Part One: A Leap of Faith
I win again.
Want another game?
Special Agent Fox Mulder wadded up the piece of paper he'd been doodling on,
leaned back in his chair and tossed it across the room, where it struck the rim
of the waste basket, bounced off the wall, and fell into the trash.
"This is Scully's blood, which I extracted from the handkerchief you gave us
after she turned up in the hospital last year," Langly said, holding up the
small vial, filled with pale, pink-tinged liquid. He pushed his heavy black
glasses up onto the bridge of his nose.
"Mulder, will you quit staring at me like that? You're making me nervous."
All the way back to FBI headquarters from the Lone Gunman offices, Mulder
had worried over what to do. Obviously, he had to confirm Langly's test
results; that was the first thing to do. He had pondered whether to go to the
FBI labs or a private laboratory. The FBI's DNA analysis unit was the best, no
doubt about that; it was also the fastest. But Mulder's paranoia had reached
new heights since his father was killed, and he himself had nearly been
incinerated. He no longer "trusted no one"—he now actively distrusted
everyone. Except Scully, of course, although in his darkest moments he
occasionally suspected even her. And perhaps the Lone Gunmen, who, while not
exactly white knights, were too iconoclastic and paranoid themselves to
participate in anyone else's plots. If, somehow, he was being set up, his
enemies would expect him to go to the FBI labs. Test results could disappear or
be altered. There were black ops moles within the FBI—one had to look no
farther than Alex Krycek for evidence of that.
Mulder watched in fascination as the lab technician's needle slid beneath
the translucent skin inside Scully's elbow. It was a strange, intimate moment
that had Mulder so keyed up that he flinched, letting out a tiny yelp when the
needle pierced his own arm. Amusement danced in Scully's eyes as she bit her
lip, this time to keep from laughing at his discomfiture. Mulder laughed
weakly, the tension broken. "Do I get a lollipop?" he asked, as the technician
bandaged his arm.
Mulder made it through the next few days by going under the assumption that
the blood sample he'd given to Langly was not, in fact, Scully's. The man he'd
taken the test tube from had been in Scully's hospital room; blood drawn from
her had disappeared. Mulder had followed the man to the hospital parking
garage, and fought with him. In the struggle, the test tube had been dropped.
He'd gone back after the fight to soak up a few drops of the spilled blood with
his handkerchief. If it wasn't Scully's blood, whose was it? Could the man have
been carrying more than one test tube of blood? Could Mulder's blood have
gotten mixed in, somehow? Or was Langly just less competent than he thought?
There must be a hundred explanations for his results turning out the way they
did. Once they'd gotten the results from Quaid-Markham, he'd go back to Langly
to try to figure it out.
Dr. Markham himself presented them with the test results in his office ten
days later. "Agent Scully, I understand you're a forensic pathologist, so you
should be able to read these." He slid the reports across his desk to her.
They sat in the car, both too stunned to go back to work. Long minutes of
silence passed, before Scully finally spoke.
Scully dropped her purse and coat on the couch as she entered her apartment,
then walked over to her desk and picked up the photograph of her father sitting
there. Captain William Scully, in his dress whites, stared proudly out of the
frame at her. Eighteen months since he had died, she still felt the urge to
telephone him at times like these, and the pain of not being able to. Not that
she would have told him about what had happened. She just wanted to hear his
voice.
The next morning, Mulder, yawning, opened his front door to pick up the
morning paper. Still yawning, he almost didn't notice the small slip of paper
that fluttered from between the pages to the floor. Thinking it was an
advertising insert, he reached down to pick it up.
Mulder and Scully pulled up in front of the building. It was a run-down
warehouse in a dusty, sparsely populated area; windowless, unpainted concrete
with a steel-encased door. Since breaking and entering seemed to be the order
of the day, they had waited until two A.M. to make their approach.
At first glance, it was just another warehouse—concrete floor, wooden
support beams, rows of metal shelving and assorted cardboard boxes. But across
the back wall, several wooden tables held an impressive array of electronic
equipment, including a stack of CPUs and a computer monitor. Mulder and Scully
prowled once around the warehouse space, shining their flashlights into every
corner, to make sure there were no traps or other items of interest lurking,
before zeroing in on the computer.
With a large, sturdy cardboard box conscripted to act as a chair, Mulder sat
hunched before the console. He searched his photographic memory for the arcane
commands that would allow him to explore the system. Most of the files seemed
to be system files; others were non-text files with obscure names. Finally, he
found something he recognized to be a database file. The filename meant nothing
to him, but he had to start somewhere. He called up the database and began to
search through the entries.
He barely remembered getting home. He supposed that Scully must have driven;
he certainly hadn't. If they had turned off the computers, collected their
flashlights, locked the warehouse door behind them—well, he might or might
not have participated; he had no memory of it. He only knew that he woke on his
couch, still in his jeans and tee-shirt, cold and empty and sick to his
stomach. He did not want to get up and go to work; he could not bear the
thought of forcing food into his churning belly; he most certainly did not want
to think. Yet he had to do all those things. He sighed, wishing with all his
heart that he had just told Langly to buzz off, and he willed himself to
survive, although he didn't know how, when his life had been turned upside
down.
He greeted Scully with a shaky but determined smile and made no mention of
the previous night's events. He had decided that he had one chance to make it
through the day, by pretending that nothing at all unusual had happened. It was
a denial born of long practice, from the time he was a child. Samantha is
not gone. Mom and Dad are not fighting. Now, the litany had changed to:
Scully is not Samantha. I am not alien breeding stock. And, of course,
the one that never changed: It is not my fault. He didn't believe it
now, any more than he did then, but he managed to continue functioning, by
determinedly pretending he did.
Scully felt Mulder's eyes on her again. The file sitting open before her had
lain there unread for at least an hour. She glanced up at her partner, hoping
this time he might want to talk, but once again he looked away instantly and
returned his attention to the papers on his desk. She sighed, and tried to
focus her roiling mind on her work. They should be talking about it, she knew,
but she also knew that there was no way to make Mulder talk about something
when he didn't want to. His constant staring was beginning to unnerve her,
though.What was he seeing when he looked at her? Was he seeing Samantha? An
alien breeding experiment? Was there anything of Scully in the images in his
mind?
At home, finally, Mulder lay sleepless on the couch for hours, occasionally
stirring to find the remote and click through the channels again, never really
caring where the picture ended up. He'd skipped dinner, just as he'd skipped
lunch, and he wished he'd skipped breakfast, too, after the way it had barely
stayed down. He vaguely felt that he should be doing something about it all—investigating, questioning, studying the evidence—but he couldn't seem to
make his mind settle on anything that wouldn't just make things worse.
Three in the morning. Obviously, sleep was out of the picture. Mulder sat up
abruptly and began looking for his shoes. They'd run out of that warehouse,
stunned, never taking the time to really search it. He would go back now, and
check it out again.
The neighborhood remained forlorn and deserted. He pulled up behind a
dented, rusting van, listing on one half-empty tire. The streetlight on the
corner had burned out, leaving the building shrouded in darkness.
"You!" Mulder hissed. He strode forward, grabbed Krycek by the
throat, pressing his gun into Krycek's side. Krycek flinched, but made no move
to escape.
There was only time for a few hours' sleep before he had to get ready for
work. Still, he felt much better in the morning. Good enough to greet Scully
cheerfully with fresh coffee and a bag of donuts when she arrived and found him
already hard at work.
>Part Two: Picture in a Wallet
Damn you, Mulder
You act like you're the only one who ever got hurt,
So superior. So stubborn. So self-pitying.
I have hazel eyes, too, Mulder
Alex Krycek stepped out from the doorway and fell in step beside Mulder. He
wore jeans and a black leather jacket—trying hard to look rough and
dangerous, Mulder thought. It was not entirely successful. Krycek couldn't
completely overcome the soft, unlined contours of a face that still made you
wonder if he was out past his bedtime. But it was a definite improvement over
the bland off-the-rack suits he'd worn during his brief career as Mulder's
partner.
Mulder had to go to the Computer Analysis unit to find a Unix-based computer
to read the data on the tape. Scully stood behind his shoulder as he studied
the files.
"Scully, what do you think it means if a guy has your photograph in his
wallet?" They were sitting in their office, later that afternoon. Mulder was
trying to concentrate on his work, but he couldn't get the strange meeting with
Krycek out of his mind.
Mulder fell asleep on the couch, as usual. Sometimes he'd wake up later and
drag himself off to the bedroom. Sometimes he wouldn't. He was dozing through
the late movie when the knock on his door brought him fully awake.
"Mulder."
Part Three: Shifting Sands
THROUGH YOUR EYES
Who is she, Mulder?
Or maybe she's a little sister,
Perhaps you see a guardian angel
I don't know who she is, Mulder.
Mulder sat, leaning on his elbow, mind only half on the microfiche pages as
they flashed by, searching through corporate records, tracing Quaid-Markham's
ownership. It was a tangled web. He'd dug through several levels of parent
corporations already, and still couldn't pin it down. His life was like this
microfiche, he decided—spinning by, almost out of control, accomplishing
nothing. He was getting nowhere.
Mulder thrust the hardcopy of the microfiche page triumphantly under
Scully's nose. She sat back and looked up at him, waiting.
There was a small slip of paper tucked into his mailbox. Mulder pulled it
out, thinking it was some sort of advertisement. But it was a note,
handprinted. A location, and a time. Signed, "Skippy."
Scully sat in the easy chair across from Mulder's couch. She'd listened to
his story without comment, and was now sorting through her reactions, trying
decide how best to proceed. She'd long ago found that it was no good railing at
him for any of the impulsive and ill-considered things he did. He was used to
being shouted at and ridiculed—he'd simply close himself off and ignore it.
If she wanted him to listen to her, she had to be calm and non-judgmental. She
schooled her features to a carefully blank mask—Mulder called it her "doctor
face." She was tempted to ask what on earth he'd been thinking when he'd almost
made Krycek eat his gun.
Krycek frowned at them as they approached, hands jammed into his jacket
pockets, pacing in short, two-step bursts back and forth on the sidewalk. He
wore his usual black leather and jeans, his hair slicked back, grim and bitter.
Scully sat in the passenger seat of the car, staring straight ahead, lips
pressed firmly together. Mulder steeled himself as he slid into the driver's
side. "Scully... ?"
Mulder returned to the microfiche records. The address Krycek had given him
proved to be even more difficult to trace than Quaid-Markham, but the trail led
eventually to the same end—Purity Control.
Scully sat on a cool limestone bench, engraved with the sayings of Kahlil
Gibran, watching the hypnotic waters of the fountain splash, sipping coffee
from a styrofoam cup. It was lovely and peaceful here, a tiny oasis of calm in
the frantic city. Whatever else one might think of Krycek, he had good taste in
clandestine meeting places.
Krycek was right on time. He stood for a moment on the other side of the
fountain, watching her through the spray of the water, an inscrutable
expression on his face. The thought flashed unbidden: Mulder had sex with
him. Touched those plush, round lips with his own. Felt those strong,
slender hands on his body. An image of the two of them entangled, naked,
appeared in her mind. Embarrassed, she pushed it away, even as her body
tingled.
Mulder prowled unhappily around his apartment. Scully's meeting with Krycek
had gone satisfactorily, but she still wanted Mulder to talk to him before they
made up their minds. She was right, of course. He had to try to settle things
with Krycek, at least in his own mind; he had to do what he could to make sure
that Krycek didn't jump in some unexpected direction under stress, right in the
middle of a break-in.
The knock on the door woke him from a light doze. He moaned and pushed
himself upright, the remote falling to the floor as he sat up. His heart
thudded. Two in the morning. It had to be Krycek. Why couldn't the man visit at
a reasonable hour?
Presently, Krycek sat up, looked around for his tee-shirt. He turned back
to Mulder, holding the shirt in his hand. "You know, Mulder, this is really
sick."
"I talked to Krycek last night." Mulder sipped his coffee, willing his hand
to be steady.
Part Four: The Best Lies
REPORT ON THE DUANE BARRY INCIDENT
First there was Duane Barry
But he abducted Scully
He took her to Skyland Mountain
And then Duane Barry died
That's my report and I'm sticking to it
Mulder heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Krycek waiting at the rendezvous.
He hadn't been quite sure that Krycek would really show up. Although, perhaps
he should have been more relieved if he hadn't. He was insane to be doing this.
But here they were, at four in the morning, on a side street in an Arlington
neighborhood, getting ready to break into a highly secure, top-secret
government installation with a completely untrustworthy rogue agent leading the
way.
They entered the building through the front door, courtesy of the keys
Krycek had stolen from the guard. The security station was just inside, on the
far wall. Mulder and Scully checked around their surroundings while Krycek
turned the key in the black box to reset the security timer. There wasn't much
to see. It was a perfectly ordinary reception area in a perfectly ordinary
industrial office building. The walls were painted sterile white, saved from
being glaring by the subdued night lighting.
Scully went for the file cabinets. They were not locked; apparently, the
room was considered secure enough that that was not necessary. Mulder took a
chair and sat before one of the terminals. It was Unix, just like the smaller
computer in the warehouse. He found the database file easily.
It was late, and they were both tired. But Mulder could not rest until he
found out one thing—were the records in this database the same as the
database from the warehouse? Was Scully Samantha? If she was, she was—they
would find a way to deal with it. But he wanted to know.
With trembling fingers, Mulder typed in the search command. With ten
thousand records to search, the process took fractionally longer than it had
for the smaller database. Those microseconds seemed an eternity to Mulder. Then
the response:
Mulder felt a little dizzy. "Scully, that was Samantha's record. It's not
there." He typed in another command. This time, the response was almost
immediate.
Subj. 1560. Mulder, Samantha. 1965. High IQ, psi. Unmarried. Samples
taken, 1994. Note: Do Not Kill order registered, 1993. To be crossed with 1559.
Removed from home 1973.
"That was supposed to have been your record, in the other database. It's
really Samantha's. It doesn't say...." Mulder swallowed, his eyes stinging. "It
doesn't say where they took her. Or what they did with her." Hurriedly, he
typed another command. "It must be in here somewhere."
It was several hours later when he finally returned home. After dropping
Scully off, he'd gone to find a safe place to leave the satchel. It was not
easy to decide on a location that satisfied his paranoia. Finally, he'd just
left it in a locker at the Greyhound station. That would only be good for
twenty-four hours, but it would give him time to think of a better solution. He
was just too tired now to think, too drained.
"Scully, we have to give the data back." Mulder had finally shown up for
work late, tired, unshaven, and angry.
The address specified by the Smoking Man was that of the warehouse where
Mulder had first found the database—his little joke, Mulder thought, as well
as a relatively deserted area for the exchange. The time was midnight. Mulder
had spent most of the day poring over the reports, memorizing as much as he
could. Some of the most damning papers he copied, planning to hide them away,
in case something might happen someday that would allow him to use them. He
also copied the datatape. He would not give that up; he needed it for his own
peace of mind. He could have used days, weeks to go over all the information—it was horribly frustrating to have just these few hours. But finally the time
had arrived, and he stuffed everything back into the satchel, and headed for
the meeting place.
When they reached Krycek's building, Mulder helped him from the car and held
his arm as they walked up the front steps of his building. He watched as Krycek
fumbled in his jeans pocket for his keys, then dropped them on the landing.
Krycek started to bend down to get them, stopped with a gurgling cry of pain
and a hand pressed to his head. Mulder put his hand on Krycek's arm to stop him
from trying again, then reached down himself to pick them up.
The phone call Mulder had been expecting came at two in the afternoon. He
and Scully were just getting back from lunch. He pulled the cellular from his
pocket and hurriedly punched the button. "Langly?"
Mulder put the DNA profiles he'd gotten from Langly and the datacassette
from Krycek into the file box with the copies he'd kept from the Smoking Man's
private files. It would all go someplace safe, until he might need it again.
For now, the case was closed. Scully was not Samantha; she was not his sister.
Krycek was no longer his enemy. He had information he wanted but could not use.
Some losses, some gains. And the search for the truth went on. It was an
increasingly tricky and dangerous maze to negotiate. The closer he got to the
center, the better the lies. And the best lies were closest to the truth....
The Best
Lies
by Cody Nelson
STRATEGO
Oh, don't be such a baby, Sam.
Of course I win. I'm older than you.
Stronger. Smarter.
One day you'll catch up. Till then,
I'll protect you. Watch out for you.
That's what big brothers are supposed to do.
Don't listen to them, Samantha.
Fighting is what grownups do.
It's nothing to do with us. And anyway,
I won't let them hurt you.
Of course I promise. Now let's play.
With me, you're safe from everything—
Except losing another game of Stratego.
"Two points," he announced.
His partner, Dana Scully, sat across the room at her own desk, chin in her
hand, chewing on the end of her pencil. She looked up, took the pencil out of
her mouth, and said, "What's the score?"
"Three hundred twelve to a hundred ninety-six."
She frowned slightly, then tore a sheet of paper from her notebook,
crumpled it up, concentrated for a moment, then launched it towards the waste
basket. It arced across the room and fell smoothly into the basket. "Hundred
ninety-eight."
Mulder grinned. "Too bad you're so short. You could have been a power
forward."
She allowed a slight smile. "What's your excuse?"
Mulder's cellular phone rang. Still grinning, he pulled the phone from his
pocket and switched it on. "Mulder."
"Mulder, I've got something. You have to see this." Langly's voice was
urgent and conspiratorial.
"What is it?" Mulder leaned casually back in his chair and loosened his
tie. To Langly, everything was a conspiracy. No need to get excited.
"Not on the phone. How soon can you get here?"
Mulder exchanged a look with Scully. She lifted an eyebrow curiously.
Mulder just grinned.
"I'm working, Langly," Mulder said into the phone. Scully's look of
curiosity turned into a knowing smile.
"Mulder, you really want to see this. Make it as soon as you can. Come
alone." The connection was severed abruptly. Mulder hung up his phone, sighing.
"What did he want?"
Was it just Mulder's imagination, or was there a suggestion of worry in
Scully's tone? Mulder knew she didn't care for the men at the Lone Gunman; she
thought they were irresponsible and likely to get Mulder into trouble. She'd
been more than usually protective of him lately. Well, that was natural; he'd
just spent three weeks in the hospital after nearly being incinerated in a
burning train car. He'd been just as protective of her after her abduction last
year. "He wants to show me something."
She grinned. "Something in latex?"
He returned her grin, shrugging. "He wouldn't say. It's probably nothing,
but—do you mind if I go over there? We're not very busy right now."
She nodded. "All right." But she watched him with thoughtful eyes as he
shrugged into his jacket and left.
Mulder nodded. Frohike sat at the desk with his arms folded, staring
somewhere to the left of Mulder's shoulder. Byers stood leaning against a
tableful of electronic equipment, watching Langly with an inscrutable frown.
Neither said a word. Mulder found their grim silence a bit unnerving. Usually,
the three of them nattered on like a bad vaudeville routine.
Langly held up another vial, this one of viscous red. "And this is the
sample of your blood you gave to me after your experience with LSDM. Well,
since I had them both, I decided to run a DNA comparison on the two blood
samples."
Mulder blinked. Since I had them both.... Definitely, a man with too much
time on his hands. But he couldn't quite bring himself to make the obvious
quip. He was feeling too uneasy about this whole thing. "And... ?"
Langly handed him the readout. "Can you read DNA profiles?"
Mulder studied the report carefully. The two side-by-side strips, vaguely
resembling bar codes, were his and Scully's DNA patterns. Lines ran between the
two strips, connecting similar patterns of genes. Numbers covered the margins.
"What does this mean? Fifty percent match?"
"It means that Scully's your sister."
Mulder tried to laugh, and failed. "That's funny, Langly. Now are you
through wasting my time? I've got work to do."
Langly just shrugged. "No joke, Mulder. DNA doesn't lie."
