Having the Time of My Afterlife 10A
By livengoo
Livengoo@tiac.net

________________________________________

Burt Bacharach.  Brian Pendrell didn't so much mind Burt Bacharach but
he'd have preferred "The Look of Love" or just about anything from
_Casino Royale_ to "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head."  Instead all he
could think of was that tinkly harmony and how silly it was.  Of course,
maybe it wasn't so silly.  Right now raindrops were falling on his face,
and they sure as heck did feel all tinkly and not at all like rain.  He
scrunched up his face, grunted and opened his mouth, hoping some of
those raindrops would fall in his mouth instead of on his face because,
boy, was he ever thirsty.

"I did not need to see your fillings."  Mulder's dry voice brought
Pendrell's eyes open with a snap and it wasn't raining. He wasn't even
outdoors.  Fluorescent lights glared down from behind wire grates in a
tiled ceiling.  Next to his cot, Mulder thumped down onto his butt.

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

Pendrell groaned and tried to sit up, head spinning and stomach
lurching.  He wanted to sleep, but he needed to get up like his life
depended on it.

A hand under his arm helped and steadied him.  "Slow down. That's not a
good idea."

"Gotta get up.  Gotta get up."  His own voice felt lodged inside his
head, caught in muzzy cotton wool.

"Yeah, I know how that feels."  Mulder helped him stand up and take a
few wobbly steps.  His stomach gradually settled, thankfully, but his
head still felt woozy, and he couldn't understand where they were.
White.  White.  White walls.  White cots.  White sheets.  He rambled
around, kept falling into the walls, and they never stopped being white.

Mulder's hand was under his arm the whole time, keeping him on his feet,
Mulder's voice murmuring something about sitting down and how it would
be all right, but he didn't really have the concentration to make sense
of it at first.  It wasn't until he'd lurched around the little room
several times that he was caught by his own reflection in a mirror over
a white-white sink.  Not that his face offered much color, but his hair
was flaming in all that blankness.  And his eyes.  Hangover eyes.  Eyes
his classmates at college said looked like pissholes in the snow.  That
had never made much sense to him because they were red, not yellow, but
his eyes really did look lousy.

"Woooooghghghgh . . ."

In the mirror he could see Mulder open his mouth, and then shut it.  His
head was slowly clearing, and he found himself suddenly grateful that
the other man hadn't said a thing.  Cool water, not raindrops but a
deluge from the sink taps helped.  He could feel it washing away the
lingering haze as he rinsed his head, his face, washed out the cottony
foul taste in his mouth.  The faint creak of springs behind him as
Mulder walked away, and sprawled back onto one cot was the only other
sound in the room.

Water dripped all over his shoulders and the floor when Pendrell finally
stood up and looked around the cell -- because there was no question
about what it was -- with his head finally clear enough to know what he
was seeing.  Not really sharp, of course, but not totally fuzzy.  The
small, efficient toilet, two cots and a sink didn't make him feel any
real sense of confidence that they were safely tucked away in a nice,
boring holding tank.  He finally stopped in front of the door, breathing
a little hard.  There wasn't a knob.  Pendrell dragged his fingers over
where one should be, feeling a little sick.

"You can knock, but that pissed off the guard when I did it."  Mulder's
voice was level, calm.

Pendrell looked around at him.  Mulder sat back against the wall, head
back.  He looked very bored.  Or he might, if his fingers hadn't been
drumming against one knee.  Pendrell finally went and slumped down next
to Mulder on the cot, curled over his own crossed arms.  "We're not in
Nebraska, are we?"

"Maybe, but I doubt it.  You want to smile nice for the camera?"  Mulder
flicked one finger towards the ceiling where a dark circle and a red
light blinked from above the door.  "You can ask when they send someone
in to talk to us."

He stared up at that light, wondering how he'd looked past it in all the
white on white of the little cell.  Looked blankly back to Mulder, who
took mercy.  "It's okay, Pendrell.  The drugs will make you slow for a
while."

Pendrell felt stupid. It must have shown on his face because Mulder gave
him a wistful smile and reached out, rolling up his sleeve and showing
him a livid bruise on the inside of his elbow.  "Alien abductions have
missing time, but not usually this much and you don't get cotton mouth
from it."

"How do you know?"  He almost kicked himself for that one.  Even drugged
he wasn't that stupid.  Mulder was answering him anyway in a mild,
patient voice.

"Well, aside from having several hundred interviews on file I've been
through it a couple times myself."

"Oh."  He pressed the bruise, winced at it but the pain cleared his head
just a little more.  "So aliens didn't abduct us from that trooper's
car?  All that light . . . ?"

"Nope.  No aliens this time.  Maybe a black helicopter."

"Who are they?"  Pendrell asked plaintively.

"I don't know, Pendrell."  Mulder sighed.  "I don't even know if they're
the ones who put the implant in.  All I really know is that some of them
are human."

Pendrell almost asked him how he could even be sure of that, but Mulder
wasn't slumping back anymore.  He sat up like a hunting dog, watching
the door.  After a moment Pendrell heard it too, heavy footsteps that
got louder.  Mulder was on his feet as the door opened, but standing
still.  Pendrell peeked around him and found himself eyeing a large man
with a large gun.  Weapon.  Rifle.  Whatever.  It was big and really
ugly and didn't look exciting or glamorous the way guns looked in
movies.  It looked -- lethal and just plain ugly.  And it was pointed at
Mulder.

A thin woman stepped from behind the guard and studied the two of them
thoughtfully, then nodded.

Mulder slouched a bit, but Pendrell could see the way his weight was
balanced on the balls of his feet.  He thought probably the guard could
see it too, but crossed his fingers that he was wrong.  Mulder's voice
was dry and Pendrell couldn't understand how he could sound so calm.
"We were expecting someone shorter.  And maybe grayer."

The guard didn't blink.  The woman raised an eyebrow and crossed her
arms. "Sorry to disappoint you, Agent Mulder.  I, however, am very happy
to see you.  I hope you'll choose to make this pleasant -- I'd rather
not have you damaged if I can avoid it."

Her familiar, clinical tone put a chill down Pendrell's back.  He'd
heard cadavers discussed in that tone.  He was creepily certain that he,
himself had been discussed in that tone not so long ago.  Mulder didn't
seem a lot happier but when he shifted the guard's rifle came up an inch
- not threatening, just warning.  Mulder glanced back at him a moment.
Pendrell almost felt the look on his skin, keen and measuring.

What happened next didn't last long.  Mulder turned back, smiled, held
up both hands and stepped calmly towards the door.  The elbow he threw
at the guard never got close.  It wound up twisted behind his back.
They were gone so fast that Pendrell felt like he'd been left alone in a
deflating balloon - one moment full and the next flat and empty.

It wasn't empty for long.

The only warning was the whistling.  Perfect, on key whistling.
Pendrell caught himself humming along to it, almost singing "Hey there,
lonely girl" just as the door opened.

He didn't really know what he'd expected, but the man standing there
wasn't it.  The guard behind him, HE was about right, but . . . well.
The guy with dark hair and a big grin just didn't seem menacing and
furtive enough to be working in a place like this.  "Hi," Pendrell
ventured, and saw the smile get a little wider.  "Are you one of the bad
guys?"

"It doesn't say that on my business cards but I guess 'bad guy' covers
it."  The guy looked vaguely familiar but it might have just been the
FBI sweatshirt he was wearing.  He walked in, looking around at the
cell.  "I see you got one of our better rooms."

No, this really wasn't what he expected.  Pendrell swallowed and crossed
his arms over a stomach full of butterflies.  "Is this where you take me
off to do mad scientist experiments on me?  Is that where they took
Mulder?"

Green eyes came back around to study him, not unkindly.  The guy looked
over at the guard.  "Why don't you give me a minute with him."

"Those weren't the orders."  The guard looked sour.  "Frick's a real
asshole if you keep him waiting."

"I'll take care of Frick, okay?"  The guy shoved his hands in his
pockets.  Actually, shoved his hand.  Pendrell started a little.  The
left hand wasn't real.  The click of the door shutting startled him
again and he looked back to see that the guard had left.

"Why did you do that?"  He couldn't keep the little tremor out of his
voice.

The young man with the false arm sat down on the other bunk.  "Why'd I
send Frankie out?"

"Un hunh.  Who are you? What do you want?"

The grin grew wider.  "What nefarious deeds and evil lurks am I
planning?"

"I didn't say that."  Pendrell bristled.  "I don't think it's funny to
have guns shoved in my face."

"Frankie didn't shove his gun in your face," the guy pointed out in a
mild tone.  "Look, my name's Alex Krycek --" Pendrell stiffened, saw
Krycek take it in.  "Obviously you've heard of me."

"Yes," allowed Pendrell with sudden caution and more fear than he wanted
to admit.  "Most of the FBI's heard of you."

"I bet. If you listen to Mulder I'm responsible for murder, mayhem and
fluoride in the water." Krycek slouched back against the wall.

The silence stretched for a moment longer than Pendrell felt he could
stand, and he finally filled it.  "You killed Agent Scully's sister."

A thoughtful nod answered him.  "Actually, I didn't, and last I heard
there was no proof I'd ever done anything worse than impersonate an FBI
agent and punch out the AD."

"That's not what I heard."  Pendrell shivered. "What do you want with
me?"

Krycek's expression flickered from amusement to regret then back again.
"It's not me that wants you, Brian.  I'm here to escort you and make
things a little easier."

"I didn't tell you to call me Brian.  Escort me where?  What things?"

"Okay. Mr. Pendrell.  I guess you can think of me as the MIB welcome
wagon.  I'm here to answer all your questions about alien parasites and
possession."  The double agent stood up and walked over to stand in
front of him.

Pendrell swallowed hard and blinked a couple of times.  "Alien
possession?"

"Yeah."  Krycek's smile softened, saddened.  "I've been through it, so
they thought I might be able to help you."

"Help me through what?"  Pendrell couldn't quite keep the anger out of
his voice.  "Is Mulder going through the same thing?  What about him?"

Krycek offered him a hand -- the real hand.  Pendrell got to his feet
without the help.  Krycek hesitated, then shrugged.  "I can't help
Mulder.  He won't let me.  But maybe I can help you."

"I don't think I want your help."  The frosty tone he was working for
would have been better without the little quaver.  Krycek just eyed him.

"Maybe. Maybe not.  But right now we'd better get going or Frick's gonna
make alien parasites look tame."


"Stop it!"  Pendrell squealed.  "It tickles!"

Alex Krycek stared at him.  Pendrell had never seen anyone stare at him
like that.  Well, maybe.  A little.  Mulder had looked a little bit like
that, on that first night at the morgue.

The look on Ronald Frick's pudgy face was even worse.  He didn't look
afraid or awed. He just looked irritated.  "Lies are counterproductive
and will be dealt with harshly."

"I don't think he's lying, Dr. Frick."  Krycek's voice sounded tinny
over the speaker.

Pendrell squirmed against the restraints on his wrists and ankles and
frowned at the men on the other side of the of thick, quartz window.
Not easy to frown when he was giggling like a maniac, but he managed.
"I am not -- hehehe! -- lying!  It tickles! It always tickled!"

And it did!  Not too bad, but just enough to keep him squirming and
laughing as the black stuff trickled and tickled and danced on his skin,
like demented mercury beads with a mind of their own.  "Stop it!  Oh,
not the ribs!"  At least the tickling kept his mind off being naked, so
he wasn't as mortified as he might have been.

Even so, it wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his afterlife.  He
tried to twitch in his elbows as the little oily pests circled the
puncture marks from where they'd taken buckets of blood out of him
before they strapped him into the chair.  That wasn't so bad but, oooh,
no!  The little things did it again, oozing up and, he guessed, into the
holes because they were suddenly gone but little bumps ran up and down
his arms and it tickledtickledTICKLED like mad!

"Ohohoh!  It feels like pop rocks everywhere!  Stop it!"

But they didn't, anymore than the last dozen times he'd that demanded
they stop, and give him back his clothes.  On the other side of the
window Dr. Frick and Dr. Wessel and Alex Krycek were talking but he
couldn't hear them anymore.  The oily little things were heading back
down his arms, leaving tingly little trails in their wake until they
popped back out of the injection holes and finally, at long last,
slithered off, dripping to his thighs and oozing down to the floor,
where they all huddled back into their little canister.  They looked
like old 40 weight oil.  Pendrell sighed and settled back, trying to
squeeze his legs together as much as he could, to hide his privates from
the men in the control room.  "Can I leave now?"

________________________________________________


Hours later he was sagging with weariness.  Krycek was keeping a wary
distance, and his expression hung somewhere between solicitous and
terrified.  "You look tired."

"YOU get tickled for hours and you'll be tired too!  And why did they
have to take so much blood?  What were all those tests?"  Pendrell
scowled at him.

The former FBI agent and current self-proclaimed Welcome Wagon for the
Forces of Evil pushed another big glass of orange juice across the
formica and sat as far back as the cafeteria bench would allow.  "They
need to get complete telemetry."

"What does that mean?"  Pendrell didn't bother to hide how irked he was
feeling.  He was finding it a little hard to remember that Krycek was a
Dangerous Bad Guy who needed to be feared.  "I feel like Swiss cheese.
If all you people wanted was to give me oil packs, why didn't you just
ask?"

He could see Krycek gulp and he'd have sworn the man actually flinched
when he reached over to steal a french fry.  The guy looked nervous when
he gingerly sat forward a little.  "Oil packs?"

"Sure.  I had them all the time when I was a kid.  Dr. Armbruster said
they helped my eczema."

"Eczema."

Pendrell hadn't seen such a blank look since . . . well.  He wasn't sure
he'd ever seen such a blank look in his life or his death.  It stopped
him cold.  He shivered suddenly as he looked back at Alex Krycek and
thought about it all.  "You were just joking about alien parasites,
weren't you?  Before?"

There was white all around the irises in Krycek's eyes as he shook his
head slowly back and forth, never really looking away from Pendrell.
Come to think of it, he hadn't looked away once since he'd escorted a
relieved-to-be-dressed-again Pendrell out of the lab and down to the
cafeteria.  Pendrell chewed on a french fry that suddenly tasted like
sawdust and swallowed dryly.  "You said that you'd been through this.
You mean with the oil?"

A silent, precise nod.

"And it didn't tickle?"

That spooky head shake again, like Krycek was afraid to take his eyes
off Pendrell.  Like he was watching a cobra or something.  Pendrell felt
a paper napkin tearing between his fingers, ripping into sweaty little
bits, but he couldn't look away from Alex Krycek.  "And Mulder?"

Krycek's mouth thinned.  "No.  I don't think it's tickling for him,
either."

"Oh."  The napkin was a damp ball of glop.  "Can . . . can we leave
now?"

Green eyes blinked.  "We'd better get you back to your room."

