Mulder glanced down the papers to check the victim's I.D. It *did* say
'Alex Krycek.' He flipped through the rest of the photos, close-ups of
the younger Krycek's injuries --and there were a lot of them. Mulder
dropped the top file and opened the second. Alex again.
Eighteen-years-old, this time, according to the police report. But
this time his name was listed as 'Alex Wintersoul.'

Mulder glowed with satisfaction. He'd known Alex Krycek was a liar,
that 'Krycek' wasn't his real name. Not that he bothered to wonder why
Alex had assumed the Krycek identity so far in advance of his stint in
the F.B.I.

"So, 'Alexander Wintersoul' is your real name, huh?"

"No," Alex said evenly, "'Alex Krycek' is my real name."

"What, you expect me to believe you had the presence of mind to give a
false name to the officers after your rape?" Mulder sneered.

"No. 'Alexander Wintersoul' was my name at that time. I had it
changed. Legally. Wanna see the declaration papers?" Krycek offered.

"Why'd you change your name?" Mulder asked.

"My name, real or fake, has no bearing on the case," Krycek said
firmly.

"Hey, *I'll* be the judge of what's germane to this case!" Mulder
insisted.

Krycek looked at Skinner, who shrugged. "You *did* promise to answer
all Mulder's questions," Skinner reminded the spy.

Krycek turned stony. "It's none of your business."

Mulder snorted. "You can tell me now, or I can search the judgements
and leave an e-trail on the Hoover's terminals."

Krycek's mouth set in an unhappy line. "Fine! ...I...I changed my name
so it would be the same as my boyfriend's of the time, OK?"

Mulder smirked. "Aw, isn't that sweet? Alex was playing house with his
boyfriend. Did'ja wear pearls with that house dress, Butch?"

"Mulder!" Skinner scolded.

"Fuck you, Mulder!" Krycek snarled.

"You wish!" Mulder retorted.

"I said: enough!" Skinner roared.

Scully leaned over to snag the first opened and then discarded sealed
file and began reading it.

Krycek bit into one of his meat and roll sandwiches as if he could
kill it by biting its head off.

Mulder bent his head and perused the file he held. "According to your
statement, you were at a Halloween party and one of the guests got
carried away?"

"Yeah," Krycek confirmed.

"It also says they found fifteen different types of semen in your ass,
mouth, and clothing. What did you go dressed as: a glory hole?"

Krycek shrugged. "It was a fun crowd and I'm a fun guy."

"Wait a minute.... This report was filed Nov. 1st, 1982 --what was the
date on that file, Scully?"

"Uhm,...Oct. 31st, 1987."

"It says here that Alexander was eighteen, but he was twenty-one in
that one, wasn't he?"

Krycek sighed noisily. "That's right, Mulder, there's a discrepancy in
the legal records. Ooh, it must be an X-file! Or maybe --is it
possible? I *lied* about my age!" he railed. "I was young, not stupid.
I did not need to top my troubles off with a sprinkling of 'statutory
rape.'"

"But statutory rape carries a mandatory sentence," Mulder said.

"Exactly! And *nobody* at the party knew I was sixteen!"

"Doesn't matter! You could have filed charges and put Kapustcha away!"

Alex snorted "Yeah, right! Him and every other John in the place who
stuck his dick in my anatomy! Lucky for me, Smoky was more than happy
to pay me a little hush money."

"And that makes it right, huh? Money fixes everything?"

"Look, Mull-dahr, Kapustcha would've walked no matter what. Just like
he walked in Boca Raton and El Paso --or, what, you think statutory
rape is a worse offense than first degree murder?"

"You had no way of knowing Kapustcha would walk!" Mulder yelled.
"Geez! With *that* kind of dedication to Justice, it's no *wonder* you
joined the F.B.I.! Oh! I forgot! You were only pretending to be law
abiding!"

"I'd like to have seen how law abiding *you'd* have been without that
sterling silver spoon in your mouth, Mr. Thank God For The Trust Fund,
'Cause I Couldn't *Stand* To Be Seen in Anything But Armani!" Krycek
yelled back.

