CHEMICAL AGENTS
By Ratadder and Queen Mab
snakedoctor13@yahoo.com, queenmab42@earthlink.net"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed." --Jung
CHEMICAL AGENTS PART ONE - CATALYSIS
Catalysis: an action or reaction between two or more persons or forces precipitated by a separate agent
Abandoned warehouse, Maryland
January 5, 12:19 amWarehouses. Why the fuck is it always warehouses?
I stare around the gloomy interior of the latest in a long line of dingy, cold, shadowy monstrosities, and repress the urge to roll my eyes. Granted, meeting at the mall is probably out for most criminal elements like myself, but still, warehouses get old, fast. I lean against a rotting wooden crate and try to rotate my shoulder, my back muscles stiff and aching. So what else is new.
Something skitters in a far corner. It isn't big enough to be human so I ignore it. Where the hell is Reinhold? He calls me for this fucking meet and then makes me wait. I should shoot him just for the inconvenience.
I could these days. My position is a lot more secure than it used to be. I could off the old boy and nobody would bat an eye. They don't question me as much now. My old patron saw to that before going out in what I'm sure he considered a blaze of glory.
The fool. Blaze of glory or no, dead is dead.
The thought of him gives me a moment's pause, as it always does, but I ignore it, turning my mind to contemplation of how I'm walking the inner circle these days. If they only knew. But if that isn't the motto for my entire fucking life, I don't know what is. "If they only knew." If Mulder only knew, if Skinner and the whole FBI only knew, if Kalenchuk only knew, if the militia-idiots only knew, if the Russians only knew, if Covvarubias only knew, if my patron only knew.
If Mulder only knew.
I can't remember the last time I've been exactly what I seemed to be. I waste a few minutes trying to remember, but it grows pointless quickly, and I go back to scanning the shadows for the one shadow I watch for.
If Mulder only knew.
I ignore the thought beating around in my skull, and try to flex my back muscles again. Yes indeed, the inner circle. Moving up in the world yet again.
If Mulder only knew.
The creak of a door finally succeeds in shoving Mulder to the back of my mind. Reinhold sticks his head around the door and creeps into the warehouse, trying to find me in the darkness, the moon through the high windows a pitiful excuse for illumination.
"Krycek? Krycek?"
I wait until he's as close to me as he's likely to get, then speak softly. "What do you want." I don't bother to move out of the shadows that cloak me.
He jumps. He tries not to, but he does. I see it, and let myself smile. He looks even more nervous than usual. "Hey, Krycek. You wanted to know if he started any, uh, independent projects?"
"Yeah."
"Well." Reinhold lifts the small envelope he carries and shrugs. He sets it down on the warehouse floor and steps back. "Money in the usual account?"
I pause just long enough to make him wonder, then say, "Depending on the quality of the information. Sure."
He nods, turns and leaves, moving faster with each step. I don't move until he's out the door and the squeaking of the hinges fades away. I wait a few minutes more, then step out and pick up the envelope, heading for the exit without opening it. Reinhold may be one of my longer-standing sources, but I still don't want to be hanging around here looking through an envelope I can as easily inspect in the safety of my own apartment. I tuck it into my coat with barely a glance, and unholster my gun.
Slipping through the door, I press myself against the warehouse as I make my way back toward my car. As I step away from the solidity of the building, the back of my neck prickles. I keep my eyes roving as I move to the car as quickly as possible. Just as I key the door, a soft clatter behind me has me spinning.
Nothing. What the hell-
The sharp sting in my lower leg is strangely disconnected. Years of ignoring small pains keeps me from responding with any sort of noise, but I look down, and, well, there's my leg. I can't see anything else, just ground and suddenly that's swaying and moving closer and I'm dropping to my knees and catching myself on my good hand as my gun tumbles and what the hell? I don't drop my gun. I pitch the rest of the way forward and from my position flat on the ground, I can very clearly see the man lying under my car, staring out at me, watching me respond to whatever he just injected me with.
I can't move. My leg feels numb and my arm won't move. My cheek against the ground barely registers it as cold. What the fuck did he stick me with?
From the direction of the first noise comes another, and suddenly I'm rolled onto my back. The movement makes everything spin, and it takes me long moments to actually see the face staring down at me. Even when I see it, I find myself focusing crazily on the glowing tip of the cigarette in his mouth. My eyes almost cross themselves trying to follow it as he removes it from his mouth and lowers it over my face, grinding it out next to my cheek.
"Hello, Alex. So glad you could join us. You've suddenly become a hot commodity again. I doubted you'd come peacefully, so I took a few precautions."
His hand comes down over my nose and mouth and suddenly I inhale something, something bitter, something that slows my cognition down to match my numb body. My last thought as darkness rolls over me is that perhaps I overestimated how far up in the world I'm moving.
*****
Mulder's Apartment
January 25, 1:20 amMulder jerked upright, fully expecting to see the buxom blonde on screen reaching out through the television set to pull him through before she morphed into a gray. As it happened, the blonde was a little too busy with her partners to do either. Mulder blinked repeatedly, letting the last of the dream filter away, and wondering what had woken him; the tv was on mute.
The thud at his door made him jump again, but solved the mystery. Swinging his legs off the couch he turned the tv off completely and stumbled toward the door, rubbing his eyes. Jerking the door open he stared at the somewhat unusual sight of his boss, frowning severely, hand lifted to knock again. Not that the frown was unusual, Mulder amended mentally, rather it was facial-expression-du-jour as far as Skinner was concerned. The frown being in his front hallway was the unusual part.
"Sir?" Mulder managed sleepily.
"Agent Mulder. Sorry to wake you." Skinner glanced right and left, as if hoping to blame the sleep interruption on someone else. Alas, he was alone. "May I come in?"
"Sure." Mulder stepped back and swept his arm out to welcome Skinner inside, belatedly glancing around the room to see if he'd left out anything really embarrassing. He was about to conclude he hadn't, when he noticed the case of the video currently in his machine.
Skinner didn't even glance at it though, walking in and lowering himself into a chair with a zombie-like mien. He looked even more blank-faced than usual, and Mulder suddenly felt a shiver of disquiet. Sitting back down on the couch, Mulder tried to catch Skinner's gaze. "Sir? What... what's going on?"
Skinner was silent for a long moment, then tugged at the collar of his shirt. "I don't... I have some disturbing news, Agent Mulder." Finally Skinner met his eyes. "It's Agent Scully. Have you seen her?"
"Seen her? What? Not since work. I mean, about 6:30, I guess."
"She's apparently... disappeared."
The apartment tilted sideways, even though some small part of Mulder's brain called out 'why are you surprised?' He clutched the arm of the couch, as if that would steady things. Decades-old images of white lights and a floating body flashed like a demented slide show in his mind, overlaid and interspersed with pictures of Scully's apartment cordoned off with yellow tape. Duane Barry screaming his freedom on a mountain-top. Scully in the trunk of a car. Scully in a hospital bed with tape on her eyes. He shook his head sharply to clear it, and tried to stamp down the voices in his mind. "Disappeared? What...? How?" Even as he tried to center himself on Skinner's information, his mind was already clicking over to the next set of suspicions. Names and faces flashed through his mental files - Pfaster - dead, Modell - dead, Schnauze - dead.
"Her purse and her car keys were discovered beside her parked car, in her apartment lot. The car door was unlocked, partially open, which was why the neighbor noticed something was wrong. He saw the keys and purse, thought Scully may have dropped them if her arms were full, and took them inside to her apartment. And realized she wasn't home. Since her apartment key was on the ring, he got concerned. He waited to see if she'd come home, but he finally called the police."
Mulder stared at Skinner, hearing the words but not taking them in. Skinner kept talking, something about having spoken to the man himself, something about no one having seen anything, but Mulder was still struggling with the first fact, the fact that seemed to keep repeating. ::Gonegonegone. Disappeared. No witnesses. Abducted? Gone.:: "She's... I don't... how long?"
"Her things were found this evening at around 7:45. It took the neighbor a little while to decide to call the city police. It took them longer to call me. But it's only been hours, Mulder. We'll find her and she'll be-"
"She'll be fine," Mulder finished faintly, wanting to scream at Skinner that he didn't want his damn platitudes, but knowing that would solve nothing. ::Not again,:: the voice in his head started chanting. ::Not again. Not again not againnotagain. I can't take this again. I can't-:: He clamped the rising panic with an iron grip, feeling an instantaneous flash of guilt at his thoughts. ::Classic, Mulder, fucking classic. She's in trouble and you're thinking about yourself.:: Clearing his throat he stood suddenly. "Just let me get dressed. I'll be right out."
Skinner sat where he was as Mulder left the room, staring at the walls and seeing the pole-axed look on Mulder's face again in his mind's eye. The flashes of panic, grief, all the myriad emotions from all the times Scully had gone missing or been in danger. How many times had he watched this? How many times had they both been through this? Skinner sat, and stared, and hated himself for the fact that at a time like this, he could still feel the ever-present envy burning through him. Envy of the closeness Mulder shared with her, envy of the way Mulder could express his rage, frustration, pain at her disappearance, and no one would blink. Of course Mulder would be upset, he was her partner. Her best friend. Perhaps more. Mulder bulldozed over the "professional distance" regulations on a regular basis. No one would think twice.
While others... others stayed locked in their roles, locked in the cages of their own making, screaming just as loudly but with no outlet, no way to express-
The door behind him opened again, and he heard Mulder return. Shoving everything firmly back down, Skinner took a slow breath and stood. When he turned to face his agent, his expression was solemn but completely guarded again. "Let's go then."
*****
Medical research facility
Somewhere in the wilds of Virginia
January 25, 9 amScully tried to lift her head and felt her neck muscles give out, her head lolling forward again, chin to chest. The sway made her nausea worse, even with her eyes closed. She tried to move a hand to push back her hair at least, from where it hung in her face. Three attempts later and she had to force her eyes open to see what the problem was. Peering through her hair she tried to focus. Fingers, she could see her fingers. She could flex her fingers. Hand. Wrist. Oh. That would be the problem.
The wide leather strap held her wrist securely to the arm of the chair she sat in. Chair? Yes, chair. Moving chair. She opened her mouth to ask whoever was moving her chair to leave it alone, but nothing came out. Not even a croak. Closing her mouth and eyes, she concentrated on swallowing for a few moments.
In those moments, the sounds around her solidified and words began to separate from each other. "...on at least ten. I mean we had Covvarubias... ah, 'Subject 26' was she?... on 45 at the end there. Granted, Subject 21 died at 30, but certainly we've seen a lot of improvement since then. And I still don't believe the male/female issue has anything to do with it."
That voice. Scully would have groaned if she could have made a noise. That *voice*. Him. The head bastard himself. She forced her eyes open again. When she could look past her own lap she saw tiled floor rolling by. She spent a moment concentrating on not being sick, then tried to tune in to the conversation occurring just behind her.
"...can't guarantee you the results you're after, and I don't think wasting a test subject with too high an initial dose is worth it. It may not be a gender issue, but size could certainly play into it. Body weight. She's a tiny thing and he's *not*." She didn't recognize this voice, but experienced a purely mental shudder at the exasperated response.
"Fine, fine. You're the doctors. Tell him to start her at five. But I think you'll find her incredibly resilient-"
Their conversation halted abruptly at the sudden onset of a horrific shrieking to their right. Only her grogginess and the restraints kept Scully from reacting physically to the sounds of agony and outrage. As they rolled past what she realized was a door, they slowed. The movement of Spender's voice behind her told her he was moving closer to it.
"Ah. You see, Mr. Krycek is doing even better than expected. Oh yes, of course, my mistake... 'Subject 38'. Tell me, what are we testing him with this time?"
"Um... broken leg. Both legs. This time interfering with the process. You know, what happens when the bones start to set and then they're moved out of alignment."
"Mmm. And still going strong. Excellent. That's why I wanted her brought in at this point. I wouldn't risk her with just any stage of the trials. She's rather important, this one."
As the wheelchair started rolling again, Scully ignored their continuing conversation in favor of trying to process what she had just heard. The further they went down the hall, the more muffled the noises from that room, but it took far too long for them to roll out of earshot. Mister Krycek? *Alex* Krycek? Who else could it be making that... noise? Her kneejerk reaction was that the bastard deserved whatever he was getting, but instantly her Catholic guilt kicked in. Or possibly her doctor guilt. Maybe even both, considering how quickly she winced at her own thoughts. Nobody deserved whatever was making him scream like that. He deserved to be held accountable for his crimes, but not like this.
Then Alex Krycek was the last thing on her mind as a door opened and her wheelchair swung to the right. She lifted her head again and found her neck muscles working this time. She blinked as the chair stopped rolling in the middle of a small white room.
"Ah, you're awake. Wonderful." Spender moved into her line of sight and leaned down, peering into her eyes. "How are you feeling?"
Scully opened her mouth to tell him what he could do with the damn cigarette, but found she still couldn't force her vocal chords to function.
"Shhh. Don't try to answer then," he said in that irritating, solicitous voice. "Relax. Don't talk." His hand brushed her hair back and she wanted to jerk away but couldn't. "The drugs will wear off soon enough. You are in there though? You're focusing. I believe you can hear me, yes? You're being accorded a great honor, Agent Scully. This current work could be some of our most important, and you're going to be a part of it." Taking out another cigarette, he lit it and settled back to sit on the edge of a bed Scully hadn't even noticed. Inhaling, then slowly releasing a cloud of smoke into the air, he continued in a vaguely rhapsodic voice. "As a scientist, I'm sure you'll appreciate the magnitude of what we've discovered. I'm sure you'll understand the honor of dedicating your life - literally - to the pursuit of scientific advancement."
"And once we have you, your loyal partner is always so quick to follow. Saves time all the way around. Two for the price of one." He smiled and lifted his cigarette to study it for a moment, as if addressing it rather than the bound woman before him. "Although in this case, you would have come first anyway. More opportunity for us to perfect the process. Make sure everything is at its apex before involving my- my dear Agent Mulder." He put the cigarette to his mouth again, refocused his eyes on her, and murmured around it. "I think you'd agree with my priorities?"
Scully stared at the hated face before her, and felt a chill crawl up her spine. The calmness, the lack of malice, the almost beatific glow. It was times like these that convinced her beyond a shadow of a doubt that, whatever else this man was, he was also certifiably insane.
*****
FBI Headquarters
Washington D.C.
Mulder's Office
January 25, 5 pmThere was nothing he could do. No leads to follow. Oh, he *knew* who was behind Scully's disappearance. It had to be the Smoker. The lack of evidence just confirmed it, as far as Mulder was concerned. When he said as much to Skinner, the A.D. sighed heavily, and ordered Mulder to stay out of the way of the agents on the case.
Stay out of the way. Back to the basement like a good boy, too involved for your own good, can't be objective, give your input to the agents who have something to do. He'd heard it all before and he never bought it. Who was it that had figured out where Scully was when Barry had kidnapped her? He ground his teeth and the pencil in his hand snapped. He dropped the two pieces and tilted his chair back. He'd given the agents assigned as much information as he could about anyone who might want to hurt Scully, all their past cases that might reappear, but what good was that? There was no file on the man responsible, no address to hand over, no "last known location."
Nothing to do. Pretend to work on the overdue reports piled on his desk. Sharpen pencils. Go out to the break room to get rancid coffee that he didn't drink until it got cold. Crack open sunflower seeds and pile them uneaten on his desk.
And still he couldn't leave. He watched the clock tick away the minutes past quitting time. Go home? Right.
How many times had he gone through this? How many times had Scully gone through the same thing, wondering where he was, if he was hurt, if he was alive? Of course he could be reasonably sure Scully hadn't just ditched him to go on some wild alien-chase, whereas when he disappeared there was always the chance he was breaking into some government building or military base or floating around in the Bermuda Triangle looking for a reappeared World War II ship. He winced at the thoughts. If this was how she felt - damn, he really had to be better about not doing that. Still, all part of being partners, he supposed. Partners.
Partners.
Likely, it was all the reminders of the Duane Barry abduction, or maybe it was just the word 'partner'. Or perhaps his mind simply felt like punishing him. Whatever the cause, his thoughts took the unavoidable turn.
He'd had a different partner, once. Briefly. Before life had dealt him yet another joker from the deck. However much his mind rebelled at connecting the man with the appellation 'partner', it had actually started to fit, in spite of his own stubborn resistance.
Another partner... tall and awkward and too pretty by half. Wide-eyed and admiring, eager, with a quirky, challenging grin that begged to be slapped or kissed. And Mulder had kissed him, his damnably perfect memory insisted on reminding him in minute detail - ravished that mouth until they were both panting. He could pretend it wasn't his own fault, that he had been at an extreme emotional low, vulnerable. And there was some truth in the pretense. The memory of those kisses would be forever tangled up with the memory of Scully's abduction by Barry...
#####
The ambulance left, taking away the wounded Barry. Congratulations from the agents of the law. Hugs from the families of the hostages. Open glances of admiration for the hero of the day. Who felt like shit.
He drove away from the crowd still in front of the travel agency where it had gone down. Cops and FBI agents securing the scene or collecting evidence, reporters talking into TV cameras, the curious and the blood-thirsty hoping for one last bit of drama. He went back to his office, wrote his reports. He sat and stared at nothing, then dragged himself home and didn't sleep.
Duane had begun to trust him, to think he'd finally found someone who believed his story, who didn't think he was insane. And Mulder betrayed him. He'd done the right thing. He'd saved the hostages and himself. He'd done his job. Shit.
After a night of tossing and turning with his self-doubt, he'd been summoned to the hospital by Kazdan, to be given even more reason to beat up on himself. The implants, right where Barry had said. He'd known, dammit, he'd *known* Barry was the real thing. But Scully's voice in his ear had begun to convince him otherwise. The doubts had risen and he'd had to question. Duane's irrationality had flared with the gun still in hand, and suddenly there just didn't seem to be any other way. He'd sent the man to the door just as the SWAT team outside wanted.
And now he stood by the bedside with a sinking heart, hearing the suspicious circumstances of Duane's original injury. Hearing about x-rays detecting metal implants. Hearing about tiny holes in teeth, holes that were technologically impossible but there nonetheless.
And then he'd spent the rest of the day hearing Scully tell him the metal was probably shrapnel, wincing at her tone of voice when she insisted that no matter where the metal was found, Barry was only telling one *version* of the truth. The ever-present doubt written all over her face.
He'd walked out. Left her in her office, left her to her ballistics test that she was so positive would clear everything up in seconds. Left her to her tireless efforts to prove him wrong.
Wandering the halls with no clear destination in mind, guilt and anger and confusion eating away at his stomach, he'd ended up in the basement, at his old office. Closed up, but not cleaned up. The familiar mess only made him feel more hollow. He sat in his old chair, head in his hands, trying to make some sense of Duane, of Scully, of his life.
Someone sat down on the edge of his desk. A hand appeared below his nose, holding a small bag of sunflower seeds. He glanced up. Alex Krycek continued to gaze at the posters on the wall, anywhere but at Mulder, and smiled slightly.
Mulder had no idea how long they sat there, silently. It was... nice. Krycek didn't demand anything. He didn't congratulate him, slap his shoulder, say what a great job he'd done. Didn't make smart ass remarks about Barry's state of mind, about his crazy tales. Didn't try to tell him the implants were shrapnel, and subtly hint he was being silly to assume anything else. He was just there. A quiet, warm, solid presence. Reassuring, somehow.
And gradually, Mulder's thoughts moved from his disgust with the whole Duane Barry fiasco to contemplating the man beside him. The man who had gone from resented interloper to tolerated partner to something approaching true partner faster than Mulder could have dreamed possible. He had also become something more... the stuff of the fantasies Mulder spun in his mind late at night while watching his infamous video collection.
He'd wondered about Krycek. How could he not? The new agent was so... obvious. Alex followed him around with flattering if exasperating attention, carefully observing the older agent at work, drinking in the technique, the skills, the flashes of intuition. Was there more in his devotion than wanting to learn his trade from a master?
He looked at Krycek again, at the handsome profile made almost child-like by that nose. Krycek looked back at him then, face empathetic, still silent. The eye contact caught and held. Mulder stood, moving just slightly closer. Krycek's gaze dropped to Mulder's mouth fleetingly, then those absurdly thick lashes lifted and the green eyes met his again, then skated away.
Ah. That answered that question. And if he'd had any lingering doubts, the light flush creeping up Krycek's cheeks now stilled them. Mulder had an instant's guilty thought that he was using Krycek to distract himself from his depression and self-disgust, before he leaned closer, one hand on the desk at Krycek's hip, and brushed Krycek's lips with his own.
Kryeck didn't pull away but he stiffened, sucking in a surprised breath, and murmured, "We really shouldn't-"
"Yeah?" Mulder breathed against the other man's mouth. "And since when have I followed the rules?"
It was the shivering sigh that did it. Mulder could feel it on his lips, and gave in to the absurd impulse to try to taste it, his tongue flickering out to lick his own lip before ghosting over Krycek's. Mulder lifted his hand and cradled the other man's cheek, thumb tracing the cheekbone. His leg nudged between Krycek's thighs as he let his tongue wander again, stronger this time, pressing for entry. The slight scratch of stubble at his fingertips made his palm tingle, while the yielding mouth drew him in.
Oh, what a way to forget. What a sweet, delicious way to blot out the frustration, the failure... Mulder let everything melt away in the heat rising before him.
The mouth parted before his probing with a sweet surrender and a small whimper. The helpless sound alone made Mulder ravenous. As his tongue swept in to claim new territory, his fingers slid around to tangle in silky dark hair, loosed from its imprisoning gel by the August heat and careless hands. Leaning against the solidity of the other man, Mulder lifted his other hand from the desk and let it join its mate, twisting in hair and bending Krycek's head back as his mouth was plundered. Catching the soft lips in his teeth, Mulder nibbled and licked, then sucked the lower lip into his mouth and pressed forward with his thigh. Another soft sound of need rose into the room as the tense, muscled legs parted as sweetly as the lips had. Perched on the edge of the desk, Alex rubbed himself up against Mulder's thigh. His arms rose to clutch at Mulder's shoulders, then with an aching gasp, dropped restlessly to wrap around Mulder's waist, pulling at his hips with demanding strength.
Feeling the heat between Alex's legs, the hardness rubbing against his own thigh, was perfection. Mulder deepened the kiss, eating the small moans Alex couldn't seem to stop making, and shivered at the way Alex squirmed against him. Untangling his fingers and letting them trail over Krycek's throat, down his shirtfront, he began to rock his leg. He made a throaty sound at the way Alex rode against it helplessly. Mulder was searching for Krycek's belt buckle by touch alone, when a cell phone rang.
They clung together briefly as they tried to figure out whose phone it was. When they traced it to Krycek, Mulder released the man's pants and took one step back.
Sinking back against the desk, Krycek fumbled his phone out of his coat. His voice shaking as much as his hand, he answered it, his eyes huge in his flushed face and focused only on Mulder while he spoke. "Krycek. Yes, sir. Yes, he's here with me. Yes, I will, sir."
"Skinner?" Mulder sighed. The real world returned with a vengeance, and he knew it was taking away his distraction.
"Yeah." Krycek ran his hand through his hair, and bit at his swollen lip. "I've got to go to his office. You're supposed to go home and get some rest. He thinks you didn't look so good today."
"Yeah, right." Mulder ran his hands through his own hair and tried not to think about the way Alex's suit pants wouldn't lay flat. Suddenly, it was just too much. "Listen, Krycek... Alex. Come to my place when you get off work."
Krycek did another one of those quavering sighs that made Mulder want to bend him over the desk now, to hell with Skinner. "We really shouldn't, Mulder. I shouldn't let this happen. I'm sorry, I didn't... I mean I know... I didn't mean to lead you on-"
"Alex, you didn't do anything wrong. I started that, and I know I did. But you... well, you didn't exactly seem to be unaffected, and I got the impression you were enjoying yourself." Mulder tried a teasing smile, wishing he was a little more practiced at seduction. Wishing he could just kiss Krycek into submission. If his partner's instant capitulation just now was anything to go by, that would definitely meet with success.
Krycek bit his lip again, and coupled with a deepening blush, it made Mulder crazy. "I've got a late meeting, Mulder. I've got reports to do and who knows what Skinner is going to assign me now that you're going home. I'd be really late and-"
Mulder could hear the husk of need in Alex's voice and could see him weakening, waiting to be convinced. He let the teasing drop, and allowed his weariness to surface. "Alex... please? I don't care when you can get there. I need... okay, I'm a selfish bastard, but I need some way to turn my brain off. Just for a little while. I need... you."
The pause was long, and the expression odd, but Krycek finally nodded. "Okay. This isn't... Jesus, Mulder. This is crazy. It's stupid, I... fuck. I'll be there."
#####
It hadn't happened though. Mulder kissed Krycek one last time, resisting the temptation to leave bite marks, and left for the day. Avoided going back to his empty apartment. Didn't even call Scully to find out about her ballistic test. He stayed out as long as possible, thinking through preparations for the night - did he have anything to eat, to drink? Condoms? Lube? Finally entered his apartment, pushed the playback on his answering machine, and listened to Scully's message about the implant they'd removed from Duane Barry. Listened to her screaming his name, calling for his help, as Barry smashed through her window and...
And now she was gone again. Mulder folded his arms on his desk and dropped his head, hiding his face in shame. Was he honestly any less of a mess than he had been back then? How the hell could he be thinking of kissing that lying, traitorous bastard while Scully was out who knew where, having who knew what done to her? How could he be sitting here with a throbbing hard-on thinking about how that son-of-a-bitch melted in his arms when he should be finding Scully.
He hated it when the old memory decided to play show and tell, even at the best of times. That it would decide to come out and torture him now was even worse... bringing up all the old guilt at his inability to save Scully. Reminding him of his irritation with her just prior to her abduction, the way he'd been groping Alex Krycek - and planning to do more - while Duane Barry stalked her.
No Alex Krycek this time. Mulder ignored the twist in his chest and told himself how pleased he was that was the case. The murderous scum, last seen stepping casually over his helpless body in a stairwell, was better off dead.
He pushed himself away from his desk angrily, and stalked over to his files. Scully was missing, and thinking about Alex Krycek got him absolutely nowhere. And hardly improved his mental state. Jerking open a drawer he started rifling through files. There had to be something, something useful. He slammed the drawer shut again in frustration. Pointless. CGB Spender was behind this, Mulder could feel it in his bones. And until Spender made his game-plan known, they'd get nowhere.
But he'd be damned if he'd just sit here and wait. So he wasn't on the case officially... couldn't be on the case. When had that ever stopped him. Knowing it was pointless, but also knowing it felt better than sitting in the office remembering things better left buried, Mulder grabbed his coat and headed out for yet another look at the scene of the crime.
*****
Medical Research Facility
Somewhere in the wilds of Virginia
Krycek's cell
January 25, 6 pmMoving is a mistake. As sharp, jagged pain flares on top of tight, cramping pain over a thick foundation of dull, throbbing pain, I begin to think waking up at all was a mistake. Maybe being alive isn't such a good idea either.
Not that I'm getting much of a choice in any of this. Those fucking white-coated torturers-cum-scientists keep manipulating my damn legs no matter what I scream, threaten, or, embarrassingly enough, plead. Granted, my voice gave out a while back, and about now I sound like a frog with asthma. And to add to the fun, the phantom pain in my missing arm is worse than it's ever been. From my shoulder down through fingers that aren't there anymore, it's like a pulse of fire right in rhythm with my heartbeat. God, it's never been this bad.
I blink and realize I'm back in my cell. We must be done for today. My own personal Doctor Mengele bends over me, examining his day's work, and two of the hulking orderlies get a good grip on me. Like I can do anything. They usually strap me to the bed the minute they get me back here. At least they haven't done that yet. I managed to get in a good kick some days ago, and gave one of the bastards a very colorful broken nose. Shouldn't have, probably, since they've been even more careful since then with the restraints. But I couldn't resist the opportunity.
Fuck, I hate being strapped down. It brings out the claustrophobia. Bad. I try not to let them know I'm awake. Maybe they won't do the restraints since they've been fucking with my legs so much. The Nazi prods, I wince, and wish again that I just hadn't woken up. I smell the sickly familiar scent of the Morleys before I hear the voice.
"And how is our little experiment doing today, Dr. Kessin?"
I fight not to react even with a flinch.
"It's amazing!" The guy sounds like I'm his school science project. "We pulled the bones out of alignment over and over, and each time the surrounding muscles actually expanded and contracted until they were realigned! His body's ability to reset its own bones was just... unbelievable. This man has the most fully developed healing function of all of the subjects so far." The doctor touches my left leg, and I try not to jerk. No restraints. See, nice Krycek. You don't need to strap me down. "See this? When we first got him, this scar was about 6 inches long, deep, probably a knife gash that wasn't stitched or properly treated. But since we broke this leg, not only has the break healed, as well as the resulting tissue injuries, but the scar tissue has also regenerated."
"Fascinating!" The Smoker takes a drag from his cigarette, leans over my stump, and blows smoke directly in my face. Okay, so he knows I'm awake. Fuck it. I open my eyes and stare at him dully. "This is excellent. More than we'd hoped for." Without even thinking, I clear my throat and spit in his face. He dodges it easily, and keeps talking like I'm not even in the room, much less awake and staring at him. "I think we should follow up on this. The next phase should be to test whether we can force the healing of old injuries by traumatizing the surrounding area. Try damaging the tissue around his left shoulder, see what happens with the stump and that amputation mess."
Oh God no. Not the arm. I try not to let anything show on my face. It's hard enough not getting flashbacks of that night with the knife anyway. If these fuckers start carving up my stump... I bite back a whimper that really wants to emerge. Not in front of him. I never feel quite so much like a little white rat in a cage as when he stands by my bedside.
"It will be interesting to see how the body reacts. And if we can get somewhere with the arm in the way of actual regrowth, rather than just partial regeneration of the scarred tissue, we'll have to try it with something like an eye. Wouldn't that be amazing if he could literally regenerate an eye?"
I redouble my efforts not to flinch, even though it takes everything I have. And believe me, just about now I don't have much of anything.
"Look, we've been pushing him pretty hard," Nazi-boy speaks up tentatively. As if he has a chance in hell of standing up to Spender. "We've just considerably upped his dosage today. I'm concerned we'll exhaust his body's recuperative powers too soon, like we did the others. This one is the best subject yet, and I don't want to lose him. Besides, we now have the woman, and you've said we'll be getting another man soon."
Oh *thank you*. Thank you so much for not wanting to *break* your new toy too quickly. I never wanted to get up off the bed and smash their faces together as much as I do right then, listening to them casually chat about me like the subhuman I am.
"Yes, we'll be picking up Mr. Mulder in a few days. It should be simple enough. Let him know we know where Miss Scully is, he'll walk right into our hands. You can have Miss Scully tomorrow. The tranquilizing drugs should be out of her system by then. But I want you to continue with this one. I hate delays when we're experiencing success. Especially if you just upped his dose."
Mulder?
Mulder.
Fuck, MULDER.
All thoughts of my helplessness, my pride, my rage, fly out of my mind with disgusting speed, and I want to cringe at the way just that name affects me. But... Mulder. They're going after *Mulder*? No. Nonononononono. Suddenly my brain finishes processing what I heard. SCULLY??! They have Scully? *Shit*.
Dr. Kessin still looks hesitant, but nods slowly, and suddenly he waves the orderlies out of the room. They hurry for the door, never eager to be around for long when Spender is present. Maybe they're smarter than they look. Probably thinking he'll eventually give *them* that appraising look and say something like 'this one looks strong'. Pulling off his latex gloves and following Spender to the door, Kessin finally starts talking again, and of course gives in. What's a broken toy compared to disobeying the man in charge? "Very well. I'll start on Subject 38's arm first thing tomorrow morning. I'll be interested to learn if anything can be done about that sort of drastic trauma, and what sort of regeneration, if any, will-"
The door slams shut, the locks fall into place, and silence reigns. Pain or no pain, I no longer want to be out of it again. I have to stay awake. Fuckfuckfuck. They have Scully. I've got to get out of here. They're going after Mulder. FUCK. With Scully as bait, he really will walk right to them. Stupid bastard. I've got to get out. I've got to get *her* out. I can't let them do *this* to her. Jesus, I hope they haven't started on her. He'll kill me if I don't get her out.
I know I'm close to panicking, and try to calm myself with slow breaths. Everything hurts, I can't even move, and they have Scully and are going after Mulder.
Who hates me.
Well, I mean why not. A little betrayal, a lot of plotting with his enemies to confound him and control him, add a dash of killing his father. And I know he blames me for Scully's abduction and for her sister too. Even though those two things can't exactly be laid at my feet. Not *exactly*. I stare up at the white ceiling remembering all the little, and not-so-little, ways I've screwed up Fox Mulder's life. Purposely and accidentally. So why, after all that, did I have to go and get hooked on the idiot.
I snort. Who's the idiot?
He'll never listen to me, never stay away from this hellhole. He'll come charging in to rescue his precious Scully, forget about his own safety. Shit. Which brings me right back around. I have to get out of here, and take her with me. I try to bolster myself with the knowledge that I'm an expert at getting in and out of places I don't belong. It'd be a hell of a lot easier alone though. And Jesus, the pain in my legs feels like it's shooting up to meet the throbbing in my head and the burning in the arm I don't have anymore will *not* let the fuck up. And I'm so fucking tired.
Mulder.
I flex one foot, then the ankle.
And realize that, between my passivity and their haste to get away from Spender, the orderlies didn't fasten my restraints.
*****
Medical Research Facility
Somewhere in the wilds of Virginia
Scully's Cell
9:30 pmAn orderly with a swollen, black-and-blue nose came in to retrieve her dinner tray and the cheap plastic utensils useless as weapons.
"You didn't finish your dinner," he said. "You really oughta keep up your strength."
His partner, leaning against the doorframe, smiled. "Yeah, going to need your vitamins. They got plans for you."
Scully ignored the taunting voice, staring straight ahead.
The first man gazed down at her. "Too bad. She's a real babe."
His leering tone made Scully want to cross her arms over herself, but she resisted the impulse with a silent thank you that she still had her clothes. She knew about the hospital gowns stored in the tiny adjoining bathroom, but no one had taken away her clothes yet.
"Yeah, too fucking bad. Hey, Johnny, maybe she'd like some company later, after we tuck Krycek in for the night."
Johnny grimaced. "That asshole. He broke my fucking nose!"
"Yeah, well, guess he's got reason to be pissed off, you know?" Bert smirked.
"Yeah, but not at me! I'm just doing a job, I don't give the orders."
As the door closed, Johnny winked at Scully. "See you later, baby. Gonna have some fun tonight. Only fair you should have some fun before they start taking you apart tomorrow."
She leveled him her iciest stare. "I'll take my chances with the researchers," she snapped condescendingly, lip curled. Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she shouldn't be goading them. But Johnny seemed to delight in her response, laughing and elbowing his partner. He flicked off the light, leaving her in darkness.
"Hey, man, where is everybody?" Bert asked, dropping the tray on the utility cart they pushed along the deserted hallway.
"Got a call about a half-hour ago," Johnny replied, unlocking the door to the cell at the end of the hall. "There's some security breach in the north sector. Probably just a crossed wire but most of the guards are up there. You know how they been about security lately." He wrestled the door open and jerked his head back at the cart Bert wheeled. "You can feed him tonight. I'm sick of ending up with this shit spit all over my shirt."
Bert laughed. "And here I thought you were having such fun jamming that spork down his throat."
Johnny snorted. "Jam something else down that fucker's throat if I didn't think he'd bite it off," he muttered under his breath, flipping the lights and scanning the tiny room. He knew they kept this one strapped down now, but he wasn't about to be caught off guard by this guy again.
Bert laughed again, pushing the cart into the room and pulling out the last tray. After the trouble he'd given all the orderlies, leaving Krycek until after everyone else had finished eating was standard operating procedure now. Besides, it ensured the food was particularly gross and cold by the time they had to shovel it into him. He pried up the lid and glanced over his shoulder.
Krycek was on his back on the cot, asleep, covered with the thin blanket. Man, the guy looked like shit. He'd lost at least fifteen pounds since they'd brought him in, what, three weeks ago? He'd heard the screaming, too. Yeah, so the guy had a right to fight back, but as Johnny kept bitching, why couldn't he have broken that smoking bastard's nose? *That* would have been worth seeing.
"Come on, get him woken up. Let's get this done and get back to the babe down the hall. I'll bet she's lonely." Bert grinned as he stabbed the spork into the congealed mess on the tray.
"Yeah, okay," Johnny yanked the blanket off the bed, and turned to toss it in the bag hanging from the cart. And suddenly found himself hurtling into Bert, slamming into the wall as Bert fell forward over the cart and rolled to the side. "What the fu-"
The last thing he saw was Alex Krycek's snarling face, as Krycek's hand closed around his neck, then the world went gray. The last thing he heard was a loud snap. Then the world went black.
Bert yelled, and scrambled as far as the door before he was tripped and dragged back into the room. He didn't have time to yell again.
*****
Scully paced the seven steps to the far side of her cell, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, shivering from cold and nerves. Not for the first time, she wished she'd worn pants instead of a skirt to work the day before. She considered wrapping herself in the blanket from the bed; it would be warmer, and it would make one more layer those bastards would have to get through if they did come back to "have some fun" with her. God, was there any chance Mulder was on his way to rescue her? Had anyone seen her being grabbed by her car and thrown into a van? Had Mulder managed one of his patented leaps of logic that seemed paranormal in and of themselves?
Was there any hope of getting out of here before they started doing to her whatever they'd done to Krycek?
She paced seven steps back across the room. If she could get to a phone... but she didn't know where she was. Could she keep a phone line open long enough for Mulder to trace the call? Could...
A succession of dull thuds and a muffled shout, quickly silenced, distracted her. She froze, but all remained quiet. She hoped it was Krycek giving someone hell. Long moments passed and silence held... then the sound of someone checking doors. She reached for the blanket, then spun as she heard the locks on her own door turning.
Moving to the corner farthest from the door, she got her back to the wall. The door opened slowly, revealing a dark figure, dimly back-lit. A hoarse voice croaked, "Come on, we're getting out of here."
"What?"
"It's me, Krycek. Come on, there's a guard at the other end of the hall. We can't hang around here!"
Krycek! Scully hesitated for a moment, her first impulse to respond to him as she had to the orderlies. The sarcastic thought surfaced that at least with the Consortium researchers she knew where she stood. Whereas Krycek... talk about your unknown quantities. Why would he help her? She hadn't actually *seen* him being experimented on... she only had the Smoking Man's word that it had been him in that room. They'd supposedly broken his legs. How the hell could he be walking? Could he be in on this somehow? But then why would he be here at her cell... and she had to get out, and here was an open door. She could leave with him now, and look for an opportunity to take him out later.
"Scully, we need to leave, *now*." Krycek's raw voice broke into her racing thoughts, clearly transmitting his urgency, and in her head she heard those awful screams again. Decision clicked. She'd risk it. Shaking off her gut-level distaste and distrust, she hurried to his side. Biting back a protest, she let him take her arm and pull her down the darkened corridor and around a corner. Pausing to listen for pursuit, he leaned against the wall, panting heavily.
As she got her first good look at him, Scully was horrified. Even in the dim utility light of the hall, he looked like he'd been daytripping to hell. Too thin, pale, his eyes rimmed in red. He shivered almost continuously, despite the fine sheen of sweat on his face. His gait was wrong too... walking like an old man, stiff and unsteady. Her eyes skimmed over his gaunt form and arrowed in on the empty left sleeve. Catching her breath sharply, her stomach plummeted and her estimation of his trustworthiness in this particular situation rose. He wasn't faking *that*. What the hell had they *done* to him? He definitely wasn't in on this, and he most certainly wanted to get out of this place. "How...?"
Barely paying attention to her, he misunderstood her half-finished question. "Idiot orderlies. Look, I think we've got a chance here. I heard there's some disturbance up on the north side of the complex. I think I've been here. It was a while ago, but if we're where I think we are, if we head down to the basement, there should be a service door toward the southern end of the building that leads to a back road. We can get to the highway from there."
Scully nodded, pushing questions about his condition away for later. "Do you know where we are? Any chance we can use a phone here?"
"Maybe, I don't know if we can risk the time though. I-"
"Freeze! Don't even think about moving!"
Ignoring the order, Krycek whirled, blocking her with his body. In the next moment, Scully found herself knocked off her feet and she rolled into a recessed doorway as bullets hit the wall right where she'd been standing. She heard Krycek cry out and saw him fall in the middle of the hallway. She eased back into the shadow of the alcove as heavy footsteps pounded down the hall, hoping the guard may have missed seeing her behind Krycek's bulk. Waiting and watching for a chance to spring, her mind spun with the surreal knowledge that Alex Krycek had just taken a bullet for her. Definitely too much to contemplate under the circumstances.
The guard slowed and approached Krycek's still form cautiously, nudging him with his boot. When Krycek didn't move, he bent over to roll Krycek onto his back. An explosion of movement turned into a panting scuffle, and then the guard slammed backward forcefully, shot with his own gun. Krycek struggled to his feet, shaking his head and tucking the gun into the waistband of his pants. "Fucking amateurs. Who do they think they're dealing with here?"
"Are you-" Scully couldn't help a slight smile. "I was going to ask if you're okay. Stupid question."
Blood bloomed dark red on the left shoulder of his shirt - or rather, Johnny's shirt, she realized. Krycek must have stolen the orderly's clothes and shoes, and a good thing he had, since escaping wearing only a hospital gown didn't seem like such a smart idea. The clothes hung on him, emphasizing his ragged condition. He staggered over to Scully, clutching his shoulder with his right hand. "At least it wasn't the other side," he rasped.
She couldn't believe his cavalier attitude about the arm loss. A quick check showed a deep crease across the top of the shoulder joint, bleeding steadily. Scully ripped off the lower half of the hanging sleeve and bandaged the shoulder as best she could in a hurry, once again trying not to think too much. The empty space where an arm should be was sickly compelling, but she ignored it for the moment and stepped back. "Okay, where's this back door we're heading for?" she asked briskly. ::Get out,:: her mind insisted. ::Get out now, deal with Krycek later.::
He looked at her with an unreadable expression in his haunted eyes, and nodded once. "This way." He got the gun back in hand and started off down the hallway. His hobbling walk was painful to watch, but Scully doubted he'd take any help she offered, even if she could make herself offer it. They hadn't taken more than five steps when a door burst open ahead of them, voices carrying out into the hallway before figures appeared.
"-heard gunshots, dammit. Don't tell me I'm imagining things." A thin man in a white lab coat rounded the corner, followed by a short, dark haired woman in glasses. They both froze at the sight of Krycek and Scully.
One shot and the man fell. The woman started to take a step back, reaching for something at her waist, but Scully's clumsy kick caught her in the forearm and a gun went flying. Scully caught herself against the wall, suddenly reevaluating how much the drugs had worn off. She'd done that move a hundred times and never been that sloppy. Krycek turned and brought the butt of his gun down sharply on the back of the woman's head, stooping to pick up the second gun even as she fell. How the hell was he managing with his recently-broken legs and having had an arm cut off?
"Nice medical staff, all fully armed," Scully muttered, trying to project the same blasé approach he did.
Glancing up to respond, Krycek's eyes suddenly went round. "Scully, the door! Before it locks!" He pointed with the gun to the automatic door that was slowly wheezing shut, and Scully reacted automatically, catching the metal handle. As she did so, she noticed what had caught Krycek's eye - the automatic locking mechanism above the handle that needed to be opened with a keycard and possibly a fingerprint, from the look of the little scanner at the top. "Any door in this place locked like that is gonna have something worth seeing behind it," Krycek managed through his heaving breaths.
Scully pulled the door the rest of the way open and peered in. "I thought we couldn't take time to stop," she hissed.
"I thought you wanted to find a phone," Krycek hissed back, brushing past her into the room. "Besides, I knew that guy. He was assisting our good Dr. Kessin."
The hair on the back of her neck rose at his tone, and Scully followed him into the room, reflecting that the good Dr. Kessin was unlikely to enjoy a long and healthy career. She saw a phone on the desk and reached for it, while Krycek went straight for the computer. As he sat down and started tapping on the keyboard, he glanced over at her. "If you're calling Mulder, tell him to get his ass somewhere safe and *stay* there until we can talk to him. He's in danger."
Scully paused with her hand on the receiver. "And I should believe you, why?" she asked coldly.
Krycek spun and glared at her. "Gee, I don't know, Scully. Maybe because you're in a fucking *research* facility, about to be injected with some... *substance* and experimented on! Get a clue here... they want people who have been exposed to the black oil and *lived*. Guess who qualifies? Aside from a few other human hamsters they've already killed off, that would be you, me, and one Mister Fox Fucking Mulder."
Scully stared at him for a long moment, then picked up the phone as he went back to the computer with a subdued snarl. As she got the receiver to her ear, she froze as a soft, courteous voice spoke directly to her. "Yes, please? What extension do you need?" She swallowed hard, and hung up the phone. Krycek glanced at her, brow furrowed. "Inside phone system," she said woodenly. "I didn't want to ask for an outside line... they've got to be monitoring."
"Shit!" Krycek turned back to the computer and started moving his fingers faster. "We've got to get out. Now."
Hearing the panicked undertone in his voice, Scully stared at the way his single hand danced over the keyboard. "Then what are you doing?"
"This is too good of an opportunity," he insisted hoarsely. "They were signed onto the system, working on the research, their passwords were in and everything."
"That information is going to be really helpful if we're dead, Krycek," she snapped.
Fumbling in the desk and yanking out a cartridge, Krycek slammed it into the computer and hit another few commands before looking at her. Scully almost took a step back at the rage in his face; his eyes weren't entirely sane as his lips peeled back off his teeth.
"I could already be dead, Agent Scully. I. Want. To. Know. What. They. Injected. Me. With."
With a short nod, Scully stepped forward and looked over his shoulder. "What have you got here?"
"I'm copying the whole damn mess. I can't tell what might be useful or not. I'm compressing what I can." She noticed his hand shaking as he gestured at the screen with the slowly moving blue bar telling them that copying was 26% complete. She thought he may have noticed the tremors as well, because the hand balled into a fist and dropped to rest white-knuckled on the desk.
"Alright, I'll watch the hall." Scully stepped to the door and peered around it, scanning the hall in both directions as the computer chugged behind her. She glanced at the bodies lying on the floor as she kept scanning for any movement. She had a moment's urge to take off and leave him to his files, just get the hell out, but it passed when she recalled his comments about knowing the facility. She wanted to get *out*, not spend all night wandering the facility and possibly running into more personnel. ::If I find out he's lying about knowing this place, I'll kick his ass,:: she muttered to herself. With a quick glance over her shoulder at the lopsided figure huddled in front of the computer, she reflected that it likely wouldn't be that hard at the moment.
*****
I wonder as she moves across the room if she's going to take off on me. I would have considered it in her place. I could probably find her again if I had to, although I don't want to spend anymore time in this place than necessary. Already the self-preservation voices are chanting all through my head... "get out get out get out get out". Damn the data, and get the fuck out. Only the thought of those syringes, and my body's reactions to the shots, keeps me in the chair.
I spare a glance at the door, and Scully is still there. I can't quite stop a sigh of relief. Damn, I'm in bad shape. Losing control. But fuck, I've got to go to him, and if he knew she was here, and I didn't manage to get her out... I don't even want to think about it. She is definitely coming with me. He'll listen to her, and hell, she's a doctor. Maybe she can figure out what they've done to me. She's coming with me if I have to hold the gun to her head.
Which reminds me, I have both guns. Maybe that's why she isn't taking off. Well, that and my promise that I can get her out. I hope to hell I can. I do think I've been here before, but shit... seen one Consortium research lab, seen them all. I might be thinking somewhere else. I wasn't exactly in great shape when I got here, and it's all been downhill since.
As if on cue one hell of a shudder racks my body. I usually spend half the nights in here shaking and delirious from the effects of whatever they're pumping into me. The thought that I might be hitting that stage spurs me to want out even faster, and I watch raptly as the blue bar inches across the screen. Come on, 86%, keep going, finish, damn it, finish.
At the chime, I whip out the cartridge and shove in a new one. I keep going for as long as I dare, but when the panic gets overwhelming, I grab the cartridges, shove them into my pant's pocket, along with any loose disks I can immediately lay my hand on. I know there has to be other stuff in this office that I'll be kicking myself for missing, but I can't stand the skin-crawling sensation anymore. We have to get out, now. I leap up from the desk and can't quite contain a strangled yelp as my legs protest, loudly. Doubling over, tears starting in my eyes, I gasp and hang onto the file cabinet I've collapsed against.
"Come on," a sharp voice penetrates my shrieking brain. "Krycek, come on. Move. You can do it. The hall's still clear. Let's go."
Her steady, insistent voice and the strong little arm wrapped around my waist get me moving when every step sends a nightmare of agony reverberating through my body. I must have been functioning on sheer adrenaline since killing the orderlies. Sitting down for five minutes gave my body time to breathe, and time to start complaining.
I lean against Scully and we start out the door, stepping over the woman's body. "Scully," I manage. "The bodies." She glances up at me with a dark look, but realizes what I mean, because instantly we're both moving to shove the woman's body against the door to hold it open long enough to drag the man and the guard inside. If it keeps them off our trail for a little while longer, it'll be worth the extra five minutes. Pushing the woman the rest of the way in while I lean on the wall, she lets the door close and glances at the blood on the floor. I shake my head and she nods - we've done all we can. Hopefully without the bodies to catch someone's eye, the smears of blood will be overlooked longer in the darkened hallways.
She steps over and circles my waist again without asking. My stump presses down into her shoulder, just one more background pain. I make a whimpering noise without even realizing it, and she looks at me quickly. I don't know what gives it away, but almost instantly she shifts sides, slipping under my right arm and draping it around her shoulder. It's slightly more comfortable and when she says "Which way?" I'm able to jerk my chin right and we're off.
Neither of us says anything as we trek the hallways, following my jerky, and sometimes foggy, directions. If this isn't the place I remember, it's an awful lot like it, but sometimes one hall looks a lot like another. I take us down a second wrong turn and Scully hisses in impatience.
"If you're lying to me, Krycek," she starts, but I cut her off.
"It's been a while, Scully. And I'm not at my best, okay? Believe me, I want out of here as bad as you do."
"Then I hope you've got us heading in the right direction now because those bodies are going to eventually attract a little attention, even if our absence doesn't."
"I *know*," I pant.
She keeps grumbling under her breath but doesn't say any more as we follow the hall around a sharp left turn. I feel another shudder race through me, and force myself to hobble faster, trying to blot out the waves of pain that rise as my feet impact the floor with every step. "This is it," I rasp when the last door at the end of the hall comes into view. The green stenciled letters reading "Janitorial Staff Only" blur, then sharpen again. Then Scully pushes open the door and we're through it.
"Elevator," I gasp, and she catches my drift, turning from the stairwell and guiding me to the service elevator. Once inside I lean against the wall and close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the cool metal. I'm so hot. Dizzy. Sick to my stomach.
"-cek? KRYCEK! Come on!" The hand shaking my shoulder feels like a huge bird just landed on me and is trying to perch. I blink open my eyes and watch two Scullys lean toward me with identical looks of alarm. "Don 't fade out on me now, you bastard! We've got to get to the back door!"
"Not far," I slur. The elevator opens and she drags me out. "Left," I choke. As we limp past shelves of cleaning supplies I try to listen for sounds of anyone else in the immediate area. I know our steps are echoing, but I hope the janitors are all busy upstairs cleaning the offices and labs, given it's night-time and the staff must be mostly gone.
"Yes!" I hear the soft exclamation and turn my attention to what is right in front of me. A door. Finally.
"Get ready," I hiss. "There might be an alarm. If there is, it won't sound down here, and they'll probably think the system is screwing up since they've got problems tonight anyway. But we're going to have to move and move fast. Head directly for the trees."
