APPROACHING CONCINNITY (Part 3)
 By Verily 

 See part 1 for disclaimers etc.  

 9:47 PM
 10 December 2000
 Bethesda, Maryland 

 The fluorescent bulbs hummed far above their heads, illuminating the
cement ceiling of the warehouse. Darkness seemed to seep up from the
floor, swallowing the diffuse rays that attempted to penetrate the depths
of the room. Soft light surrounded him, gently casting the walls, the
storage crates, and his companion in a sickly golden glow only to fade to
black in corners. 

 Mulder had used this location before for contacting informants, and it
was the only building that had satisfied Krycek's conditions: secure,
dimly lit, two entrances--both visible from a central location. So here
they were, sitting edgily on a stack of wooden crates. Waiting. 

 Krycek was a shadowy presence beside him; his clothes and hair seemed to
pull the weak light out of the air around them and sequester it somewhere.
The other man was watching the two doors, eyes restlessly flicking around
the cavern-like storage space. His leather jacket was open, his hand
resting close to his weapon. He looked professional. Calm. Only
infrequently did Mulder catch a small tightening of his jaw that gave away
the tension beneath the smooth exterior. 

 Krycek didn't want to be here. Mulder didn't know why he had insisted on
coming. 

 There were a lot of things about Krycek he didn't know, despite the five
minutes he had spent in the other man's head. Mulder had expected to gain
some clarity from the experience. He had expected answers. And, he
supposed, he had gotten them in a manner of speaking. He knew what Marita
was up to, and, more importantly, he was relatively sure that Krycek's
intentions were- 

 Good enough. 

 That's what it came down to, in the final analysis. How willing was
Mulder to get his hands dirty on Krycek's account? To get them bloody?
Because if anyone had the ability to drag him down off his moral
high-horse and into the mire of practicality, it was Krycek. In some ways
he almost respected the man; Krycek had sublimated everything to achieving
one goal: resisting colonization. 

 Sure, it sounded noble when you put it like that, but did the ends
justify the means? Nothing stood in the man's way. Not emotional
attachment, not visceral pleasures, not fear, not loyalty. He was
ruthless. 

 //Totally ruthless?// 

 Mulder had never achieved that level of heartless efficiency, not without
letting guilt gnaw away at the edges of his psyche. 

 No, reading Krycek's mind had NOT been the epiphany he had expected. 

 He let his thoughts drift back to that cold morning, remembering how it
had felt to share Krycek's thoughts. It had been easier, less painful than
the occasional, unintentional mental hook-ups he had suffered in the past.
Krycek had excellent control over his own mind. He had made an effort to
direct his thoughts at Mulder, without "shouting" at him. 

 //Well, until I asked him about my father.// 

 While Mulder appreciated Krycek's mental discipline, it had also left him
with a vaguely unsatisfied feeling--like there was something significant
that Krycek had managed to keep from him. Mulder knew that the other man
couldn't have lied to him directly, but he knew that Krycek had kept more
to himself than most- 

 Right. The man had willingly allowed him to commit a gross invasion of
personal privacy, and Mulder was upset that Krycek hadn't become magically
transparent. Five minutes, it seemed, wasn't long enough to understand a
person. 

 Not that he had an overwhelming urge to spend more than that on Alex
Krycek. Definitely not. The man was a rat bastard. Krycek had killed his
father. Both of them. 

 And yet, as much as he wished he could hold onto his righteous anger, he
knew it had been shattered when he had read Krycek's reaction to his last
question. It had been a multi-layered, complicated response and, to
Mulder, it had felt real. More real than anything Skinner or Scully had
said to him since he'd woken a few months ago in Georgetown Memorial. It
allowed him to let go of some of his knee-jerk resistance to anything that
came out of the other man's mouth, and to listen to what he had to say. 

 //You like being with him because he hasn't moved on with his life, like
everyone else has. Like Scully has. He's the same as he's always been,
saving the world with one hand and fucking it over with the other.// 

 //Shut up. He only has one hand. He can't do both anymore. And I don't
LIKE being with him.// 

 //You've as good as forgiven him for killing your father.// 

 Hell. Both of his "fathers" had fucked him over repeatedly. And if he was
truly honest with himself, he was as tired of reiterating the same litany
of accusations as Krycek was of hearing them. 

 The man, in some ways, had squared his account with Mulder, and that made
him feel lost. All he had left were the shards of his broken hatred. He
couldn't seem to let them go, even though they cut him deeply. 

 Oddly, he found that he had absorbed more than he consciously recalled of
their interaction. Every so often, some obscure fact about Krycek would
strike him. He liked Dostoevsky, but not Tolstoy. He was making a decent
living trading stock online under an assumed name. Sometimes, the man
boosted red sports cars just for the hell of it. 

 It was enough to make him wonder if he was going crazy. Maybe he was. 

 "Hey, Krycek. Do you like Tolstoy?" 

 "What?" The whispered word cut the air like a knife. 

 "Do you like Tolstoy?" 

 Krycek muttered something in Russian, sounding disgusted. 

 "That's a no, then?" 

 "You are so fucking RANDOM sometimes." The words had a bit of an edge,
but Krycek looked vaguely amused. 

 "Hey. I'm just making conversation." Mulder's voice was flat. 

 "Nice change." Krycek said wryly, eyes flicking away from the door to
look at Mulder. He looked like he was about to speak, when the door to
their left opened. 

 The Gunmen slunk warily into the room, filing in one after another, only
to stop and stare at Krycek. Langly looked at the floor quickly, Byers'
blue eyes widened, but it was Frohike who came to the fore, eyes narrowed
in suspicion. 

 "What the hell is HE doing here?" 

 Mulder stood at Frohike's outburst, extending an empty hand as a gesture
of placation. But before he could speak, Krycek broke in. 

 "Selling girl scout cookies." 

 Mulder glared at him. 

 Byers and Langly flanked Frohike, looking uneasy. Seeing that Krycek
hadn't moved, and didn't appear to be much of a threat at the moment, the
three moved forward cautiously, expecting an answer from Mulder. 

 "Mulder, the dude could flip us." Langly sounded nervous. 

 "Settle down, boys." Mulder's voice was authoritative as he moved to
stand between Krycek and the Gunmen. "Krycek has some important
information. Stuff that you guys, in particular, might be interested in." 

 "If you behave, I'll give you an exclusive interview for your little
newsletter," Krycek said. Mulder didn't bother to turn and glare. He
didn't need to see the other man to know that he was smirking. 

 Frohike gave a short, unhappy nod, and that seemed to decide Byers and
Langly. The silence was oppressive, but the tension in the room eased
noticeably as the three perched on crates to wait with them. 

 The meeting time he'd given the Gunmen had been ten minutes earlier than
the time he'd given Scully, Skinner and Doggett. It had been a point that
he and Krycek had agreed upon. They both knew that getting the Gunmen to
listen to what they had to say would be one hell of a lot easier than
getting the other three on board. 

 "Krycek." Mulder's voice was low. "Whatever you do, don't pull your
weapon." 

 "Do I look like I have a death wish?" Krycek whispered back. 

 "Try not to LOOK like you might pull your weapon." 

 Krycek gave Mulder an irritated glance, but before he could answer, the
door opened. Skinner walked through, followed by Doggett. Scully slipped
in behind them. The three caught sight of Krycek. 

 They moved forward in a wave, Scully's pumps beating a staccato rhythm on
the cement. Mulder and Krycek stood to meet them. 

 Four successive clicks broke the silence as four guns came out of four
holsters. Four rounds were chambered, and almost simultaneously, four
weapons cocked. Krycek stood, gun in hand, facing the barrels of three Sig
Sauers. His silencer was pointed directly at Skinner. 

 "Drop it." Scully spoke first. 

 "Ladies first," Krycek's said, his tone artificially saccharine. His eyes
never wavered from Skinner's face. 

 "You were at the Bureau," Doggett said, his face tight with anger,
"impersonating an FBI agent." 

 "At least I don't have to do it every day," Krycek said, shifting his
eyes briefly to sneer at Doggett, "How does it feel-" 

 "Shut up, Krycek," Mulder hissed. 

 //Is he TRYING to get himself killed?// 

 Mulder moved slowly. One step. Another, until he stood directly between
Krycek and Skinner. Scully was now the only one of the three who had a
clear shot. 

 "Agent Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" Skinner's voice was
concerned, almost frightened. 

 "Preventing something we would all regret." Mulder's voice was calm. 

 Scully moved first, lowering her weapon in one smooth motion. After a
moment, one of her hands came up to rest gently on Doggett's arm. Slowly,
her partner lowered his Sig as well. They stood back slightly, watching
Skinner and Krycek. Both men had adjusted their aims, trying to angle for
a clear shot. 

 Mulder took a small step backward, feeling the cold metal of Krycek's
silencer brush against the back of his neck. Instantly, Krycek turned the
gun away from Mulder, and he heard the safety click back into place, heard
the gun slide back into its holster with the soft scratch of metal on
leather. 

 "Krycek has something to give you." Mulder looked unflinchingly into the
barrel of Skinner's Sig. Skinner's eyes flicked to Krycek, and he gave a
barely perceptible nod. Mulder sensed rather than saw Krycek reach into
his leather jacket and pull out the palm pilot that controlled the
nanocytes in Skinner's blood. Krycek pressed the device into Mulder's
hand. 

 Slowly, Mulder held it out to Skinner. After a moment's hesitation,
Skinner lowered his weapon, and walked forward to take it. The tension in
the air decreased marginally. 

 "I asked you all here," Mulder said quietly, turning to glance at the
Gunmen, who had been standing to one side, out of the line of fire,
"Because Krycek has some important information concerning the date of
colonization." 

 "Colonization?" Doggett sounded skeptical. 

 "Yes. The colonization of our planet by an extra-terrestrial race."
Mulder's voice was serious. 

 Doggett laughed abruptly, looking incredulous. No one else cracked a
smile. 

 "Mulder." Scully had that oh-so-rational tone of voice that he'd learned
to dread. Maybe even fear. "Explain to me why we should trust anything
that Alex Krycek might say." 

 "You've got no choice." Krycek's voice was dark, and smooth as satin. He
stood slightly behind Mulder's left shoulder. 

 "No," Doggett said, "I think we DO have a choice." He turned to Mulder.
"I watched this guy deliberately choose NOT to give you the vaccine to
cure whatever the hell it was that turned Billy Miles into one of
those--supersoldiers." 

 "You have no clue what you're talking about." Krycek's voice was tight.
"He would have been fine if YOU people hadn't buried him for-" he broke
off. 

 It was very difficult for Mulder not to flinch. 

 "He would not have been 'fine.' You would NOT have been 'fine,' Mulder."
Scully's voice was like flint, all stone and sparks. 

 //Am I fine now?// 

 "He's a liar and a murderer. I want to know why you think we can trust
him." Doggett's voice was angry. 

 Mulder looked at all of them, face completely neutral. 

 "I read his thoughts." 

 There was a moment of shock, and then a split second as attitudes
readjusted. He had expected skepticism, incredulity, and opposition.
Instead, an ominous silence fell over them all. 

 //Uh oh.// 

 Scully looked concerned, in control. Doggett looked confident. 

 He could feel Krycek's presence at his side, and risked a glance at the
man. He was radiating hostility, eyes burning into Agent Doggett. 

 "Prove it," Doggett said to Mulder. 

 "Fine," Mulder snapped. "Close your eyes and think of something." He
stepped forward; sure they could all see through his transparent shell of
confidence. He waited until Doggett closed his eyes, then brought the
fingers of his right hand up to the agent's left temple. He took a deep
breath, and opened his mind. 

 The familiar aural dissonance ripped through his head, but beneath it, oh
God, beneath it--he heard Doggett's thoughts. He wanted Mulder committed.
He wanted Krycek arrested. Mulder started to pull out, afraid, vulnerable,
but then he saw it. Saw the image Doggett was focusing on. It seared its
way into his consciousness, and it was hard, so hard, not to scream. 

 He ripped his hand away from Doggett's skin and stepped back, staggering
into Krycek. He felt the other man's right hand close around his bicep
like a vise, steadying him, directing him away from Doggett and Scully. 

 "What the fuck did you just do?" Krycek's voice was quiet, seething with
barely contained rage. For a moment, Mulder thought Krycek was talking to
him. 

 "Nothing!" Doggett said, looking vaguely guilty. 

 "Mulder, you're sick." Scully was looking at him now, all concern. "You
need to be in a hospital." 

 He looked at her, recognizing the determined expression on her face, her
certainty that she was doing the right thing. The situation had already
slipped out of his control. He felt icewater tearing through his veins.
She was going to commit him. They were going to fucking lock him up in a
psychiatric ward and throw away the key this time. And they were going to
arrest Krycek. There would be no one, no one who knew- 

 "You're not taking him anywhere." Krycek's voice was deadly serious, and
he had released his grip on Mulder's arm, his hand inching back towards
his silencer. 

 "He's not well." Scully's words were icy, and directed at Skinner. 

 Skinner looked uncertainly at both Mulder and Scully. As the ranking
Bureau member present, the decision seemed to fall to him by default. 

 "Sir," Mulder said, trying to sound calm, trying to look rational. "If I
ever needed you to believe me-" he had to break off as his voice cracked
under the strain. 

 He sounded too desperate. This wasn't going to work. 

 Scully said nothing, her hair casting delicate shadows over her pale
skin. Skinner spent a long moment looking through both of them, as if he
were choosing between his heart and his conscience. 

 The choice seemed clear to Mulder. On the AD's right hand were Scully and
Doggett, coolly professional in the clean lines of their suits, standing
for the scientists and for men of the law. On Skinner's left, Mulder and
Krycek curled into themselves, wounded and dangerous, standing for the
lunatics and the traitors, the irrational and the twisted, all the
Cassandras of the world that screamed the truth into uncomprehending ears.
This might be their last attempt to communicate the information that had
claimed their bodies and their souls before they were dragged down into
the hell of chemical and physical incarceration, able to do nothing as the
inevitability of their fate finally claimed them. 

 The silence was unbearable. 

 "I've been wrong," Skinner said softly, "So many times. I've made the
same damn mistake over and over." He came to stand next to Mulder, facing
Scully. "I won't do it again." 

 Scully's face tightened. "I won't put my life in the hands of Alex
Krycek." 

 "I'm with Agent Scully." Doggett stood next to her. 

 No one said anything. Mulder realized they were waiting for him to make a
decision. To negotiate. To persuade. To take the sterilized life of the
lab and of the office and to incorporate it into the realm of the
improbable and bizarre. He stepped away from Krycek and moved forward to
face them. 

 "Then get out." 

 "Mulder, I don't think you can trust your own-" 

 "Get. Out." The words ripped out of him from behind clenched teeth. 

 She turned on her heel then, Doggett behind her. He didn't flinch when
the door shut behind them with a hollow metallic thud. He kept his eyes on
it for a few moments. 

 //My name is Dana Scully. I've been assigned to work with you.// 

 Finally, he tore his eyes away from the door to look at Skinner. The
other man looked as if a piece of him had walked out of the door as well.
After a moment, Skinner turned to face him, defeat etched into his face. 

 //I've done this. I've stripped this from him.// 

 "Thank you." Mulder's voice was barely more than a whisper, and sounded
pathetic in his own years. Skinner just gave him a short nod, and seemed
to pull himself together. The mask was back in place. 

 The six of them moved in, coming to stand in a loose circle. 

 "What have you got?" Skinner asked. 

 "Krycek contacted me a few days ago." Mulder's tone was flawless,
revealing nothing of the fear and anger that still battled beneath his
ribs. "He knows the date." He paused a moment to let his words sink in.
Noted their worried expressions. Glanced pointedly at Krycek. 

 "It's Memorial day. 2001." Krycek fixed the four that remained with an
incisive look. 

 "He has information," Mulder continued, "Concerning a vaccine. There IS
an existing, effective vaccine, which has both prophylactic and
therapeutic value. Krycek stole it from the Russians and it was
mass-produced by the Roush pharmaceutical company. Covarrubias has it
now." 

 "Unfortunately," Mulder continued, "Covarrubias is collaborating fully
with the colonists, and she's been ordered to abandon her plans for
mass-vaccination and turn the stockpiles over to them for destruction." 

 "Why would she agree to do that?" Skinner asked, brow tightening. 

 "If she refused," Krycek said, "Colonization would start immediately and
she wouldn't be able to save any of her people. She does have a strategy;
she's not just fucking over the human race for the hell of it. She's got a
hybridization project going, but there are two problems with that." 

 "More people will die without the vaccine." Langly spoke up. 

 "Yes." Krycek said shortly. "And it precludes the possibility of
resistance, once colonization has begun." 

 "No one will be around to fight." Skinner's voice was rueful. 

 "And the rebel alien force won't touch collaborators with a ten-foot
pole. We would get no help from them." 

 "So what IS the plan?" Byers asked. 

 "We steal a shipment of vaccine on its way to be destroyed." Mulder took
over again. "The original plan was to have Scully look at it, and maybe
figure out how to produce more-" 

 "I have contacts at the National Institutes of Health." Skinner said
shortly. "People that can be trusted." 

