From: snakedoctor13@yahoo.com
Date: 14 Feb 2003 08:11:30 -0800
Subject: [atxc-pi] NEW: CHEMICAL AGENTS Part I: Catalysis (0/5)
Source: atxc
 
Title: CHEMICAL AGENTS Part I: Catalysis 
Author: Ratadder Queen Mab 
Author Email: snakedoctor13@yahoo.com 
Status: NEW - Standalone 
Size: 180k 
Rating: NC-17 
Archive at Gossamer: Yes to Gossamer/Ephemeral 
Category: Story , Angst 
Keywords: Slash 
Pairings: M/K 
Spoilers: through season 7 

Summary: When Alex falls into the tender hands of the Consortium,
getting out again requires an unlikely ally and sets in motion a
chain reaction he can't escape.
 
Part 1
Please see part 0 (template) for warnings and summary.

CHEMICAL AGENTS
By Ratadder and Queen Mab

"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical
substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed." --Jung 

CHEMICAL AGENTS PART ONE - CATALYSIS

Catalysis:  an action or reaction between two or more persons or
forces precipitated by a separate agent

Abandoned warehouse, Maryland
January 5, 12:19 a.m.

Warehouses. Why the fuck is it always warehouses?

I stare around the gloomy interior of the latest in a long line of
dingy, cold,  shadowy monstrosities, and repress the urge to roll my
eyes. Granted, meeting at the mall is probably out for most criminal
elements like myself, but still, warehouses get old, fast. I lean
against a rotting wooden crate and try to rotate my shoulder, my back
muscles stiff and aching. So what else is new.

Something skitters in a far corner. It isn't big enough to be human so
I ignore  it. Where the hell is Reinhold? He calls me for this fucking
meet and then makes me wait. I should shoot him just for the
inconvenience.

I could these days. My position is a lot more secure than it used to
be. I could off the old boy and nobody would bat an eye. They don't
question me as much now. My old patron saw to that before going out in
what I'm sure he considered a blaze of glory.

The fool. Blaze of glory or no, dead is dead.

The thought of him gives me a moment's pause, as it always does, but I
ignore it, turning my mind to contemplation of how I'm walking the
inner circle these days. If they only knew. But if that isn't the
motto for my entire fucking life, I don't know what is. "If they only
knew." If Mulder only knew, if Skinner and the whole FBI only knew, if
Kalenchuk only knew, if the militia-idiots only knew, if the Russians
only knew, if Covvarubias only knew, if my patron only knew.

If Mulder only knew.

I can't remember the last time I've been exactly what I seemed to be.
I waste a  few minutes trying to remember, but it grows pointless
quickly, and I go back to scanning the shadows for the one shadow I
watch for.

If Mulder only knew.

I ignore the thought beating around in my skull, and try to flex my
back muscles again. Yes indeed, the inner circle. Moving up in the
world yet again.

If Mulder only knew.

The creak of a door finally succeeds in shoving Mulder to the back of
my mind. Reinhold sticks his head around the door and creeps into the
warehouse, trying to find me in the darkness, the moon through the
high windows a pitiful excuse for illumination.

"Krycek? Krycek?"

I wait until he's as close to me as he's likely to get, then speak
softly. "What do you want." I don't bother to move out of the shadows
that cloak me.

He jumps. He tries not to, but he does. I see it, and let myself
smile. He looks even more nervous than usual. "Hey, Krycek. You wanted
to know if he started any, uh, independent projects?"

"Yeah."

"Well." Reinhold lifts the small envelope he carries and shrugs. He
sets it down on the warehouse floor and steps back. "Money in the
usual account?"

I pause just long enough to make him wonder, then say, "Depending on
the quality of the information. Sure."

He nods, turns and leaves, moving faster with each step. I don't move
until he's out the door and the squeaking of the hinges fades away. I
wait a few minutes more, then step out and pick up the envelope,
heading for the exit without opening it. Reinhold may be one of my
longer-standing sources, but I still don't want to be hanging around
here looking through an envelope I can as  easily inspect in the
safety of my own apartment. I tuck it into my coat with
barely a glance, and unholster my gun.

Slipping through the door, I press myself against the warehouse as I
make my way back toward my car. As I step away from the solidity of
the building, the back of my neck prickles. I keep my eyes roving as I
move to the car as quickly  as possible. Just as I key the door, a
soft clatter behind me has me spinning.

Nothing. What the hell-

The sharp sting in my lower leg is strangely disconnected. Years of
ignoring small pains keeps me from responding with any sort of noise,
but I look down, and, well, there's my leg. I can't see anything else,
just ground and suddenly that's swaying and moving closer and I'm
dropping to my knees and catching myself on my good hand as my gun
tumbles and what the hell? I don't drop my gun. I pitch the rest of
the way forward and from my position flat on the ground, I can very
clearly see the man lying under my car, staring out at me,
watching me respond to whatever he just injected me with.

I can't move. My leg feels numb and my arm won't move. My cheek
against the ground barely registers it as cold. What the fuck did he
stick me with?

From the direction of the first noise comes another, and suddenly I'm
rolled onto my back. The movement makes everything spin, and it takes
me long moments to actually see the face staring down at me. Even when
I see it, I find myself focusing crazily on the glowing tip of the
cigarette in his mouth. My eyes almost cross themselves trying to
follow it as he removes it from his mouth and  lowers it over my face,
grinding it out next to my cheek.

"Hello, Alex. So glad you could join us. You've suddenly become a hot
commodity  again. I doubted you'd come peacefully, so I took a few
precautions."

His hand comes down over my nose and mouth and suddenly I inhale
something, something bitter, something that slows my cognition down to
match my numb body.  My last thought as darkness rolls over me is that
perhaps I overestimated how far up in the world I'm moving.

*****

Mulder's Apartment
January 25, 1:20 a.m.

Mulder jerked upright, fully expecting to see the buxom blonde on
screen reaching out through the television set to pull him through
before she morphed into a gray. As it happened, the blonde was a
little too busy with her partners  to do either. Mulder blinked
repeatedly, letting the last of the dream filter away, and wondering
what had woken him; the tv was on mute.

The thud at his door made him jump again, but solved the mystery.
Swinging his legs off the couch he turned the tv off completely and
stumbled toward the door, rubbing his eyes. Jerking the door open he
stared at the somewhat unusual  sight of his boss, frowning severely,
hand lifted to knock again.  Not that the  frown was unusual, Mulder
amended mentally, rather it was facial-expression-du-jour as far as
Skinner was concerned. The frown being in his front hallway was the
unusual part.

"Sir?" Mulder managed sleepily.

"Agent Mulder. Sorry to wake you." Skinner glanced right and left, as
if hoping  to blame the sleep interruption on someone else. Alas, he
was alone.  "May I come in?"

"Sure." Mulder stepped back and swept his arm out to welcome Skinner
inside, belatedly glancing around the room to see if he'd left out
anything really embarrassing. He was about to conclude he hadn't, when
he noticed the case of the video currently in his machine.

Skinner didn't even glance at it though, walking in and lowering
himself into a  chair with a zombie-like mien. He looked even more
blank-faced than usual, and Mulder suddenly felt a shiver of disquiet.
Sitting back down on the couch, Mulder tried to catch Skinner's gaze.
"Sir? What... what's going on?"

Skinner was silent for a long moment, then tugged at the collar of his
shirt. "I don't... I have some disturbing news, Agent Mulder." Finally
Skinner met his  eyes. "It's Agent Scully. Have you seen her?"

"Seen her? What?  Not since work. I mean, about 6:30, I guess."

"She's apparently... disappeared."

The apartment tilted sideways, even though some small part of Mulder's
brain called out 'why are you surprised?' He clutched the arm of the
couch, as if that would steady things. Decades-old images of white
lights and a floating body flashed like a demented slide show in his
mind, overlaid and interspersed with pictures of Scully's apartment
cordoned off with yellow tape.  Duane Barry  screaming his freedom on
a mountain-top.  Scully in the trunk of a car.  Scully 
in a hospital bed with tape on her eyes.  He shook his head sharply to
clear it, and tried to stamp down the voices in his mind.
"Disappeared?  What...? How?" Even as he tried to center himself on
Skinner's information, his mind was  already clicking over to the next
set of suspicions. Names and faces flashed through his mental files -
Pfaster - dead, Modell - dead, Schnauze - dead.

"Her purse and her car keys were discovered beside her parked car, in
her apartment lot. The car door was unlocked, partially open, which
was why the neighbor noticed something was wrong. He saw the keys and
purse, thought Scully  may have dropped them if her arms were full,
and took them inside to her apartment. And realized she wasn't home.
Since her apartment key was on the ring, he got concerned. He waited
to see if she'd come home, but he finally called the police."

Mulder stared at Skinner, hearing the words but not taking them in.
Skinner kept talking, something about having spoken to the man
himself, something about  no one having seen anything, but Mulder was
still struggling with the first fact, the fact that seemed to keep
repeating. ::Gonegonegone. Disappeared. No witnesses. Abducted?
Gone.::  "She's... I don't... how long?"

"Her things were found this evening at around 7:45. It took the
neighbor a little while to decide to call the city police. It took
them longer to call me.  But it's only been hours, Mulder. We'll find
her and she'll be-"

"She'll be fine," Mulder finished faintly, wanting to scream at
Skinner that he  didn't want his damn platitudes, but knowing that
would solve nothing. ::Not again,:: the voice in his head started
chanting. ::Not again.  Not again not againnotagain. I can't take this
again. I can't-:: He clamped the rising panic with an iron grip,
feeling an instantaneous flash of guilt at his thoughts.
::Classic, Mulder, fucking classic. She's in trouble and you're
thinking about yourself.:: Clearing his throat he stood suddenly.
"Just let me get dressed. I'll be right out."

