From: Cynthia Hoffman Date: Wed, 10 Nov 1999 08:26:06 -0800 Subject: Pawns and Players (00/24) I'm posting this for a friend. All feedback and response should be sent to her at lucienlc@ix.netcom.com, though of course, I'll pass along anything that mistakenly gets sent to me. PAWNS AND PLAYERS (0/24) Title: Pawns and Players Author: LC Fenster Category: Post-ep fic (TF/OS), Krycek, mytharc, M/K UST Rating: PG-13 for language and violence Spoilers: Anything through Two Fathers/One Son is fair game. Archive: Ask me. I'll probably say yes, but I want to know where it's going. Summary: Like the title says. But who are the pawns, and who are the players? Disclaimer: Much to my chagrin, the X-Files characters belong to 1013 and FOX. I promise to return them in somewhat better shape than when I borrowed them. Most of them, anyway. Original names and characters are my own and may not be used elsewhere without permission. Warnings: I'm a serious plot junkie, and this is very plot-heavy. It may or may not be slashy in a couple of places, but no more so than the show itself. NO SEX. And Krycek figures pretty heavily in the plot, so if you don't like reading stories about the Rat, you may be well advised to pass on this one. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I didn't like TF/OS, so this is how I made things come out the way I wanted. I owe a number of people a huge debt of gratitude for their help with this puppy. I'd like to thank Celeste, Monica, Imajiru, Eileen, Sylvia and Jo R. for their incisive comments and suggestions; Luvmulder for her wonderful medical guidance; Apache for her terrific help in providing information about government agencies, hospitals in Washington, and general D.C. information. A special thanks to Josan, who stepped in to do a last-minute beta for me, and who contributed a number of suggestions the rest of us had missed. There is no doubt that Pawns and Players is a FAR better story for their efforts than it otherwise would have been. Thanks, guys! All remaining glitches are, of course, mine own. Feedback is always welcome at lucienlc@ix.netcom.com ******************************** PAWNS AND PLAYERS by LC Fenster // February 24, 1999 // // FBI Headquarters, Washington DC // "I'm going to pack up my office." The words sliced through the familiar pattern of charges and countercharges, bringing the meeting to a sudden and abrupt halt. With hard-won dignity, Jeffrey Spender rose to his feet and left the office, ignoring Kersh's angry demands for him to stop. The furious AD turned on Agent Mulder, demanding answers. "Who burned those people?" "They burned themselves," came the cryptic reply. "With a choice made long ago by a conspiracy of men, who thought they could sleep with the enemy -- only to awaken another enemy." "What the hell does that mean?" "It means the future is here -- all bets are off," Mulder replied soberly, leaving Kersh no wiser than before. Balked, the Assistant Director tried Mulder's partner. "Agent Scully, make some sense." Agent Scully was even less informative. "Sir, I wouldn't bet against him." An awkward silence settled over the room, finally broken by Kersh. "Well." The AD once again lifted Spender's terse letter of resignation, studying the two-sentence document as though it could somehow provide a better explanation of events than anyone had yet given. Eventually he forced himself to face the other occupants of the room. Mulder, Scully and Skinner were all watching him expectantly. He sighed, letting the letter fall back onto his desk. "In light of what we have just heard and in view of the affidavit Agent Spender provided earlier today, withdrawing the charges he had made against you and pronouncing himself fatally compromised by virtue of an alliance with an extra-governmental agency, I am referring this matter back to OPR for a full investigation. You remain on administrative leave, Agents, pending said inquiry, but in light of Agent Spender's statement, I would anticipate your reassignment shortly." His eyes bored into Mulder, daring him to gloat. But Mulder's thoughts were still on Jeffrey Spender's bombshell, as he replayed the young agent's remarks over and over in his mind, searching for nuances, hidden meanings, hints of truths previously unrevealed. "Are we finished here, sir?" Mulder asked, belatedly realizing that he was expected to respond. "For the present. But hold yourselves available, Agents. I imagine that OPR will want to speak with you again in the very near future." Kersh leveled another glare in the direction of his least favorite agent, but once again, Mulder failed to notice. "Yes, sir." Mulder excused himself and left Kersh's office at a brisk clip, Scully in his wake. AD Skinner remained behind, apparently feeling the need to continue the dialogue with Kersh. "Mulder?" Scully had to race to catch up. "Where are you off to?" "I want to have a word with Agent Spender before he leaves. I'd like to find out just how much he knows; what caused his change of heart. He was in the thick of it, Scully; just think: he may know details about his father and the Consortium and the aliens that could be of incredible value in breaking this conspiracy wide open." "Mulder, there isn't a conspiracy any longer. They're all dead." "Not all of them, Scully," Mulder observed, reminding her of the one individual whose corpse was notably absent from the massacre site. "And the aliens are still out there." Scully looked at him. She didn't quite roll her eyes, but then, she didn't have to. "I don't recall Agent Spender mentioning any aliens in his affidavit." Mulder shook his head. "Of course not. Spender knows how to play the game. He knew it would be a waste of time and would only make him look foolish to the pencil-pushers at OPR. Those time-serving bureaucrats aren't ready to hear the truth." "Or perhaps there aren't any aliens," Scully countered. "Or maybe Jeffrey Spender simply doesn't know very much. Even assuming for the moment that there is extraterrestrial involvement here -- and you know I won't accept that, Mulder, not without a lot more hard evidence than we've seen to date -- you still don't know how much Agent Spender's father may actually have told him. Probably very little, judging from the way the man safeguards his secrets. I don't think Jeffrey Spender is going to be able to help us very much, even assuming he is now inclined to do so." "I won't accept that, Scully," Mulder continued stubbornly. "Not until I hear it from his own mouth." They swept down the corridor leading to the basement office that had been their "home" for almost five years. The office door was closed. Mulder hesitated momentarily, then knocked, resisting the impulse to sail right in. The office was still technically Agent Spender's, at least for the moment. Mulder wasn't likely to gain his cooperation by reasserting possession before the young man had even finished packing his things. There was no response, so he tried the door handle. Locked. An uneasy feeling prickled at the pit of his stomach. He knocked again, more urgently this time. "Agent Spender?" Still no response. He and Scully exchanged glances. "He said he was coming down here ..." They both heard the low moan from inside the room. His fears crystallized, Mulder kicked the door open and dove inside, gun at the ready. Scully flanked him, ready to provide covering fire if necessary. But it was obvious that it was all over except the dying. An unconscious Jeffrey Spender lay sprawled across his desk, blood pooling beneath him from a gunshot wound to the abdomen. The desk phone receiver, smeared with blood, sat beside his lax fingers. There was no sign of his assailant. In an instant, Scully had holstered her weapon and moved to put pressure on the wound. Mulder was on his cell phone, calling for assistance. The desk phone was useless, the line cut, as Agent Spender had probably discovered before losing consciousness. "He's still alive," Scully reported after a cursory examination. "But it's a nasty wound. Considering the locked door and cut phone line, I would guess that whoever did this meant for him to die slowly and painfully. From what Kersh told us, Agent Fowley is still in the field, heading up the investigation into the massacre at El Rico Air Base, and nobody else was likely to intrude with the door closed and locked. This is very definitely a slow kill shot, and the shooter made no attempt to finish him off." She and Mulder exchanged a grim, knowing look. "The paramedics are on their way," Mulder reported. "I've notified Skinner, and he's on the way down. Kersh is organizing a building lockdown, to try and intercept the shooter. I wish them better luck catching assassins than they've had with arsonists," he added contemptuously, confident that the search would prove fruitless. "Skinner is arranging a 24-hour guard for Agent Spender at the hospital." "Help me, Mulder," Scully ordered. "He's going into shock. I hate to disturb the crime scene, but we have to get his head down and his feet elevated." As gently as possible, the two agents moved the injured Spender from his chair to the floor. Mulder grabbed the nearest stack of case-files to prop up his legs, while Scully removed her jacket and wrapped it around the wounded agent. Mulder followed suit without being asked; then grabbed Spender's coat from the coat rack and added that to the pile as they tried to keep the man warm. "Hopefully Agent Spender will be able to identify the person who shot him," Scully remarked, keeping pressure on the wound with one hand, monitoring his pulse with the other. As the unconscious man groaned reflexively, she winced in sympathy, wondering how soon help would arrive. "I still can't believe that someone would carry out so brazen an attack, right here in the headquarters of the FBI." "They were brazen enough to torch the place last year. Why stop at arson?" Mulder replied. "They were conveying a message, Scully. And a warning." "A warning isn't much good if you're dead," Scully pointed out. "I don't think the warning was meant for Agent Spender," Mulder said tightly. He looked up at the rising commotion coming from the hallway. By now, word of the shooting had obviously spread throughout the building, and dozens of angry, apprehensive, or simply curious agents were converging on the basement. "Just what we don't need," he growled, wondering how they would fend off the rubberneckers. He gave a heartfelt sigh of relief at the sight of a familiar bald pate. "That's enough, people. Unless you're assigned to the forensics investigation, you don't belong here, and you're in the way. Everyone get back to work. *Now*, agents." AD Skinner pushed his way through the crowd, barking orders on the way. He paused at the doorway long enough to assign someone to keep everyone else out of the room and to keep the corridor clear before joining Mulder, Scully and the unconscious Spender. "Thank you, sir," Scully said gratefully. "It was beginning to sound like a carnival out there." "Sorry I was delayed. I had to brief the top floor before I came down," Skinner apologized. He knelt beside the injured agent, watching his labored breathing for several moments. "How --" His cell phone chimed and he interrupted himself to answer it. "Paramedics are in the building," he murmured as he replaced the phone. "They'll be here in a minute or two." "About time," Mulder grumbled, wiping the sweat from his forehead. It had only been a few minutes since they had found Spender, but he felt as though he had spent hours standing there watching the waxen, shallowly breathing body. "How is he?" Skinner quietly asked Scully. "Holding his own, for the moment. Pulse and respiration are weak but relatively stable, which suggests that the internal injuries aren't immediately life-threatening. Right now, the main danger is blood loss, though I think we got to him in time. He couldn't have been shot more than a few minutes before we arrived. Of course, it's impossible to tell what internal damage has been done: we all know that bullets are unpredictable in their behavior once they enter the human body. But I'd say he has a good chance." "You saw no one?" This was directed to both of them. Mulder shook his head. "Not a soul. But I'm sure Agent Spender can identify his attacker. If he survives. The shot came from point blank range: there are powder burns on his clothing. And there aren't a lot of hiding places in this office." He paused. "Of course, that's assuming they don't get to him again before we have a chance to question him." "They won't." Skinner spoke with absolute assurance. He and Mulder quickly moved out of the way as the paramedics came hurtling into the office with their stretcher. Scully lingered at Spender's side to fill in the new arrivals on what limited medical information she could provide. The decibel level in the room instantly doubled as Scully relayed her status information and the paramedics called instructions back and forth as they set to work. "I hope you're right, sir," Mulder replied, continuing their conversation as he and