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Files4.doc
by Ms Brooklyn


Part One

Ellen Feldman felt like she was living in the Twilight Zone. An alternate universe where she and Krycek were playing house. Except this was reality and they were playing house. And the house was more than a house. It had a hidden bomb shelter that Krycek converted into what he called his survival bunker, with more weapons, medical supplies and food than she could count. It was, he assured her, completely alien proof.

Alien proof. It was a concept that was as hard to get used to as having three square meals a day at the same table as Alex Krycek. There were limits to playing house, though. She didn't mind cooking or even cleaning up, but when it came to sharing a bed... well, Krycek was sleeping on the couch. And complaining about it every morning.

She watched him finish another curl, lower the barbell and select a smaller, much lighter one. This he lifted with his prosthetic left hand. It was an awkward movement and, judging by the scowl on his face, not an easy one.

"Anybody ever tell you it's not polite to lurk in doorways," he grunted.

Caught, Ellen shrugged and let her eyes wander over his sleek, muscular body.

He started to set the weight down but it slipped from the prosthetic fingers and crashed to the floor. Cursing softly, he wiped his face with a towel. "Like what you see at least?"

She came to watch the show, just like she did every day but this was the first time he ever caught her in the act. Or at least acknowledged that he knew she liked to watch him. It had been her guilty pleasure for the past three weeks, ever since their arrival. Not that she would admit it, of course. She might admit that he had a nice body, that he looked really good in those tight shorts and sweaty tank top. But, never, ever, would she admit that watching him work up a sweat was a bit of a turn on. "It's okay."

"Just okay?" A feral grin as he flexed his right arm for her. "Feel this and tell me it's just okay. C'mon, Feldman, I don't bite."

Anybody else, with a body like that, making an invitation like that and she wouldn't hesitate. But this was Krycek and he did bite. "I made some chocolate chip cookies. Want one?"

"I don't know if I like this, Feldman." He shook his head with mock-regret. "Baking cookies, making dinner, doing my laundry... Kinda like having a Stepford wife, but without the sex."

"Are we going to start this again," she groaned.

"Absolutely! As long as I spend my nights on the couch after watching you prance around in those bike shorts and sports bras all day, I'm gonna complain."

"I do not prance!"

"Prance, flit, sashay, whatever. It all adds up to one thing: you're a tease, Feldman."

"I am not!"

"You most certainly are." He was on his feet now, looking at her hungrily. "Why else would you dress like that around me?"

"Maybe because the air conditioning in here sucks?"

"I told you I'm waiting for a part."

"For three weeks?!"

"It's summer, Feldman—"

"We have almost a million bucks in a numbered account in Japan. I think we can afford a new central unit, instead of a reconditioned compressor."

"Oh, Jesus! Is this what it's like to be married to a JAP?"

"We are NOT married!" She would admit being a JAP, but married? Never!

"I've got a certificate that says we've been married for almost a year."

"What?!"

"I needed it for our fake passports." A guilty shrug. "We got married in New York last November."

"It's a forgery and the marriage is void. Besides," she added, in her most lawyerly tone, "it hasn't been consummated."

"Tell me about it," he agreed, sourly.

"I can't believe you did that, Krycek. And you didn't even tell me." A fake marriage, yet. The slimy rat was capable of anything!

"I'm telling you now. According to the records in New York, we're married. I paid a civil servant a lot of money to tamper with the computer for this."

"You mean...there's a real paper trail? Oh my God!"

"Yup, other than the fact that we didn't swap vows, it's totally legal. You're my little woman, Feldman. Now can I have some sex?"

Evil. He was pure evil in a body that didn't quit. "If we're married, my name is Krycek, not Feldman. Maybe it's Feldman-Krycek. I could hyphenate, I suppose...say, are the kids going to be raised Jewish?"

"If you let me fuck you, you can raise them as Mormons for all I care." He grabbed her by the strap of her sports bra and tugged her to him. "C'mere, you."

Ellen slapped at his hand. "Cut it out! You're not getting any."

"Fel —Krycek, I always get what I want."

"Not this time."

"Watch me."

Oh man, he was gonna kiss her. Forget going to, he was kissing her. Was that her tongue in his mouth? Yes, it was. But that was definitely his hard-on pressing against her stomach. And that his hand going inside her bike shorts, inside her black lace string bikini underwear and absolutely, without a doubt, his finger going right inside — Whoa!

With a yelp, Ellen broke the kiss. "Stop!"

"Are you kidding?" There was an excited gleam in his eyes. "All I did was slip a finger in you and you came like there was no tomorrow. You want me bad, Feldman."

"No, I don't." Why did it have to be Krycek of all people? Why couldn't she be waiting for the end of the world with somebody who wasn't evil personified? Why did he have to have such a hot body? Why did she sleep with him on the boat they hijacked? Why didn't she at least tell him to get his hand out of her underwear?

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Want me to prove it?"

His finger was still inside of her and he moved it, ever so slightly, rubbing her G-spot. It felt soooo nice and then he slipped another finger inside. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound, but her hips started to move of their own accord.

"That's it, baby," Krycek murmured. "Come for me again."

She did.

"I don't know about you, Feldy, but I could sure go for a few of those chocolate chip cookies with a nice, big glass of milk."

"You're an ass, you know that?"

Krycek pulled his shorts on and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not the one denying my true feelings, Feldman."

"True feelings? True feelings! The only feeling I get when I'm around you is nausea!"

The humor faded from his eyes and his mouth was a tight line. "I really wish you wouldn't say stuff like that, Ellen. I've done so much for you —"

"Like what? Ruin what was left of my career? Kidnap my cat?"

"I gave you the vaccine and I'm giving you a chance at life when it begins." What was it about this girl that he had to have her even though she drove him completely up the wall? Okay, maybe she had a right to be angry about being taken away from the familiar things in her life, but he gave her a nice place to live and he even brought her cat. Not once did he mention that he hated cats.

"It? You mean the," her voice dropped to a stage whisper, "invasion by 40 weight Pennzoil from outer space?"

"I gave you proof—"

"You gave me nothing. For all I know you injected me with sugar water."

Impossible! She was utterly impossible! Less than ten minutes ago, she was having multiple orgasms, screaming, harder, Ratboy, harder! Speaking of which... "I would appreciate it if you called me Alex or Krycek, not Ratboy, especially when I'm banging you, okay?"

"And there you go again, changing the subject." She folded her arms across her chest, but not before he could see that her nipples were hard and had a distinctly rosy glow to them. "When are you ever going to give me anything more than vague references to what sounds like a bad NBC miniseries?"

"I just gave you something that was eight inches—"

"Hello-o-o? Earth to Ratboy! I'm talking about your mysterious motor oil."

"What did I just say about calling me Ratboy?" He was going to smack her. He could feel it coming. Just one good smack would be all it would take. It always worked for his father. Of course, his father probably used to be a nicer person before he worked for the Consortium and took up heavy-duty drinking. His mother always said so, anyway.

Ellen must have caught the look in his eyes because there was something unreadable in hers. Something almost like fear and something cold, almost deadly. "Okay, Alex. Krycek. Whatever the hell your name is, I'm going to take a shower. When I come out of the bathroom in about half an hour, I want to see the marriage license you had made and I want you to start answering some questions for me."

Before he could say a word, she bolted from the room, giving him a nice view of her bare ass on the way out.

"Eat a cookie before you look at it." Krycek laid the envelope on the kitchen table, next to the glass of milk he poured for her.

"Patience is the first virtue I lost," Ellen muttered, pulling the papers from the envelope. There, in living color, with the seal of New York state was the marriage license, complete with her signature. A damned good forgery. The certificate was authentic, too. She just finished running a search on Lexis to see if it was official. The numbers were identical. And this....what in the name of heaven was this? A Hebrew marriage certificate, signed by a rabbi?!

"Nice touch, huh? I think I converted for you."

"Okay, stop me if I'm wrong, but if, as this thing says, we live in Kew Gardens, Queens, did we file income taxes for the state of New York?"

"Yes, we did. You were exempt, since you practice out of state, but my dry-cleaning business—"

"What?!" Ratboy with delusions of being George Jefferson? The very idea made her temples throb.

"I own a dry cleaners in Queens." A shrug. "Needed something to prove residence. Also, I needed clean clothes."

"Why Queens?!"

"Because Staten Island smells."

She hated him, really hated him. Did he have any idea how hard it would be to annul this?

"If you're thinking about an annulment or a divorce, forget it."

"Why?"

"A total waste of time. I can have your papers lost. Besides," he grinned and bit into another cookie. "I'm the only one who can save you when it hits the fan. Mulder's gonna be too busy rescuing Scully to worry about you. Your buddy Carmine the Cro-Magnon couldn't comprehend the scope of it and—"

"I can't understand it myself. That's probably because you haven't explained squat to me."

"I could explain it from now til next week. It's just too big."

"Typical guy statement."

"Okay, you want it in a nutshell? All the world powers are in on this. There's this black oil and it's been here for millions of years, the product of a previous visit by our alien buddies. The oil's waiting for the aliens to come back, but it's going to need host bodies. That's where the Project comes in. They've been trying to create a vaccine against the oil or clones that are alien-human hybrids that'll survive when colonization begins. Mulder's sister is one of the subjects used for hybridization. Scully is also part of the hybridization experiment. You, however, are not." Krycek took a long sip of milk. "It was thought for a time that abduction was a good idea for you, that we ought to implant you. I made a trade that saved you."

"What exactly did you trade?"

"Information about an experiment in Russia, in a gulag— a prison— in Tunguska."

Krycek spoke Russian. One and one made two. "Were you a subject in those experiments or did you conduct them?"

"Both."

"Was that how you lost your arm?"

"Mostly. I don't want to talk about that." His voice was firm.

"Are you a Russian spy?"

"Anybody ever tell you you watch too much TV?"

"Constantly." What she needed was to get in touch with Mulder, to see what he knew and ——

"I know what you're thinking, Feldman. Forget it." Krycek reached across the table and took her hand. "You're free to come and go from this safe house, Feldman, but you are absolutely forbidden to go near Mulder or Scully unless I say it's okay. Besides, if Mulder ever found out you were living with me willingly, that you slept with me....you know he'd never trust you again. In fact, he'd probably kill you."

"What do you mean, forbidden?!" Oops. She was starting to sound hysterical. "We might be married, but I'm not your slave!"

"Okay, I apologize. You're not forbidden, but it's still a stupid idea." He was up now, peering intently down the front of the baby blue sports bra she changed into. "And if by some miracle, Mulder was still happy to see you, our mutual friends would whisk you out of there into a lab. As it is, I've been getting requests at least once a day for blood samples from you."

"For what?"