"Got it," is her only response, but I feel her arm tighten around my waist and I'm suddenly damn glad I brought her out with me. Granted, I always stand a better chance on my own, and I wouldn't be standing here bleeding if I hadn't bought a bullet for her, but I have to admit the support is nice.
Through the door and out. Fresh air never felt so good. We move like some sort of demented three-legged race entry, but faster than I dared hope we're being swallowed up by the dark of the trees.
"We gotta try and stick by the road," I wheeze, gesturing with my chin to the rough, dirt service road. "But stay in the trees and out of sight." She mumbles something that sounds like 'well duh' but I choose to ignore it. I'm shaking again and I have enough to do just trying to put one foot in front of the other.
*****
Washington DC
9:55 pmMulder wandered the parking lot one more time. He'd come here, talked with all the neighbors, then come back to the parking lot again when it got too late to knock on anymore doors.
He leaned against Scully's car and sighed. This was stupid. Standing here, in a parking lot, too dark to see, waiting for - what? The culprit to return to the scene? Inspiration to strike? A psychic vision to arise from the spot where she'd been snatched? The left-over cigarette butt no one else had spotted? To prove what he already knew anyway.
He walked a slow circle around the car. Despite a thorough dusting, no prints appeared but Scully's, and his own. The pavement turned up no shoe prints. It was as if she'd just disappeared into thin air.
And there hadn't been any bright white lights either. Although, considering they didn't know exactly *when* she'd been taken, they couldn't be sure. But still. None of the neighbors recalled anything strange. He wondered if they would admit it if they actually did.
Maybe the Gunmen were up. Maybe they could help.
*****
Somewhere in the woods, in the wilds of Virginia 10:00 pm
Scully could feel Krycek's tremors getting worse, but she didn't bother to comment. The chill night air was making her shiver now and then, and she was dressed warmer than he was. As they got further from the facility with still no sign of pursuit, Scully finally slowed her pace.
"Do you need to rest a minute?" she offered, when the wheezing of the man beside her didn't slow at all. He didn't respond, but when they passed a fallen log a few minutes later, he sank down onto it, almost dragging her with him as his body weight collapsed.
Releasing him, she stepped back and shook out her arm. She watched as he rested his forehead in his hand, elbow propped on thigh. Within moments, he'd bent over forward, his arm wrapping around his shins and his face pressed to his knees.
::Get him talking,:: something in Scully urged. "Krycek." She sat down next to him and pretended she didn't notice the jerk as he seemed to come to himself, head lifting from his knees. "Out with it. Why did you help me? Why get me out of there?" She eased her feet out of her shoes as she spoke, and wiggled her toes.
He turned to her, and in the moonlit darkness, she could see his face, struggling to make sense of her question. Finally a bit of coherence returned, and he blinked. "Mulder," he rasped, as if that answered everything. He began to rock back and forth on the log.
"What about Mulder." Scully rubbed one foot, once again cursing the pantyhose that made her feet feel even colder. Watching him out of the corner of one eye, she wondered if he even realized he was moving.
"He's in danger." As if realizing this still didn't quite cut it, Krycek started elaborating. "He's in danger. I told you, they want him next. We have to warn him. He wouldn't listen to me." A dry, hacking sound followed, and Scully realized with alarm that it was a slightly hysterical laugh. "Me. Yeah right. Mulder listen to me. That's rich."
"Unfortunately for him, I'd say he's listened to you once too often," Scully snapped, casting a glance behind her, listening for any sound out of the ordinary.
"Yeah, well, everybody's a critic. What do you think he'd do if I went to him and said he was in danger from the Consortium, that they wanted to experiment on him? Listen to me? Sure. He'd go haring off after you as soon as Old Smokey dropped a hint where you were. Which is what the bastard was gonna do. Mulder'd walk right into their hands and you know it. But you - he'll believe you, and with you out of there, he's got no reason to walk into their hands. See? Perfect."
"Perfect," Scully intoned dryly. "Unless one wonders why this sudden concern for Mulder's well-being."
Krycek froze. The rocking stopped, his ravaged face went perfectly blank, and Scully had the distinct impression the mental wheels were turning furiously. After a moment he gave a lopsided shrug and a cold smile that would have worked better if his lips weren't so chapped and cracked. "Well, maybe it's in my interest to keep him alive. Besides, he won't shoot me on sight if you're with me, and quite frankly, *Doctor* Scully, I could use your help right about now. You're the only doctor I know that isn't one of *Them*, and that will even listen to what happened in there. You know about this shit. Maybe you can figure out-" his voice cracked, but Scully remained impassive, "what they did to me."
"So, you took a bullet to preserve me for your medical care."
Krycek snorted, but wouldn't meet her eyes this time. "Something like that. Look, I know there's something really fucked up going on with me. Whatever they were trying to do, it worked. At least at the moment. Who knows what happens next though. Who knows what the longer term affects of that stuff are gonna be." A heavy shudder almost had him falling off the log. "I may be destined to be a lab rat, but with you... I dunno. I guess I have slightly higher hopes about how you take care of your experiments."
Scully wondered if he knew how pathetic he looked, shaking and curled in on himself, his one arm wrapped awkwardly about his body, with that croaking voice, and wide, wild eyes. She wondered dispassionately if it was an act, but somewhere inside her, she knew it wasn't. ::They cut off his arm. Broke his legs. And God knows what else. Not to mention he's been shot.:: The doctor in her told her this man was in bad shape, and sitting on a log in the chill night air wasn't helping.
"So how about it, Dr. Scully," he tossed out, still not looking at her. "Fair trade? I got you out of there, saved your life twice. And I could have left you. Would've made more tactical sense for sure. Return the favor and help me get somewhere safe? Keep me out of their hands." This time the shudder looked to be mental as well as physical. "And you get a first hand look at their experiments, at whatever they've done to me. You get scientific proof. And I got more I can offer," he added quickly, with that same old Krycek look... the familiar, sly 'let's make a deal' expression. "More information. Besides whatever's inside me."
Scully couldn't help but feel a thrill of power, despite his careless tone. "I don't know, Krycek. Looks like for once, I just might have the advantage here. I'm out. Why shouldn't I just get the hell out of here? Why help you at all. You don't look like you've got too much longer anyway." His entire body winced away from her, and Scully felt a stronger flash of sympathy. ::See, this is what happens when some traitorous, murdering bastard gets his arm cut off and his legs broken, and then saves your life. You start feeling sorry for him.:: She hardened her mind and kept her face blank, waiting to see what he would say to her dig.
"Well then," his voice when it came was as cool as he could make it, considering the state of his throat. "I guess you'd better get as much use out of me in as quick a time as possible, hunh?" His head swiveled and he met her eyes, lips firming and chin lifting.
Scully met the look unwavering, and finally sighed. "As it happens, Krycek, I'm actually rather interested in finding out what you have to say once we're out of this situation. I have more reasons than just medical curiosity to keep a close eye on you." She slipped her shoes back on and stood briskly. "Come on, let's move." After watching two aborted attempts, she couldn't stand it anymore and bent and helped him to his feet. ::Don't, Dana. Don't fall into the sympathy routine. He made his choices and ended up where he did.:: She ground her teeth as another voice chimed, ::He saved your life. He didn't have to stop for you. He took that bullet. He didn't even hesitate.::
Settling into their awkward gait once again, Scully counted the trees as they passed. Staring straight ahead, she cleared her throat. "Thank you, by the way."
There was a long pause, and she wondered for a moment if he'd even heard her. Then finally, a soft, hoarse reply reached her ear.
"You're welcome."
*****
Washington DC
10 pmSkinner eased his car up to the curb and turned to stare at the apartment building. He felt stupid, but he was here anyway. He got out of the car and made his way to the parking lot.
He'd gone home after work, even managed to eat dinner. And yet here he was, back out in the middle of the night, looking for - what? What the hell did he hope to find at a crime scene over 24 hours old, that had been gone over by police and FBI agents and-
And yet another FBI agent. Skinner heaved an irritated sigh at the familiar figure ducking into a familiar car. Striding across the lot, he rapped sharply on the window, and had the perverse pleasure of watching Fox Mulder jump like a startled rabbit. He gestured the window down, and glared while he waited.
"Sir?"
"Agent Mulder, what the hell are you doing here? Didn't I tell you-"
"Sir, do you really expect me to sit on my hands?"
Skinner stared off over the roof of the car for a moment. "Unlock the other door, Agent Mulder." Walking around the car, he yanked open the passenger door and slid inside. "Does anything I say to you make any impression at all?"
Mulder finished rolling his window back up and rested his hands on the steering wheel before responding. "And what are *you* doing here, sir?"
Skinner snorted. "We are not in the same position, you and I. Has it occurred to you that if Scully has been taken, someone may be targeting you as well?"
Mulder blinked. It hadn't occurred to him actually. "I don't think-"
"No, Mulder, you don't," Skinner muttered. "Look, I didn't take you off this case just for the fun of it. You're too close. And here you are proving me right. You've been up since the middle of last night, and here you are, roaming around a parking lot-"
"So are you," Mulder couldn't resist pointing out.
"*If* I may finish. Here you are, roaming around a parking lot, possibly putting yourself in danger, and getting what done?"
"We know who did this. How the hell are we supposed to find her when it's *Them*?"
"You don't *know* who did-"
"I do, and you do, too."
Skinner took a deep breath but didn't continue arguing. The unfortunate fact remained, Mulder was right, as usual. He did believe the smoking bastard had something to do with this. It was an uneasy sensation that crept over his shoulders, coiled in his stomach. As so often happened in this web of conspiracy and lies, he felt like he'd run up against a brick wall that was too high to climb and too wide to go around. "Go home, Agent Mulder," he said dully, reaching for the door handle.
"Sir?" Mulder paused. "What *are* you doing here?"
Skinner continued to stare at the door handle. "Regretting, mostly." With a jerk he pushed open the door and got out, shutting it firmly behind him. Heading back to his own car, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. ::You're not the only one who cares, Mulder. You're not the only one who gives a damn.:: He got back into his own car and twisted the key sharply. ::You may be the only one she cares about, but you're not the only one who cares.::
He turned and stared out the window as Mulder's car pulled out. He groaned and leaned his head against the steering wheel as he watched Mulder turn in the opposite direction from his apartment. "Fine. Get taken too. See if I care." Skinner forced himself to ease his car away from the curb as gently as he'd pulled in, when he'd never wanted to burn rubber so much in his life. Frustration ate at him incessantly, growing behind his breastbone, gnawing through his veins like the little nano-machines that floated throughout his system.
So many aspects of his life, so far out of control. When had the point come when he should have stopped it? When had he crossed lines in his own mind, and then had to recross them to stand on the right side again? And here he was regretting not having told her how he felt, when how could he? How could he, after all he had done, or more pointedly, *not* done. He knew he didn't deserve the respect he saw in those intelligent blue eyes. He'd tried to tell her that, when she was proving her loyalty to him yet again. Then, as usual, she hadn't listened. If she only knew.
He drove home without even seeing traffic. He was surprised to find himself back at his own place, remembering nothing of the drive. Back in his living room again, he determinedly turned on the television, and poured himself a drink.
And tried to watch the screen, instead of the images his mind's eye created - of a deserted parking lot, on a cold January evening, where a woman got out of her car and came face to face with whatever his overactive imagination was conjuring this time.
*****
Somewhere in the woods, in the wilds of Virginia
11:00 pmWhen Krycek started stumbling Scully asked him if he needed to rest again. She knew they weren't making the best time, but he sounded worse with each step. He brushed her off, mumbling something she could hardly follow, but picking up speed and trying to straighten up.
When he stumbled three more times, finally almost pulling her over with him and causing her to twist her ankle just to stay on her feet, she insisted. And so he sat, back against a tree, while Scully examined him as best she could in the poor light. Tilting his head and lifting his eyelid with her thumb, she hissed out a concerned sound. "Krycek? Krycek, are you with me?" He wasn't focusing, and he started mumbling again, shaking badly. "Krycek!" When she could get no coherent response, Scully tapped his cheek lightly. "Alex. Come on Alex, listen to me. You've got to keep it together. We've got to be coming up on the road soon. ALEX!"
Huddled against the tree, his head rolled back the second she released his chin. She cursed and shoved her hands back through her tangled hair. ::We shouldn't have stopped. I should have kept him walking while I had him walking.:: Bending down again she tilted his face and slapped his cheek. "ALEX. Dammit, come on. Work with me here."
At the slap his arm came up, his head ducking behind it. He responded in that rusty croak, words garbled beyond recognition not only by his slurring, but also by their unmistakable foreignness.
"What?" Scully slapped him again, on the other cheek. "Alex!"
The huge eyes blinked and suddenly he focused on her, and slid back to English. "Scully?" he rasped, and then, as if comprehending everything in a flash, he moaned. "Oh shit. I was afraid of this."
"What? Alex, talk to me. Keep talking. What is it?" Scully kept her voice as calm as possible, but spoke slightly louder than necessary.
Panting hard, Krycek's head rolled against the tree. "Whatever they gave me. It works in cycles. I get these weird reactions to it, usually during the night. I get the shakes, I feel like I go out of it, you know?"
"Delirious," Scully muttered.
"Something like that," he managed.
"Then we need to move a little faster. Come on, we've got to be getting close to the road. You did say we were near a highway, right?"
"Near as I recall. They like easy access to some extent. Gotta get frm there aftall." His voice started slurring again and Scully shook him.
"Alex! Don't fade out on me here. We've got to get moving. Get somewhere warmer."
After a disjointed mumble she caught, "'Kay, go ahead. Just wanna rest a minute. Legs. Hurt. Go - make sure... find Mulder. Mulder. Make sure."
Scully shook him harder and slapped his cheek again. "Oh no, you don't! You're staying with me if I have to carry you." She stared down at him as he started laughing.
"Carry-," he blinked up at her and giggled weakly. "You. Carry me."
She snorted and took hold of his shirt, dragging him to his feet against the tree. "Hey, I've done it to Mulder." She sighed as he continued to snicker. "I know, I know. Empty threats. Come on." She removed the guard's gun from his waistband and stuck it in the waist of her skirt, then tucked the woman's gun in her blazer pocket. She took it as a sign of how out of it he was that he didn't even protest. She wrapped his arm firmly around her shoulders and felt a wave of relief as his legs followed her urgings and he began to walk. His weight pulled at her shoulder, her shoes hurt her feet, and she could have used that rest herself, but she had no intention of leaving him in the woods. He'd slipped away one too many times. They had him now, and they were keeping him, come hell or high water.
"Scully," his voice sounded like it hurt to talk, and she winced.
"Yes, Alex?"
"Thas nice."
"What?"
"Alllll-x. Nice."
"Alex is nice?" ::Just keep him talking.::
He made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. "Nooo. Nonono. Alex isn't nice. 'M not nice 't'all. No. You using Alex. Nice."
Finally realization dawned, just in time to make her almost trip over a root. "Me calling you Alex is nice?"
"Yeah."
"You like that, hunh? Okay, fine, *Alex*. Whatever keeps you moving."
"'Kay, Dana."
"Hey. Who said you could call me Dana?" she snapped.
"'S only fair."
She huffed out a breath. "So what were you going to say to me?"
"What?"
"Oh for... you started to say something. Then you got distracted by your name." ::I cannot believe I'm having this conversation.::
"I did? Oh. Um. What- oh! I know. Gonna tell you to warn Mulder."
Scully shot a look up at the staggering man beside her. What the hell was this anyway? Since when was Krycek so concerned with Mulder's continued safety. "You told me that already. We're going to warn Mulder. We're going to find a phone."
"Okay. But warn Mulder."
"I will, Alex. We will."
"No, you. Gotta be you. Hit me."
"What?" She wondered if he wanted her to slap him again to help him stay coherent.
"He'll jus' hit me. But you. Believe you. Warn him."
"We will. I will."
"Don't want them doin' that to him."
"What, Alex?" Her sore ankle twinged. Her shoes were really not made for this. But then, she'd had no idea when she put them on that she'd get kidnapped and end up escaping through the woods with a six-foot tall, traitorous, murdering bastard leaning on her shoulder. She gripped his hand tighter with her frozen fingers and tried to shift his weight somewhat.
"What did to me. Hurt. Reeeeally bad."
At least the arm around his waist was warm. The heat rolling off his body was warming that hand, no problem. "They hurt you?" she asked, more to keep him talking than anything else. Obviously they'd hurt him. She winced at her own question. The lack of an arm on the other side of his body suddenly seemed omnipresent.
"Bad."
"It's okay, Alex. You're out of there, and we'll be safe soon."
"And warn Mulder."
She bit back the retort that leapt to her tongue. "*Yes*, Alex. We'll warn Mulder."
"He's next. Heard them. Said he's next."
"No, we'll get to him first." "'Kay." He stumbled but managed to right himself. "Dana?"
She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to drop him on the ground, then instantly felt bad at the thought. "Yes?"
"If... die... tell him, save you."
"What?"
"If... I die," he labored, "Tell Mulder... save you."
"Tell Mulder you saved me?"
"Yeah. Please?"
The childlike quality to his voice added to the surreality of the entire exchange. The dark trees, the cold, the moon lancing down between branches. A one-armed Alex Krycek leaning on her shoulder, half-delirious and babbling about Mulder. Something twisted in her chest, and she blinked hard. What kind of game was he playing? Was he actually out of it, or was he trying to pull something? And if so, what? ::Humor him. Get inside somewhere. Just keep him going.:: "Yes, Alex. I will. I promise."
"Good. Know you. You... keep promises."
"Yeah," she mumbled. "I keep my promises."
*****
Virginia Highway 59
11:20 pmI blink and shake my head and realize I'm sitting on cold pavement, leaning against a chilled brick wall. What worries me is the last thing I remember is walking through the woods with Scully. Jesus, I hate missing time. What the-
Suddenly I hear a soft "Damn", and lift my head to focus on the sound. Scully is standing under the bright circle of light over a pay phone, slamming the phone down. "Home number, home number," she mumbles as she starts punching buttons again. Watching the number of buttons she presses, I blearily conclude she is doing a calling card number from memory. Go Scully.
I watch as she waits. Finally she speaks. "Mulder, are you there? If you're there pick up. It's me. Come on, pick up. Damn. okay, look. I'm-" She breaks off, and I can see her suddenly realizing that talking to Mulder 's machine is a great way to get recorded by more than one tape. "I'll call back," she blurts, and hangs up.
"Hey," I say. Or try to. I make some noise, anyway, because she looks at me.
"Well, there's something," she sighs, and if I didn't know better I'd say with relief. "Back with me, are you?"
"Where'd I go?" I groan.
"You've been pretty out of it for the last half-hour. Kept walking, though amazingly enough," she crouches down next to me and peers into my eyes as she speaks softly. "But you sure weren't very coherent."
I stare back at her pale face in the fluorescent light. "You try his cell?"
"Couldn't get it. He's either out of range or something's interfering."
I shift and try to sit up straighter. "Scully," I start, and then stop at her snort.
"No more Dana?" she cracks.
I blink. "Hunh?" I say intelligently.
She laughs, and I wonder for a moment if she's getting hysterical on me. "Nothing," she manages, leaning against the wall next to me and letting her legs fold under her. "Nothing."
Dana. It tugs something loose inside my head and confused flashes of our walk through the woods float through my mind. "What... uh, exactly how incoherent have I been?"
"Mostly understandable, but not making much sense," she answers with a smirk, and I realize she's enjoying the moment. Sadistic bitch.
"What, exactly, did I say?"
"Lots of stuff. Listen, are you back with me for good, or are you going to be slipping off again? I'd like to know. You could have warned me the first time. You said when you started going off that you knew this happened."
"I don't know. It's night when it happens, and I don't... I'm not sure. It seems like I have more episodes of it when the dose goes higher. They increased my injection again today."
"Okay," she sighs. "That answers that. We've got to get moving. We have to find a place to get inside out of this cold, where I can call Mulder, and he can come get us."
We both push away from the wall. She makes it. I don't. Without even blinking she bends and gently wraps her arm around me, helping me to my feet with an economy of movement that tells me she's done it a couple times already. We start off down the highway and I wince as my legs protest. The borrowed shoes don't fit right and now my feet hurt like a sonuvabitch too. I consider the office shoes and clothes she has on, and don't complain out loud.
"Dana, eh?" I rasp.
"Don't push your luck, *Alex*."
*****
Motel 6
Virginia Highway 59
11:55 pmScully closed the door behind Krycek and watched him stagger to the bed. She'd managed to close her jacket over the bloodstains on her shirt, and had him wait outside, propped against a wall. She couldn't do anything about the torn state of her nylons, but the motel night manager didn't blink and gave her a first floor room at her request. She had paid cash out of Johnny's wallet, not wanting to risk the credit cards, and gone out the side door to get Krycek into the motel.
She kicked off her shoes, crossed the room and hiked the thermostat, then came back to the shivering form on the bed. So far he'd stayed reasonably coherent but she knew he'd been pushed well past any limits he had. Dropping down on the bed next to him, she checked his pulse, her mouth tightening at the way it raced. Pulling the blanket up over him, she turned to the phone and started punching numbers again. Reaching Mulder's machine again, she hung up with a bang and Krycek jerked, eyes flying open in panic.
"Sorry," she muttered. "It's still the machine. I'll try the cell again." As she redialed, she watched Krycek's face, the way his eyelids fluttered, the sheen of sweat on his brow. As the phone started to ring instead of the cellular voice, she crossed her fingers.
"Mulder."
"Mulder! It's me!"
"SCULLY?! Where are you, are you okay, what-"
"Mulder, Mulder wait, let me talk. You're in danger."
"What? Scully, where-"
"*Listen* to me, Mulder. You're in danger and you have to be careful. The men that took me are after you too. You have to get somewhere safe and stay there."
"No, I need to come get you. Where are you?! Are you okay?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm not hurt. But you need to get somewhere safe. Are you listening to me? They're coming after you and believe me, you *do not* want them to find you." Her eyes skated back to Krycek reflexively, trying not to look at the empty sleeve. He stared up at her, anxiety clear on his face.
"But what about you?"
"Go to Skinner. Send him for me."
"NO! Not Skinner," Krycek rose off the bed in an aborted lunge. Scully jumped back a step and waved him off.
"What was that? Scully? Who's there with you?"
"Mulder, I'm fine, just listen. Get Skinner and send him to the Motel 6 on Highway 59, exit 7. Room 132."
"Not Skinner!" Krycek insisted from the bed.
"Scully, are you sure you're all right? Is someone there?"
"No, yes. Mulder, look. I can't explain now because you really need to get on the phone to Skinner and get him out here. And *do not* come with him, do you hear me?" Scully did her best to make it a flat-out order, hoping for once he'd pay attention. Somewhere in her mind, Krycek's continuous litany of 'get to Mulder' had begun to ring her paranoia bells loud and clear. If she was still being used as bait, by Krycek this time instead of Spender, she'd be damned if she'd play along. She realized dimly that her thought processes could easily indicate that she'd been working with Mulder way too long, but she'd learned the hard way a little paranoia could be healthy. "I mean it, Mulder. They *want* you to come after me, that makes it easier for them. Get somewhere safe and send Skinner after us. They could be after us even now and we don't know how much of a head start we have."
"Us? We? Scully?"
Scully slapped her hand to her forehead. She'd hoped to avoid this conversation until she was actually in front of Mulder and could explain what had happened. So much for bright ideas. "I have Alex Krycek, Mulder. I'm bringing him in."
"KRYCEK!"
"MULDER! Not NOW! The Consortium is probably looking for me even as we speak, and if they know I'm gone, they'll be looking for you, too! I. Am. Fine. Hang up the phone, call Skinner, and get him out here. Motel 6, Highway 59, exit 7, room 132."
"But Scully, Krycek-"
"I can handle Krycek, Mulder." ::I'm not you,:: she added mentally.
"Be careful, Scully, he's-"
"I know. I know all about Alex Krycek. I'm hanging up now, Mulder. Call Skinner." She disconnected and met Alex's weak smile.
"Pleased to hear my name as usual, I take it?" he rasped.
"Oh yes," she muttered, walking closer to the bed again and laying her hand against his cheek. "You look like shit, Alex." He blinked at her, and she realized belatedly she'd slipped into using his name again, as she had on their stumbling walk to keep him talking.
"You're not in the best shape yourself, Dana," he quipped.
She gave him a stony look and sighed. "I've got you beat by a long shot. So what've you got against Skinner?"
Krycek's eyes slid away from hers, and he shifted his face away. "Aside from the fact that he'd like to kill me on sight?"
"So would Mulder."
"Yeah, but you know, Mulder never seems to quite get around to it," Krycek muttered sarcastically. "He prefers slapping me around a little first."
"What?" Scully stopped short and swung back to look at Krycek.
His face went blank again and his mouth tightened. "Nothing," he muttered. "Look, Skinner may not be the safest person right now, okay? Just take my word for it."
Scully met his eyes and stared him down. "Why?"
"Spender has a little something extra on him these days."
"You don't say. Something you helped him get?" The hostility in her voice rang clear.
"Not purposely," he snapped. "Look, we just can't stay here. We can't just wait here for Skinner and besides, you know this is going to be the first place they look."
Scully took a slow breath. "Yes, but what else can we do. You can't keep walking all night, and Skinner's already on his way-"
"Wonderful thought," Krycek snorted. "We should steal a car, get out of here. Meet Mulder somewhere."
"You're in no condition to drive a car, let alone steal one."
"Actually, stealing one can be easier than driving one."
"Why am I not surprised you said that."
"We're sitting ducks here. We need to keep moving."
"You keep moving and you're going to fall over."
"I know," he groaned. "But dammit, this is bad. Eventually they'll realize we're gone. They may already know. We've been damn lucky so far."
"So maybe our luck will hold," Scully muttered, walking to the window to peer out. "Get some rest. I'll keep watch."
*****
Motel 6
Virginia Highway 59
January 26, 12:35 amI didn't think I'd actually sleep, especially not with the omnipresent thought that Mulder was sending Skinner out after us. I had the palm pilot on me when I was taken, so Spender had it now. The only consolation was I knew Spender was at the facility today, not in DC. Leaning back against the pillows I figured I'd just rest my eyes for a minute, then convince Scully we had to get the hell out of Dodge. Unsurprisingly my body had other ideas. I snap awake to the sound of Scully cursing. I have no idea how long has passed. She glances over at me as I sit up, instantly wide awake.
"Luck just ran out." She crosses the room quickly.
"What's going-"
"Black sedan just pulled up. They don't look like late night travelers."
"Shit!" I roll out of bed and let out a shriek as my legs touch the floor. I bite down on my lip and whimper as she races to my side.
"Alex! Alex, come on."
Her hand rubbing circles on my back feels wonderful. I can't remember the last time somebody did something like that for me when I felt awful. I don't know why she's still calling me Alex, but I'm not about to complain.
"I'm okay," I gasp. "But we're on to Plan B."
"Plan B?"
I reach over and wrench the gun out of her waistband. "Steal a car, get the fuck out of here."
"You can barely walk and you're going to steal a-"
"Dana," I say sweetly, just to watch her growl at me, "I'd have to be dead to not be able to steal a car. Let's go."
"Krycek, this is insane. We have to-"
"We have to go, *now*." I lift the gun, ignoring the way my hand shakes. "I am *not* going back there. Understand?" I hear my voice break, but I ignore that too, and gesture with the gun. "And you are coming with me, cause you're not going back there either. Now move."
Granted, she could've knocked the gun away from me with one good push. Hell, she could've knocked me on my ass about now with one good push. She always was a tough one, and I was scraping the bottom of my barrel two hours ago. Whatever I have left isn't going to get me far. But for whatever reason, she doesn't take back the gun or knock me on my ass. She stands up, with a look on her face that could almost be compassion, in another life, directed at another person.
"They pulled up to the front entrance. Let's head for the side door again," she says simply.
Hobbling and leaning, I still make pretty damn good time for an invalid. We're out the side door and heading for the cars at the far side of the lot. Selecting a likely looking car I'm inside it in minutes, and have it running shortly thereafter, while she crouches by the door, helping me when I ask, and watching the sedan for returning MIB. "Go ahead and drive," I gasp, pulling myself over into the passenger seat. "I don't wanna trust my legs."
She climbs in while I roll down my window, and get the gun I lifted off her in hand. Backing out, she heads out of the lot while I keep the gun trained on the black car. Once we're out of the lot, she hits the gas and I sink back, rolling up the window again and reaching to crank the heat.
"Beats walking," I breathe happily as she speeds up.
"We've got to call Skinner, keep him away from that motel," she mutters.
"No, what we need to do is go somewhere they won't expect us to go," I counter, pleased that whatever else happens, at least we aren't sitting ducks for Skinner. "Which means nowhere near DC. And also means getting off this highway. We need someplace to disappear until we can meet up with Mulder."
"We need a safe house," she muses. "You're right though. Until we can get that arranged, we have to disappear. If they're already looking for us-" She exhales sharply and slams her hand on the steering wheel. "I *cannot* believe this. I'm on the run with Alex Krycek."
"Hang in there, Dana, the fun's just starting."
*****
Virginia Highway 59
1:00 am"Skinner."
"Sir, it's Scully."
"Agent Scully?" Skinner clutched his cell phone harder and made a concentrated effort to keep his mind on his driving while his heart tried to climb up out of his chest.
"Where are you, sir?"
"Where am I? On Highway 59, heading for the Motel 6, like Mulder told me. Is everything all right?"
"Well, yes and no. Look, I'm really sorry but we're not there anymore."
"WHAT?"
"They came after us, we had to leave. We need a safe place, sir, and we need it fast. We're going to have to keep driving, stay a moving target. I'll contact you again. But right now, they could be monitoring these calls. I don't want to say anymore while you're on a cell. Are you following me? A safe place. You can get us a safe place, can't you?"
Skinner braked and pulled to the side of the road, his mind racing. She was asking for a safe house, that was obvious but- "Agent Scully, why don't we just meet now. You can come with me."
"No, sir. I'm nowhere near you anymore and we can't make arrangements to meet until we're on a secure line." She sounded at the end of her rope, Skinner reflected; exhausted, frustrated, her voice cracking and strident. "What we have, they want. *Badly*. They're not going to just stop. I'll be in touch, all right?"
"Scully," Skinner began, then choked to a stop, unsure what he wanted to say. He could picture her, desperate and in trouble. If she was running this hard and fast, she would start making mistakes. He didn't want her to make mistakes with Alex Krycek in custody.
"What is it, sir?"
He cleared his throat. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine. Honestly. Not a scratch on me."
"See that it stays that way. Agent Mulder told me about that package you're carrying. Make sure it doesn't blow up in your face." He knew if Scully and Krycek were already being pursued, it probably made no difference if he mentioned Krycek by name. But Scully hadn't, and he figured better safe than sorry. He heard a soft chuckle.
"I understand, sir. The package has been damaged, but it's still in my possession, and I'll be careful. Hey-"
Skinner's heart jumped again at her startled exclamation, then he stiffened as another voice spoke harshly into his ear. "Skinner, this is an old friend. Listen carefully. You know that annoying little health problem you've been having? Well, I've got bad news and good news. The bad news is, you need to stay away from cigarette smoke. Far away. Get my message? It could seriously aggravate your condition. The good news is, if cigarette smoke has already been bothering you, I have something that will take care of your *illness* once and for all. I'll tell you *all* about it. *When* we see each other, as long as you don't smoke around me."
Skinner wondered that his cell phone didn't crack in his grip. "And why are you sharing this with me, *old friend*?" he ground out.
"Call it a gesture of good faith, okay?" came the raspy but sarcastic reply. "I want to be sure you're gonna be eager to see me, and not for all the wrong reasons. I want to make sure no one *else* who's eager to see me decides to pressure you for the exact address. Remember what I said, Skinner. Second-hand smoke could kill you right now."
Suddenly Scully was back, lingering irritation clear in her voice. "Sir? We have to get off this line, so I'm not even going near that for now. About Mulder. Did he get somewhere safe?"
Skinner glanced over at the six-feet of agitated agent in his passenger seat. "Well, safe enough. He's here with me-"
"*WHAT?*"
Skinner winced away from the phone at her outburst. "Scully-"
"Get him out of there, *now*. Does that man listen to *anyone*? Does he always have to play right into their hands?! You have to make sure to keep an eye on him. Don't let him go anywhere alone. He's next, do you understand? Don't let him disappear on his own!"
"I won't. I'll make sure-"
"Use handcuffs if you have to! I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow on your private office line at noon. Get the line checked and cleared by then. And get Mulder out of sight!"
The line disconnected, and he turned to stare at Mulder, practically bouncing in the other seat. "*What*?" Mulder fairly shouted at Skinner's expression. "Why are we stopping?"
Skinner swung back onto the highway in the opposite direction, cursing under his breath. "They aren't there anymore, Mulder. Someone came after them. Someone wants Krycek back, apparently, and wants him bad. They're on the road and they'll call back tomorrow when they can get us on a secure line."
"Tomorrow? Is she crazy? She's got Krycek and she's out driving around?"
"That appears to be the case, yes. She said that he was *damaged*. I don't know if that makes him less dangerous, or more dangerous. Mulder, is there any piece of information you didn't *happen* to pass on to me?"
"What?"
"She was fairly upset that you were with me. She said you were "next", that you were doing just what they wanted you to do. She said I shouldn't let you out of my sight. Dammit Mulder, what aren't you telling me?"
Mulder slammed himself back into the seat. "She wanted me to go somewhere safe. What the hell am I supposed to do? She's at some motel with *Alex Krycek* and I'm supposed to just go curl up somewhere?"
"She wanted you to send me and stay in DC, I take it."
"She may have suggested something like that, yeah."
Skinner shook his head and stared out the windshield, jaw tightening. He scanned the road and the review mirrors repeatedly. "I hope the hell they weren't monitoring that call," he muttered. "Otherwise they know right where you are now."
Mulder sighed and rubbed at his eyes. Scully. And Krycek. On the run. A *damaged* Krycek, whatever that meant. And now they had to wait to hear from her tomorrow. "Then we probably ought to get off this highway, *sir*." He paused and bit his lip. "Did she sound okay to you?"
"Actually, yes. Aside from sounding tired, and pissed off at you, she sounded like she was doing fine."
"No gun to her head, then?"
Skinner grimaced. He'd had the same thought. How in God's name had she ended up with Krycek? Had he been the one who abducted her in the first place? If so, he'd kill the bastard, slowly, and damn the nano-consequences. He shook his head firmly. "She's an excellent agent. She can take care of herself." As he said the words, Skinner felt a small burst of calmness expand in his chest. It was true. He didn't worry half so much about Scully's ability to take care of herself as he did about Mulder stirring up some hornet's nest. Most of the time he worried about what mess Mulder was going to drag Scully into next. She always followed him so loyally, so willingly. In his mind he heard again the concern in her voice as she asked him about Mulder. ::Not the time for this, Walt. Get a grip.:: He took a deep breath and increased his speed. "All right, we know she's okay, and we know she'll be in touch. Now we go home and wait. And make a few arrangements."
And avoid cigarette smoke.
*****
Golden Eagle Lodge
Pennsylvania
January 26, 7:20 amDespite her exhaustion, Scully dozed fitfully, jerking awake every time Krycek rolled over. Which was often. Sitting up in bed yet again, Scully rubbed at her eyes and looked over at the other bed. He wasn't comfortable, that was for sure - labored breathing, head tossing on the pillows, making soft whimpering noises every few minutes.
Scully stacked her pillows against the headboard and leaned back against them, staring at the motel-art on the far wall and resisting the urge to climb out of bed and check on him again. In the half-hour since she'd lain down, she'd already gotten up twice. This was stupid. She didn't even *like* the man. Sometimes she regretted her doctor's training that made her react so predictably to people in need.
::That's not doctor training. That's human being training, and you learned it at your mother's knee.:: She gave the placid landscape scene a twisted smile as her mental voice took on the distinct flavor of Maggie Scully. She knew it for fact, but she didn't have to like feeling sorry for Alex Krycek.
Interesting that he hadn't asked her to feel sorry for him, wasn't playing the sympathy card. In fact, she strongly suspected he was trying to hide how truly vulnerable he was. The predator who weakens becomes prey.
He'd managed to stay lucid for another hour after they'd talked to Skinner, but then he'd started slipping again. As Scully drove through the night on whatever road took her fancy, she'd listened to a rough undercurrent of mumbled Russian, panicked calls for help, and more mentions of Mulder's name than she was entirely comfortable with. What was Krycek's fixation on Mulder, anyway? By now she was certain he was truly delirious rather than faking it to get her to lower her guard. His temperature spiked when he started to lose it, and she rather doubted even Krycek would mumble and mutter complete nonsense for an hour and a half just to keep up a front. Especially with the current condition of his throat. She kept an ear tuned in case he said anything useful, but half the time he wasn't even understandable.
Finally, he had seemed to go from delirium into an actual sleep, and Scully turned on the radio to keep herself awake. He'd woken with a panicked yelp just after they'd crossed the Pennsylvania state line, and she'd spent a few moments assuring him they weren't being followed and that he'd been dreaming getting run off the road. He sank back in the seat panting, then seemed to snap everything back down under a semblance of control, and started planning with her about how they should handle their situation.
She had to admit, he had some useful input. Considering neither of them had their own wallets and gas was already eating away at Johnny's money, they were going to need to use Johnny's credit cards. Krycek had it all worked out, obviously from experience. "Don't go to a chain motel. Pick a mom&pop kind of place, give them the card and let them make the security imprint. Book for two days but cut out after the first night. On the second day when they realize you've skipped they go ahead and charge your card. But by then you're four states away. Anyone tracking the card only knows where you've been, not where you are now." Scully got a perverse enjoyment out of Johnny paying for their little road trip, until she remembered he was dead and wouldn't get stuck with the bill.
After discarding her ruined Sheer Energy, and luxuriating in a hot shower, she'd wanted to examine Krycek but he pushed her off firmly, telling her the bullet wound was just a graze and he'd rather get some sleep. She'd been exhausted enough to agree, her eyes almost closing where she stood, but now she wasn't getting any sleep and her concern for his condition wouldn't let her relax. She should check that bullet wound, and the legs. She sighed. And that arm. Good God, that arm. What was left of it.
Listening to his increasingly labored breathing and his body thrashing, she shook her head and got up. Walking over to his bed, she touched the back of her hand to his forehead, then his cheek. His temperature was rising again. She folded back the blanket he'd been huddling under, then almost screamed as he suddenly jerked upright with a growl of rage, grabbing her arm in a vice grip and yanking her down across his legs.
"ALEX! Let me up! You're dreaming again! ALEX!" She tried to keep her weight off of his legs, but heard his muffled yelp anyway.
"Scully?" His voice rough with sleep and pain, he released her arm as if it had burned his fingers. Pushing herself up off the bed, she got to her feet again slowly. "Sorry. I was-"
"Dreaming," she snapped. "Yes, I got that impression." Rubbing at her arm where he'd gripped it, she glared down at him. The wide-eyed, confused look he gave her made her sigh. How anyone that deadly could do such a good "little boy lost" impression was beyond her. "What was it this time?" In the car when he'd woken from a nightmare she'd managed to get him talking about it while he was still vulnerable to its effect and slightly less guarded. A bit mercenary of her, certainly, but any little peek inside Alex Krycek's twisted psyche was worth the prying.
He shook his head as if he wasn't going to answer, but his mouth opened anyway and the words tumbled out. "I was tied down. My legs, they were moving my legs again."
The raw, bewildered voice made Scully wince, as she remembered the conversation she'd heard as she was wheeled by that room, when she'd first started coming out of the drugs. "It's all right, Alex. You're out of there. I was just folding the blanket down; you felt hot again. But listen, you're awake, I'm awake. You really ought to let me take a look at you. And," she paused, but then pushed on, "you need to tell me about what they did."
Krycek groaned as he leaned back against his pillows. "No," he snapped. "I'm tired. You don't need to-"
"Look, Krycek, you claimed one of the reasons you got me out of that place was for my medical skill. Let me use it. I need to look at your shoulder at the very least, and I'm not taking no for an answer on that one. You're not getting any rest anyway. I think your dreams are harder on you than when you just lay there awake." Keeping her voice firm and slightly exasperated, Scully took a no-nonsense approach, ignoring her own reaction to his pain, both physical and emotional. "Now let me get that shirt off you."
"It's just a graze," he groused, voice still snarky. "I don't-"
::Just a graze. He really is out of it, assuming I'm talking about the bullet wound.:: "Shirt. Off. Now." Scully leaned over and loosened the make-shift bandage from the bullet wound. "Does this need to soak off?"
Krycek sighed and glared, but lifted himself on his elbow, then into a sitting position with her help. "Yeah, it feels like it's glued right to it."
"Okay, be right back."
She moistened a towel with hot tap water, and brought the first aid supplies she'd picked up at a roadside park-and-shop. After soaking the fabric free with the wet towel, she unwrapped the wound. Wordlessly he assisted in lifting Johnny's stained shirt off over his head. Scully folded it and a dry towel onto the sheet under him, and urged him to lie back down. Once he was flat she turned her attention to the shoulder.
And almost fell over backward in surprise.
The severed arm was not a new injury. She bent closer with a gasp and stared at the mangled mess of old scar tissue. There was no way this injury had been done in the facility, unless he'd been there for *years*. And she knew he hadn't. What the hell?
She turned to look at him, but his face was averted, looking at the paint-by-numbers landscape, avoiding her gaze, his expression set in detached rigidity. Only the constant flicker of a muscle in his jaw indicated he was even aware she was looking at his arm.
"They didn't cut off your arm."
His head jerked around, and he stared up at her, his eyes round with incomprehension. "Say what?"
"This is an old injury."
"Well, *yeah*," his voice underlined the look on his face, and she realized he'd assumed she'd known that. "Wait. You thought - didn't Mulder tell you about the fun folks in Tunguska? Oh hell, maybe he doesn't- Just look at the damn graze and get it over with." A swift grimace of pain, then his face closed down again, perfectly cold, and he shifted his gaze to the ceiling as she dabbed the wound with hydrogen peroxide.
She continued to watch him, trying to sort out what was going on. As she went over the last hours in her head, she realized that nothing he had said had ever indicated the arm was courtesy of Dr. Kessin's tender loving care. He'd mentioned his legs a couple of times. He'd seemed to have some discomfort with the stump, but nothing like what he should have been experiencing if it had been a recent occurrence.
"Can we get on with it? It's cold, and I'd like to get my shirt back on." His icy voice interrupted her thoughts.
Clearing her throat, she inspected the bullet wound. He was right; it wasn't bad. It must hurt like hell, but it didn't present any major danger to his current condition. Inspecting it closely, Scully blinked in surprise. It looked a hell of a lot better than she expected, from what she'd seen in the hallway when it had first happened. In fact, the wound looked a week old, instead of less than twenty-fours hours. She efficiently bandaged it back up, all the while her mind went over and over the incomplete story his shoulder told.
Definitely not a professional amputation. That *scarring*. Rough. Amateur job. It looked like someone had literally hacked away at it, and much as she winced from the thought, the amount of scarring and the uneven nature of it indicated he'd been awake and aware for at least part of the procedure. Poorly cared for afterward. Tunguska... Mulder had told her of the terrified peasants who, in desperation, severed their own limbs hoping to avoid the gulag, the experiments, the black cancer.
Finishing the bandage, she pulled back and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Krycek. Alex. What else happened? I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but what else did Kessin do to you? I'd like to take a look at your legs. Is there anything else?"
He made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh, immediately shifting around and reaching for the shirt. "Besides these little fits I keep having, I'm probably rather healthy." His lips twisted into a sneer as he struggled the shirt back over his head. "Who knows, if I live through this little experiment, maybe I'll thank the assholes." This time the laugh was slightly hysterical, and his hand shook as it jerked the torn shirt down over his truncated limb.
Scully cleared her throat again and paused. "Are you telling me that it worked? What they were doing? They actually broke your legs and they *healed*?"
"Broke my legs?" Krycek giggled dizzily. "They *started out* breaking my legs to see if they'd heal. Well, actually, they *started* with things like cuts and bruises and burns, but once they got a break that healed they stuck with that for a little while. But no, the latest was breaking my legs and then manipulating the bones while they were trying to heal. Rebreaking them if they healed up too quickly for them to study the *process*."
Scully felt a twinge of nausea and his words recalled those horrific screams. "And it worked?"
He stretched out his one arm, his mouth curled in a nasty excuse for a grin. "I'm a success, Agent Scully. An honest to god modern miracle of fucking science. Extraterrestrial science, but science all the same." He took a deep breath and glanced at the guns they'd left close to hand on the nightstand between the beds. Even as she watched, the insane light crept back into his eyes. "Understand this, Scully. If it even looks like they're going to take us... I am *not* going back there." His voice didn't rise, and didn't waver, and was all the more frightening for it. He shifted his gaze to hers and she felt a chill race through her at his dry-ice calm. "I'm saving one bullet for myself."
Scully took a deep breath, not doubting the words for a moment. About to argue as her religious training around suicide kicked in, she had to bite her tongue when her humanistic, rational side admitted that he had a point. She wasn't about to go back to that so-called research facility either, and he'd seen more of it than she had.
"If you want, I'll do you first."
His tone was so conversational it took her a moment to realize what he was offering. If suicide was a mortal sin, would agreeing to let someone murder you count? If that wasn't a sin in itself, was allowing someone else to commit a mortal sin for your own benefit... she shook her head, both clearing it of the moral conundrum and refusing his offer. ::Tired. I'm obviously way too tired,:: she reflected. Although with Krycek, one more sin could hardly matter.
"So, do you have any idea what they injected you with?" she managed, preferring a flat out subject change over a discussion of assisted suicide with Alex Krycek.
"Nah. Just that it was alien in origin. Hopefully those," he gestured to the jumbled stack of cartridges and disks laying on the night table between the guns, "will tell us more. They didn't bother actually talking to the lab rats much except to get information on what everything *felt like*." His voice became scathing on the final words, and with an obvious effort he evened it out again. "But near as I can figure, they discovered by accident during another experiment that those of us who had been... possessed, for lack of a better word, and lived through it, may have a little something left over inside us. Pleasant thought, eh? I'm not altogether clear on how they 'accidentally' figured this out, but I do know that what they discovered was some sort of healing ability. You remember Jeremiah Smith?"
Scully tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Yes."
"Well. There you have it."
"But you don't know what they injected you with?"
"I have my suspicions."
"And those are?"
He stared at her for a long moment, eyes cold.
"Krycek, if you want me to help you medically, I need to know what you know."
"But I don't *know* anything."
"What you *suspect* then," she snapped. "You want to go back on our little 'deal', fine with me. I can just as soon leave you here and go take a bus back to DC and-"
Before she'd even finished the sentence she saw the flash of panic on his face, then he stilled his features to total control. "Fine, fine," he said in a forced, bored voice. "My *suspicions* are that they took a few samples from the captured rebel."
"The captured rebel?" Scully's eyes widened.
"Yeah, you know. After all the Skyland Mountain shit? With the burned bodies and all? The warnings from the rebels? Well, I sent Mulder after a rebel at Weikamp Airforce Base-"
"That was *you*? He got that tip from *you*?!"
"He didn't tell you?" Krycek gave a jerky shrug with his good shoulder. "Yeah, it was me. Me and my patron of the moment."
Scully wondered about the odd note in his voice, but didn't pursue it. She was too pissed at Mulder to bother. "So you sent Mulder after the captured rebel and-"
"And the alien bounty hunter got him first, I guess. I know Mulder got there. I bet he even saw the rebel. Otherwise they wouldn't have wiped him again. But the bounty hunter got there and the rebel came back to the Consortium's tender care. They were supposed to turn him over to the Colonizers. Show of good faith and all that. But I doubt alive versus dead made much difference to the Colonizers, and I'm betting someone managed a little *tissue sample* to play with. It wouldn't have been difficult. And we've had other dead rebels on our hands."
Alien genetic material. She flashed for a moment on Emily - her painful death and the inability of the best of medical science to do a thing about it, due to whatever alien genetic material was used in creating her. Scully stared at the innocuous looking cartridges on the bedside table for a long moment. Would they help? Would the information tell them what was inside this man? Would it tell them whether he was going to live or die? Would it help her keep him alive?
Did she want to keep him alive?
The thought made her cringe, but she knew she would eventually have to face her conflicted feelings about him. She couldn't simply act like he was just another patient, just another mystery to be studied. He'd hurt them all so badly. Betraying them, her abduction, Missy, Mulder's father, working for that smoking bastard. And though Skinner never said word one about it, she and Mulder both knew Krycek had been involved with his "death". Despite Skinner's brush off of the FBI surveillance camera photos, Mulder had recognized Krycek immediately and when he pointed it out to her, Scully saw it too. And Skinner's abrupt turnaround after his heartfelt words to her in the hospital spoke volumes about some sort of continued threat, continued control, even without Mulder's later confirmation after his dip into Skinner's head during his psychic period. Skinner's recovery had been nothing short of miraculous, but Scully remembered those tiny machines, multiplying, multiplying. And then the other shoe dropped - annoying little health problem, stay away from cigarette smoke, I have something that will take care of it...
Taking a deep breath she turned back to Krycek. He was studying her with an odd expression she couldn't read.
"Where'd you just go?" he rasped.
She stared at him impassively for another moment. "You don't want to know," she finally answered truthfully. Just looking at him was difficult when she thought of everything he'd done. And yet, just looking at him - in *this* condition - also made her feel for his situation despite who he was. Seeing the bandaged shoulder brought to mind an uncomfortably clear image of that thoughtless dive, the way he'd knocked her out of the way of the bullet as if protecting her was a foregone conclusion. Simply because he wanted a doctor to look after him? Then why was he kicking up such a fuss every time she tried to examine him?
And this was getting her nowhere, and he was looking at her strangely again. It almost didn't surprise her at all when he opened his mouth and came out with, "Why are you being so nice to me, anyway? Should I be concerned?"
Despite the uncomfortable feeling that he'd just read her mind, she put on her best considering face, unable to resist the urge to poke at him. She nodded slightly and kept her voice clinical. "Probably."
Those huge eyes blinked, but a slight smile quirked his lips. "Well, okay. Just so I know."
She gave him a look, and got back to business. "I want to examine your legs now. Take off your pants."
"Uh no, you don't have to-"
Another look, this one a full Do Not Mess With Me Scully Special. Krycek blinked, and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "And people wonder how you keep Mulder in line."
As she helped him slide down the loose pants, she fought a smile when she realized the cause for his reluctance this time; Krycek may have stolen Johnny's pants, but he obviously drew the line at wearing a dead man's underwear. Krycek tugged his shirt down as far as it would go with forced nonchalance, but not before Scully observed - in her most clinical, scientific manner, of course - that he was an impressive specimen.
She began a slow, methodical examination, starting at the ankles. Moving her hands over tension-wracked muscles, staring down at the well-formed legs lightly covered in silky black hair, she finally decided that philosophical meanderings were simply going to have to wait. He was a human being. Her own humanity insisted she care for him, no matter who or what type of person he was. That would have to be enough for now.
*****
Hoover Building
Assistant Director Walter Skinner's office
January 26, 11:45 amThe click-clack of keys being struck with great efficiency echoed in the otherwise silent office. Kim worked diligently to word-process the final revisions in a series of reports that her boss had scrambled to get finished before he left. Tedious, but he'd been generous enough to arrange for some paid time off for her while he was gone.
"Good morning, my dear." The voice behind her made her jump. She turned, and found herself enveloped in cigarette smoke. She not only hadn't heard him come in, she hadn't smelled him, either. She really needed that time off.
"Good morning, sir. How can I help you?"
"I'd like to see Mr. Skinner, please."
"Oh, I'm sorry, but he isn't in today."
"I see," he drawled, slowly taking another deep drag. "And when will he be back?"