Mulder looked to the other two for help. But Byers just stared at him, and
Frohike wouldn't even meet his eyes. "It has to be a mistake. There's no way
Scully could be my sister."
"Well, she could also be your mother. Or your daughter, if you like that
better. I ran the tests twice, and the results were identical. Unless the blood
samples aren't what you said they were...."
"Well, you took my blood yourself. And Scully's...." He'd gotten that at
the hospital, from the man who'd stolen it from her hospital room. It had to be
Scully's blood, didn't it? But if it wasn't Scully's blood, whose was it?
Someone who was closely related to Mulder... Samantha?
"Oh my God." Mulder forced himself to take a deep breath. "I thought it was
Scully's. Maybe it wasn't. I'll check into it. Can I take this?" He held up the
DNA test results.
Langly nodded. "I've got other copies."
Mulder folded the printout and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Blindly,
he turned to leave.
Langly's voice stopped him at the door. "Mulder? I'm sorry. I thought you
would want to know."
Mulder turned back, tried once again to force a smile. But he couldn't get
a word past his dry throat.
Mulder started. "Sorry. I was thinking." Searching your face for the
slightest resemblance to me or anyone in my family. Wondering how the hell I'm
going to ask you to take a DNA test with me.
"Thinking about what? Does this have anything to do with what Langly
wanted?"
"Sort of. Scully, if I asked you to do something... strange, not ask any
questions, just do it, would you?"
She raised an eyebrow. "How strange?"
"Well... come with me to a lab, and have blood drawn for a DNA test."
The eyebrow lifted even further. "No questions?"
"Once we get the results, I'll tell you everything. It's probably nothing.
I don't want to say anything until I know for sure."
Scully regarded him thoughtfully. Mulder could see the curiosity sparkling
behind her blue eyes; she was itching to know what it was about, but she did
not ask. He watched as she weighed the possibilities, and made her decision.
"All right. I guess I can spare you a few minutes and little blood." There
was an amused quirk at the corners of her mouth. "I'm going to be dying of
curiosity until we get the results."
Mulder found it difficult to return her smile. If we get the same
results that Langly did, you'll probably wish you didn't know.
And, if the results did show some sort of genetic relationship between him
and Scully, he did not want that information in the FBI's files.
There were several private laboratories in Washington that did DNA testing.
The director of Quaid-Markham Laboratories owed Mulder a favor. Mulder had
called Don Markham on his cellular while still en route to the J. Edgar Hoover
Building, and wheedled an immediate appointment for himself and Scully.
Scully remained silent all through the ride to Quaid-Markham. Whatever
questions she must have been dying to ask she kept firmly to herself. Her faith
in him, her willingness to play along even as she bit her lip to keep her
curiosity in check, soothed Mulder's raw nerves.
I don't know what I would do without you, Scully. What will it do to us,
if this turns out to be true? Several times, he nearly turned the car
around and drove back to FBI headquarters. Sorry, Scully. It was just a bad
joke of Langly's. But he knew that it would burn away at him until he knew
the truth. He hoped with all his heart that Markham's results would show them
to be just two ordinary, unrelated people.
"You were a very good boy," the woman murmured into his ear, smoothing his
bandage.
Scully giggled, and everything seemed achingly normal.
"I'm not a specialist in DNA analysis, but...." Scully's voice trailed off
as she stared at the two printouts. All the color drained from her face. "This
isn't possible. There must be some sort of mistake."
"I assure you, Agent Scully, there has been no mistake. We ran the tests
several times, with fresh samples each time. I have to admit, the results
surprised me. I hadn't realized that you and Agent Mulder were brother and
sister."
"We're not," Scully insisted numbly. "There's no way. Distant cousins,
possibly, although that isn't likely...."
"Not distant," Dr. Markham said firmly. "The tests indicate siblings. Or
parent and child, although that's obviously impossible. There's virtually a
fifty percent match of genetic material. The odds against that occurring on a
random basis are astronomical."
Scully stared at the printouts, as if willing them to rearrange themselves
under her insistent gaze. Then she stared at Mulder, her face a mask of shock
and disbelief and pleading demand that he explain to her how this could be.
But Mulder's shock was barely less than Scully's. He'd managed to convince
himself, somehow, that Langly's tests were a mistake, had to be a mistake, and
that Markham's test would prove that, and that would be the end of it. The
whole thing was just too unbelievable to be true. Now what were they going to
do?
"All right, Mulder, from the beginning. I assume this started with Langly."
Mulder swallowed, cleared his throat. "Yes. I'd given him a blood sample
after being dosed with LSDM in Franklin. I wanted to see what he could come up
with on it. And I gave him a sample of your blood while you were in the
hospital last year. For reasons known only to Langly, he decided to run a DNA
comparison on the two samples. He got the same results as Markham."
"So the Lone Gunmen think I'm your sister." Her mouth curled in distaste.
Mulder knew that she knew as well as he did that this was the least of
their concerns. She was just fastening on a side issue because the real
implications were still too frightening to consider. "Maybe Frohike will leave
you alone now."
It was a very weak joke, but it served its purpose. Scully choked out a
small laugh. Then she sobered. "Mulder, I'm not Samantha."
"I know." How could he not consider that possibility, when being told that
Scully was his sister? But—"You don't look anything like her." His sister
had been dark-haired, and long-limbed and scrawny, like him. "You're older than
she is. She disappeared when you were nine. While you were... missing, your
mother told me stories about you when you were six... eight... and when you
were just a baby. Now, unless your whole family's in on the conspiracy," he
laughed to show her his paranoia had not extended to considering that a
possibility, "you never lived in Chilmark and you never called me 'Foxy Loxy'
and we never played Stratego...."
His throat constricted suddenly. He clutched at the steering wheel, willing
the memories away. Samantha....
Scully laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Mulder. Look, let's... let's just
forget this is us we're talking about. Let's just treat it like any other case.
We've got two people who just found out they're probably related. How do we
find out what happened?"
Mulder took a deep breath, looked at Scully and nodded. "Okay." Scully was
right. Calm, methodical detective work. That was how they'd deal with this.
"All right. If we are brother and sister, that means that one of us is adopted.
Or both."
"I've seen my birth certificate. My mother has told me stories about the
night I was born. I don't think my parents would lie to me about something like
that."
"Then, four years before you were born, do you think your mother had a
child that she put up for adoption?"
Scully's brow creased. She pressed her lips together for a moment before
answering. "You were born in October of Nineteen-sixty. My parents were married
in June of Sixty-one." She shook her head. "I don't know, I suppose it's
possible that she got pregnant before she was married and gave the child up,
but—it seems so fantastic!"
"Well, if my mother had another child right before Samantha, I think I
would have noticed."
"There has to be some other explanation."
"You mean, maybe my mother and your father had an affair? Or vice versa?
Twice? And took turns keeping the kid?" Mulder couldn't suppress an
almost-hysterical giggle.
Scully also let out a squeaky laugh. "Or our parents are really two sets of
identical twins, and they just never told us."
"Maybe they don't know they're related. Maybe they were separated at birth
and put up for adoption...."
They dissolved into helpless giggles. It was nerves, and they both knew it,
but it was a relief not to take the thing quite so seriously.
Mulder sobered first, staring down into his lap. "Scully, I don't know how
I can ask my mother any of this right now." Barely a month since her ex-husband
was killed, and six months since her long-missing daughter turned up, only to
be told that the girl was dead, and not really Samantha, anyway. "'Guess what,
Mom, I lost Samantha again, but now I think Scully's my sister.' She'll have me
in a straight-jacket. If she doesn't end up in one first, herself."
Scully stared out the car window. "Mulder... I know the search for truth is
very important to you, but—do we really need to pursue this? I can't help
thinking that this might be something better left alone."
"Could you seriously just walk away from this, and never know the truth?"
"What truth?" Scully turned to Mulder, scowling. "I love both my parents
very much. And they are my parents, no matter what any genetic tests might say.
I don't want to go to my mother with this any more than you do. I can't picture
anything but harm coming from it. If my parents, or yours, do have some secret
in their past—why not let them keep it?"
"But Scully, if we are brother and sister...."
"Then we'd better not get married. I don't think that was exactly in the
cards, anyway, was it? Other than that, I don't see that it changes anything."
She spat out the words, her blue eyes flashing.
Mulder recoiled from her vehemence, blinking away the sudden stinging in
his eyes. He wasn't quite sure why her words hurt so much. It certainly wasn't
that he harbored any secret fantasies of marrying her... or that he was so
desperate for a sister, he'd destroy what was left of his family to try to make
her into one....
Scully softened at once. "Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'd be
proud to have you for a brother. I just... can't believe any of this."
"You saw the DNA analysis."
"I saw two pieces of paper. Tests can be faked, you know."
"Scully, why would anyone go to the trouble of trying to make me believe
you're my sister? And how could they have done it? Remember, Langly found the
connection first. Now we've got independent corroboration."
"I can't believe you're taking all of this at face value. Where's the
famous Mulder paranoia? I can think of several reasons why they'd want to shake
you up, send you off on a wild goose chase for false information, and if you'll
give me a minute, I'll think of a reasonable scenario for how they did it,
too."
Mulder sighed. "You could be right. But I don't think I can just ignore
this. I want to know the truth."
"Then let's investigate. Quietly. I'll look into our birth records. You
check out Quaid-Markham." She put a hand on his arm. "We'd better get back to
work."
He nodded and started the car. As she had said, just treat it like any
other case. They were investigators; that was their job. They ought to be able
to verify the truth or falsity of the DNA profiles easily enough.
They'd deal with what they found when they found it.
"Hello, Ahab," she said softly. "I thought about you today." She imagined a
smile on those stern features. "Well, I think about you every day, but today
something happened...."
She pictured Mulder's face next to her father's. Their features couldn't be
more dissimilar. "How would you like another son, Dad? He has some crazy ideas,
but he's very smart. And he has a good heart, if you can get past the pain he's
been through."
Scully sighed, and put the picture back in its place. "I wish you'd had the
chance to meet him, Dad." She'd only been Mulder's partner for about four
months when her father had died—there hadn't yet been an occasion for him to
meet her parents. She wondered how they would have gotten along. Her father
disapproved of her decision just to join the FBI—what would he have thought
of Mulder's penchant for wild speculation and unbelievable theories? Or of
Mulder's obsession with a sister who had disappeared more than twenty years
ago? You can't live in the past, her father would say, brusquely,
whenever she or her brothers or sister complained about past grievances—even
those mere days or weeks old. Unhappy occurrences were to be promptly dealt
with, and stoically forgotten.
She returned to the couch, stepping out of her shoes and sitting down. "I
think of him as a brother already. I'm closer to him than many brothers and
sisters. I wouldn't mind if it were true, if nothing else changed. But it
doesn't just affect Mulder and me. It's you and Mom, and Mulder's parents, and
the rest of our families. I wish he would just let it go. But he won't. That's
one thing you and he have in common, Dad. A great love for the truth."
She leaned back and took a deep breath, staring blankly ahead. "Only with
Mulder, I'm afraid it's going to destroy us all."
There was an address written on the slip of paper, and a string of letters
and numbers that looked like a computer password. He sighed. A message from X?
He was tempted to just throw it away. After their last meeting, he'd been
determined to associate with X no longer. But this wasn't association, it was
just information. There was no way to know its source for certain. He'd better
check it out.
An ordinary padlock held the door shut. Mulder had boltcutters in his
trunk, but didn't expect them to be necessary. He pulled a leather case from
his jeans pocket, selected a picklock, and went to work. Scully kept a lookout
while Mulder eased the lock open. The streets remained silent and empty. The
only sound was the quiet scraping of Mulder's picklock sliding against the
tumblers of the lock, then the "snick" of the lock springing open. Mulder gave
Scully the ghost of a smile, then pulled the heavy, counter-weighted door to
the side.
Mulder switched on the monitor and then the CPUs, one by one, and waited
for the boot sequence to complete. Then he stood, running a finger along his
chin, while the console requested:
login name:
"You said he gave you the password...." Scully began.
"But not the login name." Mulder chewed his lower lip.
"It's Unix, isn't it?"
Mulder nodded. Pages from a Unix user's manual flipped past in his mind's
eye. Slowly, he smiled. Then he bent to type root.
The computer responded,
password:
Now Mulder entered the password from the slip of paper.
And was rewarded with a # prompt.
Mulder grinned. "Okay, let's see what we've got."
Subj. 1001 Alexander, Neal. 1947. Math savant, psi. Married subj. 1203,
1969. Offspring 2 (Subj. 1448, 1449)
Subj. 1002 Arvid, Lee. 1944. Physics, chess master. Unmarried. Samples
taken, 1968. Instabilities detected, no cross.
Subj. 1003 Ashe, Karen. 1951. Psi, eidetic memory. Married subj. 1123,
1961. No offspring. Samples taken, 1964. Cross Subj. 1297 (Subj. 1530)
Mulder sat back. "Scully?"
"What is it?" She had wandered away from the computers, inspecting the
other electronic equipment, while Mulder searched the files. Now she came to
stand behind him, and peer at the screen over his shoulder.
"It looks like some kind of registry. A record of people with certain kinds
of abilities, and their children."
"'Samples taken,'" she read. "What kind of samples?"
"Looks like the ones who didn't get married or have children. Sperm and ova
samples?"
Scully wrinkled her nose. "That makes it sound like some kind of breeding
program."
Mulder looked over his shoulder at her. In the pale light of the console
screen, his face was grey. He was suddenly very uneasy. "A breeding program.
Run by whom?"
"And why did your informant send you here to find it?"
Mulder turned back to the console. He was sure he was not going to like
what he found. His fingers trembled as he entered the search commands. Alpha
search, on subject name field, last name Mulder.
Subj. 1084. Mulder, William. 1937. Eidetic memory, high IQ. Married
subj. 1211, 1958. Offspring 2 (Subj. 1559, 1560*) Note: offspring to be
crossed. See 1560.
Subj. 1559. Mulder, Fox. 1960. Eidetic memory, intuitive , high IQ.
Unmarried. Samples taken, 1994. Note: Do Not Kill order registered, 1990. To be
crossed with 1560. Marriage to be arranged, if possible.
Subj. 1560*. Mulder, Samantha. 1965. High IQ, psi. Unmarried. Samples
taken, 1994. Note: Do Not Kill order registered, 1993. To be crossed with 1559.
Marriage to be arranged, if possible. Due to human incest taboo, removed from
home 1973 to be raised separately. Surgery and hypnosis performed to reassign
identity. (See also subj. 1560, Scully, Dana.)
The words burned themselves into Mulder's brain. He cursed his photographic
memory, knowing he would never escape the sight of those words on that screen.
A breeding program.... He and Samantha were breeding stock. The aliens wanted
him to marry his sister, so they took her and turned her into someone else,
someone he would not think he was related to. Someone he would learn to trust,
and, if the aliens had their way, someone he would eventually marry and with
whom he would have children. Samantha was Scully. Surgically altered,
hypnotized to make her think she'd always been Dana Scully. Her family's
memories had no doubt been altered, too, to make them accept her as their own.
Had there ever been a real Dana Scully? And what had happened to her? Had she
been raised somewhere else, or just discarded because she didn't fit the
profile the aliens wanted?
Mulder stood, stumbling against the box, kicking it out of his way. He
turned and ran, wildly, towards the door, and out into the street, where he
fell to his hands and knees, vomiting into the gutter.
Presently, he felt Scully's hand on his shoulder, as she knelt at his side.
"Mulder? Are you all right?" she asked softly. But he could not answer her; his
stomach still twisted, and he continued to retch and cough. She stroked his
back until his stomach spasms finally subsided. Then he pushed himself
unsteadily to his feet, and stumbled back against the concrete wall of the
warehouse. Scully stood at his side, hand on his shoulder.
"Scully, what are we going to do now?" Tears stung his eyes; he forced them
back with the heels of his hands pressed roughly to his face.
"Mulder, those files aren't necessarily the truth."
"What does it take to convince you? Look at the evidence. You're always
telling me, you have to go by the evidence. Well, we've got two separate DNA
tests and a secret government file...."
"Tests can be faked. Anyone can type words into a computer. I haven't seen
anything yet that convinces me that I'm really your sister. Do you really think
eight years of memories can be replaced that easily? That I could be so
completely changed, and never see any evidence of it? That my parents, my
family could be fooled into thinking that a complete stranger is their
daughter? Mulder, it just doesn't make sense."
"The aliens have medical techniques far beyond ours. We saw that with Duane
Barry. And you, with what happened to you while you were gone. It explains so
many things."
"It's a very clever story. And carefully calculated to hit all your hot
spots. And to destroy you. Mulder, you can't let them do this to you."
"I can't just... decide... not to believe it because I don't want it to be
true." He reached out and touched her cheek. "Scully...." He searched her face.
"Samantha...."
She pulled away from him angrily. "Mulder, I am not Samantha!"
"You see what they've done to me?" Mulder cried, his voice nearly a wail.
"They have given me back my sister. And taken her away from me forever."
"That's exactly my point," Scully said quietly, urgently. "They want to
stop you from looking for her. What better way, than to make you think you've
found her?"
Mulder staggered away, shaking his head. He went as far as the end of the
block, then stood staring into the blackness of the night. Like a wounded
animal, he called out to the darkness.
"Samantha!"
Was there, in fact, a woman of her approximate age that he didn't look at
as a possible Samantha? So many years had passed, his sister would be like a
stranger to him now. Perhaps, in some way, it would be easier for him if
Samantha did turn out to be someone he already knew and cared about. At least
he would not have to worry that the past twenty-two years had turned her into
someone so different from his beloved eight-year-old sister that he could not
find a connection with her. Then his loss truly would be irredeemable.
Scully had often wondered about the personalities and family relationships
that would result in such a long-lived and intense obsession. What had Samantha
been to him, that her disappearance would so consume his life? Scully loved her
brothers and her sister, but she couldn't quite imagine Bill, Jr., for example,
dedicating his life to recovering her if she'd been taken away at the age of
eight. Nor would she have wanted him to. It didn't seem quite healthy to her.
The possibility that she really was Samantha she refused to even consider.
It was obviously a setup of some kind, and as soon as Mulder had had some time
to calm down and think about it, he'd realize it too.
He was staring at her again. Again, he looked away as soon as she glanced
up. This time, she was not willing to let it pass.
"Mulder?"
He looked up, swallowing nervously. "Yeah?"
"I can't keep my mind on this report."
His attempt at a smile failed dismally. "Me neither."
"Do you want to get some lunch?"
He stared at his desk, turning his pencil in his hand. "I'm not hungry. Why
don't you go ahead?"
"I'm not hungry either. I just thought...." Her voice trailed off at the
sight of the desperation in his face. She sighed. "Never mind. Maybe later."
He nodded briefly, and hid his face in his reports.
She returned to trying to read the file on her desk. The next time she felt
him staring at her, she resolutely turned the page and continued reading.
The padlock was gone from the warehouse door. Mulder stood with his hand on
the latch, considering. Either they had already emptied the place out and gone,
or there was someone in there, working. Either way, he should just go home. If
they'd cleaned house, there would be nothing to find. If there was someone
there, he'd have no chance to conduct his search. He should just go home.
Carefully, he pulled the heavy door open a few inches. The tracks were
well-oiled; it moved silently. He peered into the darkness—saw nothing, heard
nothing. Slowly, he pushed the door a few more inches to the side, until he had
an opening just wide enough to slip through. With his gun and flashlight ready,
he stepped into the warehouse.
At first glance, the dusty beams, metal shelves, scattered boxes all seemed
the same as last night. He took a few more steps, aimed his flashlight beam
toward the tables at the back.
They were empty. Whispering a curse, he started to walk to the tables. A
pile of cartons at the end of the aisle had not been there last night.
A scraping noise emerged from the darkness behind the shelves off to his
right.