"You're the first allergic reaction to the vaccine on record, Feldman. They haven't said as much, but I think they want to try infecting you with the black oil."

"Wait. Back up a second. You've been in contact with them? When?"

He reached out, tracing her jawline with his finger. "Usually when you're sleeping. I have trouble falling asleep on the couch and I need privacy, so...."

Ellen pursed her lips and tried to ignore him stroking her neck. "Is there anything else you should be sharing with me?"

"Besides the bed?"

"Da, Alexei."

"Better watch it with that accent, honey, it turns me on." Kneeling so they were eye level, Krycek locked stares with her. All the humor was gone from his face. "The gentleman you like to call Droopy appears to be dead, leaving us at the mercy of our cigarette-smoking friend. The smoker says there's a chance the black oil's mutated and our vaccine might be useless. He also says he's got some work for you, if I think you can be trusted to follow orders. In the interest of keeping you alive, I told him I don't trust you and he shouldn't either."

"What kind of work?"

"It ain't lawyering, so forget it."

"Is it something we could do together?"

"I told you to drop it."

He was starting to get aggravated, she could tell by the way he was clenching his prosthetic fingers. Neat little toy, that prosthesis. Had to be real expensive to have that much mobility. Ellen nibbled at a cuticle and changed the subject. "Consider it dropped. So what's the idea behind the shotgun wedding?"

"I thought," he said, slowly, as if struggling for the right words, "that since my life is less than normal and your life isn't either, it might be fun, just for once, to have something normal people have. Besides, we were getting along so well on the boat, it seemed like the next logical step."

"Only in your warped, rodent-like mind! Jeez!" Her eyes rolled skyward, oblivious to his darkening expression. "Haven't you ever dated? If you like the girl, you send her roses, not a forged marriage license! For God's sake, Ratski, did you ever stop to think about marriage as a legal concept? It means, we're responsible for each other's debts, that I'm your heir in intestacy, that—"

"Shut up, Goddammit!"

Maybe the legal concept speech was going a bit far....

He grabbed her by the strap of the sports bra, twisting it tightly. And then, suddenly, he let go, backing away from her, palm raised. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

Did this man ever control his impulses? No, obviously not, judging by their current state of matrimony and his table manners. "S'okay."

"You've got to stop pushing me like that, Feldman."

"Maybe you should learn to control your temper." Just like Belle in Beauty and the Beast. Should she start singing that song about something that wasn't there before?

Absently, he massaged the spot on his left arm where flesh met synthetic skin. His eyes darted nervously around the room, not meeting hers. "I'm....not used to...being in a situation like this...where somebody is with me and doesn't have a personal agenda or I'm not pointing a gun at them to make them do what I want....I don't...talk to people, Feldman....I don't know how..."

Oh man, he was being pathetic. "When was the last time you talked to somebody, Alex?"

Krycek shrugged. "I don't know."

"Do you want to talk to me?"

He nodded.

Was it her imagination or did he look like he was going to cry?

And then his expression changed, the momentary lapse of humanity vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "The smoker offered me an assignment. I think I'm gonna take it. Are you going to be here when I get back?"

"What kind of assignment?"

"The usual."

"Where?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe. Can I come?"

"Who'll feed the cat?"

"I bet we can hire a sitter."

"What about the laundry?"

"Krycek...."

"You really want to come with me?"

"Why not? There's nothing good on TV anyway."

xx

Part Two

Frohicke read the e-mail again and scratched his head. These sporadic messages from Feldman were getting weirder and weirder. Look at this one. She wanted him to hack into the New York State computer system and wipe out a marriage license. No reason why. Just do it, Frohicke. Maybe she was practicing divorce law now, but with an edge. Would she ask him to start wiping out mortgages next, for her bankruptcy cases?

Ah, what the hell, why not. He punched up the system and ran the numbers on the license. What he saw made him spew coffee all over the computer screen. Mulder wasn't going to believe this.

"Forget it, Feldman. The cat is not coming with us."

"I don't trust that gum-chewing little hickette."

"That hickette is a veterinary student. I'm paying her three hundred dollars to follow your instructions to the letter. I'm positive he'll be fine."

"He'd better be."

"If he isn't, I'll kill her for you, okay?" If he didn't know better, he'd swear she liked the cat better than she liked him. Krycek's gaze wandered appreciatively over the peach-colored sundress she was wearing. Not exactly appropriate for the job ahead, but good for now. Perfect for now. She was the model of femininity— the dress, the strappy little sandals and the matching polish on her finger and toe nails. It made Covarrubias look like a man in comparison.

Ellen leaned back in her seat and glanced back out at the runway, a wistful expression on her face. "He mopes when I'm not home."

Again with the cat? What should he say that would shut her up about it? "I'll bring him back some kind of cat toy."

"He'd like that." She examined the polish on her nails, frowning.

"You, uh...you look..." Come on, spit it out. "Nice dress."

"Oh. Thanks." She leaned close to him and it looked like she was going to kiss him, but at the last second she put her lips a centimeter from his ear. "How did you get the guns through security?"

"I bribed the guards, kitten," he murmured. "Anybody can be bought. Remember that."

"I guess."

His hand dropped to her thigh. So soft and supple— kept that way with body lotions and skin scrubs and whatever else she used during those hour long showers that she wouldn't let him watch. It was nice, this relationship thing. Did he ever have a relationship? No, not really. Certainly not lately. There were women, of course, and the occasional man, sweaty one-night stands that went nowhere other than betrayal.

The sting of nails digging into the flesh of the back of his hand got his attention. "What?"

"Take your hand out from under my skirt. People are staring."

He looked down. Sure enough, his hand was under her skirt, caressing her through her peach silk bikini briefs, the crotch of which was hot and more than a little moist. "You sure you want me to stop?"

"I'd rather not get arrested for public lewdness today."

With a remorseful sigh, he removed the offending hand. Bet she never told Mulder to stop. Mulder. Yeah, Feldman did all sorts of things with him. Kinky stuff with taco sauce. He made a mental note to ask her about that later. Maybe she would demonstrate. Maybe, just maybe, she'd sneak back to Mulder and he could catch the two of them in the act and then the three of them... Nah. Never happen. But he could fantasize.

"Where did you get this?"

Frohicke winced at the sharpness in Mulder's voice. "She e-mailed it to me."

"What do you mean, e-mailed?"

"She's been e-mailing me for almost a month."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"We took a vote," Byers put in. "We knew you'd tell that large Italian fellow and, well, to be honest, he was rather...intimidating during his last visit."

Mulder glared at them. "Did you save her messages?"

"Yes, of course, not that any of them made much sense. Especially this latest one. I had no idea she got married. She could have invited me. I would've got her a nice toaster." Frohicke shrugged helplessly. "You think there's any kids?"

"I don't think there's even a marriage." The lanky FBI agent's finger's drummed the desk top. Safe in the heartland. That left a lot of places. Kansas. Nebraska. Utah. No telling where the rat would hole up with Feldman. On the plus side, she said in every e-mail that she was fine, that he hadn't hurt her. On the minus side, it was Krycek and it was only a matter of time until Feldman got hurt. Krycek was like a wild animal, with no sense of right and wrong, only survival and self-gratification.

"Are you going to tell that Carmine guy?"

Carmine would explode like an overcooked Italian sausage if he found out. "Not yet. I'm going to have to back burner this one for a while, guys."

"Big case," Langly asked, eagerly.

"Maybe. Besides, she didn't give us much to work with."

"Okay, sweetness." Krycek released her hand, dug around in his pants pocket and pressed a wad of cash into her hand. "Go shopping. I'll meet you in two hours...where's a good place to meet in this hellhole of a city?"

Ellen glanced around Times Square and then gazed up at Krycek. "Where will you be while I'm shopping?"

"Meeting with our friend. I don't want him to know you're with me."

"Are you sure you trust me with a pocketful of cash so close to Grand Central Station?"

"Not really, but I can't take you with me this time. Be a good girl, Feldman," he pleaded. "Just for once. Buy yourself a pretty dress and I'll take you someplace expensive for dinner."

Her nose wrinkled as she stared up at him, unable to believe the condescending line of crap he was handing her. "You think that makes up for cutting me out—"

"Feldman. Go shopping. Now."

"Fine. Meet me in two hours in front of Fendi on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Eighth Street."

As she turned to leave, he grabbed her by the arm and spun her around, roughly. "I expect to see you there, honey. Remember, I have your cat."

Did he just threaten Winky? It sounded like it. And that made her mad. Before she could think about the consequences, she slapped him smartly across the face. "Don't you ever threaten my baby, Krycek!"

Pure rage flickered in his eyes as his grip on her arm grew tighter.

Uh-oh. Now she did it....

He let go and backed away. "Two hours. Fendi. Get something short and tight."

Something short and tight. Like the leash he was keeping her on.

"Where are you," Carmine barked.

"I'm here in New York—"

"Where, dammit!?!" He gestured for Tony to tell Paulie to cut it out with the power tools. The noise made it hard to hear Ellen.

"I can't tell you. He's got Winky, so I can't leave just yet. Besides, there's something big going on."

Carmine gritted his teeth. "So you're just gonna hang out with him?!"

"I have to."

"You don't have to do nothin'. You tell me where Winky is an' I'll send somebody to go get him. Hello? Ellen? Goddamn."

She hung up on him.

She needed something short and tight and she needed it in less than an hour. Ellen picked at her nail polish and thought. Something very slutty. How much cash did he give her? Five hundred? Not bad. For that kind of money, she could go anywhere, but there was only one place she could think of that could handle her needs quickly. Trash & Vaudeville on Saint Marks Place. Ellen hailed a cab.

Krycek looked at his watch again. Feldman was ten minutes late. Please let her not have done something stupid. Something that would require him tracking her down and having to teach her a lesson.

"Hi, sugar. Sorry I'm late, but cross-town traffic was murder."

Sweet Jesus! What the hell was she wearing? The dress had a black leather bustier and was that a black crinoline mini skirt? And the shoes....stiletto heels. Fishnet stockings, crotchless, no doubt. He was willing to bet his good arm she wasn't wearing any underwear, either. If this wasn't Fifth Avenue and it wasn't broad daylight, he'd have her bent over....

She blinked up at him, mock innocence. "Where are we going for dinner?"

"A hotel with room service." Walking was going to be a very painful experience. "What's the nearest one?"

Ellen tapped one of the impossibly high pumps on the sidewalk and pouted. "I was thinking maybe we could go to Little Italy for pasta."

What a manipulative little —! Before he could say anything, her hand was at the front of his jeans, rubbing him through the rough denim. What had been merely uncomfortable seconds ago was now excruciating. He caught her wrist and pulled her close for a rough, wild kiss. "Hotel first. Pasta later."