"Well, I don't know for certain, sir. He's taken indefinite medical leave. He said he expects to be away at least two weeks, possibly longer."
"Really? I am sorry to hear he's unwell. He always seems such a robust, fit gentleman."
Kim blinked, and tried to keep smiling. This guy always gave her the creeps. Just then, they both heard a file cabinet drawer close inside the office.
"Miss Cook, it sounds to me as though someone may be present after all. If you'll excuse me."
Before she could respond, he was through the inner door. She bit her lip and hoped Agent Mulder had more fun with him than she did.
Mulder sat on the edge of the desk, flipping through some papers. He looked up as the man he loved to hate came in, and steeled his face to not show his surprise. "Well, well, what an unexpected pleasure!" He smiled sweetly, even as he cursed inwardly. "If it isn't CGB."
"Good day, Mr. Mulder," Spender interrupted smoothly, glancing around the office as if expecting Skinner to be hiding behind one of the chairs. "I hear our friend Mr. Skinner is away for health reasons? How unexpected."
"Yeah, taking this leave was very sudden. The A.D. has been having some very peculiar symptoms, and his doctor has ordered him to get some rest. And how have you been lately? Well, I hope?"
With Mulder grinning at him in that extremely irritating manner, Spender knew very well that he was playing 'I know that you know that I know that you know.' But at the moment, with Krycek on the loose, Scully's disappearance, and Skinner unaccounted for, he was in no position to threaten, no matter how obliquely. Which made him cranky. He exhaled smoke at Mulder, and said in his most falsely sincere voice, "I'm quite well, thank you. But tell me, if Mr. Skinner is *away*, what are you doing in his office?"
Mulder blinked, and waved the manila file in his hand. "Like I said, this leave was sudden. He left me word there were some possible case files up here he hadn't given me yet," he lied calmly, as if this should be obvious.
Spender's eyes narrowed and swept the room yet again. "I see. But I have heard some disturbing news, Mr. Mulder." Changing tack with the speed of a striking snake, he stepped closer to the desk, looming over the seated agent.
"Oh?" Mulder blinked again, trying for innocent.
"I heard a rumor that Agent Scully is missing. I do hope this isn't true?"
Mulder sighed, looking wistful. "Unfortunately, it is true. But I'm not on the case myself. Do you have any idea where she might be? If so, we'd appreciate it very much if you talked to the agents in charge." His voice gained a slight edge, but remained remarkably even.
Wondering when the puppy had picked up so much self-control, Spender rolled his cigarette between his fingers. Mulder was so much more entertaining when he was baitable and spewing all sorts of threats and charges. Spender tried again. "I am sorry, but I have no information to help you. I do hope Miss Scully is unharmed. I admire her so much. She's such a resourceful woman, so courageous."
"She is all that," Mulder ground out, then nodded to the outer door. "I'm sorry you missed A. D. Skinner. But I'm sure you're a very busy man. Have a nice day."
A long pause hung in the smoky air. But Skinner truly didn't seem to be here, Mulder had a supposedly legitimate reason to be in the office, and there was no good reason for him to stand bantering with the agent when he had far too many loose ends to try to tie off. "Good day, Mr. Mulder," Spender finally conceded.
Actually, he quite admired Mulder's audacity. As the door closed softly behind him, he dropped his cigarette and ground it out on the hall carpet with his heel, ignoring Kim's pained expression. Yes, Special Agent Mulder had *such* potential. Shame he hadn't been able to harness that potential for his own benefit. Yet.
He walked slowly down the hall, pausing at a corner and glancing around to ensure he was alone. He slid his hand into his pocket, and pulled out the small electronic device. Watching the "Skinner Active" readout, he played with the controls for a moment and listened. Nothing. Several minutes went by, no cries of pain, no shouts of alarm. Spender shrugged, and pocketed the device. He would have to fall back on his secondary resources, and find out where Skinner was. Try the device again in Skinner's presence, and gauge the results then. He strode off impatiently to check the tapes on Skinner's phone line for the day.
After ushering Spender out, Mulder exhaled with a quiet groan. The clock on Skinner's desk said 12:04. Much too close. When the phone rang he dove around the desk, picking it up before the first ring was over. "Assistant Director Skinner's office."
"Mulder? It's me."
"Scully!" He sank into Skinner's chair, keeping a watchful eye on the closed door. "You just missed our old friend Spender. He was *so* concerned about these rumors he's heard about your disappearance." Her snort came across the line loud and clear, and Mulder grinned.
"I'll just bet he was, considering he was responsible for my disappearance and he's the one we're running from."
"I knew it! I told-"
"Are we okay on this line?" Scully interrupted quickly.
"Okay enough. The Gunmen made a few alterations this morning." He could hear her sigh of relief. "But we're also taking a few more precautions," he explained quickly.
"Well, then let's get to it. I can't stay here long. We've been driving all over the place already today, but we have to keep moving."
"Okay, do you have something you can write on?"
"Yes, I'm ready." Scully poised the motel pen over the motel notepad she'd stolen.
"All right, hang up, and call this number: 202-369-1310. Use this calling card number: 202-369-1310-1445. Both numbers were set up this morning by the guys, and they'll deactivate them as soon as you've made your call. Skinner's at that number, waiting to hear from you now."
"Got it. Thanks. And be careful. Spender and his 'doctors' wanted me for medical experiments. We're talking nasty stuff, Mulder. They've injected and tortured Krycek already, and now they want you. We were all exposed to the black oil entity and survived. You're in as much danger as we are. When you leave the office, make sure Spender isn't anywhere around, and *don't* go following any *tips* today. No matter how legitimate they sound. Do you understand?"
"They tortured Krycek? Gee, I'm sorry I missed that," Mulder grinned at the empty office. "They missed their chance for a little Consortium spending cash. They could've sold tickets and probably bought themselves a new black helicopter."
"Mulder! It's nothing to joke about. Oh, look, I know how you feel." Her tired sigh came loud in his ear. "I felt the same way for about five seconds when I heard him screaming. After that, though, it was just sickening. And Mulder," an uncomfortable pause crackled over the line, "whatever else he's done, he saved my life. I know you probably don't want to hear that, I don't even know what to think of it. But he got me out of there before they could do the same things to me." Mulder ran his hand through his hair. He did not want any reasons to be *thankful* to Krycek. Ulterior motives were doubtlessly lurking around every corner. "So Krycek's the hero, huh? Just be sure he doesn't change sides again." He knew his attempt at humor came out scathing when he heard her irritated breath.
"We can talk about this when I see you. We have to go. Remember what I said about watching your back."
"Scully," he sat forward, speaking quickly to forestall her disconnection.
"What?"
"Be careful. Krycek never does anything without a reason. I know I haven't seen what they've done to him and you have but... well, he may seem hurt, but he's never helpless." Fear for her sharpened his tone, but somehow she must have heard beneath it, because her reply softened.
"I know, Mulder. I'll be careful. Although considering the shape he's in now, I honestly don't have much to worry about. But you know me; I'll stay on my toes. *You* do the same. I'd better call Skinner now."
Mulder sank back in the chair and stared at the phone in his hand. Tortured Krycek. He wondered morbidly what they'd done to the man. His imagination deftly created plenty of possible images. Scully had seen a lot in her time, and she sounded pretty rattled. Of course, she'd been kidnapped, and the same thing had almost happened to her. Then she'd escaped and been on the run with a lying, traitorous, scum-sucking murderer all night. That should be enough to rattle even his unflappable Scully. He smiled fondly. The rapid beeping of the receiver woke him from his thoughts and he dropped the phone back into its cradle.
Pushing out of the chair, he went to the door and peered around it. Kim knelt on the floor, skirt riding up around her thighs, scrubbing at a black spot on the carpet. As she looked up at him, the thought came unbidden that this looked like the setup to one of his porn flicks attempting a "plot". Shaking off the thought, he came around the corner of the door as she stood up. "Is he gone?" he muttered.
"Gone," she answered, with a moue of distaste. The scent of smoke lingered in the air.
"Thanks for letting me into the office." He turned to go, but her hand on his arm stopped him.
"Agent Mulder? When you see him... tell him I hope he's okay."
He smiled at her. "Will do." Leaving the office suite, he scanned the hall and headed for the elevator. His mind automatically filed Kim's request to be called up later, and went back to the thoughts swimming at the surface. Thoughts which, oddly enough, weren't about Scully's safety for perhaps the second time in over 36 hours. Tortured. Scully didn't use words lightly. Tortured. Again, mental pictures came a little too readily, as always seemed to be the case with Krycek.
He spent the ride down the elevator trying to decide if he was actually concerned about the bastard, or if he was enjoying the thoughts.
*****
Lone Gunmen Headquarters
January 26, 12:10 pmSkinner sat in an uncomfortable chair in a dark and cluttered room, staring at three unlikely saviors who stared back at him, equally uncomfortable. They ranged around the room, trying to look casual, but it clearly made them uptight to have The Man in their midst.
The tall, skinny blonde cleared his throat, and held out a flat cardboard box stained with vivid orange grease. "Want some pizza? It's cold, but I could nuke it for you."
"It's pepperoni with double cheese," the short dark one added.
"We could provide you with a cola," the neat one with the beard offered.
Skinner sighed inwardly. He knew Mulder had odd friends, had even run into them a time or two. Sitting and chatting with them was another story. "Ah, no, thanks. I had lunch. But thank you."
They chorused "okay" and went back to staring. All four men jumped when the phone rang, but the tension level dropped considerably.
Frohike answered instantly. "George Hale's office."
"Hi, Frohike, it's Scully. Is A.D. Skinner there?"
Skinner took the offered phone. "Agent Scully, are you all right?"
"Yes, sir. Tired, stressed, not in the best of moods, but I'm okay. Krycek is not okay, however. Were you able to arrange a safe house for us?"
"Yes, Mulder's friends had a suitable place available. Mulder didn't want to use a Bureau house and I could understand. I hope we're doing the right thing going outside official channels."
"Sir, Mulder's right. It was Spender who arranged to have me abducted. A Bureau house would concern me, too." She launched into a quick run down of all the medical supplies she would need for their hideout, ending with another reiteration of the need to protect Mulder.
He let her finish, then cleared his throat self-consciously. "Agent Scully, I've taken an official leave of absence for as long as it takes to get you out of this mess. Agent Mulder and I will be joining you at the safe house, and I will personally take out any of those bastards that come after you." The minute it was out of his mouth he winced, wondering where the hell that last bit had come from. He doubted very much Scully appreciated the John Wayne type.
The pause on the other end worried him for a long moment, then Scully said softly, "Sir, that's very generous of you. Thank you."
Clearing his throat, he launched into the directions to the safe house before his tongue could run away with his mind any further.
After she'd repeated back the directions, Scully added, "Oh, sir, we're going to have to deal with a stolen car and stolen credit cards. Krycek and I were desperate, and..."
"Don't worry about it, we'll handle it." The promise came easily, but Skinner wondered when he had become so willing to bend the law so casually. Probably about the time he decided to keep an extra protective eye on a certain petite, feisty redhead. "Take care, Agent Scully. If all goes well, Mulder and I should be seeing you in about 6 hours."
"It can't be too soon for me, sir," Scully said fervently. "Good luck."
"The same to you." The line went dead. "The same to you, Dana."
With a start, he remembered the others in the room. Langly was already tapping away at a keyboard, disconnecting the line and deactivating the calling card number. Skinner sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "Thanks for all your help. Can you guys deal with a stolen car and stolen credit cards?" ::I can't believe I'm asking this,:: he groaned to himself.
Byers smiled enigmatically. "Not a problem, but I assume you don't care to know the details?"
"You've got that right," Skinner muttered, shaking his head. Clearing his throat again, he stated firmly, "The moment I leave this room, I will forget everything that I've seen or heard here."
He sensed an almost instant relaxation in the three around him, and even as he watched, a speaking look passed between them. Realizing he'd inadvertently said exactly the right thing to ensure their comfort, he almost laughed. And while Langly went to pick up Mulder, Skinner even forced himself to share the reheated pizza and choke down a Coke with Frohike and Byers.
*****
Somewhere secluded and peaceful in North Carolina
A charming cabin in the wilderness
So secure that even we don't know where it is...
January 26, 3:17 pmThe Lone Gunmen's directions proved concise and accurate. Scully offered up a silent thanks and mentally forgave them for the Atlantic City debacle. She was so tired she was having difficulty concentrating and Krycek wasn't much help with navigation. She was thankful that her coin-toss decision to head south from Pennsylvania that morning had turned out in their favor. If Skinner had given her a safe house address in New England, she'd have ended up retracing their driving time for hours.
She pulled the car well off to the side of the dirt road just past the final turn up to the house, guiding it as far into the underbrush as she could, while trying to make sure she wasn't driving into a ditch. Letting the car stall out, she tilted her head back against the headrest and yawned. Shaking herself, she set the emergency brake, opened the door and climbed out.
Luckily it hadn't been raining; the ground was dry and firm. Her pumps had only one-inch heels, but they were not meant for traipsing around in the country, as last night had definitely proven. Her bare feet stuck in the shoes and she almost wished she hadn't ditched her stockings. Her ankle still twinged with every step, but she was able to walk without favoring it too much.
"I'm going ahead to check the place out, see if anyone's around. I shouldn't be gone for more than fifteen minutes," she told Krycek.
He didn't respond, not that she expected him to. He wasn't asleep, but his eyes were closed, the heavy black lashes almost invisible over the dark circles underneath. His skin felt hot and damp when she checked him, his pulse weak but rapid. Scully's anxiety to get him into a safe bed and check his wound surged. She tucked her hair back behind her ear, and closed the door, careful not to lock it. Not having the keys was a pain in the ass. Not that locking the car door would stop their pursuers if they caught up.
Stepping through long grass that tickled her bare legs, ducking trailing tree limbs, Scully made her way to the cabin with gun in hand. She circled it from a distance. Skinner's directions had included the information that no one had stayed there for over four months, so she scanned for even the slightest signs of recent visitors. With relief, she noted none, and proceeded closer. She found the key in the hiding place exactly as the Gunmen had described, and spent a moment actually taking in the cabin as opposed to casing the joint.
From the outside the cabin blended well with the surrounding countryside, concealed behind trees that had never known pruning. The security system was the only blatant item, clearly stating to anyone stumbling over the house that the residents preferred to be left alone, thank you very much. According to Skinner's information, the pass code had been changed that morning. Scully knew the Gunmen well enough to believe it. They probably changed it daily even when no one stayed here. "I have got to find out what they use this place for," she muttered, smoothing back her hair and shifting her weight to her good ankle. Somehow she just didn't picture the boys she knew kicking back in nature.
When she got back to the car she found an awake Krycek, looking disoriented and panicky until he saw her. She found she didn't want to examine the uncomfortable emotion that rose at the way he calmed noticeably at the sight of her. She did *not* want to be the person Alex Krycek trusted. Something in the very nature of it called for a response from her that she wasn't willing to offer. Forcing a calm she didn't feel, she gestured to the house. "It looks okay. We can go in now."
"Where...?"
"Not far." She reconnected the hanging wires and sparked them, then backed the car out in a neat turn, driving up the turn off to the cabin. "See, I'm good at this subterfuge too."
He smiled tiredly. "Yeah. You could be a career criminal."
"You're such a good influence on me," she cracked, then winced as she realized she was actually joking with Alex Krycek.
Well, it had been a strange couple of days.
She decided to stop by the front door, move Krycek into the house, then hide the car around back. Not having any luggage was a mixed blessing; she didn't think she could carry a purse, much less a suitcase right now. The plastic grocery bag of bandages, hydrogen peroxide and surgical tape from the park-and-shop was about the most she could manage. It contained the remains of several bottles of sports drinks and cereal bars. Krycek had whined when she gave him an oatmeal-sunflower seed-raisin bar, but she told him the store hadn't had any Mr. Goodbars. A lie, of course, but one that served its purpose. He'd eaten most of the oatmeal bar with ill grace, and drunk several pints of the Gatorade with only a few caustic comments on the "toxic green" color. Having had her own run-ins with the green goop she knew he was referring to, she'd had to bite back a laugh. ::Definitely overtired. The easier it gets to laugh with Krycek, the more concerned I should be.::
The car left clear tracks along the dirt road leading up to the cabin, but it couldn't be helped. Scully disengaged the alarm system, and went to help Krycek. He managed to get to his feet on his own, and leaned heavily against the side of the car. He seemed to be comparing the distance to the front door, which included seven steps up to the porch, against his last reserves of strength. Taking a deep breath, he started forward.
Scully walked beside him, guessing he needed to prove he was still in control of himself. Which of them he was proving it to she couldn't have said for sure. He made it through the door and across the living room to an oversized couch near an enormous fireplace, before collapsing bonelessly, sitting with his head on his knees. Leaving him to his careful breathing, Scully dropped the bag and went back outside to move the car.
She checked the perimeter again before returning inside. Deciding to play it safe, she left most of the lights off, despite knowing no one could see the cabin from the road a half mile below. The chill prickle of paranoia just wouldn't dissipate. She reset the security system, and explored their refuge from the inside.
She found one small bedroom well-placed in the center of the building, although she guessed it was usually the room for whoever lost the draw. With no windows, no access from the outside, and one door that opened off of the living room, it was hardly vacation quarters. She caught herself assuming this place was a vacation destination, and almost laughed aloud. Knowing the paranoia of the parties involved, perhaps this was the room for whoever *won* the draw. It contained a single bed, a nightstand, an armchair, and a dresser. She tracked down bedding in a closet off the kitchen, and made up the bed, while Krycek stumbled into the bathroom. She heard the shower go on almost instantly, reminding her that he hadn't availed himself of the opportunity at the hotel, preferring to drop straight into bed. She paused, wondering if he needed assistance. ::Oh please. I practically carried him around all night, did the doctor thing, didn't shoot him on sight, and now I'm making his damn bed. I'm drawing the line at helping Alex Krycek *shower*. If he falls over, he falls over. I'll drag him out of there if I have to.::
Feeling irrationally better for the decision, she turned back to the bed.
*****
I don't have the slightest clue where we are, and for once in my life I really don't care. Discovering the hot water is plentiful and scalding is enough for me at the moment. I strip off Johnny's clothes gleefully, throwing them on the floor and kicking them across the room for good measure, catching myself on the bathroom counter when I almost topple over. I'll stay naked before I'll put those on again. Scully can just deal with a little skin. Besides, it'll make it easier for her to play doctor, so what the hell. I tug off the bandage as well.
Climbing carefully into the shower stall, I lean against the wall and let the hot water pound into me, thinking about Scully. As the water stings too many bruises and abrasions for me to even count right now, I have to smirk at the memory of her hands on me, exploring my medical-miracle legs. Knowing her, she still doesn't believe they've really been broken, given there's no *evidence*. I shudder in spite of the heat. No evidence except my memory.
And when would *that* ever be good enough for the good Doctor Scully. Or for the Secret Agent Man himself.
And wouldn't he have just loved to see her feeling up my legs. I almost choke on a laugh. Scully and Mulder. As my brain always does with this particular topic, I start wondering. I've always wondered about them. Who wouldn't. From day one, all their huddling and whispering and that damn *connection* blazing off them like a fucking neon beer sign. So, are they or aren't they? I put my money on no, but then I've been wrong before. Plenty of times. And particularly about Scully, about Mulder. But I'm pretty sure I'm right about this.
And I'm betting it's the doc putting the brakes on, keeping them friends. I don't doubt she might have considered it herself. How could you look at his *mouth* and not? If she doesn't, she's stronger than me, but that's nothing new. No, the lady in question just seems a little too *smart* to get involved with Mulder that way. He already eats her alive. If they started fucking, he'd just be so damn *omnipresent*.
Hurricane Mulder.
I sigh and turn, letting the water pummel my back as I rotate my bad shoulder. She'll probably give me hell for getting the wound wet but it really doesn't seem serious, and I don't feel like being careful. Feeling clean is more important. I finally work up enough energy to grab a washcloth and the soap, and start scrubbing away the touch of Kessin and his goons, trying to blank my mind with each harsh stroke.
It doesn't work. Once on the Scully and Mulder track, my brain just wants to tumble all the little pieces of the puzzle of their relationship *one more time*. Like I don't lie awake enough fucking nights doing this.
What exactly *are* they? Is she a surrogate, the little sister he lost? She has older brothers, so that doesn't play out the same way both ways. Friendship is an interesting thing of course, if you can get it. Can't speak much from experience there myself. I turn back around and stick my head under the water. Christ, if I could just stop *hurting* for two seconds.
The legs actually feel a little better, still stiff and achy, but the really horrific shooting pains mostly subsided after sitting in a car all day. But now this fucking arm. My shoulder burns and throbs relentlessly, enough so that the place where the bullet opened me up seems like nothing at all. I know I've been slipping in and out, which worries me more than pain actually. I can tell I'm still feverish. My skin itches, a hot, tickly sensation like bees buzzing just under the surface. What good is this weirdass alien healing shit if I always feel like hell?
The thought effectively gets my mind off Mulder and Scully and their 'arrangement'. Because it brings up the fear I'm trying so hard to swallow and ignore - the fear that I'm feeling like hell because this 'weirdass alien healing shit' is killing me while it does whatever it does to my body. The truth is I have no fucking clue what's going on inside me.
I feel my breath quicken, and I'm sucking in steamy air faster and faster. Too late, Alex. Your date with destiny is upon you. Whatever they've done is definitely done. And the Consortium is famous for starting stuff without knowing how to finish it. There's no way whatever they've done to me is reversible. You don't just pluck out hybridized alien cells once you've introduced them. And I've seen lots of evidence that alien and human just don't mix. Not to mention everybody in these latest tests before me has died, no matter how much they managed to heal small things before kicking off.
And I just got a nice fresh shot with an upped dosage before I got out of there.
The buzzing under my skin seems to intensify, and I start feeling distinctly lightheaded.
Slamming the shower taps off, I scramble out, banging my shin on the tub. I go down on my knees on the bathmat before I fall over. Scrambling for a towel, I press it to my face and try to calm my brain and my lungs simultaneously.
Scully's a good doctor. Working with Mulder, she's seen more weird stuff than me, practically. She knows what the Consortium has been playing with. She's even seen their genetic work before. If anybody might be able to figure something out, she can. And hey, if I die now, at least I screw the Consortium by giving Mulder proof. As long as my body doesn't dissolve into a puddle of toxic green jelly.
My entire body shakes harder and I can't stop.
No, I got shot. I bled red. I know I did. I saw it. Oh fuck.
Enough. This is getting me nowhere. I force myself to breathe slower. At least I won't die at their hands, strapped down and screaming. I'm out of there. And we have the cartridges. I'm with the only doctor who might actually believe what happened to me, and we have a couple cartridges full of information on the testing. So everyone else died. They hadn't gotten out either. Maybe it's still early enough. Scully will help me, she said she would. And bottom line, no matter what happened, we'll keep Mulder out of there.
Unfortunately the thought isn't enough to elevate me to a higher plane of consciousness, like it should. Everybody always spouts stuff like "I don't mind dying if I know you'll be safe". Please. It might sound good in dramatic moments of tortured angst in the middle of the night. In reality it's still death. And death sucks. What's so great about him being safe if I'm not going to be around to enjoy it.
Nobody ever called me particularly noble.
But we'll do what we can. And if I'm dying, I'm dying. Wouldn't be the first time I thought I was biting it only to pull out in the end. Pure panic continues to hum just below my conscious thoughts, but I exercise a vice grip on it and force myself to my feet. Drying off as best I can, I drape the towel over my shoulders so it falls over my stump before stepping in front of the mirror. Grabbing a comb at random from the bathroom cabinet, I brush my hair straight back and continue to count out my breaths slowly, making them as even as possible. After I'm calm enough to stop shaking - mostly - I fight a fresh towel around my waist by leaning against the wall to hold it up as I tuck it together precariously, swearing under my breath the whole time. It's enough to get me more irritated than unsteady, and I stalk out of the bathroom gripping the towel to keep it on.
Scully isn't anywhere in sight, but I can hear her somewhere close by as I wander out. I find her in the kitchen pouring hot water into mugs. The place is heating up nicely so she must have found the thermostat, too. There's something charming about her standing there in her bare feet, totally rumpled, making coffee with a gun stuck in her waistband and another one weighing down the pocket of her suit jacket.
She glances up. "It's instant, but it's better than nothing."
"Smells good," I sigh. I slump down at the kitchen table, fatigue catching up with me again and burning off the irritability that came from dealing with the limitations imposed by my missing arm. I wonder when she took possession of both guns again, and how I can get my hands on one. I sip at the coffee she gives me, before realizing she's studying me. "What?"
"Can I take a look at the bullet wound?"
I sigh again and shrug, but don't protest as she pushes back the towel that hangs over my shoulder. I glance over at her gasp.
"That's impossible!" she hisses as she stares down at what had been a deep gash in the flesh, and is now considerably healed. I can't say I'm particularly surprised at the sight, but then she hasn't felt her legs pulling themselves back together. This would be her first really dramatic experience with the results of the experiments.
"I know, but it's happening," I say grimly. "I suppose this is a good thing, especially in my line of work, where people are always shooting at me or hitting me, but somehow... it's... it's just unnatural, you know?" I swallow hard as I stare at the itching wound, knowing there's something inside me, something foreign, something mingling with my own cells and making me... different. I shiver and the towel slides all the way off my shoulder.
Scully freezes again, with her hand just reaching to touch the bullet wound. Her voice, when it comes, is unsteady. "Didn't the scars on your amputation go up farther? The upper arm, the shoulder area, it looks as if it's... changing."
I feel something twist inside me. I turn my head slowly and look down at my stump. I don't like looking at it at the best of times, but I know every bump and ridge and pattern of scar by heart. And she's right. The throbbing that flares and pulses in the truncated flesh takes on a whole new meaning as I stare at the remains of my arm. Jesus. Could it really...? No. No, don't even go there. Don't *hope*, you know what a trap hope is. They have no clue what they're doing, you could be growing a salamander arm for all you know what they stuck you with.
But the insidious idea already crawled into my brain, and twists around in there like the alien ingredients twisting around in my body. The scar tissue was changing. Did that mean...? I can hear the edge of hysteria in my own voice when I manage to get out a strangled, "Maybe the old bastard had the right idea."
"I beg your pardon?" Scully is staring at me with a look that almost implies concern. I figure I must look a bit crazed again.
I shake my head, trying to focus, remembering again that she doesn't know all the details. "The bullet. It reinjured my shoulder. I had this old knife wound in my leg... a bad scar, and it healed up when my legs were reinjured and my broken bones healed. It's totally gone now. They were interested in what that implied. Spender told Kessin to try damaging my left shoulder to see if anything happened to the scar tissue on my stump. That was going to be their next experiment. I wonder how he intended to *damage* it," I muse, trying to redirect my thoughts from where they want to go. "No, I guess I don't really want to know." Suddenly the exhaustion is just too much. So many things I'm trying to keep my mind away from and I'm so tired and all the mental walls are way too fragile to hold back anything at this point, and I realize I'm shaking again.
Scully must have realized, because the next thing I know she's rescuing the coffee mug from my limp grasp and guiding me to my feet. "Come on, let's get you to your room." With my hand still keeping the towel around my waist, I let her guide me to a small bedroom.
I take one look around and shake my head emphatically. "I can't stay in here."
"I know it'll be like living in a closet, but-"
"No, I can't." Less than a minute and I'm just this side of hyperventilating all over again. There isn't even a window. Shit, the walls are moving already.
"Krycek, listen, it's the most secure room in the house. We'll be able to guard you here. Anyone coming in will have to get past me, Mulder and Skinner."
I snort, grabbing at the thought to keep the claustrophobia from taking over. "Why does that not make me feel safe?"
"Alex..."
Maybe I just reached my breaking point. Maybe it was the first name, maybe it was just the careful tone of voice. Maybe it was the fact that this woman I'd done a hell of a lot to hurt was being nice to me, and taking care of me, and - all I know is I suddenly lost all fight, collapsing on the edge of the bed, and looking up at her with suspicious and terrible wetness welling in my eyes. "I know. I know you're doing the best you can, and I know you've got a good point but... I just can't... I can't stand being locked up. I can't take enclosed spaces. It just makes me..." I turn away, struggling to regain control. "I'm just so fucking tired." I close my eyes and swallow hard, but feel the burning in my eyes worsen. I tilt my head back and widen my eyes, blinking up at the ceiling repeatedly in an effort to keep back the humiliating tears I can feel hovering.
Her voice is amazingly gentle, as gentle as her hand on my good shoulder. At the moment I don't care if it's just because she thinks I'm ready to go off the deep end at any moment. I know full well she's trotting out the good doctor kid gloves for the claustrophobic invalid, but it doesn't make one whit of difference. She gives good bedside manner when she wants to. "Hey. We don't have to lock you in. We can leave the door unlocked," she says softly. Her voice firms. "But you need to sleep in here, so we can keep watch." She pauses, then adds, "I can even leave the door open."
Somehow the calmness she gives off helps. I feel like an idiot, I know I *look* like an idiot, but she isn't laughing and she's so serious. I snort and let my lip curl in a sneer. "Gee, thanks. Can I have a nightlight and a teddy bear too?"
She pretends to consider, and I mentally thank her for playing along with my brusque sarcasm. "Do assassins sleep with teddy bears? And do the bears live through the experience?"
Suddenly I feel like I can breathe again. I give her a twisted smirk and keep up the wiseass patter that's as familiar as this loss of control is unfamiliar. "Are you kidding? We need them more than anyone. And they survive. If they behave."
"Sorry, fresh out of bears, obedient or otherwise. But I can sit in here for a while, give you something else to concentrate on." Without waiting for an answer that she must have known I couldn't - or wouldn't - give, she curls up in the armchair, the gun on her lap. I stare at her disdainfully for another moment, but find I don't really have the energy to argue, to insist that I'm fine and that I don't need her sitting at my bedside like a fucking mother.
Besides, I'm not fine. Most definitely not fine. I wonder for a moment if the exhaustion is just giving me a good excuse, so I don't have to admit that what I really want is exactly to have her sit beside me and hold my hand and not leave me alone in this closet. Then I get sick of trying to out-think myself, and give up, moving back up the bed to slide under the bedding. Tired. I yank off the towel and toss it out to the floor only after the quilt is up over me. I sink into the pillows. So tired. So godawful tired. At least the shaking is subsiding. And strangely, concentrating on her, watching the late afternoon light filtering in from the other room catch in the red of her hair, does give me something else to think about, so I'm not left dwelling on the four walls surrounding me.
We're silent for long moments, and I know we're both listening for sounds of pursuit, and hearing only the wind in the trees. I feel myself slipping, but sleep seems just out of reach, despite the heaviness of my bone-deep exhaustion. I can't get comfortable, but I can't figure out how to move to get more comfortable. Everything hurts, and my body can't decide if it's hot or cold. I shiver, then feel a rush of heat. The blanket is too much, but the minute I work up the sense to push it off, I need it again.
I try to close my eyes but each time they open and refocus on her, sitting and staring at the open door. I like the image of her with the gun in her hand. I wonder if she'll suddenly decide I'm too much trouble and shoot me. I wonder how my body would react to another bullet wound. My mind drifts slowly, my thoughts woollier by the minute. My slightly slurred voice, when it breaks the silence, surprises me as much as it does her, and I almost want to look around to see who's speaking, except I'm the only one who would say the words hanging in midair between us.
"I didn't kill your sister, you know."
She stiffens, then turns her head slowly until she looks at me silently. "I believe a man named Luis Cardinale killed her," she says finally, coldly.
"Yes," I say softly. Her eyes pin me like a butterfly.
"The one time we spoke, Mr. Cardinale insinuated you were involved."
"I was there." My voice still sounds like someone else and I can't quite figure out why I'm saying any of this. Especially when she's armed. But I can't quite figure out how to stop either. I watch her eyes narrow. "We were there to take you out."
Her breath catches. "Yes, I knew that had to be-" She pauses. "You were there to kill me."
"Yeah. Spender was against it. Thought it would make Mulder too unstable. Got outvoted." As my drowsy voice offers up details, my mind spins back to that night, crouched in her apartment. "We were waiting for you. When your sister came in. It was dark, but I knew it wasn't you." How had I known? "Too... tall. I was about to try to pass us off as burglars, get the hell out of there. Cardinale... fired." As fuzzy as I am, I remember my reaction, my surprise, my annoyance. Wrong Scully, asshole. "Idiot. Talk about psychopaths." I stop, my voice reminding me of someone talking in their sleep. I wonder if I'm delirious again. I wonder if I'd know if I was. I'm definitely not thinking all that straight. I feel a sudden need to explain my confusion to her. "Scully... I don't know why I'm telling you this, it's not exactly in my best interests." I stop as the agony in my shoulder flares sharply. I can't completely stop a gasp of pain, but I bite my lip and try.
She continues to stare at me dispassionately. "If you don't know why you're telling me, I certainly don't know."
Her measured tone almost makes me smile, but my befuddled mind is trying to accomplish something. "I... Scully, I would have done it. Then. If you'd come through that door. I would have done it," I repeat, not sure I can explain what I mean but wanting to try. "But I wouldn't have killed her. Your sister." I pause, having no idea if she can understand the distinction, having no idea if I even understand the distinction. "She never saw us, you know. She didn't even have time to be scared."
Scully stares past me at the far wall, her mouth tight, face pained. "She never regained consciousness," now her voice sounds like mine. Husky, oddly distanced. "She never even knew what happened."
I sigh softly. "Tha's good. She din't d'serve to die." I can feel my questionable hold on my thoughts start to slip even more, but her diamond-hard question cuts through the cotton wrapping around me.
"Did I deserve to die, Krycek?"
I force myself to focus on her again, meet her eyes directly. I was the idiot who had opened this can of worms. As if I of all people didn't know that silence on all subjects is always the best policy. Hell, the Consortium could have borrowed 'plausible deniability' from me as a motto. I clear my throat and wince. It's still raw. I know I need to answer, but I'm not exactly in top debate form. It crosses my mind that I'm implicating myself and that is a really stupid thing to do and I hope to hell she doesn't have a tape player running and then the thought slides away like butter melting into toast. What was the question?
Scully. Deserve to die.
I try to enunciate clearer to make up for my lack of volume, but my tongue feels huge and foreign in my mouth. "Wasn't a question of deserve, really. Necessity. They thought you needed to. And I took orders from Them. I wouldn't have liked killing you. I would have regretted the necessity. But I understood necessity. I'd have done it. That's what I did. Then." God, the good old days. Ambition. That stupid sense of achievement and pride, in what I could make myself do without even flinching. So proud of my detachment, my *control*. Following orders and actually thinking I was moving up, actually thinking that I could control my own life. A hysterical giggle wanted to well up, and I realize I'm still talking, my real reasoning marching muzzily off my tongue. "Besides, at the time I didn't want to see... to admit what was really going on." Didn't want to admit what I was feeling, that I was changing. If I could kill her, of course Mulder didn't mean anything. What better way to prove it to myself.
"Don't tell me, let me guess. We were the dangerous ones, you were protecting the country from wild canons like us? Doing your patriotic duty."
Her tone of voice is edged, and I know I'm missing something in the conversation. But by now my eyelids decide they not only want to be closed, they also refuse to take no for an answer. I fight back to the surface one more time. "Hunh?"
"You said you didn't want to admit what was really going on. With the Consortium? With the kind of group you were really working for," her tone is caustic, as if she is waiting for me to agree so she can tell me she doesn't believe me.
I blink, confused. "Uh, yeah. That too." I do remember having some confused interpretations of the Consortium, of having to figure out who and what they really were. But I'd known enough to have a good idea what I was into. No, what filled my mind were my confused interpretations about Mulder, of having to figure out who and what *I* really was. With Mulder, I'd had no idea what I was getting into. No idea how deep the water was until I was in the middle of the ocean and couldn't even see the shore anymore.
Being young and stupid is a bitch.
"What about now?"
"Hunh?" My eyelids flicker again, and I find her eyes boring into mine, her face unreadable.
"You said you would have killed me. What about now."
Oh. That's easy. "Nah, you're safe. Safe as houses. Safer than ever." I manage a smile even though my mouth muscles really don't want to respond to my intentions. I'm slurring again, but I force myself to complete the thought. "And I don't take orders from those bastards anymore."
*****
5:30 pm
"No. Won't... no... hurt..."
Scully startled awake, flinching at the stiffness in her muscles from dozing in the armchair. She wrinkled her nose and turned toward the bed, rubbing at her eyes.
"Mulder... mistake... would you just listen..."
Krycek mumbled in his restless sleep, his voice angry, impatient with someone. Scully rose, catching the gun in her lap as an afterthought as it started to slide to the floor. Setting it on the nightstand, she stepped to the bedside, touching his forehead with the back of her hand. His skin was far too hot, even the sweat that soaked the bedding couldn't cool him. She sighed and pulled back the blanket, wondering if they were in for another round of delirium.
"Warn you... Mulder..."
This again. "We did, Alex. He knows he's in danger," she said, trying for soothing. "He's with Skinner. He'll be fine."
Krycek's eyes flew open, and he jerked. He stared up at her wild-eyed, unseeing, voice harsh. "Have to tell you... got Scully out..."
"I already told him, Alex. He knows you did."
"I tried... no, don't, I tried... I couldn't... I'm sorry..."
Scully pushed her hair back and tried to rein in her impatience. He was obviously beyond communication. She tried again anyway, knowing it wasn't good for him to get this agitated in the state he was in. "Alex, listen to me. He knows he's in danger, he's being careful. I'll make sure he understands. And you can tell him yourself, you know. He'll be here in a few hours." She reached for the glass of water she'd rested on the stand and dipped her fingers in, patting them over his face. "I doubt you'll be dead by then," she couldn't resist muttering.
"Couldn't find her," he insisted, eyes glazed, voice rough. "Got Scully, but couldn't find her. Please don't... tried to find her. I swear... I did. Couldn't, but I tried. Tried..."
Her hand stopping in mid-pat, Scully suddenly went cold as his word resolved into a pattern. Catching his chin in her fingers, she tilted his head, trying to determine how much sense there was in his eyes. She groaned inwardly. He was totally out of it. "Who did you try to find, Alex?"
"Tried to find her. Couldn't. But I got Scully. Okay?"
"Who, Alex? Who were you looking for?" Scully kept her voice level with an effort, knowing the answer already, but hoping her sharp voice would infiltrate his fogged brain. She realized her fingers were pinching, and loosened them.
He shifted restlessly, pleading anger lacing his voice, still lost in the conversation in his head. She hissed in frustration, then sucked in a breath as his next mumbling ramble answered her suspicion.
"Couldn't find Samantha..."
Releasing his chin and stepping back abruptly, she swallowed hard. The desperate anger was clear in his scratchy words. Setting the glass down with a thunk she walked out of the bedroom, needing breathing space, needing to be away from him for a few minutes. Dropping onto the couch she pressed her fingers to her temples and massaged. What the hell did this mean?
She wondered again about whether he might be faking the delirium. As a doctor, she'd swear he was well and truly out of it. But this was Krycek... the consummate actor. Who knew what was truth and what was lie. And yet, like Mulder, she knew that in some ways she had allowed Krycek to become a bigger, more powerful image in her mind than he necessarily was. The teflon superspy. This little escapade was underlining his humanity much more than she wanted, but it also reminded her that some physiological symptoms were just plain damn unlikely to fake - the intense sweats, the pupil dilation, the fine muscle tremors.
And was a delirious Krycek anymore trustworthy than an awake and aware Krycek? With most people, one would assume delirious ravings were just that, ravings. Only with someone who lied like the proverbial rug did the perception shift, raising the possibility that the real person was coming out while the conscious controls weren't there to hold him in. But did that make Krycek's ravings anymore likely to be reliable than anyone else's? Or possibly even make them less reliable? If he lied all the time, what was to prevent him from having some sort of delirious fantasy of trying to find Samantha? He certainly seemed obsessed enough with Mulder to-
That thought froze all others, and Scully groaned and sank back into the couch. That was the point, wasn't it. Mulder was most definitely first and foremost on Krycek's mind. Every time he slipped even a little, Mulder was the first thing out of his mouth. And somehow, that made Scully more inclined to think he wasn't faking it. Granted, the first thought that came to mind was that he was playing an angle, trying to imply he was on their side.
But why would he do that by exposing whatever this thing was he had for Mulder.
And why to her? Quite frankly, with a strategic-thinker like Krycek, she couldn't figure out what he would hope to gain by letting her in on the secret that he obviously harbored some sort of intense fixation on her partner. That kind of information could only put her more on her guard than anything else, just as was happening. He had to know that. All her protective instincts were going on full red alert, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up at the very *thought* that Krycek had this kind of 'interest' in Mulder. And it made her want to keep Mulder very *very* far away from Krycek.
Did Mulder know? Should she say something? What would she say? "By the way, Mulder, while Krycek was raving deliriously he mentioned you so much I got to thinking he might have the hots for you." Yeah, that would go over well. And what about Samantha? Should she say anything about that? Her mind swam. Krycek had sounded so angry. Angry at Mulder? Angry that he couldn't deliver Samantha to Mulder? And that next comment, about her. There was that indication again, that he'd gotten her out not for medical assistance, not for bargaining power and protection, but for Mulder. Scully snorted. She had no doubts Krycek had been involved somehow in her original abduction. If he really wanted to protect her for Mulder, why the hell couldn't he have developed his little crush back then, before she'd been taken, before she'd been used to create something so sweet, but so very wrong.
As usual, the thought of Emily made her chest tighten. She pushed it back and felt a fresh surge of anger, at all the outcomes of that initial abduction - her cancer, her infertility. That tiny girl, so trustingly offering her hand. That shy smile to Mulder, clowning with her so sweetly on the floor. The hospital, the growth. Those scared eyes as the nurse had fallen choking, and she lay alone in the room with the dying body and all the adults pressed against the glass, staring in, horrified. The sweaty hair, plastered to her round little face, as she leaned into a kiss on the forehead and stoically bore the pain, the confusion, the fear. That small coffin. Scully gripped the couch cushion on either side of her thighs, nails digging into the ugly brown fabric with a scraping noise. Tears backed up and her sinuses filled.
Damn. She should know better than to think of Emily when she was tired.
She wiped her eyes and took a few snuffling breaths. When Mulder and Skinner got here, the first thing she had to do was get some sleep. Get herself back off the edge. Let them worry about the assassin in love for a while.
In love?
Scully paused at her own thought. Did she really think Krycek was *in love* with Mulder? She groaned again and went back to rubbing her aching temples. Oh *shit*.
That was taking it a bit far. Wasn't it? Somewhere in the course of the last stretch of hours the idea had certainly crawled into her subconscious, but... still. If the bastard even could love. There definitely seemed more to it than just a passing interest, something more than the crush she'd suspected back when she'd thought he was actually an FBI agent. His driving focus on warning Mulder, saving him from the labs. Her growing suspicion that he'd saved her life for Mulder's sake, not her own. His incessant preoccupation with Mulder in his thoughts and unconscious ramblings. And now, the implication that he'd been looking for Samantha, trying to find her for Mulder.
Trying. But not succeeding. She blinked as the implication of that finally sunk in. Krycek had said he couldn't find her. Supposing he really had been looking for Samantha, he'd been on the inside of the Consortium. And his continued survival over the years indicated he was good at his "job", and had certainly provided more than enough evidence that he was sneaky. If he really had tried to find her, and even he couldn't... Her heart sank.
One thing was for certain. She sure as hell couldn't spring both pieces of information on Mulder at the same time.
6:42 pm
The rumble of a car coming up the drive jerked her out of her thoughts. Glancing at her watch, she was astonished to see she'd been stewing for over an hour, still trying to rethink, triple-think, and out-think a Krycekian mind. Over an hour, sitting here in the dark, and nothing to show for it but a worse headache.
And no gun.
She leapt off the couch and strode back to the bedroom, her bare feet making no noise. Krycek obviously heard the car too, sitting up and reaching for the gun on the nightstand with the instinct of a hunter being hunted. With the advantages of both a longer reach and closer proximity, he got the gun first.
"I'll go see who it is, you stay there!" she commanded, holding out her hand for the gun. When he swung his legs out of the bed, she hissed, "You're in no shape to take on anyone right now! You'll be in my way. Stay there!"
Krycek glared at her, but didn't argue with her reasoning. He released the safety and nodded shortly, but made no move to give up the gun. She huffed out an exasperated breath and snagged her suit coat out of the chair she'd been sleeping in, knowing she didn't have time to argue the gun out of his hand. Plucking the second gun out of the pocket, she tossed the coat back onto the chair.
Creeping silently into the dark living room, she moved along the wall to the window, peering from the side between the curtain and the window frame. Letting out her breath with a sigh of relief, she went back to tell Krycek the good news.
She froze as she stepped back into the bedroom. In the shadows, she could see Krycek, still sitting on the bed, the gun barrel tucked up under his own chin. "It's them, isn't it?" His voice held an edgy madness she recognized from the last couple times he'd woken from fever dreams, thinking whatever he was dreaming was the current reality. She couldn't even be sure he knew who he was talking to. "They've come to take me back."
Shit. Of all the times for him to be in possession of one of the guns. Scully kept her voice calm as she reached out and flicked the light switch. "No, Krycek, it's Mulder and Skinner. We knew they were coming, remember? We've been waiting for them."
The light didn't seem to help. He blinked in the sudden brightness, but didn't focus on her. "I can't go back there. I won't go back there. They won't take me back."
She realized in a sickening instant that he wasn't seeing or hearing her. "Krycek... Alex, it's all right. You need to concentrate on my voice. You were dreaming." Suddenly it occurred to her what might get through. "Alex, listen to me. Mulder is here."
"I heard the car! I know they're here! I won't go back!"
She heard the click of the hammer and dove.
* * * CHEMICAL AGENTS PART TWO - TOXICOSIS
Toxicosis: a pathological condition caused by the action of a poison or toxin
*****
Mulder pulled the strap of one suitcase over his shoulder, and hoisted another. Between the clothes they'd picked up for Scully, their own gear, and the medical supplies and groceries Scully had demanded, it looked like they could hide out for a year. Skinner came around from the trunk similarly loaded down. They went up the front steps, and Skinner dropped one bag, fumbling at the security pad until the light blinked green. Using the key Frohike had given them to unlock the door, they stumbled over the threshold. And froze in the darkened living room as Scully's panicked voice reached them.
"Alex, don't do this! Give me the gun!"
Skinner didn't even pause. He dropped everything and raced for the voice a split second before Mulder moved, both men drawing their guns as they cleared the door to the lit inner room.
Alex Krycek sprawled naked on a bed, with Scully straddling his hips, holding him down as she struggled for possession of the gun he held in a white-knuckled grip.
"Alex, don't! Just give me the gun! You don't-"
Over Scully's shoulder, Krycek caught sight of Mulder, and froze, a look of astonished joy breaking across his ravaged face. In that instant, Mulder was across the room, his arms around Scully's waist, lifting her off of Krycek. Skinner sprang on Krycek at the same moment, grabbing his arm, yanking him forward, and twisting his wrist until he yelped and the gun fell.
Lowering Scully to the floor, Mulder watched Skinner use his grip on Krycek's arm to slam him back down on the bed, shouting "You son of a bitch!" as his other fist drove into Krycek's exposed stomach.
Later, Mulder would reflect that Krycek's attempt to rise back off the bed was likely a reflexive effort to curl around and protect his gut. Presently, through the red haze over his vision, all he could comprehend was that the bastard wasn't down for the count yet. He was around Scully and backhanding that hated face before he even realized he was moving.
From the moment he first heard Scully's frantic voice pleading with Krycek to "stop", until the moment his hand impacted with Krycek's flesh, Mulder stopped actually thinking... moving instinctively to protect her and beat the crap out of him. But in that moment, as his knuckles scraped across Krycek's cheekbone painfully, a number of images he had unconsciously taken in registered one after another like a slide show on fast forward:
Scully's skirt had ridden up in the struggle, exposing just a flash of plain white briefs.
Considering he wore no underwear at all, Krycek was exposing a hell of a lot more.
Scully wasn't wearing any stockings and her legs were all scratched up.
Krycek's bruised lower legs looked like they'd been through a wringer washing machine.
Scully's face was registering "severely pissed", for some odd reason.
Krycek had, just for a moment, looked at Mulder like he was glad to see him... for some odd reason.
Scully had really nice legs, even if they were a little on the short side.
Krycek had a really nice cock, even if it was a little on the... scratch that thought.
Krycek had no left arm.
There was a sharp pain in his right shin...
The last was Scully kicking him. "Mulder, stop!"
"Hey! I'm on your side!" The momentary disorientation he felt didn't seem to be related to his aching shin-bone, but it wasn't bad enough to distract him as he watched her hand flash out in the other direction, catching Skinner's arm.
"Sir, don't hit him again!"
Skinner pulled his second blow before his fist could catch Krycek's jaw. He stepped back from the bed, breathing roughly, and obviously waiting for a good reason why he shouldn't pummel the lower life form. "Agent Scully?"
She ran her fingers through her hair, looking ready to tear it out in frustration. "Just STOP! Leave. Him. Alone. Both of you!"
"But Scully-"
"I know what it probably looked like," she cut in sharply, yanking her skirt back down with jerky, irritated movements. "But it's not. He wasn't trying to kill me. I was trying to keep him from killing himself."
Mulder exchanged a look with Skinner, then was instantly distracted by the rest of her sentence. Kill himself? Krycek? The ultimate survivor?
Krycek had curled up tightly on his side, clutching his bandaged left shoulder, rocking slightly. Scully leaned down and drew the blankets over the battered body, hiding the bruises and the horror of his missing arm. Mulder didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved.
"It's okay, Alex," she said gently, and Mulder blinked in surprise at her tone. "Mulder and Skinner are here. We'll keep watch. You need to relax and try to sleep."
He stared up at her, still working on regulating his breathing, but finally nodded.
"You understand? Alex? There's no one here but us." Scully spoke calmly and clearly while she studied his eyes, trying to gauge if he knew who she was. "You okay?" she finally asked.
Another nod and a grimace, that morphed into a pale imitation of his usual smirk. "No worries, Dana," he managed to slur, still struggling for breath. "That was just a typical hello from these two."
Giving him a look, Scully drew in a slow breath and stood, wondering at the relief coursing through her that he at least recognized her. ::Ignore it,:: her mind whispered. She bent fluidly and picked up the gun from the floor. "Get some rest."
As she turned away, she heard him croak, "Leave that."
She looked back at him, one eyebrow lifted, and shook her head firmly. "No. I don't think that's a good idea, Alex."
"Oh, no." He reached out and grabbed her arm, his eyes still too wide and a touch too wild. "You're not leaving me with no way-"
Mulder tensed at Krycek's action, but subsided with a glare at the "down boys" look Scully shot at both him and Skinner. He watched guardedly as Scully returned her attention - calmly - to the man on the bed and spoke in slow, measured cadence.
"I said no. Alex, you almost died just now because you were too confused to realize you were in no danger." She saw his gaze flicker between the two scowling men looming behind her. "No danger of getting retaken," she amended lamely. "Look, I promise you that I won't let anyone hurt you. Alright?"
"You can't keep them away if they really want me," he said harshly, fingers tightening on her arm. "I told you, I am *not* going back."
"I know." She sighed, understanding, but also knowing there was no way in hell she was going to leave him with a loaded gun. Her tired mind scrambled. "All right, how's this... I *promise* that if it looks like they're going to get to you, I'll put a bullet through your head myself." He blinked up at her, and she met his eyes squarely, unflinchingly.
"You're serious." His fingers loosened.
"You have my word."
Mulder watched something pass between the two of them as they stared at each other, some speaking look communicating something he and Skinner had no part in. He blinked in surprise as Krycek's long fingers released her arm and he subsided back to the bed.
"Okay then."
She smiled suddenly. "And if they get me first, Mulder will do it."