______________________________________



Having the Time of My Afterlife 10B
By livengoo
Livengoo@tiac.net

________________________________________________________


The guard at their door watched them walk down the hall with a steady,
wary look that reminded Pendrell all too well that he wasn't among
friends.  As if he'd really needed reminding.  Except maybe he did,
because Krycek had come to seem almost familiar in such a short time.
Pendrell had never realized how scary it could be to have everyone look
through you, through him, but here they all did study him as if they
were trying to see under his skin.  All except Krycek.

Krycek glanced at him now, then back down the hall to wave at the guard
who'd taken Mulder away earlier.  "Frank's back.  You know if you need
anything you can tell him."

Pendrell hesitated, swallowed.  "You won't be there, will you?"

A dazzling smile met his question, so bright it didn't feel real, then
it softened and dimmed until it seemed a little sad and a lot warmer.
"I'll be around.  I've got work to do, too, Pendrell."

"When will they bring Mulder back?"

The smile went blank for a moment, frozen, then faded completely.  "He's
already back.  If Frankie's here he's back."

"Oh."  Pendrell swallowed, tried to meet the guard's eyes as he watched
them approach.  He wouldn't look back at Pendrell, eyes sliding away,
seeing them, but not seeing him.  Pendrell crossed his arms over his
chest, studying a door that only had a number pad beside it.  The door
to his cell.  Their cell.  He looked at Krycek and had to bite down on
the urge to ask him to stay, to tell him he was glad that Krycek was
there, that someone was there who actually looked at him instead of
through him, who maybe even saw him.

Krycek met his eyes for a moment then looked away.  "The room service
here sucks.  Do you think you'll need anything?"

Pendrell didn't even try to stop the brief giggle that rose in his
throat.  "You're kidding.  I need to get out of here.  I need my old
life back.  I need . . . I don't even know where to start."

"Make sure they get the house special, hunh Frankie?"

The guard nodded, eyes watchful as Krycek punched in a code and pressed
his thumb to a little pad.  The door opened and Pendrell shivered,
looked away.  A gentle hand in the middle of his back urged him
forward.  "It'll be okay, Pendrell."  Krycek's voice.

The warmth of the hand stayed on his back, an electric presence right
behind him even after the door had shut, and Pendrell felt a sudden
surge of gratitude that the man had stayed.  Then he saw Mulder.  "Oh my
god. Oh my god . . ."

One hand hung limply off the side of the cot.  Pendrell grabbed the
wrist as he dropped to his knees next to Mulder's body.  "Oh my god is
he dead?  He looks --"

"Pendrell."  Krycek's voice wasn't quite harsh but it yanked his eyes
around to look up at the other man's face, cool and collected.  Then
back at Mulder.  Krycek crouched next to him as he reached out to brush
sweat-lank hair off Mulder's forehead.  He gingerly traced the greasy
track traced black and stark across wan skin under an ear.  The same
stuff crusted in Mulder's eyelashes, marking his upper lip like a nose
bleed.

"He looks dead."  Pendrell whispered, stunned.  And breathed a sigh of
relief even as Mulder twitched under his touch, then subsided again.

"He's not.  It just takes a lot out of you."

Krycek's calm, matter-of-fact tone soothed in a way that comfort
couldn't have done.  Pendrell took a shaky breath and squeezed Mulder's
shoulder hard.  "He's not waking up, Alex.  Where's the doctor?  What
happened to him?"

A hand, cool and plastic, rested lightly on his arm.  "Let him rest,
Brian.  He's just wiped out. Trust me."

Ridiculous words.  Pendrell's head snapped around.  "Trust you?  You
helped do this to him!  What did they do to him?"

Steady, green eyes looked back into his.  "The same thing they did to
you, Pendrell.  The same thing they did to me.  Believe me, this is
normal.  He's just exhausted."

"But I didn't have this?"  He didn't know if his voice could even reach
Mulder right now, but he kept it low.  It took an effort, but he did.
"He's half-dead."

That half-smile that wasn't really funny at all met his words.  "More or
less.  Believe it or not, half-dead is normal.  Pendrell, he's not the
strange one. You are."

Krycek straightened, offering him the live hand for help rising.
Pendrell ignored it and touched Mulder's throat, counting a pulse that
was faint under clammy skin.  "I thought you said you were here to help
us."

The hand shook impatiently.  "He'll be fine.  Leave him alone Pendrell,
let him rest."

The oily stuff on Mulder's face was lifeless, smearing when he rubbed a
thumb across it.  There was a sour taste in the back of Pendrell's
throat as he listened to the other man's rasping breaths.  When Krycek
leaned down and took his elbow, he tried to shake him off.  "Leave me
alone.  Leave us alone."

"You're bugging him, Pendrell.  He just needs rest.  Don't try to wake
him up."

"You people did this!"  He glared at Krycek, a wasted effort as the hand
under his elbow pulled steadily until he stood.

"Come on, Pendrell.  Don't touch him."  Krycek almost dragged him over
to the other cot.  "He's not as far under as he looks.  Leave him
alone."

"Like you did?" Wishing he could think of something sharper than
childhood "did too's" and at a loss.  He glanced back at Mulder's
smudged face and felt his own draw into lines of anger.  "Why are you
doing this? What did you do to him you . . . you . . . motherfucker!"

Krycek's mouth twitched at the curse but didn't pull up into a smile.
"Call me every name in the book if it helps, but sit down."

Not that he had much choice.  The taller man shoved him, and the cot
against the back of his knees did the rest.  Pendrell dropped onto his
cot with a squeak of bedsprings that brought another twitch and a low
moan from Mulder.

Krycek sat more quietly and spoke in low tones.  "Now, if you think you
can stand not to shout -"

"I'm not -"

"Just shut up, lab-mouse.  Okay?"  Low, but forceful.  Krycek dragged
the fingers of his right hand through his short hair. If that mussed it
Pendrell couldn't tell, but there were tiny lines drawing tight at the
corners of the other man's eyes, thin lines at the corners of his
mouth.  "Mulder's not hurt. He's just wiped out.  He's like me."

Pendrell opened his mouth but a challenging look shut him up and he
finally gave a sharp nod, gesturing for Krycek to go on.

"If you weren't so damn weird you'd be as wiped out as he is.  That
stuff you call oil packs?"

The question was rhetorical but Pendrell answered it anyway.  "The stuff
Doctor Armbruster gave me for my eczema.  It doesn't wipe you out."

"It does if you're normal. If you're lucky it just wipes you out.  If
you're vaccinated.  Usually it takes you over and you wind up a puppet
in your own head."

The bitterness of the tone cut through a little of Pendrell's anger,
made him hesitate, made him really look at Krycek, past the bright smile
and confident manner to where a tired, sad sympathy hung dark in green
eyes.  "It didn't do that to me."

This time the smile did draw up the corner of his mouth, but there
wasn't any humor in it.  "Like I said, normal.  You're not."

"And you are, Krycek?"  Words spoken on a low groan that drew both
Pendrell and Krycek's attention across the room in an instant.  Mulder's
eyes were slitted open, watching them.  He shoved his way up, sitting
back against the wall like it took too much to stay upright without it,
and dragged his hands across his face.  He studied the dark smudges on
his palms a moment, then shuddered and looked back up at them.  "This
shit is . . .?"

Pendrell started to get up and Krycek yanked him back down, shaking his
head.  "You know what it is, Mulder."

A humorless smile.  "It's sure as hell not a virus.  What is it really?
A spore?"

Pendrell shook his arm loose of Krycek's grip and crossed the room
before the one-armed man could grab him again.  It wasn't Krycek that
stopped him.  It was the look on Mulder's face as he pulled back into
himself, warning Pendrell off with a look.  "Don't touch me."

"It's okay."  Soothing.  "I understand."

A low sigh behind him.  "You don't want this now, Mulder.  Why don't you
give yourself some time."

"Just answer the fucking question."  Pendrell reached out but Mulder
shrank back, glaring up at him then back at the man still sitting on the
other cot.  "Don't touch me, Pendrell."

The words were harsh and low.  Pendrell paused, caught between the
desire to help, and the acid bite of the command.  "I just want to
help."

Mulder wiped his hands over his face again, smearing black, oily residue
across them.  He held out filthy palms to Pendrell, looking up from a
face sooty-gray with the stuff.  His words were suddenly oddly gentle.
"Don't touch me, Pendrell.  Just . . . don't touch me."

"That's pointless, Mulder."  Krycek's practical, everyday voice was
neither loud nor soft, just disarmingly normal.  "It's not like you can
infect him."

The glare cut past Pendrell, aimed past him, at Krycek.  Mulder slowly
rocked forward, balancing his weight as if he thought he could get up.
It didn't seem likely since Pendrell could see the way his arms trembled
under his own weight.  He heard the faint whiff of denim, was sure
Krycek had stood up behind him and almost breathed a sigh of relief when
the door opened and Frankie stood, slouched in the doorway.  The hand
the guard rested on his weapon didn't really contradict his casual
stance.  "Krycek. You're gonna piss off Mackie if you keep riling them
up.  You know what she said."

"Yeah."  As quickly as that, the bubble of tension collapsed.  Mulder
slumped back against the wall, and Krycek sidled past Pendrell towards
the door.  Pendrell turned, meeting his eyes for a moment.  He wasn't
sure if the sympathy he saw there made him feel better or worse.

"You said you were the Welcome Wagon."

"So?"  The comment seemed to baffle him from the tilt of the head and
the quizzical narrowing of green eyes. Pendrell almost grinned, feeling
for the first time a hint of the ease he'd always been sure that
everyone but him had learned in kindergarten.

"So you're supposed to bring us stuff, Alex.  A casserole, and cookies,
and a radio and stuff.  Remember?  You're supposed to help us."  Just
the slightest slip, the tiniest extra emphasis on that last word.  He
saw the other man's shoulders tense just that little bit, his chin lift
the smallest fraction of an inch, and wondered what Krycek had heard, if
it was what he'd meant to say . . . and wondered when he'd started
speaking in secrets and pauses and lies.  Swallowed the lump in his
throat and the sudden longing for home, wishing that he was home, where
it smelled like him and the sun shone on books and rugs and a life that
wasn't his anymore.

A single long blink of the other man's eyes; maybe he'd seen it, maybe
he'd heard everything in that one little sentence, that one little
word.  The wide mouth twitched in an ambiguous smile and Alex Krycek
shook his head just a little.  "I'm a rotten cook, but I'll see what I
can find."

Frank shook his head and stepped back, giving room for Krycek to pass.
One last flickering glance and the door shut and he was back in a cell,
wondering exactly what was happening but not at all sure it'd make him
happy to find out.

A low snort of derision shook him out of the mood and brought his
attention back to where Mulder had propped himself up against the wall.
Bloodshot hazel eyes were still fixed on the door.  Pendrell nibbled his
lower lip, then got a handful of paper towels.  He soaked them and took
the meager bar of soap from the sink.  He held out his offerings
tentatively, "here."

Mulder stared at him blearily, then reached out and took the towels and
soap.  He was careful -- visibly careful -- not to touch Pendrell.
"Thanks."

Pendrell settled himself on the edge of Mulder's cot, ignoring the
sudden stillness and the guarded glare he got for it.  "You know, I took
public speaking in college."

Mulder froze, then went back to soaping his face.  "If I tell you I
don't want to know, will you stop right there?"

When Pendrell glanced back, Mulder was scrubbing away what looked like
coal tar tear tracks with wet paper towels.  "My advisor told me public
speaking would make me more confident and teach me how to speak in
'unfamiliar settings.'"

Long fingers plastered the paper towels over Mulder's face.  The tremor
in his shoulders might have been tears or it might have been laughter.
Or both.  For a long moment Pendrell bit down on his tongue and wished
he'd just shut up, then the paper towels were suddenly wadded and Mulder
was staring at him as if he'd just grown a second head.  His expression
slowly disintegrated from blank calm into a rapid-blink laughter that
had tear tracks running black across newly scrubbed skin as the man
simply fell over on his side and coughed and hiccoughed and laughed and,
if he were being honest, cried but Pendrell turned his back on that and
pretended he didn't hear.

"I got a 'C', of course.  But I'm wondering, if I'd gotten an 'A', I
wonder if I'd know how to ask why you've got black stuff coming out of
your nose and if you know what's happening to us?  But I only got a 'C'
so that's probably not how to ask but --"

The hand that barely touched him didn't linger, but it was enough.
Pendrell sniffed and was surprised to find his nose was stuffy and his
eyes were sore and a little blurry.  He blinked and sniffed in and
finally let himself look around at Mulder.  He wasn't sure if the
smudges under the agent's eyes were gunk or exhaustion.  He could only
see a glitter from under wet, clumped lashes, but the tension that had
pulled skin taut over his cheekbones had bled away to leave a man who
just looked worried and very, very tired.  "I should shut up, huh?"

The smallest imitation of a smile, and the tiniest shake of the head.
"No." Pendrell winced at Mulder's hoarse voice.  "You deserve answers."

Mulder shoved himself back upright.  Pendrell tried to offer a hand, but
only got that frozen look again and pulled his hand back.  "Sorry."

Knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, Mulder finally looked back
at him.  "What did they do to you, Pendrell?"

"You first," Pendrell rushed to offer, suddenly sure that Mulder didn't
know about him and the oil.  And not at all sure he really wanted Mulder
to know about him and the oil.  He didn't have to fake concern and
sympathy.  "You look wiped out."

He wasn't sure how to read the look that got.  Arms tightened a little
more around knees and Mulder's shoulders stiffened.  "They . . . they
exposed me to what I guess you'd call a parasite."

"The spore or the larva you were talking about?"  He scooted up to the
head of Mulder's cot, a little back but not willing to withdraw across
the room.

The answering half-smile made him wonder if Mulder and Krycek knew how
much they looked like each other when they did that.  "I think of it as
the oilien, but I believe Scully would call that 'inaccurate jargon.'"

"Oil . . .  Mulder, does it look like black mercury?"

A flat gaze rested on him, and Pendrell could watch Mulder reading him.
He'd known.  Of course he'd known but he hadn't believed it.  Pendrell
licked lips that were suddenly very dry.  "It can't be the same,
Mulder.  That doesn't hurt. The oil's just tickly like -- like --"  A
slow widening of the other man's eyes stopped him, tripped his words and
left him feeling stupid and impossibly clumsy.

Mulder leaned forward, reached a hand out and gingerly laid his
fingertips along Pendrell's jaw to turn his face one way, the other, as
those flat, shuttered eyes studied tracked from ears to nostrils to lips
and, finally, back up to meet his own eyes.  And went just a little
wider than they already were.  "They can't have exposed you."

His throat was tight and words didn't want to get out.  His nod was more
definite than his voice could possibly have been.