Her other hand grabbed his crotch again. "Aw, c'mon, Ratski, I want Italian —"

"I'm gonna give you Russian, Feldman." Was that his voice, sounding so...hoarse and desperate? Why was he playing into her hands like this? Why did he let her call him 'Ratski' again? Why was he thinking about stuff like that now? "If you can walk when I'm done with you, we'll go for pasta. Pick a hotel."

"Hilton on Fifty Second and Sixth."

"Taxi!!"

Well, that worked like a charm, she congratulated herself, as Krycek shoved her into the cab. Give Ratboy a little show and he was putty in her hands. Putty with a huge hard-on, that is. And he was going to take her to Little Italy for pasta sooner than he anticipated.

Krycek slid in next to her, still breathing heavily, a fine film of sweat over his upper lip. No need to guess what he was thinking about. If he was a good little Ratski, she might even let him have some. Her eyes wandered down to the bulge in his jeans. Amazing how he could walk like that.

"Where to," the driver asked.

"The Hilton," Ellen answered. Could Krycek even speak right now? She doubted it.

With a grunt, Krycek grabbed her hand and guided it to his lap.

Wanted to fool around, did he? Okay, he was in for it now, heh heh. She popped the top button, unzipped his fly and slid her hand inside his jeans. As usual, Krycek wasn't wearing any underwear. Bingo. There it was. Harder than she remembered.

"Sonofabitch," he hissed.

Ellen looked up. Uh-oh. Traffic jam. They were going to be here a while. Suddenly, she remembered something she saw on Taxicab Confessions. Did she dare? He'd love it if she did and it would get her to Little Italy that much faster. With an evil grin, she swung herself around, kneeled over him and impaled herself. Besides, after all that preparation to look this hot, she deserved an eight inch treat.

"Oh shit, Feldman..." Krycek bit her shoulder.

"Miss, please, not in my cab—"

It didn't matter. Krycek was finished for the moment and probably cursing himself for coming so fast. She slid off of him with a satisfied smirk. "Now can we go get some pasta?"

xx

Part Three

Carmine looked at the assorted talent in gathered in Nicky's office. Tony, Vinnie, the Mick, Cheech and Angie. Not exactly a brain trust, but maybe this would work.

"Okay, people, lissen up! Ellen's here in Noo Yawk. Vinnie, Mick, youse guys got Manhattan. Divide it amongst yerselves. Tony, you got Jersey. Cheech, Queens. Angie, Staten Island. Me, I got Brooklyn. First one what finds the Polack gets to pop him. Any questions?"

"Yeah, howcum Vinnie gets Manhattan," Cheech demanded.

Oy! Did he need this aggravation?

What did he get himself into? Krycek popped another tortellini into his mouth and watched the little succubus across the table. That stunt in the cab.... He wished for something like that from her for years. Well, in his fantasies, it usually lasted longer than ten seconds and involved various lubricants, accessories and positions. And once in a while, the fantasies included Mulder.

"Slow down and chew your food," she chided.

He blinked and lowered his fork. Mothering him? That was something he needed to think about. Like the way she ordered this tortellini a la vodka for him, telling him it would be easy for him to eat with one hand. Okay, so she was right, but did he really want her coddling him? His own mother never mothered him the way Feldman just did.

"You okay, Ratski?"

"Alex. My name is Alex. You think we could be Alex and Ellen, the happy couple tonight?"

"I don't know," Ellen answered, suspiciously. "I don't think we're a happy couple."

Krycek leaned forward and kept his voice low. "That's because I didn't get a chance to take care of you in the cab, pussycat. I've got plans for you after dinner."

"I have plans, too. A long, hot shower and off to bed."

"You'll get your shower. But not until after I take that dress off you. I want you naked except for the shoes and then I'm going to bend you over and make you scream."

"The very description makes me want to scream, dear."

"Who are you kidding? You like me to be rough with you, Feldman. You've never once let me take my time and be gentle with you. Every time I've had you it's been a fast bang and then you ran off like a scared rabbit." He drained his glass of red wine. "I think it's because you're afraid to see me as a human being."

"That's because—no. I'm not going there. I'm finishing my veal piccata, you finish your pasta and then we'll pick a hotel and crash for the night. Tomorrow we can go to work."

"No. Tomorrow, you go back to Montana."

"What?!"

"This job's not for you. I want you to go home." How could he tell her he was supposed to hit three FEMA workers? Was that the kind of thing she'd like to spend a June afternoon doing? Not likely.

"You promised—"

"I lied. I always lie, Feldman. You know that. Finish your dinner."

"I'll make you tell me, Krycek. I've got ways of extracting information you only dream about."

"Okay, honey. You can make me talk in the hotel," he soothed. Yes, dear. Oh, lord. This relationship stuff was harder than he thought.

Krycek pounded on the bathroom door again. "Feldman! What the hell are you doing in there?!"

"I'm flossing," she sang.

"For an hour? Come on out of there and we'll talk about it, okay, princess?" If this was domestic life, count him out. Standing outside bathrooms, begging the little woman—disgusting. Her fault, anyway, making him tell her about the job. All he did was ask her to book herself a flight back to Montana and she got that witchy look on her face. The next thing he knew, his jeans were around his ankles and he was getting the best blowjob of his life. Until she did that thing that stopped him from coming. And she wouldn't let him come until he told her about the job. His reward was probably the longest orgasm in male history and the bathroom door being slammed in his face.

"No, it's not okay!"

"If you don't open this door by the time I count to five, I'm kicking it down."

"If you pick the lock, it won't show up on our bill."

Right now, he could care less. He kicked the door open. "Now, then. Are you going to be a good girl and talk to me or are you going to be a bitch?"

Ellen nibbled at a cuticle. "Well, logically speaking, if I'm a bitch, I don't have to talk to you."

Oh, to be able to smack her one! Calm, Alex. Stay calm. "Kitten—"

"Would you stop calling me that?!"

"Honey—"

"I don't like that one, either."

Krycek saw red. He also saw his hand rise up parallel to her face, which contorted into an expression he couldn't quite make out as she flinched from the impending blow. Whoa! No hitting Feldman, no matter how irritating she got. He took a deep breath and backed away from her. "Ellen, it's a job. I kill people. Sometimes, I steal things or I break into places or—"

"How can killing people be a job," she demanded, hands on her hips, the crinoline skirt flouncing as she voiced her indignation. "Collecting garbage is a job. Selling shoes is a job. Murder is NOT a job!"

"What did you think the smoker was going to ask me to do, Feldman!? Sell alien invasion insurance door to door? If you don't want to help me then go home and bake me some cookies."

"This is a problem." Wisely ignoring the cookie remark, Ellen brushed past him and threw herself down on the bed with a sigh. "I'm required to report this under the rules of professional responsibility—"

"You're my woman, not my lawyer." That skirt was hiked up just enough to make him hard again. This time, he was going to take his time with her, no more quickies and her taking off like a scared rabbit when they were finished. He was going to make her beg.... "You're not going to report me to the cops. Not that they'd believe you without the names of the victims."

The small lawyer blinked and he could see the wheels turning in her head. She wanted the names of the victims. Would she try to fuck them out of him? Of course she would. That was Feldman. "Well, yeah, I guess—"

"You can come with me and I'll teach you how to do a professional hit, Feldman." Oh yes! Look at her! She was into the idea of learning how.

"Well, maybe just one."

"That's my girl." And now for some sex while she tried to weasel the names out of him.

"You'll never guess who called."

Mulder held the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Bad things always happened in threes. First was the e-mail about the phony marriage. Now, he had Carmine shouting into the phone. One more to go and he was almost afraid to see what it was going to be. "Feldman?"

"Yeah! She called. How do you know? Did she call you, too? You got any idea where she is? I got the boys combing Noo Yawk, but—"

"NewYork? Is she all right?"

"I dunno. She said there was somethin' big goin' on an' she was gonna stay with the Polack. It didn't sound like he was holdin' a gun on her or nuthin' but I ain't willin' ta believe she'd stay wit' him cuz she wants ta."

Mulder gritted his teeth. "What do you mean, something big?"

"Beats me," Carmine sighed. "You gonna come up here?"

"Uh...no. It sounds like you have everything under control." He hung up and reached into his desk drawer, searching for his Rolaids. Something big. That was going to be Bad Thing Number Three.

Ellen slipped quietly out of the bed and made her way into the bathroom. She splashed some water on her face. What the hell was she doing? This was so out of control, it was ridiculous. Sex with Krycek, of all people. The thing was, Krycek was good. Really good. And that thing he did with his tongue earlier, the thing that nearly made her fracture his skull with her thighs... Wow! But he was going to kill three people. FEMA workers. She found out that much during the last session. Any more sex with him today and she wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow. What else could she do to get those names out of him?

The door to the hotel room opened slowly.

Oh. Crap.

Her eyes darted around the dark bathroom, looking for something, anything she could use as a weapon. Why did stuff like this always happen when she was naked in the bathroom?

"Feldman? What are you doing up?"

"Jesus H! You scared me."

Krycek grinned at her and set the paper bag he was carrying down on the nightstand. "I went out for a drink. Care to join me?"

Fucking with Krycek. Drinking with Krycek. It was all the same. Her life was never going to be normal again. "What'd ya get?"

"Vodka." With an awkward one-handed motion, he opened the bottle and filled the tumblers. "I hope you didn't want ice because I forgot to bring some."

"I can get—"

"No, it's fine."

Her eyes settled on his T shirt, discarded earlier and not put back on under the henley he was wearing. She snatched it from the floor and pulled it on, not in the mood to be naked around Krycek with the lights on.

"Well, little one, here's to your life of crime." He saluted her, emptied his glass and filled it again.

One sip made her throat burn and her chest feel like it was on fire.

"Maybe we should water that down for you."

"I'm fine," she choked. "Really."

"Nah, put some water in it." He drained half of her glass. "There you go. Plenty of room for the water."

"Shouldn't you slow down?"

"Why?"

So she wouldn't have to worry about a drunk Alex Krycek, of course. But why get drunk in the first place? Ah, yes. The arm. She ran her finger along his left shoulder, stopping just above the prosthesis. "If this is bothering you, take it off. Booze might dull the pain, but you don't want to end up with a drinking problem."

"I don't like the way it looks when I take it off and I sure as hell don't want you to see it."

"I've seen worse."

"Where?"

Oh. Good one. Where? Think fast, Feldman. "My strict liability tort law clinic. Our client got crushed by an elevator on the job. He ended up quadriplegic and we had to find a way around worker's comp."

"You made that up."

Damn. "Winky?"

"At least he's functional. Look at me! I can't even tie my goddamned shoes!"