Skinner watched the organized chaos all around them. "Because when they learn he has survived, they will try again. You know these men. You know they'll stop at nothing in the pursuit of their goals." "He's right, sir," Scully agreed, rejoining them after finishing with the paramedics. "Agent Spender is still in great danger." "Then we'll just have to find a way to stop them," Skinner said calmly. "The two of you are still on administrative leave; there's no reason you and Agent Scully can't accompany Agent Spender to the hospital. They're taking him to George Washington University Medical Center. Follow the ambulance and make sure there are no unscheduled stops along the way. Stay with him there, and I'll meet you there as soon as I can." "Where will you be, sir?" Scully asked. "I have to file a preliminary report on the shooting. Agent Spender is still technically assigned to my department until his resignation takes effect. And I have to sign the paperwork authorizing around-the-clock protection. Also, I want to go over the duty roster personally to handpick the agents for that particular assignment." He lowered his voice. Scully and Mulder moved closer to be able to hear him through the cacaphony of noise surrounding them. "I want the two of you to stay with Agent Spender as much as possible. Since, for the moment, you're both still officially on leave, it will have to be done unofficially." As he spoke, one eye was on the paramedics, who had quickly managed to stabilize their patient and were already preparing him for transport. "Better go now, if you're going to keep up with them." "I'll get my car," Mulder offered. "I'll meet you at the front entrance in five, Scully." He left the room at a trot, almost running down Kersh, who had finally joined the party. The Assistant Director hastily stepped out of his way and glared at Skinner, who matched his glare, daring him to comment. Before either man could say anything, though, the paramedics intervened, clearing the way for their patient. Once again, Kersh had to quickly move aside to avoid being trampled. The paramedics hustled the injured Spender out the door. Scully and Skinner hurriedly followed, leaving Kersh to take up the rear. Behind them, the forensics team was already pouring into the office. "Keep him alive, Scully," Skinner said softly, as they parted company near the elevators. "Count on it, sir," she replied. ****** ****** Everything was taking too long, as usual. Skinner dictated the preliminary report to his secretary; signed the 24/7 protection authorization form that Kim had prepared while he was still down in the basement; and pored over the duty roster, carefully selecting the agents he considered most competent, experienced, and above all honest for the duty of guarding Jeffrey Spender. He hastily scribbled down his final selections and handed the assignment schedule to Kim so it could be typed up and the agents notified of their new responsibilities. By the time he had finished, and had signed the preliminary report, close to an hour had passed since the shooting. Skinner was just packing up a few things to take with him to the hospital when his private phone rang. Wondering who might be calling and impatient at being further delayed, he momentarily debated ignoring it; but his finely tuned sense of responsibility prevailed. "Skinner." He didn't try to hide the annoyance in his voice, wanting the call dealt with as quickly as possible. He continued to stuff papers into his briefcase as he spoke. "It's me." Brief pause. "No names. Can you talk? Is the line secure?" Skinner felt his stomach lurch as he recognized the voice. No name was necessary. That voice was embedded in his nightmares for eternity. Paper and briefcase slipped unnoticed from his hands. "I'm alone and the line is secure. What do you want?" Skinner spat out the words. He hated this man with an intensity that almost frightened him. Hated the fact that he was powerless to do anything against him. Hated the knowledge that this amoral monster could pull his strings at will. The fact that he hadn't as yet chosen to use his power was no reassurance. Skinner knew the bastard was just playing with him; letting him grow accustomed to his helplessness. A rat playing with his cheese. "Can the macho-man routine, Skinner. We don't have time for it." The man sounded every bit as impatient as Skinner felt. "I've got reason to believe that some of your agents might be in danger." "Your warning comes a little late," Skinner said bitterly. Dead silence for a moment. "Tell me!" his tormenter ordered. To Skinner's surprise, his antagonist sounded alarmed and angry. "Someone attacked Agent Jeffrey Spender in his office at the FBI--." "Spender?" came the incredulous response, interrupting his report. "Yeah. Jeffrey Spender. You know him?" There was no answer, but curiously enough, it had sounded like the slimy bastard knew the agent. The surprise had come not from unfamiliarity with the target, but from surprise at the choice of target, he would bet the farm on that. Ruthlessly, Skinner shelved his questions for a more convenient time. He was not going to be distracted now. Not that he would have gotten an answer anyway. "Agent Spender was shot at point blank range in his own office," Skinner continued. "Miraculously, he survived. For now. Any idea who might have been responsible?" Another pause. "I think we both know the answer to that. Don't jerk me around, Skinner. I'm not in the mood." There was a trill of danger in the voice, and Skinner swallowed hard. He considered himself a brave man, but when your own body could betray you at any moment, on the whim of a madman... Okay, not a madman. A ruthless, amoral sociopath with a score to settle. A madman would have been preferable. "I'm not jerking you around," Skinner forced himself to sound placating, hating himself for the effort. "Agent Spender hasn't regained consciousness, and nobody else saw the shooter. Sure, I can make an educated guess, but unless you can supply proof of the shooter's identity, or Agent Spender identifies his assailant, we don't *know* anything." A snort. "Yeah. Sorry to fly off; I was forgetting that wonderful FBI mindset. Anyway, you should know that Agent Spender may not be the only one in danger. It's possible that Agent Mulder could be a target as well. Possibly even Agent Scully." Skinner swore. "You're sure about that?" Unasked was the even larger question. <> "Damnit, Skinner, I'm not sure about anything. But we're talking about a wounded predator on the loose, and it's best not to take chances. Understood?" The words struck almost like a blow. "Understood. I'll convey your message. Thanks for the warning." He was surprised to realize he genuinely meant that. Whatever the bastard's motives were, Skinner wanted to know about any possible threat to his agents. "I'm on my way to D.C. My record is squared away?" Skinner sighed. "I told you the last time you asked. That was taken care of long before..." He couldn't finish the sentence, and the other man chuckled darkly. "Yeah. The Englishman was a bastard and a hypocrite, but at least he kept his word. Unlike some others we both know." "So? Will I see you this trip?" Skinner forced himself to ask. It was always better to be prepared for bad news. "I don't know yet. Let's keep that a definite maybe. Try not to shoot me if I do turn up." The man now sounded positively gleeful. Was he relieved that his warning had come in time? Pleased that Spender had been the target, not Mulder? Or just enjoying the thrill of pushing his former boss around? Skinner mentally shook himself. Trying to psychoanalyze Alex Krycek was an exercise in futility. Even Fox Mulder hadn't been able to do it, and Mulder was the best profiler the FBI had had in decades. "I'll keep that in mind," Skinner said drily. Polite of the reptile to phrase it as a joke instead of a threat. "Is there anything else?" "Not for now. Just pass along my warning to Mulder and Scully. It wouldn't be a bad idea to put guards on them too. You *do* have guards posted on Jeffrey Spender?" "They're at the hospital guarding Spender," Skinner admitted. "I've got other agents assigned to the case. They can protect all three of them." "Is Agent Fowley one of them?" The question stopped Skinner cold. He hadn't assigned Agent Fowley to the guard detail because she was still busy heading up the investigation into the events at El Rico. He'd called her, of course, to inform her about her partner's shooting. She'd expressed her concern for her partner and her regrets that the continuing investigation at El Rico made it impossible for her to come to the hospital at present. Skinner had assured her that she was welcome to check on her partner at any time. Why Krycek's sudden interest in Agent Spender's partner on the X-Files? "Agent Fowley is currently on field assignment," he hedged. "Keep it that way." "Why?" Skinner demanded. "Let's just say she has divided loyalties," wascame the annoyingly cryptic response. "Are you saying she was involved in what happened to Agent Spender?" Skinner did not want to believe that. Especially since, given the source of the information, he could hardly act upon it. "You heard what I said. If you want to keep your agents alive, keep her away from this case." "I would imagine that Agent Fowley's duties will keep her occupied elsewhere for the foreseeable future," Skinner observed. Not that he entirely believed Krycek, but he wasn't sure he disbelieved him either. "Good." The line went dead, and Skinner was left to stare at it. Finally, he replaced the receiver and slowly started to collect the papers he'd dropped earlier, placing them in his briefcase. <> ****** Mulder showed his identification to the agents posted outside the hospital room, then quietly stepped through the door. Scully looked up at him from her chair beside the bed and put down the medical journal she had been reading. She rubbed at her eyes and offered up a weary smile of welcome. "How is he?" Mulder asked softly. He was carrying a briefcase and a small paper bag, both of which he set on the table by the far wall. "Any change?" Scully shook her head. "Same as before. Every couple of hours, he seems to wake up for a minute or two, mutters something incomprehensible, and then slips back to sleep. He could wake up any time now, but he started to run a mild fever about three hours ago, and that could delay things. Also, Mulder, don't expect too much at first. Even when he does wake up, remember that he's still getting a heavy dose of painkillers and antibiotics, and that's going to keep him pretty groggy." Mulder checked his watch. "Seven hours." Seven hours since Spender's condition had been upgraded to serious but stable and he had been moved out of the ICU and into protective custody. Almost 14 hours since the shooting itself. "Have the doctors issued a prognosis yet?" Scully nodded. "They expect him to make a full recovery. He's a very lucky man." The surgeons had performed their magic, though miracles had fortunately proved unnecessary. Jeffrey Spender was a young man in excellent physical condition prior to the shooting, and the bullet had largely stayed intact and taken a relatively benign path of destruction. The internal damage hadn't been that bad, all things considered -- a perforation of the small intestine, a broken rib, and a ruptured spleen. A few hours in surgery; a few hours of observation in the recovery room and the ICU, and a move into secure quarters at the first moment the doctors would allow it. Security was tight. Skinner was taking no chances. From the moment it became clear that Spender was likely to survive, the AD had erected a wall of secrecy around the shooting and its victim, forbidding the disclosure of any details except on a need-to-know basis. He and his agents performed instant background checks and scrutinized IDs on each member of the surgical staff before they were allowed into the operating room; and under resentful eyes, a gown-clad Mulder and Scully watched over Jeffrey Spender through every step of the operation. In addition, from the moment Jeffrey Spender left the operating room, either Mulder, Scully or Skinner himself had been at his side, together with an FBI security team. Skinner had used the FBI's clout to clear the seventh floor of all other patients, making it a secure ward with only one entrance, plus the alarmed emergency exit. Guards were posted at the entrance and outside Spender's room. Not that Skinner deluded himself that he could keep Jeffrey's father and his friends at bay indefinitely, but he would throw as many obstacles in their way as possible. In regard to the elusive CGB Spender, protocol required that, as Jeffrey's closest relative, he be notified as soon as possible of his son's shooting, hospital location and present condition. Skinner had remarked to Mulder and Scully after his arrival at the hospital that he had no current means of contacting Jeffrey's father. His relief had seemed almost palpable. "Why don't you go home, get some rest?" Mulder glanced over