"I will?"
Mulder flinched at the icy blue glare he got, while Krycek choked on a laugh and muttered, "Oh, I'm sure he will."
Freed, Scully stepped back from the bed and thrust the gun at Skinner. "You know, you might make yourselves useful by making us some dinner, if you remembered to bring food," she snapped, then pushed between them and out the door.
Mulder exchanged a poleaxed look with Skinner, then glanced back at the bed. Krycek's eyes were closed, and he looked for all the world like he was asleep. Or passed out. Even his breathing had relaxed. Mulder didn't buy it for an instant. Anger hummed through every nerve and his fists curled. Another odd wave of disorientation swept over him, and he blinked, shaking his head and refocusing on Krycek. He opened his mouth to call the worm back to consciousness, but Skinner suddenly shook his head, and pointed to the door.
"Agent Mulder, we need more information," Skinner muttered in the clipped tones he used when turning down a case or a travel request. "We have two choices of how to get that information. Agent Scully... or him." He jerked a thumb at the still figure on the bed and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
Mulder's lips tightened in annoyance, but he trooped out into the main room just in time to see the bathroom door shut forcefully. Seconds later he heard the bedroom door click shut behind him and the scrape of a chair as Skinner wedged it under the door handle. ::Good thinking,:: he realized, as he noticed the door only locked from the inside. Shaking out his sore hand, he headed for the bags on the floor, noticing that Scully must have ferreted out the one that contained her clothes already, as it had apparently followed her into the bathroom. Picking up a bag of groceries and heading for the kitchen, Mulder caught Skinner's eye. "*Alex*?"
Skinner shook his head. "*Dana*?" he returned in the same tone.
Mulder blew out an exasperated breath and dropped his bag on the table with a thunk that didn't bode well for whatever was packed on the bottom. "I don't like this. She said... on the phone she said he saved her life." He rubbed at his temple where a slight headache was starting up.
Skinner paused in the act of reaching into the cupboards. "He *what*?" When they'd spoken hurriedly on the Gunmen's phone, she'd only said that she and Krycek had broken out of a Consortium facility together. Saved her life?
"She didn't elaborate but... well, do you think..."
"Think *what*, Agent Mulder?" Skinner ground out, not wanting to think about any of the things that Mulder's words had just conjured up.
"Well, you know what they say about people in dangerous, stressful conditions. Particularly strange, life-threatening conditions."
"They see people turn into big black bugs?" The retort slipped out before Skinner could stop it.
Mulder stiffened against the table. "Low blow. *Sir.*"
Skinner set down the can he held with a sharp clunk. ::Between the two of us we might as well have shopped at the dented can sale.:: But the last thing he felt like doing was coddling Mulder's jealousy right now. ::Especially not when you've got your own to deal with,:: taunted a mental voice that sounded alarmingly like Krycek at his smug best. Drawing in a slow, calming breath, he turned and met Mulder's reproachful stare. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."
Mulder let the memory of being strapped helplessly to the hospital bed eat at him for another few moments, then finally lifted his chin and shook it off. "I just mean I don't like what I just saw in there."
"Neither do I."
"So you did notice."
"It'd be hard not to. And I wasn't aware Krycek had... well, that Agent Scully *thinks* he saved her life." Skinner's brows drew together. "I don't much like that either," he muttered. "That slippery bastard doesn't do anything without a reason."
Mulder blinked. "That's exactly what I said."
Skinner sighed in irritation at Mulder's surprised look. "It's not exactly a personality observation requiring a psychology degree, Mulder. And I have been an FBI agent longer than you have."
Mulder blinked again, this time at the hostility hovering just below Skinner's words, then spun without a word and started unpacking his bag.
Skinner ducked his head at the sight of Mulder petulantly piling food on the table, rather than carrying it to the cupboards and actually putting it away. He rolled his eyes but tried again. "Look, I'm tired. Alright? Very. It's been a strange couple of days, this is a very odd situation and I'm no happier about it than you are." ::And the man lying in that room holds my life in the palm of his hand.:: Skinner's hand clenched on the can. ::And you're jealous. Jealousjealousjealous,:: added that needling voice again.
First Mulder, now... Krycek? God no. Scully couldn't... wouldn't. Not Dana Scully. Not his Dana Scully. Of course he knew exactly what stress and extreme danger did to people. Vietnam had taught him all about how life-threatening situations bred trust and... closeness. And what was all that first-name-basis and weird-lingering-looks thing about? And had Krycek actually saved her life? That was *his* job, dammit. Yet another instance where he'd failed to protect, failed to...
He swallowed hard and forced himself back on track. "But we don't need to take it out on each other, Mulder. That will only make everything worse. We need to talk to her, rationally and calmly, and find out what went on. Get the details, all the facts." ::And I need to beat that bastard bloody if he laid one finger anywhere on her.:: Aloud, he finished bluntly, "And I think the best way to make sure the conversation isn't rational or calm is to insinuate she and Krycek had some kind of... of... foxhole connection." He finally stacked the can in the cupboard, then busied himself filling the teapot on the stove and turning on the burner. Finally he walked over to pick up the haphazardly spread boxes and bread from the table.
After a long pause, Mulder finally muttered, "I'd like to at least get him cuffed to that bed."
Skinner nodded. "I'm with you. And I'd like him in a locked room."
"Maybe we can put a deadbolt on the outside of that door. The Gunmen won't mind, if we remove it when we leave."
"Good. And I've got leg irons in the car."
Mulder's head swiveled. "You do?"
Skinner met his look calmly. "I assumed we were coming here to deal with a recalcitrant, dangerous assassin, Agent Mulder. I wasn't about to trust to his supposed injuries to keep him in one place. I came prepared. All things considered, it looks like a good thing I brought the leg irons. I didn't know about the arm, didn't realize we'd need a body chain, so I only have standard handcuffs."
Mulder sat down heavily as Skinner's words brought back the image he'd unconsciously blocked out the minute he'd seen it. Now, with the reminder, it came back in vivid technicolor detail, causing a wave of nausea to roll up over him. That arm. Or rather, that lack of an arm. That stump... that incredible screaming gaping *place* where an arm was supposed to be, that truncated evidence of pain and horror. The scar tissue and the deformity that dragged the eye and repelled it at the same time.
"-ent Mulder?"
His head whipped up and he stared into Skinner's questioning gaze for long moments until he realized a response of some kind was likely called for. "Sorry," he managed. "I didn't know about the arm either. But I think... well, I can guess what may have happened." The words felt like glass in his throat.
Skinner started to reply, when the kitchen door swung open. Scully walked in, freshly scrubbed and toweling her hair. In jeans and a sweatshirt, she looked less tired somehow than she had fifteen minutes ago in the rumpled, bloodstained remains of her business suit.
Mulder swung in his chair and stared up at her as she crossed the room, tossing the towel to a counter top and finger-combing her mussed hair. Seeing her, alive and breathing and squeaky clean, was suddenly more than he could stand. All the tension of the past stretch of endless hours raced from him in a rush, carrying with it the odd sensations the bedroom scene had called up, obliterating his irrational irritation that she would believe Krycek had saved her life. In a move he didn't even remember making, he crossed the room and swept her into a tight embrace. Whether the shower and five minutes to herself had cooled her down, or the uncharacteristic show of emotion made an impact, she melted against him after only a momentary stiffening.
"I'm glad you're safe," he whispered simply into her hair, the familiar smell of clean Scully enveloping him.
"Me too," she mumbled into his shirt.
Skinner cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, before dropping the bread back to the table and making for the door. "I'll... uh, take care of what we talked about," he mumbled as he exited.
Scully pulled away from Mulder. "Sir, I-"
Mulder caught her arm before she could follow Skinner out of the kitchen. "Scully, wait. I need to know what's going on. We have got to talk. He's got to get the last of the stuff from the car. I know you must be exhausted but can you tell me what happened?"
Scully collapsed down at the table and nodded. "Should we wait for Skinner to come back?"
Mulder waved it off carelessly. Somewhere in his brain he recognized he was avoiding mentioning the leg irons to her, but he pushed the thought aside. "I'll fill him in on things if you want to talk now and maybe catch a nap. You look beat."
"You don't know the half of it, Mulder," she groaned, leaning her head on one hand. "God, it was just so damn good to get out of those clothes. Sorry for being so... so." She rubbed at her eyes. "It's been crazy. Absolutely crazy. So much has happened and that was such a mess with him going delirious again right when you guys got here and-"
"Again? He's been doing that a lot?"
"He's been in and out of it for most of the time I've been with him. He's in bad shape and I've been playing doctor and guard and father confessor all rolled into one and I'm *sick* of it. You two can take a turn at dealing with him. I need real sleep and I need it bad."
Mulder grinned. That was his Scully. Feeling inordinately better, he caught her hand in his and squeezed companionably. The door to the kitchen opened slowly and Skinner's head appeared around the edge. They both turned to him and Mulder wondered at the odd look on his boss' face.
"I thought maybe I should start dinner. If you two would rather talk in the other room..."
"Oh, that would be great," Scully sighed. "One more alien Gatorade and I was going to scream."
Mulder and Skinner both looked at her and she gave a tired snicker, covering her mouth with her free hand. "Forget it," she mumbled through her fingers. "Yes, dinner would be great. No, we don't need to talk out there. I was hoping you'd come back in so I'd only have to go through this once."
Skinner nodded and came the rest of the way into the room. "Are you sure you don't want to get some rest first? You look like you could use it."
Mulder's fingers tightened simultaneously on her hand. "Are *you* okay? Really?"
She met Skinner's concerned look and Mulder's lingering grin with a tired but genuine smile. "Really. I'm fine. As fine as I can be after wandering around in the Virginia woods for two hours in pumps and a skirt, in the middle of a January night, with a six-foot, delirious assassin hanging on my shoulder, worrying my ass off about you," she arched an eyebrow at Mulder. "And then going on the run with said assassin and covering half the thirteen original colonies in a hotwired car. I've been freezing, exhausted, hungry, frustrated and I've been taking care of someone I do *not* like and watching him suffer and feeling guilty when I think he deserves it and feeling guilty when I feel sorry for him. But yeah, basically, I'm fine."
"And that doesn't even cover the kidnapping," Mulder offered, deadpan.
Scully gave another hysterical giggle and pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's right. Kidnapped, drugged, left for a test subject, almost raped, shot at..."
"WHAT?"
"Relax, Mulder," she caught his arm as he started to rise, and glanced over at Skinner who had slammed a frozen lasagna down on the stove with enough force to crack the solid brick of noodles and sauce. "Krycek killed them." She watched Skinner until he turned back to the lasagna, flushing an odd shade of red.
Mulder opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. ::Wonderful. More of the Legendary Adventures of Krycek-ules. What'd he do, take a correspondence course in heroism?:: He felt a flash of guilt at his thoughts. The important thing was she was safe. He blanked his mind of other considerations and tried again. "What say we start at the beginning? Or would you really rather just get some rest first?"
Scully shook her head and went back to finger-combing her hair as wet locks fell forward into her eyes. "No, I want food. We can start at the beginning. I have had *some* sleep. I'm tired, but I'm wired. Anyway, I was grabbed from in front of my apartment building just as I got home from work by three guys in a van. They shot me up with something. I don't know what happened exactly, but next thing I woke up in a Consortium research facility, getting wheeled down the hall by none other than CGB Spender himself." Her voice wearing thin and dropping deeper as she went, Scully described the facility, Krycek coming for her, their escape, and the resulting head-long tumble that had brought them all to this place. She smiled her thanks when Skinner placed a mug of hot tea at her elbow, and tried to hold onto the thread of her story as Mulder leaped in at random with questions and muttered comments about Krycek. Skinner finally put an end to his interruptions with a sharp "Let her *finish*, Agent Mulder."
Finally winding down, Scully came to the piece de resistance. "Look, you know how heavily I've been stressing that the Consortium wants him back, that we need to be so careful that they can't find us? You know this research I've described? Remember Jeremiah Smith?" She took a deep breath and dropped the bomb. "Well, Krycek's a success. He's literally healing himself. And let me tell you, from what I've seen, I doubt very much the Consortium is going to give him up without a fight." She looked from Mulder to Skinner and back again. "You see now what I meant about him trying to kill himself? He knows, Mulder. He knows they *need* him back, and they'll stop at nothing. He's not only walking proof, he's also pretty damn special to them right now. From what I understand, everyone else in the trials died, after limited success. But it's working even better with him. Broken legs, a bullet wound, even his scar tissue on his stump is changing. I don't know what *that* means, exactly, but I do know that something is going on with that man's body. And I was in that facility. I heard what they were doing to him. Believe me when I say I understand his vow to never go back. I wouldn't wish that end on anybody, not even him." She shuddered at the memory of screams, the haunted look in his eyes, and took a long drink.
"And now we've got him, I want to *keep* him this time, dammit. We've always known he's key. Getting at what he's got in that labyrinthian head of his has always been invaluable. Now his body could be just as important. And at the moment, we've got him over a barrel. He needs us. They're going to be coming after him no-holds-barred, he's in no condition to run, no condition to protect himself from them, and he needs a doctor. He's dead scared. The experiments have been apparently successful but who knows what this stuff is capable of. He doesn't know what's going on in his body, he doesn't know if he's dying. *I* don't know if he's dying. These side effects are intense and I don't know what I can give him safely for medication... and..." She broke off, momentarily overwhelmed by everything that was happening so fast.
She paused and took a moment to collect her thoughts again, then continued in a calmer voice. "He offered me a trade. I help him out, help get him somewhere safe - get him to you, Mulder - and see what I can do for him. Physically, medically. And he'll let me get what I need from him, in the way of studying what they've done to him. He's basically giving himself to us as a lab rat, on the theory that at least we'll be kinder to the rat. He *is* proof, Mulder, *real* proof! And he offered more information. *And* I have cartridges, disks," she almost grinned at the way Mulder leaned forward, practically salivating across the table. "On our way out of the facility, Krycek downloaded a bunch of data and research from their mainframe, and grabbed some of their disks. He didn't have time to be choosy, but there's got to be information there we can use. And yes," she answered as she saw Mulder's lips start to form a question, "*I* have them all. I made sure they were in my possession during one of his delirious spells."
"So anyway, that's why I requested the safe house, why I was so insistent on extreme precautions. I knew the minute they realized he was gone, they'd be out in full force. Especially with me gone with him. Not only do we *have* to keep him out of their hands, but we also have to keep ourselves off the radar screen until we can figure this out, Mulder. I was taken specifically for *these* tests, and they took me first so that you'd come running right to them. You were next, that was very clear to both Krycek and me. And that's why I say, whatever else he's done, I'll thank Alex Krycek for getting me out of there, and for helping me get word to you in time." ::Even if I do have some rather sickening suspicions about his real motivations for doing it.::
The tense moment of quiet snapped with Skinner's rough voice as he dropped into a chair at the table with them. "Okay, I'll say it first, if no one else is going to. How do we know this isn't one giant set up. By Krycek. Or by Spender, with Krycek's help."
Scully started nodding before the words were out of his mouth. "Absolutely. I had the same thought, repeatedly. My own answer for myself, and the only one I can give you, is that I do believe he was seriously injured, repeatedly, in that facility. I believe he's been tortured, and infected with *something* that is giving him some pretty extraordinary recovery powers. I believe he remains very ill - the sweating, the shakes, the pupils, the delirium - it's all involuntary. The delirium could possibly be faked, but from what I've seen, my medical opinion is that it's the real thing. He also keeps trying to slap up a front, keeps trying to act like he's more together than he is. Quite frankly, if he were faking I'd expect him to be doing the opposite, playing up his weaknesses, trying to look helpless, act even sicker." She took a deep breath and held up her thumb and first finger a centimeter apart. "And lastly, I do believe he's about *this* close to breaking."
"Lovely. Perhaps I can give him the final push," Mulder muttered, slumping back in his chair and forcing his hands through his hair. Scully flashed him an exasperated look softened by a small smile, and drained her mug. Gnawing on his lower lip, he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. "You say he's a success. But what we know about their experiments, whatever this alien healing supposedly is, has only come from hearsay, yes? What you heard from Spender, and then from Krycek?"
"Well, I've overheard or been told most of it, yes. But I've had first hand experience with Krycek."
"You heard him screaming but you didn't *see* him getting his legs broken?"
"I thought the same thing. I didn't see it so maybe it didn't happen. But I truly don't believe he's faking the way he's been hobbling around. There have been these flashes, when it's obvious he's forgotten how bad the legs are, and he starts to just get up and go and he almost collapses."
"But, Scully, how the hell could he have had his legs broken, and be walking around at all by nightfall of the same day, to say nothing of walking through the woods and making this grand escape."
"I know. I know it doesn't make any medical sense. I'd like to get some x-rays of his legs, but it's possible we won't even find evidence of the breaks, given what he said about the scar on his leg disappearing. I want to try anyway, but-"
"But you hadn't seen that scar before either. So you have no way of knowing if it actually disappeared."
"No. That's correct," Scully nodded.
"The bullet wound, the scar tissue on his stump... you were in the middle of a dangerous escape from what amounts to Dr. Frank-n-Furter's vaults. Don't you think it's possible the bullet wound was less serious than you first thought, in the rush, with the adrenaline? That the stump, when you first saw it, was such a shock that when you looked again, with the *suggestion* of healing already in your head, that it may have looked less shocking, enough so it may have looked like it had changed somewhat?"
Scully huffed out a frustrated breath. "Mulder, I know what I saw! I'm a doctor! First off, I've checked that bullet wound more than once since it happened not even 24 hours ago, and it's changed every single time I've looked at it! At first I thought I'd underestimated the initial seriousness myself, but I *know* what I saw. Second, I got a damn good look at that stump and it is *changing*. I've seen a lot in my life. I'm not some novice to be freaked out by an amputation. It was a butcher job, granted, but I'm a professional. And I am telling you the scar tissue *looks* different now."
Mulder sat back and shook his head skeptically. "I don't know, Scully. I don't see any evidence, any proof, that anything is out of the ordinary here. A more reasonable explanation could be they really did give Krycek something, something that would mimic these symptoms he's displaying and make it look like he was really sick. We only have what Krycek - a gifted liar - has told us, and what you think you *saw*."
"Think, nothing!" Scully exploded. "I was the one bandaging-" She broke off suddenly, a suspicious look crossing her face. She narrowed her eyes at Mulder, watching his lips start to twitch. "You bastard," she grumbled, her lips pulling into an unwilling smile.
Mulder glanced to Skinner, who sat looking like he really wanted to roll his eyes. "You know she's got to be tired if she fell for that," he grinned.
Scully shook her head and scooped up her teabag, balling it into the napkin it rested on and flinging it across the table at Mulder.
He ducked with a chuckle. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. Kind of sucks to see something unbelievable and have no proof. But seriously, from your medical opinion, he's really sick, and he's healing wounds? Isn't that sort of contradictory?" he mused. "Why is he so sick..."
"I know. I thought that myself. It's apparently all caused from the actual... uh... whatever it is they gave him. Injuries are healing, even old injuries, but certainly not without pain and not without side-effects."
"Like an antibiotic killing an infection but making you sick in the process," Skinner offered. "Or chemotherapy."
Scully nodded. "Exactly."
"Which makes sense if it's alien in origin," Mulder continued, staring at the ceiling. "You think it is alien in origin?"
"He thinks it is," Scully corrected automatically. Her mind slid through all she'd seen, from bubbling green blood, to coming to on the snowy ground in the cold of Antarctica. Ships in Africa. Mulder doubling over in pain because of a strange artifact. Emily. Shape-shifting men coming to her door with Mulder's face. Sitting on Weber's couch remembering her own experiences with the ship, watching Cassandra floating into the air amidst the swirling ash of burning bodies. From the bloody noses of her first hints of her cancer, to the total regression once that chip was placed back in her neck. She desperately wanted to turn her back on all of it, deny it and explain it, rationalize and compartmentalize. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I... I don't know."
Mulder met her tired eyes and his obstinate expression softened. "Right." He smiled. "Of course."
She didn't like the fond look of condescension on his face, and it occurred to her instantly how to wipe it off. "He said it was likely something they'd come up with from the alien rebel he sent you to find," she added icily, giving him an accusatory look.
He blinked. Whoops. "Ah, he mentioned that was him?"
"He mentioned."
"Alien rebel?" Skinner shook his head.
"Long story," Mulder mumbled.
"One you ought to tell sometime," Scully added darkly. Too tired to harass him anymore, she bit back a yawn and promised herself she'd pursue his omission on his source of information tomorrow. "Anyway, to get back to the original topic, because I should get some sleep eventually - there is one other thing that convinced me Krycek was telling the truth for once." She paused and looked down at the table, then faced both expectant faces resolutely. "He saved my life. He got me out of there, and even if he just did that so he'd have a doctor along for the ride, he also took a bullet for me. That shoulder wound? He got that diving in front of me, putting me out of the way. He didn't have to." She held up a hand to forestall both men as they both moved to speak. "I'm not nominating him for sainthood. I'm just telling you what happened. It's not exactly easy for me either, believe me."
Mulder shook his head sharply, trying to dislodge the memory of the 'Alex/Dana' interactions from the bedroom. "I know, Scully. And don't get me wrong. I'm definitely thankful you're all right. I just don't trust him at all. When he does something like this, I start thinking it's all the more reason to be concerned, you know? Don't turn your back on him, even for a-"
A muffled scream cut through the cabin. Mulder broke off his cautionary spiel and leaped from the table, heading for the center bedroom with Scully and Skinner hot on his heels. A muffled thumping and another hoarse scream chased a chill down Mulder's spine and he yanked out his gun and kicked the chair out from under the door. Ignoring Scully's yelp of "who put *that* there" he flung open the door and skidded to a halt beside the bed, searching the room for anything out of the ordinary, but finding only Krycek, struggling madly with the bedclothes.
*****
Scully raced right by Mulder to lean over the bed, catching Krycek's face in her hands and calling his name loudly. "ALEX! Snap out of it! You're dreaming!"
"Nooooo," he moaned, his voice a broken whine. His arm twisted in the quilt further as he struggled. Gasping for breath he waved his constricted hand abortively toward the base of the bed, stuttering something Scully couldn't even follow.
Glancing down to where the sheet and quilt bunched up in a tangle around his legs, Scully blinked in surprise at the heavy leg irons cuffed around his ankles. "Shit! Get those *off* him!" She slapped him lightly on the cheek. "Alex, it's me, it's Scully. It's *Dana*, Alex, come on, come out of it. You're okay, you're not there, you're here with me, you're *not* with them." She gripped his face harder and tried to penetrate the senseless panic in his eyes. "Unlock him *now*!" she hollered over her shoulder. "DO IT!"
Skinner finally broke out of his stunned daze, and dug the keys out of his pocket. Mulder jumped to help him hold the weakly struggling legs long enough for Skinner to get the ankle shackles unlocked. They both backed up a step as soon as the cuffs fell free.
Scully freed Krycek's arm from the blankets and lifted his hand in front of his face, forcing him to look at it. "You're not tied, Alex," she shouted. "Look, concentrate!" She guided him into a sitting position as his body jerked, and pointed to his ankles. "You're okay, you're not tied down! Breathe for me, Alex. Breathe." Rubbing his back, she tried to gentle her voice. "Look at your ankles, Alex. You're not tied."
Mulder stood stupidly by the bed, gun dangling forgotten in his hand, watching Krycek fight for air and stammer nonsensical sounds, body racked with shudders. He'd never seen Krycek like this, and for the first time it honestly hit him that Scully was right, Krycek wasn't faking. Any of it. He swallowed hard as he stared at the quaking figure, his eyes traveling almost against his will to the exposed stump. It shook along with the rest of him, and Mulder swallowed back a wave of nausea. He desperately wanted to look away but his eyes felt riveted to the ugly mess. How had Krycek stood it? What if the same had happened to him?
"T-tt-ied..." Krycek's croak brought Mulder out of his fog, and he redirected his attention to the man's face. The pitiful, pleading look was as out of place as the trembling in the hand that was suddenly gripping Scully. "Felt it... I w-w-was t-t-tied... was there, know I w-w-as..."
"No, Alex," Scully soothed, still rubbing his back and shoulder. "You're here with me and Mulder. You're fine. Move your legs. See? You're okay."
Krycek studied his legs as if he'd never seen them, then slowly drew them up. Without the weight of the cuffs, the limbs moved easily and his breathing started to slow. His body relaxed muscle by muscle.
Scully nodded encouragingly. "There you go. See? You're fine, you're not in that place, there's no one from that place here. Look up, look around... it's just you and me, and Mulder's here and so is Skinner, and there's no-"
"Skinner!" Krycek suddenly spat, moving away from the figure at the foot of the bed, trying to crawl back up the mattress, even as he left the tangled bedclothes behind. He gripped Scully tighter and pulled her with him, shrinking against her.
"He didn't mean to, Alex, he just didn't know," Scully began, misreading the reaction, assuming Krycek had realized Skinner was responsible for the shackles and chain.
"Not safe," Krycek hissed, glaring daggers at Skinner.
"Yes, you are. Listen to me, Alex. Remember my promise."
"NO!" Krycek shook his head in frustration and tried again. "*He's* not safe." His eyes skated to Mulder and back again to Skinner, and he pressed closer to Scully.
Scully huffed out an exasperated sigh. "Not this again..."
"They weren't with us, don't trust them. He might have already seen him," Krycek hissed at her, voice still on the edge of panicky.
Mulder decided that watching a naked Alex Krycek burrowing into Scully's side and clinging to her like a limpet definitely gave his life an even more Twilight-Zoneish air than usual. Worse, watching her hand stroke rhythmically over his naked back gave him an uncomfortable tingle. Rationally he realized he'd be less uncomfortable if he could figure out which was causing the tingle - thinking of Scully's hands on his naked skin or thinking of his own hands on Krycek's naked skin. Rationality never was his strong suit, though, and the confusion just brought his anger surging back. "Of course we're safe, Krycek. You wanted to get to us, remember?" he snapped.
Krycek glanced at him briefly, but again his cloudy eyes swung right back to Skinner. "Have you seen him?" he growled. "He has the little black box. I know you'll do anything for the person with the box. Have you talked to him?"
Skinner's eyes narrowed as he comprehended Krycek's words, and put together all the pieces. ::The box. Of course.:: "HE has the box? Is that why second-hand smoke is bad for my health?" Skinner leaned over the end of the bed when Krycek didn't speak. "Answer me, you little bastard, or you'll wish you had!"
"WHOA!" Scully slashed her hand down between the two men glowering at each other. "Can we take it down a notch? Box? What's this box? And Alex, if you're awake and okay now, will you *let go of me*?"
Krycek blinked again, a wide-eyed owlish expression that made Mulder's stomach do a backflip for reasons he really didn't want to examine. Glancing up at Scully, Krycek appeared to come a little more awake and aware even as he watched. As his disorientation receded, Krycek flushed darkly and released her. Moving back a few inches and reaching for the quilt simultaneously, he drew it up around him right up to his chin. "Sorry," he muttered.
"It's alright," Scully muttered back, looking equally uncomfortable, Mulder noted. Her pale cheeks went as pink as Krycek's, and Mulder felt that strange unease uncurl in his stomach again, to join his lingering nausea and returning headache. A strange thrum hovered just on the edge of his consciousness when he stared at Krycek. He tried to shift his gaze to Scully, but found his eyes wandering back to the pale, gaunt face above the patchwork spread. Sense was slowly returning to the stormy green eyes, and absently he noticed the bruise beginning to discolor Krycek's cheek.
"Have you seen Spender?" Krycek asked, not looking away from Skinner.
"No," Skinner responded, his voice still dangerously low. "You warned me not to. So he has the box?"
"How do I *know* you haven't seen him?" Krycek asked petulantly, still looking a bit confused, as if his brain wouldn't respond quick enough for his liking. "How do I know you haven't already called him to tell him where we are?"
"Skinner wouldn't do that, Alex," Scully stated calmly. "Come on, shake off the dream and calm down. You're okay and nobody's coming after you."
Mulder noted the continued use of the first name, and didn't bother to try to control the irritation it stirred. Clearing his throat, he stepped closer to the bed. "What are you trying to pull now, Krycek? Skinner wouldn't hand us over to Spender and we know that."
Krycek's lip curled. "How nice. Isn't misplaced trust a wonderful thing, *Skinner*?"
Skinner glared at Krycek murderously, then glanced away, at the floor, the wall, anywhere but at his agents. Remembering the videotape changing hands, he tried to remind himself of all he'd done to make up for it when Mulder had ended up in the hospital. He sighed and hung his head lower.
"Alright, I want answers and I want them now," Scully demanded. "What's the black box? What are you two talking about? We know this has something to do with the infection in your blood, sir. And Mulder already told me Krycek was behind that." She waved a hand dismissively. "We'd both already figured that much out. And you," she wheeled on Alex, "don't forget you promised help for that little problem. I want to know exactly what you've got that will help."
Skinner opened his mouth but found no words, stunned by the realization that not only did Scully know all the connections, she was still looking to help him. Even with the edge of doubt coloring her eyes.
"Oh, I'll help him, alright," Krycek rasped. "Just as soon as I'm sure he hasn't sold me out already."
"And why would you help him," Mulder asked sarcastically. "Out of the goodness of your heart?"
Krycek sneered. "Right, Mulder. I'll *help* him to make sure he can't be used against me."
Skinner nodded slowly. "How did Spender get the box, Krycek? What did he offer you?"
Krycek snorted, and huddled under the blankets, leaning back against the pillows, obviously more coherent with each passing minute and just as obviously feeling the disadvantages of his position as the fog slid away. "Nothing," he grumbled, the suspicion of a pout hovering over his lips. "You were mine and I wanted to keep you. I keep that damn palm pilot with me all the time just so there's no question of anybody else using it. Unfortunately, that's exactly what went wrong."
Scully realized the implications immediately. "Spender. When he got you-"
"Exactly." Krycek sighed and sat up a little straighter, tightening the blanket around himself. "Can we do this out in the living room or something? I'm sick of beds, I'm not going back to sleep and I don't need the three of you looming over me."
Mulder started to tell Krycek he was in no position to argue, when another wave of disorientation swept through him. ::Shit. What is this-:: Almost the minute he had the thought, he recognized the feeling - a much milder version of the strange reaction he had to the artifact from the ship. He blinked and swayed.
"-lder?"
Focusing with an effort on Scully, Mulder wondered why she was much closer than she had been the second before. He realized in the next instant that she was supporting him with a tight grip on his arm. He stepped back. "I'm fine," he offered by rote, and even as he said it, he confirmed it for himself. He could stand. His head still thrummed a bit, but it didn't even begin to compare with his initial reaction to the artifact. He turned back to the bed, and caught the look of open concern radiating from a suddenly attentive Krycek, before the other man shuttered his expression. The disorientation intensified for a moment, then Mulder shook his head and turned to the door. "Maybe we should go out to the living room. I think I'd like to sit down."
Scully paused briefly, caught between following Mulder or helping Krycek out of bed, then winced. Without a word she turned her back on the bed and went after Mulder, angry with herself for the lapse. "Are you alright?" she asked worriedly as she caught up with him in the living room. Skinner walked behind her and dropped onto the couch. She took Mulder's arm and guided him to the other end of the couch.
"Yeah, I really am fine. I was just sort of dizzy." He didn't offer the information that he recognized the sensation. Adding the artifact to the conversation now would just get them sidetracked. He tugged on his hand ineffectually when she reached to feel for his pulse, but she just gave him a hard look and tightened her grip.
From the other end of the sofa, Skinner determinedly looked across the room at a hideous painting of dogs playing computerized poker.
"I haven't been getting much sleep," Mulder offered. "Things have been pretty tense."
Scully scanned his as she timed his pulse. "We all need some rest. When's the last time you ate?" She looked up as Krycek appeared in the bedroom doorway, pausing to lean against the frame before limping across the floor at a snail's pace. He moved like an old man with arthritis, but even so she noted he was trying harder than ever to look unaffected. The quilt draped over his shoulders and dragged on the floor behind him like a poor man's answer to a king's robes.
The three sat in silence and waited for him to make it to the nearest chair, and lower himself into it. He took his time arranging the quilt around him, but the sweat on his forehead and upper lip and the catch in his breathing broadcast that the pause was more to gather himself than anything else.
Mulder broke first. "So you had the machine that was controlling the nanotechnology in Skinner's blood, but now Spender has it."
"Yes." Krycek leaned his head against the chair back and let his eyes roam all three of them. He finally looked fully alert and coherent. "He came after me. I... well, let's just say it was definitely an unexpected move and leave it at that. They stuck me with something. Something that worked really fast."
Scully nodded. "Sounds like what they stuck me with."
Krycek exchanged a look with her, and again Mulder had the feeling they were speaking without speaking, remembering shared experience. He didn't like the sense of anyone else having that depth of connection with Scully. He started to interrupt the look when Krycek continued. "I saw him - Spender - right before I went out. When I woke up I was in a lab. I didn't have any of my own clothes or weapons. And the palm pilot was obviously gone too. I had to assume *he* had it. I was right. He asked me about it, showed it to me when he came to see me, wanted to know what it was."
"He didn't already know?" Skinner scoffed. "You weren't doing it on his orders?"
Krycek grinned nastily. "I told you, you were *mine*, Walter. I did what I did for my own reasons. Not for *him*." The vehemence on the last word scalded his listeners' ears. "I don't work for him. I just look like I do."
"Who do you work for?" Mulder couldn't resist tossing in, not expecting a response. He gave Krycek a mild look when those green eyes swung to focus on him.
"Myself," Krycek answered shortly. "You could say I'm freelancing. Freelancing undercover." He smirked, then sighed. "At least I was. Anyway, your answer is no, Skinner. Spender never knew about the nanocytes. He knew generally about the project they were being developed under, but it wasn't his personal purview. He'd have been even more pissed at me if he knew how much I'd gotten my fingers into *that* little Consortium pie." Another nasty smile flickered across his face.
"So that's why you were so concerned about Skinner coming to pick us up," Scully cut in. "Because Spender had the controller."
Krycek raised an eyebrow. "I've had lots of opportunity to see how malleable the honorable AD is when you hold his life in your hand. Spender is now that hand. He had to know you and I got out together when he found out we were both gone, and it's obvious we'd go to Mulder." Krycek turned and stared grimly at Skinner. "If you were old CGB, what would *you* do?"
"I'd threaten Skinner with the nanotechnology, and try to force him to tell me where his agents were hiding," Scully sighed.
"Exactly. And even better if said agents were *trusting* the good AD to help them out. Trusting him enough to bring him right to the hideout." Krycek continued to look only at Skinner. "He's got you, and you know from personal experience that he won't hesitate to jerk the leash. I didn't tell him anything about the nanos, but it won't take him long to figure out what he's got, find out what it means. I'm sure he has already. Your name comes up on the display when the palm pilot is turned on."
"Terrific," Skinner snapped, running a hand over his head. "Then why hasn't he struck already? How long has he had this thing?"
Krycek narrowed his eyes. "How long depends on how long they had me. What's today?"
"January 26th."
Krycek noticeably started when he heard the date, then nodded, swallowing hard. "He's had it for three weeks," he finally stated. "If he hasn't tried using it before now, I'd assume it's because he hasn't had a reason big enough to risk it given he doesn't know exactly what it will do. And if what you say is true, and you honestly haven't seen him since yesterday, then I'd guess you haven't felt any effects because of proximity."
"Of course," Mulder murmured. "The hospital. You had to be in the hospital to make it work. Why would you risk being so close if you could control him remotely."
Krycek finally looked away from Skinner, with a small, hard smile. "Maybe I just wanted to see you, Mulder. After all, you're so warm and welcoming. So, you recognized me at the hospital? And here I tried so hard."
Mulder shrugged. "It was that run." Almost immediately he wished he hadn't spoken. It had been the run that had started him thinking, and the later pictures had confirmed his suspicions, but he really didn't need Scully and Skinner wondering about how much attention he paid to the way Krycek ran.
Krycek sighed again. "That damn memory of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Spooky. Anyway, Old Smokey hasn't been by to see you, Skinner? And I'm supposed to believe this, why?"
"Because even though I'd turn you over to him in a New York minute, you miserable excuse for a human being, I wouldn't endanger my agents," Skinner shot back. "I know he had Scully; that's enough for me. I'm inclined to believe her when she says he's after Mulder too. Don't judge other people by your own sewer standards."
Krycek's eyes flashed, but his cold smile got wider. "Well, you can't blame me for wondering, all things considered." He snorted. "And Mulder's never in as much danger as me where Old Smokey is concerned."
Scully cut in abruptly. "So are we settled on this now Alex? Spender hasn't gotten to Skinner and you can stop obsessing about it."
Krycek glanced back and forth between Mulder and Scully. "Your faith in the old boy is touching."
Mulder calmly stared Krycek down. "Now, how about getting rid of the damn nano things? Let's get real here, Krycek. We don't have a lot of reasons to trust you, and you'll forgive my suspicion but it's occurred to all of us you could be setting us up here."
Krycek blinked, and started laughing. The other three exchanged wary looks as the bundled man shook with helpless, increasingly hysterical, laughter. "Snap out of it, Krycek," Skinner snapped. "Give us one good reason to think you aren't setting us up. It's not like it hasn't happened before."
Krycek's hand crept out of his blanket to rub at his eyes. Still giggling, he shook his head at them. "Yeah, that's it. I did all this to myself just to get holed up in the woods with *you three*. Sure, that makes sense. Have you been drinking tap water again, Mulder?" He glanced at Scully. "Do you think I'm setting you guys up?"
She sighed, cast a quick, almost-guilty glance at Mulder and shrugged. "Well... no. Not really. It certainly occurred to me, but I've seen enough at this point to think you're being straight with us. Or as straight as you can be." She ignored his sudden grin, not caring to entertain suspicions of why her choice of words amused him. She was a little surprised to hear Mulder choke, but she ignored that as well, in favor of giving Krycek a hard stare. "I do think you were a prisoner in that lab, just like I was. But they haven't seen what I've seen, and I'm as interested as they are in this 'help' you promised to Skinner over the phone. I've seen what's in his blood. I want it out, as quickly as possible, no matter *who* is holding the on-switch."
Krycek watched her thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to Skinner, tilting his head forward to study the man through his lashes. "Well, much as I hate to give up an advantage like this, right now you're like a time-bomb with my name on it. With Spender holding the switch, you're more dangerous to me with the damn stuff in you. So, tell you all what. I'll make good my word, and as a gesture of good faith, I'll provide the honorable AD with the neutralizer." He paused for a long minute, then widened his eyes and smiled innocently. "However, I have a few conditions."
Every eye in the room except his own rolled heavenward.
"How fucking stupid do you think we are," Mulder choked out angrily. "Good faith? CONDITIONS?! You've got a lot of balls, Krycek!" Blanking out the unfortunately eidetic mental image that immediately accompanied his figure of speech, Mulder plowed on, hoping the others would attribute his sudden flush to anger. "You just said it's in your interest to get those things out of him before Spender can use him to try to track *you* down. You *need* to give him the neutralizer. Why should we offer you anything in exchange for something you have to do anyway?"
Paradoxically, Mulder's anger seemed to calm Krycek further. Even looking as haggard as he did, even speaking in the raspy tones required by his brutalized vocal chords, his words were chill and controlled. Gone was the quaking wreck who had clung to Scully not even half an hour ago. If it wasn't so fundamentally scary, Mulder would have found the transition impressive. "I don't *have* to do anything, Agent Mulder. I have the neutralizer, you don't. Obviously, it's not on me." He nodded down at his only covering. "I'm a little without secret pockets at the moment. So I have to tell you where it is. And how to get to it. And how to use it. And I have a lot of motivation for wanting to *keep* the honorable AD under my control. I could just stipulate Skinner doesn't leave this cabin until I do. That would keep him out of Spender's reach as effectively as giving him the neutralizer. Or I could just kill him. No more weak link there, eh? You want him safe? You make me happy. Clear?"
Mulder started to spring off the couch, but Scully's hand of steel on his arm stopped him. "What are you asking for," she said softly. Mulder gave her a mortally offended look, but she shook her head at him sharply.
"Scully!" he interrupted, well and truly tired of the weird dynamic between *Alex* and his partner.
"Excuse us for a minute," Scully said calmly, not even looking at Mulder as she hauled him up off the couch and walked away to the kitchen, dragging him along. Skinner started to rise and follow, then paused, realizing this would leave Krycek sitting alone in the living room, unguarded.
Krycek grinned up at him. "Go ahead, Skinner. Why not. I'm not going anywhere." He waggled his eyebrows. Skinner glared at him and sank back down.
Scully stuck her head out of the kitchen. "Sir? Could you come here please?"
"I don't know if that's wise, Agent Scully," he responded, eyes never leaving Krycek.
"He's afraid I'll head off into the wilderness of god-knows-where with just my quilt for company," Krycek cracked.
Scully gave him a tired glare, and turned back to Skinner. "Relax, sir. Trust me, he won't get far. The alarm system on the door will let us know if he sets a foot outside, we've got the guns, and we can all move faster than he can right now."
Skinner paused another moment, then got up and strode to the kitchen. He studiously ignored Krycek's voice behind him calling "better watch out, Skinner, I'm about to climb out through the closest window, and use this quilt to rappel up onto the roof where I'll stand there naked until I can flag down the closest black helicopter".
Without a pause, Scully and Mulder started talking up and over each other, and his betrayal wasn't even on the agenda.
"Scully, how can you bargain with that scum after what he just said?? He's nothing but a-"
"Mulder, listen to me," Scully spoke in a harsh whisper. "I know what I'm talking about here and I need you to *calm down*. Remember I said he was scared? I meant it. He's got a good front up, but he is *petrified*. With good reason. Don't forget that when you walked in the door, he was ready to kill himself. He's that desperate. He's sinking fast and trying like hell to fight for higher ground again, but we're in the boat and holding all the life preservers. Getting you angry and out of control puts *him* in control. You reach out to hit him with the oar, and the next thing you know he's got hold of it and is pulling you under. You don't function well angry, Mulder, you never have. You make mistakes. You let him get to you."
She took a deep breath and turned to Skinner. "And with all due respect, the same goes for you, sir. I know this is much more awkward and personal for you. But he's bluffing, and if you both calmed down you'd know it. We have the upper hand. He won't kill you. He needs to bargain with us and he needs to get the nanocytes out of you. But the quickest way to get the neutralizer from him is not to antagonize him or give in to his goading. If we play this right, we can get a hell of a lot more than just the neutralizer out of him. Play it wrong, and he'll have us all thinking we've won a major victory just by getting him to hand over something he plans to give us anyway."
Skinner groaned and removed his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. "She's right, Mulder. He's always doing this to both of us. Keeping us reacting, keeping us from thinking."
"I'm not saying we have to give him everything he asks for. I'm certainly not saying we bargain with control over Skinner's life. That's *not* negotiable." Scully shot Skinner a reassuring look. "What I'm saying is let's listen to what he wants, figure out what he *needs*, and make him work for it. Make him work for us."
Mulder huffed out a sigh. "Well... hell. Yeah. I guess I see what you mean."
"He wants our protection, Mulder. He needs it. He's just offering us the deal he intimated to me earlier. I don't necessarily think it's a bad deal, but don't give him any more ammunition to work with, okay?"
Mulder nodded slowly. "Alright, I understand. I'll keep a lid on it. Just... Scully, you don't *owe* him this, you know?"
She turned sharply, her eyes widening. "Excuse me?"
"Hey, you know me, you just proved that. And I know you," Mulder responded simply. "I know the logical way you think. You believe he's come to your aid, and my aid, and from what you've said it looks like that may be true, though I'll still reserve judgement. I just think possibly somewhere in that logical, rational head of yours that weighs and measures things out, you're thinking you owe him for that. But you don't. He owes *us* that. After everything he's done, he owes us that and more." He bit down on his tongue to keep from adding anything about the odd way she was interacting with Krycek, remembering Skinner's earlier warning.
Scully blinked. Had she been thinking that? Always more practiced than Mulder at facing unexpected truths about herself, she considered it for a minute. "I... alright, Mulder. Fair enough. I think I'm well aware that Krycek has multiple motives for everything he does, and that I'm not the one on the debtor side of this particular ledger. But a reminder is always a good thing where he's concerned. So, do we go deal with this?"
Skinner nodded. "Might as well. You need to get to bed."
She laughed shortly as she turned to the refrigerator. "By the time I do, I won't be able to sleep," she tossed off as she rooted in the freezer and came up with a bag of frozen peas. Closing the door, she pushed between them and back into the living room. Skinner and Mulder exchanged a long look, then followed.
They found Krycek unmoved, with his head resting on the chair back, eyes closed. His face was tight, and from the moving lumpiness of the quilt, Mulder guessed he either had a ferret under there with him, or he was rubbing at his left shoulder and stump. As their footsteps signaled their return, the hand under the quilt stilled instantly and his eyes flickered open. The pained look fell away to be replaced by mock regret. "I got out, ran down to the road in my bare feet, and tried to wave down a passing motorist to hijack, but no one seemed to want to pick up a one-armed naked man. What's the world coming to?"
"Can the comedy, Krycek," Mulder snapped, irrationally annoyed that Scully was right, that he was in more pain than he was letting on. It gave credence to her theory that Krycek was telling the truth, which only incensed him further. His mind immediately spun in two separate directions from there. Half of him wondered why he seemed to *want* Krycek to be lying to them, and the other half kicked himself for wasting time on annoyance when he should be appreciating the strategic advantages to knowing Krycek was in bad shape.
Vulnerability could be pressured. Known vulnerabilities could be sought and picked away at until they led to bigger and bigger cracks. He smiled slowly, released his annoyance with an exhale. He purposely dragged out the pause, holding his silence until Krycek's eyes narrowed suspiciously, then finally he spoke genially. "So. Let's talk conditions. What exactly is it you want?"
*****
I can't believe it. They're really going to bargain with me? *He* is really going to bargain with me? I wish I'd been a party to the little convention in the kitchen. Either Scully has a tighter grip on Mulder's balls than I ever gave either of them credit for, or she said something that made the kind of sense even he can't ignore. And Mulder can ignore a lot of common sense. It's one of the things I lov-
Cut *that* thought off at the knees. Jesus. I'm in worse shape than I thought. Now is most definitely not the time. I start to rub at my stump again reflexively as the dull ache flares, then remember that I'm trying to be a tough guy here. I sit up straighter, pull the quilt tighter around me, and try to ignore Mulder's fucking glow.
I swear, sitting in a room with him is like sitting too close to a live fireplace. Crackling, sizzling, sparking... painful heat and dancing light. Hypnotic. Throwing everything else in the room into relief and shadows.
Yeah, my defenses are definitely at low ebb, here. I can't believe I even *thought* something so stupid. Good analogy though, even if he'd hate it. He's definitely right up there with live flames in terms of danger.
Focus, Alex. Focus. I look at Skinner. Always a good way to reground myself. His glowering makes me grin. Makes it easier to ignore the ache in my shoulder and the ache in my stump and the aches in my legs and the ache in my throat and the ache in my cheek where Mulder hit me and the ache in my gut where Skinner hit me. And the one behind my eyes and pounding in my temples too. "What do I want. Well now. Let's see."
"First thing, you need to provide us with the neutralizer," Scully broke in flatly. "None of this halfway 'Skinner stays in the cabin' bullshit."
I turn to her. She's safe too. Anything to avoid staring right into the flames. I spend a minute pondering her vehemence about Skinner again, because it's a good distraction. Another fun 'are they or aren't they?' She's so tiny. He's so big. It makes an interesting mental picture. Then I spend another moment pondering the frozen peas in her hand.
"Hungry?" I finally ask.
She glances at her hand and makes an exasperated sound, as if she'd forgotten she held them. She tosses the bag to me, and I catch it reflexively, my quilt gaping as my hand shoots out from the folds. I stare at the Jolly Green Giant and for some reason think of Sprout from the commercials. My tired and alien-chemical-steeped brain makes the supremely illogical leap to my initial incarnation at the Bureau, trailing worshipfully after Mulder like Sprout after the Giant. I blink and shake my head sharply, wondering if I'm losing it again so soon after my last little bout of delirium. Christ, I hope not.
But Jesus. *Sprout*?
I look up to find Scully staring at me with an odd look on her face. "For your cheek?" She waves a hand toward my face impatiently. Mulder shoots her a look that would have set me off laughing again if my bruised stomach didn't still hurt from my last giggle-fest. I just hadn't been able to help it. Mulder and Skinner thinking I'd arranged to get holed up with *them* in the woods was just too damn much.
I smile at Scully, a much nicer expression than I'd given Skinner. She's really starting to grow on me, in a way. I suppose it's Helsinki syndrome. I pause to hold the peas to my cheek, breathing out a soft sigh of relief as the cold dulls at least that pulse of pain. I direct my words to her, even though Mulder asked me the question. Besides, she technically asked first. "Alright, so I give you the neutralizer and tell you how to use it. In return, I want full protection, as much as you can provide. No arrests, no custody, no charges pressed even if you could trump up cause, not even the whisper of a breath of a hint of a report on any of this getting anywhere close to the FBI. That place is so riddled with plants it might as well be called the Hoover Greenhouse.
"And not just protection from the 'law'. Protection from Old Smokey and his pals. Not that you all can be that much help against him, but as much as possible." I glance around the room. "This is good. I assume from what you said this isn't FBI issue? Didn't think so. You're too smart for that. So we stay here and you all make keeping me out of their hands your *top* priority until I'm back in shape to defend myself. You, personally, take care of me medically. Figure out if we can- ...*what* we can do about what they've put in me. Figure out what the hell is going on with my body. We've got those cartridges... use 'em. When I'm better, I walk. Free and clear." ::If I get better,:: a little voice insists on chittering in my internal ear. I ignore it with the ease of long practice. "And once I'm on the outside again, maybe we can play a little 'you scratch mine, I'll scratch yours'. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."
I take a deep breath as I feel a slow tingle start at my feet and run straight up through my body. I'd have thought I just wasn't doing a good enough job of ignoring Mulder, but I know from recent experience I'm probably starting to slip again. I quell the shudder in my muscles with an effort. I have to hang on and at least finish out this bargaining session. How the hell would it look for me to fall off into a gibbering delirium now? So much for tough. I'd probably start babbling about little green men of the vegetable variety rather than the extraterrestrial.
"So, let me get this straight," Scully drawls, and suddenly I don't like her quite as well as I did five minutes ago. "We guard you while you heal, help you heal, harbor you from the law, put ourselves on the line both personally and professionally. We try to figure out what they shot you up with, try to figure out if there's anything we can do about it, spend time and energy and money and resources on you. Then we just let you walk away afterward."
"Right." I lift my chin and try to square my shoulders, until I realize there's no help for looking intimidating when I'm wrapped up in a fucking granny quilt with a bag of frozen peas pressed to my face.
"I don't think so," Mulder says mildly.
I respond to the voice instinctively, before I remember I'm trying not to look at him. Once there, my eyes are hooked. There he is. Safe. Mulder. He lounges on the couch, legs sprawled, head tilted back, chewing absently on his lower lip. Wow, he looks good in green. And jeans. When he sits and his thighs part like that and-
I fight the sudden urge to drop the frozen peas down the front of the quilt to my lap, where they could be of more immediate assistance. Nah. In my condition I'm hardly going to have to worry about getting a hard-on now.
Am I?
I feel a steady warmth flare through me, that for the first time in days doesn't feel like an alien-induced fever. It's just so nice to see him safe and sitting there, insulting me. After I don't even know how many hours of wondering if Spender was shipping him up to Dr. Kessin, it's such a relief to... oh shit. What did he say? I don't think so? *I don't think so*?
"What the hell does that mean," I snap. "You don't think so? You want the neutralizer or not?"
"We want the neutralizer," Scully nods. "But we want a few other things as well. A few things you promised me earlier."