Skinner sat where he was as Mulder left the room, staring at the walls
and seeing the pole-axed look on Mulder's face again in his mind's
eye. The flashes  of panic, grief, all the myriad emotions from all
the times Scully had gone missing or been in danger. How many times
had he watched this? How many times had they both been through this?
Skinner sat, and stared, and hated himself for  the fact that at a
time like this, he could still feel the ever-present envy
burning through him.  Envy of the closeness Mulder shared with her,
envy of the  way Mulder could express his rage, frustration, pain at
her disappearance, and no one would blink. Of course Mulder would be
upset, he was her partner. Her best friend. Perhaps more. Mulder
bulldozed over the "professional distance" regulations on a regular
basis. No one would think twice.

While others... others stayed locked in their roles, locked in the
cages of their own making, screaming just as loudly but with no
outlet, no way to express-

The door behind him opened again, and he heard Mulder return. Shoving
everything firmly back down, Skinner took a slow breath and stood.
When he turned to face his agent, his expression was solemn but
completely guarded again. "Let's go then."

*****

Medical research facility
Somewhere in the wilds of Virginia
January 25, 9 a.m.

Scully tried to lift her head and felt her neck muscles give out, her
head lolling forward again, chin to chest. The sway made her nausea
worse, even with  her eyes closed. She tried to move a hand to push
back her hair at least, from where it hung in her face. Three attempts
later and she had to force her eyes open to see what the problem was.
Peering through her hair she tried to focus. Fingers, she could see
her fingers. She could flex her fingers. Hand. Wrist. Oh. That would
be the problem.

The wide leather strap held her wrist securely to the arm of the chair
she sat in. Chair? Yes, chair. Moving chair. She opened her mouth to
ask whoever was moving her chair to leave it alone, but nothing came
out. Not even a croak. Closing her mouth and eyes, she concentrated on
swallowing for a few moments.

In those moments, the sounds around her solidified and words began to
separate from each other. "...on at least ten. I mean we had
Covvarubias... ah, 'Subject  26' was she?... on 45 at the end there.
Granted, Subject 21 died at 30, but certainly we've seen a lot of
improvement since then. And I still don't believe  the male/female
issue has anything to do with it."

That voice. Scully would have groaned if she could have made a noise.
That *voice*. Him. The head bastard himself. She forced her eyes open
again.  When she could look past her own lap she saw tiled floor
rolling by. She spent a moment concentrating on not being sick, then
tried to tune in to the conversation occurring just behind her.

"...can't guarantee you the results you're after, and I don't think
wasting a test subject with too high an initial dose is worth it. It
may not be a gender issue, but size could certainly play into it. Body
weight. She's a tiny thing and he's *not*." She didn't recognize this
voice, but experienced a purely mental shudder at the exasperated
response.

"Fine, fine. You're the doctors. Tell him to start her at five. But I
think you'll find her incredibly resilient-"

Their conversation halted abruptly at the sudden onset of a horrific
shrieking to their right. Only her grogginess and the restraints kept
Scully from reacting physically to the sounds of agony and outrage. As
they rolled past what she realized was a door, they slowed.  The
movement of Spender's voice behind her told her he was moving closer
to it.

"Ah. You see, Mr. Krycek is doing even better than expected.  Oh yes,
of course, my mistake... 'Subject 38'.  Tell me, what are we testing
him with this  time?"

"Um... broken leg. Both legs. This time interfering with the process.
You know,  what happens when the bones start to set and then they're
moved out of alignment."

"Mmm. And still going strong. Excellent.  That's why I wanted her
brought in at  this point. I wouldn't risk her with just any stage of
the trials. She's rather  important, this one."

As the wheelchair started rolling again, Scully ignored their
continuing conversation in favor of trying to process what she had
just heard. The further  they went down the hall, the more muffled the
noises from that room, but it took far too long for them to roll out
of earshot. Mister Krycek? *Alex* Krycek? Who else could it be making
that... noise? Her kneejerk reaction was that the bastard deserved
whatever he was getting, but instantly her Catholic guilt kicked in.
Or possibly her doctor guilt.  Maybe even both, considering
how quickly she winced at her own thoughts.  Nobody deserved whatever
was making him scream like that. He deserved to be held accountable
for his crimes,  but not like this.

Then Alex Krycek was the last thing on her mind as a door opened and
her wheelchair swung to the right. She lifted her head again and found
her neck muscles working this time. She blinked as the chair stopped
rolling in the middle of a small white room.

"Ah, you're awake. Wonderful." Spender moved into her line of sight
and leaned down, peering into her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Scully opened her mouth to tell him what he could do with the damn
cigarette, but found she still couldn't force her vocal chords to
function.

"Shhh. Don't try to answer then," he said in that irritating,
solicitous voice.  "Relax. Don't talk." His hand brushed her hair back
and she wanted to jerk away  but couldn't. "The drugs will wear off
soon enough. You are in there though? You're focusing. I believe you
can hear me, yes? You're being accorded a great honor, Agent Scully.
This current work could be some of our most important, and 
you're going to be a part of it." Taking out another cigarette, he lit
it and settled back to sit on the edge of a bed Scully hadn't even
noticed. Inhaling, then slowly releasing a cloud of smoke into the
air, he continued in a vaguely rhapsodic voice. "As a scientist, I'm
sure you'll appreciate the magnitude of what we've discovered. I'm
sure you'll understand the honor of dedicating your life - literally -
to the pursuit of scientific advancement."

"And once we have you, your loyal partner is always so quick to
follow.  Saves time all the way around.  Two for the price of one." 
He smiled and lifted his cigarette to study it for a moment, as if
addressing it rather than the bound woman before him.  "Although in
this case, you would have come first anyway.  More opportunity for us
to perfect the process.  Make sure everything is at its 
apex before involving my- my dear Agent Mulder."  He put the cigarette
to his mouth again, refocused his eyes on her, and murmured around it.
 "I think you'd  agree with my priorities?"

Scully stared at the hated face before her, and felt a chill crawl up
her spine. The calmness, the lack of malice, the almost beatific glow.
It was times  like these that convinced her beyond a shadow of a doubt
that, whatever else this man was, he was also certifiably insane.

*****

FBI Headquarters
Washington D.C.
Mulder's Office
January 25, 5 p.m.

There was nothing he could do. No leads to follow. Oh, he *knew* who
was behind  Scully's disappearance. It had to be the Smoker. The lack
of evidence just confirmed it, as far as Mulder was concerned. When he
said as much to Skinner, the A.D. sighed heavily, and ordered Mulder
to stay out of the way of the agents on the case.

Stay out of the way. Back to the basement like a good boy, too
involved for your own good, can't be objective, give your input to the
agents who have something to do. He'd heard it all before and he never
bought it. Who was it that had figured out where Scully was when Barry
had kidnapped her? He ground his teeth and the pencil in his hand
snapped. He dropped the two pieces and tilted his chair back. He'd
given the agents assigned as much information as he  could about
anyone who might want to hurt Scully, all their past cases that
might reappear, but what good was that? There was no file on the man
responsible, no address to hand over, no "last known location."

Nothing to do.  Pretend to work on the overdue reports piled on his
desk. Sharpen pencils. Go out to the break room to get rancid coffee
that he didn't drink until it got cold. Crack open sunflower seeds and
pile them uneaten on his desk.

And still he couldn't leave. He watched the clock tick away the
minutes past quitting time. Go home? Right.

How many times had he gone through this? How many times had Scully
gone through  the same thing, wondering where he was, if he was hurt,
if he was alive? Of course he could be reasonably sure Scully hadn't
just ditched him to go on some  wild alien-chase, whereas when he
disappeared there was always the chance he was breaking into some
government building or military base or floating around
in the Bermuda Triangle looking for a reappeared World War II ship. He
winced at the thoughts. If this was how she felt - damn, he really had
to be better about not doing that. Still, all part of being partners,
he supposed. Partners.

Partners.

Likely, it was all the reminders of the Duane Barry abduction, or
maybe it was just the word 'partner'.  Or perhaps his mind simply felt
like punishing him.  Whatever the cause, his thoughts took the
unavoidable turn.

He'd had a different partner, once.  Briefly.  Before life had dealt
him yet another joker from the deck.  However much his mind rebelled
at connecting the man with the appellation 'partner', it had actually
started to fit, in spite of  his own stubborn resistance.  

Another partner... tall and awkward and too pretty by half.  Wide-eyed
and admiring, eager, with a quirky, challenging grin that begged to be
slapped or kissed. And Mulder had kissed him, his damnably perfect
memory insisted on reminding him in minute detail - ravished that
mouth until they were both panting. He could pretend it wasn't his own
fault, that he had been at an extreme emotional low, vulnerable. And
there was some truth in the pretense. The memory of those kisses would
be forever tangled up with the memory of Scully's abduction by
Barry...

#####

The ambulance left, taking away the wounded Barry. Congratulations
from the agents of the law. Hugs from the families of the hostages.
Open glances of admiration for the hero of the day. Who felt like
shit.

He drove away from the crowd still in front of the travel agency where
it had gone down. Cops and FBI agents securing the scene or collecting
evidence, reporters talking into TV cameras, the curious and the
blood-thirsty hoping for  one last bit of drama. He went back to his
office, wrote his reports. He sat and stared at nothing, then dragged
himself home and didn't sleep.

Duane had begun to trust him, to think he'd finally found someone who
believed his story, who didn't think he was insane. And Mulder
betrayed him. He'd done the right thing. He'd saved the hostages and
himself.  He'd done his job. Shit.

