"Barring complications, he'll be out of the hospital in a week *if* he
has someone to take care of him, for, with his sole hand impaired,
he'll need around the clock care. Otherwise, we'll transfer him to a
convalescent facility until he's able to take care of himself," Doctor
Russell concluded.

Skinner's head reeled. Even another week away from his office would be
hard to explain. But twenty-four hour care for an indeterminate amount
of time? "When will he be able to travel?"

"Oh, not until his condition's stabilized and we've ascertained that
his bowels are functioning properly. Even then, I wouldn't recommend
extended travel. Even laying down, transportation is stressful on
patients. Why?"

"Uh...well...all his relatives are in D.C. He has nobody to care for
him out here. And I'm sure he'd be more comfortable in familiar
surroundings."

"Well, with specialized transport, he might be able to make a flight
back home in a week, after his antibiotic regimen is concluded, but
it's too soon to say, at this point. Talk to me again in a week," the
doctor said.

Skinner sighed. He did have some vacation time accrued. Maybe it was
time to put in for it. The office wouldn't be very pretty after an
extended sabbatical. DAD or no DAD, the files would be floor to
ceiling by the time he got back, but at least he wouldn't have to
explain to 'official sources' about his continuing interest in a
witness that was supposedly out of danger.

//One hurdle at a time,// he told himself. //You don't even know that
Krycek will *want* you taking care of him. He *does* have friends. No
doubt he's got lots of bolt holes to go to ground in. Possibly
connected to the mysterious locker keys.// Which could conceivably
contain a Palm Pilot of particular interest to his continued well
being.

//Don't jump the gun, Walt. Wait and see. Wait until Krycek is able to
talk coherently and make the decision for himself.// That was the best
plan. For the moment, the only thing he needed to do was sit in
Krycek's room and wait for his relief to show up in eight hours. He'd
go back to the hotel, soak in a hot tub, and think about his other
options then.

Skinner was surprised when Lloyd popped into the room a few hours
later. "Inspector Graham? What brings you by?"

"Ah, well.... Just wanted the truth. Strictly off the record."

Skinner frowned. "The truth? About what?"

"About 'Kry--cough!' whoever he is. And the real reason you killed
Kapustcha."

Skinner stiffened at first, but then sighed, relenting. If Graham had
wanted to make trouble for them, he'd have done it at the crime scene.
He shrugged. "'The truth,' to paraphrase Einstein, 'is relative.'" He
pointed at Krycek. "His birth name is Val, but his legal name is Alex
Krycek. He changed it soon after his run-in with Kapustcha back in
'87. Can't say that I blame him. Problem is, of course, it didn't
change his looks, his memories, or his luck. He fell in with a bad
crowd. People who put a hit out on him."

"Hence the run to Hong Kong," Lloyd nodded, remembering that tidbit
from the restaurant.

Skinner nodded. "Yeah. He's survived a car bomb, a premature burial,
having his arm hacked off, and God alone knows what all else. But when
he heard about Derek.... He came to my office personally and told me
everything he knew. Mulder's the one who talked him into playing bait.
I didn't think he could handle it. Should *have to* handle it. But, I
guess, for once in his life, he wanted to do the right thing. For
Derek's sake, if nothing else."

"And Kapustcha --if that's *his* real name?"

Skinner heaved a sigh, but nodded. "As far as I can ascertain, it is,
and he was a guy with friends in high places. His participation in
secret government projects has protected him from prosecution in two
other states, on three other murder counts, the files of which you
were not privy to."

"So, you listened politely to Val's story and decided on the spur of
the moment to saddle up to Frisco and play vigilante?"

Walter shrugged his lips. "Yeah, that's pretty much it in a nutshell. 

"It burns me the kinds of people who get 'walks' through our judicial
system. This sick fuck got to kill innocent men with impunity for
thirteen years just because he had a brain twisted enough to concoct
secret biological weapons for the government. Eighteen victims died,
who knows how many others were maimed or scarred physically and
psychologically for the rest of their lives? But everybody turned a
blind eye-- worse-- they did everything in their power to keep him on
the street, happily killing people --on the job and off."

"You know for a fact he was working for dirty ops?" Lloyd asked.

"Oh, yeah," Skinner nodded. "I am only too well acquainted with the
doings of this man's compatriots.