I jerk my eyes away from Mulder thankfully, and glare at Scully. Promised? What did I promise her? And how do I find out without making it clear I've forgotten? Think, Alex. Think. I may be missing a fair amount of The Great Escape, but I remember pieces of it.
Oh.
I stare hard at her and draw in a slow breath through my nose. "Well, I've just said you can use all that information I got. I just *assumed* you were going to keep it. And you get to play doctor with me. Doesn't that fulfill the rest of the promise? That you get your proof?" I try to figure out if letting them keep the proof will cause me any unforeseen problems in the future. Should I arrange for it to disappear just to be safe?
Should I perhaps cross that bridge when I know if I have a future to worry about?
Fuck, my life is such a mess. And things were looking so good a couple weeks ago.
"Not all of the promise," Scully says casually, inspecting her nails.
There's more?
"I seem to recall you saying something about *more* information. And you're asking for a lot here, Krycek. The medical help alone is intense. We all know the dangers inherent in 'protecting' you. You're also asking for complete immunity from prosecution and for us to just let you walk. That's way off the boards, and you know it."
I give her a nasty smile. "What? Old Skinner's life not worth quite that much to you?"
She doesn't even hesitate, doesn't respond to the goad. She's too damn cool for her own good. "Of course it's worth it. That and more. But Alex, there's a piece to this you don't seem to have quite grasped. You don't have the upper hand here. We do."
Damn.
Of course I'd fucking *grasped* it, you bitch. I clutch my peas and glare at her. She smiles that madonna look she's so good at, the one that makes her look like she should spend her life in front of a camera, not behind a gun. "I have the neutralizer," I try again, aiming for steely.
"But not the black box. You can offer the cure, but you can't threaten the punishment anymore. Skinner's doing okay without the cure at the moment. He knows who does have the controls. Maybe he'd be okay with staying here until we can take out Spender, figure out a way to get the controls back. And Krycek, think about it. Look at yourself." Her voice gets that icy edge that I remember clearly from our walk in the woods. "You need us a lot more than we need you right now. We're willing to help you, but you need to cooperate with us. You're in no shape to argue, and, as I believe I may have mentioned, we've got the guns here."
As if on cue, Mulder extends his leg and pulls up his cuff, displaying his ankle holster, Skinner opens his jacket and flashes his shoulder holster, and Scully digs a hand up under the back of her sweatshirt and produces the gun I took off the guard. I wonder caustically if they rehearsed that little can-can, or if it was improvisational. I glare into the three smug faces and mutter, "Yeah? Well... I have frozen peas. You don't want to know what I'm capable of with frozen peas."
Scully's choked off laugh and Mulder's responding *look* at her is almost payment enough for the fact that I am in a really bad scene here. Almost. Damn, but I am not at my best. I just want to crawl into a hole somewhere and lick my wounds. Or maybe just die. A Mexican standoffs with three of my most passionate enemies, one of whom makes me crazy even in the best of times, takes way more energy than I have. My reserves were long gone ages ago, I can barely think straight, let alone logic up a way out of this mess, and I can tell things are really bad because... because I just threatened them with frozen vegetables? No... try again, Alex. Because I almost don't care. And no matter how many warning bells that sets off in my head - and believe me it's sounding like a five-alarm fire combined with a thirteen-car pileup in there - I can't seem to *make* myself care.
Back up against a wall, completely surrounded, and all exits blocked. Stare into the face of fate, Alex. It has a name and that name is FBI Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner. And you don't care. What a fucking travesty.
I let my head fall back against the chair and gently ease the peas back up against my cheek. My brain isn't offering any insight on how to talk my way around Scully's trump. In fact, the old brain seems to have holed up and decided to just shut down, like the rest of me wants to do. It occurs to me in a casual, distant sort of way, that I feel like I'm drunk on some really good tequila.
So, why aren't I more concerned?
The truth of the matter strikes me with the force of a Skinner-punch. On some level, I trust the Three Stooges. Or at least I guess I trust Scully to keep Curly and Mo here in line. After the horror of the last never-ending weeks, a safe-house in the woods with everyone's favorite fibbies looks like a fucking vacation. I giggle and am somewhat alarmed at the high-pitched, uncontrolled sound of it loose in the room. Somewhat alarmed. Not overly.
Fuck, no wonder I can't make myself care. Given my life lately, I'm *safe*, relatively speaking. And so is Mulder. Which has the added effect of reducing my already compromised constitution to the approximate consistency of a bowl of Raman Noodles.
I really hate my reaction to him sometimes.
But in a way, this highly inconvenient shut-down makes perfect sense. My body and my brain are telling me the danger's over, and they've decided they've put up with my unreasonable demands long enough. I'm out of pain, sort of. No more Dr. Kessin. No more Johnny and Bert and the rest of the brute squad and their petty cruelties. No more Spender and his mental games. I'm possibly dying, but hey... technically we die a little bit each day, right? No more endless torture, no more shots of god-knows-what, no more puking up clinic-food in the dead of the night during one of my little fits and almost choking on it. No more laying there in my own stinking vomit and a puddle of sweat, feeling the restraints tighten like disembodied hands on my limbs, holding me down no matter how much I struggle. Feeling my chest constrict, panic set in, my eyes staring up into the total blackness of my dark little cell, trying not to scream, trying not to cry, trying not to crack... until the next bout of delirium pulls me back under.
All things considered, paradise. Maybe I'll just stay in this cabin. Retire. Garden. Grow peas. I start giggling madly again. And all I have to do is talk about my old bosses? Cooool. It isn't like there's a chance in hell I could reinfiltrate the Consortium *now* is there? Someone else's turn to worry about the fate of the world. Time to retire my jersey. Batter up! "So okay... cooperation. How do *you* spell cooperation, Agents?"
I watch Mulder and Scully exchange a look that clearly wonders exactly when I'd gone round the bend. I contemplate asking for a couple pencils to stick up my nose, and a pair of boxer shorts to put on my head. I figure Mulder at least might appreciate the reference... given the way the remote is practically glued to his hand most nights, he's probably seen enough public television to have caught a bit of British comedy. I'll start practicing my "wibbles".
"Alex? You doing alright?" Scully's voice creeps into my awareness. I can almost fool myself into hearing a touch of concern lingering there. A rush of warmth that brings back the feeling of her rubbing my back soothingly is enough to call me in from the fringe my mind has wandered out to. I still can't seem to dredge up a lot of concern for my current straits, and that still bothers me mildly, but I pull myself together enough to nod at her, wincing when my cheek protests. The pain helps even more, and I give her a half-shrug and a smile.
"Well as can be expected. C'mon. Out with it. Counter-demand. Whatever."
Again a look flashes between the two of them, and I almost roll my eyes. Please, enough with the reminders that you two 'speak your own language'.
"Pretty straightforward, actually," she finally says cautiously. "The neutralizer is the first priority. I help you medically and in return keep any and all data and proof about what they've done to you, their experiments. We get you back on your feet, and while we're doing that, we keep you safe. In return, you talk. Give us everything you've got."
"I don't have as much as I once had," I mumble tiredly, all impulse toward amusement now gone.
"But you've still got a lot. We're talking straight answers here."
"Or as straight as I can be," I crack sarcastically. Her mouth tilts briefly, acknowledging her words.
"We do have our reasons to doubt whatever you say, Krycek. I'm not going to apologize for that. Any proof of what you're telling us could only help."
"That's what I mean. I don't have the access to all the 'proof' I might have had a few weeks ago. I can tell you lots, but you guys aren't going to believe a word I say."
"Try us," Mulder suddenly interjects dryly.
I let my eyes fall on him again. With a helpless sigh I give the half-shrug again. "Okay. Just let's not do the 'you're such a lying bastard' to every sentence I say, okay? It gets old fast."
"And another thing, Kryeck," Scully adds softly. "You *are* in custody. Our custody."
That wakes me up the way nothing else could. I've been waiting for something like that. My eyes flicker closed for a moment against my will, and I fight to keep all expression off my face. "I'm more use to you loose if I get past this stuff inside me," I croak.
Mulder and Skinner snort in tandem, but Scully just watches me silently.
"I meant it about the mutually beneficial arrangement," I try again. "We're on the same side anyway, we just work in... slightly different ways." Okay okay. Exactly opposite ways. I can't see any positives to pointing that out.
"We'll see," Scully finally says, and nothing about her is soft in that moment. "You get us the neutralizer. So far we're off to a good start, and that would be an even better one. Cooperate with us, and we'll see where cooperation gets us. You need us, and you want to stay on our good side."
"Doesn't my getting you out of there count for anything?" I ask sullenly. I shift my eyes to Mulder. "Warning you?"
Mulder starts to open his mouth, but Scully answers. Maybe they took a vote in the kitchen and elected her mouthpiece. Damn. She doesn't rattle like the other two. "Yes. It does. It gets you here, in this safe house, with our protection, and our help, while you heal. That's not nothing, Alex."
I curl back into the chair even further. No, it definitely isn't nothing. Safe. Safe for the time being. They might hate me, but they won't torture me. Hopefully. If I can keep from being left alone with Skinner. Or Mulder. Well, they won't kill me. They want what's in me. So I'm out of the Consortium reach for at least as long as it takes to heal up.
If I heal up.
I'll deal with anything else after that. How can I do anything else.
I stare at the floor when I speak, and my voice sounds dead even to my own ears. "There's one piece that isn't negotiable. Until that neutralizer is here with us, Skinner doesn't leave this cabin. We'll need to find some way of getting it out of my hiding place, and brought here. I obviously can't go, and neither you nor Mulder can go, and he *cannot* leave this cabin. That's final." I finally raise my eyes.
Scully releases a long sigh and looks at Mulder. He shrugs languidly. "Gunmen," he says, as if this solves everything. "We need to be in touch anyway." Scully smiles while I try not to react visibly. Gunmen? Where? What the fuck is he talking about?
"Can you call them now?" Skinner asks, breaking his self-imposed silence and rising from the couch restlessly. Without a word, Mulder pulls out his cell and starts dialing. Such touching devotion. And Skinner wonders why I can't stand him.
"I'm not giving anyone the information over the phone," I say flatly. "Only in person. I need to talk to the person doing the fetching, *alone*." Mulder shoots me an annoyed look, but I don't even blink.
"I don't like involving civilians anymore than we already have," Skinner starts, but Mulder shakes his head at him as the phone rings through.
"Don't worry about it, they don't really consider themselves civilians," he answers, "And they're already involved."
"Whoever this is, can they get here without being followed?" I ask.
Scully and Mulder exchange an amused look and then Mulder is speaking into the phone. "Hey Frohike..."
Scully turns to Skinner and I as Mulder stands up and walks a few steps away. "They're worse than he is. Believe me, they can get here without being followed. They own this place, and my bet is they've never come here using the same route twice."
With the additional clues, my head finally makes the connection. Gunmen. The Lone Gunmen. Okay. Geekier than Mulder and twice as paranoid. I can deal with that. If Mulder trusts them, that says a lot. And if my limited information is correct, they'll also be easy to intimidate, which is what *I* need most, besides discretion.
"Don't forget to ask them about portable x-ray," Scully tosses over her shoulder, and Mulder lifts a hand in acknowledgement without turning around. She redirects herself to me and raises an eyebrow. "I have real supplies now, by the way. I want to take another look at that shoulder."
"Not right now," I say automatically. "It's doing fine."
"I want to do a real full examination, Krycek. Draw blood, take samples, start-"
"Okay, okay," I cut her off and put on my best wan look. It isn't hard. At the moment all I have to do is let my guard slip a little. "Just... later, alright? Please?" The please seems to get her. Besides, I know she's tired, too. She softens almost imperceptibly, and nods.
"First thing tomorrow."
"It's a date," I answer, just as Mulder comes back to the couch, closing his phone. If looks could kill, even my newfound healing potential couldn't have saved me. Yeah Mulder, Scully and I are going out for a little dinner and dancing later. If it didn't make me so goddamned pissed that he's so jealous over her, I'd enjoy baiting him more.
"And?" Scully asks.
"They'll be here as soon as they can. They're taking a circuitous route."
Skinner comes back from where he's wandered to stare out the window. "Do you really think-"
"Yes," Mulder interrupts firmly, giving Skinner one of those warm, understanding looks he can occasionally pull off. I bite back a sigh. He never looks at me that way. "Don't give it a second thought, sir." He spends a few more minutes reassuring Skinner that the Gunmen are trustworthy, competent, and brilliant. Since I'd already come to that conclusion, I tune him out and just watch him.
Skinner's abrasive voice breaks into my pleasant diversion. "-do anything until they get here. I'm hungry, that lasagna is probably beyond dead by now, and you need some rest, Agent Scully. We could all use some rest."
Mulder and Scully nod and stand as well. She takes a step toward me, then stops. "You hungry?" she asks, eyeing me with her Doctor look.
"Nah. I've got my peas," I answer, shifting the bag in my hand. "I'm all set." Her lips twitch and again she turns a laugh into a cough. I don't know why it tickles me so much, but I love that I'm making her laugh. Granted, it's likely just because she's stressed and overtired, but still. I shoot a look at Mulder and am doubly gratified at the annoyed look on his pouty face.
Skinner suddenly looms at the side of my chair. "So you're not hungry. I'd be more comfortable if you were where we could see you." I let my eyes travel scornfully up over him. He gives me an extremely not-nice smile. "Unless you'd rather we recuffed you," he offers.
I stiffen. "Where the *fuck* do you expect me to go," I snap, hating the strident note crawling into my voice at the very thought of the leg irons. The feeling as I'd come awake had been so much like the dream, so much like the reality...
"Look, let's just get the lasagna and bring it in here," Scully interrupts shortly. Skinner nods readily enough, but I can just see his seething disappointment at not being able to restrain me. I seethe right back at him over my melting peas until he follows the dynamic duo into the kitchen.
Alone at last. For two minutes at least. I lay my head back and gave in to the grimace of pain and a soft moan. I lower the still somewhat chilled bag and slide it inside the quilt cocoon, pressing it experimentally against my throbbing stump. I hiss at the searing contact, and it doesn't do a damn thing for that pain. With another moan I shift it back up to my cheek and tilt my head to the side to brace the bag between my cheek and shoulder. Warming my hand up briefly, I slide it back under the blanket and start gently massaging the stump, trying to ignore the feel of the scar tissue against my fingers.
And go back to thinking about Mulder.
*****
Scully searched for a potholder, then gave in and dragged the lasagna out with a towel. Mulder joined her in staring down at the crusted-over dinner. Exchanging a shrug, they started getting plates and silverware ready.
Skinner sighed when he joined them and noticed the blackened top. "Sorry about that."
"Hey, we all knew when it went in," Scully flashed him a smile over her shoulder as she sawed their dinner into smaller pieces. "I'm hungry enough to not really care."
"You can redeem yourself on breakfast," Mulder offered innocently.
Skinner snorted. "Right." He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "Ah, I know you all have faith in these alarm systems, but I really don't like the idea of free-range Krycek just wandering around in here."
"I know, it's strange to have him in custody and not cuffed, but you saw that reaction," Scully argued. "They had him strapped down while they tortured him. I get the impression they left him restrained most of the time."
Mulder felt his stomach flip, and it had nothing to do with the seriously unappetizing hunk of burnt lasagna Scully thrust at him.
"I could have told you that would happen if one of you had said something about putting leg irons on him," she continued crossly, missing the guilty look that flashed between the two men. "And the chair under the door... we can't do that either. I promised him if he stayed in the inner bedroom, we wouldn't lock him in."
"But Scully-"
"You didn't see his reaction to the bedroom earlier," her voice dropped even lower. "He almost had a panic attack when he saw how small and closed in it is. He's definitely claustrophobic, and he's not in any shape to be controlling a major phobia. The claustrophobia was definitely tapped by whatever happened at the lab, and the restraints made it worse. That bedroom is the easiest place to keep him contained, so he's got to be there. But we can't chain him down or lock him in. We'd be no better than a new set of torturers, given the condition he's in. Medically, I can't allow it."
Mulder grimaced. "That only leaves constant personal guard." He busied himself filling glasses at the table, hoping his relief wasn't evident in his voice. After what he'd seen in the bedroom, and his new confidence in at least this part of Krycek's story, he found he wasn't eager to put a cuff on the man himself. ::Besides, brings back a few too many memories,:: a sadistic little voice in his head insisted. Even his sore knuckles reminded him uncomfortably of the last time Krycek had been cuffed in his custody. Either way, with Scully arguing against it, he didn't have to.
"Well, there are three of us," Scully responded, dishing out a fourth serving and picking it up along with her own plate. "We can rotate. Grab my drink, will you, Mulder. And from what I've seen of this place," she added as she headed for the door, "that may solve the sleeping arrangement problem."
"Problem?" Skinner asked, following her out and holding the door for Mulder.
"Two rooms, four people," she tossed over her shoulder as she brought the extra dish to Krycek and placed it on his knees.
"I'm really not hungry."
"You should at least try to eat."
"Two rooms?" Skinner glanced around the small house and counted quickly. Living room, kitchen, bathroom, some sort of small room that could best be described as a TV room Skinner guessed, considering the video tapes lining the walls, and one... two... two bedrooms. Lovely.
"I can bunk with you, Scully," Mulder offered with a wide grin. "I don't mind, really."
Scully rolled her eyes as she dropped onto the floor and rested her plate on the coffee table. "Right. As if. The couch looks like it pulls out. And I bet there's a couch in the TV room back there."
"Aw. And here I even brought you some of that green mask you like to put on before bed."
Scully paused in the middle of scraping black cheese off her pasta, and shot him a hard look. "*Mulder*." She started to attack the heavy noodles, then paused again. "Did you really?"
"Sure did. Avocado, right?" He looked up just in time to catch a cold glance from Skinner and a blistering look from Krycek, before both men redirected their attention studiously to their plates. Blinking, he puzzled it over. Skinner was easy enough. The FBI frowned on fraternization. What was up with Krycek? Unless... He narrowed his eyes at the other man, remembering yet again that husky voice rasping "Dana". The glare had certainly held the heat of jealousy. ::Green-eyed monster,:: quipped Mulder's mind, and he almost laughed.
Watching Krycek didn't make him feel much like laughing, however. Mulder forced himself to eat, but continued to study the other man covertly even when he knew it was ruining his appetite. Hell and back, no way around it. Krycek sat staring at his plate, apparently unaware of the scrutiny. Without a distracting, smart-ass comment on those lips, his condition looked even worse. Silent and withdrawn, pale and haggard, he was a ghost of the man Mulder kept in his head. Shoving aside the returning thrum at the edges of his mind, Mulder realized absently that he hadn't seen Krycek like this since he'd cornered him in Hong Kong. And even then, the man had just been worn-down and on edge. Now he looked well past the edge - dangling over the edge and barely hanging on by his fingernails. The thick quilt hid his body and made it easy to overlook the arm. The lack of an arm. But Mulder's mind filled in the details.
If it were actually changing, he'd need to get a good look at the stump, fast. And pictures. A camera. Of course. When the Gunmen went for the neutralizer, he'd have them get a camera and plenty of film. A camera that would mark time and date. The guys were already working on a portable x-ray machine, though they probably wouldn't have it with them. Too bad they had to bring everything to Krycek, as opposed to taking him to a hospital. But they had some lab equipment for Scully, and then if he got a camera and started photographic documentation...
"What?" snapped Krycek suddenly, and Mulder realized belatedly that as his brain had spun away, Krycek had become aware of his attention. "Take a picture, Mulder. It'll last longer."
Mulder closed his mouth at the convergence of Krycek's words and his thoughts. Fighting a smile, he shrugged, covering his embarrassment at being caught staring. "Yeah, in this case I guess the picture has a real chance of lasting longer than the real thing, eh Krycek?"
The impossibly wide eyes widened further, and the drawn face froze. Internally, Mulder winced at his own callousness, even as Krycek's face shuttered. Guilt rose up and he swallowed hard, then instantly wanted to kick himself for letting his sympathies get played by Krycek of all people. Looking for a quick subject change, he reached and suddenly realized he was getting an intense impression of *hunger* from Krycek. "You're staring at that food like it's about to eat you. Eat something already."
"No," Krycek looked away.
"You really need to try to eat, Alex. It's not bad, really. Especially if you turn it over and eat it from the bottom," Scully offered.
"I'm not hungry," he said sullenly.
"Yes, you are," Mulder murmured, feeling the room tilt oddly for a moment. "You're starved." He blinked and when the room came back into focus, Krycek's expression scared him. But even as he felt his muscles shiver involuntarily, he knew it was true. He didn't know how he knew exactly, but Krycek wanted the lasagna. Badly.
"*Thank you* for that fascinating insight, Agent Mulder," Krycek rasped coldly.
Mulder ignored the odd looks he got from Scully and Skinner. If he didn't acknowledge them, he didn't have to explain. Instead, while Scully continued to badger Krycek about the importance of eating to regain his strength, he tried to figure out exactly how he'd done whatever the hell he'd just done. It hadn't worked this way with the aural dissonance he'd experienced before. That had been like a cacophony... so many voices in his head, and no control. This seemed to come and go in waves, and it was so much milder. And so focused. He wondered suddenly if he could find out *why* Krycek wasn't eating. Still, to replicate the results, he needed to figure out what he'd done in the first place.
Then, looking over at Krycek, he realized Scully had bullied him into eating, and suddenly he didn't need to exercise his whatever-it-was. It became obvious immediately what had caused Krycek's hesitation. The arm. First, he spent long minutes retucking the quilt around himself so that he remained as covered as he could while still freeing his arm. Then, balancing the plate precariously on his knees, he fought with the tough, overcooked pasta that the other three were all using knives to subdue. The quilt gaped as he managed to hack the lasagna up with his fork as best he could, then speared random pieces, studiously ignoring the three agents who were all trying to look everywhere but at him.
The gnawing feeling of guilt and sympathy, coupled with anger that he was feeling anything like guilt and sympathy, all combined to kill Mulder's appetite, and he excused himself to start the clean up process. In the kitchen, he leaned against the sink and stared unseeing at his dirty dishes, trying to figure out what he was feeling and why. ::I didn't push him out of that truck. And it's his own damn fault he ended up in Russia anyway. Sure, I dragged him there, but it was all a set-up. He wanted me to take him. He's the one that was hanging out with the guards. He's the one who sold me out all over again. So what if I made it out whole. What goes around, comes around.:: He tried to focus instead on the puzzle of how he suddenly seemed to be picking things out of Krycek's head.
Twenty some odd years of practice made for very perfect, though, and the Mulderguilt crawled through him like an old, codependent friend. Familiar, comforting, unavoidable. He didn't want to give a damn that Krycek lost his arm. That he was maimed. That he had been brutally disfigured. The hand on his left shoulder made him leap and yelp.
"Hey, you okay?" Scully stepped back in surprise at his reaction.
"Oh... sorry. I was... lost in thought."
"I can see that."
"It was Tunguska, wasn't it? It had to be."
"He... yes. He said as much. He was a little surprised you hadn't mentioned it to me."
"I didn't know."
"I guessed maybe."
"Where are his clothes?"
Scully blinked at the nonsequiter. "Unless I miss my guess, balled up behind the bathroom door. At least that's where they were when I took my shower. He didn't have any of his own, he stole the orderly's. Did you bring him anything? I doubt he's going to want to put them back on."
"Damn. No. Well, he can wear something of mine or Skinner's. I feel like it's my fault."
Scully shook her head. "That you didn't bring him clothes?"
"That he lost his arm."
"Mulder... that's just silly. You didn't hack it off."
He winced at her choice of words. "I know."
The stood in silence for a moment, but when Scully opened her mouth to continue explaining logically why he shouldn't feel the way he did, he cut her off. "It's late, we're all tired. You really need rest. I'll clean up in here, and I'll take first rotation on Krycek-duty. You know me and sleep have only a nodding acquaintance."
Scully stayed silent for another long pause, then nodded. "We'll talk about this later, okay?"
"Okay," Mulder nodded agreeably, already planning how to avoid the conversation. He couldn't imagine why he'd even said as much as he had.
Scully seemed satisfied though, giving him a small smile and then glancing around. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you. What the hell *is* this place? What do the Gunmen have this for? They don't strike me as the hunting types."
Mulder laughed at the thought of the three in hunter orange, with rifles. "No, you've got that right. This is the top-secret retreat in case of government meltdown, military coup, or threatened arrest for hacking."
"You're not serious."
"Couldn't be more. You know they make me look like the most trusting soul this side of the River Styx." Mulder waved his arms, encompassing the remote location and the cabin. "They take precautions. If they ever need to fall off the face of the earth for a while, they want to be ready. I believe they call it "going to ground". They have an occasional friend in their hacker underworld that needs to get lost for a little while. This is the place."
"Unbelievable. But Mulder, this can't be cheap!"
He arched an eyebrow at her. "They consider this a completely necessary investment. Besides, you've seen how Frohike and Langly dress. What else do they have to spend their money on?" Pleased to see Krycek wasn't the only one who could get a laugh out of her, the giggle also reminded Mulder how tired she was. She never laughed this much. "Go to bed, Scully. I'm fine, really."
"Goodnight, Mulder."
"Sure you don't want to share that room?"
"Good*night*, Mulder."
"Night, Scully."
As she left the kitchen, he heard Skinner's voice, then the door was swinging again and his boss entered with the rest of the dishes. "Scully's going to bed."
"Yes. I'll take care of these, sir. I'll do first watch. Why don't you get some rest yourself."
"I'm not sure I'm going to be able to."
"Give it a shot. That couch does pull out. Frohike told me. Go for it."
Skinner left the dishes and headed back to the living room. At the door he paused. "Agent Mulder-"
"Sir?"
"Is it just me, or is Agent Scully... rather too jovial?"
Mulder grinned. "She's very overtired, sir."
Skinner nodded. "Ah. I thought maybe. I've just never really heard her giggle like that."
"I know. I was starting to think they'd eaten a few mushrooms out in the woods."
Skinner snorted. "Don't even joke about that. So... anyway... you don't think... I mean, what we were talking about earlier-"
Mulder didn't know what he thought. He did know he was sick of thinking about it tonight. "I think you were right," he temporized. "We're all overtired."
Skinner nodded. "You'll be okay? I still don't like him uncuffed."
"He's going back in that bedroom. I'll be fine."
"Wake me if you get tired."
"Will do."
"I probably won't be sleeping anyway."
"For what it's worth, I think Scully is right. I don't think he's faking. And I don't think he's going anywhere."
Skinner nodded again, slowly. "Maybe so, Agent Mulder. But let's all just stay on our toes." Without waiting for a response, he pushed through the door and was gone.
Still in no hurry to leave the kitchen, Mulder stood involuntarily contemplating Krycek's toes. He'd gotten a good look at them while helping Skinner get the leg irons off. Which meant he was now capable of picturing them in minute detail. Long elegant feet. Bony, unlike the rest of him.
Fabulous... yet another piece of Alex Krycek's body locked in his brain. With a groan Mulder turned back to face the sink. Damn Skinner's stupid turn of a phrase, anyway. Krycek's toes could go to hell. And take the rest of the body with them.
*****
Krycek still sat in the chair, wrapped in his quilt, when Skinner returned to the living room to make up his bed. Krycek's eyes stayed tightly closed, his mouth compressed, body tense. Skinner paused, shooting a deadly look at his nemesis, then began tossing cushions off of the couch.
"You're going to be good and miserable for about twenty-four hours," Krycek said softly.
"Excuse me?" Skinner grunted, as he unfolded the sofa bed.
"When you take the stuff that shuts down the nanocytes. Your whole system will go into rejection mode. You'll feel like you have bad food poisoning. At least that's what I read in the lab reports." Krycek shifted uncomfortably in his chair and his eyes slowly blinked open. "Just thought you'd want to know before hand."
"Your consideration is greatly appreciated." Skinner was rather proud of his dry, unconcerned tones.
"Yeah, well-" Whatever smart remark Krycek was about to make got cut off with a sharp hiss. Skinner turned in time to catch a grimace of pain before Krycek masked it with an annoying smirk. "Anything's better than asking how high when the old boy says jump, eh?"
"You'd know more about that than I would." Skinner finished unfolding the blankets and moved to stand over Krycek, his glasses reflecting the lamplight and obscuring his eyes.
Krycek snorted. "Don't kid me, Walter. You've jumped for the old bastard plenty of times. Why do you think I wanted you on a leash?"
Skinner hardened his expression to its most menacing, the same look that made seasoned senior agents quiver and uncooperative suspects confess. "And just when did you slip your leash, *boy*?"
"Maybe some day I'll tell you the whole story, *sir*. But right now..."
Between one word and the next, the smart-mouthed brat disappeared, the mask crumbling. Krycek closed his eyes, his tongue swept over his lips, and Skinner realized the man was shivering badly. Looking down at him, Skinner knew that Scully was right - he was desperately ill, and just as desperately trying to hide it.
::Let's see how *you* like being vulnerable. Let's see how you like being at the mercy of your enemies.:: Uncharitable, but Skinner simply didn't feel up to trying to fight back the anger roiling in his gut, to say nothing of the satisfaction that hovered at the sight of Krycek in less than total control. Before Krycek could regroup enough to finish speaking, Mulder's voice interrupted them.
"Okay, Krycek, time for beddy-byes." Mulder wandered out of the kitchen, stretching his arms over his head, flexing his shoulder and back muscles. "Back in your hidey-hole."
The reaction to the words was immediate and unmistakable. Skinner blinked and watched Krycek fight to look unaffected. Considering the recent turn of his thoughts, Skinner was surprised to find he didn't particularly enjoy watching panic wash over the strung out, beaten man. He wondered dolefully if Mulder was dealing with similar confusion, or if his hatred for Krycek was somehow less complex, less fraught with the tension of basic humanity. Mulder could be something of a purist when he wanted to be, and he'd always seemed pretty... uncomplicated when it came to rage at Krycek. Skinner remembered only too well the last time they had custody of this man. His own behavior still haunted him, and he'd had even less reason back then.
Still, the memory couldn't completely keep him from the calm, detached observation that this Krycek would be a lot easier to pressure for information.
*****
Damn... I have got to get better control. I know they saw that shudder. I can't quite control the panic at the thought of going back into that prison cell they laughingly call a bedroom. And I know this couple of "trained observers" saw my reaction. I look from one of my uncertain allies to the other, and see no sympathy, not that I expected any. No triumph either, though. No knowing smiles of derision. They must really be tired. The bald mountain crosses his arms over his chest, sending Me Alpha Male signals that must reach Mars, but doesn't make any cracks. Small favors... about now I'll take what I can get.
Knowing I can't put it off, I suck in a deep breath, clutch my quilt around me, and stand. I can do this, walking is something I've done many times. So why is it so fucking *hard* to coordinate these simple movements. Mulder is one step behind me the whole way as I limp along, taking his role as jailer seriously. And with no little enjoyment, I'm sure. I hate showing this much weakness in front of him, but I don't have a choice. My legs aren't listening to my brain. I'm beginning to think my entire body has disconnected from my conscious control.
He shuts the door behind us, and I can't still a tiny shudder that races down my spine, affirming my belief about my body. But the minute that door shuts, the walls start moving. Inward.
I make it to the bed and manage to sit down, but I can't make myself lie down. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to be in this room. I don't want to close my eyes because I need to see if the walls keep moving. I don't want to dream and I'm not tired.
Well, no, I am tired. I'm tired straight through to my bones. But there's something else... something restless woven all through me that won't let me be still. I could close my eyes but I can't relax. My muscles want to move even though moving hurts. Already I'm twitching just sitting here. Unable to stop, I'm suddenly on my feet again in spite of the discomfort, and moving, moving. I fall into the rhythm of pacing unconsciously, knowing he's watching me but unable to stop.
Now I know how obsessive-compulsives feel.
He wanders to the bedside chair and drops into it. "Not tired?"
"Shut up."
"Well, if you're not going to sleep, we should talk."
I want to scream. Hide under the bed. I've talked enough for one night, and I'm smart enough to know that this weird buzzy feeling means I'm probably slipping again. Anymore conversation would be a bad idea. "Talk?"
"You've promised us a lot of information. I'd like to start collecting."
Oh, that. Well, hell. That's better than talking about his father, at least. Okay, I can do this. Talk. Maybe it'll keep the walls still. "Sure, Mulder. Collect away." I count out ten steps exactly, trying to make them all the exact same length. Walking is getting easier the longer I do it. Maybe the pain is just getting easier to ignore.
"The Consortium never struck me as a particularly forgiving bunch of gentlemen. How did you even end up back with them after Russia, and everything you pulled? How'd you get back in?"
I turn a tight half-circle and pace back the same ten steps. "The old man bought me back in. He had more than enough information to use as currency. You could say I now know where the bodies are buried." I rub at my stump absently. The exhaustion is tugging at me, but lying down is so out of the question. If I have to lay there and twitch with him sitting beside the bed, I'll go stark raving mad. I concentrate somewhat desperately on my thoughts, trying to ignore the restless buzzing under my skin. Maybe talking to him isn't such a bad idea. Distraction, distraction. "But I gotta say, if they risked this... what I know can't be too important to them anymore."
"I don't know about that," Mulder drawls from his damnably comfortable sprawl in the chair. "They probably just didn't expect to lose you. They figured they'd experiment on you until you were dead."
I shoot him a heated look. "Thanks. But yeah, that sounds about right. I'm still a little surprised they risked this, though. It makes me think more than ever that Spender was working alone. It makes sense. Most of the really big players got toasted at that little hangar barbecue we were all invited to, with guest of honor Cassie."
Mulder sits straight up at that, looking at least marginally less relaxed, which satisfies an ornery itch somewhere inside me. If I can't be comfortable, why should he? "Cassandra Spender? Is this... you were *there*?"
"No, I wasn't *there*," I spit back. "I'm alive aren't I? You think I've survived this long by going along with stupid ideas like that one?"
Mulder rolls his eyes. "Of course not, o wise one. You just end up being experimented on in Consortium labs."
Touché. I glare at him and pace forward the requisite ten steps, then spin and head back.
"So how do you *know* what happened if you weren't there."
I ignore him. Something in me longs to just tell him all about the rebels and my dealings with them, but something smarter keeps a tighter hold of my reins. Just a wild guess, but Mulder is most likely not going to find collaborating with the rebels any more palatable than collaborating with the oil. And in a way he'd be right. They're not nice guys... any of them. The fact that I blithely sent almost the entire upper echelon of the U.S. Consortium to a certain fiery death at that hangar may or may not sit well with Mulder, but this nasty habit the rebels have of torching innocent abductees will most definitely *not* go down great.
"Will you stop walking circles and *answer* me," he snaps.
I suck in a breath through my nose and spin to face him. "I don't *know* what happened. I know what you know." There, close enough.
"Oh I don't know why I bother. Talking with you is like talking with one of those little pull-the-string toys that makes animal noises. Round and round goes the arrow and you never know what you're going to hear, except you know it's going to be one of twelve prerecorded standard *bleats*."
"Yeah, well, I don't know why you bother talking to me either," I growl. "So how about you go leave me alone?" Believe me, I'd prefer it. I'm in no condition to deal with Mulder, and I know it. The way I'm feeling, I'm beginning to think even Skinner would be preferable to him. At least with Skinner there's only so much that can potentially slip out if I lose control of my tongue. But even as I stare at him, he sits back in the chair and resettles himself. I curse mentally and go back to pacing. I've lost count of which step I was on so I make up a new route of thirteen steps.
"Why did the old man take you on in the first place? I assume we're talking about the same old man. The distinguished gentleman? British?"
I nod shortly. "The dead one. Flambe'd."
Mulder sighs. "Yeah, that's the one." I glance over at him. He has an oddly saddened look on his face, and for a moment I'm struck by the sense of loss I usually ignore when thinking of my old patron. It rocks me badly enough that I stop pacing, and Mulder focuses on me. I don't know what's showing on my face, but it's enough to get him sitting forward again.
"What was he to you?"
I look away and stare at the wall. "Just a... patron," I finally manage dully, pleased that my voice doesn't crack. "Just the latest in a long line of leash-holders," I mumble. So what if he'd turned the leash into a fine silver jess that he slipped on and off tenderly, at will, while he taught me how to really hunt. So what if he left me flying free more often than he dragged me back. So what if he seemed to actually trust me, take me on as a protégé... see something in me. Who knew what.
So what. He was still just one more in a long line of powerful men in a position to use me. More gently than some, but use me still.
And he's still fucking dead.
I stand in this too-warm closet of a bedroom, hugging myself with my one good arm, trying not to shake, hating that old bastard. Hating him not for using me, not for any of the more irksome jobs or training methods. Not for treating me like a child at times. No. Hating him for being dead. Hating him for dying. For leaving.
I close my eyes and swallow hard, letting a welcome wash of anger ride through me. It never fails. Everything hits at once. Everything kicks you when you're down. It's like a hill of glare ice. Once you start tumbling, forget it. You might just as well sit down and slide. Weakness is like that. It crawls in and infects you and grows like cancer. Once your defenses are down even a little, anything can get through and then *everything* gets through. If I don't start recovering from some of this physical shit, I'm going to be bawling at Mormon commercials on the fucking TV.
Or getting down on my knees and begging Fox Mulder for his forgiveness.
"Leash-holder, eh? So what did he have on you?"
I force my feet to start moving again as that flat voice insinuates itself up under my quilt and teases my spine between my shoulder blades. "He caught me at a bad moment," I mumble. "I'd just been left high and dry by... an associate." I spit the last word like it tastes bad. It does. So did she. When I think of that bitch...
"Who?"
Oh what the hell. Pop a few more of the boy's bubbles. I almost grin as I enunciate clearly, "Marita Covvarubias."
"Marita?!"
"The one and only."
"She was working *with you*?"
"In a manner of speaking. We had similar goals for a short time. A very short time."
"Last time I saw her... she was in the test runs."
"Yep. Last time I saw her, too," I agree cheerfully. Now that's a thought to cheer me on a sucky day like this. I remember her cowering behind Little Spender, *knowing* there was no way I was helping her out of there. And as far as I know, she'd been snapped up by Big Spender's men again, and put back into testing. "I think she ended up in the same trials as me. This latest stuff, under Kessin's charge."
"Kessin?"
"My doctor." I burst out with a harsh laugh at that. "My Nazi I should say. My own personal Nazi at the facility."
He mumbles something, and I think I hear 'you should talk'. I give him a disgusted look. Yeah, yeah Mulder, sure. I know. Think whatever you want about me. You're going to anyway.
"So the old man took you on after Marita screwed you over?"
"Yep. He caught me in reduced circumstances. I had something he wanted. He made me an offer I couldn't refuse."
"The vaccine."
I smile humorlessly at him. Ah, for that brief moment I'd actually thought I was on top. "Smart boy. Yes. The Russian vaccine. I got it out of Russia." I carefully block my mind of what else I brought out of Russia, but the voices in my head won't shut up. The creeping weakness again. Shit. The last thing I need to think about is that kid...
Suddenly Mulder distracts me from my unwelcome thoughts, as he bends forward, gripping his head, making an odd noise.
"Mulder?" I step toward him, concerned, shoving all my own baggage back into my mental foot locker. "Mulder, what's wrong? Do you need Scully?"
He raises his head slowly and gives me a wide-eyed stare that I really don't like. "No," he manages hoarsely. "I'm okay now." He still looks at me really strangely, like he's trying to see something behind my eyes, but whatever it was I get the impression he isn't seeing it.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" I snap, hating the way my heart is pounding. It settles as he recovers, but the reaction itself is damn annoying.
"Headache," he waves one hand dismissively. "Where were we? Oh, the vaccine. *You* got the vaccine? The old man, he got it from you?"
"That's right." I nod and let an evil smile curl across my face. "And yes, that makes *three* times I've saved Scully's life, if you're counting. And that's just recently." I leap back out of his reach as he jumps out of the chair, clucking my tongue. "And not one thank you from you. Honestly. You'd think my efforts weren't *appreciated*."
Glaring at me, he looks for all the world like he's counting to ten, then he drops into the chair again. I wonder if I'm trying to bait him into hitting me. You'd think the current pain would be enough, that I wouldn't need more. But pain from Mulder is always special. For a brief moment I remember the feel of his fists, and something in my chest tightens, longing for that sense of release I find in those moments and no other.
"Thank you."
What? Say *what*? "What?"
He clears his throat and mumbles again. "Thank you."
Okay, that was unexpected. His sullen expression is cracking into a smirk, and I realize I must look completely poleaxed. Blinking, I close my mouth. "Uh... you're welcome." I shift, turn, and start pacing again. My palms itch. Palms, plural. I hate phantom sensation.
"Although I have to wonder."
Oh great. Here it comes. "Wonder what?" I say tiredly when he doesn't appear to be about to finish his sentence anytime in the current century.
"You rescuing Scully from a Consortium lab is just... well, let's just say it doesn't fit the working profile of Alex Krycek, hmmm?"
I snort. "You've got a working profile on me? This I'd love to see."
Ignoring me, he continues thoughtfully. "It just seems a little too neat, somehow. I know Scully believes you were really hurt, and I trust her medical judgement. But it all makes me wonder. I mean *you*. You break Scully out of a Consortium facility, and end up in our hands. Willingly in our hands. All hurt and pathetic-looking to bring in the sympathy vote. Forgive me for thinking set-up, but maybe this is just ringing too many militia receipts and Tunguska bells for me."
I'm trembling. I can't stop. Because we all know how well Tunguska worked out for me, don't we? Pure rage is welling up from the soles of my feet. His casual little commentary, his snide tone, the absolute absurdity of the concept... everything. My mouth opens and before I can stop it, the words pour out. "Yeah Mulder, *right*. I fucking *planned* this. I worked it all out in advance, planned it really carefully, and *this* is my vacation. Didn't you know? The Consortium has *great* vacation benefits. They'll do whatever it takes to send their hard working operatives on choice holidays. Me? I chose to get fucking *stranded* in the fucking wilds of some fucking state I don't even know which one, with the three fucking people voted Most Likely To Want To See Alex Krycek Die A Slow Painful Death. I *almost* chose spending a week cleaning out Spender's ashtrays with my tongue, but I thought it over, and said no, to be *really* fun, it's gotta involve getting shot, and Fox Mulder. First, I had to get kidnapped and experimented on, but hey, when you work for the old boys, that's hardly a chore, now is it? It took work, it took careful timing, but I knew if I played it right, I could get shut up in some technogeeks' cabin, getting stuck on Scully's little glass slides, and having to put the fuck up with *you*. FUCKING JOY!" I know my voice is spiraling up hysterically, but at the moment I don't really care. One more suspicious glare from him and I'm going to put him through the nearest window. Oh, excuse me, I *have* no windows. God knows I might try to *escape* from this cozy little heaven I've apparently tricked them into creating for me.
Mulder's exasperated huff tells me he thinks I'm being a drama queen, and he cuts off my ravings with a sharp wave of his hand. "Alright, fine. Let's just say for argument's sake that I believe you. You're not setting *us* up. What about you?"
Okay, what did I miss? "What *about* me?" I hate the way my voice squeaks hoarsely, but apparently my vocal chords still aren't up to heavy yelling. Mulder just looks at me shrewdly.
"Are you so sure *you're* not being set up? That escape... you'd been there how long? In that facility? And suddenly, Scully comes in, you both overhear they're after me, and bingo, you get a chance to escape. Convenient? Coincidence? And did your escape go a little *too* easily? Are you so sure they didn't let you escape?"
Jesus. I must really be foggy. It didn't even occur to me. I take two steps backward and practically fall onto the edge of the bed. Shit. I'd only killed three people to get us out of there. Well, five, if you count the orderlies. Hell and damnation. *Had* they let us out? It *was* fucking convenient... they hadn't strapped me down, then the security disturbance keeping the halls mostly clear. But *why*? What for?
A deadly thought strikes me. What if they knew I'd go straight to him? What if they *wanted* me to go straight to him? Shit! I could be contagious or something... maybe they infected me with something and I could be giving it to him right now, putting his life in danger...
"Krycek? What the- Are you okay? You look like death warmed over all of a sudden." He rises from his chair and moves toward me, lifting his hand as if to touch my forehead, and I vault backward without even thinking.
"Don't touch me!"
He freezes, looking at me like I've lost whatever questionable sense he'd credited me with. I scramble back up the bed and tumble off the other side, hitting the floor with a painful thump. I poke my head back up over the side of the bed to insure he stays on his side while I try to work this out in my head.
"Are you going wiggy on us again?" Mulder complains, scowling at me. "If you're going to get delirious you could warn me, you know." He edges around the bed as he speaks, and I realize too late that he is trying to distract me.
"Mulder, I mean it. Stay back. Look... uh... send Scully in here. I have to talk to Scully," I insist desperately. "No! Wait. Oh shit." Not Scully. He'll take me apart piece by piece if I give her anything. But she's been around me and touching me so much, if there's anything to expose her to, it's already happened. I stop shaking my head and start nodding frantically. "No... make that yes. Scully. Send me Scully. You go out of the room. Now." I swallow hard and flatten myself against the wall as he keeps approaching. "Do it! Don't come any closer!"
"Krycek, come on. Relax. I'm not going to-"
Something snaps. I'm just not used to worrying about other people. I can't take the pressure. So fucking sue me. "Just GO! Get *out* of this room! NOW!" My voice breaks on the final word and I think he must decide I've really gone round the bend, because he finally starts backing up, both hands extended, real concern in his eyes.
"Okay, just calm down. I'm going." He backs to the door, still staring at me like he expects me to spontaneously combust. He slips through into the other room and I can hear him calling for Scully. I get myself back on the bed and try to slow down my breathing. Don't panic, don't panic. He's not necessarily right just because he is 90% of the time. Don't jump to conclusions. Think.
Unfortunately all my mind can focus on is an image of Spender himself, sitting in some out of the way office at that hellhole, chuckling over a video screen, watching Scully and me hobbling down the hallways thinking we're getting away. It would be just like him. Just his kind of scene. I'm starting to hyperventilate by the time the door slams open and Scully bursts into the room at a run, in blue pajamas, her hair mussed.
"Alex?" Her face is all crinkled up, and if I didn't know better I'd swear she's actually worried about me. Probably worried about her chance at all this supernatural science I represent. Her tired eyes blaze over me, but I can see Mulder hovering at the door.
"Mulder, stay out there. Scully, shut the door." To her credit, she does it without question, even though I can see Mulder has his gun drawn. I knew he really thought I'd flipped. Oh well. Like his opinion of me can get any worse.
"Alex, Mulder said something's wrong. What is it?"
She speaks slowly and carefully, and I almost laugh in her face. Then I feel bad because after all, she's the one that's putting up with my ravings the most. And obviously she'd been asleep and she really needs some rest, but here she is standing in front of me all woken up and tense again. "I'm okay. I'm not delirious and I'm not going nuts. We just need to talk."
She studies me as she walks closer, and then, with a shrug, sits down next to me. "You couldn't have decided we needed to talk before I went to sleep? And you couldn't have just asked him to come find me? You had to kick him out like that? Did he... do something?"
"I just needed to get him out of the room. Listen, Scully, he said something that sort of freaked me out. What if we *are* being set up? Me included. What if they *let* us escape, and I'm infected with something, and they knew I'd go to him and that's what they *want* me to do? I know it might be too late, he might already be infected, but I figured it was better to get him out of the room, and you'd already have been exposed anyway. Can you find out?"
Her eyes go wide. She starts to shake her head, but then I watch her consider the idea and come to the same conclusion I had - that it would be just like Spender. "Okay, let's think about this rationally for a minute." She starts ticking off the points of our flight, from the perspective of an "arranged" escape. Even as she speaks I start to calm, until finally she winds up with the sharp shake of her head she initially aborted.
"No, Alex, this doesn't make sense. I mean I suppose it's possible, but highly improbable. Let's look at the *facts*. I can't believe they wanted you to escape, given the way you're really healing things. Granted, you could be infected with something else, but I believe you're too important to just be used as a vector. They can't have *known* you and I would team up to get out of there. And think about it..."
She pauses suddenly, and looks decidedly uncomfortable. "WHAT?" I practically shout.
Clearing her throat, she averts her eyes. "Well, think about it. *Would* the Consortium have reason to... um... know that you would go directly to Mulder? How many people actually *know* how you... ah... feel?"
I freeze. Okay, I suppose I was kidding myself thinking she wouldn't figure it out. But... *shit*. Fucking bloody hell. How I *feel*? A horrible heat comes up in my cheeks and I know I'm turning bright red. Then the meaning behind her words sinks in, and the answer is no. Granted, I'm positive my ex-boss who blew himself up had figured out how I felt about Mulder, but I truly believe the rest of the old boys, Spender included, were clueless. Spender *especially*. He's always been too damn blind when it comes to Mulder. What Scully is saying makes sense. Much more sense than Mulder's half-assed paranoid guessing. She's right. They've got no way of knowing I'd go to Mulder. Hell, they'd think I'd go in the opposite direction if it looked like they were going to pick him up too. We escaped, we weren't 'let go'. I'm not infected with anything except the damn alien gunk we know about, and I'm not giving him anything.
An intense wave of relief almost knocks me flat on the bed. I sag, catching myself on my arm and nodding. "You're right. Oh fuck. Yes. You're right. Okay. I'm okay now." I take a slow breath and let it out, turning to face her with a relieved smile... that melts off my face the minute I meet her eyes.
"You were really scared, weren't you?" she asks placidly, her eyes boring into mine. And my incredibly slow brain finally catches up, and starts screaming that if she hadn't known before, she sure as hell knows now. The way I'd kicked Mulder out of the room, the way I'd screamed for her... how much more obvious does it get? I feel the tide of heat wash up over my face again and desperately want to sink into the mattress.
After a few moments I have to concede the damn mattress isn't going to cooperate in swallowing me down, so I go for nonchalant, totally ignoring the blush scalding my cheeks. "You know, it wasn't that you were expendable or anything. I just figured you had already definitely been exposed, if I was carrying something. I figured we should... you know... limit the spread. By getting the two of us in here." I stop, before I can start babbling pathetically.
She tilts her head and blinks, slowly. I start fidgeting, and am about to give in to the babbling anyway, when she finally speaks. "Right." She stands. "Well, if that's all settled, I'm going back to bed." She pauses and looks down at me again, as if there's something just burning to get off the end of her sharp little tongue. Then she shakes her head and leaves.
I collapse backwards on the bed, groaning in embarrassment. What the hell is *wrong* with me?? Five fucking minutes of rational thought could have prevented that entire thing. If I hadn't flown off the handle, if I'd taken time to piece it out, I'd have known. If I hadn't let Mulder get me riled in the first place.
I snort. Yeah right. And while I'm at it, why don't I just keep myself from eating, sleeping and breathing.
I crawl head first under the blankets and curl up in a ball. If I can't dissolve into the mattress, I'll do the next best thing.
*****
When Scully exited Krycek's room, Mulder stopped pacing and stuffed his gun back in its holster. "Okay, so what was all *that* about?" He spoke softly in an effort to not disturb Skinner, though he had no idea if his boss was actually asleep already, or just pretending he was to avoid conversation with an agitated Mulder.
Scully looked up at him, and Mulder bit off whatever he was about to say. She had the weirdest look on her face. "What?" he asked worriedly.
"Hmmm? Oh. You scared him."
"I *scared* him?" Mulder grinned in disbelief. "Come again, Scully?"
She finally focused on him, and her eyes narrowed. "What exactly did you say to him anyway?"
He shrugged. "I just wondered if it was possible we were all being set up. You know... if the Consortium let you guys get out, if they let him out specifically, setting us all up for something else."
"That doesn't make any sense, Mulder. There are way too many variables. And he's too important to them as he is for them to let him out, even if they did plan on scooping him right back up. He's always been too much of a wild card for them to take a chance like that."
Shrugging again, he let his grin take on a touch of embarrassment. "I know. I was just trying to wind him up."