"And you're absolutely right! I had no idea Kapustcha would walk --but
I sure as *Hell* knew where *my* ass was headed if I told the cops I
was really sixteen --Juvenile Hall! I wasn't a phone call away from
Daddy's bank account and a hot shot lawyer. If I'd rained blue thunder
onto that many Johns, I'd have been flipping burgers for rent money!
Not that *you'd* know anything about scraping by on the minimum wage,
you hundred dollar a week allowance, all expenses paid, effete preppie
snob!"

"Johns!" Mulder cried. "You called them 'Johns'!" He slapped his
thighs. "Of course! *All* the victims were whores! You weren't a
*guest,* you were a party favor! Hah! It figures! Sucking cocks must
have been a dream job for a slut like you.

"You know, you were lucky your host decided to take you to the
hospital --and pay your bills-- instead of cutting his losses by
putting a bullet in your brain."

Krycek blinked, studied his toes. "Yeah, I thought so at the time," he
said glumly.

Something in Krycek's tone made Skinner look over Mulder's shoulder
and find the name of Krycek's benefactor. "Paul Winston?" he read
aloud. //Winston...Chesterfield...Morley. All cigarette brands,//
Walter thought. "AKA C.G.B. Spender?"

Krycek flicked his eyes over at Skinner, then down to his plate.
"Yeah."

"You were working for Spender in '82?" Mulder marveled.

"Occasionally," Krycek admitted.

Skinner's stomach clenched. Alex had sold his body to Spender? At
sixteen? "Where the Hell were your parents?"

"At home, taking care of the 'good' kids," Krycek said snidely.

"Meaning they knew what you were doing?" Skinner asked.

"Meaning who the Hell do you think threw me onto the street in the
first place?" Krycek said bitterly.

"Oh, let me guess," Mulder smirked, "they caught you with some John's
cock up your ass?"

"...Some Raoul's, actually," Krycek confessed quietly.

"And they threw you out of the house for that?" Skinner marveled.
"Without discussing the problem with you, or sending you to a minister
or a psychiatrist or military school?"

"I wasn't broken!" Krycek fumed. "'Gay' isn't something you fix and
forget!"

"I know," Skinner said placatingly. "But, if you'd been *my* son, I
wouldn't have thrown you out on your ear for a first offense. I would
have tried to do something --anything-- no matter how wrong-headed, to
make it better. Had there been a history of trouble between you and
your father?" Krycek shook his head. "Were your parents ill?" Skinner
asked. "Incapable of handling you?"

Krycek snorted. "Papa was a Marine. Diplomat corps. Guarded embassies.
Taught in the OCS at Quantico Combat Development Command. When he
caught me in the garage making out with Raoul...he dragged me into the
street, naked, beat me into the gutter, went into the house, gathered
up my stuff, threw it over me, and told me that he'd kill me if I ever
came back...so I never did."

"How could any man do that to his baby boy?" Skinner asked.

Krycek shrugged. "'Cause I wasn't. Me and Mikey were adopted. Jack and
Irene were their real kids. All Papa cared about was making sure his
'real' son wasn't molested by the sick pervert fairy."

"I'm sorry," Skinner said. 

Krycek looked at Skinner, confusion apparent in his very mien. "What
for?"

"They were your parents. They shouldn't have hurt you that way,"
Skinner said.

"It happens all the time," Scully said. "To straight kids, too."

"And that makes it right?" Skinner said, echoing Mulder's earlier
sentiments.

"It's not like it was your fault," Krycek said. "Why get your knickers
in a knot?"

"I guess I care because I can't have children of my own, and it hurts
me to think that a precious miracle like a child, who should be
treated as such, is abused for any reason, let alone a bad one."

"Hmm. Well, it's water under the bridge. They're long gone," Krycek
said gruffly, feeling unaccountably moved by Skinner's declaration and
determined not to show it.

"Killed in a car accident when you were nineteen, right?" Skinner
recalled. The data had been in Krycek's personnel file. Of course, the
file had also said Krycek had no siblings, and made no mention of his
being adopted.