He whirled toward the sound, gun pointed toward the noise. "Federal agent,"
he called out. "Come out of there, now!"
Silence.
He began sweeping the area with his flashlight, gun still ready, thinking
that he was going to feel awfully foolish when he flushed some scraggly old
tomcat out of hiding. But until then, he was not going to relax. Tomcats did
not open padlocks.
There, a flash of motion toward the door. Mulder dashed back to cut off
escape, launched a flying tackle at the body making a run for the narrow
opening in the warehouse door. They both crashed to the floor, rolling against
the door, arms and legs flailing. Mulder couldn't hold onto his flashlight,
gun, and the struggling body all at the same time; his quarry squirmed away and
disappeared into the warehouse darkness again.
Mulder pulled himself to his feet. He'd lost the flashlight, but still
clutched his gun. And his quarry was trapped inside. No point being subtle any
longer. He felt for a light switch along the wall by the door, found one and
flipped it on. The warehouse was bathed in a glare of flourescent light. He
spotted the warehouse's other occupant behind a row of shelves.
He trained his gun on the other, and began walking slowly towards him. "I'm
not going to hurt you," he said. "I just want to talk to you."
The man didn't move, didn't speak—just stood silently, waiting, as Mulder
approached. Mulder eased past the row of shelves, into the aisle where the man
stood, finally able to get a good look at him.
Alex Krycek.
"Mulder, I didn't—" Fingers tightening around his throat stopped Krycek's
protest.
With his hand still on Krycek's throat, Mulder carefully pressed his gun
barrel into the soft spot behind Krycek's left ear, and marched him to the back
of the warehouse, to where the empty tables stood.
"What the hell is this, Krycek?"
"I don't know, Mulder, I—" A strangled gurgle, as Mulder pushed him back
against one of the tables. The tabletop caught Krycek at the back of the
thighs; Mulder's hand at his throat bent him back. "I swear, I didn't know you
had anything to do with this. They just told me to come here and pack up some
computer equipment, that's all I know."
"Now, why don't I believe you?" Mulder whispered silkily into Krycek's ear.
The same ear his gun barrel rested behind.
"You know I'm just a grunt. They don't tell me anything."
"Well, you can tell me this. Did you kill my father?"
Krycek's face was dark and slick with sweat. Fear glinted in his eyes.
"No."
Mulder forced him back even farther. Krycek had to brace his arms on the
table to hold himself up; he was half-sitting on the table.
"You're lying."
"No, I swear, I didn't kill him." His voice was a harsh whisper through the
rough hand around his throat.
"You were there."
"I was there, but I didn't kill him. Mulder, he killed himself."
With a furious growl, Mulder slammed Krycek back onto the table, head
pressed uncomfortably against the concrete wall, legs flailing helplessly.
Mulder climbed onto the table with him, one knee pressed sharply between
Krycek's legs, eliciting a frightened yelp. Krycek's hands scrabbled wildly for
some sort of purchase, not daring to grab at Mulder. One hand, finally,
clutched at the edge of the table by his head; the other simply spread flat on
the tabletop.
Mulder was possessed by righteous fury. Alex Krycek had betrayed him,
betrayed Scully. Killed his father. Probably killed Duane Barry, and the tram
operator. His sins were deep and cold, and Mulder wanted him to pay in
exquisite pain and terror for every one of them. Nothing else mattered right
now, except Krycek's suffering. He was enjoying it far too much to even
entertain the thought of killing him. Maybe later. Maybe not at all. But there
would be pain. His face was mere inches from Krycek's, he could see each tiny
rivulet of sweat slip down forehead and cheek, every frightened twitch and
quiver. It was lovely.
Mulder relaxed his hand on Krycek's throat slightly, smiled cruelly at the
small relief in Krycek's eyes. Then he brought his gun forward, tapping the
barrel against Krycek's lips. "Open up, Alex," he whispered.
Fear bloomed beautifully on Krycek's face. He swallowed, twice, then
reluctantly let his lips part. Mulder thrust the gun barrel deep into Krycek's
mouth, gagging him. Mulder felt the convulsions down the length of Krycek's
body, as he lay next to him on the table. He relaxed his grip on the gun just
enough to allow Krycek to breathe. Krycek's mouth worked, trying to accommodate
the width and length of the cold metal. Moisture filled his eyes. When he
pressed them shut, tears dripped down the sides of his face.
"All right, Alex," Mulder said softly. "I'm going to let you tell me what
happened with my father. And whatever story you tell, you'd better make me
believe it. Because if I don't, I think I'll let you tell it to him."
Krycek tried to nod; the action only thrust the gun barrel deeper into his
throat, gagging him again. Mulder stroked Krycek's temple with the tenderness
of absolute rule, and waited for him to recover before slowly withdrawing the
gun from Krycek's mouth.
Krycek coughed and gasped, swallowing, clearly still tasting the cold
gunmetal in his mouth. "Mulder—" His voice was raw and laced with fear.
Mulder let the gun barrel trail down the side of Krycek's face, from temple
to jaw, before bringing it again to rest behind Krycek's ear. "Tell me how you
killed my father, Alex."
"I didn't kill him," Krycek protested hopelessly. "I just went there to
eavesdrop. I was supposed to find out what he told you. I was hiding in the
bathroom. Neither of you were ever supposed to know that I was there."
Mulder brought the gun up, pressed the barrel against Krycek's temple.
Krycek's face twisted; his eyes shut tightly. A tear slipped down from the
corner of his eye to form a shiny drop on the muzzle of the gun.
Seconds passed; the trigger was not pulled. Krycek swallowed hard, and
continued. "When he came into the bathroom, I was hiding in the shower. I was
just going to stay there until he went back out. But then, he took a bottle of
pills out of the medicine cabinet, and poured the whole thing into his hand."
Mulder remembered his father leaving him, to go into the bathroom. I've
been taking some medication, his father had told him. Hadn't Mulder felt a pang
of fear then? Hadn't he wondered, just for a fleeting second, whether his
father might be intending to... ?
"I didn't know what to do. If he killed himself, and anyone found out that
I'd been there... I just wanted to stop him. That's why I stepped out of the
shower.
"We just stood there and stared at each other. Neither of us said a thing.
Then he smiled, kind of sadly, like he knew he was caught, and he started to
put the pills back into the bottle and turned to put it back on the sink. I
figured I'd just wait until he went back out into the living room, and then
take off. He splashed some water on his face, then picked up a towel.
"I wasn't expecting anything. He caught me off guard. He whirled around and
grabbed my gun—it was still in my holster, I'd never taken it out. I thought
he was going to kill me. But no—he put the gun to his own head. It was all
over before I had a chance to think. I grabbed my gun and took off out the
window. Ran like hell. That's all there is to it, Mulder, and I swear it's the
truth."
Mulder found that his gun was shaking in his hand. It fit. There were no
obvious flaws. Could it possibly have happened that way? "There were no powder
burns on his hand."
"He was holding it with the towel. I don't know if he planned it that way,
or if it just worked out like that. I thought he might have meant to frame me."
The towel had been on the floor, to his father's right. The open bottle of
pills had been lying on the rug. Blood everywhere. One shot to the right
temple, from very close range. His father was right-handed; so was Krycek.
Krycek could have come up behind him—or his father could have held the gun
himself. An execution—or a suicide? Planned on the split second to implicate
Krycek?
Mulder felt the fury drain out of him. True or not, it was horribly
plausible. And there was no way in hell he was ever going to know for sure
which way it had happened.
Mulder released Krycek, slid off the table. The truth is out there— And it got more slippery every day. Murder or suicide? Partner or sister?
Secret alien-run breeding experiment or carefully planned disinformation? Alien
abduction or a young boy's guilt and overheated imagination? Was anything real
and true?
Mulder stumbled past the tables, to sink down to the cold floor, leaning
against the concrete wall. Tears pricked at his eyes; this time, uncaring, he
let them fall.
He thought Krycek would take the opportunity to escape. Instead, after
climbing shakily down from the table, Krycek also came to sit in the floor
against the wall, just out of arm's reach, but no farther than that. He said
nothing, just sat and waited, while Mulder gave in to frustration and horror
and grief.
Long minutes passed, filled only with the small sounds of Mulder's quiet
weeping. Finally, Mulder lifted his head, and wiped his face on his sleeve.
Krycek, with a small, pained sound, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and
held it out. Mulder took it and blew his nose.
"Why are you still here?" Mulder's voice was thick and nasal.
Krycek sighed. "I don't know. You going to kill me?"
"Probably not."
There was a long pause. "You know, Mulder, what I told you when we first
met, about following your work at the Academy, admiring you—that was the
truth. I did feel like that. When they came to me and told me I could be your
partner if I worked for them, I jumped at the chance. 'Just keep an eye on
him,' they said. I was fooling myself, I guess, but I didn't think it was going
to be any more than that. By the time I found out what working for them really
meant, it was too late, I was already in it up to my ears.
"You probably don't believe that, and I guess it wouldn't really matter
even if you did. I made my decision, and I'm stuck with it. Things aren't going
to change between us. But... you asked me, so I'm telling you. That's how it
is."
All Mulder could manage was a weak laugh. "I don't know what to believe any
more. So if you want to tell me you've been on my side all along, go ahead. I
might even believe you. You can even tell me the sun revolves around the earth,
or the sky is falling, and I might believe that, too."
"Mulder, what was going on in this place? What did they have set up here?"
Mulder looked at Krycek with numb curiosity. Had Krycek been chosen
specifically for his ability to look young and dumb? Mulder had a well-known
weakness for strays. Even now, Krycek's whipped-puppy attitude was getting to
him. He could believe that Krycek was just a naive kid with a bad case of
hero-worship who'd gotten in over his head. Not that that excused anything he'd
done. Maybe Mulder was just feeling guilty for having terrorized him so badly.
"You really don't know?" Mulder asked. Krycek just shrugged.
Ten minutes ago, I had my gun shoved down his throat. It wouldn't have
taken much to make me pull the trigger, Mulder mused. Now we're sitting
here chatting, and I'm blowing my nose in his handkerchief. After the
unreal haze of the past few days, he couldn't seem to find it strange. "They're
trying to make me think Scully is my sister, Samantha. And that we're both part
of some kind of alien breeding program."
Krycek swallowed uneasily.
Mulder grinned. "You should check the files under 'K.' Maybe you're in
there, too."
"Do you really think...?"
"I don't know what I think." Who would believe something like that? Except,
maybe, somebody called "Spooky" Mulder. "Two separate DNA tests showed that we
are closely related. And the files in that computer explained why. If it was a
setup, it was a damned good one. And they're going to an awful lot of damned
trouble just to gaslight me."
Krycek looked at the tables, now bare of equipment, and the cartons stacked
near them. "I could ask around, I guess. But they probably won't tell me
anything." He looked back at Mulder, with a rueful sigh. "And you wouldn't
believe anything I told you, anyway."
Mulder shook his head wearily. "I don't believe anything. It doesn't matter
any more, it doesn't matter what anybody says. How can I ever believe in
anything again? You can tell them they've won. I give up."
"No, Mulder, you can't do that! You can't give up."
It was very touching, really, Mulder thought, that Krycek should be urging
him so earnestly not to give up, after everything he'd done to help destroy
him. Who was this kid? "Last year, after the X-Files were shut down, I thought
I'd hit bottom. I'd lost faith in myself, in my beliefs. I thought I couldn't
get any lower." He laughed shortly. "I was so wrong. I didn't have any idea how
far down the bottom was."
"You'll get through this, just like you got through it before. You'll find
your faith again, and you'll go on. I know you will."
Mulder shook his head. "There are just too many lies. I can't tell the
difference any more. You can't depend on the evidence, you can't depend on
anything. How am I going to know the truth when I see it?"
"How does anybody know anything? How do you know the sun's going to come up
in the morning? How do you know the atoms in your body aren't going to just go
flying off into the universe? Evidence can only tell you so much. When it comes
right down to it, everything's a leap of faith. You always had that radar,
Mulder, that ability to know what was real, even when it was something so crazy
everybody else thought you were nuts for believing it. You've still got it, I
know you do. You just have to trust yourself to know it. Don't let them—don't
let me or anyone else—take it away from you." Krycek stared at him intently,
one fist clenched. Unwiped tears still tracked his face. The words had just
poured out of him, heedless, and, if Mulder could still tell anything about
anybody, sincere. And there was no possible reason for Krycek to be saying any
of it, unless he believed it.
Mulder pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He stepped over to Krycek,
reached out his hand. Krycek flinched, still expecting to be hit, then forced a
sick laugh and took Mulder's arm, and allowed himself to be helped to his feet.
"I'm going to go home and get some sleep," Mulder said. "I expect you
should, too."
Krycek glanced around uneasily. "I've still got to get this... stuff..."
Mulder nodded. "I don't know if I'll see you again. If I do...."
"I know. Nothing changes."
"It's changed. Krycek, about my father—I believe you. You've still got a
lot to answer for—and I hope some day you will. But that part of the score is
settled."
Krycek swallowed. "Thanks."
I should arrest him, he thought. But what good would that do? There
was no evidence to prove Krycek had done anything, and even if there was, his
handlers would just get him off anyway.
Mulder left him there.
"Good morning. You seem... better today." Scully allowed.
"I'm fine." Scully, however, was still pale, with dark smudges like bruises
beneath tired blue eyes. "Are you all right?"
She smiled faintly. "I didn't sleep very well. But I'll be all right. You
know, people used to tell me how much I looked like my father...."
"Scully, I think the whole thing was a setup, right from the start. I went
back to that warehouse last night, and they'd already cleaned it out. I don't
know how they got Langly onto it, but I'm going to call him later—as soon as
I know he won't bite my head off for waking him up—and see if I can get to
the bottom of it. I'll check on Markham, too. We'll figure it out."
Scully's smile widened. "You were pretty sure it was true. What made you
change your mind?"
Alex Krycek, he thought. But he didn't say it. "I don't know. I thought
about it a lot. Maybe I just don't want to believe it."
"What if we check into it, and all the evidence is against us?"
"I don't know." Mulder paused, and chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I've been
thinking about that, too. I guess... maybe I don't think it would be so bad if
you were my sister."
Scully walked over to him, put her hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, blood
isn't the only thing that can make a family."
"Just as long as it doesn't tear us apart."
She gave him a reassuring smile, then returned to her desk. Mulder watched
her contentedly. Scully was one of a kind. She wasn't Samantha. She couldn't
be.
She couldn't be.
...OR SOMETHING
Who ever lost someone he cared about,
Like your truth is the only thing that matters
Like King Arthur and the Holy Grail,
or something
With your sad hazel eyes and puppydog face.
Well, there are some truths you can't have.
So go cry to Scully,
or something
I have beliefs and dreams and longtime pain,
But you wouldn't know about that, would you?
You never bothered to find out. I hate you...
or something
"What have you got for me, Krycek?"
Neither breaking stride nor taking his eyes off the sidewalk ahead of him,
Krycek pulled a computer backup tape from his jacket pocket and held it out to
Mulder. "I downloaded this from the computer that was in that warehouse. I
don't know how much good it will do you."
Mulder took the cassette and slipped it into his own pocket. "Is this the
database file?" He knew that Krycek would know which file he meant.
"I think so." Krycek shrugged. "I don't know Unix. I think I copied the
whole hard disk, but... I couldn't exactly ask for help."
"Okay."
Krycek still didn't slow down. Mulder stopped him with a hand on his arm.
Krycek stood with his hands jammed in his pockets, glaring at Mulder. There was
a bitterness in his eyes now—in the set of his mouth, and the tension in his
shoulders—which, more than the black leather and tight jeans, made Krycek
appear harder, less naive than he had last year.
"What?" Krycek said flatly.
Mulder held up the computer cassette. "Why, Krycek? Why give me this?"
"I told you I'd check into it. Didn't you want to know what was in that
database?" He looked up at Mulder from under dark lashes. Open. Reasonable.
Utterly unresponsive.
"I know why I want it. I want to know why you want to give it to me."
"You think it's a setup." His eyes narrowed, accusing. As if he had a right
to be.
"The thought did occur to me."
"Well, it isn't."
"Then what is it?"
"You're not going to believe a word I say anyway. Why should I bother?"
Mulder smiled, his voice a soft purr. "But you tell such good stories. Tell
me another one. Or do you only come up with them when you've got a gun to your
head?"
"Why don't you put a gun to my head and find out?" he snapped. "What do you
want from me, Mulder?"
"I want information. And you're not giving it to me." On a sudden impulse,
Mulder held out his hand and ordered, "Give me your wallet."
"What?" Krycek's voice was a choked whisper.
"You heard me. Give me your wallet."
"I'm not going to... why should I give you my wallet?"
"You're playing games with me, Krycek, and I don't like it. I want to know
who the hell you are. If you won't tell me, I'll have to find out another way."
Krycek's mouth worked, but he didn't speak. He glared at Mulder defiantly
for a few moments, then, lips pressed tightly together, he nodded once, pulled
his wallet from his back pocket, and handed it over.
Mulder took it and turned it over in his hands. It was a plain brown
leather wallet, completely ordinary. He opened the wallet and counted the cash,
around forty dollars. The driver's license was a phony, in the name of Alan
Foxworth.
"Foxworth?"
Krycek reddened. "Not my idea."
Mulder memorized the address, even though he knew it would be no good.
There was also a Visa card in the same name. A folded slip of paper with a
phone number written on it. Mulder memorized that, too. A laundry claim check.
Not much of interest. A good mole, Krycek did not carry incriminating items
around with him. Mulder started to close the wallet, then, almost as an
afterthought, he slid his finger into the space behind the credit card pockets,
and found a slip of paper. There was a small noise of protest from Krycek as
Mulder pulled it out.
Mulder stared at the paper in complete astonishment. It was a grainy copy
of his FBI ID photo. Not the best picture of him, but clearly recognizable.
Mulder held the photo up, with a questioning look.
"Krycek? What the hell is this?"
"Can I have my wallet back now?" Krycek was all but squirming.
Suddenly, Mulder felt embarrassed himself. He tucked the photo back and
handed the wallet to Krycek, who jammed it roughly into his pocket.
"Are we through?" Krycek spoke through clenched teeth.
"Is that address for real?"
"What do you think?"
"Then how do I get in touch with you?"
A short, harsh laugh. "Forget it, Mulder."
"Krycek, you're not going to run me around like a trained dog. I'm not
asking for your home address. Figure out a way for me to get hold of you. Or
forget any more of these little get-togethers."
"I'm risking my life to bring you this. I don't owe you anything."
"Don't you?" Scully's abduction. Duane Barry. Drug-induced
psychosis. "Anyway, for all I know, this is just another setup, and you
were sent here to screw me around again."
"Fuck you, Mulder. Believe what you want."
"You called me, Krycek. You wanted this meeting. If you ever want another
one...."
"Shit." Krycek dug in his pockets and came up with a matchbook and a pen.
He scribbled something on the inside cover of the matchbook and handed it to
Mulder. "That's it, Mulder. Use it judiciously. I mean, if you're going to kill
me, I'd rather you just put a gun to my head." Then he walked away.
Mulder watched until the leather-clad back turned the corner and
disappeared. Then Mulder looked down at the matchbook cover.
Skippy1121@aol.com.
A crooked smile played about Mulder's lips. So the little rat-bastard had a
sense of humor, and a self-deprecating one at that. I never know what to
expect from you, Alex Krycek.
"Is it the same data?" she asked.
"Looks like it. But I only saw a small part of the system. They could have
made any number of changes in the rest and I would have no way of knowing."
"Why would Krycek give you this?"
He hadn't told her about the confrontation with Krycek at the warehouse,
only that Krycek had called him that morning and asked for a meeting. "I have
no idea." What I told you when we first met, about following your work at
the Academy, admiring you—that was the truth, Krycek had told him. Mulder
hadn't known whether to believe him then, and he didn't know now. "Maybe he
feels guilty about what he's done and he's trying to make amends. Maybe he's
feeding me disinformation on Cancer Man's orders. Maybe he's just insane. I
don't know."
