The Animal I Wanted

Cover Art by Leann

The Animal I Wanted
by Ladyluck

Chapter Two
The Coyote

In the beginning there was Coyote. He is the trickster who performs
sleight of hand, wondrous marvels, yet also scrambles established
codes, overturns truths and constantly hoodwinks us with unintended
consequences. Even if Coyote caused the great flood because of
a theft, he somehow led the human race to a better world. In the
heart of the trickster is a savior.
—Rich Heffern
Forty minutes later, Krycek still wasn't out. He was fighting the Haldol mightily. His eyes would flutter closed or his head start to slump, then he'd startle awake, jerking his chin up and shaking his head. Worse, despite the sedative, he was showing signs of panic, his movements becoming more erratic and agitated.

"I can't give him more Haldol," Scully murmured. "Not in conjunction with any kind of pain medication."

Mulder was trying to sort out his emotions. One part of him still wanted to hurt Krycek, to fill another syringe of Haldol—fuck the pain medication, let him suffer—and plunge it into Krycek's arm. Or better yet, just whack him over the head with the butt of the gun, and see how fast he'd lose consciousness then.

But he was also feeling the leaden weight of guilt, remembering what he had done, and what he had almost done. It went far beyond subduing Krycek, or even revenge.

Mulder, what happened here?

Not you, Mulder.

And he couldn't deny that he was impressed by Krycek's spirit, his refusal to go under without a fight, despite all the pain he must be in, despite his evident exhaustion. How could Alex be so goddamn strong? With everything he had been through—

Alex?

Well, he also couldn't deny that, even battered and bloody as he was, sporting three days beard growth and his hair spiky with sweat, Krycek looked pretty good there cuffed to his bed in those black briefs. Like some kind of seriously kinky wet dream.

Jesus. No, I didn't think that.

He became aware that Scully was speaking to him.

"I'm sorry...what?"

"I said, he's shivering, Mulder. Have you got an extra clean blanket somewhere?"

"Oh...sure, yeah."

"Well, I'd better get comfortable," Scully sighed, "This looks like it might take a while." She cast another surreptitious glance at her watch. "He'll need to be closely monitored while he's like this. He may be having a bad reaction to the Haldol."

Mulder looked at Krycek, shaking on the bed. His eyes were half-hidden under long thick lashes but, incredibly, still never closed for more than a few seconds at a time. He had irritated the wound on his arm and fresh blood was seeping through the bandage. Shackled to the bed, naked save for his underwear, in front of two of his bitter enemies, one of whom had brutally beaten him, nearly raped him, and kept him chained to a sink for two days, and the other who had injected him with drugs against his will. And they expected him to relax, calm down and go to sleep? Unwillingly, Mulder felt a strong sympathy. Krycek's eyes were on him, the repository of all he had done and every disturbing emotion he was feeling.

"You go on and have your date, Scully. I'll baby-sit him." At her dubious glance he added. "Really. That was just a—temporary insanity, rage, whatever. I'm not going to beat him again." When she still hesitated, he smiled down at her, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hey, I know it's your last night with Paul for a while. You'll get plenty of us in the cabin. Go on and enjoy your night."

She searched his face for several long moments, then nodded, giving him a tentative smile back. "Okay. Stay there with him until he goes to sleep. Call me immediately if he starts to get agitated again or seems to be in any distress. Once he does go out, you can give him that tetanus shot. I'll leave the other meds as well." She rummaged through her medical bag. "He'll probably still be a little unsteady when he wakes, and pretty thirsty. You can give him some water, and more Demerol if he needs it." While Scully laid out medications and other supplies, Mulder retrieved the blanket from the bathroom and got an old comforter from the closet.

On the bed, Krycek looked the same as before, except that he had drawn his legs up, probably in an attempt to keep warm. Eyes glassy from the drug, he tensed and regarded Mulder warily as he approached. He didn't move or speak as Mulder laid the comforter over him. Because of the way Krycek was sitting, the comforter didn't quite cover his chest. Mulder noticed, distractingly, that Alex's nipples were brown and perfectly round, encircled by fine dark hairs. They were also erect, no doubt from cold, and Mulder had an overwhelming urge to put his mouth on them, to suck and lick and bite, so strong it was almost a physical force. He could just imagine the scenario that would ensue if he actually tried such a thing, however. He laid the blanket on top of the comforter and retreated from the bedroom.

Mulder saw Scully to the door, dispensing reassurances all the way. Returning to the bedroom, he set the two bottles of pills down on the bedside table. "Scully left these for you—antibiotics, and pain medication. You should probably take some now." Krycek's head lolled back a little as he continued to watch Mulder with that same flat, slightly clouded expression.

Mulder went to fetch a glass of water, and immediately realized he had a problem. He would either have to uncuff Krycek, or force-feed him the pills. What the hell—Krycek really wasn't in custody anymore. And he did seem to have calmed down quite a bit. He pulled out the key and undid the cuff. Krycek's arm fell limply from the cuff in the first instant, before his muscle control kicked in and he stretched and flexed it. He rubbed his arm against his hip, shook it, and rolled his shoulders back, obviously feeling some pain from being cuffed. Krycek looked dazed, his movements disjointed from the drug. He made another small, abortive gesture with the stump of his other arm, as if he wanted to rub his right arm with it, then caught himself. It got to Mulder. He wondered if that was habitual, or if it was the Haldol fogging Krycek's mind, making him forget he no longer had two good arms.

Without really thinking, Mulder reached to grasp Krycek's arm, kneading and massaging up and down the taut muscles to bring the circulation back. Krycek's skin felt warm and smooth. Mulder couldn't believe he was doing this, couldn't believe Krycek was letting him do it. Alex had his eyes closed, his head tipped back a little.

Damn, he looks hot.

No, no, he wasn't thinking that, not even as he moved further up, massaging the muscles of Alex's right shoulder, and Alex let his head drop back more, exposing his neck and Mulder had another deep rush of desire to put his mouth there. Not even when Alex let out a very soft little sigh and his hand, which had been lying on the bed, came up to tentatively brush along Mulder's arm.

Then Mulder reached over to rub Alex's left shoulder.

Krycek's head snapped up, his eyes blinking rapidly. His hand closed around Mulder's wrist, pushing him away, the panicked expression returning to his eyes.

"Easy, Krycek, settle down, relax," Mulder said in his most soothing tones. He moved his hand slowly back. What had he been thinking? Drugged or not, this was still a dangerous man. "Not gonna hurt you, just take it easy..." He reached for the pills, unsnapping the caps and shaking one of each into his hand. "Here...take these...it'll help with the pain."

Krycek swallowed the pills without incident. Mulder wondered if he should try to give him the tetanus shot, but decided not to risk it.

"Do you need anything else? Are you hungry?"

Krycek frowned at him, looking vaguely distrustful, but then seemed too weary to care. "I want a shower," he mumbled.

"You what?"

"Come on, Mulder. I haven't washed in three days. I stink. Let me..." Krycek seemed to lose his train of thought, his eyes fluttering closed, and then doggedly opening again.

"You're too groggy to take a shower right now, Krycek. You'd probably pass out in the tub and hit your head or drown or something, and then Scully would have my neck. Just wait until the morning."

Krycek started to push the blankets aside. "I'm all sweaty," he complained. His hair and face did look damp with sweat. Mulder hoped that meant the fever had broken. But now Krycek was seriously attempting to get out of bed.

"Krycek, whoa, hey, Alex. Wait, okay? Just wait a minute."

Hearing his first name seemed to quiet Krycek down somewhat, and he lay back on the pillows, simply watching Mulder again.

Mulder went into the bathroom. He filled a bowl with hot water and a little liquid soap and got a clean towel and washcloth. When he returned to the bedroom Krycek regarded him, head tilted to one side and a confused, pensive look on his face. Mulder set the bowl down on the bedside table, hoping Krycek wouldn't see fit to knock it all over him. He immersed the washcloth in the water and wrung it out, then held it out to Krycek. "Here. Wash off."

Krycek just looked at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds; then he slowly took the washcloth and began scrubbing at his face and chest. His movements were halting, his coordination off. When he reached up to wash the back of his neck, the washcloth slipped from his hand, falling behind him. Krycek twisted his head, looking for it, then sat motionless, as if stymied by this new development.

Mulder reached behind Krycek to retrieve the washcloth. It felt cool on his hand. He dipped it into the bowl of hot water, wrung it out again, and began slowly to wash Krycek's back. Krycek put up no resistance. Mulder gently bent him forward a bit, and Krycek sat with his head on his hand, not saying anything. Mulder moved the washcloth in steady circles over the broad planes of Krycek's back, then moved up to his neck, feeling the ends of Krycek's hair brush his fingers. This close, he could definitely smell Alex, and he certainly didn't stink; in fact, he smelled fantastic, musky and enticing. Mulder drew the washcloth down along the strongly muscled lines of Alex's neck, and Alex gave another of those little sighs, almost a tiny moan of pleasure. Mulder nearly dropped the washcloth.

He dipped the cloth in the bowl again and then dabbed it carefully up along Krycek's temple, near the hairline, where there was some dried blood Krycek had missed. Rinsing out the blood, he did Krycek's arm, scrubbing more vigorously, careful not to touch the bandage. Krycek made another sound, definitely pleasurable now.

"Enjoying yourself there, Krycek?"

Krycek lifted his head and took the washcloth from Mulder to wipe his face again. "Ahh, a sponge bath from Nurse Mulder." The words were slightly slurred, but mocking nonetheless. "Now I can die a happy man."

Mulder resisted the urge to dump the rest of the water over Krycek's head and reached for the towel instead. "Shut up, Krycek, you're not going to die." He rubbed Krycek's back and neck dry. Drying Krycek's arm, he wondered how Krycek managed to wash his right arm on his own. He handed the towel to Krycek to dry off his face and chest.

Krycek started to lie back again, but Mulder stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Wait a sec. Sc—" No, better not to mention Scully's name; he didn't want to see Krycek go berserk again. "I mean, I've got some stuff here." Scully had left a tube of antiseptic/anesthetic salve and bandages for the sores Krycek had gotten from leaving his prosthetic arm on for so long. Mulder applied it gingerly to the sores on Krycek's back, then taped gauze pads in place over them, so that Krycek wouldn't irritate them any more while he slept. He lifted Krycek's hand, squeezed a generous amount onto Krycek's fingers. "Here—put some on your chest and arm."

Krycek slowly complied. He was shivering again. Reluctantly, Mulder got a clean T-shirt out of his drawer. He wasn't really sure he wanted Krycek wearing his clothes, but Krycek had been wearing his own shirt for three days straight. He tossed the shirt over to Krycek, then carried the bowl of water and washcloth out. He didn't want to watch Krycek struggle with the shirt, or worse, have to help him put it on.

When he returned Krycek was lying back against the pillows, shirt on, looking totally exhausted. His eyes followed Mulder as Mulder moved around the room, the thick lashes lowering every couple of seconds like they were too heavy to hold open.

"Go to sleep, Krycek. You'll feel better."

"I don't like to sleep," Krycek mumbled.

"Just let your eyes stay closed. It's easy—even babies can do it."

Krycek was shaking his head. "No—I don't anymore—I used to sleep—I could sleep anywhere, anytime—it was useful, but now—" His eyes closed again, and Mulder had a bit of hope, but after a few moments they opened once more. "They woke me up."

"Who woke you up?" Was Krycek hearing voices? He wondered if he should call Scully.

"In the middle of the night—I was asleep—they—they woke me up—they had this knife—it was red, glowing red—"

Mulder froze. His blood turned to ice. He heard loud, rapid breathing, and he thought it was Krycek's until he realized it was his own. It could have happened to me.

"I thought I knew—what pain was—and—and what fear was—I was wrong." Krycek panted out the words, rolling his head from side to side. "I thought I had—nothing to lose. I was wrong—just—just so fucking wrong."

Mulder could not speak, could not breathe, could not at all costs make himself move any closer to Krycek His stomach was churning, and he thought he might be sick.

"I tried to fight them—tried to fight them off—but I—" Krycek continued to toss his head around in that strange way, as if he were trying to twist away from something, but lethargically. "There were too many of them—I tried, Mulder, I tried."

Involuntarily, Mulder's eyes went to the hideous mapwork of scars. "I'm sure you did."

"I screamed so much—my fucking voice was gone—and then I—" Suddenly Krycek brought his hand to his mouth, biting down hard on the heel. His eyes looked huge and almost black, the pupils dilated.

"Jesus, Krycek..." Mulder felt out of his depth.

Krycek raked his fingers up through his hair, then shut his eyes, his hand curling into a fist against his mouth. He kept his eyes closed so long Mulder had a faint hope he might actually be asleep, until Krycek spoke again, sounding breathless. "You ever read that story, it's science fiction, 'I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream?'"

"What?"

"Harlan Ellison, I think Mulder, you would definitely—"

Mulder rubbed his head. "Krycek, please...would you fucking go to sleep?"

"I don't like to sleep." Krycek repeated. "Not even in my own bed...never anymore...I can't do it. I don't want to do it..." He sounded suddenly annoyed, resentful of his own need for sleep.

Mulder sighed and gave up. "Okay, whatever. I don't sleep all that much myself. I guess it's just going to be a long night." He decided he might as well get washed and changed, even if he had to spend the night sitting in this chair. He didn't really feel sleepy, just drained.

Krycek turned his head in alarm as Mulder started to leave the room. "Where ya goin'?" His voice sounded rough, and somehow younger. His hair was tousled, making him look younger as well and stirring something in Mulder that he usually kept tamped down. Alex.

Mulder tore his eyes away. "Just going to brush my teeth. I'll be back." In the bathroom, he took his time, not really eager to return to the bedroom.

A sickening jolt of memory hit him. It was a case he and Scully had worked—a rogue AI that had imprisoned him within a virtual reality. In an eerie coincidence, he had found himself in a hospital bed, his left arm amputated just below the shoulder. Mulder's stomach clenched at the memory. He had screamed, too, in panicked, desperate disbelief. They had taken his right arm, too, before Scully rescued him. She had released him from the machine and showed him that it had all been a dream of sorts. He had two working arms. But no one had come to rescue Alex. Mulder's nightmare was Alex's reality.

In Tunguska, the owner of the truck he had hijacked had wanted to cut Mulder's arm off, to save him from the experiments, just as he had done with his own son. It was the woman of the house who had saved Mulder, by helping him get away. It had been a pure stroke of luck that she spoke English, as Mulder spoke no Russian.

Krycek spoke Russian. Krycek could be persuasive; Mulder could testify to that. It had just been Krycek's bad luck to land in a mob. And maybe he had been injured from jumping off the truck like that.

He could hear Alex's voice, hoarse, terrified, pleading. "I tried to fight them off, Mulder. I tried..." As though he feared Mulder would think less of him for letting them cut his arm off.

Again the nausea hit Mulder. He leaned over the sink, gulping air open-mouthed. It was reminiscent of the other night, and he grimaced in ironic recognition. Krycek was literally making him sick.

A noise from the bedroom pulled him out of his thoughts. It sounded as though Krycek had managed to turn on the TV or the radio. Mulder hurried back, stopping dead in the doorway at the sight that greeted him. Krycek was gazing up at his image in the overhead mirror with seeming fascination, singing to himself in that dark, sandpapery voice.

"Welcome, my friend. Welcome to the machine..."

Mulder shook his head, torn between amusement and a strong wish to knock Krycek unconscious. He didn't have a half bad voice, but Mulder certainly didn't want to hear it at this hour, in his bedroom.

"Mulder, you wild and crazy guy!" Krycek greeted him with a mocking grin. "Waterbeds, mirrors on the ceiling...what else have you got hidden away?"

Mulder stared at him, speechless. Before he left the room Krycek had appeared to be experiencing some sort of post-traumatic stress reaction. Now he seemed high as a kite.

"Better living through pharmaceuticals, eh, Krycek?" Mulder muttered, coming around to flop into the chair. He wished to hell he had a TV in the bedroom. The mindlessness of late-night TV always worked well to lull him into, if not sleep, at least a certain amount of brain-dead peace, like a white-noise machine. It might shut Krycek up and calm him down as well. Maybe he could drag Krycek out to lie on the couch. But then where would Mulder sleep?

Mulder slumped down in the chair, propping his feet on the bed. Krycek didn't appear to notice; he went on singing and mumbling to himself for a while, then subsided back onto the pillows again in a kind of stupor. He let his eyes close for several minutes at a time now, but still he did not sleep. Periodically, he would tip his head back, open his eyes wide, and seek out his reflection overhead, as if to reassure himself that he still existed.

Mulder dozed, in the chair. He was startled out of sleep by a hoarse voice speaking his name.

"Mulder?"