"I saw you tie your shoes this morning."

"But it's hard, Feldman."

Time to change the subject from self-pity to something that would put a smile on his face. Her hand dropped to his crotch. "Not yet, but I can get it there real fast."

He pushed her away. "No more for tonight."

"Krycek—"

"Alex. I want you to call me Alex, like you used to when we first met."

When he kidnapped her and broke her wrist and— oh, never mind. "Alex, I think you've had more than enough to drink. Take off the arm and I'll go make you an ice pack to ease the irritation."

He said something in Russian and put the empty glass down.

"We're in America. Speak English."

"Da, little mother hen. I'll speak English, I'll stop drinking, I'll take off my arm. Will you tuck me in and read me a story, too?"

She glanced at the bottle. How the hell did he manage to drink almost the entire thing without her noticing? Was he drunk? Gingerly, she tugged at his shirt. "Come on, big guy, let's get this off."

"Here." He yanked it off and tossed it on the bed.

And now for the prosthesis. "I don't want to hurt you, Alex. You're going to have to show me—"

"Like this." Krycek held the arm out to her. "Here. Take it. You wanted it. Go on."

Where does one store an artificial limb, she wondered. "Does anything need to be sterilized before I put it away?"

"No." He finished the rest of the vodka in a single swallow. "Put it on the desk."

She laid it down and looked up just in time to see him finish her glass. "Alex."

Another comment in Russian.

Two could play that game. She called him a troublemaker in Yiddish.

Krycek grinned, baring his teeth and said something else she didn't understand.

Ellen slipped into the hall, found the ice machine and returned in less than two minutes. "Okay, one ice pack coming up."

"You're a good kid, Feldman." He must have stripped while she was gone because he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing as he lounged on the bed. "You're nice to us cripples."

"Shhh." Yup, that vodka affected him. Was Krycek a mean drunk? She wasn't sure she wanted to find out. Sighing, she wrapped the ice in a towel and applied it. The stump wasn't as bad as she expected, but it did look kind of chafed. "How's that?"

"Nice. Not as good as that blowjob earlier, but nice."

Yikes.

"I always wondered what it'd be like to have you suck my—"

"Alex!"

"It was better than I thought." He patted her arm. "I know you liked me going down on you, kitten, but you have to stop calling me Ratboy when you come. Cuz, y'know, you're multi...mul..you come a lot and I can't stand hearing Ratboy, like, fifty times. So you gotta stop doing that. I have so many things I wanna do to you, Feldy. Mostly, I'd like to tie you up and pretend you're my hostage again. I liked it when you were my hostage. You were so cute, all tied up and helpless, calling me all kinds of names, like you were in charge even though I had the gun—"

Just what she needed. "Alex, sweetheart, close your eyes and try to sleep."

"I don' wanna sleep. I don' wanna dream about that damn silo anymore or Tunguska or my dad or the look on Mulder's face when I kissed him—"

"What?!"

"I kissed Mulder. No, not on the lips. Just a quick smooch on the cheek, but I think he was into it. You think we could do a threesome?" He squeezed her shoulder. "How'd ya like to be in the middle of an FBI sandwich, honey?"

Maybe it was better when he didn't talk that much about himself.

"Ahhh, Feldman...little Feldman...I used to dream about you when I was locked in the silo with it. When it wasn't taking over my body, that is."

"When what wasn't taking over your body?"

"My father worked for them, you know. He was a doctor, back in Russia, when it was still Communist. They threw him in jail because...of something...I don't remember what, but then he got the chance to come here and work on the Project...I was born here but they still called me a Commie in school...I kept changing schools... we moved so much...I read a lot, though...I love Kerouac. You like Kerouac, Feldman?"

"Yeah." Too. Much. Information.

"Good. Where was I?"

"They called you Commie in school."

"How'd you know that?"

"You just told me." Oy!

"Man, you should've seen the look on Mulder's face when I told him Grissom was my case. He told me he worked alone. Feldman. You ever see Mulder in a red Speedo? Man, even with shrinkage from the pool, that was one lucky Speedo."

Way. Too. Much. Information.

He grabbed her face, clumsily. "Listen, don't be upset cuz I like men, too, 'kay? You're my favorite. You know that, right? Right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I'm gonna take real good care of you, Feldman. You can fix up the house any way you like it. You want more cats, go ahead. How many kids you want? I'm thinking maybe four is a good number—"

"I think it's time to go nite-nite, Alex."

"They have to be my kids, not Mulder's. If we take him with us, you can't have his kids, understand? Well, maybe one could be his. But that Scully bitch can't live in our shelter when the aliens come, okay?"

"Okay. Say good night, Alex."

"Good night, Alex."

Too bad he finished the vodka. She could use a drink.

xx

Part Four

"Well?'

"We turned the city upside down," the Mick said. "Nothin'."

Carmine slammed his fist on the counter and was silently grateful that Nicky was visiting relatives in Italy for the month. "What about the airports? We got anybody at the airports?"

"Cheech an' Angie."

"Aw, geez. Those two couldn't find their butts with both hands an' a compass."

"Want me to call Sal back from vacation?"

"No!" That was the last thing he needed. Sal would call Nicky and Carmine would have a lot of explaining to do. "Y'know somethin'? Go help Cheech an' Angie."

"You got it, boss."

Ellen sighed as she looked around the motel room. It smelled of mildew, cigarettes and stale sex. Krycek didn't bother apologizing for his drinking binge, just ignored it, so she decided that maybe it would be best if she did, too. Must be nice, she mused, not to have a conscience.

He rummaged in his duffel bag, produced a manila envelope and tossed it on the bed. "There's the file on our target. I want you to read it, think about it and tell me the best way to hit him."

She could feel her eyebrows shoot straight up to the cracked paint of the ceiling. "Huh?"

"We didn't come to Dallas for the food, princess." A gentle squeeze of her shoulder. "You said you want to learn how to do a kill, I'm gonna teach you. Your first step is to review the file, just like when you practiced law."

"Review the file. Right." Shaking the contents of the envelope onto the bedspread, Ellen could feel her pulse racing. Derrick Johnston, age 42. Here was the name of a victim. All she had to do was find a way to warn —well, who could she warn who would believe her? The police might think she was a crank, plus 911 calls were recorded and hence, traceable. Mulder? Maybe. Could he get here in time?

Krycek thrust a small container of milk into her hand. "Drink this."

"Why?"

"Prevents osteoporosis and it's got vitamins." He held up a matching container and took a healthy swallow. "You've got to start taking better care of yourself."

"Uh...yeah..." She sipped the milk and continued flipping through the file. Wow, those Consortium guys could find out everything about a person, right down to the brand of toothpaste he used. Then again, maybe it was dumb luck, taking a picture of him in a supermarket when he bought a tube of Crest. "We could rig the brakes on his car—"

"Too easy to spot."

"Poison his toothpaste?' She held up the picture.

"Traceable."

Ellen finished the milk and set the container aside, stifling a yawn. Must be jet lag, that made her so sleepy. What did Carmine do, when he needed to take somebody out? Oh yeah. "Single gunshot to the head. Make it look like a robbery. Or you can toss him in front of a train."

"Right. You make it look like a robbery gone bad." He beamed at her, eyes glowing beneath his thick lashes. "Tired?"

"Mmmmm." She stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes. Within seconds, she was fast asleep.

Krycek opened the door carefully and peeked in. Still sleeping. Maybe he gave her too big a dose. As long as Feldman didn't guess he drugged her, he would be okay. Rubbing his neck, he glanced at the file on the bed. One down, two to go. Johnston was an easy hit. Too bad about the wife and kid, but you can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs.

With a little luck, Feldman would be up soon. He had all this nervous energy to get rid of and the best way to do it was in bed, preferably with someone as enthusiastic as Feldman. Thinking about it was starting to get him hard, so he slipped out of his clothes, tossed the file onto the floor and snuggled up next to the sleeping lawyer.

When she woke up, he was going to have a nice, big surprise for her.

Ellen looked at Krycek and frowned at what she saw. This was a courtroom and he should have been wearing a suit, not that battered old leather jacket and certainly not the gun.

"Does the prosecution have any more witnesses?" The judge rested his remarkably well-manicured hands on the table and scowled down at her.

"Yes, your honor. We do." The smoker lit another Morley and blew a series of smoke rings. "We call Mulder's father's corpse to the stand. The corpse of Duane Barry can step down."

She watched in shock as the bailiff led the rotting corpse from the witness box and helped another in.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you, God," Carmine asked.

"The truth is out there," Mulder's father's corpse answered.

"Wait!" Dana Scully raced into the courtroom, clad in surgical scrubs. "I didn't finish my autopsy! I have to find the bullet!"

"Your honor, the state requests permission to complete the autopsy now."

"Objection!"

"Sustained." Krycek peered down at her, brushing the hair from her eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah....I think." Her heart was racing. "Wow."

He clamped his hand over her chest and frowned. "I didn't think the law got you this worked up."

"It was....It's nothing." Duane Barry. Mulder's father. How could she have forgotten the trail of bodies this man left behind? Wasn't she, after all, the one who had to defend Mulder when Barry's estate sued him for wrongful death? And here she was, plotting a kill with him. She had to be crazy. "About Johnston—"

"It's done."

"What?!" Ellen felt her pulse start racing anew. "What do you mean, it's done?"

"While you took your nap, I went out there and did him." He shrugged indifferently. "Don't worry, there's two left. You'll have your chance."

"I....you...uh...."

"You're welcome." He rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath him, grinding against her.

"Ummm, Alex?" The best she could manage was a sharp poke in his side. It got his attention. "I don't think this is such a good idea right now."

"Sure it is." His hand slid to the crotch of her shorts, gripping her roughly and then moving upwards, to yank them off her completely. Her panties went sailing across the motel room while his hand returned to stroke her.

Go figure that murder made him horny. Then again, it stood to reason. Krycek had absolutely no self-control. One of his fingers slid inside her and Ellen discovered she didn't have much self-control, either. His tongue flicked teasingly along her neck, pausing only long enough for him to give her a hickey and then back up to her mouth.

Yelping, she twisted out from under him.

Krycek hooked his arm around her waist, pulled her backwards against him and laid her facedown on the bedspread.

She could feel the heat of his body against her back and his erection grazing her upper thigh. Twelve inches difference in height and about a hundred pounds difference in weight gave Krycek the upper hand. Not that she was putting up much of a fight.

His teeth grazed the back of her neck, much the way a male cat seizes a female. The sensation actually made her purr and drove all thoughts of rotting corpses out of her mind. "Tell me what you want."

Somehow, she was able to stammer, "Two carats, estate piece, platinum—"

"How about eight inches?"

