From: "Tiramisu & Kamio" Date: Mon, 16 Jul 2001 22:49:34 -0400 Subject: Seconds, by Tiramisu (1/1) Source: direct Title: Seconds Author: Tiramisu Archive: Yeah, sure. But please let me know first. This is my firstborn, and I'm kind of protective. Gossamer category rating: X/X-File, A, R Rating: Probably falls with the "R" range. Pairing: The true one. M/K. Warning: This is slash !!!!!!!!!! (Now don't say you weren't warned!) Spoilers: Oh, yeah. For everything up to and including Existence. In fact, if you haven't seen all of Season Eight, this story probably won't make much sense. Keywords: Mulder/Krycek Slash. Angst. Romance. Summary: What really happened during Season Eight! Notes: This is what really happened during the eighth season. CC and his cronies got all confused, but I didn't. So I fixed it for them. More notes: By the way, the timeline may seem a bit condensed. CC shuns the Gregorian calendar for some reason, and I haven't yet discovered which one he's replaced it with. Even more notes: And about the car - I know nothing about car models and makes. I can barely tell a Camaro from a Jeep. I asked a couple of folks, including Kamio, but no one seems to agree on just what kind of car Alex is driving during the eighth season. So I made it a Lexus. Alex, Fox, Lexus, X-Files...X... well, you get the idea. Disclaimer: Supposedly most of these guys belong to CC and Co., but two of them were tired of all the abuse, so they ran away this season and came to live with me. In exchange for them, I'm willing to give CC my character, General McCarniss. Thanks: My darling Kamio did the beta for me, and he's a devout 'shipper. But he's also sweet enough to tolerate my devotion to the great love between Fox Mulder and Alex Krycek, as long as I continue to love him more. Which I will, as long as he doesn't bring up "Existence" ever again. Series/Sequel: Well, it's a multi-part, but not necessarily a series. Yet. Email addy for Feedback: This epic is my first serious attempt at fanfic, so I'd love to know what y'all think about it. I'm at tiramisukamio@prodigy.net ********** Seconds By Tiramisu Part One: "They dug him up." Alex Krycek finished closing he laptop before looking up. The figure in the bedroom doorway waited patiently. Finally, with an indifferent glance, Alex responded. "Who dug what up?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned to the map spread open on the bed in front of him and attempted to fold it one-handed, pinching the center crease and letting the large page fall in on itself, then repeating the process as two more creases aligned themselves. In the doorway, the older man continued to wait until Alex, irritated, repeated himself. "Who dug what up, Smith?" "The AD and his friends." That caught Alex's attention. He gave up on the map and turned his attention to the speaker. "They dug up the other Mulder. The clone." Stunned, Alex could do nothing but stare. Jeremiah Smith crossed the room, sat on the edge of the bed, and gently took the map from Alex's hand. He began to re-fold it neatly along the original creases as Alex's brain broke apart this new information. "Okay," Alex finally murmurred, more to himself than to Smith. "Mulder doesn't know, does he?" "No." "Do you think he can handle it?" "Do you?" Smith countered. "You know him better than I do." "Come on, Jem," Alex spoke impatiently, "Is he well enough yet? If we tell him, it won't send him over the edge or anything, will it?" "I don't think so, no. But if he doesn't actually need to know yet, then it may be wiser not to speak of it to him. He may be strong enough to walk across a room now, but that's about it." Alex thought a moment, then nodded with a sigh. "Alright. I'll see what I can find out. We won't say anything to him unless we have to." Smith rose and handed the folded map back to Alex, who accepted it with a nod. "Thanks, Jem." "You're welcome. Good night, Alex." " 'Night." Alex tossed the map into the nightstand drawer as Smith turned to leave. "Hey, Jem?" From the doorway, Smith glanced back into the room. Alex asked, "How did you find out? About them digging him up?" "It was on the news." Smith answered, smiling slightly as Alex mouthed a soundless 'Oh, fuck'. "Don't worry. Agent Mulder doesn't have a television in his room, and he's not strong enough yet to make it down that flight of stairs. He won't learn of it unless you or I tell him. Good night, Alex." Alex nodded at the retreating form, sighed, and reached for his cell phone as Smith disappeared down the hallway. It looked like he was going to be traveling tomorrow. ********** A heavy rain was pelting the window as Fox Mulder awoke. Early morning, he realized groggily. For several weeks it hadn't mattered to him what time it was, or what day. He'd been too exhausted to care and in too much pain. But Jeremiah Smith was tending to him, and he was just beginning to feel more normal. He still couldn't remember much about how he'd gotten here. Images faded in and out along the edges of his consciousness, lights and darkness and screams and bright fiery pain. And fear, subsiding at times into a cold apprehension but never really leaving him. The knowledge - the certainty - that this, whatever this was, was what Scully had gone through once. And it had been his fault, somehow. He remembered screaming her name until his voice was raw, desperate with the need to tell her how sorry he was for it, for putting her through this, before he died. And he was sure he *would* die. But then he was away from all of it - somehow taken from the dark place and the searing light and the awful pain. And he was riding along miles of highway, wrapped in something warm and familiar. And Krycek was driving. Krycek. It was Krycek who had told Mulder how to find something... Mulder shook his head impatiently, then winced at the ache the motion caused. The headaches were much less severe now, though, and his teeth had stopped hurting altogether. He was even able to handle solid food again. Much better than those liquid supplements Smith had been straw-feeding him for a while. The scars were healing, too. When he'd first seen them, Mulder had been badly shaken by the mass of red gashes across his torso. They'd been bandaged prior to that, and the first few times that Smith had changed the dressings, Mulder had been too weak to pay much attention. By the time he'd really noticed, the scars had already begun to heal. Still, he was shocked. His chest was covered in deep small wounds, dominated by a single long cut as though he'd been split down the middle. On first seeing it, Mulder had had an instant of recognition - of remembrance. But then the white terror had flashed through him, and the memory was gone again. The clinical side of his mind knew that this forgetfulness was self-protective, but it still frustrated him. Footsteps and the aroma of coffee drew Mulder's attention toward the bedroom door, which was still always left just slightly ajar in case Mulder needed to call Smith for anything, though Mulder had been able to get at least as far as the bathroom without help for more than a week now. For a few days, Mulder had begun to close the door himself whenever he could. But Smith, ever solicitous, would check on him many times each day, and always left the door open partly open. So, for the time being, Mulder had given up the game. The door remained ajar. This time, though, the footsteps did not approach the door. They, and the scent of the coffee, continued on past his room, down the hall toward the bathroom, and further past. Mulder had noticed the other day that there were two more doors down that way; his own room was the nearest to the staircase, but he assumed that the other doors belonged to two other bedrooms. From what little he had seen of the house, he didn't expect that either of the other rooms was likely to be much fancier than the one he was recuperating in - plain, clean, sparsely furnished, with bare hardwood floors. He couldn't see any of the downstairs from the top of the staircase, but he had checked the view from his window and seen the chimneys of a few other homes through the trees. He'd also seen the old pickup truck in the driveway, and the new Lexus. That in itself wasn't too surprising to Mulder. He thought he'd heard voices on more than one occasion since he'd been here, and while Smith denied it, Mulder had known that there was someone else in this house at times. And he had a strange suspicion that he knew who it was. ********* Alex jammed his cell phone into his coat pocket, slung his overnight bag over his shoulder, and snatched up his empty coffee cup. He moved quickly and quietly up the hallway, resisting the urge to peek in on Fox as he passed that door. On the stairs he met up with Smith. "Finally taking him some breakfast, huh?" "Well," Smith pointed out calmly, "you ate everything I fixed earlier. If you were that hungry..." Alex shrugged. "I was. Besides, I've got a busy day ahead of me. People to talk to, places to be..." Alex shrugged again, then added in a quieter tone, "Take care of him while I'm gone, Smith." He moved to pass Smith, but was stopped by a hand on his arm - his prosthetic arm. He jerked his entire body away reflexively, grasping the banister as he did, nearly knocking the breakfast tray from Smith's other hand. "Damn it, Jem!" he hissed, " Don't do that!" "Sorry." Smith *did* look contrite as he calmly used a napkin to mop up a bit of coffee that had sloshed over the side of the cup. His expression sobered, however, as he returned his gaze to Alex. "Are you going to talk to Agent Scully?" Alex shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I need to scope out what's going on first. I may talk to Skinner, though. I'll know more after I talk to my contacts at Wiekamp. Why?" "Call me before you talk to Scully. I may have some information soon. There's a chance that the doctor she's been seeing is not quite honorable." "She's not *dating* him, Smith," Alex pointed out. "What is it you've heard?" "There's a good chance that Dr. Parenti is one of them," Smith told him. "At least, the Zeus facility is definitely under suspicion at this time." His blue eyes caught Alex's green ones as his meaning struck home to the younger man. "God, Jem." Alex leaned hard against the railing. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" Smith glanced quickly up the stairs toward Mulder's room, then turned again toward Alex. "I don't know for sure, even now, that there's anything to worry about. I'll be receiving a phone call later today that should bring some news." Nodding, Alex told him, "Okay. I'll call you after I get done at Wiekamp. We can figure something out then." He motioned with a jerk of his head toward the upstairs. "Take that coffee up to him before it gets cold. Not that he won't drink it that way, God knows," Alex added. Smith continued up the stairs, his mask of serenity back in place. "Take an umbrella, Alex. It's raining," he advised quietly. If he heard Alex's muttered response, he showed no sign of it. But he waited until Alex let himself out before gently pushing open the door to Mulder's room. ********** "Good morning, Agent Mulder," Smith smiled as he entered. "Do you feel up to a little breakfast?" Mulder nodded absently. "Who were you talking to before?" He didn't really expect an acknowledgment of this, but even though the words had been muffled, he'd recognized the timbre of Alex Krycek's voice. He'd heard those tones too many times, and in too many circumstances, to be mistaken. Still, he wasn't surprised at Smith's placid answer. "No one. " Smith put the tray down on the nightstand beside Mulder's bed. As soon as he let go of it, Mulder took the little wicker tray and brought it to his lap. The scrambled eggs were a little bit runny for his taste, but he didn't care. He was famished. "I'm afraid the coffee may be a bit cold. Why don' t you start on your eggs and I'll go reheat it for you? I'll bring you a fresh napkin, too," he added. Through a mouthful of eggs and soft bread, Mulder murmurred, "No. Stay, please." He swallowed and continued. "Talk to me." When Smith looked reluctant, Mulder sighed. "About anything. I'm just bored. If you don't want to tell me about Krycek being here, fine. I'll pretend I don't know. Tell me about the Knicks or something." "I don't know how the Knicks are doing, Agent Mulder. I'll try to find out for you, though." Smith smiled again and sat lightly on the edge of the bed. "Now that you're able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time, I suppose your recuperation is beginning to