Her eyebrows arched. "Well, it worked."
"So what was all that about?"
"He believed you. You got him thinking. He thought maybe we had been let out for some bigger scheme that hadn't even occurred to him."
"But what was all that 'get out of the room, Mulder'? Why did he need you? I thought he was really freaking."
Scully paused, her lips pursed, one foot tapping an uneasy rhythm on the floor. "He was really freaking." She bit her lip, then seemed to come to a decision and continued. "He got it in his head that maybe they knew he'd go to you. Maybe they infected him with something knowing he'd bring it to you."
Mulder felt his face go slack with surprise. Scully's gaze pinned him where he stood. "He thought-"
"He thought he might be contagious to you. He figured I'd already been exposed." Scully let the words dangle in mid-air for a long moment before delivering the killing blow. "He wanted to get you out of the room in case he was doing you harm. You know, get the infected people away from the uninfected," she added casually. She gave him a final meaningful look, then turned and headed back to her room without another word.
Mulder stood in shocked silence. He knew the final words for what they were. A polite way of brushing over this, and allowing them to talk about it without talking about what was really going on.
Except... what *exactly* was really going on?
He stared at the closed door for long moments before pushing himself into action, and letting himself back into the bedroom.
****
I hear the door open and close, and soft footfalls bring him closer to the bed. I know it's him. I can smell him. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep he'll just go along with it. I really am damn tired... tired of running, tired of being tough, tired of mentally dog-paddling to stay afloat, tired of hurting. I stay curled up on my right side, burrowing into the quilt, shutting out Mulder and the tiny room and the dark and everything else and trying to retreat into a sleep I don't really want. The ever-present pain keeps me tied to my body.
All is silent behind me; he must have sat down again. I breathe steady and even, hoping he'll just assume I'm asleep. The deep breathing starts to tug me down and against my will the charade becomes reality. I drift into a tangled web of dream-threads that I can almost tell aren't real but they keep catching me up and surprising me and getting more real than the bed and the too-close walls. The quilt around me is no protection as Spender wafts toward me in a halo of smoke, a red-hot butcher knife in each hand, telling me not to worry, everything would grow back. Even as I try to scream the red of the knives melts and suddenly Melissa Scully stands, looking at me, trickles of red blood seeping through her red hair and down her face, just *looking* at me. And I look away, look down and my quilt is gone, everything is gone, and Melissa is Mulder, kissing me so gently, his hands caressing me, soothing me, slamming into me, leaving technicolor bruises. I fall to my knees and the bruises ache but my chest aches worse and then it's the familiar one, the worst of all, the one where I dream that it was all a dream, that night in Tunguska, where I dream that I wake up and my arm is fine, it never happened. And then I dream that I really wake up and it did happen. And when I *really* wake up I never know which is real and which was a dream, until I actually touch my left arm...
I shiver and come to just enough to *know* I'm dreaming and dozing and then it's off again and everything hazes and through it all runs a bright fire-red thread of pain, so much like the slicing-burning pain when they cut off my arm, only worse because I don't know why I'm hurting this bad. I move, trying to jar myself out of this sickening web my subconscious is spinning. I know this cycle, playing out on a continuous reel like a dime movie. I curl up even tighter, and as my mind clears a bit I try to think of something pleasant. I'm warm, I'm not tied down, I had a hot dinner. Okay, it was burned frozen lasagna, but that's an improvement over the food I got in Spender's tender loving care. Scully will look after me. She might hate me, but she's decent and she's got enough integrity to choke a horse. She promised she'd take care of me. Promised...
But there's Spender again, with the knives. I twist in panic, and try to find a dark, safe place to hide...
*****
Scully sighed and stretched under the blankets. The stiffness was easing after the hot shower, and she felt herself relaxing again. She'd just nodded off when Mulder had woken her. She hoped it hadn't been enough to keep her awake now... if it was he'd pay.
It felt so wonderful to be clean, to be wearing fresh pajamas - her favorite blue satin pajamas, Mulder had remembered. To be safe, to be in an anonymous cabin where even the FBI didn't know to look. To be alone in a comfortable bed with the door closed on the three men who were making her life complicated and frustrating.
She was ready to knock their heads together. Knock some sense into them. Mulder and Skinner were a potentially volatile combination at the best of times. Alex Krycek was just a catalyst for trouble. She could smell the simmering testosterone, ready to boil over and scald all of them. Grinning at the mixed metaphor, she let her eyes drift closed. Tomorrow they would put plans in motion. Get the cure for the nanocytes. Get the Gunmen to start analyzing the data on those cartridges. The cartridges. Had to be important stuff there. And she would give Krycek a thorough examination. Had to give Krycek... tests. And stuff. Samples. Take samples, analyze. Put her off tonight but tomorrow, tomorrow she...
She ran down endless corridors which all looked alike, except they twisted in odd ways, up and around and narrowed and cork-screwed and ended in stairways that took her to blank walls. She had to get somewhere, she had to tell Mulder something very important, but she couldn't find the way out. Her breath came faster and faster as she ran, but like a mouse in a maze, every wall turned smooth and endless. She spun in a circle and ran back the way she came, and nothing but empty reaches of hallways, stairwells, rocking like the hallways on the Queen Anne...
And Skinner was there. He was always just out of reach, in the next hallway, the next level of stairs, the wrong side of a window and always looking in the wrong direction. She pounded on a wall in frustration as his voice calling to her reached her ears faintly. He was trying to get to her, to help her, but they couldn't find a way to reach each other...
*****
Skinner listened to Mulder re-enter Krycek's designated bedroom. Once the door clicked shut, he gave up the pretense of sleep and rolled over onto his back. He felt a bit guilty that Mulder had woken up Scully, but he just hadn't felt up to getting involved with another tussle over their prisoner. It had sounded like Krycek was asking for Scully anyway.
Walter lay on his back, hands folded across his stomach, and wondered why he couldn't maintain a more smug, triumphant feeling. The enemy who had tormented him, who had killed him and brought him painfully back to life, had been declawed and was at their mercy. Krycek had no power over him now.
Spender did. That was a nasty complication. But if all went well, he'd have the cure for his bugs and be free of both of the sons of bitches.
If all went well.
If Krycek lived long enough to give them the location of the cure.
After what he'd seen earlier, he wondered absently if he shouldn't beat it out of the man now, while he was still breathing. And he still wondered why the sight of a pain-wracked Alex Krycek wasn't the unadulterated delight it should have been.
The bastard deserved every bit of his suffering. Of course he did. He'd made his bed, and now he got to lie on the red-hot coals. Poetic justice, as it were. And how often did you see any of that in the FBI, in the world at large.
But Skinner found himself uncomfortably remembering another Alex Krycek, the one who had appeared in his office way back when, in an awful suit and a shiny new haircut, looking about sixteen, eager to begin his first big assignment as Agent Mulder's partner. How much of that Krycek had been a disguise, and how much was real? The best disguises were always part truth. Or maybe he just wanted to think so, so he could avoid asking the real question... had he really been duped so badly? How could he have not known? Exactly when had the corruption begun, and could *he* have done anything to prevent it?
Had he failed yet another agent?
How much of the darkness in Krycek's soul had come from his own heart, and how much had come from a black-lunged monster who defiled everything he touched? He'd had enough experience now to assume the worst about Krycek, but in the back of his mind the niggling thought wouldn't disappear. Skinner knew all too well how Spender worked, setting his little traps so stealthily that you were snared before you saw the danger. Oh yes, Skinner had jumped for Spender *and* asked how high.
How much cleaner was his soul than Alex Krycek's?
::I'm not a murderer. Not like he is.:: Wars long over were a different story. A different set of ghosts. Not to be confused with doublecrossing assassins who lied and pretended to be people they weren't and got paid to wreck destruction wherever they went. And yet... how different... to define the enemy and take out the target. It was all in how you defined the enemy, really.
Thinking back over his dealings with the man, Skinner wondered absently how Krycek saw him, what he thought of him. Just another lackey for Spender? A joke? A hidebound bureaucrat with no guts? An easy mark? Had he laughed behind Skinner's back, at the AD's pitiful attempts to retain some honor, some sense of what was right in the strange tug-of-war his life had become? Back in the beginning, had Krycek known of his supervisor's own edgy involvement with Spender? Had he thought Skinner one of the same set? Had Krycek gone over willingly, or had he edged over the line like Skinner himself had, until he lost his way back. And would it have been different, if Krycek could have come to him? And why was he even thinking any of this about a man who obviously reveled in being an amoral asshole...
And why in hell did he always let Krycek get him so knotted up. What *was* it about the man.
Skinner groaned and tried to relax the tension in his neck and shoulders. If things went according to plan, he and Krycek were going to have to find some way to work together. Trust was out of the question. So was forgiveness, probably. Where did that leave them? He sighed. All he knew for sure was that thinking about Krycek left him sleepless, and he needed rest.
If he turned his head, he could see the door to the bedroom where Agent Scully slept. A sense of relief flooded through him. Safe. She was safe. Now that was a topic to put him in a more relaxed frame of mind. He let his thoughts drift, recalling fondly the sight of her in her blue satin pajamas with the baggy pants and oversized, shirt-like top, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her face scrubbed of make-up, all giving her the look of a teen-ager at a slumber party. Dana Scully somehow combined wisdom with a purity that took his breath away. It wasn't that she was virginal, but she had a deep integrity he could always count on to shine like a guiding star when he was lost. People like Krycek had situational ethics, changing to suit the convenience of the moment. Scully might compromise her ethics, but only after much soul-searching and she always paid the price in full. And she'd paid so heavily already...
Skinner stared around at the bleak, muddy place, ankle deep and seeping into his shoes. Where? Gray sky and flat dun landscape, and he looked at himself and his clothes were the same gravel-gray, splattered with mud, soaked through to the knee and beyond. He staggered and caught movement above his outstretched arms and focused upward. His arms reached desperately... she was just above him. Soft blue satin, soft red hair, soft pale skin... she actually floated in the air, just like she talked about on that regression tape. Her hands moved, beckoning... she wanted him to come to her. Speaking too, but her lips moved silently. The only sound was the slurping sucking of the bog at his feet. All he had to do to touch her was rise up, it would be so easy, it wasn't far. But he kept staggering, the mud kept sucking. And whenever he lifted himself above the muck, Alex Krycek rose like the Swamp Thing from the comics of his youth, dripping and thick with mud, covered... reached out and grabbed him, dragging him back down again...
*****
Mulder pulled the armchair closer to the bed and kicked off his shoes, propping his feet up on the edge of the mattress. The chair was comfortable enough and Mulder shifted around, settling in for the night, letting the pretense that the man in the bed was actually asleep stand. After the confusion of what appeared to be Krycek's inexplicable attempt to keep him from possibly being 'infected', he just didn't have it in him to rouse the man into another go around. He just wanted to zone a little. He vaguely figured that with his feet on the bed so near Krycek's butt, he'd feel any movements, even if he dozed off. For a brief, uncharitable moment he hoped his socks smelled bad.
He leaned back, hands behind his head, and studied the lump in the bed. Krycek still hid under his quilt, his back to Mulder, his breathing slow and steady. A little too measured. Sighing to himself he puzzled over the man's weird display. It had almost seemed like he was... concerned. Like the last thing he'd want to do would be infect Mulder with some unknown agent the Consortium had cooked up. Odd behavior to say the least.
He supposed, if you looked at it from the right angle, Krycek could be concerned about infecting his "helpers" with something. After all, they could conceivably be his last chance, given his condition. Scully certainly appeared correct... from what he'd seen so far, he'd bet his gun Krycek was truly sick. And didn't want them to know how weak he really was, although that plan was going right down the drain.
Made sense. He wouldn't show weakness in front of Krycek, if he could help it.
So that made some form of sense. Krycek *would* want them to stay healthy, and able to help and protect him. That had to be it. He tilted his head to one side and cracked his neck, trying to ignore the teasing memory of a heated kiss and grope in a basement office. A soft brush of lips against his cheek in a dark apartment. No doubt he just wanted to protect his investment by keeping them healthy. Had to be it. Didn't it?
What was the bastard up to this time?
He really had rescued Scully. He'd even blocked a bullet meant for her with his own body. Yeah, well, that must have been an accident. Maybe his balance was off because of the missing arm. Mulder winced at the reminder. The raw looking stump he'd seen earlier made his stomach ache, especially since he had come so close to having a matching one. And Scully said it looked better than it had.
Better, worse - did it matter how pretty it was? The cruel truncation was an insult to that... that body. That delect-... Mulder started to repress the line of thought, then sighed, shifting uncomfortably. Too late. He'd already been thinking about the kiss. The kisses. And everyone else was asleep... it sounded like even Krycek's act had fallen into the real thing. No one could see him looking. He might as well be honest with himself if no one else. His mind played out every flash of naked skin he'd seen since arriving at the cabin. Even with the bruises, the scars, Krycek was still... still Krycek. Still desirable, damn him. Correction. It wasn't just that he was desirable. Hell, lots of people were desirable, and didn't have this effect on him.
Krycek, of all people, still made him *ache*.
That face, with the dark circles under his eyes and too-prominent cheekbones, should have looked dissipated, worn out. Somehow, he looked more beautiful than ever, in some dramatic, tragic way. His tortured look even captured some of that odd bonyness of years ago, reminding Mulder strangely of Agent Krycek, of Alex. Not as smooth and soft, certainly, as he'd been that day in Mulder's office, sitting on the desk, letting Mulder ravish his mouth. Rubbing up against him. Agreeing to meet Mulder at his apartment later that night... The chair wasn't so comfortable any more. It was too hot in this little room, no air. Mulder shifted again, tugging at his pants, surprised that he even had the energy left to get an erection after everything that had gone on. But really... was it actually that surprising? He winced. As long as he was being honest with himself, why not go all the way and admit he had just been waiting for this *inconvenient* reaction to hit. And wondering why it was taking so long. After all, he'd had the same exact damn reaction every time he'd seen Krycek since his betrayal. And had dealt with it the same way.
This time he didn't think he'd get away with beating the crap out of Alex.
Hating him, wanting him... the man was frustration personified. The strength of the hate always came back to that first betrayal. It amazed Mulder sometimes how fresh the old bitterness was whenever he thought about it. And the pure *want* hovering just under his skin always made it worse. If anything, he hated Krycek even *more* for making him want him.
The tension in his groin, the heaviness in his balls, turned up the flame under the simmering emotions just like always. Trying to tame the warmth spreading through his crotch, Mulder closed his eyes and recited The Litany. Krycek was responsible for everything wrong in his life. He had helped them take Scully, killed Mulder's father, had *something* to do with Melissa's death, sold government secrets that should have been Mulder's to expose, infected Skinner with deadly cyberbugs, conspired against him in his Quest for the Truth. Hell, Krycek was probably responsible for the war in Bosnia, global warming, and the Knicks losing in the playoffs.
The Litany didn't work. It never did. Grinding his teeth, he opened his eyes again and stared balefully at the humped up quilt. ::Why *you*.:: No matter how many times he lectured himself off about Krycek's reprehensibility, it never quelled the stand-up-and-salute reaction of his body. And being self-aware enough to know that the reprehensibility added a savory edge to the saluting *really* didn't help.
Rubbing his eyes, Mulder yawned and tried to get comfortable again, his mind casually sorting and scanning The Litany as it always did in Krycek's presence. ::You killed my father, you son of a bitch. You're the root of all evil.:: That thought stopped even him. It flowed so well, had a lovely ring to it, but... His mouth twisted in a wry smile as he stared at the dark head. A bit much, even for Krycek?
Okay, so maybe he *had* made Krycek his personal Boogie Man, the Evil Thing that Bumped People Off in the Night. If he thought about it long enough, he knew his hatred of the man bordered on obsessive. And he knew *all* the bubbling rage wasn't just a convenient direction for unwanted arousal. But dammit, he was sick and tired of feeling powerless against Spender and his nebulous Consortium, against shadowy aliens he could never catch up with. Krycek at least was tangible. Mulder sighed. When it came down to it, Krycek put a face on the monster. It was so much more... personal with Krycek. Krycek could be hit, punished, made to suffer for all of Mulder's more faceless enemies.
Suffer...
Closing his eyes on a surge of chair-tilting dizziness, Mulder felt that odd disorientation again. Stronger now, somehow more focused. Rather like when he'd zoned in on Krycek's hunger. In fact, focused on... Krycek. He inhaled slowly, deeply, sinking into the feeling, wondering where it would go. Scully was close by, and a yell would bring her running if need be...
Hurt...
Krycek moaned softly in his sleep. Mulder tried to relax, to open himself to whatever odd new trick his mind was playing. Curiosity swept through him. He was here, in his body, and yet somewhere else at the same time. Somewhere strange, hostile, looming dark figures, flickering fire...
*Pain*...
Red and hot and sharp. Hands holding him down, pressing him into cold, rocky earth. And painpainPAIN. Panic trying to rise, screams clawing his throat. No, this couldn't be happening, it was a dream, it couldn't be real. No matter how it felt. Breath caught and *hurt* in his throat. But it *wasn't* real... No one was holding a red-hot knife against his flesh, cauterizing severed arteries. That was not his arm, held up by the wrist, blood spattering onto the ground. He would wake up soon, *wake up*, and it would all be a dream. It never happened... never *happened*...
Hands... hands, more hands... hands holding him... hands on his shoulders... gentle hands, soothing away his distress. Hands sliding down his back, drawing him forward against a solid, warm chest. More warmth, on his mouth now, another mouth sucking at his. A mouth so sweet, so wanted, lips so full. A tongue flicking in and out, teasing. So warm, so gentle... it felt good to relax against this strong body, *this* man, heat melting the chill of terror. A husky voice whispering his name. Saying 'Alex, Alex' over and over in that sweet monotone as those lips brushed his cheeks, his nose, his eyelashes. Those careful arms loosening, the warm body moving back, not far, just far enough... so he can see that face... face...
His own face...
Smile... sweet, adoring... morphing, twisting... the soft expression sliding to a sneer. The gentle hands curling, becoming fists, bruising instead of caressing. Thudding into him, over and over, and nothing could make him lift a hand to stop them. He deserved it. And worse than the fists, so much worse, the contempt burning in that face, in those hazel eyes...
**Pain.**
It was like a weight dragging him into despair, claws snagged into him, shredding his will, sapping his strength, pulling him into a cold hell he would never escape. Fear choked him... fear of death, of insanity. Anger seethed like a living thing, eating and *gnawing*... anger at those who'd taken away his choices, manipulated his needs and desires, driven him to this dark place. Acid anger at himself, at his own culpability, his weakness, short-sightedness, stupidity. All underscored with the driving pulse of sick heartache, knowing he'd never see what he needed to see in Mulder's eyes...
Mulder shuddered and jerked, forcefully yanking himself free of it, whatever "it" was. He jumped up out of the chair and practically leaped across the room, swinging the door open and leaning in the doorway, breathing harshly, shaking in reaction to the bottomless plunge into someone else's emotions. He could vaguely see Skinner on the sofabed, snoring softly. Pulling in air, eyes wild in the dark, he focused on the mundane sight to bring himself down, bring himself back.
What in hell had he just *done*? Of all the places he didn't want to be, somewhere in Krycek's black hole of a mind was right at the top of the list. His breath rasped harshly in his chest, his shoulder still tingling, his stomach aching, adrenaline coursing his body. His body? Or Krycek's?
Krycek...
The man was in agony. Physically, emotionally. Hanging on to sanity by his fingernails.
Breathe. Slowly. In. Pause. Out. Pause. Again.
It was a dream. It was someone *else's* dream. Alex *Krycek's* dream. None of it was re-
But that wasn't going to work. Mulder could tell already that there was no way his mind was going to buy that line.
Krycek... and him... what the...
His mind refused to accept it and veered sharply left. Krycek was thinking about him way too much. ::And let's just leave it at that.::
But that ache. That pure, burning loss... all directed at *him*.
Gripping the doorjamb, Mulder leaned his forehead against the cool wood and let his mind kick in and take care of him. The mind that had kept him sane through all that had happened to him over the course of his more-eventful-than-average life. Perspective. He needed perspective. ::Okay, go mind. Get a little perspective.::
Well, at least he wasn't the only one thinking about that old kiss.
Not exactly the perspective he wanted.
Lifting his head, he let it bounce off the doorjamb and winced. As his heartbeat slowed and the roaring of blood in his head finally faded, Mulder tuned in to the whimpers behind him, and the faint squeaking of bedsprings as Krycek partially uncurled onto his back, head moving restlessly from side to side. Murmuring something... frantic...
"Mulder!" That was clear enough. Mulder moved silently to the side of the bed, looking down at Krycek. Panting in jerky, shallow breaths, his eyes wide open, staring at nothing, he didn't seem aware that Mulder was there. Whispering "oh god," as he felt for his left shoulder, hand sliding down to grope the roughness of scar tissue, the empty space. With a low, sobbing groan, Krycek curled up again, pulling the quilt tight around his shoulders, burrowing his head into the pillows.
Mulder stopped his hand just before it touched Krycek's left shoulder, drawing it back slowly to fall at his side. He dropped back into the armchair, at a loss. Was the man even awake? He listened to Krycek's rough breathing, heard the persistent wet catch. Was he crying? Not that he'd exactly blame the guy, after taking a little round trip tour of his subconscious.
Mulder blinked, as his thoughts slowly settled and realization sunk in. Whatever this was, he really *had* gotten a trip into Alex Krycek's head. He had the ability to actually see behind those lying eyes. And if earlier in the evening was anything to go by, Krycek was none the wiser. Krycek was vulnerable, and more than just physically. Mulder suddenly had an advantage in the ongoing battle between them. Krycek... had some sort of fixation on him. Obviously, was attracted to him. Apparently *that* hadn't been an act all those years ago. Mulder viciously stomped down the flash of relief and pleasure accompanying that thought. Nothing but a... strategic advantage. That was all. Nothing else.
Combing through the vivid impressions from the man's dreams, Mulder knew he should be enjoying this. Finally, to be handed some measure of power over the nemesis who haunted him, who slipped in and out of his life, wrecking havoc and fading back into the shadows. The decidedly *smoky* shadows. He should be planning how to exploit the weaknesses, exploit his own abilities and dig for information, find more chinks in the armor, more places to stick the knife and *twist*.
So why, instead, did he just want to crawl onto the bed, hold the ravaged body close in his arms and whisper soothing words?
::Natural human reaction to all that pain, dammit. It doesn't *mean* anything.::
Caught between the twin urgings to comfort and destroy, one as strong as the other, Mulder denied both and spent the rest of the endless night watching and listening as Krycek fought his terror and pain alone. Feeling curiously empty, paralyzed, *stuck*, he couldn't make himself act even to so much as smooth the blanket for Krycek.
Finally, near dawn, he fell into exhausted, restless sleep.
*****
Skinner awoke to pale dawn light glowing through the curtains and the sound of birds greeting the new day. He supposed he should be enjoying that. But his mouth tasted like the birds had been nesting in it, and all too soon he remembered what this day would bring. Or what he hoped it would bring. If Krycek was playing them false, he prayed for a chance to strangle the son of a bitch before he died.
At the moment he was still alive, Mulder hadn't wakened him to take over guard duty, and Scully's door was still closed, so he had to assume Krycek hadn't run amok during the night. On the way to the bathroom, he peered into the inner room. Krycek was a quilt-covered lump in the bed, his dark hair the only thing visible. Mulder sprawled in the armchair, snoring blissfully.
So much for guarding their prisoner. Skinner glared in irritation. So the man was sick, it didn't mean they could suddenly just lie down on the job. He was in their custody, for Christ's sake, they weren't just on sickroom watch in case he needed a drink of water.
He stood, debating whether it was worth waking Mulder for a dressing down for dereliction of duty. With a snort, he left Mulder sleeping and headed for the bathroom. As he quickly showered and shaved, he entertained himself by mentally replaying past scenes of trying to introduce his agent to the concepts of 'responsibility to his superiors' and 'following orders'. One of the more fruitless pursuits of his career.
Dressing in the quiet stillness of the cabin he found himself wondering how long it had been since he'd been on a vacation to a place like this. He counted back in his mind, and recalled fishing trips from years back, but nothing recent. The Gunmen had a nice place here. And somehow he would be willing to bet the beauty of the great outdoors was rather lost on them. Still grinning at the thought of the three of them in a fishing boat, he wandered into the kitchen. Having set up the coffeepot the night before, he switched it on and began heating water for oatmeal. Lost in thought, he was still mixing his cereal when Scully wandered sleepily into the kitchen.
"Good morning, sir." She brushed her hair back and stifled a yawn.
The huskiness of her morning voice stirred something in him. Keeping his face carefully bland, he lifted his head. "Good morning. Coffee's ready."
"Bless you."
She sat on a stool at the end of the counter, watching him eat and sipping her coffee.
Clearing his throat, he met her gaze. "Would you like some eggs, Agent Scully? Toast? Can I get you anything?"
"Oh no, I'll get it." She stood to put a slice of whole wheat bread in the toaster.
Skinner surreptitiously watched her moving. When she turned back to him, he offered quickly, "There's orange marmalade and strawberry preserves. Or, if you'd prefer, there are Pop Tarts."
"Pop Tarts? You're kidding." She looked from him to his oatmeal, as if something didn't add up.
He smiled. "No joke. Mulder insisted."
"Ah." She seemed to think that explained it, and went to the refrigerator to dig out the marmalade.
"Mulder and Krycek seem to have gotten through the night without killing each other. I looked in on them earlier. They were both asleep."
She nodded as she plucked her toast from the toaster. "They still were a few minutes ago. I'm glad. Krycek was exhausted. I'm hoping some real sleep will help keep him coherent. I just wish I knew more about what's happening to him, so that I could give him something to make him more comfortable. But I have no way of gauging what might cause an adverse reaction. I really want to thoroughly examine him and start taking samples as soon as possible."
Skinner cleared his throat again and pushed his oatmeal around in the bowl. "You seem to have gotten to know Krycek fairly well while you were together," he finally offered, trying for no inflection at all.
"I wouldn't say that. I don't really know anymore about him than we ever did, but I have had an excellent chance to observe his reactions under stress, in some pretty odd circumstances. You know, the kind where the 'real you' comes out? He's an interesting personality. He was often obviously afraid, but, except when he was out of control because of his illness, he showed a great deal of... well, courage under fire, shall we say."
Skinner didn't know if he should be relieved at her clinical, uninvolved tone of voice or not. She spoke about the man as if he was a psychological study, not someone she cared about. Except that she really did seem to have found something there to admire. And the calm indifference could be an attempt to conceal her true feelings from someone who would not sympathize with them.
"So, what is your opinion as to his trustworthiness? Can we trust him? Can *I* trust him? I am planning to put my life in his hands."
Scully looked at him with those calm blue eyes. "Well, I think we've been right in judging that he will act in his own best interests, and I think it *is* in his best interests right now for you to be freed of the nanocyte infection. Ergo, we can trust him in this specific set of circumstances. Besides, I don't believe you have much choice, to be honest. If Spender really does have that controlling device..."
He nodded as her voice fell away. No doubt about that. "I think you're right. Krycek told me what to expect when I take this neutralizer." At the lift of her eyebrow he continued. "He said I'd be pretty sick, almost like I had severe food poisoning or something, for about twenty four hours. Something about my system going into rejection mode."
"Sounds like I'll have another patient to look after. Let's hope Mulder manages to stay healthy for a while."
"No getting knocked on the head for a few days?"
"Think he can manage that? Although if he keeps tormenting Krycek like he's been doing, *I* may hit him with something myself." Her mouth twisted in a wry smile.
::Significant?:: Skinner wondered. Scully was joking, of course, but even to jokingly threaten violence to Mulder in defense of Krycek... He sighed. Jealousy was such an odd thing. Not that he had any right to be jealous. Dana Scully was a free woman. If she wanted to take up with a lying, traitorous, murdering rat-bastard... well, he had no claim on her, and couldn't really say anything except to suggest a modicum of professional concern. But the very thought of her with Krycek... granted, he was younger than Skinner, much better looking, he had hair. They'd look great together, all contrasting coloring and elegant prettiness. He could picture them embracing, her head tilted back as Krycek's lips crushed hers...
"Sir?"
"Hmmm...?" Skinner blinked, and looked over at Scully.
"You were off somewhere, and I don't think it was a nice place," Scully offered in a concerned voice.
"I... was thinking about this 'cure'. Maybe I shouldn't be eating... given the supposed effects." He dropped his half-finished bowl into the sink. His mental images of Scully with Alex Krycek had killed his appetite anyway.
*****
Mulder rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. It must be morning, since sunlight made a patch on the floor through the open doorway. He stretched, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. He could smell coffee and toast. His stomach growled and a thought struck - there were Pop Tarts in that kitchen. He sat up straighter. Skinner seemed to find that amusingly juvenile, but he couldn't care less. He liked Pop Tarts. Yawning, he ran his hands through his hair and heaved himself to his feet, intent on the bathroom.
A soft moan from the bed stopped him, and as he turned it was followed by another, louder and longer. Krycek shifted under his quilt, slowly uncurling until he lay flat, his right arm across his chest, clutching at his left shoulder. His eyes flickered open, but this time he looked right at Mulder, who could clearly read the pain and fear in his eyes. Stepping back to the bedside, Mulder touched his forehead automatically. His skin was hot and damp. Staring at that confused, wounded expression, Mulder found he couldn't just say nothing.
"Do you... want some water?"
The dry lips parted. "Mulder, I..." Suddenly he twisted sharply, his back arching, gurgling as he tried to stop a scream. As he moved, the quilt slid down, revealing his upper body. Mulder's gaze shifted immediately, helplessly, to that left shoulder...
*****
Scully poured herself and Skinner more coffee, answering his odd questions with some bemusement. "Well, I don't know that I ever exactly hated Krycek, sir. I've been extremely angry. Disgusted at times. I've always wanted to get some answers from him, and I've certainly been incredibly frustrated by his actions. But it's always been much more... personal for Mulder, I think. For me, Krycek has always been more of a symbol of the general culture of lawlessness this shadow government fosters. One of the best examples of how unaccountable they all are for their actions." She paused, and her lips quirked in a half smile. "Of course when I first met him I was jealous of him, illogical as that might be."
"Jealous? Why?" Skinner frowned.
"Because he was working with Mulder." She shrugged as if that should be obvious. "On an X File no less. And apparently offering an openness I never did. He seemed to be fitting right in. Mulder and I had just been split up and removed from the X Files. I was very unhappy about that, and I resented the way it was done. I don't blame you, sir. I know now that you were being coerced from higher up."
"By our friend with the nicotine habit, yes," Skinner nodded. "That bastard has a lot to answer for."
"Seems Krycek agrees with us on that." Scully sighed. "We have that much in common. Did you know that Spender tried to have Krycek assassinated, more than once?"
"I heard about the car bomb. That was right after our encounter in the hospital, so I can't say I was too broken up about his near incineration."
"Then there was-"
The strangled scream shattered their quiet conversation. Skinner's chair crashed backwards as he jumped to his feet. Scully chased after him and they had both cleared the kitchen doorway when they heard Mulder's frantic voice.
"Scully! Get in here, now!"
As they burst into the inner bedroom, they found Mulder leaning over the bed, pinning Krycek's right forearm, holding off the curling, grasping hand that looked as if it was trying to reach and rend something. Mulder's other hand gripped Krycek's neck and shoulder just at the base of his throat, holding him flat on the bed. Mulder looked up at Scully and Skinner, eyes wide with excitement and something else. "Look at this!" He jerked his chin toward the ruined upper arm.
Which had changed.
The burned scar tissue looked fresh and regenerated, smooth and filled out. The flesh at the very end of the stump was still raw, but oddly bloodless. And protruding from the end was a two-inch length of clean, new bone.
* * * CHEMICAL AGENTS PART THREE - VOLATILITY
Volatility: easily aroused, tending to erupt into violence
******
Voices surround me...
"Oh my God-"
"What in hell-"
"Mulder! Let go of him!"
"I can't!"
The words and reactions roll over me, just more confusion. I force my eyes open and stare up at the trio of stunned faces and refuse to let out the scream fighting its way up my burning throat. I already screamed in front of Mulder. No more.
His hands are surprisingly gentle... not hurting, not choking, just *holding*. Firmly. Keeping me still. Holding me down. Which would be fine except I can't stand being held down. But he's keeping me from touching that... growth. Just the thought of it has my stomach spasming and my throat tightening and panic rising. I whimper helplessly and try to clamp my lips on the sound. The feel of that *thing*... I close my eyes and my head thrashes against the pillow. I try to swallow back the bile churning in my throat. I can't breathe. Everything is still too close - the nightmares, the flashbacks, the pain, the choking fear. I can't feel the arm itself, I haven't even seen it, but my hand... my hand touched it... I *felt* it...
Am I even awake? Is this just round 32 in the never-ending dream cycle?
"Krycek! Come on, snap out of it! You're alright!"
"Mulder, let him go now! He's-"
"Agent Mulder, I think-"
"He was tearing at it! Gouging at himself!" I was? "I'm only trying to keep him still!" I can vouch for that. Mulder's handled me much more roughly in the past. If he were trying to hurt me, he would be. I must be awake. Mulder is never just trying to hold me still in my dreams or my nightmares.
A hand slaps my cheek lightly and I open my eyes again, ready to scream at Mulder, and instead see those blueblue eyes. Scully. She's come up on the other side of the bed. At the same instant I realize Mulder's hands are still clenched on me, so he couldn't have slapped me. Calm, cool and in control, Scully puts one hand on either side of my head and holds me still, staring straight at me. "Alex. Calm down. Please. Breathe for me."
I breathe obediently, without even wondering why her voice has such a calming effect on me. I'll worry about it later. Right now I can use some of that calm, even if it is borrowed.
"That's it. Breathe, slowly." Her cool fingers stroke my temples as I stop thrashing. Heaven on earth. "Are you all right now? Can Mulder let you up?"
"Yeah..." I can't believe my voice. I sound like a scared kid. Shit. I've gotta pull it together.
"Scully-"
"I see it, Mulder. Alex, can you relax your hand? Your right arm? Take a deep breath and relax it." Her hand moves from my face and I almost whimper again but then she's rubbing my right arm and I look to the right, towards Mulder, and realize that I'm still reaching. Independent of my brain, my hand is still flexing, grasping, trying to get to...
Oh fuck. I start to turn my head to look the other way but Scully is right there again, releasing my arm and catching my face, blocking me. "Not yet, Alex. I want you to relax your muscles first. We'll both look in a minute, okay? But you need to calm down a little. I can sedate you if I have to, but I don't want to."
Fuck no! I press my head back into the pillow, sucking in a deep breath and forcing my right arm to unclench. I let it drop to the bed at my side, and feel Mulder's hands slowly pull back and release me. Damn. In spite of the claustrophobia, that was sort of... nice. Fully awake now and processing everything that's happened since I came to, I force my entire body to release the tension coiling through me. I look up at Scully and try to project sanity. "I'm okay now," I manage, and wince at how shaky my voice sounds.
"Mulder, get him some water." She doesn't even look up from me, and I hear his footsteps as he immediately complies. I'm glad I'm not the only one her voice has that effect on. "I'm going to take a look at this now, okay, Alex?" Her voice is still too-careful, and I know she expects me to wig again. I nod and put all my strength into keeping my face completely neutral as Mulder comes up on the bedside. I take the glass from him and manage to get water all over myself as I try to drink without sitting up. At least some of it soothes my parched throat and takes the sour taste from my mouth, and I ignore the rest of it seeping into the pillow and the sheet around me. Scully is sitting on the bed next to me, and slowly, so slowly, her hands are reaching to touch-
I can't feel a thing. Surprised, I turn and look without thinking. I almost throw up the water. Jesus! What the fuck? Hands are holding me again, one across my chest and one catching my right wrist, and instinctively I know it's Mulder. I feel him drop onto the bed next to me, keeping me still by leaning his weight against me, and I can't even enjoy it. I'm dumbstruck just staring at the hideousness of my... my *arm*.
If it looked like hell before, it looks even worse now. At least before it was... understandable. It was an amputated arm. Scar tissue and ugliness and then nothing. Now though... it's like some kind of mutant freak show. The shoulder is smooth and the scars have literally disappeared. I flash on the disappearing scar on my leg but... shit. That was nothing compared to *this*. Below the entirely-too-healthy-looking shoulder, the flesh continues to extend, where it just *shouldn't*. Dead white, like frostbit toes or fingers. The tip of bone extending from the meat is particularly gruesome. That's what I touched. Looking hard at the flesh, there almost appears to be movement under the surface. As if tiny bugs move just under the skin. I think I'm really going to be sick. I've seen worse, a lot worse, but this is me.
And I slept through this?
"Unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable," Scully murmurs over and over as her hands cradle the stumpy growth. Insane is more like it. I can't tear my eyes away, even when Mulder's voice sounds right next to my ear.
"Breathe, Krycek. You're about to turn blue."
Scully looks up at me quickly. "Alex, this is no more than we were expecting. We talked about this happening."
"You did?"
Mulder sounds positively incensed, and I have to fight off a hysterical giggle. I don't do a very good job of it and they both look at me sharply when I make a sick little snorgling sound.
"We wondered about the bullet wound, reinjuring the shoulder," Scully addresses Mulder directly. "Looks like it took. Or maybe he's just so steeped in whatever they're giving him now that the arm is starting to regenerate anyway." Her eyes go back to the arm and she leans over, inspecting it all over again. "My God, this is so incredible!" She looks back up at Mulder, smiling in awe. "I'm watching it happen and I don't believe it!"
Mulder raises one eyebrow and settles back away from me again. I must have stopped looking like I was about to jump out of the bed and go running, screaming. Note to self: next time you want him to keep holding you, just keep struggling. He leans over me to peer at the arm, his own eyes taking on that fanatical gleam, a slight smile curling his lips. "We are going to be the hit of the next AMA convention."
"Hell, forget that," I snap sarcastically, glaring at him and trying to jerk back. "Let's just do the Jerry Springer Show and sell the story for a movie of the week." I look back to that poking bone and shudder.
Mulder gives me an odd look. "Krycek, you're getting your arm back." He sounds like he thought up the idea all on his own. "What's wrong with you? Why aren't you more excited about this?"
Because it's not *me*! something inside me shrieks. Because we don't know what the hell it is or what it's doing or what it might do tomorrow. Because I never asked to be a guinea pig. Because I know something about the beings they got this stuff from, and it's more than I want to know. Because I got tied down and they injected me with it and you of all people should remember how helpless that makes you feel. Because I don't want you to *look* at me like that. I don't want anyone to look at me like that, but most of all not you. Because it's not natural, it's not *right*, amputated limbs don't just *grow back*.
I can feel the panic and the revulsion rising and I chase it with anger. "Because I have no way of knowing what the result is going to be! Shit, you've seen some of the Consortium's cloning experiments. I could end up with tentacles or flippers or something before this is over."
Scully shakes her head from her bent, rapt position. "So far the growth looks perfectly normal," she offers, her fingers pressing very carefully up and down the arm. It's too weird, watching her fingers touch me, not feeling anything. Not even pain.
"It doesn't hurt. I can't feel it."
"None of it?"
"It doesn't hurt anymore. It hurt like hell all night and now it doesn't." I look at her helplessly. "I didn't feel it... happening. I was asleep. Well, sort of. I was dreaming but-" I glance sideways as Mulder suddenly rockets off the bed as if I burned him. He looks... strange. I'd swear he was embarrassed, his face flushing and his eyes darting everywhere but where I am. I waste a minute trying to figure out what he's about this time, then chalk it up to typical Mulderism and look back to Scully.
"You slept through this?" she asks, and I want to tell her I'm as stunned as she is.
"I was having really vivid dreams and I was in a lot of pain. But that's not unusual. I mean it hurts sometimes, and if I'm dreaming about... when it happened, it sometimes hurts like hell when I wake up. I had a really bad night, I remember hurting, but I must have been pretty out of it to not... not realize *that* was happening."
"You were."
The low, choked voice has both Scully and me turning, and Mulder seems to almost shrink under our attention. "I was-?"
"You were out of it," he mutters, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "You sure as hell weren't comfortable, and I thought you were waking up a couple times, but you didn't seem any too coherent."
I suddenly *really* don't like the realization that Fox Mulder sat there and watched me sleep all night. It's enough to make my skin crawl.
"You didn't notice either?" Scully asks him, her eyebrows reaching her hairline.
"He was all bundled up!" Mulder practically shouts, and I wonder again about his jumpiness. "He had that quilt practically tied around him and I couldn't see the arm."
Scully nods and shoots him one last odd look before returning her attention to me. "Well, I guess it's a good thing it doesn't hurt now."
"Is it?" I can't keep the dire note out of my voice as I stare at the truly creepy dead whiteness of my flesh. "What if it just stops here?"
Scully shakes her head, murmuring absently, "No, I don't think so. There's still activity. It's amazing... truly amazing." Suddenly she sits up straight and eyes me like a kid let loose in Godiva. "We need to do some tests. Get those tissue samples. As soon as possible." I shiver involuntarily.
"Pictures!! I didn't get pictures of the 'before'!" Losing his weird skittishness, Mulder is suddenly slapping his forehead, face pained. "Damn, this is happening faster than I expected. I can't believe I forgot to ask the guys about a camera last night. Maybe they have one around here somewhere. Maybe I can start documenting now." He's staring at my arm mournfully, and suddenly it's just too damn much for me.
"So *sorry*, Mulder," I bark, flinging myself backward and yanking the quilt back up around myself. "I'll just try and tell it to slow *down* until you have a chance to fucking *document* it."
He has the grace to look a little sheepish, before he draws himself up and scrambles for the high ground again. "Well, you promised us proof," he sputters.
"Can you all just get out," I grate. "We can play show and tell later." I keep the quilt cinched tight up to my throat, not giving a damn how it looks.
Scully makes an aborted reach, as if she's about to touch me, then her hand drops to the bedspread. "You're... alright now, Alex?"
"I'm fine." I lift my chin and dare any one of them to question it.
She shoots me a look that could almost be sympathetic as she gets off the bed and heads for the door, making a shooing gesture at Mulder as she moves. "I'm going to hold you to that promise of 'later'," she tosses over her shoulder, and though she's got a perfectly friendly look on her face, the even tone of her voice and the steady eyes tell me my hours are numbered. This will undoubtedly be the last time I'll be able to hold her off before she starts in on the doctor routine, no holds barred. Lovely thought.
Skinner stares at me wordlessly, then turns and helps Scully practically drag Mulder out of the room. As he pulls the door shut behind them, I stare at the ceiling and slowly, slowly, release my vice grip on the quilt. As I push it down again I count down from twenty, breathing in and out evenly. When I reach one, I steel myself and start over. Extending my hand, I let my fingers run over the strange, lumpy end of the stump, shivering as my fingertips brush bone. How in hell is it doing that? How can the bone be growing out beyond? I swallow hard and turn my head, forcing myself to examine this... mutation clinically. Calling on every reserve of strength, I touch and stare and choke back on my gag reflex until I've at least somewhat accustomed myself to the sight, the feel. The revulsion doesn't fade, but I can push it down, pack it away. I can deal.
I can deal.
I close my eyes and try to will myself to relax, knowing I need to calm a bit before getting up, before going out there and dealing with Skinner and Scully and Mulder again. Mulder. Shit. That look in his eyes, that excitement on his face...
I'm not one of your damn X-Files. I'm not. I won't let myself be.
I only wish I could believe anything I say where he's concerned.
*****
"-and if we can get a Polaroid too, because that way we don't have to rely on someone developing the film." Emerging from the bathroom, Mulder lowered his voice, no longer having to talk through the walls, and kept right on babbling. "Although actually the guys can certainly do that too I just don't know how portable everything is and I don't want to have to-"
"Mulder," Skinner held up one hand and rubbed his forehead with the other. "Enough. We'll figure out the camera thing."
"But did you see it?! Wasn't it amazing?! It's actually *regenerating*."
"It's unbelievable," Scully muttered for the countless time, playing absently with the buttons on the front of her pajama top. "Pure science fiction, and yet I'm standing here seeing it with my own eyes. Proof, Mulder! *Proof*." Her voice took on the hushed quality usually reserved for the devoutly religious referring to deities. "Scientific proof we can hold in our hands."
"Yes and since we all know what's happened every time we've said *those* words, let's not count our fluffy little flightless avians before they hatch, shall we?" Skinner muttered, shoving past them and back into the kitchen.
"Come on, sir, you have to admit this is better than we've ever had before," Mulder wheedled as he followed, holding the door for Scully.
Skinner sighed and nodded, leaning against the counter. "Yes, I know. It's just..."
"Just what?" Mulder prodded.
"It's... well, it's *Krycek*." Skinner spread his hands as if that explained everything. Which, in a way, it did. "I can't say I'm comfortable with anything involving him. I don't like making deals with him, I don't like relying on his word on anything, and I don't like the thought of 'proof' having anything to do with him."
"And you're not that comfortable putting your life in his hands," Mulder added softly.
The pause hung for a long moment, then Skinner shrugged. "That too," he agreed tonelessly. His agents stepped up, one to either side of him, and simply stood, a wordless show of support that warmed him. With an effort he shook off the mood and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Speaking of which, shouldn't your friends be getting here at some point?"
Mulder nodded. "Anytime now, I'm sure."
"Which means I *really* have to go get dressed," Scully said, rolling her eyes at the thought of Frohike's response if she answered the door in her pajamas.
"Shit!"
"Mulder?"
"I just remembered... dressed. We need to get him dressed." ::We definitely need to get him dressed.:: He bit his lip. "You're sure we can't just put him into whatever he had on when you guys got here?"
"No," Scully shook her head. "Not only do I think he'd rather stay naked, but they're also pretty much in tatters. And bloody."
"Well, we've got to get him into something!"
"Well, then why didn't you *bring* him something?" Scully said, exasperated.
"I was a little preoccupied worrying about *you*," Mulder snapped. "Outfitting Krycek wasn't really top on my list of things to remember in a crisis." The contrite look that crossed her face made him feel doubly guilty, knowing as he did that the only reason he was snapping was the weird thoughts of Krycek that *had* been preoccupying him, despite his best efforts. No, outfitting him wasn't one of them, but now that you mentioned it...
"I'm sorry, Mulder. I know this has been rough on all of us and-"
Mulder quickly raised a hand to stave her off, guilt forcing him to stop her apology. "Don't. I was worried sick, but you definitely had the roughest time here." He smiled suddenly. "If you'd been the one stuck at the FBI worrying, you would have not only managed to get me out of the Consortium's little lab single-handed, you would have remembered to bring Krycek clothes, underwear and a toothbrush."
Scully laughed. "I'm not invincible. I just pretend to be."
Skinner snorted. "He's right. You would have."
Scully shot him an exasperated look and shook her head, but her cheeks colored a bit and Mulder could see she was pleased. She turned and busied herself with picking up her abandoned coffee cup from the table and refilling it. "Stop it, both of you. And besides, I'd definitely say Krycek has had the roughest time here, not me. I was just kidnapped. He got me out before they could do to me what they did to him."
Mulder shot Skinner a meaningful look, and intercepted a meaningful look coming right back at him from his boss. They both raised their eyebrows, and then quickly tried to school their expressions as Scully turned back around.
"All of which gets us no closer to getting him dressed," she sighed into her coffee cup. "We've all noticed the way he drags that blanket around. I think it goes without saying that as much as we'd like him covered, he'd like to *be* covered."
Mulder paused and stared unfocused at the ceiling for a moment. "That could be one good reason to leave him uncovered," he murmured.
"Excuse me?" The two voices blended perfectly and he almost laughed at the looks on their faces. Then he realized how his comment must have sounded.
"No, wait, hear me out. Yes, we give him clothes. I want him to have clothes." ::Believe me, I want him to have clothes.:: Mulder bit his tongue and continued on a safer angle. "But we've agreed that he's off balance and we should use that. I'd say his vulnerability in this situation is definitely playing into that unbalance. And I say we use every tool at our disposal. Give him clothes, but keep him in something that won't make him feel a whole lot more secure. Like... I don't know. A t-shirt and shorts. And it helps address the restraint issue. We can't keep him locked up? Okay, so we make sure he's in no condition to even think about leaving. This may be the south but it is January out there and we're in the middle of nowhere. He's not going to be going anywhere in a pair of shorts."
Skinner and Scully glanced at each other and nodded thoughtfully. "Works for me," Skinner shrugged.
"So you've got something he can wear?" asked Mulder.
"Me? Why *me*?" Skinner asked, surprised to hear the plaintive note in his own voice. But dressing the bastard? Somehow it didn't seem fair.
"Well, I suppose we can see if Scully's got anything," Mulder drawled with a perfectly straight face, "but I think her stuff might be a little tight." Two faces swung toward him, and he grinned when both broke into snickers simultaneously.
Behind them the door swung open and Krycek limped into the kitchen, his quilt shushing unevenly against the floor as he moved. All three government officials jerked guiltily and went conspicuously silent, eyes moving to Alex and then hastily away as a bit of foot shuffling commenced.
Krycek stopped and stared suspiciously at the three of them. "What the hell's up with you?" he finally rasped.
"Nothing," Mulder said quickly. "Just... ah... talking about getting you something to wear."
Krycek continued to stare around at the trio, then finally shook his head and made his way over to the kitchen counter. "And they say I can't be trusted," he muttered. "If you three want to make fun of me, you can do it to my face. There isn't much I haven't heard."
Scully's head lifted. "No, it wasn't..." She stopped, and Mulder saw her wince, almost as if catching herself for worrying about Alex's feelings. "How are you doing?" she rephrased.
"Hungry," Krycek said shortly from the counter, trying to open a cupboard and keep the quilt on at the same time.
"Hey, that's a good sign." Scully stepped over and opened the cupboard. "What sounds good... let's see..." "Hey! Pop Tarts!" Alex's voice lit up and his hand reached for the box.
"NO!" Mulder reached easily over Scully's head and grabbed them before Alex's fingers could close. Krycek gave him an incredulous look. "Those are mine," Mulder said lamely. "There aren't that many in a box. We don't know how long we're going to be here."
Scully tilted her head and gave Mulder a look. Then turned to Alex. "Sorry Alex, but I really don't think sugar and fat and fake fruit filling are exactly what you need right now. How about some toast?"
Still looking blankly at Mulder, Krycek seemed to shake himself and refocus on her. "Yeah, okay. Whatever." He limped to the kitchen table and sat heavily.
"I'll get it, Scully. You go get dressed." Mulder plucked the bread out of her hands sheepishly. She mouthed 'be nice' at him sternly and left the room.
Skinner spent a moment glancing between an expressionless Krycek, sitting at the table staring off into space, and Mulder fumbling at the toaster. He noticed, almost against his will, that a night's sleep hadn't done much for the younger man. Of course, given what that night of sleep had produced, maybe it wasn't all that surprising. His eyes strayed toward the lump under the left side of the quilt. Unsettling, to say the least.
He wondered how Krycek felt, with something alien spreading through his body. A sharp twist of vengeful satisfaction went through him, and his mouth curled in an unpleasant smile. Raising his eyes, he unexpectedly met a haunted green gaze. Struck by the difference between Krycek's eyes now and the last time he'd interacted with him, the smile melted away. Comparing the amused, controlled ice of before with these wounded black holes, Skinner blinked and was surprised to note that the rest of the face held the same tight indifference it had always pulled off so well. ::Nice try, boy, but you're cracking and we all know it.:: Whether Krycek read the thought on his face, or just didn't like the look in Skinner's eyes, the heavy lashes abruptly lowered like a veil and Skinner pushed away from the counter. "I'll go dig up something for him to wear."
"Okay," Mulder tossed over his shoulder as he dropped toast on a plate and brought it to Krycek at the table. "Juice?"
"Yes."
"Kind?"
"I don't care."
Mulder shrugged and served him the same orange juice he was getting for himself. "Coffee?"