Mulder's hand jerked back like he'd been burned, then reached out
again.  This time it turns over his wrist and trailed up the blue
tracery of veins to a reddish bruise.  His hoarse voice was cold,
precise.  "They introduced the organism into the room and it -- it
invaded through the puncture marks they left when they drew blood."

Pendrell couldn't meet his eyes.  He just nodded. "Yeah. It was like
that for me."

"What happened then?"  The clinical tone he'd learned to hate sounded
even worse coming from Mulder.  Calm and far, far too distant from real,
live people.  "What was it like for you, Pendrell?"

"It tickled."  He couldn't get louder than a whisper.  Guilt burned deep
in his stomach and he didn't even know for sure why he felt it, but he
did.  "The stuff got into me like it always does and it just tickles,
Mulder.  Mulder, it's not my fault.  I didn't know."

A blink and another.  Mulder's hand hovered, then pulled back and the
man touched the back of his own neck.  He sounded like his mouth was
dry.  "Did it tickle here?"

A quick shake of the head.  "That tingled like soda bubbles up my nose
except it was on the back of my neck.  And down here and here and . .
."  Showing the tracks of sensation, and watching Mulder study him.
"Don't look at me like that.  Please don't."

The other man's gaze snapped back up to his, stared back into his eyes a
scarily long time.  "They've done this to you before."

Pendrell hated answering.  Wanted to beg off and plead exhaustion, his
own or Mulder's, it didn't much matter, but Mulder was burning as if his
body didn't matter anymore and Pendrell could actually feel the heat off
of him.  Grasped at a straw, "you're running a fever."

"Answer the question."

Teeth raked over a dry lower lip and stung.  Pendrell finally nodded.
"When I was a kid.  Once a month when I was a kid."

A sudden high flush burned in Mulder's cheeks, sharp against the gray
pale of his face.  His eyes shut, lips moving as though he were
counting, or praying, then flew open again.  "And you didn't tell me."

The chill of his voice made Pendrell's stomach lurch and his mouth go
dry. "Tell you what?  What was I supposed to say? That I had eczema when
I was a kid?"

"For chrissakes, Pendrell," Mulder's voice was still low but the edge on
it left no illusion of being soft.  The agent glanced at the camera then
turned towards Pendrell, leaning in.  "What the hell did you think they
were doing?  It didn't once occur to you that nothing on earth acts like
that shit?"

"That's not true, Mulder.  That's just not -- I didn't even think about
it!"  His face was flushed and his nails dug into his palms.  "They said
it was experimental!  And it never did clear up my eczema so what did
you want me to say?  Maybe I had, I don't know, maybe I ate cornflakes
made out of mutant corn? Uh-uh-or maybe -- I don't know!  It's not like
I went to college with a medical file that said I had all my shots and,
oh yeah, I had secret military experimentation too?"

Mulder just watched him through the too-fast, spluttering, stammering
words.  Pendrell trailed into silence and stared back, seeing the tiny
twitch of muscle along the jawline, the tension at the corners of
Mulder's mouth and eyes that belied the too-calm voice.  "Your family
was in the military, right?" It wasn't really a question.  "There is no
hardware store. No small town doctor."

Pendrell's eyes stung and his stomach rolled.  He squeezed his lids shut
tight and dug his nails harder into his palms, made himself open his
eyes and stare right back at Fox Mulder. "There is a hardware store.
Dad bought it with his retirement money from the Air Force.  And Doc
Armbruster was taking care of me since I was born.  What's next,
Mulder?  Do you want to accuse me of setting you up?  Faking my own
death?"

Mulder's long, thoughtful pause was punctuated by the beating of
Pendrell's heart.  He didn't understand how it could keep beating so
normally when he felt so ill.  The other man finally broke the stare,
rubbing fingertips over shadowed eyelids and shaking his head.  "You're
not Elvis."  He dropped his arms back over his raised knees, hands
hanging limp.  "Like most of the bad shit in the world, Pendrell, this
is just one more normal fuck up.  I just hope this one won't get us both
killed."

_________________________________________


Having the Time of My Afterlife 11
By livengoo
Livengoo@tiac.net

___________________________________________________

"So.  You girls had a nice little slumber party, huh?"  Alex Krycek
grinned and handed him a big cup of coffee.

"Thank you thank you . . ." Pendrell breathed in the scent of the coffee
with joy.  "I thought Mulder was going to attack the guard this morning
when they wouldn't bring us coffee.  I think he'd have gone peacefully
if they'd just offered him French roast."

"That's Mackie's fault."  Krycek waved them out past the guard, who
studiously ignored them.  "She thinks it'll mess up her test results --
real health food police type."

Pendrell took a deep, grateful sip.  "You won't get in trouble for this,
will you?"

Krycek hesitated, studying him then looking away.  "Don't worry about
it, Lab Mouse."

"Brian. My name is Brian.  And I don't want you to get in trouble."  He
looked down at the cup between his hands, suddenly startled to realize
that he'd told the truth.  "I don't need it if it'll get you in
trouble."

A gusty, theatrical sigh made him look back up into a sparkling grin.
"You worry too much.  A cup of coffee isn't going to send you into
epileptic fits and Mackie and Frick can go fuck themselves."

A small answering grin slowly took over Pendrell's face, then faded
under jitters that had nothing to do with caffeine.  "What are they
going to do today?  Will it be like yesterday?"

The oddest look ran over Krycek's face, something like consternation and
fear and laughter all at once.  Then he shook his head.  "Nah. Today
they just poke and prod and suck you dry.  Drink your coffee, Lab
Mouse.  You've got a long day with the vampires in store for you."

With a warm cup of coffee between his palms and butterflies in his
stomach, Pendrell didn't quite have the heart to scold Krycek again.
And by the time Dr. Frick had gotten through with him he didn't much
have the energy.  His stomach wasn't tap-dancing - it had long since
gone into a full-fledged revolt by the time Frick was done pouring sugar
water down his throat, and shoving nasty stuff into spots that made
Pendrell's skin crawl and his bottom ache.  He recognized about half the
tests Frick did -- the ones for diabetes, and the ones on his digestive
tract, and he absolutely knew when they drew blood, and then when they
drew for platelets.  By the time they'd poked, prodded, sucked, shot his
own red cells back into him, poured stuff down his throat, and checked
what came out the other end, Brian Pendrell understood why they'd needed
to kidnap him.  There was no way in Hades that he'd have let someone do
that stuff to him by choice!

Which made him something like ten to the 23rd power relieved and happy
to see Alex Krycek's face after a day that was entirely too long for
anyone's taste.  "Hey, Lab Mouse.  You ready to go, or do you want Frick
to put you back on the treadmill?"

"Please. Get me out of here."

They wouldn't need a guard to keep him docile today.  Pendrell crossed
his arms to protect the puncture marks and followed Krycek out.  He
hurried a few steps, caught up with Krycek's longer stride.  "I guess
it's back to my cell."

"Not right away, unless you're dying to get back.  I thought a
cheeseburger would make you feel better."

"That'd be great."  He blinked a couple times, almost shut up then
forged ahead.  "They treat me like I'm just some kind of thing, a lab
animal or a project.  I -- just -- This sounds so stupid, but thank you
for treating me like I'm real."

"You are real, Pendrell."  The warm, cozy, normal colors of the small
cafeteria almost choked Pendrell up again, and the sympathy in Krycek's
voice made it hard to hold onto the control that had kept him quiet and
dry-eyed all day.  "I know it's hard."

"Yeah, I guess you do."

Krycek held his silence all through the line, piling stuff on Pendrell's
tray and his own, with just a glance or a pause to check interest.  It
was starting to make Brian nervous by the time they'd found a booth and
he'd caught Krycek studying him over and over.  He fiddled with ketchup,
trying not to splash it when he tore open the packets.  "What is it?"

"You're wrong."

"About what?" Pausing, red stuff dripping down his fingers.  Krycek
blinked and he jumped, grabbing a french fry to wipe the mess off his
fingertips.  "What am I wrong about?"

"I don't know exactly what you're going through."  The green eyes
released him long enough for the other man to pull the pickle slice off
his burger.  "I can't imagine laughing at those things.  Being in a cage
-- THAT I can imagine.  But the rest . . ."

Pendrell chewed slowly, his food suddenly dry as sawdust.  "What're they
doing to Mulder today?  What did they do yesterday?"

"I wondered when you'd get around to that."  Krycek looked up, gestured
with his sandwich.  "Don't worry, I'll get some for him too."

"I -- I wish you'd take me to him.  Let me at least see -- what they're
doing is worse than what's happening to me.  Isn't it?"  He could see in
Krycek's eyes that neither of them mistook that for a real question.

Krycek worked the fingers of the prosthetic arm slowly, jerky little
movements that released, then grasped his food again.  His forehead
furrowed in concentration.  "It's -- it's worse.  Yeah.  He's used to
it, but still . . ."

"They're torturing him."  Not even the pretense of a question.

"No!"  Alex's head snapped up.  "No.  They're not.  I don't know what he
told you, but they're not.  He'll feel like shit, Pendrell, but it's an
allergy, like testing if he's allergic to bees or seafood or -- or --"

"Or alien spore-larva-virus-gross-out-oil things?"

A slow smile.  "Yeah.  Or those."

Pendrell put his sandwich down and pushed it away.  "Thank you for
dinner.  I'm sorry.  I'm just not hungry right now."

Krycek chewed, swallowed.  Then leaned forward and stole one of
Pendrell's french fries.  "You've got it bad, don't you?"

"I feel okay."

"No.  You've got it bad for Mulder.  Have you told him?"

Room temperature instantly rose about twenty degrees as every red blood
cell in Pendrell's body went straight to his face.  He strove for
dignity.  "I don't know what you're talking about."

The sparkly, shiny smile spread out all over Krycek's face.  "Lust.
Desire.  Stiffies.  A bad case of woo.  You're in love with this boy
that we're talkin' about, to paraphrase the old song.  And if I know
Mulder, he's about as clueless as you can get and still be breathing."

Pendrell stiffened and wondered if a flush could get bad enough to cause
actual damage.  "He is not clueless.  He's just . . . He doesn't think
that way."

Krycek nearly choked on his drink, and had to sit coughing and gasping
before he could answer.  "He doesn't think WHAT way, Lab Mouse?  He
doesn't think about sex?  I hate to disappoint you --"

"No."  The unyielding tone must have finally got through.  Krycek's eyes
glittered up through his lashes, but he shut up.  "I told him, Alex.
It's not funny.  He was very nice to me."

"Very n --" Krycek pulled his face into an exaggerated scowl. "Does that
mean you did get laid or you didn't get laid?"

He was going to die.  Though maybe he'd wait until he'd killed Krycek
with his spork first.  He pulled his most stuffy, dignified manner about
him in the meantime.  "It means we had a good talk, and Mulder is a very
understanding and decent man."

"And you've got blueballs, huh lonely girl?"

"I am not going to dignify that with an answer," huffed Pendrell.

"I'll take that as a yes," chortled Krycek.  His sandwich, thankfully,
kept him quiet for a while.

When he glanced back up Pendrell took a tip from Penn and Teller and
misdirected him.  He hoped.  "What did they do to Mulder today?"

"Baseline testing, just like you."  Krycek suddenly didn't seem as
comfortable, reaching for his soda to wash down his food.  "They won't
run another test until tomorrow."

Pendrell spent a long time chewing his food, and forced the bite down.
"What are they testing for, exactly, Alex?  What do they think they'll
find?"

No hint of a sparkly grin was left.  "You don't want to know."

Pendrell swallowed dry and reached for his Coke to stall.  It tasted
like battery acid.  "We won't be like you.  They'll kill us, won't
they?"

Krycek didn't look up and he didn't answer.  He wrapped up the second
sandwich on his plate with small, precise movements, folding the napkins
around it in neat creases.

"Why?"  Pendrell couldn't completely keep the pleading note out of his
voice.  "Why will they kill us?  They let you live."

The hands stilled, then turned the edges of the napkin under.  "I'm on
their side.  And there's no guarantee they won't kill me, too, if they
have to."

"But they haven't."  When he reached across the table all he could get
hold of was Alex's prosthetic hand.  The other man looked up at him,
gaze naked and startled.  "Why will they kill us?"

"Because they're scared.  They're terrified.  And they think it's life
and death."

"Do you?"

" . . . yes."
______________________________


Brian Pendrell slouched along beside Alex Krycek -- actually, he was
slinking along a little bit behind Alex if he was honest with himself.
He wondered what he could say.  Wondered what anyone could say.

Krycek was brooding.  That was the only word for it.  It didn't fit
him.  Brooding was really more a Mulder thing to do.  It made Pendrell
want to tell him jokes, or say something absurd. Really, he wanted to
see that sparkly smile again.  When Krycek glanced back at him it felt a
like that smile had never existed and Pendrell felt sort of -- drab.
Dull.

So it startled him even more when Krycek stopped cold in the middle of a
corridor that had started to look familiar.  Corporate art was the only
clue that they were around the corner from home (home?  There was
something really wrong about thinking of his and Mulder's cell as home).

Vivid green eyes broke that line of thought; sent his mind skittering in
confusion, shuffling through other things to call the cell (interim
housing, domiciliary, cramped), noticing the sort of frayed neck of
Krycek's sweatshirt, noticing how cool the wall was at his back.
Noticing anything but the spicy, warm scent of the man who was standing
almost on top of him now, and how little flecks of light brown looked
golden and soft in his eyes.  Pendrell swallowed hard against the nerves
in his belly and found the first sensible thing he could think of to
say.

"They're going to kill me."

He couldn't see Alex Krycek's face anymore.  Not since Krycek had
stooped and come closer, so close that Pendrell couldn't make out his
face as a face, but could see the bristle of beard shadowing his
jawline, and the faintest blue tracings of veins in his throat.  Alex's
whisper breathed across his skin, "yes."

A man's lips felt so strangely familiar, not as hard as Pendrell had
expected, but fuller as if there were just more there, more muscle and
flesh than a woman's face could hold.  But the rough bristle on the chin
that pressed his cheek was strange, strange . . . a sensation to grab
hold of and focus on as Alex's tongue moved hot and wet and very . . .
oh, very good across Pendrell's own lips and between, to lick at his
teeth.

When he broke the kiss and moved back Pendrell's knees wobbled and he
sagged back against the wall, breathing fast and trying to figure out if
he was more surprised, shocked or aroused.  "I -- why did you do that?"

Krycek's good hand and arm were braced against the wall behind his
head.  He could smell sweat, subtle and fresh.  This time the kiss
trailed over his cheekbone, and the tongue traced the curl of his ear.
Pendrell almost lifted his hands to push the bigger man away, but he
really couldn't decide if he wanted to.  An answer softly caressed his
ear; "I wanted to."

Blink.  Pendrell rubbed his hand across his burning cheeks, only to have
it captured and pushed over his head.  Another kiss seared his lips and
sent his thoughts tail-spinning.  Krycek finally let go, stepped back
and there, finally, was that grin.  "It's a problem with impulse
control."