"That'll do." In for a penny, in for eight inches.

Mulder read the police wire report again. On the surface, it was a simple burglary gone bad. Derrick Johnston surprised a burglar and got shot once in the head, execution style. The perp also took out Johnston's wife and five year old son. Some jewelry was taken. What got his interest was that Johnston worked in the FEMA offices in Dallas.

Scully peered over his shoulder at the print out. "Do you want to go check it out?"

"We've got jurisdiction," Mulder mused, tapping his pen on the desk. "I think it bears looking into."

His little pussycat was having second thoughts about their partnership. He could tell by the way she was filing her nails that Feldman was worried. Krycek hit the accelerator, pushing the rent-a-car to its limits. If she broke now, she could blow his mission straight to hell and then he'd be stuck having to explain to those pompous bastards why he brought her along in the first place. Somehow, he didn't think his explanation would go over too well.

On the surface, it seemed ludicrous, to bring Feldman, but not when you knew how to look beneath the surface. Feldman had a sexual appetite that rivaled his own. He couldn't be sure about her capacity for violence, only knew what he himself experienced at her delicate little hands. What he hoped for was that, if given the chance, she could be his equal, his partner.

Ellen lowered the file and peered out the car window at the desolate road that would take them eventually to Tuscon. "Not even a taco stand out here."

"You could kill somebody, toss them out of the car and the bones would be bleached before somebody ever found them."

He could hear her suck in a deep breath.

"I didn't mean you," he said, quickly.

"Oh."

"Ever do it in the desert, Feldman?"

"No."

"Want to?"

"Maybe later."

If he wanted to, he could have her. All he had to do was get her started. But it was the time when they weren't fucking that worried him. He was almost afraid to let her out of his sight, in case she wanted to do something stupid, like warn Mulder about the hits. Of course, Mulder would find out about it the minute the cops found Johnston. That was fine. Let Mulder stay a few steps behind. The Consortium would deal with any loose ends.

God, he hated these kind of no-brainer assignments. Didn't get to use his creative juices, the things that made him so effective and kept him alive for so long. The frustration would have gotten to him by now if he didn't have Feldman with him. Three years wondering what it would be like to do her, only to find out that it was better than he could have ever guessed. No way was he giving her back to Mulder, no matter what the smoker thought. And he'd be damned if he let the smoker gave her to that snot-nosed punk, Spender, like Krycek was sure he was thinking about. Feldman was his and he'd kill her before he let somebody else have her. How much more devoted could he be.

xxPart Five

Mulder looked around the cluttered starter home, glancing briefly at the chalk outline in the center of the living room. Scully finished her conversation with the detective in charge and headed his way.

"Cause of death was a single shot to the head for each of them. The police are still trying to figure out what's missing."

"I don't buy it. This wasn't a simple b&e. It was an execution. They're cleaning up all their loose ends."

"I hate to say it, but I think I agree with you. It's too convenient." Scully avoided his eyes, looking instead at the snapshots that were thrown all over the room.

"I'm almost positive." Mulder paused in front of Johnston's battered rolltop desk. The contents had been strewn across the living room, some torn to bits. Was this the big thing Feldman tried to tell Carmine about? Did Krycek bring her here to watch while he slaughtered an entire family? If he somehow managed to find her, would he have to bring her in as an accessory or would the Consortium claim her as one of their own, keeping her from him? For the first time in over two years, he needed to see Feldman. Badly.

"This looks like a nice place to stop." Krycek pulled the car into the parking lot of the Heartbreak Ridge Bar & Grill. "We'll stay in that motel we passed about half a mile ago. Okay, kitten?"

Ellen winced inwardly. A redneck bar. He was going to take her to a redneck bar where she was going to stick out like a sore thumb. Suddenly, she wished she was wearing more than the tank top and shorts she had on.

"Stay close to me." He helped her out of the car, pausing only to run his hand appreciatively across her denim-clad rear.

They were inches apart and Ellen could feel the heat radiating from his body as she stared up at him. "Do we have to?"

"Sure we have to eat. I'll buy you a nice beer and whatever fried thing is on the menu and then we'll check into the motel and I'll give you something extra special for desert." Krycek bent down, gave her a quick kiss that was mostly tongue and then a small peck on her forehead. "C'mon."

She followed him inside, her ears immediately assaulted by twanging guitars on the jukebox and peanut shells being tossed on the floor. It reminded her of the LoneStar Steakhouse restaurant she'd eaten in during an extremely bad blind date, except this place had genuine hicks that seemed to be especially interested in the two city slickers that just walked in.

Krycek guided her to a table. "Trust me when I warn you that they don't have imported beer. Bud?"

"Coors, if they have it."

"Don't move a muscle."

"I wasn't planning on it." She watched him swagger up to the bar, order the beers, throw down some money and head back to the table. Please don't let him get drunk and start babbling again, Ellen prayed.

"Here you go." He tousled her hair and sank into the chair across from her. "What do you say to a dance, honey?"

"Here?"

"Yeah." His eyes tracked a busty blonde, who was gyrating to the appreciative applause of some of the locals. "I feel like a dance."

Despite her disgust with his murderous ways, Ellen could feel the start of a slow burn, especially when the blonde caught Krycek's stare and winked at him. "Fine. Let's dance."

Krycek guided her out there and proceeded to ignore whatever hellish yodeling the jukebox was emitting, choosing instead to slow dance, ostensibly so he could grind against her.

It would have been fine if he wasn't making eye contact with the blonde while he was rubbing himself against her. But he was and Ellen's slow burn ignited into a flash fire. Somehow, she'd forgotten just how attractive Krycek was. Looking at him again, she was suddenly reminded by an uncomfortable dampness in her underwear. She wrenched herself from his arms and strode purposefully over to the woman. "Looking for something?"

The blonde favored her with the type of condescending, plastic smile that showed she made the unfortunate mistake of underestimating Ellen Feldman. "Just admiring the scenery."

"See if you can find your teeth while you do it." With that, Ellen threw a roundhouse left that knocked the blonde onto the dance floor. "C'mon, bitch. Get up, I'm not done with you."

She was grabbed from behind and somebody with beer breath bellowed in her ear, "You leave Charlene alone, missy."

There was a loud crash and Ellen fell to the floor, looking up in time to see Krycek toss the rest of the chair across the room and pull out his gun. What a strange look on his face! He looked like he was getting off on this!

"We're leaving," he announced. "If anybody gets in our way, the coroner will be stopping by tonight. Ellen?"

"Uh, yeah." She bolted out the door and leaned against the car, waiting for the inevitable gunshot.

It didn't come. Krycek came out a second later, slid the gun back into the waistband of his jeans and whistled at her. "Possessive little thing, aren't you?"

"Well...." Before she could say anything else, his mouth was on hers and she was on the hood of the car, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. This time, she was the one doing the rubbing.

Krycek broke the kiss first. "As much as I hate to ruin a good thing, we should probably get out of dodge before somebody realizes we're still here."

Ellen slid off the car as it suddenly dawned on her that maybe this little episode was intentional. "You did that on purpose!"

"Did what?"

"Made eyes at that peroxide slut!"

"Why would I do something like that?"

"To make me jea—oh, never mind." She slid into the passenger seat. Jealous. Because of Krycek? Would that mean she cared about him? Way too much to think about.

Krycek grinned at her as he started the car. "And it worked like a charm."

Carmine ran the tape again, this time with the magnifying glass in front of the TV screen. Okay, maybe it wasn't the sophisticated FBI crime lab equipment that Mulder and Scully got to use, but hey, it worked. Getting the tapes was a little harder, without that funky FBI badge that Mulder had, but Carmine was skilled at persuading people to do what he wanted. Anyhow, it wasn't the methods, but the results that counted. And wouldya look at these results! There was that slimy rat-bastard, with his greasy paws all over Ellen. Why wasn't she fighting him off? Was it some kind of mind-control?

Well, he would have to worry about that later. First he'd have to figure out where they went. Maybe he could find a clue on one of these tapes. There were only 40 of them.

Carmine sighed. Nobody appreciated his efforts. Nobody.

Krycek tucked the sheets around Ellen and gave her a chaste kiss on her forehead. Not that she was awake to notice. He made sure to give her a smaller dosage this time, so she'd be awake when he got back. That little jealous tantrum in the bar was nice. Feldman fighting for her man. And, as he predicted, it made her absolutely wild in bed. They were so much alike.

At least none of her bite marks were visible. None of the scratches either. His butt was still stinging from the slaps she gave him for looking at another woman. So cute when she was jealous.

He left the folder about Victim Number 2 on the nightstand with a note to review it and prepare her recommendations, in case she woke up early. Maybe he'd give her a quiz later.

"Alex?"

Ellen blinked sleepily. Must be all the traveling, tiring her out like that. Maybe the sex, too. Did she really put Krycek over her knee and spank him? And did he really keep asking her to do it again? Yikes. She slipped her glasses on and read the note he tucked beneath them.

Gone on an errand? The second victim! Oh, crud! Ellen tore open the envelope and tossed the papers aside until she found a name and an address. She grabbed the phone and started to dial. Wait. If she called the police and they caught Krycek, he'd be dead before he got to trial. They would make sure she wasn't around to tell any tales, either.

What if she called Mulder? Ellen ran through the possibilities. Mulder would ask where they were, he'd guess they were near the crime scene and have the roads blocked off. Then they would still be dead.

She wasn't going to be able to stop it. Another man was going to die.

Keys rattled in the lock.

Correction. Another man was already dead.

"Honey, I'm home."

"I'm watching the game, Carmine, whaddaya doin'?!"

Carmine shoved Cheech out of the way and popped the surveillance tape into Cheech's VCR. "I'm borrowing yer large screen TV. You gotta problem wit' that?"

"No," Cheech said, quickly.

"Didn't think so." Carmine waited until the tape hit the portion he wanted, froze it and used the magnifying glass again. Flight 403 to Dallas. Why Dallas? They had awful fried food in Dallas! Bad music on the radio! Nobody played Sinatra out there! And he knew, just knew, he wouldn't be able to get a decent bagel. Well this time, he was going to be prepared. He was going to pack a dozen of NewYork's finest.

"Carmine, what is that?"

"That, Cheech, is a lead. Get yer stuff. You an' Angie are gonna join me on a road trip."

"Yeah, boss? Where we gonna go?"

"Dallas. An' stop callin' me 'boss'!" Idiots. He was surrounded by idiots. It was definitely time to start thinking about a career change. Right after he rescued Ellen.

"Won't it look suspicious, us checking out in the middle of the night," Ellen asked, leaning back in the passenger seat of their rented Cavalier.