"I'd say they make the Nazis look benign, but some of them *are*
Nazis, brought into this country and protected after the war by our
government in a rush for global supremacy, and that's just about all I
can safely tell you.

"The fact that I think our machinations have turned around and bitten
us on the ass is beside the point. In a Democracy *no* man should be
above the law. Especially not a perverted serial killer as bent as
Kapustcha was.

"There are some who would tell you that the government didn't care
about his victims because his experiments killed more people in a
month than he did his entire criminal career, but I don't happen to
think that quantity matters. And I don't think anybody at Derek
Fiennes' funeral --or any of his other eighteen victims' funerals--
would disagree with me.

"The government can always find itself another mad scientist eager to
escalate the horrors of war for them. *This* scumbag had to die. And I
will send no man to do my dirty work."

Lloyd pondered Skinner's words for a moment. "For what it's worth, I
agree. I take it Agent Mulder disagrees?"

Skinner humphed. "Mulder may like to play fast and loose with the
rules when it's in his own best interests, but he never likes to
settle for anything less than the truth, the whole truth, and nothing
but the truth."

"Yeah!" Lloyd snorted. "He didn't strike me as the kind who would balk
at hanging a superior out to dry, either, so the fact that your
statement was actually defensible must have burned his cookies, but
good," he grinned.

Skinned barked a laugh. "Yeah, like my Grandma used to say: 'his lower
lip was pooched out so far a rooster could have lit on it.' But the
way I worded my account, it *was* a justifiable interpretation of what
really happened, and he knew better than to call my credibility into
question over something which was so obviously subjective."

"Well, then, I guess that just leaves the matter of Val's security
detail."

Skinner's brows rose. "Security?"

Lloyd smiled. "I didn't hear anybody say that the hit had been called
on account of Val's going above and beyond his civilian duty."

Skinner beamed. "Inspector Graham, you are a prince among men! I was
just trying to figure out how I could justify protecting Mr. Tucci now
that the bad guy is supposedly dead!"

"Do you know if anybody knows he's in the country who shouldn't?"

"Yeah. I confirmed that yesterday," Skinner said grimly, remembering
Spender's veiled threats. "The only problem being: we don't know if or
when they'll decide to strike."

Lloyd nodded. "I'll see what I can do. I think a word to my men about
the situation can guarantee some off-duty volunteers."

Skinner stood up and shook Graham's hand. "Thanks. For me and Val."

Lloyd looked at Krycek, who seemed to be half machine what with all
the plastic tubing, monitoring wires, bandages, and restraints
swathing him. "How is he? Did the doctors say?"

"He'll be on IVs the next couple of days. Then, depending on his
bowels, clear liquids. Barring complications, he could be discharged
in a week, with constant home care. We'll try to arrange transpo back
to D.C., at that point. Otherwise, he'll have to stay in a local
convalescent hospital until he gets back the use of his hand and can
take care of himself."

"And go back into hiding?"

"Um hm," Skinner verified.

"Hmph. Any chance Derek Finnes' S.O would volunteer his place, if not
his time?"

Skinner frowned. "I don't think it's likely. They were pretty prickly.
And that was without knowing that Val had had a run-in with Kapustcha
beforehand."

"Ah, as in: 'Why didn't you testify against this dirtwad and put him
away before he offed my boyfriend?' Hmm?"

Skinner nodded.

"'Nuff said. I'll leave you to it. I need to see how many warm bodies
I can rustle up for guard duty. I'd like to be able to run them by Val
once he wakes up and is coherent enough to identify them, so he won't
panic when they come on duty. I'll try and get you a schedule before
you leave. How much longer can you stay in town?"

"No longer than a week. And since I've confessed all to you, there's
no sense in me leaving my own out of the loop. I'll see if Stanley can
scrounge up some F.B.I. volunteers to fill out your roster, as well.
I'll tell him to coordinate his efforts with you. Of course, Val may
have other plans. When it comes to saving his own skin, he's been
pretty resourceful in the past. We'll have to wait and see what he
says when he wakes up. I'll give you a call as soon as he's coherent."

"Yeah, OK. See you later." Lloyd said, and headed out the door,
already busy figuring out whom to call.

Skinner felt both relieved and disappointed. He hadn't wanted to shirk
his duties in D.C., but he realized he'd welcomed the prospect of
being Krycek's care-giver. //Just another symptom of your delusional
fascination with him,// he told himself. Still, he decided to enjoy it
while he had the opportunity. He settled into the visitor's chair
purposefully and took out his cell phone.