After a night of tossing and turning with his self-doubt, he'd been
summoned to  the hospital by Kazdan, to be given even more reason to
beat up on himself. The  implants, right where Barry had said. He'd
known, dammit, he'd *known* Barry was the real thing. But Scully's
voice in his ear had begun to convince him otherwise. The doubts had
risen and he'd had to question. Duane's irrationality  had flared with
the gun still in hand, and suddenly there just didn't seem to
be any other way. He'd sent the man to the door just as the SWAT team
outside wanted.

And now he stood by the bedside with a sinking heart, hearing the
suspicious circumstances of Duane's original injury. Hearing about
x-rays detecting metal implants. Hearing about tiny holes in teeth,
holes that were technologically impossible but there nonetheless. 

And then he'd spent the rest of the day hearing Scully tell him the
metal was probably shrapnel, wincing at her tone of voice when she
insisted that no matter where the metal was found, Barry was only
telling one *version* of the truth. The ever-present doubt written all
over her face.

He'd walked out. Left her in her office, left her to her ballistics
test that she was so positive would clear everything up in seconds.
Left her to her tireless efforts to prove him wrong.

Wandering the halls with no clear destination in mind, guilt and anger
and confusion eating away at his stomach, he'd ended up in the
basement, at his old  office. Closed up, but not cleaned up. The
familiar mess only made him feel more hollow. He sat in his old chair,
head in his hands, trying to make some sense of Duane, of Scully, of
his life.

Someone sat down on the edge of his desk. A hand appeared below his
nose, holding a small bag of sunflower seeds. He glanced up.  Alex
Krycek continued to gaze at the posters on the wall, anywhere but at
Mulder, and smiled slightly.

Mulder had no idea how long they sat there, silently. It was... nice.
Krycek didn't demand anything.  He didn't congratulate him, slap his
shoulder, say what a great job he'd done.  Didn't make smart ass
remarks about Barry's state of mind, about his crazy tales.  Didn't
try to tell him the implants were shrapnel, and subtly hint he was
being silly to assume anything else.  He was just there.  A quiet,
warm, solid presence.  Reassuring, somehow.

And gradually, Mulder's thoughts moved from his disgust with the whole
Duane Barry fiasco to contemplating the man beside him.  The man who
had gone from resented interloper to tolerated partner to something
approaching true partner faster than Mulder could have dreamed
possible. He had also become something more... the stuff of the
fantasies Mulder spun in his mind late at night while watching his
infamous video collection.

He'd wondered about Krycek.  How could he not?  The new agent was
so... obvious.  Alex followed him around with flattering if
exasperating attention, carefully observing the older agent at work,
drinking in the technique, the skills, the flashes of intuition. Was
there more in his devotion than wanting to learn his trade from a
master?

He looked at Krycek again, at the handsome profile made almost
child-like by that nose. Krycek looked back at him then, face
empathetic, still silent. The eye contact caught and held.  Mulder
stood, moving just slightly closer.  Krycek's gaze dropped to Mulder's
mouth fleetingly, then those absurdly thick lashes lifted and the
green eyes met his again, then skated away.

Ah. That answered that question. And if he'd had any lingering doubts,
the light flush creeping up Krycek's cheeks now stilled them. Mulder
had an instant's guilty thought that he was using Krycek to distract
himself from his depression and self-disgust, before he leaned closer,
one hand on the desk at Krycek's hip, and brushed Krycek's lips with
his own.

Kryeck didn't pull away but he stiffened, sucking in a surprised
breath, and murmured, "We really shouldn't-"

"Yeah?" Mulder breathed against the other man's mouth. "And since when
have I followed the rules?"

It was the shivering sigh that did it. Mulder could feel it on his
lips, and gave in to the absurd impulse to try to taste it, his tongue
flickering out to lick his own lip before ghosting over Krycek's.
Mulder lifted his hand and cradled the other man's cheek, thumb
tracing the cheekbone.  His leg nudged between Krycek's thighs as he
let his tongue wander again, stronger this time, pressing for entry.
The slight scratch of stubble at his fingertips made his
palm tingle, while the yielding mouth drew him in.

Oh, what a way to forget. What a sweet, delicious way to blot out the
frustration, the failure... Mulder let everything melt away in the
heat rising before him.

The mouth parted before his probing with a sweet surrender and a small
whimper.  The helpless sound alone made Mulder ravenous. As his tongue
swept in to claim new territory, his fingers slid around to tangle in
silky dark hair, loosed from its imprisoning gel by the August heat
and careless hands.  Leaning against the solidity of the other man,
Mulder lifted his other hand from the desk and let it join its mate,
twisting in hair and bending Krycek's head back as his mouth was
plundered. Catching the soft lips in his teeth, Mulder nibbled 
and licked, then sucked the lower lip into his mouth and pressed
forward with his thigh. Another soft sound of need rose into the room
as the tense, muscled legs parted as sweetly as the lips had. Perched
on the edge of the desk, Alex rubbed himself up against Mulder's
thigh.  His arms rose to clutch at Mulder's shoulders, then with an
aching gasp, dropped restlessly to wrap around Mulder's 
waist, pulling at his hips with demanding strength.

Feeling the heat between Alex's legs, the hardness rubbing against his
own thigh, was perfection. Mulder deepened the kiss, eating the small
moans Alex couldn't seem to stop making, and shivered at the way Alex
squirmed against him. Untangling his fingers and letting them trail
over Krycek's throat, down his shirtfront, he began to rock his leg.
He made a throaty sound at the way Alex rode against it helplessly.
Mulder was searching for Krycek's belt buckle by touch alone, when a
cell phone rang.

They clung together briefly as they tried to figure out whose phone it
was.  When they traced it to Krycek, Mulder released the man's pants
and took one step back.

Sinking back against the desk, Krycek fumbled his phone out of his
coat. His voice shaking as much as his hand, he answered it, his eyes
huge in his flushed  face and focused only on Mulder while he spoke.
"Krycek. Yes, sir. Yes, he's here with me. Yes, I will, sir."

"Skinner?" Mulder sighed. The real world returned with a vengeance,
and he knew  it was taking away his distraction.

"Yeah." Krycek ran his hand through his hair, and bit at his swollen
lip.  "I've got to go to his office. You're supposed to go home and
get some rest. He  thinks you didn't look so good today."

"Yeah, right." Mulder ran his hands through his own hair and tried not
to think  about the way Alex's suit pants wouldn't lay flat. Suddenly,
it was just too much. "Listen, Krycek... Alex. Come to my place when
you get off work."

Krycek did another one of those quavering sighs that made Mulder want
to bend him over the desk now, to hell with Skinner. "We really
shouldn't, Mulder. I shouldn't let this happen. I'm sorry, I didn't...
I mean I know... I didn't mean to lead you on-"

"Alex, you didn't do anything wrong. I started that, and I know I did.
But you... well, you didn't exactly seem to be unaffected, and I got
the impression  you were enjoying yourself."  Mulder tried a teasing
smile, wishing he was a little more practiced at seduction.  Wishing
he could just kiss Krycek into submission.  If his partner's instant
capitulation just now was anything to go by, that would definitely
meet with success.

Krycek bit his lip again, and coupled with a deepening blush, it made
Mulder crazy. "I've got a late meeting, Mulder. I've got reports to do
and who knows what Skinner is going to assign me now that you're going
home. I'd be really late and-"

Mulder could hear the husk of need in Alex's voice and could see him
weakening,  waiting to be convinced. He let the teasing drop, and
allowed his weariness to surface. "Alex... please? I don't care when
you can get there. I need... okay, I'm a selfish bastard, but I need
some way to turn my brain off.  Just for a little while. I need...
you."

The pause was long, and the expression odd, but Krycek finally nodded.
"Okay. This isn't... Jesus, Mulder.  This is crazy.  It's stupid, I...
fuck.  I'll be there."

#####

It hadn't happened though. Mulder kissed Krycek one last time,
resisting the temptation to leave bite marks, and left for the day.
Avoided going back to his  empty apartment. Didn't even call Scully to
find out about her ballistic test. He stayed out as long as possible,
thinking through preparations for the night - did he have anything to
eat, to drink? Condoms? Lube? Finally entered his apartment, pushed
the playback on his answering machine, and listened to Scully's
message about the implant they'd removed from Duane Barry. Listened to
her screaming his name, calling for his help, as Barry smashed through
her window and...

And now she was gone again. Mulder folded his arms on his desk and
dropped his head, hiding his face in shame. Was he honestly any less
of a mess than he had been back then? How the hell could he be
thinking of kissing that lying, traitorous bastard while Scully was
out who knew where, having who knew what done to her? How could he be
sitting here with a throbbing hard-on thinking about how that
son-of-a-bitch melted in his arms when he should be finding
Scully.

He hated it when the old memory decided to play show and tell, even at
the best  of times. That it would decide to come out and torture him
now was even worse... bringing up all the old guilt at his inability
to save Scully.  Reminding him of his irritation with her just prior
to her abduction, the way he'd been groping Alex Krycek - and planning
to do more - while Duane Barry stalked her.

No Alex Krycek this time. Mulder ignored the twist in his chest and
told himself how pleased he was that was the case. The murderous scum,
last seen stepping casually over his helpless body in a stairwell, was
better off dead.

He pushed himself away from his desk angrily, and stalked over to his
files. Scully was missing, and thinking about Alex Krycek got him
absolutely nowhere. And hardly improved his mental state. Jerking open
a drawer he started rifling through files. There had to be something,
something useful. He slammed the drawer shut again in frustration.
Pointless. CGB Spender was behind this, Mulder could feel it in his
bones.  And until Spender made his game-plan known,  they'd get
nowhere.

But he'd be damned if he'd just sit here and wait. So he wasn't on the
case officially... couldn't be on the case. When had that ever stopped
him. Knowing it was pointless, but also knowing it felt better than
sitting in the office remembering things better left buried, Mulder
grabbed his coat and headed out for yet another look at the scene of
the crime.