seem monotonous. Would you like me to bring you some books, or maybe a jigsaw puzzle? I think I saw a few around here somewhere." Mulder nodded. "I'd love it." Jigsaw puzzles weren't the easiest thing in the world for him, especially in the poor light of this room, but at least it would kill some time. "I don't suppose there's a television around here?" "There's a large one downstairs," Smith told him. "I don't think there are any on this floor, though." At this, Mulder paused from shuffling eggs onto his fork with his bread. "You don't know, though? Isn't this your house?" "No. It belongs to some people I know. They're letting me use it for a while." "Do they know that *I'm* staying here, too?" Or Krycek? he wondered. "No. But don't worry about that. They wouldn't mind." Mulder swallowed some of the cold coffee and studied Smith. How much could he ask without driving the man into silence? "Look, Mr. Smith, I know that you've been taking care of me here - wherever 'here' is - and I don't want to seem ungrateful, but why am I here instead of in a hospital? And why won't you tell me what's happened?" Smith began to rise, but Mulder's hand shot forward and stopped him. "Please. I've got to know." Smith nodded somberly. "You *will* know. But for now, just get some rest." As Mulder opened his mouth to speak, Smith continued, "I'm really very glad that you're feeling stronger. But you've been through quite an ordeal, you know." At the word 'ordeal', an instant of bright terror jolted Mulder. But before its source could be identified, the sensation was gone, leaving only a cool vague shadow inside Mulder. Jeremiah Smith observed this calmly. "Give yourself another day or two, Agent Mulder, and we'll see how you're doing. I do promise you, you'll have your answers soon." ********** Alex drove rapidly away from the base, his mind digesting what he had just learned. The General had been well aware of the exhumation, which didn't surprise Alex. But that resurrecting a clone had seemed to present the military with an opportunity... "He'll make an ideal replacement, Mr. Krycek, if they can resuscitate him." General McCarniss had said. "The new Agent Mulder is already well-trained - " " 'New Agent Mulder'?" Alex repeated. "And what about the old Agent Mulder - the real Agent Mulder? What happens if he's ever found alive?" "I'm afraid he would not be re-accepted at the FBI anyway, should he ever turn up alive. Which is unlikely at this point. Unless you have additional information on his whereabouts?" "No," Alex mumbled dejectedly. He'd given the General his best weary look, and continued, "I searched the entire Pacific Northwest, but nothing turned up. I even followed the FBI team out to Arizona..." "And found no more than they did?" the General wondered. "Surely, there was something to be found there. AD Skinner is not the sort of man to spend the FBI's money on travel unnecessarily." "AD Skinner apparently felt that alien spacecraft run on Amtrak schedules." Alex didn't have to pretend the bitterness in his voice when he spoke Skinner's name. "There was nothing to be found in that desert. Believe me - I looked." And Alex *had* looked. And he had found Fox before the bounty hunter had shown up, and before the FBI had shown up. For four days, he'd kept a semi-conscious Fox hidden in an old mining shaft, sharing what little water he had. Until the FBI and the bounty hunter had cleared out of the area, and he could get Fox to the car he'd left miles away. He'd gotten Fox to Smith's compound in Montana, driving day and night, frightened, terrified, that he'd be too late. Blaming himself for telling Fox about the spacecraft in the first place. Blaming himself further for not going along to keep an eye on him. He'd never forgive himself for that one if Fox didn't survive. And he'd never forgive Skinner either way. It had been Smith who had noticed the additional scars - the small, deep one on Fox's left arm just below a patch of torn and discolored skin, and the peculiar burn mark behind the left ear. So Alex had posed a few questions, traded in on a few favors, and taken a few lives, and had learned about the military's cloning operation. They still didn't know that it was Alex Krycek who had sacrificed their clone one Montana night in order to rescue Smith and Fox from discovery by the FBI. They couldn't possibly know that. Because Alex Krycek was still alive, sharing a small Pennsylvania farmhouse with his two rescuees. And now his highly placed Wiekamp contact was just one more enemy. Only the General didn't know it yet. ********** "Hi, Jem. How's Mulder?" Cell phone to his ear, Alex dropped down onto the dark leather sofa. "Hello, Alex," Smith's cultured voice came through the telephone, and for a brief moment Alex remembered another gentleman he had worked with. "Agent Mulder is sleeping at the moment. He and I played cards earlier this afternoon, though." Alex grinned. "Sounds like he's really finally getting better. Did he win?" "He's not *that* much better." There was a rough grating sound; Smith must have dragged a chair across the floor. "Where are you, Alex?" "Still in DC. I'm at the apartment. Figured I'd drop off this month's rent. Looks like his little FBI friends have been combing the place again." "I take it you've made certain that this line is secure, and that the apartment is not wired?" Alex nearly growled. "Don't insult me, Smith." Smith chuckled. "Very well. I know you're careful. Incidentally, Agent Mulder has been asking about those little FBI friends, as you call them." Alex swore. He knew that subject would come up, now that Fox was doing better. "What did you tell him?" "Just what we agreed upon. That, for his own good, his whereabouts were currently not being revealed to anyone." "Good." And not even a lie, Alex thought. "I don't expect he liked it too much." "True." Alex could picture Fox's frustration at Smith's cool, placid demeanor. If Alex had been the one to tell Fox that he couldn't see Scully, there would be puddles of Krycek's AB-positive all over the floor. But Smith had a way about him. "What did you find out today, Alex?" Smith queried. Alex propped both feet up on Fox's coffee table. "That the military is in favor of this whole thing. They figure that once *their* Mulder is out of the hospital, they've got a combination informant-bodyguard to put near Scully, at least until the baby is born. They were going to try to place someone else in that spot, anyway, but given Mulder's relationship to Scully and the FBI, they see this whole thing as a blessing in disguise." "I don't wonder." Smith paused, and Alex gave him a moment to digest this information before prodding him on. Alex swallowed hard and closed his eyes as a dark premonition swept over him. "Jem, what did you learn?" Smith didn't answer right away. "Smith?" he tried again, more harshly this time. A sigh came through the phone line. "Dr. Parenti and his team think that they have succeeded where the other teams have failed. They believe that they've manipulated human DNA to a point that those who possess it can heal spontaneously from injuries and recover from illnesses with no after-effects. They've implanted embryos with manipulated DNA in six women so far." "Just human DNA?" Alex wanted to know. "This sounds like..." "It sounds like me, Alex? My informant tells me that the DNA being used at the Zeus facility is primarily human." Alex shook his head, though the gesture was lost over the phone. "I've been in that lab, Smith. There are aliens in jars all over the place." "Yes," Smith concurred, "but according to my source, the alien DNA is being used only as a blueprint. The goal, supposedly, is to make certain that this new breed can be developed with no dependence on any alien sources at all." "I don't think I believe that," Alex said. "Some of the cases I've seen in there - those women did not give birth to human babies." "True. But if you manipulate DNA the right way just a bit, the result won't necessarily look human. Manipulate it a bit more, and the result won't, by definition, be human." Smith heard the doubt in Alex's sigh. "I cannot promise you that my contact has all of her information correct. I can only tell you that as far as she is aware, this is the truth." "You trust her?" "Yes," Smith said simply. "Okay, then." Alex shifted his feet from the coffee table to the arm of the sofa. "I'll keep it in mind. Do you have the names of the six women?" "Yes. And one of them is Dana Scully." Damn, Alex thought. Fox'll go nuts if he hears about this. "Anything else?" "Only that all six of the women live in the DC area, and all are due in late spring. My source claims that there are no risks to the health of the women, although none of them were told that there was anything unusual about the embryos." "And the military is sponsoring this one, too?" "Yes," Smith told him. "Although my informant clearly has no idea that the purpose of this has anything to do with fighting off an extraterrestrial invasion." "What's she think those things in the jars are, toys?" Smith remained silent. Alex moved over to the aquarium and turned the overhead light on. Peering in, he scratched at the glass for their attention. "Okay," Alex sighed. "Well, maybe I can find out more later. After the little fishies and I have some supper, there's someone else I'll need to meet with." "Military?" "Not exactly. Guy's a liaison between the Pentagon and the CIA. Name's Knowle Rohrer." /continues in Part Two/ ********* Title: Seconds See disclaimers and notes in Part One Seconds By Tiramisu Part Two: Light from the hallway was seeping through the crack in the slightly open door as Mulder awakened. Some instinct in him reached over, but the other side of the bed was empty. He cursed himself silently. It had been more than six years now since those few months Krycek had shared a bed with him - was he never going to stop reaching for the man? He rolled over, noticed the dim nightlight burning in the hallway, and remembered where he was. Or rather, remembered what he knew about where he was - which, he reflected, wasn't much. Lying there, he tried yet again to recollect what had happened. He remembered traveling to Oregon with Scully to investigate a possible UFO-related incident. Remembered the kid, Billy Miles, who was now not a kid but a police deputy. Remembered some stupid scolding he got back at the bureau for going over budget. But that was *before* going to Oregon, wasn't it? Did he go back to DC after that, or was he in Oregon right before being in this house? No. He was somewhere else in between. Possibly a lot of somewheres. If he could only piece together the fragments of memory.... If only he could stay awake long enough to reason his way through it.... ********** Rohrer had insisted that Alex meet him at the top of the Cladder Building, thirty-five stories over the District of Columbia, and he was already waiting on the roof when Alex arrived at seven- thirty. The rain that had swept through the region earlier had frozen in patches, and as Alex headed toward the edge where Rohrer stood, he thought about how easily either of them could end up no more than a large messy spot on the concrete below. So he waited several feet from the parapet, until Rohrer gave in and moved toward him. "What do you want, Krycek?" Alex went straight to the point. "Zeus - what's it mean to ya?" Knowle Rohrer studied Krycek with an unpleasant grin. "Thinking about having a baby, Alex?" His eyes moved slowly from Krycek's face down to his shoes. "Thinking about *never* having any, Knowle?" Rohrer chuckled coolly. "Take it easy, boy. Zeus, huh? Place is trying to perfect human DNA. One of three facilities sponsored by the US government to do just that - but you already know that, don't you?" Alex nodded. "Have they succeeded?" "Maybe." Rohrer cast an interested glance at Alex. "Why?" "Just answer the question, will you? As far as you know, have the doctors at that lab managed to create some kind of superior human?" Rohrer shook his head slightly, but his eyes glittered brightly. "Not that I know of. But I think I'd better look into it, hmm?" Alex didn't trust that gleam in Rohrer's eyes. He'd known the man for several years, but there was something not right about him tonight. Still, he'd proven himself a reliable source in the past... "While you're at it, find out for me what's really being done with those alien-in-a-bottle things, or whatever the hell they are." "Sure." Rohrer headed for the door into the building. "It's chilly out tonight. If there's nothing else you need, how about we get back down