whisper that carried a faint undercurrent of irony. "You?" Mulder squeezed Alex's knee. "That was...I just...yeah." Alex caught his breath, then let it out in a long deep sigh. Mulder wondered again what was going on with him. He was pretty certain it wasn't Alex's first time with a man; he had seemed very experienced and sure before, taking the lead. Idly, he stroked Alex's thigh, and Alex gave another tiny gasp, his breathing speeding up and becoming more erratic. Was he getting excited again? So soon? Mulder knew Alex was a few years younger than he was, but still... Damn, baby. He sat up, studying Alex's face. Alex had his eyes closed again. Moonlight glinted on his small gold earring. On impulse, Mulder leaned over and took it between his teeth, nipping and then sucking. Alex's eyes flew open, and he let out a little cry that was equal parts startled and lustful. Alex looked over at Mulder and flicked his eyebrows up, giving Mulder a little smile. Mulder leaned in closer and watched Alex's face soften, his eyes shuttering and lips parting for the kiss. Alex kept his hands down at his sides, waiting. Mulder's throat tightened suddenly. He leaned forward and kissed Alex gently, sliding his tongue over Alex's lower lip. Alex's own tongue came out to lick his lip where Mulder had kissed him. "Should we...get back?" he murmured. Mulder played with his earring. "We've got time...Scully's a pretty good sleeper." "Oh, you—do this a lot?" Alex smirked at him. "Oh yeah, " Mulder said. "Every time we have a hot triple agent come in with some information that's going to possibly save the world from alien colonization, and we have to hide out in the safe house for protection, I always have sex with him while Scully sleeps." "Him. So you like men, Mulder?" "Fuck no, Alex, you mean you're not a woman? Guess that's why I didn't have to struggle to get your bra undone." "C'mon...answer me," Alex said in that husky, insistent tone, the one that could strip Mulder's skin off. "Actually, I haven't been with a lot of men. I fooled around some in high school and college, but nothing recent." "Oh." Alex seemed taken aback. "When we worked together, I thought...I mean..." Mulder traced the line of Alex's cheek and jaw, enjoying the gritty feel of Alex's unshaven skin. // It's you, Alex, always has been. You drive me wilder than anyone I've ever met, man or woman. // Alex's lashes flickered as he looked down. Bending close, Mulder whispered, "I want to suck you." Instead of the enthusiasm Mulder had expected, Alex seemed almost hesitant. "Sure, I—I don't have—" "You don't have what? Any strange diseases?" Alex frowned slightly. "No—I—I'm clean, I got tested, and—" "You got tested?" This had never even occurred to Mulder. "What, you like to cat around, Krycek?" "No, not—" Alex swallowed and looked down, "—not lately, not at all really—but sometimes I used to—" Mulder raised his eyebrows. "Do tell." Krycek shrugged. "I just would get tired of—staying inside the lines all the time." That was hardly how Mulder would have described Krycek's various nefarious activities, and he let his expression convey that. Krycek gave him a look in return, a kind of challenge in his eyes: // You don't know me; you don't know how wild I can be. // "Well, hell, Krycek, that's why there's the Internet. And phone sex. You can get as freaky as you like, risk-free." Krycek looked down, the long lashes veiling his eyes. "I like human contact," he said softly. Mulder was a little surprised at this, since Krycek often didn't seem to like human contact and in fact generally maintained a sizable radius of personal space. Mulder was the exception; from the start, Alex had sat right up next to him while they worked, stood close to him when they talked. Mulder had never been able to keep his hands off Alex, and Alex had accepted it, even seemed to welcome it. Evidently he welcomed it with strangers as well. Mulder pushed that thought out of his mind. It wasn't something he wanted to dwell on, and besides, Alex's line was a blatant invitation to make his move. He smiled. "You do, huh?" He ran his hands up and down the sides of Alex's body, then leaned in close, pressing against Alex to kiss him. Alex started to return the kiss aggressively, attacking Mulder's mouth. Mulder drew back. "Easy," he murmured, "take it easy..." He traced his thumb over the curve of Alex's eyebrow, then down Alex's cheek to the corner of Alex's mouth in a deliberate caress. Alex gazed at Mulder, looking mesmerized. Mulder leaned to kiss him once more, and Alex put up a brief struggle, then abruptly ceased resisting and allowed Mulder to kiss him slowly and sensuously. Alex shifted his position, turning Mulder as well. "Touch me," he breathed, and Mulder ran a hand down Alex's body—he was hard again already!—caressing him firmly but briefly before withdrawing his hand again. This was Mulder's show now, and he would do things on his own timetable. He took hold of Alex's shirt with both hands and started to lift it up, but Alex stopped him with a hand on his wrist. Alex's eyes met Mulder's, guardedly. Mulder tasted the guilt, bitter as bile. How could he say, "It doesn't bother me," when he had already, stupidly, shown that it did. He slid a hand up under the shirt, stroking Alex's bare chest. Alex watched him, tense and quiet. Alex's skin felt warm. Mulder let his fingers explore; he caught a nipple between two fingers and squeezed gently. Alex was still holding his other wrist, though not tightly. On impulse, Mulder bent down and pressed his face into Alex's belly, flicking his tongue into Alex's navel. Alex gave a low startled grunt. Mulder trailed his tongue upward along Alex's belly, nudging the shirt out of the way as he went, and this time Alex did not resist. Mulder felt a thrill as the shirt went up, exposing Alex's smooth chest, and he could finally do what he had wanted to for days. He flicked his tongue delicately over Alex's nipple, then just brushed his lips against it before beginning to suckle gently. Alex finally spoke. "You have been with mostly women." Perplexed, Mulder lifted his head. "You can go a little...harder." Mulder grinned at him. "You like it rough, huh?" Alex drew back slightly, pressing his arm to his left side, where the skin was still dark with bruising. Mulder realized how those words might sound, given their history. "I won't hurt you," he murmured. "Just relax." He bent his head again. Alex's fingers combed through Mulder's hair, then tightened, pushing Mulder's face forcefully against his chest. Taking the hint, Mulder sucked hard, even using his teeth a little. "Ohhyes...yeah, bite me!...touch me, Mulder...so good..." Alex cajoled and demanded huskily. He lifted his hips to pull his jeans and underwear down and reached to stroke himself. Mulder started to yank Alex's hand away and pin it down, but his fingers touched the bandage on Alex's wrist and he realized that might hurt. He settled for nudging Alex's hand aside and leaning over to growl breathily against Alex's ear, "Let me do this." He let his tongue meander downward, trailing over Alex's belly, then just brushing the side of Alex's cock as he traced the warm juncture of Alex's thigh. He sucked hard on the inside of Alex's thigh to give him a love bite where Scully would never see. Again Alex reached to touch himself, and again Mulder swatted his hand away. As punishment for this transgression, he feathered his tongue along the underside of Alex's cock only for a second, then licked his way back up to Alex's belly. "Mulder...don't tease me," Alex said hoarsely. "Just...it's been so long..." Mulder raised his head. "It's been about ten minutes, stud muffin." Alex hissed through his teeth, apparently not in the mood for any sort of teasing, physical or verbal. His fingers skittered restlessly through Mulder's hair, urging Mulder's head downward with convulsive little touches. Mulder had the impression Alex was restraining himself with difficulty from grabbing Mulder's head and forcing him down. Briefly he considered keeping up what he was doing, just to see Alex really lose control, but decided against it. That would be cruel, and most probably painful. Mulder bit him once on the hip, lightly, then decided to take pity on him. Moving lower, he scooped Alex's balls into his hand and plunged his mouth down over the thick cock. Alex arched into his mouth with a throaty gasp. Mulder swirled his tongue around, drinking in the sensations. It had been a long time since he had done this, but it was coming back to him, how much he enjoyed it. Or maybe it was Alex, the scent and taste and feel of him, how responsive he was to everything Mulder did. He knew Alex had probably been with a lot of guys, certainly more than Mulder had. But he was with Mulder now, and Mulder wanted to make this really good. He used every trick he had learned from his vast collection of porn, plus a few he had dreamed up on his own. Alex was much bigger than the boys he had done this with in college, but Mulder found he could still take him in fairly deeply. He licked up and down the sides of Alex's cock, flicked his tongue back and forth across the sensitive spot underneath, then wrapped his lips around Alex, sucking hard. "Oh God...oh, shit...Mulder!" Alex's cries were dark and raw, pure need. Mulder had never had such an uninhibited, appreciative lover. He was surprised and excited; somehow he had always thought Krycek would be the silent type, more guarded and controlling. Alex's gentle touch was a revelation as well; although his fingers were twined in Mulder's hair, he seemed to be just holding on. Mulder was in orally-fixated heaven. He lapped around the head of Alex's cock in long firm strokes like he was eating an ice-cream cone, then rubbed it against his face, drinking in the scent, the silky texture. Alex ran his hand all over his own body, rubbing and pinching, stroked Mulder's neck and rasped out wordless pleas. Mulder moved his mouth lower, working Alex's cock with his hand as he nuzzled and lapped Alex's balls. Wetting one finger, he slid it into the cleft of Alex's delectable ass. He stroked Alex there for a moment; then, finding what he was looking for, started to press his finger deeper inward. Alex froze, his hand on Mulder's shoulder. Mulder lifted his head. "You don't want that?" Alex looked at him a moment, his expression unreadable. "Yeah," he whispered. // Yeah, you do, or yeah, you don't? // Mulder decided that if no meant no, yes probably meant yes. Slowly, he pushed his finger in. It seemed incredibly intimate, entering Alex's body like this, the two of them staring into each other's eyes. He could feel the heat of Alex's muscles pulsing, the beating of Alex's blood. Mulder pressed gently in and out, his other hand on Alex's cock. Alex shut his eyes; he threw his head back and moaned loudly as Mulder went a little deeper and found his prostate. // Oh yeah, that's it, you like that, don't you? // Alex writhed erotically on the ground as Mulder took him into his mouth again. Mulder found he was loving this almost as much as Alex, he could have kept it up all night. But now Alex was getting really noisy, so much so that Mulder was starting to become uneasy. He stopped his ministrations and raised his head. "Aah, no, don't stop... Mulder, c'mon, please...what—" Mulder sat back on his heels, enjoying the incredible sight before him: Alex Krycek on his back, laid bare, panting, begging. Oh, it was too sweet. He could get up now, walk away, leave Alex there like this, and it would be worse than any beating he could give. But he didn't really want to. He wanted to give pleasure, and he was enjoying this as well. He wanted to finish it, feel that responsive body tensing and shuddering under his touch, hear Alex get loud and see that expression again on his face as he came. And, it occurred to him as well, if he quit now, his chances of getting Alex to reciprocate on him were pretty much nil. Alex had raised himself up on his elbow. He was very still, looking up at Mulder. // He expects me to do that, to torture him like that. He's waiting for me to do it. // Mulder couldn't resist. "Sure you don't want me to stop? Don't want you to be in pain." Alex's eyes glittered. "Don't make me pull out my gun, Mulder," he growled. // Okay, I get it, don't tease you. // He reached back over his head, stripped off his sweater and tossed it to Alex. "Here, take this...Scully's not that good a sleeper." Alex pulled the sweater to him, rubbing and nuzzling his face in it, biting and sucking. Mulder's mouth fell open at the sight. His own cock was tingling, watching this amazing display. Alex took hold of Mulder's hair again, thrusting into Mulder's mouth, fucking his face while Mulder fucked his ass with two fingers this time. Alex suddenly tensed, shaking his head free of the sweater. "Mulder—" he gasped out urgently, "I'm coming—" Mulder looked at him breathlessly. "Yeah, that's the idea." But Alex was reaching to take hold of his cock once again. "I can—" Mulder