Not long after he concluded his call to Special Agent Stanley Wong, 
he heard a familiar snuffling. "No. Oh, no, no! Lemme out! Walter!
Walter save me!"

Skinner gasped. He jumped out of his chair and leaned over to whisper
in Krycek's ear. "Hey! It's Walter! I'm here. You're OK! You hear me?
You're all right." He stroked Alex's hair.

Krycek wriggled, though he couldn't move far, as he was strapped onto
his left side, in order to keep his weight off his lacerated back and
fore wounds. His eyes popped open and he started to yell.

"It's OK, Alex! Alex! You're safe," Walter assured him. 

Krycek quieted and stopped struggling. "Wanna sit up."

Skinner shook his head. "You can't. You just had an operation on your
ass, you can't be sitting on it."

This information seemed to soothe Krycek, as if he had forgotten, and
needed the reminder.

"Did-- did the doctor say anything about my dick?"

"No. Why?"

"It -- it feels funny."

"Ahh, probably the catheter."

Krycek considered his words. "And my ass? Feels like I've got a dildo
up my ass."

"That would be the packing, so your sutures don't stick to each other
and, um, 'occlude your rectum,' as the doctor put it."

"Shit!"

Skinner grinned. "You won't be doing much of that for a while, either.
The doctor tells me you'll be on clear liquids for at least a week,
till the stitches come out."

Krycek made a whining sound in his throat. "Wanna move. 'M sore."

"Someone will be in soon to turn you. They turn you every three hours,
so you won't get bed sores."

"But I'm awake now. Tell them to untie me."

"The doctor didn't want you breaking open your scabs, that's why they
strapped you down. And your arm's in a cast."

"Fuck my scabs! I've gotta be able to move! I'm a sitting duck!"

"Hey, *I'll* protect you," Walter reassured him.

"Yeah.... For how long?" Krycek asked glumly.

Skinner took a deep breath. "Me, personally, seven more days. Then I
have to get back to D.C."

Krycek paled. "I won't be healed in seven days. What happens to me
then?"

"Well, that kind of depends on you. Do you have anybody you can call
to come take care of you?"

"...Not anymore."

"Then you'll have to go to a convalescent hospital. But don't worry--"

The room's door cracked open and both their eyes swivelled to the
sound. Alex could do nothing but hold his breath, while Skinner
interrupted his recital of his planned protective measures to dive a
hand beneath his suit coat and clutch the grip of his weapon, just in
case.

The door swung wide, framing Mulder, who sauntered in, laptop in hand
and sour expression on face. "Reporting for duty as ordered, sir," he
said morosely.

Skinner sighed curtly and let go of his weapon. "You ever hear of a
thing called 'knocking,' Agent?"

"Yeah, that's what cars do when they don't get enough octane," Mulder
responded cheekily. Then held up his hand in surrender at Skinner's
answering glare. "I'll be sure to knock, next time, sir."

"How do we know he's not a shape-shifter? Prick yourself and show us
your blood," Krycek demanded.

"I would," Mulder drawled, making a show of looking around the room,
"but you're the only prick in here, and you're not sharp enough."

Krycek sighed. "It must be Mulder,  a hunter-seeker's sense of humor
isn't that juvenile."

Mulder sneered. "You'll forgive me if I'm not at my best, but I'm so
thrilled to be stuck babysitting you, words fail."

"*You're* thrilled? Imagine how *I* feel --after all,  you did such a
good job of looking after me the last time," Krycek sniped.

"Not good enough, apparently, or I wouldn't be here," Mulder retorted.

"You're just jealous 'cause *I* got the peg leg, as per usual," Alex
pointed out.

Skinner raised an eyebrow at Krycek's seemingly nonsensical non
sequitur, but a glance at Mulder's stormy expression assured him that
his agent had understood the reference, even if he had not. He chalked
it up to ex-partner-speak, and bristled. "Agent Mulder, I don't care
what grudges you have against the man, he's our responsibility, and
he's injured. From here on out, while you're in his presence, you will
comport yourself like a professional and keep a civil tongue
in your head."
  
Mulder grimaced at the rebuke."You may have to kow-tow to that Rat
Bastard, *sir,* but he hasn't got *my* balls in a vice, and I'll be
damned if I 'make-nice' to him just because he's maneuvered his way
into the cat-bird seat."