to sea level?" He pulled open the large metal door, let himself through, and held the door open for Krycek. Alex shrugged. Damn idiot, he thought. It's not like *I* was the one who wanted to meet on a rooftop. "Fine," he agreed, taking the door from Rohrer and passing through. From habit, he took a moment to be certain that the door closed silently, and as he turned back around, he discovered that Rohrer was holding the elevator for him. Well, it's after work hours, he reasoned. I don't suppose anyone would see us together. Anyway, he's the one whose job would suffer for it, not me. So he stepped reluctantly into the elevator and leaned against the back wall. His eyes automatically glanced upward, checking for the trap-door. As long as there was an exit... "Basement or lobby?" Rohrer asked. "Basement," Alex told him. Lowering his eyes from the trapdoor, he caught Rohrer leaning forward to hit the B button. And the breath all but fled his lungs as he noticed the bumps on the back of Rohrer's neck. Oh, shit. ********** Alex was doing ninety miles an hour on the I-83 North before he really became aware again of where he was. The car windows were wide open, in spite of the cold, and a light sleet was blowing in on him. The same lines spun repeatedly through his brain - Rohrer was one of them. A replicant. Alien. The elevator ride had been endless. Sheer will had kept Krycek still during the descent, the windowless metal walls closing in on him as he watched the countdown on the elevator register. Every floor they passed was a year, an eon. Rohrer was one of them. Thirty-five floors. Thirty-six, to the basement. Stay calm. Twenty flights to go. The elevator barely crawled. Could replicants turn into black oil? he wondered. An alien. Rohrer wasn't human any more. Five weeks of the taste of oil in his mouth. The stench of it in his nostrils. Five weeks of no escape from that dank, airless chamber. Of just him and an alien presence that could enter him, control him, without even a chance to fight it. Five weeks of hell. And Rohrer was an alien now. The little 'ding' of the elevator bell as the doors eased open was the sound of freedom made almost tangible. The crushing feeling in his lungs was almost unbearable. There was a cold, crawling sensation along his skin. But Alex, ever the well-trained soldier, fought the urge to flee and walked calmly through the doors behind Rohrer, nodded in response to the other man's good-night wave, and proceeded toward his car at a perfect leisurely pace. Not until Rohrer's minivan had disappeared out of the parking garage and onto the street did Alex's legs fold bonelessly under him. ********** There was nothing wrong with the muffler on Smith's pickup, but the noise of the engine turning over was an outrage in the middle of the quiet country night. Mulder had just begun to drift off to sleep again when the sound shook the room. Intrigued, he worked his way to the window in time to see the red taillights turn right along a road Mulder couldn't make out in the darkness. Where was Smith going at this time of night? The Lexus wasn't in sight, and the house had a palpable emptiness to it. This was a perfect opportunity to explore a bit, at least as far as his legs would carry him. But the empty hallway, even with the nightlight still burning, unsettled him. And for the first time in his adult life, he was genuinely afraid of being left alone. Leaning against the wall, he stared at the crack of light defining the way to the hallway, and took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. Then he moved with uncertain steps across the room and out into the corridor. Okay, he told himself with some shame, that wasn't so hard now, was it? Now where to go? A cool draught blew through the hallway and he shivered. The flannel pajamas he wore were warmer than anything he usually wore to bed, but he wished now that he had a bathrobe, as well. The muscles in his shoulders, already sore, tensed against the chill. He considered turning back, crawling into bed again, and escaping into sleep. But here was his chance to find out something about what was going on. He had to take it. The door across the hall from him led to the bathroom. There were two other doors further along on this floor, one on either side of the corridor. The one next door to his own room would be the easier one to reach, so he moved along the wall until he could turn the doorknob. *********** The Reading turnoff was racing past. Two hours now, Alex had been driving with no goal but to get away from the Cladder Building and Rohrer. His hand was no longer shaking. Still, the sudden chirrup of his cell phone jolted him badly. He interrupted the third ring. "What?" he asked gruffly, willing his voice not to tremble. "Alex?" Smith questioned softly. "What's wrong? You don't sound right." "I'm fine, Jem. What's up?" "Where are you?" Good question, Alex thought. He glanced at the bright green highway sign up ahead, stunned to realize how far he'd driven without being aware of it. "I'm about twenty minutes from the house. Maybe less," he added, with a glance at the speedometer. Amazing that he didn't get pulled over by now. "Why?" "I'm on the way to the new compound," Smith told him. "They've found two more..." "You left Mulder alone?" "Take it easy, Alex," Smith reassured him. "Mulder was sound asleep when I checked in on him. And he hasn't been trying to escape or anything..." "They could go after him," Alex pointed out. But Smith didn't agree. "The military don't know where he is. And if the others want to get to him - well, you and I wouldn't be able to stop them, anyway." The hell I wouldn't, Alex thought. At least I'd die trying. Aloud, he said, "Fine. I'll be at the house in a few minutes. You go take care of the other abductees. I'll take care of Mulder." "Alex?" Smith queried gently. "You do realize, don't you, that their lives are just as valuable as Agent Mulder's. I can't pretend that one human life is worth more than another. And I have to begin the healing in them, before it's too late." "Do you think they've been implanted? That they're potential replicants?" The very word sent a tiny cold panic through Alex; he shook it off with annoyance. Smith answered, "I expect so. Most of the ones we've seen lately *have* been." "Mulder wasn't," Alex reminded him. "Mulder was vaccinated." Something else he hates me for, Alex thought with a grimace. To Smith, he merely said, "Okay, then. Do what you've got to do. I'll take care of Mulder. See ya tomorrow." Before Smith could respond, Alex ended the connection. Home was only a few miles away. ************ He knew the instant he turned the door handle that this was Alex's room. The faint scent of Alex's cologne, of Alex himself, leather and soap... But it was the little spiral notebook that caught his eye as if it glowed, that made him certain that this was Alex's room. From the day he'd met Alex - Krycek, he corrected himself - the man had always kept those little pocket-notebooks handy. One at his desk at the bureau, one in the glove compartment of his car, eventually one under his pillow at Mulder's apartment. Always one in his jacket pocket. He would jot down any odd bits of information - notes for work, plans for a weekend, names of books he wanted to read. Any little fact that struck him as interesting. And Krycek had always found the oddest things interesting, and had the strangest facts available at his fingertips. It was one of the first things Mulder had loved about him. God, he missed him sometimes. When Krycek had disappeared from his life, he had even remembered to take the notebook from under his pillow... Mulder placed one hesitant foot into the room. It looked much like his own, really. A simple double bed with an old, but clean, quilt covering plain white sheets, the small painted dresser and matching nightstand, the wooden straightback chair by the window, all very much the same. But Mulder's room didn't have a laptop, and there was no flashlight on Mulder's nightstand. No knife on Mulder's bureau, either. Yep, this was definitely Krycek's room. Across from the doorway, the window vibrated lightly in the wind, startling him. His heart slammed against his ribs. Another tentative step into the bedroom. And his legs shook beneath his weight. Throwing one arm out to the side, he found the wall, and let himself collapse against it. Damn, he thought. How long was he going to feel so weak? The room was small - it would take only a few steps to get him to the bed. Determined, he moved another step forward. He was too far from the wall now, and not quite close enough to the bed, and when his legs again gave out, he fell to his knees. Exhausted, he just sat there in the middle of the floor for a moment and drew several more breaths. Well, no dust on the floor, Mulder noted with wry amusement. He tilted his head and peeked under the bed. Nope, not even a dust bunny. Well, what do you expect? The man could clean up a crime scene so thoroughly that Luminol wouldn't pick up the bloodstains. Always was a neat-freak, he thought. Mulder pulled himself back up. He wanted to check out that notebook. With his lungs shuddering at effort, he made the additional two steps to the bed and fell forward onto it with relief. The pillow on this side smelled like Alex. Mulder pressed his face into it and inhaled deeply. Damn, he was so *tired*. He shouldn't give in to this, he knew. It was only the soporific effects of his illness, and the vague unease at being alone, that was making him sentimental. Alex Krycek was a mistake from his past, and a curse that haunted his present and future. He was *not* worth missing. He was a cold-blooded remorseless killer with no loyalties but to himself. And Mulder should have known that from the beginning. He'd only known Krycek for a few days when he'd seen the young man take a life - that really should have given him a clue, he thought ruefully. Alex had been shaken up at the time, not for ending a human life, but for having been fooled by Augustus Cole in the first place. On the ride back to DC, Alex had admitted as much. By the next day, the young killer had been determined to be more careful, but he'd never shown the least concern over the death. And Mulder, who used to consider himself skilled at deciphering people, had believed that Alex was only denying his own sense of guilt. Not until months later did he realize that Alex was incapable of any guilt. But by then, Mulder had lost his soul to the man. And six years later, he still hadn't found a way to claim it back. So here he was, confused and sick and lonely and frightened of being alone in a big dark house, and still finding comfort in the scent of Alex's pillow. God, he was pathetic. Maybe he should just give up and die right now. He started again as the purr of an engine approached. Not the pickup, obviously, he thought. The Lexus, then? A minor panic struck Mulder, and he jumped up. The sudden movement started the room flying wildly around his head. But he needed to escape this room before Krycek found him in here. Two steps forward, and he was close enough to the doorframe to grab it for support. He extended his hand forward... ********* Alex pulled into the driveway with a soft screech of tires, killed the engine, and leapt over the porch railing in one fluid motion. Keys in hand, he let himself in to the house and paused, listening for any sound. Hearing nothing, he flicked on the stairwell light and ran for the upper level, taking the steps two at a time. Fox's door, usually only slightly ajar, was standing wide open. Alex froze. Listening again, but still hearing nothing but wind, he tiptoed forward and peeked in to Fox's room. He wasn't there. Alex automatically glanced over at the bathroom door, but it too stood wide open, and the light was off. He reached in to his coat pocket and withdrew a Glock, uncocked the safety, and began to move soundlessly down the hall. Next door to the bathroom, Smith's bedroom door was closed. But just beyond where he stood, Alex could see that the door to his own room also was open, a dark cavern in the wan light from the corridor. He continued toward it until he spotted the hand. Fox lay face-down on the hard floor just inside the doorway. And Alex's heart actually paused in its beating. Until Fox moved. Alex sucked in a great gulp of air as his pulse resumed its rhythm, and he dropped to his haunches beside Fox. Absently, he tossed a glance into his room; no one else was there, so he flipped on the overhead light. Restoring the safety on his gun, he returned it to his jacket pocket