"Yes."
"Sugar?"
"Black."
Dropping into the chair across from Krycek, he watched the one hand snake out of the quilt carefully and move between the toast and drinks. Sipping at his own coffee, he tried to think how best to phrase the question. Finally he remembered that, being Fox Mulder, no one expected him to be subtle or polite. "Do you remember your dreams?"
"Why?" The dark brows pulled down suspiciously, and all movement froze.
"Just curious," Mulder offered innocently. "You mentioned you were having vivid dreams. And you definitely seemed to be."
Krycek's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Blinking, Mulder pasted on his best butter-wouldn't-melt look. "You know. You seemed pretty... restless. Talking in your sleep." He almost smirked openly at the way Krycek's mouth tightened. His adversary was definitely in no condition to be playing bluffing games.
The pause lengthened and stretched, before Krycek finally broke. "Did I... say something in particular?"
Mulder waited a few beats, pretending to think, before letting the other shoe drop. "Not really. You weren't very coherent. I was just wondering if you usually remember your dreams well."
"Parts of them," Krycek spoke cautiously, eyes searching Mulder's face for what he was really after. "Some of them are... hard to forget."
Mulder nodded absently and drank his coffee. "I can imagine."
*****
"You've got to be kidding." I stare at the pile of cloth Skinner drops on the table. The very small pile.
"Talk to him about it." Skinner jerks a thumb at Mulder.
Mulder just gives me that innocent look he's been flashing all morning. The one that's really getting on my last nerve. "We figured you'd want something to wear, Krycek."
"I do. I want *clothes*. Not...," I poke the pile... a t-shirt and a battered pair of blue gym shorts. "Not underwear."
"Well, as it happens, we forgot to bring clothes for you. So that's what you get. And it's not underwear."
I give him a look that's had killers quaking in their boots. He grins at me. New experience for me - I've never actually wanted to simultaneously put someone's face through a table and kiss him breathless. I'd really like to know why in hell the powers that be decided he should be so fucking *cute* with that grin on his face. And I am in such bad shape if I'm even letting myself think that. I force my attention back to the issue at hand in an effort to ignore the melting feeling in my gut. "I assume you remembered clothes for *yourselves*. Why can't you give me something else. Something that actually qualifies as clothing."
"Be thankful, Krycek," Skinner doesn't bother to turn around from drawing water in the sink. "This is a compromise. We agreed not to lock you up, but that doesn't mean we want to outfit you for the great outdoors. It's either this, or the leg irons and a lock on the bedroom door."
I groan and roll my head back. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not going anywhere? I *want* to be here, remember? I'm the one that asked for protection for fuck's sake."
"Yes, well. You are, after all, you," Skinner tosses off casually, still paying more attention to his breakfast dishes. I glare at his back while Mulder snickers.
I pick up the shorts and stare at them in distaste. So okay, something is better than nothing, but this is ridiculous. Prodding the thin t-shirt underneath them, I notice with a wave of relief it's long-sleeved. It's a courtesy I wouldn't have expected of the old bastard, and I almost want to thank him. But this is Skinner we're talking about, and I do have an image, sandblasted though it may be at the moment. I stand up, gripping the table as the room sways just a tad, and pick up the clothes. "Can I at least have socks," I crack sarcastically as I leave.
"Sure thing," Mulder calls cheerfully. Just as the door swings shut behind me I hear Skinner's voice rumbling "*you* can give him *your* socks". Muttering under my breath I limp my way back to the bedroom and drop the quilt, tossing the clothes on the bed. Scrubbing my hand through my hair I debate hitting the shower before getting 'dressed', but then recall seeing the door to the bathroom closed. Scully. Oh well, maybe later.
I wouldn't mind a hot bath, actually. Maybe that would ease the aches in the legs a little. It's such a relief not having the arm hurting... until I remember why it's not hurting. Glancing at it briefly I reach for the t-shirt and struggle into that first. Get the damn thing out of sight. The shirt is big on me, but it's something. It's nice, really. Soft and warm and clean and best of all, not clinic-issue. It's beige, a warmer color than the starkness of the white clinic uniforms. Reaching for the shorts I realize I've knocked them off the bed with my hasty grab for the shirt. Considering how dizzy I've been, bending over could easily send me right down on my head. With a tired groan I catch hold of the side of the bed and ease myself down onto my knees, then lean forward to grab them.
Which of course is when Mulder walks in.
"Hey Kry-whoa!"
Why me? I immediately sit up, dropping my ass down onto my heels, and glare at him over my shoulder. My legs protest the weight and I work myself around until I'm sitting facing him. Let him think what he wants, I'm not standing up. What is it about this situation that is bound and determined to get me naked in front of Mulder and Scully?
"What do you want now?" I grit out, unable to prevent myself from dropping the shorts into my lap.
"Sorry." Mulder looks more amused than apologetic as he shakes a pair of socks at me. "Didn't you want socks?"
"Thank you. Get out."
He tosses me the socks and leans against the doorjamb. "Hey, Krycek, you need a-" Simultaneously the sounds of a vehicle and Skinner's voice calling interrupt whatever smartass remark he was working up to. "Whoops, love to stay and chat, but that sounds like the guys."
At least he closes the door on his way out.
*****
Mulder bounced back out into the living room, grinning. A rattled Krycek made such a fun toy. The fact that the image of his round, bare ass lingered disturbingly on Mulder's retinas could be ignored. Mostly. Sort of. "Is that the guys?"
"I'd say so," Skinner returned in a dubious voice, peering through the curtains. "Mulder, are you *sure* about-"
"Trust me," he tossed off, heading straight for the door, turning off the alarm and flinging the door wide. "Alright, get your asses in here!"
Behind him, Skinner shook his head, a concerned frown wrinkling his forehead. He caught sight of Scully moving into the room, smiling in a way that told him she'd heard their exchange. He raised an eyebrow at her silently, and caught his breath at the way her smile widened into one of those genuine grins that seemed to light her face from the inside out.
Beautiful.
He got himself back on track with a touch of panic as she moved up close to him and dropped her voice. "Sir, they've been involved many times before. You know they take the risks in stride, and in this case, I really do think we're limited as to whom we can trust. You know I wouldn't take unnecessary risks with civilian lives, or involve people in this that I didn't believe needed to be involved. They *are* our best option."
Releasing a frustrated sigh, he nodded. "I trust *your* judgement, Agent Scully," he finally muttered, the emphasis making it clear that no matter how brilliant they all knew Mulder was, he had reason to doubt Mulder's take on any given situation. "I don't have to particularly like it."
"No," she mused, watching the Gunmen pile through the door, surrounding Mulder like puppies battling for his attention. "I can't say I particularly like anything about this situation."
He made a quiet sound of agreement and watched wordlessly as she walked over and touched Byers' arm, greeting the three with honest pleasure.
"You guys are *set*," Langly crowed, nodding to Scully. "You are now officially 'in Califonia on a case'." He stretched out his arms. "Hold the applause, just throw money..."
"Ahem, what exactly are we paying for?" Scully asked wryly.
"Check this out," Frohike cut in, eagerly sidling up to Scully and opening a manila folder. He handed off a stapled set of papers to Scully, then one to Mulder. "You two have been assigned to investigate a series of disappearances around Los Angeles. Friends and coworkers state that right before each individual disappeared, they exhibited a sudden, intense interest in cattle mutilations and crop circles. It's the only link between the victims that has been established."
"Really?" Mulder's gaze sharpened with interest as he perused the papers. "No other connection? What form did this sudden interest take?"
Four pairs of eyes shifted and stared at him. Skinner rubbed his face and sighed. "Mulder. I believe they created the case."
"Oh. Right." Mulder flushed and shrugged. "I guess it wouldn't make sense to assign us to a real case if we weren't actually going to be showing up..."
"And that's the best part!" Langly jumped in again. "You already 'showed up', as of today January 27, just as the itinerary shows, and you'll be filing regular reports. We've got it all laid out... false reports will go in to *his* secretary," he pointed at Skinner, "and periodic charges from LA will appear on your Amex, Mulder. It's the perfect set up."
"Very inspired, guys," Mulder grinned around at them.
"I'll say," Scully murmured, looking up from the pages. "This is incredible. I think this will do exactly what we need it to do."
"Whoa, whoa, *wait* a minute." Skinner shook his head. "Spender *knows* you two aren't in LA. What's the point? And Kim is getting the reports? I didn't tell her to expect that."
"Spender may know we aren't in LA, but what's he going to do about it?" Scully asked, turning to Skinner. "He doesn't know *where* we are. My 'disappearance' has been closed. You're officially on medical leave. Mulder and I getting sent on a sudden assignment in California covers us for the Bureau, and you of all people know how Spender functions, sir. He won't be making all sorts of noise at the Bureau that we aren't where we're supposed to be, because then it just draws more attention to what his big interest is in suddenly finding us. Right about now I'd assume he'll be wanting it kept pretty quiet that he doesn't know where we are, or that he might be wanting to find us. I'm still wondering how many of his cronies knew he had me in that facility, and if they knew he was planning to get Mulder there next. And if they did know, if they now know he doesn't know where we are."
"And actually, Assistant Director, sir," Byers started hesitantly, "you, ah, *did* tell Miss Cook to expect those reports. You... ahem... sent her an email. She replied in the affirmative and said she hoped you were feeling better." He offered a weak smile at Skinner's outraged expression.
"You're telling me you... you've been in the FBI computer system... you've got these two *assigned* to the LA office? You've been in my EMAIL?!"
"Hey, chill, it was for an important cause, right?" Langly shrugged. "Mulder said he and Scully needed to legitimately disappear for awhile. So we rigged it."
"But- how-" Skinner finally stopped sputtering and sucked in a breath, wondering if his face was as purple as it felt. Releasing the breath and counting to ten silently, he started over, speaking slowly and precisely. "Do you gentlemen even *want* to know how many laws you've broken in just what you've described in the last-" he consulted his watch "-three minutes and 45 seconds?"
"Not really," Frohike answered, still staring only at Scully. "It's a good job, eh?"
"Excellent," she nodded. "I'm duly impressed. I'll start throwing money any moment now."
He smiled and ducked his head. "No, no, the applause really is more than enough. We just wanted to do our best to keep you guys safe." He reached out and brushed her arm hesitantly. "We were real glad to hear you were okay."
Skinner groaned and pushed his glasses farther up on the bridge of his nose. "So can you guys at least tell me that hacking into the *federal government's* computers was a little *challenging*?" he snapped sarcastically.
Langly snorted and opened his mouth, only to exhale with an 'ooof' as Byers elbowed him in the stomach, giving him a sharp look. "Uh yes. Sir." Byers spoke rapidly, nodding, though he wouldn't quite make eye contact.
"Sure," Langly muttered. "So hey guys, if you want to come downstairs, I can set you up and show you how to send those reports to the lovely Ms. Kim yourself if you felt like it. You don't have to worry about them being traceable. We'll be bouncing you off LA anyway."
"Downstairs?" Mulder and Scully chorused together. They glanced at each other then back to the Gunmen. "There's a downstairs?" Mulder clarified.
"Of course," Langly looked between the two of them. "Well *duh* people, do *you* see any computer equipment up here?"
Mulder blinked. "A very good point that I should have thought of myself. So you keep it all downstairs."
"I thought..." Scully trailed off, pointing to the small room that led off the far side of the living room.
"Oh please," Byers laughed. "That's the entertainment room. The computer in there is hardly what you'd call a *computer*. It's just a fun machine. That's just for if one of us wants to play a game while watching the television, or use the DVD capabilities to watch a movie, listen to a CD, that sort of thing."
"Ahh," Scully nodded.
"The real stuff is downstairs. Right this way." Strutting across the room, Langly stopped in front of a small closet door set in between the kitchen and the second bedroom. Swinging it open with a flourish, he grinned at Mulder and Scully's dubious expressions as they stared at two mops, an ancient vacuum cleaner and assorted junk. Kicking the vacuum cleaner out of the way, Langly reached in and moved aside a wooden panel that looked like the back of the closet. A locked door stood behind it. He carefully opened it, ducked into the closet and through the opening. A light came on, illumination spilling back out into the tiny closet.
"I do not believe this," Scully murmured under her breath in a low monotone. Mulder shot her an amused look and followed Byers as he ducked after Langly. Scully turned to Skinner who stood silently, still shaking his head. "Sir?"
"I don't think I even want to know, Agent Scully. I'll stay up here and... keep an eye on things." He waved vaguely in the direction of the small bedroom.
"Alright then," she gave him a look that said she'd just as soon stay and keep him company, then followed Frohike into the closet. Immediately through the door a set of stairs led down and to the right, curling back around to dump them out into an underground basement space that opened out into one large room running the length and width of the entire upstairs. Mulder and Langly were already bent over a computer. She let Frohike walk her the length of the basement, stepping around the structure supports at various intervals, listening with half an ear as he identified the equipment they kept underground. With the rest of her attention she racked up a loose estimate of the amount of money sitting in this place. She touched one of the computers and shook her head. "This *cannot* be cheap. To just leave this stuff here, unused?"
"It's a necessary safety net," came a voice behind her, and she jumped, not having realized Byers had walked up behind them. "And really, it's equipment that we've updated back at the headquarters. As we update we rotate the stuff out here. If we ever needed to... deploy this base, we'd bring along the basics with us that we'd need to get everything up to the standard we're used to."
Scully stared at the soft-spoken, normal-looking young man blinking seriously back at her and knew he wholeheartedly believed that they might need to "deploy" this "base" at any given time. A sudden thought flashed through her mind that if these three were stockpiling guns and canned food, rather than computers, she'd be very unlikely to be standing in their basement unless she was wearing a flak jacket and doing a raid for the FBI. Then she considered all they'd seen and learned about the conspiracy, and she sighed. Couldn't really fault them, when it came right down to it. Still... "Well, you guys seem to have thought of everything, and actually this space will be great to use for my purposes. That is if you managed to get me some equipment?"
"At your service," Frohike assured with a devil's grin. "Let's go back upstairs and get it unloaded."
Heading back for the stairs, Scully lagged enough to catch Mulder's attention and raise an eyebrow at him. He leaned closer and whispered, "Just think of it like their version of an IRA, Scully. It'll be easier on your brain that way."
*****
Grumbling, I stuff my feet into Mulder's socks and yank on Skinner's shorts, then start the arduous process of getting to my knees, then my feet. After tugging up the shorts, which are too damn big and hang on me, I have to sit down on the bed again. I spend way too long trying to figure out if I want to tie up the loose sleeve, tuck it in the waistband of the shorts, or just let it hang. Finally I just let it hang and start shuffling... slowly... for the door. By the time I make it out to the main room, I walk into a clamoring madhouse.
"-trying to tell him we didn't have room but like he'd listen-"
"-weren't followed, I can assure you of that-"
"-telling me you actually got a *portable* xray machine into that van? You guys are nuts. Do I want to know-"
"-tell us what's going on? I mean I know it's hush-hush but we might be able to-"
"-definitely need your help on a few other-"
I stare at the motley crew babbling away at each other. Apparently all parties understand what's being said all around, which is more than I can say for me. Skinner stands in amongst them looking dire as Mulder rattles on about needing help with something. The honorable AD must still be worried about involving "civilians". Seeing the pile of equipment sitting inside the front door, I'm inclined to agree with Mulder's assessment, that these guys shouldn't necessarily be considered civilians.
Scully converses excitedly with a pseudo bank-teller, whose name I seem to recall sounds like some brand of ice cream, as she roots through a box with him. I start sizing each of them up. Who to use. Bank-Teller-Boy looks nicely intimidatable. Looks like he's got a brain in his head too. Of course the blonde would fit right in where I've got to send them, and logic says they all have brains in their heads. I bite my lip and hope to hell Mulder is sure about these guys.
As I contemplate my options, I suddenly become aware that one by one voices are falling silent, until the whole room is quiet. The three Mulder-teers are staring at me with identical looks of shock and... dare I say? horror. I almost laugh, but hold it in and scowl menacingly.
There we go, Alex. Think intimidating thoughts.
"HIM?" The black fingerless gloves make the hand pointing at me particularly funny. Eyes behind thick glasses bulge as short legs stride toward me. "HIM? You brought *him* to our top secret lair? Skinner... okay. I'm not thrilled about the FBI being here, but I understand difficult circumstances and you said Agent Scully's life was in danger. But *him*? ALEX KRYCEK? You brought ALEX KRYCEK to our top secret hideout?" He spins around and fixes a shocked glare on Mulder, and I get to watch his ponytail bounce.
"Now I told you guys up front that this was dangerous business and you said-"
"Do you have *any* idea how much we have invested in this place? And now what??! We'll never be able to use it now that *he* knows where it is! Now the shadow government will know! What the hell good is a top secret lair if the shadow government knows where it is??!"
"Relax," I drawl before Mulder can speak up. "I don't work for the shadow government anymore. I'm shadowless these days."
Scully steps forward and interrupts me. "He's turning evidence, and besides, he was totally out of it yesterday. I drove us here. I'm the one who knows where we are. We haven't even told him what state we're in."
That seems to do the trick. Frohike turns and looks at me again, eyes flashing. I smile and waggle my eyebrows at him. His teeth clench and he steps closer to me again. I can't resist. "Gonna bite me on the ankle?" I ask softly. A red flush sweeps over his face and his hands ball into fists. "You'd like that, wouldn't you," he sneers. I grin. I do believe I've made my decision. "You'll do," I murmur, looking him up and down.
He blinks at me in confusion and I chill my expression to perfect ice. "We need you all to run a little errand for us, and one of you needs to run a little further than the rest. I think you're the boy for the job."
He turns and looks to Mulder, who gives him an encouraging nod and outlines the situation with Skinner's health, and the part we need them to play.
"A cure?" Bank-Teller-Boy says breathlessly.
"A neutralizer," I respond shortly. Standing up unassisted this long, without even a wall to lean on, is starting to get to me. I don't want to start weaving in front of them, so I turn and head back for my room. "Frohike. In here. With me. *Alone*." I can hear them immediately start in behind me, hissing whispers and low murmurs, but I'd really like to sit down about now, so I ignore it all and make my way back to the bed. Sitting on the edge, I close my eyes and try to breathe slow and steady. The numbness that is my left arm feels odd... like when the dentist shoots you up with novocaine before drilling.
What a pleasant thought.
A scuffling at the door brings my head around, and Frohike eases through, looking somewhat less blustery than he did in the main room. I rise slowly to my feet, trying unsuccessfully to forestall the wave of dizziness. When my head clears Mulder is standing at his left shoulder, giving me a baleful look.
"Out, Mulder. You know the rules. I talk to *one* person, alone."
"I'm just here to tell you not to try any cheap tricks, and to not threaten him in any way."
I smile sweetly. "Got it. Get out."
"Geeze, Krycek, the way you keep throwing me out of your bedroom it's like you don't want me around or something."
"Fancy that," I drawl, then wait for him to leave before turning my attention on Frohike. "Now then. We have business." He lifts his chin and gives me a steady look, but I've seen and smelled enough fear in my life to know he's shaking. I let a very slow smile curl my lips and stare down at him coldly. "You can bring your little friends to a certain point, then you go alone. Got paper?" He produces a small pad and a pen from somewhere. I rattle off the address of a parking garage within walking distance of the neutralizer. "Your friends can drive you, and sit in the garage. Now take this down and follow it exactly. It's a route that'll give you plenty of time to tell if someone's following you." Running him carefully through a round-about walk to my best-kept stash, I can't help a skin-crawling feeling at the very thought of telling anyone this information. I shake it off, knowing I don't have a choice but still not liking it. His jaw drops when he realizes where I'm walking him.
"That's a *library*!" he exclaims, scandalized, as if the thought of using a public library for my nefarious purposes has somehow forever besmirched that fine institution. I roll my eyes.
"I'm not asking you to deface the stone lions. It's actually quite safe, it's a temperature controlled environment, and ensures easy access," I toss off, then go on to describe which floor, which room, and the way to find and open the hollow shelf. "A vial, and a key. You're now halfway done."
He gawks at me. I smile innocently.
"Crosstown there's a bus-station with lockers," I give him the full run-down, locker number and easiest time to get in unnoticed, then step closer to tower over him. Fun time. As he cranes his neck back to look up at me, I let the full steel of my very best "don't even think of fucking with me" look rise to the fore, and drop my voice to a growl. "After you have the first vial, and the key, give it to the bank-teller out there, and make sure he and Blondie don't take their eyes off it while you're getting to the locker. Once you have both vials, don't even think of opening them, mixing them, dropping them, or even *breathing* heavy on them. Got it? Keep them cool, keep them intact, and get them *here* as fast as you safely can." I let my hand fall heavily on his shoulder, and lower my voice to a soft, even whisper. "And Frohike, let's be *very* clear about a couple things. You do not touch anything in either stash, *except* the vials and the key. You don't read, you don't take, you don't touch, you don't photograph, you don't memorize, you don't even *look* too hard." I let my fingers tighten. "Or bad things might happen."
He holds my stare, then slowly lets his eyes drop over me, taking in my ragged appearance, the slight sway in my stance, the missing arm, my state of dress. His eyes linger on the sagging gym shorts, and a half smile twitches his lips. "Bad things?"
I want to smack him one, but I can't really afford to piss off Mulder by beating up on his pets. Yet. And besides, the way my balance is right now, if I hit him, I'd probably be the one that ended up on my ass. Has to be threats. I settle for shifting my hand to his throat and letting my thumb press in. Hard. "Yeah. Bad things. Trust me, little man, you do *not* want to cross me." And if we don't end this fast, I'm going to throw up on your shoes, which will really impress you with my dangerousness. I release him and step back, trying to lower myself onto the bed casually. He lifts one hand to rub at his throat, eyeing me suspiciously.
"And how do I know you're not setting me up?"
"Because neutralizing Skinner is suddenly in my best interest," I quote sarcastically. "So the sooner the better. Why don't you boys get on the road." I stand up to usher him back out to the main room, and am gratified by the way he takes a hurried step backward. So, I haven't completely lost my touch. I follow him out as he scuttles back to his friends who are sipping coffee and munching on... Pop Tarts.
That bastard.
I thunk down into a chair and glare at Bank-Teller-Boy and the crumbs in his beard. He gets nervous enough to shove down the last of what should have been my breakfast, and gets to his feet. "We should be going then?" he asks Mulder. "You did say time is of the essence."
"Yeah guys, as quickly as you can without arousing suspicion, okay?"
Shit. I almost forgot. I look up at him and lift one hand. "And don't go skulking around," I order flatly. "Act like you know what you're doing, where you're going, and you'll be fine. Nobody should be watching these places, but the quickest way to attract attention is to look like you're doing something you shouldn't be. If anybody says anything to you, play dumb. If it looks like anyone is following you, just abort. The kind of people who might know anything about what you're doing are the kind of people you *really* don't want to run into." I release him with my eyes, and settle my head on the back of my chair, watching through my lashes as the three of them stare at me.
"Right then," Bank-Teller-Boy says hurriedly, reaching for his coat and heading for the door. "Agent Scully, Assistant Director. Good to see you both. We'll... be back." The blonde trots after him with a silent look in my direction and a "later dude" to Mulder. Frohike follows more slowly, and pauses by my chair. Then he glances over at Mulder and speaks. "You can count on us."
I hope so.
They troop to the door and fiddle with the alarm keypad, then go out. As the door closes, Mulder whirls on me. "You're not going to get my friends killed are you?"
I shrug nonchalantly. "You're the one who wanted the neutralizer," I toss off casually. "It's not my fault I can't go get it myself right now. You recommended them."
He stalks to me and leans over my chair. I can feel his breath on my face. "What are the chances they're going to be in danger?" he growls. I feel a frisson of arousal shoot through me. I love it when he gets like this, all dark and dangerous and tough-guy. I always bring out the best in him.
If only I had the energy to deal with it today.
I give him a half-shrug and answer as honestly as I can. "To my knowledge, they should be perfectly fine. I've had no information that either of the places they're going are being watched, or are even known about. And they'll certainly draw less attention going to them than I would. But I don't know everything, Mulder. You just think I do."
He opens his mouth to respond, eyes snapping, when suddenly Scully is tugging on his arm. "Mulder, why don't you go see them off." He straightens reluctantly, but goes without another word. She glances down at me. "Okay, Alex. As soon as I get the equipment organized, we'll get to work."
Why did I know she was going to say that.
*****
Mulder watched the car vanish over the horizon, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Things were finally beginning to happen, action was being taken, even if he had to stay behind and wait patiently. He didn't do waiting patiently at all well. He needed something to keep his mind busy.
Skinner leaned against the rail at the other end of the porch, staring intently off into the trees. While the subject of Krycek playing Big Bad Thug in shorts and a security blanket would have made fun conversation, his boss obviously wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Mulder wandered back inside to the kitchen and poured himself some coffee. He seemed to recall something to the effect that it was his turn to do the dishes, so he hurried out before Scully could catch him. Then he remembered that she was down in the secret lab, setting up her equipment. He supposed he could go help, maybe break a few test tubes and get thrown out.
He was about to start looking for the tv remote when he noticed Krycek at the living room window, one knee on the window seat, gazing out past the porch to the front drive. His eyes skimmed over the exposed long legs - muscles flexing beneath the pale skin, skin unmarked by bruises that had already disappeared. Legs that Scully claimed had been repeatedly broken and mangled by mad scientists while Krycek screamed his fury and pain.
Mulder shook his head, veering away from thoughts of Krycek in helpless agony. That just brought too many conflicting feelings boiling to the surface of his mind. It was safer to primly observe that Krycek shouldn't be standing right where anyone could see him. Not that there was anyone around for miles but...
His eyes narrowed as he realized he'd just found something to do.
"Hey, Krycek, grown any scales or feathers or tentacles yet?"
He got an icy sneer, emerald eyes gazing down the adorable nose... ridiculous nose. Yeah, ridiculous, that was it. No grown man should have a nose that cute and kissable. Crushing that line of thought, Mulder slumped on the far end of the seat, trying to see what the frustratingly silent son of a bitch was looking at.
Trees. Lots of trees. A few birds poked about on the bare ground, looking for munchies. Mulder supposed it was pretty in a Hallmark sort of way. He didn't figure Krycek for a nature lover, though. Then again, he'd never been able to figure the guy at all. He had a mental profile for every one of Alex Krycek's personas, and none of them gave him that emotional *click* that meant he'd nailed his target. He could create an intimate analysis of a serial killer he'd never met, but this man, who so affected his life, he just could not understand. Of course, he suddenly had a new advantage...
Suddenly Krycek turned from the window, hefted himself out of the seat, and started pacing across the room, back and forth, movements slow and unsteady. Just as he had the previous night in his bedroom. Mulder watched him for a few minutes, and for no particular reason reflected on how small the average prison cell measured. Krycek would go nuts locked up.
Watching Krycek move over and over the same patch of floor would have been hypnotic if it didn't have the side effect of making him wince. Mulder had to wonder why he kept moving when he didn't look any too comfortable with it. Again, shades of the previous night. He really looked like he ought to sit back down. Fast.
Shifting against the window seat, he sighed silently. In the antsy mood crawling through him, even watching Krycek brood got boring quickly. Just as he thought he was going to have to go find the tv remote after all, Scully appeared out of the closet with a stethoscope hung around her neck, her hair slicked back into a severe tail. Mulder grinned at her fondly. He'd never told her how very turned on he got at the sight of her looking so sterile and efficient.
"Alex, give me about ten minutes and I'll be ready for you," she told him. "And Mulder, don't forget it's your turn to do the dishes." She added quietly, "Can I trust you to behave yourself?"
"I'll play nice, I promise."
Scully gave him a small, encouraging smile. Heading back to the kitchen, she paused to grab two bottles of distilled water, then disappeared back into the closet and down the stairs.
As the door closed on her, he shifted his attention back to his quarry. Krycek ignored him. Mulder watched in silence for another little while, reminded of a panther in a cage at a zoo - all pent-up energy and subdued resentful snarls, the constant tense movement broadcasting the potential for violence.
Then on his next turn back toward the window, Krycek finally met his eyes. The dark head stayed partially lowered, just a soft glimmer of green visible through thick lashes. Another glimmer of green - and purple - colored his cheekbone, compliments of Mulder's fist. That bruise wasn't quite gone yet, unlike the ones on his legs. Without the imminent distraction of Krycek's naked ass staring him in the face, he could now recall some bruising running down the man's side as well. Skinner's handiwork. In the back of his mind Mulder could hear Scully's even, neutral tones, "And you wonder why he's not more cooperative."
"You really look like shit," he commented conversationally. He watched Krycek patiently, wondering what was coming. The man looked intensely tired - another unwanted reminder of the night before - but his almost constant movement spoke of an inability to settle. He'd assumed Krycek would slink off back to bed after the guys left, but so much for that idea. He wasn't providing much entertainment so far, but maybe that was about to change.
When he responded, Mulder felt the assassin's voice like 18-year-old single malt whiskey doing a slow burn through his body.
"Look, Mulder, normally I'd enjoy a good verbal skirmish with you, but I'm not up to it, okay?" Krycek's sullen glare had the unfortunate side effect of making his lower lip look even more attractive than usual. "I'm tired, I hurt, and I have no clue what's going on with my body. So instead of hanging there like a vulture ready to pick away, why don't you just go somewhere else and relax and bask in the knowledge that I'm down about as far as I can go right now. Hmmm? Doesn't that sound like fun?" He stretched out his arm, emphasizing his condition.
"Aww, you take all the fun out of being a bully. Can't I just insult you a little, call you a few choice names?"
Krycek sighed, arm dropping, eyes closing wearily. "Okay, sure, I wouldn't want to stifle your creative invective."
"Ooh, fancy words for a murdering low-life bottom feeder."
"You can do better than that," snorted Krycek. Turning, he paced back to the other side of the room. "Want me to teach you some insults in Russian? Might come in handy if we ever go on another little field trip together. Maybe you can arrange for someone to carve off a leg this time."
That shut Mulder up for several seconds. Feeling like a bucket of ice water had been poured down his back, he bounced to his feet and began pacing himself, away from Krycek so he couldn't see the smirk, then whirling around and striding back toward him. A grim satisfaction bloomed at Krycek's look of alarm. Krycek straightened, back braced against the wall, and lifted his chin to meet Mulder's eyes.
Mulder knew he was expecting to get a matching bruise on the other cheek. He stopped a few feet away, punching his hands into his pockets. Krycek relaxed slightly.
"You're walking an awful lot for someone who supposedly had both legs broken the day before yesterday. Is that true? Did they really do that to you?"
"Yeah. Too bad you missed it."
Mulder flinched before he could stop himself. "Hey, I might break your nose, knock loose a few teeth, but come on." ::Might have joked about exactly that to Scully, but it's not like I really meant it.::
Silence.
Mulder planted himself in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest, and watched Krycek pace. Far too often, Krycek would stumble to a pause with a choked noise, clutch his left shoulder convulsively, and half-swallow a soft whimper that made Mulder queasy.
"I guess it's kind of like when you stub your toe or smash your finger, you jump up and down or shake your hand like that somehow makes it hurt less."
Silence.
Finally he couldn't stand it anymore. Moving slowly, he stopped Krycek's next stalk toward the window by catching Krycek's good arm with a gentle hand. "Come on, sit down, you need to rest-"
Krycek jerked away, glaring at him. "Don't touch me!"
"Look, I'm trying to be nice, okay?"
"Oh right," Krycek growled, spinning and moving as far away from Mulder as he could. "Like you care."
"Maybe I'm fucking grateful, all right?" Mulder snapped. "You saved Scully's life. Why did you bother, anyway? What do you care what happens to her?"
"I don't."
"Then why?"
Silence. Krycek huddled against the far wall, his face turned away. Even from a distance Mulder could see him shaking. Crossing the room swiftly, he grabbed Krycek's good shoulder and whirled him around. "Answer me. Why?" As he focused his attention wholly on Krycek and pressed out with his awareness, he felt the room start to tilt. Frustrated, he pushed back at the disorientation. He wanted to talk, not take another acid-ride in Krycek's mind. Forcing himself to take a deep breath and relax, he sighed as the room righted again, the dizziness receding a touch.
A muscle jumped in Krycek's jaw, his face strained with some internal effort. "Leave. Me. Alone."
"Tell me why."
"Is this where you start demanding The Truth, and then call me a liar every time I give you an answer that doesn't match what you've already decided *is* The Truth?" The sarcastic tone matched the sneer twisting the whitening lips.
Mulder started to snap out "cut the bullshit" when he realized that was indeed exactly what he always did when Krycek said something. He stood, breathing roughly, trying to keep the disorientation at bay, and mentally replayed past conversations, remembered verbatim. And damn it, Krycek was right.
"Okay," Mulder flexed his neck, trying to loosen the tight muscles. He stepped back, away, offering Krycek some space, noticing how the man had plastered himself against the wall. He backed up and dropped into an armchair as a precaution against the lingering dizzy sensation. "Okay, I don't trust you. I have no reason to believe you'd tell me anything resembling the truth. But I admit that if I don't know what the truth is, I also have no way of knowing if what you tell me *is* true."
Krycek rubbed his forehead. "You're giving me a headache."
"Well, they say what goes around comes around. So go on, try me, Krycek. See if you can make me believe you."
"But you don't want to believe," he answered softly. Then, slightly louder, "Life in the shadow wars is just so much easier with an all-purpose scapegoat. Much more neatly defined if I'm your Big Bad Boogie Man, some subhuman scum you can pound on and take your frustration out on."
Oh God. Mulder's gut roiled. So much like his own thoughts in the bleak night before. Did this mind-reading thing work both ways? Now that was a scary thought. His stomach felt like it was dropping to his feet. But before he could much more than entertain the thought, suddenly Krycek was meeting his eyes. He stared at him with an intensity that seemed to ask something of Mulder, but he didn't know what. When Krycek started talking, the words almost tripped over each other in their tumble out of his mouth.
"Okay, Mulder, you want capital 'T' truth? How's this for a start? You are the biological son of William Mulder, but for over thirty years he believed that you weren't. Spender had an affair with your mother around the time you were conceived. Your father thought you were Spender's son, and Spender let him believe it. Who knows, maybe he believed it himself... maybe he still does. Your mother didn't realize there was quite so much *obvious* doubt about your paternity. I'm not sure who she believes you belong to. DNA tests were manipulated and results switched around enough to keep the confusion going all those years. It wasn't until just before he died that your father knew for certain that you were his."
For once, Mulder believed Krycek was telling the truth. Or at the very least the truth as he understood it. Krycek's sheer intensity compelled, but he'd seen Krycek this intense when the man was apparently lying through his teeth. No, it was something else... something about the combination of sheer exhaustion and end-of-the-line desperation on that face.
Or more accurately, maybe it was simply the resurgent wave of dizziness sweeping Mulder again, dizziness that wasn't just relief at having his questionable paternity cleared up. His strange double-sense of Krycek was kicking over again whether he wanted it or not, and he felt like the man was thrusting the words into his head, or laying his own head open for examination. With the thrumming wave of certainty slamming into him direct from Krycek's mind, he couldn't doubt that Krycek was definitely thinking, feeling and saying the exact same thing, and that he believed what he was saying to be true.
And it made sense. Sick sense, but it explained so much. How long had Krycek known all of this? How long had he kept this secret to himself, laughing at Mulder's ignorance? The familiar rage that always simmered just beneath the surface whenever he came in contact with Krycek buoyed him up out of his chair, filling him with that comfortable self-righteousness that whispered "No punishment is dire enough for this man."
Krycek went on, his voice a husky monotone. "Your father was dying, Mulder. The guilt over everything he'd done was eating him up inside. His liver was shot, his stomach was one huge ulcer, he had a cancerous mass in his abdomen. And he decided that he had to make his confession. He was going to dump the burden of his crimes on you. Let you be weighed down with his guilt. He was going to tell you everything."
"And you stopped him. You murdered him."
Krycek swayed slightly, as Mulder stalked up to him. He met Mulder's eyes. "Yes. Spender and company decided you weren't ready to become a player, likely for their own reasons, so they ordered William Mulder's death. I got the job. I killed him."
From some distant, peaceful place, Mulder calmly watched his hands reach and pull Krycek toward him, then shove him hard against the wall. One fist backhanded him across the cheek that wasn't bruised yet, the other drove into his gut. He could hear his own voice shouting, "I knew it, you fucking bastard!"
From that still center deep inside himself, Mulder watched as his body assaulted the other man, screaming abuse. Releasing all that pent up rage felt wonderful, like a perverted orgasm. He knew, in that deep, still part of his mind, that he would regret this later. But now, with Zen-like clarity, he knew this was right and a new balance would be achieved.
Until a seed of doubt began to sprout... why wasn't Krycek fighting back?
Slowly other observations began to intrude on his peaceful mental place. Krycek wasn't defending himself at all. He was taking the punishment almost as if... as if it was a relief. Mulder felt strong arms grabbing his, restraining him. That felt right too. The inexorable force holding him back realigned his balance; as he was dragged back into the solid body behind him, another wave of calm washed over him, this time with the comforting thought that Skinner and Scully would keep him from falling... falling? Falling into what? Madness? Murder? Whatever. They would keep him from the edge.
"That's enough, Agent Mulder!" Skinner's voice thundered in his ear, as arms wound tight and comforting around him.
Mulder collapsed back into Skinner's support, letting the rage drain. He really did feel like he'd just had an explosive sexual climax, so much tension released...
"Krycek... Alex, can you look at me?" Scully's voice.
Mulder opened his eyes. She knelt at Krycek's side, trying to pry him up out of a tightly knotted position. Krycek stayed silent, except for rasping gasps punctuated with almost inaudible whimpers. Large drops of blood spattered slowly to the floor.
As Mulder relaxed, he felt Skinner release his hold, though the hands stayed on his shoulders. As his breathing slowed, he became aware of his pounding heart, of the dampness of sweat sprung up all over his body. Already that sweet calm was gone, replaced by the familiar feelings of guilt, stupidity, failure- ::I fucked up again.::
But Scully was here. She would help him, she would make things right. He was so sure of her.
"Agent Mulder?" Skinner's hand was warm on his shoulder, giving him an anchor. "Mulder!"
"Yeah... yes. I'm okay." He looked up at Skinner, took a breath and spat, "That son of a bitch just confessed to murdering my father!"
Skinner's face hardened as they both turned to look at Krycek. Mulder blinked, caught by the expression on Scully's face as she crouched next to Krycek. Her arms supported Krycek's shaking efforts to straighten his legs as she tried to help him stand, but her eyes focused on Mulder with astonished dismay and shock. The look hit him like a physical blow. She'd seen him brutalize a sick man, who hadn't been defending himself. But surely, she had to understand-
Krycek pushed away from Scully, stumbling back until he braced himself against the wall. Blood ran down his chin from his nose and from the new split in his lower lip. His eyes flickered like a cornered animal from Mulder and Skinner, menacing and angry, to Scully, who still had one hand resting lightly on his arm - the regenerating arm. As she looked up at the battered face, Krycek met her glance and smiled crookedly, teeth flashing pinkly in a mouth full of blood, before turning to face his accusers.
"Yes, I *murdered* William Mulder," his breath came ragged but his voice was low and steady. "He was as deep into the Project as Spender or any of those other old bastards. He was as much of a monster as any of them. Why the hell should I commit suicide by refusing the termination order?"
Mulder shook off Skinner's hand, stepping forward before jerking to a stop. "Cut the bullshit, Krycek, you're not some innocent victim."
Scully watched her partner closely, moving to step between him and Alex before he stopped himself. Even knowing his pent up anger and his capacity for rage, the ferocity of his attack on Krycek stunned her, and she was further shaken by Krycek's odd passivity. He'd barely raised his arm to block the blows. She'd heard each man say that their past relationship had been violent. She'd seen Mulder and Skinner attack Alex when they thought he was harming her. But seeing the form and intensity of this new violence - Mulder's violence - sickened her, especially given Krycek's condition. She opened her mouth to intervene, but Krycek's sudden explosion stopped her cold.
"Jesus, Mulder, you're supposed to be such a fucking genius! *Think!* What do you suppose would have happened if I had said 'No, I'm not going to kill the man?' Use that famous brain for five seconds, why don't you! Spender orders the hit. I say 'No, I don't think I want to.' So he says, what? 'Gosh, Alex, you're right, bad idea! Let's call out for a pizza, knock back a few brews.' Is that how you *honestly* think it would have gone down?"
Mulder still stood in front of Krycek, teeth grinding, hands clenching and flexing as he tried to get past his rage and actually listen to Krycek's words. He had to show them all, show Scully, he could be rational, could deal with Krycek without going over the edge. Krycek's voice was so hoarse it was losing volume rapidly, and Mulder had to strain to hear him as he continued.
"If I had said no, Spender would have sent Cardinal. Luis would have killed your father *and* probably you, just to keep things tidy. And for the fun of it. Your protection where they're concerned isn't inviolate. Then he would have spent a day or two killing me. Spender would have wanted me to be an example to anyone else who was getting ideas about bucking orders."
Mulder turned away, slamming his hands against the wall. "You could have come to us! If you *honestly* didn't want to do it, you could have contacted me, or Skinner, or Scully!"
Krycek shook his head, and snorted. "Right." Lifting his hand and counting off each point on his fingers, he spat, "Like you'd have listened to me, showing up out of the blue after the fucking Duane Barry debacle. Like that would have kept Bill Mulder alive. Like that would have kept *me* alive. Start living in reality for a change, Mulder. You may exist in a protected bubble where the Consortium is concerned, but the rest of us don't, and *I* sure as hell never did. You may not *like* what I did, but I did the only thing I believed I could do, under the circumstances."
Krycek slumped suddenly, his back hitting the wall, sliding slowly down until he sprawled on the floor. Tipping his head back, he took a slow breath and licked some of the blood off his lips. Meeting Mulder's eyes, he paced his words carefully, each one falling into the dead silence in the room. "I regret a lot of the shit I've done, starting with ever listening to that cancerous bastard in the first place. But I'm sorry, Mulder, killing William Mulder isn't one of those regrets. He deserved what he got."
Red swept over Mulder's vision at the statement, but washed away as quickly. "So now you're judge, jury and-"
Krycek's flat voice cut him off. "He knew all along where your sister was, and what was being done to her."
The words hit Mulder's stomach with the force of every punch Krycek refused to throw. ::He's a lying bastard-:: But the thought died before he could make it last, before he could make it buoy him up yet again over the roiling mass of doubts and suspicions about his own father. He knew... he knew all too well that it was all too possible. He didn't want it to be, he hated it, but he knew the possibility was there. And in a sudden painfully sharp moment of clarity he knew... knew that he tunneled and focused all his rage, all his disappointment, all his suspicions about his father, and turned them on Alex, when his father had died before any of it had been settled.
Suddenly exhausted, Mulder leaned his shoulder against the wall, and looked down at Krycek. He blinked hard against the sudden sting of tears at his eyes. ::Why *you*, Alex?:: his mind screamed. ::Why the fuck did it have to be you pulling that trigger.:: "Why did *you* have to..." he caught himself before he could go on, his voice rusty.
"I'm sorry, Mulder. I wish-" Krycek glanced at Skinner and Scully, then closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. His voice firmed. "Whatever. Hey, I'm a lying bastard and you can't believe a word I say anyway."
The numbness spreading through Mulder felt as if someone had given him a shot of emotional novocaine. His brain slowed but his mouth kept working. "I wish..." He rubbed at the wetness blurring his eyes, and cleared his throat. "Shit. I just wish it hadn't been you. Why did it have to be you?" he muttered.
He knew they were all staring at him. He dropped onto the window seat and pretended to look out the window. The silence lengthened uncomfortably.
Scully walked to him and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "You okay?" she asked softly, her voice and face full of naked worry.
Her concern almost had him crying again. She didn't despise him. She might be looking at him like 'what the hell was that all about', but she was still his friend. "Yeah, I'm fine," he lied.
She smoothed back his hair and gave him a reassuring smile. Her eyes stayed concerned though, and she looked like she wanted to say something else. Then, as if coming to a decision, she turned briskly to her patient. "Alex, I have the lab equipment set up. I'd like to examine you now, and start getting some samples. Do you feel up to it?"
From his vantage point in the window seat, Mulder could swear Krycek looked at her in relief for breaking the moment, before her actual words sunk in. Then his face fell. He sighed and began the struggle to stand up again, leaning heavily on the wall. "No, but you're not really giving me a choice, are you?"
"No, not really," she said, slipping effortlessly into the cool professional demeanor that earned her the nickname Ice Queen. "Do you want Skinner to help you down the stairs?"
Both Krycek and Skinner looked startled at that suggestion, which Krycek refused immediately. "I can make it."
"Do you need my help, Agent Scully?" Skinner asked.
"No, if Alex doesn't need you, then we'll manage." Scully slipped into the closet leading down to her make-shift lab. Krycek hesitated for a moment. Then, with a defiant glare at Mulder, he followed. He seemed to be wading through thick waves of dread as he crossed the room and ducked into the yawning closet door, pulling it shut behind him.
"Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked.
"I'm okay," he mumbled. "I just..." He trailed off, not knowing what he'd been about to say.
"You liked Agent Krycek, didn't you?" The big man's voice was surprisingly gentle. "You didn't expect to, but you did."
"Yeah. Something like that." Mulder pulled himself together, wanting to stay well and clear off this topic. "I guess I should observe Scully's tests, do some documenting..."
"Get in her way," Skinner deadpanned.
"That's what I do best," Mulder deadpanned back.
Skinner started back out onto the porch, then paused halfway there. Without turning around, he tilted his head to speak over his shoulder softly. "Mulder, he was very good at his job. You weren't the only one who bought it. You didn't do anything wrong. All you did was believe in someone... someone who really seemed worth believing in. You can stop punishing yourself."
Mulder stared at the wall, listening to the door close behind him and trying not to wince at Skinner's well-meaning but off-target words. If he only knew. He knuckled his eyes, noticing absently that his fingers were scraped and raw where they'd made impact against Krycek's face and body.
Why hadn't Krycek defended himself? Now that Mulder was no longer hot with anger or cool in that distant calm, his mind played back some of the feelings he'd picked up from Krycek. Pain, of course, physical and mental. And... relief? Mulder slugging him was something Krycek understood. Mulder's contempt and fury were familiar. But it was like a blade of ice piercing Krycek's soul. He craved something else from Mulder, but he'd take what he could get, what he deserved...
Infuriating bastard. What was it about the man that brought out the worst in him? Mulder was not, by nature, a bully, but just being around Krycek made him lash out with taunts and insults. With fists.
Sometimes Krycek responded as an equal, fencing with words as biting and challenging as Mulder's, fighting back, giving as good as he got. More often, he responded by trying to bargain his way out. But eventually, inevitably, Krycek submitted, baring his throat for the killing bite. Which Mulder could never bring himself to deliver.
Which did he really want from Krycek, the challenge, or the submission? And what did Krycek really want from him? That was the question.
Mulder ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it as if that would ease the throb in his temples. He had the headache Krycek had claimed. His brain felt stretched. He didn't feel like thinking, didn't want to be alone with the confusion about Krycek, confusion about his father, crowding his head. Skinner was just out on the porch, but he seemed to want to keep to himself. Mulder guessed he could understand that. Pausing to wonder if he was making a mistake putting himself anywhere in Krycek's vicinity, he shook off the hesitation and walked swiftly to the closet, wrenching it open and ducking inside.
******
Pushing through the closet's back panel, Mulder started down the stairs. Krycek was almost to the bottom, stepping carefully down a step, bringing his other foot to meet the first, pausing to center his weight, then down another step. Mulder caught up with him easily, and said softly, "Use a hand?"
He got a raised eyebrow and a cold look. "No thanks, I seem to be growing a new one of my own."
Mulder fell back a step without another word. ::So, we're back to the old playground banter, are we?:: Seemed he wasn't the only one who needed to retreat to safe mental space.
As they reached the basement he could see Scully efficiently spreading various bits of medical equipment out on a table, some of which looked like bondage gear, with lots of nice sharp pointy things. Mulder sighed; normally he would be looking forward to some fun. But now...
Krycek stopped on the last step, visibly reluctant to move any closer to the instruments. But Scully's stern Doctor look compelled him to come forward and drop into the chair she positioned near the table.
"Take off your shirt, please," she said crisply.
As Krycek stripped off the long sleeved t-shirt one handed, Scully finally glanced at Mulder. He avoided meeting her eyes, pretending a vague interest in the medical instruments. Guilt thrummed through him, even without a word from her. He knew without seeing her expression that she was concerned, but it was hardest to accept her care when he felt he'd failed her. Not for the first time, he wondered exactly when he'd elected her the guardian of his conscience, and if she really wanted the job.
The shirt finally dropped to the floor, and Krycek sat rigidly in his chair, staring sullenly at the far wall. Scully used an antiseptic-soaked cotton pad to wipe the blood from his face, carefully not looking at Mulder or commenting on how it got there. She was totally professional, gentle, reassuring, but cool. Was Scully distancing herself from Krycek for some reason? Was it because he'd admitted to killing William Mulder? No... Mulder blinked as that weird sixth sense kicked in again. It seemed strongest when Krycek got agitated. And what he was getting now was an undercurrent of dread at being touched, that physical contact with anyone would be more than Krycek could stand. Mulder wondered if her doctor training allowed her to pick up on it and respect it, or if she was just better at reading people than he was.
Or maybe just better at reading Krycek than he was. But no, that wasn't true anymore, was it?
Once Krycek's face was cleansed, Scully very slowly, very gently touched his left shoulder with both hands, moving them smoothly along the upper arm, lifting the stump up and forward. Mulder moved closer, glanced up to finally meet Scully's eyes, then they both looked down at that arm.
Mulder sucked in a breath. Before he could stop himself, he breathed out a soft, "Wow!" The regrowth had advanced in an hour - an almost complete humerus, and crawling down it muscle and tendons, veins and arteries still apparently empty of blood, dead nerves. Smooth, unscarred skin progressed at a slower rate, incrementally crawling to cover the strangely clean-looking limb. And still, that odd appearance of movement at the very end, as the process continued before their very eyes.
Father-angst and Alex-confusion falling away in the light of the sheer alienness of what sat in front of him, Mulder felt the familiar fire of knowing the unknown pour through him, burning away his edginess, his unease, leaving the single-minded flame of knowledge. Completely oblivious to the fanatical gleam coming into his own eyes, and the way Krycek shrank back in his chair when he caught sight of it, Mulder grabbed Scully's arm. "Wait! Don't do anything yet." He turned to the room at large, scanning it quickly for the closet Byers had identified as holding at least four cameras. Seeing it on the right of the room, he raced for it, grabbed a Polaroid and a 35mm, and came back at a jog, juggling the cameras awkwardly.
Selecting the Polaroid first, he snapped off pictures from each angle of the stump, and scribbled the date and time on each. Two of the gunshot wound, and he put the Polaroid up. Still oblivious to the frozen expression on Alex's face, he switched to the 35mm, confirmed the correct date would imprint on each shot, and started all over again, noting the time of each frame number in one of Scully's notebooks. He stepped back as Scully started strapping a pressure cuff on Krycek, and then, as an afterthought, snapped several of Krycek's face, catching the split lip in close up.
"Your blood pressure is 180 over 110," Scully frowned. "Not surprising, I suppose, but also not good at all. Pulse is way too fast." She stuck a thermometer in Krycek's mouth, and started positioning her stethoscope in various places around his chest, then his back. "Lungs sound clear, breathing is good."
Krycek stared at the wall, his face a pale mask of indifference. But Mulder noticed the way Scully touched him only briefly, and how Krycek had to fight to keep from cringing away from her. Unwilling sympathy made his stomach clench. The man had just admitted to killing his father, and not regretting it. And maybe Bill Mulder wasn't worthy of regret. Mulder shoved his thoughts as far back into his mental closet as he could, and tried to focus on what Scully was saying.