at the youthful agent who had been his rival and antagonist. "I'll keep an eye on things." "I could use a break," Scully admitted, forcing back a yawn. Both Skinner and Mulder had gone home for a few hours, but she had remained at the hospital ever since Spender had been admitted. And cat-napping in the vinyl-backed hospital chairs was a poor substitute for sleep. "When is Skinner coming back?" The AD had initially arrived about seventy-five minutes after Mulder and Scully, with Spender still in the operating room. He'd taken some time to personally brief his hand-selected team of agents. After the surgery, he'd passed along a warning to Mulder and Scully "from an anonymous source" that they too were possible targets of a Consortium vendetta. Then he'd stayed with Spender in the recovery room and ICU until the young man was well enough to be moved into a private room and protective custody. Once the room change had been successfully accomplished, he'd gone back to the FBI offices. "Probably not until early tomorrow morning, if then. He was still in the office when I spoke to him. He's been asked to attend a meeting tomorrow morning with OPR to discuss Spender's affidavit and the shooting, and he wanted to prepare. I told him to go home when he finished, and get some rest. He won't do himself or us any good in that meeting if he's asleep on his feet." "Maybe I should stay here with you?" This time, the yawn escaped despite Scully's best efforts at suppression. Mulder shook his head. "No. I can hold the fort for awhile. If he has time, Skinner'll come in before the meeting to spell me for a while. Go on, Scully. I'll be fine." He held up his paper bag. "I've got pork lo mein and orange beef, and enough magazines to keep me busy for hours. And my laptop." He patted his briefcase. "Sounds like you've got all the comforts of home." Scully didn't even try to disguise the next yawn. "I'm going. Oh -- if Spender does wake up enough to actually recognize his surroundings, make sure you inform the duty nurse, so she can let the doctors know. The nurses' station is extension 4633." "4633. Got it." Mulder made a mental note of the number. "Good night, Scully." "Watch your back," she warned. "You know what these people are capable of --" "Yeah. I'll be careful." Mulder waited until the door closed and the footsteps receded before walking slowly over to the bed. He looked somberly at the injured man, face a ghastly shade of pale, strapped down for his own protection, tubes running in and out of him in all directions. "Get well soon, Agent Spender," he murmured, sinking into the chair Scully had recently vacated. "There's so much I still need to know." ****** ****** After an eight hour absence, Scully returned to the hospital, fortified by almost six hours sleep, some peach yogurt, and two granola bars. Mulder was dozing in the chair when she arrived, but roused instantly at the sound of approaching footsteps. He made an abortive lunge for the gun lying on his lap, sending it flying to the floor; then, recognizing Scully, he gave her a sheepish grin and knelt to retrieve his weapon. She sighed minutely. "Morning," he greeted her. "Any change?" She walked over to the bed and pressed the back of her hand to Jeffrey's forehead. It was warm to the touch, indicating that the slight fever had persisted, but that was neither unusual or dangerous under the circumstances. She scanned his medical chart; everything appeared to be in order. "Not really. He seemed to wake up a couple of times, but he was really out of it. I tried to question him, but I don't think he recognized me, much less understood what I was saying. They've still got him on the IV drip for the antibiotics, though I think the doctor ordered the dosage of painkillers cut last time he was here. But I don't think we're going to get any answers from him until the fever breaks." <> "Let me see." Scully took a closer look at the readings, which confirmed Mulder's suspicions. "You're right. He's still getting heavy antibiotics to combat the fever, but the Demerol has been cut in half." Scully frowned. "The fever isn't really that severe. I would have expected him to wake up before this." "Maybe he doesn't want to wake up," Mulder suggested. "What are you saying, Mulder?" "Look, Scully, if we're right about what happened down in that office, it must have been pretty traumatic for him." Scully raised an eyebrow over narrowed eyes. "You're suggesting that he's somehow staying unconscious on purpose?" Mulder shrugged. "It's a possibility. Psychology journals are filled with cases of people remaining unconscious or even catatonic until they felt mentally strong enough to face up to some traumatic event in their lives." "Assuming the problem is psychological, and not some medical complication that has yet to be discovered," Scully rejoined, unconvinced. She studied the chart again, but had to concede that there was nothing there to explain Spender's failure to regain consciousness. "I guess all we can do is wait." She looked around. The room seemed very much as she'd left it, except for the empty Chinese food tins in the wastebasket. "Any problems? Uninvited guests?" Mulder shook his head. "Quiet as the proverbial grave. That's got me a little frightened, Scully, to be honest. They have to know by now that they failed; that Agent Spender is still alive." "Maybe they've given up," Scully offered. There was no need to qualify the statement; both agents knew precisely what *they* they were talking about. "More likely they're planning something. We just have to be ready for them." "Have you heard from Skinner? Any word on today's meeting? Did he shed any light on why his informant feels you and I could also be targets?" Mulder nodded. "He stopped by briefly on his way to the office; kept an eye on things while I took a short nap. He left about two hours ago. OPR wants clarification of several points in his preliminary report on the Spender shooting. It seems they're far more disturbed by the fact that the shooting occurred in the Hoover Building than by the possible reasons for the shooting. And no, nothing specific about the threat, except that he considered the source to be credible, and we should stay alert." As if on cue, his cell phone rang. Mulder answered it hastily with a quick, guilty glance toward Spender, but it didn't appear that the patient had been disturbed by the noise. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder, you and Agent Scully have been asked to appear before the OPR panel at 1 p.m. this afternoon." It was Skinner, his voice terse. "One p.m.?" Mulder checked his watch. Less than three hours. "Sir, we can't leave Agent Spender unprotected." Scully moved closer, her expression asking what was going on. Mulder held the receiver away from his ear and turned up the volume so they both could hear the conversation. "This is not a request, Agent Mulder," Skinner said coldly. "The OPR panel is presently disposed to be sympathetic to your request for reinstatement, given all that has happened, and in particular Agent Spender's affidavit. But it would take very little to turn them against you once again. A failure to acknowledge their summons would certainly fall into that category." "But, sir," Scully interjected, "surely you've explained the situation to them? Agent Spender's testimony is the key to the entire proceeding. If we leave him here, unprotected, his life could be in danger." "I have discussed the matter with the panel." This time, both Agents could hear the weariness and frustration underlying the matter-of-fact words. "I'm sorry to say that the panel was singularly unimpressed. They noted that Agent Spender is hardly unprotected. There are two agents guarding the corridors, and another two assigned to his door. If anything, OPR feels I am being ridiculously profligate with the FBI's valuable resources and manpower." Mulder snorted at that. "OPR is quite confident that the agents who will remain to guard Agent Spender in your absence are more than capable of providing adequate protection. You will both be here, in Room 256, at 1:00 p.m. sharp, or face the consequences. If you have any desire to remain in the FBI, I suggest that you both make it no later than 12:55." The phone clicked. "Damn." Mulder glared at his cell phone as though it was responsible for this calamity. "We have to go, Mulder," Scully observed. "I don't like it any better than you do, but we have no choice." "Don't you realize this could be a setup, Scully?" Mulder argued. "This could be just the opportunity they are waiting for to get to Agent Spender." "I don't like OPR any more than you do, Mulder, but I hardly think they would be party to a conspiracy to assassinate Agent Spender," Scully replied drily. "That's not what I mean, Scully. I agree, they'd never get their hands dirty. But we have to assume that Cancerman has people watching the hospital by now. They may try to take advantage of our absence." "I know, Mulder. But we don't have a choice. OPR doesn't care about our reasons or excuses. We've been ordered to appear, and if we miss this appointment, we might as well kiss our careers goodbye right now. Skinner handpicked the men on this floor. They're among his best, most trustworthy agents. They won't let anyone get to Spender." Mulder shook his head, unconvinced. "I hope you're right, Scully. Since we're betting Spender's life on it." ***** Jeffrey Spender had been dozing in a semi-wakeful trance, flirting with the edge of consciousness, when a sound from outside his hospital room pushed him over the line into full awareness. As he tried to assess what had happened and figure out where he was, three white-gowned figures burst into the room, guns at the ready. Finding no opposition, they replaced their weapons. Spender's mind was still trying to shake off the muzziness as he struggled to sit up. "Who? Where?" he croaked. Pain lashed at his chest and abdomen and he groaned as he sank back onto the bed. It hurt to move, it hurt to talk, and he barely recognized the hoarse voice as his own. One of the white-coated men rushed to Jeffrey's side, duct-taping his mouth shut, forestalling further questions -- or cries for assistance. The others were maneuvering a stretcher into the room. "Don't worry about it," one of the stretcher-bearers said coolly. "You won't be staying." "You're going for a little ride, Jeffrey," Duct Tape Man told him. "Someone wants to say goodbye to you, in a more intimate setting. We've got to disconnect this shit," he hissed to his companions, waving at the medical paraphernalia connected to the wounded man and reaching for the first sensor. His companion slapped his hand away. "Stop that, you idiot! I have to bypass the heart monitor first, or a resuscitation team with a crash cart will be on their way here in ten seconds." As he spoke, Electrician Man pulled something out of the small duffel he had brought. It looked like a cross between a radio and a Palm Pilot. He started to fiddle with the dials while Duct Tape Man identified and exposed the sensors that were connected to the heart monitor. The third man assumed a protective stance near the door, guarding against interruption. Spender's heart was beating wildly. Adrenaline had pushed the clouds from his head, and he remembered it all now: his resignation, his father, the shooting. Obviously, he'd made it to the hospital somehow, and these men had been sent to finish the job. He struggled to free himself, but he'd been placed in restraints so he couldn't inadvertently dislodge the IVS and other tubes that had been administering treatment and disposing of waste and drainage while he was unconscious. He was well and truly trapped. A sudden, undecipherable sound from beyond the doorway caused all of the kidnappers to draw their weapons. The sound was not repeated. Nobody tried to enter the room. Still, an uneasy miasma of tension settled over the place. "I'll have a look." The third man, the one who had waited by the door, left the room. His companions grunted their acknowledgment and went back to work creating an endless loop of Jeffrey's heartbeat that would be fed into the heart monitor, leaving the medical staff none the wiser when they disconnected their victim from the monitoring equipment. "I think that's done it," Electrician Man said after a minute or two, as he wiped his brow. "One more connection, and then you can rip away to your heart's content. It's not like he's going to need any of this shit where he's go--" There was a sudden chuffing sound, and Electrician Man collapsed where he stood. "What the --" Duct Tape Man went for his gun, but he never made it. A second soft spitting sound, and he joined his dying companion on the floor. The door, partially ajar to begin with, silently swung open. Jeffrey looked up with wide eyes into the face of his rescuer. "Alex?" ***** ***** The meeting with OPR lasted an hour and a half. The panel had decided to limit its initial inquiry to the matter of Mulder and Scully's suspension from the Bureau, or the session might have lasted for days. Since Agent Spender had filed the original charges that had led to their suspension, and since he had now withdrawn those charges, the matter of their reinstatement in the Bureau was settled quickly enough, even though -- in true, bureaucratic fashion -- it still took a lot of paperwork and paper-signing to make it official. The matter of reinstatement on the X-Files themselves was a greater bone of contention within the panel. That was clear from the questions that were asked, although it was plain, given the alignments of the OPR members, that formal reassignment to the X-Files was only a matter of time. But for this more limited inquiry, no lengthy interrogation or debate was required. Indeed, the only aspect of this meeting that invited some debate was the question of whether Mulder and Scully should remain within AD Kersh's departmental control for the time being or be immediately reassigned to AD Skinner -- and Kersh's avowed unwillingness to retain the two troublesome agents under his command made even that topic far less problematic than it otherwise might have been. Mulder even managed to keep his acerbic tongue under control for the entire session. By meeting's end, Mulder and Scully found themselves back on the FBI payroll, once again under AD Skinner's aegis. They were reinstated as regular agents, not assigned to the X-Files or any other specialized department, but it was made clear that Skinner was free to reassign the duo to the X-Files on a "pro tem" basis, pending further hearings, since that department was presently understaffed. The first bureaucratic obstacle met and successfully hurdled, Mulder, Scully and Skinner headed back to the hospital together. Skinner had checked in with the agents guarding Jeffrey Spender immediately prior to the OPR session, and had been told that all was well. As Mulder drove away from the Hoover, Skinner tried calling his agents once again. This time, there was no response. Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Skinner redial the number three times. "Trouble?" he asked, picking up speed and arrowing between cars. He swerved into the Pennsylvania Avenue median, slaloming the traffic lights as he raced around the slow-moving traffic. Scully reached across the seat to raise the bubble and turn on the siren. It would be embarrassing, to say the least, if they were shot at by the Secret Service as they raced toward the White House barrier at 15th Street. "I'm afraid so." Skinner ignored the screeching brakes and honking horns as Mulder cut off traffic to thread his way past another of the annoying traffic lights. "Nobody is answering at the hospital. It could be that there's some interference with the signal --" "Not very likely, is it, sir?" Mulder skidded the speeding car into a sharp turn at 15th, narrowly missing the security barrier, as Secret Service agents and D.C. police stared at them from the checkpoint. Skinner sighed, knowing they'd be tracing the license plates already, and he'd be making apologetic explanations to the top floor by nightfall. Still, he couldn't blame Mulder, not with a man's life at stake. "No, Agent Mulder. It isn't." He gasped in horror. "What are you --" He winced and closed his eyes as Mulder headed into the oncoming traffic on E Street. Frantically honking cars tried to dive out of his way. Mulder braked, then cursed, then forced the fishtailing vehicle out of the heavy afternoon traffic and onto the Ellipse sidewalk, then onto the Ellipse itself, as Skinner and Scully clung to the door handles to avoid being thrown around. "I'm taking a short cut," Mulder explained unnecessarily, as he raced between the trees. "Should we call it in? Ask for help?" Scully wondered, as they dodged finger-pointing tourists and several of the news trucks stationed there on permanent Monica-watch. "We don't know what kind of *help* would arrive," Mulder said grimly, clenching the steering column. The others were silent, all of them remembering the ambulance that had come in response to Mulder's frantic 911 call when Scully was stung by the genetically modified bee that past summer. "That could be just what they're waiting for -- an opportunity to get Spender out of there without interference, under the pretext of responding to our emergency call." "And if we just notify the hospital, we could be sending innocent medical personnel into a death trap," Skinner added. "We can't risk it. Damn!" He slammed his fist into the door in frustrated fury. "We'll be there in about three minutes," Mulder said, knowing that wasn't good enough. The mirror clipped the payphone at E and 17th as he wheeled the car sharply to the right, onto 17th Street and back onto the paved roadway. "A lot can happen in three minutes," Scully noted grimly, voicing what they all knew. ***** Spender was still staring into the cheerfully grinning face of Alex Krycek, jaw dropping now that the duct tape had been removed. Staring at the gun resting oh-so-casually in the assassin's gloved hand, the gun that had so irrevocably ended two lives. Two? "Alex? There was a third --" He tried whispering this time, but again the pain seared his throat and he started to cough. "I know. He won't be bothering you again either. Are you okay? Let me clean up a little, and then I'll have a look at you." "I think I'm okay," Jeffrey replied, ignoring the pain now that he was prepared for it. Three lives, then. "Where am I?" "George Washington University Medical Center. They brought you in yesterday." Krycek examined the bodies, making sure the would-be kidnappers were dead before he finally pocketed his gun. He dragged the two corpses into the far corner of the room, tossing their equipment and weapons in the same direction. Jeffrey watched his unexpected savior with more than a touch of envy. Alex Krycek was brave, efficient, capable. He'd evaluated the situation and eliminated the threat with a minimum of effort. The fact that he'd killed three men in the process didn't even faze him. Or make him examine Jeffrey with anything other than solicitous concern. The man was checking him out now, making sure that none of the tubes or monitoring equipment had been disturbed by his uninvited guests. "Everything looks all right," Krycek finally remarked with satisfaction, tucking the sheet around Jeffrey once again. He was dressed much as he had been the night he'd followed Jeffrey into the Consortium member's house and saved his life for the first time: black jeans, dark turtleneck, black leather jacket. <> Jeffrey thought to himself, with more than a touch of hysteria. "W-what are you doing here?" Jeffrey stammered. He was still shaking from his latest brush with death. He was grateful that Krycek had evidently chosen to ignore his reaction. "Keeping an eye on you. Agents Mulder and Scully were called away to a meeting with OPR. I had a feeling someone might try to capitalize on their absence to finish his dirty work. Seems I was right." <> Jeffrey fought to hold back the flood as memory returned, but the tears slid down his face. "Damn him! Damn him to hell!" Passion caused him to speak more loudly than he'd intended, and his voice shattered into a cough. "Yeah." Krycek patted his shoulder soothingly, careful not to interfere with any of the tubes and needles. "He's a world class bastard, your father." Jeffrey raised tear-stained eyes in confusion. "I thought you worked for him," he said carefully. It seemed that it didn't hurt as much if he spoke slowly and softly. "I did. A long time ago. Never again in this lifetime," The hatred he felt for the Smoker hardened his voice. "He's tried to kill me twice. You're in good company, Jeff." "But you -- you said you admired him. Told me he was a great man." "I was being ironic. Your father considers himself a great man. He credits himself with having held back colonization, though the aliens weren't ready to start colonization back in 1973 anyway. But the truth of the matter is that your father is nothing but a selfish, cowardly egotist with far too much power for anyone's good." "You weren't being ironic." The light suddenly dawned. "You were manipulating me! You wanted me to defy him!" "I wanted you to know the truth," Krycek corrected. "I merely put you in possession of information that had been withheld from you. You made your own choices. If you were a different person, you wouldn't have cared what your father did to your mother; or what he was willing to do to the human race in order to try and save his own neck. He could advance your career, and perhaps put you on the winning side, and that would have been enough." "If I were more like him." Jeffrey frowned. He gazed thoughtfully at the man seated calmly at his bedside, weapon now resting within easy reach on the nearby night table. A man who had seen things, done things he -- Jeffrey -- couldn't even imagine. "You should go," he said unwillingly. "If you should be found here --" he glanced uneasily at the bodies in the corner. "It's all right, Jeff." Krycek squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I'm not going anywhere until the guys in the white hats get back. It's been too long since Mulder and I saw each other. I wouldn't want him to forget me." Jeffrey almost choked at the image of Fox Mulder in a white hat; then the full meaning of his visitor's words finally registered. "You know Mulder?" Krycek's lips curled. Jeffrey wasn't sure if the expression on the other man's face was a smile or grimace. "We were partners once. For a few months. It was several years ago. Before your time." "*You* were in the FBI?" Jeffrey couldn't hide his surprise. Krycek was hitting him with one shock after another. "In theory. Actually, I was working for your father then. His orders paired me with Mulder." Krycek sighed, sounding almost wistful for a moment. "Mulder doesn't like me very much. I did some things back then, things your father ordered me to do... That was before I knew what your father was really involved with," he observed, his tone suddenly turned caustic, his face granite. "What things?" Jeffrey asked, almost fearfully. Krycek shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Just don't be surprised when Mulder tries to rip my head off and use it for basketball practice." His voice trailed off, and Jeffrey could tell that his companion was in a different world. His dark, somber mood was almost frightening, and Jeffrey tried to nudge the subject back to safer ground. "That's the second time this month you've saved my life," he observed. "You're making quite a habit of this." The other man chuckled, evidently shaking off the cobwebs of memory. "Right place at the right time, Jeff. That's all. How *are* you feeling?" he asked again, pressing Jeffrey's forehead lightly with the bare skin of his forearm. "You look pretty pale." "I feel like shit," Jeff confessed. "Everything hurts. Is it always this bad, being shot?" Somehow, he was quite sure that Krycek was familiar with the sensation. "It's never fun being shot," Krycek agreed. "But gut shots are particularly painful." "That's why he did it, you know," Spender said bitterly. "He was going to shoot me in the head, but he changed his mind at the last minute. Said he wanted me to have time to think about my failure of a life before it was over." "You didn't fail, Jeff. Your father asked the impossible of you." Krycek leaned forward to make it easier for the injured man to hear him without straining. "Not for you." Spender yawned. The adrenaline rush was finally fading, and he was tiring rapidly. Thinking was much more of a chore than it had been five minutes ago. Another soft chuckle. "Ah, but I was trained for that kind of thing. You weren't. You were brought up to believe in a safe, sane civilized world, where the rule of law applies and aliens don't exist. Where the government's job is to serve and protect the people. I could almost envy you --" Krycek's voice suddenly trailed off and his whole demeanor changed. In an instant, the easy-going, soft-spoken confidante disappeared, replaced by the stone-cold killer Jeffrey had now seen twice before. "What?" Jeffrey started to ask, and Krycek's lips pursed, counseling silence. The gun seemed an extension of his arm as he glided into the shadows, prepared to defend Jeffrey again if necessary. ***** ***** Siren still blaring, Mulder took another *short cut* at Washington Circle, traffic scattering before him as he barrelled in the wrong direction for the short 30 yard distance to the ramp leading to the GW Emergency Room entrance. He wrenched the wheel around as he slammed on the brakes, and the car shuddered to a stop, just to the side of the ER doorway, front wheels resting on the sidewalk. Medical personnel, hospital security and a host of curious passersby clustered around the vehicle, gawking, and wondering what was going on. "Federal Agents. This is an emergency," Skinner shouted at the hospital security guard as they jumped out of the car, badges waving, and raced into the hospital. They quickly commandeered an elevator to the seventh floor. The FBI agents who had been left guarding