"Oh."  Pendrell nodded as if it made all the sense in the world. "Of
course."

The big, shiny grin softened a little.  "Brian . . . don't worry so
much."

He'd been about to stand up and test if his knees were still wobbly, but
that comment saved him the trouble.  Pendrell glared at Krycek.  "That's
very easy for you to say.  You're not the lab mouse they're going to
'sacrifice' and dissect.  And you're not going back to a lo -- a friend
who'll be oozing gross black slime and shaking and sick."

Tiny lines crinkled at the corners of laughing eyes.  "Neither are you.
They just did baseline testing today."

"Oh.  Good.  So tomorrow they'll dissect us?"

Krycek didn't sober much, but he did settle one hand reassuringly on
Pendrell's shoulder as he pulled him back into motion.  "No. Tomorrow
they'll do another round of tests to see how resistant you both are.
And I suspect that you'll be fine.  Mulder'll feel like shit, but he's
used to that."

"Thank you so much."  Pendrell started to shake the hand off his
shoulder, but saw Frank look up as they came around the corner, felt the
fingers tighten on muscle.  Krycek glanced down at him and shook his
head very slightly.

"You'll be okay, Brian."

Ridiculous.  Pendrell stopped cold and turned to stare at Krycek, not
caring if Frank was watching, or if he was making people wait, or
anything.  There was a sour taste in the back of his throat, and a
tight, cold ball in the pit of his stomach.  "I'll be fine.  That's
really easy for you to say.  Will you be telling me that when they --
they're going to KILL me Alex!  They're going to murder me!"

Krycek flinched.  Pendrell could hear his own voice squeaking up the
scale with that thin sound he just hated himself for, but he couldn't
help it. Each word he said made Alex Krycek flinch but each word hit
Brian Pendrell himself even harder, and he was suddenly grabbing hold of
Krycek's sweatshirt and yanking the taller man close, wanting -- no,
needing to see himself in Alex's eyes, to see someone in this place see
HIM.  Someone behind him was shouting at him and grabbing his shoulders
and Krycek was shaking. No, he was shaking Alex.  Snapping him back and
forth and shouting and screaming, really. "THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME!
WHEN ARE THEY GOING TO KILL ME!"

Then the hands on his shoulders were too hard to ignore, digging into
his muscles and ripping him off of Krycek, slamming him against the
wall.  It was like he could see it from a long way away, his face
smooshed against the wall and Frank's rifle shoved across his shoulders,
Frank's voice shouting in his ear, but the words didn't mean very much
and he could see it but not feel it.  The sick, icy certainty was too
big, eating it all up and sucking him under until suddenly there was a
familiar voice, two familiar voices shouting.  Long arms wrapped tight
around him and he felt so stupid, just sobbing and choking on the words,
over and over again, hearing himself babbling "they're gonna kill me, I
don't want to, why are they going to . . ."

When his knees buckled it was only those long arms that kept him from
falling.  Two arms.  Mulder sank down on the floor next to him, holding
him too tight for Pendrell to hit, or fight, or thrash anymore.  Holding
him until he was too tired, and he couldn't even scream.

The world came back slowly, things not really making sense even though
he knew that Mulder and Krycek, between them, had pulled him onto his
feet.  Then he was sitting on his cot, a wet paper towel on the back of
his neck, dripping down under the collar of his shirt.  Mulder was
crouched in front of him, hazel eyes looking up into his, a worried
frown wrinkling up his forehead and squinching his eyes.  A cup was
shoved into his hand.  Mulder's glare told him it was Krycek doing the
shoving, even if he weren't starting to figure things out on his own
again.  He gulped the water, got it up his nose when he hiccuped, and
shut his eyes tight against the embarrassment.  There was a warm hand on
his knee and, for once, the contact didn't go to his groin.  It just
made him feel sillier.  He took a long, deep breath and hiccuped again.
"Oh crap."

Alex Krycek's quick snort of laughter broke off, and he finally cracked
open one eye to see if he was lucky enough that Mulder and Krycek would
be glaring at each other instead of looking at him with, he was sure,
his blotchy, silly red face.  No.  He wasn't that lucky.  He slumped as
much as he could with those little jumps that hiccups made him do and
sighed.  And almost laughed, himself.  "Do you two know you really do
look alike.  Are you sure you're not related?"

Identical worried frowns flashed to irritation and smug laughter in a
heartbeat, and he finally did get his wish as Mulder turned.  Judging by
the expression on his face he was hoping that, just this once, looks
would kill, and Krycek once again proved they wouldn't.  Krycek dropped
onto the cot next to him, spilling his water a little and Mulder shoved
himself onto his feet to lean on the wall at the head of the cot.  "If
you suggest that again, Pendrell, I think I'll be the next one going
into hysterics."

Krycek grinned up at the agent.  "It'd look good on you, Mulder.  I'll
comfort you."

"Fuck.  You."  Enunciated with utter precision.

"Any time you want, partner."  The snarky grin suddenly made it easier
to look at them.  It sure made him feel more grown up than either of
them.

Pendrell sighed, suddenly feeling not so much grown up, as just plain
old.  "So when are they going to kill us, Alex?  Or are they referring
to it as sacrificing us?"

Two pairs of eyes came around and just watched him with no expression he
could identify.  For a strange heartbeat there was a sense of
complicity, but Pendrell couldn't have said for the life of him who was
complicit with whom.  Mulder broke the impasse first, looking away.
"They'll kill us when they've found out what they want to know."

"You've got at least a couple days.  Maybe a week or two."  Krycek
hunched, elbows on knees, and studied the floor between his feet.

"Thank you so much for that reassuring information."  Mulder's lips
twitched and Pendrell looked back quickly, seeing the uneasy grimace on
Krycek's face.  Green eyes narrowed as Mulder pushed himself away from
the wall, prowling close to crouch in front of the two of them.  His
voice was low, silky.  "I tell you what, Krycek.  Why don't you tell me
something I don't know, something really useful."

The mocking answer sounded hollow.  "Why would I do that, Feeb?"

"Because you've done it before."  Mulder reached over and tapped
Krycek's knee.  Pendrell flinched at each touch and scratched his own
knee.

Krycek didn't seem to notice, suddenly leaning forward with his face
close to Mulder's.  The bright, brittle smile was strange.  "Why not
just beat me up for it like you usually do, Mulder?"

Hazel eyes darkened, glanced at the camera over the door.  "Would it do
me any good?"

"Why ask?  That's never stopped you before."

The skin along Pendrell's side was crawling where Alex Krycek's body
warmed it.  He cleared his throat but neither man seemed to notice him.

Mulder's smiled sharpened, answering Krycek's tone.  "Don't tease,
Alex.  Are they going to let you do the coup de grace?"

Krycek's lips pressed together, not a frown but the smile was still
gone.  Pendrell suddenly remembered to breathe and took a fast gulp.
When the smile flooded back it was startling, brilliant, warm.  "There's
a lottery for who gets to do you, Fox.  Can't tell 'til we get the
winning numbers."

"Asshole."  Mulder's cheeks flushed but he didn't lunge, just moved back
to his spot by the wall.  When Krycek stood, Pendrell thought he'd
follow for an instant, but instead he just fished up the back of his
sweatshirt.

"Sorry, Mulder.  No secrets for sale today.  But I did bring you girls
something to read.  Happy dreams, chicas!"

The magazine dropped into Pendrell's lap even as Krycek turned,
sauntering to the door.  Frank must have been watching -- it slid open
on cue and he was gone.

Mulder was quiet for a long time, staring at the wall where the
featureless door stayed shut.  Pendrell watched him.  He thought he
could hear the low grind of molars before the agent blinked and suddenly
shifted, looking at him. "So, what did Ratboy give us?"

Pendrell's neck twinged he looked down so fast, then his head twinged
when he saw the blue cover with the smirking boy looking out at him.
Sugar. No. Shit. Damn. Fuck. "Cosmo."
_________________________________

It had been a rough night.  But the morning . . . the morning was a
thing unto itself.

Brian Pendrell breathed in deep and shuddered at the scent of Fox
Mulder's sweat.  Mulder gave a soft gasp, a grunt that sent an electric
jolt up Pendrell's spine.  His mouth was dry with lust, blood pounding
in his head -- well, actually, in his whole body.  Pendrell clenched the
cotton sheet in his fists and prayed for mad scientists to interrupt
Mulder's push-ups before he mortally embarrassed himself.

Five minutes later all he could do was wonder just exactly how hard he
HAD been praying.  One or two mad scientists would have been enough. He
supposed he shouldn't criticize, but he would have been happy with just
Dr. Frick and Alex Krycek.  The very big guy and Dr. Mackie were
overkill.  Actually, the big guy would have been overkill all by
himself.  Watching him was sort of like watching a Learning Channel
special on glaciers, except that glaciers didn't wear bad ties and . .
.  Something was wrong.

Pendrell's tummy did a sudden flip-flop.  He froze, stunned by a
thought, then slowly checked again.  Oh gosh, oh gosh, but Dr. Mackie
looked nervous, fingers locked around a clipboard until her knuckles
turned white and her eyes kept flicking around from him to Mulder, to
Krycek and Frick -- Frick looked like he wanted to be ill.  The round
face was slick and greasy-looking, and sweat darkened his collar.  Even
Krycek wasn't looking at Pendrell, but kept his eyes fixed on the back
of the big man's neck.

Mulder had risen to his feet, a slow smile pasting itself across his
face.  "I was wondering if you'd show up."

No one looked at Pendrell when he crawled out of his cot.  They were all
busy, glancing back and forth at each other.  All except Mulder and the
big man in the brown suit.  The suit was too small, but that made
sense.  It must be hard to find suits that big.

The glacier's eyes narrowed and one big, stubby-fingered hand pointed at
Mulder.  "What is he doing here?"  Even his voice was like icy gravel.

Mulder smirked.  "We're Dr. Mackie's guests."

The small eyes suddenly turned to Pendrell.  "Who are you?"

"Brian Pendrell!"  He was breathless with relief, grabbing the big,
square hand and shaking it.  "I am so glad you're here!  They captured
us and we've been waiting and waiting for you to get here and put them
under arrest.  They've been -- mmph!"  Alex Krycek's hand had slapped
over his mouth.  Pendrell let go of the giant's hand and tried to peel
the fingers off his mouth.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" hissed the one-armed man.
Pendrell bit his finger.

The giant was staring distastefully at the hand Pendrell had been
shaking.  Krycek's hand tightened.  "Stop biting me."

Pendrell bit him again and the taller man let go.  "Don't do that!"

"But I -"  Pendrell broke off as he was pulled off balance, stumbling
back.

Krycek was pulling him back towards the wall beside the cot, whispering
harshly in his ear.  "Will you shut up?"

"Don't gag me again!"  Pendrell shoved Krycek's hands away.

"All right!  All right!  But shut up!"

Frick was edging between them and the big man.  "Please shut him up," he
whispered.

"What?"  Pendrell glared up into green eyes.  "He's going to arrest
you.  What difference does it make?"

Krycek stared blankly for a moment.  "Arrest me?  Kill me maybe, but
arrest me?"

"Let go of me!  Just because you lost --"

"What?  I didn't lose anything!"  Krycek was pushing him into the wall.

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did . . . what are we talking about?"  Krycek pinched the bridge of his
nose.  Pendrell tried to peek past him.  Mackie was saying something
about research and vaccines, but it didn't make sense.  Krycek leaned
down close again.  "Listen, Brian.  This is bad, but just be quiet and
I'll take care of you."  This close, Pendrell could see a faint sheen of
sweat on his face too.

He patted Krycek's arm.  "Don't worry.  I'll tell the judge you were
good to us."

Krycek blinked, then bit his lips on a laugh that melted too fast.  He
leaned close and whispered more softly, "Brian, he is not here to rescue
you.  You do NOT want to know why he is here.  Just shut up, okay?"

"Sssshhhhh . . ."  Frick glared at them.  His red, oily face suddenly
went pale and he turned slowly to face the room where Mulder and Mackie
had been arguing.

The room had gone quiet.  Pendrell leaned to one side, looking past the
scientist's shoulder.  And met three pairs of eyes.  No, two.  Mulder
had glanced away and was studying Mackie, the big guy, then Krycek.
Next to him, Pendrell felt the one armed man tense.

"What is it?"  Pendrell asked Krycek, who startled at his question.  The
muscles at the back of Frick's neck twitched.

"We . . .we should get to the lab."  Mackie's voice caught.  The skin
was stretched tight across her pale cheekbones.

"Don't rush on our account," drawled Mulder.  He was staring up into the
glacier's beady eyes.  "Our oily little friends can wait."

The big man's jaw clenched and he glanced back at Mackie.  "You know
they do not want him touched."

"I wasn't the one who compromised him!"  She bristled.

Pendrell's stomach lurched as cold, beady eyes came around in a circle.
He could almost hear the vertebrae crack in that thick neck.  "And this
one . . . what is he?  He seems familiar."

He mustered a big smile, smirked at Alex and recaptured a hand the size
of a baseball mitt.  "I'm Brian Pendrell.  FBI.  Which agency are you
with?"

Mackie made a funny little squeak and Frick sort of lurched into
Pendrell, pulling his hand away from the big guy's.  The glacier-guy
pulled his hand back and stared at it, up at Pendrell, then at Frick.
"Explain."

"He's just another --"

"Addled by --"

"Too many implants --"

Mulder's voice cut through Mackie and Frick and Krycek's babble, low and
precise.  "He's with me."

Mackie looked sick.  Frick looked sticky-scared.  And Krycek?  Ratboy
licked his lips and smiled at Mulder, big and bright and hungry.  His
hand was slick and warm, fingers tight on Pendrell's.

"He was not with you before."  The grinding voice was slow, thoughtful.

The agent shrugged.  Mackie was shaking her head, eyes skittering from
Mulder to Pendrell to Krycek and back again.  Mulder glanced over,
caught Pendrell's look and smiled ruefully.  "What can I say.  I have a
thing for red heads."

"Humor."  The giant's head swiveled from Mulder to Pendrell and back.
"It is one of your more annoying qualities.  Explain."

"You're repeating yourself."  Mulder shifted, edged past him to stand in
front of Pendrell.  "You said you loved me, didn't you Pendrell?"

Oh, gosh.  God.  His stomach was knotted up into a little ball.
Krycek's hand squeezed his and he nodded.  "Yeah.  I do.  I mean, I did
. . ."

Mulder looked back at the giant before Pendrell could read whatever
might have been in his eyes.  He shrugged again.  "Body fluids.
Including those nasty little oily ones you guys like so much."

Mackie slid past the giant to stand behind Mulder.  "He's just another
exposure case.  Like you wanted."   The skin was tight across her
cheekbones, white over the bridge of her nose.  "Just like Dr. Mulder.
Compromised."