 "So assuming we can get our hands on the vaccine," Mulder said, "We would
then have to go public with the information." 

 "Or at least alert the military," Krycek said. "The armed forces have to
be vaccinated. At least in this country, preferably in others as well." 

 "Jesus," Skinner breathed. "Do you realize what you're saying?" 

 Krycek's face was stone. For a moment no one spoke. 

 "We can't save everyone," Krycek said finally. "It would be impossible.
Already we're losing people." 

 "What are you talking about?" Frohike's voice was more anxious than
hostile. 

 "The supersoldiers." Mulder spoke softly. "They're replacing people every
day." 

 "Well," Langly said in his nervous tenor, "Uh, how do we know that one of
US isn't uh-" 

 "Because," Mulder said calmly, "I would be able to tell. I can hear
them." 

 "But," Langly said, "I mean, YOU could be one." He looked at Mulder
apologetically. "How are we supposed to tell?" 

 "Supersoldiers are easy," Krycek said. "The first thoracic vertebra looks
odd, like there's a ridge of metal projecting out of the skin." 

 Mulder felt a slight pressure on his shoulder, and he turned around,
understanding what Krycek wanted. It was hard not to jerk away when he
felt the other man grip the collar of his jacket and shirt. Krycek pulled
down gently, careful not to reveal the bandages that still covered the
stitches in his back. 

 "See?" Krycek said to Langly, "Totally normal. If he were a supersoldier,
there would be a metallic projection," he paused as he rearranged his grip
on the fabric to free a finger, "right here." 

 Mulder tried not to shiver as he felt Krycek trace a path over the base
of his neck. Finally, the other man released Mulder's clothes. 

 "Usually they conceal that spot if they can," Krycek continued. "But you
don't really need to see it to recognize one, because they'll be coming at
you with a blank expression and you won't be able to stop them with any
conventional weapon." 

 "So what are we supposed to do?" Skinner asked, his eyes darkening as he
looked at Krycek. 

 "Magnetite bullets will work. So will magnetite knives, but I don't
recommend getting that close if you can help it." 

 "Why magnetite?" Skinner asked, brow furrowing. 

 "It has to do with the combination of human and alien DNA that they
carry." Krycek gave Mulder a furtive, speculative glance. 

 "Whatever works," Mulder said shortly, frowning. 

 "So what's with the mindreading?" Frohike asked him, changing the
subject. 

 "It's difficult for me to hear human thoughts. But I can hear the
colonists, and I can hear the supersoldiers almost as well." Skinner's
gaze flicked down towards the floor. The Gunmen looked at each other, at
the walls, anywhere but at Mulder. 

 "Can they hear you?" Krycek's eyes seemed clear and bright even in the
diffuse light of the warehouse. 

 "I don't think so. I haven't seen any evidence of it. They never seemed
to be able to when I was aboard the ship." Krycek's eyes never left his.
"They tried, I think." He touched his fingers to his temple, as he felt a
stab of remembered pain. 

 "Why do you think you're able to hear them?" Byers asked his question
quietly. 

 Mulder shrugged. He didn't want to think about it. 

 "He probably has some active alien DNA, like Gibson Praise," Langly
offered. "We could get a blood sample and-" 

 "No tests." Krycek's voice was icy. For a split second, Mulder felt
absurdly grateful. Then Krycek continued. "It doesn't matter what he is.
We should just be thankful he's still alive and we can use him." 

 //Ah Krycek, always looking for an angle.// 

 "Just what the hell are you planning on using him FOR?" Skinner's voice
sounded threatening. 

 "Think about it. If he can tell humans from colonists just from sitting
in a room with them-" Krycek trailed off, letting them draw their own
conclusions. 

 "Look Krycek," Skinner said angrily, "If we're going to work with you-" 

 "There's no IF." Mulder broke in. "Krycek is absolutely right. We're
going to need every advantage we can get against the colonists." His voice
was totally flat. "Now let's stop wasting time, and go plan this thing."
He turned to the Gunmen. "Boys, we're gonna need your kung-fu." 

 "We'll meet back at our place in half an hour," Frohike said. "Everyone
come in separate cars, and make sure you're not followed." 

 "And no one park in front of the building," Langly muttered. 

 With that, the meeting was officially adjourned. Mulder followed Skinner
to the door, feeling a dull ache behind his eyes. He stopped as Krycek put
a hand on his shoulder. 

 "Mulder, hold up a second." Skinner glanced back at Krycek's words,
glaring at the other man suspiciously. Mulder motioned vaguely to him,
half-heartedly conveying the impression that everything was fine. Skinner
slipped out the door. 

 "What is it, Krycek." Again that dull monotone. He couldn't even make his
words sound like a question. 

 "Mulder, back there," Krycek seemed slightly flustered. "I didn't mean
that we would be-" 

 "Using me like a hammer?" Finally, he was able to get some indignation
behind his words. 

 "Well, yeah," Krycek said lamely. 

 "Don't bother, Krycek. It's fine. I don't really give a damn." He turned
and walked toward the door. 

 "Mulder." There was something in Krycek's voice that made him stop and
look back. "What did you see?" 

 "I don't know what you're talking about." 

 "When you read Doggett's mind. What did you see?" Krycek closed the
distance between them slowly, like he was afraid Mulder might bolt. 

 Mulder released a shuddery breath. 

 "I saw myself." 

 Mulder watched Krycek's eyebrows push together. He didn't understand. 

 "Doggett was the first person to find me, at that compound, after I'd
been returned." 

 Krycek blinked rapidly. 

 "I really can't blame them for burying me." Mulder felt his lips twist
into a morbid parody of a smile. "I looked very dead." 

 "That's the image he was focusing on?" Krycek's voice had gone very
quiet, but there was a sinister undertone beneath his words. 

 "He didn't really expect me to see it." 

 Krycek didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at Mulder. Then, as
if he had come to a decision, he nodded. 

 "I suppose you don't want me to kill him for you." Krycek smiled
slightly. "Do you?" 

 Mulder laughed dryly. "I don't think that's necessary." 

 "The offer still stands, if you change your mind." 

 As Mulder turned to walk out of the warehouse and into the night, he
glanced back up at the other man. Gently, so very softly and gently, the
diffuse light illuminated Krycek's face, smoothing hard lines, losing
itself in long lashes, falling forgivingly on the pale skin, where no
shadows lingered. 

 11:22 PM
 23 December 2000
 Route 10, Virginia 

 "You drive like a maniac." 

 "I do not." 

 "Oh yeah? Remember Tunguska? I was a hell of a lot safer jumping out of
that truck than staying along for the ride." 

 "I was escaping from a gulag at the time!" 

 "Well, right now you're driving down a nice sedate highway in the woods
of Virginia, so will you please slow down?" Krycek looked over at Mulder,
trying to glare the man into submission. 

 "I don't get it. You have no compunction about killing, stealing, lying
or murdering, but you don't want me breaking the speed limit?" Mulder
looked more amused than annoyed, but it was hard to tell. He'd been
extremely mercurial lately, especially where Krycek was concerned. 

 "You break the speed limit, we get pulled over, we're late, this whole
operation gets blown because you couldn't keep your foot off the gas
pedal." Mulder scowled, but let the van, which contained crates full of
useless, fake vials of vaccine, creep back down to a respectable sixty
miles per hour. 

 Krycek relaxed slightly, and watched Mulder watching the road. The past
two weeks had been difficult for the agent and for Skinner, both of whom
had been forced to essentially lead double lives, confronting the grind of
the Bureau during the day, and planning for their clandestine operation at
night. Mulder's hand and back were healing quickly, but he hadn't gone
back into the field since his trip to Iowa. Two days ago he'd been forced
to send Stewart to Oregon for a field investigation. Krycek could tell he
wasn't happy about it. 

 That was one thing he had never really counted on. Mulder had turned the
ISU back into the rising star of the Bureau. That meant more paper work
and more attention focused on the agent, when the safest thing would have
been for him to fade into the woodwork. On the plus side, the team was
starting to pull together behind Mulder and display a fierce loyalty
towards their far-from-conventional boss. Krycek was starting to toy with
the idea of using the unit as a nucleus for some kind of elite resistance
force. 

 He had a feeling that a small, tight group of well-informed resistance
fighters was going to be necessary in the coming war. If the military
could get their act together that was all well and good, but he wanted
something in place, separated from government programs in case it all went
to hell. 

 Which it probably would. 

 This current operation had gone well so far. Fifty percent of the success
in any given mission came in the planning, and the six of them had settled
into a very respectable team. Despite one hell of a violent history, they
had been able to work together. And the reason for that camaraderie was
sitting next to him, driving like a maniac. Again. 

 "Mulder." His voice was a warning. "Slow. Down." 

 Mulder had an amazing ability to say the right thing at the right time,
when he wanted to. He could be as irritating as hell, but when it came to
getting things rolling smoothly, he displayed the same skill he had used
to pull the ISU together. 

 Krycek felt hopeful for the first time in years. 

 Things would go to shit. That was a given. But maybe, maybe, they
wouldn't be completely wiped out. Maybe they'd be able to put up one hell
of a fight. Maybe they'd even win--because Fox Mulder was a man that
people would fight and die for. Krycek knew that first hand. He had seen
it happen, one syndicate member after another. Mulder had always had a
following, hell, Marita herself had once betrayed Krycek to give Mulder
information. 

 The dead had believed what Krycek believed now. That Mulder could save
them. 

 "There's a cop behind us," Krycek said, glancing in the rearview mirror
on his side. 

 "I'll be good." 

 It wouldn't do to idealize the man too much. He drove like a lunatic, for
one thing. Somehow, he didn't remember Mulder being this bad six years ago
when they had been partners. He probably had a lot more pent up aggression
now. This was the last time Krycek was letting him behind the wheel. Ever.


 Plus, when he didn't have something to focus his energy on, he was
arrogant, moody, and prone to fits of anger. Not to mention his terrible
taste in ties. 

 //He's depressed. Dangerously so.// The thought intruded, sobering him. 

 It wasn't terribly obvious, but Krycek could see it there, almost all the
time, just beneath the surface. In the way those green eyes, which should
have been full of fire, were flat and gray instead. 

 //You've got to snap out of this, Tovarich.// 

 The radio in his hand crackled to life. 

 "Unit one, this is unit two. Do you copy? Over." It was Skinner. 

 "This is unit one. We copy. Are you in position? Over." 

 "Yes. What is your ETA? Over." 

 "Approximately three minutes. Over." 

 "See you soon. Over and out." Krycek clipped the radio to his belt,
turning the sound down. 

 "We're late," Mulder said blandly. 

 "And we'll be even later if you get us pulled over. Slow down and let the
cop go by us." 

 Mulder slowed, but the car stayed with them. Krycek frowned, watching it
in the rearview mirror as it slowly crept along the side of the truck. 

 Suddenly, Mulder jerked, and the van swerved dangerously. 

 "Oh FUCK!" He sounded panicked. 

 "What?!" Krycek was yelling back at him. 

 "That's not a cop, Alex. It's a supersoldier." Mulder glanced over at
Krycek, eyes wide and green and grim in the dark. 

 "Shit." The fear froze him for only a split second. Then he was reaching
for the glove box, dumping the clip out of his gun and replacing it,
trying not to think about how nice it was to hear Mulder say his first
name, even if he was panicking. "Magnetite bullets," he told Mulder. "Give
me your gun." 

 Mulder maintained a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel with his
right hand, while he reached into the depths of his black leather jacket.
He pulled his gun out gingerly, wincing as he jarred his still-healing
left hand. Taking it quickly, Krycek loaded a new clip. 

 "How did it know to follow us?" Krycek wondered out loud. 

 "I might be able to tell, if-" 

 "No. Not while you're driving." Mulder nodded in response as the weigh
station came into view. 

 "Just empty your clip at it," Krycek said as he watched the police car
pull off the highway behind them. "And Mulder," he said, giving the other
man a hint of a smile, "don't drop your gun." 

 The truck screeched to a halt, and Krycek slipped gracefully out of the
passenger side door with a soft swish of leather. As he rounded the front
of the vehicle, he saw Mulder begin to fire, feet squared, leather jacket
open, the wind teasing his dark hair. Krycek skidded to a stop beside him,
bringing his own weapon up, shooting round after round at the bloody,
mangled farce of a police officer that was still, amazingly, trying to
stagger toward them. Finally, it collapsed, twitching, to the ground. 

 Krycek walked forward, and placed his gun directly against the magic
vertebra. Fired one last shot. 

 Skinner was running towards them. 

 "What the hell are you two doing? You just killed a highway patrolman!" 

 Krycek shook his head. "Look at it," he said sharply, pointing at the
fractured remains of the vertebra. 

 Skinner bent down, seeing cracked metal where bones should be. "That's a
supersoldier." Skinner's voice was incredulous. "Fuck." 

 "Yes," Krycek said, his dry tone covering his unease. "Fuck." 

 The radio cracked to life in Krycek's hand. "Unit three here. Target
approaching. Get in position. Over." 

 Skinner sprinted back to the weigh station booth. 

 "The body." Mulder's voice hissed in his ear a split second before they
were moving forward in tandem. Together, they dragged the corpse behind
the police car. Krycek looked up, and saw the truck with the real vaccine
pull into the station. Shit. They weren't in position, and they weren't
going to get there, not without a very mad, very noticeable dash across
the yard. 

 Well, fifty percent of a successful mission was in the improvisation. 

 "Mulder." His voice was the barest whisper. "They're both human, right?" 

 Mulder nodded. 

 "I'm gonna try and make the shot from here." 

 "Krycek, you're insane. It's at least fifteen yards, and it's dark. And
you're at a bad angle." 

 "I know. But we can't cover the distance without them spotting us." He
watched Mulder consider his words. 

 "OK. But switch places with me. I think I have a clearer line." 

 "I need you to brace my arm." It would improve his chances of hitting his
target if he didn't have to worry about holding the gun arm perfectly
still in midair. Mulder didn't say anything, just knelt down in front of
him. Krycek positioned his wrist on the other man's shoulder and looked
down the length of his weapon. Carefully, he adjusted his aim. 

 "Hold your breath," Krycek whispered. Mulder was rock steady under his
forearm. Krycek closed everything out. His breathing stopped, his vision
narrowed, his index finger tingled on the trigger. For a moment,
everything was still and quiet as stone. 

 Gently, very gently, he pulled the trigger. 

 Blood spattered the passenger side window of the truck. Mulder jerked
violently as the gun went off next to his left ear. Skinner hauled the
driver out of the vehicle at gunpoint. Things were going according to
plan. Mostly. 

 "Are you OK?" he asked Mulder softly. 

 "What?" Mulder's voice was abnormally loud. 

 Krycek put his mouth next to Mulder's right ear. "Are you OK? And don't
talk so loud." Mulder nodded at him. 

 "Krycek, get over here!" It was Skinner, calling from across the lot.
"This guy says he wants to talk to you." Krycek frowned, ducking out from
behind the car to see Skinner holding a gun on a familiar looking man.
Krycek glanced back to see Mulder removing the video surveillance system
from the police car. 

 //There's hope for him yet.// 

 "Kenny," Krycek said coldly, as he approached the driver. 

 "Alex. Hey." He was nervous. Krycek brought his weapon up. 

 "Jesus. Don't kill me." 

 "Give me a reason not to." 

 "I have information about Marita's plans." 

 "Bullshit. You're just the driver, Kenny." Krycek's tone was
conversational. Kenny started to look hopeful. 

 "Why would she have given me this job if she didn't trust me?" 

 "Maybe she's a moron." Kenny looked like he was about to die of apoplexy.
"What was with the company, Kenny?" He gestured back towards the police
car. "Did you suspect some trouble?" The shorter man gave Krycek a sly
look. 

 "You were made. I can tell you who." 

 Krycek waited, growing impatient. 

 "Do I have to beat it out of you?" 

 "Promise me you won't kill me." 

 It was an effort not to laugh. "I won't kill you." 

 "Jack. It was Jack. He and Marita set this whole thing up. They knew
you'd try and steal a shipment if Jack fed you enough information. You
were supposed to get wasted by the supersoldier, while Jack took care of
Agent Mulder." 

 "What do you mean, 'took care of Mulder'?" His words were deceptively
calm. 

 "I think you know what I mean." Krycek felt like he was choking. It was a
conscious effort to force down the rage enough to be able to think
clearly. He had to think clearly. Just then, Mulder walked into sight.
Kenny's eyes widened in surprise. 

 "You're working WITH him?" The assassin gasped. 

 Krycek couldn't help himself. His finger tightened on the trigger. 

 "Holy shit!" Skinner yelled as the bullet whizzed past his ear. "Give me
some warning next time." He glared at Krycek, but there was something
besides irritation behind his eyes. Skinner glanced at Mulder, then back
at Krycek. Krycek looked away quickly. 

 "Sorry. Let's switch the cargo." His words were practically a snarl. And
he turned sharply, brushing indifferently, or so he hoped, past Special
Agent Fox Mulder. 