But Krycek nodded. "Yeah."

"That's almost half your lifetime. I think an apology is long
overdue," Skinner said.

Krycek blinked, unsure of how to react to Skinner's solicitude.

"So, how'd you meet Spender?" Mulder asked.

Krycek, eager to get things back on familiar ground, told him. "Smoky
had these legendary bashes about eight times a year. My first time
with him I got three thousand dollars for one week-end's work. Man!
That one gig kept me in kibble for three months!

"Smoky used the parties to sink his hooks into Ways and Means.
Diplomats. Industrialists. The whole Consortium infrastructure. Not
that I knew or cared at the time.

"He used to troll the street in a big ol' RV. He'd see something he
liked, stop and pick 'em up. One day he spotted me, invited me in. He
explained the ground rules. If we agreed to his terms he had us strip,
show off our wares, then his nurse would come out and get the full
specimen spectrum: spit, snot, semen, shit, piss, blood, tissue, as
well as a chest x-ray and parasite check. If we looked promising, he'd
give us a card with a time and location. This limo would arrive, the
driver would call out names, the named would climb inside, and the
rest would get a consolation sawbuck for showing up.

"For the Halloween party, we'd agreed to take fifteen hundred for the
night, not to exceed twelve hours, on the understanding that we'd do
anyone who asked anyway they wanted us --no rough trade. So, we pulled
up to this three story townhouse in Baltimore. I was a special invite
'cause a former client had requested me specifically. Smoky met us at
the backdoor, checked our clothes --if he didn't like them he had us
change on the spot. Then he gave us our masks and had us escorted to
our designated play zones.

"I made sure my patron was well rewarded for asking for me, then I
took on whoever else showed an interest. The whole time I was busy,
Kapustcha was sitting in a chair stroking this red shoe like it was
Aladdin's lamp, or something, eyes glued to the action. So I took a
chance and wandered over, said hello. He asked me to try the shoe on.
I did. Just my luck, it fit well enough that he led me upstairs, to
one of the bedrooms, and had me change."

"What were you wearing?" Mulder asked.

"Before or after?" Krycek asked.

"Both."

"White T-shirt and blue jeans, sneakers, black domino mask, black
lipstick, when I came in. Red slinky dress --like the one Marilyn
Monroe wore in The Seven Year Itch, only red, some kind of push-up bra
with falsies, black fishnet hose, black elbow length gloves, red
stiletto pumps, and this weird thong thing that pulled my cock and
balls between my legs so I was completely flat in front."

"So, he had you change. Then what?"

"Well, first he had me shower and clean up inside, if you know what I
mean. Then he shaved off my pubic hair, patted me dry, helped me
dress, sat me at the vanity, put a wig on me and did my make-up --man!
I'm telling you, by the time he was done with me *I* would have dated
me!

"He put on some music and we danced four or five numbers with him
feeling me up and down before he finally pushed me to my knees and had
me suck him off. Then he had me do a strip-tease till all I had on was
the thong, the hose, and the shoes and he laid me on the bed and had
me pretend to masturbate like a girl, fingers between my legs, and
fake an orgasm.

"Then he grabbed my left wrist and cuffed me to the headboard. I never
even saw it coming. I told him 'no rough stuff,' and fought him when
he tried to bind my other limbs. I got in a couple lucky punches and
kicks, and he lost it! He whipped off his belt and laid into me,
buckle out.

"I screamed, but he grabbed my other wrist and cuffed it to the bed,
gagged me with the discarded bra, and tied my ankles, so I was
spread-eagled on the bed, stomach down, and he beat me raw. Then he
raped me and he bit my shoulders and licked at the blood while giving
me some lecture about how I was really half woman, genetically, and
totally inferior to a real man, like him, and should bow down and
submit to a real man without question or qualm.

"Then he went and washed up. By the time he'd finished and come back
to sit on the bed to get dressed, I'd worked the gag out of my mouth.
I thought, well, he's getting dressed, so it must be over, so I asked
him to uncuff me-- and he went off on me again! He beat me with his
fists, raped me again, and then...he fisted me and deliberately ripped
my rectum open with his fingernails. Oh, man! I screamed bloody hell!