and focused his attention back on his former lover. First he ran his hand over the man's skull, but there were no new lumps or wounds that he could find. He checked Fox's pulse, found it reasonably strong, if a bit too rapid, and gently turned the man over. Nodding to himself, he slipped his hand inside Fox's pajama top and spread his palm over the man's heart. It, too, seemed to be beating easily. He couldn't be sure whether Fox had passed out from exertion, or simply fallen asleep there. He removed his hand from Fox's chest and placed it against the man's forehead. No fever. Well, may as well try to get him back to bed, he thought. "Hey," he murmurred softly. "Wake up, sleepyhead." Fox moaned, but didn't waken. Alex let his hand drift from Fox's forehead down his cheek. "Come on, hon," he tried again. "This ain't no bed you're in." A deep breath escaped Fox, who turned his head sideways into the palm that still rested against his cheek. Alex swallowed, but didn't move his hand. From down the hall in Mulder's room, the chirp of his watch sounding the hour echoed back to them. Alex counted off the little bleets. "Eleven o'clock, Mulder," he teased gently. "You planning to spend the rest of the night sleeping on the floor?" It almost seemed as if Fox had nodded at the question. But Alex figured he must have been mistaken. Still, maybe he'd better explain this to him. "You have to wake up, sweetheart," he told him gently. "It'd take me twenty minutes to carry you one-handed. And you probably wouldn't enjoy the experience, anyway. So come on, now. Please." He stroked Fox's face again, his thumb tracing the outline of the other man's jaw. Until he heard one word escape Fox's lips. "Alex." And Fox pressed his lips to Alex's palm in a quiet kiss. Alex fell back, off his heels, into the bedroom door, and stared in awe at the other man. He's still asleep, he reminded himself. He's just so exhausted that his mind can't even work right. When he opens his eyes, he won't even remember it. Or worse, he'll regret it. Don't let it mean anything to you, boy. But it did. Earlier tonight, the muted bell of an elevator reaching a basement had signaled safety, freedom, everything to Alex. He would've said then that that bell was the sweetest sound in the world. He would have been wrong. The sweetest sound was that soft moan of his own name on Fox Mulder's lips. Alex would've faced anything, even that elevator ride again, to hear that word once more in that tone. But now he could do nothing but stare. ************ It wasn't the first time Mulder had awakened to find himself lying on the floor. And it wasn't the first time he awoke to the sight of Alex Krycek watching him. But neither had happened in quite a while, and he couldn't recall them ever having both occurred at the same time. The shrill chirp that had awakened him this time had apparently come from Krycek's cell phone. The younger man was sitting beside where Mulder lay, talking to someone he referred to as 'Jem'. The black coat he wore was damp on one side. "No, I just got back a few minutes ago," Krycek was telling someone at the other end of the phone. His green eyes were on Mulder. Mulder struggled to sit up but fell back dizzily. He breathed in and closed his eyes, preparing to try again. Before he could, though, he felt a hand touch his cheek. He opened his eyes. Krycek, phone to his ear, offered his good arm in support and Mulder silently accepted the help of his former lover to settle against the wall. Alex's eyes, as they met Mulder's, were solicitous and concerned, and Mulder had to look away. Krycek continued into the phone, "Yeah, Mulder's fine. He was passed out on the floor of my room when I got here." For an instant anger shaded his voice, but it faded quickly at whatever was spoken to him from the other end of the phone line. "No, I guess he's okay now. But he shouldn't have been left alone, Jem." Mulder leaned forward and hissed into Krycek's other ear, "I *don't* need a babysitter." Krycek jerked away from him as if stung. He glanced quickly at Mulder, disconcerted, and then just as quickly turned back to the phone call. "How are the two new ones doing?" Mulder didn't know who "the two new ones" were, or how Krycek wanted them to be doing, but clearly the response from the other side of the phone line was not good. The color drained rapidly from Alex's face, and he swallowed hard. Mulder tilted his head to catch Alex's eyes. Alex only shook his head and turned away from Mulder's questioning gaze. Mulder leaned back and waited. ******** Alex wrapped up the call quickly and jammed the cell phone into his coat pocket. Fox was watching him, waiting for an explanation, but Alex merely returned the gaze wordlessly. Sorry, sweetheart, he thought. We're not talking about this tonight. I need to think first. The new ones were fine, Smith had told him, but it was a close call. We almost didn't get them in time, he'd said. And Alex remembered the replicants. And Rohrer. He stood and shrugged out of his coat, tossed it on the bed, and turned back to Fox. "Think you can make it back to your own room?" he asked. Fox thought about it a minute, then answered honestly, "Not really, no." "That's okay. You can take my room," Alex offered. "I'll take yours." He extended his hand to help the older man up. "C'mon, Mulder. You'll be more comfortable on the bed than on the floor." Fox took his hand and allowed himself to be pulled easily off the floor. But once standing, he continued to hold on to Alex, studying his eyes with that intensity he so often gave things. "What's going on around here, Krycek? Where is Jeremiah Smith?" Fox demanded in a low voice. Krycek. Oh well, I knew it was too good to be true. Alex gently drew his hand free from Fox's. "Smith is just down the road a way. At a compound that we set up there a couple of months ago." Fox waited expectantly until Alex continued. "For abductees. Smith heals them." A spark of interest lit Fox's hazel eyes. He leaned in closer to Alex. "Abductees? As in 'abducted by aliens' abductees?" "Yeah, 'abducted by aliens'," Alex said, backing away. He took his coat from the bed and hung it in the closet. "What do you think he's got down there, a half-way house?" "Where's he find them?" Fox wanted to know. He yawned, but his eyes still glittered. Alex shrugged as he closed the closet door. "He's got people who work with him. They find them all over. Anyplace there's been a sighting, they go investigate. Sometimes they find someone. Sometimes they don't." He snatched up his laptop from the nightstand. "I guess it must be hard to tell whether a sighting is a pick-up or a drop-off." He turned again to Fox, just as the older man tried to stifle another yawn. Alex shook his head softly and said in a more gentle voice, "Look. You're tired again. Lie down and get some rest." And with that, he nudged Fox lightly, and the older man dropped into a sitting position on the bed. Fox mumbled sulkily. "That's all I ever do." But the bed felt, oh, so comfortable, and Fox swung his legs up onto it, as well. "Right now, that's all you *can* do," Alex pointed out with a sympathetic grin. To his astonishment, Fox grinned back. "But I do it well, don't I?" "Better than anyone else I know," Alex told him, giving him a wink. He jerked his head to indicate the bed. "Off with you, now. If you need anything, give a shout, okay?" ********** Mulder held down another yawn as Krycek headed out of the room, but as the younger man made a move to switch off the overhead light, Mulder felt his earlier uneasiness return. And he was loathe to let Krycek leave him alone. He paused in the act of pulling the covers over himself and called softly. "Alex?" At the sound of the name, Krycek's hand froze midway toward the light switch. He glanced over his shoulder at Mulder, a peculiar shocked expression in his eyes. "Yeah?" "Are you going to work on your laptop for a while?" Krycek nodded. "Why?" "Would you stay in here?" The request was out of his mouth before he knew he was about to ask it. Krycek looked even more stunned than before, and Mulder instantly regretted the question. There must be any number of reasons that Krycek would want to turn him down. And certainly he himself shouldn't want Krycek's company. The man had betrayed him too deeply. So why the instinct to reach out to him? Krycek answered slowly, "I don't think that would be a good idea." "Oh. Okay," Mulder shrugged. "No big deal." He let his head fall back on the pillow. "I'm pretty sleepy, anyway." He was, too. But still, as Krycek nodded and turned again to go, Mulder added, "Leave the light on?" And this time, when Krycek returned his gaze to Mulder, there was a new concern in his eyes. He moved closer to the bed and looked down on the older man. "Are you afraid?" he asked gently. Mulder hesitated, then nodded. He should probably be too humiliated to admit this, he thought. To anybody else, he would be. But this wasn't anybody else. Alex Krycek could make him feel all kinds of things, but embarrassment wasn't among them. They'd shared too much for that. Krycek moved around to the other side of the bed and kneeled gingerly on it. He leaned forward, his green eyes locking on Mulder's. "Alright," he murmurred. "I'll stay if you want." And God, Mulder wanted to touch him just then, to connect with him and melt into him, to burrow into the concern and the comfort he saw in those dark, expressive eyes. But he only nodded softly. "Thanks. It's silly, I know. I'll probably be asleep in two minutes, but..." "It's okay. Just rest, I'll stay." As Krycek shifted, settled back against the headboard, Mulder rolled over onto his stomach. He turned his head so that he could see the other man through one eye. For a moment, he was reminded of those nights six years earlier, when sleeping beside this man was a regular occurrence. But those nights were in the past, and Mulder felt their loss as keenly as if for the first time. He sighed, and slid his arms under the pillow as he breathed in its scent. Shame to have Krycek so close, and still have to rely on a pillow for comfort. Krycek propped the laptop on his knees as he opened it up. The small sounds of the system coming to life were soothing to Mulder, and he closed his eyes wearily. "I wish I wasn't so tired all the time," he mumbled into Krycek's pillow. Krycek chuckled. "Don't worry. You're getting better. A couple of months ago you couldn't even recognize me or Smith, and now look at you. Holding conversations and everything. Another few weeks, you'll be strong enough to belt me in the mouth again." Mulder opened one eye and looked askance at Krycek. "I don't want to hit you," he murmurred. Krycek quirked an eyebrow. "Good," he said lightly. " 'Cause I don't want to be hit." He wrinkled his nose in a funny grin at Mulder, and Mulder couldn't help grinning back. The thought crossed his mind that he should say good-night now to Krycek, but he was so tired... /continues in Part Three/ ********** Title: Seconds See disclaimers and notes in Part One Seconds By Tiramisu Part Three: "I blew it, Jem," Alex said, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "I practically *handed* the Zeus lab over to them..." Smith passed the coffeepot across the table to the younger man. He hadn't yet taken his windbreaker off, but he sat on one of the hard wooden kitchen chairs and faced Alex placidly. "You don't know that, Alex. It's quite likely they were already aware of the experiments at Zeus." Alex shook his head adamantly. "That Rohrer...replicant...thing." A chill ran through him, though he tried to contain himself. "That thing didn't know about Zeus. What kills me is that I *knew* he wasn't acting right. And still I pointed him right at that damn lab." He ran his one hand through his short dark hair, and added in a mutter, "And I went there to get information from *him*." "Let it go, Alex. You can't undo it, so we'll just move on with what we've got." Smith sipped his coffee calmly. "I'm not worried about the doctors at Zeus, anyway. The military will do what they can to protect their project." Their project. Which, at the moment, included Scully. Alex glanced toward the archway into the living room, half expecting to see Fox coming down the stairs. Smith followed the gaze, a curious expression shading his eyes. "You didn't tell him about Agent Scully, I assume?" he asked. "Tell him what - that she's carrying a baby lab rat?" Alex shook his head. "No, I don't think we *can* tell him that, at least until we have some way to protect Scully. If we can't offer him that much..." "We can't," Smith