He shook himself awake, and for a brief dizzying moment was stunned to see his hated enemy in his bed, staring at him, looking as disoriented as he felt.

"Mulder? What happened? Where are we?"

Mulder was getting his bearings now, recalling the situation, but it appeared Krycek was not. He was frowning, looking confused but somehow trusting, his eyes on Mulder's.

Mulder sat up. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit," Krycek said in his gravelly whisper. "My side hurts like hell...my arms..."

Mulder had a moment's fear, not knowing how pronounced this apparent memory loss was, that Krycek was going to panic at finding he had only one arm. But he seemed to accept this without comment. Maybe it was just the past few days that he didn't remember.

Krycek was looking around the room. He started to speak again, then swallowed a couple of times and moistened his lips. Remembering how Scully had said the drugs would make him thirsty, Mulder handed him the glass of water. Krycek took it and drank deeply.

"You want something for the pain?" Without waiting for Krycek's answer he opened the pill container and extracted one. There was a moment of confusion as Krycek, still holding the glass of water in his lone hand, stared at the pill. Mentally kicking himself, Mulder reached to hold the glass while Krycek swallowed the pill. Krycek gave a nod of thanks as he handed the glass back again. The waterbed rippled as he settled back on the pillows, and he seemed perturbed by the motion.

"Are we on a boat?"

Mulder had to laugh at that. "No. You're on a waterbed."

Krycek's look of confusion increased. "Where?"

There was no way around it now. "My apartment."

"You have a waterbed?"

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

Krycek's eyes were fixed on his intently. "Why am I...in your bed?"

Mulder searched for a way to answer that. He decided to keep it simple for now. "You needed a place to sleep."

"But..." The little frown lines between Krycek's eyes deepened. "What happened?"

"You don't remember anything?" Mulder suddenly had an insane hope that that might be true. But, he realized, even if Krycek had somehow blocked it out, he would still have to explain all this to him.

And Scully knew. Mulder had seen it in her eyes, her lowered opinion of him.

Krycek was shaking his head. "I feel really..."

Mulder hurriedly scanned the room for his trash basket. "Are you going to be sick?"

Another shake of the head. "I just...my mind isn't clear." Realization seemed to dawn on him. "I was drugged."

"Yeah."

"Who drugged me? You?"

"Uh, no." Technically, Mulder supposed this was correct, since it was Scully who had done it, and on her own initiative. He just hoped Krycek's next question wasn't, "Who beat me up?"

Mulder wondered if Krycek was having some sort of bad drug reaction, lingering effects of the Haldol, but he seemed to be okay apart from the memory loss. It didn't seem serious enough to warrant waking Scully at this hour. Maybe he should check Krycek's pulse? He reached for Krycek's wrist, realizing too late that it was heavily bandaged. He could check the carotid pulse, but grabbing Krycek by the neck didn't seem like a smart thing to do.

Seeing Mulder reach for him, Krycek took Mulder's outstretched hand. He seemed as baffled as Mulder as to why they were holding hands, but he didn't pull away.

"You're not in any danger right now, Krycek." Mulder said, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible. He was beginning to think the Haldol had been a good idea after all; this drugged, docile version of Krycek was a lot easier to get along with. "Why don't you just get some more sleep and we'll talk about it in the morning." He gave Krycek's hand a light squeeze and released it.

Krycek nodded. His eyes remained open, however, gazing at Mulder. He opened his mouth to speak, looked away, then looked back. "Mulder...did you...were we..." He looked away again, brought his fist up to his mouth for a moment. "Fuck," he muttered softly. His eyes met Mulder's again. "Have you been sleeping in that chair all night?"

Mulder almost laughed again; did Krycek think he was in Mulder's bed for that reason? "Yeah, I have."

"Why?"

Again, he gave the simplest answer. "You were drugged. Someone had to watch over you. Now go to sleep." He was tired and uncomfortable from dozing in the chair; once Krycek was asleep, he could go stretch out on the couch.

Krycek ignored the last command and continued to regard Mulder with that troubled, strangely trusting expression. "Mulder...you ever wish...things had been different? That you hadn't made some of the choices you made?"

Mulder sighed. "Yeah...every goddamn day, Krycek."

"I know why they did this," Krycek said, his voice husky. "I have something for you." He gave Mulder a small, ironic smile. "Something that's probably going to get me killed. I—oh, fuck!" Krycek stiffened, the placid look vanishing, his eyes rounding in absolute fear. "I had it on me—I was going to bring it to you—"

Without thinking, Mulder reached over to rub Krycek's arm reassuringly. "You brought it to me, Alex. I have it."

Krycek closed his eyes and sank back on the pillows, sighing with relief. He gazed at Mulder with a kind of puzzled hope on his face. "And you looked out for me." His voice cracked slightly on the words. "Thank you."

Mulder looked away. He didn't want to hear this.

"We're brothers in this, you and I," Krycek said, his voice deepening. Mulder stared at him. Whatever it was he felt for Krycek, he wouldn't term it filial devotion. "I always knew that...I tried to watch out for you...not let them get to you. So many things...I wish I would've known better. I was flying blind...just trying to keep one jump ahead. But I think...we could've been friends, if things were different." Krycek's eyes fixed on his. "I could use a friend...maybe you could too."

Mulder nodded, feeling a strange sadness.

"I've done some terrible things. And I can't undo them now, but maybe...with this vaccine, if I can just do some good, before—" Krycek swallowed. "I get so fucking scared sometimes, Mulder."

"That they're going to kill you?"

Krycek laughed softly, shaking his head. "No...I'm sure that's gonna happen. No, I just don't know...where they have people, or who they've gotten to. I worked so hard and so long for this and I—I don't want to see it stopped." He sighed and turned his head to gaze at Mulder. "That's why I brought it to you. You're the most...I know they would never get to you." Krycek stretched out his hand again. Mulder handed him the glass of water and Krycek looked at it a moment, then drank it slowly down. "Thanks." This time Krycek reached to set the glass down, moving with some difficulty, then once again extended his hand to Mulder. Wonderingly, Mulder took it.

Krycek sat up a bit, his hand gripping Mulder's, his eyes fixing intently on Mulder. "You're—you're the only one, Mulder. The only one, ever."

Mulder pulled his hand from Krycek's, unable to take this any longer. "Shit, Krycek, I'm not! I don't know dick about truth, or justice, or—" He broke off, as Krycek stared at him in shock and dismay. Oh, fuck, nice going, Mulder. In two seconds he'll be panicking again.

"No, no, look, I just meant—I'm not perfect. But you're right. They haven't gotten to me, and they never will." Saying that, he was suddenly seeing himself in that new light. Not a marginal crackpot loser, but a man of integrity. A crusader.

"I'm going to try to keep you safe too," he said. At Krycek's wistful look, he added, "It's my job."

Krycek nodded slowly. He shifted position, and the bed lurched, causing him to tip awkwardly. His breathing became suddenly more labored. Alarmed, Mulder leaned forward sharply. "You okay, Krycek? Are you having trouble breathing?"

Krycek grimaced. "No—it just—hurts when I move. They must've kicked my fucking ribs in." A flash of anger stirred in his eyes. "Took my damn limb too, huh?"

It took Mulder a moment to realize he meant the prosthetic. "No, no, it's here...you just took it off."

Krycek sighed in relief again. Mulder decided he probably should check Krycek for fever and take his pulse, just to be on the safe side. "Alex...I'm going to touch your neck for a minute, okay? It's just to take your pulse."

Krycek tipped his head back obediently, and again Mulder felt that stirring of desire at the sight. Ignoring it, he laid the palm of his hand flat against Krycek's forehead. Krycek's skin felt cool, his hair faintly damp. Moving lower, Mulder placed his fingers carefully on Krycek's neck and started feeling around for the pulse. Krycek chuckled softly. He reached to cover Mulder's hand with his own, guiding Mulder's fingers to the right spot and holding them firmly in place. Mulder felt the beating under his fingers, slow and strong, like a living thing pressing up against him. Alex's hand was warm over his, almost a caress. Alex's eyes were half-closed, gazing at Mulder under the curtain of dark lashes.

"That feels good," Mulder said. "I mean, your pulse, it feels steady."

Krycek gave him an odd little smile. "At least I'm alive, right?"

Mulder took his fingers from Krycek's neck and sat back in the chair. "You are."

"My grandfather had a saying," Krycek paused, then said something in Russian. "It means something like, now I can die a happy man. I know they're going to kill me, Mulder. But I don't care anymore. I just want—" Krycek's voice was hoarse with emotion, shaking slightly.

"Krycek. You're not dying. We're going to take you to a safe house tomorrow."

Krycek regarded him steadily for a moment, then settled back. Mulder watched him, bemused. Krycek, talking about his grandfather? Expressing remorse? Holding Mulder's hand? Could this really be the same Krycek who had killed and double-crossed God knew how many people? Who had almost torn his bed apart earlier, spitting, cursing, snarling death threats? Was he truly remorseful, or was it all some kind of act? Krycek certainly was a master manipulator and near-pathological liar.

Or was he just drug-addled, saying anything that came into his head without really meaning it? Although he seemed lucid enough at the moment.

"Alex," he said in sudden surprise. Krycek turned his head, blinking. "You're talking clearer now," Mulder said. "The drugs are wearing off."

Krycek nodded.

"You outlasted the Haldol." Mulder shook his head. "You are one amazingly tenacious bastard."

Krycek had his head back on the pillows, the covers tucked up to his chin like a kid. His eyes looked very dark in the dim light.

"Painkillers helping at all?"

Krycek nodded, then yawned. Mulder had an insane wish to reach over and ruffle his hair.

"Will you get some sleep now?"

Krycek gazed at him a moment more, then solemnly closed his eyes.

Mulder awoke in the chair once more, this time only because of his cramped position. It was very early, the sky outside barely tinted with indigo. He looked over at Krycek in his bed, finally asleep after three days. Krycek looked quite peaceful, almost vulnerable, curled up there, long lashes fanned against his cheek. Mulder wondered if he should check Krycek for fever or maybe take his pulse again, but decided not to chance waking him up. Krycek's breathing was steady and deep; that was good enough for Mulder.

With Krycek asleep at last, Mulder was free to move to the couch. He sighed gratefully as he stretched out there, easing his stiff muscles. Despite his fatigue, his eyes would not close yet, and he stared at the ceiling, feeling a surreal bemusement. He laid a hand flat against the wall, keenly aware of the man sleeping there on the other side.

Like a bitter wind through crumbling walls, Krycek's presence had infiltrated every corner of Mulder's home over the past two nights. It was still there, the inescapable awareness that Mulder was not alone, that someone else was occupying his space, changing the very atmosphere. Somehow, though, it had shifted, lost its pernicious quality. Tonight Mulder could almost take some comfort in it. He lay listening to the soft, even breathing from his bedroom, the rhythm of it lapping at his consciousness, lulling him to sleep.

Mulder awakened to full daylight and the sound of his cell phone ringing.

"Hi, it's me." Scully sounded way too alert for this hour of the morning. "How's Krycek doing?"

"Krycek?" Mulder hauled himself off the couch and plodded to the bedroom doorway to check. "Still sleeping. Finally. He wouldn't let the Haldol put him under." Scully made a small skeptical sound. "But then he had some kind of weird drug reaction in the middle of the night."

"What?" Scully's tone sharpened. "Why didn't you call me?"

"It wasn't like that...he just seemed disoriented, didn't remember where he was. And he was very...talkative."

"Right...that's common with those meds." Scully dismissed the whole bizarre night in a few words. "Did he give you any new information?"

"No...it was mostly just...whatever came into his mind."

Krycek's mind evidently didn't interest Scully. "Any fever?"

"I'm not taking his temperature, Scully." He flipped a pencil back and forth, absently gazing at the fish tank. He would have to remember to put one of those two-week feeder tablets in the tank before he left. "Oh, we're going to need a few things here, got a pen? Okay, breakfast stuff for now...and get a toothbrush and razor, stuff like that..."

"He's going to need some clothes too, " Scully said.

Mulder had not thought of that. Of course Krycek could not go back to wherever he lived, that would be too dangerous. "Yeah...get some jeans and sweats, T-shirts..."

"What size?"

Oh, this was a bizarre fucking moment; he was actually checking the labels in Krycek's clothing to find out what size he was.

"Socks and underwear too, I suppose."

Mulder estimated the sizes on that.

He showered and dressed, then looked in at the bedroom doorway again. Krycek hadn't changed position, and Mulder was startled to realize that he was now awake, staring up at Mulder. Once again that disturbing mix of emotions swept Mulder: guilt, sympathy, rage, repulsion, lust—and some other, indefinable stirring. Damn, it was exhausting being around Alex all the time. How the hell were they going to last a couple of weeks in a small cabin together?

"How do you feel?"

Krycek did not answer. The pensive, trusting look from last night was gone, replaced with his usual wary, sardonic gaze.

"Do you know where you are?"

Krycek sat up, watching Mulder suspiciously. "Yeah."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Krycek went still. The green eyes glittered suddenly, and Mulder could see a muscle jump along his jaw. His voice was rough when he spoke. "You beat the crap out of me, held me prisoner and shot me up with something. Does that sum it up pretty well?"

Except that I threatened to rape you. We're both pretending that didn't happen. Mulder cautiously came into the room and sat in the chair. He could see Krycek tense up as he got near. "I didn't know if you were telling me the truth at first. Sorry if I gave you a hard time."

"You're sorry, Mulder."

"I know you risked a lot to get us this."

Krycek stared him down. "Well, I can see how you got into Oxford."

Mulder deliberately kept his voice even. "Alex...I'm trying to apologize, okay? Stop being such a ballbuster."

"So it's Alex, now, since I'm useful to you." There was a trace of bitterness under the mocking tone.

"Don't push it with the martyr act, Krycek. We both know you wouldn't be risking your hot little ass if you weren't getting something out of this too."

"Believe it or not, Mulder, I just want to make sure this happens. This is what we've worked for, the vaccine. As to what I'm getting out of it—" Krycek shook his head, "—hopefully it'll be quick and painless."

Mulder's first impulse was to tell him not to be so dramatic, but he could hear the resignation in Krycek's voice, see the sadness in his eyes. Again he felt an unwilling sympathy. Krycek really must have burned bridges if Mulder was his last hope. Krycek looked down, away from Mulder. Mulder studied him a moment. "They've tried to kill you before. You always managed to get away. Aren't you smart enough to outwit them this time too?"

Krycek sighed. "I don't know, Mulder," he said, his voice low and deep. "I don't know." They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Krycek raised his head. "Can I get cleaned up now?"

"Sure." Mulder got to his feet. He started to hunt down a towel, then spotted the syringe of tetanus booster on the table. Maybe he could convince Krycek to let Mulder give him the shot, and avoid another bad scene with Scully. "Actually, wait a sec. Alex, uh, Krycek..."

Krycek cocked his head. "That's my name." His eyes went to the syringe and Mulder could see him pull back a bit.

"Tetanus booster," Mulder told him. "I can give it to you now, or Scully'll do it when she gets here."

Krycek regarded him for a moment, then held out his hand. "Give it to me," he said in that soft, gravelly voice. "I'll do it."

Mulder weighed the distinct possibility that Krycek meant to stab him in the eye with it or something similar, against the fragile trust that was slowly developing. With all that Alex had been through, he clearly didn't like having anyone do anything to him, even something as minor as this. And Mulder still had his gun, after all. Without a word, he picked up an alcohol prep pad and dropped it and the syringe into Krycek's outstretched hand.

Krycek's eyes flicked to Mulder's face, for just an instant. Then he laid the syringe on the bed, tore the prep open with his teeth and swabbed a spot on his thigh. Smoothly and efficiently, he lifted the syringe and injected the contents, then handed the syringe and the used prep and wrapper back to Mulder.

Mulder felt oddly exhilarated as he walked to the trash to dispose of the used syringe, as if they had both passed some kind of test.

When he turned back Krycek had gotten off the bed and was standing up, stretching. "I'm going to take a shower now, okay?" His expression was still wary, measuring.

"Sure...hold on." Mulder pulled open drawers until he found a sweatshirt and sweatpants. He tossed them on the bed.

"Where are my clothes?"

"These are clean, and you'll be more comfortable. You hungry?"

Again that suspicious look, like Krycek thought it might be a trick question. "Yeah."

"I'll see what I can rustle up." Mulder tossed him a towel. "Here...go ahead. Borrow my razor if you want, but leave my toothbrush alone."

While Krycek showered, Mulder retrieved Krycek's jeans and boots from the closet. He laid the clothes on the end of the bed, then found an old duffel Krycek could use to pack. He brought Krycek's leather jacket in as well. The jacket smelled like Alex. Mulder wasn't sure how he knew Alex's scent, but he did. The visceral reaction of his own body, quickening all over, was unexpected. He stood holding the jacket for a moment, breathing deeply, then hurriedly dropped it on the bed. All he needed was for Krycek to come out of the bathroom and find Mulder sniffing his jacket.