*****

Medical Research Facility
Somewhere in the wilds of Virginia
Krycek's cell
January 25, 6 p.m.

Moving is a mistake. As sharp, jagged pain flares on top of tight,
cramping pain over a thick foundation of dull, throbbing pain, I begin
to think waking up at all was a mistake. Maybe being alive isn't such
a good idea either.

Not that I'm getting much of a choice in any of this. Those fucking
white-coated torturers-cum-scientists keep manipulating my damn legs
no matter what I scream, threaten, or, embarrassingly enough, plead.
Granted, my voice gave out a while back, and about now I sound like a
frog with asthma. And to add to the fun, the phantom pain in my
missing arm is worse than it's ever been. From my shoulder down
through fingers that aren't there anymore, it's like a pulse of fire
right in rhythm with my heartbeat.  God, it's never been
this bad.

I blink and realize I'm back in my cell. We must be done for today. 
My own personal Doctor Mengele bends over me, examining his day's
work, and two of the  hulking orderlies get a good grip on me. Like I
can do anything. They usually strap me to the bed the minute they get
me back here.  At least they haven't done that yet.  I managed to get
in a good kick some days ago, and gave one of the bastards a very
colorful broken nose. Shouldn't have, probably, since they've been
even more careful since then with the restraints.  But I couldn't
resist the opportunity.

Fuck, I hate being strapped down. It brings out the claustrophobia.
Bad. I try not to let them know I'm awake. Maybe they won't do the
restraints since they've been fucking with my legs so much. The Nazi
prods, I wince, and wish again that I just hadn't woken up.  I smell
the sickly familiar scent of the Morleys before I hear the voice.

"And how is our little experiment doing today, Dr. Kessin?" 

I fight not to react even with a flinch.

"It's amazing!" The guy sounds like I'm his school science project. 
"We pulled  the bones out of alignment over and over, and each time
the surrounding muscles  actually expanded and contracted until they
were realigned!  His body's ability  to reset its own bones was
just... unbelievable.  This man has the most fully developed healing
function of all of the subjects so far." The doctor touches
my left leg, and I try not to jerk. No restraints. See, nice Krycek.
You don't need to strap me down. "See this? When we first got him,
this scar was about 6 inches long, deep, probably a knife gash that
wasn't stitched or properly treated. But since we broke this leg, not
only has the break healed, as well as  the resulting tissue injuries,
but the scar tissue has also regenerated."

"Fascinating!" The Smoker takes a drag from his cigarette, leans over
my stump,  and blows smoke directly in my face. Okay, so he knows I'm
awake. Fuck it. I open my eyes and stare at him dully. "This is
excellent.  More than we'd hoped for." Without even thinking, I clear
my throat and spit in his face. He dodges it easily, and keeps talking
like I'm not even in the room, much less awake and  staring at him. "I
think we should follow up on this. The next phase should be
to test whether we can force the healing of old injuries by
traumatizing the surrounding area. Try damaging the tissue around his
left shoulder, see what happens with the stump and that amputation
mess."

Oh God no. Not the arm. I try not to let anything show on my face.
It's hard enough not getting flashbacks of that night with the knife
anyway. If these fuckers start carving up my stump... I bite back a
whimper that really wants to  emerge. Not in front of him.  I never
feel quite so much like a little white rat in a cage as when he stands
by my bedside.

"It will be interesting to see how the body reacts. And if we can get
somewhere  with the arm in the way of actual regrowth, rather than
just partial regeneration of the scarred tissue, we'll have to try it
with something like an  eye. Wouldn't that be amazing if he could
literally regenerate an eye?"

I redouble my efforts not to flinch, even though it takes everything I
have. And believe me, just about now I don't have much of anything.

"Look, we've been pushing him pretty hard," Nazi-boy speaks up
tentatively. As if he has a chance in hell of standing up to Spender.
"We've just considerably upped his dosage today. I'm concerned we'll
exhaust his body's recuperative powers too soon, like we did the
others. This one is the best subject yet, and I don't want to lose
him. Besides, we now have the woman, and you've said we'll 
be getting another man soon."

Oh *thank you*. Thank you so much for not wanting to *break* your new
toy too quickly. I never wanted to get up off the bed and smash their
faces together as  much as I do right then, listening to them casually
chat about me like the subhuman I am.

"Yes, we'll be picking up Mr. Mulder in a few days. It should be
simple enough.  Let him know we know where Miss Scully is, he'll walk
right into our hands. You  can have Miss Scully tomorrow. The
tranquilizing drugs should be out of her system by then. But I want
you to continue with this one.  I hate delays when we're experiencing
success.  Especially if you just upped his dose."

Mulder?  

Mulder. 

Fuck, MULDER. 

All thoughts of my helplessness, my pride, my rage, fly out of my mind
with disgusting speed, and I want to cringe at the way just that name
affects me. But... Mulder. They're going after *Mulder*? No.
Nonononononono. Suddenly my brain finishes processing what I heard. 
SCULLY??! They have Scully? *Shit*.

Dr. Kessin still looks hesitant, but nods slowly, and suddenly he
waves the orderlies out of the room. They hurry for the door, never
eager to be around for long when Spender is present. Maybe they're
smarter than they look. Probably thinking he'll eventually give *them*
that appraising look and say something like 'this one looks strong'.
Pulling off his latex gloves and following Spender to the door, Kessin
finally starts talking again, and of course gives in. What's a broken
toy compared to disobeying the man in charge? "Very well. I'll start
on Subject 38's arm first thing tomorrow morning. I'll be interested
to learn if anything can be done about that sort of drastic
trauma, and what sort of regeneration, if any, will-"

The door slams shut, the locks fall into place, and silence reigns. 
Pain or no  pain, I no longer want to be out of it again. I have to
stay awake. Fuckfuckfuck. They have Scully. I've got to get out of
here. They're going after Mulder. FUCK. With Scully as bait, he really
will walk right to them. Stupid bastard. I've got to get out. I've got
to get *her* out. I can't let them do *this* to her. Jesus, I hope
they haven't started on her. He'll kill me  if I don't get her out. 

I know I'm close to panicking, and try to calm myself with slow
breaths. Everything hurts, I can't even move, and they have Scully and
are going after Mulder.

Who hates me. 

Well, I mean why not. A little betrayal, a lot of plotting with his
enemies to confound him and control him, add a dash of killing his
father. And I know he blames me for Scully's abduction and for her
sister too. Even though those two things can't exactly be laid at my
feet. Not *exactly*. I stare up at the white  ceiling remembering all
the little, and not-so-little, ways I've screwed up Fox 
Mulder's life. Purposely and accidentally. So why, after all that, did
I have to go and get hooked on the idiot.

I snort. Who's the idiot?

He'll never listen to me, never stay away from this hellhole. He'll
come charging in to rescue his precious Scully, forget about his own
safety. Shit. Which brings me right back around. I have to get out of
here, and take her with  me. I try to bolster myself with the
knowledge that I'm an expert at getting in  and out of places I don't
belong. It'd be a hell of a lot easier alone though. And Jesus, the
pain in my legs feels like it's shooting up to meet the
throbbing in my head and the burning in the arm I don't have anymore
will *not*  let the fuck up. And I'm so fucking tired.

Mulder.

I flex one foot, then the ankle.

And realize that, between my passivity and their haste to get away
from Spender, the orderlies didn't fasten my restraints.

*****

Medical Research Facility
Somewhere in the wilds of Virginia
Scully's Cell
9:30 p.m.

An orderly with a swollen, black-and-blue nose came in to retrieve her
dinner tray and the cheap plastic utensils useless as weapons.

"You didn't finish your dinner," he said. "You really oughta keep up
your strength."

His partner, leaning against the doorframe, smiled. "Yeah, going to
need your vitamins.  They got plans for you."

Scully ignored the taunting voice, staring straight ahead.

The first man gazed down at her. "Too bad. She's a real babe."

His leering tone made Scully want to cross her arms over herself, but
she resisted the impulse with a silent thank you that she still had
her clothes. She knew about the hospital gowns stored in the tiny
adjoining bathroom, but no  one had taken away her clothes yet.

"Yeah, too fucking bad.  Hey, Johnny, maybe she'd like some company
later, after we tuck Krycek in for the night."

Johnny grimaced. "That asshole. He broke my fucking nose!"

"Yeah, well, guess he's got reason to be pissed off, you know?" Bert
smirked.

"Yeah, but not at me! I'm just doing a job, I don't give the orders."

As the door closed, Johnny winked at Scully. "See you later, baby.
Gonna have some fun tonight. Only fair you should have some fun before
they start taking you apart tomorrow."

(Continued in part 2)

Part 2
See part 0 for header information.


She leveled him her iciest stare. "I'll take my chances with the
researchers," she snapped condescendingly, lip curled. Almost as soon
as the words left her mouth, she knew she shouldn't be goading them.
But Johnny seemed to delight in her response, laughing and elbowing
his partner.  He flicked off the light, leaving her in darkness.

"Hey, man, where is everybody?" Bert asked, dropping the tray on the
utility cart they pushed along the deserted hallway.

"Got a call about a half-hour ago," Johnny replied, unlocking the door
to the cell at the end of the hall. "There's some security breach in
the north sector.  Probably just a crossed wire but most of the guards
are up there.  You know how  they been about security lately."  He
wrestled the door open and jerked his head back at the cart Bert
wheeled.  "You can feed him tonight.  I'm sick of ending up with this
shit spit all over my shirt."

Bert laughed.  "And here I thought you were having such fun jamming
that spork down his throat."

Johnny snorted.  "Jam something else down that fucker's throat if I
didn't think he'd bite it off," he muttered under his breath, flipping
the lights and scanning the tiny room. He knew they kept this one
strapped down now, but he wasn't about to be caught off guard by this
guy again.