Mulder sat back. There on the screen was the database that had nearly
destroyed his life just a few days ago. He pulled up record 1560*. Mulder,
Samantha... Due to human incest taboo, removed from home to be raised
separately. Surgery and hypnosis performed to reassign identity. (See also
1560, Scully, Dana). The first time he'd seen this, he'd run out of the
warehouse to throw up in the gutter. He'd almost been convinced that Scully was
Samantha, and the idea had plunged him into despair.
Now he could look at the words almost dispassionately. He still had no
proof one way or another whether any of it was true—their investigations had
turned up nothing further. But he'd chosen to believe it was a lie, cooked up
by the Smoking Man and his cronies to destroy Mulder's self-confidence, and to
stop his search for his sister, Samantha. It would take more than words on a
computer screen to make him believe that Scully was anyone but Scully.
"It looks the same to me," Scully said, studying the screen.
"Yes. It's the same file." He typed in another search command. The response
came back Krycek: not found. Mulder grinned over his shoulder at Scully.
"Oh well. I guess he's human, after all."
Scully shook her head, smiling. "Will you be able to find out anything from
this?"
Mulder's smile faded. He sighed. "I doubt it. I'll check it out, but
there's no way of knowing whether any of this is real. Or if it ever was." I
could ask around, Krycek had told him. But you won't believe anything I
tell you, anyway.
Well, you were right about that, Mulder thought.
Scully smiled. "You're a guy, Mulder, you tell me."
"I don't know, the only picture I have in my wallet is the blonde on my
video rental card."
"Well, who's got whose picture in his wallet?"
Mulder suddenly wished he hadn't brought the subject up. "Krycek. Has
mine." His face burned as he said it.
Scully opened and closed her mouth. "He's messing with your head."
"But he didn't know I was going to be looking in his wallet. He didn't want
me to see it."
Scully looked at him curiously. "So how did you happen to be looking in his
wallet?"
"I made him give it to me."
Her only response was an eloquently raised eyebrow.
Mulder shrugged, embarrassed. "I can't figure him out. I don't know why he
would be doing this. And it makes me crazy that I can't do anything about all
the things he's done. So I push him. It's a very twisted little relationship."
"Apparently, even more twisted than you realized."
"No, I... he's not even...." Mulder stopped. He had no idea whether Krycek
was gay.
"Actually, it would explain a lot. His obsession with you...."
"It doesn't explain why he went to work for my enemies." Although, hadn't
Krycek already answered that question? They told me I could be your partner
if I worked for them.... Mulder had thought it was simple hero-worship, but
maybe there was more to it than that. Krycek had followed him around like an
eager puppy back then, during the brief time they'd worked together. He was
always sitting or standing right next to Mulder, bringing him coffee, hanging
on his every word. There was no obvious sexual element in it, but, as Scully
said, it would explain a lot.
"Maybe he didn't feel that way until after he started working for them.
Maybe he thought it was the only way he could get close to you. Maybe he wanted
to destroy you because he knew he could never have you." Scully ticked off the
possibilities calmly.
Mulder wished he could be so calm about it. "Scully, I really did not want
to know this."
Scully grinned. "On the other hand, maybe there's a perfectly innocent
explanation for why he carries your picture in his wallet."
"There's a secret microdot on the back. He forgot what I look like and had
to remind himself before he came to meet me. It's really a picture of his Mom
and it's just a coincidence that she looks exactly like me."
They laughed and let the subject drop. But it continued to niggle at the
back of his mind. It was one more unexpected aspect of a man who was already
far too hard to figure out.
Heart pounding with adrenaline rush, he snatched his gun from the coffee
table and held it ready as he went to the door. Nearly three A.M.; he rarely
had company at all, much less at three in the morning.
"Who is it?" he asked through the door.
"It's me, Mulder. Let me in." A male voice, urgent and slightly husky.
Krycek?
Mulder suppressed the urge to just tell him to go away, and cracked the
door slightly. His curiosity was going to get him killed some day.
It was, indeed, Alex Krycek. He took Krycek's arm, pressed his gun into
Krycek's gut, pulled him inside and shut the door.
Krycek held his hands up, palms outspread. "I'm unarmed, Mulder, come on.
If I was going to try something, I wouldn't be knocking on your door in the
middle of the night. I just need to talk to you."
Gun still on Krycek, Mulder pushed him up against the wall. "You don't mind
if I check that out for myself." He forced Krycek to endure a thorough
pat-down.
"All right." Mulder stood back, gun lowered.
Krycek turned around, white with fury. "You son of a bitch, Mulder. You
know that wasn't necessary. I just wanted to talk to you."
"Taking a pretty big chance coming here, aren't you? Why didn't you just
arrange a meeting?"
"Because I had some things to say I didn't want to say out on the street.
And what do you care if I take chances, anyway?"
Mulder, his heartbeat gradually returning to normal, put his gun on the
desk and went back to sit on the couch. "I don't. But I don't want to have to
explain what you're doing dead on my carpet, if someone follows you here and
puts a bullet in your head."
Krycek followed him and stood before him, glowering. "Well, I'll try not to
bleed on your carpet," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nobody
followed me. I'm not stupid."
"All right. Say what you have to say."
Krycek glanced around uneasily, suddenly unsure of himself. "Did you find
anything on that tape?"
"No. You know I have no way of knowing if it's a fake. Either before or
after you copied it. What was I supposed to find out from it?"
Krycek shrugged, frustrated. He spoke hotly. "I don't know, Mulder. I
thought you wanted to see it. I'm sorry I wasted your time."
"Don't play the hurt innocent with me, Krycek. You've got nothing to be
upset about."
"Okay, you don't want my help, you can forget it. You won't get any more
information from me."
"Fine. I never asked you to do it in the first place."
Krycek paced angrily in front of Mulder's couch. "You have had this
attitude towards me from the day we met. Long before I did anything you had a
right to get angry about. What is your problem?"
"My problem? You're my problem. Let me see, working for my enemies behind
my back, spying on me, helping them to abduct my partner...."
"But Scully's all right. You're all right. Nothing I did caused you any
permanent harm."
Mulder got up and stood facing Krycek, interrupting the other man's pacing
with a hand on his chest. "No harm? Three months of hell, worried sick about
her—her mother bought her gravestone, did you know that? And who knows what
they put her through, she still doesn't remember. Only that she almost died.
That's what you did to me."
"I... all I did was tell them where to find her. I didn't know what they
were going to do with her."
"And you think that lets you off the hook?"
"No, but I just do what I'm told. I don't make the decisions. What did I do
that was so bad?"
Mulder grabbed Krycek by the collar of his jacket. "Are you insane? What
did you do? You betrayed me! You turned Scully over to them! And you wonder why
I don't like you?"
Krycek struck Mulder's hand away. "But that's all over with! I'm trying to
help you now. And you—you just humiliate me every chance you get."
"Why are you helping me? Why do you care so much what I think? What am I to
you, but a mark you helped try to destroy?"
"Mulder, it wasn't like that. I told you. I didn't know what I was getting
into."
"Then why didn't you get out, when you found out what it was? Why didn't
you come to me? Why didn't you let me save Scully before those bastards got
her?"
"Scully, I'm so sick of hearing about Scully! There's no room for anybody
else in your private little world, is there? Just you and your precious
Scully!" Krycek's voice was cracking, near to hysteria.
And there it was. Scully was right. Mulder wondered why it had taken him so
long to see it. "Scully has nothing to do with it. You just want to get me in
bed."
Krycek recoiled as if struck. "What are you talking about?" His choking
words were barely audible.
"You heard me."
Krycek turned his back to Mulder. "Go to hell."
"So what are you telling me, Krycek? You don't want me?"
Krycek whirled, strode up to Mulder and stood, inches from his face. He
spat out the words. "I want you. I want to fuck you so bad, sometimes I think
I'll go crazy. I want you so bad, I risk my life to come here, I let you
ridicule me and threaten me and push me around. But no more, Mulder. No more."
Then, abruptly, Krycek seized Mulder's face in his hands, and covered Mulder's
mouth with his own, in a kiss as deep and white-hot as his fury.
At first, Mulder was too startled to pull away, but then his own fury
demanded release, and found it in asserting possession of this man, who
tormented and infuriated and angered him beyond reason. Mulder gripped Krycek
by the shoulders, and returned the kiss with all his pent-up fire.
They fought for dominance with their tongues, in a kiss neither gentle nor
kind. Mulder felt his fists clench, wanting to strike, and had to force his
fingers to uncurl; then slid one hand into Krycek's hair and tightened his
fingers into what he knew was a painful grip. His mouth was rough and
devouring. Krycek responded with his own strength, fingernails digging into
Mulder's back, one thigh thrust between Mulder's legs. Mulder felt his cock
harden painfully, constricted by his jeans, and was astonished by the intensity
of his desire. But it wasn't attraction, it was an animal need that had more to
do with jungle law than human intimacy.
The kiss was long and hard. Krycek was skillful with his mouth and hands
and body, you had to give him that. He very nearly took control. But while
Mulder's fury was for his betrayal, Krycek's was for his frustrated need—as
that need was filled, his fury dissipated, and he lost the battle.
Mulder felt it in the other man's whole body; the strength just went out of
him, and with a desperate gasp Krycek pushed himself away. He stood, his chest
heaving, slicked-back hair mussed, reddened lips parted, face once again the
raw innocent who'd somehow managed to get under Mulder's skin and past his
defenses. Suddenly, it was not entirely anger that motivated Mulder's passion,
and he felt a pang of uneasiness.
Mulder brushed the feeling away, unwilling to admit that there was still
anything in Krycek that attracted him. But his cock ached, and Krycek was there
for the taking. He searched out an image of Scully's face as she lay in the
hospital after her abduction, eyes taped and a tube down her throat, to
rekindle the righteous fury that would allow him to do whatever he wanted with
Krycek. Then there was a glint of fear in Krycek's eyes, as Mulder grabbed his
arm and dragged him into the bedroom.
Mulder flung Krycek down onto the futon, then stood over him, fists
clenched. Momentarily unsure of himself, Mulder hesitated, wondering if he
should give in to this dark desire, more a need to punish than to answer
Krycek's passion. He was not a rapist. But then, Krycek was not resisting.
He knelt down on the futon, and began to pull Krycek's jacket off. Krycek
struggled upright, shifting to assist Mulder in removing it. Divested of his
black leather, some of his toughness was lost. Methodically, Mulder stripped
him naked, tossing his clothes carelessly aside, pushing his hands away when he
tried to help, or grasp at Mulder's tee-shirt. He teased Krycek's body as he
undressed him, pinching the tender nipples, brushing the inside of his thigh,
stroking the firm curve of his belly. Krycek moaned, almost fought, then
finally yielded to Mulder's touch.
Mulder leaned back on his heels, with Krycek laid out before him. His
experience with men was limited—mostly clumsy and alcohol-lubricated gropings
with classmates at Oxford—but he knew the basics of having sex with men, and
he knew what he wanted to do now. He had condoms in the nightstand by the futon
- seldom used, but there, just in case—but he needed something he could use
for lubricant. He had hand lotion in the bathroom—it was water-based, so it
should do. Mulder stood, gesturing for Krycek to stay where he was, and went to
get the lotion. Am I really going to do this? he asked himself, knowing
that the answer was yes. Something existed between him and Krycek that demanded
this resolution; something that was not entirely betrayed trust and sexual
obsession, although he didn't want to look at it that closely. He returned to
the bedroom, where Krycek remained just as he had left him, looking up at him
with a strange expression in his clear hazel eyes.
Mulder got a condom out of the nightstand, placed it along with the lotion
in reach beside the futon. Then he began to undress.
"All right, this is how it is. This happens once, and it happens my way, or
it doesn't happen at all. You get one chance to say no, right now."
Krycek frowned, lips pressed tightly together. The bitterness was sharp on
his face, but he didn't move, and he didn't say a word.
"Turn over."
Krycek closed his eyes tightly for a moment, resentment flaring. Rebellion
quickly suppressed, he obeyed, slowly turning over onto his stomach, legs
slightly apart. He continued to look up at Mulder, anger flickering around the
edges of his need. Mulder could hear the thudding of his own heart as he lay
down beside Krycek, and ran a hand along the burning hot skin of Krycek's back.
Krycek's body was smooth and white; youthful, not overly powerful, but firmly
muscled. He sighed as Mulder stroked his back; gasped when Mulder probed
between his buttocks. He buried his face in the pillow, gripping the edge of
the futon tightly.
Mulder felt his own body responding to Krycek's heat. His cool control
dissipating, he brought his mouth down onto Krycek's shoulders, and covered him
with teasing bites and wet kisses, while his hands explored hip and thigh. He
moved to lie between Krycek's legs, spreading him farther with his knees. He
stroked his hard cock along the crevice between Krycek's cheeks, and Krycek
writhed beneath him. It was intoxicating, controlling Krycek like this.
Subjugating him with his own desire. The power was as delicious as the firm
flesh flexing beneath his cock.
He reached for the lotion, poured a generous amount into his hand, and
moved back onto his knees to allow himself access to Krycek's buttocks. He slid
his wet hand between Krycek's cheeks and found the puckered entrance with his
fingers. Krycek let out a tortured moan and lifted his hips to meet Mulder's
hand. Mulder entered him with his finger, stroking in and out, searching for
the special gland, not sure how he would know if he found it. Krycek's
shuddering cry was the answer.
Mulder found that he was gasping himself, as he withdrew his finger,
briefly, to reenter with two fingers. He was slick with sweat, his body
burning, his cock throbbing. Krycek's squirming, whimpering response was
driving him mad. He wanted this desperately, even though he knew it would bring
disaster. He reached for the condom, suddenly in a frantic hurry to finish it.
His hands trembled as he ripped the foil and rolled the condom onto his cock.
Then he settled between Krycek's legs, guiding his cock to the moist entrance,
and began to penetrate him.
Mulder was going too fast; Krycek cried out and tried to pull away. Mulder
forced himself to slow down, but didn't stop, even though Krycek's body was now
stiff with resistance. Then Krycek sobbed "Mulder, please...." and he relented.
Pain wasn't what he wanted from Krycek now—he wanted that wonderful,
helpless, desperate passion. He withdrew and began again, careful this time,
moving with shallow strokes, gradually deepening as Krycek relaxed and began to
move with him. Finally, he pushed past the tight ring of muscle, and the full
length of his cock slid in. Krycek's sobbing moans were pure desire, now, and
Mulder groaned his own pleasure. He relaxed for a moment, allowing his body to
lay heavily on Krycek's, enjoying the feel of the sweat-slick back and hips
beneath him, and his cock fully sheathed in tight, hot flesh. You are
mine, he thought, reveling in the possession, pushing away the unexpected
wave of accompanying tenderness. He ran his hands down Krycek's arms, from hard
shoulders to strong hands, then gripped his conquest's wrists and pressed them
firmly into the futon. He began to move his hips, thrusting deep and hard into
Krycek's ass.
His passion grew quickly, and so did Krycek's, and soon they were both
gasping and thrusting with increasing heat, building to an impossible climax.
Krycek came first, screaming into the pillow, grinding his hips against
Mulder's groin, muscles clenching on Mulder's cock. Mulder pushed into him hard
and gripped him tightly, riding out the waves of his orgasm, then drove to his
own climax with three more long, sharp strokes. His release shot through him
like electric fire, stiffening every muscle in his body, filling him with
shockwaves of pleasure, until, sated, he collapsed into a boneless puddle, body
still tingling with creamy satisfaction.
The afterglow lasted only a few moments. Mulder groaned, then, and lifted
himself up, the air chilling his sweaty skin. He held the condom in place while
he withdrew from Krycek's body, then peeled it off quickly, trying not to look
too closely at it as he reached over Krycek to toss it into the trash. He
rolled over onto his back, away from Krycek, and lay with one arm flung over
his head, the back of his hand resting on his forehead. A sick, sinking feeling
washed over him.
Oh my god, what have I done? I just fucked Alex Krycek. How could he
have possibly thought that there was an excuse for this? Krycek still lay with
his face buried in the pillow. Mulder didn't look at him, but he was aware of
Krycek's body shaking, muffled sounds emerging from the pillow. He was crying.
Mulder's sick feeling increased. He had wanted to punish him, but not like
this. Should he try to comfort him? That would be a hollow and useless gesture.
Probably just make things worse. If they could be any worse. Mulder had never
been so ashamed in his life.
He wanted it. I didn't force him. But he had taken him in anger, not
in love, or even kindness; made him give up all control, and treated him like a
slab of flesh. What might it have been like if he'd allowed Krycek to really
make love to him? The memory of that soul-searing kiss came hauntingly back,
and he forced it away, hot tears spilling from his own eyes. Alex Krycek is a
morally bankrupt little toad, he insisted to himself. Krycek's betrayal still
burned. Trust did not come easily to him, and to have it shattered as Krycek
had shattered it wounded him to the core. But now he had his own betrayal to
counter it. Wrong did not justify wrong.
Krycek stirred, sat up on the edge of the futon, back to Mulder. Mulder
turned to look at him, and saw tooth marks on Krycek's shoulder. Mulder hadn't
remembered biting that hard. His stomach churned with shame. He reached out to
touch Krycek's arm.
"Alex?"
Krycek jerked away from his touch. Mulder had no idea what to say. Krycek
leaned forward to begin gathering his clothes. He pulled on his tee-shirt, then
stood, back still to Mulder, to pull up his underpants and jeans. He had to
search the room more carefully for his shoes and socks. Mulder could see the
silent tears still falling, tiny wet drops dripping to the carpet, as Krycek
sat in the floor to put his shoes on. Finally, he grabbed his jacket, shrugging
into it as he got to his feet.
At last he turned to face Mulder. Now it was Krycek standing, fully
dressed, looking down at Mulder lying naked in bed. Mulder felt a tiny pang at
his vulnerability. But there was no anger or resentment in Krycek's face any
longer, only heartbroken misery.
"Alex... I didn't mean...." He struggled for words, knowing that there were
none.
"Yes, you did." Tears still sliding down his face, Krycek reached into his
back pocket for his wallet, and brought it out. He took the small picture from
its secret hiding place and let it fall, fluttering, to the bed.
"Goodbye, Mulder."
Then he turned and walked out.
He jerked to attention, found Scully standing by his desk with her arms
folded, looking very impatient. "Sorry. What were you saying?"
She sighed. "Mulder, you haven't heard a word I've said all day. What's
wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing." Three nights ago Krycek had walked out of his
apartment. Mulder hadn't heard from him since.
"You've been like this for days. Are you sure you're all right?"
He'd sent several urgent and increasingly indiscreet messages to Krycek's
e-mail address, none of which had been answered. "I'm all right. I just haven't
been sleeping." And the last time he'd said that, it was because Krycek had
been spiking the water in his building with drugs.
Perhaps she made that connection too, and it was what prompted her to ask,
"Have you heard from Krycek again?"
He flinched. "No," he mumbled, face burning. "No, I haven't seen him. Why
do you ask?"
"Just wondered." She regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment. "Mulder?
Let me know if you want to talk about it."
He nodded. There had been that phone number in Krycek's wallet, perhaps he
could be traced through that. Or the "Alan Foxworth" alias. There must be some
way to find him, if he wouldn't relent and answer his e-mail.
Maybe by the time he found him, he'd have thought of something to say.
The woman you see when you look at me?
Is she someone who'll follow you anywhere,
Believe your extreme possibilities,
Live for your truth?
Replacing the one you've lost.
Someone to be cared for and protected,
Teased and tormented,
Taken for granted,
Loved like family.
Hovering over you, watching out for you,
Saving you from yourself.
She isn't Scully.
But she may be what Scully is becoming.