"You're running a slight fever. Also understandable." She turned to her table, then back to him, showing him the instruments she held. "I'm going to get some tissue samples now, Alex. This may sting a bit," she spoke gently as she used fine, hollow needles to draw skin cells from several places on the stump.
"No scales yet, huh?" Mulder asked sweetly. Krycek glared at him, but Mulder thought he also detected a familiar challenge in those smoldering green eyes.
Scully efficiently tied a rubber band around Krycek's right upper arm. "Blood next." She had a difficult time finding a vein, and it took several tries to get the needle into place. Especially when Krycek shuddered every time she slid it into his skin. "Guess you've done this way too many times lately," She murmured reassuringly.
"Yeah, there are bits of me in labs all over the world by now," he said shortly, his husky voice betraying the cool expression on his face. Sweat beaded his upper lip.
"Hey, at least your blood is still red," Mulder observed as he watched over Scully's shoulder. This time he was sure he saw a gleam of relieved amusement in Krycek's eyes at the familiar rudeness. Scully's heavy sigh told him *she* wasn't amused. Mulder resisted the urge to say 'it's a guy thing, Scully, you wouldn't understand.'
"So, how are you feeling in general, Alex? Are you still in pain?"
"Okay, I guess," he mumbled. "Legs are a little stiff, but other than that... It's mostly just the shoulder that still hurts."
Mulder wondered at Krycek's reticence. He would have expected the man to play for sympathy. Maybe he figured he'd get farther with Scully if he was stoic and underplayed his suffering? Because Mulder *knew* he was suffering. Badly.
"What kind of pain is it?" Scully began poking and prodding the shoulder in question.
"Aching, mostly. Like I strained it really badly. It shoots along my shoulder blade, up my neck, and then occasionally down into the upper arm. It's sharper when it shoots into the arm."
"Mulder. Make yourself useful." She gestured to the portable xray machine and Mulder moved to help her manhandle it into place. The wheeled stand helped, but it was still a pain in the ass. Better than he had expected though, considering the machines he'd been under in his various visits to the emergency room. He ran a hand lightly over the obviously state-of-the-art machine.
"Do we know where they got this?" he asked curiously.
"No," Scully responded shortly, "and we aren't asking. At least not in front of Skinner, please. And by the way, it's leaving with them when they come back. It's on a 'time limit'." She raised an eyebrow at Mulder and he grinned. "Oh, and I helped them get it down the stairs, so you're helping them get it back up," she added as she gestured Alex up onto a second, cleared table.
Distracted by their patient, Mulder swallowed his kneejerk smart remark about her being better equipped to help the Gunmen get it up. He watched Krycek start to shake his head at Scully's summons, then visibly steel his jaw and rise. Without a word he walked to the table, leaned against it with his good arm, and rolled his hip and then the rest of himself up onto the surface. Clutching the loose shorts as he settled onto his back pulled the material taut. Mulder's eyes strayed to the bagging leg holes and the soft swell of flesh under the thin cloth, before he caught himself and looked away. Within seconds, his gaze was back, raking helplessly over the laid-out body. This time though, the sheer rigidity of the form caught him and he glanced at Krycek's face. Krycek stared blankly up at the ceiling, jaw clenched, white around the lips, right hand pulled into a fist, looking like it was taking all his concentration to stay still and on his back.
On the other side of the table, Scully positioned and set the machine with a buzzing whir that made Krycek wince. She took xrays of the shoulder, the stump, and the miraculously unbroken legs while Krycek tried to keep from flinching. Mulder could see she moved as quickly as she could, given the bulky machine and the less than ideal circumstances.
"Any sensation in the new growth yet?" she asked casually as she positioned his legs.
"No, nothing." The indifference sounded strained, but held out. "Well, not exactly nothing. Just a feeling like...," he paused, then finally offered, "Sort of like there're little bugs crawling under the skin."
"Eeewwwww," Mulder offered helpfully. He got another look from Scully as she pushed the xray machine back and stepped up to slide her hand under Krycek's upper back, helping him sit up.
"Well, let me know if the sensations get unbearable, or if the pain is too much. Without knowing what they shot into you, I hesitate to give you any drugs at all. We don't know how they might react. But if it just gets too bad and you agree to the risk... we could try something."
He nodded as he eased himself back off the table, pausing to steady himself against it for a moment before walking to his shirt and pulling it back on. "I got through having the arm cut off without painkillers, I guess I can get through this." Standing up and redressed, indifference was back full force.
"Okay, we're almost finished. I do want a urine sample." She handed Krycek a plastic cup. He looked at it and smiled a genuine, if sardonic, smile.
"Well, at least you asked nicely and didn't just take it."
Mulder frowned. "Just take- oh."
Krycek raised an eyebrow and asked mildly, "You ever had a catheter shoved up your dick, Mulder?"
Mulder cringed. "Yeah, I have. I'd take the cup too, given the choice."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't given the choice." Staring at the stairs, he sighed and glanced at Scully. "This may take a while."
"Shy, Krycek? I mean, Scully has seen it before," Mulder said. Even as he tossed off the crack, he realized that given the man's state, he'd likely be completely unable to pee with anyone in the same room, even if he would be willing to attempt it in front of them.
As Krycek slowly climbed the stairs, Mulder heard a muttered, "Mulder, sometimes you can be such an asshole."
*****
Scully bit her lip to keep from laughing at Krycek's parting shot. It wasn't that funny... it was just so true. Tugging off a rubber glove, she ran a hand over her hair, tucking a loose strand back into the smooth ponytail. She watched Mulder, who had suddenly remembered his conversation with Byers about extra film for the cameras, and dropped to his knees to root around in one of the voluminous cupboards along one wall.
The internal debate raged over whether or not to bring up the thoughts pressing on her mind. Much as she didn't feel like a serious discussion right now, conscience and worry nudged her on. The knowledge that they didn't have long before Krycek got back downstairs chased the words out of her mouth before she'd even decided on a best way to broach the subject.
"Mulder, we need to talk about Krycek for a minute. You and Krycek."
Mulder's head hit the top of the cupboard with a heavy thunk. "Ow! What?!"
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. What *about* me and Krycek?" He backed out of the cupboard enough to stare at her warily, two spots of color high on his cheeks.
"The way you two are going to have to work together here. And the way you need to get control of yourself and your anger toward him," she stated flatly.
"Oh. That." She wondered at the look of almost-relief flashing across Mulder's expressive face before he went back into his cupboard. "I think I've got reason to be pissed off, Scully," his voice echoed hollowly. "I know I was out of line earlier, I shouldn't have hit him, but don't tell me you don't think he deserves it."
The righteous tone gave Scully a shiver. Judge and jury. Whispers in Krycek's voice spun through her mind - his slurred words after she'd pulled Mulder and Skinner off of him, muttered comments in a dim hotel room, even half-coherent drugged ramblings on their trek through the woods. Images of old interactions played out behind her eyes. She'd seen Mulder with Krycek often enough. Even without the scene she'd walked in on a mere hour ago, she knew firsthand the violence bubbling under all their interactions. And she was personally quite familiar with the way Krycek made you want to tear into him. But just now upstairs what she'd seen had driven it home all over again. Graphically.
And she remembered a gun in her own hand, Pfaster in her living room, the trigger tightening under her finger...
She shook her head sharply. "You had a classical education at Oxford, yes? You've read Titus Andronicus?" She peeled off the other glove and flipped both into the trash.
Mulder's nose wrinkled as he continued to paw through loose computer equipment and various junk. "Yeah. Can't say it's my favorite Shakespeare. I'm more of a Hamlet sort of guy."
"How surprising," Scully intoned dryly. "Anyway, I recently saw the Taymor film of Titus, and it brought home the-"
Typically Mulder, once started on a line of thought, he continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I mean unlike most Shakespearean characters in tragedy, Titus doesn't come off like a tragic hero at all. He just comes off like a total idiot." He produced a small bag of film canisters with a satisfied smile. "Here it is."
Scully itched to comment on what she saw as a natural overlap between tragic heroes and idiocy, but bit her tongue. Mulder could be alarmingly sensitive at the weirdest times and she needed to get through this. She sighed instead and leaned forward as he stood, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes. "Focus. Stay with me here. I'm making a point and I think you know it. Titus Andronicus isn't about Titus as a hero, or even him as a sympathetic character. It's about the idiocy of revenge." She paused just long enough to let that sink in, then went on before he could speak. "I kill your son, you maim and rape my daughter, chop off my hand, I kill your other sons and serve them to you in a pie, etc. etc. The point, *my* point, is that there's no winning in a situation like this. The only possible way to even come close to winning is to step off the merry-go-round completely."
"Merry-go-round? Revenge as a merry-go-round. Isn't that mixing your metaphors a little too broadly, Scully?" Mulder grinned then looked at his bag of film. "I wonder how old this stuff is. You think they ever think of things like that? Expiration dates?"
"I'll admit to mixing metaphors too broadly if you admit to trying to change the subject too obviously." She slanted an eyebrow at him and felt satisfied, if a little guilty, as the grin faded to a more subdued expression. But this was important. She caught his hand. "Where does it end, Mulder? And is the journey there ever worth the outcome. And how much *continued* tragedy can be prevented by the quality of mercy."
He twitched restlessly and avoided her eyes, though he didn't pull his hand back. "You're just thinking of Titus because of the... ah... obvious connection. Severed limbs and all," he muttered.
Scully sighed again and squeezed his fingers. "Severed limbs, revenge, betrayal, violence." She mustered her courage and added, "Blind fathers, willfully blind fathers, who don't protect their sons and daughters. Who won't, or can't." He jerked but this time she tightened her grip and kept on relentlessly. "You're right, Mulder. I am thinking of Titus because of the obvious connections. But that doesn't change the message. Where does it end."
"So I'm supposed to just... just... *deal* with the fact that the man betrayed me, sold you out, helped them take you, *killed* my father, killed Skinner... should I go on or is that enough?" Mulder snapped bitterly. "I'm supposed to just get over it in the name of mercy? Forgive and forget? Is that it?"
Scully felt his fingers biting into hers, and relaxed her own grip, giving him the freedom to pull back now if he needed to. She forced her voice to an even calm, praying she could at least get him to hear the words. "I'm not saying you need to ignore what he's done, or become his best friend. I don't think you should do either. And I'm certainly not the best person to be having this conversation with you, because there's no love lost between he and I. I'm hardly unbiased and I have complex feelings about all this, myself. I almost didn't even say anything to you.
"But really, all I'm saying is... remember that revenge takes a very harsh toll. Don't let it devour you, Mulder. I care about *you*, you're the one I worry about. You're the person I'm talking about here, not Alex. I watch you struggle with this, I watch you seethe and simmer, I watch you explode like you did upstairs... and I worry. And I want to tell you... I don't know what. I guess I want to tell you that it's okay to let go of some of that hate. It's okay to turn off the burner and let the simmer die down. You don't *have* to stay at a rolling boil with Alex, and I'm worried about what's going to happen if you do. It's okay, and healthier, to get off the damned merry-go-round.
"I'm definitely not saying ignore what he's done. You can't do that anymore than I can. I know what you've lost, and I'm not trying to make light of it. And you know what I've lost, Mulder, better than anyone." She bit her lip and swallowed back the wave of pain and sadness that flowed through her. This was too good of an opportunity to get sidetracked; he was looking at her as if he was actually paying attention for once. "You know I wouldn't just blithely talk about 'forgiveness' with him. But I also won't stand around and watch you work yourself into a crazed frenzy over and over, watch you become something that scares me, and not say anything. And not say that I'm worried about you. That I'm worried about what you might do, in the heat of the moment, that you won't be able to undo. You know I've always believed we can't take the law into our own hands. That it makes us... into Them when we do that. You know my own struggles around that very issue. Judgement is a funny thing, Mulder. While we're busy patting ourselves on the back because he deserves whatever we're doing, we lose sight of what we're letting ourselves become by deciding we're going to mete out the punishment."
Finally she shook her head, and offered a small, ironic smile. "We all have to find some middle line, some form of balance... you, me, Skinner. If we're going to work with him, and I believe we should, we *have* to turn off that burner or things are going to get very bad very quickly. We're under each other's feet and up each other's noses in this place. Small space, too many people dealing with too much history, too much pain, tension is high, tempers are going to fly, and we don't even know how long we're going to have to be here. Can you say 'less than ideal circumstances'? None of us can just forget. But I can stand here, with everything that's happened to all three of us, and say look at *all* he's done, alright? He did get me out of there, and he did save my life. He didn't have to. I'm not talking one-to-one ratios here... canceling out the bad with a good deed now and again. But I am talking about trying to get a more balanced perspective. I'm talking about the fact that he's a complex person none of us understand, and maybe we should try to understand a little more." She swallowed hard and grudgingly gave in to the words. "After the time I've spent with him, I'm getting the idea there's more working in his motivations than personally making our lives as miserable as possible."
"What a shame," Mulder croaked. "'Cause he was sure as hell succeeding at that goal."
Scully nodded. "I know. I know, Mulder." She squeezed his hand and reached up to lay her other hand against his face. "Are you okay? Really? Your father..." She trailed off.
Mulder shook his head, avoiding eye contact. "It's nothing new, Scully. I've always believed he shot him."
She cleared her throat. "I know, Mulder. I meant... what he said about your father-"
"I don't want to go there right now," he broke in, and the croak sounded tired. "I just... don't."
Nodding, she tugged him forward and they leaned against each other silently for a few moments. His arms slowly encircled her, and she rested against his chest. Finally, she looked up at him. "At least think about what I said?"
He nodded, tugging gently on her ponytail. "As if I couldn't."
She snorted, but was pleased to see in his face that he honestly seemed to have listened, and heard. "I don't know about that. You seem to ignore me just fine all the time."
"Ignore you?" He gave her a look of mock horror. "Never!" She dug her fingers into his stomach and he laughed, jerking back from her tickling. Catching her hands, he met her eyes and smiled down at her. "I do hear you, Scully. Really. And... thanks. I know you're just worried about me." ::I'm worried about me too,:: a little voice in the back of his head whispered, but he refused to let it out. He also refused to verbalize what he really thanked her for - for not reading him the riot act about smacking around a seriously ill and injured man. For understanding how on edge he was around Krycek even if she didn't know all the reasons. For offering her concern about him in the face of his violence, instead of expressing the disgust he knew she'd felt.
She nodded and smiled up at him, when a steady thumping brought her head around.
"He's baaa-aaack," Mulder singsonged softly, in a perfect Poltergeist imitation.
Scully smacked him in the stomach and he laughed again. They turned as one to watch Krycek limp down the very bottom stairs. Scully registered the look on Alex's face at almost the same moment she registered that she and Mulder still stood very close, and Mulder's hand still rested on her shoulder. That tired face showed a flash of surprise, chased immediately by a flare of *something* - something intense - before everything chilled down to a brittle "fuck you both and the horse you rode in on".
Something in her responded, and almost wanted to encourage the misconception, let Alex believe she and Mulder were more than friends. Her growing certainty about his... preoccupation... with Mulder brought the hair up on the back of her neck and made her stomach clench uneasily. The impulse to shield Mulder bodily and trace a circle of protection around him was immediate and intense. The thought made her smile. Mulder would love that... his scientific Scully putting a circle of protection around him.
Logic reasserted itself in seconds, though. If Krycek really did have some sort of crush on Mulder, he'd apparently been dealing with it for a while now. Mulder didn't need any more protection than his own disdain and temper. In these close quarters, she really did not need an unbalanced Alex Krycek thinking she was moving in on the object of his infatuation. She'd have to start keeping all sharp objects locked up. Besides, she didn't want to encourage Mulder, even subconsciously.
Practicality winning out over emotional impulses as usual, Scully couldn't believe how difficult it was to force her body to go along with her mind's decision. But practice makes perfect, and keeping eye contact with Alex, she stepped away from Mulder.
*****
I watch her move carefully away from Mulder and wonder what was just on my face. I know my control is shot but I'm just not used to facial expressions getting out of my control. Getting up and down the stairs tired me out a little too much to care, but I'm still vaguely uncomfortable as I make my way over to her and leave the "specimen" on the table. I don't like the thought that the burn of jealousy behind my breastbone might have found its way into my eyes.
"Is that everything?" I ask woodenly.
"Almost." She's already snapping on a new set of gloves, and then she's got me back in her chair and she's poking and prodding again, examining every bruise and scratch on me. I do my best to send my consciousness somewhere else completely, and I do an all right job of disengaging and distancing myself. Before I know it she's patting my shoulder and saying, "Thanks for cooperating, Alex. I know this wasn't fun."
I just nod. Wasn't fun. A half-smile lifts the corner of my swollen lips. She has a gift for understatement. Still and all, she did the best she could and she really tried. I could tell, even as focused as I was on keeping myself from bolting.
And it hasn't escaped my notice that I'm still "Alex". I wonder if it has escaped hers.
"Can I go now?" Shit. Did I honestly just say that? What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe they'll write it off to sarcasm. A boy can hope.
Scully's eyes dart to me and she's giving me that look again... the one that could almost be concern. I'm beginning to wonder if it might actually be concern. Boggles the brain.
"Yes, we're through, why don't you go rest?"
Rest. Right. Funny joke, Doc. I turn around and head back for the stairs, steeling myself for the return trip. Behind me I hear, "Okay then, I'll leave you to your work, Scully."
Oh god, *no*. Come on! Can't I get a fucking break? My hand clenches on the banister but my feet keep inching up the stairs. I want to pound my head against the wall. I'd sort of assumed he'd want to stay down here and watch Scully dissect my tissue. Especially as cozy as they were looking. I can't deal with any more emotional meltdowns now.
"Mulder."
The one word carries a wealth of *something* in it, but I don't know the private Mulder-Scully language well enough to translate. Sounds like she's warning him of something, but who knows what. Probably "don't kill him, Mulder, or I'll be forced to arrest you."
"I know. Come get me if you find anything really neat, okay?"
He sounds positively bouncy. Not at all like a man who just got confirmation that I am his father's murderer. Having a new X-File is such a way to brighten his day. The way his face changed when he saw my arm... I feel a shudder go through me. I hear his tread on the stairs behind me and of course it takes him no time at all to catch up. He doesn't offer to help me this time. Too bad... three trips back and forth have got me about ready to abandon pride and take the help. But he just shadows me up. If I stopped short he'd run into me. If I let go of the banister and leaned backward, he'd have to catch me or we'd both fall down the stairs.
I do neither, and finally I'm ducking back into the closet and out into the cabin proper. I left the doors open on my way down and it's easier to see to get out this time. Standing still for a moment, I feel Mulder right behind me. I head for my bedroom without a word. Not for the first time I curse how slow I am at the moment, as he's right behind me before I can get the door shut.
"Mulder, do you mind? I'm going to take a nap," I lie.
He shrugs. "Go ahead." He walks in and flops down in the chair he was in the night before.
I close my eyes. Why is he doing this. Is watching me suffer really *that* fun?
Well duh, Alex.
I slump down on the bed. The whole doctor routine took more out of me than I want to show, but I don't really have enough energy left to put up a front. I hate the idea of sleeping, of dreaming, but my body feels like it wants to go into shut down again.
"Do you need anything? A drink of water? Something to eat?"
He sounds sincere. Shit. I look at him for a moment, waiting for the punch line. Or the punch. But he just sits there, looking... so beautiful. He's got this look on his face, like he's the one scrambling for some kind of control of his life.
I shake my head, and ease myself under the blankets, turn onto my side with my back to him. I can hear his soft breathing, the shift of his body in the chair. Maybe if I pretend hard enough that he's not there, he won't follow me into my nightmares. Maybe if I savor his presence, he'll follow me into my dreams. Maybe the dreams will be sweet, for a change.
*****
7 pm
As her fingers hit the wrong keys yet again, Scully admitted to herself that she was too tired to continue. She saved her notes, shut down the laptop and turned off the microscope. Krycek's tissue samples were fascinating, but she needed the more sophisticated lab analysis. When the Gunmen returned with Krycek's promised cure, they could take her prepared slides and the additional samples to a private lab they knew and trusted, and a second set to Mulder's little expert, Chuck Burke. Until she got the results, and some comparative information, there was little she could do except monitor the progress of the regeneration.
And monitor Krycek. He wasn't doing well. The continuous stress on body and mind was wearing him down quickly. His blood pressure remained alarmingly high. Her stubborn partner wasn't helping matters. She had no idea of Krycek's physical condition before being subjected to the experiments, but she suspected stress came with the job description. Then again, maybe whatever was causing this weird accelerated healing and regrowth was taking care of his cardiovascular system as well.
She stretched, then groaned as all the cramped muscles protested. The stairs seemed endless as she made her way to the top, vaguely dreading what she'd find. Things had been quiet since her last foray upstairs, but she suspected the basement was lined with something that muffled noise.
Krycek was finally asleep, curled into a knot, cocooned in his quilt. The light in his room was still on, and the door half-open. Mulder sprawled bonelessly on the couch in the tv room, remote in hand, channel surfing with the mute on. A glance out the window revealed Skinner still out on the porch. She blinked in surprise, wondering if he'd really stayed out there all day long. She made two cups of tea, then ventured out to join him, setting his mug on the rail near his hand.
The sky was so clear here, away from the lights and smog of the city. Scully could see layer upon layer of stars winking across the heavens. A nearly full moon and the faint glow of lamps through the curtains gave the only illumination. She couldn't see Skinner's face, other than the strong profile and an occasional gleam of light reflected on his glasses, but she could feel the tension in his body.
He sipped the tea, warming his hands on the mug. "Thank you, Agent Scully."
"You're welcome, sir."
They stood in silence for a long while, watching cloud wisps of darkened black lazily drift across the vast midnight blue horizon. Scully shivered, too late thinking she should have put on a jacket. Wordlessly, Skinner slipped off the heavy flannel shirt he wore over his sweatshirt, and settled it around her shoulders. She snuggled into the warmth from his body and sighed.
"Thank you. It's nippy out here, but I don't really want to go back inside just yet."
"Cabin fever already?" She could hear the smile in his voice.
"Something like that." She smiled back. "Between Krycek's pacing and Mulder's tantrums, I'm about to lose all patience."
"That's not good news for me," he said lightly. "Even if this cure Krycek's promised us works, I'm apparently going to be sick as a dog for a while. I can't quite picture Mulder nursing me through that."
Scully laughed, "No, I can't see that either. And the thought of Alex Krycek's bedside manner... well!" She suddenly had an absurd mental image of Krycek in a crisp white dress and nurse's cap, carrying a bedpan.
Skinner listened to her laugh and felt some of the weight in his chest lift. Scully was okay. She was here, as safe as he could keep her. For the moment. The terror of losing her receded, although he had to admit to himself that Scully, being Scully, would always face danger courageously, like the warrior she was. She fought with science instead of a sword, logic instead of bullets when possible, but she could - and would - fight to the death if the need arose.
"Sir, I'd just like to thank you. For going really far out on a limb. For being there when we needed you, even though it was outside the bounds."
"Where was I when those bastards took you?"
"Sir-"
"I know, I know, but..." He just couldn't say what he needed so badly to. He shook his head, grappling for words. "You know, so many times the real reason I get so exasperated with Mulder is that he just takes you for granted. I'd give anything to have someone as brave and loyal and smart as you at my back."
He felt Scully tense up, and cursed himself. ::Wrong choice, Walt. You idiot. Why can't you just keep your mouth shut if you don't know what to say.:: He hoped it was too dark for her to see him blushing. He felt like he was glowing in the dark. He opened his mouth to try to retract it, muddle his way out of it, when he felt her hand settle on his arm. She didn't speak, but she leaned closer. He stared down at her hand, breath catching.
"Sir," she started again, this time in an oddly subdued voice. She paused as gravel crunched, and lights suddenly bounced across the porch. They both jerked apart, wincing in the glare.
"The Gunmen," he intoned, staring at the van rolling to a stop in front of the porch.
"The Gunmen," she agreed in a flat voice. "Well, let's see about this cure then," she offered briskly, as the three poured out of the van and came bounding up the steps, one brandishing a small cooler and the other two arguing about who got the bathroom first.
The front door slammed back and Mulder appeared on the porch with them. "Guys? You get it? Any problems?"
"Like clockwork, Mulder," Frohike crowed.
Scully intercepted the cooler as Byers started to hand it off to Mulder. "I'll take that." Turning on heel and disappearing inside, she left Mulder comparing notes on Krycek's stash-techniques with the three, all of whom apparently rated bragging to Mulder well above their placement on the restroom roster in importance. Setting the cooler on the low table in front of the couch, she broke it open and stared at the vials. When a shadow fell over her, she looked up at Skinner and jerked her head toward the bedroom. "Want to wake up sleeping beauty? I think we're going to need his input."
Skinner nodded and stalked into the bedroom, coming back with a bleary-eyed and confused looking Krycek in tow, now wearing a pair of sweatpants instead of the baggy shorts but still dragging the ubiquitous quilt. Collapsing on the couch with a yawn, Krycek pawed through the cooler and removed the vials, looking them over carefully and nodding. Handing them back to Scully, he bit back another yawn. "Get him ready for the shot. Mix the two when you're ready to immediately do the injection, not before. Inject 1cc directly into a vein. Voila. Wait and see." He shrugged, curled his quilt around himself, and settled into the corner of the couch.
"That's it?" Scully kept eyeing the vials as though they were about to explode.
"Keep 'em relatively cool until you're ready to use them."
Scully met Skinner's gaze and stood. "Are you ready?"
"I'm ready."
"Then let's do it."
Mulder and the Gunmen had made it in off the porch, and clustered around while Scully tracked down another pair of gloves. "Anything else we need to know before we do this?" Mulder asked, giving Krycek a hard look.
Krycek shook his head, still blinking and wide-eyed. The dazed, all-pupil look receded some as he transferred his gaze to Frohike. "Problems?"
"None."
Nodding, Krycek's heavy lashes fell to half-mast. Mulder glanced from him to Scully laying out alcohol and syringe, to Skinner, sitting stiffly in an armchair, rolling up his sleeve. Swallowing hard against a fit of nerves, he looked away from his boss, back to the man responsible for this situation. "Can you guarantee this will work, Krycek? That this is safe?"
"No." At Mulder's jerk of reaction, Krycek lifted the hand. "Take it down a notch, Mulder, I'm just being honest here. I know how much you prize your honesty. I'm just telling you what I know... all this shit is experimental. I know what to do with it and I know how it's supposed to work. I can't promise you anything more than that. I can't swear it's a hundred percent safe and you wouldn't believe me even if I did, so what does it matter? I can tell you what definitely *isn't* safe, though." Krycek shifted his eyes to Skinner. "Sitting around with nanotechnology in your body that Spender has the controls for."
Skinner shuddered on cue.
"The choice is all his. He can take his chances with Spender and the little black box, or he can take a chance with my cure. Knowing that it's in my best interest to get him out of this alive and well and de-nano-ized." He paused, then added archly, "And you all know how seriously I take my best interest. Do you *really* think I don't have a damn good idea of how long my life expectancy is if he dies from this?"
Mulder faced Skinner, but didn't even get his mouth open before Skinner lifted a forestalling hand, just as Krycek had done. "Agent Mulder, I appreciate your concern. I've been thinking of nothing but this all day. I've done my soul searching." He looked to Scully, smooth latex hands cradling the amber-filled shot. "This is it. I'm doing this." Taking a slow breath, he released it and nodded to Scully, relaxing in the chair as she prepped his arm. He watched everything without blinking, face perfectly blank.
The room drew a collective breath as the needle pierced the skin of his inner elbow. Nothing moved as the plunger descended agonizingly slowly, and the antidote forced its way into the bloodstream. Multiple lungs refilled as Scully placed a cotton ball over the injection, and removed the needle smoothly.
******
Washington DC
January 27th
EveningIn an elegant office on the top floor of a nondescript building in the heart of D.C., cigarette smoke insinuated itself into the weave of expensive drapes, drawn against the evening dark.
On a heavy wooden desk, copies of an FBI report signed by Special Agent Dana Scully sat in a circle of white light, the only illumination in the large room. The report detailed, with typical Scully thoroughness, the summons to Los Angeles, California, and the preliminary trappings of the case the California office needed special X-File assistance with. Long fingers rifled the report one more time, rereading the flat lies that looked so convincing.
A slow lungful of smoke calmed the building irritation in the man behind the desk, but only for a moment. Rolling the cigarette between finger and thumb, he moved his hand from the lying pages to touch the mute, black Palm Pilot sitting beside the false report. Releasing his inhalation soundlessly, he picked up the phone and pressed one button.
"Morton and O'Dell are on their way to California? Good, good. I know, but we can't be too careful. There are other... considerations. No, that won't be possible. I understand, but that will not be possible. Our resources are restricted in this matter." He lifted the cigarette and caught it between his lips with the care of a lover. Sucking gently, he listened to the voice in his ear telling him Alex Krycek would be easier found with the full resources of the Consortium in play. Waited until the man ran down uncertainly. "No." The finality went unquestioned this time. "I do however have another avenue I wish pursued." Fingers stroked over the report, and a sprinkling of gray ash fell to cover the words. "There is a certain address on file belonging to the 'Lone Gunmen' publication. Surveillance 'round the clock until further notice." He sighed at the squawk of concern about spreading limited staff too thin, and hung up before the complaint was completed.
Sometimes he really missed the good old days.
*****
Somewhere in the wilds of North Carolina
January 27th
7:27 pmThey all hold their breath, waiting for Skinner to turn purple, or explode, or for tentacles to burst from his ears, or... something. But, of course, nothing happens immediately. Even without knowing for sure if this is going to work, I could have told them that. After a few moments, I can see them start feeling stupid, just standing there. Oh yeah, now they remember to breathe.
I fight not to laugh, knowing my humor won't be appreciated. I wonder if I can slip away now that my part is done. I'm tired and my head hurts and I don't know if this is going to work or get me maimed at the hands of a vengeful Mulder and an out-of-patience Scully. I want to go back to bed. I was actually getting some real rest before Skinner woke me up. I pluck restlessly at the sweatpants that were lying across the end of my bed when Skinner woke me up for the big injection. I don't know for sure where they came from, because I was asleep when they appeared. But I can guess from the tightness across my hips who they belong to, and I very much doubt it's the big man sitting here glaring at me. I wonder again, as I did when I put them on, if the suspected owner left them for me himself.
Skinner stares at the spot where the needle went in like it's one of his misbehaving agents that he can glare into submission. Suddenly, he looks up and our eyes meet. I give him a shrug. And now everyone stares at me. So much for slipping away. I roll my eyes.
"Don't ask me. I told you, all I know is this reportedly worked during lab testing, deactivating the nano-machines and causing the body to reject them."
"Well, naturally we can't expect instant results," Scully says calmly.
Yes indeed, I'm really starting to appreciate the good Doctor Scully. She has more than a passing acquaintance with reason and common sense. Unlike her psycho partner.
Said psycho partner looks increasingly out of his depth here. He doesn't know how to deal with the wait or the uncertainty, or for that matter with Skinner, who is still just sitting there, staring at me. So Mulder stares at me, too. Skinner's look is asking 'Have I made a fatal mistake trusting you with my life?' Mulder's look says, 'I don't know what to do, but smacking you around would feel good.'
Lucky for me, Scully seems to pick up on Mulder's state of mind too. I know she's just trying to get him out of the room when she casually says, "Mulder, as long as the guys are here, why don't you get them started on that data Alex got from the lab?"
The geekboys start salivating at the thought of getting their virtual paws on Evil Shadow Government Data, and Mulder grins at Scully, grabbing the excuse to run away and play. I watch them disappear into the Batcave and wonder how long I can count on the three of them keeping him out of my hair.
When I turn back, Skinner is rubbing his arm, and taking slow, deep breaths. He's waiting for the pain to start. I know the feeling. Scully walks over to stand behind him and I can't help noticing her hands look almost child-like on those massive shoulders.
"For what it's worth, I really do think this will work," I offer quietly. He glances up, all narrowed eyes and knotted brows. I sigh. Being reassuring isn't my best look. I've worked much harder on menacing. "I just mean, the nanocytes worked exactly as predicted in the reports. I'm betting the deactivation will as well." No response. I try again. "The scientists were the same. I trust their work to... ah... operate like they say it will."
Well, that sounded lame.
When he just continues to look at me like I'm the antichrist come to spoil his day, I can't still the frustration coiling through me. Undoubtedly he's thinking he wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for me, but dammit... I'm doing my best. I finally growl, "Give it a rest already. Hate me all you want for infecting you, but this is an honest effort to undo them."
His eyes bore into me. His lip curls. "Am I supposed to thank you?"
I snort, "Yeah, right. Be a cold day in hell, I'm sure." Just stop sitting there silently despising me. I'm getting sensitive in my old age. I almost laugh at the thought, except it's not funny. I'd really like to go back to bed now. "I did what I did with the nanos and I'd do it again. Gotta admit, nice way to make sure if you were still jumping for Old Smoky, I could countermand any given order I didn't agree with."
Scully stands behind him, her small hands white-knuckled on his shoulders, and I can see she doesn't like me very much at the moment. Sorry lady, this is who I am. Take it or leave it. I didn't ask for your judgement. "Are you suggesting that you've been working against the Consortium all this time?" she asks coldly.
"No. Just since they so kindly tried to kill me. After the second or third time, it got sort of annoying, you know?"
"And that's the only reason?" she persists. An uncontrollable grin stretches my lips again. "You wouldn't believe me if I said I thought bringing the bastards down would benefit mankind, so I won't."
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I feel a shiver race through me. I shouldn't be cold... I've got sweatpants now and I'm still dragging my quilt around. More out of habit than anything else. Thirty-four is a bit old for a security blanket, but hey, I need all the reassurance I can get right now. I pull the quilt tighter around my shoulders and chest. So damned awkward with only one arm. Although the left... arm... is much longer now. I almost have an elbow. Shit. It just... hangs there. Still no feeling in the newest growth. I wish I could say the same for the shoulder, but the burning and crawling sensation are back in full force there.
And then I notice that I've been sitting here, mouth partly open, staring off into space, for who knows how long. Skinner is lying on the foldout bed now, his hands resting calmly across his stomach, trying to breathe slowly and evenly. Christ, how long did I zone out? Scully is looking at me curiously.
"I'm fine," I insist. Her eyebrows rise. Oh. She hadn't asked yet. "I'm going back to bed. I-" I glance at the big body trying to relax on the short bed. I can't make myself try again with him but... "I hope it's not too bad for him," I mutter, not meeting her eyes.
She says nothing, just watches me ease myself up and shuffle to my room.
My room. Right. My closet. My cell. My fucking coffin. I've spent just over 24 hours in this place and I hate this room. But I can't stay in the living room, not if I'm going to start zoning. Besides, I hate to admit it, but I just don't want to sit out there, with them, feeling their contempt.
I resist a brief urge to holler "I've been hated by worse than you" through the almost-closed door. It's true, too. Doesn't make much difference though. Maybe it's actually the problem. Most of the people who hate me are... more like me.
Usually I have a hide a rhino would envy. Now, I feel like there's a revolving door on my soul, with a big sign saying 'Limited time only! Get a piece of Alex Krycek! And if you act now, you get not one, not two, but THREE free chances to kick him while he's down!'
And I'm getting just a little bit sick of it.
Of course by now I've been awake just long enough to lose the feeling that I could go right back to sleep. Pacing around the room, I touch each corner, measuring the boundaries, reassuring myself that the walls are not closing in on me. Walls do not move, Alex. Honest. I turn the bedside lamp up to the next brightness notch. This room *is* a lot nicer prison than the missile silo in North Dakota. And at least the company here is human, even if they despise me. The alien that hijacked my body despised me too, but that wasn't personal. It despises humans in general. Of course, even if it didn't, it probably would have despised me.
Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I'm gonna go eat worms...
I start to smile at the silly tune playing through my head, but then get a vivid memory flash of oily black worms crawling over people's faces, slithering into their nostrils, between their lips, into the corners of their eyes, oozing down through soft tissues into their nervous systems...
Mulder's face... Mulder's nose...
...I'm gagging before I even realize what's wrong. There's nothing in my stomach to come up, so the retching is damned uncomfortable. I bend over, arm wrapping around my middle, trying to keep my balance and not end up on my ass again. When the spasms finally stop my throat is sore once more and I feel dizzy. I make it to the bed and crawl on, curling up and pulling my security quilt around me. Might as well get flat if I'm going delirious. I'm cold, I hurt, I hate everyone.
Nobody likes me...
I'm so damn cold all of a sudden. My stomach settles to a dull ache, but I keep shuddering and I can't get warm. My teeth are practically chattering. I duck my chin and drag the quilt up to my nose. I hate this. Hate hate hate this.
I hear abrupt movement in the other room, all the louder because I can't make myself close the stupid door. The thump of running feet beating a path to the bathroom. Someone being loudly sick. Ah. Skinner. Guess the cure is starting to have some effect.
Good. It better work. Much as I hate giving up control over him, I need him right now. I need to curry some favor, and fast. I need Mulder and Scully, and I even need their stupid friends. And this is the only way.
I hate needing people. Hate is too light a word for my reaction to even the thought of needing people. And I sure as hell hate needing people who don't like me, who can barely stand the sight of me.
Everybody hates me...
Damn, it's cold. Why is it so cold? My quilt isn't enough. I've never been this cold, even in Russia. I burrow down under the bedding, keeping my quilt and pulling the bedspread up over it, then curling into a ball again. I can hear the low murmur of Scully's voice, soothing and competent. She has a good bedside manner. Toilet-side manner. Whatever. She's good to have around when you feel like dying.
I'm gonna go eat worms...
Oily black worms... I wonder how it feels to have them crawling into you, little by little. I could ask Mulder. That would be one way to commit suicide. The Black Oil was nasty, thick and cold, cutting off breath, cutting off my mind from my body, but it rolled over me like I was nothing... all at once. I remember gagging and trying to puke and it flowing into me, no matter how much I fought, just pushing me aside and *taking*. I shudder helplessly, recalling the obscene invasion of my body.
Bad as that was, its leaving was worse. I ached for days after that, talk about puking. And then the realization, and the dark... vast, endless, towering darkness, cold, hard concrete and steel, all sound muffled and hollow and...
Oh shit. I'm going to have those dreams again. Panic blooms in my chest. I'm hitting the delirium and I'm thinking about the silo. I'm going to dream of the silo. No, don't want to go there. Can't go there. Gotta stay awake. How can I keep myself awake... long division. Do long division in my head.
Right.
Sounds like Skinner is getting back into bed. Scully is talking softly to him. How does *he* like heaving up alien nasties? No one talked to *me* afterwards, rubbing my back, holding my hand in the dark... the dark...
No. Stop. Don't think it.
At least I paid Skinner back for that night on the balcony. Yeah, I've seen worse than anything he did, but damn it, I went to Mulder in good faith, handed him that terrorist bust, would have handed him Spender's head if he'd asked for it. So I had some ulterior motives. Our agendas could have meshed... would have meshed. I'd have made sure of it. Did make sure of it, as much as I could. Got him vaccinated. Of course it meant exposing him to the black worms. Worms. Crawling on his face-
Stop. Don't.
Where was I? Back up. Think other things. Concentrate. Skinner's balcony. Good faith. Right. Righteous indignation. That'll keep me awake. The bastards. Go to them, hand over the militia losers, save lives. And what? Get beat up by two men who are supposed to be the fucking good guys. It wasn't until that sucker punch that I moved Skinner from my list of Reluctant Victims of Spender to my list of Bastards Like All the Others. Well no, I even gave him the punch. After the hospital stairwell, I could almost understand, even if he was supposed to be better than that. Better than me. I guess it was the balcony that really got him jumping lists.
Funny how Mulder never made that second list, no matter how hard he tried.
It's hard to breathe. When did I stop shaking? I'm not cold. I wriggle and the blankets feel heavy. The air feels heavy... heavy as diesel oil, lying on me, weighing me down... Oh shit, not good. This is Not Good. I fight my arm free of the quilt and blankets, pushing them down off my face. I roll onto my back, telling myself I can breathe fine. It almost works. I try to breathe slow, still my mind. Hell *cannot* be any worse than this. I might as well just go there now.
I know it's the craziness sneaking up on me again, whatever this stuff is inside me marinating my brain and sending me out to lunch. If I stay awake, I'll be babbling who knows what to the ghosts of the people I've offed. If I go to sleep, I'll be back in the silo again with my gooey friend and his barnacle-encrusted ship.
I yawn, kicking off most of the blankets. Lassitude steals through me... my legs feel heavy, my arm feels heavy, even my half-arm that I can't feel feels heavy. The ceiling is blurry. I should get up, try walking around. Wake myself up again. Maybe I can at least keep the nightmares away if I stay awake...
...Why does he have to be such a selfish pig? Goddamn poptart-hoarding bastard. Could have let me have *one*. Frosted blueberry's always been my favorite...
...The air is so heavy, stale, like thick black oil pouring over me, I can't move, I can't breathe... my whole body heaves as the slimy gunk comes pouring out of my mouth, my nose, my ears...
*****
3:30 am
Scully tucked the blankets around Skinner's shoulders, running her hand over his forehead. His skin felt clammy, but his color looked better, even in the low light. His eyes flickered open and he managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Agent Scully. I appreciate you taking such good care of me."
"You're welcome, sir. How are you feeling?"
He winced. "Right about now, like I never want to leave this bed. But I think I'll live," he rasped.
She settled on the side of the bed, straightening the blankets over his chest. The warm darkness, the quietness of the rest of the house, the moonlight spilling through the side window, all combined to wrap her in a surreal feeling. Speaking softly so as not to jar the mood, she smiled down at him. "So far so good on what Krycek told us. It looks as though your body is reacting as predicted. I won't know the full results for certain until the Gunmen take your blood samples to the lab, but I think it's a good sign you're reacting as he expected, given he's the one that's seen the closest thing we have to clinical trials."
Stretching, Skinner grimaced at his aching sides, the muscles sore from vomiting. Matching his tone to hers, he murmured, "After due thought, I doubted he was lying outright about the neutralizer. He'd have to be extremely stupid to willfully endanger my life under these circumstances. And we know that whatever else Alex Krycek is-"
"He isn't stupid," Scully agreed. "Of course, he never claimed he was certain it would work."
"No, he covered his-" Skinner paused, looking at Scully. "Options." Scully grinned. "Do you think you can get some sleep, sir? Maybe if you could sleep through some of the worst of it..."
In the dim light Skinner's eyes focused on her, so much softer without the traditional barrier of glass and wire. He paused, as if wrestling internally, then spoke in a voice husky from the soreness of his throat. "You know," he began hesitantly, "it seems ridiculously formal for you to call me 'sir' when you've been helping me kneel over a toilet, seeing me at my very worst." Shifting restlessly, he tried to find a comfortable position, starting to dodge her gaze but then firming his chin and meeting her eyes. "At least while we're here, would you call me Walter?"
Surprised by his request, and the pleasure that warmed her, Scully's grin faded briefly, then bloomed again in a gentle smile. "Well, I... ah..." Swallowing hard, she stopped, pushed her hair back behind her ear and murmured, "Or course... Walter." Straightening from the bed, Scully gave him a warm look, then waved uncertainly over her shoulder in the direction of the bathroom. "I'm going to just... uh... clean up in there a bit. I'll leave the door open, and I can hear you easily. Call me if you need *anything*."
"Thank you. Dana." Spoken so softly, she didn't know if she was supposed to hear the words or not, as she slipped out of the room.
Hope. Walter Skinner allowed himself the luxury of the alien emotion for the first time in... he wasn't even sure how long. He had a real possibility of being free of the threat of a hideous death by a nanocyte-induced "vascular event". The devious rat was running in their maze, for now. And that meant that they actually had a real chance of getting somewhere in their endless struggle with Spender. If only they could take down that son of a bitch, he'd consider Krycek's debt paid in full.
And... judging by the gentle care she'd shown him these past hours, and by the expression on her face and the look in her eyes just now, he was of some value to Dana Scully, as more than just a supportive supervisor. She cared about him. Maybe not in the way he thought of her, but at least she didn't hold his past failures against him, and... there was something more. Something in her touch, in her eyes. A regard, a respect. Something, possibly, he could build on, if he had the nerve to try. If he ignored the rules and regulations. If...
If he lived.
He took a slow breath. He was possibly getting his life back, and he was worrying about rules and regulations and getting up the nerve? ::That time's long past, Walt. If there's a chance there, you go for it. No hesitation.:: Staring at the reflected moonlight on the bottom of the pull out bed, he felt a smile pull at his lips. Things were changing, that much was certain. Time to start taking some control of the changes. Sore and nauseated as he was, he fell asleep with unfamiliar hope making him feel lighter than he had in years.
*****
On her hands and knees, running a towel soaked in hot water over the floor around the toilet, Scully observed resentfully that *Mulder* wasn't the one wiping splashes of vomit off of the floor. A real X-File if there ever was one... why invariably the *woman* always ends up cleaning up the puke.
For a few moments she amused herself with fantasies of going down to the basement and asking Frohike to clean up the bathroom. Finally satisfied that the room no longer smelled foul, and was as sanitary as it was going to get, she wrung out the towel and hung it up to dry. As she washed her hands thoroughly, she realized that come to think of it, she couldn't really imagine Alex Krycek cleaning a toilet, either.
Which reminded her that their prisoner had been left alone for several hours. Time to go take *that* temperature, she supposed.
She left the bathroom and checked on Skinner, pleased to see he seemed to have actually drifted off. As she moved quietly to Krycek's room, she noticed the light was still on, spilling around the almost-closed door. Pushing the door open soundlessly, she leaned in to see him huddled around a pillow, shivering. He'd kicked away the blankets, and looked... vulnerable.
She spent a moment leaning against the door, wondering how he managed it. How someone so *corrupt* could look so different just by closing his eyes. Had to be that baby-face, she decided tiredly.
However innocent he looked, it certainly wasn't the sleep of the just, she noted. It was not a restful sleep at all. His body jerked oddly, his breathing uneven and harsh. The odd shape of his left arm, clearly visible through the loose, long-sleeved t-shirt he still wore, flailed occasionally, though she couldn't tell if it was simple muscle reflex or something to do with the dreams that disturbed him. His eyelids twitched and his muscles tensed and bunched. Slipping into the room, Scully closed the door fully behind her. Walking closer, she debated waking him. As she reached the bed, he subsided, and she carefully pressed her fingers against his throat, checking his pulse. Fast, and not as steady as she'd like. But he didn't appear to be feverish... his skin felt cool to the touch, almost too cool. Frowning, she pulled the covers up, concerned at the drop in body temperature, noticing as she did so that the weight of the blankets seemed disturbing to him. His breath caught, his hand pushing something intangible away before gripping the pillow again.
She bit her lip, debating shaking him out of his sleep versus letting him get what rest he could. Brushing her hand over his forehead, as she had done with Skinner, seemed to quiet him. She stroked his hair back and unconsciously started making a soft shushing sound. She froze when she realized what she was doing, and glanced over her shoulder in guilty reflex. Flushing and stepping back, she noted that at least it worked. He settled, and his muscles relaxed.
Dropping down into the armchair by the bed, she realized all at once how tired she was. Running her hands through her hair, she massaged her scalp and took deep breaths.
What she really wanted was a long soak in a hot bath. Not possible now, not as long as Skinner - Walter - might need her, or access to the bathroom, suddenly. And certainly not as long as Frohike and his cohorts were anywhere nearby. She wouldn't be surprised if they had video cameras wired up in the bathroom walls or ceiling.
A hot bath, and some real food. And her own bed, in her own apartment. With the door securely locked against reckless, thoughtless, beloved partners; sarcastic, baby-faced assassins; and overgrown adolescent, misfit hackers.
Strong, silent ADs on the other hand...
She pushed the thought away and tucked her hands under her arms, trying to warm her fingers. She hadn't noticed before how cold the room was... perhaps that was the only reason Alex felt so cool. Sitting in the room, the rest of the house quiet and still, she realized it did have a bit of a closed in feeling, small and tight. No wonder Krycek hated being confined in here.
He turned over, pushing the pillow away, mumbling softly.
What was it Mulder had once said about life throwing curve balls? Her two patients were bitter enemies. But Skinner seemed able to look beyond his personal hatred for Krycek and see the larger picture. Unlike Mulder. *Everything* was personal with him.
She smiled. Despite her unquestioned love for Mulder, she liked to think her strong instinct for self-preservation had saved her from falling *in* love with him. She would fight at his side, fight for him, fight with him. Sacrifice for him. But somewhere along the way, the best-friend-instinct had crossed that line that precluded romance. Beyond the natural sexual evaluation at first meeting, and the occasional curiosity fantasy, she'd never seriously considered Fox Mulder as a bed partner or romantic prospect.
Truth to tell, she had a hard time picturing Fox Mulder considering himself as a romantic prospect... for anyone. She hated to say the man had no life, but... the man had no life. And she knew, with a depressing certainty, that she was falling into the same pattern, no matter how often she recognized the signs and tried to stave them off.
But Skinner, now. Walter. What about his potential? Scully settled back in the armchair, and hugged her knees up to her chest, trying to get warm. Her first few meetings with A.D. Skinner had not been such that she had, for one moment, though of *him* as a potential bed partner. There was the natural deterrent of being her supervisor, of course. Beyond that, the X-Files never failed to get a less-that-welcoming reaction from him, his patience always tried by the two different reports that followed each case, something that had soon become a pattern. She and Mulder had always referred to him - behind his back, of course - as Old Stone Face.
God, she was tired. She should call Mulder up to watch her patients, and get some sleep. She should, but she wouldn't, since she'd really prefer to take Mulder off Krycek-watch-rotation altogether. She stared at Krycek, who was twitching again. Mulder just wouldn't leave the man alone and she knew him well enough not to stress his questionable self-control more than needed.
And Skinner. Walter, she reminded herself. That would take a little getting used to. It did seem odd to call him 'sir' in this setting, these circumstances. But as for calling Mulder to keep an eye on Walter... she found herself reluctant to let anyone else look after him. He was so embarrassed at showing his weakness, yet he did take comfort from her presence. Her mind played over the way he turned to her now as his system rid itself of the poison. Much as he had turned to her in the hospital, when they still didn't know what the nanocytes were or what they did, when all they knew was that he was dying and they couldn't stop it. Her mind slid further back, remembering another hospital room, another injury, and Walter Skinner staring up at her with complete trust, gripping her hand as she insisted on riding in the ambulance with him after his shooting by Luis Cardinale.
She hated to see him vulnerable, in danger. Mulder she was used to rescuing, used to visiting in the hospital. Sometimes it seemed like he spent his life stripping himself bare and making himself as vulnerable - emotionally and physically - as possible. But Walter. It hurt to see him unable to be what he so obviously longed to be... the protector, the knight in shining armor. From the early ambiguity when she wasn't sure which side he fell on, to the slow, arduous *process* of his growing relationship with his agents, his true self had risen to the fore again and again. He'd managed to extricate himself tentacle by tentacle from the clinging grip of the Consortium, only to have Krycek suck him back in with the threat of pain and death, bend him again to that compromised hell he seemed destined to struggle with.
She stared at the restless body before her with a flash of the old, uncomplicated antipathy. She winced as the very thought underlined how complex her feelings about Alex Krycek had now become, and pushed the entire matter out of her head to deal with when she wasn't so tired. Instead, she let her mind circle back lazily until it rested, again, on... Walter.
She blinked, surprised. Granted, she'd just spent hours trying to make him comfortable, but there seemed to be something more to her preoccupation. She let her mind drift again, and found it winding repeatedly around the last moments before she had gotten up from the bed, when he'd asked her to call him by his given name. Something... something familiar hung about the exchange, something that tickled her tired mind and-
Her eyes widened as she made the connection. The moments on the porch, just before the Gunmen drove up. The look in his eyes, the hesitant manner... the *feel* had been the same as their soft, shadowy discussion on hi