 Krycek forced his mind back to the job at hand. The original plan had
been to simply trade plates on the trucks, Skinner and Frohike driving the
faux vaccine to the pickup-point, while Mulder and Krycek made off with
the real shipment. But Krycek knew how Marita liked to operate. She would
have built an electronic identification device into the frame of her
truck, and she would have placed devices randomly in the crates of
vaccine. The plan was to scan for the electronics, remove them, and place
them in the crates with the fake vaccine, which would be dropped off by
Skinner and Frohike in the original truck. 

 They had about five minutes to do the scans and make the switch. The
Gunmen had already started their sweep of Marita's truck. Frohike was
scanning while the other two unloaded the crates that hadn't been tampered
with. Mulder, Skinner, and Krycek made short work of unloading the fake
vaccine from the other vehicle. 

 When everything was out, Skinner started carefully passing crates of the
real vaccine into the truck for Mulder and Krycek to stack. They were
forced to work as a unit since they only had two good hands between them. 

 Despite their efficient teamwork, Krycek knew something was wrong. Mulder
wouldn't look at him. The other man was probably upset about Kenny. It
made Krycek want to shake him until his teeth rattled. That, however,
would have to wait until later. 

 They got the real vaccine loaded into the truck, and Skinner turned to
help the Gunmen re-load the original truck with the useless substitute.
Krycek walked to the passenger side of the vehicle and pulled the dead man
out, looking critically at the upholstery. 

 //Not too noticeable, but the resale value will plummet.// 

 "Krycek, you guys need to go." Byers said, hurrying over. Behind them,
Mulder slammed the doors of the van, concealing the real vaccine from
sight. 

 "This needs to be taken care of," he said, looking at the bloodstained
window. "Marita's people will know something is up." 

 "We'll deal with this. Just get the payload out of here." 

 Krycek nodded, and jogged back over to Mulder, adroitly pulling the keys
out of the agent's jacket pocket. 

 "I'm driving," he said. 

 "Fine." 

 //He really is pissed at me.// 

 "Good luck," Skinner said over his shoulder. 

 "See you soon," Mulder said softly, maybe still overcompensating for his
ringing ear, and Krycek gave the four a short nod. They had done a good
job. 

 He climbed into the driver's seat, and in a few minutes they were back on
the highway, heading towards DC. Mulder was staring out into the dark. 

 "I had to do it," Krycek said to him. "You know I did." 

 Mulder didn't reply. 

 "He would have told Marita what happened if I had let him live." 

 "Do you know that for sure?" Mulder's voice was acidic. 

 "No. 'But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, will do as if for surety.'
" 

 "Iago. How fitting." 

 "Is that how you really see me? As some kind of inhuman killer?" 

 "You ARE a killer, Krycek." 

 "So are you." 

 "Not in the same way." 

 "No, you're right. I assassinated scum for a living. You get decent
people killed because you're so fucking relentless in your search for the
truth." 

 Silence. 

 "Was." Mulder's voice was flat. "I was relentless." 

 Krycek glanced away from the road for a moment to look at Mulder. He was
still staring into the dark. 

 //Argue with me, damn you.// 

 "Defeat doesn't suit you," Krycek snapped. "Stop feeling sorry for
yourself." 

 Mulder smiled faintly. "I think," he said dryly, "That of the two of us,
you're more upset that I'm off the X-files." 

 "What are you saying?" Krycek snapped at him. "You've moved on? You want
to spend your life catching serial killers? I don't buy it." 

 "I haven't moved on," Mulder said quietly. Krycek glanced over at him.
"Forget it." The other man shook his head. 

 "Mulder-" 

 "Drop it, Krycek. I'm serious." 

 "Fine." He didn't let the frustration color his voice. 

 He settled into the drive, letting the white and yellow lines on the
pavement guide them home. Occasionally he glanced in the rearview mirror
to make sure they weren't being followed. Occasionally he glanced over at
Mulder. 

 Forty minutes after leaving the weigh station, Krycek pulled the van into
a huge storage container that the Gunmen had rented. Before leaving, he
opened the back of the truck one more time. 

 "What are you doing?" Mulder asked suspiciously as Krycek slid the lid
off a crate. He pulled out a handful of the small glass vials and handed
three to Mulder. 

 "Here. Just in case." He slid several into his own pocket as Mulder
nodded. 

 "You know," the agent began, his voice distant, like the words were being
dragged out of him, "once I was almost blown up by an orbital defense
platform in this storage yard." Mulder looked at Krycek with a ghost of a
smile. 

 "I never heard about that," Krycek said, raising his eyebrows. 

 "It wasn't conspiracy related," Mulder said. "Scully and I were
investigating a murderous artificial intelligence. I actually got
kidnapped and incapacitated by a computer." 

 Krycek gave a short laugh as he hit a button, causing a metal door to
descend over the truck and lock. 

 "Let's get out of here." They were scheduled to meet up with Langly and
Byers in forty minutes. The two Gunmen had stayed at the weigh station and
impersonated employees until the next shift arrived. It was Skinner and
Frohike who had the dangerous job of making the switch. They probably
wouldn't hear from them for another two hours, at least. 

 Mulder didn't reply, but he turned to walk slightly ahead of Krycek into
the main aisle of the storage facility. 

 Suddenly, Mulder stopped dead. Krycek nearly ran into him. 

 "Going somewhere?" Krycek froze, looking down the barrel of Jack's
silencer. 

 //Damn it.// 

 He had expected Jack to be waiting at Mulder's apartment. If he'd had
time to think about it, he would have remembered that Jack wasn't really a
sit-and-wait killer, as most assassins were--as Krycek was, when it suited
him. 

 No, Jack, out of arrogance or boredom preferred to track his victims
actively, surprising them in their cars, in alleyways, in dark, poorly lit
storage facilities rather than their homes. 

 Jack's method was riskier. He got away with it because he was good. Very
good. 

 //He's almost as fast as I am. But he already has his gun out.// 

 "Jack." He stepped forward to stand beside Mulder. The assassin's eyes
widened. Krycek felt some small measure of satisfaction. 

 //That's right, you traitorous piece of shit.// 

 "What are you doing here, Alex?" There was a brief pause, while no one
spoke. Mulder was an edgy presence on his left. He prayed the agent
wouldn't do anything colossally stupid, like try and pull his weapon. 

 "You're working with him." Jack's voice was calm, in control, but he
couldn't hide the surprised tone completely. 

 "You always did do piss-poor surveillance work, Jack. Any operative worth
his salt would have known that weeks ago." 

 Jack smiled faintly at him and Krycek was reminded briefly of happier
times, of a job in New Orleans, when they had been partners, and the only
thing they had to do was guard a cash shipment. No killing, just shrimp
creole and humidity. That had been a long time ago. Before he had even met
Mulder. 

 "Well, it doesn't really matter now. I'm being reassigned." Jack gave him
that smooth, suave smile, but it didn't hide the threat behind his eyes.
Krycek's gun seemed a lifetime away, resting uselessly in his holster. 

 "You don't have to do this, Jack. Ditch Marita. Work with us." 

 "I don't think so, buddy. Marita's got half a century of work on her
side. What've you got?" 

 Krycek couldn't help glancing at Mulder. Jack smiled derisively. 

 "You never had a hell of a lot, Krycek. And now," he said, clicking the
safety off his weapon, "You've got nothing." 

 Krycek threw himself into Mulder as he heard the shot. In the same motion
he pulled his own gun and returned fire, taking aim as his surroundings
froze around him in the middle of his dive. 

 Things sped up again as he pulled the trigger. He felt the crush of
impact as his momentum carried him into Mulder. The hard plastic of his
prosthetic dug into them both as he landed on top of the other man and
they skidded over the cement in a dark tangle of limbs. As their awkward
fall scraped to its bruised conclusion, he looked over at Jack. 

 The assassin wasn't moving. A pool of red was spreading across the cement
floor, glittering in the light of the storage yard. 

 Beneath him, Mulder struggled to get up. Krycek tried to get off him, but
he felt vaguely dizzy under the glare of the lights. 

 "Krycek! Krycek, move. Let me UP." With a jerk, the agent freed his right
hand, using it to grab Krycek's left shoulder. With his added leverage,
Mulder pushed Krycek away and sat up in the same motion. The lights
blurred into golden streams as Mulder reversed their positions, until
Krycek was looking up at his silhouette, dark against the incandescent
glow behind him. 

 "Mulder, what are you doing?" He asked distantly as the other man pulled
Krycek's knife out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open with an
audible click. 

 Krycek flinched. 

 "I'm not going to cut you," Mulder said quietly, as he sliced through the
fabric of Krycek's black shirt. 

 //That's my good switchblade. You'd better not drop it, Mulder.// 

 As the other man peeled back the material of his shirt, Krycek hissed,
becoming suddenly aware of a burning sensation along his right side. 

 He'd been shot. 

 "It's OK," Mulder said, sounding relieved. "It's just a graze. It's
pretty deep though. I think you might need stitches." 

 "I'll be fine. We need to get out of here." His brain finally decided to
make a reappearance. 

 "Hang on." Mulder was looking through Krycek's pockets again. 

 "We need to go NOW," Krycek said, sitting up. Mulder pulled out a
handkerchief, and pressed it to his side. Hot, stinging waves of pain
traveled up his ribcage and spread through his back. Krycek bit his lip,
letting his fingers dig into Mulder's left arm. 

 "Can you hold that there?" Mulder asked, pressing Krycek's hand against
the makeshift bandage. 

 "Yeah," Krycek said. "Let's just go already." 

 "OK," Mulder said softly, pulling him to his feet. Too fast. It was too
fast, and lights blurred around him again as the world started to spin. 

 "Come on, Krycek." Mulder's hand was a gentle pressure on the back of his
neck. "Put your head down. It'll help." He had only ever heard Mulder use
that tone with Scully. 

 "OK. I'm OK." 

 "You're sure?" Mulder's eyes were making him dizzy again. He looked away.


 "Let's GO, Mulder." 

 They made it out of the storage yard with no further problems, and
finally reached Mulder's car. Mulder guided Krycek around to the
passenger's side. 

 "Don't you ever learn anything?" Krycek stopped, ten feet from the
Taurus. 

 "What?" 

 "Check under the car. And pull your weapon. I can't believe you're still
alive." 

 Mulder complied, putting his flashlight to use for good measure.
"Satisfied?" 

 "Hardly. Check the back seat." 

 "All clear." 

 "Check under the hood." 

 "Are you serious?" 

 "I'm not getting in the car until you do it." 

 "Fine." Krycek watched Mulder pop the hood and take a look at the engine.
The agent scanned the machine carefully, obviously taking Krycek's warning
seriously. He even checked the level of his brake fluid. 

 "I think we're good to go." Mulder said, then opened the passenger side
door for him. Krycek could feel Mulder's hand resting lightly against the
small of his back as he levered himself into the car. He said nothing as
Mulder buckled his seatbelt for him, allowing Krycek to keep pressure on
the cursory bandage with his hand. 

 When Mulder started the car and nothing exploded, Krycek breathed a sigh
of relief. 

 "Mulder. You do that EVERY time you get in your car. Got it?" 

 "And they call me paranoid." 

 "They call you a lot of other things, too." 

 They were quiet for a time. Krycek let his head rest against the window
and watched the yellows and reds of streetlamps and headlights pass by in
a haze of color. His side throbbed, and he could feel that the cloth under
his right hand had become warm and damp under his fingers. 

 //So much for my resolution to never let him drive again.// 

 "We could go to the anonymous clinic they started up last year and get
you stitched," Mulder suggested. 

 Krycek frowned. He had used the clinic before, and knew that sometimes
consortium thugs would stop by to get patched up, or simply to gather
information. "It's in a pretty shady area," Krycek said. 

 "You should fit right in." 

 "That's the problem, jackass. I don't want to be seen there. Especially
not with you." 

 "You need stitches." 

 "You're not a doctor," he snapped. 

 "I've had lots of practical experience," Mulder snapped right back. 

 Krycek sighed. 

 "Mulder, it's really not that bad. I don't think we should risk it." 

 "Better to take care of it now. If it gets infected you're going to have
to go to a hospital, and that will be a lot harder to deal with. Now would
be a very bad time for you to get arrested." 

 //He's right. Damn it.// 

 "Any time's a bad time to get arrested." 

 "Have you ever actually done hard time?" It was a real question, ten
percent sympathetic, ninety percent accusatory. 

 "Not in this country." Krycek shut his eyes, remembering searing heat and
the feeling of being pressed brutally against sickeningly warm stone. 

 "In Russia?" 

 "No. I have connections back home." No one in the KGB would dare to lay a
fucking finger on him. Supposedly they still told stories about him when
they were training their recruits. 

 "Where, then?" Maybe this was Mulder's idea of polite conversation. 

 //So now he wants to talk. Couldn't we discuss literature? Or whether I
played the clarinet? Is that so much to ask?// 

 "Tunisia." 

 "Tunisia?" Mulder sounded incredulous. 

 "Yeah. Nice place." Krycek's voice was flat. He could taste the blood and
the dust in his mouth again. 

 "Why did you-" Pushing. The man would not stop pushing. 

 "Look, I'd really rather not talk about this right now." 

 "OK." 

 Silence. Then, inevitably, Mulder spoke again. 

 "Hey, Krycek." 

 "Yeah?" He sounded tired, even to himself. It had been one hell of a
night. Living like this was hard on the nerves. 

 "Thank you. For risking your life back there." Mulder's voice was very
serious. His eyes were fixed on the road. 

 Krycek felt his mouth go dry. He remembered, with a flash of sudden
clarity, like a fog had lifted, how it had felt strange and wrong and
wonderful, that time six years ago, when he and Mulder had crouched in the
dark over the body of a Vietnam vet, who, Krycek was positive, had been
pointing a gun at Mulder. He had shot the vet. Shot a man who had been
holding a bible. And he remembered that Mulder had told him in that
serious, compelling tone he rarely used, the way he had just spoken, that
he had done the right thing. 

 It had made Krycek feel like shit. 

 But now, knowing that they both had come so far from the blind, young
idiots that they had been at the time, knowing all the ways he had
betrayed Mulder's trust, knowing everything that they both had lost, the
fact that Mulder could still dredge that tone of voice up from somewhere
inside his soul, and that it could still affect him in that way- 

 It made Krycek feel saved. 

 "You're welcome." 

 Mulder pulled into the lot adjacent to the clinic and steadied Krycek as
he stepped out of the car. Fortunately, there was hardly anyone in the
waiting room. As Krycek walked up to the desk, Mulder spoke softly into
his ear. 

 "I'm going to phone the Gunmen while you're getting stitched up. They'll
worry if we're late." 

 "Use a payphone," Krycek said, turning his head slightly. "And don't get
shot by a drug dealer. I don't want to explain that to Skinner." 

 Mulder just laughed, like the idea appealed to him, and vanished back out
into the night. 

 It unnerved Krycek when he did things like that. Things like deciding
he'd rather bleed to death on a metal table than bother to place a phone
call. 

 A short, middle-aged woman with straight brown hair and the nametag
"Brenda" came out to fetch him. She gave him a dubious look. He supposed
he didn't seem very trustworthy. The prosthetic didn't help. 

 By the time he had been disinfected, stitched, and bandaged by "Brenda,"
he was on his last legs. It had been a grueling few weeks for all of them,
and he still had a long night ahead. There was the meeting with the Gunmen
and Skinner. There was the absolute necessity of sweeping Mulder's
apartment for bugs, explosives, poisoned sunflower seeds, etc. There was
the less-than-absolute necessity of screening his own apartment. 

 But he could do it. He'd done harder things on less sleep. 

 He put his head in his hands as he waited for Mulder. He really hoped the
man would come back soon. Otherwise, he was going to have to go look for
him. The sounds around him began to fade out. 

 "Hey." He snapped awake at the sound of Mulder's voice, and felt the pull
in his side as his newly stitched skin screamed in protest. 

 "Hey." His voice sounded hoarse. 

 "You were asleep. Did they give you something?" Mulder was frowning at
him. 

 "No. I wouldn't let them." Krycek shook his head, trying to wake himself
up. "Did you call the Gunmen?" 

 "Yeah. Langly and Byers got back just fine." 

 "Good. That's good." Mulder's mouth tightened, and the agent sat down
beside him. 

 "You look terrible, Krycek." He looked over at Mulder's too pale skin, at
eyes that were red-rimmed, and snorted. 

 "You're one to talk." 

 "Did you sleep last night?" 

 Krycek didn't say anything. How was he supposed to explain to Mulder that
he couldn't sleep anymore because he was so afraid of what might happen if
he did? He had dreams of waking up to look at those surveillance monitors
and seeing- 

 "Krycek? You're freaking me out." 

 "I'm freaking YOU out?" He couldn't help it. He was going to burst into
hysterical laughter any minute. 

 No. He. Was. Not. He was going to get a fucking grip. He took a shaky
breath. 

 "I'm fine. Just tired." Mulder was staring at him. 

 "Let's go." Mulder grabbed Krycek's elbow, slowly helping him to his
feet. "Did they give you a prescription?" 

 "Yeah." He handed the slip to Mulder rather than pronounce the name of
the antibiotic. 

 "John Arntzen. Is that your real name?" Mulder just sounded curious as
they walked out of the clinic. 

 "Of course not." 

 "Is Krycek your real name?" 

 "Maybe." 