In the kitchen, he set about procuring some breakfast, but the pickings were slim indeed. He made coffee, but the remaining inch of milk in the container had soured, and the loaf of bread he was going to use to make toast had green mold. His refrigerator contained beer, batteries, and the uneaten mu shu pork from last night. A search through the cabinets turned up only a package of Oreos that had been there longer than he cared to think. But they would have to do. Hearing the shower stop, he poured two cups of coffee and set them on the table along with the Oreos.

Krycek came out of the bathroom, clean-shaven and toweling his hair. Mulder could hear him in the bedroom, probably checking his things to make sure Mulder hadn't taken anything. Apparently satisfied, he padded out to the kitchen. The prosthetic arm was still off, and he had tucked his left sleeve into the waistband on the pants. Mulder realized he had given Krycek his favorite sweatshirt to wear. The thought didn't bother him as much as he would have expected.

"Scully's picking up some food," Mulder informed him. "All I have right now is black coffee and Oreos."

Krycek shrugged. He approached the table somewhat hesitantly and pulled up a chair.

"They're kind of old," Mulder said.

"It's fine." Krycek started wolfing down the cookies.

"Scully'll pick up some real food. She'd probably be revolted by this."

Krycek shrugged again, one corner of his mouth turning up. Mulder found himself returning the little smile. Jesus, this was surreal, he and Alex Krycek sharing a male bonding moment, for Chrissakes, over their guy breakfast in the face of Scully's disapproval.

They drank their coffee in silence for a while. Mulder mentally made preparations for the trip. Krycek shifted in the chair, rubbing his bandaged wrist against his leg like it irritated him. Mulder noticed the bandage was soaked through. "That bothering you?" he asked. "You weren't supposed to get it wet."

"How the hell am I supposed to wash without getting my hand wet?"

"Well, Scully'll change the bandage when she gets here."

"I can do it." Krycek said curtly.

"Unless you plan on using your toes, or chewing that bandage off, Krycek, that's not gonna happen." But Krycek turned away, biting at the bandage. Mulder watched as he held one end of the bandage between his teeth and slowly unwound it from his wrist. With a self-satisfied glance at Mulder, Krycek walked over and tossed the bandage into the trash.

"Okay, you got it off. You're still going to have to wait for Scully to put a clean one on." Mulder paused a moment for Krycek to realize the truth of this. "Or I can do it."

Krycek gritted his teeth in annoyance, then capitulated. "Do it."

Mulder was a little surprised; he had meant the words more as a joking threat than a real offer. Scully was a doctor, after all. But Krycek seemed more comfortable with Mulder than with her, even though to Mulder's mind the Haldol injection paled beside what he had done to Krycek. "Okay," he said, "sit down." He fetched the supplies Scully had left and rested Krycek's arm on a folded towel, unsure where to begin. The wound was a mess. "Shit, you really did a number on this, Krycek."

"Well, you didn't have to cuff me again, asshole!" Seeing Mulder's uncertainty, Krycek sighed in impatience. "Take the Betadine and gauze pads and just clean it, Mulder." Mulder could feel his frustration, almost palpable, at not being able to do it himself.

He followed Krycek's instructions, trying to be as gentle as he could, but still Krycek tensed and growled with pain while Mulder cleaned the wound. Mulder could feel him straining, wanting to pull away. He took hold of Krycek's arm to hold him still.

"Shit, Mulder...what are you doing?"

"I'm not a doctor, I just play one," Mulder said blandly. "It must be rough not having another hand to punch me with."

"Very funny. Don't worry...I can make do."

Mulder glanced up at him. "I'm sure you could, but since I'm not hurting you on purpose, how about you calm down and let me do this." He squeezed some of the antiseptic cream on the wound, spreading it gingerly with the gauze. Krycek sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth. Mulder was about to make a crack about Krycek being a big baby about pain; then he remembered Krycek's story about the loss of his arm. Alex had endured pain to a degree Mulder could not even imagine. More gently, he said, "Okay, the worst is over. I just have to bandage it up now." He started wrapping the gauze around Krycek's wrist, then wound it up across Alex's hand like he had seen Scully do.

Krycek stopped him, pulling back a little. "Don't put it around my hand."

Mulder looked at him in surprise. "Why not? Scully did it that way."

"I don't like it around my hand. I can't hold my gun the same way."

Mulder started to argue, then realized how vulnerable Krycek must feel, having his lone hand pinned like this. Oddly, he felt no satisfaction, only an unwilling sympathy. "Fine, whatever." He wrapped Krycek's wrist and taped it. "You don't even have your gun."

"But you're going to give it back to me, before I go anywhere with you."

"Yeah, like I need you in the back seat with a gun pointed at my head."

The standoff was broken by the arrival of Scully, her diminutive frame laden with shopping bags. Mulder hurried over to help her. She handed him a bulky bag that smelled of coffee and fresh bagels. Mulder unloaded it on the kitchen table. Besides the bagels and coffee, it contained muffins, fruit, and a half-gallon of orange juice.

"Now that's breakfast," Krycek said, his eyes glinting at Mulder. Mulder gave him a small smirk. Despite having downed half a package of Oreos, Krycek managed to devour a bagel, a banana, two muffins and three glasses of orange juice. Mulder looked on, bemused. Scully had said Krycek might be thirsty from the drugs; she hadn't mentioned he'd have the appetite of a pack of starving wolverines.

"Okay," Scully said, sipping her coffee. "We'll be leaving around eight o'clock tonight. Krycek, I got you some clothes and toiletries, and the antibiotics and painkillers." She indicated the bags by the door. "Are there any other medications you need to take, or anything else special you'll need?"

Krycek thought a moment. "I need a battery charger."

Scully frowned. "A battery charger?" Mulder also looked at Krycek questioningly. He had searched all Krycek's stuff, and hadn't seen anything that required batteries. Krycek gazed coolly at Mulder, then shot a look pointedly at his left sleeve.

"It takes batteries?" Mulder asked, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. "Cool." Krycek looked like he wanted to bounce something off Mulder's head, and so did Scully, whose expression clearly conveyed, "You are being an insensitive clod."

"Here, Krycek," Scully said briskly. She produced a pad and pencil and handed them to Krycek. "Write down exactly what type and whatever else you need. The Bureau will pay for it."

Krycek smirked. "I could use a new car."

"We requisitioned a car," Scully said quellingly. "I'm going to pick it up in a little while." She set her black doctor's bag on the table and went to wash her hands. "Mulder, could you give us a moment, please?" Krycek stiffened at her words, darting a swift wide-eyed glance Mulder's way.

Mulder retreated to the living room. As he busied himself with packing, sorting his mail and feeding the fish, he caught glimpses of Scully examining Krycek. She was being very matter-of-fact and clinical, her manner designed to put Krycek at ease, but Krycek nevertheless had pulled back in his seat as far as possible, and was gripping the edge of the table, looking ready to spring from the chair at any moment.

Finally, Scully shut her bag. Mulder walked over and leaned in the kitchen doorway. Both of them looked at him with apparent relief.

Scully glanced over at Krycek. "It's going to be a long drive tonight. I suggest you get some rest before we go." Her tone was clearly dismissive. Krycek did not object. He rose without a word and headed for the bedroom. Mulder watched him go, as Scully began detailing a conversation she'd had with Skinner about Bureau funds. Krycek was a bit bigger than Mulder, with broader hips, and Mulder's sweatpants were snug on him. It didn't look like he was wearing anything underneath.

Wow.

"Mulder, are you listening?"

Did she see me staring at Krycek's ass?

"Well, I'd better go," Scully sighed. "I've got a million errands to run." Mulder didn't feel too guilty. Million errands or no, he knew she vastly preferred that to having guard duty over Krycek.

After she had left, Mulder brought the shopping bags into the bedroom. Krycek was sitting on the bed. He picked through the clothes without much enthusiasm.

"Not your style, Krycek? Well, I wasn't going to tell Scully to buy you black underwear."

Krycek stared at him with an incredulous and somewhat squeamish frown. "I wouldn't have told Scully to buy me underwear at all."

"What, you like to go commando? Or is this a fit of uncharacteristic modesty?"

"Not everyone walks around naked all the time." Krycek leaned back, spreading his legs a bit. "Fox Mulder, FBI. I'm so gorgeous, I have to share my body with the world."

Mulder was about to come back with a biting retort, but the realization of why Krycek might not want to share his body with the world brought him up short.

"Fox Mulder, FBI." Krycek smirked. "Have ya seen my waterbed?"

Mulder favored him with a bland smile. "Maybe you should pack a bag next time you decide to go on the lam."

Krycek's eyes flashed briefly, but he controlled himself. "Maybe I did. Took me a lot of time and money, getting those papers and everything together, not that you'd give a shit."

"Where were you going to go?"

Krycek's look was stony, and he didn't answer. The idea of Alex alone, hunted and on the run, disturbed Mulder, even though in his logical mind he knew it was undoubtedly the way Krycek had spent most of his life. Saving his own ass was Krycek's primary mission in life. In Hong Kong he had taunted Mulder and then slipped out the window, leaving Mulder handcuffed to a dead woman with her killers on the other side of the door. In Tunguska he had talked his way out of the cell and most likely into a warm bed and a decent meal, while Mulder was strapped to a table under chicken wire, undergoing an agonizing infiltration of the black oil.

Still, though, this was different. Then Krycek had had the Consortium or the KGB or whoever he'd been working for to offer him some protection. Now, he only had Mulder. That was disturbing. Almost as disturbing as the strange satisfaction Mulder was feeling at seeing Alex there in his bed, wearing his clothes, looking quite like he belonged there.

"Well, look on the bright side, Krycek. Now you've got two federal agents to protect you."

Krycek looked up at him with a weary cynicism. "Yeah, but who's gonna protect me from you?"

Mulder was about to retort, "Likewise," and leave, but there was still something hanging over them, something he needed to clear up. As little as he wanted to talk about this, he knew it had to be done.

Mulder cleared his throat. Krycek watched him uneasily. He decided the best way to do this was to face it head-on. "Krycek, listen...what I tried to...when I was going to..." On the bed Krycek went stone-still, looking like he would rather be anywhere else in the world than here, listening to this. Mulder knew the feeling. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. "I wouldn't have gone through with that. I barely even unbuckled my belt. I just grabbed your hair like that to keep you still while I uncuffed you."

Krycek was silent, his eyes averted. Mulder could feel his wariness. "Why?" Krycek asked finally, softly.

Why did you have to take it that way?

Mulder stared at the floor, unable to look at Krycek any longer. "I was just angry...it was stupid. I guess I was playing out some domination fantasy, but the reality...it wasn't like that. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it."

"You—you have domination fantasies? About me?" Krycek's voice sounded strained.

"No, I just—in general—I—" Mulder spluttered.

In your dreams.

In the dream, he had thrown Krycek up against a wall as he often had, preparatory to beating him up. He had one arm against Krycek's neck and his other hand on Krycek's chest. Only this time, instead of punching Krycek, he moved in closer and began to kiss that luscious mouth hard, fucking Krycek with his tongue, grinding his hips into Krycek's. In the dream Krycek's eyes were half-closed, and he put his hands on Mulder's hips, pulling Mulder closer.

Mulder had woken up sweating, rock-hard, filled with a restless ache for a man he hated.

"Jesus, no!" Mulder looked up, appalled. Krycek's head jerked up too, his eyes wide. "No," Mulder repeated. He had to get out of there. "I'm not a rapist, Krycek!" He was aware of how angry he suddenly sounded. "I just wanted you to know that." Breathing hard, he hurried from the room.

Krycek stayed in the bedroom for the next few hours, either napping or hiding from Mulder. Mulder didn't know which and he didn't care to check. It was late afternoon when Krycek finally emerged. Mulder had taken a nap himself and was working at the computer. Not speaking to Mulder, Krycek padded rather cautiously in the direction of the kitchen. Mulder could hear him puttering around, opening the refrigerator and the cabinets.

Well, hell, make yourself at home there, Krycek. But in truth he felt relief and a certain satisfaction that Krycek was doing just that. He did not want to have to deal with Krycek right now, did not want to play host. Mulder smelled food and his own stomach rumbled, but he stayed at the computer, waiting until Krycek had finished and returned to the bedroom before venturing into the kitchen himself. Everything was washed up and put away; there was no sign that Krycek had ever been there.

Scully showed up around seven with supplies and takeout food. Mulder picked on chicken nuggets while she outlined plans for the drive.

"What's our route?" Mulder asked. Scully spread the map out on the table.

"Yeah," Krycek's voice said from behind them. "I'd like to know that too." They both turned, startled.

There was a silence, and then Scully spoke. "Pennsylvania turnpike to 476. It's out near Wilkes-Barre."

Krycek walked over to the table to look down at the map. He had changed into his own jeans and boots, but was still wearing Mulder's sweatshirt. He traced a line on the map with one finger. "Where, exactly? How long does it take to get there?"

"I estimate eight to ten hours," Scully said.

"So we'll take two to three hour shifts driving."

"We drive, Krycek," Mulder said. "You can sit in the back."

Krycek raised his head to give him a level stare. "Let's get something straight. Either I'm still your prisoner, or we're working together now. If we're working together, then give me all the information, we all take shifts driving, and you let me have my gun back."

Mulder stared back, feeling the familiar overwhelming urge to punch Krycek. Scully broke the standoff. "That's fine, Krycek, you can drive. But you'll have to let me bandage your arm so you can put the prosthetic on."

Mulder stood for a moment, not moving. Krycek stepped closer to the map. "Who knows where this place is?"

"Just Skinner, a couple of other people in the Bureau, and me," Scully said.

"You've been there before?"

Scully nodded. "A few years ago."

"Since you know where the place is, you should take the last shift driving."

Krycek's attitude was really starting to get to Mulder. "Who put you in charge, Krycek?"

"We need to have a plan in place."

Scully looked from one to the other. "Since we are going to have to work together, I think we should keep the hostilities to a minimum." She was staring hard at Krycek as she said it, even though Mulder knew most of the hostility was coming from him.

Mulder retrieved Krycek's gun from the desk drawer and laid it on the table. Krycek strapped it back on. He looked hard, cool and menacing. Mulder couldn't believe he had ever thought of Krycek as vulnerable. Or appealing, for that matter.

They ate and cleaned up quickly, then loaded up the car, trying to be as quick and inconspicuous as possible. Because of Alex's broken ribs, Mulder had to carry Krycek's bag down as well as his own. It gave him some petty satisfaction at seeing how much it bugged Krycek not to be able to carry it himself.

The car was a large black Lincoln Town Car. They put the luggage into the cavernous trunk alongside the groceries Scully had bought for the trip.

"What'd they do—impound this from the Mob?" Mulder asked.

Krycek peered over his shoulder into the trunk. "You could fit a couple of bodies in there."

Mulder got behind the wheel and started the car. The big engine rumbled to life. "Anybody know any good road games?" Mulder said.

"Are we there yet?" Scully and Alex asked simultaneously. They both gave uncomfortable half-smiles and lapsed into silence.

"Don't make me turn this car around," Mulder said.

Mulder had the radio tuned to a talk station, listening to some skinhead argue with the host over the constitutionality of gun laws. It never failed to fascinate him, the endless permutations of human behavior and logic.

"How fast are you going?" Krycek rasped from the back seat.

Mulder glanced at the speedometer. Eighty. Oops. "Sixty-five."

"Bullshit."

"Why don't you take a nap, Krycek? You'll feel better."

"There's a rest stop coming up. Why don't you pull in there." Krycek's voice was hard. Mulder looked at the dashboard clock. Dammit, he had only been driving two and a half hours. He was not giving the wheel up to Krycek.

"Told you to go before we left the house."

"For heaven's sake, Mulder," Scully said, sounding irritated. Shit. He had thought she was asleep. "Pull in there and let him use the bathroom." He could see Krycek smirking in the rear-view mirror. Annoyed, Mulder swiftly cut over to the right lane, prompting honking from another car and angry exclamations from both his passengers. Scully was glaring at him as they pulled into a parking space at the rest stop. Krycek got out and strode off toward the building. Mulder got out too and stood stretching, idly gazing at Krycek's departing rear.

"Mulder." He became aware that Scully was talking to him.

He turned his attention to her. "What, Miss Daisy?"

Scully brushed him off, not to be dissuaded from her intended lecture. "Look, I know you don't like him and you don't trust him. I don't either. But he is a protected informant as of now, and we have to—"

"What if he's setting us up, Scully?" Mulder interrupted her. "He's done it before. Are we supposed to just roll over and let him fu—uh, betray us?"