corrected him simply. "You said yourself, the military is placing clones around their subjects to guard them. That includes Agent Scully. If they plan to perform tests on their subjects, they quite likely are already in a perfect position to do so." "Their fake Mulder is still unconscious in the hospital," Alex reminded him. "I haven't administered the stuff they gave me to save him." "You will, though," Smith told him. "Today, when you go back to DC. You must. Besides," he added, "there's no guarantee that they haven't already placed other clones in positions to watch everything. They do intend to go on with these experiments, Alex. You need to maintain their trust. We need that line of information." Alex said nothing. He was well aware that if he didn't get that vaccine into the Mulder clone, McCarniss would simply have someone else do it. And that would be the last time Alex could count on McCarniss for anything. But he refused to believe that there was no way to protect Scully and that baby she was carrying. If he could keep them safe, maybe Fox could forgive him for the rest of it. For everything that had happened, and for what still could happen. Believing in a future with Fox was all that kept Alex Krycek fighting. God, it had felt so good last night, just being near him. When he had first smuggled Fox and Smith out of Montana, Alex had taken on much of Fox's caretaking. He couldn't do the actual healing, of course, but he had done what he could. He sat with Fox, tried to get liquids into him, cleaned up after him, gave him sponge-baths. He changed linens and pajamas. And when Smith gave the word, he helped walk Fox around the room to improve his circulation. But Fox had been only semi-conscious during those long weeks, and he had shown no signs of recognition toward either Alex or Smith. Once he had begun to, Alex had faded into the background. Smith never asked why, but Alex was pretty sure he knew. And last night, Fox had known who Alex was, and had talked to him, and had even turned to him for comfort from his fears. It probably wouldn't last, Alex knew. But it had been nice. So if there was a way to protect Scully, for Fox's sake, Alex would have to find it. He looked again at Smith. "What if we hide Scully here...?" "It wouldn't work," Smith told him sadly. "The military only has a half-dozen of these embryos successfully implanted. They won't just allow one to go missing. And if they trace the child to this house-" Alex paled visibly as the realization hit him. "They find Mulder," he finished. "And kill him to protect their clone." Not an option, then, Alex thought. Whatever else might happen, keeping Fox alive was his first priority. Smith stood and took his coffee cup to the sink. Alex watched, his mind racing. When Smith returned to the table, Alex continued quietly, "And now that I've tipped off Rohrer about Zeus, the *replicants* will be after the babies, too. Only, it'll be to kill them." Smith nodded somberly. "So those women are in danger now from both sides." Alex pushed his coffee away, nauseous. Smith nodded again. "And they'll stay in danger as long as they're carrying those babies," Alex reasoned. "And what about after they give birth?" "The women become totally expendable to the military, at best." Smith explained. Alex nodded bleakly. "If they get in the way of the tests, they become a threat to be removed. Assuming the military doesn't want to experiment on them, along with the children. We have only your contact's word for that. Do you trust him?" Smith asked. Alex shook his head emphatically. "So the women may actually be subjected to further tests, even after they give birth," Smith continued. "And of course, the replicants wouldn't hesitate to kill them, under any circumstances. Though *their* real goal will be to eliminate the children." "So the only way those women might be safe," Alex concluded bleakly, "is if..." "Is if they were not going to have those babies," Smith finished for him. He looked no happier at the thought than Alex himself was. Oh God, Fox. You'll never forgive me for this one. ********* Twice during the night, Mulder had awakened. The first time, Alex had still been awake, working feverishly at something on that laptop of his, the fingers of his right hand applying soft rapid keystrokes while the artificial left arm held the small computer steady against his propped-up knees. Mulder had opened one sleepy eye and seen Alex glance away from the green computer screen to smile at him, and had fallen contentedly back to sleep. The second time, Mulder awakened to a darkened room. Alex had turned off the overhead light, but the hallway door was open, and the dim cast of the nightlight had provided a hint of illumination to the room. And Alex was gone. Mulder lay listening to the silence until sleep again overtook him. ********* Alex wondered sometimes whether it was determination or just plain insanity that made him face things that terrified him. But riding up and down in that elevator, waiting for Skinner to show, had pretty nearly drained him. And by the time Skinner had shown, Alex knew that the proposal he had in mind would have to be made elsewhere. He simply couldn't do one more ride. So instead, he had led Skinner down the familiar dark basement corridor, and into the office of the X-Files. "Word on the street is he's back from the dead. He's a regular Houdini." Sitting in Fox's chair, Alex pulled open desk drawers casually, and discovered Fox's old nameplate, discarded and dusty. A surge of resentment flooded him. God, this was going to be tough. He sure wasn't going to give anything away to the man in front of him, though. He tossed the nameplate lightly onto the desk. "Tell me what you want," Skinner demanded. Alex was unimpressed. "What I want," Alex told him mildly, "is to give you the chance to save Mulder's life." When Skinner only glared, Alex asked innocently, "You don't believe me?" "No, I don't." Alex scowled. He didn't like or trust this man. For too many years, Walter Skinner had taken orders from anyone with the right credentials, without asking why. The man could be controlled entirely too easily. But he cared deeply about both Scully and Mulder, and at the moment, that might make him useful. If Alex could manipulate him just right. He leaned slightly forward in the chair, playing his one hand over the electronic controller. "I can push a little button," he explained simply, "and send thousands of nanobots lying dormant in your bloodstream sizzling to your brain stem. And all I want to do with that power is save a man's life." A brief flicker of interest lit Skinner's eye, but it faded almost instantly. "I don't think his life can be saved." Well, what did you dig him up for, then? Alex wanted to ask. But he had to play this right. Too much was at stake. He took his hand from the controller, but kept it near him on the desk as he spun out the offer. "I have a vial that contains a vaccine," he began. " Mulder knows of it. His father developed it to fight the alien virus." He observed Skinner's reaction carefully, but if the man knew the truth about the vaccines, he certainly was a hell of an actor. "There's no vaccine that can help the man I found in that grave." The resignation in Skinner's voice troubled Alex. He had to make Skinner believe there was a way to save the man in that hospital. The nanobots alone weren't going to be enough of a bargaining chip this time. Skinner wouldn't put Scully through hell for his own sake, but he just might do it to save the life of Fox Mulder. But why was the man acting so disinterested? "You found him," Alex started, fighting his frustration, "and you don't even know what you've got." Skinner gave Alex a brief glance, but didn't respond. Instead, he turned as if to leave. Damn. Alex eyed the AD with suspicion. He hadn't really expected him to take the bait right away, but... With surprisingly speed, Skinner spun around and made a grab for the controller still sitting on the desk. Alex was there first. Grinning maliciously, he leaned across the desk toward Skinner, near enough to see the panic in Skinner's eyes. I could almost respect you for that one, old man, he thought. Not that you'll ever know it. Moving in close to him, he warned the AD, "Push of a button, Walter." Picking up the controller, he strode casually out of the room. Oh, yeah. He just might take the bait after all. ********** Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror no longer shocked him, but the gaunt, sallow face wasn't quite enough to inspire confidence. Still, Mulder had made the walk from Krycek's bedroom diagonally down the corridor to the bathroom unassisted, a fact of which he was inordinately proud. When Smith had brought him his breakfast, he hadn't seemed surprised to find the agent in Krycek's room. But Mulder had been profoundly uncomfortable; he had no idea what, if anything, Krycek had told the older gentleman to explain the fact that Mulder had spent the night in Krycek's bed. In Krycek's bed. The very phrase, echoing through his mind, was enough to stir the same old need that his dark-haired demon always roused in him. God, Mulder, he thought as he stared into the dull hazel eyes reflected back at him. Your father must be spinning wildly in his grave. It's not enough that you let his killer walk free - do you have to *want* him so much? And what about Scully? And Skinner? Their lives suffered because of Krycek. They were Mulder's friends. His loyalty should be to them. He hadn't seen them in months - he should be missing *them*, not the one who hurt them. Not the one blackmailed them, who betrayed them, who threatened their safety and their lives. And not the one who lied so easily - who had again last night said he'd stay, but hadn't. Mulder leaned his hands heavily on the bathroom sink, still staring at himself in the mirror. If he could just keep remembering all the wrongs Krycek had committed, maybe he could get over this. Maybe he could quell the desire he felt for him. Maybe he could forget the need the man's scent stirred in him. But he didn't think he'd ever forget the look he'd seen last night in those perfect green eyes when Alex Krycek said, "I'll stay if you want." Or the way he felt when he woke up alone. ********** The hospital room was surprisingly dark, even with the glow from all of the monitors, but Alex saw no reason to put on a light. He wouldn't be in here for long. Listening first to be sure no one was approaching the room, he moved soundlessly toward the bed. He'd seen this clone only once before, and it had been dead then. But it had been only recently killed when Alex had dumped it in that field. Now, it was suffering signs of mild decomposition - amazing, really, that it was recognizable at all, especially since the body had never been embalmed, according to McCarniss. He knew that the military had kept an eye on all of the funeral arrangements, that General McCarniss himself had arranged for the so-called "autopsy" and funeral tasks to be done by someone less emotionally involved than Scully. To spare her, he'd said. Presumably they were just being careful - at the time, they'd had no reason to suspect that the body in question was their own clone, and not the real Fox. McCarniss had been furious upon finding that out, but even now he had no suspicion that Alex had been the one to sacrifice the clone and leave it out in the Montana farmland. But once Scully and the others had pinpointed the Hoese woman in Montana, Alex didn't see much of a choice. He knew that Fox's location at Smith's compound would be discovered eventually, and he had to get the two of them out of the area. He hadn't particularly wanted to have the clone killed - it might have been useful later - but it was hardly as valuable to him as the genuine article. So he hadn't hesitated to call in a favor and have the clone's lifeless body delivered to him in Montana. Well, McCarniss sees his chance to have this clone reincarnated, and I suppose I owe him that much, Alex thought. He ran his fingers over the clone's throat, pressing until he located the butterfly shape that verified the location of the thyroid. Once he determined the ideal spot, he took out the syringe McCarniss had given him, ripped the rubber cover off of it with his teeth, prepped it to remove the excess air from the top, and injected the pale fluid into the clone. Even with only the one hand, the whole process only took a matter of seconds. Alex checked for changes on the monitors, but there didn't seem to be any. From what he understood, all of the equipment and tubes and IV