"The nanocytes are not an issue here," Skinner began.

"--'Not an issue'?" Mulder interrupted. "What else would you call
coercing a high level administrator of the F.B.I. into pulling the
trigger on an unarmed suspect without an ounce of regard for what
happens to that administrator or his career?

"Krycek never needed *you,* sir. He could have pulled the trigger on
Kapustcha anytime, anywhere. The only reason he *got* you involved is
so his ass would be covered when C.G.B. Spender heard the news."

"He wasn't covering his ass when he voluntarily risked his life to do
something for you that no one else on earth could--"

"--For *me*?!" Mulder sputtered. "It wasn't *my* old fuck buddy
Kapustcha sliced and diced. It wasn't *me* who wanted Kapustcha dead
from the start. Don't talk to me about how nobly self-sacrificing he's
been. That's bullshit!"

"He didn't have to put his life on the line. He could have forced you
to use a look-alike agent for bait."

"Except that he wanted Kapustcha put down, here, fast," Mulder
countered.

"Alex has wanted Kapustcha 'put down' for thirteen years, Mulder. He
only put himself in harm's way when *you* asked him to. And he's
suffered grievously as a consequence!" Skinner proclaimed. "If you
can't stop harping on the problems you had with him yesterday and
focus on the danger he's in now, then you're absolutely right: you
shouldn't be here. So, what's it going to be: standing guard, or
returning to D.C.?"

Mulder drew himself up indignantly, chilling the already cool hospital
air. "Watching The Rat's back or working a real X-file? Frankly, sir,
if those are my choices, Scully and I would--"

"--Scully isn't part of this debate," Skinner interrupted. "I have no
doubt that *she* will be able to maintain her professionalism in this
matter, and I am not about to inconvenience myself or leave Krycek
vulnerable to an attack merely to reward you for your insubordination.
Go pack. I'm sure there's a plane leaving for D.C. presently. I
wouldn't want you to miss it."
  
Mulder sealed his lips primly, flashed a hate-filled glance at Krycek,
then did a passably martial 'about-face' pivot, and slammed the door
behind him.

Krycek let his eyes fall to the bed. He was an idiot to think that
anything decent he did could balance his ill deeds on Mulder's scales
of justice.

Skinner glanced down at Krycek, whose eyes were suspiciously wet. "I'm
sorry about that, Alex."

Krycek sighed wearily. "Val. The name on the hospital bracelet is
Percival Tucci."

"Uhh...well, I told Inspector Lloyd your real name a little earlier.
That and the fact that someone has a contract out on you. No
specifics. He's going to arrange to have some of his men stand guard
as long as you're in Frisco."

Krycek snorted. "So, that's why you could afford to drop kick Mulder's
butt back to D.C., huh?"

"Yeah. You don't mind, do you?"

Alex shook his head. "Sleepy," is all he said. He closed his eyes and
drifted off.

Skinner sighed and settled back into his chair. In a way, sending
Mulder home was a relief. The way he whacked Krycek around, Skinner
would have felt safer documenting Alex's injuries before leaving him
in Mulder's care, just to make sure he didn't develop any new ones.

To hear Mulder tell it, everything that was wrong with his world was 
Krycek's fault. Skinner couldn't understand how Mulder could defend 
such a conclusion when there were so many worthier candidates --the 
Smoker among them-- for the job, but he knew it hurt Alex more 
than being gut punched.

Skinner's cell phone jingled, and he crossed to the other side of the
room to answer it before it could wake Alex up. "Skinner."

"Scully here, sir. I, uh, just talked to Mulder. He wasn't making a
whole lot of sense. He said you ordered him back to D.C.?"

"That's correct, Agent Scully," Skinner confirmed. Then he told her
why.

Scully groaned. "I'm sorry you felt it necessary to discipline him
like that, sir," she said. "Between you and me, I think he's
over-compensating because he cares a little too much about Krycek. I
mean...considering their past, uhm, 'involvement' and all."

Skinner had to smile. He could practically hear her unspoken thoughts
screaming: 'He never jumped *my* bones!' with proper Catholic
indignation.