Langly had insisted that no one could have tampered with the blood-stained
handkerchief Mulder had given him. If the blood on the handkerchief wasn't
Scully's, well, that wasn't his problem. His tests were accurate with the
samples he was given.
Scully had investigated hospital birth records and could find no evidence
that either of their mothers had had another child, or that either of them had
been adopted.
Mulder had talked to Don Markham, who had offered to run another series of
tests, but stood firmly by the results he'd already given.
He could prove nothing. It seemed to be the story of his life. And now, on
top of everything else, the awful situation with Krycek continued to prey on
his mind. He'd given up trying to find him, deciding it would be better if he
just never saw Krycek again—unless it was to testify at Krycek's trial. But
he couldn't stop himself from thinking about everything that had happened. He
still couldn't believe the twisted impulse that had made him respond sexually
to a man he hated. What was it all about? Nothing about Krycek made sense, not
from the moment he'd allowed himself to believe Krycek's story about his
father's death. Why hadn't Krycek just left the warehouse after Mulder had let
him go? Why had he brought him the database tape? Why had he come to Mulder's
apartment, goaded Mulder into half-raping him? He could not afford to take
anything that Krycek said or did at face value. Krycek was playing games with
him. Dangerous, twisted games. Setting Mulder up for some new betrayal. Mulder
was not even sure that Krycek hadn't really killed his father, although
Krycek's story had seemed genuine at the time.
Page after page of microfiche flashed dizzily by.... Wait a minute, what
was that? He reversed the microfiche reader, went back a page. There, not the
parent corporation, but another subsidiary—
Purity Control.
"Quaid-Markham is the sister corporation of Purity Control."
Scully's eyes widened. She studied the page. "It can't be a coincidence...
how did you happen to choose Quaid-Markham in the first place?"
Mulder pulled a chair over to Scully's desk and sat in it backwards. "Don
Markham came to me about three years ago when one of his employees disappeared
with a file full of confidential records. I helped him recover them. He told me
if I ever needed any help with DNA analyses he'd be happy to do me a favor."
"Then he initiated the relationship. Could they have been planning
something like this that far ahead? And how did they know what Langly had told
us?"
Mulder rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "Maybe they didn't. I still don't
think Langly's involved in any conspiracy." He stood and began to pace,
frowning. "All right, it all started with Langly's curious idea of a fun way to
spend a rainy Saturday, running DNA analyses. Let's suppose Langly's tests were
genuine—but the blood sample I gave him wasn't really yours. Maybe it was
Samantha's, or a clone of Samantha's. Then, to confirm his results, I went to
Don Markham."
"He'd been waiting three years for something like this. He went to Purity
Control, and told them that you and I had come in for DNA testing. Did you tell
Markham about the previous tests?"
"No, I just said I wanted our DNA analyzed and compared."
"Well, it would have been reasonable for him to assume that we suspected
some sort of genetic relationship. And we presented them with an ideal
opportunity to set us up."
"All they had to do then was have Markham fake the test results, then set
up a phony database in a warehouse, and send us after it with an anonymous tip.
And they had us on a string, right down the line." Mulder stopped pacing and
grinned. It still wasn't proof, but it was an answer. One that made sense; one
that fit all the facts. You always had that radar, Mulder, that ability to
know what was real.... Krycek had told him that. He shook it off. "It's
still a big coincidence that their results were identical with Langly's. Maybe
they replaced your DNA profile with Samantha's, too. Damn."
"What?"
"We should have kept the profiles from Markham's tests. We could have
compared them with Langly's."
"What do you want to bet that if we go back to Markham now, he'll say the
reports are missing?"
He grinned again. "No takers. But I'll ask, anyway."
Scully nodded. Her face was brighter, too. Mulder sighed with relief.
Finally, some real evidence that the DNA tests had been a setup. Then his mood
sank. It still wasn't over, not until they had final proof. And that was
something they might never find.
Scully's smile faded, too. "Mulder? I... I asked my mother about this."
"What did she say?"
"That she'd had no other children. That I wasn't adopted."
"I'm sorry, Scully. I know that must have been... hard." He felt a flash of
guilt, although he knew it wasn't really his fault. But if he'd found the
information about Quaid-Markham earlier, she might not have felt it necessary
to go to her mother with this.
She shrugged. "It wasn't so bad. She wasn't upset, just confused. And
curious."
"What did you tell her?"
"I said that I'd received anonymous information that I had another brother,
and that either he or I was adopted. I said that I had assumed it was false,
but that I had to check it out."
He nodded. "Well, if this whole thing was designed to shake us up, it
certainly worked." He still couldn't imagine asking his mother about anything
like this.
"Mulder, I've done all I can with checking into our birth records. You've
talked to Langly and Markham. I don't know what else we can do."
Mulder sighed. "I know."
"We could try another DNA test, I suppose," she said, without enthusiasm.
"Maybe." He was as reluctant as she was. "The only person I'd trust to do
it at this point is Langly."
Her lip curled in distaste. "You actually let that man stick a needle in
your arm?"
Mulder grinned. "He was very gentle."
"Does he give lollipops?"
"No, that's Frohike's department."
Scully shook her head, smiling. "I would never lick anything I got from
Frohike."
"Aw, Scully, you're breaking his heart."
It was good to enjoy a little of their usual banter. There had been far too
little of it since the day Langly had called with the news of the DNA tests
he'd run. As impossible as it seemed, life was somehow returning to normal,
even though they still didn't know for sure whether they were brother and
sister. It was a strange thought, and one that was more chilling than
comforting. But Scully was right, they'd gone as far as they could. They could
take another DNA test, but how could they ever be sure of the results? Unless
some new evidence turned up, they were at a dead end.
Krycek. Mulder found that his hand was trembling. Damn Krycek! Just when
Mulder had decided to put Krycek out of his life for good, he popped up again.
After everything that had happened, why would Krycek want to meet with him
again?
Add that to the entire list of questions Mulder had about Krycek's
behavior. Mulder didn't understand any of it. Could this whole thing be some
sort of elaborate trap? Had Krycek been sent, deliberately, starting with the
warehouse, to do everything he could to shake Mulder up and keep him off
balance? He would have liked to believe that, but it hardly seemed plausible.
How could they be sure that Mulder wouldn't just kill Krycek? Or perhaps they
didn't care if he did. Supposing that the Smoking Man had no further use for
Krycek—he might have given Krycek one last assignment to get back in Mulder's
good graces any way he could. And if Mulder killed Krycek instead, well, that
would be a perfectly satisfactory result. The Smoking Man would be rid of a
no-longer-useful agent, and have evidence to get Mulder charged with murder—two problems taken care of at once. Squeezed between the Smoking Man's callous
threat and Mulder's implacable hatred, Krycek might begin to be bitter and
desperate and unpredictable.
Mulder wished he could come up with as reasonable an explanation for his
own behavior. His previous sexual experiences with men had been encounters of
convenience and curiosity, amusing but passionless. He wasn't particularly
attracted to men, and if he had to choose a type he might be attracted to, it
wouldn't be Alex Krycek, whose looks he would classify as ordinary and
undistinguished. Yes, Krycek had a certain sweetness, an awkward charm that
Mulder had once found appealing in a protective, big-brotherish sort of way.
Those feelings were far from the overwhelming urge to rut that had overcome
Mulder when Krycek kissed him. It had to be just an aberration; a sudden
boiling over of all the tumultuous emotions Krycek caused in him.
So what was on the agenda for this time? More dubiously useful information
passed? Another attempt to goad Mulder into losing control?
Mulder sighed, shook himself, and went up the stairs into his apartment.
Damn his curiosity, he was going to have to meet with Krycek. The time
specified was nine P.M.; that gave him several hours to think it over, and to
plan, and to decide....
He wanted Scully with him. But if he asked her to come, he was going to
have to tell her... something. The meeting at the warehouse, at least—not the
whole story. Even that much shamed him for some reason; he wasn't sure why.
That he'd terrorized Krycek, and enjoyed it? That he'd wept, and allowed Krycek
to comfort him? He still had Krycek's handkerchief, laundered and buried at the
bottom of a drawer. He supposed he should return it, although the image made
him very uncomfortable. He hadn't been able to bring himself to do it before.
That he'd let Krycek walk away, and take the computer equipment with him?
Or maybe it was just that what had happened at that warehouse disrupted the
pure, white hatred he'd cultivated towards Krycek, and he didn't like to admit
that to himself, much less say it out loud.
But even less did he want to meet with Krycek alone. He didn't trust
Krycek; he didn't trust himself. He wanted Scully's calm, rational influence on
both of them. He picked up the phone.
But all she said was, "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"
He shrugged helplessly. "I didn't even want to think about it."
"What do you think he wants now?"
"I don't know. I don't know what he ever wanted."
"Why would he keep risking himself to meet with you? It has to be a setup."
"I agree. But I still want to know what he has to say."
"Mulder...." She bit her lip thoughtfully. "I know you were starting to
like him, before you found out he was working for your enemies. I hope you're
not...."
"No, Scully. I don't trust him, I don't believe him, and I'm not going to
let him get away with anything." His face was flushed. "You knew right from the
start, didn't you? You never liked him."
She smiled faintly. She'd like to think she'd been that perceptive.
"Mulder, I was jealous. He was your new partner. And he gave you something I
never could. He believed."
"But it was a lie."
"Was it? If what he told you at that warehouse was true...."
"That was just another lie. Or if it wasn't—it doesn't matter. He was
working against me all along. I can't let anything he says mean anything to
me."
"Then why meet with him?"
Mulder covered his face with his hand, and rubbed his forehead. "I don't
know." Sighing, he looked at Scully. "I have to. Even if I don't believe any of
it, I have to know what he has to say. Will you come with me?"
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
Krycek ignored Scully, and looked only at Mulder. "I thought you'd come
alone."
"We did," Mulder replied smoothly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could
see Scully suppressing a smile.
Krycek pressed his lips together, resentment and pain flaring briefly
before the grim frown returned. "Fine. You're joined at the hip; I should have
known."
"What do you want, Alex?" Mulder spoke softly, offering the first name in a
gesture of appeasement.
Which only resulted in a narrowing of the eyes, and another flash of pain.
Krycek opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it and looked away. He shut
his eyes briefly, then turned back to Mulder. It was as if Scully weren't
there. Abruptly, he said, "I found the original of that database."
The words sent an electric tingle through Mulder. "Where?"
"In Crystal City. There's an industrial complex there, with one big white
building all by itself at the end. That's where I delivered the equipment that
was in that warehouse. I overheard part of a conversation I wasn't supposed to
hear. Since then, I've done a little quiet poking around. All the records are
there. All the ones that are so sensitive, they're not on the net."
"What's the address?" Mulder's heart was pounding. It had to be a lie, of
course, some kind of trap, but it would be a good lie, and the best lies were
always closest to the truth....
Krycek named an address which Mulder memorized. Mulder's photographic
memory kept an image of an Arlington map. He located the address, and tested it
against what he knew of the neighborhood. So far so good. "Can you help us get
in?"
A slight noise of protest from Scully. Mulder, like Krycek, ignored her.
"Maybe." Krycek's cool hazel eyes appraised him. Krycek's eyes were exactly
the same color as Mulder's own. Physically, there were no other similarities,
except that Krycek was within an inch of him in height, but those hazel eyes
stared back at him like the reflection in some dark, sinister mirror. "I'm not
going to get myself killed over this."
"I don't plan to get killed over it, either," Mulder replied mildly.
"You think it's a trap, don't you?" Bitterness like acid burned through his
words. Was it for Mulder's insistence on having Scully there? The humiliation
of their last encounter? Or simply the impossible strain of the duplicitous
game he was playing?
"I'd be a fool to trust you, wouldn't I, Alex?" Mulder allowed a mocking
tone to creep into his voice. "Do you think I'm a fool?"
"No, you're not a fool." Dripping acid.
If you touched him, you'd burn your hand. "Then you know I need more
than this."
"What do you need, Mulder? What do you need from me?" His low voice had a
touch of huskiness that made it all but disappear when he spoke this softly. It
made you lean closer, straining to hear him, watching his face carefully,
creating a false intimacy, seductive and sweet.
"Why are you telling us this?" Scully's voice broke in, causing Mulder to
start, and Krycek to take a step back, glaring at her for a moment before his
gaze returned to Mulder.
"Good question," Mulder said. "Why, Alex?"
Krycek looked away. When he turned back to Mulder, his eyes beseeched
Mulder to send Scully away and talk to him alone.
Mulder shook his head, a small motion that sent more pain cascading down
Krycek's face. "We're joined at the hip, remember?"
Krycek stared at Mulder, accusing. There was recrimination in his gaze,
intimate anger, and longing. Mulder chewed his lip, feeling the heat in his
face. God, what must Scully be thinking? He'd been insane to bring her here.
Then Krycek cleared his throat. He stared at the ground as he spoke. "All I
ever wanted, for as long as I can remember, was to work for the FBI." He
paused, pulling his jacket more tightly around him, hands still in his pockets.
"I took law and political science classes in college. I didn't care what my
degree was in, as long as it would get me into the Academy. I applied the
minute I was old enough."
He looked at Mulder. "It wasn't any big secret that I was interested in the
X-Files. I was curious. I wanted to know everything. I saw how you'd get your
teeth into something, and just wouldn't let go. How you'd stand up to anybody
in your search for the truth. I wanted to be like that." He looked away again,
shoulders hunched.
"When he first came to me, he made it sound like I'd be protecting you.
'Mulder's gotten into a dangerous situation,' he told me. 'Since the X-Files
have been shut down, he's become obsessed with investigating his own
government. He must be turned from this course. We don't want him harmed.' "
Just enough of the truth, Mulder thought. But who was the liar? The
Smoking Man, or Krycek? Or both?
"Of course, he never mentioned to me that other people might be harmed.
Well, I can't really say that. 'We are sometimes forced to do unpleasant things
for the greater good. National security is at stake.' " Krycek mimicked
perfectly the smooth, monotonous tones of the Smoking Man's voice. He was
really a very good actor. "I believed him, then. I thought I was serving my
country. Protecting its secrets. Some things were too dangerous to know, even
for you."
"And now?" Mulder asked.
"Now?" The bitterness was back, thick and searing. "Now I'm a thug. My
career in the FBI is over. And I'm... delivering computer equipment, and
changing water filters, and... I still don't know anything. I don't know what
I'm protecting. I'm just supposed to do what I'm told, follow orders, no matter
what they are...."
He paused, took a deep breath, and continued with quiet intensity. "For all
I know, he's right, and helping you is a big mistake. But I've done things—the kind of things you don't want to do without knowing why. And if I go down
for this, I'm not going to go down saying 'I was only following orders.'"
Krycek's searing bitterness was almost too painful to look at. He's a
very good actor. Or... ? But the best lies were the closest to the truth.
He pictured his enemy, cigarette smoke wreathed about his fingers, saying,
Just bring Mulder to us. One last task, and then we won't require anything
further of you. You can be reinstated in the FBI, if you wish. There's no
evidence against you, only Mulder's report, and he won't be a problem any
longer.
But Krycek would be a fool to believe the Smoking Man would ever let him
walk away. He didn't know anything; but he knew too much. And Krycek was no
fool. So which way would he jump?
"Does he know that you're here?" Mulder asked.
"No." That quiet voice, just a slight shake of the head and motion of the
lips, the word itself nearly inaudible. It begged, demanded to be believed, far
more than a loud, insistent answer would have.
"Does he know you want out?"
A quick glance away, then a more emphatic, "No."
Mulder didn't say anything, just looked at him.
Krycek started to say something several times, then finally, "I don't know.
Maybe he does. What difference does it make?"
"Well, assuming you're telling the truth, and you came to me on your own, I
have to wonder just how carefully you've covered your tracks, and whether or
not he knows about that conversation you overheard, and whether this might be a
setup on his part to trap both of us."
Krycek laughed—a brief laugh, but genuine. "Mulder, you really are
paranoid."
Mulder smiled back at him. "It's what keeps me alive."
A thoughtful frown, as Krycek weighed the possibilities. "I don't think so.
I mean, I can see an elaborate setup like this for you, but why bother with me?
He could get rid of me any time he wants to."
"Because you're already in it. You're doing his work for him. All he has to
do is sit back and reel us in."
Krycek shook his head. "I don't think so." He shrugged. "I suppose it's
possible. But that address is genuine. You can check it out yourselves."
"We will. But Alex—I'm not going in there alone. If we decide this is for
real, if we decide we can trust you—you're going to help us."
A strangled laugh. "My neck's on the chopping block beside yours, is that
it?"
Mulder nodded. "Exactly."
"Fine. Fine." Cold and bitter again, Krycek paced two short steps, speaking
to the ground at his feet. "You don't believe me, why should you believe me?"
Suddenly, he stepped right up to Mulder, only inches between them. "Do what you
have to do. Check it out. Then you let me know what you want from me."
Once again, Scully's voice broke in on the interchange between the two men,
startling them both. "Can you get us a copy of the database file?"
"No." Krycek directed that one word to Scully, then dismissed her again. To
Mulder, he said, "What would be the point?"
Mulder nodded. What indeed? They would have no way of knowing if such a
copy had been tampered with. It would be useless to them. And the Smoking Man
would know that Mulder and Scully would not trust Krycek to bring the data to
them—they would have to go in and find it for themselves. A wonderfully
clever trap. If it was a trap. "We'll look into it and let you know," Mulder
told Krycek.
Krycek nodded abruptly, then turned to walk away. Mulder grabbed him by the
arm. Krycek whirled, glaring, but made no attempt to break away.
"Wait," Mulder said, then turned to Scully. "I'll be a minute. Meet you at
the car."
Scully also scowled. No doubt she was wondering why she'd come to this
meeting in the first place. Then she nodded, and left them alone.
"What?" Krycek pulled his arm out of Mulder's grip.
Mulder blushed. He reached into his inside coat pocket and brought out the
handkerchief. "I just wanted to return this."
Krycek took the handkerchief, then turned away, eyes tightly shut and
knuckles pressed to his mouth. When he looked back at Mulder, his face was pale
and shot through with pain. "Not necessary."
"I wanted to. Alex...." He took a deep breath. What was there to say?
"Yeah." Krycek pushed the handkerchief into his jacket pocket and turned
blindly. He disappeared quickly around the corner, leaving Mulder alone in the
sidewalk.
She took a deep breath, then shook her head, smiling ruefully. "Tell me
again why you wanted me to come with you to meet him?"
"Sorry. I was hoping it would be a little less intense if you were there."
"Mulder, are you sure you told me everything about what went on between you
two?"
"Yes." And how was he going to expect her to believe that, when he was
blushing like a schoolboy? But what else could he tell her? That he had dreams
about Krycek? That when Krycek stood face to face with him, the hair on the
back of his neck stood up? That he could not stop thinking about what it had
felt like to have Krycek pinned beneath him and his cock up Krycek's ass? "I
didn't mean to shut you out."
"Mulder, I hope you're going to be able to be rational about this. We can't
trust him. Letting him lead us into a secure government installation would be
insane."
"You didn't believe him?"
She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "If he was lying, he was doing
an excellent job of it. He's obviously in a lot of pain about something." She
flashed him a brief smile. "I'd love to get him on a polygraph sometime."
He managed to smile back. "So would I. Think he'd go for it?"
"But even if he is sincere, there's always the possibility that he's being
set up as well. It's just too dangerous."
"But Scully, if that building really does contain the original of the
database, as well as who knows what other data, we have to at least think about
trying to get in."
"We can think about it. But if it looks too risky...." She shook her head,
sighing. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you about it. You're going to do
it anyway, aren't you?"
"It's the best chance we'll ever have to find the truth about that
database. Don't you want to know that?"
"Of course I do. But I don't want to get killed trying to find out."
"We'll be careful, I promise. I don't want to get killed either. This is
just too good a chance to pass up." He should listen to her. He should not take
foolish chances. He should not under any circumstances trust Alex Krycek.