"Of course not. We keep our eyes and ears open...we stay on guard. But these—pissing contests—and petty cruelties aren't helping the situation any." She started to walk towards the building, then turned. "And you have got to control your temper! You can't beat him up any more, Mulder! I'm surprised he's even walking around today."

"Want a cinnabun?" Mulder said, as they headed for the rest station. "I know you want a cinnabun. It's calling you, Scully." Scully smacked him on the arm. "No, listen. Scull-leeeee....Scuuullllll-leeeeee..."

"I never eat anything bigger than my head, Mulder."

Krycek was leaning against the car, sipping from a cup of coffee, as they returned.

"So...want me to take the wheel for a bit?" His voice was soft, almost diffident. No more of the Alpha Male posturing. Mulder wondered what he was up to.

"Sure, that's a good idea," Scully said. Krycek held out his hand to Mulder for the keys. So that was it. Getting Scully to go along with him. Goddamn rat bastard.

Mulder realized he couldn't very well withhold the keys now without looking petty and ridiculous. Reluctantly, he handed them to Krycek, who walked around the car and got into the driver's seat.

Mulder turned to Scully. "Since you have to drive next, why don't you take the back seat and catch a nap?" She nodded and got in back. Krycek looked at him curiously as Mulder slid into the passenger seat next to him. Mulder told himself it was just to keep an eye on the man. Hell, he only had one arm. He could run them right off the road.

Krycek started the car. The first thing he did was change the radio station.

"Hey, I was listening to that."

"I hate talk radio." Krycek fiddled with the dial until he found a station he liked. "This is the Stones, Mulder. Classic."

"No Satisfaction, huh," Mulder smirked. "You don't like to sing along, do you?"

"Yeah. While I'm driving. I also play air guitar. 'Cause I'm just an adolescent at heart."

Mulder suppressed a smile. He had forgotten Krycek actually had a sense of humor. "You're wearing my shirt."

Krycek threw him a look. "You want it back?" he asked, sounding a little defensive.

Mulder shrugged. "I don't care." He sneaked a glance over to see how Krycek was managing to drive with one hand: just fine. Of course, driving didn't really require the use of a left hand that much, especially like this, with the car on cruise control and hardly anyone else on the highway with them.

Krycek noticed his scrutiny. "I'm not speeding."

A commercial came on the radio, the pitchman's fanatical voice at least twenty decibels higher than the regular programming. "MONSTER trucks!! Come on—" Mulder grimaced in irritation and reached to change it, just as Krycek reached for his coffee cup. Their hands brushed together and Krycek pulled his away quickly.

"Music," Krycek told him. "Not talk."

"Country? Rap?"

"Fast and loud."

Battling over the radio station would seem to be the sort of 'petty pissing contest' Scully had warned him about, so Mulder complied without comment. Krycek gave a little smile. He reached again for the coffee and took a long swallow, keeping his prosthetic hand on the wheel.

"So," Mulder said, "Alexei, huh?"

Silence. Krycek stiffened and shot Mulder a look. "Your pronunciation sucks," he said finally.

"Your parents are Russian?"

More silence, another slanted look. "Russian and Czech," Krycek said slowly.

"But you were born in this country?"

Krycek bristled visibly at that. "Yeah, I was born in this country! I'm as American as you are, Mulder! Just because I speak Russian—"

"How did you get involved with the KGB?"

"Is this why you wanted to sit up here?" Krycek snapped. "To interrogate me?"

"I'm not interrogating you." Mulder made his voice an infuriatingly bland monotone. "Just making conversation."

Krycek snorted angrily. "Why is my background the subject of this—conversation?"

"You're the one that's here. If Scully was awake I'd be having a conversation with her."

"You'd be asking Scully if she was really an American?" Krycek sounded bitter.

Damn, I really got to him with that one.

"Anyone ever tell you you're so cute when you're mad?"

Krycek whipped his head around to stare at Mulder furiously.

"Keep your eyes on the road there, Krycek."

"Are you going to keep this shit up the whole way?"

"Sure," Mulder said. "It's entertaining." Was he mistaken, or was that a tiny smile starting on Krycek's face? "And anyway, if my questions bother you, why don't you just start lying as usual."

Krycek didn't respond, but Mulder had the abrupt sensation of a door being slammed shut. Krycek stared stonily ahead at the highway. Mulder wished suddenly that he hadn't said that. They had been almost—he wouldn't really say friendly, but the back-and-forth between them had reminded him of the days when they were partners.

And he betrayed you. Keep that in mind before you let your libido drag you under.

He was beginning to suspect that Krycek was an adolescent at heart, at least judging from his taste in music. The loud, headbanging guitar and pounding bass were making Mulder's head hurt. He preferred jazz, or at least some interesting lyrics or melody riffs. This was just a solid wall of noise. No finesse, no depth or shading, no thought or emotion beyond angry rebellion. Just like Krycek.

He decided to mess with Krycek's head a little more. "So, Krycek...you like men or women better?"

But Krycek was onto him now, not even looking Mulder's way as he said coolly, "For what?"

Mulder shrugged.

"What are you into, Mulder?"

"Oh, I like greyhounds."

Krycek raised his eyebrows a bit. "The buses?"

"'I tell everyone very plainly that I take bribes, but what kind of bribes? Why, greyhound puppies. That's a totally different matter,'" Mulder said. Krycek was frowning slightly, small creases of concentration. Mulder wondered if he recognized the quote. "Gogol. The Inspector General."

"Think in your case it should be whippets, Mulder."

Mulder couldn't help it; he did laugh now. Whippets. Whip it good.

The angry noise from the radio faded and a soft, acoustic melody came on, the singer earnestly pleading, "Just keep love in your heart..." Mulder sighed with relief as his ears finally got a respite.

Krycek snorted. "Christ, what crap. There's nothing sappier than a hardass gone soft."

"Speaking from personal experience?"

Another snort from Krycek. The night was flying by, light from the streetlights sliding up and through the windows. The chain storefronts racing by now, so fast—how fast? He shot a look at the speedometer: over eighty-five and climbing.

"Krycek, what the hell are you doing?"

"Nice night, isn't it?" Krycek said smoothly, staring straight ahead at the road.

"Thought you didn't like speeding."

Krycek shot him a wolfish grin. "Only when I'm not driving."

"Slow it down."

Krycek didn't respond. Mulder watched in horrified fascination as the needle climbed higher, going past the hundred mark now...

"Krycek, dammit, slow it down!"

With the prosthetic hand, Krycek hit the window controls. The windows slid down, the rushing wind roaring into the car, whipping their hair about. Krycek's grin became full-throated laughter. The needle crept toward one-twenty. Mulder wondered how fast the car could actually go.

"Pull this car over, Krycek! Now!"

Mulder spun to look in back and was dumbstruck to see Scully sitting up, her gun drawn and leveled at Krycek's head. The sudden tension in Krycek's posture told Mulder that he had seen the gun too. The car slowed, the speed dropping to seventy-five, sixty, forty, and finally coasting to a stop.

"Turn the car off, Krycek," Scully ordered, "and give me the keys." Slowly, Krycek obeyed. Scully pocketed the keys. "Now put your hands on your head."

Krycek started to speak, but apparently thought better of it and raised his hands to his head.

Scully got out of the back and walked over to open the driver's side door. "Get out of the car. Keep your hands on your head." She stepped back as Krycek got out. "Okay, give me your gun."

Mulder got out of the car as well. "Scully..."

She shot him a look, then turned back to Krycek. "The gun."

"Are you going to leave him stranded out here without a weapon? That's something I would do!"

Krycek looked from Scully to Mulder, as if gauging his chances.

Mulder made his voice conversational. "Don't try it, Krycek." He leaned on the top of the car and brought his right hand down to rest on his own gun.

Slowly, Krycek reached back to get the gun and handed it to Scully.

"Okay, Krycek." Scully gestured with her own gun at the car. "Get in the back." As Krycek started to comply, she said, "I don't need to put the cuffs on you, I hope?"

"We could just stick him in the trunk," Mulder suggested.

Instantly he saw it, the incremental shift in the other man's stance. Krycek preparing to fight. Alex's chin came up, his fingers twitched slightly.

"Just get in the car, Krycek," Scully said.

Krycek let out a hard breath. He rolled his head around, flexing his shoulders, then abruptly turned and got into the car, slamming the door.

Mulder looked at Scully over the top of the car. She moved around to the front, reholstered her gun, and held out Krycek's gun to Mulder. "Don't make any smartass remarks," she said.

"I wasn't going to."

"This could have gotten us all killed! He's got one arm! And he's a known sociopath. But you keep playing these games, goading him...." She shook her head. "If you can't stop this, then maybe someone not so personally involved should take your place."

"It's my case," Mulder said stubbornly. "He came to me with the information."

"You should have passed it right on to Skinner. Along with Krycek."

"He doesn't trust Skinner."

She eyed him speculatively. "I don't think trust is the operative word here, Mulder." Mulder busied himself tucking Krycek's gun inside his jacket.

Scully got behind the wheel. She adjusted the seat and the mirrors, rolled the windows up, and shut the radio off.

"Oh, come on, Scully...music soothes the savage beast, you know. Well, actually, it's savage breast. Most people—"

Scully shot him a stinging look, and Mulder shut up. She pulled out onto the highway again. Mulder glanced back at Krycek. Alex was staring out the window, looking pissed off.

"Enjoying the trip, Krycek?"

Without turning, Krycek flipped him off. Mulder settled into his seat. It was going to be a long, hostile ride.

Mulder was awakened from a light slumber by a high-pitched trill. He opened his eyes and looked around. The sound was Scully's cell phone.

"Scully...hello, sir." She listened for a long moment. "That's not good. Who is—?" Her eyes, looking troubled, met Mulder's.

"What is it, Scully?" But she was still talking to Skinner. Mulder glanced into the back seat. Krycek was leaning forward, listening intently, hyperalert.

"Is there an alternate route?" Scully guided the car to the side of the road and stopped. She gestured for the map. Mulder passed it to her and helped her spread it out. She traced a finger along the route, chewing her lip. "Mm-hmm...no...I see...another couple of hours...no, we want to get there before daylight."

"Scully, what's up?"

"Hold on a second, sir." Scully took the phone from her ear, turning to face the back seat. "Krycek, do you know a man named Michael Chandler?"

"Yeah. A real scuzzball psychopathic asshole."

"He's wanted by the Consortium?"

Krycek nodded. "He worked for them, then he double-crossed them. They'd love to get their hands on him."

"Sounds familiar," Mulder observed.

Krycek glared at him. "He's a thousand times worse than I'll ever be."

"Apparently," Scully broke in impatiently, "they're not the only ones looking for him. He shot a cop, and there's a roadblock up ahead. Skinner says it's probable there'll be Consortium there too."

"Jesus," Mulder said. Behind him he heard a soft "fuck" from Krycek.

"Can we go around?" Krycek asked. He perused the map, frowning, while Scully spoke to Skinner again. Mulder stared at it too, wondering about the roadblock. Was it really Chandler they were looking for, or was the whole thing a ruse to catch Krycek? Had somebody leaked information as to Krycek's whereabouts?

"What do you—?" Scully listened for several seconds. "Won't they be checking the trunk?"

Mulder heard Krycek's quick intake of breath, almost imperceptible. He remembered Krycek's preparing to fight him when he suggested putting him in the trunk, Krycek's panic attack in Mulder's bathroom. Not a good situation.

"Okay, sir, thank you...we'll keep you informed." Scully snapped the cell phone shut. "Skinner says our best bet is to have Krycek get into the trunk until we're past the roadblock. If they see our badges they shouldn't search the car."

"Couldn't he just hide on the floor of the car?" Mulder asked. "If they see all the luggage in the back seat, they're bound to think we're hiding something in the trunk." From the corner of his eye he could see Krycek sitting, rigid and silent, staring fixedly at the map. "Or maybe we could disguise him somehow."

Scully looked at him strangely. Mulder wasn't sure why he didn't just tell her what the problem was, other than that he was sure Alex wouldn't want him to.

Alex again? And since when do I care how he feels?

"It won't be for the whole ride," Scully said. "Just until we're a few miles past the roadblock." She hit the trunk latch and got out of the car. Mulder turned to look in back. Krycek was slowly getting out as well, not meeting Mulder's eyes. He remained silent while they loaded the luggage into the back seat, trying to make the pile of bags and boxes look as inconspicuous as possible.

Krycek stood staring into the empty trunk, an absolute aura of tension—hell, fear—emanating from him. How long could he last in there? Would they make it through the roadblock? Mulder had no idea how extensive it might be, or who was waiting there.

No, not a good situation at all.

Mulder mentally scrambled through the alternatives. Go the long way, losing precious hours? Chance a stop at a motel? Tell Scully, and have her pull out the Haldol again?

At least it was a roomy trunk. Could fit a couple of bodies in there...

"Maybe one of us should get in with him," Mulder suggested. "It might look less suspicious, especially if it is a trap to get Krycek. Two of us, we could be transporting. This way, I'm just a guy on vacation."

Two looks of disbelief. Scully pivoted to face him. "Mulder, what on earth are you talking about? You want me to get in the trunk? With Krycek?"

"You're smaller."

Neither one of them appeared at all happy. Krycek took two steps backward, looking even more unsettled. Scully wore an expression as though she'd been forced to pet a tarantula. She started to speak, but Krycek held up a hand. "I'll get in. Just me."

Mulder opened the car door and reached in to retrieve his flashlight. He held it out to Krycek. "Here."

Krycek took it. He drew a deep breath and swallowed hard, closing his eyes. "Give me my gun back, okay?" He sounded almost pleading.

Mulder entertained the image of a panicked, armed Krycek: not a pretty thought. He found it almost as hard to take as the sight of Alex, visibly working up his courage and approaching the trunk. His eyes looked enormous, wide and dark.

Without pausing to examine his action, Mulder pushed past Krycek, climbing into the trunk himself.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" Scully sounded incredulous.

"I'll ride in here with him. Scully, you're on vacation, a family reunion or something." He looked up at her, trying to convey a message with his eyes.

"No details," Krycek said. "Unless they ask. Keep it simple." He was breathing hard but still, apparently, able to think clearly.

"Mulder, this is insane!" Scully said. "You can't—"

"Sure, it'll work. C'mon, Krycek, hop in."

Krycek frowned down at Mulder. "Turn around."

"What?"

"Keep your gun hand free." Krycek's voice was quiet. Mulder felt like an ass. He had gotten in so quickly that he hadn't noticed he was lying on his right side. That would put them both, but especially Krycek, at a disadvantage if they were threatened by the Consortium. Awkwardly, he twisted around to lie on his left. Scully looked at Krycek, who still stood stiffly. Mulder reached into his jacket and extracted Krycek's gun. He held it out to Krycek.

"If I give you this, you better not use it on any cops or you're dead meat." He stared hard at Krycek, letting the man know he meant business. Krycek nodded. He took the gun and holstered it.

"Mulder..." Scully's voice was rising.

Krycek hesitated, squeezing his eyes shut again, then slowly climbed into the trunk. Mulder could see what an effort it took, how much he wanted to just bolt. Krycek settled down, curling into something like a fetal position against Mulder's front. It was a very tight, uncomfortable fit; Mulder felt wedged right up against Krycek. He was beginning to question the wisdom of his decision to get in the trunk.

Scully took hold of the trunk lid, preparing to close it. Krycek froze, his breathing speeding up. Mulder could feel him shaking.

"Shut your eyes," Mulder murmured. He felt a brief chill of apprehension himself, whether because Krycek's fear was contagious or because he was now going to be locked in a small space with an armed and extremely nervous sociopath, he wasn't sure. The trunk lid came down, closing them together in the dark. Krycek snapped the flashlight on. Mulder could hear Krycek fighting to get his breathing under control. He tried to put a hand on Krycek's arm to calm him down, but unfortunately the tight squeeze forced him to drag his hand up over Krycek's ass.

"What're you doing?" Krycek's voice had that about-to-lose-it quality again.

"My hand was trapped." Mulder made his voice low and hypnotic, hoping it would work. The engine revved and the car started to move. He laid his hand against the back of Krycek's arm. "It should only be about twenty minutes to the roadblock, then another ten or fifteen past that."

Krycek's fingers moved frantically over the trunk lid. Mulder had a mental image of him flipping out completely and trying to claw his way out of the trunk. No, not good.

"You're claustrophobic, huh?"

Krycek's laugh was shaky, forced out between his teeth. "I can see why they pay you the big bucks, Mulder."

Mulder ignored that. "From the silo?"

"No—I always was—though that didn't help." Krycek was spitting the words out, sounding about to hyperventilate. "I used to—get locked in a closet sometimes—when I was a kid—I always—I always hated that."