 The drive back to the Gunmen's went by in a blur of lights. When they
arrived, Byers and Langly let them in, and Krycek began prowling around
their lair, trying to shake off his exhaustion. 

 There was a muted tension in the air. Two hours had passed, and they
hadn't heard anything from Frohike and Skinner. Krycek was starting to get
a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Marita could have had another
supersoldier waiting for them at the pickup point, and he hadn't thought
to leave his magnetite bullets with Skinner. 

 //Calm down. Covarrubias isn't that thorough.// 

 Marita didn't expect the finesse that he had managed to put into this
operation. She didn't know he was working with anyone, let alone these
five. Delivering a fake vaccine was something too complicated for him to
pull off alone, and for the entire time he had known her, Krycek had
worked alone. She wouldn't expect anything else. She wouldn't expect their
special delivery, and so, hopefully, no one would look too carefully at
the two men driving the truck. Hopefully. 

 Mulder was pacing. He was trying to make it look natural by picking up
things at random, but it wasn't working. Langly was playing Doom 2, and
Byers was reorganizing some files, trying to stop Mulder from touching
anything too expensive. 

 The phone rang. 

 "Lone Gunmen." Langly's voice wavered slightly. 

 "Turn off the tape." It was Frohike. Langly hit a button. 

 "It's off." 

 "We're clear." There was an audible sigh of relief as tension ran out of
the room. Krycek folded gracefully onto the couch, rubbing his eyes with
his hand. 

 "We're on our way," Frohike continued, "and we should be there in about
half an hour. Is everyone back?" 

 "Yeah," Langly said, "We're all here." 

 "See you shortly." There was a click as Frohike cut the connection. 

 Mulder wandered over. "You're going to fall asleep again if you sit there
for too long." The agent's eyes glittered in the dim light. Krycek looked
up at him. 

 "Help me up, then." His words had a baiting tone. Mulder didn't smile,
exactly, but he had a strange twist to his lips as he grabbed Krycek's
hand and hauled him to his feet. 

 "Hey Krycek." It was Langly. "Wanna play Doom?" 

 "Sure," Krycek said as Mulder rolled his eyes. 

 "What? Pacing doesn't do it for me." 

 As he walked over to join Langly, he saw Mulder turn to Byers. 

 "Hey Byers," he said, quietly. "I need a favor." As if he could feel
Krycek's gaze, Mulder looked over at him, glaring. "It's a big one,"
Mulder said, as he pulled Byers into the next room. 

 //Now what was THAT all about?// 

 Half an hour later, when Skinner and Frohike walked in the door, Krycek
was only 150 points away from beating Langly's high score. The other man
had stopped giving him helpful tips about twenty-five minutes ago, and was
now sitting in a sulky silence, with his arms crossed. Maybe it wasn't
such a good idea to antagonize the locals. 

 "Damn," he said as he purposefully let his cyber self get killed. Langly
snorted, his confidence intact. 

 "You're pretty good," the blonde man said. Krycek turned to stand up,
stretching stiff muscles. Mulder was sitting behind him. 

 "You are good," the agent said. "But I'm not surprised, considering your
day job." His tone was half animosity, half amusement. 

 They walked into the Gunmen's reception area. Or at least that's how
Krycek classified the conglomeration of furniture that littered a third of
the room. 

 Krycek dropped back onto the couch. Mulder sat edgily on a chair next to
him, leaning forward, elbows on knees. Krycek wondered if his back was
bothering him. Skinner sat directly across from Krycek, and the Gunmen
perched on various stools and counters. 

 "Everything went OK?" Mulder asked Skinner. 

 "More or less," Skinner said, but his brows were furrowed. And he was
glaring. At Krycek. 

 "What I want to know," he said, and Krycek could tell that he was gearing
up for a tirade, "Is how the HELL a supersoldier got on your tail." 

 "We were betrayed," Krycek said coolly. "By my informant. Fortunately, we
were also underestimated." 

 "If you were betrayed, then how did you know to bring the magnetite?" The
accusation there was hard to miss. 

 "I happened to have some with me." 

 "Bullshit," Skinner yelled. 

 "Krycek didn't betray us." Mulder jumped in, his voice radiating dead
certainty. 

 "How do you know?" Skinner said, still angry, but willing to listen to
reason. 

 "Because he saved my life." There was a shocked silence, which Mulder
plowed relentlessly through. "We were jumped by his informant in the
storage yard. He was obviously surprised to see Krycek alive." 

 "Are you all right?" Skinner asked Mulder. 

 "I'M fine," Mulder said pointedly. Skinner looked over at Krycek, raising
his eyebrows. 

 Krycek just glared at the AD, who, though he was supposed to be a trained
investigator, hadn't noticed the fact that his shirt was cut open. 

 "He was grazed by a round when he shoved me out of the way. He had to be
stitched up," Mulder said, answering for him. 

 Skinner gave Krycek another speculative look. Krycek stared him down. 

 The talk moved to the immediate future. Skinner was going to take a
sample of the vaccine to his NIH contact in the morning. Mulder handed him
a vial from out of his jacket pocket. As the two FBI agents began to
discuss the pros and cons of going public with apocalyptic news, Krycek
felt himself relax, unwillingly, against the couch. 

 He had to stay awake. He definitely had to stay- 

 He woke with a start to find Frohike placing a blanket over him. 

 "Whoa!" Frohike yelled, hands open, palm outwards. Krycek realized he had
pulled his gun. He put it away and looked around the dimly lit room. 

 "Where's Mulder?" 

 "He left about half an hour ago." 

 "He LEFT?" 

 //That fucking idiot.// 

 Krycek was up and heading for the door. Reaching for his car keys. He
felt them reassuringly in his pocket. Then he remembered. His car was in
the parking lot at Mulder's building. He turned around. 

 "Krycek, what are you doing?" Frohike sounded exasperated. 

 "Calling a cab." 

 "You can't have a cab come pick you up here! Are you insane?" The shorter
man followed him to the phone. 

 "I know, I know. Keep your pants on." He gave the guy at Diamond Cab an
address that was a five-minute jog from the Gunmen's. He was gone seconds
after he placed the call. Ignoring Frohike's questions, he slipped into
the dark. 

 Seventeen minutes later, he was pounding on the door to apartment
forty-two. 

 No answer. 

 He tried again. 

 The door opened mid-knock, to reveal a very annoyed looking Fox Mulder.
He hadn't yet changed out of the non-descript black clothing he had been
wearing all evening. It was dark inside his apartment, and Mulder's hair
was as black as the shadows. The agent looked dangerous. 

 "Krycek. What do you want?" he hissed. 

 "Can I come in?" Krycek didn't bother to wait for a response, just pushed
roughly past Mulder into the darkened apartment. 

 "Make yourself at home." There was a quiet, perilous quality in Mulder's
voice as he shut the door, and Krycek couldn't stop the thrill of fear and
excitement that tore through him in response. 

 //This I recognize. This sounds like him.// 

 "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Krycek's voice was low and
intense. He couldn't see Mulder clearly in the dark. 

 "What are you talking about?" 

 "Let me explain this to you in small, easily understood words in case you
missed it earlier. Jack said his orders had changed. Which means Marita
wants you dead. Which means the colonists want you dead. Someone or
someTHING could easily have been waiting for you. Did that even OCCUR to
you before you walked in?" 

 Mulder closed the distance between them. 

 "What do YOU care, Krycek?" Mulder's voice was fast, angry. The
headlights of a passing car illuminated them both, briefly. Mulder's hands
were clenched, his eyes glittering. 

 //Here we go.// 

 He anticipated Mulder's right hook and, tired as he was, managed to step
out of the way, catching the agent's wrist in the process. He used the
man's momentum to spin him around, and twisted Mulder's right arm up
behind his back, pushing him forward into the wall. 

 "You know, for all the fights you start, one would think that you might
have developed SOME skill over the years." Krycek was speaking directly
into Mulder's ear. He gave Mulder's arm a deft pull, which spun the agent
to face him, and slammed him back into the wall. He leaned forward,
pinning the other man between the side of bookcase and his prosthetic. 

 He heard a swift intake of breath. Mulder's entire body tensed, and he
made a distressed noise through clenched teeth. Another flash of
headlights revealed Mulder's head arched back. As Krycek watched, Mulder
bit down hard on his bottom lip. 

 He had forgotten about the forty-eight stitches holding the man's back
together. Krycek took a deep breath, forcing himself to ease up on the
pressure and back off slightly. 

 //I'm going to break him, if I'm not careful.// 

 "Hurts, doesn't it?" he said, as the room faded to darkness again. 

 He got no response other than quiet, erratic breaths. 

 "Do you have to make everything this painful?" He asked gently, loosening
his grip on Mulder's wrist, scratching his thumbnail lightly along
delicate skin. He didn't expect a reply. 

 "Yes." His voice was the barest whisper. 

 "Why?" They were so close. He could smell the copper tang of blood in
Mulder's hair. 

 "I don't know." Mulder brought his free hand up, tangling his first two
fingers in the leather of Krycek's coat. "It just happens that way."
Mulder spread his hand, and through his thin shirt, Krycek felt the warm
metal and tape of the half-splint that Mulder still wore. 

 "It just happens?" Krycek echoed, leaning forward fractionally, letting
his lips graze Mulder's mouth. The other man froze. 

 Then Krycek's fingers were forced open as Mulder yanked his right hand
out of his loose grip. Before Krycek could respond, he found himself
pulled forward roughly; Mulder's newly freed fingers tangled in his hair,
the brace and broken hand running underneath his leather jacket. The kiss
deepened, and he felt like the room was falling away as he buried his
fingers in Mulder's dark hair. He pressed his hips against Mulder, forcing
the other man back to the wall. 

 He couldn't breathe. He didn't want to breathe if it meant he would have
to give up one fraction of sensation. But there was something he had to
know. 

 "Are you-" 

 It was all he got out before Mulder reclaimed his mouth, and let his
splinted fingers slide down Krycek's spine. The white heat of endorphins
seared across his synapses, melting and distorting his thoughts, as if his
mind were Fox Mulder's personal attempt at surrealist painting. 

 He lacked the oxygen to moan as his thoughts started flashing in broken
fragments of memory and desire, flipping back through the years in a dark
slide show. He remembered the way Mulder had looked lying on the floor
after Krycek had surprised him, cracking his skull against the coffee
table, the first real test of his balance with one hand. He remembered
even earlier, in the cell in Tunguska, how the rock had dug into his back
as Mulder held him against the stone. An airport in Hong Kong, a shot of
heroin in a foreign street where no one spoke Russian or English, the drip
of blood and his body spread over the hood of a Ford as Mulder hovered
above him, fist raised and outlined against a streetlight, the way the
other man had looked too urbane for the cheap suit he was wearing as he
awkwardly stuck out his hand out and, like James Bond, said- 

 He tried to scream then, because he knew this wasn't his mind, it wasn't
his memory and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't pull away, he was just
riding it out, incapacitated, trying to pull back, but paralyzed with
horror that this was happening again, that somehow he had pulled Krycek
into this, even as he screamed into the rushing void that he WAS Krycek,
he is Krycek, always and forever. 

 Insensible thoughts screamed through his mind in languages he knew and
languages he didn't. He understood everything and nothing, and he wanted
only to get out, but needed to stay more than he'd ever needed anything in
his life. He was trapped in a crescendo that was more than sex, something
that had been building since before that first moment when he'd extended
his hand and said- 

 //Krycek. Alex Krycek. I am Alex Krycek.// 

 He screamed, or Mulder did, as they tore themselves apart. 

 He staggered and fell back, hitting the floor, breath sobbing in his
throat. He fought an overwhelming sense of loss as he watched the other
man slide bonelessly down the wall, no more than a shadow in the dark. Had
it been Krycek, or Mulder who had wanted to pull away? 

 He didn't know. 

 "What did you do?" The words vibrated in the air between them, pulled out
of Krycek's tortured throat. 

 //He's going to break me, if I'm not careful.// 

 "I didn't do anything," Mulder gasped. "It was you. It must have been
you." 

 Krycek pulled himself up to a sitting position. "How could it have been
me? How?" He leaned forward, trying to see the other man through the
shadows. "Explain it to me." His voice settled, and his mind kicked into
gear. 

 "You read my thoughts," Krycek said. "And I read yours. It was like we-" 

 "Stop." 

 "It was like we were connected. The same person." 

 "I said stop." Mulder's voice absorbed any warmth that remained in the
apartment. 

 "Fine," he snapped, pushing himself to his feet. The room swayed around
him, and he felt drained, as if he'd had a teeth-shattering psychic
orgasm. He walked over to stand above Mulder and held out his hand,
desperate for some reason to touch him again, even if it was only to help
him up. Mulder refused his hand. 

 "Are you all right?" 

 "Get away from me, Krycek." Only Mulder could twist his name into such a
terrible sound. Only Mulder could sit there alone in the seamless dark--a
crazy social outcast, and still make Krycek feel like he had been judged
and condemned to hell. 

 "Fine," he snapped again, not trusting himself to say more. He turned on
his heel, and forced himself to walk slowly, slowly to the door. Forced
himself to open it without looking back. And finally, forced himself to
let it slam indifferently behind him, leaving Mulder in the dark. 

 He took the elevator to the fifth floor, too weak to climb even a single
flight of stairs, and wrenched his apartment door open. He didn't bother
to turn on the lights. Didn't bother to check for signs of a break in. Out
of habit, he glanced at the surveillance monitors. Mulder was showering.
Figured. 

 So Mulder had been in his head again. Apparently he hadn't liked what
he'd seen. Krycek supposed he should have known better. 

 //If you want to conquer the world there are two rules. Don't invade
Russia in winter, and don't get involved with Fox Mulder.// 

 Krycek felt sick, exhausted. He didn't bother to change, just laid down
on the cold wooden floor, and slept. 

 Continued in part 4 
 
Title: Approaching Concinnity (4/6) 
Author: Verily 
 
Part 1
Please see part 0 (template) for story information.

APPROACHING CONCINNITY (Part 4)
By Verily

See part 1 for disclaimers etc.

***

4:24 AM
24 December 2000
Alexandria, Virginia

He let the water pour over him, and tried to think of nothing.  

Memories flowed into him, slow and heavy; they filled him like molten lead.  He 
couldn't escape the recent burn of Krycek's hand in the dark, or the
overwhelming flood of sound and emotion that had come from him, from Krycek,
until he was totally lost himself, pulled down into a sea of sensation.  

He thought he was drowning.

Older memories surfaced as well, the foreign pressure of Krycek's lips on his
cheek and the weight of a gun dropping into his hand.  The way it had felt to
drive his own fists into Krycek's face, because he couldn't, he just couldn't
ever-  

He cut that thought off with brutal efficiency.  

He tangled his fingers through shampoo-slicked hair, unable to wash away the
mess inside his skull.  He felt split open, violated, dirty, like his mind had
been fucked through so many brick walls that now it was open to all comers and
didn't belong to him anymore.  It had been wiped, infected, and surgically
altered multiple times.  Things that weren't even human had been in it.  His
biological father had nearly killed him when he took a piece of it away.  As if 
destroying his soul hadn't been enough.  

Krycek's violation was just icing on the cake.  

//Was it really Krycek?  Or was it me?//

He bit his lip in a silent scream as he realized he didn't know.  It seemed
possible, in that instant, that Krycek had never done anything to him at
all--that Mulder had simply dashed himself to pieces against the other man.  

He pulled in a deep breath.

//Think about this like you're Scully.//    

Calmly, analytically, he reviewed what had happened.

He had kissed Krycek.  Understandable, really.  Krycek was dangerous,
competent, emotionally unattainable, and attractive.  He hated the man, and
that made Krycek a safe outlet for all the frustration, emotional and physical, 
that seemed to twine into him deeper and deeper as the years progressed.  

Who had stopped him from saving Scully?  Who had prevented him from finally
understanding his father?  Who had stolen the digital tape with the information 
he needed so badly?  Who had made evidence disappear time and again?  Who had
compromised Skinner so the AD was absolutely no help to him?  Krycek.  

And Krycek was helping him now, which confused the hell out of Mulder.  He
HATED him, but he also got along with him.  They could have easily been
friends, if Krycek hadn't turned out to be a backstabbing double-crosser.  

Combine all those things, and the kiss made sense.  In fact, if he and Krycek
had spent hours having mind-blowing sex, it still would have been explainable
when you considered the seven years of tension between them.  

//But no.  It didn't go down that way.//  

Krycek had pulled back.  He had started to ask him something.  Mulder hadn't
wanted to know what that question was going to be.  He'd shut Krycek up by
kissing him again, which was when things had started to get- 

Overwhelming.  Somehow, without meaning to, he had found himself in Krycek's
head.  The sound of his fish tank, of Krycek's breathing, had been lost beneath 
the discordant scream in his mind.  He had wanted to scream himself at the
overwhelming mix of pain and arousal, but he hadn't been able to; he was in too 
deep, too lost in Krycek's memories of him and his memories of Krycek to
respond to his own body.

And then, inexplicably, he had known that Krycek could hear him as well, that
the connection was open at both ends and he was absolutely desperate to shut it 
off, to pull back before he revealed anything to the other man.  There was so
much that he didn't want Krycek to know.  