He already knew that he would.
Scully had decided to investigate Krycek himself. "He graduated from
Dartmouth in nineteen ninety with a degree in political science. His grades
were excellent." She sat on the edge of Mulder's desk, reading from her notes.
"He was twenty-three, the minimum age for acceptance at the FBI Academy, when
he attended in nineteen ninety-two. He was fourteenth in his class."
Mulder sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.
Scully looked up from the computer. "I talked to several of his
instructors. They all said he was very bright, that they expected him to do
well."
"So we know he's smart. Anything else?"
"I talked to a couple of his classmates. He had a nickname at the Academy."
She paused, biting her lip. " 'Spooky, Junior.' "
Mulder's stomach lurched. "So it's true."
"It would seem so."
Mulder took a deep breath, and shook his head. "Everything he's told us
that we've been able to verify has been true."
"Well, it would be, wouldn't it? He wouldn't lie about anything we could
check up on."
"No. Scully, did anyone say anything about Krycek's personal life? You
know, friends, or... girlfriends?"
She looked at him appraisingly. He hated that look. Sometimes he felt like
she could see right through him. "No. He apparently had no close friends among
his classmates. Whatever his private life was, he kept it to himself."
Mulder nodded. Although there was no official policy against gays in the
FBI, there were always ways to keep open homosexuals out. If one wanted to go
far in the Bureau, it was best to stay in the closet. Not get too close to
anyone. Lead a double life. Good training for a counter-agent.
"You're planning to go through with this, aren't you?" Scully asked.
"I have to. You don't have to come with me."
She looked away, frowning. Then she turned back to him, her blue eyes
intense. "You know I'll come with you. But, if I'm going to risk my life on
this—on Alex Krycek's word—I have to know the whole story. Everything that
went on between you two. I think I have a right to know."
She'd gone through so much with him. Sometimes he thought he'd do anything
for her. He wouldn't, really, of course. Not quite anything. His obsession came
first, before anything else, even Scully. But he wished it were true. She
deserved that. And she deserved to know, now, what she was getting herself into
by getting involved with him and his sick relationship with Krycek. She was
right. He would have to tell her. And he would die of humiliation.
He stood, and took his suit jacket off the back of his chair. "Not here.
Let's go to my place." They were safe enough, isolated down here in the
basement. No one would come down, or overhear. It still felt far too public for
the things he had to tell her. And maybe he was stalling just a bit, hoping
that between here and his apartment a miracle would occur and he wouldn't have
to go through with it.
But no miracles occurred. They drove to his building in silence, went up
the stairs, sat in their usual places on couch and easy chair.
Mulder stood. "Do you want some coffee?"
"Mulder, sit down. Just tell me. You're only making it harder."
He sat. He wished she wasn't sitting right across from him. He stared at
the coffee table, unable to look at her. "All right. It happened the night
after he brought me the tape. He showed up at my apartment at three in the
morning." He took a deep breath. All right, just keep talking, just get it out
and get it over with. "We talked. We were both angry. I accused him of wanting
to get into bed with me. He... one thing led to another, and we ended up in
bed. It... wasn't very nice." He shut his eyes tightly and prayed for the earth
to open up and swallow him.
Very long moments passed. Mulder couldn't open his eyes, couldn't bear to
look at her. To see the shock and disgust on her face. To confront her
disappointment.
Her words were unnaturally calm. "I hope you were... safe."
He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He opened his eyes. She was wearing
her "doctor face"—only this time it was pale and severely strained. "Scully,
I don't know if you could call anything about it 'safe,' but, yes, I used a
condom." And just told her who did what to whom. He cringed.
She seemed, amazingly, relieved. So she doesn't want me to shrivel up
and die of AIDS. It doesn't mean she still has a shred of respect for me.
She asked, "Is he in love with you?"
Love? That was a very frightening thought. "I don't know. If he is, it's
an extremely sick sort of love."
"What about you?"
"No! Scully, I—it wasn't like that. It was just anger, and frustration,
and—he started it." And that was an incredibly stupid thing to say. "Scully,
I don't know why I did it. At the time, I just wanted to punish him. And he—he let me do it."
"He probably knew you'd die of guilt over it."
She was being so calm. So understanding. He was going to start crying in a
minute. Was it possible to feel any more humiliated? "He wasn't very happy
about it either. He cried all the way out the door."
She looked away, hand on her mouth. Her "doctor face" was failing. She
shifted in her chair, and forced her composure to return. "Well, that explains
the pain he was in, anyway." She turned to Mulder. "But, Mulder, it's all the
more reason for you not to trust him now. You can't seriously believe, after
all that, that he means to help you."
"I don't know, Scully. Why did he help me after what I did to him in the
warehouse? Why did he bring me that tape? I haven't been able to figure out
anything he's done. I wouldn't assume there are any easy answers about why he's
coming to me now."
"Mulder...." She paused, struggling again to keep her calm demeanor. "Have
you talked to him since... ?"
"No. Not until today."
"Well, don't you think you should? Try to get things straight between you?"
"I'm not exactly proud of how I acted. But compared to what he did—I
don't really feel like I owe him any apologies."
"Then how can you want to go through with this? Mulder, this is insane.
Talk to him. Or forget about it." She stood up, abruptly, began putting on her
coat.
"Scully...."
She stood before him. Outwardly, she was calm; but she had a redhead's
volatile temperament all the same. She just held it still and under control.
The fire was in those sapphire eyes, and the set of her full mouth, all the
more forceful because she didn't bluster and shout. "Mulder, I understand. You
have very strong feelings towards him. Anger, frustration, the need to control
can express themselves as sexual impulses. Especially when there's some
attraction—on his part at least. But you have to deal with it now. You have
to get a grip on yourself. Or this whole thing is going to blow up in our
faces."
He nodded. "I know, but—I'm afraid if I try to talk to him, I'm just
going to make things worse."
"Then let's forget it. We can get at the truth some other way. Some way
that doesn't involve Krycek."
"I can't forget it," he mumbled.
"Then I'll talk to him. I should talk to him alone, anyway. Can you set up
a meeting?"
"Scully... why do you want to talk to him?"
"I just think I should see for myself whether or not I think he can be
trusted. And as long as you're there, he's not going to hear a word I say."
Another long pause. "I don't know if he'll do it."
"If he doesn't, he doesn't. Will you try, though?"
A big sigh. "All right. I'll try." Then he stood. "I'll drive you home." He
couldn't talk about it any more; he felt like he was going to be sick.
She shook her head. "I'll get a cab. You look pretty shaken up." She smiled
sympathetically. "It's all right, Mulder. Call me later, if you want."He felt
that he should protest, insist on taking her home. But she was right, he felt
completely drained. He just stood there, dumbly, and watched her leave.
She'd thought a lot about Krycek during the past few days, and still
couldn't make up her mind what she felt about him. She'd never been Krycek's
partner, never been tempted to like the man, or to trust him. She'd only met
him a few times. The first time was over an autopsy—she'd been rude to him,
resenting him for working with Mulder, and he'd nearly thrown up at the sight
of the partially autopsied body on the table. Not a very auspicious meeting.
Then, when Duane Barry had taken Mulder hostage and she'd gone to the scene
with the information she'd found, Krycek had met her, telling her to calm down.
She'd snapped at him and brushed him aside. So she had her own bad behavior
towards Krycek to deal with—nothing on the scale of what had gone on between
him and Mulder, but still her pettiness bothered her. Krycek had always been
perfectly professional towards her.
As for Krycek's betrayals—well, he was just a man doing a job. That job
happened to be working for their enemies—but she didn't take it personally,
like Mulder did. Watch out for him, surely; arrest him if there was evidence
for it; never trust him. But hate him? It just wasn't in her. Even his part in
her abduction didn't stir much beyond a tightly controlled anger, whose heat
she kept firmly banked down. She would not let it sway her judgment of him now.
Nor would she fall for his air of tortured innocence. Someone must be the voice
of logic and reason in all this; and, as usual, that lot fell to her.
Then he nodded slightly, and walked around the fountain to sit on the bench
beside her. He sat with his hands jammed into his jacket pockets, staring
straight ahead.
Scully picked up the other styrofoam cup sitting on the bench beside her
and held it out to him. "Coffee?"
He looked at her, startled, then took the cup. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"It's black. I didn't know how you take it."
"I like cream. But it's all right," he hurried to add, taking a sip to show
her it was acceptable. "I...." He stopped, gave a strangled laugh. "I was going
to say, in the FBI we learn to drink anything." He looked away.
Scully bit her lip. Well, so much for not letting him get to her.
"Krycek...."
"I suppose I should thank you," he interrupted.
"You already did."
"Not for the coffee." There was that tortured laugh again. "For saving my
life. I suppose now you're wishing you'd gone ahead and let Mulder shoot me."
She had come upon the two them outside Mulder's apartment building. Out of
his mind with drugs, Mulder stood holding a gun on Krycek, about to pull the
trigger. She'd only been thinking about Mulder—afraid he'd throw his career
and his life away with this horrible act of madness and revenge. She'd stopped
Mulder from firing in the only way she could—by shooting him in the shoulder.
She remembered the look of shock on Krycek's face, in the split-second before
he'd grabbed his freedom and run like hell.
"No, I don't regret what I did. But I did it for Mulder, not for you."
"Of course." Krycek had gone cold. He set his coffee cup down on the bench
beside him. "What do you want, Scully? Is this a tag-team thing now? Mulder's
going to sit this one out while you have a go at me?" Biting resentment
smoldered in those lovely, dark-lashed hazel eyes.
Oh, yes, she could see how he'd gotten to Mulder. Right into bed, and then
cried about it afterward, just to pile on a little more guilt. "You're very
good."
He shot her a look. "What do you mean?"
"You're a manipulative little bastard, aren't you?"
For a moment, he just stared. Then, to her surprise, his face softened and
he smiled ironically. "I do my best."
She found herself smiling back. And this is all just part of the game,
isn't it? "Well, can we try turning it off for a while? You've got Mulder
so twisted up he doesn't know what he's doing. If you really cared for him, you
wouldn't want to do that to him."
Krycek frowned, running a hand through his dark hair. "I care. But it's
hard to be nice to somebody who hates you so much. He twists himself up,
Scully, that's not all my doing."
No doubt there was some truth to that. "He told me everything that
happened. I don't think adding sex to the situation was exactly calculated to
keep things calm."
His mouth hung open. "He told you that? Jesus." He stared at the ground,
leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I don't believe it. You really
are joined at the hip, aren't you?"
Scully felt herself reddening at his obvious discomfort. "He didn't want to
tell me. And, ordinarily, I wouldn't pry into his private life. But my life is
on the line with this. I felt I had to know the whole story."
"And now that you know?" he asked quietly, still not looking at her.
"It doesn't change my relationship with him, if that's what you mean."
He turned his head to look up at her. It's the eyelashes, she
thought. He can't help looking like a wide-eyed innocent. He doesn't even
know he's doing it half the time. But the words were not so innocent.
"Don't you sleep with him?"
Her face was hot. But it was a fair question. "No, I don't. He's my
partner."
"Don't you want to?"
She definitely did not owe him the answer to that. But perhaps confidence
would inspire confidence. Yet how to explain her feelings for Mulder? She cared
for him deeply, but only with a certain restraint. Sometimes he felt to her
like a gaping black hole of need; she was afraid to get too close, knowing he
would consume her. She felt it her responsibility to stand clear of that
maelstrom of obsessive emotion, ready to pull him back when it threatened to
overwhelm him. She could not give him the blind loyalty of a lover.
But Krycek wasn't afraid, was he? He walked right into Mulder's blinding
passion and fury, let it have him, and came back in bitter pain, ready to take
it again. The only question was, was he doing it for Mulder, or for Mulder's
enemies?
"Mulder's my friend," she began, finally breaking the silence. "I care a
great deal for him. And he's attractive, there's no doubt about that."
Krycek's tight smile showed his agreement.
She continued, "But I have to maintain a certain distance. I have to be
able to tell him when he's getting off track, even when it means making him
angry, or hurting him, temporarily. He needs someone to do that for him."
"You don't think he should do this, do you?" He was more resigned than
bitter, now.
She allowed herself to smile at him. "There's only so much I can do. I
can't go around shooting him all the time."
He returned the smile. "You think that's the only way to stop him?"
She sighed. "Probably. He wants that information very badly."
"Do you think, if I give it to him, he'll stop hating me?"
"I don't know. You put him through a lot of pain. But... I don't think hate
is the only thing he feels for you."
"I know. If it was, I wouldn't bother."
She looked at him curiously. "You know, it's so easy to forget that you
know exactly what you're doing."
He shook his head. "I don't know what I'm doing, Scully. He twists me up as
bad as I twist him. I shouldn't be doing this. But it's the only thing I can
do."
Scully took a deep breath. "You know, I think I believe you."
"And you didn't even have to put a gun to my head."
She lifted an eyebrow.
He shrugged, grinning. "Bad joke. Ask Mulder. You're going along, then?"
She nodded. "It's the only thing I can do, too."
He started up his computer and sent a one-line e-mail message to
Skippy1121: I need to talk to you. Then he lay down on the couch and
picked up the TV remote. He had a feeling he would not sleep tonight.
"Who is it?" He yawned as he called through the door.
"It's me, let me in." Krycek.
Mulder sighed opened the door. "What is it, Krycek?"
Krycek spread his arms. "You wanted to see me. I'm here."
I didn't mean at two in the morning. Still, he stepped aside and let
Krycek come in. He caught a slight whiff of alcohol as Krycek passed. Great,
he's drunk. But he was steady on his feet. Steadier, in fact, than Mulder,
who was still groggy from being awakened.
The usual black leather. A strand of dark hair in his face. "What do you
want, Mulder? Have you decided what you want to do?" A slight expansiveness was
the only indication that he was under the influence. But there was a strange
glint in his eyes.
"Maybe. First I need to talk to you."
"Why? You never believe anything I tell you anyway."
"I want to believe." The irony of his saying that to Krycek was not lost on
either of them. "You still haven't told me anything that makes sense. Why are
you doing this, Krycek?"
Krycek prowled around Mulder's apartment. "I never meant for my life to
turn out like this." He stopped and looked at Mulder, choked out a despairing
laugh. "I screwed up big time."
"I know. But that still doesn't explain why you are helping me."
"Am I helping you?"
"You say you are."
He grinned at Mulder. It was a desperate grin. "I'm giving you information.
Maybe that information won't help you. Maybe you'd be better off without it."
"Maybe. But I still want to know why you're doing it."
Krycek stepped up to Mulder, jabbed him in the chest. "Because you're the
one, Mulder."
Mulder pushed Krycek's hand away, and took him by the shoulders. "Make
sense, Krycek. What one?"
"You're the fox, Fox." He giggled. "You know, in Japanese legend, demons
often take the form of a fox. Vengeful ghosts. Betrayed women. They come back
as foxes to seek their revenge."
"You're drunk." Mulder released him, and stepped away wearily. "Why don't
you go home?"
Krycek drew himself up. "I'm not drunk." Then he lowered his voice to a
conspiratorial murmur. "Maybe this is just the real me."
"Then tell me. How does the real you feel about me?"
His grin dissolved, sharply, into shards of pain. "How do you feel about
me, Fox?" He used Mulder's first name as a battering ram. "Do you hate me? Do
you hate me so much you just can't think of enough ways to hurt me? Beat me and
try to kill me, shove a gun down my throat, fuck me.... You told Scully about
what you did to me, for God's sake, do you have any idea how humiliating that
is? What now, Mulder? What's on the agenda for tonight?"
Mulder swallowed uneasily. "Look, about what happened last time...."
"The sex, you mean? You want to do it again? I'll do it again." There was a
wild look in his eyes.
"No, I...."
But Krycek hadn't waited for Mulder's answer. He stepped forward and
slipped his hands around Mulder's waist, sinking down to his knees. Then his
hands were rubbing Mulder's hips, stroking his groin, inflaming desire with a
practiced touch. Mulder groaned, tried to step back. But his knees had turned
to water. This is not supposed to happen again. But his mind was a haze
of conflicting emotions. Did he owe Krycek this, for last time? And why the
hell did it feel so good?
Now Krycek was unbuttoning Mulder's jeans, easing them down over his hips,
running his hands over sensitive exposed skin. His smooth cheek and warm lips
rubbed against Mulder's groin, nuzzling his cock ever-so-gently. Mulder's
mental debate was fast disintegrating, sense abandoned to sensuality. I'm
going to hell, he thought, and Alex Krycek is the devil. Then Krycek
flicked his hot, wet tongue over the head of Mulder's hard cock. And Mulder's
half-formed protest died.
Krycek cupped Mulder's balls in his hand, then circled the base of Mulder's
cock with strong fingers. The other hand gripped Mulder's hip. Moist lips and
swirling tongue sucked him in. Mulder gasped, thrust into Krycek's mouth,
tightened his fingers in Krycek's hair. All right, let it happen. Pure
sex. It meant nothing; it was just bodies clashing. Krycek's hand massaged his
hip, then felt between his buttocks. Mulder grabbed Krycek's wrist and pulled
his hand away.
Krycek let Mulder's cock slide out of his mouth, and got to his feet. His
smile was cold. "What's the matter, Mulder, you can dish it out, but you can't
take it?" Mulder was prevented from answering by Krycek's mouth on his. He
tasted the tongue that had just been on his cock. Krycek rubbed against him,
and slid his hands down Mulder's back to grip his bare buttocks. Mulder
clutched at Krycek's black leather, then suddenly pushed Krycek away and stood
with his hands on the waistband of his pants to keep them from falling any
further, searching Krycek's face. He felt a tiny chill at the triumph he saw
there.
Krycek smiled. "Don't look so scared, Mulder. I'm not going to hurt you."
"You'll understand why I don't exactly trust you."
Krycek flinched. "I'm not the one who plays power games in bed."
Mulder felt sick. "I... I'm sorry about that. That's why I really wanted to
talk to you, to apologize. I didn't mean to be so rough."
Krycek laughed. "You think that was rough? Haven't done it with men much,
have you?"
"Then what's the problem?" Mulder began pulling his pants up, slowly.
"Mulder, I just thought if I let you do what you wanted, you might stop
hating me so much. You didn't."
"How do you know? You didn't really stick around long enough to find out."
"God, Mulder. How long do you think it takes? You couldn't get away from me
fast enough. I thought you were going to throw me in the trash with the
condom."
"Krycek, I... it was a mistake. I'm sorry."
"No, the mistake was thinking that sex for you was going to be anything
more than just another way to punish me."
"Well, what about now? This is your way of punishing me, isn't it?"
Krycek stepped closer to him, and put one hand on his, stopping his
distracted and not-very-effective attempts to get his pants back on. "I don't
want to punish you. I want this to be the best sex you've ever had. I want this
to be so good, you'll never be able to forget it, no matter how hard you try."
He took both of Mulder's hands in his, lifted them to his mouth, kissed the
knuckles gently. "I want to be the face you see in your wet dreams." He
released Mulder's hands, stroked Mulder's temple, traced his fingers lightly
down the curve of Mulder's jaw. "I want you to think about me every time you
lay down with someone else, for the rest of your life." He ran his hand through
Mulder's hair, then leaned forward to place a warm kiss on Mulder's lips. "I
want to haunt you until the day you die."
Mulder's erection, which had begun to fade when he'd stepped away from
Krycek, was now full and hard again. "You already do."
Krycek smiled sadly. "Not the way you haunt me, Mulder. No way."