Fuck, who wouldn't? Mulder felt uneasy about Krycek telling him that; it was too personal. Was Krycek starting to fall apart? "Okay, okay." Mulder increased the pressure of his hand, squeezing Krycek's arm lightly. "Alex." He remembered how Krycek had calmed and responded to his name in Mulder's apartment. "You're not in there now. This isn't going to be for very long. Just hang on, okay?"

Krycek drew a deep, shaky breath. "I'm fine, Mulder." His voice sounded raw but had a flash of defiance. Mulder felt a surge of appreciation. Krycek was nothing if not tough.

He gave Krycek's arm another light squeeze. "Good, Alex. We should be at the roadblock soon." He could feel the muscles in Alex's arm through the leather jacket, taut and tense under his fingers. Alex was still shaking, though not as badly.

"When we pull up," Krycek hissed, "don't talk. Stay silent."

"I'm not a moron, Krycek."

"Gooo-oood, Mulder," Krycek said, his voice a malicious approximation of Mulder's deliberately soothing tones.

Oh, fuck him. Why didn't I just knock him out and dump him in the trunk? What am I doing in here? He felt the familiar impulse to smack Krycek, but his range of motion was severely limited, and he realized that that might be construed as less than reassuring if Krycek was trying to stave off a panic attack. Suddenly he realized that Krycek's breathing was a little more even, that baiting Mulder was evidently taking his mind off the fear.

He smiled. "Fuck you, Krycek."

"Why are you in here, Mulder?"

Mulder considered several possible wiseass replies but decided now was not the time. He gave Krycek the simple truth. "I didn't want a repeat of what happened in my bathroom."

"Why would I do that?"

"You had a panic attack."

"I can control myself!" Krycek snapped. "You didn't need to do this."

"Guess you would've preferred Scully," Mulder said blandly. "Too bad." But even as he said it he knew that was wrong; for whatever reason, Krycek would not have preferred Scully. He had not been willing to share the trunk with Scully, but had not batted an eye about getting in with Mulder. It was always Mulder, not Scully, he brought information to; it was Mulder he had asked to change the bandage on his arm.

Mulder wondered why. Considering that she had ample reasons to dislike Krycek, Scully actually treated the man pretty decently. Even the Haldol had just been an attempt to calm him down and keep him from injuring himself further.

He felt the car slowing. They must be nearing the roadblock. He gave Krycek's arm a sharp squeeze to warn him to be quiet. Krycek had one hand splayed tensely against the trunk seal, fingers twitching. He reached down to turn the flashlight off. The sudden blackness pressed in on them.

"Shit," Krycek whispered, the panicked edge back in his voice. "Shit...Mulder, I can't—I've gotta get out of here."

Oh fuck not NOW, c'mon HOLD IT TOGETHER ALEX. "You can do it, Alex." Swiftly, Mulder reached his arm around Krycek's chest, taking hold of him tightly. Krycek grunted and winced sharply, and Mulder realized he had grabbed Krycek's broken ribs. He withdrew his hand, sliding it up to grasp Krycek's shoulder, the left shoulder, and that was not good either, as Krycek stiffened in his hold, giving a convulsive little shake of his head, his fist clenching. It sounded like he was starting to hyperventilate in earnest now.

Mulder, you are a fucking idiot. He's already freaking out at being confined, and now you're grabbing him, too hard, and in all the wrong places.

Mulder relaxed his hold on Krycek's shoulder, bringing his hand down to rest gently against Krycek's chest. He could actually feel Krycek's heart pounding under his palm through the material of the sweatshirt—Mulder's sweatshirt—that Krycek was wearing. The car stopped briefly, moved forward slowly, stopped again. They must be in a line of traffic, approaching the roadblock. Mulder lifted his head slightly to whisper near Krycek's ear.

"This is it. Hang on. Close your eyes. Breathe deep."

Krycek's fingers scrabbled tentatively over the back of Mulder's hand. Mulder turned his hand a bit, taking hold of Krycek's and grasping it firmly. Krycek pressed back, his grip tightening to the point of pain for a moment before letting up. The car stopped again, and Mulder felt a faint vibration that he assumed was Scully rolling the window down.

The minutes ticked by. Mulder could feel Krycek fighting down the fear, could feel the tension in his body, the way he hung on to Mulder's hand. He could smell the leather of Krycek's jacket, and the faint scent of Mulder's shampoo on Krycek's hair, different from what Krycek usually used. He wondered how he knew that, wondered at the bizarreness of this: the two of them curled up here like—lovers. He realized he was nervously stroking his thumb over Krycek's knuckles. He tried to make his breathing slow and deep, changed the rhythm of his touch to match that.

C'mon, Alex, breathe with me. Deep, steady breaths. He could hear Krycek trying, not entirely succeeding. He was counting on Krycek's determination, the stubbornness that had made him resist the Haldol.

It was taking too long. They had been at the roadblock almost ten minutes now. It shouldn't have taken that long for Scully to show her ID and the cops to give a cursory check of the car. He felt his own anxiety mounting, knew Krycek must be going crazy. He tried to think what explanation he would give if they did open the trunk. He tried to think what he would do if Krycek started screaming, or pulled his gun and tried to shoot his way out. Was there a way to get him in a quick chokehold? But Krycek, now that the moment of truth had arrived, actually seemed to be holding up better than Mulder. He stayed still, gripping Mulder's hand, pulling in long, shaky breaths. Like Mulder, he seemed to be listening hard for any clue as to what was going on.

Mulder suddenly noticed that Krycek was stroking his hand in return, Krycek's thumb rubbing over Mulder's fingers. Had Krycek picked up on Mulder's unease; was he trying to reassure Mulder?

And then, all at once, the car was starting up and they were moving again, past the roadblock, down the highway, safe. Mulder let his breath out in a rush, collapsing against Krycek's back, and felt Krycek do the same. He let go of Krycek's hand, made his own into a fist, and thumped Krycek's hand lightly. Alex thumped him back, then gave a little shuddering shake, as if trying to dissipate the tension. He stretched backward a bit, just enough to push right up against Mulder, causing an immediate and unmistakable physical reaction.

Mulder decided he would not examine all this. It was just too weird, even given the number of strange and extraordinary things that he had witnessed in his life. He would not think about why it didn't bother him that Alex smelled a little like him now, and was wearing his favorite shirt, and why he kept thinking of him as Alex. He wouldn't try to understand it, any of it, not least what he was doing in here at all, pressed against a man he ostensibly loathed, getting an erection hard enough to cut diamonds.

"That better be your gun I feel back there, Mulder," Krycek muttered shakily.

"Extra flashlight," Mulder lied. It must just be adrenaline, an automatic reflex from the enormous relief he felt. He shifted marginally, but there was no place really to go. Krycek made a little sound, like a strangled gasp, and Mulder tensed. Don't flip out now, Krycek, we're almost there. But Krycek was laughing, the helpless, half-hysterical laughter that comes with the release of extreme tension. Mulder could feel Krycek's whole body shaking with it. He realized he was rubbing Alex's chest with the flat of his hand in a way that was almost—affectionate? comforting?

"Alex...take it easy..." Then he was laughing too, unable to stop himself, muffling his face in Alex's black leather back. All at once Alex covered Mulder's hand with his own, impelling it downward with a definite gentle pressure.

Holy shit. Is he doing what I think...?

But then the car was slowing, stopping, the motion rocking Alex back against Mulder. Mulder's hand was resting on Alex's belly, his fingers at the button of Alex's jeans. Alex pulled his hand away and Mulder did the same. Alex drew in a few deep breaths, quivering slightly as they heard Scully's door slam. It seemed to take her forever to walk back and unlock the trunk.

As soon as the lid was lifted, Krycek fairly leaped from the trunk. He strode quickly down the road until he was about fifty feet away, then paced around, gulping in air and shaking himself.

Scully stared at Mulder questioningly.

"He's very claustrophobic. That's why I got in there with him, to make sure he wouldn't go apeshit at a crucial time."

"Mulder! And you gave him his gun? What if he had pulled it on you?" Scully was giving him her Look, the one that meant, "You are two steps above a mental patient, in my estimation."

"I didn't think he would," Mulder said lamely, although in truth that probably wasn't so farfetched. Like any rat, Krycek could be ruthless when cornered. Two more minutes at that roadblock, and Krycek might have been ready to try it.

"When people panic, they can be capable of almost anything," Scully said severely. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have given him something."

Mulder leaned against the car. "Yeah, that worked so well the last time we tried it."

"There are oral meds. I have Valium."

Mulder was beginning to wonder why, himself. Valium sounded like a better idea than what he had done, and it might have helped Krycek as well.

I just couldn't let him get into that trunk alone, knowing how terrified he was.

He was stunned by that thought. Why should it bother him so much? Well, of course, if Krycek had panicked at the roadblock and attracted the wrong kind of attention, they might all be dead now, or in police custody.

Scully swiveled to watch Krycek, still pacing about, then turned back to Mulder. "How did you know he was claustrophobic?"

"Bad experiences in the past," Mulder said briefly, not wanting to go into it. Krycek was walking back toward them, apparently having gotten himself under control somewhat. He didn't look at Mulder as he approached, but spoke only to Scully.

"Why were we so long at the roadblock?"

Scully regarded him coolly. "They wanted to discuss the shooting with me. And," she smiled wryly at Mulder, "flirt with me."

"Whoa, Scully," Mulder said. "We leave you alone for five minutes and you're picking up coppers at the tollbooth? What would Paul think? Sleeping at home all innocent with his two little matching down pillows—"

"I hope you get a girlfriend soon, Mulder, so I can torture you as much as you do me."

For some reason, Mulder found himself seeking out Alex's eyes at that. Krycek gazed back, his expression unreadable.

Scully was scrutinizing Alex, probably checking for lingering signs of instability. "Are you all right, Krycek?"

"Yeah." Krycek's voice was flat. He shot Mulder a hard, dark look.

Well, what the hell was I supposed to tell her, she's my partner. You didn't think she'd wonder why I was riding in the trunk?

He knew Scully was wondering, and he didn't really have a rational answer to give her. It was Krycek. That was all. Somehow around Krycek he always found himself doing all kinds of insane things he would normally never do.

The car slowed and stopped. Mulder opened his eyes. They were halfway up a dirt road. Scully held a small remote control out the window and punched in a few numbers. "There's a perimeter alarm," she informed them.

"What's the code?" Krycek asked.

"We'll go over everything when we get settled in." Scully sounded tired and a bit impatient. She had borne the brunt of the driving, and even though she had insisted on it and refused to let either Mulder or Krycek drive, Mulder still couldn't help feeling a little guilty.

From the road as they approached, the cabin, a small wood-frame structure in need of a paint job, looked unprepossessing, even a bit dilapidated.

"It's made of logs?" Krycek's tone suggested that this was only marginally preferable to something constructed of Tinkertoys or Legos.

"Reinforced concrete blocks inside," Scully reassured him. "Nothing's getting through those walls."

Mulder noted that it had a sunken foundation as well, and that the front porch sat on a solid layer of cinderblocks. Nothing was crawling under this place, either.

"Hey," he said as they got out of the car, "ten bucks says there's a deer head on the wall."

They approached the cabin cautiously, guns drawn and at the ready. Mulder scanned the vicinity and Krycek stood guard at the doorframe while Scully unlocked the door. It was chilly inside, with a musty smell of disuse.

The cabin interior was primarily one large room. An open kitchen was at one end, separated from the main area by a counter with a couple of barstools. There was a large couch near the brick fireplace, with a camp cot against the opposite wall. A short hallway off the main area held a bedroom, bathroom, and a smaller computer room with a printer and fax machine. The decor was rustic—exposed ceiling beams, wood paneling everywhere, a painting of ducks over the fireplace. It looked, at first glance, like any hunting cabin, but the door and window frames were reinforced with steel, and there were steel bolts on the shutters as well.

Scully gazed about, looking rather unimpressed. "No deer heads, Mulder, sorry. But there is a TV. Although it probably doesn't get your favorite channels."

"Call Skinner and tell him to put in a satellite dish. I'm not missing Oprah for anybody."

Scully reholstered her gun. "Well, let's unload the car. I've got perishables out there."

Krycek came out to the car with them and insisted on helping unload, despite Scully's admonishments to him to take it easy. Mulder saw him grimace as he set the bag down, saw how Krycek pressed his left arm to his side. He wanted to tell Krycek not to be such a macho dumbass, but he knew Scully would probably take that type of remark to be picking a fight.

"You can take the bedroom, Krycek," Scully said.

Krycek peered into the bedroom but did not go in. "You can have it."

"You're the—one in protective custody." Scully sounded like she had been about to say something else.

Krycek backed up a couple of steps. "It doesn't look any safer in there than out here."

Mulder wondered if the smallish room was triggering Krycek's claustrophobia. But he hadn't seemed bothered by Mulder's bedroom. Maybe there was something else going on, some other reason why Krycek preferred to sleep out here with Mulder.

All the way to the cabin, outwardly dozing, Mulder had been replaying in his head those minutes in the trunk. The feel of Alex's body pressed back against his, Alex shaking in his arms, the scent of Alex's hair. Alex's hand over his, guiding it downward.

He kissed me. He offered to blow me, back at my apartment. He wanted me to touch him.

He wants me.

Or he wants something from me.

"You can take the bedroom, Scully," Mulder found himself saying. "He's probably safer out here with one of us. You'll be more comfortable there anyway, and have more privacy."

Scully shot him a strange look, which Mulder took to mean that he had never evinced any concern for her comfort or privacy in the past.

"Okay," she said finally. "There should be another cot in the closet there."

Mulder looked at the red plaid sofa. It was large enough, shabby but serviceable. "No need. I usually sleep on the couch anyway. And, hey, you can curl up and chat with your—betrothed all night long."

Scully gave an exasperated sniff. "Let's just get this stuff put away right now," she said levelly, "have something to eat and get to sleep."

Mulder ripped open a packet of sunflower seeds. "Fine." Krycek turned and began dragging the duffel over to the cot. Mulder noticed he had been watching their little interchange intently.

While Mulder replaced light bulbs and Scully put away the groceries, Krycek prowled around the cabin, checking out everything, opening and then locking doors and windows, looking under furniture and in closets and drawers.

Scully began laying out sandwich fixings. "Mulder, you want...let me see...turkey breast and cheese, mustard, no mayo. Right?"

Mulder nodded. He nibbled on sunflower seeds and watched Krycek bend down to examine the titles on the bookshelf.

"Krycek, you want a sandwich?" Scully asked. "Ham, cheese, turkey...?"

"Yeah...fine."

Scully looked somewhat irritated as she slapped cold cuts onto bread and placed it on a plate. Krycek continued his inspection of the cabin, opening the back door, which led out to a screened-in porch. Mulder followed, leaning in the doorway and watching as Krycek lifted the lid of—

"Hey, a hot tub!" Mulder said. "Does it work?"

Two pairs of eyes regarded him dubiously, both with the identical message: "If you imagine that I'm ever getting into a hot tub with either of you, you're crazier than I thought. And that's saying a lot."

"I made you a sandwich," Scully said as Krycek stepped back in. Her tone was just a few degrees upward of arctic.

"Thanks." Krycek picked up the sandwich and ate it standing up while going through the kitchen cabinets, which harbored a motley collection of condiments and canned goods left by previous occupants. He pulled out bottles of spices and opened them to sniff at the contents. Scully looked at Mulder quizzically. Mulder shrugged. Krycek opened the kitchen drawers, taking knives out and hefting them, one by one. "These aren't very big," he observed critically.

Scully lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.

"They're not meant as weapons, Krycek." Mulder tried to keep his voice as mild as possible. Krycek shot Mulder a look, impatient and annoyed.

Scully stood up and tossed her paper plate into the trash. "Well, it's been a long day. I'm going to get some sleep. Good night—or, good morning, I should say." She gestured toward the speedily lightening sky.

"Sleep tight," Mulder said. He smiled, but she didn't smile back. Krycek just nodded.

Scully started to head for the bedroom, then stopped. "Krycek, how's your arm? I can take a look at it before—"

"No," Krycek snapped flatly. At Scully's look, he shook his head, as though realizing he had been rude. "Sorry. I, ah, I—no." He shook his head again.

Scully looked nonplussed by Krycek's apology. "Well, all right then," she said after a moment. "I'm going to bed."

Krycek resumed his prowling. Fatigue was settling on Mulder like a fog, and he collected the necessary items from his suitcase and went to get ready for bed. Coming out of the bathroom, he was greeted by the unusual sight of Krycek going through a pile of clothes on the cot, switchblade out and at the ready.

"The sock," Mulder intoned, "is the deadliest animal known to man."

Krycek pulled a pair of sweatpants from the pile. He sat on the edge of the cot and began cutting the legs off. "I don't like to sleep in sweatpants."