Bert laughed again, pushing the cart into the room and pulling out the
last tray.  After the trouble he'd given all the orderlies, leaving
Krycek until after everyone else had finished eating was standard
operating procedure now.  Besides, it ensured the food was
particularly gross and cold by the time they had to shovel it into
him.  He pried up the lid and glanced over his shoulder.

Krycek was on his back on the cot, asleep, covered with the thin
blanket.  Man,  the guy looked like shit. He'd lost at least fifteen
pounds since they'd brought him in, what, three weeks ago? He'd heard
the screaming, too. Yeah, so the guy had a right to fight back, but as
Johnny kept bitching, why couldn't he  have broken that smoking
bastard's nose?  *That* would have been worth seeing.

"Come on, get him woken up.  Let's get this done and get back to the
babe down the hall. I'll bet she's lonely." Bert grinned as he stabbed
the spork into the  congealed mess on the tray.

"Yeah, okay," Johnny yanked the blanket off the bed, and turned to
toss it in the bag hanging from the cart. And suddenly found himself
hurtling into Bert, slamming into the wall as Bert fell forward over
the cart and rolled to the side.  "What the fu-"

The last thing he saw was Alex Krycek's snarling face, as Krycek's
hand closed around his neck, then the world went gray. The last thing
he heard was a loud snap. Then the world went black.

Bert yelled, and scrambled as far as the door before he was tripped
and dragged  back into the room. He didn't have time to yell again.

*****

Scully paced the seven steps to the far side of her cell, rubbing her
hands up and down her arms, shivering from cold and nerves. Not for
the first time, she wished she'd worn pants instead of a skirt to work
the day before.  She considered wrapping herself in the blanket from
the bed; it would be warmer, and it would make one more layer those
bastards would have to get through if they did come back to "have some
fun" with her. God, was there any chance Mulder was on his way to
rescue her? Had anyone seen her being grabbed by her car and thrown
into a van? Had Mulder managed one of his patented leaps of
logic that seemed paranormal in and of themselves?

Was there any hope of getting out of here before they started doing to
her whatever they'd done to Krycek?

She paced seven steps back across the room. If she could get to a
phone... but she didn't know where she was. Could she keep a phone
line open long enough for  Mulder to trace the call? Could...

A succession of dull thuds and a muffled shout, quickly silenced,
distracted her.  She froze, but all remained quiet. She hoped it was
Krycek giving someone  hell. Long moments passed and silence held...
then the sound of someone checking doors.  She reached for the
blanket, then spun as she heard the locks on her own door turning.

Moving to the corner farthest from the door, she got her back to the
wall. The door opened slowly, revealing a dark figure, dimly back-lit.
A hoarse voice croaked, "Come on, we're getting out of here."

"What?"

"It's me, Krycek. Come on, there's a guard at the other end of the
hall. We can't hang around here!"

Krycek! Scully hesitated for a moment, her first impulse to respond to
him as she had to the orderlies. The sarcastic thought surfaced that
at least with the  Consortium researchers she knew where she stood.
Whereas Krycek... talk about your unknown quantities. Why would he
help her? She hadn't actually *seen* him being experimented on... she
only had the Smoking Man's word that it had been him in that room.
They'd supposedly broken his legs.  How the hell could he be
walking? Could he be in on this somehow? But then why would he be here
at her cell... and she had to get out, and here was an open door. She
could leave with  him now, and look for an opportunity to take him out
later.

"Scully, we need to leave, *now*." Krycek's raw voice broke into her
racing thoughts, clearly transmitting his urgency, and in her head she
heard those awful screams again. Decision clicked. She'd risk it.
Shaking off her gut-level  distaste and distrust, she hurried to his
side. Biting back a protest, she let him take her arm and pull her
down the darkened corridor and around a corner. Pausing to listen for
pursuit, he leaned against the wall, panting heavily.

As she got her first good look at him, Scully was horrified.  Even in
the dim utility light of the hall, he looked like he'd been
daytripping to hell. Too thin, pale, his eyes rimmed in red. He
shivered almost continuously, despite the fine sheen of sweat on his
face. His gait was wrong too... walking like an old man, stiff and
unsteady. Her eyes skimmed over his gaunt form and arrowed
in on the empty left sleeve. Catching her breath sharply, her stomach
plummeted  and her estimation of his trustworthiness in this
particular situation rose. He  wasn't faking *that*. What the hell had
they *done* to him? He definitely wasn't in on this, and he most
certainly wanted to get out of this place. "How...?"

Barely paying attention to her, he misunderstood her half-finished
question.  "Idiot orderlies. Look, I think we've got a chance here. I
heard there's some disturbance up on the north side of the complex. I
think I've been here.  It was a while ago, but if we're where I think
we are, if we head down to the basement, there should be a service
door toward the southern end of the building that leads to a back
road. We can get to the highway from there."

Scully nodded, pushing questions about his condition away for later.
"Do you know where we are? Any chance we can use a phone here?"

"Maybe, I don't know if we can risk the time though. I-"

"Freeze!  Don't even think about moving!"

Ignoring the order, Krycek whirled, blocking her with his body.  In
the next moment, Scully found herself knocked off her feet and she
rolled into a recessed doorway as bullets hit the wall right where
she'd been standing. She heard Krycek cry out and saw him fall in the
middle of the hallway. She eased back into the shadow of the alcove as
heavy footsteps pounded down the hall, hoping the guard may have
missed seeing her behind Krycek's bulk.  Waiting and watching for a
chance to spring, her mind spun with the surreal knowledge that
Alex Krycek had just taken a bullet for her.  Definitely too much to
contemplate under the circumstances.

The guard slowed and approached Krycek's still form cautiously,
nudging him with his boot. When Krycek didn't move, he bent over to
roll Krycek onto his back. An explosion of movement turned into a
panting scuffle, and then the guard slammed backward forcefully, shot
with his own gun. Krycek struggled to his feet, shaking his head and
tucking the gun into the waistband of his pants.  "Fucking amateurs.
Who do they think they're dealing with here?"

"Are you-" Scully couldn't help a slight smile. "I was going to ask if
you're okay. Stupid question."

Blood bloomed dark red on the left shoulder of his shirt - or rather,
Johnny's shirt, she realized. Krycek must have stolen the orderly's
clothes and shoes, and a good thing he had, since escaping wearing
only a hospital gown didn't seem like such a smart idea. The clothes
hung on him, emphasizing his ragged condition. He staggered over to
Scully, clutching his shoulder with his right hand. "At least it
wasn't the other side," he rasped.

She couldn't believe his cavalier attitude about the arm loss. A quick
check showed a deep crease across the top of the shoulder joint,
bleeding steadily. Scully ripped off the lower half of the hanging
sleeve and bandaged the shoulder as best she could in a hurry, once
again trying not to think too much.  The empty space where an arm
should be was sickly compelling, but she ignored it for the moment and
stepped back. "Okay, where's this back door we're heading 
for?" she asked briskly. ::Get out,:: her mind insisted. ::Get out
now, deal with Krycek later.::

He looked at her with an unreadable expression in his haunted eyes,
and nodded once. "This way." He got the gun back in hand and started
off down the hallway.  His hobbling walk was painful to watch, but
Scully doubted he'd take any help she offered, even if she could make
herself offer it. They hadn't taken more than five steps when a door
burst open ahead of them, voices carrying out into the hallway before
figures appeared.

"-heard gunshots, dammit. Don't tell me I'm imagining things." A thin
man in a white lab coat rounded the corner, followed by a short, dark
haired woman in glasses. They both froze at the sight of Krycek and
Scully.

One shot and the man fell. The woman started to take a step back,
reaching for something at her waist, but Scully's clumsy kick caught
her in the forearm and a gun went flying. Scully caught herself
against the wall, suddenly reevaluating how much the drugs had worn
off. She'd done that move a hundred times and never been that sloppy.
Krycek turned and brought the butt of his gun  down sharply on the
back of the woman's head, stooping to pick up the second
gun even as she fell. How the hell was he managing with his
recently-broken legs and having had an arm cut off?

"Nice medical staff, all fully armed," Scully muttered, trying to
project the same blas approach he did.

Glancing up to respond, Krycek's eyes suddenly went round. "Scully,
the door! Before it locks!" He pointed with the gun to the automatic
door that was slowly  wheezing shut, and Scully reacted automatically,
catching the metal handle. As she did so, she noticed what had caught
Krycek's eye - the automatic locking mechanism above the handle that
needed to be opened with a keycard and possibly  a fingerprint, from
the look of the little scanner at the top. "Any door in
this place locked like that is gonna have something worth seeing
behind it," Krycek managed through his heaving breaths.

Scully pulled the door the rest of the way open and peered in. "I
thought we couldn't take time to stop," she hissed.

"I thought you wanted to find a phone," Krycek hissed back, brushing
past her into the room. "Besides, I knew that guy. He was assisting
our good Dr. Kessin."

The hair on the back of her neck rose at his tone, and Scully followed
him into  the room, reflecting that the good Dr. Kessin was unlikely
to enjoy a long and healthy career. She saw a phone on the desk and
reached for it, while Krycek went straight for the computer. As he sat
down and started tapping on the keyboard, he glanced over at her. "If
you're calling Mulder, tell him to get his ass somewhere safe and
*stay* there until we can talk to him. He's in danger."

Scully paused with her hand on the receiver. "And I should believe
you, why?" she asked coldly.

Krycek spun and glared at her. "Gee, I don't know, Scully. Maybe
because you're  in a fucking *research* facility, about to be injected
with some... *substance*  and experimented on! Get a clue here... they
want people who have been exposed to the black oil and *lived*. Guess
who qualifies? Aside from a few other human  hamsters they've already
killed off, that would be you, me, and one Mister Fox Fucking
Mulder."