drips were irrelevant to the health of the clone once the injection had been given. The machines continued with their harmless little beeps, and Alex turned away from them. He gave the clone another quick glance. Scary, really, how much it looked like Fox. It shouldn't. Fox was more than an assortment of genes and chromosomes. Alex would have sworn he'd know the real Fox from a fake, no matter what. But looking at this thing on the bed, he realized how possible it was to be fooled. He'd have to be careful. A footfall in the corridor caught his attention, and he dove silently behind the room's large door. The familiar silhouette of Walter Skinner appeared. Krycek paused, then stepped out of the protection of the shadows. Skinner turned, startled, and Krycek gazed at him placidly. "It's hard to believe, isn't it... that Mulder could ever possibly get out of that bed?" Skinner threw a quick glance in the clone's direction, then looked back in desperation to Alex. "I need the vaccine, Alex." Oh, so now I'm Alex, am I? Well, maybe we can get somewhere now. "Yeah," he agreed. "Time is wasting." "What do I have to do?" Skinner wanted to know. Alex took another small step forward. "Oh, it's simple, really. Make sure Scully doesn't come to term." Skinner stared at him in shock. Alex merely watched him, keeping his face a mask of unconcern. He was afraid he knew what Skinner's answer would be, but he had to try. Scully would never abort that baby based on anything he told her himself - not even Fox's life would come before the baby's. But there was a chance that Skinner could come up with something that might convince her. So he hoped, but he wasn't surprised by Skinner's answer. "You're out of your mind." "She can't have that baby." For a moment, Alex thought about telling Skinner the truth - that the baby Scully carried was not a miracle, but a feat of genetic engineering. That it was a test subject and a prototype. And that after it was born, it would be subjected to further testing, and its mother would be deemed expendable if she tried to prevent it. And that it was a threat to the aliens, who wouldn't hesitate to remove it along with Scully. But Skinner was looking at him as if he were the worst kind of monster. "No," he told him, appalled. "The answer is no." Alex moved another step closer to Skinner and the exit. No, he thought. Skinner just couldn't be trusted with that much information. Besides, he wouldn't believe Alex Krycek, anyway. If Skinner was going to persuade Scully to give up the baby, it would have to be to save a life already born. A life that mattered to him, and to Scully. Take it slow, he told himself. Give him a chance. Maybe he'll think on it and change his mind. "We all have a life in our hands," he told the man coolly. "I have yours... you have Mulder's... and Scully has her unborn child's. Let's see who's willing to sacrifice." Skinner only stared in mute horror, so Alex let it go for the moment and strode out of the room. He had maybe forty-eight hours before the clone showed signs of improvement, no matter what anyone did to him now. That gave him two days for Skinner to change his mind and offer a trade. He doubted it would take that long, though. Either Skinner would jump soon, or not at all. Alex strolled casually through the double doors at the end of the hospital corridor, turned left, and with easy confidence, turned the handle of the heavy white door marked "Staff Only". Scanning the shelves until he spotted the collection of empty medication vials, he helped himself to a handful and calmly let himself back out into the corridor. He was sitting in his Lexus in the hospital garage, watching Skinner's car and sipping what was left of a bottle of cranberry juice, when he saw Scully's new partner in his side-view mirror. Damn. So much for plan A. He gave his ignition key a vicious twist and gunned the engine angrily. ********** Smith had found a chess set in the linen closet downstairs, much to Mulder's delight, and they were playing their third match when the Lexus pulled into the driveway. Mulder had returned to his own room earlier in the afternoon, and from where they both sat, they could see Krycek's dark form moving soundlessly up the stairs. When he reached the landing, he peeked into the room, then entered softly. Shedding the jacket he was wearing, he crouched beside the bed and eyeballed the chessboard. "Who's winning?" Smith was winning, but he merely smiled at Krycek and said, "There's some leftover spaghetti if you're hungry." Krycek shook his head, returning the smile crookedly. "I ate with the fishies," he said with a wink at Smith. Mulder didn't understand the reference, but he noticed the wink. He didn't like it. He'd wondered before just how close Krycek and Smith might be. But even with Smith sitting right there, Krycek turned to Mulder, and the expression in those green eyes was undeniable. "How are you feeling today?" He brought his good hand to Mulder's forehead, as if checking for a fever they both knew was not there. Mulder drew back coolly, silently. He had noticed the new bruise on Krycek's face immediately. His fingers itched to touch it, to trace the raw red line across his lower lip, and stroke the discolored flesh over the left side of the jaw. Instead he turned to the chess pieces. "Mulder?" Krycek, still sitting back on his heels, peered up into Mulder's solemn face, concerned. "Everything alright?" Mulder scowled into the green gaze. "Who hit you?" he asked quietly. Krycek smirked at him good-naturedly. "Some guy. Name's Doggett, I think. Ever meet him?" "No." Mulder studied Krycek, puzzled. "Should I have?" Krycek shrugged and glanced briefly at Smith, then back at Mulder. "Guy's an agent." "At the bureau?" "Yeah." Krycek's head bobbed up and down. "You know him?" Mulder shook his head. "Why did he hit you?" "Don't know," Krycek shrugged again. "I was just sitting in my car, minding my own business, and he shows up, weapon drawn and everything." Smith listened thoughtfully. Mulder frowned. Krycek continued, "So I started up the car, figuring I'd better get out of there, and this nutcase leaps right through the car window and starts pounding on my face and trying to grab the steering wheel and all." "Why?" Mulder asked him. "What did he want from you?" "I don't know." Krycek insisted. "I never even met the guy before. He just began pounding on me for no reason." Mulder, unamused, merely raised an eyebrow. At the other end of the bed, Smith duplicated the action. "Well, why would someone just start 'pounding' on you for no reason?" Mulder wanted to know. Krycek sighed. "Happens to me all the time, Mulder." If Krycek meant anything by that, he certainly gave no indication of it. But Mulder felt his cheeks flush slightly. "So how do you know the guy's name, if you've never met him?" "I said I never *met* him," Krycek clarified simply. "I didn't say I never heard of him." He threw another curious glance at Smith, who gave the slightest shrug but said nothing. Turning back to Mulder, he added almost petulantly, "I'm not lying." "You must have done something, Krycek. He wouldn't have hit you without a reason." Krycek rose. "You don't even know this guy, but you'll take his side over mine, huh?" He glared at Mulder for a moment, but Mulder knew too well how to read the real emotion in those eyes. He'd hurt Krycek. He turned back to the chessboard dismissively, saying, "I don't have to know him, Krycek. I know *you*." The silence in the room took on a new tone. Across from Mulder, Jeremiah Smith fingered a white bishop absently; Mulder could feel the older man's eyes on him, questioning. But Mulder didn't return the gaze, didn't glance up at all from the chess game. It was Krycek who finally spoke again. "I guess you do, Mulder," he said quietly. "You sure know where to put the knife, anyway." He turned, the jacket in his hand swinging into the nightstand with a heavy thump. The gun in his pocket, Mulder assumed. Mulder looked up in time to see Krycek's dark form walking away. Tight jeans and hiking boots. It would have been a nice view, he thought wryly, if only it weren't so typical. Krycek was always leaving him. Never mind that Mulder himself so often gave Krycek good reason to go. Knife, hell. Damned thing was a double-edged sword. ********** Alex stared out into the night long after Smith's pick-up had disappeared in the direction of the compound. He was disappointed, though not really surprised, that Skinner hadn't taken him up on his offer for the vaccine. Not that it would have been the real thing, of course - Alex wasn't about to risk that - but it would have saved a lot of trouble if Skinner had somehow been able to find a way to convince Scully to end this pregnancy. So now it fell to Alex to come up with some other way to protect Scully. And he had no idea if that was even possible. Overhead, a floorboard creaked. Fox must be getting out of bed. Alex listened, heard the slow progress of footsteps from the bedroom to the bathroom, heard the bathroom door close with a click. The hallway and stairwell were lit, and Alex had left the bright overhead light on in the kitchen, but the living room, where he stood at the window, was in darkness. An old habit, making it easier to see out into the night, but more difficult to be seen. Alex had long ago learned to rely on the darkness for protection. But now, as he looked out, his eyes panning the sky for unusual lights, Alex thought about the replicants. Smith's people found abductees in all sorts of places. Some had been found not too far from this little house, in fact. And the ones that weren't found in time evolved into the replicants. Like Rohrer. Alex shook off the terror that crawled across his shoulders, and peered out again at the night. "Alex?" Alex's breath caught in his throat, even as he identified the so- familiar voice. He turned toward the archway into the hall and another shiver creeped along his skin. Fox stood precariously at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister, leaning forward slightly. "Krycek? Are you down there?" And Alex was at the base of the stairs instantly. "What is it, Mulder?" Fox looked uncertain. "Why are you sitting in the dark?" "I was standing, actually," Alex corrected him, forcing a lightness into his tone. But Fox was still at the very edge of the top step, and Alex didn't like that at all. "You really shouldn't be there, Mulder," he remarked gently. "You might fall." Fox shook his head. "No, I won't. I was...I was wondering, would it be alright if I came down and watched some television or something?" "Sure," Alex answered easily. "If you feel up to it. Can't you sleep?" he asked, concerned. He climbed the stairs as he talked. "I was asleep," Fox told him. "I do practically nothing *but* sleep." Alex grinned, but Fox only gazed soberly at him. "And I want to talk to you," he admitted. Alex's smile turned into a smirk, but he kept his voice light. "About whatever you're mad at me for this time?" "No," Fox replied seriously. "About what happened to me." Alex studied Fox for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "Okay," he agreed. "But can we wait until Smith gets back? There are some things he can explain better than I can. He's only gone to check on the folks at the compound," Alex reassured him as the agent opened his mouth to protest. "He should be back in a little while." He wrapped his arm around Fox's too-thin waist and motioned at the railing. "I've tried to ask Smith," Fox told him sulkily. "He won't tell me anything." Gripping the banister with one hand, Fox threw his other arm around Alex's shoulder and together they began the descent. "He just wants to focus on your recovery first," Alex explained. "He - both of us, really - want to make sure you're okay." He kept his eyes down, watching with concern as his former partner took one shaky step, then the next. On the fourth step, Fox paused to catch his breath. A trickle of perspiration slid along his temple. Taking his arm from the other man's waist, Alex reached up and brushed the little bead away. His hand lingered against Fox's face, as melancholy hazel eyes watched him in silence. "*Are* you okay?" Alex asked him softly. Fox nodded, his gaze still on Alex's face. The rumble of Smith's pick-up startled them both. Alex turned his head as headlights flared brightly, filling the living room with giant dancing shadows. Seconds later, the lights died as the engine fell silent, and the living room was again cast into darkness. Alex shook off a chill as the thought of the replicants again skittered through