"They were all out of airplane jammies in your size."

Krycek looked distinctly unamused. Mulder almost asked what he usually slept in, but that seemed somewhat...flirtatious. He wasn't sure he wanted to be flirting with Krycek right now. The boundaries were blurring too much as it was. He sat silently on the edge of the couch and watched Krycek sawing through the fabric of the sweatpants. Krycek seemed to be having some trouble gripping it with the prosthetic hand; the material kept slipping from his fingers and Mulder heard low hisses of frustration. Again Mulder felt that uncomfortable sympathy. He knew Krycek must be as exhausted as he was; probably more, as Alex hadn't slept much in the last few nights. But he also suspected that if he offered help, Krycek would use that switchblade to remove one of Mulder's body parts.

Krycek raised his head and shot Mulder a look, bristling with defensiveness and irritation; definitely not flirtatious. The status quo restored, Mulder stretched out on the couch and turned the TV on. Krycek doggedly resumed his makeshift tailoring. Mulder studiously kept his eyes on the TV when Krycek left the room and returned wearing the cutoff sweats and Mulder's shirt. From a corner of his eye, Mulder noted that he had removed the prosthetic arm. Edginess and hostility seemed to radiate from Krycek like a force field as he made up the cot for sleeping, then turned off the lamp and got under the covers. He lay stiffly on his back staring at the ceiling, keeping the shirt on. Mulder wondered why he was being so modest. Mulder had already seen everything, after all.

Well, not everything...

Mulder swore to himself and flipped the channels furiously, trying to find a point of focus that would keep him from mentally undressing Krycek. That was the very last thing he needed right now.

"Mulder," Krycek rasped testily. "Are you going to leave the television on all night?"

Mulder felt an answering testiness. "It's bothering you?"

"Just that most people don't sleep with it on."

Petty pissing contests.... Mulder heaved a loud sigh and shut off the TV. He felt wide-awake, keyed up, and, most aggravatingly, aroused. This had been a mistake, telling Scully to take the bedroom. Granted, he couldn't have kept the TV on or jerked off with Scully in the room, but at least he could have talked to her. What the hell could he ever talk to Krycek about?

Mulder awoke a few hours later. He had slept fitfully, restless and not entirely comfortable on the unfamiliar couch. He glanced automatically over to the cot and saw with a little jolt that it was empty. The bathroom door was partly open, the light off. Cursing under his breath, Mulder hurried to the front door and flung it open. The car was still there, parked where they had left it last night. Looking back at the cot, he saw that the duffel he had lent Krycek was still there as well, although Krycek's leather jacket and boots were gone.

Mulder checked in the bathroom, just in case, and the small computer room, to no avail. Where the hell had Krycek gotten to? He hesitated outside the closed bedroom door, then left it, unable to imagine any conceivable scenario by which Krycek and Scully would have ended up in bed together. But why would Alex just take off like that?

He remembered the screened porch then, and hurried over to open the door. Sure enough, Krycek was out there, sitting in a corner of a wicker settee that had seen better days. He was fully dressed, the leather jacket on, even though it was September and the temperature was in the 60's. Probably armed too, Mulder thought.

"Hey." Mulder tried to make his voice as unthreatening as possible.

Krycek didn't respond. His eyes, shadowed and suspicious, stayed fixed on Mulder's.

"You get any sleep?"

Krycek just scowled at him, an incongruous dark beast against the faded floral upholstery. Mulder rolled his eyes and started back inside. "Well, I'm going to make some coffee."

Scully was just emerging from her room as he came in. She smiled at him, a bit tiredly. "Good morning."

Mulder beamed at her, relieved to have some normal, friendly human interaction. "Hello there!"

Scully raised an eyebrow at his exuberance. Mulder slouched on one of the stools at the counter and watched Scully make the coffee. While it perked, she opened a manila envelope and extracted a dog-eared sheaf of papers.

"Instructions for the cabin." They shared a wry smile. Scully laid the papers on the counter, skimming the sentences with a fingernail. "Security codes for the perimeter...be sure to open the fireplace flue...we shouldn't leave garbage outside, there are—"

"Rats?" Mulder chuckled.

"Raccoons. Not to mention deer, bears and the occasional bobcat."

Mulder thought how much he liked Scully's voice, and how cute she looked there in her bathrobe. Once again he wondered why he couldn't be attracted to her in that way. She was beautiful, smart, kind-hearted and, above all, sane. He cared for her; he was closer to her than anyone in the world. But somehow, something always stopped them from taking it beyond friendship.

Scully poured them both cups of coffee. "The dryer gets really hot, so we should always use the lowest setting...oh, that reminds me, I want to wash all those sheets. Mine smelled kind of moldy."

"Mine were okay."

"Compared to what you probably have on your bed at home, I believe it."

"Hey, I change my sheets once a month, whether they need it or not."

Scully rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee, leaning on the counter. A ribbon of hair had slipped down from behind her ear, and Mulder almost reached out to tuck it back. Something stayed his hand; maybe the knowledge that she was with another man now. At times like these, he wished he could stop time and shut everything else out, just keep the two of them together and the future at bay.

"Okay," Scully read aloud, "'to test the security system...press the green button on the control. Mulder, go hit that button there, let's just make sure it's in working order..."

Coffee mug in hand, Mulder strolled over to the panel and pushed the green button. Instantly the room was filled with an earsplitting high-pitched buzz. Mulder almost dropped his coffee. Scully ducked her head, covering her ears. The door to the screen porch slammed open and Krycek charged into the room, gun in hand.

Scully motioned quickly to Mulder to shut the alarm off. "Krycek, sorry, we were just testing the security system. We should have warned you."

Krycek slowly lowered the gun, staring warily from Scully to Mulder and then scanning the room, as though he suspected the whole thing was a setup. Mulder could feel the easy, teasing atmosphere change, becoming charged and uncomfortable.

"How does that thing work?" Krycek asked abruptly.

"It's wired all around the perimeter of the property," Scully said. "If anyone crosses it, the alarm is triggered. We have a code to turn it on and off."

"What about animals?"

"Oh yeah," Mulder said. "Those killer raccoons—"

Scully shot Mulder a quelling look. "It's calibrated for weight and mass," she said evenly. "Krycek, would you like some coffee?"

Privately Mulder thought that coffee was probably the last thing Krycek needed, given his apparent sleeplessness and jumpy, ill-tempered demeanor. Still holding the gun, Krycek walked toward the kitchen. He was moving rather stiffly this morning; doubtless the long car trip had taken more out of him than he would admit. Scully poured a cup of coffee, passing it across the counter toward him. Krycek reached for the cup with the prosthetic hand, but he didn't appear to be using it as surely today. His grip was awkward, and some of the coffee spilled.

"Goddammit," Krycek snarled.

Scully grabbed a sponge and began mopping up the spilled coffee. "Maybe you should put your weapon away," she observed. Krycek looked infuriated by both the comment and her action. There was a strained pause. Krycek holstered his gun. He lifted the cup of coffee with his right hand, leaving it black, and stalked cautiously over to the window, peering out with narrowed eyes as though expecting to spot snipers hiding in the trees.

Scully resumed reading the notes. "The hot water heater's not big, or efficient, so we'll have to take quick showers."

"Hot sheets, cold showers," Mulder said. Krycek and Scully both looked at him askance.

"We should keep these shutters locked," Krycek said. "This isn't bulletproof glass."

"That would make the cabin pretty dark," Scully said, in the tone of one trying to be reasonable.

"Yeah," Mulder said, "but since Krycek here is such a little ray of sunshine, it won't matter."

Krycek's head snapped around. "This might be just a job to you," he said, sounding as though he was barely keeping his temper in check, "but it's my life."

"Such as it is." Mulder knew he was going too far, but he could not seem to help himself.

Krycek took a couple of steps toward Mulder. "You don't know anything about my life! Why don't you shut your damn mouth?"

Scully shot Mulder a sharp look of warning, stopping his retort in its tracks.

"I'm sick of your crap, Mulder!" Krycek's voice was hoarse and uneven. "Everything is just a big fucking joke to you, isn't it? Unless of course it has to do with you personally! Then it's paramount."

Once again Mulder started to speak, but Krycek wasn't sticking around for it. He stormed back out to the screened porch, letting the door bang shut behind him.

"Paramount?" Mulder repeated, incredulously. Turning back to Scully, he saw that she had a very strange expression on her face, almost as if she were in partial agreement with Krycek's ranting.

"Mulder," Scully said, sounding exasperated, "why don't you just let him be? You can see he's not feeling well."

Yes, yes, he had seen that, in the way Krycek was moving, the paleness of his skin and the shadows under his eyes. Despite that, or maybe because of it, he had felt the irresistible urge to goad the man.

Scully sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "Maybe we're letting our history with him get in the way," she said. "Maybe we should ask to be replaced on this assignment by agents who aren't so personally involved."

"That's ridiculous, Scully! You know who'd get this kind of assignment—a couple of yahoos who'd sit around watching talk shows all day and probably not give a crap if he got blown away right under their noses!"

Scully stared at him, looking taken aback. Mulder was stunned by the vehemence of his own reaction. Hadn't he wanted to kill Krycek himself many times in the past? Why should he be so upset by the thought now?

"We need him," Mulder said. "For the raid, and—the information he has."

If Krycek was telling the truth about this vaccine—always a huge 'if'—if the vaccine was real, and the apples were really a viable means of distribution—this could be huge. It could help save many, many lives, and possibly even prevent colonization. As Mulder understood it, purity, the black oil, was necessary for the colonization plans. That was the tremendous irony of it—that so many people might owe their lives to this man, whose face they would never see, whose name they would never know, whose death they would never mourn.

As long as she was here, Scully would, of course, do her damnedest to keep Krycek alive. She would look after him medically, Mulder knew, and would even try to be sensitive to his needs and feelings. But she did not personally care for Krycek, and, given a choice, would speed back to her boyfriend and her wedding so fast Mulder could almost taste the dust.

Face it, Mulder, she has a life now. A life that doesn't include you.

Scully pulled a box of cornflakes from the cupboard and poured two bowls. He could tell from the way she would not meet his eyes that she was upset with him. They ate in silence. Finally Mulder could stand it no longer.

"Scully, you mad at me?"

Scully sighed, looking uncomfortable. "Mulder, it's hard enough that we have to be stuck out here with a sociopathic weasel like Kry—" She cast a glance at the door to the screened porch.

Mulder almost choked on his cereal. "Scully, you do turn a phrase."

"But with you always—"

Mulder felt a perverse need to defend Krycek. "Well, he did bring us something pretty big, Scully. The magic apple."

Scully went to the sink. She washed up her bowl and spoon and placed them in the drainer. "As I recall, the serpent brought Adam and Eve an apple, too. And look what it got them."

"Knowledge."

An eyebrow shot ceilingward.

"Okay, okay, I'll try to get along." Mulder finished eating and dumped the bowl into the sink. "Look, I'll just see if he wants something to eat."

Krycek was sitting at the farthest corner of the porch, crouched over a little with his hand up under his jacket. He looked to be rubbing or clawing at the stump of his arm. He stiffened, pulling the hand away, as Mulder walked closer.

"Hey," Mulder said, "you okay?" No response. Mulder tried again. "Want some cornflakes?" Krycek shook his head with an irritated gesture. Mulder stepped out onto the porch. "What's the matter? Your arm hurts?"

Krycek was silent for a minute, then, "Sometimes," he said, his tone grudging and defensive.

"Why don't you take some of the painkillers Scully gave you? That might help."

"I'm okay," Krycek snapped. As Mulder continued to gaze at him he said angrily, "Look, Mulder, I can't afford to get addicted to painkillers."

"You weren't too worried about that when you were gulping down my Vicodins like they were M-and-M's."

Krycek bared his teeth. "Fuck off."

Mulder stepped closer. "Or is it the cabin that's bothering you—being closed up here?" Krycek made a small jerky movement at that, in the process knocking his empty coffee cup from the seat beside him to the floor. Mulder automatically reached to get it, bending quickly toward Krycek.

In an instant, Krycek was up on his feet and in Mulder's face, his voice deepening to a low growl. "Mulder. Don't touch me. Don't hit me. Don't try to be nice. Don't try to get inside my head. Just get away from me and leave me alone."

"Just getting the cup," Mulder said. He held it up, giving Krycek a bland smirk. Going back inside, he showered and shaved, put the TV on to get the news and weather, washed up the breakfast dishes. Finally, even though Krycek still remained out on the porch, he pulled out the laptop and began to go over the disks. There was still much he did not understand, and he felt an impatient excitement humming through him. He wanted to drag Krycek in and start questioning him, immediately. But both Scully and Krycek had told him in no uncertain terms to leave Krycek alone right now. Mulder cursed under his breath. Why did Krycek always have to be such a difficult, unreasonable son of a bitch?

He spent a few hours poring over the material, memorizing what he could. The lab layout and the raid plans were pretty straightforward, but the other information, all those files detailing the plant experiments, the alien genetic structure—where the hell had Krycek gotten all this? Deeply immersed, he only stopped when Scully heated up some frozen burritos for lunch and urged him to take a break. All the while Krycek remained out on the porch, sullenly refusing offers of food and medication. When Mulder stuck his head out Krycek was working on his gun, disassembling and reassembling it. Mulder was beginning to think it had been a serious mistake to give that gun back to Krycek.

Around four o'clock Krycek finally caved, came inside, took the painkillers and ate a burrito. He hunted through the bookshelf, selected a couple of books and settled on the cot with his back against the wall to read. Covertly, Mulder watched him gradually relaxing from his rigidly crouched posture as the Demerol kicked in. After awhile he removed his boots, wrapped his arm around his body and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He dozed lightly, like a cat, the green eyes opening at any sound or motion.

Mulder paced around a bit, feeling restless. He was tired of being stuck in the cabin; babysitting the surly assassin was not the most enthralling assignment he had ever been given. Scully was doing paperwork at the table. Mulder came up behind her, reading over her shoulder.

Scully shot a look back at him. "Yes, Mulder?"

Mulder made a decision. "I'm going out for a run. I won't be long."

"Okay," Scully said, sounding indifferent. She returned to her work. On the cot, Krycek had opened his eyes halfway and was regarding Mulder with a heavy-lidded but intent gaze. Mulder ran through a few brief stretches, half-expecting Krycek to start bitching at him for being derelict in his duty by leaving the cabin.

If he does, I'm gonna haul his ass up off that cot and make him start explaining phytogenesis, and how the hell they managed to get their hands on alien DNA.

But Krycek said nothing, and Mulder headed out. It was a beautiful day, one of those still, lazy September afternoons when the very air seemed to be stretched out and sunning itself. Mulder felt a sense of freedom as he sprinted along the light-dappled trails.

Far off he saw a building that he took at first to be a barn. As he came nearer he saw that it was an old church. It looked to be long abandoned. Vining plants grew thickly up the stone walls, almost obscuring one window, and the door hung partially ajar. The rusty hinges gave a loud screech when Mulder pulled it open and stepped inside. He paused a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the interior. There was an odor of dust and mildew and a deeper, older layer underlying that, as though in decaying the church was returning itself to the earth.

Mulder walked slowly down the aisle, letting his hand brush over the splintery wood of the pews. High on one wall were a pair of stained-glass windows, broken and cracked now, tinting the floor and the pews in hues of rose and royal blue. The church had a timeless quality, and he wondered how old it was—a hundred, two hundred years? Who had worshiped here, and where had they all gone now?

In the front, by the altar, sunlight streamed in through what appeared to be a large hole in the roof. Mulder approached, feeling almost pulled toward it. The very air seemed alive, iridescent dust motes dancing in the light.

He walked forward into the shaft of light. A peculiar vertiginous sensation bubbled through his blood, like a shaken soda can. He stumbled briefly, then steadied himself, rubbing his eyes. Before him was a door, its paint peeling, its frame chipped. He opened it and stepped outside.

He found himself in a cemetery, a very old one by the look of the flat, worn grey gravestones. Walking curiously about, he noted that some of the dates went back to the 1800's and even the late 1700's. A serene, languid feeling assailed him, and he almost wanted to sit here in the sun and do nothing for a while. Equally strongly, though, he wanted to keep running.

He jogged on, through a stand of white birch trees. Rounding a bend, he saw a figure in the distance. He could not tell if it was a man or a woman. As he approached he could see that it was an old woman, dressed shapelessly in layers of long clothing. She was digging a large hole in the ground, moving stiffly but steadily. A blanket-wrapped bundle lay on the ground near her feet. A body, Mulder wondered, and was that a grave she was digging?