smacked his hand away, not caring if it hurt. He fixed Krycek with a look. "I told you to let me do this." Reaching up, he tweaked Krycek's nipple, hard. Alex groaned loudly, quivering all over, and then he was coming explosively into Mulder's mouth, convulsing, his wild cries audible even through the mouthful of heavy sweater. Mulder rode it out with him, sucking and pumping madly. The familiar tang of come flooded Mulder's throat. Alex's softening cock pulsed gently against his lips as he licked it, tasting the last few drops. Breathing deeply, he wiped his face with the back of his hand. Alex lay unmoving, his face buried in Mulder's sweater. Mulder ran his hand lightly up Alex's hip, and Alex's hand shot out to grab his wrist, holding him away, then stroking Mulder's hand with his thumb, evidently too sensitized to be touched right now. Mulder settled back against the tree. So, sex with men these days apparently involved no kissing, no teasing, no post-coital cuddling or conversation—? Or was that just sex with the very unusual Alex Krycek? Alex pulled the sweater from his face. He looked starry-eyed, the long lashes clumped in spiky points. He said something softly in Russian. The phrase rang a bell in Mulder's memory, and he mentally scanned, trying to translate. "Now I can die a happy man!" Mulder said, triumphant. Alex looked at him in shock. He sat up and said something else in Russian, a question. Mulder grinned. "Yes." He had no idea what Alex was asking, but figured it was probably something like, Can you speak Russian? Small creases of puzzlement appeared between Alex's eyes. He blinked at Mulder and asked another question in Russian. "Uh...no?" Mulder said. Alex continued to look puzzled. "I only know that one phrase," Mulder said. "I heard you say it before." Alex looked down and away. He busied himself pulling his jeans up. "Hey, don't be embarrassed. Who wouldn't be happy to get a blowjob?" He reached out, putting a hand firmly on the back of Alex's neck to draw him closer. "I know I'd—" Alex jerked back, startling Mulder, who had only meant to kiss him. Mulder saw that the walls were up again, Alex just looking at him with that wary expression. // Jesus, what a fucking emotional minefield he is. // A long moment passed in silent standoff. Then Alex moved closer, his movements deliberate, as though he were stalking Mulder. "Blow you, Mulder? Sure." Mulder said nothing, just watched him. "But I need to use my hand for balance. So I won't be able to give you all the bells and whistles..." Alex's eyes glinted; his smile held a hint of cruelty. "Unless you want to get creative." He extended the prosthetic hand, palm up. The fingers twitched. No, Mulder decidedly did not want to get creative, not in this way at this moment. He kept his eyes on Alex's, trying to read what was going on. If he showed disgust or anger or laughed at Alex, he knew, it was all over. He tried for a neutral tone. "You use that on yourself?" "Sure." Alex tilted his head, the sleek dark brows quirking upward pointedly. "I need my other hand to beat myself." "Alex." Mulder reached out quickly, grasping Krycek's wrist. "When I said that...I didn't know." Alex froze, as though ambushed by Mulder's sudden honesty. He flushed slightly, his gaze dropping to the ground. Mulder could see clearly that Alex didn't want to talk about this, but he didn't care. He recalled the flicker of pain in Krycek's eyes after Mulder said that. What an insensitive bastard he must have seemed. Krycek had flicked off the safety on his gun after Mulder said that. He had said that if it were up to him, he'd pull the trigger. "I only found out later. If I had known, I wouldn't—" "Yeah, you would." Alex's voice was a swift blade cutting Mulder off. Mulder was silent, reluctantly acknowledging the truth of this. Of course he would have made that remark anyway. He had hated Krycek then. Hadn't he in fact said something similar in his bathroom? He nodded slowly. Krycek flexed his wrist in Mulder's grip, and Mulder remembered it was still healing. He moved his hand up to Krycek's forearm. "Sure," he said. It came out harder than he intended, a challenge rather than an invitation. "Sure. Do it." Alex blinked at him, looking cornered. "I...we don't have lube." Mulder shrugged. He ran his tongue across his lips and took hold of the prosthetic hand, preparing to bring it to his mouth. But it was the wrong thing to do, the wrong time. Alex yanked both his hands from Mulder's grip, pulling the prosthetic up against his body. He stared at Mulder, his expression angry and unnerved. "Listen," Mulder said, "forget about it, don't worry. You don't have to do this." In truth, it was a bit of a relief; although he would never admit it to Alex, he had not been certain he could get and maintain a hard-on again so soon. Especially as Alex's strange behavior was making him more nervous than aroused. Alex seemed to draw in on himself, looking away, then down. A brief gust of wind swept through the leaves, ruffling their hair. The silence was heavy save for the omnipresent crickets, and another deeper chirruping that might be frogs. Mulder suddenly knew that he did not want to leave it like this. "Hey, Alex, it's okay." He laid a hand on Alex's shoulder, and this time Alex did not pull away. "It's okay...c'mere..." He reached out, putting his arms around Alex to draw him closer. Alex stilled in his embrace, like a wild creature being petted. Mulder remembered his broken ribs. "Is this hurting you?" Alex shook his head. He didn't speak or look up. Mulder was beginning to feel awkward; he was about to withdraw his arms and suggest they head back, when, just as he had done with the kiss, Alex abruptly capitulated, laying his head on Mulder's shoulder and bringing his arm around Mulder. Mulder could feel him trembling slightly, a fine vibration that was answered in Mulder's own body. Mulder felt almost dizzy. His heart was racing, and he took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow it down. Alex clutched a fold of Mulder's shirt, hardly seeming to breathe at all. Mulder rubbed his back under the leather jacket, and Alex made a small throaty sound that sent a zip of arousal through Mulder. Alex was warm and solid in Mulder's arms, the size and feel of him so different from holding a woman. Each time Mulder moved, Alex quivered and tensed, then relaxed a tiny bit more. Mulder told himself to just enjoy the moment, not examine it too much. // Don't think. Just be. // So strange. To be this close to Krycek and be this peaceful, feel this good. He traced circles on the back of Alex's neck with his fingertips and Alex shivered. Mulder increased the pressure, raking gently with his nails, and Alex breathed "Ohhh yeahhh," his voice soft with longing and delight, as though Mulder had found his secret spot of pleasure. He clung to Mulder a little more tightly, pressing his face against Mulder's chest and closing his eyes. Something cracked open inside Mulder, flooding him with a bewildering wave of near-tenderness. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the cool, loamy night air, the scents of sweat and sex, the sweet musk of Alex's hair. Alex had loosened his grip on Mulder's shirt and was stroking his fingers over Mulder's ribs. Again Mulder felt that diffuse tightening of arousal, yet he felt no urgency to move or push it further right now. He could let go of that, forget about the cold ground under his ass, the nagging worry that Scully might wake up, the old tensions between them, who Krycek was and what he had done. Everything melted and quieted to the sound of their breathing together, the heat of Alex's body pressed to his. He lowered his head to rest his cheek against the top of Alex's head and kept scratching gentle circles along Alex's neck, while Alex purred like a big cat in his arms. // Don't think. It feels so amazing, holding him like this he trusts no one I trust no one but we're trusting each other right now I could really really get to like him I could fall—No. No. Don't think. // // Just be. // It lasted only a short time, probably no more than five minutes. Then Mulder became uncomfortably aware of the time, the place, the person he was holding. The craziness of it crawled over his skin and he suddenly wanted to pull away. Instantly, Krycek picked up on it. Mulder could feel the tension gather in Alex's body, feel him drawing back; then he abruptly sat up, breaking the embrace. "We should head back," Alex said huskily. He pushed himself upright and stood, not looking at Mulder. Mulder rose as well, brushing off his clothes. They walked back in silence, curiously formal with each other. Alex moved sure-footedly through the woods, taking the lead, as he had on the way out. At the cabin, Alex went immediately in to wash and change without speaking. Mulder sat on the couch and put the TV on low. Alex emerged wearing the cut-off sweatpants he slept in, but without having taken off his shirt or the prosthetic arm. Mulder felt a little surprised; Alex didn't generally sleep with it on. Mulder took his turn in the bathroom; when he came back out the arm was off but the shirt was still on. Mulder felt a pang, wondering if Alex now felt self-conscious about taking it off in front of him. He hadn't wanted to do that. They still had not spoken a word. Mulder felt the awkwardness of it wrap around him, like a prickly wool blanket against his skin. But what was there to say? // Nice blowing you? Thanks for the hand job? Sorry about your arm? // // What are you doing to me? // He flipped through the channels, not even seeing what was on the screen. He was playing back the night in his mind, turning over every sensation, every look, wanting to analyze it but finding himself suffused by it instead. Alex's hand on him, doing it better than he could do himself. The awestruck expression on Alex's face when he came. Alex's unhappiness, that fucking prosthetic arm. Mulder felt the rage churning through him again, too readily. // It's not your battle. It's not your pain to bear. Don't take that over; it's not right to do that to him. // He could see it would be a barrier; he still couldn't stand it, couldn't accept that that had happened to Alex. Everything in him rose up and revolted against it. // How could they do that to him? Why didn't he get out? Why wasn't he luckier, like me? // He shut his eyes against the images and his mind veered onto another tangent. // Would he really have used it to—? // Okay, maybe he was kinky, but the thought was a little—intriguing. He wondered if Alex used it on himself in that way. He got a sudden mental picture, and caught his breath at that, rearranging the blanket over himself. Alex was so—so utterly different from what Mulder had expected. Sex with Alex was so—he groped for the adjectives, came up short. Mind-blowing. Overwhelming. Confusing. Going down on Alex had been nothing like the near-impersonal two-minute blowjobs he had given and gotten in college. It was—he was—again Mulder could not frame the words, but his body was definitely formulating a response to the memories. An ego-driven part of his mind itched to roll over and ask Alex, "How did I do? Was it good for you? Did you like that?" Well, Alex had certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. He had certainly come hard enough, screaming into Mulder's sweater. If it hadn't all been an act of some kind. Mulder sighed sharply. There was the troubling crux of it all, the wall he kept coming up against. No matter what a hot lover Alex proved to be, the terrible reality of all Krycek had done and been would always make it impossible for Mulder to fully trust him. And then there was that disturbing tenderness he had felt, holding Alex. Alex's soft, aching little sounds of pleasure, the way he had clutched Mulder's shirt, seeming almost afraid to relax and let Mulder hold him—what the hell did that mean? Maybe, like Mulder, Alex was nervous—unsure about what it all meant, afraid to let his guard down. Or maybe Alex didn't really want to be there, doing that; maybe it was just another ploy to get whatever he wanted from Mulder. "Mulder." Mulder looked over quickly, a sudden tingle of apprehension and excitement washing over him. Alex was lying on his side, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Could you turn the TV off? Or down?" Mulder felt both relief and disappointment at the mundane request. "Sure." He reached for the remote and snapped off the TV. They lay there on opposite sides of the room, breathing, not sleeping, together. After a bit he heard a soft rustling: Alex, in the darkness, taking off his shirt. Mulder was a man with a plan. A man with a mission. Ostensibly that mission was to buy a new ink cartridge for the printer. He had laundry to do, too, but Scully had a load going already, so he piled it haphazardly on the floor by the machine to deal with later. He could tell Scully was a little reluctant when he offered to go to the store. She didn't really like being