his brain. Beside him, Fox also shivered, and Alex wondered what the sudden bright light had stirred in him. The stories of the abductees were burned into Alex's mind; he could only imagine what Fox was thinking, but it was enough to chill him again. He slid his arm back around Fox's waist protectively. "Maybe you should sit and rest a minute," Alex suggested. Fox lowered his eyes to the long wooden staircase. "I think so," he agreed. Holding onto Alex's arm for support he lowered himself carefully onto the step, then slid closer to the railing, and patted the space beside him. Alex sat as beckoned, as a key turned the front door deadbolt. Smith entered, a small leather bag in his hand. Cool blue eyes swept over the two men with only the mildest curiosity. "Is everything alright?" Alex nodded wordlessly, then returned his attention to Fox. Those solemn eyes still gazed at him, troubled. He drew a tentative hand across Fox's brow, brushing back the dampened hair. When Fox didn't pull away, Alex slid his arm around the other man. Fox leaned into him, fatigued, his head coming to rest against the younger man's shoulder. Alex drew him in more tightly, felt the brush of his former lover's lips against his ear. "I don't want to feel like this." And Alex closed his eyes against the pain, and murmurred, "I know." But God, that hurt. It was hard enough living with the possibility that Fox might never love him again - the thought that maybe Fox *did* still love him, but regretted it, was almost too much to bear. He desperately wanted not to cause this man any more pain, but it seemed he couldn't stop. From below them on the stairs, Jeremiah Smith spoke in his usual placid tones. "Actually, Agent Mulder, you're mending quite nicely..." Alex gave a vague shake of his head. "I don't think that's what he means, Jem," he muttered. Ascending the first several steps, Smith continued as if Alex had not spoken, "...but I really think you should be back in bed." Fox lifted his head from Alex's shoulder then, but didn't pull away from the embrace. His eyes went from Alex to Smith. "I don't want to go back to bed," he told the older man. "I want to talk about what happened to me. Sooner or later someone's going to have to answer my questions." Smith studied the agent thoughtfully. "I see," he said. "But I really don't think that this is a good time for it. In the morning, perhaps..." Fox turned to Alex with a scowl. Reading the 'I told you so' in those eyes, Alex shrugged sheepishly and looked up at Smith. "I kind of promised him, Jem," he explained. "I told him we'd go over the whole thing when you got back." "When you got back from the *compound*," Fox emphasized. "You're healing people there, aren't you?" Curious, Smith glanced at Alex before answering. "Yes, we are." "Abductees?" "Yes," Smith said again. "Now why don't we get you settled into bed, and we can continue this conversation later?" But Fox ignored the suggestion, shifted his eyes back to Alex. "I'm one of them, aren't I? An abductee?" It wasn't really a question, and Alex didn't answer it. He brought his hand once more to Fox's face, a feather-soft touch against the other man's cheek. It was Smith's somber voice that brought the answer Alex couldn't give. "Yes." /continues in Part Four/ *********** Title: Seconds See disclaimers and notes in Part One Seconds By Tiramisu Part Four: The pick-up, pulling out of the driveway, scattered light across the bedroom ceiling as it caught the morning sun. Mulder watched from the window, hands in the pockets of his bathrobe; his mind was still piecing together what he'd learned, and what he remembered. Five months had gone by since he'd last seen Scully. For three of those months, she'd thought he was dead. Yet now she sat at the bedside of a man she thought was Mulder, alive again. She'd been through hell so many times because of him. How in the world was she dealing with it all? He had tried to ask Alex that question, but Scully was always an uncomfortable subject for the two of them to discuss. Mulder had never stopped blaming Alex for Scully's abduction, and Alex had never shown him the least remorse for his role in it. He still bristled at the mention of her name. So Mulder had turned to other questions. How had he been found? How did he end up in this little house in Pennsylvania? And how far had the colonization plans progressed? And Alex had told of finding Mulder in the desert, and of the days in the mine shaft. Mulder remembered bits and pieces of the journey to Montana, and as Alex told the tale, the images in Mulder's mind began to make sense. In a way, it was almost a relief, just knowing the facts behind the memories. Smith took up the story then. Mulder had been at the compound for over a month, feverish and delirious, his immune system fighting off the alien implant as his body began to heal. The injuries he'd sustained while he was missing had been curious, Smith told him. Some were consistent with those of the other abductees. But two wounds, in particular, were reminiscent of other experiments they'd seen - military experiments. It was Alex who had discovered the nature of the experiments, and who had spirited Mulder and Smith away from the compound one night, bringing them here, to a home that belonged to people known to both Alex and Smith. It had Mulder again wondering just how close the two were - how well, and how long, they'd known each other. But he didn't ask that question, either. Soft footsteps padded along the corridor. He listened a moment, but didn't turn around, assuming Alex would continue on downstairs. Only the familiar creak of the floorboard just inside his bedroom door alerted him to the fact that Alex had entered. That was deliberate, he knew. Alex could move with utter soundlessness when he chose; he must have wanted Mulder to hear him. So Mulder turned from the window. The other man stood in the doorway, clad in plaid flannel trousers and an oversized black tee- shirt, the left sleeve hanging empty beyond the truncated arm. His short dark hair spiked in all directions. He greeted Mulder with a tentative smile. Mulder smiled back at the sleepy green eyes. "Morning." "I'm just heading down to fix some coffee," Alex told him. "I thought I'd see if you wanted to tackle the stairs again - maybe catch some tv?" The suggestion made Mulder smile once more. Last night they had spoken of conspiracies and alien abductions, of love and betrayal. It was just like Alex to remember that they'd talked about watching television. "Yeah, I'd love to," Mulder said. "I was toying with the idea of grabbing a shower first, though." Alex frowned, dubious. "You sure you feel steady enough? That tub gets pretty slick." "I'm *not* sure," Mulder admitted. "But I feel like trying. I'm sick of just washing up at the sink. Besides," he added, sniffing at his pajama top, "I feel like I reek." Green eyes regarded Mulder thoughtfully. "Maybe you could try a bath, instead. It'd be safer. At least," he grinned, "as long as you don't drown yourself or anything." Drown. An image flashed in Mulder mind - a tube or tank of some kind. He was inside it, underwater. A memory? Or his imagination? He'd seen subjects in tanks before. But had he been one? Alex was looking at him in concern, the grin fading. "Hey," he said softly, as if not to spook Mulder. "You alright, there?" "Yeah," Mulder reassured him. "Just a weird feeling, that's all." Alex raised an eyebrow doubtfully, but didn't speak. "Really," Mulder offered by way of explanation. "It's just been a long time since anyone suggested a bath to me." It did make more sense, though, he realized. He was pretty sure he could get himself in and out of a bathtub without losing his balance or having his limbs give out on him. He moved past Alex, out of the bedroom and across the corridor to the old-fashioned bathroom. Giving the tub some consideration, he agreed, "Yeah, that sounds good..." "Okay, then," Alex said cheerfully, coming up alongside Mulder beside the tub. "Come on. Let's get the tub filled, then we can get you settled in..." "We?" Mulder queried with a smirk. Alex turned his most innocent gaze on Mulder and explained, "You don't think I'm going to risk you slipping in the tub and splitting your skull open, do you?" Giving the tap handles a twist, he said easily, "Don't worry, Mulder. I'll just make sure you're settled, then I'll leave you be until you're ready to come back out." He ran his hand under the water, adjusted the temperature, then closed the drain and let the tub begin to fill. No reason to argue, Mulder thought with a shrug. "Lots of hot water," he directed, leaning against the sink for support. He studied the back of the dark head thoughtfully. Alex didn't look up. "Yeah," he confessed, "I remember." And Mulder remembered, too. Did those months haunt Alex the way they did him? There were times since their break-up, times when Alex Krycek would suddenly reappear in Mulder's life, when the pain and shock would hit him with as much force as they did that afternoon six years ago. Moments when the numbness that had settled into his life wore off, driving him to a violence he hadn't known himself capable of. Yet inevitably the bright initial pain would fade, and Mulder's life would merge once more with Alex's, linked by common enemies and a fascination for each other. The truth would matter again to Mulder and the passion he once had for his quest would return. Until the next time Alex left. It was insane to want him back. Watching him now, Mulder wondered again just how his old lover had managed all this time. Where he'd lived. Where his money came from. How many injuries he'd suffered. How many betrayals. *He'd* been through hell, too, Mulder knew. But damn, he looked good. He noticed how easily the other man managed with one hand. Well, he's had three or four years of practice at it already. And Alex Krycek was never one to give up. He just keeps on going. My own little Eveready bunny, Mulder thought with sudden affection. My own? Damn, Mulder thought. I'm doing it again. Alex, satisfied that the bath was acceptable, turned to Mulder. "Come on," he said. "Get undressed." Mulder hesitated, then disrobed quickly. Not until he stood nude before Alex did he remember the ugly gashes still scarring his flesh. But Alex, unfazed, simply offered his hand in support; Mulder accepted it, stepping into the deliciously hot water and slowly lowering himself. Once Mulder was settled, Alex turned to leave. Mulder grasped his arm. "No, don't go," he said. At Alex's puzzled frown, he clarified, "Stay and talk with me." Alex hesitated, then agreed. "Okay," he said. "What about?" Everything, Mulder thought. You, me, what happened... All of it. "The abduction," he suggested aloud. "The clone, the compound, the colonization, take your pick." Alex perched on the side of the tub. "Well, we went over it pretty well last night, Mulder," he reminded him. "What else do you want to know?" "How to get rid of the clone, for one thing." Mulder said. "Sooner or later, I've got to be able to go back to my life, right?" He wasn't in a hurry about it, he admitted to himself. But he wanted to know. He watched Alex's bent head expectantly. There was no answer. "Alex?" Alex reluctantly raised his eyes, looking uneasy for the first time that morning. Mulder forgot about the soap in his hand and leaned toward his companion. The younger man rose and moved toward the sink, and the door. Damn. "What is it, Krycek?" Drawing in a deep breath, Alex met Mulder's gaze. "You can't go back," he explained. "Right now, the military thinks you're dead, and if they find out you're not, they'll correct the situation. They want to keep that clone in place, ready to do whatever they want done." Whatever they want done. Not good, Mulder thought. He studied the man leaning against the sink. It bothered him that Alex had moved away so instinctively, anticipating the violence he'd experienced before at his ex-lover's hands. Not that Mulder was strong enough to inflict any damage at the moment, he thought wryly. But Alex was innocent in this case; he hadn't caused Mulder's predicament with the clone, he'd only pointed out the risks to Mulder. And Mulder didn't want to chase Alex away. "Well," Mulder suggested as mildly as possible, "who says they'd have to know? If this clone looks just like me - it's made from my own DNA - then no one would be able to tell the difference. You said so yourself..." But Alex shook his head. "But it's not really a true clone," he explained. "Not a... not a pure clone, I mean. It's made from your DNA, but they've added