The old woman took no notice as he approached. She finished digging and set the shovel aside. She looked to be praying, her lips moving to form almost inaudible words in an unfamiliar language. Mulder waited in silence, not wanting to be disrespectful. Now that he was closer, he could see that the blanket-wrapped bundle was not big enough to be an adult human. A child perhaps, or a pet. Probably the latter. She looked long past childbearing age. Her hair in two braids was grey, and the lines in her face were as deep and worn as a dry creek bed. She wore a pair of men's work shirts over a long skirt and, under that, what looked to be a pair of men's pajama pants and high-top sneakers. Around her neck were several strings of beads, accented not only with feathers and shells, but also bits of bone and claw, bottle caps, pieces of children's toys. In the city she would have been taken for homeless, even ridiculed, but here, in what was clearly her home, she had an accustomed ease and dignity.

The old woman looked up. Mulder nodded. "Hello."

"Ho." She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her face, then knelt to the bundle. Again she said something in her language before beginning to unwrap it. As she pulled the blanket aside, Mulder could see a glimpse of silvery-brown fur, a slender paw.

"Is that a coyote?" he asked in surprise.

"He was part coyote." She stroked the animal's fur, then took a small pouch from her pocket and laid it between the forepaws. She said a few more words, chanting softly, before wrapping the blanket back up and starting to lift the bundle. Mulder stepped forward to help her carry it over and lower it into the open grave. The old woman picked up the shovel and Mulder held out a hand, offering assistance. She handed it to him.

"A good friend?" Mulder asked.

She nodded slowly, watching the shovelfuls of dirt settle over the blanket. "He was wild, that one. He used to come around and steal the meat I put up to dry. I shouted at him, I threw stones, I shot my gun at him. I even thought of poisoning him. But I could not."

"Because he was a living thing?"

She gave a sudden chortle. "Because I lived to fight with him!" Mulder looked up. Overhead, a hawk was circling. The old woman wiped her face again, then turned her head to spit in the grass. "So one day, I came outside and he was there. I sat down with him, and I asked him not to take my meat. I said, if you don't take it, I will give you all the parts I don't use. So that was what we did."

Mulder paused in the shoveling. "Just like that?"

The old woman nodded again. "When I had meat, I would put some by one tree. At first he came sometimes, then every day. Then he would bring me meat sometimes, things he killed. He would sit with me by the steps. He drove off a bobcat. And the hunters," her face darkened, "when they came, he warned me."

"I'm not a hunter," Mulder hastened to reassure her.

"I know who you are. You live in that cabin up there. With a woman and another man."

There was obviously no point in denying it, so Mulder went on the offensive. "How did you know that?"

The old woman just laughed. "You, her, him." She chuckled. "You are winkte, eh?"

"What's that?" Strangely, Mulder was not all that troubled by the knowledge that they, even Alex, might have been seen. The old woman seemed a part of the woods, as earthy and guileless as any creature or tree.

"Two-spirited, we would say in my language..." The old woman made a gesture with her hand, vaguely seeming to sketch a fork in the road. "A woman and a man."

Mulder started to object, to say it wasn't like that, but maybe it was like that. He held out his hand. "Fox Mulder."

The old woman's bony hand grasped his in a surprisingly hard grip. "Tomasina." She turned his hand over, staring at the back as though it contained a map to a familiar land. "Fox, eh? Tokala." She gave his hand a brisk pat before letting go and showing him a bright, gaptoothed grin. "The fox is my spirit animal!"

"Really?" Mulder paused in his shoveling to look at her, not sure she was serious.

Tomasina chuckled. "I was young, a young girl. You wouldn't think it, eh?" Her look at Mulder was almost coy. "Run faster than the boys, beat them at wrestling, shoot longer. Ah, I was beautiful then. Hair so long I could sit on it."

Mulder grinned back. "The boys must've liked you."

"Some liked me," Tomasina agreed. "Some were scared of me. Some...some liked me very much. But I wanted none of them!" She made a flat vigorous gesture with her palm. "I wanted to be a hunter. Like my brothers."

"Like the fox?" Mulder guessed.

Tomasina nodded. "First time I saw the fox, I was ten. Walking over in these woods." She pointed. "I saw it there. And it saw me. But it didn't run." She held a hand up in front of her face, steady. "Foxes...they spook easy." Her glance at Mulder was shrewd. "I followed it a little ways and it let me."

Mulder placed the last shovelful of dirt atop the grave. Tomasina moved, tamping it down with rhythmic stamps of her feet. "When I was eighteen, I started to think about the things a woman thinks about. Having babies, lying with a man." Her eyes danced over Mulder's body with an appreciative chuckle.

"Um-hmm," Mulder said. Tomasina lifted a rake from the ground and carefully smoothed the dirt over the grave before continuing her story.

"But I was confused, in my heart. I liked my freedom. So I went and sat up on the big hill there, where we go." Her eyes focused on a distant ridge, her fingers drawing a line in the air. "I waited many hours. At dusk, the fox came out of the woods. A she-fox. She lay down on the ground a little ways away and showed me her belly." Tomasina's hand shaped a rounded mound. "It was big, many babies. Her teats were swollen, ready to give milk. I knew then, it was time. Beautiful wild thing like the fox..." She nodded slowly, her hand smoothing her own belly. "All things...all things lie with each other. All things love each other in that way."

Mulder felt a strange, empty ache. He shook it off. "So you settled down and had your babies?"

"I had four babies." She held up four wrinkled fingers. "I lost one." She bent down one finger, and the other fingers bent down too. "Had a good husband. Lost him too, years ago."

"And you stopped hunting?"

"I never stopped hunting!" Tomasina's small dark eyes were aglow. Chortling with glee, she slapped Mulder on the arm. "Never stopped wrestling either."

Mulder laughed with her. It felt good. Tomasina walked a short distance away, to where a small pile of stones lay. She gathered the stones and returned, handing a couple to Mulder. Kneeling at the grave again, she began to lay them in a circular pattern. Mulder followed her lead, placing his alongside hers. She began a song, half-singing, half-chanting the syllables. Her voice had a mournful power. Again Mulder felt that loneliness, that sadness blow through him. The last notes were still echoing when she got to her feet and began gathering up her tools.

Mulder stood and stretched. He pointed at the far-off ridge. "That place, where you go, what is it called?"

Tomasina did not answer for a moment, binding her tools tightly together with a leather strap. "It is...the spirit place, the spirit tree.... People go there when they need..." she seemed to be searching for the word, "...the way to go."

I need guidance, I need to know the way to go. My family is dead, my best friend is leaving me, and I'm feeling a strange attraction to an unsuitable assassin.

Mulder tried to remember what little he knew of these things. "They fast, right?"

Tomasina shrugged. "Yah...you could fast."

"And they wait there for their spirit animal to come?"

"Sometimes it comes...sometimes it doesn't." Tomasina lifted the bundle of tools onto her back and fastened the strap. "So long, tokala."

"Tokala—that means fox?"

"Different meanings. A fox," she made a gesture with her hand, "a quick fox. It also means someone who—" She tapped her head with a finger.

"Someone who's crazy?"

Tomasina's eyes were very bright. "Someone who knows his own mind. Some say go here, some say go there, but tokala—you will go where you should go."

"You think I should go up on the ridge, by the spirit tree?"

Her smile was an ironic gleam. "It's a pretty walk there."

Mulder was itching to make the hike, but he had already been away from the cabin for a couple of hours now at least. He thanked Tomasina and reluctantly started back down the path. Feeling unaccountably disoriented, he had a hard time finding the trail back to the old cemetery although he generally had an excellent sense of direction. Finally he located the right path and saw the clearing with the church.

Jogging back towards the cabin, he made sure to stop and turn off the alarm. He glanced at his watch and saw, vexingly, that it had stopped. Scully was still at the table when he hurried into the cabin. Krycek was sitting at the counter.

"Scully, I'm sorry to take so long, my watch stopped."

Scully glanced up in cool surprise. "I think I can manage for an hour without you, Mulder." Behind him, Mulder heard Krycek snicker at that. He looked at his watch again; was it possible that only an hour had elapsed? It had seemed like much longer.

"Skinner wanted you to check in," Scully said. Mulder pulled out his cell phone and punched in the number. From the corner of his eye he watched Krycek peeling an orange. Alex held the orange in the palm of his prosthetic hand, carefully unwinding a spiral of rind with his knife. He seemed absorbed in the task. Mulder watched the minute adjustments he made with the hand, turning the orange by degrees.

"Skinner," his boss's voice barked into his ear.

"Sir." Krycek looked up and Mulder let his eyes unfocus and wander to another spot, a tactic he used whenever he got caught staring at someone.

"I've been going over the information you gave me again," Skinner said without preamble. "It seems...remarkably thorough."

Mulder smirked inwardly at Skinner's grudging tone. If possible, Skinner loathed Krycek even more than Mulder did. "How about the plans for the raid on the lab?"

Now it was Krycek watching Mulder, listening openly as Mulder spoke to Skinner.

"They'll need a few modifications," Skinner said slowly, "but it's a go."

Forgetting that he disliked the man, Mulder gave Krycek an exultant thumbs-up. Krycek's eyes widened with excitement; he looked more alive than he had all day.

"When?" Mulder demanded.

"I can't tell you that yet, Agent Mulder. Just be ready to go sometime in the next couple of days."

Krycek looked like he wanted to leap across the room and grab the phone. Mulder gave him an impatient shrug. Alex was sitting with his legs spread apart, straddling the stool. Mulder stared at the long and powerful thighs, encased in tight denim. Skinner was talking, going over the logistics of the raid. Mulder tore his gaze away. "How many besides us?"

"Four men," Skinner said. Mulder held up four fingers. Krycek nodded.

"I'm putting myself on the line for this," Skinner said. "We all are. I hope you're right about this one, Mulder."

"I believe I am," Mulder said. Krycek's eyes were fixed on his. The air was full of the scent of oranges.

They went over the plans after dinner, Krycek explaining the information on the disks to Scully. "This is the lab where the vaccine is being created. The Consortium runs it. We need to go in and get all the active vaccine, plus all their files on it."

Scully looked astonished as the detailed instructions and photos of the lab came up on the screen. "Where did you get these disks?"

There was a pause, then Krycek said, "I made them."

"You put this information together?" Scully's eyebrows went up. "Very impressive."

Krycek didn't respond. He seemed almost disconcerted by Scully's praise. Mulder felt admiration for Scully's fairness. She didn't like Krycek, but she would give praise where it was due. Mulder had been impressed as well—all the hours of work this must have taken, the danger Krycek must have placed himself in—but he could not bring himself to tell Krycek that.

Scully peered at the screen, where Krycek had pulled up a paper on the apple experiments. "How did you find out about this research?"

Krycek shrugged, scrolling through the files. "Originally I read about it in National Geographic."

Scully rolled her eyes. "Very funny." Krycek glanced up at her with a little frown, looking confused and put out. Scully gave him a look that suggested he had better stop screwing around with her, and fast. "You read about the black oil vaccine in National Geographic."

Now it was Krycek's turn to roll his eyes. "Not the black oil. These scientists don't even know what it is they're working with. They think it's got something to do with germ warfare." He shrugged, raising his eyebrows. "Which of course it does, just on a much larger scale than they imagine."

"So who's behind all this?" Scully asked.

"As far as they know," Krycek smiled slightly, "the FBI." He glanced up at Mulder and Scully. "Top-secret, eyes only, government project."

Krycek looked quite pleased with himself at this, and Mulder was once again beset by a host of ambivalent feelings. Krycek's using the Bureau as his cover rankled, and was a painful reminder of how easily Mulder himself had been deceived by the man. He's got some pair of balls, Mulder thought, which brought another discomfiting image to mind.

On the other hand, this was an incredible project if Krycek had indeed succeeded in carrying it off.

"So who is behind all this?" Scully was asking. "Not the FBI, I gather, and not the Consortium?"

"The Consortium developed the vaccine," Krycek said. "They don't know anything about this project. One man who used to work with them, the Englishman, he helped me."

"He helped you. So—you?" Scully looked stunned. Mulder waited, curious to see what Krycek would say. Krycek had made it sound to Mulder as though he were the driving force behind all this. Was that in fact true? Krycek for his part focused fixedly on the screen, a faint flush along his cheekbones. He slanted a tiny glance up at Mulder. Scully was staring at Mulder as well, looking perturbed. Mulder, who had been uncharacteristically silent for the past several minutes, now felt the weight of both those looks.

Mulder gestured toward the incomprehensible scientific treatises on the screen. "Tell me about all of this. Like, why apples?"

Krycek seemed relieved to be talking about the actual research rather than his part in it. "The first choice was tomatoes, because it's much easier to use an annual plant than a tree—they grow faster, and all. But for some reason they wouldn't take the gene—it just ended up in weird mutations, and—" For a second Krycek's voice and face betrayed some of the frustration he must have felt. "Well, you're working with something here that's completely alien, not just to tomato plants, but to our whole world."

There was a sudden dark undertone to Krycek's voice, and Scully gave a little unconscious shiver. Mulder had a strong impulse to put his arm around her, protect her from all of this. But he remained where he was.

"Papayas are relatively fast-growing," Krycek went on, pointing and clicking at something on the screen, "but outside of Hawaii not that many Americans eat papayas. This kind of thing had been done with apples before, making them resistant to fire blight, for example, so we knew it was possible. And everyone eats apples."

"I gather the apples did take the gene, then?" Scully asked.

Krycek nodded, looking at Mulder. "After a lot of trial and error, of course. The way it's done is, the gene for the virus is injected into a bacterium. Then the bacterium attaches itself to the plant's roots and infects the plant."

"So this bacterium," Mulder could not resist, "it's like the rat of the plant world."

Krycek gave him the fed-up look he usually wore when one of his dead-serious proclamations was met by a smartass remark from Mulder. This time, however, Mulder saw a hint of amusement dawn in Alex's eyes as well.

Scully leaned closer, reading the pages on the screen. "Can you print this out for me? I'd like to read it before I go to sleep tonight." She started to leave the room, then turned back. "Krycek. If the Englishman helped you, why isn't he protecting you now? Where is he?"

"He knew I was coming to you," Alex said quietly. He shrugged. "He has a family."

Mulder wondered if the Englishman had believed Krycek to be safer under FBI protection, or if he had not cared what happened to Alex once the vaccine was successfully delivered. Probably the truth lay somewhere in between the two.

Sitting with his head bowed, waiting for the pages to print, Krycek looked tired and a little lonely. He rubbed the back of his head, then extracted the pages from the printer and handed them to Scully with a hopeful expression.

Flames, everything in flames. Mulder felt the electroshocks of fear over his skin, his heart pounding too hard, his mind racing like a panicked animal. Shit, he had to get out but there was no way out and he thought he heard screaming but he couldn't make his way to the voice he heard. A burned piece of paper fluttered to the floor in front of him. He saw his own name on it and he understood that his work was being destroyed.

Then he was running, chunks of rubble crashing down and the horrible stench of burning bodies all around him. His chest ached and his side hurt and his throat felt scorched. He was running, running, searching. Everyone, everything he loved was gone, destroyed.

Through the smoke and ash, he heard a familiar voice calling him, and he reached for it blindly, with a surge of desperate joy. He needed that courage, that strength. Christ, yes, you. Give me your hand, bring me home...

"Mulder. Mulder."

Slowly he surfaced, blinking, the room coming into focus. Alex Krycek was standing a few feet away, speaking his name in a low voice. Instinctively, Mulder started to reach for his gun, before he remembered he was supposed to be keeping Krycek safe, not shooting him.

"You okay?" Krycek's voice was husky with sleep. He was wearing only the cutoff sweats and the prosthetic arm was off. "You were...."

Mulder could only imagine what he had been doing. The emotions the dream had unleashed, the adrenaline, were still pounding through him. He felt shaken and raw. That Krycek had seen him like this was beyond humiliating. But Alex's voice had held no mockery, simply confusion and—concern?

Mulder pulled himself to a sitting position, rubbing both hands over his face. "I'm fine."

Krycek regarded him for a few moments longer. "Want some tea?"

What he wanted was to crawl into a small dark hole and scream and cry like a baby for about a week. Or, failing that, a stiff shot of whiskey. But, like it or not, he was still on duty, protecting Krycek. And he wouldn't show any of that to his nemesis. He nodded.

As Krycek moved past him toward the kitchen area, Mulder felt the unexpected brush of Alex's hand on his shoulder, then a brief gentle squeeze. Krycek's hand was warm. Mulder could still feel it, the ghost of his touch, as Krycek flipped on the kitchen light and turned on the water to fill the kettle.

Mulder raised his head a little to look at Krycek, grateful for the darkness that allowed him to watch unobserved. Maybe because he had just woken up, Alex seemed unguarded and relaxed, free of his usual hypervigilance. The loss of his arm didn't seem to hinder him really, just slowing him down a bit. He filled the kettle, then set it down to turn off the water. Striking the match, he used the heel of his hand to hold the box in place. Mulder wondered if losing the arm put him off balance. Probably, but he didn't show it.