Scully stared at him for a long moment, then picked up the phone as he
went back to the computer with a subdued snarl. As she got the
receiver to her ear, she froze as a soft, courteous voice spoke
directly to her. "Yes, please? What extension do you need?" She
swallowed hard, and hung up the phone. Krycek glanced at her, brow
furrowed. "Inside phone system," she said woodenly. "I didn't want to
ask for an outside line... they've got to be monitoring."

"Shit!" Krycek turned back to the computer and started moving his
fingers faster. "We've got to get out. Now."

Hearing the panicked undertone in his voice, Scully stared at the way
his single hand danced over the keyboard. "Then what are you doing?"

"This is too good of an opportunity," he insisted hoarsely. "They were
signed onto the system, working on the research, their passwords were
in and everything."

"That information is going to be really helpful if we're dead,
Krycek," she snapped.

Fumbling in the desk and yanking out a cartridge, Krycek slammed it
into the computer and hit another few commands before looking at her.
Scully almost took  a step back at the rage in his face; his eyes
weren't entirely sane as his lips  peeled back off his teeth.

"I could already be dead, Agent Scully. I. Want. To. Know. What.
They. Injected. Me. With."

With a short nod, Scully stepped forward and looked over his shoulder.
 "What have you got here?"

"I'm copying the whole damn mess. I can't tell what might be useful or
not.  I'm compressing what I can." She noticed his hand shaking as he
gestured at the  screen with the slowly moving blue bar telling them
that copying was 26% complete. She thought he may have noticed the
tremors as well, because the hand  balled into a fist and dropped to
rest white-knuckled on the desk.

"Alright, I'll watch the hall." Scully stepped to the door and peered
around it, scanning the hall in both directions as the computer
chugged behind her. She glanced at the bodies lying on the floor as
she kept scanning for any movement. She had a moment's urge to take
off and leave him to his files, just get the hell out, but it passed
when she recalled his comments about knowing the facility. She wanted
to get *out*, not spend all night wandering the facility and possibly
running into more personnel.  ::If I find out he's lying
about knowing this place, I'll kick his ass,:: she muttered to
herself. With a quick glance over her shoulder at the lopsided figure
huddled in front of the computer, she reflected that it likely
wouldn't be that hard at the moment.

*****

I wonder as she moves across the room if she's going to take off on
me.  I would have considered it in her place. I could probably find
her again if I had  to, although I don't want to spend anymore time in
this place than necessary. Already the self-preservation voices are
chanting all through my head... "get out get out get out get out".
Damn the data, and get the fuck out. Only the thought of those
syringes, and my body's reactions to the shots, keeps me in
the chair.

I spare a glance at the door, and Scully is still there. I can't quite
stop a sigh of relief. Damn, I'm in bad shape. Losing control. But
fuck, I've got to go to him, and if he knew she was here, and I didn't
manage to get her out... I  don't even want to think about it. She is
definitely coming with me. He'll listen to her, and hell, she's a
doctor. Maybe she can figure out what they've done to me. She's coming
with me if I have to hold the gun to her head.

Which reminds me, I have both guns. Maybe that's why she isn't taking
off. Well, that and my promise that I can get her out. I hope to hell
I can. I do think I've been here before, but shit... seen one
Consortium research lab, seen  them all. I might be thinking somewhere
else. I wasn't exactly in great shape when I got here, and it's all
been downhill since.

As if on cue one hell of a shudder racks my body. I usually spend half
the nights in here shaking and delirious from the effects of whatever
they're pumping into me. The thought that I might be hitting that
stage spurs me to want out even faster, and I watch raptly as the blue
bar inches across the screen. Come on, 86%, keep going, finish, damn
it, finish.

At the chime, I whip out the cartridge and shove in a new one.  I keep
going for as long as I dare, but when the panic gets overwhelming, I
grab the cartridges, shove them into my pant's pocket, along with any
loose disks I can immediately lay my hand on.  I know there has to be
other stuff in this office that I'll be kicking myself for missing,
but I can't stand the skin-crawling sensation anymore. We have to get
out, now.  I leap up from the desk and can't quite contain a strangled
yelp as my legs protest, loudly.  Doubling over, tears starting in my
eyes, I gasp and hang onto the file cabinet I've collapsed 
against.

"Come on," a sharp voice penetrates my shrieking brain. "Krycek, come
on. Move.  You can do it. The hall's still clear. Let's go."

Her steady, insistent voice and the strong little arm wrapped around
my waist get me moving when every step sends a nightmare of agony
reverberating through my body. I must have been functioning on sheer
adrenaline since killing the orderlies. Sitting down for five minutes
gave my body time to breathe, and time  to start complaining.

I lean against Scully and we start out the door, stepping over the
woman's body. "Scully," I manage. "The bodies." She glances up at me
with a dark look, but realizes what I mean, because instantly we're
both moving to shove the woman's body against the door to hold it open
long enough to drag the man and the guard inside. If it keeps them off
our trail for a little while longer, it'll be worth the extra five
minutes. Pushing the woman the rest of the way in  while I lean on the
wall, she lets the door close and glances at the blood on
the floor. I shake my head and she nods - we've done all we can.
Hopefully without the bodies to catch someone's eye, the smears of
blood will be overlooked longer in the darkened hallways.

She steps over and circles my waist again without asking. My stump
presses down  into her shoulder, just one more background pain. I make
a whimpering noise without even realizing it, and she looks at me
quickly. I don't know what gives  it away, but almost instantly she
shifts sides, slipping under my right arm and  draping it around her
shoulder. It's slightly more comfortable and when she says "Which
way?" I'm able to jerk my chin right and we're off.

Neither of us says anything as we trek the hallways, following my
jerky, and sometimes foggy, directions. If this isn't the place I
remember, it's an awful lot like it, but sometimes one hall looks a
lot like another.  I take us down a  second wrong turn and Scully
hisses in impatience.

"If you're lying to me, Krycek," she starts, but I cut her off.

"It's been a while, Scully. And I'm not at my best, okay? Believe me,
I want out of here as bad as you do."

"Then I hope you've got us heading in the right direction now because
those bodies are going to eventually attract a little attention, even
if our absence doesn't."

"I *know*," I pant.

She keeps grumbling under her breath but doesn't say any more as we
follow the hall around a sharp left turn. I feel another shudder race
through me, and force myself to hobble faster, trying to blot out the
waves of pain that rise as my feet impact the floor with every step.
"This is it," I rasp when the last  door at the end of the hall comes
into view. The green stenciled letters reading "Janitorial Staff Only"
blur, then sharpen again. Then Scully pushes open the door and we're
through it.

"Elevator," I gasp, and she catches my drift, turning from the
stairwell and guiding me to the service elevator. Once inside I lean
against the wall and close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the
cool metal. I'm so hot. Dizzy. Sick to my stomach.

"-cek? KRYCEK! Come on!" The hand shaking my shoulder feels like a
huge bird just landed on me and is trying to perch. I blink open my
eyes and watch two Scullys lean toward me with identical looks of
alarm. "Don 't fade out on me now, you bastard! We've got to get to
the back door!"

"Not far," I slur. The elevator opens and she drags me out. "Left," I
choke. As  we limp past shelves of cleaning supplies I try to listen
for sounds of anyone else in the immediate area. I know our steps are
echoing, but I hope the janitors are all busy upstairs cleaning the
offices and labs, given it's night-time and the staff must be mostly
gone.

"Yes!" I hear the soft exclamation and turn my attention to what is
right in front of me. A door. Finally.

"Get ready," I hiss. "There might be an alarm. If there is, it won't
sound down  here, and they'll probably think the system is screwing up
since they've got problems tonight anyway. But we're going to have to
move and move fast. Head directly for the trees."

"Got it," is her only response, but I feel her arm tighten around my
waist and I'm suddenly damn glad I brought her out with me. Granted, I
always stand a better chance on my own, and I wouldn't be standing
here bleeding if I hadn't bought a bullet for her, but I have to admit
the support is nice.

Through the door and out. Fresh air never felt so good. We move like
some sort of demented three-legged race entry, but faster than I dared
hope we're being swallowed up by the dark of the trees.

"We gotta try and stick by the road," I wheeze, gesturing with my chin
to the rough, dirt service road. "But stay in the trees and out of
sight." She mumbles  something that sounds like 'well duh' but I
choose to ignore it. I'm shaking again and I have enough to do just
trying to put one foot in front of the other.

*****

Washington DC
9:55 p.m.

Mulder wandered the parking lot one more time. He'd come here, talked
with all the neighbors, then come back to the parking lot again when
it got too late to knock on anymore doors.

He leaned against Scully's car and sighed. This was stupid. Standing
here, in a  parking lot, too dark to see, waiting for - what? The
culprit to return to the scene? Inspiration to strike? A psychic
vision to arise from the spot where she'd been snatched? The left-over
cigarette butt no one else had spotted? To prove what he already knew
anyway.

He walked a slow circle around the car. Despite a thorough dusting, no
prints appeared but Scully's, and his own. The pavement turned up no
shoe prints. It was as if she'd just disappeared into thin air.

And there hadn't been any bright white lights either. Although,
considering they didn't know exactly *when* she'd been taken, they
couldn't be sure.  But still. None of the neighbors recalled anything
strange. He wondered if they would admit it if they actually did.

Maybe the Gunmen were up. Maybe they could help.

*****

Somewhere in the woods, in the wilds of Virginia 
10:00 p.m.

Scully could feel Krycek's tremors getting worse, but she didn't
bother to comment. The chill night air was making her shiver now and
then, and she was dressed warmer than he was. As they got further from
the facility with still no  sign of pursuit, Scully finally slowed her
pace.