the entrance were conspicuous by their absence, the large desk in the entrance hallway unmanned. Only when they walked past the desk did they notice the body hastily crammed underneath. A second body lay sprawled in a nearby doorway. "Shit!" Skinner cursed, as all three drew their weapons. Skinner and Mulder took the lead, Scully watching their backs. All was quiet as they stealthily crept along the empty corridor and turned the corner onto the corridor holding Spender's room. The two agents Skinner had assigned to guard Spender's room lay on the floor in front of the doorway, covered with blood and quite obviously dead. A third man, white doctor's gown no longer concealing the black clothing underneath, lay dead beside them, a gun near his hand. The door to the room was partially open. "Damnit, we're too late," Mulder muttered to himself. "I knew it." Skinner held up a warning finger to shut him up. The attackers were probably long gone, their task complete, but that was no reason to take chances. Quietly, the agents took up positions on either side of the door. As they were preparing to charge inside, they heard a soft murmuring from within. Jeffrey Spender's voice was weak but unmistakable. Apparently, he was still alive after all, against all odds. But in that case, what had happened to the guards? And who was in there, talking to Agent Spender? Again Skinner held up a finger, counseling silence, as he carefully toed the door a few more inches. Far safer to try and sneak a glance at what was transpiring instead of barging into the potentially lethal unknown. Fortunately, the door moved noiselessly, and the room's inhabitants didn't register the motion. Their conversation continued unabated, now audible to the unseen listeners. "... Everything hurts. Is it always this bad, being shot?" "It's never fun being shot," came the sympathetic reply. It was apparent that Jeffrey Spender was in no immediate danger from his guest. "But gut shots are particularly painful." "That's why he did it, you know." As they'd suspected, Spender had indeed seen his would-be assassin. Mulder and Scully queried their superior with their eyes. Skinner shook his head. Not yet, he silently counseled. Wait for my signal. Agent Spender's visitor was speaking too quietly for the listeners to pick up his precise words, but they were evidently meant to be reassuring. The seductive voice seemed dangerously familiar to Mulder, teasing at the fringes of memory. As the visitor turned away for a moment, his face was briefly illuminated by the lamp on the night table. Mulder, who had been peering through the door hinges, squawked in outraged astonishment. Instantly Krycek was on the alert. Gun drawn in one fluid motion, he motioned Jeffrey to silence. He moved into the shadows, ready to attack. Busted. Mulder, Skinner and Scully exchanged glances; an instant later, Mulder crashed through the door, keeping his body low and twisting to the right once he was inside. The gun in his hand was aimed squarely at the unwelcome intruder. "Krycek! Move away from the bed and put your hands in the air!" he barked, a fierce gleam in his eye. "You're under arrest." Krycek froze momentarily, his gun on Mulder as Mulder's was on him. Then he slowly obeyed, stepping back and raising his right arm over his head. That hand still held his weapon, but Mulder heard the safety click on as it was raised. The renegade held his left arm stiffly away from the body, mute explanation for his failure to fully comply with the order, but also demonstrating the absence of a weapon or threat from that side. Mulder almost recoiled at the sight of that stiff, unnatural plastic, and had to fight to suppress the reaction. He couldn't help staring. Mulder had thought there was something odd about Krycek the last time he and Krycek had met, but the lighting had been so poor, and the circumstances so extraordinary, he thought he might have imagined it. Evidently not. He heard the harsh intakes of breath as Scully and Skinner also reacted and he realized that they had followed him into the room. Mulder noticed that Scully also had her firearm drawn, but, oddly enough, Skinner did not. Krycek's eyes crinkled with amusement at their shocked reactions. "Looks like the gang's all here," he remarked. "Hey, Mulder. What kept you? You missed all the fireworks." He glanced carelessly toward one corner of the room. "Shut up, Krycek," Mulder growled. "Take the gun by the barrel; bring it down *very* slowly and toss it over here. And be very careful. I won't hesitate to shoot you." As he spoke, he gave a quick peek in the direction Krycek had indicated and for the first time noticed the bodies sprawled in the corner, the guns, knives, duct tape, etc. -- all bearing unspoken testimony to an assault gone awry. Mulder, Scully and Skinner exchanged glances before the latter two walked over to examine the white-gowned corpses. Mulder's gun held steady while Krycek slowly obeyed his orders and tossed his gun at the agent's feet. Mulder had to jump back to avoid being hit by the weapon. He glared at Krycek. "Cover me," he warned Scully, as he holstered his weapon in preparation for a search of their prisoner. Scully interrupted her examination of the would-be assassins in order to comply. "You and your associates have a falling out?" he sniped. "Mulder, you astound me," Krycek said sardonically. "I pull your ass out of the fire, save your witness for you, and all you can do is hurl insults? Is that any way to treat an old friend? After all the good times we've shared?" Mulder shoved Krycek hard against the wall and began his search for additional weapons. "We are not *friends*, Krycek," Mulder snapped. "And the only good time we're ever going to share together is the trip to Central Booking." "Never could keep your hands off me, could you, Mulder?" Krycek's voice dripped saccharine-sweet sarcasm. "Maybe you want to hit me again, for old times sake? Just to show how much you care?" "Shut up, Krycek," Mulder repeated, as he continued to frisk his one-time partner. In response, Krycek arched back, rubbing against him. Mulder swore and shoved him hard against the wall again. "And stand still, damnit!" "Whatever you say, hero." Krycek was having a field day, yanking Mulder's chain. With the others present, he apparently assumed that Mulder would have to keep a lid on any retaliation he might have otherwise contemplated. Then again, maybe the bastard just didn't care. He hadn't shown much inclination to curb his sarcastic tendencies in Mulder's presence during any of their prior encounters either. Mulder started to reply; then bit down on the nasty retort he was considering. He was embarrassed to see that the others were staring at the duo with shock and consternation. He hastily concluded his search, divesting his former partner of two rather nasty-looking knives and a second handgun. When he found the alien-killing gimlet blade, he lingered, obviously with a question on his lips, but he finally just tossed the weapon on the coffee table with the rest. "I think you missed a couple of places." Krycek leered at him. Mulder slammed the bastard against the wall again. Then he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him into the bedside chair with so much force he almost knocked it over. He cuffed Krycek's good arm to the chair. Then for good measure, he kicked the chair, once again almost knocking it over and coming close to breaking his own foot into the bargain, before training his gun once again on his old antagonist. "There now, feel better?" Krycek asked mockingly. "Ready for a nice little chat?" Unfazed by Mulder's assault, he was now grinning at Jeffrey Spender, who had witnessed the byplay with slack-jawed astonishment. "A-Agent Mulder?" Jeffrey Spender decided to jump into the fray. "What's going on?" "Are you all right, Agent Spender?" Scully asked, walking over to the bed to give him the once-over, keeping out of Mulder's line of fire and away from Krycek as she did so. "I'm fine. Considering that my own father tried to kill me yesterday and nearly succeeded. What are you doing? Alex came here to protect me." Mulder stared at him. "*Alex*?!" He momentarily took his eyes off Krycek to gape at Spender. "You know this ratfucking son of a bitch?" ********** ******* Mulder stared at him. "*Alex*?!" He momentarily took his eyes off Krycek to gape at Spender. "You know this ratfucking son of a bitch?" The youthful agent was undeterred by Mulder's obvious hostility toward the other man. "We met last week. When he saved my life for the first time. Today was the second." "Can you tell us what happened here, Agent Spender?" Skinner spoke for the first time since entering the room and instantly asserted control of the proceedings. "Yes, sir. I was lying in bed, when three armed men burst in, wearing doctors' gowns. They said they were going to kidnap me, to be killed elsewhere. I think they worked for my father. They started to disconnect the tubes, and that's when Alex showed up. He lured one of them out of the room; then he came in and shot the other two as they went for their guns. Since then, he's been keeping watch, waiting for you to return." Spender spoke in a soft, measured tone. He was careful not to strain his throat, but obviously wanted to make sure that Alex Krycek was in the clear. "Waiting for us to return," Skinner echoed. "You knew Mulder and Scully were called away to the OPR meeting?" he asked Krycek. Krycek shrugged. "I like to keep my ears to the ground," he said modestly. "More like his nose to the sewers," Mulder grumbled under his breath. "Did you know this attack was planned?" Krycek hesitated. "Let's just say that I knew that old Smoky wasn't happy at Junior's continued survival, and a move to correct that *mistake* was inevitable. Stood to reason that he would exploit a situation like their temporary absence from the scene." He nodded toward Mulder and Scully. "You couldn't have intervened a few minutes earlier? *Before* four of my men were killed?" Skinner fumed. Krycek shrugged nonchalantly. "If they'd done the job they were paid to do, I wouldn't have had to intervene at all." "What is your interest in Agent Spender?" Skinner was fully prepared to continue the informal debriefing for as long as Krycek remained willing to answer his questions. Krycek grinned. "Purely professional, I assure you. Which brings me to the other piece of information I wanted to convey to you, Jeffrey, before we were so rudely interrupted." "What the fuck are you talking about, Krycek?" Krycek ignored Mulder's outburst. "Look, Jeff, I'm sure the FBI is going to offer you protection against your father in return for your testimony. They will place you in the Witness Protection Program if you wish." He paused, casually adjusting his position in the chair to slouch as far down as possible. "I just wanted to let you know that that is not your only option. If you would like, I can arrange your disappearance -- and with a far better chance of success, I might add. And you won't have to testify to anything." Mulder exploded. "Why you -- you asshole! You're not going to be arranging anything except the upper or lower bunk in the nearest jail cell!" He turned to Spender. "I don't know what this son of a bitch has told you, but you can't believe a word he says. I know he may seem sincere, but Alex Krycek is a lying, manipulative, soulless bastard who would sell out his own mother if it served his purpose." Krycek again ignored the interruption. "Think about it, Jeff. I'll be back in a few days to hear your decision. In the meantime, I think you'll be safe enough, but I'll keep an eye on things." He briefly paused to consider Mulder, who was still spluttering with rage. The amusement drained from Krycek's face, and he again looked like the cold-blooded assassin they all knew him to be. "It's been fun, but I really do have to go now. Call off your dogs, Skinner." He sought Skinner's eyes and held them. Mulder opened his mouth to scoff and froze, seeing something indefinable pass between his boss and the Consortium renegade. Skinner was the first to break eye contact. Looking like he had a really bad taste in his mouth, he said sourly, "Put the guns away, Agents. Mulder, let him go." Mulder stared at him, disbelieving. "Sir, you can't mean that!" "I'm not in the habit of giving orders I don't mean, Mulder." "Sir?" Scully had previously reholstered her gun while she checked out Jeffrey Spender, but now she had her hand on the weapon, watching both Skinner and Krycek with concern. "I'll explain later," Skinner assured them. "Agent Mulder, you will obey my orders." The baffled agent had lowered his weapon, but he had not put it away. "But sir, it's *Krycek*..." "I know. Believe me, I'm no happier about this than you are. But there are no pending wants or warrants against Alex Krycek." "That's impossible!" "That can't be!" Mulder and Scully protested almost simultaneously. Skinner sighed. "Someone went to a lot of trouble some months ago to see that our old *friend* here had a clean slate to work with." "Well, I