Mulder felt a small jump of gladness when Krycek got out two mugs instead of one. He knew that he would not be in any shape to go back to sleep anytime soon, and sitting up with another person was much preferable to sitting up alone. Even if that person was the disturbing, compelling—and unexpectedly compassionate—Alex Krycek.

While the water boiled, Krycek padded down the hall to the bathroom. Mulder sat listening to the small sounds of the kettle and the soft low hooting of an owl outside. He could still feel the slight warmth where Alex had squeezed his shoulder. It felt oddly comforting.

Air screeched through the old pipes as the toilet flushed. Krycek returned, moving with that casually graceful asymmetry. He leaned against the sink, looking down, idly scratching the back of one calf with his other foot. Mulder felt a curious breathlessness catch at his throat.

The first whistling notes of the kettle sounded. Krycek raised his head, pulled from his reverie. Mulder found he was holding his breath as Krycek poured the boiling water into the cups, not wanting Alex to get burned. But Alex seemed easy with this; doubtless it was what he did in his own kitchen at home. Mulder wondered what his home was like, where he lived.

Krycek got a jar of honey from one of the cabinets. It was old, encrusted, a scant half-inch of amber in the bottom. He tucked it under his truncated arm to try to unscrew the top, but after several attempts it became apparent that it wasn't budging. Mulder debated whether he should go over to help. Alex laid the jar down in the sink and hoisted the kettle to pour some of the boiling water over it, melting the honey inside and liquefying it. He let a few seconds go by, then ran cold water over it to cool it and lifted the jar from the sink. The lid unscrewed easily now, and he poured some into the cups. Once again Mulder was impressed by his tenacity. It would have been so much easier to just use the sugar. But apparently Alex preferred honey and was determined to have it. Mulder made a mental note to add it to the shopping list.

Alex started to lift one of the cups of tea, then stopped, scanning the kitchen. He found a dishtowel and painstakingly folded it. Surprisingly, this small action seemed to give him more trouble than making the tea. Mulder wondered if it was because this was not part of his normal routine, whereas making tea evidently was. Alex was wrapping the towel around the cup, so that he could carry it to Mulder with the handle extended and Mulder would not have to grasp a hot cup. Mulder was touched by the unexpected thoughtfulness of the gesture, as he had been by Alex's hand on his shoulder earlier. This Krycek—quiet, peaceful, considerate—was a far cry from the ruthless, amoral rat he was accustomed to.

He took the tea from Alex's outstretched hand. "Thanks."

"It helps," Alex said. He walked back to the kitchen to get his own tea.

He sounds like he knows what it's like, like he has nightmares too. Well, that was hardly surprising, considering some of the nightmarish things that had happened to Krycek. Mulder wondered who sat up with Alex when he had nightmares. He seemed so solitary, but maybe he had a friend somewhere—or a lover. Mulder was surprised by how discomfited he was at that thought.

Holding the hot tea carefully away from his body, Alex walked past Mulder. Too late, Mulder thought to move over on the couch and make room, but Alex was already settling down on the cot, sliding back against the wall.

They drank their tea in silence for a while. The owl hooted again and Alex cocked his head, listening. He had left one small light on in the kitchen, and Mulder could see his expression: wide-eyed, looking a bit like an owl himself.

I forgot how fucking beautiful he is.

He had a momentary crazy impulse to just walk over to the cot. But even if that were somehow a good idea, it would take more energy than he had right now. The dream was still with him, too strongly. Bile rose up as he heard the screaming in his head once more, smelled the burning flesh. He set the tea down and rested his head in his hands.

"Mulder?" Just the simple question, no snideness, Krycek sounding almost hesitant.

Mulder opened his mouth, pulling in some deep breaths. He shook his head to clear it. If Scully were up, he might have talked to her about the dream, but he could not bring himself to spill his guts like that to Krycek.

On the other hand, if Scully were up, she would never just sit here quietly like this. She'd be fussing, asking questions, wanting to do something, explain it away, make it better.

He heard Alex shift on the bed. Quickly, he raised his head, trying to plaster some semblance of a normal expression onto his face.

"So...how about those Yankees?"

He was conscious of Krycek's open-mouthed expression, staring at him for a second, then Alex said, "Baseball bores the hell out of me," a hint of laughter in his husky voice.

"Basketball?" Mulder said. "Knicks or Wizards?"

"Lakers. All the way."

"Lakers? Aw, no, you can't be serious. The Lakers—they're like the Microsoft of basketball."

"O'Neal—"

"O'Neal is an anomaly. He's like a football player, for Chrissakes."

"'He doth bestride the earth like a colossus.'"

Mulder felt a flash of surprise that Alex was quoting Shakespeare to him, and an immediate intuition—call it a profiler's hunch—that Alex was trying to impress him. He remembered the younger Alex doing that, tossing out quotes or insights or bits of esoteric information, like a cat bringing freshly killed tidbits for its owner's appreciation. For a minute he felt almost dizzy with a sense of dÈjý vu.

"'And we petty men walk under his huge legs, and peep about?'" He refrained from telling Alex that the exact quote was 'narrow world' rather than simply 'earth,' because Alex had that same look he remembered, pleased with Mulder's response, and with himself at Mulder's acceptance of his offering.

Mulder closed his eyes. It still ached; it always would. With a little start, he realized that he was mourning not only the loss of Innocent Alex, but Innocent Mulder as well. He was less trusting now, more jaded and cynical. If he did meet anyone at this point, would he be open, would he even be capable of feeling that kind of attraction again?

Alex was speaking again, making some point about the superiority of the current Laker team.

"Huh? Yeah...Lakers...the Lakers have no soul. Now the Knicks—" Mulder launched himself automatically into a rant on the subject, the kind of spiel he could do in his sleep, while his mind was elsewhere, sifting and sorting, picking up the pieces. Alex sat listening, occasionally interjecting a comment but not really arguing too much. Winding down, Mulder kept his voice casual as he segued into the question.

"So why the Lakers? L.A.'s not that close to Seattle."

There was a fractional hesitation before Alex answered lightly, shrugging. "Just like to back a winner."

Mulder nodded, sipping his tea, not speaking. Alex suddenly sighed hard, leaning his head back against the wall and turning his face away as though unhappy with something.

Mulder waited. Alex turned back.

"I grew up all over the place. We finally kind of stayed around Seattle."

Mulder nodded again. "Why'd you move around so much?"

Alex looked down. He hesitated once more. "Various reasons." His voice was low, and Mulder had another flash of intuition—that this was not more evasion, but Alex finding it hard to talk, that this was painful to him. With a little surprise, he realized he could push it right now, and Alex would probably tell him. In a paranoid corner of his mind he wondered why. Alex his partner had done this—taking care of Mulder, trying to impress—as a way of gaining Mulder's trust. Was that what he was trying to do now? What was he after?

The silence lengthened, growing slightly uncomfortable. Krycek stole quick glances at Mulder from under his lashes, then cleared his throat softly. Mulder was generally not a particularly patient person. In his early days at the Bureau, he had never let a lull develop in his interchanges with suspects and witnesses, preferring to pepper them with questions and get the hell out. But over time, he had learned to wait, coming to understand that most people could not tolerate a lengthy silence, and would jump in and start talking to fill it up. He sat back and regarded Krycek appraisingly.

I'm not as gullible as I once was, Krycek. You won't be gaining my trust again, but I might just be able to gain some of yours.

Abruptly, Alex's low voice broke the stillness. "My father was in the military."

Mulder nodded. "He was finally stationed at Lakewood-Fort Lewis?" Something didn't fit here. Alex had told him he grew up in a housing project near, not on, the military base. Another wild goose chase, a way to waste Mulder's time and keep him away from whatever was on that sixth disk that Krycek didn't want him to see?

"For a while. Then, um...he died." Krycek was not looking at Mulder; his voice was low, almost casual, but Mulder's instincts now told him that Krycek was telling him the truth.

"Mmh." Mulder was unsure what to say; 'I'm sorry' seemed a little too ironic. "How old were you?"

"Eight."

Eight. The same age Samantha had been when she was taken. Something stirred in Mulder's chest, like wings beating against his breastbone. "That sucks."

Alex looked up startled, as though he hadn't expected any kind of understanding from Mulder. "Everyone kept—kept telling me they were sorry. I didn't know—what was real after awhile, who to trust. I just hated everyone."

Mulder caught his breath as a flash of pain hit him, memories flaring up. After Sam disappeared, of people coming up to him. The words of sympathy that barely covered the avidly curious looks. Missing Sam, the terrible ache of her not being there, and having to be nice to everyone, thank them and act like he gave a shit about their feelings.

"Shit...yeah. I remember that." At Krycek's puzzled frown, he elaborated. "With my sister. I just wanted to punch somebody."

Alex gave a small hoarse chuckle. "You probably did."

"Probably," Mulder agreed. "What did you do? Take your BB gun and shoot someone?"

One corner of Alex's mouth twisted up. "Sure."

They were crossing into dangerous territory now, but somehow it brought a strange comfort. Maybe it was the darkness, the quiet of the night, or the connection of shared pain; maybe they were just tired. Whatever, there was a sense of laying down their weapons—and, Mulder realized with a little start, their shields too—to simply sit with each other and acknowledge the past.

"Actually," Krycek said, "I just sat and watched TV for hours. Not even watched, I just sat there. It was like I was invisible. And I went out back and threw rocks at things sometimes."

"Things?"

"People's cars sometimes."

Mulder wondered why it should be easier to talk about this to Krycek rather than Scully or Frohike or one of his other friends. Maybe because Krycek was who he was, he wouldn't expect Mulder to weep or be better than he was. Mulder could admit he had despised people, even hit people, and Krycek would accept that, would understand perfectly, because he had done the same.

Another silence fell, this one not uncomfortable so much as melancholy, both of them separately mired in their own dark memories.

A question tugged at Mulder's mind, and he turned his attention back to Alex. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Something flickered over Alex's face and he looked quickly down. "No."

Mulder was silent, feeling a kind of hollow relief.

Alex stared into his tea, frowning. His voice was low when he spoke. "My mother was pregnant with twins when my father died, but—but she lost it. Them."

Mulder heard the small careful correction. The ache in his chest was suddenly overwhelming, making it hard to listen. He could feel himself spacing out, almost dissociating, and he reached for the appropriate words. "That must have been rough."

"It was—it was rough on her. She was really young when I was born—she didn't—ah, anyway, they planned this, they were looking forward—so she—she got really depressed and—couldn't cope." Alex's voice was low and strained, the words tumbling out with a breathless urgency. "You know, she would—drink and—stuff like that. I was—I—I ended up staying with other people a lot of the time."

Mulder leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He saw again the look of frozen anguish on his mother's face, heard, night after night, the hushed, bitter voices floating up the stairs.

"She never got over it," Mulder said, a statement, not a question. "She changed. Everything changed after it happened."

He heard Krycek's quick, almost imperceptible intake of breath. Mulder opened his eyes, studying the younger man. He had seen this before, with people who normally didn't talk about their past, or their pain. It was like picking a scab off an unhealed wound; once they got started, it all flowed out. He hadn't expected that from Krycek, though. Krycek was too smart, too cagey, too practiced a dissembler. For some reason Krycek was choosing to open up to Mulder tonight.

But he hadn't counted on the emotions, Mulder thought. Unless Krycek was a very, very good actor, that was real pain Mulder was hearing and seeing.

Mulder had more questions: Were you close to your father? How did he die? Is your mother still alive? Who were the 'other people' you stayed with? Who was it that locked you in the closet?

And, most strongly: Why are you telling me all this?

But he didn't feel like pushing it right now. Krycek was sitting motionless, staring off at the far wall. He had his knees pulled up and his single arm wrapped around himself, gripping the stump of the other one just above where it had been cut off. Telltale body language; not the kind of thing Mulder thought he would or could fake.

It must have been rough on you too, Alex. Still is, isn't it? Even after all these years. You try to forget, you think you move on, but it's always there. Because you couldn't understand, and you still can't, how it could happen like that, how your life could get so fucked up in a single day.

The silence was becoming a tangible presence; Mulder could almost feel it shatter when he cleared his throat.

"Did I tell you the weird thing that happened while I was out running today?"

Alex stared at him for a moment, looking a bit lost. Earlier, Mulder had told Scully about it, and of course Krycek must have been listening. But he said nothing as Mulder began to tell the story. Mulder shut his eyes, recalling each detail of the light, the trees, and the old woman's tale. He only left out the part about her having seen them. Better not to fuel Krycek's paranoia.

And the part about her saying he was two-spirited.

"Sounds like an X-file," Krycek said quietly. The faint amusement was back, and something else, a current of interest. Mulder felt a strange gladness at that.

"My whole life has been an X-file," he said wryly.

He heard a soft sound of agreement from Krycek. There was a pause, then Krycek asked, "Were you always interested in this stuff?"

Mulder was silent, nonplussed.

"I mean, like you said...things changed, and..."

It was a curiously delicate way for Krycek to phrase it. Krycek was usually quite direct, if not always truthful. Mulder felt an automatic flash of anger—How the hell would I know? I was twelve!—but the question intrigued him nonetheless.

Who would I have been, if Sam hadn't been taken, if I hadn't devoted my life to trying to uncover the truth? Would I be happy now? Would there have been anyone else to do the work I've done?

"I can't answer that," Mulder said. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, feeling a heaviness settle upon him. They sat without speaking for a while.

"Well," Krycek said suddenly. "You've probably had some interesting cases, anyway."

Mulder hesitated. "Yeah, interesting, and kind of—farfetched."

Krycek gave a little shrug, as he had when Mulder had told him there was nothing but Oreos for breakfast. Mulder found it oddly endearing. "With all the crap I've seen in my life, you think I'm going to balk at ghosts and werewolves?"

"Ghosts and werewolves." Mulder nodded, remembering. "We've had those. And the Flukeman—now that was pretty unusual...."

Mulder found he enjoyed talking to Krycek about these things. Alex didn't sit there with an eyebrow raised, murmuring, "Giant sentient mushrooms, Mulder?" He simply accepted it as a given, his quick mind turning over the threads of the case, leaping to make the connections as Mulder laid it out. Mulder was relishing the discussion so much that he pretended not to notice when Alex started yawning, then leaned his head forward to rest it on his arm. He was in the middle of a particularly animated description of the Great Mutato when Scully's door opened and she shuffled out, yawning and peering around quizzically.

"I heard voices. Is everything okay?"

Mulder grinned at her. "Fine. We were just discussing some of the old cases."

Scully glanced at Krycek. "You were discussing, you mean, Mulder. Your audience is pretty much asleep."

Mulder looked over at Alex, who did indeed appear to be nodding off. Alex blinked, trying to stifle a yawn.

"You should let him get some rest," Scully pointed out. "He's still recuperating from injuries and infection." Glancing at the clock, Mulder saw with some surprise that it was almost 5:00 a.m.

"Alex, you look like you're starting to fade out there. I should let you get to sleep."

Alex's head came up. He stared at Mulder for a second. Mulder realized he had called him Alex, had spoken to him in the affectionate, big-brother tones he used to use when they were partners. He had almost felt like they were partners again, kicking the cases back and forth, finding that connection. Mulder looked away, not wanting to see the wistful look in Alex's eyes. He didn't want Alex to want that from him; he didn't want to give it. They could never go back to that.

Never go back? We never really had that in the first place. Don't get nostalgic for something that was all a twisted mirage.

Alex crawled under the covers. He mumbled something that might have been "Good night," and Mulder grunted in return. Scully's door clicked shut. Mulder lay staring at the window, the very faint easing of the darkness. He did not know if he would sleep soon, or at all; often he did not after a dream like that. He might watch the sky grow progressively lighter, the dawn arriving and filling the day while Scully and Alex slept. But at least he no longer felt so shaken. He was too tired to examine it right now, but his mind had been eased by whatever had transpired here tonight.

He heard Alex's breathing even out and deepen and he turned his head to gaze at the figure on the cot, struck by the innocence that visited Alex in sleep.

Alex, what the hell happened to you? On our first case together, when that Vietnam vet was describing the atrocities he'd seen, you flinched and looked away. You couldn't watch Scully doing the autopsy either. How did you go from being a sensitive kid to a stone cold killer? I remember the look in your eyes when you shot Cole, how devastated you were to find out he didn't have a gun. I asked you if it was the first time you'd killed somebody and you didn't answer. I thought you were too upset to speak; I almost wanted to put my arms around you and hold you. Were you inwardly laughing at me?

You were so young then. Were you just in over your head, and I didn't see it?

Or was it all, always, an act?

Chapter Three: The Salamander
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