"Spender heard me and came in to investigate. He took one look at me,
and jumped on Kapustcha, choking him to the floor. He kicked Kapustcha
out the door and untied me, let me dress in my own clothes...had his
chauffeur drive me to the hospital. He promised me a thousand dollar
bonus if I'd keep my mouth shut, and assured me he'd pay the hospital
bill on top of that --but only if nobody at the party got into
trouble. Only trouble was, the doc took one look at me and did a full
rape kit and called in the cops. So I did my song and dance. Smoky
wasn't too happy, but after he read my report he let me know all was
well, and he paid up, as promised....

"Could I have a glass of water, please?"

"Sure," Skinner said at once, and he jumped up from the sofa to fetch
it. "Anyone else want anything while I'm going?" Mulder and Scully
shook their heads. Skinner left the room.

"I still don't know why Smoky kept those files," Krycek said. "It's
not like he'd ever use them against Kapustcha."

Mulder shook his head. "No, but they'd be pretty good blackmail if
*you* had ever gotten into a position where he could have used them
against you."

Alex froze. Thought about it. "Yeah...I guess so."

"So, what happened the second time?" Mulder pressed relentlessly.

Alex cleared his throat, which had gone raspy from over-use. "Could we
save it until after I get my drink, Mulder? My throat's dying here."

Krycek waited for Skinner to return with a tall tumbler of cold water.
He drank deeply. "Hmm.... Thanks."

"The second time?" Mulder asked expectantly.

"Yeah, yeah." Krycek took another sip of the water, then set it down
and cleared his throat.

"I was coming home from a last minute candy run. I had a bag of
groceries in my arms. Someone --I'm assuming it was Kapustcha-- came
up behind me, pressed a chloroformed pad over my face, shoved me
sideways, into a panel van, and drove off.

"When I woke up, I was naked, tied to a bed, in a room with no
windows. There was just the bed, four walls, and a locked door.
Through the door was a bathroom with a shower stall, toilet, sink, and
no windows. Opposite the first door was a second door which opened
onto another room with a dining table with two chairs, a vanity with
chair, a wardrobe, a whipping post, a cabinet with sex toys, torture
implements, and a stereo in it. A mirrored disco ball hung from the 
ceiling with some track lights in different colors, and there was a
parquet floor with lots of room for dancing; another door opened onto
Kapustcha's bedroom. He had a whole house beyond that door. Not that I
knew that at the time.

"When he finally came into my bedroom and untied me, he told me I
could scream as loud as I wanted, because there was no one around to
hear me. Then he took me into the bathroom, handcuffed me to the
shower, scrubbed me head to toe, shaved off all my body hair, gave me
an enema, and dried me off. Then he led me into the playroom, took me
to the vanity, took the same outfit I'd worn at the Halloween party
out of the wardrobe and helped me dress --oh! He added a cock ring.
Then he put on my wig, did my make-up.

"He put on some music and we danced, must have been five numbers, with
the lights and the ball making little rainbows all over, and him
running his hands over my tucked smooth groin, then he had me do a
strip-tease, leaving only the hose, shoes, and thong. Then he pushed
me to my knees and had me pretend to masturbate while I sucked him
off. Then he took off that funny thong and had me masturbate for real,
only I couldn't cum because I had the cock ring on. Then he tied me to
the whipping post and flogged me, then he raped me with the handle of
the flogger while he licked at my blood and...smeared it all over his
chest and thighs and genitals.

"He finally let me off the post, took off my cock ring, and had me
masturbate while he fucked me, bit my shoulders and licked me, and had
me tell him how much I loved him, and what a manly man he was, and how
I loved him dominating me, putting me in my place. Then he had me lick
my cum off the floor, sat me at the table, fed me dinner bite by bite,
let me have a glass of water, and took me back into the bathroom where
we showered together. Then he dried me off, let me use the toilet, put
me back to bed --though he didn't tie me-- doctored my wounds, and
locked me in.