didn't give him a clean slate." Mulder snarled, bringing the gun to bear once again. "Mulder, that's enough! Put. The. Gun. Away. Now." Skinner punctuated each word to give it emphasis. For a long moment, they all stared at each other. Then slowly, reluctantly, Mulder holstered his weapon, though he kept his hand on the butt end. "I'm sorry, Agents. But it's out of my hands. Krycek walks." "What about them?" Mulder gestured toward the bodies in the corner. "Can't we at least hold him as a material witness?" Skinner sighed. "Justifiable homicide. Agent Spender's account confirms it. And you know as well as I do that the moment we make an official report on this case, these bodies and the evidence are going to disappear. It's not worth trying to hold him because of it. Someone at the very highest levels of power has taken an interest in Krycek and is protecting him. You have no idea what a firestorm you'd be creating. At the end of the day, we'd still have to release him -- and the likelihood of your reassignment to the X-Files will have been reduced to nil. Trust me on that." Mulder was still vacillating, looking affronted and resentful. Krycek's self-satisfied smirk didn't help matters any. "Please, Mulder." Skinner tried to put every ounce of credibility he owned into that plea, knowing the likely consequences of failure. Apparently it was enough. Resistance faded to a smoldering ember of resentment. Mulder unfastened the handcuff from the chair and used the loose end to haul Krycek to his feet by his still-cuffed hand. Krycek yelped. Mulder sharply yanked the cuff again, this time to pull the hand closer so he could free it. If he had to release the goddamn son of a bitch, he wasn't going to be gracious about it. "Damnit, Mulder!" Krycek glared at the agent as he rubbed his raw-skinned wrist against his body, trying to relieve the discomfort. Mulder ignored the complaint. "What's going on, sir?" he demanded of Skinner. "Yes, sir, we deserve an explanation." Scully agreed. "I'll explain later," Skinner promised. "Will we see you again?" he asked his former subordinate. "I don't suppose you would care to shed any light on the events at the El Rico Air Base the other day?" "Like I said -- I'll be back in a few days to see Jeffrey," the renegade replied, still rubbing his injured wrist and glowering at Mulder. Mulder matched him, glare for glare, a cold smile inviting protest. After a few moments, Krycek conceded the staring contest, shaking his head slightly. "I think you should be able to hold the fort until then. But a civilized discussion in more suitable surroundings might not be a bad idea. I'll call to set something up." "I'll look forward to that," Skinner said grimly. "I'm sure you will." Krycek moved to the coffee table and reclaimed his weapons, daring anyone to comment. He nodded cheerfully to them all, good humor restored. "Take care of yourself, Jeffrey. See you around, Mulder. By the way, I'd watch my back if I were you." "With you in town, you can count on that." Mulder moved to block his path, as Scully moved to Mulder's side in support. "If you knew he was going to let you go, why didn't you say something in the first place?" Mulder growled through gritted teeth. "Why let me go through the motions?" "But they were such pleasant motions, Agent Mulder," Krycek said mockingly. "I wouldn't have missed them for the world. Or the expression on your face when you found out it was all for nothing." He smiled benignly at the agent, indifferent to the fact that Mulder's expression was positively murderous. "I'll be in touch," he said once again, and started to detour around the obstacle in his path. Mulder reflexively moved to block him again. Krycek paused, smiling ruefully at his smoldering ex-partner. "Can't bear to see me go, eh, Mulder?" he said softly. Green eyes sparkled with mischievous fire. Krycek's gloved hand suddenly pulled Mulder's face close enough for him to lightly brush the agent's cheek with his lips. Scully gasped. "Until next time," Krycek said brashly. He drew back; then stepped around the stunned agent. Too late -- far too late -- Mulder's hand came up to clutch at his burning cheek. "What -- you --" He spun around, face flooded with rage and embarrassment, to demand an explanation. But Krycek was already out the door. ****** ****** Krycek stepped out of the hospital elevator and headed briskly toward the exit. A tall, broad-shouldered medical technician was loitering in the lobby, occasionally checking his watch as though waiting to go off duty. When he saw Krycek, they briefly made eye contact. The medtech then followed Krycek out of the hospital. Just outside the entrance, they were joined by another burly man, equally nondescript in appearance and dressed in a polyester suit. The trio walked quietly for about a block before Krycek spoke. "Let's get something to drink," Krycek decreed, knowing his two d'lin companions would comply without question. The Gamma series clones -- Guardians of personnel and property among their own kind -- were bred for obedience rather than independent thought. And this particular pair of clones had orders to assist Alex Krycek in every way possible. At first, Alex had been less than pleased when his friend, ally and sometime commander *Dee*, a Delta series clone and the chief scientist among the d'lin resistance fighters, had assigned a pair of Guardians to assist Alex on his current, self-appointed mission. Working with assholes like Luis Cardinale had reinforced Krycek's preference for working alone. Hell, the only partner he'd ever enjoyed working with was Mulder -- and since he spent half the time they were partnered together double-crossing the guy, that hardly counted. Still, he grudgingly admitted that Frick and Frack (as he thought of them) did have their uses. For one thing, they made it possible for him to keep a watchful eye on Fox Mulder and Jeffrey Spender at the same time. For another, it made communication with base headquarters a lot simpler than it otherwise would have been. Since the d'lin weren't particularly keen on sharing their advanced technology with the *primitive* humans, even their few human allies, the only way Krycek could gain access to a d'lin communicator was if there was a d'lin accompanying him. The mismatched threesome stopped at the Au Bon Pain in the GW Mall, a couple of blocks from the hospital. It had the closest thing to decent coffee in the area. The place was half full, with students, and nurses, and medtechs, and swollen-eyed visitors. Krycek ordered coffee for himself and tomato juice for the others. Tomato juice was one of the few Terran beverages that the d'lin digestive system could assimilate. The group waited silently, almost unmoving, until the waitress had brought their order and moved elsewhere to assist other customers. "I need to call in," Alex said casually. One of the Guardians silently handed him a pen. Krycek's lips quirked slightly with bemusement. Dee was always experimenting, finding new ways to incorporate d'lin technology into commonplace Earth objects. Alex was quite aware that Dee was only amusing himself, but his novel applications did enable the d'lin to pass unnoticed in human society when necessary. He lodged the pen's protective cover over one ear. "Open Channel Dee," he remarked, grinning to himself as he thumbed the "on" switch. "There is no Channel D," the Guardians solemnly chimed in monotone unison. <> "I know that," Krycek replied with exaggerated patience. "Terran humor." The Guardians immediately lost interest. Krycek was mentally debating whether he felt foolhardy enough to risk teasing his humorless companions further when a signal chimed in his ear. "Dee? It's Alex. How's life back at the ranch?" He spoke quietly as though to his companions, holding the pen casually in his hand, knowing that the highly sensitive receiver would carry his words. "Alex?" Dee's excited voice sounded in Krycek's ear, just as if the d'lin scientist was standing beside him. "Things are going very well here. Very well indeed. My preliminary studies of the ch'lith'kik'a genome have already yielded several dozen new promising areas of inquiry. But how are things on your end? You barely stayed eight hours after your return from Fort Marlene before you turned around and rushed back to Washington, and not a word from you since, except for that brief report about the Jeffrey Spender shooting. Is the situation under control? Have there been any more shootings? Any success on the principal objective?" "Hey, take it easy, Dee. One question at a time. First of all, yeah, the kid is okay, but I guess you know that already. No other shootings to report, but I disposed of three nasties who were trying to complete Daddy's unfinished business with son Jeffrey, and reestablished myself in Junior's good graces. And, no -- nothing definitive on the main objective yet, but I think there's a good likelihood of success if we just let the situation play itself out." "That sounds promising," Dee replied in his characteristically sunny manner. "The beacon is working most satisfactorily, by the way. Does Spender know?" "No, the kid has no idea. I placed the tracker while I was examining him after the attack. He never felt a thing -- but I don't have to tell you how good your pressure injectors are. You getting a good signal?" Krycek suspected that he could count on Skinner to make the hospital a virtual fortress from here on out, especially with some "encouragement" from Alex, but it always paid to have a backup plan in place. And with the d'lin tracker now implanted within Spender's body, they could transmat him out of harm's way instantly if an emergency threatened. Krycek was not going to allow any harm to come to Jeffrey Spender until and unless it suited his purpose. "Loud and clear, Alex." "Good. And the video? You should have a full view of the room and the adjoining corridors from all angles." "The video coverage is fine. Excellent placements, as always." "Thanks." "By the way, I'm taking the opportunity to study your friend Fox Mulder. He's virtually living in Jeffrey Spender's room, so I could hardly avoid doing so even if I wanted to." "He's not my friend," Krycek replied automatically. "What about Mulder?" "Interesting human," Dee remarked. "Brave, intelligent, yet highly emotional. No artifice at all in that one. He doesn't like you very much, Alex." Krycek snorted at that. "No kidding. You watched us?" "It was a fascinating interaction," Dee observed. "Such intensity of feeling, such raw, naked passion..." "Not something you see in d'lin society, I guess," Krycek remarked. "You're not exactly an emotional species." "Quite the opposite in fact," Dee heartily agreed. "Except at the highest strata of d'lin society. And even among the top four hierarchical groupings, what you humans would probably describe as negative emotions -- hatred, anger, disappointment, regret -- do not exist. So the chance to study a human like Fox Mulder is quite exciting -- a sentient being, but one so wholly different from us. Truly a creature from another world." "Mulder is certainly unique," Krycek agreed, with more than a hint of mordant humor. "Your Smoking Man hasn't gone after Mulder after all?" "No," Krycek admitted. "It appears I may have been wrong about that. Our friend hasn't shown the slightest interest in Mulder. I'm very surprised. I thought he would go after Mulder first -- as loose ends go, he's the loosest end there is. But as far as I can tell, the only target he's homed in on has been the kid." "I have noticed that your species often exhibits a peculiarly irrational and emotional response when familial relations are involved," Dee remarked. "Perhaps the Smoker's emotional feelings toward his son have inhibited a more logical approach to the situation." "Maybe," Krycek said dubiously. It was hard for him to believe the Smoking Man had any familial feelings at all. On the other hand, it was hardly surprising that a logic-driven, dispassionate species like the d'lin would find human modes of behavior almost incomprehensible. Dee probably came closer than any other member of his species to understanding human behavior, and even he had problems much of the time. "Still, it won't hurt to keep an eye on Mulder. As long as he's guarding Spender, you can do that from the base; when he goes off-duty, I'll have one of the Guardians take over. Just to be safe. But I'm beginning to think our best shot is going to be with the kid." "Excellent. It sounds as though you have the matter well in hand. That being the case, perhaps you could devote some attention to your final report on the events at Fort Marlene? The Council is growing somewhat impatient at the delay." Dee spoke evenly, but the lack of his customary enthusiasm showed how little he enjoyed delivering this particular message. Which didn't mean that Krycek wasn't annoyed with him anyway. "No. I don't have time for that. I can keep an eye on things here, or I can finish that damned report, but I can't do both. Can't you stall the Council for a few more days? Either