alone with Krycek, any more than Alex liked being alone with her. But he could hardly give her his shopping list. // Printer cartridge, pencils...oh, and could you pick me up some condoms and lube? I plan on fucking Krycek in the woods today. // It took him longer than he expected, as he had to drive three towns over to find a large enough shopping center to make his purchases unobtrusively. When he got back Scully was at the table working at the laptop. Alex was nowhere to be seen; out on the screened porch, no doubt. Mulder often had the feeling that Krycek and Scully avoided all interaction when he wasn't around. His laundry sat in a clean pile. It had even been folded. Mulder turned to Scully with a happy smile. "Scully, you did my laundry? That's great." Scully's disdainful look said it all: I knew you were a little loony, Mulder, but not actively delusional. "Krycek was doing laundry earlier. Since he's been wearing all your clothes, I guess he was good enough to wash them too." Mulder raised his eyebrows. He hadn't noticed Krycek wearing any of his clothes, other than the green sweatshirt he had lent Alex on the first day. He wondered just how much she suspected, and if he could broach the next subject without tipping his hand entirely. Maybe a little reverse psychology... He changed into his running shorts and stood by the table doing stretches. "So, I thought I'd take a run." Scully's look was everything he could have hoped for. "What?" Mulder feigned innocence. "I need exercise." "Mulder..." "What, you don't want to be stuck with Krycek?" Mulder affected a pout. "Ok, what the hell, I'll take him out with me. He could probably use some exercise as well." "Mulder, he's injured. He doesn't need exercise, he needs rest." Scully headed to the kitchen area to replenish her coffee. "Oh, and that reminds me. The other night, you said he wasn't feeling well? What was wrong?" Scully had that determined look that meant she would not be put off with vague reassurances. Mulder shrugged. "A touch of fever, and phantom pains in his arm." Scully frowned. "He shouldn't still be having fever. He's on antibiotics." Mulder refrained from telling her that he doubted Krycek actually ever took any of the medications Scully gave him. "He's fine now. Really. I'll go slow." Mulder snagged a handful of sunflower seeds on his way out to the screened porch. "Don't say I never did anything for you." Alex was sitting with a book in his hand, but he was just staring into space, not reading it. He turned his head as Mulder stepped out onto the porch, his expression wary, then relaxing somewhat as he saw it was Mulder. "Hey," Mulder greeted him. "Feel like taking a walk?" Alex blinked at him. "Outside?" "No, around the kitchen. Very scenic this time of year." The little crease of impatience appeared between Alex's brows. He got to his feet, looking at Mulder a bit quizzically as if he suspected a trick. Cautiously, he followed Mulder out to the kitchen area. Scully looked up sharply as they approached, and Mulder put on his blandest expression. "See you later, Scully. " He scooped up another handful of sunflower seeds, since he hadn't really had breakfast. "You can take a bubble bath, do your nails, catch up on 'General Hospital'..." Scully rolled her eyes. Mulder perched on the edge of the table, looking down at her. He could almost hear her internal struggle. // Krycek should not be out of the cabin. He's injured, he was sick, he's a fugitive...and I don't trust Mulder not to beat him to death out there. On the other hand, why should Mulder get to go gallivanting around wherever he pleases while I'm stuck here all afternoon with this—sociopathic weasel—who whips out his gun every time a chipmunk walks by? Oh hell... // Scully cleared her throat. "Have a nice walk." She still looked a little dubious. Mulder reached out and squeezed her shoulder. He smiled down at her. "You can trust me, Scully." Scully scanned his face, and then nodded slowly, her features relaxing into warmth. "I trust you, Mulder." "Seeds?" He deposited a few on her stack of papers. Scully laughed. She slapped Mulder's bare leg lightly. "Just take it easy." They headed out. Mulder retrieved his loaded backpack from where he had stashed it in a corner of the front porch. Alex slanted an odd look at him as they started walking. "What?" "You and Scully..." It seemed like Alex was going to say more, but he didn't. "Aah, she's glad to have us out of her hair. She'll be okay." Alex's lashes fluttered and he looked down. Was he upset at the thought that Scully might suspect something? Mulder thought he had been discreet, but Krycek's paranoia was apparently immense and boundless. "Hey, thanks for doing my laundry before." Alex flushed. "I just threw it in with mine," he said, sounding annoyed and defensive. "No big deal." Mulder shrugged. Krycek certainly was in a prickly mood today. Mulder had thought he'd be happy getting out of the cabin. Not to mention getting laid. "So," Alex said, his voice challenging, "are we gonna run?" Mulder glanced at him in surprise. "No, we're just taking a walk. I promised Scully I wouldn't push you." Instantly he knew those words had been a mistake, as Alex's eyes flashed. "Anyway," Mulder said quickly, "you can't run in boots." "Why the hell not?" "Christ, Krycek. It's a beautiful sunny fall day. Can't you just relax and smell the ragweed?" "Mulder." Krycek's voice carried a dark undercurrent. "We'll be going on the raid soon. I need to be in shape." Mulder couldn't deny that the issue of Krycek's physical readiness for the raid had occurred to him as well. Alex's broken ribs had not fully healed yet, and two nights ago he'd been burning up with fever. But Krycek was the only one who had actually been inside the lab, the only one who knew exactly what they were looking for, and where. He was necessary. Mulder just hoped they wouldn't be in a situation where they had to make a run for it, or worse. Mulder set an easy pace, more jogging than running. Krycek kept up, but not without some difficulty. Mulder increased the speed, sprinting ahead, then jogged backwards, calling words of encouragement. "Come on Krycek...move your lazy ass." "Fuck you," Krycek panted. He was having a hard time establishing a rhythm with that artificial arm. Mulder could see that it threw his stride and balance off; instead of being able to use it to maintain the pace, it was pretty much a dead weight on that side. They reached a small clearing in the center of a grove of sycamore trees. Mulder took pity on Krycek and stopped to rest. Krycek collapsed on the ground, clutching his left side. Mulder paused in stretching. "You okay?" Krycek raised his middle finger, seemingly too winded to speak. // Shit, did I push him too hard? Hope he has enough energy to fool around. // "You better have some water in that backpack," Krycek rasped. "Among other things." Mulder tossed the backpack over to him. Krycek fished out a bottle of water and took a long drink before reaching for the pack again to sort through it. He pulled out protein bars, blanket, lube and condoms, looking up at Mulder with a little smirk. "You came prepared." Krycek squirted the water over his face, then shook it off, eyeing Mulder speculatively over the water bottle. "So, you planning on getting fucked, Mulder?" "Getting fucked. Fucking you. Whatever." Mulder sat down beside him and opened a bottle of water for himself. He didn't miss the slight wariness that came into Krycek's expression at his words. "You don't get fucked, Alex?" Alex looked down and away. He took a deep breath, then met Mulder's gaze, his eyes unfathomable. // Or, you do get fucked, but not by me. // Mulder couldn't help feeling rejected and disappointed. He could tell that Alex read that, could see the uncertainty and defensiveness in Alex's answering expression. // Great, this is really setting the stage for hot monkey sex. // He reached to touch Alex, and Alex shied away momentarily, before stiffening his shoulders as if willing himself not to. Mulder pulled his hand back, stunned. Alex wiped his face on the arm of his sweatshirt, not looking at Mulder. // Oh, shit. That's why he won't let me fuck him. Because of what I tried to do. // Well, there were only two ways out of this, other than pretending it all didn't happen and heading back, which he wasn't willing to do. He decided to leave the choice up to Alex. "Do you want to talk about it?" Alex did not respond, but every line of his posture screamed, NO! The fingers of his prosthetic hand clenched convulsively. He looked down at it but would not meet Mulder's eyes. Okay. Mulder tried again. "Or do you want to fuck me?" Alex's look was startled and a bit suspicious. "You ever been fucked by a man, Mulder?" "As opposed to what, Wangito the Wonder Donkey?" He smirked at Alex's cut-the-crap look. "Yeah, I've gotten fucked. It's been awhile though...that was back in college." "College!" Alex gave a little incredulous snort. "And I thought I was bad." "How long has it been for you?" Alex hesitated. "About...a year or two, maybe." His tone was casual; he didn't look at Mulder as he said it. Mulder studied him without speaking. // A year or two, huh? You don't fool me, Alex. You know to the day when you last got fucked. And I'm betting it was not a good experience. // "Well," Mulder said, "I guess it's like riding a bicycle, huh?" Experimentally, he laid his hand on Alex's shoulder, letting his fingertips brush up along Alex's neck. Alex made a small throaty sound and, to Mulder's astonishment, closed his eyes and arched his head back into Mulder's touch. Mulder decided to try a compliment; women always liked that. "You look hot." Alex paused, wiping sweat from his face again. "No, I just—" The realization seemed to hit him what Mulder had meant then, and he looked down, smiling ruefully. "Shit...okay." Mulder smiled back, charmed and disarmed by Alex's momentary awkwardness. He went on stroking Alex's neck and jaw. "Like riding a bicycle, huh?" Alex's husky voice acquired a silken edge. "Guess I oughta sell my car, then." He cast a look at Mulder, the green eyes widening with admiration and desire for a moment, before the curtain of lashes descended again. Wow. Mulder grinned at him, realizing that he had been outdone in the compliment department, but unable to suppress a sneaking glow of gratification. Things seemed to be going well, giving him courage for the next step. Slowly, he let his hand travel from Alex's neck to his shoulder, then down along the left arm. He willed himself not to hesitate as the flesh ended and he felt the firmer surface of the prosthesis under the fabric of Alex's shirt. Alex froze and tensed up instantly. Mulder stroked his palm down along the arm, in what he hoped was a casual, steady motion. Alex was absolutely still, staring at Mulder's hand as though it was a scorpion walking down his arm. Mulder's heart was beating so hard he was surprised it wasn't audible. Coming to the end of Alex's shirt, he slid his hand over the back of the prosthetic hand and took hold of it, wrapping his fingers around it. Alex's other hand was clenched into a fist; he quivered slightly, but he did not pull his hand away from Mulder's. Mulder let go and moved his hand to Alex's knee. Alex let out a small shaky breath, and Mulder breathed too. He had not realized until that moment how much tension he himself was holding. He rubbed Alex's leg in what he hoped was a soothing manner, trying to think of something normal to say. "It runs on batteries, huh?" Alex darted a look at Mulder. "Uhh...just the hand, myoelectric." He cleared his throat. "The arm is body-powered." Curiosity was overcoming Mulder's uneasiness. The myoelectric hand fascinated him; he wanted to pick it up and examine it and play with it, but he did not think Alex would appreciate that at all. "You, um, I guess you get more dexterity that way?" Alex lifted the hand and made a circle with the thumb and forefinger, then slowly repeated the gesture with each successive finger. "That's cool," Mulder said. Alex sat back a little, not saying anything. Mulder nodded wryly. "Sure it's cool, but it would be cooler to do it with my own damn hand, asshole?" Alex smirked. He seemed to relax a little bit. Mulder kept stroking his leg, running his fingers down along Alex's inner thigh. Alex's lashes fluttered for a second, and he let his legs fall open a bit more to accommodate Mulder's touch. "So," Mulder said. "Are we going to...get creative?" Alex bit his lip. Mulder could hear the slight catch in his breath. He had a sense that Alex was feeling the same way he was—apprehensive but also aroused—by the whole idea. "Mulder," Alex said, sounding hesitant. "I can't always...control it." He swallowed, slanting a quick glance at Mulder. "Sometimes it'll just...move, or clench up, on its own. Those supermarket security gates are a bitch." Mulder had a momentary queasy image of trying to explain to Scully how he had sustained an injury like that. But it was