Krycek shrugged. "Nah. The investigation into Davidson's death will be quietly dropped, labeled a robbery gone bad by some drifters and filed away somewhere. Don't worry about it."

She picked at some invisible lint on her shorts and shivered, despite the warm summer air coming through the open car windows. "Where to now, chief?"

"You okay?"

"Okay? No, I'm not okay. You slipped me a mickey and then show up four hours later with a post-homicide hard-on, expecting to get laid," she exploded, "and then you expect me to be okay?! What version of reality are you living in?!"

"I didn't slip you—"

"Yes, you did. My milk container had a different smell than yours did."

Shit! How did she figure that out so fast?! He kept forgetting there was a very sharp mind attached to that incredibly oversexed body. "I wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid—"

"Like calling the cops?"

"Like calling Mulder and asking him to cut you some kind of deal." He let go of the steering wheel, patted her knee and then corrected their course. "Think about it rationally. He's the most paranoid man you'll ever meet. If he thinks that we have something going— don't shake your head like that, we do— he wouldn't trust you for a second. Maybe he'd promise you some half-assed witness protection program, but you and I both know they can find you. If you really want to see Mulder again, I'm sure we'll have our use for him sometime soon, and I'll arrange for you to be a courier. Just don't expect him to be happy to see you."

"But—"

"As far as the— how did you put it— post-homicide hard-on goes, I didn't hear you complaining the first, second, third or fourth time we did it tonight. Any time you aren't in the mood, Feldman, tell me no. I haven't forced you yet and I don't plan on it." What bug had crawled up her ass tonight? She knew what he did to survive. Why was she getting so bent out of shape about it?

"You would."

Krycek caught the venom in her tone and pulled the car over. "I don't know who you're thinking of, but it isn't me."

Ellen was French-braiding her hair for the third time in the past fifteen minutes, a scowl plastered across her face. Her eyes had a far-away look, remembering something he knew better than to ask her about.

Well, well, well. Once upon a time, somebody wasn't very nice to his precious little Feldman. Somebody other than Mulder, he'd wager. Look at that, he could still profile. Should've guessed Feldman wasn't a complete innocent. A squeeze of her shoulder and she turned to look at him. "Feldman?"

"I can't live like this." Uh-oh. She sounded like she was trying not to cry. Had to be a combination of her new life and the drug he gave her earlier. Poor Feldy was out-of-sorts.

"How do you know if you don't try?" Not now. He didn't need this now. The job was almost over, he had plane tickets to Greece, a reservation in a nice hotel and the cat-sitter agreed to an extra three weeks. "One more day, Feldman. I won't drug you and you can go shopping in New York while I finish up here. How does that sound?"

"It sounds horrible! You're going blow somebody's brains out and you expect me to try on clothes?"

Marita never cried. Kallenchuk didn't either. His mother...well, usually when his father got through with her, or when she was really, really drunk would cry for hours. "Talk to me. What do you want to do?"

"Can't we just...go somewhere?"

"Feldman, if I don't finish the job, they'll do it for me and then they'll come looking for me. They've already tried to kill me once. And with the Brit dead, we don't have a lot of friends over there. The smoker is keeping a real tight leash on me and he wants you—never mind that. I need to be in the inner circle so I can find out if the resistance really exists. When a partnership with them is no longer useful, kitten, I promise you, I'll end it." Wow. Did he really just tell her all that? "I want you with me."

"What does the smoker want with me? Besides using me as a lab rat, I mean."

Should he say it? It might settle her down, make her see that she didn't have too many options left. "He thinks you might make a good toy for one of his recruits, a snot-nosed punk Fibbie. The motivation there is it would throw a hair up Mulder's ass if he found out you're being passed around like a party favor by the Consortium."

"I wouldn't do something like that!"

Listen to that outraged little whine! Feldman, the queen of manipulators, didn't like being somebody else's pawn. Then again, he didn't like it, either. "Not intentionally, maybe, but they rig everything, including the Superbowl. You didn't intend to get involved with Mulder, but you did."

"I moved into the building, for Pete's sake! They didn't arrange that."

"No, but they arranged your job, the cases you had, the way your boss let you go tagging along whenever Mulder wanted you, not to mention that sweet paycheck, which is twice what any other entry level lawyer got. And you performed for them. You kept Mulder distracted."

"I know all that. I'm not proud of it, but I know it."

"You also kept me in line. The smoker kept dangling you in front of me with all kinds of promises about how I could have you when Mulder was finished—"

"What?!"

"Let it go, Feldman." Krycek sighed softly. When did he become such an open book? When did he actually start to care about Feldman's feelings? "My point is that I can protect you better than anybody, but you have to want my protection."

"What's in it for you," she asked, suspiciously.

"Just you." Should he say it? Why not? He leaned close to her and looked her in the eyes. "I l-l...um, I really like you, Feldman."

"Uh...ditto."

That was real smooth. He mentally slapped himself and put the car back in drive. "Great. Whaddaya say we go scrag the last one and take a trip to Greece?"

xx

Part Six

"It's hot, Carmine," Cheech whined for the umpteenth time.

"The AC is as high as it goes," Carmine snarled.

"We been drivin' around for two hours," Angie added. "I gotta go to the bathroom."

"Me, too," Cheech put in.

With a squeal of brakes that would have done Steve McQueen proud, Carmine pulled over. "Get out! Both a' youse! I'll meet ya back here tonight."

"What time, boss," Cheech asked.

"When I get here." Peeling out, Carmine drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Where would they be? Suddenly, he had an idea. Now all he needed was a pay phone.

"Look at this, Scully."

"What?"

"Johnston was part of a team working on the alleged Hanta virus outbreak. There were three members of the team, but their names were deleted from this report." Mulder pointed to lines on the printed document that had been blacked out with a marker. Any further analysis was interrupted by the bleating of his cell phone. "Mulder."

"Yo! Fancy meetin' you here."

"Carmine?" Why? Why me, he wondered.

"You'll never guess who else was in town."

"Ellen and Krycek," Mulder said, drily.

A chuckle. "Okay, I was wrong. You guessed. You find 'em yet?"

"No. I'll tell you what, Carmine, you keep looking. If you turn up anything, let me know."

Scully frowned at him. "Please don't tell me he's here."

"He's here."

"I asked you not to tell me that. And if you tell me Feldman's here, too—"

"She was."

His partner heaved a weary sigh. "How does she get mixed up in these things?!"

"Alex?"

"What?"

"Do you still have the other two files?" Ellen tapped her pen on the passenger side window and frowned.

Krycek glanced at her. "Yeah, they're in my bag. Why?"

The bag was in the trunk. "Pull over. I want to look at them."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

"Feldman—"

She rested a hand on his knee and leaned close to him. "I need to see something."

"Can't you do that while we're driving?"

"Not that! The files!" God! What a horny, one-armed—

He pulled over, reached into the glove box and opened the trunk. "Go ahead. I'll wait for you."

"Right." She slid out of the car and circled back to the trunk. Krycek, unlike most men, was a very neat packer. Beneath the shirts, jeans, socks and underwear were his spare guns and clips, a box of condoms, lubricant, a 12-inch vibrator (still in the box), D-cell batteries, a first-aid kit, spare straps for his prosthesis, and finally, at the bottom, the files. There. Everything was back the way she found it. Ellen slammed the trunk shut and got back into the car.

"Find everything?"

"More than I needed to," she admitted.

A megawatt leering grin was pointed directly at her. "Do tell."

"I'm not going there." The uncomfortable burning sensation creeping up her next to her cheeks was definitely a blush. She cleared her throat and pulled out the files. Reaching up, she turned on the map lights to be sure of what she was reading. "I'll be damned."

"What?"

"Just a second." Using her yellow highlighter, she began marking items in the reports and then adding notes with her pen.

Krycek tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Feldman."

"The third job is a set up."

"Look, princess, just because you don't want me to kill anybody—"

"No, you look." Ellen shoved the pages into his lap. "The third report is a badly compiled copy of the other two. Somebody did a lousy drafting job. I think the smoker is setting you up."

Heaving a 'why-me' sigh, Krycek examined Ellen's cross-references. Two minutes later, he looked up at her, nodding appreciatively. "You might have something here."

"Might?"

"Okay, okay. You have something."

"I also have a plan."

Now he was worried.

"Agent Meddler?"

"That's 'Mulder'." Mulder looked up at the speaker, a gum-chewing mailroom kid with a clipboard, holding a Federal Express envelope out, expectantly. He reached for the clipboard, signed next to his name and waited for the kid to leave before tearing open the envelope. The envelope contained a single typed sheet with a name and address. "Oh, Scul-ly!"

Carmine slid in the second cassette of 'Sinatra: The Capitol Years' and leaned back in his seat. Nice stroke of luck, seeing Scully in the street, but really, you'd have thought she'd notice somebody tailing her. Even if the car wasn't distinctive, the Sinatra blasting from the cheap speakers most certainly was. Unless she didn't like Sinatra. Impossible. How could you not like Sinatra?

He supposed he should have checked on Cheech and Angie, but if he knew them-and he did-the two were wandering aimlessly, sticking out like the two sore thumbs that they were. Better they should get on the nerves of everybody they passed than his.

Ol' Blue Eyes launched into "Night and Day" and Carmine, a die-hard fan, lip-synched along. What else was there to do?

Wait. Was that— yes! And it looked like they had a lead! How come Mulder always drove, Carmine wondered. Ah, it didn't really matter. He had Sinatra and a tank full of gas. Soon he would have Ellen and that greasy rat-bastard.

"That's the ugliest trailer I've ever seen," Ellen declared. "It's gotta be a set-up."

"I take it you haven't seen many trailer parks then. That one's practically a luxury model." Krycek lowered the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. "Everything looks normal—"

"Abnormally normal. I think we ought to stick to my plan."

"I have a few modifications to your plan, Feldman."

Ellen arched an eyebrow. "They'd better be good or forget it."

"You doubt me? After all we've been through together?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"On second thought, no."

Well, would you look at that Ellen mused. In the time it took to find a mall and come back, the unmarked sedans had arrived. Krycek had helpfully pointed out the phony telephone company van before he gave her that good luck kiss and playful-yet-painful slap on the butt. She took a deep breath and pulled the rental car into the parking spot in front of the trailer. Sliding out of the car, she took a moment to smooth her new navy blue pinstripe double breasted Ann Taylor pant suit. Good old Alex didn't bat an eye at the price tag, nor did he complain when she insisted on the expensive matching navy blue kidskin pumps and Coach briefcase.

Ahh, it was nice to be spoiled rotten.

She reached into the outer pocket of the briefcase and retrieved a heavy manila envelope. A deep breath and three steps and she was knocking on the front door of McDonough's trailer.

"FBI! Don't move!"