"Do you need to rest a minute?" she offered, when the wheezing of the
man beside her didn't slow at all. He didn't respond, but when they
passed a fallen  log a few minutes later, he sank down onto it, almost
dragging her with him as his body weight collapsed.

Releasing him, she stepped back and shook out her arm. She watched as
he rested  his forehead in his hand, elbow propped on thigh. Within
moments, he'd bent over forward, his arm wrapping around his shins and
his face pressed to his knees.

::Get him talking,:: something in Scully urged. "Krycek." She sat down
next to him and pretended she didn't notice the jerk as he seemed to
come to himself, head lifting from his knees. "Out with it. Why did
you help me? Why get me out of there?"  She eased her feet out of her
shoes as she spoke, and wiggled her toes.

He turned to her, and in the moonlit darkness, she could see his
face, struggling to make sense of her question. Finally a bit of
coherence returned, and he blinked. "Mulder," he rasped, as if that
answered everything. He began to rock back and forth on the log.

"What about Mulder." Scully rubbed one foot, once again cursing the
pantyhose that made her feet feel even colder.  Watching him out of
the corner of one eye, she wondered if he even realized he was
moving.

"He's in danger." As if realizing this still didn't quite cut it,
Krycek started elaborating. "He's in danger. I told you, they want him
next. We have to warn him. He wouldn't listen to me." A dry, hacking
sound followed, and Scully realized with alarm that it was a slightly
hysterical laugh. "Me. Yeah right. Mulder listen to me. That's rich."

"Unfortunately for him, I'd say he's listened to you once too often,"
Scully snapped, casting a glance behind her, listening for any sound
out of the ordinary.

"Yeah, well, everybody's a critic. What do you think he'd do if I went
to him and said he was in danger from the Consortium, that they wanted
to experiment on him? Listen to me? Sure. He'd go haring off after you
as soon as Old Smokey dropped a hint where you were. Which is what the
bastard was gonna do. Mulder'd  walk right into their hands and you
know it. But you - he'll believe you, and with you out of there, he's
got no reason to walk into their hands. See? Perfect."

"Perfect," Scully intoned dryly. "Unless one wonders why this sudden
concern for Mulder's well-being."

Krycek froze. The rocking stopped, his ravaged face went perfectly
blank, and Scully had the distinct impression the mental wheels were
turning furiously. After a moment he gave a lopsided shrug and a cold
smile that would have worked  better if his lips weren't so chapped
and cracked. "Well, maybe it's in my interest to keep him alive.
Besides, he won't shoot me on sight if you're with me, and quite
frankly, *Doctor* Scully, I could use your help right about now.
You're the only doctor I know that isn't one of *Them*, and that will
even listen to what happened in there. You know about this shit. Maybe
you can figure out-" his voice cracked, but Scully remained impassive,
"what they did to me."

"So, you took a bullet to preserve me for your medical care."

Krycek snorted, but wouldn't meet her eyes this time. "Something like
that.  Look, I know there's something really fucked up going on with
me. Whatever they  were trying to do, it worked. At least at the
moment. Who knows what happens next though. Who knows what the longer
term affects of that stuff are gonna be." A heavy shudder almost had
him falling off the log. "I may be destined to be a lab rat, but with
you... I dunno. I guess I have slightly higher hopes about how you
take care of your experiments."

Scully wondered if he knew how pathetic he looked, shaking and curled
in on himself, his one arm wrapped awkwardly about his body, with that
croaking voice, and wide, wild eyes. She wondered dispassionately if
it was an act, but somewhere inside her, she knew it wasn't. ::They
cut off his arm. Broke his legs. And God knows what else.  Not to
mention he's been shot.:: The doctor in her told her this man was in
bad shape, and sitting on a log in the chill night  air wasn't
helping.

"So how about it, Dr. Scully," he tossed out, still not looking at
her. "Fair trade? I got you out of there, saved your life twice. And I
could have left you. Would've made more tactical sense for sure.
Return the favor and help me get somewhere safe? Keep me out of their
hands." This time the shudder looked to be mental as well as physical.
"And you get a first hand look at their experiments, at whatever
they've done to me. You get scientific proof. And I got more I can
offer," he added quickly, with that same old Krycek look... the
familiar, sly 'let's make a deal' expression. "More information.
Besides whatever's inside me."

Scully couldn't help but feel a thrill of power, despite his careless
tone. "I don't know, Krycek. Looks like for once, I just might have
the advantage here. I'm out. Why shouldn't I just get the hell out of
here? Why help you at all. You don't look like you've got too much
longer anyway." His entire body winced away from her, and Scully felt
a stronger flash of sympathy. ::See, this is what happens when some
traitorous, murdering bastard gets his arm cut off and his legs
broken, and then saves your life. You start feeling sorry for him.::
She hardened her mind and kept her face blank, waiting to see what he
would say  to her dig.

"Well then," his voice when it came was as cool as he could make it,
considering the state of his throat. "I guess you'd better get as much
use out of me in as quick a time as possible, hunh?" His head swiveled
and he met her eyes, lips firming and chin lifting.

Scully met the look unwavering, and finally sighed. "As it happens,
Krycek, I'm  actually rather interested in finding out what you have
to say once we're out of this situation. I have more reasons than just
medical curiosity to keep a close eye on you." She slipped her shoes
back on and stood briskly. "Come on, let's move." After watching two
aborted attempts, she couldn't stand it anymore  and bent and helped
him to his feet. ::Don't, Dana. Don't fall into the sympathy routine.
He made his choices and ended up where he did.:: She ground
her teeth as another voice chimed, ::He saved your life. He didn't
have to stop  for you. He took that bullet. He didn't even
hesitate.::

Settling into their awkward gait once again, Scully counted the trees
as they passed. Staring straight ahead, she cleared her throat. "Thank
you, by the way."

There was a long pause, and she wondered for a moment if he'd even
heard her. Then finally, a soft, hoarse reply reached her ear.

"You're welcome."

*****

Washington DC
10 p.m.

Skinner eased his car up to the curb and turned to stare at the
apartment building. He felt stupid, but he was here anyway. He got out
of the car and made his way to the parking lot.

He'd gone home after work, even managed to eat dinner. And yet here he
was, back out in the middle of the night, looking for - what?  What
the hell did he hope to find at a crime scene over 24 hours old, that
had been gone over by police and FBI agents and-

And yet another FBI agent. Skinner heaved an irritated sigh at the
familiar figure ducking into a familiar car. Striding across the lot,
he rapped sharply on the window, and had the perverse pleasure of
watching Fox Mulder jump like a  startled rabbit. He gestured the
window down, and glared while he waited.

"Sir?"

"Agent Mulder, what the hell are you doing here? Didn't I tell you-"

"Sir, do you really expect me to sit on my hands?"

Skinner stared off over the roof of the car for a moment. "Unlock the
other door, Agent Mulder." Walking around the car, he yanked open the
passenger door and slid inside. "Does anything I say to you make any
impression at all?"

Mulder finished rolling his window back up and rested his hands on the
steering  wheel before responding. "And what are *you* doing here,
sir?"

Skinner snorted. "We are not in the same position, you and I. Has it
occurred to you that if Scully has been taken, someone may be
targeting you as well?"

Mulder blinked. It hadn't occurred to him actually. "I don't think-"

"No, Mulder, you don't," Skinner muttered. "Look, I didn't take you
off this case just for the fun of it. You're too close. And here you
are proving me right. You've been up since the middle of last night,
and here you are, roaming  around a parking lot-"

"So are you," Mulder couldn't resist pointing out.

"*If* I may finish. Here you are, roaming around a parking lot,
possibly putting yourself in danger, and getting what done?"

"We know who did this. How the hell are we supposed to find her when
it's *Them*?"

"You don't *know* who did-"

"I do, and you do, too."

Skinner took a deep breath but didn't continue arguing. The
unfortunate fact remained, Mulder was right, as usual. He did believe
the smoking bastard had something to do with this. It was an uneasy
sensation that crept over his shoulders, coiled in his stomach. As so
often happened in this web of conspiracy and lies, he felt like he'd
run up against a brick wall that was too  high to climb and too wide
to go around. "Go home, Agent Mulder," he said dully, reaching for the
door handle.

"Sir?" Mulder paused. "What *are* you doing here?"

Skinner continued to stare at the door handle. "Regretting, mostly."
With a jerk he pushed open the door and got out, shutting it firmly
behind him. Heading back to his own car, he stuffed his hands in his
pockets. ::You're not the only one who cares, Mulder. You're not the
only one who gives a damn.:: He got back into his own car and twisted
the key sharply. ::You may be the only one she cares about, but you're
not the only one who cares.::

He turned and stared out the window as Mulder's car pulled out. He
groaned and leaned his head against the steering wheel as he watched
Mulder turn in the opposite direction from his apartment. "Fine. Get
taken too. See if I care." Skinner forced himself to ease his car away
from the curb as gently as he'd pulled in, when he'd never wanted to
burn rubber so much in his life. Frustration ate at him incessantly,
growing behind his breastbone, gnawing through his veins like the
little nano-machines that floated throughout his system.

So many aspects of his life, so far out of control. When had the point
come when he should have stopped it? When had he crossed lines in his
own mind, and then had to recross them to stand on the right side
again? And here he was regretting not having told her how he felt,
when how could he? How could he, after all he had done, or more
pointedly, *not* done. He knew he didn't deserve  the respect he saw
in those intelligent blue eyes. He'd tried to tell her that, 
when she was proving her loyalty to him yet again.  Then, as usual,
she hadn't listened. If she only knew.

He drove home without even seeing traffic. He was surprised to find
himself back at his own place, remembering nothing of the drive. Back
in his living room again, he determinedly turned on the television,
and poured himself a drink.