"He is nothing like Dr. Mulder."  The giant grimaced and, Pendrell would
almost have sworn, rubbed his stomach like it ached before he shoved his
way out of the room, muttering "of that I am totally sure."

"Mulder . . ."  Pendrell reached out, touched the other man.  "What did
you mean?"

The rueful grin was familiar by now.  "I'll tell you later, Brian."

"Later?"  He didn't get it.  Didn't get any of it.  Krycek's hand was
squeezing his, but he was watching Mackie and Mulder.

The doctor didn't look like a mad scientist anymore.  She just looked
sick and scared.   "Dr. Mulder, I . . ."

He couldn't see Mulder's face, couldn't see the look on it when the
agent turned to face her.  Whatever it was made her blink and nod.  Her
voice steadied.  "Thank you."

"Fuck off, Mackie."  He glanced back.  "Take good care of him, Ratboy."

"Yeah, Mulder."  Krycek's words were so soft Pendrell wondered if he
even heard them right.  "Say 'hi' to Sam."

_____________________________________


Having the Time of My Afterlife 12
By livengoo
Livengoo@tiac.net

_______________________________________________

Pendrell was holding his breath.  He let it out in a soft little gasp
and Frick and Alex Krycek both jumped.

"I -- I.-- I. . ."  Dr. Frick's eyes were jumping, skipping around the
tiny room that Mackie, Mulder and That Other Guy had vacated.

Next to Pendrell, Krycek suddenly shook himself and grinned wolfishly.
"Yeah.  You - you -- you."

Dr. Frick wiped his sleeve across his slick, shiny face in a jerky
motion.  "I'd b-b-better get after them," he muttered, scuttling through
the door.

His Weejuns squeaked off down the hall.  Pendrell blinked at the empty
door, feeling vaguely sick to his stomach.  "I don't understand."

"What's to understand?  We get to play hooky."  Alex brushed past him,
out the door.

"Huh?  Hey!"  Pendrell peeked out the door after him then rushed to
catch up.  "Alex!  WAIT!"

"Better hurry up, Lab Rat.  Don't want them to put you back in your
cage."

"Alex!  STOP."  Pendrell yanked the taller man around, digging fingers
into the plastic of his arm.

Krycek hissed and grabbed Pendrell's wrist.  His face was harsh, mouth
pulled thin.  "Let.  Go."

Pendrell swallowed hard and loosened his grip.  His brain was framing an
apology, but his mouth had its own plans.  "Who was he and why did
Mulder know him?  And why were Dr. Frick and Dr. Mackie --"

"Scared shitless," Krycek interrupted.  His expression softened to a
grudging smile.

". . . yeah."  Pendrell nodded slowly.  "I don't get it.  You said he's
not FBI, so why are they scared? If he's on their side, what are they
worried about?  Why does Mulder know him?  Where did they take --"

Krycek's finger pressed into his lips, stopping the words.  "Do you
really want to stand here and do Conspiracy 101?  Because I sure as hell
don't."  He tugged his arm free and walked away, glancing back.  "Come
on, Lab Rat.  Near misses make me . . ."  he paused, "hungry."

"Pendrell.  My name is . . ." he caught himself and dry-scrubbed his
face, infuriated.  People walked past, eyeing him oddly.  Krycek turned
a corner and Pendrell ran to catch up.  "Where did they take Mulder?"

The multiple agent threw his arm around Pendrell's shoulders and gave
him a bright, shiny smile as he dragged him down a narrower, emptier
corridor to a door with a palm lock.  One that opened for his palm.  The
real one, at least.  "So many questions, Lab Rat.  Just calm down and
all will be answered in due time.  What kind of ice cream do you like?"

"Ice --.what ARE you talking about?"  Pendrell stumbled through the
door, Krycek's prosthetic hand hauling him by his collar.

"I'm talking about chocolate, strawberry and vanilla, Bri."  He let go
of Pendrell and went to root in the kitchen of an apartment with the
best view Brian Pendrell had ever seen.

He barely noticed the furniture he walked past, though the big room held
a lot of it.  It looked like one whole wall was glass.  Pendrell brushed
his fingers across the cool, smooth surface, staring.  "Rockies?"

"Nope."  Krycek stood beside him, licking blotchy pink ice cream off a
spoon.  "Cherry Garcia."

"I see why Mulder calls you Ratboy."

"Mulder calls me Ratboy because he has trouble with names."  He was
licking slowly and thoroughly at another spoonful of ice cream.  "You
should hear what he calls my boss."

Pendrell tore his eyes from the lascivious licking and met a quizzical
gaze.  For just a moment he wanted to point out that Mulder hadn't had
trouble with HIS name, or to ask why he'd been promoted from Lab Mouse.
He resisted the urge.  "Is the great big guy your boss?"

"Nope."  Krycek held out a fresh spoonful of ice cream.  "Want some?"

"That's a used spoon.  And you haven't answered any of my questions."
He crossed his arms and glared mulishly up past the pink stuff to the
man who held it.

Krycek stuck the spoon in the ice cream carton and sighed.  "No.  He's
not my boss.  His real job is way too complicated to describe before my
ice cream melts but the short form is that he's a shape shifting alien
lackey of evil, imperialist aggressive colonial extraterrestrial
entities.  Anything else?"

Pendrell blinked, staring back into gently mocking green eyes.  "What
about Mulder?"

Alex Krycek went silent, face unreadable for what felt like an awfully
long time, but was probably just a few heartbeats.  Pendrell, fidgeting,
leaned back against the window glass but made himself hold Krycek's
gaze.  "Why won't you tell me what's happening to him?  Where did they
take . . ."  He trailed off as an idea kindled to terrible life.  "Oh
god.  Oh god.  You won't tell me because they're killing him and they're
gonna come get me and that's why you call me --"

A sudden kiss shut him up.  Krycek was pressing warm lips to his, hot,
sugary-sweet tongue probing his mouth.  Pendrell tried to push him away
but Alex was heavy.  The kiss deepened and Brian could hear his own
pulse in his ears, could taste ice cream and mint and the
not-quite-familiar, indescribable flavor of another person's mouth.
Alex Krycek released his mouth, trailing kisses along his cheek to his
ear.  Whispered words tickled the peach fuzz Pendrell has always wished
would grow into side burns.  "Calm down, Brian.  Calm."

The hand that wasn't holding the ice cream wove fingers into his hair -
warm, human fingers.  "They're not killing Mulder.  And I won't let them
kill you."

"Pendrell's voice cracked," I don't believe you!"

Alex Krycek leaned back until Pendrell could look in his eyes.  He
pulled his hand from Pendrell's hair and wiped away tears Brian hadn't
felt himself shed.  "Trust me on this, Brian."  His voice was quiet,
face serious.  "I will not let them kill you."

"I . . .you mean it, don't you?"

"Yep."  Krycek suddenly scowled.  "But my ice cream's melted.  I guess
I'll have to find something else to eat."

The look in his eyes set butterflies going in Pendrell's stomach and a
tingle he didn't quite mind in his groin.  "Something else?"

Alex Krycek put down his ice cream carton and leaned in against Pendrell
again, nibbling at the tender skin under his ear.  "Like I told you.
Near misses make me very, very hungry."

______________________________________________


Pendrell pulled the sheet up over his bare chest and glared.  "If you
ever -- and I mean EVER -- breathe a word of this to anybody, I'll kill
you."

Krycek rose slowly on one elbow and stared down at him.  "Who's going to
care that we had sex?"

"Shut up!  I told you not to mention it!"  He covered his eyes with his
hand and groaned.  What the heck had he been thinking?

"You told me not to tell anybody.  You didn't say I couldn't talk about
it with you."  Krycek pried Pendrell's fingers from his eyes.  "I'd
never have pegged you for a screamer."

"I said shut up, Ratboy!"

"Oooh, getting pissy, Lab Rat?  Besides, I won't tell.  My reputation's
bad enough as it is."

Pendrell bristled in spite of himself.  "What's THAT supposed to mean?"

"Bisexual's one thing, Bri."  He reached out and stroked the tender,
healing dent in Pendrell's chest.  "Necrophilia's an entirely different
matter.  Not that I'm complaining."

"Necro -- you thought having sex with me was like being with a dead
man?"  Pendrell hated the way his voice got squeaky when he was angry.
Hated the way his eyes felt scratchy and hot and -- dammit.  He was
angry.  Not . . .anything else.  "You thought I was dead in bed!"

"I didn't say that!"  Krycek sat up, frowning.  "What the hell is your
problem?  One minute you're mad because I did have sex with you and the
next you're mad because I'm not . . . ARRRGHHH!"

"You're ashamed of me."  Pendrell couldn't stand feeling like this, ugly
and naked.  He curled up burying his face in his knees.  "It's because
I'm dead, isn't it?  Just admit it."

"You are not . . ."  When he peeked over Krycek was spluttering, shaking
his head.  "I don't care about that.  So you're mortality challenged.
Who cares?"

"Now you're making fun of me."  Pendrell snagged his jockeys and pulled
them on, hiding under the sheet.  "I didn't ask to get killed.  Just
admit it.  You're sorry you made love to me."

"Come back here."  Warm fingers snagged the back of Pendrell's shorts as
he tried to get out of bed, tumbling him back into Krycek's arms.  "Were
you always like this, or is it Mulder's fault?"

"What are yoummmwmf!"  The kiss was wet, and hot, and just long enough
to chase the bad feelings back to their corners.  Pendrell moaned into
Alex Krycek's mouth, grabbed him and kissed him right back.

Krycek pushed him away with a gasp and a laugh.  "I knew I liked red
heads for a reason."

"Mmm."  Pendrell rolled over on his stomach, trying to remember what
anyone in any movie he'd ever watched did at a time like this.
Unfortunately, there just wasn't a large selection of choices.  "Are you
-- I mean, will you --"  He finally just let the questions trail off.
Undead or not, there were just some things he couldn't ask for.

The silence hung between them for a moment.  Until a beeper broke it.
Krycek frowned and rooted in the clothes by his side of the bed, coming
up with what looked like a Palm Pilot.  Pendrell grabbed the sheets and
scooted down, watching him.  Alex Krycek had wide shoulders.  Pendrell
could see the corner of his jaw.  Stubble was growing on it.  Stubble.
Oh god, he really, really was a man.  A guy.  Male.  And he'd -- they'd
-- his bottom was sore.  He supposed that this was how Mary-Jo Bzernick
had felt that time when they'd spent the night in the back of her dad's
car, except that it wasn't QUITE the same, now that he thought about it,
which he really wished he could stop doing.  Krycek was raking his
fingers through his hair, glaring at the Palm Pilot.

Pendrell scooted over towards him.  "What am I going to tell my mother?"

Krycek's face went blank.  "What?"

"Oh god, Alex, what am I going to say to her?  How will I tell her about
you?  Does this mean I'm gay?  It'll break her heart!"

"If she didn't just drop dead when you were murdered," murmured Krycek,
going back to his Palm Pilot.

"Alex!"  Pendrell plucked the Palm Pilot out of his hands.  "Oh my god,
do you mean that?  What happened to my mother?"

"Give me that!"  He lunged and Pendrell pulled the little thing back,
out of his reach.

"Tell me about my mother!  What happened to her?"

"Pendrell!"  The Palm Pilot was snatched out of his hands.  "The last I
heard your mother was fine, Lab Rat.  And telling her about me should be
easy compared to telling her why you're not dead."

"Oh my God."  He goggled.  "Oh God, you're right.  Oh God, what am I
going to tell her?"

"Tell her it's a miracle."  Krycek studied the little machine and
swore.  "Hell, you may not have to worry about it.  Get dressed.  We've
got to get moving."

"What?  Why?  Where?"

"Out, Pendrell.  Away."  He yanked on his pants and stalked into the
living room.  "Where did you leave your shit?"

"I don't know!  Tell me what's going on?"

"I'll tell you later.  We need to get going."  Krycek's voice echoed
from the living room.  Pendrell's shirt and jeans came flying through
the door.

The sheets were still damp and they smelled like men.  Pendrell stared
at the clothes on the floor, unconsciously fingering the bullet hole in
his chest.  His butt hurt.  And Krycek was making a racket in the living
room, cursing.  Pendrell picked up his jeans and scowled.  "Alex,
where's Mulder?"

There was a long pause, then Krycek stuck his head into the bedroom.
"You're not dressed yet.  Get that shit on."

"Where.  Is.  Mulder?"

"He'll catch up with us later, Pendrell.  Just get dressed.  We're
wasting time."

Pendrell scooted to the edge of the bed and started pulling his pants
on.  The sick, scared feeling was getting worse.  "Unsafe sex."

Krycek had been pulling a shoulder holster on.  He looked up.  "What?"

"We had unsafe sex," Pendrell blurted, looking away and down at the
buttons he was fastening.  "And you're rushing.  And armed.  I'm scared,
Alex, but I don't want you to lie to me.  I'd rather know."

"We don't have time to play twenty questions, Brian!  Just say what you
mean."

Pendrell couldn't get the last button through the hole.  He wadded the
cloth up in sweaty, cold hands.  "Are you going to kill me?  Did you
lie?"

Krycek stalked up to him, grabbing his chin.  "You haven't been paying
attention, Pendrell.  Turn your fucking ears on, asshole!  I.  Am.
Not.  Letting.  You.  Get.  Killed."

He wanted to believe it.  His mouth kept going while his mind tried to
figure out why Krycek might not be lying.  "What about the unsafe sex?"

"You can't catch it!" Krycek yelled and leaned down until Pendrell's
eyes almost crossed.  "I don't have anything you haven't already sent
running back to its tin can.  Now fucking get fucking dressed!  We're
getting the hell out of here!"

"Getting out?"

Alex Krycek was rushing around the apartment.  Things were shoved at
Pendrell; a leather jacket.  A gun.  Hiking boots.  "Wait!"

"Get the boots on, Pendrell."

"Why?"  He sat back down on the bed, holding the gun.  "What are you
doing?"

Krycek glared at him, hands still moving, checking pockets, patting
himself down.  His words were clipped.  "Get dressed.  We don't have
time for your tantrums right now."

"Tant . . ."  Pendrell sucked in a slow, calming breath and fingered the
bullet hole again.  "Look.  That's it.  Explain or -- or -- "  He waved
the gun in Krycek's general direction, hoping he looked more confident
and menacing than he felt.

Krycek's eyes lit up with something that couldn't possibly have been
amused interest, but that really didn't look like anything else.  "We
don't have time for foreplay right now."

"Fore . . . ARGH!"  He took the grip in both hands like he'd seen the
field agents do, and glared.  "First we're in bed and then you're
running around and yelling about getting ready.  What the -- the HELL
are you doing?"