"By the time he came back, I had to pee really bad. He told me to come
into the bathroom and he let me piss. Then I showered and shaved and
took my enema...and we did the whole nine yards all over again.

"The forth time he came for me, I bit his penis when I sucked him, and
knee-capped him with my hand, then, when he doubled over, I grabbed
him by his necktie and slammed his forehead into the floor, grabbed
his keys, and went out the exit door.

"There was a picture window in his livingroom. I could see a car
parked outside, so I threw an end table through the window and ran for
it. It was open, so I hot-wired it and lit out of there. I didn't have
a clue as to where I was, or which direction civilization was, 'cause
the house was in the middle of the damned woods, so, when I got to a
paved road, I picked a direction and drove till I ran out of gas, then
I hoofed it. Mind you, I was still in women's clothing, without a
cent to my name, with no idea of where I was. The cops picked me up a
couple hours later.

"They took me to the hospital. I'd been reported as kidnapped the
first day, but it had been five days since my abduction and Social
Services had taken the kids into protective custody--"

"--Whoa!" Mulder interrupted Krycek's narrative. "Kids?"

Krycek gave Mulder a 'Duh' look. "I was twenty-one? The Wintersouls
died when I was nineteen? What? You think I'd let Jack and Irene rot
in some damned skanky orphanage just because they weren't my real
blood?"

"What about Mikey?" Skinner asked, remembering the other adopted
sibling.

Krycek snarled. "The less said about that lying sack of shit the
better."

"OK. Back to the hospital. Social Services had taken the kids?" Mulder
prompted.

"Yeah. Some orderly showed up in the recovery room, after my surgery
but before I was transferred to a regular room, and flashed an empty
Morley package at me. Then he told me I'd get the kids back and have
all my bills paid if I conveniently got amnesia. So...when the cops
came in afterwards, I told them I couldn't remember anything, and the
car I drove out of there was conveniently stolen out of the impound
yard.

"Can I go now?"

"No!" Mulder said instantly.

"Why not?" Krycek protested. "I've told you everything I know!"

"I haven't put it all together, yet. Something may occur to me when I
go over the files," Mulder said truthfully.

Krycek looked to Skinner, pleading with his eyes, but the AD shook his
head. Krycek wilted into his chair, bottom lip thrusting out like a
pouty child's, not even attempting to leave. "May I have another glass
of water?" he asked.

Skinner smiled, finding Krycek's wistful tone endearing. "Sure. In
fact, let's go into the kitchen and let Mulder read his files in
peace. "Scully?" he invited.

"Uh, I'd like to read the files, too, sir," Scully said, excusing
herself.

"OK. How about some coffee, Agents?" Skinner asked.

"Yeah! I could use some," Mulder piped. 

"Yes, thank you, sir," Scully nodded. 

###

CHAPTER THREE

#
"When dealing with people, let us remember that we are not dealing
with creatures of logic, we are dealing with creatures bristling with
prejudices and motivated by pride and vanity." --Dale Carnegie
#

Skinner and Krycek adjourned to the kitchen, all brushed stainless
steel and 'white granite' Corian counters. Skinner looked at his once
and present subordinates --they seemed deeply engrossed in their
respective files-- then shut the swinging door, confident he would not
be interrupted.

He fetched the water container from the refrigerator, poured a glass,
and held it out to Krycek, whose hand was shaking so badly he had to
almost slam it to the tabletop to avoid imitating a water-sprinkler.

Skinner pretended not to notice, applying himself to the task of
making a fresh pot of coffee. When the machine starting dripping,
Skinner sneaked a glance at The Rat, who had draped his chest onto the
table so he could keep one edge of the glass's bottom on the tabletop
while he slurped up the contents. It reminded Skinner of a little
kid's attempt to control a too-heavy glass. Feeling suddenly
solicitous, Skinner turned on as much motherly concern as he could
muster. "You didn't get much to eat. Would you like some soup?"

The glass bottom clacked flat against the tabletop as Krycek sat up
attentively. "Tomato?" he asked hopefully.