overridden by the strong sense that he had something to prove, to both Alex and himself. And he had never been fazed by kinky ideas in bed. Or, for that matter, out in the woods. "Well," he said, "you do use it on yourself, don't you?" Alex flushed slightly, looking down. Mulder couldn't tell whether he was embarrassed about doing that, or if he had been lying, just trying to spook Mulder. Alex seemed to come to a decision. He looked back up at Mulder. "Take your pants off," he said, his voice deepening to a smoky growl. Throwing caution to the winds, Mulder stripped off all his clothes. He spread the blanket out on the ground and sat down on it. He looked at Alex, waiting for him to get undressed too, but Alex just moved closer, to kneel on the edge of the blanket. Looking up, Mulder was struck by the expression in Alex's eyes, the hunger and heat and awe he saw there. What an expressive, striking face Alex had, when he dropped his guard and let his emotions show like this. Mulder pulled Alex to him for a kiss. Alex seemed momentarily surprised by that, but then returned the kiss somewhat hesitantly. Mulder chuckled inwardly. Alex would just have to get used to the fact that Mulder loved to kiss. // Get used to it? Wasn't the idea to fuck him once and get it out of your system? // Mulder couldn't worry about that right now, as Alex's mouth was moving downward. Alex nipped lightly at Mulder's nipples, then laved them roughly with short, hard flicks of his tongue that sent an electric charge zipping through Mulder. He nuzzled his face into Mulder's chest hair, then sucked hard at a spot just below Mulder's left pec. Mulder had never thought of that spot as an erogenous zone before, but it was fast becoming a prime candidate under Alex's enthusiastic ministrations. Leaving a love bite to mark the spot, Alex moved on. He shifted, positioning himself. Mulder thought of asking if it would be easier for Alex if Mulder was standing up, but the memory of that last time, Alex on his knees in Mulder's apartment, still stung. Alex bent his head to Mulder's cock. He rubbed his nose against it, inhaling deeply. Mulder was rock hard, the blood pounding through his groin. Then Alex's mouth closed over him, hot and strong. An incoherent cry broke from Mulder. He felt like the top of his head was going to come off. It had been an embarrassingly long time since he had gotten a blowjob that was not virtual. He sat up a bit, leaning on his elbows. The sight took his breath away: Alex's gorgeous bow-shaped mouth wrapped around his cock, taking it almost down to the root. Alex looked incredible, the long lashes spread against his cheek, wholly absorbed in what he was doing. At Mulder's change in position, Alex drew back, his eyes flicking to Mulder's. Mulder stroked his hair. "Just want to look at you." Alex tilted his head, giving Mulder a little smile. Slowly, teasingly, he rubbed Mulder's cock over his face, then let his lips and tongue brush across it. He parted his lips, letting his teeth just graze up against the head of Mulder's cock in the barest of bites. His tongue danced out over the crown. Mulder watched him, enthralled and incredibly aroused. He had never seen Alex like this—playful and sensual, and very aware of what he was doing to Mulder. As though he could wait no longer, Alex suddenly took Mulder in deeply and firmly, his tongue working like a piston against Mulder's shaft. The tip of his nose brushed through Mulder's pubes. Mulder could manage nothing more than, "Nnnnghah..." He reached down to grip the base of his cock, holding it steady as Alex's sucking became more vigorous. Alex stopped, and Mulder gasped out a breath of protest. Alex looked up at him, desire and trepidation mixing in his gaze. "Are you ready?" he said huskily. Mulder managed to cobble together enough brain cells to nod. Alex picked up the bottle of lube, applying a liberal amount to the fingers of the prosthetic hand. He reached down with the hand, and Mulder spread his legs a little wider to allow him access. Alex suddenly hesitated. He brought his right hand over, probing with two fingers into Mulder's cleft, and Mulder had a moment's sharp disappointment, thinking Alex was not going to go through with it. But apparently Alex was only searching for the right spot. Mulder felt the prosthetic fingers joining the real ones, then taking their place. Alex seemed to be holding his breath. It was obvious that he had never done this before with another person, and again Mulder felt that unsettling tenderness. He reached down to stroke Alex's jaw with the back of his knuckles. Alex looked up at him, and then his finger slid inside. It was...mechanical but not wholly mechanical, human but not wholly human. It was smoother than a finger, cooler to the touch and firmer...it could be a dildo, Mulder told himself, except that it...moved, and...stroked, and... // ...Oh yeah... // Mulder fell back onto the blanket. Stars were swirling behind his eyes; it felt like they were shooting through his body as well. Then Alex's tongue licked like wildfire up the underside of his cock. "You want to come?" Alex whispered. Mulder took hold of his cock again, pressing it against those warm, willing lips. "Yeah," he panted. Alex's touch slowed. His tongue traced feathery patterns over the head of Mulder's cock. "I want you to come saying my name." // Don't tease you, huh? // "Krycek?" "Asshole." "Asshole? Pet names already, the first time?" Alex's look at him was almost like saying his name in that way he had: Muuull-derrr. He withdrew his finger briefly, then added a second one along with it, lowering his mouth to Mulder's cock again. Mulder pressed his hands over his eyes. Groaning ecstatically, he let his legs fall open, humping upward into Alex's mouth, and let Alex play him like a musical instrument, using two fingers now, three, and it was unbelievable, like nothing he'd ever felt... Then he was erupting into Alex's mouth with a triumphant roar, the sensation so intense he could not speak or move for a moment. He reached up and pulled Alex down to him and kissed him. Alex rubbed his face against Mulder's neck. Mulder laughed effortlessly. He felt boneless, blissful. "What?" Alex asked. "You, me, this...did you ever think...?" Alex laughed too then. Mulder could feel his body shaking with it. "Aah, Mulder, only in my wildest dreams..." Mulder hugged him. He couldn't help noticing that Alex was still fully dressed while Mulder was completely naked. "Take off your clothes," he murmured, "and fuck me." Alex undressed swiftly, not looking at Mulder and not taking off his shirt. Kneeling on the edge of the blanket, he picked up one of the condoms and began tearing it open with his teeth. Mulder reached to take it from him. "Let me." Alex bristled instantly, tossing his head back like an affronted horse. "I can do it." Mulder looked at him. "I know you can," he said mildly. "I want to." Alex was only half hard. He made a soft low sound as Mulder began to stroke him. Alex had his hands resting on his thighs, knees spread wide and eyes downcast, almost resembling a supplicant in his posture. He hardened instantly under Mulder's touch, moaned "Oh...yeaaahh," as Mulder stroked his balls, and growled softly as Mulder bit his nipples. Mulder slowly rolled the condom on. Reaching for the lube, he applied it generously. Alex pushed Mulder down onto his back. With a look of intense concentration on his face, as through he was trying to crack a safe, he laid his hand on Mulder's belly and slowly pushed in. Alex was big. Mulder felt stretched, invaded; it hurt more than he had expected. He clenched his teeth and grunted involuntarily. Alex was watching him intently. "Hurts? Breathe—breathe a little..." Mulder drew in a long breath. The initial pain was subsiding, although it was still somewhat uncomfortable. "No...it's okay...just fuck me, that'll do the trick." Alex began to move, slowly and carefully, taking his time and watching Mulder. But it was just what Mulder didn't need. He wanted some hard, fast fucking that would carry him past the strangeness and discomfort, transport him the way Alex's magic fingers had before. He wiggled his ass impatiently. "C'mon...fuck me." Alex made a low sound, shutting his eyes momentarily. Mulder wasn't sure if he was too close to coming, or just afraid of hurting Mulder. He tried another tactic. "Come on, Krycek, don't be a wuss. I wouldn't be fucking a guy like you if I wanted it easy and gentle." Alex flinched at that as though Mulder had slapped him. Mulder was taken aback. He had wanted to make Krycek a little mad, get him worked up so that he would stop holding back so much. But Alex had looked really—hurt. He wondered at that. Krycek seemed too hard and cold to be hurt by something like that. "What? I thought you liked close encounters of the quick and dirty kind." Alex's lashes flickered. "Mulder...shut up." He sat up, pulling out and gazing at Mulder with a little frown. "Wait, Alex -" Mulder sat up too, putting his hands on Alex's shoulders. "I just meant - like I said, you're hot." The words didn't sound especially sincere, even to him, but Alex seemed somewhat mollified. "You want it hard, huh?" Alex's eyes glittered. He knelt between Mulder's legs to guide himself in. "Yeah," Mulder looked at him with a little grin. "Give it to me, tiger." Alex snorted. "Mulder, you're so..." The rest of his sentence was lost as he began to thrust, pumping into Mulder hard and fast. The discomfort hadn't entirely dissipated, but the harder rhythm was igniting a depth charge of pleasure within Mulder. He wanted to ask what Alex had been going to say but could manage nothing more articulate than, "Yeah...oh yeah...that's right..." Reaching down, he gripped Alex's ass with both hands, feeling the strong muscles clench as Alex drove into him. Alex shifted and almost toppled. He was supporting all his weight on the right and Mulder noticed his arm was beginning to shake a little. He grunted. "I can't—" Mulder slid the palms of his hands up under Alex's shirt, flat against Alex's chest. "I gotcha." He braced his elbows on the ground, taking Alex's weight and squeezing his nipples at the same time. Alex looked at him with a dazed expression for a moment. His face was flushed and feral-looking, his lips parted, his hair tousled and damp with sweat. // You are so beautiful like this, like some kind of green-eyed jungle beast... // "What?" Alex rasped. // Fuck, did I say that aloud? Did I just call him beautiful? // Going by Alex's skeptical smirk, he guessed he might have. Mulder looked up into his eyes. "Just fuck me." He moved his hands around to Alex's back, pulling Alex down onto him, kissing him and licking the sweat from his neck. "Harder...yeah, harder...that's it..." Alex took his mouth from Mulder's, biting along Mulder's collarbone, making low erotic sounds. Euphoric pleasure surged through Mulder; he felt it in his thighs, his nipples, the muscles of his jaw. He was getting half-hard again, with the combination of the friction against his cock and the sight and feel of Alex moving with him. He gripped Alex's ass again, then impulsively lifted his hand and brought it down, smacking Alex hard on the ass. "Yeah, Alex! Do it!" He felt Alex's body jerk at the impact. Alex stared at him, open-mouthed, his eyes wide. He leaned down and bit Mulder, hard, near his shoulder, and then he was slamming into Mulder, completely unleashed, throwing his head back with every thrust. Mulder licked his fingers. Reaching down, he stroked Alex's ass again, then pushed inside. Alex cried out, dark and lovely. Mulder felt Alex's muscles clenching around him. Alex tensed all over and came, wild and loud. Looking sweaty and radiant, he collapsed onto Mulder and lay there for several seconds, seemingly stunned. Mulder stroked his back lightly. The gentle touch seemed to bring Alex back to himself, and he rolled off Mulder, flopping onto his back with his arm thrown across his eyes. He lay like that for several minutes without stirring. Mulder propped himself on his elbow, bemused. He had never had a lover who was so openly and utterly unrestrained during sex, and then pulled into himself so completely afterward. Alex took his arm from his eyes, letting it rest on the grass. He stared off into the distance, blinking. Mulder moved his own hand, letting it brush the back of Alex's. Alex reached out his fingers, intertwining them with Mulder's and squeezing gently. Mulder was surprised and a bit touched. He squeezed back. Alex turned his head to look at Mulder with a curious expression for a moment, before closing his eyes again. // You're an unusual guy, Alex, for sure, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else, right now. // That thought jarred Mulder back to reality. Releasing Alex's hand, he got up, sprayed some water onto the towel and began to wash off. Alex remained where he was, gazing at Mulder. Mulder tossed the towel over to Alex, "Hey, Krycek, your spirit animal must be a slug." Alex