"You can play with phallic symbols later, Pendrell."  He'd been right
the first time.  There really was no mistaking that look for anything
but amused interest.  "Right now we really don't have time."

"We sure as hell do."  All the frustration and fear and confusion that
had been simmering came to a boil in the middle of his chest.  Right
about where the bullet had ripped his life apart, he couldn't help
thinking.  "I'm sick of being yanked around by you, and Mulder, and
everyone!"  He waved the gun at Krycek, wondering what he was going to
do with it.  If he could even bring himself to shoot it.  Would he?  He
glared at Krycek's smile and thumbed off the safety.

Or he thought it was the safety.  At least until the ammunition clip hit
the floor.

"I thought they shot you in the chest, not the head!"  Krycek leaned
forward and took the gun out of his hand.  He wasn't even trying not to
laugh, the rat.

"I don't care.  I want to know where Mulder is.  I want to know what
this is about."

"And I'll tell you.  As soon as we've got a few hours to spare, but this
is not the right time for that kind of pillow talk.  Now get dressed."

"Not until --"

"Oh, FUCK!  Get the fucking boots ON and I'll tell you."

For a second he debated arguing, then grabbed a boot.  "Tell."

"We're leaving.  I made some calls."  From the corner of his eye,
Pendrell watched the other man check the Palm Pilot again.  His
movements were jerky, nervous.  "We've got about half an hour before
Scully descends on this place like the wrath of God.  Hurry UP."

"Why?  I mean . . ."  Pendrell floundered a moment.  "I mean, how does
she know, and how many people, and why should we run?  They're the good
guys.  I'll tell them about you, Alex.  I . . ."

Krycek crouched down, intent eyes holding Pendrell still.  "Scully is
coming here with a big motherfucking raid because I've been feeding her
enough to get the FBI, and the ATF, and the DEA down our throats all in
one big party.  Hell, I'm why she's in the neighborhood at all, though
she'd shit if she knew."

"She -- she'll help us.  I mean, she's one of us."  He twisted the shirt
hem between his hands as he said it, not wanting to see her, and eager
to see her all at once.  Not wanting to think about why he might hate
seeing her.

"Brian, why do you think this is happening?  Any of it?  Didn't you
think about the last week at all?  Mackie will kill you before she lets
you come to light.  She has to."

"Me?"  He froze.  "But I'm not -- .Why would they want to kill -- why
kill me?"

Alex's hand snaked out, wrapped around the back of his neck.  Fingers
stroked a spot just below where his hair grew.  The spot the Long Gunmen
had said covered the chips, such a long few days ago.  "You came back to
life, Brian.  The Infiltrators can't touch you.  You're immune to them.
Did you honestly never ask yourself why?  Mackie can't afford to let the
Colonists learn about you.  She can't afford to let the Grays find out.
She can't let the FBI or the morphs or anyone, any of them, find out
what you are.  And the FBI would be as bad as telling the Grays, because
it would get back.  No question.  When she figures out what's coming,
she'll have no choice."

"I -- "  He bit his tongue before he could stammer.  "I don't
understand.  I don't!"

"We don't have time.  They're on the way."  Krycek pulled the balled up
jacket out of his hands and wrapped it around his shoulders.  "You're
going to have to trust me."

Pendrell blinked, then slipped his arms into the sleeves.  "But I don't
trust you."

"I know."  Krycek handed him back the gun.  "But you don't have any
other choice, do you?"

He didn't need to say the answer out loud.  They both knew what it was.

______________________________

Having the Time of My Afterlife 13
By livengoo
Livengoo@tiac.net

_______________________________________


How far did they have to go to get out of there?  It was hard to believe
how big this place was.  "Alex," he hissed.  "How did this place stay
hidden so long?"

Krycek stared at him blankly for a moment before he turned back to the
keypad and keyed them through another door.  "Who said it stayed
hidden?"

Pendrell looked around him as he waited, turned back.  "Come on.  You
can't tell me there's a line in the budget for 'base to do experiments
on humans and alien oily stuff in the Rockies.'  This isn't on the
Congressional junket stop.  How did a place like this stay hidden,
Alex?"

"Brian.  I'm going to say this once and I don't want you to take it
wrong."  Krycek turned towards him with an expression of long-suffering
patience.  "There is no Santa Claus and there IS a conspiracy.  Now will
you shut UP?  I'll tell you about the birds and the bees and the aliens
later."

"I already know about . . . oh.  That's not what you meant."  Pendrell
blushed furiously.

"Good man."  Alex gave him that big smile again.  "Write something on
your clip-board.  We've got another guard post coming up."

"Another . . ."  Something was wrong with that.
Twitchy-nerves-blew-the-final-exam-instinct wrong.  Pendrell came to a
screeching halt as it hit him .  "This isn't the right way."

The look he got was somewhere between resignation and homicide.  Krycek
wrapped stiff, mechanized fingers around his arm.  "It's the right way.
Trust me."

"I DON'T trust you and that hurts!"  The guard at the end of the hall
glared at them.  Pendrell lowered his voice.  "They took Mulder the
other way."

"I know."  Krycek tugged on his arm.  "Come on."

"Pendrell tugged back.  "No."

"Brian . . ."  Krycek glanced at the guard.  "Look, Mulder's going to
meet us later, okay?"  His eyes met Pendrell's with the kind of utter
sincerity he usually associated with politicians and insurance salesmen.

It was infuriating.  Pendrell set the crpe soles of his boots against
the tiles and pulled.  "Just how stupid do you think I am?"

"Right now?  Very!"  Krycek dragged him back around the corner, away
from those eyes.  "Look, Brian, we have to get out of here and we don't
have time for the bullshit."

Pendrell glared.  "It's not bullshit.  I'm not leaving without Mulder."

Krycek leaned close and growled "I do not want to get killed for your
wet dreams, Pendrell.  It's not cute anymore.  Nobody gives a shit that
you've got a hard on for Fox Mulder, including him.  He doesn't love
you, Pendrell."

"I know that."  He swallowed the hurt, keeping his voice calm.

The words hung between them for several long heartbeats as Alex Krycek's
ugly sneer faded.  "Then quit yanking my chain."

"I'm not.  And I'm not leaving without Mulder."

Irritation flickered in green eyes, to be shuttered by smooth sympathy.
"It's okay, Brian.  He'd want you to go."

He probably would, too, thought Pendrell.  It didn't matter.  "I don't
care.  We're going to go get him."  He tried to pull his arm free but
Krycek tightened his grip.

"We're leaving now, Brian.  I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be sorry, Alex.  Because we're not going to leave
him."

Krycek just turned and started to drag.  There wasn't any choice.  He
knew he couldn't fight Krycek.  Pendrell set his feet and rubbery soles
squealed on the tiles.  "Stop that or I'll scream!"

"Act like a grown up, Brian."

"I am."  He pulled hard, knowing it wouldn't help.  Krycek glared and
pulled and Pendrell stumbled, set his feet again.  "You can't drag me
the whole way and I will yell!"

"And then what?"  Krycek rounded on him.  "They'll kill you.  And I KNOW
you don't want to die."

He didn't.  He really so very much did not want to die, but he set his
feet and hunkered down.  "No.  We're not leaving him."

Krycek's glare spoke louder than words.  "I'll carry you out."

Pendrell's mind raced.  "Unconscious?  With the guys you said Dr. Mackie
would send after me?  How far would you get, Alex?"

The pull on his arm stopped.  Krycek let go, hand falling to his side.
The blank look in his eyes was terrible.  Pendrell swallowed.  "I'm not
leaving without him, Alex.  You go.  I -- I want you to."

"I can't."  No protest.  No emotion.  Just a simple, resigned statement
of fact.

He could see that the other man meant it.  Half-reached towards him,
"Alex, I want you to get out.  If I don't get out, I don't want you
hurt."

Krycek snorted.  "You are so full of shit.  Will you stop thinking with
your cock?"

Pendrell stared.  "But . . ."

"Come on.  Let's get this over with."

_____________________________________


The sirens went off before they got there.  Pendrell could see the
strobe lights reflected in the whites of Krycek's eyes as they ran.  He
could also see the strobes reflected in the finish of the gun Krycek
held close to his side, and he was wordlessly grateful that everyone
they passed was too busy or too smart to try to stop them.  There was
another light outside the lab, ominous red, and the symbol on it was
familiar from fall out shelters and bottles of isotopes.  Radiation
hazard.  Alex Krycek went pale and stumbled to a stop, staring up at the
warning light.  "Christ."

He looked like he was going to be sick.  Pendrell glanced up at the rad
hazard light and back to Krycek.  "Is this the lab?"

"Yeah."  Krycek sounded funny, kind of squeaky-dry.  Pendrell frowned
and poked his arm.  "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Krycek turned, face set.  "It's too late, Brian."

"I thought we already had this talk, Alex."  Pendrell frowned.  "I don't
want to do this again.  My arm still hurts from last time."

"You don't understand."  He really did look like he felt sick.

Pendrell looked at the people rushing past them and thought about it a
second, then shook his head.  "And you don't have time to explain and I
don't really give a damn, Alex!  Either get him or leave without me."

Krycek pulled his hand over his face.  "I can't leave without you."

It snagged Pendrell's curiosity.  "Why not?"

"Oh shit.  Don't you ever stop asking questions?"

Exasperation was an improvement on dread, at least.  Pendrell made a
mental note to ask again later and kept his own face determined.  He
didn't have a clue about the code when he reached for the keypad by the
door, but if conspirators had the same bad memory as most humans did
then they'd probably use one of the big-five-common-codes he'd read
about in Popular Science.  "It's okay.  If you're too scared then I'll
get him myself."

"Stop that."  Krycek slapped his hand away.  "Jesus Christ, but you're
going to owe me big for this."

He grinned to himself.  "I promise I'll behave after this."

Krycek made a very rude noise and looked up as a light on the panel
flashed from amber to green.  He half-turned towards the door and
stopped, looking back at Pendrell with bleak eyes.  "Mulder's . . . if
I'm not back in five minutes, Pendrell, run.  Get out of here.  Promise
me."

"Why?"

A mirthless grin.  "Just promise, you little shit."

Alex Krycek was terrified.  He could see it.  Pendrell finally nodded.
"Okay."

"Good."  He stepped through a, a second later, the door slid shut behind
him.

______________________________________


He'd never really thought about alarms before.  Fire alarms and bomb
scares and those security door boo-boos at airports - you heard the
sirens go off and looked around and went where they told you to go.
This siren was a low, two-tone double-whoop that vibrated in his bones.
Pendrell stood there and tried not to look nervous, scribbling in his
notepad.  Not that he really thought he had anything to worry about in
the being-noticed department.  There were a lot of people here, pushing
big, square, wheeled carts , ducking through doors, talking in low,
scared voices with each other but none of them bothered to do more than
glance at him.

WHOOP-whoop.

The alarm blared out once every eight seconds.  Before it had only been
the lights, but the alarm had started whooping out loud a little bit
after Alex had walked through the door.  He hadn't wanted to mention it
when Alex told him to give it five minutes, but he'd left his watch
behind somewhere in the apartment.

WHOOP-whoop.

Once every eight seconds, loud and then soft,
forty-seven-one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-WHOOP-whoop-forty-eight-one
and what the HELL was Alex doing in there?  How many whoops in five
minutes?  Two seconds WHOOP-whoop and then eight in between, six to a
minute to make thirty in WHOOP-whoop and oh, jeez, but it had been ten
minutes since he'd gone in and . . . the door slid open.

Alex Krycek's face was a terrible, blanched white, hair slicked back wet
with sweat.  There was a strange, sharp odor of burnt meat on the air
when he stepped out, with Fox Mulder right behind him.  Pendrell
breathed a sigh of relief and half-reached for Mulder, but the relief
and the smile on his face both died away as the agent's eyes skimmed
over him without reaction, moving past to take in the hall with the
same, blank look.  Krycek, on the other hand, looked scared sick.

"Alex?  What's wrong with --"

"Don't you EVER shut up?"  Krycek shook his head and took off down the
hall, pushing through the traffic going in the other direction.
"Anything else, Pendrell?  Maybe stop for a latte?  Or can we finally
get out of here?"

The tone was harsh but Pendrell could practically see Krycek putting his
bravado back together, putting his mask back in place.  "I don't see why
you're being so nasty," Pendrell observed in a carefully mild tone.  "No
one's even looked at us.  Maybe they're too busy to care."

"Huh."  Krycek glanced back to where Mulder followed them.  "Maybe
they're too scared."

Maybe.  Pendrell supposed he'd be pretty scared too if it was his
illicit base being raided by the assembled forces of the law.  But it
was definitely not conducive to quietly walking out of the place.
People bumped into them, sometimes glaring at them as Krycek pushed a
path through for the three of them.  Pendrell stayed close to Krycek,
finally grabbing the back of his jacket the way he'd done with his dad
when he was a kid.  The crowds here were as bad as any Christmas
shopping mall mob he'd ever seen.  Except that they didn't have any
Santa Claus bellringers or anything of course. . .  He'd lost track of
where they were when Krycek led them through another door and suddenly
the hall was almost empty, so quiet that Krycek's voice made Pendrell
jump.

"You can let go of my coat now."

He let go fast, flushing under the amused gaze.  "Umm . . . I didn't
want to get lost."

Green eyes traveled past this shoulder, amusement fading to something
Pendrell couldn't read, then went shuttered and calm.  "Listen to me.
We're almost out, Brian.  Please, PLEASE, promise me you'll shut up."

Pendrell bristled a bit.  "What did I do?  I didn't do anything!  Well,
except for . . ."  He glanced back over his shoulder to where Mulder
stood, silent and watchful.

"Do you really expect me to answer that?"  Amusement flickered again at
the back of Krycek's eyes.  "Just promise, okay?  Boy Scout's oath or
whatever the hell you use."

"I will speak when spoken to.  I will say thank you and please,"
Pendrell replied, striving for wounded dignity.

"I'm beginning to see the appeal of alien abduction," muttered Krycek,
turning to lead them down the hall.

Not that he'd really had to worry, in Pendrell's opinion.  Oh, there'd
been a scary moment or two when the guards had stared at him, and
something about the way they stood made his heart jump and his scar
itch, but then they'd looked past him at Mulder.  He didn't know what
they saw -- whenever he turned around he just saw Mulder, quiet and calm
-- but whatever it was made them step back, faces pale, and wave the
little party through.

"Alex?" he asked as the other man led them out into a huge garage.  "I
don't get this."

"Uh huh," came the distracted-sounding response.  Krycek stopped in
front of a big jeep, fishing keys out of his pocket.  "You're asking
questions again, Lab Rat."

"Brian.  My name is . . ."  He bit his tongue and scowled, rushing on.
"Where are we going?  What's happening?  And why . . "  he glanced back
to where Mulder hovered, watching him with that strange, blank look in
his eyes.  "What happened to Mulder, and why were the guards so scared?"