Ellen recognized the agitated bark of Dana Scully immediately. If Krycek was watching, she hoped he would get a good laugh out of the chaos that was about to ensue.

"Face-down on the ground," Scully shrieked. "Hands over your head, legs apart. Do it NOW!"

Before Ellen could decide what to do first, Scully shoved her and she went flying down onto the asphalt with a grunt. There was the unmistakable clink as Scully cuffed her, none too gently, practically dislocating her shoulders.

And then she was jerked up onto her feet, putting her face to face with— "Mulder."

"Feldman?"

"Expect a bill for the damage to my suit," she said, archly.

"Where's Krycek?"

"You're the FBI, you oughtta know."

The muscles in Mulder's jaw jumped and twitched in an unflattering way. "What are you doing here, Feldman?"

"I'm here to see Mr. McDonough." Their first conversation in almost two years and she was baiting the hell out of him. Why was it so easy? And so much fun? "He's a client."

"A cl—Feldman, do you expect me to believe that?"

Ellen shrugged, stabbing pain from her shoulders making her wince from the effort. "Am I under arrest or something here, Mulder?"

"I'm considering a conspiracy charge for you as we speak," he said, coldly.

"Do it, and I'll have your badge for wrongful arrest, excessive use of force, defamation and anything else I can throw in." This was much easier than she thought! "I'm here to see my client. Where is he?"

"Is this what you were delivering," Scully asked, holding up the manila envelope.

"Correct."

"What's in it?"

"Read the envelope, sweetness," Ellen hissed. "It says 'confidential'. And I wouldn't try opening it without a warrant if I were you."

xx

Part Seven

From his vantage point up the hill, Krycek watched the scene in the trailer park unfold. Judging from that constipated look on Mulder's face, Feldman was pissing him off something fierce. It made him wish he could hear what she was saying, had to be lawyer double talk. Scully was starting to do a slow burn, too, waving their little envelope in front of Feldman's nose. Feldman was shaking her head and making eyes at Mulder. God, what a natural! He should have recruited her years ago! They would be ruling the world by now.

Scully shoved Ellen into the back of the agents' sedan. "Maybe you'll be more talkative after a few hours in a holding cell, Feldman."

"I'm sure my lawyer and I will have plenty to say to the newspapers."

Mulder got into the driver's seat and shot Ellen a pained look in the rearview mirror. "Of all the things I expected from you, I'd never have thought you would work for Krycek."

"Don't start, Mulder, I'm warning you." The petite lawyer's voice was icy. "We have a lot of unfinished business, you and I."

"We'll have plenty of time to talk on the way to the FBI field office."

As Krycek watched the car drive off, he failed to notice the burly figure coming up behind him until he heard the telltale sound of a safety being slid back.

"Hello, Polack."

Feldman's greasy friend. Damn! "Carmine, was it?"

"So nice of you to remember. Get up. Slowly."

They'd gone over every contingency, except this one. Who would have expected it?

"Two fingers, put the gun on the ground an' kick it over."

"Right." Damn!

Carmine stomped on the gun and slid it the rest of the way over. "Now I'm gonna give you the pounding you so richly deserve, you rotten bast—Mama Mia! Where's yer arm?!"

Krycek flinched at the sudden exclamation. "Obviously, it isn't there."

"No kidding. Crud. Now what am I gonna do? I ain't gonna whup a cripple," the burly Italian complained. "I'm gonna have to figure out some other way to vent my frustrations on you, you lousy Pol—"

"Russian. Not Polish. Russian. And didn't your mother teach you it isn't nice to call people names?" With that, Krycek lunged forward.

A bitter, dirty fight ensued, during which Krycek's prosthesis was yanked off and flung away in a manner vaguely reminiscent of the ravaging of the Scarecrow by the flying monkeys in the "Wizard of Oz." About seven minutes and twenty-four seconds later, both men lay on the ground, utterly exhausted.

"Ya rotten bastid," Carmine groaned. "Ya can't even take a whuppin'!"

"For what," Krycek argued, sitting up and examining the damage to his prosthetic arm. "What, exactly, did I do?"

Wiping away the blood from his nose, now broken for the eighth time, Carmine shook his head. "Are you serious? You kidnapped Ellen and now she's been arrested for somethin' what was probably your fault to begin with, you rat f—"

"Don't start with the name calling again," Krycek pleaded. "I've had enough ass-kicking for one day. And I didn't kidnap Feldman."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Frankly, I don't give a damn what you believe."

"You'd better, 'cuz I believe you forced her to do whatever she just got busted for."

Krycek rolled his eyes skyward. "It was Feldman's idea—"

"Ellen. Her name is Ellen! I don't know why you bozos insist on callin' her Feldman, for Pete's sake. Her parents went to a lot of trouble to pick a nice, pretty name for her an'—"

"I get the point." The triple agent heaved a weary sigh. "It was Ellen's idea. We think they were planning on killing me, so she set herself up to be taken. Mulder can't charge her with anything, so she'll be released in a couple of hours, sooner if she keeps working on his nerves the way she does. I need to be there to make sure I get her before the Consortium does—"

"No, you don't. I can be there."

"No way. She's mine."

"She was my responsibility first."

"She doesn't need you anymore, greaseball, she's got me."

"Fat lotta good you are with one arm, punk."

"I can still kick your ass."

"Oh yeah? Do tell."

Once again, the prosthetic limb was airborne, along with blood from both opponents.

"So am I under arrest or what," Ellen demanded, as Scully steered her into a chair in the cramped interrogation room.

Scully shot her a look that would freeze lava. "We brought you in for questioning, Feldman, unless you have something you'd like to confess."

"I confess I have to go to the bathroom." Wow, look how pissed Scully was getting! Maybe singing "100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" all the way to the field office hadn't been a particularly good idea.

"I'd like you to explain your relationship with John McDonough," Mulder said, as he took one of the chairs, spun it around and straddled it.

"Attorney-client." Did he have any idea how sexy he looked when he went into interrogation mode? It was almost as sexy as Krycek's devious look when he was planning something completely illegal.

"In what capacity?"

Ellen shook her head, all thoughts of sexy FBI agents and triple agents fading fast. "That's privileged. If you want the answer, you'll have to speak to my client."

"Your client has conveniently disappeared."

"Damn, he owes me a retainer."

At this point, Mulder loosened his tie and opened the top button of his dress shirt. Ellen sat up a little straighter to get a better look. Her admiration of the view diminished when he opened his mouth again. "I know you've been with Krycek—"

"In what way," she asked, coquettishly. Wow! Look at that scowl! And Scully looked mad enough to chew through the concrete walls!

"In what— Feldman, he's a murderer—"

"Do you have proof, Mulder?"

"He killed my father—"

"Do you have proof?"

"He killed Duane Barry!"

"Mulder, didn't you learn anything at all during our time together? You can't build a case without evidence." Those criminal cases she'd handled during the past two years were paying off big time. Two years of dealing with arrogant cops with shoddy cases, with badly prepared prosecutors, with bored judges and juries— and two years of sitting with her clients through better interrogations than this one. "I would also dare say that this detention is highly unConstitutional. Your seizure of me, barring exigent circumstances or a crime being committed in your presence, is highly violative of the Fourth Amendment. You were limited to a Terry-stop— asking for identification and even then you barely had reasonable suspicion. It's going to be a lot of fun suing the two of you, particularly after I get a doctor to look at the damage Scully did to my shoulders."

Mulder was up on his feet now, circling her. "Where's Krycek?"

"I have no idea where he is now." True enough. Right now, he could be anywhere.

"Feldman...Ellen, he's kidnapped you, he shot you— I can't understand why you'd protect him."

And Mulder abandoned her after she helped him. At least Krycek gave a damn about whether she survived colonization. So tempting to ask him about the black oil and the vaccine, but why tip him about what she knew? "Of course you wouldn't, Fox, you couldn't possibly understand it."

"I understand the e-mails to the Gunmen, Feldman, but you're safe now. If you tell me where Winky is, I can have somebody go get him for you and we can put you somewhere—"

"Where I'd be safe from Alex? He won't hurt me."

"That's right, Feldman. I forgot you're married to him." Mulder reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a piece of paper, which he unfolded on the table in front of her. "I assumed this marriage certificate was a forgery, but now I'm not so sure."

"Did Frohicke wipe it like I asked?"

"No."

"Good. I'm enjoying married life." Let the smug bastard digest that one. "We're thinking about maybe four kids and a couple more cats."

"Feldman, for God's sake—"

"Mrs. Krycek," she corrected him. "And you don't believe in God."

Scully grabbed Mulder by the arm and dragged him out into the hall where she whispered so quietly, all the petite lawyer could hear was a hiss of breath. Then she heard the piercing whine of a cell phone and Mulder's weary response.

xx

Part Eight

"Mulder, it's Carmine." The burly Italian glared at Krycek, who was sitting on the hood of Carmine's Monte Carlo, attempting to attach new straps to his prosthetic arm. "Are you about done with Ellen?"

"I'll be finished with her in an hour. Why?"

"Can ya hang onto her until I get there?"

"Why, Carmine?" More than a hint of exasperation crept into Mulder's voice.

"Cuz the Polack—"

"Russian, goddammit," Krycek snarled.

Carmine rolled his eyes. "The Commie sumbitch says those Consortium bastards might wanna pick her up an' do some tests on her. Somethin' about motor oil from Alpha Centauri or some kinda bullsh—"

"Give me that phone." Krycek yanked the cell phone from Carmine before the ex-hit man could react. "Mulder? It's Alex Krycek. Is Ellen all right?"

"Your wife is fine, Krycek. She's just told me how you murdered Johnston and Davidson." Mulder's voice was deadly calm. "She's writing the confession right now and she's going to testify against you in exchange for immunity and a divorce."

"Of course she is, Mulder. The mere sight of your gorgeous body and that sexy mole and she turns into mush and forgets all about her duty to maintain confidentiality." Whoa. Better watch it with the flattery, he warned himself. Not only was the greaseball giving him dirty looks, but it would probably piss Mulder off. "Look, Mulder, our mutual friend with the cigarettes has an agenda for her."

"How's that, Krycek." The Federal Agent seemed to be mocking him now.

"I gave Feldman the vaccine. The vaccine's expensive and since Feldman's gotten some, our friend would like her to earn her keep. He's earmarked her for some punk named Spender." The friction between Mulder and Spender was already public knowledge and Krycek decided to play on that. "If you hate the idea of Feldman being with me, how would you like to know she was in his bed?"

Carmine snapped Krycek's prosthetic arm in half. "You did what with Ellen?!"

Was this worth it? What had he been thinking when he took Feldman this time? But she didn't fight! It was her idea to have sex! All he wanted was a handjob and she was all over him. But would anybody believe a one-armed Polack-Commie-scumbag? Never.