It wasn't fair, because he had seen into Krycek's mind further than the other
man knew.  He had effectively been Krycek for a few seconds.  And that had been 
enough time for a single, illuminating revelation.  

Need.  It was a pathetic, shallow word to explain what he had felt from Krycek. 
The man had somehow combined plans for using Mulder as a lynchpin in the alien
resistance effort with a strange mixture of respect, personal regard, anger,
and shared history.  With the syndicate dead, and his ties to Marita severed,
Mulder was all that remained of Krycek's world, professionally and personally.  
Everything had been stripped away from the other man, family, allies, contacts, 
lovers, beliefs, everything except Mulder.  

And after they had broken apart, Mulder found himself back in his own mind,
weak with relief, wondering if he felt the same way about Krycek.  Wondering if 
this was all that was left of the men they had once been.  They had dragged
each other down over the last seven years, stripping one another of dignity,
causing a new kind of pain with every touch.  

Each time their paths crossed marked a further descent into hell.    

Krycek had asked him if he was all right.  The self-loathing that had hit him
was so strong that he had found it difficult to breathe as he answered through
the pain in his head.  

He didn't deserve Krycek's concern.  He didn't want Krycek to give a damn about 
him.  That way, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much, when finally, he ended up
staring down into lifeless eyes as another one of his informants died for him.  
And Krycek would.  There was no question.  

So he'd deliberately hurt the other man, making the deepest cut he could.  He'd 
made him leave.  

Mulder used the last of the shampoo on his already clean hair, feeling it sting 
as it ran into his eyes.  

//He'll understand eventually.  It's better this way.//  

The knowledge didn't make it any easier to banish Krycek from his thoughts, but 
it did make it just a little less difficult to reach up and shut the shower
off.   

He grabbed a towel, fighting the relative chill of the room.  He was in the
middle of brushing his teeth when the phone rang.  Dressed in only a towel,
hair still damp and clinging to the back of his neck, he picked up the phone.  

"Mulder."  His voice didn't sound entirely steady.  

"Agent Mulder, this is SAC Richards, from the Oregon office.  Sorry if I woke
you."  

"No problem," He said, sounding slightly more like himself, now that he knew
the caller wasn't Krycek.  

"I'm afraid I have some bad news.  Agent Stewart, the consultant you sent out,
has disappeared." 

"What the hell do you mean, disappeared?" he snapped, already feeling the truth 
with a sinking sensation in his chest.  Mulder flipped on a light, carrying the 
cordless with him as he started to get dressed.  

"She went to investigate a lead about twelve hours ago, and no one has heard
from her since."  

"She went by herself?  His voice had a hard edge.  "She knows better than that."

"She didn't have a partner, and our boys were stretched pretty thin-"

"Like hell!" He couldn't control the volume of his voice.  "She asked you for
backup and you didn't give it to her?  Why did you bother to ask for a profile
if you didn't have the inclination or resources to follow her advice?"  

The line was silent, and as he tore through his closet, looking for a clean
shirt, he cursed himself for antagonizing the locals before he even got to
Oregon.  

"All right.  Never mind.  I'll be on the next available flight out."  He
punched the "end" button on his phone, and immediately dialed a new number.  

"Michaelson," He heard a sleepy voice answer after the third ring.

"It's Mulder," he said, threading his belt around his waist with one hand.

"What's up, Spook?"  He already sounded more alert, despite the fact that it
was half past four in the morning.   

"Stewart went missing about twelve hours ago."  

"Shit."  The line was silent.  Then, "I'll book a flight right now."

"Don't bother.  I'm going to call the airline as soon as I get off the phone
with you," Mulder said, moving to the bathroom, and throwing a razor and a
toothbrush into his shaving kit.  

"I'm going out there, Mulder."  Michaelson's voice was determined.  

"I know.  I'm booking BOTH of us a flight.  I'll be over to pick you up in
twenty minutes."  

He disconnected and called Delta, finagling his way into getting them to hold a 
flight until he and Michaelson arrived.  

He disconnected and called Skinner, shoving everything into his carry-on.

"Skinner."  

"Sir, it's me."  He zipped the bag savagely and moved to his laptop,
disconnecting it from the wall, disassembling wires and power strips, packing
them efficiently into the case.

"Mulder.  What's wrong?"  Skinner hadn't been asleep.

"Agent Stewart has gone missing in Oregon.  Michaelson and I are flying out in
forty minutes.  I need you to contact Agent Featherstone in the morning and put 
him in charge of the ISU while I'm gone."

"Mulder.  You haven't slept."  

Was it mere hours ago that they'd stolen that vaccine?  It felt like a lifetime.

"It's not a problem."  

Skinner sighed.

"What else do you need?"  Mulder paused, power supply in hand.  He wasn't used
to being taken so seriously.  

"Everything.  I want a crack forensics team at my disposal and I want enough
personnel that I don't have to start ordering the local PD around."  

"Mulder."  Skinner sounded suddenly suspicious.  "Have you been cleared for
field duty?"  

"I will keep in touch," he said softly, hanging up.

Everything was packed.  He slipped into his trench coat, and looked up at the
ceiling uncertainly, thinking about the man in the apartment above him.  But
there was nothing more to say.  Not now, maybe not ever.  

Fate had fucked with them too much.  It was too late for them to build
anything.  But it might not be too late for Stewart and Michaelson.

He turned out the lights, not bothering to fight his own mind.  As he walked
out of the apartment, he allowed the memories of the other couple to swirl just 
below his consciousness.  The look Michaelson had given Stewart as he hauled
her to her feet during a basketball game, the way the pair of them would fight, 
eyes too bright, muscles too tense for mere meaningless anger.  They were in
love.  

Mulder was determined to get her back.  Stewart had been shoved into the middle 
of an old story, one that he was destined to settle himself.  

The killer he had sent her to catch was a man who Mulder had a history with. 
Eugene Edward Duncan, savior of troubled souls.  He had truly believed he was
doing his eleven victims a favor by helping them shed their bodies like so much 
deadweight.  Mulder had been his intended twelfth, and final victim.

Duncan had believed that after he "saved" the twelve, he could end his own
life, and escape the pain of existence.  But it hadn't happened that way. 
Patterson had used Mulder's notes on the case to deduce where Duncan would take 
him.  

Things had ended on a cliff overlooking the Pacific in Northern California. 
Duncan had taken a shot to the head, and ended up hospitalized for life.  Or so 
everyone had thought.  A week ago he'd gotten word that the man had broken out
of the hospital where he was being held, and in conjunction with his escape, an 
agent at the Oregon office had gone missing.  A man who looked disturbingly
like Fox Mulder.

His body still hadn't been found.  

He'd given Stewart the case, since the Bureau higher-ups would have had about
an aneurysm apiece if he'd even suggested going himself.  Plus, there had been
the vaccine to steal. 

The drive to the airport passed in a blur of tight conversation and barely
observed speed limits.  Michaelson was already reading the files, and
occasionally he fired a question at Mulder.  Mulder himself was profiling,
testing theories, rejecting them only to entertain others.  

They abandoned the car in long term parking, found a Delta supervisor, and
managed to bypass the lines to make their flight, which had been waiting for
them for eight minutes.  

As he approached the boarding doors, there was a barely perceptible break in
Mulder's stride as he remembered a half-hearted, three day old promise that he
was about to obviate.

"You're NOT going to Oregon."  He had been chewing on his bottom lip when
Krycek's voice startled him out of his reverie.  Mulder had been staring into
space, brooding about the news of Duncan's release.      

"I think that's pretty much a given, considering what we've got in the works."  
They had been at a strategy meeting, maps spread out in front of them, planning 
in detail for the vaccine switch.  

"Do I have your word on that?"  Krycek's face was frozen, giving nothing away.  

"Fine," he had said, his expression equally impassive.  He was more than a
match for Krycek when it came to speaking without communicating.  "Let's get to 
work." 

It didn't matter now.  Krycek probably didn't give a damn if he lived or died
anymore.  

//I can't blame him.//

It wouldn't take long before this was over, no more than a day once he got to
Brookings, Oregon, a small town, right on the coast.  Between his history with
Duncan, his profiling experience, and the temperamental telepathy--no.  It
wouldn't take long at all.  

"We'll find her," he said to Michaelson as they took their seats on the plane.  

"You sound so sure."  The man looked washed out in the yellow, mechanized cabin 
lighting.  

"I am sure."  

The direct flight went by in a haze of files, crime scene photos, and the
simultaneous scribbling of two pens.  By the time they landed, they had a
nearly intact working profile, waiting to be refined by a visit to the home of
the missing Oregon Bureau agent, and the hospital from which Duncan had
escaped.  

"You know," Michaelson said, as if he were realizing it for the first time,
"You probably shouldn't be out here, Spook."  

"I figure I have about six hours before Skinner figures that out and yanks my
ass back to DC."  He pulled his carryon out of the overhead bin.  "So we'll
have to work fast."  

"The AD doesn't know about your history with Duncan."  Michaelson's voice was a 
mixture of annoyance and amusement as he followed Mulder off the plane.  

"Nope."

"And you didn't tell him?"

"Nope." 

"You know, I can't believe they haven't kicked you out of the Bureau yet." 
Michaelson gave him a wan smile.  

"That makes two of us."  

They rented a car, and drove another hour to reach Brookings.  After checking
in with SAC Richards, Mulder and Michaelson spent most of their morning
driving, visiting the missing agent's apartment, Duncan's hospital, and
finally, ransacking Stewart's motel room, looking for any insight into what she 
was thinking before she disappeared.  

The only thing they knew was that she had been headed for a Catholic church at
approximately four o'clock on the west side of town, hoping to question the
priest, whom Duncan had apparently gone to see a few days before the Oregon
agent, Mulder's look-alike, had vanished.  According to the priest, she had
never arrived.  The security cameras in the church parking lot seemed to
corroborate the priest's statement.  

After half an hour in Stewart's room, he left Michaelson, who was still looking 
through her notes, and took the rental car.  He wanted to drive the route
between the motel and the church. 

As he drove along slowly, his eyes swept back and forth, looking for places
that Stewart's car could have been forced off the pavement and into the
greenery on either side of the road.  He frowned, noticing a sign coming up on
his left.  It was a simple board tacked to a tree, painted with the sign of the 
cross, marking a partially overgrown road.  His tires squealed as he ripped the 
wheel around to take the gravel track.  

After a five-minute, teeth-shattering ride as his piece-of-junk rental tried to 
navigate the uneven narrow road, he stopped the car and began to walk.  The
pine forest was unnaturally silent, and he thought he could hear the roar of
the sea away to the west.  

If he hadn't been walking, he would have missed it.  Something black, dark
against the mud and rock of the road, caught his eye.  He bent down, looking
but not touching.  Carefully, he pulled a plastic evidence bag out of his
pocket, and scooped up the cracked remains of a government-issue cell phone. 

Deliberating for only a moment, he pulled out his own phone, and called
Michaelson.  

"Michaelson."  

"Hey, it's Mulder."  

"Where are you?"  Michaelson hadn't lost the pained tightness in his voice.  

"I took a turnoff on the way to the church, a gravel road a few miles past
Chambers Street.  I think Stewart might have done the same."  

"Why?  What did you find?"  

"I think I found her phone.  It was lying in the road."

"Jesus," Michaelson breathed, voice shaky.

"I'm going to keep heading up the road," Mulder said.  "You might want to show
up here with some backup, if you can find any to spare."  

"Are you kidding?  After your little chat with SAC Richards this morning
they'll be falling over themselves to get out here."  There was a brief pause.  
Then, "Mulder.  Don't do anything-"

"Spooky?" Mulder finished for him.

"That I wouldn't do," Michaelson said gracefully.   "I won't."  He hit the end
button on his cell phone, and pocketed the evidence bag.  Then he started
walking again, loosening his gun in its holster.  

The sky was a dull, slate gray and, coupled with the scent of the pines around
him, it reminded him, inexorably, of Russia.  He didn't want to think about
Krycek now.  Didn't want to remember the way he'd been so angry that it had
been Krycek who handed him that terrorist bust.  Didn't want to remember how
close he had come to trusting the man, only to be betrayed and experimented on. 

Krycek had left him there.  Left him to become the victim of those inhuman
tests-   

But was that really so different from what he himself had done a year earlier?  
He had known Krycek was trapped in one of those missile silos in North Dakota.  
He had known.  Sure, he'd gone up once to look for him, but after getting
forcibly removed by the Smoking Man and his armed minions, he had never gone
back.  

//I left him there to die.  And he's never mentioned it.//

He rounded a corner on the dirt road and past remorse receded like the tide,
gone for now, but certain to rise and trouble him again.  In front of him was a 
small, abandoned church complex.  His eyes were locked on the black car parked
by the side of the structure.  The plates matched those of Stewart's rental.  

She had come this way.  And for all he knew, she could still be here.  He
withdrew behind a fir tree, considering his options.  He could go in, since
Michaelson was on the way.  It probably wasn't the most prudent course of
action, but he couldn't just sit here, not knowing whether Stewart was in there 
or not.  

He closed his eyes, seeing her in a flash of sound and color.  She was cuffed
to a radiator, blue eyes wide, short black hair tangled around her face.  There 
was a gag between her teeth.  He could hear her.  

//Please don't let him come please DON'T let him come for me Adam you have to
stop Mulder from coming and keep him away from this PSYCHO// 

She was still alive.  Not here, though.  

His legs turned to water beneath him, and he sat down in a rush next to the
tree.  

//I can't take much more of this.//  

He hadn't slept in days.  Just eleven hours ago he had gunned down a
supersoldier with Alex Krycek.  Nine hours ago, Krycek had taken a bullet for
him.  Seven hours ago, he'd kissed Krycek, and it had been way too fucking
surreal.  

Even now, when one of his agents was missing, he couldn't get Krycek out of his 
mind.  Damn the man.

He forced himself back to his feet as he heard the sound of cars coming down
the road behind him.  Michaelson practically hurled himself out of the police
cruiser he'd been riding in.

"Oh my God.  That's her rental."  Mulder nodded at his agent, then pulled his
Sig.

"Let's check inside, shall we?"  They went forward together, the gravel
crunching quietly beneath their impractical black wingtips.  With probable
cause parked ten feet behind them, they teased open the rusty screen door of
the main building.  

Room by room they searched the wooden structure.  They split up, Michaelson
heading upstairs while Mulder inspected the lower floor.  The gray light lit
the rooms, giving everything a dull, colorless cast.  He made his way into what 
appeared to be a kitchenette, and stopped abruptly.  There was dried blood on
the floor.  As he scanned the room, he found subtle signs of a struggle.  A
scuffmark on the floor.  A fallen towel.  Had Duncan disabled Stewart here?  

"Mulder!"  Michaelson's shout interrupted his thoughts, and he turned, racing
up the stairs.  He saw Michaelson standing just inside a bathroom on the second 
floor.

He stopped next to Michaelson, face tightening as he forced himself not to look 
away.  

"How long do you think he's been here?"  The skin around Michaelson's eyes was
drawn.  

Mulder made himself look critically at the body of the Oregon agent, submerged
in the bathtub.  "Hard to say.  Probably a few days."  

They withdrew then, searching the remainder of the house together.  They found
plenty of evidence that Duncan had indeed disabled and held Stewart there, but
he had obviously moved her to a new location.  Mulder and Michaelson stayed on
site until the forensics team arrived, then they walked back to their rental,
and headed back to HQ.  

"Do you think she's still alive?"  Michaelson asked, dully, from the
passenger's seat.

"Yes."  Mulder's voice was quiet.  Certain.

"I just-" The man broke off, looking slantwise at Mulder, like he didn't want
to say what was on his mind.  "It seems like if our profile is right, if YOU'RE 
the one he really wants, well, why hasn't he called, or broached the idea of a
trade?"  

Mulder frowned.  Up to this point they hadn't really talked much about the
implications of their profile, namely that Duncan was holding Stewart to draw
Mulder out to Oregon.  Michaelson raised a valid point.  Maybe they were wrong. 

"You're worried that he's going to try and 'save' her?"

"Well, you know Stewart," Michaelson's voice was raw.  "She can come off as a
little rough around the edges.  Troubled, maybe." 

"She knows what's at stake.  I'm sure she won't do anything to antagonize
Duncan."  Mulder tried to make his voice sound surer than he felt.  

"I know she wouldn't.  Aw shit.  I know that.  It's just-"

"You love her."  Mulder said it for him.  Love.  It was so easy to articulate
when it was happening to other people.  He looked over at Michaelson, who was
wearing a poleaxed expression.

"What?"  The other man said.  

"You love her."  He said it again.  "And she loves you."  

"You don't know that."  Michaelson's voice was thick.  He stared resolutely out 
the window.  Mulder smiled, faintly, looking at the empty road in front of him. 

"Yes," he said quietly.  "I do."  

Silence.

"Even if it's true, even if we could be happy together," Michaelson said
softly, "It doesn't mean that we will.  Fate has a way of fucking things up."  

"I don't believe in fate," he lied.

"Really?"  Michaelson asked softly.    

His cell phone rang, saving him from an uncomfortable elaboration.

"Mulder."  

