That smile was a long time coming. The nanocytes Smith injected into Mulder
had an immediate effect. It was like watching an explosion, all fury and
motion and power.
Mulder simply was. Lungs heaved, eyes opened, every muscle flexed. Once
he took in air, he expressed every bit of fear, anger, hopelessness and pain
endured over the last two months.
That scream came from his very soul. The Alex Krycek that awoke to
determined, silent peasants holding him down, pressing a fire-heated knife
to his arm knew that scream. So did the Alex Krycek that awoke after the
mutilation, drowning inside as the reality overwhelmed him. My horror was
definately less than his, but I understood it all, and I wouldn't let him
go through it alone, and I told him this and more.
Talked to him non-stop while holding him down by the shoulders as Smith
worked on his damaged body. Told him about Tunguska and Tunisia and that
goddamed silo. Choked out the story of my scientist parents, defectors
during the Cold War, naively assuming they would be safe and free in their
new country. How Mischa and Tatlya and I were taught by them to be patriots,
to treasure our freedom and enjoy our new lives.
By this time, the screams had faded, and Mulder only issued the occasionally
low, pained moan. It's a good thing this room is soundproofed. I also
checked everything for bugs before bringing Mulder here. I was taking no
chances shapeshifters, oilens, or rebels would documents the events or words
spoken here.
My words were distracting Mulder from Smith's continued ministrations to his
injuries. I was able to lower my voice considerably. That didn't stop my
voice from shaking as I continued talking about my parents, about the large
think-tank they worked for after their usefulness to the U.S. government had
ended. About my parents after their usefulness to the Consortium had ended.
Hesitantly, about that terrifying night the armed men came in, killed my
parents at the dinner table, and spirited three traumatized children away
from the horrifying sight of blood and nauseating smell of Morleys.
Up to this point, Mulder's brilliant eyes were in constant motion, moving
between me, Smith, and various parts of the ceiling. At the mention of
Cancer Man, he focused his gaze on my own.
Only then did I realize I was crying, and had been doing so for some time.
Mulder's left hand slowly rose from the bed, and came to rest on mine. I
couldn't speak, just stared into those hazel depths. Saw the understanding,
and more.
Jeremiah Smith stepped back from the table. Mulder tensed, and I squeezed
his hand before turning to Smith.
"Is there a problem?"
"No, Mr. Krycek, it's all going very well, so far. I just need a
break... wash my face. We still have much to accomplish here."
I turned back to Mulder. "It's time for halftime. Or do you prefer
seventh-inning stretch?"
Mulder closed his eyes, relief all too evident. He was still weak, couldn't
speak yet, and getting frustrated. So close, yet out of reach. Like so many
of his truths.
I don't want to be the one to tell him about Samantha. I am so sick of
bringing him pain, especially when I'm trying to do the right thing. I just
want to sit here, enjoying the stillness and peace.
After a short break, Smith reenters the room. He's still tired, but ready to
continue. The hours pass on, and as Mulder becomes stronger, I speak of
events that occured while he was gone. I tell him about Scully's pregnancy,
and the little I know of Spender's part in it. I tell him of Scully's work
on the X-files, about her new partner, John Doggett, and Kersh's promotion.
I tell Mulder about an old, cancer-ridden man who manipulated us all,
arranging for him be in that forest. I also tell him about a fatal fall in a
wheelchair down a long stairwell.
I relate to him of my latest actions. My constant, secret contact with the
rebels. My aquisition of most Consortium records. The recent meeting with
Skinner, when I had his nanocytes deactivated. My constant search, using all
resources available, to find him.
"It's time for the final step, Mulder, Mr. Krycek."
Luckily, deactivating the nanocytes in a human is a much more pleasant
experience then activating them. After another hour, everything is done.
Mulder is back... alive and whole.
My voice is gone, worn out.
Mulder smiles at Smith and I... a beautiful, warming smile.
"It's good to be back."
Now he's asleep. He needs it.
It has been a long three days. Time to stop thinking about these momentous
events and let go. There are plans to make, a Mulder to protect, and I need
to be sharp.
There's no way I'm leaving him alone. Once everyone discovers he's alive, he
becomes a target. Surprise, Mulder, you've gotten yourself a bodyguard.
I lower my body onto his bed. Curl on my side next to his warm, resting
body, settle my head in the crook of his left arm. It's only minutes before
I, too, fall into an relaxed, peaceful sleep.
Resurrection and Redemption II
by Ann H
The entire process took three days. Mulder finally fell asleep ten minutes
ago. Jeremiah Smith, exhausted, passed out on a table in the next room. I've
now been awake 82 hours straight, yet I can't sleep. I can't stop staring at
the man sleeping peacefully, a weak smile formed on relaxed lips.