After the eternity it took for Mulder to recover from what Krycek just said, he sighed loudly. The expensive cell phone magnified the sound.

"Look, Mulder," Krycek continued, earnestly. "What can you do? Stick her in witness protection? They laugh at that. I can keep her alive and safe."

"If it wasn't for you, Krycek, she wouldn't be in this mess."

"No, she'd be dead when they unleash the virus, you selfish, self-righteous bastard," the triple agent snapped. "You and I got vaccinated in Tunguska. The Brit gave you the vaccine for your precious Scully. But in all that time, did you once think about Feldman? You talk about how I screw people over, how about what you did to her? She defended you—"

"For crimes you committed—"

"—and she lost her job and her home. And you would've let her die." And now to play on Mulder's all-encompassing guilt. "You hold her there until I come for her and don't you dare hurt her, understand? Here. Give the greaseball directions, I don't want to hear your voice any more."

Carmine took the phone. "I'm confused."

"Sir?" The eager young man thrust a sheaf of papers in front of the smoker. "We've intercepted a transmission that you might be interested in."

The smoker took a deep drag and exhaled slowly before replying. "Have you now?"

"Yes, sir. Mulder, Krycek and Cantone. Sir."

All three? That meant Feldman wasn't far behind. This would make amusing reading indeed. The smoker crushed his the cigarette and began perusing the transcript.

"What do you know about the black oil, Feldman?"

Ellen knew better than to show surprise. You don't show emotions in front of other attorneys, juries and never, ever in front of cops or clients. "Black oil? Used motor oil? Well, I know most states have rules about how it has to be disposed of and—"

"The black oil Krycek was transporting when he kidnapped you two months ago," Mulder clarified. "Tell me about that."

"I wasn't kidnapped by Alex, I was coerced by the Consortium and I'm not telling you anything else." Why should she? She wasn't under arrest, she wasn't a suspect and she certainly didn't owe this man a thing. The petite lawyer leaned back in her chair and ignored the daggers shooting from Scully's eyes.

"Did Krycek tell you how he got the vaccine?"

"I've had enough of this, Mulder. As of now, I'm invoking my right to remain silent."

"You're not under arrest, Feldman. You can't invoke that right."

"Really? I'm in handcuffs and it can be inferred from the circumstances that I am not free to leave at will. If that's not a de facto arrest, I don't know what is. Please tell me what you call it so I can quote you verbatim in my lawsuit." The two agents exchanged looks, Scully shooting Mulder what looked like a silent 'I told you so' and Mulder doing a 'Yes, Scully',

Not a trace of emotion on his face as he bent down and uncuffed her. "You can go if you like. Or you can wait for Carmine and Krycek to come get you."

Carmine and Krycek? That she just had to see. "I'll wait. While I'm waiting, I want a phone, a cup of coffee and directions to the bathroom. And before you open your mouth, you red-headed harpy, you might consider the battery charges I'm gonna bring against you for dislocating my shoulders."

The lack of an arm and the revelation that Krycek was Russian was enough to make Carmine's head swim. But then he thought he heard that Ellen and Krycek...that the two of them were...it just couldn't be. And maybe it was just his imagination that Krycek was flirting with Mulder.

Life was getting too weird for Carmine. He raised the volume and the Chairman's voice filled the Monte Carlo, singing about witchcraft. The song made Carmine's mind wander to places he'd rather it didn't go, so he forwarded past that.

"Hey, I like that one," Krycek protested.

"Do me a favor an' shuddup."

The triple agent tore another stip of electrical tape with his teeth and wrapped it around the break in the artificial limb. It didn't hold and with an exasperated grunt, he threw it into the backseat. "Do you have any idea how expensive this kind of prosthesis is?"

"Send me a bill." Carmine glanced at the man in the passenger seat out of the corner of his eye. The Pol— sorry, Commie— was gazing at him with the strangest expression in those deep, green eyes. Did straight men have such long, thick lashes? Or pouty lips? Carmine didn't think so. As long as the one-armed fruit didn't start coming on to him...

"Do you think it's some kind of mind control," Mulder asked. "Feldman had amnesia once before and he convinced her they were partners."

"No." Scully's eyes were focused on the manila envelope that Feldman insisted contained confidential legal documents. "I think she's doing it out of spite. Are you really going to let her leave with him?"

"I think I'll let Carmine handle that." Mulder picked up the envelope and held it up to the light. Nothing. It was certainly thick. His eyes met Scully's as he tore it open. "Why not? What else can she sue us for?"

They spread the papers on the table as Ellen returned from the bathroom. Her mouth hung open when she realized what they were doing and then she grabbed Mulder's arm, yanking him away from the table. What difference did it make if the client was imaginanary? The documents were real, painstakingly drafted, based on information provided by the Consortium. Besides, she had a reputation as lawyer pain in the ass to uphold.

"What are you doing!? That's confidential information," Ellen shrieked, digging her nails into Mulder's sleeve.

Mulder pulled her off and grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. "Calm down before I bust you for assaulting a federal agent."

"Let. Me. Go." The pressure on her shoulders, already sore from Scully's abuse earlier, made her eyes tear. Ellen clenched her teeth and kicked him squarely in the shin with the toe of her pointy navy blue kidskin Nine West dress pump.

"I told you to calm down." He spun her around and pushed her down onto the table, face-first, holding her wrists behind her back, kicking her legs apart. "Now, are you going to behave or do I cuff you and file charges?"

More pressure on those aching shoulders and wrists! Ellen could feel her nose start to run and tears of pain drip down her cheeks, smudging her eye liner and mascara. No way was she going to give him any type of satisfaction. Three deep breaths. Much better.

"Well?"

What would he do if she didn't answer? He was holding her down, his body pressed up against her. What if she rubbed against him, like this? Well, that response was predictable. What else was he going to do?

Mulder released her and backed away quickly.

Ellen bit back a triumphant smile as she turned around and saw the tent in the front of his dress pants. Behind her, she could almost feel Scully's eyes on her back. Drawing another deep breath, she turned to the documents on the table and methodically began to organize them.

Scully snatched them from Ellen's grasp. "Mulder, we have a retainer agreement, a trust, articles of incorporation, minutes of—"

"Do you have the vaguest concept of what those documents are," Ellen asked, coldly.

"You were setting up some kind of corporation, apparently. To do what, Feldman?" The redhead's gaze didn't waver in the slightest.

"The purposes and powers clause, Scully. I seem to recall from Feldman's bar review that the clause tells you what the corporation can or cannot do."

Idiots! Didn't they realize that a smart lawyer didn't write a narrow purpose clause? A corporation should be organized for 'any legal purpose' with all 'necessary powers' to carry out its purpose. Basic corporation law. And just as she predicted, they were going to be running around in circles, trying to figure out the connection between Alex and McDonough and the type of illegal joint venture they were in. Now Alex would appreciate her locating the imaginary corporation in Bermuda. In fact, he owed her a nice, big apology for complaining about how long it took to draft these papers. Maybe she could get him to do that thing with his tongue again.

Her musing were interrupted by the thundering of heavy footsteps. Distinctive footsteps that she would recognize anywhere. "Ellen! Mama mia! You look like you just escaped from the Temple of Doom!"

"Carmine!" What happened to his face?

"Hi, princess." Krycek strutted in just behind, looking just as badly beaten carrying his prosthesis, which looked like it had been snapped in half.

Mulder drew his gun. "Krycek! You sonofabitch! You killed my father—"

Ellen threw herself in front of Krycek and glared at Mulder. "Leave him alone! He's an unarmed, one-armed man!"

"Yeah, Mulder," Krycek sneered. "I'm an un-armed...uh, what she said."

Carmine rattled his car keys. "Awright, li'l miss trouble-maker, back to Brooklyn wit' youse. We'll stop off an' pick up Winky an' Cheech—"

"Forget it, greaseball, Fel— uh, Ellen's coming with me, aren't you, sweetheart?" Krycek dropped his prosthetic arm and spun Ellen around. He locked eyes with Mulder as he pulled the small woman to him and kissed her enthusiastically, not once breaking eye contact.

Mulder released the safety on his gun. "Let. Her. Go. NOW!!"

Rolling her eyes, Scully strolled out the door, wondering if she could get an Irish coffee at this time of day.

Ellen pushed Krycek back and sighed. Just like high school All the guys fighting over her. "Mulder, would you put the gun away before you drop it?"

The lanky federal agent looked desperate. "Look, Feldman, we can put you into witness protection, get you a nice government job and—"

"Nicky needs a new lawyer," Carmine interjected. "I ain't sayin' what happened to the last one, but we got plenty of work for you—"

"I have work for you, too, kitten," Krycek leered. He grabbed his crotch with his remaining hand and winked at Mulder. "Both in and out of the bedroom."

"You sonofabitch," Mulder barked.

"Commie rat-bastid!"

"Guys! Enough!" Like babysitting without getting paid for it! "Mulder..."

An uncharacteristically hopeful expression appeared on Mulder's face. "Finally! You're thinking clearly."

"Mulder, you can't put me in witness protection unless I have useful evidence and I'm not giving you any. Uh, evidence, I mean." Duh. Real smooth, Feldman. "Carmine."

"My uncle Rocco's got a nice little studio for you in Bay Ridge, right near the N train an' I can set you up with a car an'—"

"Carmine, I can't work for Uncle Nicky. Don't say it, Carmine, you know why. And I'm not moving back to Brooklyn."

Krycek grabbed her arm, leaving his broken prosthesis lying on the floor at his feet. "Sorry to win and run, guys, but we have a flight to catch—"

"Not so fast, Ratski." Ellen peeled his fingers from her arm. She reached into the corner of the room and retrieved her briefcase. "I've learned a little something here, boys. I don't need any of you. I can take care of myself just fine. Don't call me. I'll call you. Ta."

With that, Ellen Feldman sashayed of the interrogation room, out of the FBI Tuscon field office and into a cab. She was going to get Winky and then she was going to get started on her plans to rule the world.

end...

xx

MsBrooklyn@aol.com

Disclaimer: The X-Files and the characters represented therein are owned by Fox Broadcasting Corp. and any subsidiaries thereof, and by 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, his heirs and assignees and any other affiliates hereunto not named. Ellen Feldman, Winky the Cat, Carmine, the Mook and other assorted bit players are owned exclusively by MsBrooklyn Inc. and may not be reproduced without written permission.
Rating: Language most foul, excessive legalese and excessive Brooklynese
Spoilers: None that I can think of.
Note bene: I know the title is weird, but this is how I hid it on my hard drive at work. And then I couldn't think of anything else. Enjoy.

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