"Dammit, Agent Mulder!  Where the hell ARE you?"  It was Skinner.

"Uh, driving," he said, taken slightly aback at the volume of his boss' tone.  

"Why didn't you tell me that you had a history with Duncan?"  He held the phone 
slightly away from his ear.  Michaelson snorted, apparently able to hear the AD 
from a few feet away.

"One of my agents has gone missing," Mulder said, his words clipped. "That
supersedes any personal reservations I might have about-" Skinner cut him
off.

"Personal reservations my ass.  You. Are. Not. Cleared. For. Field. Duty."  

"That's not a distinction you were particularly concerned about sixteen hours
ago," Mulder snapped at him.  

"THAT was different."

"How?"  Mulder didn't bother to hide his irritation.  "You tell me how it's
different!"

"Mulder," Skinner said, voice quieter, "Weren't you listening to Krycek? 
Marita wants you dead.  You're in a significant amount of danger.  You
shouldn't just be out in the field."  

"He's over-reacting.  You're both over-reacting.  I'm fine.  I can take care of 
myself."  

"Right."  Skinner snorted.  

"Look, I'll keep you posted, all right?"  He wanted to end this conversation.

"No need for that, Agent Mulder.  I caught a flight out, along with five other
agents.  You've got your team.  We're waiting for you back at HQ."  

Mulder savagely stabbed the "end" button on his phone.  

"What's going on?"  Michaelson asked.

"The cavalry has arrived," Mulder said darkly.  They pulled into headquarters
and had to waste forty minutes briefing the new team.  It did mean they could
canvas more sites though, and as one o'clock rolled around, they prepared to
head out in teams of two.  They split up the list of likely sites, almost all
of them to the northwest of the complex, along the Pacific coast.  

Mulder and Michaelson were heading back to their rental car when Skinner called 
Mulder aside.  The AD was staying at HQ to coordinate from there.  

"Mulder.  Be careful."  The AD seemed to be trying to drill the words straight
through his skull.  "If you run into any trouble, call for backup.  That goes
for BOTH of you."  He eyed Michaelson as well.  

"Got it."  Mulder's voice was tight.  He turned sharply and pushed the glass
doors of the police station open, letting in a swirl of bitterly cold air, and
the smell of snow.  

"It's Christmas Eve."  Michaelson's voice sounded just slightly pained as he
looked up at the bleak sky. 

"Is it?"  Mulder asked him absently.  

"Yeah.  We joked about smashing wine glasses in the bullpen hallway since we
were both going to be working."  

"As your direct supervisor, I can't say I condone that sort of behavior." 
Mulder paused, unlocking the rental.  "But, there's always champagne glasses on 
New Year's." 

Michaelson smiled weakly.  

They spent two hours checking in and around abandoned buildings, quiet cabins,
and various others of Mulder's highest priority sites.  Finally, Mulder stopped 
the car, got out and told Michaelson to take the wheel.  

He shut his eyes, bringing a hand to his temple, as if he could forestall the
inevitable pain that was going to come with his attempt to connect with Stewart 
again.  He didn't want to try and find Duncan.  He was afraid of what he would
see if he did.    

"You OK, Spook?"  He heard Michaelson above the dull roar inside his head.  He
tried to hold himself back.  He didn't want to hear her, didn't want to lose
himself in her thoughts.  He just wanted to find her.  

"Turn right," He said thickly.  "We have to go north."  He sensed Michaelson
comply.  He tried not to give any indication as a wave of pain washed over him. 
It was so difficult to retain the contact through his exhaustion.  

"West," he said to Michaelson.

"-lder, come on.  You're freaking me out."  The man's voice seemed to come from 
the bottom of a well.  It was distant, and echoed in his head.  

"Just head west, Michaelson."  

They kept driving, for what felt like an eternity.  But finally Mulder could
sense they were close.  Very close.  He allowed the connection with Stewart to
close.      

"There."  His voice was tense, excited.  "The marina."  

"What the hell did you just do, Mulder?"  

"Nothing, Michaelson.  Kill the engine."    

"You really think she's here?"  Michaelson said skeptically as he stopped the
car.  

"Yeah," Mulder whispered.

"But how do you KNOW?"  

"Let's just go."  

"We should probably call for backup."  

"Probably," Mulder said as he slipped out of the car.  He heard Michaelson have 
a brief, whispered conversation, before the soft click of a car door let him
know that the other agent was behind him.  

The dock was quiet except for the rhythmic roar of the ocean and the soft
creaks of wood as the waves lifted the white shells of boats, most not in use
during the winter months.  An icy spray blasted them, and Mulder felt his hair
parted roughly by the salty wind.  The sky was still a slate gray, but the sun
was slipping down into the Pacific, and as they moved quietly through the
boatyard, it emerged between a ragged tear in the clouds and lit everything in
a gentle golden glow, which, Mulder knew, would only be fleeting.  

She was close.

A sound ahead and to his right, near the point where the pier met the shore,
made his head and weapon snap around in tandem.  He saw Duncan and Stewart
emerge from behind a wall, joined in a staggering parody of a dance that
centered on the revolver Duncan held to the woman's head.    

"Janet."  Her name passed through Michaelson's lips in a tortured hiss.

"You came." Duncan's voice grated across the distance between them.   

Mulder forced himself to meet the other man's eyes, looking at him over the
barrel of his gun.  The man had changed a great deal in ten years--his hair was 
the color of the clouds and the skin around his eyes was lined.  

The revolver he held gleamed black and silver in the light from the setting
sun.  

"God.  You don't look any different."  Duncan's voice was harsh, the breath
sobbed in his throat.  Mulder let his eyes drop to Stewart.  Her left cheekbone 
was bruised, and she had a long cut at her hairline.  She made a small
distressed sound as Duncan dragged her backwards, her boots thudding against
the wood as they started backing along the pier.  

"Let her go, Duncan," Mulder said softly, squinting into the light.  "You
didn't come for her."  He and Michaelson began advancing slowly, side by side
along the long pier.  The waves whispered under their feet, and the sea air
lifted their trench coats, blowing them back in dark ripples of fabric.  

"You can't kill her, Duncan."  Mulder's voice was gentle.  "She's not ready to
go.  She can't help you."  

"You don't know that."  Mulder winced as Duncan jerked the gun against
Stewart's temple.  

"I do."  Mulder's voice was steel.  "It won't end if you kill her."

"Drop your fucking guns."  Duncan had a manic gleam in his eyes as he cocked
the revolver.  Immediately, Mulder put up his weapon, laying it gently on the
pier at his feet.  Michaelson followed suit a few seconds later.  

"Kick them off the dock."  Mulder swept his weapon into the sea with a brush of 
his foot.  To his right, he sensed Michaelson hesitate.

"Do it!"  Pale flecks of saliva shot into the air at Duncan's words.  "I'll
shoot her!"  Mulder heard a soft splash as Michaelson's weapon sank beneath the 
waves as well.  

Behind him, Mulder registered the sound of a car speeding over gravel.  Backup, 
maybe.  He didn't turn to look.    "Duncan.  You don't have much time.  Let her 
go.  Just do what you came to do."  He stepped forward, his voice as low and
soothing as he could make it.  

"No!"  Stewart yelled, blue eyes drilling into him.  "Don't do this, Mulder." 
But Duncan shoved her brutally toward him.  

As she slammed into him, he thought they were both going to go down. 
Overbalance and end up in the icy Pacific water.  But he absorbed the shock of
her impact and directed her momentum toward Michaelson as he felt Duncan's hand 
close on his left arm.  

"FBI!  Drop your weapon!"  Mulder recognized Skinner's voice as he was jerked
brutally back against the larger man, and felt the gun dig into his temple.  He 
was facing the land again, and he could see the impressive array of agents on
the wooden dock in front of him. 

Michaelson and Stewart were backing off, melded together, Stewart still looking 
at him with horrified blue eyes, shaking her head.  Two agents grabbed the
pair, covering them, dragging them back to safety.  Four agents remained on the 
pier.  He recognized them all.

Two were from the team that the AD had brought in.  Skinner was there as well,
standing in front.  Beside and slightly behind the AD, holding an FBI-issue Sig 
Sauer like it was an extension of his arm, was Krycek.  The sun glinted off his 
mahogany hair.

He had come, after all.    

"It's all right."  Duncan held him tightly, whispering directly into his ear. 
"I'm going to help you."

"I don't need your help, Duncan."  His eyes were locked on Krycek.  

"But you do.  You were never supposed to live so long."  Mulder knew it to be
the truth.  

//I have unfinished business.// 

Suddenly, everything seemed so clear.  With all the times he had cheated death, 
all the miraculous recoveries, the last minute salvations before he got a
bullet to the head, he had never been able to escape the feeling that he was
living on borrowed time.  He should have used it more effectively.  

That it should come to this, after all the hours he'd spent in Krycek's
company, that he had only moments left to make the man understand that he
didn't hate him, and that he was so damn sorry that things had turned out the
way they had.     

He willed Krycek to look at him.  He wanted, selfishly, to make the man see
everything.  He knew he could make him understand it all if he would just drop
his eyes from Duncan and look.  

//I fucked this up for us, Krycek.//

"I didn't do it right last time.  I can't kill you with this," Duncan said,
voice tight and low in his ear so that the agents didn't have a prayer of
catching his words.  He jammed the pistol tighter against Mulder's temple.  And 
Mulder felt him very slowly, very carefully, snap a handcuff tightly around his 
left wrist.  He knew what was coming.  

//Now, Alex, it has to be NOW!  Look at me, damn you!// 

He was screaming silently at Krycek, because he knew he only had a few seconds
left, and finally, finally Krycek dropped his eyes, and Mulder tried to make
him see everything, in that endless moment where time stopped and the sun lit
up Krycek's skin and his hair, and he stood out, bright against a darkening
sky.  And as he was pulled backwards off the dock he saw comprehension and pain 
and understanding hit Krycek like a physical blow and he knew that he hadn't
done Krycek any favors by showing him the truth in these last moments.

And he took that image with him, looking as long as possible before the water
closed over him.  

The cold was heart-stopping, and he almost drew a breath of seawater from the
shock, but he controlled himself just in time.  He struggled vainly in Duncan's 
grip, but the other man was a stronger swimmer, heavier, not as bone-deep
exhausted as Mulder was.  

He felt the smooth wooden beam that supported the dock at his back.  Mulder
struggled harder, feeling the man jerk him down farther, forcing his broken
hand down below a crossbeam of the dock supports.  The water was so cold.  He
found it almost impossible to keep fighting as Duncan snapped the cuffs around
his right wrist, threading the short metal chain under the crossbeam.    

He was locked to the pier.  He jerked weakly on the cuffs, feeling the pain in
his left hand only dully through the cold of the water.  He couldn't get enough 
leverage to pull out of the unforgiving metal bracelets.  

Suddenly, the water around him erupted in churning foam.  Someone had jumped in 
after them.  More than one person.  He tried to see what was happening, but the 
salt stung his eyes.  

(Continued in part 2)

Part 2
See part 0 for story information.


Someone grabbed his arm and pulled.  Hard.  The air was forced out of his lungs 
as he jerked roughly against the cuffs.  

//Skinner.//

The AD swam closer and felt rapidly down his arms to find the handcuffs.  He
felt his boss grip his shoulder, and then swim back to the surface.  

Mulder shut his eyes against the sting of the water, and the almost
overwhelming urge to inhale.  He fought it as long as he could, focusing on
that last image he had of Krycek standing on the pier.  

The water was going gradually still.  His clothes and hair fanned around him as 
the rise and fall of the tide pulled them gently to and fro.  The sea around
him calmed into a steady rhythm, and he was alone.    

He knew he was drowning.

//I am so sorry, Alex.// 

He held out for one last moment, grasping at the graying wisps of memory and
consciousness before he let the water pour into him, let his thoughts fade to
nothing.

4:56 PM
24 December 2000
Brookings, Oregon

"Keys!"  Skinner bellowed as he surfaced.  "I need handcuff keys!"  The
dumbfucks around Krycek who had remained on the dock instead of joining the
underwater fray just looked at the man uncomprehendingly.  

"Handcuff keys!"  Skinner shouted again, looking frantic and vulnerable without 
his glasses and coat.  Krycek reached into the pocket of his trench, and pulled 
out a replica of Mulder's key ring.  Deftly, he isolated the standard-issue key 
as he strode a few steps to the end of the pier.  Skinner's eyes locked on him
for a moment as the key ring passed between them.  Then the older man was gone, 
back under the water.  

Krycek looked at his watch.  It had been two minutes and fifty-three seconds
since Mulder had been dragged under by the psycho they were just now pulling
out of the water.  Duncan was yelling incoherently as the two shivering agents
tried to keep him subdued.  

//You want something to scream about, motherfucker?  I'll GIVE you something to 
scream about.//

Three minutes.  

He stood, motionless at the edge of the pier.  Unable to do a damn thing.  He
should have shot Duncan.  He knew that now with a calm certainty that would rip 
him to shreds if Mulder didn't make it.  He had been worried that the man would 
pull the agent under with him if he put a bullet in Duncan's head.  Turned out, 
that had been his plan all along.  And now he had cuffed the agent to the pier. 

Three minutes and fifteen seconds. 

He remembered how hard it was to work underwater.  Especially cold water.  It
sucked the will out of you, made it difficult to manipulate small objects. 
Such as a handcuff key.  

Skinner was a marine.  He had trained for this sort of thing.  Krycek had
trained for it as well during his days with the KGB.  He knew he could handle
the bone-chilling water.  Irrationally, he wished he were down there.  But a
one-armed man, weighted down with a prosthetic, would be worse than useless
underneath the icy waves.  

Three minutes and thirty seconds.  

Damn Mulder anyway.  Krycek couldn't get that last look out of his head.  The
way Mulder had devoured him with his eyes, apology and desperation and despair
and something else, maybe absolution, maybe gratitude, all mingling together,
claiming him forever, as Mulder was pulled backward off the dock.  

The agent had apologized with his eyes.  Krycek just hoped he hadn't been
saying good-bye as well.  

Three minutes and forty-five seconds.

//Mulder, I swear to God, if you die, I'll never ever forgive you for that
look.//

Four minutes.  

He would be unconscious by now for sure.  Krycek dug his nails into the palm of 
his right hand.  

"What's your name, son?"  Richards was talking to him.  Krycek whipped his head 
around.  He hadn't even known Richards was there.

"Alexander.  Vic Alexander."  Krycek looked away.

"That was some fast thinking, handing Skinner those keys."

Krycek didn't reply.  His eyes were fixed on the blue-gray of the waves.  He
wanted Richards to go away.  Somehow, none of this seemed like his
business.

Four minutes and fifteen seconds.

The water was incredibly cold at this time of year.  He'd heard of people
surviving long periods of submersion in very cold water.  In fact, the colder
the water, the more likely it was that-

Four minutes and thirty seconds.  

He hated standing here.  The seconds seemed to tick by faster and faster as
Mulder's time ran out.  

//Tempus Fugit.//  

Four minutes and forty-five seconds.  

The water near his feet exploded as Skinner surfaced, gasping, dragging Mulder
up by his waterlogged clothing.  Krycek dropped to his knees.

"Take him," Skinner gasped, trying to push the unconscious man out of the
water.  Richards was beside him, and together Krycek and the SAC hauled Mulder
onto the pier.  The agent collapsed lifelessly to the wooden planks.  

"We need help over here!"  Richards was yelling toward the direction of the
third ambulance that had pulled into the boatyard.  

Krycek wasted no time.  Carefully he tilted Mulder's head back, his fingers
warm against icy skin.  He waited five seconds, counting carefully.  The
agent's pulse was thready, barely there.  There was no sign of breathing.  He
stuck his finger into the other man's mouth, performing a sweep for any objects 
that might be blocking the airway.  Then he delivered two slow rescue breaths.  
Or tried.  There was too much resistance.  

He switched positions, straddling Mulder's hips, and dug his hand into Mulder's 
abdomen in a quick, J-shaped jab.  The agent convulsed slightly, and a trickle
of icy water ran out of the corner of his mouth.  Krycek frowned, and tried
again.  This time he was slightly more successful, but Mulder was still making
no effort to breathe on his own.  

As he moved again, he glanced at his watch.  Five minutes and ten seconds.  

"Come on, Tovarich.  Give me a little help here," he whispered to the
unconscious man as he pinched the agent's nose shut, and sealed his mouth over
Mulder's blue lips.  He exhaled slowly, seeing Mulder's chest rise slightly
this time.  

Suddenly, the agent was coughing weakly, choking, as he tried to inhale. 
Krycek and Richards helped him turn on his side, as he continued to cough.  

Krycek was roughly pushed aside as the EMTs descended.  He got to his feet,
watching them expertly insert an OPA, and begin artificial respiration.  Two
more EMS personnel arrived with a backboard, and Krycek stepped away, giving
them room.  They worked quickly in the gathering dark, and Krycek stood
silently, watching as they finally loaded the agent into the waiting ambulance. 
Skinner rode with Mulder, wrapped in a thermal blanket, shivering with cold.  

Krycek and Richards were nearly alone on the pier.  

"Did you know him, son?" Richards asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.  