that, or they're going to have to figure out a way for me to dictate it from Washington. Events are moving too quickly here, and Charlottesville is too far away. I have to stay in Washington for a few more days at least, until we get this thing resolved." "Is it safe for you, Alex? There aren't going to be legal complications, are there?" D'lin never sounded worried, but Dee's concern was obvious to Alex, given their long history together. "No. No problems at all on that end. The Englishman handled the arrangements most efficiently before he died, and Skinner knows better than to fuck with me. And I can handle Mulder." "I'm very glad to hear that. Alex, I will inform the Council that your report will be delayed until the conclusion of the present operation. At that time, you will file reports with regard to both operations. Is that satisfactory? The time frame will be several more days, is that correct?" "Yeah, that's right. A few days, at least. Junior won't be ready to leave for at least that long, and I don't see Daddy gunning for him in the hospital again. It'll have to be out in the open. But I made the kid an offer he probably can't refuse, once he has the time to think things through." "And you don't think the FBI will try to interfere?" "That won't be a problem. They won't like it, but they don't have any choice. Jeffrey Spender resigned from the FBI prior to the attack. It's his decision. And if I had to choose between having the leaky FBI bureaucracy protecting me, versus a skilled assassin who's already saved my butt twice, I know what choice I would make. I'll give it a couple of days, then arrange a meeting with them. By then, Jeffrey will probably have given Skinner and the others the bad news. And we should know if Smoky has any more names on his hit parade. That's it for now. I'll be in touch when there's more news." "Indeed. Thank you for the update, Alex. Let me know when there are further developments." "You got it. Bye." Krycek thumbed the pen, breaking the connection, and handed the object back to the Guardian. He downed the rest of his coffee, tossed a handful of bills onto the table and rose to his feet. "I'm going back to the apartment," he informed his silent companions. "I want you to keep an eye on things at the hospital until I return. If Mulder or Scully leave, one of you should stay with them until they return. Make sure they're not being targeted. But be discreet; make sure they don't see you. We're going to be remaining in town a few more days at least." ****** ****** Mulder continued to stare at the door through which his former partner and current nemesis had departed. His face was still red when he finally, unwillingly turned back to his companions. The incredulous smile on his partner's lips disappeared so quickly he wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it, and she was now facing him with a serious, set expression which told him she was trying very hard to contain her shock. Jeffrey Spender was trying very hard not to laugh. Skinner was staring at him as though he'd recently grown a second head. "Is there anything about your relationship with Alex Krycek you'd like to tell me, Agent Mulder?" the AD inquired. If it were possible, Mulder flushed an even brighter shade of crimson. "There's nothing to tell, sir. Krycek has a very twisted sense of humor. He was trying to embarrass me." Skinner tilted his head consideringly. "I'd say he succeeded." Mulder looked sour. "Yes, sir." "I don't know if embarrassment is the only thing involved here," Scully said in a troubled tone. "The way he repeatedly seeks Agent Mulder out... Has anything like this ever happened before?" she asked her partner. Mulder took a sudden, intense interest in a small paint whorl on the opposite wall. There was no way he was answering that question. Hell, there was no way he was even going to think about it. "Mulder?" Scully sounded even more deeply concerned by his reticence. "If Krycek did something to you when you were partners, or --" "No!" Mulder broke in, grateful for the opportunity to answer his partner honestly without upsetting her further. "He didn't. Do anything, I mean. I think he does it -- did it," he hastily corrected himself -- "just to keep me off-balance." He watched his partner's dismayed features and knew she'd caught the slip. "Or maybe he just likes being thrown against walls," he said half-jokingly, wishing for a better rejoinder... and an opportunity to test that theory on the rat bastard who'd put him in this ridiculous position. "We can worry about that later," Skinner interjected, though he also sounded disturbed by Mulder's unintended revelation. "Right now, I want both of you to secure the entrance to this ward. I don't want anyone else coming up here and scaring themselves silly or contaminating the crime scene by stumbling over the bodies. I'm going to call the hospital administrators and let them know what happened, and that we're closing off this wing except for essential medical staff until we've had a forensics team in. And local police will have to be called in; it's their jurisdiction as well. We're also going to need replacements for the agents who were killed. I don't think headquarters is going to give me any more arguments about manpower after what happened here today." Mulder and Scully had started for the door when Skinner stopped them. "Wait. One more thing." The AD looked over at Jeffrey Spender; then at his agents. The expression on his face suggested that he had eaten something both unpalatable and highly indigestible. "I don't think we should mention Krycek's involvement. That's a little hard to explain to local law enforcement." "It's a little hard to explain, period," said Mulder, still aggrieved at being forced to let his least favorite felon walk out unscathed. "Sir, you still owe us an explanation." "And you'll have one," Skinner promised. "Later. But for the record, I think we should simply report that the shooter was gone by the time we arrived on the scene. Agent Spender, you saw a vaguely defined figure in black take out your would-be kidnappers, but you were still feeling woozy and couldn't identify your benefactor. You know only that he slipped away as soon as the job was done." All three were staring at Skinner in stunned surprise. "I have my reasons for this, Agents. And I will explain. But now isn't the time." ****** The time didn't actually arrive until the wee hours of the night. As was usually the case, Krycek had left them one hell of a mess to explain and dispose of. The hours after his departure were filled with police reports and witness statements and forensic teams. Skinner doubled the size of the protection force assigned to Jeffrey Spender, and instructed Scully and Mulder to camp out at the hospital for the duration of Agent Spender's stay. Since the 7th floor was still empty of patients except for Spender, it was easy to assign them to rooms on either side of the injured agent. Skinner was still mindful of the warning he'd been given, and after this latest, incredibly brazen attempt on Agent Spender's life, he didn't want to take any chances. Fortified by reinforcements, the seventh floor now looked like an armed camp. After giving their statements to both FBI and local law enforcement, Mulder and Scully had left the hospital together, Skinner remaining behind to keep an eye on things in their absence. Accompanied by some of Skinner's watchdogs, the two agents returned briefly to their respective apartments to pack up the toiletries, clothing and other items they would need for their prolonged stay. The moment they returned, Skinner left for the Hoover building to file his own report and attend a debriefing on the incident at GW. By the time he was finally able to make his way back to the hospital, it was well past 10 p.m. This time, Skinner found a quiet 7th floor waiting for him upon his return. An informal exchange of greetings with the agents at the entrance to the section reassured him that all was in order. Mulder and Scully were in Spender's room, where they had spent most of the day, providing the injured man with company and not so incidentally picking his brain clean of everything he knew about CGB Spender and Alex Krycek. Agent Spender had fallen asleep, exhausted by the dual burden of enjoying his first day of consciousness after the shooting and the attempted kidnaping and its aftermath. When Skinner arrived, Mulder was reading a mystery novel with an exceptionally lurid cover, while Scully had immersed herself in the latest issue of JAMA. Both looked up alertly as the door swung open, relaxing when they recognized their boss. Skinner hooked a finger, silently calling them to join him outside. They obediently rose and followed, two other agents immediately stepping into the room to take their place. They walked to the small guest lounge at the end of the corridor. From the paper bag he had brought with him, Skinner extracted deli sandwiches, sodas and a salad for Scully. The FBI team made themselves comfortable, spreading out around the lounge table with their food and libations. For some minutes, they ate in silence, enjoying the first real break of the day. Finally, after finishing his sandwich and putting down his soda, Skinner turned to face his companions. "I believe you have some questions for me, Agents?" "How the hell did Krycek get a clean slate?" Mulder exploded, asking the question that had been gnawing at him all day. "The bastard killed my father; helped abduct Scully; probably helped kill her sister --" he jerked his head in Scully's direction. "He beat you up, stole classified information. And he was up to his eyeballs in that mess involving the Tunguska rock. There's no way he's clean, sir, and you know that as well as I do!" "You're right, Agent Mulder. Krycek is dirty as hell. But what evidence do you have? Can you prove he was involved in your father's death?" "I know he did it," Mulder growled. "That's not the same thing and you know it!" Skinner snapped. "Can you *prove* it?" "You know I can't," Mulder admitted. "Bastard covered his tracks well. But I know he did it." Skinner turned to Scully. "And you, Agent Scully? Can you prove he was involved in your sister's murder?" Scully shook her head. "No, sir. The only forensic evidence points to Cardinale. Cardinale attempted to implicate Krycek, but he gave no specifics, and I had a gun trained on him at the time, so he was arguably under duress." "What about you, sir? You know Krycek attacked you," Mulder challenged. "In order to steal something I had no authority to be handling in the first place. The mere possession of that DAT tape would send me to prison if I admitted to having it." Skinner sighed. "Believe me, Agents, I would like nothing better than to toss that bastard in jail and throw away the key. But my hands are tied. This isn't even a case of stolen or missing evidence. There *is* no hard evidence against Alex Krycek. We all suspect, we all believe him guilty of countless crimes, but there is no proof." He looked over at Mulder and Scully, who looked sulky but grudgingly nodded. Skinner sighed heavily. "Several months ago, Krycek apparently did someone a favor which put him in the good graces of some very important people. As a result of that, I was called into the Director's office one day, and handed Krycek's updated FBI file. The latest update to the file stated that as a result of inquiries conducted at the highest levels of the government, it had been determined that all charges against Alex Krycek were baseless and without foundation, for which reason all wants and warrants had been dismissed. When I attempted to challenge that decision, I was informed that the topic was not open to further discussion, unless I could provide incontrovertible proof disproving those findings. When I tried to protest further, I was unofficially advised that if I didn't drop the matter immediately, my position at the FBI might be at risk -- but that the decision regarding Krycek was not going to change." "Why didn't you tell us?" Mulder protested. "You no longer worked for me at the time, and I had been ordered to avoid contact with both of you. Also, I knew how you would react. There was nothing to be done, Agent Mulder. Believe me, if anything could have helped, I would have done it. Your standing at the FBI was already in a precarious state as things were. You would have needlessly jeopardized your career and accomplished nothing." Mulder opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. He hated it, but Skinner was undoubtedly right. The rat bastard had slipped through his fingers again. But the way he'd done it... "Be interesting to know just what Krycek did to earn himself such consideration," Mulder remarked slowly. "I made inquiries at the time, but no one would give me a straight answer," Skinner admitted. Mulder frowned, mulling things over. "What he told Agent Spender -- that he could protect him better than the FBI -- he's probably right, sir. And Agent Spender isn't a complete idiot. If the FBI couldn't protect