And tried to watch the screen, instead of the images his mind's eye
created - of a deserted parking lot, on a cold January evening, where
a woman got out of her car and came face to face with whatever his
overactive imagination was conjuring this time.

*****

Somewhere in the woods, in the wilds of Virginia 
11:00 p.m.

When Krycek started stumbling Scully asked him if he needed to rest
again.  She  knew they weren't making the best time, but he sounded
worse with each step. He  brushed her off, mumbling something she
could hardly follow, but picking up speed and trying to straighten
up.

When he stumbled three more times, finally almost pulling her over
with him and  causing her to twist her ankle just to stay on her feet,
she insisted.  And so he sat, back against a tree, while Scully
examined him as best she could in the  poor light. Tilting his head
and lifting his eyelid with her thumb, she hissed out a concerned
sound. "Krycek? Krycek, are you with me?" He wasn't focusing,
and he started mumbling again, shaking badly. "Krycek!" When she could
get no coherent response, Scully tapped his cheek lightly. "Alex. Come
on Alex, listen  to me. You've got to keep it together. We've got to
be coming up on the road soon. ALEX!"

Huddled against the tree, his head rolled back the second she released
his chin. She cursed and shoved her hands back through her tangled
hair. ::We shouldn't have stopped. I should have kept him walking
while I had him walking.:: Bending down again she tilted his face and
slapped his cheek. "ALEX.  Dammit, come on. Work with me here."

At the slap his arm came up, his head ducking behind it. He responded
in that rusty croak, words garbled beyond recognition not only by his
slurring, but also by their unmistakable foreignness.

"What?" Scully slapped him again, on the other cheek. "Alex!"

The huge eyes blinked and suddenly he focused on her, and slid back to
English.  "Scully?" he rasped, and then, as if comprehending
everything in a flash, he moaned. "Oh shit. I was afraid of this."

"What? Alex, talk to me. Keep talking. What is it?" Scully kept her
voice as calm as possible, but spoke slightly louder than necessary.

Panting hard, Krycek's head rolled against the tree. "Whatever they
gave me. It  works in cycles. I get these weird reactions to it,
usually during the night. I  get the shakes, I feel like I go out of
it, you know?"

"Delirious," Scully muttered.

"Something like that," he managed.

"Then we need to move a little faster. Come on, we've got to be
getting close to the road. You did say we were near a highway,
right?"

"Near as I recall. They like easy access to some extent. Gotta get frm
there aftall." His voice started slurring again and Scully shook him.

"Alex! Don't fade out on me here. We've got to get moving. Get
somewhere warmer."

After a disjointed mumble she caught, "'Kay, go ahead. Just wanna rest
a minute. Legs. Hurt. Go - make sure... find Mulder. Mulder. Make
sure."

Scully shook him harder and slapped his cheek again. "Oh no, you
don't! You're staying with me if I have to carry you." She stared down
at him as he started laughing.

"Carry-," he blinked up at her and giggled weakly. "You. Carry me."

She snorted and took hold of his shirt, dragging him to his feet
against the tree. "Hey, I've done it to Mulder."  She sighed as he
continued to snicker.  "I know, I know. Empty threats. Come on." She
removed the guard's gun from his waistband and stuck it in the waist
of her skirt, then tucked the woman's gun in her blazer pocket. She
took it as a sign of how out of it he was that he didn't even protest.
She wrapped his arm firmly around her shoulders and felt a 
wave of relief as his legs followed her urgings and he began to walk.
His weight pulled at her shoulder, her shoes hurt her feet, and she
could have used  that rest herself, but she had no intention of
leaving him in the woods. He'd slipped away one too many times. They
had him now, and they were keeping him, come hell or high water.

"Scully," his voice sounded like it hurt to talk, and she winced.

"Yes, Alex?"

"Thas nice."

"What?"

"Alllll-x. Nice."

"Alex is nice?" ::Just keep him talking.::

He made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. "Nooo. Nonono.
Alex isn't nice.  'M not nice 't'all. No. You using Alex. Nice."

Finally realization dawned, just in time to make her almost trip over
a root. "Me calling you Alex is nice?"

"Yeah."

"You like that, hunh? Okay, fine, *Alex*. Whatever keeps you moving."

"'Kay, Dana."

"Hey. Who said you could call me Dana?" she snapped.

"'S only fair."

She huffed out a breath. "So what were you going to say to me?"

"What?"

"Oh for... you started to say something. Then you got distracted by
your name." :: I cannot believe I'm having this conversation.::

"I did? Oh. Um. What- oh! I know. Gonna tell you to warn Mulder."

Scully shot a look up at the staggering man beside her. What the hell
was this anyway? Since when was Krycek so concerned with Mulder's
continued safety. "You  told me that already. We're going to warn
Mulder. We're going to find a phone."

"Okay. But warn Mulder."

"I will, Alex. We will."

"No, you. Gotta be you. Hit me."

"What?" She wondered if he wanted her to slap him again to help him
stay coherent.

"He'll jus' hit me. But you. Believe you. Warn him."

"We will.  I will."

"Don't want them doin' that to him."

"What, Alex?" Her sore ankle twinged. Her shoes were really not made
for this. But then, she'd had no idea when she put them on that she'd
get kidnapped and end up escaping through the woods with a six-foot
tall, traitorous, murdering bastard leaning on her shoulder. She
gripped his hand tighter with her frozen fingers and tried to shift
his weight somewhat. 

"What did to me. Hurt. Reeeeally bad."

At least the arm around his waist was warm. The heat rolling off his
body was warming that hand, no problem. "They hurt you?" she asked,
more to keep him talking than anything else. Obviously they'd hurt
him. She winced at her own question. The lack of an arm on the other
side of his body suddenly seemed omnipresent.

(Continued in part 3)
 
Part 3
See part 0 for header information.


"Bad."

"It's okay, Alex. You're out of there, and we'll be safe soon."

"And warn Mulder."

She bit back the retort that leapt to her tongue. "*Yes*, Alex. We'll
warn Mulder."

"He's next. Heard them. Said he's next."

"No, we'll get to him first."

"'Kay." He stumbled but managed to right himself. "Dana?"

She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to drop him on the ground,
then instantly felt bad at the thought. "Yes?"

"If... die... tell him, save you."

"What?"

"If... I die," he labored, "Tell Mulder... save you."

"Tell Mulder you saved me?"

"Yeah. Please?"

The childlike quality to his voice added to the surreality of the
entire exchange. The dark trees, the cold, the moon lancing down
between branches.  A one-armed Alex Krycek leaning on her shoulder,
half-delirious and babbling about Mulder. Something twisted in her
chest, and she blinked hard. What kind of game was he playing? Was he
actually out of it, or was he trying to pull something? And if so,
what? ::Humor him. Get inside somewhere. Just keep him going.:: "Yes,
Alex. I will. I promise."

"Good. Know you. You... keep promises."

"Yeah," she mumbled. "I keep my promises."

*****

Virginia Highway 59
11:20 p.m.

I blink and shake my head and realize I'm sitting on cold pavement,
leaning against a chilled brick wall. What worries me is the last
thing I remember is walking through the woods with Scully.  Jesus, I
hate missing time. What the- 

Suddenly I hear a soft "Damn", and lift my head to focus on the sound.
Scully is standing under the bright circle of light over a pay phone,
slamming the phone down. "Home number, home number," she mumbles as
she starts punching buttons again. Watching the number of buttons she
presses, I blearily conclude she is doing a calling card number from
memory. Go Scully.

I watch as she waits. Finally she speaks. "Mulder, are you there? If
you're there pick up. It's me. Come on, pick up. Damn. okay, look.
I'm-" She breaks off, and I can see her suddenly realizing that
talking to Mulder 's machine is a great way to get recorded by more
than one tape. "I'll call back," she blurts, and hangs up.

"Hey," I say. Or try to. I make some noise, anyway, because she looks
at me.

"Well, there's something," she sighs, and if I didn't know better I'd
say with relief. "Back with me, are you?"

"Where'd I go?" I groan.

"You've been pretty out of it for the last half-hour. Kept walking,
though amazingly enough," she crouches down next to me and peers into
my eyes as she speaks softly. "But you sure weren't very coherent."

I stare back at her pale face in the fluorescent light. "You try his
cell?"

"Couldn't get it. He's either out of range or something's
interfering."

I shift and try to sit up straighter. "Scully," I start, and then stop
at her snort.

"No more Dana?" she cracks.

I blink. "Hunh?" I say intelligently.

She laughs, and I wonder for a moment if she's getting hysterical on
me. "Nothing," she manages, leaning against the wall next to me and
letting her legs fold under her. "Nothing."

Dana. It tugs something loose inside my head and confused flashes of
our walk through the woods float through my mind. "What... uh, exactly
how incoherent have I been?"

"Mostly understandable, but not making much sense," she answers with a
smirk, and I realize she's enjoying the moment. Sadistic bitch.

"What, exactly, did I say?"

"Lots of stuff. Listen, are you back with me for good, or are you
going to be slipping off again? I'd like to know. You could have
warned me the first time. You said when you started going off that you
knew this happened."

"I don't know. It's night when it happens, and I don't... I'm not
sure. It seems like I have more episodes of it when the dose goes
higher. They increased  my injection again today."

"Okay," she sighs. "That answers that. We've got to get moving. We
have to find  a place to get inside out of this cold, where I can call
Mulder, and he can come get us."

We both push away from the wall. She makes it. I don't. Without even
blinking she bends and gently wraps her arm around me, helping me to
my feet with an economy of movement that tells me she's done it a
couple times already. We start off down the highway and I wince as my
legs protest.  The borrowed shoes don't fit right and now my feet hurt
like a sonuvabitch too.  I consider the office shoes and clothes she
has on, and don't complain out loud.

"Dana, eh?" I rasp.

"Don't push your luck, *Alex*."

*****