rose quickly, cleaned up, and began to dress. Oddly modest, he turned his back to Mulder as he dressed, giving Mulder a great view of his ass. "Wait." Mulder stopped Alex with a hand as he was pulling up his briefs. Impulsively, he bent down, sucking hard at a spot on Alex's left cheek. He surveyed the small purpling mark with satisfaction. // You're mine, Alex, you gorgeous... // // All right, Mulder, fucking pull yourself together already. // Walking back, he laid a hand on Alex's back, then impulsively slid it down to Alex's waist and squeezed gently. Alex seemed startled but then moved closer, leaning his body into Mulder's. A few feet later the trail narrowed, and Mulder dropped his hand and walked ahead. They separated even further when they emerged from the woods, which was just as well. As the cabin came into view Mulder could see Scully standing in the doorway, apparently searching for them. Even at this distance he could tell she was agitated. Mulder broke into a fast jog. "Mulder, I'm glad you're back. Skinner just called. The raid is on for eight o'clock tonight." "Tonight!" Krycek said from behind Mulder, sounding surprised but exultant. They showered and packed quickly, then went over the plans a final time. Walking out to the car, Mulder felt the soreness in his ass and thighs. Scully was watching him with a look of concern. "Mulder, did you hurt yourself? You're limping a little." "Uh...tripped over a root," Mulder said nonchalantly. He could hardly keep the smile off his face. // I got fucked, I got fucked good... // Alex was leaning on the roof of the Lincoln, gazing at Mulder over the broad expanse of the car. He looked quite enticing, freshly shaved and showered, a dark gleam of amusement in his eyes at Mulder's remark. If it had been only the two of them, Mulder would have dragged him back inside for another quick go-round. He settled for shooting Alex a tiny, private smile. He would have liked to have Alex sit up front with him, but Scully was getting into the passenger seat, and he had no pretext for asking her to sit in the back. He had to be content with catching glimpses of Alex's face in the rear-view mirror. Alex looked excited and preoccupied. Mulder could almost feel the nervous tension humming through him, an echo of what he himself was feeling. "Are we being followed?" Scully's voice broke into his thoughts. "Huh?" Scully looked at the mirror, then craned her head around to look out the rear window. "Oh...nope, just...being cautious." // I got fucked...I got fucked... // Skinner was already there, waiting, when they arrived. They parked the car in the far lot where it would not be discovered should anyone still be on the premises. Alex strode up to Skinner, looking around. "Where are the other four men?" Skinner looked him up and down with thinly disguised hostility. "Inside already. You're late. Let's go." "Inside already?" Anger broke through Alex's control for a moment. "They were supposed to wait for instructions." "They had instructions, Krycek," Skinner rumbled. "My instructions." Mulder had to admire the way Alex stood up to Skinner. When Skinner got like this, blustering and barking out orders in that overbearing manner, Mulder would feel himself becoming defensive and irritated. But Alex just looked at Skinner coolly, speaking in level, measured tones. "They were supposed to wait and meet us here. I want to make sure they know where they're going and what they're supposed to be looking for." "Look, Krycek," Skinner snapped. "You're not heading this mission! You're not an agent of the Bureau. You're here solely as a courtesy. Those men were briefed and they're inside already. I suggest we do the same." Scully caught Mulder's eye. She looked as impatient as he felt. "Let's go," she said. "We go in the front, you go in the back," Mulder said. He slapped Alex lightly on the arm, urging him along, and was relieved when Alex followed him. They jogged around to the front of the building. It looked dark and silent. Mulder could see the faint beams of flashlights somewhere on the second floor. As they approached, Alex suddenly gripped Mulder's wrist with one black-leather gloved hand. He pulled Mulder around to face him and planted a swift, fierce kiss on the side of Mulder's mouth. Then he was moving again, hurrying on. They were about a hundred yards from the building when they heard it: a dull, muffled boom, like a crash, or a small explosion. They both froze, scanning the area. Mulder was certain it had come from inside the building. He was just about to say that to Alex when he noticed pale grey tendrils of smoke, pouring from a window on the second floor. "It's on fire!" "Shit!" Alex put a hand on Mulder's chest, holding him back. "Stay here! I'll check it out...you radio the others." Mulder shook him off. "They're all inside!" He raced toward the building, easily outdistancing Alex. What the hell had happened? Some chemical substance, accidentally tampered with by the agents? Scully...Skinner...were they all right? Had any of the live virus gotten loose? He heard Alex screaming his name, sounding frantic. And then a massive, blinding wall of heat and light and sound hit him, knocking him backwards, as the whole building went up. Mulder could not hear, could not see for a moment, could only react as he dove for the ground, covering his head with his arms. Debris was raining down all around him, burning fragments alighting in the grass. Something sharp slammed into the side of his head and a sickening vertiginous weakness flooded through him. Alex, where was Alex? And Scully, and Skinner...the agents in the building... Keeping his head down, Mulder began to crawl along the ground. There was a searing pain along his right temple and his mouth was full of a metallic, ashy taste. Thick smoke surrounded him, making him choke. He fought for breath, struggling to pull himself along. As if underwater, he could hear muffled sounds: the roaring and cracking of the burning building, a high distant sound that might be sirens, someone shouting his name hoarsely. Mulder felt a wetness running down along his jaw, and realized he was bleeding. He tried to call back, but his throat seized in a fit of coughing. Then Alex was there. "Mulder! Mulder, you all right?" Alex was panting, his eyes wide. He touched Mulder, patting him down with a shaking hand. He looked from Mulder to the burning lab and back, an expression of stunned desperation on his face. The building was now a solid tower of flames, waves of heat hitting them. There must have been one hell of a cache of explosives in there. "Scully..." "We've gotta get out of here," Alex rasped. "Can you walk?" Mulder nodded, which proved to be a bad idea, sending hammers of pain across his skull and down his neck. Trying to push himself upright, however, proved worse, as his vision splintered and the ground rocked beneath him. Then everything faded to black. Slowly surfacing, he felt the cold earth under his cheek, scrubby grass against his face. The acrid smell of smoke, static sound of a radio and Alex's voice saying hoarsely, "Mulder's hurt! We're in the front..." Then a hand on his arm, and a voice whispering near his ear, "Hang on, Fox." Darkness around him and a scent of leather. It felt like Alex was crouching over him, covering Mulder with his body. Mulder kept his eyes closed, waiting for the dizziness to subside. He heard other voices yelling for him: Scully and Skinner. Then they were running toward him, and Scully was down on the ground next to him, taking his pulse. Mulder opened his eyes and looked at her. He felt Alex's hand lift from his arm. Irrationally, he wanted to pull Alex back down to him. "Mulder, can you hear me?" "Yeah..." Gingerly, Mulder sat up. "Scully, you're all right?" Skinner reached down and yanked Alex up onto his feet. Mulder watched in shock as his boss reared back and slammed a pile driver punch into Alex's midsection. Alex dropped to the ground like a sack of stones. Skinner was breathing hard, his face twisted in an ugly snarl. "Four men were inside that building, Krycek! Four men...dead now...and you'll pay for this. You're not walking out of this one alive either!" "Sir..." Scully sounded shaken and uncertain. Mulder felt dazed. It had never crossed his mind that Alex could be behind this. From his vantage point on the ground, he looked around the circle of faces. Scully looked stricken, Skinner grimly furious, Alex devastated. Skinner pulled out his cuffs and fastened them on Alex's wrists behind his back. "You can't do that!" Alex sounded angry and almost scared. "I had nothing to do with this! And we can't leave. We have to get back inside the lab—" "The goddamn lab blew up, Krycek," Skinner snapped. "With four people inside. And it's on fire. Remember?" Alex sounded like he was making himself speak more calmly with an effort. "Whatever's left in there, we have to get it out. Before they get to it." "Before the Bureau finds any evidence on you, you mean? You're not getting anywhere near that lab again. You're in FBI custody, and that's where you'll stay." "Sir!" Mulder called sharply. Scully helped him to his feet. "Why would you think Krycek had anything to do with this?" "There were only eight people who knew this was going to happen tonight," Skinner said shortly. "The four of us and—those guys inside." He took hold of Krycek's shoulder, giving him a rough shove. "Start walking." They made the trek to Skinner's car in silence. Skinner got in back with Krycek, and Scully drove, steering the car through the narrow, rundown streets of Trenton to the FBI field office there. "Sir," Scully asked, her voice sounding strained, "who were the agents—inside?" "Holland, Feldstein, Reilly and Mariano." Mulder had known two of them. Holland was one of those big, quiet, capable guys, a twenty-year vet with a wife and two teenage sons at home. Mulder remembered him with his family at the annual picnic last year, Holland and his wife Joanna teasing each other with long-held private jokes. The two sons were at that awkward age, making Mulder glad his own adolescence was over. Someone was going to have to go tell Joanna and Holland's sons now. It was the job everyone dreaded. She looked to be one of those women who could cope with anything, but could she cope with this? And those boys, fatherless—Christ. And Mariano, young and brash, a ladies man, a joker. Good-looking kid. He was about the same age as Alex had been when Mulder first met him. More easygoing than Alex, and he didn't have Alex's razor-sharp mind, but a good man, a promising agent. His parents had been very proud. Now they would be getting that visit as well. // What a waste, what a fucking waste. Does human life mean nothing to these scumbags? // And with a chilling sense of dread, memories were descending on him: Alex shooting that militia driver right in front of Mulder; Alex in Hong Kong, pushing Jeraldine Kallenchuk out into the hall to be gunned down; Alex the last person seen with the vanished tram operator on Skyland Mountain... ...Cardinale naming Alex as his cohort in Melissa Scully's death... ...Alex killing... Mulder tasted bile. Quickly, he reached to roll the window down. Scully glanced over at him. "Are you okay?" "Just need some fresh air." "I'm taking you to the hospital after we drop off Skinner and Krycek." He managed to dissuade Scully from dragging him to the hospital, for the time being at least, but she did insist on examining him in an unused office of the Trenton FBI building while Skinner took Krycek off to be photographed and fingerprinted. "Do you think Krycek could really have done this?" Scully asked as she cleaned the wound on Mulder's temple. Mulder met her eyes. "I...I don't know." "I don't want to think..." Scully's voice shook slightly. She applied a butterfly bandage to Mulder's temple. "You really should get stitches there." Mulder waved her off. "Maybe later. I want to be there when they interrogate him." It took them several minutes to find out Krycek's whereabouts, given the usual Bureau tendency toward obfuscation and suspicion. Finally, Mulder and Scully were ushered into one of the interrogation rooms. Krycek was seated at a large table in the center of the room. Two other agents were in the room, along with Skinner. There was a large mirror on one wall that, Mulder knew, was actually a window through which others were no doubt watching. Krycek's eyes fixed intently on Mulder as he came in. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully." Skinner introduced them. "This is Agent Bishop, and Agent Rowe." Rowe was beefy and bellicose, Bishop a tall, quieter black man. "I want to talk to Agent Mulder," Krycek said. "Alone." Mulder saw with a little shock that Krycek's prosthetic arm was missing. Alex noted the direction of Mulder's eyes. For just a second his face darkened, and Mulder saw clearly his humiliation and rage at their doing that to him. Then his expression turned flat and hard once again. Mulder leaned over to whisper to Skinner. "Where's his arm?" "We took it off. We wanted to check it for concealed weapons...or a detonator device." Krycek rolled his eyes at this, still gazing at Mulder. "I didn't blow up the fucking lab. I brought you this information. I organized this whole thing—" "Why should we believe any of this, Krycek?" Skinner barked. "Considering that you've lied about everything else in your life." "That's pretty much your modus operandi, isn't it?" Bishop said. "Lie, deny and justify. I've seen a lot of guys like you." Krycek turned to look at him. "Why don't you justify this? Holding me here with no evidence, while the people who did this are probably ransacking the lab right now." "No evidence?" Rowe slammed his hands on the table, bellowing the words in Krycek's face. "How about four dead agents?" Krycek met his gaze without flinching. "I didn't kill them." Rowe straightened up, breathing loudly. "But you know who did." "Of course I do." Krycek stared hard at Skinner. "You know who did, too." An angry red spread over Skinner's cheeks. He looked ready to punch Krycek again. Scully laid a hand on his arm, speaking into his ear. The two of them left the room. Not for the first time, Mulder wondered how deep the A. D.'s tie to the Consortium went, and how far he would go to cover it up. The door opened and another man came in. He was large, good-looking, with a self-assured, automatic smile. Mulder loathed him on sight. He nodded to his agents, then strode over to Mulder, glad-handing like a politician. "Ed Merriman. You're Agent Sculder?" "Mulder." Merriman turned to the table where Krycek sat. "Alex Kraychik?" His tone and demeanor were affable, as if they were meeting at a cocktail party, rather than an interrogation room. "I'm Assistant Director Merriman." Krycek looked a bit thrown by the man's approach. He said nothing and watched Merriman warily. Merriman laid some files on the table, pulling out the chair opposite Krycek. "So, Alex, I'm hoping we can work this out." The unctuous smile again. "Would you like some coffee?" Without waiting for Krycek's answer, he turned to Rowe, who was standing against the wall. "Bob, can we get Alex a cup of coffee?" Bob looked like he'd rather gouge out his eyes than fetch coffee for a Fed-killing felon like Alex Krycek, but he complied nevertheless. Merriman seated himself at the table and opened the file. "You used to be one of us, Alex." His tone was conversational. "But you quit to pursue a life of crime, hmm?" Mulder saw something in Alex's face at that. Merriman continued to turn the pages of the file. Finally he looked up. "Looks like you're in a pretty bad spot here, Alex. Being a former agent yourself, you might recall that we're a pretty close-knit bunch." Alex's chin went up. He continued to stare at Merriman in silence. "Maybe you didn't mean for anyone to get hurt, Alex. Isn't that right? You had a plan to destroy that lab and whatever was inside. It was just bad timing that those guys—" "I didn't mean for any of this to happen!" Alex's voice sounded higher than usual, tight with frustration and nerves. "Why would I blow up the lab? I need the—I need what's inside!" His eyes jumped to Mulder's again, as if for reassurance, and he drew in a deep breath. "How—how could I have set any of this up? I was miles away at the time, in Mulder's custody. We didn't even know until this afternoon that the raid was going to take place tonight." Merriman's smile never changed, but his pale blue eyes were suddenly quite cold. "Well, that's the thing, Alex. From the preliminary evidence, it looks like this might have been already rigged. A very sophisticated explosive device inside the walls." Mulder felt the news like a body blow, though he willed himself to keep his face impassive. "You put it in place, you go into hiding, and then—" Merriman leaned forward a few inches. "All it would take is a phone call. Or maybe a remote detonator." A remote detonator? Mulder knew exactly everything Alex had had on his back when he came to Mulder's apartment that night. Wallet, keys...cell phone. A detonator could easily masquerade as a cell phone. But Alex didn't have his cell phone. Mulder had taken it off him that night, in the apartment. Stepping behind Bishop so that he was out of Krycek's direct line of sight, Mulder reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. His fingers closed on the phone. It was turned off. He started to switch it on, then hesitated. What if it was some kind of detonator? It might set off any remaining explosives, and there were sure to be firefighters and— // Don't be ridiculous. If it is a detonator, how would he have deployed it? It was in your pocket the whole fucking time. // Mulder switched it on. It came to life with a little chirrup of readiness. A cell phone, nothing more. Krycek had not used it to set off the explosives. He could have used it to contact someone with the time of the raid, though. It would have been easy enough to sneak it out onto the screened porch while Mulder showered and Scully was distracted by preparations for the trip. Mulder put the cell phone back into his pocket. Alex was shaking his head at Merriman. "You're a pretty boy, Alex. And—" Merriman's eyes went to Alex's empty sleeve with such a blatantly phony look of sympathy that Mulder wanted to punch him, "—handicapped. It would be a shame to put you in a federal prison with—" For just a second Mulder saw it, the murderous rage that flashed up in the green eyes. Then Alex looked down, swallowing hard. "You do any fishing, Alex?" Merriman asked. Alex stared at him distrustfully for a moment before shaking his head. "No." Rowe returned with a cup of black coffee, which he set on the table midway between Alex and Merriman. Alex did not touch it. "Well, I'm sure you're familiar with the basic goal of fishing," Merriman said. Mulder could see Alex start to roll his eyes again, then stop himself. Meeting Merriman's gaze, Alex quirked an eyebrow upward. "To catch a fish." Merriman showed more teeth. "To catch a big fish." He leaned forward. "I don't think you're our big fish, Alex." Alex leaned back in his chair, letting his legs fall open. He rested his hand on his thigh and spoke in a low, smoky voice. "I don't think I'm your little fish either, Ed." Mulder felt his mouth drop open in disbelief at the undercurrent of innuendo in Alex's tone. Ed? "That's A. D. Merriman to you, punk!" Rowe snapped. Merriman quieted him with a wave of his hand. A muscle was twitching near his eye. "I think you might find it's in your best interests to deal with us." Alex lowered his lashes, then lifted them slowly, letting his eyes sweep up and down Merriman's body with a blatantly flirtatious smirk. Mulder felt his temper rising to the boiling point. He wanted to lunge across the table and slam Merriman's face down into it, then haul Alex up out of the chair and knock him across the room. Merriman appeared a bit disconcerted by the bedroom looks Alex was sending his way. He licked his lips, then sat back jerkily in his chair, knocking his pen to the floor in the process. He started to bend down to pick it up, then stopped, just staring at Alex. "I already made a deal with Mulder," Alex said. "He's the only one I'm making any deals with." "Ah, Agent Mully had to go take her partner to the hospital," Merriman said. Alex's look of baffled disgust was almost comical. His eyes went to Mulder's again. "Sir," Bishop said, "this is Agent Mulder." Merriman turned to look at Mulder. Abruptly, he rose from the table, nearly sending his file to the floor as well. "All right, Agent Mulder, have a go." He held the door open for Bishop and Rowe, then quickly followed them out. Once they were alone, Alex slumped forward, leaning his head in his hand. Mulder walked over to him. Bending down, he spoke under his breath, so he would not be heard through the viewing window. "Planning on fucking him too, Alex?" Anger sparked in Alex's eyes as he raised his head to stare at Mulder. "Get me out of here. You know I didn't do this." "How do I know that, Krycek?" Mulder hated the note of pleading he heard in his own voice. "I know you've killed other people...you've killed people right in front of me!" He suddenly couldn't stand to be near Alex any longer. Pushing up from the desk, he stumbled backwards, almost tripping over a chair. He walked to the window and stood with his back to Krycek, gazing out at the bleak, narrow streets below. "Jesus," Alex said raggedly. "I thought you'd be on my side at least." "Like last time, Krycek?" Mulder turned to look at him. "Are you having a good laugh at how you got me to fall for your bullshit yet again?" Krycek brought his hand down on the table, hard. "What the hell is going on? This isn't all about you, Mulder!" "Oh yeah?" Mulder kept his voice low. "Well, you made it all about me, didn't you? You came to me, you used me, over and over again. Why me, Krycek?" Frustration and pain overtook him. Cursing loudly, he shoved the chair viciously up against the table. Krycek flinched back at the impact, his eyes narrowing. Mulder faced him. "Why me?" Krycek's hand shot out, quick as a snake, to grab his arm. Intense feeling flooded into the green eyes as Krycek leaned forward, his voice grating on the word. "Because—" Whatever he had been going to say was interrupted as the door crashed open and Skinner and Rowe stormed in. Alex did not even appear to notice; he was still staring into Mulder's eyes, his fingers wrapped around Mulder's wrist. Mulder felt as though he were caught on a high voltage line. He could not break that current; he could not look away. "Take your hand off him, Krycek!" Skinner barked. Alex's eyes stayed riveted on Mulder for a moment, then he closed them and turned his head, his hand falling from Mulder's wrist. "Agent Mulder." Skinner jerked his head toward the door. Mulder followed him out, to where Scully was waiting in the hallway. Mulder's head was starting to ache. "I just got a call," Skinner said. "They found evidence that Krycek hacked into our computers." Mulder rubbed his head. "Hacked in—? When?" "It must have been from your laptop at the cabin." Skinner gave Mulder a measuring look. Scully spoke up. "Sir, as far as we know, Krycek was never alone on our laptop for any significant period of time." // Except the other night. // Mulder was remembering, Krycek sitting in the computer room. How long had he been there? Half an hour maybe? Was that enough time to hack into classified Bureau files? "I looked up some stuff on salamanders..." He had wondered at the time why Krycek would do that. Now he knew. What better way to distract Mulder? Mulder's head was splitting. He felt dizzy. "It's possible," he said. Suddenly getting the distinct feeling he was going to pass out again, or throw up, he leaned against the wall, taking in deep breaths through his mouth. "Mulder? Mulder!" Scully voice penetrated the spinning in his brain. "Here," she said, "sit down." He let her guide him to a chair and sat there with his eyes shut while she left and returned with a cold soda. "I'm taking you to the hospital," she said firmly. Mulder was in no shape to argue. He sat sipping the soda while she went down to bring the car around. The cold liquid with its jolt of caffeine and sugar revived him somewhat, and he walked back down the hall to look in the window of the interrogation room. Skinner was reentering the room, along with Bishop and Rowe, and two other agents, a Middle Eastern-looking woman, and a large, burly man who might have been Samoan. Krycek looked around at them, drawing back a bit. "Well, it's the I-have-a-dream team." Mulder both smirked and winced inwardly at the comment. // Christ, Alex. // Krycek was watching the door expectantly. "Where's Mulder?" Bishop answered sardonically. "Like we told you before, she took her partner to the hospital." At that, Krycek's eyes went to Skinner, who nodded curtly. "Mulder's in the hospital? Why?" There was a hint of agitation under Krycek's carefully controlled tone, which intensified as Skinner did not answer. "What's wrong with him?" "Possible concussion, thanks to your little stunt," Skinner snapped. "But—he was just in here! He looked all right to me." Krycek appeared definitely upset, looking with big alarmed eyes from face to face. But, Mulder wondered, was he concerned because Mulder was hurt? Or because he had figured Mulder for an easy mark, and now would have to deal with Skinner and the tougher Trenton agents? "Agent Mulder." Mulder turned from the window. It was Merriman, standing at his elbow. "Your partner's waiting with the car. I'll escort you down." Mulder followed him. As they rode down in the elevator Merriman turned to him. "How well do you know this guy Kraychik?" Mulder had no answer for that. // Got a couple of weeks to listen...Ed? // At the hospital, they had a half-hour wait before Scully started giving everyone hell. The doctor stitched up the cut on Mulder's temple and told him he might have a mild concussion. He suggested a