"Because they're not dumb.  Unlike some people I could name."  Krycek
climbed behind the wheel, pausing as a dull CRUMP sounded in the
distance.  "Crap.  I wanted to be out of here by now."

The sirens changed to a high, steady shriek as he started the car.
Mulder climbed into the passenger seat and Pendrell tumbled into the
back.  Krycek visibly flinched when the special agent slammed his door
shut.  Pendrell silently added another question to his mental list.

Of course, that assumed that he'd live long enough to ask those
questions.

"We're going to die!" he moaned as Krycek sent the jeep careening over
yet another boulder.

"You already said that," replied the maniac behind the wheel as he
goosed the engine until it howled and sent the vehicle scrambling up
another slope that was not, in Pendrell's opinion, fit for wheels to
travel over.  "Why don't you make yourself useful and look for black
helicopters or something?"

"Helicopters?  I don't hear any helicopters!" gasped Pendrell as another
lurch sent him bouncing around the back seat.

Krycek met his eyes for an instant in the rear view mirror -- Pendrell's
heart nearly stopped until he looked at where they were going again --
and grinned.  "You never hear them.  Which is more than I can say for
you."

"Oh god, look out for the --"

"Fucking deer," muttered Krycek as the young stag leaped out of the way.

"Why can't you slow down?" shrilled Pendrell.  He clutched the back of
Krycek's seat and tried to keep himself from becoming airborne again.

"I can slow down.  I just don't want to."  He was a demon.  Honest to
God Pendrell now believed in evil in its truest form, incarnated as Alex
Krycek behind the wheel of a jeep.

His teeth were rattling in his head and his head was rattling on his
neck as Krycek sent the vehicle skidding over another embankment and
launched them off the bank of a ravine.  After miles of this Pendrell
was sure that his fillings were coming loose in his mouth.  "Please,
please Alex, slow down!"

Krycek wrenched the wheel over and narrowly missed a tree.  "Didn't you
promise to shut up, Lab Rat?"

"Alex, didn't anyone tell you there are things you aren't supposed to
try at home?  I don't want to die again!"

"Sit back and enjoy the ride, Bri!"

"Rock!  Deer!  HELP!"

"Jesus," muttered Krycek.  "They could have implanted Mulder or even
Scully -- somebody quiet.  Instead, they pick the backseat driver from
hell."

Water splashed across the windshield as Krycek veered into a stream and
plowed up the shallow, rocky bottom.  Pendrell gasped for air and
started to recite the only prayer he could remember, too grateful to
care.  "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep, if
I should die --"

"Before I brake, I pray the lord your voice to take."  Finished Alex
Krycek, pulling out of the stream and onto the muddy bank.  "You can
stop it, Pendrell.  This is as far as we drive."

"Oh, thank God."

"Why?  He didn't have to put up with you."  Krycek shut off the engine
and shoved open his door.  Pendrell watched him walk around to open the
back gate of the jeep.  Mulder had turned too, strangely expressionless
eyes tracking Krycek's moves.

"What do you think he's up to, Mulder?"

Blink.  Blink.  Pendrell sighed.  "Yeah.  That's about what I figured."
He got out and followed Krycek.

"So.  How long do we have to wait up here?"

"Wait?"  Krycek looked up at him, face as blank as Mulder's for a
moment, then grinned.  "No waiting, Lab Rat.  This is the end of the
line."

"Here?  What's here?"

"Nothing."  Krycek tossed one of the backpacks to Pendrell, who promptly
dropped the heavy thing on his foot.

"Ow!  But the car . . ."  Pendrell waved his hands in frustration as he
watched Krycek hand the third backpack to Mulder.  "We can't leave the
car!  Where are we going?"

"Over the mountain."  Krycek slung his own backpack on and reached down
to flip a switch on the jeep.  A little red light blinked on under the
dash.  "There.  That'll be a nice treat for the bastards."

"Alex, this is a mountain.  What are you doing?"

"I don't know about you, Bri, but I'm going camping."

Pendrell stared as he walked away into the woods.  Next to him, Mulder
swayed on his feet, then took off after Krycek with long, awkward
strides.  Pendrell groaned and shrugged into the straps of his pack.  He
was in hell.  He had to be.  He hadn't read the Bible in years, but he
was absolutely sure that nowhere in heaven did you ever have to camp.

________________________________________


"I'm hungry.  Are those berries good to eat?"

Alex Krycek rubbed his forehead like he had a headache.  "No.  They're
not."

"What about that mushroom?  It's got a piece out of it."

"No.  That mushroom is not good to eat, Pendrell.  Just because bugs and
birds eat it doesn't mean you can eat it."

"But I'm really hungry, Alex, and you didn't bring any snacks."
Pendrell sighed.  "What about that plant?  It looks like basil."

"It's poison ivy.  You were a boy scout.  Didn't you learn anything?"

Pendrell sighed and confessed the truth.  "I had chicken pox the week we
went camping.

He needed to go again.  Krycek was marching like he'd never stop.
Pendrell scooted up next to him and pointed at a patch of green.  "What
about that?"

"Why?"

"Umm . . . "

"That's poison ivy too, Hansel.  If you want to mark our trail, try
those over there."

"You don't have to get nasty.  I can't help it.  I'm nervous and that
makes me . . ."

"I know.  I know.  Please don't tell me again."  Krycek was rubbing his
forehead like he had a headache.

Pendrell sighed.  "I hate camping."

Krycek moaned softly and leaned back against a tree, easing the straps
on his backpack.  "Will you just go piss already?  If I'd known about
this I'd have told you to go before we broke out of prison and blew up
the best bathrooms in a hundred miles."

Pendrell ignored him.  It was harder to ignore Mulder, though the man
hadn't said a word since they'd rescued him.  That quiet, spooky stare
was getting to him and Krycek had refused to answer any questions about
him.

Skirting a patch of brambles, he studied the ground.  "Leaves of three,
let it be," he muttered, watering an inoffensive little plant.  He
sighed again, dropped his jeans and crouched down to take a dump, head
cocked to hear anything that didn't sound quite right.  Though what he'd
do if he heard anything was something he did't really want to think
about.  It was a relief to have that done and his jeans pulled back up.
He tromped back to where the others waited.  "Finished and not one black
helicopter in sight."

Krycek snorted a humorless laugh.  "Of course not.  Unless the FBI is
joyriding they're all grounded."  He stared back down into the valley.

Pendrell turned to see the few buildings, small with distance, that were
all that showed of the base.  Blue and red lights still flashed here and
there.  "Do you think we got away clean?"

Krycek lifted his hand to shade his eyes, scanning the sky.  "We didn't
escape clean, Lab Rat.  But there are only three of us, and there's
enough down there to keep them pretty busy.  Maybe . . though I doubt
it."

"But like you said, there's only three of us."  Pendrell knew he sounded
puzzled.  He felt it.  "You aren't that important, are you?  And they
think I'm dead."

"Uh huh.  And Scully thinks that I helped kill Mulder."  Krycek gave him
a dazzling smile.  "So no.  To answer your question.  I doubt that we
got away clean.  But there's a big difference between pursued and
caught.  Ask me again in a couple of days, okay?"

Pendrell stared after him as Krycek hitched up his pack and moved off
into the shadow of the pines again, Mulder quietly following him.  It
was going to be a long hike.

___________________________



Having the Time of My Afterlife 14/14
By livengoo
Livengoo@tiac.net

Thank you, Mori and Bobby, for edits galore.  Thank you Ms.Brooklyn,
co-writer extraordinaire! Mulder, Scully, Pendrell, Krycek and the
Mighty Morphin' Bounty Hunter belong to 1013 and Fox.  No harm
intended.  Pretty much everybody else is mine.  Hope you had fun reading
it, folks, thank you for coming along for the ride.  Oh, and yes, this
may be archived at Gossamer if Gossamer wants it.  All other archivists
- please just leave my name on it and do me a favor and ask first, since
I'm always cheered up by a request to archive.  Happy Hallowe'en.

Goo

_______________________________________


Pendrell scratched idly at a mosquito bite, and looked from the fire to
his two companions.  Mulder had his hands wrapped around the cup of
water Krycek had given him, mechanically sipping.  Krycek himself had
taken off his arm and was sitting back, drinking instant cocoa.  The
green eyes glittered with firelight when he met Pendrell's stare.  A
slow, good natured leer grew.  "So.  You never went camping."

Pendrell knew the signals by now and wracked his brain to head off the
innuendo before it could be delivered.  "Nope.  But I hear I'm supposed
to roast that wiener before I eat it."

Krycek's leer grew into an unabashed grin.  "Ouch!  Touche, Lab Rat."

"I've been paying attention," Pendrell answered modestly.  "Were you a
boy scout, Alex?"

"Me?"  Pendrell had seldom seen such a perfect spit take.  Krycek wiped
cocoa off his mouth and laughed himself into coughs and hiccoughs.

"Yeah, Alex.  You."  Pendrell was still chuckling.  "Even double . . .
are you just a double agent?  What do you call that, anyway?  Triple?
Quadruple?"

Krycek leaned against his backpack, face serious but eyes still gleaming
with laughter.  "You lose count after a while.  Besides, my specialty
was languages, not math."

"How many do you speak?"  Pendrell was curious enough to let the
deflection pass.

"I speak a lot of languages, Brian, but the most important is the
language of looove."  He leered across the fire at Pendrell.

"Aaaaaalex."

"I speak eight fluently."  Krycek.held his hands up in mock surrender.
"And I can swear in twelve others."

"Wow."  Pendrell was impressed.

"It's a talent."  Krycek shrugged and this time his smile looked real.
"It comes in handy."

"I've wondered sometimes . . ."  Pendrell indulged himself, "are urban
legends culture specific or do they translate?"

The one armed man leaned toward the fire, smile shining and wide.
"Well, I've never heard of the 'Mexican Rat' in Spanish, but I do
guarantee they've got 'The Hook' in Russian and Arabic.  Hell,
Pendrell," he tapped the prosthetic arm sitting next to him on the
ground, "for all you know I've been leaving hooks on car doors myself."

"I can't see you copying an old wive's tale.  Besides," Pendrell glanced
over at Mulder, "you can do your own horror stories."

Krycek nodded philosophically.  "I'll give you that one.  Mulder
probably still has nightmares about some of the suits I used to wear."

Pendrell tried to grin but his stomach felt like ice all of a sudden.
He glanced over at Mulder and then met Krycek's calm stare.  "How long
will he stay like that?"

Krycek had ducked the question all day, but he didn't avoid the subject
this time and Pendrell could read a brief, internal debate on his face.
When he looked back up his face was unguarded for once.  "I don't know
how long, Pendrell.  Not too much longer, I think."

He debated how to ask the next question.  He didn't want Krycek to just
go quiet like he had all day, but tact just wasn't one of Pendrell's
strong suits.  He finally sighed and just asked.  "What's wrong with
him?  What were they doing?"

Krycek watched him for a minute, a subtle tension finally, visibly
bleeding away.  "They did the same thing they did to you, Brian.  It
just worked better on him."

"What?"  Pendrell sat up, startled.  "You mean the tickly oil thing?"

"It doesn't tickle.  Not for most of us."

"You . . ."  Pendrell stopped the question before he could ask it.  He
wanted too many answers to ask a question that would probably make his
oracle go quiet.  He studied the other man, wondering which of his
questions would bring answers and which a brick wall, and finally
settled on the oldest and safest of the batch.  "Why am I alive?"

"Are you asking me the meaning of life?"  Krycek grinned.  "I thought I
showed you that already."

Pendrell blushed, relieved that the firelight wouldn't show the hot
color in his cheeks.  Probably.  "You're bad.  But I want to know the
process of life, not the meaning, if that's what you'd call what you're
talking about."

"Ah.  You mean you want to know about the little things, like why you
wake up from a bullet in the chest?"

"I know there was a TV show like that, but I can't see myself carrying
around a sword just yet."

Krycek chuckled.  "Asshole.  You're alive for the same reason the
Infiltrators tickle."

Pendrell took a not-so-random shot in the dark.  "The chip?"

"Bingo."  Krycek pointed like his hand was a gun.

"Alex . . ."  Pendrell scooted a little closer around the edge of the
fire and tried to copy Krycek's big smile.  "If I said please, would you
tell me how?  And why?"

"Why what?  And you need to look up through the eyelashes more."

Pendrell ignored the instructions but not the question.  "Why did they
make the chip?  Who made it?  Why is it in my neck?"

"Do you really need to ask why, Brian?  Take a look at Mulder."  Krycek
waved towards the silent special agent.  "And I haven't got a clue why
they picked you or how it works.  That was Mackie's job and she's dead."

He thought about asking about Mackie, and felt a little bad for her.
"How'd she die?  No, wait a minute.  You can't be serious.  You didn't
ask any questions?  You never got curious?"

"Hey, I'm just hired muscle."  Krycek picked up a stick and stirred the
fire.

"Bullshit."  Pendrell scowled at him when Krycek looked up at the
curse.  "That is total bullshit, Alex.  You always know something.  Even
I figured that out."

A slow, sultry smile answered.  "You're cute when you try to swear, Lab
Rat."

"You . . . you . . ."  Pendrell spluttered and finally stopped,
breathing hard with frustration.  "Please.  Pretty please with a cherry
on top.  Just god . . . goddamn well TELL me, okay, Alex?  I'm getting
really, really tired of everyone yanking me around!"

The smile didn't waver but the lashes dropped lower.  Pendrell could see
a glitter behind them.  "The whole bulletproof thing was an accident.
It surprised the hell out of all of us."

"And you don't know how it works?"  Pendrell couldn't keep the
disappointment out of his voice.

A shrug.  "I know it's the chip.  It's some kind of trinary chip that
stores snapshopts of your neural signals.  Infiltrators overwrite you
when they hijack your body and take you over.  The chip's supposed to --
"  he snapped his fingers for emphasis, "sort of reset your system when
it senses the interference."

"Ohhhh hell . . ." Pendrell swore softly at the thought.  "It's a hot
backup.  How?  What could store that much data?"

Krycek shrugged again.  "I know the chip's got a biological matrix, and
I know it uses your body's electrical field.  But don't ask me how."

Pendrell ground his teeth in frustration, rubbing at the the bump on the
back of his neck.  "If it writes the signal back to my synapses . . .
why did I die in the first place?  Why didn't it keep me going?"

"Beats me.  They never figured out why it was ever dormant in you, and
Mackie was pulling her hair out trying to figure out what had activated
it and how it worked.  Friedlander kept shitty notes when he developed
the thing."

"How far back have you known about this?"

"Me personally?"  Krycek asked.  Pendrell nodded.  "When I went into the
FBI they mentioned you in my briefing.  But they said you were a dud."