Mulder took Krycek's face in his hands. Such a young, innocent face. Mulder
remembered the way Krycek had looked after he shot Augustus Cole—scared,
shaky, panicking because he couldn't find the gun he'd been sure Cole had. He'd
thought he was saving Mulder's life. He remembered the way Krycek had brought
him coffee that horrible day after Scully had been taken, and asked how he'd
slept in a voice so gentle he could hardly hear it. Mulder wanted that kid
back. He didn't want to know the other things Krycek had done—the reports to
his enemies, the interference, the spying. And other, worse things. But those
things had been done; the innocence was a lie. He could not trust this man, no
matter how sweetly he talked or how skillfully he made love. He must not allow
himself to be seduced.
But it was a little late for that, wasn't it? Let Krycek have his way. Then
it would be over, and Krycek would have no more hold on him. "All right. Do
what you want."
Krycek smiled and, with a slight inclination of the head to invite Mulder
to go with him, went into the bedroom. Mulder took a deep breath and followed.
Krycek dug in his jacket pocket and brought out a small tube of KY jelly
and a condom, which he placed on the nightstand. Mulder swallowed nervously.
Had he imagined that Krycek might not demand this of him? It was only fair. But
it scared him far more than he wanted to admit.
Krycek took off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair, then stepped up to
Mulder and slipped his arms around him, stroking Mulder's back as he pulled his
tee-shirt up. "Just in case," he whispered in Mulder's ear. "I'm not going to
do anything you don't want me to do." He looked into Mulder's eyes with a sly
smile. "You get as many chances to say no as you want."
And with Krycek reminding him of how Mulder had taken him, how could he say
no to anything? Especially when Krycek was pulling off his tee-shirt, kissing
his neck, nibbling at his earlobe, stroking his chest, teasing his nipples with
his thumbs. I really have to get laid more often, Mulder thought; he
could almost forget how good it felt to have someone else's hands on his body.
And, give him his due, Krycek was good. Not since Phoebe Green had anyone been
able to ignite such fire in him. Although maybe it wasn't the skill so much as
the danger, the certain knowledge that he was heading straight for disaster,
that led Mulder into these doomed, passionate affairs. Mulder had never been
one to play it safe, nor to look for longevity in relationships.
He sighed and reached out for Krycek. Between caresses, they undressed each
other, dropping clothing carelessly in the floor, stroking the skin they
uncovered. Mulder, naked, knelt before Krycek, sliding the jeans down Krycek's
legs, pulling them free of each foot as he stepped out of them. Mulder kissed
each knee in turn, ran his hands up Krycek's legs to his thighs. Krycek's hard
cock bobbed before his face. He hesitated a moment before running his tongue
along the shaft, and taking the head of the cock into his mouth. Krycek moaned,
and his hips stiffened, but he did not thrust. Krycek was being gentle; it was
almost more frightening than if he'd been rough and demanding. Mulder let the
cock slide deeper into his mouth, moving his tongue on the silky skin, bringing
one hand up to grip the base of the shaft. He was not terribly good at giving
blow jobs, he knew, but he would do his best. If he could satisfy Krycek this
way, perhaps he wouldn't be required to yield anything else. And Krycek was
responding—his breathing had quickened, the hip beneath Mulder's hand was
moist with sweat, his hands twisted in Mulder's hair.
Then a few drops of slick liquid oozed onto his tongue. Unprepared for the
sharp taste, he managed not to shudder, but his rhythm was interrupted. Krycek
pulled away, gently, and sank to his knees in front of Mulder, with a
reassuring smile. He kissed Mulder deeply, probing tongue taking the taste of
the precome away.
Hands on Mulder's shoulders, Krycek urged them over onto the futon. Mulder
was not quite sure how he ended up on his back, with Krycek on top of him,
lying between his legs. His hard cock moved against Krycek's, which was still
wet from Mulder's tongue. They kissed, rubbing their bodies together. Mulder
felt himself heating, dissolving into the deep, wet kisses and the sweaty
friction of chest and stomach and groin sliding over him. Then Krycek slipped
his hand between them, and began to stroke Mulder's cock. Mulder moved his
hips, trying to thrust into Krycek's grip. Krycek ran his hand up and down the
shaft, squeezing and stroking, working him nearly to a frenzy. Then he cupped
Mulder's balls in his hand, squeezing gently, then probed past to the tight
ring of Mulder's anus. His fingers stroked the entrance lightly. Mulder
whimpered; his knees came up, spreading to expose himself more fully to this
intimate caress. A tiny voice whispered to him that he must protest; his body
demanded more. The voice ignored, he lifted his hips to meet the invasion.
Krycek took his hand away, leaving Mulder gasping and aching for his touch.
He reached to the nightstand and took the tube of KY, squeezing it out onto his
fingers. Then he slipped his hand back between Mulder's legs, and resumed his
probing caress.
The jelly was slippery and cool between Mulder's buttocks. The tender
flesh, unaccustomed to sex play, throbbed with sensation. Then Krycek's finger
slid inside him, unerringly finding the spot that sent explosive waves of
pleasure through him. Mulder moaned, gripping Krycek tightly with hands and
thighs. He rocked with the strokes of Krycek's finger, pleasure only increasing
when a second finger joined the first.
Presently, Krycek stopped stroking, leaving his fingers unmoving inside
Mulder's body. Mulder looked at him, silent plea on his face. Krycek smiled.
"First time?"
"No." Mulder's reply was a ragged whisper. But, be honest, he was not
exactly experienced at this. "Second."
Krycek kissed him. "All right, then. You get the almost-a-virgin special."
He kissed him again, then kissed Mulder's chin and throat, and trailed kisses
down his chest and stomach, moving down between Mulder's legs until he was
kissing Mulder's cock, sucking him in. He began to move his fingers again, and
Mulder was caught between the sensations of entering and being entered. He
groaned and bucked, knowing he would not last long like this.
But Krycek did not give him long. Soon he released Mulder's cock and sat
back on his heels, letting his fingers slide out. Mulder lay gasping for
breath. He looked up at Krycek, who was also breathing hard, sweaty spikes of
dark hair hanging in heavy-lidded eyes, his face suffused with passion. Krycek
took the condom from the nightstand and tore it from its foil wrapping, closing
his eyes as he rolled it onto a cock stiff and throbbing with need. Then he
took the KY and applied the cool jelly to his latex-covered cock, and more to
Mulder's ass.
He smiled at Mulder. "Ready?"
Mulder could only nod. He felt a slight thrill of fear as Krycek lifted his
legs, pressing his knees to his chest, and settled between them, with his cock
pressing against the entrance to Mulder's body. You can say no any time,
he reminded himself. But he did not want to stop, he just wanted reassurance
that Krycek was not going to hurt him. But what good was reassurance, when you
didn't trust anyone? Especially not Krycek, who'd shown decisively that he was
not worthy of Mulder's trust. He would just have to hope that Krycek meant what
he said about wanting it to be good for him. This was insane, he thought;
Krycek was the last person in the world he should allow to do this. He could
hardly remember the reasons he'd thought it necessary. All that was left, now,
was a body brought to the edge and still demanding release. A body that knew no
better than to respond to a traitor's touch.
But while Mulder's doubts raged, Krycek continued to press into him—not
even a thrust, just a gradually increasing pressure, that, from the strained
look on his face, was requiring great concentration and restraint. Mulder could
not help pushing back, seeking further penetration. Krycek stopped, then,
relaxed for a moment, took a deep breath and began to move slowly in and out,
still a gentle motion too restrained to be called a thrust. Mulder could feel
himself opening up, taking in more; he knew when he was ready, and thrust
himself forward onto Krycek's cock, fingers digging into Krycek's shoulders,
his own cries mingling with Krycek's as he impaled himself fully.
Mulder wrapped his arms tightly around Krycek's back. Krycek's cock
stretched and filled him. Krycek began to thrust in earnest, now, still slowly
at first, gradually increasing in speed and depth. Mulder just hung on and let
Krycek set the pace. His cock scraped against Krycek's belly, as Krycek's cock
stroked into him. It was an intense pleasure, more diffuse than the heat of
fucking, which centered in cock and balls—this filled his whole body, right
out to his fingertips.
Krycek's movements were becoming more urgent; he was groaning now with
every thrust, and drops of sweat were falling from his brow. Mulder was
approaching climax, too, but was not yet there when Krycek cried out and thrust
into him, hard. Mulder held him tightly while he gasped for breath, face buried
in Mulder's neck.
"Don't you dare stop now," Mulder murmured.
Krycek chuckled throatily into his ear. "Don't worry, Mulder, I won't leave
you hanging." And, a few moments later, he gathered himself up and continued,
with deep, hard, teeth-grittingly pleasurable strokes, until Mulder moaned and
stiffened and his semen spurted out between them, wetting them both with the
milky fluid. Krycek collapsed onto him, breathing hard, kissed him wetly on the
cheek.
Mulder stretched out his legs, reality already returning to dampen the
pleasure. Krycek reached down to keep the condom on his softening cock as it
slipped from Mulder's body, then stripped it off and tossed it into the trash
in one smooth motion. He lay on his side beside Mulder, head propped up on his
elbow. "Mulder?"
Mulder looked away. "What?" All right, even if it was the best sex I've
ever had, it doesn't change anything. You're still an amoral little toad, and
I'm still insane for doing this.
Krycek fell onto his back. "Never mind."
Mulder closed his eyes, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "I'm glad you
realize that."
"So what now?"
"I don't know." Should he be glad this was settled, or sorry he'd allowed
it to happen? "Are we even now?"
"Even?" Krycek choked out an incredulous laugh. "I thought I was
unforgivable."
Mulder pushed himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head. "I don't mean
about everything. I just meant... this."
"The sex, you mean? Yeah, you fucked me, I fucked you, I guess we're even.
I didn't know we were keeping score."
Mulder sighed. How was it that everything he said and everything he did
just made things worse? "Sorry. I just thought...."
"Forget it." Krycek drew up one knee, and rested his chin on it. "So are we
on for a little breaking and entering?"
He seemed completely sober now. Steady and calm. Had the whole thing been
another act? A game to get Mulder back in bed? Was Mulder ever going to know
what went on in Krycek's head?
"Yes. We're on." Scully would be outraged, if she knew. We didn't
straighten anything out. We just had sex again, and I'm more confused than
ever. But I'm going through with it anyway.
"All right. I'll check things out, see what I can set up. I'll let you
know." He started to pull on his tee-shirt.
Mulder put his hand on Krycek's arm. "Alex."
"What?" Krycek's dead calm was unnerving.
"Stay." He was headed for disaster again, Mulder knew, but he couldn't let
Krycek walk away like this.
"Why?"
Mulder took the tee-shirt out of Krycek's hand and tossed it aside. "Just
stay a while. Indulge me."
Krycek stared at him. The mask of calm slowly fell away. Anger first, then
bitterness and pain and hopeless longing filled his face. He closed his eyes,
and blinked away tears. Then he slid into Mulder's arms, and they lay back
down, Krycek half on top of Mulder, head pillowed on Mulder's shoulder.
He fits there, Mulder thought drowsily. I never would have
thought.
An hour later, he woke, and Krycek was gone.
Scully set her coffee cup down on the desk, and sat across from him. "And?"
"I told him to go ahead. I don't think it's a trap."
She took a deep breath, sipped her own coffee. "What makes you think so?"
Because, if it were a trap, he wouldn't have come to me drunk and thrown
himself at me. He would have been cool and calm and full of reasonable
explanations. He wouldn't have risked spooking me by making things even crazier
than they already were. He wouldn't have fucked me.
"He's scared. If it were a trap, he wouldn't be so scared."
"Maybe he's too scared to be reliable."
"I don't think so. He's got it under control. Scully, you really don't have
to go along with this if you don't want to."
"I'll come. I just want to make sure you know what you're doing. That
you're not letting your need for the truth color your judgment."
Do I know what I'm doing? "If I really believed it was a trap, I
wouldn't go."
She nodded. "All right. I trust you."
Mulder gripped his coffee cup tightly. You shouldn't, Scully. But you
always do, don't you? "He's going to let me know when he's ready." If
Scully gets hurt this time I really will kill you, Krycek. But if Scully got
hurt, whose fault would it really be? Krycek's—or Mulder's?
Bad idea, Mulder. Very bad idea.
He felt as though he stood on the tracks watching a very big train
barrelling towards him.
And, like a deer caught in headlights, he could only stand and watch it
come.
Who was abducted by aliens
Or maybe he wasn't
Maybe he was a brain-damaged psychopath
He tracked her with the implant
Or maybe he didn't
Maybe they told him how to find her
Where the aliens got her
Or maybe they didn't
Maybe it was government black ops military secret corporation Purity
Control
Of asphyxiation
Or maybe it wasn't
Maybe they poisoned him (see possibilities above)
Every word is the truth
And the truth is out there
Krycek looked them both over as they approached. Along with his usual black
leather jacket, he was wearing a black tee-shirt and black jeans. He looks
like a poster boy for the SS, Mulder thought. Of course, he and Scully were
also dressed in black—black sweat shirts and trousers—the usual uniform for
surreptitious late-night explorations. Scully's hair was tied back in a
ponytail. They carried their high-powered flashlights, their guns, their
lockpicks, a satchel for whatever they might recover, and nothing else. Their
FBI ID's would not help them here.
"Is everything all right?" Mulder asked quietly. Although they were several
blocks away from their target, Mulder still felt the need to speak in whispers.
Krycek nodded. "There's a security guard, and surveillance cameras. I've
already taken care of the guard." He held up a ring of keys, including the
stubby, cylindrical key used to set a security box switch. "We'll take the tape
from the surveillance cameras when we leave. The computers and other records
are in the basement." He looked at his watch. "I have to be back there in less
than ten minutes to check in at the security station. Then we'll have
seventy-three minutes to do what we came to do and get out of there."
"You 'took care of' the guard?" Scully said, a slightly horrified tone in
her voice.
Krycek grinned nastily. "He's sleeping off a dose of phenobarbital I
slipped into his coffee thermos. He'll be fine. Sorry to disappoint you,
Scully. I'm not a mindless killer."
Scully pressed her lips together, and said nothing.
"All right," Mulder interjected. "You said you've got less than ten
minutes. We'd better get going."
Krycek nodded, and they began to walk up the street.
"There are four other security stations, one on each floor," Krycek told
them. "I'll show you where the files are, then I'll go set them." He grinned
briefly. "I've been doing this since ten o'clock. I've got it down to less than
fifteen minutes." He led them around a corner and down the hall, past the
elevators, to a service stairway. One flight down, they emerged from the
stairwell to another undistinguished hallway, this time painted sickly hospital
green. There was one unmarked door. It was secured by a card key lock.
Mulder looked at Krycek, who pulled a card key from his pocket with a smug
smile, and handed it to Mulder with a flourish. "Go to it. I'll be back in
fifteen minutes." Then he disappeared back up the stairs.
Mulder looked at Scully, and took a deep breath. What would be on the other
side of that door? The answer to all their questions, or an empty room? Was
Krycek right now calling the police, leaving them to explain an unconscious
security guard and their presence in this building?
He slipped the card key into its slot. The tiny light over the slot glowed
green, and he turned the door handle. He shone his flashlight inside.
Across the back wall, banks of computers. Full-size mainframes, not PCs. On
one side, printers and terminals and tall metal cabinets. On the other side,
rows of file cabinets and a photocopier. In the middle of the room were several
round tables with three or four chairs around each. Mulder stepped into the
room, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "This is it, Scully. This is
really it."
"Maybe." Always the skeptic, Scully withheld judgment.
Mulder smiled at that, too. "Well, let's find out."
"Scully, this file—"
"Mulder, this is incredible—"
They spoke simultaneously. They both stopped, stared at each other, then
laughed. Scully inclined her head, indicating that Mulder should go first.
"There were a thousand records in the database we found in that warehouse.
This database has almost ten thousand records." He swallowed uneasily. "Ten
thousand...."
"Are they the same?"
Mulder turned back to the terminal decisively. "There's no time. Let's just
get as much as we can and get out of here. We can stop to read it later."
She nodded, and pulled out a stack of papers to take to the copier.
Mulder stopped, suddenly, and turned back to her. "Scully, what were you
saying? What's incredible?"
She held up the file jacket. "There's a file on you that goes back to your
work in Violent Crimes. There are records of all your cases. And records we
don't even have. Here are the reports on the sleep eradication experiments that
were stolen from my office."
He stood, went to look at the file she held, and nodded. "I'll bet there's
a lot more than that. This is a gold mine, Scully. The Holy Grail." Then he
went over to one of the tall cabinets, and rummaged through it until he found a
datacassette. "Just keep copying."
They both went back to work, in silence. Mulder put the tape in a tape
drive and began copying the database. Meanwhile, he continued to search the
system. His heart was pounding. This was it. This was everything he'd ever
wanted—needed—to know, and more. Here was a file on cloning experiments. He
added that to the list to be copied. Here, the results of branch DNA
recombination. He had to have that, too. He wanted it all, but he knew it
wasn't possible to copy everything in the time they had. Frantically, joyously
he searched through the files, fingers flying over the keyboard, swearing under
his breath when typos slowed him up, desperate to get as much as he could.
So intent was he that he started right out of his chair when the door latch
clicked and Krycek appeared in the doorway. In his excitement at finding all
this information, he'd completely forgotten about Krycek. He caught himself
reaching for his gun, and stopped with his hand on the holster at his belt.
Flush with adrenaline, it took a few moments to register that Krycek was
grey with fear, mouth working, unable to speak. Mulder stepped toward him.
"What is it?"
Krycek swallowed, and found his tongue. "We'd better get out of here."
Scully, too, looked up from the photocopier and stared at Krycek. "Why?
What happened?"
Krycek's voice wobbled, drifting into a higher register as it did when he
was panicked. "I went into the video room to check the surveillance tapes. I
pulled one out of the deck to take a look at it. The... there's a computer in
there, I didn't know, it must be connected to all the VCRs—when I took the
tape out of the deck, it started a security program, requesting a password. I—I didn't know it. It tripped an alarm. I don't know how long we've got, but
we've got to get out of here now. They could be here any minute."
Scully had already started jamming papers into her satchel. "Come on,
Mulder, get your tape and let's get out of here."
Mulder stared at the tape, and at the computer terminal recording the
progress of the copying operation. Not finished. "No." Scully stared at
him. Krycek stared at him. He continued, more quietly. "It's almost finished.
Just another few minutes."
"Mulder, we have to leave now." Scully spoke with quiet urgency.
Krycek was less calm. "Mulder, forget the tape. If we get caught here... if
I get caught here, I'm dead. I didn't start this to get killed for you."
Mulder watched the terminal, counting off the bytes as they transferred to
the tape. I want it all. We'll never have another chance like this.
"Just a few minutes," he repeated. "Krycek, did you get the surveillance
tapes?"
"Yes. There's a bulk eraser. I wiped them all."
"Do we need the keys to get out?"
Krycek blinked. His fists opened and closed. "Yes. The front door is
double-locked."
"Block it open, then. And get out of here. You're in more danger than we
are."
"Mulder...."
"Go, Krycek. You too, Scully. I'll come as soon as this tape finishes. I'll
meet you at the car."
"Mulder!" This time it was Scully. "I'm not leaving you here."
Krycek stared. "All right. I'll block the door open. Good luck." Then he
turned and ran up the stairs.
"Mulder, come on. We have enough, let's go." Scully slung the satchel over
her shoulder and walked over to the door.
"It will be done in a minute."
Gunshots. Two of them, from the floor above.
"Shit." Mulder yanked the tape from the drive, nodded once to
Scully, and they both ran for the stairs.
They paused at the top of the stairs, guns ready, and opened the door to
the hallway slowly. Mulder nodded for Scully to go right, towards the main
door, then burst through to the left, gun stretched out before him.
Two men knelt at the end of the hallway, bent over a third—Krycek, lying
in a crumpled heap against the wall, blood pooling on the floor in front of
him. Mulder could not entirely define the emotions that rushed through him at
the sight of Krycek bleeding on the floor. Horror. Sorrow. Aching sweetness
and tarnished innocence, now irrevocably lost. Guilt, as always. And—was
that relief? He'll never show up at my door at two in the morning again.