him in his own office, how can they protect him anywhere else? I don't see him turning down Krycek's offer. Especially since he doesn't know what a double-dealing, unprincipled son of a bitch the rat bastard is." "He'd be a fool to turn it down," Scully agreed. "But why is Krycek trying to protect Jeffrey Spender?" Mulder mused. "Why save his life today, and why offer him protection? It's obvious that Krycek is no longer working with Spender Senior, but is that a new development? If we can believe Agent Spender's account, Krycek was working for the man less than a week ago, though he seemed to be undercutting his authority. But if not the Smoker, who is Krycek working for? Most of the Consortium went up in flames. And if he's working for himself, why would he care about a pathetic nonentity like Jeffrey Spender?" "If he's fallen out with Cancerman, Krycek may think he can learn something useful from Agent Spender. Maybe he thinks Cancerman confided in his son," Skinner suggested doubtfully. "That's unlikely, sir." Mulder commented. "We spoke with Agent Spender tonight, after the police left." And what a surprise and disappointment that had been. Once the police interrogations were over and the physicians had resettled their patient, Mulder had virtually pounced on the injured man. He demanded to know everything that Jeffrey knew about Krycek -- how they'd met, what Krycek had said, who he was working for -- everything. And apart from being unsatisfying, Spender's answers were... well, unsettling, to say the least. "Agent Spender told us he knew nothing of the true nature of his father's work until about a week ago -- and most of what he now knows he learned from Krycek. No. It has to be something else." "Maybe we should ask him, next time he shows up. You never know -- maybe he'll surprise us all and give a straight answer for once," Scully remarked. Mulder shot her a look of disbelief, and she shrugged. Skinner was still focused on Mulder's remarks. "What did Krycek tell Agent Spender about his father?" Mulder and Scully looked at each other. Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his seat and started gnawing on his lower lip. "It would seem that we're back on the X-Files because of what Krycek told Agent Spender," Mulder finally admitted, with obvious reluctance. "Krycek told Agent Spender that he had been assigned to the X-Files in order to protect his father's extragovernmental projects and experiments. When he learned from Krycek that his father had been responsible for years of experimentation on his mother, Agent Spender attempted to defy his father by protecting his mother." "Apparently, it was CGB Spender who arranged for us all to end up at Fort Marlene, so he could regain control of Cassandra," Scully added. "Jeffrey had no idea of his involvement at the time." Mulder nodded. "And when his efforts proved futile, and he discovered his father had reclaimed his mother, Agent Spender decided to disassociate himself from the X-Files so his father couldn't use him any longer to protect his dirty work. Agent Spender also lobbied to have us reassigned to the X-Files, since, based upon the information Krycek gave him, it was clear to him that we had been removed because we were hindering his father's illicit projects." Mulder didn't quite know how to think about that. He loathed the idea that he was, however indirectly, indebted to his most passionately hated enemy for his return to the work that he so passionately loved. And what made things even worse was Mulder's lurking suspicion that Krycek knew exactly what effect he was achieving by providing information to the naive young fool. "Which brings up an equally interesting question," Scully admitted, demonstrating that on this matter, if not on others, she and Mulder were of the same mind. "Why does Alex Krycek want us back on the X-Files?" ****** ****** After a restless night spent in unfamiliar and uncomfortable hospital beds, Mulder and Scully wandered back into Agent Spender's room early the next morning. Some color was beginning to return to the young agent's face, and he was considerably more lucid. He watched them enviously as they wolfed down their hospital-provided breakfast. The injured man remained on intravenous fluids -- even though bowel sounds had returned, the doctors wanted to give the repaired intestine a few days to heal before reintroducing it to the concept of digestion. About all Spender was permitted to consume orally were ice chips and throat lozenges. He was still too sick to be really hungry, but he stared longingly at their eggs, oatmeal and yogurt nonetheless. The day passed quietly and without incident. After a couple of days spent mostly in each other's company, Mulder and Spender had settled into an uneasy truce, although they still found themselves butting heads from time to time. Frequently, it was the subject of Alex Krycek that set off their arguments. Predictably, Mulder returned to the subject of Krycek and what he had told Spender, but Spender had nothing to add to his earlier account. He also warned Spender about the hazards of trusting Krycek, telling him the story of their short-lived partnership, of the crimes he believed Krycek had committed, and of how dangerous and unscrupulous the man was. Scully seconded Mulder's arguments, agreeing that Krycek was one of the most dangerous, ruthless, untrustworthy, and unprincipled criminals she had ever encountered. Unfortunately, neither of them had a satisfactory answer for Spender when he questioned the Bureau's ability to protect him. They knew, only too well, that the FBI was a paper tiger when confronted with the influence and resources of the shadow government. Nor could they explain or refute the undeniable fact that Alex Krycek had already saved Jeffrey's life on two occasions. Jeffrey finally told them to drop the subject. He would think the matter over and make a decision -- and the decision was his and his alone to make. Exhausted by the wrangling, he turned his back on them and slept for the next six hours. Mulder and Scully continued to guard the room, but with a growing conviction that the Smoker would not be so reckless as to organize another assassination attempt at the hospital, knowing that security would have increased and would remain on high alert. Mulder did the Sunday NY Times crossword puzzle and then jumped online to play his favorite interactive computer game. Scully continued to methodically plough her way through the large backlog of medical journals she hadn't yet found time to read. All in all, the day passed very slowly, and a bored Mulder found himself almost wishing for another assassination attempt, just to break the tedium. He didn't get his wish, at least not in that form, but around 7 pm, Skinner showed up with a large Chinese takeout order. After he passed out spare ribs, egg rolls, sauteed vegetables, chicken lo mein and moo shu pork to the rest of the FBI contingent, he, Mulder and Scully retired to the conference room with what was left of the banquet to enjoy their own dinner. When they had finished, Skinner offered to hold the fort for awhile so the two agents might take a walk outside to clear their heads, recharge their batteries, and maybe pick up some coffee from the nearby mall. Thrilled by the opportunity to escape the cloying hospital environment, at least for a few minutes, Mulder and Scully readily assented. Skinner stood at the door to Spender's hospital room as his agents walked down the corridor. The minute they had passed out of sight, he had his cell phone out and was speed-dialing a number. "Yes?" "They've gone," Skinner said tersely. "You've got about twenty to thirty minutes." "That should be long enough. Well done." Skinner flushed. "So help me, Krycek --" The click informed him that he was now talking to himself. With a muffled curse, he put the phone away and stalked over to the entrance to await his visitor. Krycek arrived three minutes later, clad in leather jacket, grey tee and worn blue jeans, and looking as jaunty and self-assured as ever. He greeted the Assistant Director with the utmost politeness, looked wide-eyed and intimidated by all the armed men around him, and even managed to keep from his eyes all but a hint of the mocking laughter he must have felt within at playing the part of the harmless, affable visitor. Skinner conveyed to his security team that this unremarkable, unthreatening-looking gentleman was expected, and the two men walked down the hall together to Jeffrey's room. "So, what's this about, Krycek?" Skinner hissed. "I thought you wanted to set up a meeting with the four of us. Why'd you ask me to get Mulder and Scully out of the way?" "Ask?" Krycek placed a light stress on the word. Skinner glared daggers at the man, who now appeared anything but harmless, and Krycek let the subject drop. "I want to talk to Jeffrey. See if he has any questions he wants to ask me before making his decision. And I want to have that conversation without constant interruptions from the peanut gallery. We both know that Mulder's presence would make a normal conversation quite impossible. For some reason, the man seems to lose all sense of proportion and self-control when I'm around." "Funny how you have that effect on people," Skinner observed. Krycek grinned. "This way, Jeff and I can have a nice quiet chat." They had reached Spender's room, and Krycek knocked softly before walking inside, Skinner following in his wake. Spender looked up at them through half-closed lids as they came in. He'd been dozing, but after the most recent assassination attempt, he'd become a very light sleeper. When he recognized his visitor, he quickly dashed the sleep from his eyes and raised the bed so he could see them properly. "Alex!" "Hi, Jeff." Krycek strolled over to the bed to study its inhabitant with a critical eye. "You look better," he decided. "A lot better than when I saw you last." "My gut still hurts," Spender admitted. "There's still some nausea at times, though the drugs help with that. And I feel like I want to sleep for a month." "That's perfectly normal," Alex told him seriously. "All of it." "I know. That's what the doctors told me. They tell me I'm doing okay. Probably be another three or four days before I'm out of here. They're hoping to put me on clear liquids in another two days, if everything continues to improve at the same rate." "That's good to hear. So. The reason I came here tonight, Jeff, was to see if you had any questions about what I said the other night. The offer I made to you." "Did you wait until Mulder left?" Jeffrey couldn't help asking. He could hardly avoid noticing that his almost constant companions of the last two days were currently absent. Krycek flashed him a slight grin. "I thought it might be easier to talk without him. I wanted us to have our conversation in peace. Have you thought about what I said?" Jeffrey nodded. "Yeah." He grimaced, and Alex knew he was girding himself to ask something that he feared might not be received pleasantly. "Look, Alex, I know that I can't trust the FBI to protect me. And you've saved my life twice now, and I appreciate that. But after speaking with Agents Mulder and Scully, I'm wondering if I can trust you to protect me any more than the FBI can. Why do you want to help me? What's in it for you?" "Why do you think I saved you the other two times?" Spender shook his head. "I don't know. But I'm sure it was for your own reasons. Why did you?" "You don't think I did it out of friendship?" Spender dismissed that out of hand. "No." Krycek nodded approvingly. "Nice to know you're not the sentimental fool your father thinks. You're right, of course. It had nothing to do with friendship. I did it to tweak your old man." "Huh?" "As I was explaining to you the other day, when we were so rudely interrupted --" his eyes flicked over Skinner briefly -- "your father and I have had a serious falling out. If he dislikes you enough to want you dead, that in itself is enough reason for me to try and keep you alive. First, because it annoys him; and second, because if he cares enough to want you dead, there's probably something in you that's worth saving. Does that make any sense to you?" Spender frowned as he thought about it. "I suppose so. And that's the reason?" "As best I can explain it to you, yes." "And that's why you're offering me protection now? Because you still want to annoy my father? Or because you think I might be useful against him?" "Both." "He never told me anything," Jeffrey said with a touch of bitterness. "You know far more than I do about what's going on. I hadn't seen the man in over twenty years until a year ago. What happens when you realize that I really can't be of use to you in your fight with him? Do you turn around and kill me then?" "Don't sell yourself short, Jeffrey," Krycek said softly. "You're more valuable than you know. Even without any specific knowledge of his activities." "Really?" Krycek nodded. "Did you really kill Agent Mulder's father?" Spender suddenly asked. ****** feedback to lucienlc@ix.netcom.com