head scan to be certain; Scully suggested a hotel room and rest, but Mulder insisted on going back to the FBI office. He had to find out the truth. He had to know if Alex had betrayed him again or not. Scully dropped him off and went to park the car. Mulder went to observe through the window of the interrogation room before going in. He wanted to get a feel for what Alex was saying and if he would tell them anything without Mulder there. Rowe was there, with the large, thuggish Samoan. Krycek was standing with his back against the wall, doubled over slightly. There was blood on his mouth. Mulder felt his heart rate speed up suddenly. Krycek was saying something they apparently did not like. The large one swore and slapped him across the side of the head, hard. Mulder hurried down the hall into the room. "What's going on?" he asked sharply. The large one turned briefly in his direction. "You've got quite a mouth on you, pretty boy," Rowe said to Krycek. Fury surged into Krycek's eyes. He pulled his head back and spit at them. Rowe jumped back with a loud curse. The large one seized Krycek, pulling him away from the wall and twisting his arm up behind his back. "Hey!" Mulder said. "Doesn't look like you have a lot of arms to spare," the large one said near Krycek's ear. "So I'd watch it if I were you." He gave Krycek's arm another yank. Krycek's face was contorted in a snarl of pain, but his eyes, clear and intense, went directly to Mulder's. Mulder felt frozen, unable to move for a moment. He did not know what to believe, how to feel. The large one gave Krycek's arm another twist. Krycek grunted harshly in pain, and then Mulder saw his face change, Krycek's eyes turning fierce and desperate, filling with a murderous determination. Krycek shifted his stance, baring his teeth, and Mulder knew he had to do something now, because Krycek was ready to do anything, he would try to kill them and almost certainly be killed himself in the process— "STOP!" Scully's voice cracked like a gunshot through the air. They all turned in astonishment to stare at the diminutive red-haired woman with the look of outrage on her face as she strode forward into the room. "Let go of his arm!" The large one looked to Rowe, who nodded. He released Krycek's arm. Krycek flexed his arm, rubbing it against his body. He was breathing hard and his eyes still glittered with a killing rage. "Agent Scully, " Rowe nodded to her. "This—punk—isn't being very cooperative." "He already killed four agents," the large one said truculently. "I didn't blow up that lab!" Krycek rasped. Scully looked from face to face. "I'm well aware that four men are dead. A couple of them were friends of mine. But in this country, we don't get suspects to cooperate by torturing them." The door opened again and Skinner and Merriman came in. Skinner looked at Scully. The Trenton agents looked at their boss. Merriman looked at Alex. Mulder tried to catch Alex's eye as well, but Alex was staring straight ahead, wearing the hard, wary look that Mulder was so familiar with. "I'd suggest," Merriman said finally, "that we put Mr. Kraychik in a holding cell for the night. In the meantime, once the fire's out, Crime Scene can go in and see what evidence they can come up with." He nodded to the two Trenton agents. "Take him downstairs." Krycek did not look at Mulder as they hauled him out. Skinner turned to Mulder. "Agent Mulder. How's the head?" Mulder shrugged it off. "Fine. Sir, about Krycek—" "We've gotten you two rooms for the night." Merriman's smoothness had returned. "There's one good hotel in Trenton—" Mulder interrupted him. "I'm staying here." At their dumbfounded looks, he elaborated. "To, um, keep an eye on Krycek." Skinner took off his glasses to clean them. "It's highly unlikely that Krycek is going to escape from a federal holding cell." "Mulder," Scully said, "you have a concussion. You need to rest." "A mild concussion. Mild concussion is nothing. I got one in a softball game when I was thirteen and I was back in the game twenty minutes later." "That explains a lot," Scully said dryly. Skinner frowned. "Are you sure you're not letting your personal feelings get into this?" It would almost have been funny, if it weren't such a horrible situation. No, Mulder could not keep his personal feelings out of this. He had never been able to, where Alex was concerned. Part of him really was strongly tempted to go back with Scully to the hotel, take a hot shower and lie on a nice clean bed, watch some mindless TV and just numb out. Let Krycek fend for himself, like the backstabbing scheming rat that he was. Unless he wasn't. If Alex was innocent, Mulder would be leaving him at the mercy of the Trenton feds, who had already shown their willingness to break his only arm. And Mulder knew Alex. Push him past a certain point and he would fight them tooth and claw, until they seriously hurt him or worse. And who was he kidding that he could just wipe his mind blank tonight in peaceful sleep? Already the guilt and disgust with himself were taking over, crushing him. He still did not know what to feel, what to believe, but either way he had been guilty as hell. He had just stood by and watched as they hurt Alex and threatened to maim him. He had stood there and said nothing, too conflicted to open his mouth because he had let Alex fuck him that morning. Or, he had let himself be taken in yet again. He had let Krycek pull this whole thing off right under his nose. Let him brazenly use Mulder's laptop to hack into Bureau files, destroy whatever was in that lab, murder four innocent people—and Mulder had been oblivious to all this, because he had let Alex fuck him that morning. Either way, letting Alex fuck him that morning had been the stupidest thing he had ever done. Knowing that didn't help, however. Too vividly, he could recall the sight of Alex going down on him, the pleasure erupting through him as Alex fucked him hard - even the kiss Alex had given him as they approached the lab. He almost wished the concussion was worse. He wouldn't have minded lapsing into total unconsciousness for about a month. // I got fucked, all right. // Skinner and Merriman exchanged looks. "If Agent Mulder wants to stand guard over the prisoner, it's acceptable to me," Merriman said. It took Mulder somewhat longer to convince Scully, but after several minutes of argument, he finally got her to let Skinner take her to the hotel. He headed down to the holding cells. There were only a couple of them, as federal prisoners probably didn't make their way to Trenton all that often. The female agent he had seen before escorted him along a dingy hallway incongruously painted the color of Band-Aids. She stopped short outside the cell with a stifled exclamation of dismay. Krycek was lying on the floor, doubled up with his arm wrapped around his midsection, looking barely conscious. Mulder felt fury rise within him. The female agent looked at Mulder. "He's okay?" Something in her tone checked the words that rose to Mulder's lips. "My partner's a doctor," he said. She nodded and handed him the keys without saying anything further. He watched her walk away. Mulder stood outside the cell, staring in. On the floor, Krycek remained immobile. His eyes were half-open, but Mulder wasn't sure if he realized Mulder was there or not. The cell was a bare eight-by-eight cubicle containing only a toilet and sink in the corner, and a cement slab with a foam pad on it for a bed. Krycek suddenly moved, pushing himself upright. He dragged himself the few feet over to the toilet and began retching violently. Unable to endure watching, Mulder turned and paced to the end of the hallway. Several excruciating minutes went by. Finally the awful sounds stopped, and there was only silence. Mulder walked back down the hallway. Krycek was kneeling in front of the toilet, his arm across it and his head resting on his arm. Mulder turned around and paced again. Why hadn't he accompanied Krycek down to the cell? Clearly, Rowe and the big thug had worked him over some more, once they were down here out of sight of Merriman and Scully. But he couldn't really blame them, if Krycek had indeed killed fellow agents. If he was guilty... If Krycek was guilty...so many things made sense now. The way Alex flinched or froze when Mulder touched him; the way he withdrew after sex. The offering up of all those tidbits of personal information—no doubt totally fabricated, custom-designed to engender empathy. What easier way to get to Mulder than dead family members? What better way to click with Scully than the lonely-boy-and-dog tale? All the little things - fixing Mulder coffee and tea, doing his goddamn laundry!—all carefully engineered, once again, to gain Mulder's trust. Just like he had done last time. But he must have known it wouldn't be so easy this time. So he had upped the ante. // You knew I wouldn't trust you readily again, Alex. Unless, of course, I was thinking with my dick. // Alex had played that just right, too. He hadn't made the mistake of coming on strong again, as he had in Mulder's apartment. This time he had acted hard-to-get, let Mulder initiate things, even made Mulder coax him a little. // You made it seem like it was all my idea, so I wouldn't wonder what you were up to. // Mulder found himself back in front of the cell. Krycek had not changed position. He sat leaning on the toilet with his head on his arm. "Christ, Krycek, why don't you get on the fucking bed at least?" Krycek lifted his head a fraction, gazing dully at the bed and then at the six feet of space that separated him from it. Mulder understood. Krycek did not think he could make it even that short distance, and he would not crawl in front of Mulder. Mulder paced back and forth before the cell, cursing. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, he unlocked the cell door and went over to Krycek. Krycek would not meet Mulder's eyes as Mulder knelt down beside him. Bracing himself, Mulder slung Krycek's arm over his shoulders. Krycek grunted sharply in pain as Mulder hauled him to his feet. Mulder half-carried, half-dragged him over to the bed and dumped him unceremoniously onto it. Krycek was heavy. And something else, Mulder realized. His energy was gone. Generally, touching Alex, Mulder could feel a kind of coiled energy humming through him. Now it was so low as to be almost indiscernible. He looked down at Krycek. Alex was clutching the blanket, his eyes squeezed shut. His tongue came out to lick at the blood on his lip. He gave a tiny, husky moan of pain. The soft sound brought back memories, almost unbearable, of Alex moaning and clutching the blanket like that earlier, a similar expression on his face... Fuck. Mulder left the cell, slamming the door behind him. He counted off the steps as he walked, trying to make his mind a blank, erase the terrible day and night. He glanced in as he passed the cell. Krycek was still half-sitting, half-lying on the bed. He seemed to be watching for Mulder. Mulder stumbled, feeling suddenly dizzy. The stitches in his head were throbbing like crazy. He pulled a chair over to sit outside Krycek's cell and dropped into it, rubbing his forehead with both hands. "Mulder?" Krycek said hoarsely. Mulder didn't open his eyes. "Shut up, Krycek." "You all right? They said...Scully took you to the hospital." "Just shut the fuck up." // Just leave me alone don't ask me how I am don't act like you give a shit because chances are you don't, and you never did. You want me on your side against those Trenton thugs, fair enough, but don't ask me for more than that. // They sat without speaking after that. Mulder felt himself drifting into a welcome fog. He was interrupted by the sound of his cell phone ringing; Scully, no doubt, calling to check on him. "Mulder...hello?...hello..." But the phone was still ringing. He was thinking that it must be a dream and wondering vaguely how he could wake up, because the ringing was damn annoying, when he noticed Krycek sitting up, staring at Mulder with a look of fear. It was not his phone that was ringing, but Krycek's. With surprising alacrity, Krycek staggered to the bars of the cell. Mulder flipped the phone open and stood close, holding it between them. Alex did not speak into the phone, just listened. A long moment passed. Then Mulder heard it, the voice he loathed above all others. The voice of evil, curling into his ears, his brain, like...smoke. "Hello, Alex." From Alex's quick intake of breath, Mulder thought he must be having a similar reaction. Their eyes jumped to each other and held. Alex was gripping the bars tightly; Mulder realized that it was probably the only way he was staying on his feet. "Did you get everything you wanted, Alex?" Alex erupted in a frenzied snarl. "I didn't want any of this!" "Tsk, tsk..." Spender's voice said reprovingly. "You never did have much self-control. Well, I just wanted to thank you for all you've given us, and tell you to enjoy your new home." The line went dead. Alex stared at the phone with an expression of numb horror. He looked back at Mulder. "I didn't give them anything!" His voice shook on the words. "I can't—I won't go back to prison. Not ever, Mulder." Mulder had a sudden overwhelming urge to put his hands through the bars and touch Alex, comfort him. He snapped the phone shut and stepped back. Alex seemed to gather his strength. He crossed the distance to the bed and fell heavily onto it. For a minute he just sat there, grasping the side of the bed, breathing unevenly. Then he raised his head and looked at Mulder. "I didn't do this." Mulder said nothing. "Are you going to stay here all night?" "Yeah." Silence fell again. Alex sat with his head bowed, staring at the floor. Mulder sat on the chair again and dozed. When he awoke some time later, all was quiet. Alex was stretched out on the bed. Mulder's ass and back hurt from sitting on the hard folding chair. He decided to try the bed in the other cell; while hardly luxurious, it had to be more comfortable than this. He unlocked the cell and lay down. The foam pad did little to cushion the hard cement, and the light made his head hurt. There was probably a central switch that turned them off, but he did not have the energy to hunt for it. He wondered if the light bothered Krycek too, or if he preferred it to the dark. The cell was small and he wondered if Alex felt claustrophobic, or if he was in too much pain to really care. He managed to drift off again. Confused images of the blast swam through his mind, and he slept fitfully. A muffled sound woke him. Alex was moving around in the cell. "Mulder...?" Alex called softly. Mulder was struck by the note of hopelessness in the quiet voice. // He thinks I abandoned him. // "I'm here, Alex." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he could have kicked himself for the reassuring tone. // Don't let him see he still gets to you. // But another part of his mind was saying wearily, Fuck it. Who knew what was coming tomorrow. Most likely Alex would be a Federal prisoner, would be facing a trial. And then...Mulder stared upward at the ceiling, feeling as hopeless as Alex had sounded. Was Alex guilty or innocent? Had Spender called him to thank him for a job well done, or to twist the knife before letting him rot in prison again? And the most troubling thoughts of all, the ones that kept nagging at him, despite his best efforts to block them out. Even if Alex was guilty, did Mulder really want to see him sent to prison, knowing what he would probably face there? And, even if he was innocent this time, Mulder had no doubt that Alex was capable of doing this, had no doubt done things like this and worse, many times over. But this time, this time...had he been the one? He stared upward at the ceiling, but there were no answers there, only some old graffiti, still visible under a layer of paint, that read, "THE GOVERMINT MUST BE OVERTHRONE." Mulder awakened to voices outside the cell—three people he had never seen before. They were gawking in at him with a mixture of revulsion and curiosity. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Good morning." They stared as though he were a zoo creature that had suddenly started speaking. Mulder strolled toward the cell door and pulled it open. They all recoiled, and one of them appeared to be going for his gun. Mulder held up a hand. Moving with deliberate slowness, he produced his I.D. "Agent Fox Mulder." They gazed at him in consternation. Mulder exited the cell, not happy that he had to deal with this first thing in the morning. His stitches itched and throbbed, he had a foul taste in his mouth, and his clothes still stank of smoke. "You're looking for Alex Krycek? He's in the other cage." They exchanged looks of confused chagrin. One of them mumbled, "But he said—" "Who said? Krycek?" Mulder hoped to hell these people were clerks or security, and not federal agents. They all peered into the other cell. Krycek was seated on the bed, his back to the wall. His face was bruised and puffy, his lip cut and swollen, and he looked pale and exhausted, but he was sitting upright, and there was a hard, smartass glint in his eyes. "So," Krycek rasped, "due process goes by the wayside here and police brutality lives. Are you going to fucking starve me as well?" Somewhat to Mulder's surprise, the three strangers looked his way. He shrugged. "Get him something to eat." "You want something too?" Mulder shrugged again. "Sure." They continued to stare in through the bars. Krycek was sitting with his right side to them, but as he shifted to speak, the empty sleeve on the left side became visible. "One arm," Mulder heard one of them mutter. He felt a flash of anger. Did they imagine Alex couldn't hear them? Emotion flickered in Alex's eyes for a second, and his face turned hard and dangerous. He stared piercingly out at the three strangers with an almost palpable air of menace. There was an edge to his voice when he spoke. "Yeah, you never know where I might be concealing an AK-47." // Way to help your case there, Krycek. No one would take you for a ruthless killer now. // But he couldn't really blame Alex. He would have had the same perverse desire to horrify these idiots. The three strangers trooped off. Mulder and Krycek looked at each other for a long moment. Then Krycek pushed himself up from the bed, moving with some difficulty, and headed for the toilet. Mulder walked off down the hallway as Krycek took a lengthy pee. He realized he could use a men's room too, and headed off to find one and clean up a bit. When he returned Krycek was back on the bed. Mulder sat in the chair outside the cell. Krycek turned to look at him. "I need the limb back, Mulder. In one piece." His voice and expression were flat and tough, but Mulder could hear the underlying urgency. "I'll get it back to you." Alex nodded, but he wasn't finished. "Mulder...you have to get into the lab." "Alex, you saw that thing go up. There is no lab anymore. It's a pile of smoking rubble by now." Despite himself, he could not suppress a shudder at the thought of picking through the charred remains, possibly finding—"Besides, it's a crime scene." "I know—" Alex's voice cracked slightly, "—I know all the vaccine must be gone, but the files—the computers—are all down in the basement. It's possible the blast didn't destroy them all. You have to get in there, Mulder. If there's anything left in there, you're gonna need it." Alex sat leaning forward on the bed, staring at Mulder intently and speaking in a low, rapid voice. Mulder knew that tone and look very well. It was one Alex used when he wanted something from Mulder, and Mulder usually ended up giving it to him. Maybe knowing this as well, or simply taking Mulder's silence for acquiescence, Krycek began to give instructions on what to look for and how to get down to the basement computers. "Down two flights of stairs. The door's unmarked but it's a data room. Get the drives from the computers, and anything else you can." Mulder didn't miss that he was now saying "you" instead of "we." Had Alex given up hope of getting out of prison? Or was he setting a new trap for Mulder? No, Mulder didn't seriously think so. He didn't have any personal fear of Krycek. If Krycek wanted to kill Mulder, he had had many, many opportunities. No, Mulder thought sourly, he was probably more valuable to Krycek alive, as an entry to places and information Krycek did not have access to, and as a sort of human shield in times like these. // And an easy piece of ass. // Abruptly, Krycek stopped speaking, looking disconcerted by the expression on Mulder's face. Mulder gazed back, putting on the deadpan look he used to unnerve suspects. Krycek shifted on the bed, frowning, looking down and then up again at Mulder. A sudden realization clicked in Mulder's mind, his thoughts jumping to another topic. "The vaccine. They wouldn't have destroyed it." Krycek stared at him, open-mouthed. "They need it, for themselves. But they wouldn't need that much. They probably have their own stash, in another lab somewhere. Why were they manufacturing that much? To sell it?" Krycek nodded. "They were going to make deals with heads of state, when the time came." He gave a tiny, bitter smirk. "It would become...very valuable." "I'll bet." Mulder felt a chill. "So what were you going to do with it?" Krycek met his gaze steadily. "You know what I was going to do." "Give it to me, and then disappear?" At Krycek's nod, Mulder felt frustration rising. "And what was I supposed to do with it?" // Without you? // "I knew you would do the right thing. You're not interested in money, or power. You—you're—" Krycek's lashes fluttered, and his gaze fell away from Mulder's. "How do you know that?" Mulder asked dryly. Krycek did not respond. A flush colored his cheeks. He looked oddly vulnerable for a moment, sitting with his head bowed in the cell. Footsteps sounded at the end of the hall. Instantly Krycek seemed to prick up his ears, raising his hand slightly to silence Mulder. One of the three from the morning, a young guy in his twenties, was returning, bearing bags from McDonalds. Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Mickey D's? Don't you have a Starbucks? What is this place, a cultural wasteland?" "It's Trenton," the young guy said, without a hint of irony. He handed one of the bags to Mulder with a significant look. "This is yours." He held up the second bag. "This one is his." Mulder gave the one meant for him to Krycek, and tossed the contents of the other in the trash. They had probably spit in the food, or worse. Alex devoured the greasy egg sandwich with more speed than enthusiasm. He took a few sips of the coffee and grimaced. Mulder's head was hurting again, and he leaned back against the wall, folding his arms and half-closing his eyes. "Mulder!" Mulder snapped to attention, and Alex stopped mid-chew. Scully was walking down the hallway toward him, sounding perturbed and glaring at Mulder. "Have you been here all night? I thought you were going to stay for a couple of hours, and then go get some rest!" Mulder stood up, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "I got some rest." "Dozing in a prison hallway when you have a concussion isn't rest," Scully said. In the cell, Mulder saw Alex's head come up quickly at her words. "They want you to give your statement now. Are you up to that?" "Yeah, sure, whatever." Mulder followed her down the hall. He could feel Alex's eyes on his back as he walked away. "What about Krycek?" He kept his voice low so Alex would not overhear. "What's happening with him?" "I don't know. I just got here." In a room with Merriman, Bishop, and the female agent from the night before, he gave them his version of the night's events. Alex Krycek had brought him some information on a possible bioweapons lab. The plans for the raid had been kept top secret so as not to alarm anyone. The building had blown up as they approached. No, he hadn't seen Krycek using a detonator or any sort of device, but yes, they had been separated at the time of the explosion. "After he left the Bureau, were you and Kraychik on good terms?" "No." "He was working with these people, correct?" Merriman said. "He could still be working with them, couldn't he?" Mulder fought back the irrational impulse to protect Alex, rather than tell the truth. "Yes," he said tiredly. "He could." Bishop leaned forward. "What I don't get is why he would lead you to this, then try to destroy the place. I'm thinking there had to be a reason he wanted the FBI involved. Does he have some kind of grudge against the government?" Mulder pondered this. "Not that I know of." Honesty compelled him to speak further. "He could be doing someone else's bidding. Or he could have his own agenda." // Because you always do, don't you, Alex? And you never let me, or anyone else, in on it. // Scully was waiting outside when he emerged from the room. It had been a little over an hour. "I want you to go back to the hotel, now, and get some rest." She wrinkled up her nose. "Besides, you stink." "Scully, you silver-tongued devil." But he couldn't deny that a shower and a decent cup of coffee did sound great. "Will you be there if they question him? And call me if anything new develops?" She dropped the car keys in his hand. "Yes, definitely." It was a beautiful day outside, the bright sunlight making the streets of Trenton look golden and peaceful. Trenton's "one good hotel" proved surprisingly luxurious. Mulder sprawled on the comfortable bed wrapped in only the hotel bathrobe, watching TV and eating a cheesesteak from room service. Still, the picture of Alex sitting there, battered and downcast in the small, dingy cell, kept invading his thoughts. He remembered Alex calling his name last night...Alex calling his name in the silo... And it shook him to realize that he didn't know which thought disturbed him most: Alex Krycek the remorseless killer, murdering four people in cold blood; or Alex Krycek the human being, alone and afraid and needing him.