Bitter satisfaction? This is the path you chose.
The moment ended in a split second. One of the men turned and stood. His
gun came up, as his free hand touched the shoulder of his companion, still
kneeling in front of Krycek. "He won't make it," said the kneeling man. Then he
turned and saw Mulder, and slowly rose.
Mulder was aware of Scully at his side, gun stretched out beside his,
pointing at the men at the end of the hall. Two against two, neither had the
clear advantage. Mulder and Scully were closer to the front door, but it was
still locked—Krycek hadn't had a chance to get to it.
"Just put your guns down and hand over that satchel," one of the men said.
"No one else has to get hurt."
Give up the data? No, Mulder had no intention of doing that. He'd been
waiting too long, gone through too much. But how was he going to get out the
front door?
Scully's elbow touched his side. He didn't take his eyes off the men
holding guns on them, but he softly said, "Mmm?"
"Give me a diversion," she said, very quietly.
He had no idea what she intended to do, but he promptly gave her the only
diversion he could. He loosened his grip on his gun, and lifted his hands. "All
right. But call an ambulance for him."
"What are you worried about him for? He's a traitor. To you, and to us.
Forget him."
"Call an ambulance. Now. You don't get anything from us until you do."
The man grimaced at him, then gestured to his companion. The other man
lowered his gun and reached into his jacket pocket for a cellular phone. Beside
him, Scully also lowered her gun.
"Put your guns on the floor and kick them over here," the man ordered. His
own gun had never wavered.
"Not until he finishes his phone call," Mulder said, still holding his gun
out loosely. The man with the phone punched the dialpad three times, and spoke
briefly. Scully started to bend down to place her gun on the floor—then,
suddenly, she cried out and crumpled to the floor.
"Scully!" Mulder turned to help her. Saw her settle into a steady crouch.
Saw her left hand swipe out and snatch a heavy ring of keys from the floor.
Krycek must have dropped them here when he knew that he was trapped—a
last-ditch attempt to give them a chance to escape.
"No!" he screamed. "What have you done to her?" Then he whirled, firing off
a shot in the general direction of the man with the gun, grabbed a handful of
Scully's sweatshirt, and took off down the hallway toward the front door.
The two men were caught by surprise; their answering fire didn't come until
Mulder and Scully were nearly at the end of the hall. The FBI agents flew
around the corner, gunfire ringing in their ears. Mulder shoved Scully towards
the door, then positioned himself to fire an occasional shot down the hallway,
pinning their adversaries down just beyond another turn in the hallway.
"All right, I've got it!" Scully called out. Mulder fired one last round,
then ran for the door.
Once outside, they took off for the small maze of buildings that made up
the rest of the complex. They were relatively safe here, they'd managed to get
to cover before the men could get out where they could spot them, but they
didn't relax their vigilance or stop running until they'd reached their car and
were safely headed back to Washington.
"We did it, Scully!" Mulder exulted. "We got the bastards. I only wish we'd
had more time."
"Yes." Scully stared out the window.
"Scully? What is it?"
"We didn't exactly get away clean."
Krycek. He'd be dead soon, if he wasn't already. Even if his wounds weren't
fatal, the Smoking Man would not let him survive this. "There was nothing we
could have done for him."
"I know." She continued to stare blankly. "It looks like he was telling the
truth."
"Yes. I guess he was." It was a concept that Mulder didn't like to think
about. Krycek told the truth. It forced one to wonder what else he might have
been telling the truth about. "He knew what he was doing. We didn't force him
to do anything." Young and naive. A step taken in error. And once that step had
been taken, how many choices did he really have?
"I know. I'm just not ready to celebrate victory yet, that's all."
Mulder stared at the road ahead, and frowned. He didn't want Krycek to
spoil this moment for him. Krycek had made his own decisions. And paid for his
own mistakes. Was Mulder going to have to feel sorry about him now? Was Krycek
going to haunt him, just as he'd threatened to do?
Forget Krycek—Mulder had the answers now. He had the evidence. The truth.
That was what mattered. Add one more ghost to the ghosts that already haunted
him—that was the price he had to pay.
He drove to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Scully had protested briefly—it
was late, and she just wanted to go home. They'd be back at work in a few
hours, anyway. They'd waited this long, couldn't they wait just a little
longer? Mulder's answer to each argument had been the same. I want to know now.
Scully sighed and acquiesced. She didn't have much choice.
1560*: Not found.
"Mulder." Scully laid a hand on his shoulder. "We found what we came for.
I'm not Samantha. Let's go home now."
Mulder ignored her, continued to type frenzied commands.
"It will take days to go through all of this. Let it go for now."
Still no response. She leaned over him and switched off the terminal. He
glared at her.
"Mulder, we have just enough time to go home and change and come back to
work. I don't know about you, but I don't want to still be here in my dirty
sweatshirt when Skinner comes in."
He swallowed, and rubbed his face with one hand. "You're right. We need to
go home and get cleaned up." Reluctantly, he pulled the tape from the drive. "I
don't want to leave this here. It won't be safe at either of our places,
either." He turned the tape over in his hands. "I'll take it somewhere safe.
Give me the satchel."
She handed him the satchel of papers, and he tucked the tape into it. "All
right, Scully. It's been a long night. But we found out what we needed to know.
You might be my sister, but you're not Samantha."
She nodded. "I suppose...." She paused, sighing. "I suppose we'd better
settle that once and for all, too. Call Langly and tell him to get ready to
take another sample."
Mulder agreed. It was time to end it.
He trudged up the front steps of his apartment building wearily. This
should be his day of triumph. He had an entire satchel full of evidence against
his enemies, he had proof that the database in the warehouse had been a setup,
that Scully was truly just Scully. He might be able to find out more about what
had happened to Samantha. He was just tired, that was all. That was why the
image of Krycek lying in a pool of blood kept intruding on his thoughts. It
wasn't his fault. Maybe he'd just call in sick, stay home and try to get some
sleep.
The moment he opened the door to his apartment, the smell of cigarette
smoke hit him. He froze, pulled out his gun, entered cautiously. There was only
one person it could be, and he wasn't here to kill Mulder, he was here to
retrieve his files. Nevertheless, Mulder kept his gun on the figure sitting in
the easy chair, smoke rising in lazy tendrils around him, forming a haze in the
early morning light of Mulder's apartment.
Mulder stood before the Smoking Man. "I know what you want. You can't have
it."
The man leaned forward to stub out the barely-smoked cigarette in an
ashtray on Mulder's coffee table. He'd gotten it from the back of Mulder's
kitchen cupboard, apparently—Mulder kept it for his father. Had kept it. It
was already full of partially-smoked Morleys. The man spoke calmly, as always.
"Please sit down, Mr. Mulder. We have some business to discuss."
"What business? You want the files back. I'm not going to give them to you.
You might as well just go home now."
"I don't expect you to give them to me. But I thought perhaps we might be
able to make a trade."
"A trade?" Mulder sat heavily on the couch, gun cradled in his lap. "What
could you possibly have that I'd trade for?"
"Perhaps nothing. Perhaps a human life no longer means more to you than
exposing what you call the truth."
"What are you talking about?" Mulder's tired mind refused to settle around
the man's smooth, almost soothing words. As elusive as the drifting smoke from
the cigarette always in his hand.
The man withdrew another Morley from his pack, lit it with a silver
cigarette lighter. "I'm proposing to trade the information you stole from us
for Mr. Krycek's life."
No.
"He's alive?"
"Yes, he's alive. He was shot in the temple, a glancing wound. He lost a
lot of blood, but the bullet did no permanent damage. It seems you saved his
life, Mr. Mulder, when you insisted that an ambulance be called right away."
"They did get him an ambulance, then."
"The paramedics found him unconscious on the sidewalk. He's in the hospital
now, being treated for blood loss and shock. My men are keeping an eye on him.
He should recover, but these things are always uncertain. He might still expire
from his injuries."
"If I don't give you back the files, you mean." No. No, he could not give
up the evidence after fighting so long, so hard to get it. And he especially
could not give it up for Alex Goddamned Krycek!
"In that case, yes, I'm afraid his prognosis is not good."
"What makes you think I'd do anything to save Krycek?" I've been this
close to killing him myself. He betrayed me, he betrayed you, he's got no
integrity at all. Why should I lift a finger to keep him alive?
"Perhaps you wouldn't. The result would be unfortunate for us both. And
particularly unfortunate for Mr. Krycek. But since he was the one who led you
to my private files, I thought you might feel some responsibility for him. He's
of no further use to me."
It was true, Krycek had broken into that building for Mulder, knowing his
life would be forfeit if he was caught. And left the keys in the hall for
Mulder and Scully, giving up his own slim chance of escape. Hadn't he finally
redeemed himself for the wrong he'd done? "Then he walks away free. You promise
never to touch him again." God, was he really going to do this? His throat
constricted horribly. To have everything for a few short hours, just to have it
taken away again—it was almost more than he could bear.
"Of course. And you return everything, without making copies of any of it,
and promise never to try to use any of it again."
"Unless I happen to come across it again, some other way."
"Unless Mr. Krycek interferes with us again."
Mulder sat there, jaw clenched against the words of agreement that burned
in his throat. It would be so easy to just say no. Leave Krycek to his fate,
keep the data he needed so desperately. He was not responsible for Krycek's
mistakes. He hadn't shot him. Krycek had chosen to be a player, and these were
the rules of the game he played.
And what about the game Mulder played? The search for the truth—had he
now reached the point where he was willing to kill for it? Not in self defense,
not to protect Scully, not even in revenge for damage done, but just to hold
onto a satchel of paper and computer files? Was it worth a life, anyone's life,
to hold the hard truth in his hands? If it was, then Mulder was just a younger
version of the Smoking Man himself, on his way down the same path. Just another
self-righteous crusader, willing to crush anyone who got in the way of his
cause.
Mulder sighed. He'd lost again. "All right. Where and when?"
The man took one more drag on his cigarette, then again leaned forward to
inter it with the others in the ashtray. "Tonight. I'll notify you of the exact
time and place." He stood, and walked out, leaving a tiny plume of smoke rising
from the last cigarette butt in the ashtray.
Mulder sat and stared at it until the smoke dissipated into the hazy air.
"What? What happened?" Scully looked up from her terminal, her oval
computer glasses hiding the dark circles from her own mostly sleepless night.
"He was at my place when I got there this morning. The Cancer Man."
He stopped, balling his fists, teeth clenched, overwhelmed by his fury. He had
to take several deep breaths before he could continue. "Krycek's alive. He
stays that way only if I give back the data."
Mulder walked over to his desk, kicking the file cabinet along the way, and
threw himself into his chair. He leaned his elbows on the desk, put his face in
his hands. "Damn it, Scully! I don't know what to do. Is that little shit
really worth giving up everything we found last night?"
"Mulder, are you serious?"
He looked up, and met her calm blue eyes. Found her frowning at him. "What
do you mean?" Was she angry with him for making the trade?
She shook her head, exasperated. "I mean, of course he's worth it! He's a
human being, Mulder, despite anything he's done. You don't kill people to get
what you want."
He felt a little foolish. "Sorry, Scully. I know you're right. It's just...
it's Krycek, for god's sake, and... I wanted this so badly."
"I know," she said softly. "But you're doing the right thing."
Somehow, it made it easier, hearing her say that.
He pulled up behind a battered van—the same limping van he'd spotted in
front of the warehouse when he'd found Krycek there. Very good cover for a
neighborhood like this. It looked like it had been abandoned there for weeks.
The side door of the van opened as Mulder got out of his own car. A man stepped
out of the van, then helped another man to emerge. Krycek.
He would be calm. He would not rage in frustration. He would hand over the
bag, get Krycek, and get out of there. He repeated the self-instructions under
his breath as he walked up to the van.
Even in the dim street lights, Krycek was horribly pale. There was a thick
bandage taped to his right temple. He wobbled slightly as he stood there. The
other man held him steady at arm's length.
"Have you got it?" the other man asked.
Mulder spared him a glance. "Here." He held out the satchel.
Uncontrollably, his hand shook as the other man took it from him. He clenched
his jaw sharply.
"Are you all right?" he asked Krycek, through gritted teeth.
Krycek nodded.
"All right. Let's go." He took Krycek's arm and began to walk back to his
car. He was walking faster than Krycek could comfortably follow, and he knew
it. It was all he could do not to hit Krycek in the face. I gave it all up
for you! You don't deserve it.
"Mulder, I...."
He whirled on Krycek, grabbed a fistful of Krycek's shirt. "Shut up!"
Krycek cringed. His knees nearly gave way. Mulder had to hold him up.
Mulder bit the inside of his cheek, and forced his fist to unclench. "Just
shut up, Krycek. I saved your worthless life, I don't have to be happy about
it, and I don't have to listen to you. So just shut up."
Krycek swallowed, nodded slightly. Mulder hauled him roughly to the car,
practically threw him into the front seat. As he walked around the car to the
driver's side, he berated himself. Real nice, Mulder. The guy's got a
gunshot wound in the head, he nearly died this morning, and you're pushing him
around like a schoolyard bully. He got in the car, and sat for a moment
gripping the steering wheel before he started the car and drove away. Krycek
remained huddled against the other side of the car, saying nothing.
They drove a while in grim silence. Mulder tried to calm down. It's the
Cancer Man you're really mad at, not Krycek. He's the one who forced you to
give back the data. Krycek's the one who got it for you in the first place.
But the anger churned inside him. He couldn't bring himself to even look at the
man shrinking away from him on the other side of the car.
Until he realized that he was headed home, and taking Krycek with him.
Which he did not want to do. Especially not considering what had happened every
other time Krycek had come to his apartment. "Where do you want me to take
you?" He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. It came out a dull
monotone.
"I... home, I guess." Krycek pulled himself up in his seat.
"You should probably go to a hospital."
"No, I'm all right. I just want to go home."
"Where's home?"
Krycek hesitated for a moment, then choked out a rueful laugh, and named an
address—not fifteen blocks from Mulder's apartment.
"I don't believe it. We're practically neighbors." He jogged within three
blocks of Krycek's apartment every morning.
"They wanted me to be... close...." Krycek's voice trailed off. "Mulder,
I... I'm sorry you had to do this."
"Forget it. Not your fault." He tried to make himself believe it.
"Mulder...." Krycek shifted in his seat, emitting small noises of pain. His
voice was ragged, and dropped to that nearly inaudible tone. "I'm sorry...
about everything."
Excuses, justifications, rationalizations—Krycek had them all, but never
once had he said he was sorry for anything he'd done. Too little, too
late, Mulder thought. Far too much had happened for a simple apology to
mean anything. Still, something unknotted inside him. Something that had wanted
Krycek, just once, to acknowledge the pain he'd caused. Something that, maybe,
was looking for an excuse to give up his hate.
"It's all right," he said softly. And, to his own disbelief, it was all
right.
Krycek sighed heavily, and rubbed the corners of his eyes. "I'm tired."
"You'll be home soon."
"Yeah." Then he settled back in his seat, and fell asleep.
"I should have taken you to a hospital." Mulder handed him the keys.
"I'm all right, Mulder." Krycek spoke wearily. His hands trembled as he
fumbled with the keys.
When he'd found the front door key, Mulder took the keyring from him and
unlocked the door. "No you're not. I'll walk you up. Which apartment?"
Krycek's apartment was small studio on the fifth floor, with a sleeping
alcove. There was a sofa that looked like it came from a thrift store; a cheap
computer desk with a PC on it; some mismatched shelving holding a stereo that
looked to have cost more than all the rest of the furnishings combined; and a
television sitting in the floor across from the sofa. There was a double bed in
the sleeping alcove—unmade—and a wardrobe with one door missing.
Krycek shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and
stumbled into the sleeping alcove. Mulder switched on the desk lamp and
followed. Krycek was sitting on the bed, wincing, as he tried to get his
tee-shirt off. Mulder sat beside him, helped to pull the tee-shirt over his
head. He inspected the bandage on Krycek's temple. It seemed all right, as far
as he could tell.
"I should have Scully come and take a look at you."
"Christ, Mulder. Why didn't you just invite her over to watch us having
sex?" Krycek snapped.
Mulder just stared. Under Mulder's steady gaze, Krycek's glare slowly
faded. He swallowed and dropped his eyes. "Sorry. I'm just tired."
"It's all right." Well, had he thought that Krycek's attraction would
disappear because he'd forgiven him? And here he sat on Krycek's bed, helping
him to undress. "Krycek...."
"We're not going to have sex any more, are we?"
"No."
Krycek forced a weak smile. "Might be nice, just once, to see what it's
like when we don't hate each other."
Mulder smiled back. "Don't push your luck."
Krycek's smile faded. He worked clumsily at the buttons of his jeans. "Will
you help me get my pants off, anyway? I couldn't put any moves on you right now
if I tried, so you'll be safe."
Krycek was pasty-faced and sweating. He looked like he was about to cry.
Mulder touched his arm briefly, then slid down into the floor, and began
untying Krycek's shoes. "I want you to go see a doctor tomorrow."
"Yeah," Krycek agreed tiredly.
Mulder finished removing Krycek's shoes, then urged him onto his back,
lifting his legs up onto the bed, and began unbuttoning his jeans. "Do you want
your shorts off, too?"
"Yeah."
Mulder began to work Krycek's pants down over his hips. Krycek was hard. A
glance at his face showed him staring resolutely at the wall, biting his lip.
One hand lay on his stomach; the other rested protectively on the bandage. His
body was covered with a sheen of sweat. Mulder paused, and cast about for
something to say to relieve the tension. "So. What do you think you'll do now?"
Krycek cleared his throat. His voice broke only slightly as he spoke. "I
don't know. I don't suppose... I could get back in the FBI."
Krycek back in the FBI? What a frightening thought. Give him his due,
though, he'd been a good agent. And—keep your friends close, and your
enemies closer.... Mulder didn't know which Krycek was any more, but in any
case, it wouldn't hurt to have the man around where he could keep an eye on
him. "The only report against you is mine, and there's no proof of anything. If
I withdrew my report—there'd only be the matter of your sudden disappearance
to explain. I suppose it could be done."
"Would you do that, Mulder? Withdraw your report?"
Mulder finished pulling Krycek's pants off. It's nothing I haven't seen
before, he told himself. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it." He
pulled the covers up over him. "Where's your phone?"
Krycek was already half asleep. "I don't know. On the desk, I guess."
Mulder went to find the phone, which turned out to be on the floor in front
of the sofa. He brought the cellular back to the sleeping alcove and set it on
the nightstand. "Alex, here's your phone." Krycek's eyes kept drifting closed.
"Call me if you need anything. Make sure you see a doctor."
Krycek managed a nod. "Mulder, thank you. For... you know."
Mulder heaved a deep sigh. "It's all right. Go to sleep now." You're
still going to haunt me, aren't you? Well, better a live ghost than a dead
one. He sighed again, then turned to go home.
"Yeah, Mulder."
"So, what's the word?" Mulder tried to sound calm. Scully froze in the
doorway. Mulder remembered the way she had stood, grimacing slightly, while
Langly slid the needle into her arm. Then she'd laughed sheepishly at the
professional ease with which he drew her blood. When asked how he'd learned to
do it, Langly had replied, I don't let anyone stick needles into me. I
always do it myself. It was not necessarily a reassuring answer.
Langly said, "Mulder, I don't know whose blood that was on that
handkerchief, but it wasn't Scully's. Her profile is entirely different. And
she's not your sister."
Mulder grinned, and gave Scully a thumbs up. She nodded, sagging against
the doorjamb in relief.
"Thanks, Langly. You have just won a free one-year subscription to Adult
Video News."
"Which issue is the one with your picture in it, Mulder?"
Scully's name was not in the alien breeding program database. But
Samantha's was.
And so was his.