"No," Krycek said.  He paused, looking out at the dark waves.  He could feel
Richards' eyes, an inquisitive pressure at his back.  

"I worked with him, but I don't think I ever really knew him at all."

"Sometimes things work out that way."

"Yeah," Krycek said softly.  "I guess so."  

He walked off the pier, leaving Richards behind to stare after him.  He stopped 
by Mulder's car, retrieving the GPS locator he had placed there around noon. 
He pocketed it, and yanked open the door to Skinner's rental.  He and the AD
had driven out together after the older man had fielded Michaelson's call for
backup.   

Even alone, with no one to witness what might be written on his face in the
privacy of the dark car, he gave no quarter to his emotions.  He hotwired the
rental since Skinner still had his keys.  That, or they were at the bottom of
the Pacific.  He made his way to the hospital, carefully observing all speed
limits.  

When he arrived, he found Skinner sitting in a chair at the edge of Mulder's
bed.  

"I figured you'd show up here sooner or later."  The AD was dressed in a pair
of scrubs, and had a hideous yellow blanket wrapped around his shoulders.  One
hand emerged from beneath the blanket to reveal a ring of keys.  

"I believe these belong to you."  Krycek took them.  They were warm.

"Thanks."

"Though I probably should have confiscated them.  Who knows what they might be
for."  Skinner smiled faintly, but Krycek sensed there was a serious undertone
to his words.  He decided to change the subject.

"How is he?"  Krycek asked, looking at Mulder.  The agent had been intubated,
and was lying beneath an electric blanket.  

"The doctors think he's going to be OK," Skinner said, sounding relieved. 
"They have to watch for respiratory infection, and when he wakes up they'll
have to do a neuro check-"

"Why's he on a respirator?"  Krycek asked.  

"He was too tired to breathe on his own."  They were silent for a moment, and
Krycek prowled around to the other side of the bed.  While he was in the middle 
of examining the medical equipment for any tampering, Skinner spoke again.  

"That was pretty fast thinking out there, on the dock."

"What are you talking about?" Krycek asked him.  "You did all the hard work." 
He frowned.

"Krycek, without those keys I wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing.  And
if you hadn't told me about Mulder's history with Duncan, I wouldn't have been
out there.  And if you hadn't put that GPS locator on his rental, we wouldn't
have found them in time.  Need I go on?"  Skinner was giving him that earnest
AD look.  Krycek wanted to tell him to shove it.  

"I can't do this anymore," he said, his words short, cutting.  

"Do what?"  The other man's eyebrows lifted.

"Protect someone who wants to die."  Krycek looked at Mulder as he said it. 
Ruthlessly forcing down the urge to touch the agent's hair.  

"You've been doing a damn good job of it so far."  Skinner's voice held quiet
admiration, and Krycek gave him a sharp look, suspicious of the other man's
sincerity.  "Don't give up on him, Krycek."  

"Why the hell not?"  Krycek said, voice suddenly soft, venomous.  "He gave up
on me a long time ago."  

"Is that what you really think?"  Skinner's voice remained calm, and Krycek was 
too tired to stay angry in the absence of a good fight.  

"I don't know."  

"He stood beside you in that warehouse a two weeks ago.  He stood between you
and three FBI agents who were fully intent on shooting you.  He told Scully to
leave because she wouldn't work with you.  What more do you want from him?" 
Skinner's voice was bordering on accusatory.  

"That wasn't out of any regard for me.  That was only about the information."  

"Bullshit," Skinner said.  "He trusted you.  He's backed you up repeatedly." 
They were quiet for a moment, looking at the man on the bed.  The only sound
that broke the stillness was the regular hiss of the respirator.  

Krycek shook his head.

"He stood between you and his partner of seven years.  Do you know how many
times he's done that for me?"  There was something indefinable in Skinner's
eyes.  "Never.  He's never done that for anyone else."

Krycek looked away, letting Skinner's words play over in his mind.  The other
man stood.  

"I'm going to go check on agent Stewart, and turn in."  

"I'll be here," Krycek said, gesturing vaguely at the stark walls with his
hand. Skinner nodded, as if he had expected nothing else, and walked into the
hallway.  

Krycek looked back at Mulder.  

"Bastard."  He walked around the bed.    

"You're a selfish, arrogant prick."  He sat down in the chair Skinner had
vacated.  

He stood up, and returned to inspecting the electronic equipment that was
keeping Mulder alive.    

"I mean," Krycek said, running fingers over cables, and the backs of various
monitors, "The world is coming to a fucking end in about five months.  And are
you helping anyone by getting yourself nearly drowned by some inconsequential
psycho?"  

Mulder didn't answer. Krycek dropped back into the chair.

"No, Mulder.  The answer is NO.  You weren't helping anyone by pulling that
little stunt."  He glared at the unconscious man.

"You purposefully tried to switch yourself for Stewart before the backup
arrived, didn't you?" 

No answer.   

"Were you THAT upset about last night?"  His voice was dry, and he felt the
urge to cross his arms.  Of course, he hadn't been able to do that for years.  

"All right," He snapped.  "I suppose I'm not being entirely fair.  I probably
could have been more tactful about the mindreading."  He shut his eyes.  

"But Jesus, Mulder, you have to be willing to give me a chance."  He laughed
shortly.  

"Right.  The best I'm going to get are soulful looks when you're about to kick
the bucket."  Krycek glared at him again.  "Merry Christmas to me."

He stood up, crossed the room, and looked out into the hallway.  Everything
seemed in order; no shadowy presences were lurking in the corridor.  He sat
down again, feeling the exhaustion of the past few days in the persistent ache
of his legs and back.  

He needed to stay awake.  He pulled a small volume out of his jacket pocket and 
threw it gently onto the bed. 

"I brought you a present."  

Silence.

"You're not even going to thank me?"  

More silence.  

"Peskow gave it to me.  I don't think you ever met him, but he did hold Scully
at gunpoint once.  He was an old instructor of mine, something of a legend in
the KGB."  

Krycek leaned forward, picking the book up again, and opened the front cover to 
reveal an inscription written in Cyrillic characters, which he dutifully
pointed out to Mulder.  

"See?  I'd translate it for you, but it's really not something one should
repeat in polite company."  

Krycek pulled the chair closer to the bed.  "This book," he said, "Is about a
kick-ass woman who sells her soul to the devil so that she can be with the man
she loves.  He's pretty whiny, and spends time in insane asylums.  Sound
familiar?"  

Krycek raised an eyebrow, and gave the unconscious man a questioning look. 
When no response was forthcoming, he opened the book and began to read.  

The Russian flowed easily, and he kept himself entertained by giving Mulder
occasional commentary, for which he courteously switched to English.  About an
hour and a half later, he looked up to find a pair of glassy, green-gray eyes
staring at him.  Krycek trailed off, and Mulder blinked sleepily at him.

"Hey," he said, finding it almost impossible not to smile.

"You look totally blitzed, Tovarich."  He lost the battle completely, and gave
Mulder a real grin, which he mastered in the space of a few heartbeats.    

"They must really have you on the good stuff," he said gently.  "Otherwise
you'd be trying to rip that tube out."  Mulder's brow tightened slightly, as if 
he were trying to think through the drugs.

"Now don't go getting any ideas," Krycek said sternly.  But Mulder was already
giving him a distressed, confused look.  In about two seconds he was going
to-

"Mulder!  Shit.  Calm down."  Krycek did his best to stop Mulder's fingers from 
reaching the respirator tubing.  But he only had one hand to work with.  "Calm
down!"  He made his voice just slightly more forceful.  

He supposed he wasn't the most reassuring person to wake up next to.  

"Nurse!"  Krycek shouted as Mulder's left hand finally made it to his mouth. 
Mulder struggled to sit up, tried to rip the plastic breathing apparatus out of 
his throat.  Finally giving in, Krycek gripped the tubing, and pulled
steadily.

"Try and exhale for me, Mulder."  Finally, when the plastic had clattered
noisily to the floor, the agent gasped, shakily, leaning against him.  Krycek
looked up as a monitor started to shriek.  

//Shit shit shit.  They're going to kick me out for this.//  

He was half right.  The nurses descended about ten seconds too late to stop the 
respirator debacle, and Krycek was forced to pace the hallway for a good five
minutes before he was allowed to go back in to check on Mulder.  He reentered
the room to find the other man's eyes still open.   

"Hey," the agent rasped at him.  Mulder looked worn down, drugged up, and
strung out.  Fantastic, in other words.  But he sure as hell wasn't going to
tell him that.

"You look like shit."  Krycek sat down again.  "Want some ice?"  

Mulder shook his head, letting his eyes fall shut briefly.  

"Why are you here?"  Mulder swallowed painfully.  Between the medication
induced slur and the respirator induced hoarseness, Krycek barely caught his
question.

"I'm protecting you from the aliens."  His voice skirted the line between
sincerity and sarcasm, and Mulder turned his head, giving him a confused look.  
Krycek felt his chest tighten.

"Go to sleep, Tovarich.  We can talk later."  

Amazingly, Mulder took his advice, though "later" inevitably arrived.  It came
on the cloudy mid-morning three days after Christmas, seven minutes after
Mulder and Krycek stumbled into apartment forty-two, finally home after an
exhausting coast-to-coast plane trip.  

Krycek practically poured Mulder onto the couch, then let his knees fold
underneath him.  He dropped gracefully to a sitting position on the floor
beside the other man, resting his right arm on the cool leather of the couch,
resting his forehead on his arm.  

"Tired," Mulder said breathlessly.  Krycek had no idea if he was asking a
question or making a statement--in fact, he had no idea whether Mulder was
referring to one or both of them.  Whatever the case, his answer was the
same.

"Yes."  It came out as more of a groan than a word.  

"Hey.  Krycek."  The agent stopped to breathe shallowly between the words.  He
was still out of breath from climbing the stairs, as the stupid, piece-of-shit
elevator was out of order.  

"What is it, Mulder?"  He'd used the last of his energy to check the apartment
before he let Mulder lie down, and let his own eyes slide shut, just for a
moment.

"Why did you follow me," Mulder got the words out in a rush, then pulled in
another breath, "to Brookings?"  

Krycek's eyes snapped open.  

"I thought you might do something incredibly stupid."  He was too exhausted to
diplomatically phrase his reply, and the words came out harsh, with too much of 
an edge.  He steeled himself for the knee-jerk nasty reply.

"At least," Mulder hissed venomously, "I'm concerned with more than saving my
own miserable life."  His eyes glittered angrily as he tried to pull in deeper
breaths.  "Which is more than can be said for YOU."

"Oh give it a rest."  Krycek launched himself off the floor, needing some
space.  "Or have you forgotten that I took a bullet for you less than a week
ago?"  He looked back at Mulder, who was still glaring stubbornly at him.  "You 
want to know what I think?"  Krycek cocked his head, raising his eyebrows.  "I
think that you don't give a damn about anyone but yourself."  

"How's that?"  Mulder said, levering himself up on one elbow, trying to give
Krycek a disgusted look.  Krycek wasn't buying it.  

"Dying is easier than living through the pain, isn't it?"  He dropped down to
the balls of his feet, bringing his own eyes level with the other man's. 
"Isn't it?"  He asked again, the anger leaving his voice. 

Mulder fell back against the couch, closing his eyes, bringing his right hand
up over his face.  "I know what you want, Krycek."

"I don't want anything from you, Mulder."  It was a lie, of course.  They both
knew that.

"We can never have it.  It would never work."

"We can MAKE it work, Mulder."  Krycek's voice was low, intense, right next to
the agent's ear.  Mulder opened his eyes, looking at him with a sick smile.  

"For how long?  We can barely hold a civil conversation." 

"And whose fault is THAT?"  Krycek snapped, frustrated.  Mulder just gave him a 
twisted smile.

"See?"  His hand slipped back into place, covering his eyes.

"God, Mulder.  You fight so hard to hold onto the wrong things.  Can't you even 
give this a chance?"  Mulder didn't acknowledge his words at all.  Krycek
leaned against the couch again, feeling the strength flow out of him.  "I just
thought," he said softly, "That maybe we could be happy, when this is all
over."

"It will never be over," Mulder said dully.  

There was a long pause. 

"How can there be a happy ending to our story, Krycek?"  Mulder sounded so
lost.  "I don't think we deserve one."  

Krycek felt his throat close, disappointment gripping him like a vise.

"Maybe we don't, Mulder."  He let his eyelids fall shut, just for a moment. 
"But we deserve peace.  And we'll get that, in the end."  

"Besides," Krycek said, pulling Mulder's hand away from his eyes, trying to
steer them both clear of the misery on either side of their swiftly sinking
ship.  "I think our seven years of bad luck are up."  

"That's for if you break a mirror, Krycek."  Mulder's eyes shimmered in the
washed out winter light, but he gave Krycek a ghost of a smile.

"I know."  Krycek gave the other man his best mysterious look, and twined his
fingers through Mulder's.  

"You broke a mirror?"  The other man asked him.  

"Maybe."

"Well," the agent said, "That certainly explains a lot."  It was a strange
affirmation, but Krycek decided not to push his luck.

"You need to take your medication."  He disentangled his fingers, then got up
and retrieved an unopened water bottle. 

"I only need the antibiotic."  Mulder pushed himself up against the back of the 
couch, bringing his feet under him.  He had kicked off his shoes, and sat
barefoot, curled into his oversized sweats.  "I don't need the sedative."

"Mulder," Krycek began, oh-so-rationally.  

"I hate how they make me feel."  It was an admission that Krycek hadn't
expected to get.  

"OK," He said softly, giving in without a battle as Mulder downed the
antibiotic.  

"You should get some sleep," Mulder said.  "You look like shit."  

"I'm not tired," Krycek lied.

"And I'm not an idiot," Mulder said, but there was no irritation in his voice.  
"How long has it been since you slept?"  

"I slept plenty at the hospital."  

"Bullshit."  

"Someone has to stay awake.  Numerous parties are trying to kill you."  Krycek
sat down beside Mulder on the couch.  In the gray midmorning light, with Mulder 
so close, the threat seemed very far away.

"I'll stay awake."  The agent's eyes were already closing.

"Sure you will," Krycek said amenably.

"Don't patronize me.  I hate that."  An edge came back into Mulder's voice.

"I'm not patronizing you.  You're exhausted," Krycek snapped defensively.  

"So are you."  

Krycek grabbed Mulder's pillow and shoved it at him.  "Just go to sleep, damn
you."  He had to smile, just the slightest bit, at the sheer ridiculousness of
their argument.  

"Wake me up in two hours," Mulder said stubbornly, pulling his pillow against
his chest.  

"OK."  Krycek rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious Krycek.  You better do it."  

"Or else what?"

"I'll be pissed."

"And that's different from the status quo, how?"

That wrung a smile out of Mulder.  The agent set his pillow on Krycek's lap and 
laid down, one hand gripping the fabric of his jeans.

"What are you doing, Mulder?"

"Insurance.  You have to wake me up if you want to move."  

Krycek gave the back of Mulder's head an incredulous stare.  

"Turn the TV on, will you?"  Mulder's voice was slightly muffled by the pillow. 

Krycek picked up the remote and turned on the TV, channel surfing for anything
interesting.  He left it on Turner Classic Movies, and watched Mulder's shallow 
breathing even out in front of Wuthering Heights.  

He pulled out his weapon, checking it carefully, running his fingers over the
magnetite bullets he had loaded just a few days ago.  

"He's more myself than I am," Cathy said, Merle Oberon's voice echoing across
the quiet apartment.  Krycek slipped his gun back into its holster.  

Against his will, he felt his eyes slide shut in a long blink, and it felt so
damn good.  But he wasn't going to fall asleep.  He WASN'T.  

He woke much later, not entirely sure what had dragged him back to
consciousness.  He looked at his watch, surprised to see it was nearly four
o'clock.  The sun had faded from the apartment, and snow was falling in large
flakes past the window.  He frowned.

Something had changed.  

There was a tension in the room that hadn't been there before.  His nerves
started to tingle.  He turned the TV off, and the room was blanketed in
complete quiet.  Out of the stillness he started to become aware of background
noise, the buzz of Mulder's refrigerator, and the sound of traffic outside the
apartment walls.

Suddenly, silently, Mulder sat bolt upright.  Krycek felt himself twitch in
surprise.  The agent's head whipped around, fixing him with a strange green
stare that seemed to pierce straight through him, as if he were transparent and 
Mulder was looking at something else.  

"Krycek."  Mulder's voice was breathy.  Very low.  Very fast.  "They're here. 
Six of them."  

"Mulder, you must have been dreaming." Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't
true. 

"No."  Mulder's voice was quiet.  Sure.  "Four supersoldiers.  Two
shapeshifters.  They're coming up the stairs."

"FOUR supersoldiers?"  He stood up, yanking Mulder to his feet.  

"They're splitting up."  Mulder's gaze was unfocused and eerily calm.  "They're 
sending two upstairs for you, and four-"  

Like flicking a switch, the agent was back with him, eyes drilling into Krycek. 
"Shit," he said.  

Krycek snagged Mulder's antibiotics off the coffee table, and then propelled
the agent over to the window.  He shoved the books and papers aside and opened
the latch.  