Pendrell scowled, puzzling at it.  "Were you really in the FBI?  Really
an agent?  Or were you just planted?  Or keeping an eye on me?"

"You know better than that.  The Consortium planted me when Mulder
started to get a little too close.  You were a footnote."  He waved his
one hand a little vaguely.  "The guys who developed you were long dead.
Nobody knew how you were supposed to work, and they were writing you off
as a fizzle.  Hell if I know why you're alive now."

"I had bruises."  Pendrell absently fingered the dent in the middle of
his chest.  "I think somebody tried to defibrillate me."

"Shit!"  Krycek started to laugh again.  "They jump started you!  They
must have kicked the chip into action!"

Pendrell grinned back for a minute until a slow fear chilled him.
"These people you're taking me to.  They're going to kill me for it,
aren't they?"

Krycek shook his head.  "That chip must have a bug.  You keep loading
the same question over and over."

"It makes sense."  Pendrell hated the tiny, scared sound of his own
voice.  "They need to find out how it works."

"And we know it doesn't work unless it's in a living body.  We've
checked a few of your brothers and sisters in the program out."  Krycek
stirred the fire, relaxed and cheerful.  "Mackie just didn't know
enough."

Pendrell looked mistrustfully across at him, wondering if he could sneak
away in the night.  The thought of poison ivy, and bears, and the big
guy from the secret base made it a very lonely thought.

He tried to keep the feeling off his face, but Krycek glanced up and
shook his head, grinning.  "I got you away from Mackie, didn't I?  Trust
me, Lab Rat."

"Why?  You work for the conspiracy yourself."

"THE conspiracy?"  Krycek started to laugh.  "You've been watching too
much bad TV.  You can never keep one big conspiracy a secret, even if
you can build one to start with.  Someone's always selling it out or
stabbing a back.  It only works with a batch of little conspiracies
plotting behind each others' back.  That's the only way to keep everyone
too paranoid to try to talk or take over the world," he added, face
lighting up briefly.  "No, what we've got is something like a dozen
different conspiracies, and you can pick the flavor you like best."

"And which one are you working for?"  Pendrell tried not to show how
very much he needed to know the answer to that, but he could feel the
green eyes on his again, reading his face.

"Sometimes I think I've worked for them all," Krycek mused.  Sparks
jumped when he stirred the fire again.

"You're telling the truth this time.  Aren't you?"

Krycek looked up, eyes reflecting gold and flat for an instant.  "It's
kind of nice not to worry about the secrets for once."

"Alex."  Pendrell waited until he knew he had Krycek's full attention.
"You said there are aliens and I believe you.  I believe you and
Mulder.  And I know we've got to win.  But do you understand that just
because a human group wins, it doesn't necessarily mean WE win?"

A lazy, open smile answered.  "I understand.  I've worked for some
people who'd be worse than the Grays.  I do understand, Brian.  Just
relax.  It'll be all right."

"Yes," said sudden, rusty voice that didn't sound like Krycek's and sure
as heck wasn't Pendrell's.  Pendrell jumped, looking into Krycek's
suddenly wide eyes.  "Alex?  Was that you?"

Krycek slowly turned to his right, and Pendrell turned left to follow
his stare.  Fox Mulder's eyes were focused, and fixed on the one armed
man.

"You are the host."

"Mulder," they said in unison.

"Krycek?"  Mulder's eyes narrowed, hazel and clear for an instant, and
then something spooky and black swirled across them.  He gave an
unearthly smile that make Pendrell catch his breath.  "Host," the
special agent crooned.

"Fuck!  Oh FUCK!"  yelped Krycek, moving to get as far from Mulder as he
could.

"You're looking good, Krycek," observed Mulder in a shockingly normal
voice.  There wasn't any white in his eyes.

"Mulder?"  Pendrell stepped towards him without a single clue of what he
could say or do for the man.

"Get away from him, Pendrell!"

Mulder wrinkled his nose, shiny black stare fixed on Pendrell.  His
voice sounded odd again.  "You are the itchy one.  You feel bad."

"Pendrell!"  Krycek's fingers on his collar yanked him back.  "You want
to get us nuked?"

"Host," Mulder crooned again in that hollow voice.  He was smiling that
big, sweet, empty smile that looked strange and familiar all at once.

"Jesus, I hate it when it does that," groaned Krycek, backing away as
Mulder followed them.

"Does what?"  Pendrell tried to keep Mulder and Krycek both in sight but
the one armed man was hiding behind him.  "And why's he suddenly
talking?"

"Maybe he got used to it.  I don't know."  Krycek was peeking past
Pendrell's shoulder.  "It just happens sometimes."

"You are the good host!"  Mulder suddenly reached past Pendrell, and
Krycek squeaked and ducked.

"Get away from me!  Get away!"

"Hey!"  Pendrell squealed as Krycek grabbed him and kept him between
them.

"Krycek?"  Mulder shook his head like a wet dog.  "Hold still, Rat
Boy!"  He looked like he had a nose bleed except that it didn't look
red, not even a little bit.  Pendrell reached towards his face and
whatever it was, it wasn't blood because blood never flowed sideways on
its own.

Pendrell pulled back his hand and Mulder lunged, reaching around him.

"Shit!" cursed Krycek.  Pendrell heard a thump and guessed that he'd
tripped over one of the back packs around the fire.  He was too busy to
look, keeping in front of Mulder like some old comedy act where Laurell
and Hardy would dodge back and forth in unison until one of them had had
enough.

And Pendrell had just about decided which one of them it'd be.  "Wait a
minute!" he yelled, grabbing Mulder's sleeve.

"Let go!  We need the host!"

This was ridiculous.  Pendrell held on tight and gave the taller man a
little shake.  Those coal-shiny eyes took a long time to turn and meet
his.  Pendrell could sort of sympathize with the frustrated misery he
saw in a face that should have been familiar and wasn't.  He patted
Mulder's arm.  "I know how it feels."

"You're fraternizing with the enemy!"  Krycek had scrambled to the far
side of the fire and was watching them mistrustfully.  It was obscurely
satisfying to see that look on somebody else's face for once.

"Alex Krycek."  Pendrell used his father's sternest voice.  "That is
quite enough."

Mulder tried to step around him.  "Please get out of the way.  I need to
meld . . ."

"You're not helping either!"  Pendrell stamped his foot and glared.
"Behave!"

"Will you stop playing with it!"  Krycek's voice sounded breathless.
Pendrell got a good hold of Mulder's shirt before he turned to glare as
his sometimes-rescuer, frowning at the gun in Krycek's hand.

"Just what do you think you're going to do with that?"

"I . . ."  Krycek's face was shiny with sweat, like it had been when
he'd gotten Mulder out of the lab.

Pendrell sighed.  "Alex, put it down.  Relax.  What's the worst thing he
can do to us?"

"Turn us into a heap of radioactive ash."

Okay.  He had to admit.  That was pretty bad.  Pendrell turned back to
Mulder.  "Is that true?"

Both shoulders lifted in an expressive shrug.  "it's a talent."

"I really hate it when he does that."  Krycek sounded querulous.

"Does what?"

"He's imitating me."  Krycek scowled.

Huh and huh again.  No wonder that smile had looked so familiar.
Pendrell pointed at the ground.  "Sit."

"But . . ."

"No.  No buts.  We can play keep-away and we can play hide and seek, or
we can act like grown ups and talk this out."

"Or I can just shoot him," observed Krycek dryly.

"No.  You can't.  Or you won't."

"Why not?"  Suspicion and curiosity were just about balanced in Krycek's
expression.

"Because I'm asking you not to.  Besides,"  Pendrell added as he saw the
gun come up again, "if you shoot Mulder won't the -- the -- "

"Infiltrator," provided Krycek.  "Oilien.  Slime."

"HE."  Pendrell sighed and wished for strength.  "Won't HE just ooze out
and get you anyway?  Or irradiate you?  Us?"  That cut it, thought
Pendrell.  They definitely couldn't let the aliens invade.  Figuring out
the parts of speech would just be too much work.

Krycek stood there, weapon pointed for a long moment.  Pendrell could
hear his sigh from ten feet away as the muzzle suddenly dropped.  The
one armed man groused "I wish he'd stop doing that."

Pendrell turned to find Mulder with that unearthly, sexy smile on his
face again.  Yeah, now that he thought about it, that did look a lot
like Krycek's big, come-hither-and-come look.  "Mulder?"

"I would merge with the good host."  He wiped at the
not-quite-a-nosebleed.  "This body rejects me, host.  I would merge."

"Mulder."  Pendrell snapped.  "That's not helping."

"Chernobyl," sighed Krycek behind him.  "You are going to get us so
smoked if you're not careful, Lab Rat."

"Mulder won't nuke us, will you Mulder?"

The alien-agent looked at him with an expression that might have been
petulance.  Or might not.  Who knew?  Pendrell decided to just plow
ahead.  "If you light up the military's satellites will pick it up and
they'll come in and sterilize the area.  If you just relax they'll
probably figure we're just campers and leave us alone."

The annoyed look on Mulder's face suddenly shifted to something like
contrition.  Hah!  One alien slime monster neutralized!  Pendrell sort
of wished somebody would high five him.  "There.  Isn't that better?"
He glared at Krycek and Mulder until he got two reluctant nods.

It was enough.

Smiling widely, Brian Pendrell took his seat by the fire and addressed
them both.  "Okay, you two.  We all want something and we've all got
something to lose.  We can either all get killed or we can all
compromise and work something out."

Their faces bore identical skeptical looks, but Brian Pendrell was a man
who'd done, in his opinion, enough impossible things that this
improbable thing just couldn't be all that hard.  He pointed at Mulder.
"You first.  Tell me what you want, and we'll see what we can work out."

______________________________

Epilogue 1


Alex Krycek put his Palm Pilot away and picked a lock that barely made
him break stride.  He shut the door carefully.  Dana Scully had nosy
neighbors, and who knew which scumball conspiracy group was bugging her
place this week.  He grinned to himself as he carefully propped an
envelope chock-full of suggestive evidence by the autoclave she kept in
the kitchen (he'd checked once and found it full of silverware).

They were good pictures, really juicy stuff.  And he always made sure to
include one or two that just might hint that Mulder was alive.  She was
still denying aliens and ignoring inconvenient evidence, but toss the
right bait in her path and even the new head of the X-Files could trip
across something useful.

______________________________

Epilogue 2

"It'll be okay."  Pendrell leaned forward and smiled reassuringly as the
economist wiped helplessly at oily black tears.  "Trust me.  Release
this host and you'll never have to do regressive analysis again."

"But how will I get home?"  The man's voice had that choked sound
Pendrell recognized from seeing dozens of oiliens release their hosts.
"How will I find the others?"

"It'll be okay.  You'll see."  Pendrell offered it (Him?  Them?) the
insulated jar he'd brought along with him.  "After all these weeks of
therapy, you've got to just trust me."

The economist gnawed his lip for a moment then nodded.  His body
spasmed, trembling as his alien controller vacated his system, purged
from mouth and nose and eyes.  Pendrell winced in sympathy for the sore
throat and sinus headache that sufferers of the "black flu" always had.
As the alien slithered into the jar he drew a syringe full of vaccine
for the exhausted, unconscious policy maker.

He whistled the theme of Close Encounters as he cheerfully gathered his
things and the jar, leaving the economist with a nasty oilien hangover
and no memory of the weeks of therapy that had persuaded his one-time
controller that true happiness would never be found by forcibly
possessing and exploiting other species.  Pendrell handled the jar
carefully, not wanting to shake up his new ally.  Enough enlightened
Infiltrators and one day it was the Grays who'd be sniffling black
junk.  Pendrell smiled happily, warmed by the glow of an important job
well done.

For just a moment he let himself daydream, picturing the treaty
negotiations and a red-haired arbitrator who . . . well.  He blushed at
the thought.  That was a long way away no matter what, though he was
sure now that it wouldn't be forever.  The Grays had a tough team but
Pendrell wasn't really worried.  He was making the universe safe one
therapy session at a time.

Idly, he wondered if Mulder was done with his session.  Subverting
aliens always made him . . . hungry.

_____________________________

Epilogue 3

The studio executive glared at him from glossy black eyes.  "How did you
know?"

"With those ratings?"  Fox Mulder gave a snort of laughter.  "You had to
know someone would figure it out if you kept renewing it."

"I'm a genius!" blustered the possessed producer.

Mulder just shook his head in mock sorrow and held out the jar.  "Give
it up, my oily friend.  It's time to go home."

The lower lip trembled, eyes brimming with greasy black.  "But they
loved me.  They loved me."

"Humans are fickle."  Mulder gave him a sympathetic look.  The creature
was standing there, wistfully fingering his Mercedes keys.  "It couldn't
work forever.  Sooner or later we either believe it or ignore it.  You
can't just keep us hanging in suspense like that."

"But my awards . . ."

"What would you do with another gold cup?  Sleep in it?"  Mulder was
about to offer the jar again, but at the last instant he hesitated.
Couldn't stop himself from asking.  "Would you tell me one thing first?"

"What?"

There was this extra on the third season finale . . . She looked so much
like her.  Was it  . . .?"

A slow smile spread across the producer's face, eyes leaking black in
tearstreaks that fled towards the jar as his choked whisper replied "the
truth is out there."

Half an hour later Fox Mulder settled down with a black coffee and a
copy of the Inquirer to read the story on sightings of the dead.  There,
between Glenn Miller and Elvis Presley, was his own face, old image from
his records impossibly young and alive with an enthusiasm he'd
rediscovered in work that actually accomplished something, people who
believed.  He moved on, scanning the entertainment section with
skeptical eyes.  Like he'd told his new colleagues, "How do you think
they keep us from seeing?  Desensitization.  Invasions are big, obvious
things.  What's the best way to hide one?  Put it in plain sight."

Little by little, one show at a time, he was making the world a safer
place.  Fox Mulder picked up his coffee and paper and walked away,
knowing that each day was the first day of the rest of his afterlife.

_______________________________________
Epilog 4


High in the Rockies, a badger snuffled under a log, looking for grubs.
As it dug out a particularly juicy beetle it froze, trapped.  Oily black
fluid violated gravity, coating the badger's fur until it was absorbed
into the hapless creature's body.

Grunting softly it sat back on its haunches and swallowed the last of
the bug.  "Not bad," it thought as it dropped to its feet and waddled
off towards the rising sun.  Somewhere in the back of its badger mind it
held a faint memory of a space ship in a landfill.  But for now, it
looked around at the rising sun with its badger eyes and sniffed at the
cool, spring air, thinking "not bad at all.  I could get used to this."




--
"You are strange and off-putting."
- Dracula:  Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

"Oh, can you code it,
Process that line.
Nothing ever happens in this life of mine,
I'm hauling down the data on the Xerox line!"
- Stan Rogers: Between the Breaks.

"Freeze up is an electro-technical term for explode."
- Newsradio