But, whatever Mulder's possible ulterior motives for behaving like a
shithead, Skinner didn't think passing along the news to the lovelorn
Krycek was a good idea. Not only because Alex might see it as a reason
to continue carrying a torch for the agent, thus snuffing any chance
Skinner might have to catch his eye, but because Mulder's ambivalent
attitude towards the triple agent had already resolved into a very
unhealthy and persistent pattern of violence which Krycek had been
unable or unwilling to allay in the past. Neither Alex nor Mulder
needed the pain and complications of such a hurtful relationship. As
far as Skinner was concerned, Alex would do better seeking his
romantic outlets elsewhere.

"Don't worry, Scully. Since this whole operation was more or less
under the radar, I can't record the incident in his jacket."

"Well, I can't say I'm unhappy to hear that, sir," she said, sounding
almost chipper. "But I do want to assure you that I will have no
problems doing my duty."

"I didn't think you would, Agent Scully. So, I'll see you in... seven
hours and eighteen minutes?"

"Unless you'd prefer I come in earlier, say, three hours and eighteen
minutes?" she volunteered, neatly halving the remainder of Mulder's
anticipated shift between them.

"That would be fine, Agent. See you then."

"Yes, sir."

Skinner shut off the phone and stuck it in his pocket. He could
imagine Scully happily relating the fact that Mulder would not be
formally disciplined to the man himself, who had no doubt moped in her
room whining about the inequity of it all until she had made the call
to preserve her own sanity.

He had no doubts Scully would see Mulder off at the airport, as well.
She really did spoil the man. He had once made the lazy assumption
that they were having an affair --it was a common enough assumption
around the Hoover where rumor-mongers threw epithets like 'Mr. and
Mrs. Spooky,' about with casual malice. But subsequent events had led
him to understand that theirs was the devotion of brothers in arms,
the kind of bond that only developed when people were in
dangerous territory with no one but themselves to depend on.

Actually *loving* Mulder was harder to do. 

Skinner's own lust for Mulder had cooled considerably since their
first meeting. Primarily because to know Mulder was *not* to love him,
but to suffer him like a force of nature. Skinner knew enough to
respect a hurricane, but he was not 'storm chaser' material.

Yes, the fascination --and fantasies-- remained, but Skinner was a man
most definitely ruled by his common sense. Mulder, while undeniably
brilliant, was also undisputably tormented, disturbed, and erratic. He
was emotionally self-sufficient and needy by turns, and seemingly at
whim.

Skinner loathed Mulder's habit of clinging to somebody as if they were
a life-preserver one second, then, as Krycek had so aptly put it,
'ditching them like a bad date' the next. Skinner needed to be needed,
but he needed that need to be constant and modulated, neither too
over-whelming, nor too dearth.

Krycek started to moan again. "Nooo! No, no! Skinner, find me. Find me
fast!"

Skinner jumped up from his chair once again and stroked Krycek's head.
"Alex! I've got you!" Walter said. "Wake up, now. Come on! It's all
right!"

Alex's eyes popped open. He tried once again to shift and panicked
when he couldn't move. "Trapped!"

"No, Alex. You're in restraints so you won't start bleeding again."

"Hm.... Sore."

"I'll call the nurse to turn you." Skinner found the call button and
pushed it. An aide came in and, at Skinner's urging, turned Alex onto
his other side, then strapped him down again. Then he checked Alex's
vitals and the output of his catheter. Then he left.

"Hungry."

Skinner checked his watch. "Dinner should be here in an hour, or so."

"You really going to make Mulder go home alone?"

Skinner smiled grimly. "Yes, I really am. I don't think he can stop
baiting you, and I don't think you need the abuse." Krycek grunted.
"You think I'm wrong?"

"No. You're right."

"Then what's wrong?" Skinner asked.

"Nothing." Skinner stared at him. Alex shivered. He felt as if time
had shifted and he was a junior agent in the Bureau all over again
sitting under his superior's expectant glare. "Uhm, I used to think
he'd be the salvation of mankind," he blurted when the tension proved
too much for him.

"'Used to'?" Skinner repeated. 

"Yeah. He *is* incorruptible, you know? But he's too rigid. It's like
he can never do the practical thing. The needful thing. Like, he wants
to win a mud wrestling match without letting so much as a speck of mud
touch him."

Skinner nodded. He understood Krycek all too well. "Yeah," he agreed.
"Once you fall into disgrace in Mulder's eyes, you're on his shit list 
forever --unless you're Scully."