"Fire escape," He said shortly.  "Go.  I'll be right behind you."  Mulder
didn't need to be told twice.  Rust came off in his hand as they made the
descent in a flat fifteen seconds. 

Mulder dropped the last few feet to the ground, knees buckling as his bare feet 
hit the pavement.  Krycek landed silently beside him.  The snow continued to
fall, the large flakes just beginning to stick to the cold asphalt.

"Mulder, get up."  Krycek grabbed his sweatshirt, hauling him to his feet.  The 
agent swayed slightly, his breathing shallow and uneven.  

"The car," Krycek whispered desperately, "We just have to make it to the car."  
Half shoving, half dragging Mulder forward, he looked back at the fourth floor
window.  The snow was falling faster now, but he thought he saw a dark shape
looking down on them.  While he watched, it moved to perch on the ledge.  

"Oh God," Mulder whispered, eyes wide, responding to something Krycek couldn't
hear.  As he said it, the thing on the window ledge jumped down into the alley. 

He didn't have to say anything.  They took off together in an adrenaline-fueled 
sprint.  His fingers were clamped around Mulder's wrist.  He knew that if
either of them were to fall, it would all be over.  He didn't look behind. 

He let Mulder go for a split second to pull out his keys, unlocking the doors
to the car with the click of a button.  It was then that he felt it.  A
crushing force on his left shoulder, and he knew it was a supersoldier.  He
hurled his keys at Mulder, reaching for his gun.  Too late.

"Go!"  His voice tore the air as he was forced to his knees.  He felt hands
grip his head tightly.  He recognized the position.  He was about to get his
neck broken.  

He looked at Mulder, standing barefoot in his gray and navy sweats on the
snow-damp pavement.  He'd pulled his gun, slipping it amazingly quickly from
the ankle holster Krycek hadn't even known he'd been wearing.  The others began 
closing in.  He felt the supernaturally powerful hands tense.  

Mulder fired.  

The hands jerked away from his head, and Krycek turned, to see the ruined face
of an anonymous killing machine.  He was up in a flash, Mulder firing round
after round, covering him as he sprinted and slipped around the car and hurled
himself through the driver's side door.  

The remaining supersoldiers began to close in on them.  Krycek floored the gas
and guided the car expertly around two of them as they sped out of the parking
lot.  

The snow was nearly blinding, but he didn't dare slow down.  

"Are they following us?" he asked Mulder.

"No, they weren't-" The agent broke off, drawing a shaky breath.  

"Mulder?"  

"They weren't prepared for this.  They still haven't figured out that I can
hear them."  Krycek couldn't take his eyes off the road to look at the other
man, but he could hear the unsteadiness in his voice, the pained rasp of his
breathing.    

"They're going after Skinner. They noticed the vaccine switch.  They know he's
in on it.  We have to get there first." Mulder gasped raggedly around the short 
sentences.   

Krycek didn't say anything, just swung the car around in a ridiculously
dangerous left turn, heading for Crystal City.  

"What about the Gunmen?" he asked suddenly.  

"I don't know.  I just don't know."  

"We'll call after we get Skinner out."  

Mulder just nodded.  They reached Crystal City in moments.  

"Stay here," he told Mulder as he pulled into a space in the parking garage. 
"Keep the car running.  If I'm not back in five minutes-"

"No.  I'm not letting you go up there alone."  

"Yes you are."

"No I'm NOT."  Mulder jerked the car door open, pulling his weapon.  Krycek
tried to feel annoyed as he attempted to glare Mulder into submission.  He knew 
it wasn't working when the agent gave him a sardonic smile.

"Let's go," he said.  

Mulder said he thought the building was clear, and they rode the elevator to
the upper floor.  Krycek pounded on the door to Skinner's apartment.  

"What the hell?" Skinner said, looking at the pair of them as he ripped the
door open.  "Get in here."

"Your life is in danger."  Krycek's voice was low.  "You need to come with us
right now.  Bring your weapon, and load your gun with the magnetite."  Skinner
looked like he was on the verge of questioning Krycek, but instead he simply
disappeared into his back bedroom.  

Next to him, Mulder slid gracefully down the wall.  

//Shit.//

"Come on," Krycek said, kneeling, running his hand through Mulder's hair. 
"Stay with me."  The agent's skin was too cold, and his breathing was erratic.  
He was going to go into shock if they didn't take care of this right now.    

"I'm fine, Krycek."  Mulder didn't sound very convincing as he tried to push
him away.

Skinner came out of the bedroom, looking ready to go.  

"Jesus," he said, looking at Mulder for the first time. 

"He needs a jacket," Krycek said, eyes still locked on Mulder.  "And shoes. 
Hurry."    

Twenty-five seconds later, after jamming Nikes onto Mulder's feet, and wrapping 
him sloppily in Skinner's trench coat, they were out the door.  Krycek could
feel his heart beating against his ribs as he and the AD half-dragged Mulder
down the hall. 

They reached the elevator, and Skinner violently jammed his thumb against the
down button.  Krycek looked up, a lighted display indicating the elevator was
currently at the level of the lobby.  

"I hope we don't run into anyone," Skinner said warningly, glancing at Krycek
while trying vainly to straighten Mulder's coat into some semblance of order. 
"We look like we're abducting him, for Christ's sake."  

Krycek smirked.  

//Been there, done that.//  

He watched the numbers begin to rise.  Fourth floor, fifth floor, sixth floor,
until suddenly, he found himself almost overbalanced as all of Mulder's weight
slammed into him.  

"Stairs!" The agent was practically shouting into his ear as he pushed Krycek
toward the plain white door on their left.  With Skinner right behind them they 
ducked quickly into the stairwell.  

They sprinted down one flight, but Krycek pulled Mulder to a stop beneath a
large, painted number sixteen.  Skinner gave him an impatient, worried
look.

"Mulder, stop."  

"We can't, we-" The agent broke off, pulling in rapid, shallow breaths.  

"We need to THINK, dammit," he said, looking at both of them.  "They could be
waiting for us.  We have," he said, pulling his gun, "An advantage."  He
watched as they did the same.  "Actually," he continued, "We have several
advantages."  He looked meaningfully at Mulder, while, still holding his gun,
he pulled the weapon he used on shapeshifters out of his pocket and tossed it
to Skinner.  

"There are two supersoldiers and one shapeshifter on the floor above us." 
Mulder said shortly.  His eyes were calm and unfocused.  "They're just coming
to Skinner's apartment.  They're part of the same team that tried to take us
out."

"What about the other two?"  Krycek asked.  

"I don't know.  I think I only have a radius of about eleven or twelve floors
before I can't sense them anymore."  Almost every word the agent spoke was
punctuated by a shallow gasp.    

"Let's go," Krycek said, starting to feel an itch to keep on the move.  They
descended at a quick, but controlled pace, with Krycek in the lead.  

They had reached the landing of the eleventh floor when Mulder said suddenly,
"The other two found our car.  They disabled the elevator.  They're coming up." 
Krycek looked at him, a sinking feeling in his chest.  

"And the three in Skinner's apartment?"  

"Coming down." Mulder leaned against a painted railing, skin as pale as the
white walls of the stairwell.    

"Fuck," Skinner breathed.  

"Mulder," Krycek said, stepping in, voice quiet.  "What floors are they on
right now?" 

(Continued in part 3)
 
Part 3
See part 0 for story information.


"First and fifteenth."

"Turn around."  Krycek said, releasing the safety on his weapon.  "We're going
up."

"Are you kidding?" Skinner hissed.  "We can't attack them, they have the high
ground.  They'll cut us down before we can even fire a shot."  

"We're going to meet them anyway, and it had damn well better be on our own
terms."  Krycek's voice was low, menacing.  "We'll be fucked if they come at us 
from both sides at the same time.  Besides," he offered, "The supersoldiers
don't normally carry guns."

//Though that may change soon if we keep wasting them with the magnetite.//  

Skinner tightened his jaw, and crossed his arms.  Krycek stepped forward,
giving the AD his most dangerous look.  

"You boys are gonna get us all killed if you don't play nice."  Mulder's voice
was soft and mocking, and sent a shiver down Krycek's spine that had nothing to 
do with their current situation.  The agent released the safety on his Sig with 
a soft click, and pushed himself unsteadily away from the railing he had been
leaning against.  "Let's go up," he said.

"Mulder," Krycek heard Skinner whisper as he activated the blade on the weapon
Krycek had tossed to him, "How am I supposed to know which one is the
shapeshifter?"  

"It's behind the other two. I'll let you know if that changes."  

"Stop here," Krycek said softly as they reached the thirteenth landing.  They
fanned out, with Skinner in the middle, and Krycek on the right.  Above them,
on the stairs, they heard the measured pace of booted feet.   Mulder and Krycek 
raised their weapons in tandem.  

The forms came into view, dark against the white walls of the stairwell. 
Krycek heard Mulder fire a shot, and one of the figures staggered sideways into 
the railing.  Skinner started to sprint up the stairs as Krycek fired a shot to 
the head, followed by a shot to the kneecap.  

Krycek watched Skinner neatly sidestep the downed supersoldier as he heard
Mulder fire a second shot at the faceless figure that was still staggering down 
toward them.  Krycek started up the stairs, a few steps behind Skinner, ready
to provide what assistance he could.  

He got a good look at the shapeshifter, and felt his steps falter automatically 
as he stared up into familiar green eyes.  The thing on the landing looked down 
at him, performing Mulder's deadpan expression to perfection.  In front of him, 
he sensed Skinner's pace slacken as well.  The thing grinned at them then with
a flash of teeth--triumphant, unfamiliar, evil.  

It stepped to the left in two long, casual strides, Mulder's black trenchcoat
flowing out behind it, and pulled a gun from inside its coat.  Krycek froze,
knowing he and Skinner were unmissable, easy targets.  Time slowed down; he
felt his heart beating against his ribs as the gun came up.

By the time he realized who the thing was aiming at, it was too late to stop
the shot.  

He dived forward, tackling the shapeshifter before it could fire again, rage
giving him the strength to pin it down as Skinner rammed the weapon down into
the back of its neck.  He wasn't even aware of getting up as he half-sprinted,
half-skidded back down the stairs.  

"Don't move," he said as he came to a stop beside Mulder, pushing the
struggling agent back to the floor of the landing.  Skinner was at his side
almost instantly, helping him hold Mulder down.

"No," The agent said, breathlessly, trying to sit up.

"Where was he hit?"  Skinner asked Krycek as he pulled back the trench coat,
running his hands over Mulder's chest, looking for the entry wound.  

"I WASN'T hit," Mulder said shortly.  "I can read their minds, you idiots.  I
DUCKED."  

Krycek just stared at him.  

"Can I get up now?"  Krycek frowned, tilting Mulder's head to the side to get a 
better look at his temple.  A trickle of blood was running into the agent's
hair.  Krycek ran his fingers along the broken skin, and Mulder hissed.  It
wasn't very deep at all.  He would be fine without stitches.  Krycek was
impressed.  

"That was a nice dive," he said, helping Mulder to his feet.  

"Thanks."  

"See?  We can have civil conversation."  

"Go team," Mulder said, eyes bright with adrenaline and something else.  

"We're not out of the woods yet," Skinner said.  "Where are they?"

"Eighth floor," Mulder said.  "They know something's up."  

They sprinted down three more floors, then made their way through the door on
the tenth floor landing, coming out next to the elevator.  They held there for
a moment, waiting for the things coming up the stairs to pass the landing.  

"Is there a reason they choose to look like you?" Krycek whispered in Mulder's
ear.  

Mulder didn't respond, and Krycek stepped back, looking at him.  The other man
was breathing in uneven gasps after their sprint, and Krycek thought he
detected a vague bluish cast to his lips.  

//He can't do this.  He's not going to make it out of here.//

His thoughts must have been written on his face, because Mulder straightened
out of his slump against the wall.  

"Let's go," the agent whispered.  "We don't have much time."   

They took off again, sprinting down ten flights of stairs and across the
parking garage.  As Krycek slowed to unlock the car, he noticed the tires had
been slashed.  

"Where's your car?"  He asked Skinner.  

"Down one level."

"They're coming," Mulder rasped.  

"Fuck it."  Krycek used his prosthetic to smash the driver's side window of the 
nearest car.  The alarm screamed in the relative quiet of the garage.  He
reached in quickly to pull the release for the hood.  He stood, intending to
disable the alarm, but Mulder beat him to it, ripping out a wire with an
authoritative snap before letting the hood fall back into place.  

"Krycek," Skinner said warningly.  Obviously he wasn't quite willing to be
party to grand theft auto.    

"Go help him," Krycek snapped back, jerking his head toward Mulder, who was
slowly going down in a heap, leaning over the front of the car.  Krycek tore
open the dash, and in a few seconds, the vehicle came to life.  Skinner was
opening the back door for Mulder when Krycek lifted his eyes to the rearview
mirror and saw the supersoldier and the shapeshifter coming across the parking
garage.  

"Company at six o'clock," He said to Skinner.  "I need you in shotgun."  He
heard the rising alarm in his own voice as he watched the supersoldier head not 
for the car, but for the only exit to the parking garage.  Skinner was around
the car in a flash.  

"Buckle up," Krycek said, flooring the gas pedal and ripping the car into
reverse.  He wrenched the vehicle around, and slammed the transmission into
drive.  Tires squealed as Skinner rolled down his window and pulled out his Sig 
Sauer, pointing it at the remaining supersoldier.  Krycek tried to keep the car 
on an even, predictable path as Skinner began firing.  

He heard the sound of breaking glass as the shapeshifter fired rounds into the
back windshield.  

"Go for the knees," he shouted to Skinner, trying to make himself heard over
the roar of gunfire.  Even injured, the supersoldier might be able to stop the
car unless Skinner could bring it to the pavement.  At the last second, the
thing dropped, and the car rolled over it with a jolt that made Krycek's teeth
jerk together with an audible click.  He looked behind him to see the last
remaining shapeshifter staring after them expressionlessly as they sped out
into the snow.  

"Where the hell are we going to go?"  Skinner asked, gun still in hand.  Krycek 
shivered slightly as the cold air swirled through the broken windows.  

"The Watergate."  

"The Watergate?"

"Yeah.  Make sure he's still breathing, will you?"  Krycek gestured toward the
backseat with his head.  

"Mulder?"  Skinner asked, looking back, his brow contracting.  "Shit."

"What?" Krycek snapped.  

"Mulder, try not to move," Skinner said, ignoring Krycek's question.  "You're
covered with broken glass."  

Krycek didn't catch the agent's reply.  

"What did he say?"  Krycek glanced over at Skinner, eyes leaving the icy road
for just a moment.

"He said that he noticed," the other man replied, smiling slightly before
turning serious again.  "He needs to be in a hospital."

"And he'll be dead inside two hours if we take him to one."  Krycek spat the
words in Skinner's direction, and watched the other man flinch.  "They're
fucking SERIOUS about taking him out.  A shapeshifter sacrificed itself to try
and do it.  I've never seen anything like that before.  He scares them. 
Badly." 

"So what the hell are we going to do, Krycek?"  Skinner's jaw was clenched so
hard that Krycek was surprised his teeth weren't cracking under the pressure.  

"We're getting out of the city.  I have a car at the Watergate with untraceable 
plates."  That seemed to calm Skinner down somewhat.  

"What about Mulder?"

"He'll be OK," Krycek said shortly.

"You're not a doctor."  

"Look," Krycek said angrily, "What do you suggest we do?"  

Skinner sighed, looking defeated.  

Krycek hesitated a moment.  "If it makes you feel any better, I have some
medical experience."  

"I don't think a history of torturing people in a Russian gulag is going to be
of much help here."  

"Fine.  Nevermind."  He didn't know what he had been thinking.

They remained silent until they reached the Watergate.

He parked the car, leaving Skinner to help Mulder slowly out of the backseat as 
he began carefully checking the new vehicle for tampering.  Satisfied that
nothing was going to immediately explode, he opened the trunk, pulling out two
blankets, some bottled water, and a small wand, very similar to the device the
Gunmen used to sweep for bugs.  He went over the car carefully, trying to make
sure that no one had affixed a GPS locator to it since he'd last been there.  

"We're clear," He said shortly, yanking open the door to the backseat, and
shoving the water and blankets inside as Skinner walked Mulder over.  As soon
as the agent was settled, Krycek tossed Skinner the keys.  

"Where are we going?"  Skinner asked.

"North."  Krycek climbed in back with Mulder, sitting so that the agent's head
rested on his lap.  They had done their best to hook Mulder's feet over and
behind the seatback so they would be above the level of his heart.  Krycek
wasn't sure how comfortable that was, but Mulder wasn't really in any shape to
complain.  

Krycek folded Mulder's left arm up over the agent's chest, measuring his radial 
pulse and respirations.  Even through the layers of clothing and blankets, he
could feel Mulder's heartbeat.  Strong, but way the hell too fast.  Mulder's
skin felt cool against his fingers.

"Turn up the heat," Krycek said to Skinner.  

"Bossy."  Mulder's voice was breathy as he looked up at Krycek, shivering.  

"Damn straight," Krycek said softly, running his fingers rhythmically through
Mulder's hair.  "Damn straight."  

Continued in part 5