something... some foreign genetic code..." "Foreign?" Mulder repeated with interest. "You mean alien? That thing has alien DNA?" He shouldn't be surprised, really; he'd seen, himself, products of human-alien experimentation. He'd spoken to living examples of it. But that one of them looked like him... "I'm not sure it's actually DNA," Alex corrected him. "My contact just refers to it as 'genetic material'. It's something they discovered from their tests on the alien embryo they've got. Whatever it is, though, it's a cinch that they'll be able to distinguish you from the clone with nothing more than a blood test. And they may not even need that." Mulder nodded thoughtfully. Alex returned warily to the side of the tub, kneeling to meet Mulder's gaze. His eyes were sympathetic. "It's just not something worth risking." "But I'm *willing* to risk it," Mulder told him. "I can't just stay away from everything I've ever had...ever been. I can't leave it all for some stranger to step into, as if I never existed." "If you go back, and they find you out, they'll kill you. You *can't* take that chance." Eyes intent upon the older man, Alex added, "There's too much at stake for them to let you live." Mulder knew that was true. The military could be ruthless, but they were fighting a race of beings with frightening advantages over them. They couldn't afford to play by normal rules - not when the possible extinction of mankind loomed ahead. What was the life of one man worth, measured against the entire human race? Nothing. Just another casualty of war. He looked down at his scarred chest, at the pale puncture marks in his hands, at Alex's empty sleeve. "I want my life, Alex," Mulder said simply. "I know." Alex took the forgotten cloth from Mulder's hand and began washing the other man's back, long soothing strokes. Mulder let out a sigh. Hunching forward to allow Alex better access, he considered the possibility of returning to DC anyway. Scully was there, and Skinner. Frohike, Langly, Byers. Was he really supposed to accept never seeing them again? *Could* he? Wrapping his arms around his knees, he told the other man, "I can't just let it all go, Alex. You're asking me to walk away from everything that matters to me. Do you know what that's like?" Alex answered him softly. "Yes." Yes. Yes. Of course, you do, Mulder realized. You did it yourself, six years ago. He looked at Alex, but the younger man's eyes were focused on the washcloth. "*You* walked away by choice," he pointed out quietly. Alex glanced up at him. "No, I didn't," he told him. "You did," Mulder contended. "I went to your place that afternoon, and every stick of furniture was already gone. Your stuff was even gone from my apartment..." "You reported me to Skinner. What was I supposed to do, stick around and wait to be arrested?" "You could have told me the truth," Mulder said. He looked into his former lover's eyes, a rush of sadness coming over him. We could have had so much, he thought. He sighed. "But you walked away like I didn't mean a thing to you." "The hell I did," Alex argued. "You turned me in to Skinner. You never came to me first, never asked for my side of the story. You just sold me out. If Jeff's old man hadn't had that office bugged - if he hadn't tipped me off - I would've gone to prison." The green eyes were bright with pain. "*You* betrayed *me*, Mulder. Not the other way around." He drew in a breath, and Mulder expected him to say more, but Alex only shook his head and sighed sadly. He pushed the washcloth back into Mulder's hand. "Call me when you're ready to get out of the tub," he told him. "I'll come and help you. I doubt you really want me to sit here and talk with you any more." He rose and headed out the door without a backward glance. Mulder stared at the washcloth for a moment, as Alex's bare feet padded softly down the stairs. Damn. ************ He got himself out of the bathtub without calling for Alex's help. There were only additional pajamas in his bedroom, so he worked his way along the corridor to Alex's room and helped himself to a pair of sweat pants and the henley shirt that Alex had worn the day before. Pulling it over his head, he inhaled the fragrance of his former lover. I want him back. Is this what a brush with death does, then? Psychology 101, he told himself. A second chance at life, and the human mind re- evaluates what's important. Retracing his steps up the hallway, Mulder thought about his life. About Alex.... Scully... .the bureau... Samantha.... his search for the truth... One at a time, they were all being taken from him. But if he could choose, if he could have one of them back, even at the cost of the rest, he knew which he wanted. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes and saw again the green eyes greeting him this morning, uncertain and hopeful. The same green eyes filled with pain, unprotected from Mulder's accusations just moments ago. The perfect green eyes that gazed at him silently as a hand rested on his cheek, last night on the stairs. He wasn't being asked to walk away from his life. Quite possibly, he was being offered a chance to take it back. *********** Alex closed the connection and tossed the cell phone onto the kitchen table. Fuck, he thought to himself. All that trouble keeping up Fox's apartment, just so that damned clone could take it over? According to McCarniss, the clone had responded well to the injection Alex gave him. Last night he'd awakened for a few moments, and all indications were that his mind was working fine. Whatever that meant, Alex thought. He assumed that McCarniss' people had been concerned about what McCarniss referred to as "learned memory", a process the military used in training the clones to function as the people they replaced. It was unsettling. Alex pictured again the clone as it had looked in the hospital yesterday. Even with the decaying wounds, that thing had looked enough like Fox to fool anyone. With memory programming, the clone would be nearly impossible to distinguish from the genuine article. The idea disturbed Alex. And the military had other clones out there, successfully replacing their counterparts. How many, Alex didn't know. He doubted McCarniss would give him a truthful answer to that question. Clones, and replicants, and shapeshifters. And we sorry humans are supposed to win this war? ************ Mulder stood unnoticed under the kitchen archway, watching with curiosity as Alex struggled, one-handed, with an electric can- opener. Twice the younger man tried to jam the rim of the can under the blade, but the appliance slid, and the can struck the countertop loudly. Alex swore, grasped the can again, and repeated the process. Again he failed, and again he swore. But he collected the can once more. Mulder approached him soundlessly. Standing close behind the other man, he reached his arm forward to take the can. Alex drew in his breath sharply, spinning around and nearly knocking Mulder off his feet. "Geez, Mulder," he said, stunned eyes widening, "what the hell are you doing down here? Did you get down those stairs by yourself?" "That's a rhetorical question, I assume." Mulder grinned, and was rewarded with Alex's crooked smile in return. One thing about Alex, he thought gratefully. The man never held a grudge against him. He looked down at the can in his hand, wrinkling his nose at the label. "Tomato soup? For breakfast?" "That or beef stew," Alex said, taking the can back from Mulder. He turned again to the can-opener and added, over his shoulder, "Anyway, it's closer to lunchtime. We slept kind of late, you know." Shrugging, Mulder took the can again, opened it without trouble. "I can do that," Alex told him. "So can I," Mulder pointed out simply. "More easily than you can." He handed the can to Alex, who dumped the contents into a saucepan. "I manage," he said softly. Mulder studied the familiar profile. Alex stirred the saucepan's contents gently, careful not to let the pan slide on the burner. "Why don't you let me do that?" Mulder offered. Alex shook his head. "Go watch tv," he suggested. "I'll call you when it's ready." But Mulder merely leaned back against the countertop, observing Alex. Under the black tee-shirt, the outline of the mutilated shoulder was just barely visible, ending a couple of inches above the hem of the sleeve. Mulder resisted the temptation to push the sleeve up and examine it. But he had no intention of ignoring its existence. "Where's your prosthesis?" he asked easily. "Upstairs," Alex answered with a shrug. "I don't bother to put it on until I get out of the shower." "Oh." Alex looked over at him. "Does it bother you? I can go put it on now..." He glanced at the short sleeve hanging empty. "I forget. Some people get uncomfortable." "It doesn't bother me," Mulder assured him. "I just wondered." He started opening drawers curiously. Finding the one that contained the flatware, he picked out a couple of serviceable spoons. "Are we going to need knives or forks?" Mulder asked. Alex shook his head lightly. "Not unless there's something wrong with the soup. If you're hoping for toast or salad or something, you're out of luck. I need to get to the supermarket this afternoon." Mulder shut the drawer and pulled open the cabinet directly above it. "Bowls are in that one," Alex said, gesturing to Mulder's left. "You want to go with me?" "Hmm?" "To the supermarket," Alex explained. "I thought you might be bored just staying in the house. You seem to have made the stairs okay, so..." he shrugged. "If you don't feel up to walking, you can sit in the car. At least you'll see some scenery." Mulder grinned and nodded. "Can I borrow something to wear?" "Looks like you already have," Alex remarked, amused. "You know, I do have *clean* things up there." "I wouldn't know. I don't snoop." Alex chuckled. "Since when?" Turning the heat off under the saucepan, he said, "Bring those bowls over here, huh?" Mulder obliged, then reached for the handle of the pan. "I...," Alex began. "...can do that," Mulder finished for him. "I know you can. But so can I." He poured the soup as Alex stood, wordless. Placing the pan on the back burner, Mulder turned his eyes once more to Alex. "I let you help *me*," he said earnestly. "It's not the same thing," Alex argued. "You're recuperating. I've learned to live with one arm." Mulder looked at him curiously. "Have you ever considered asking Smith if he could heal it?" "He's already offered to, several times," Alex told him. "I don't want him to." "Why not?" Mulder asked, surprised. Alex shrugged. "I just don't," he said lightly. Mulder picked up the two bowls and placed them on the kitchen table. Alex followed with the spoons. "Is there orange juice?" Mulder asked, opening the refrigerator. Retrieving the pitcher, he turned again to Alex. The younger man stood beside the table, facing away from him. Mulder continued, "It would make things so much easier for you if Smith restores it. You must have a reason, if you're not letting him." "I'm not a frigging starfish, Mulder," Alex answered him, annoyance creeping into his tone. "I don't want to sprout new limbs." Mulder watched Alex, perplexed. "But I don't understand," he said. "You know Smith's been taking care of *me*. You wouldn't let him, if you thought he was up to no good, would you?" He didn't really mean it to be a question; he felt perfectly safe in this house around both Alex and Smith. But Alex shook his head, giving a weary sigh. "Contrary to what you may think, Mulder, I wouldn't *let* anyone hurt you." As Mulder approached the table, Alex moved to sit down. Before he could, Mulder grasped his arm. "I know that," Mulder said quietly. He stood very close to Alex again. His former partner stared at him uncertainly. "I want you back, Alex." Only Alex's stunned expression made Mulder sure he'd spoken the words aloud. "You what?" he asked, his gravelly voice almost a whisper. Mulder repeated softly, "I want you back." "Why?" Well, it was certainly a fair question. Mulder frowned into the green eyes, unsure of how to explain adequately. "You and I are better together than apart," he tried, his voice low. "I think....I think we're happier together. I know that something inside me is only right when I'm with you." Alex stood mutely, head bent. "I'm tired of pretending the hurt will go away - for either of us," Mulder said. "We've given up so much already, trying to fight a war no one even believes is real. It doesn't seem fair that we should have to give up each other." Mulder waited until Alex raised his eyes, then continued. "I know we've done some damage to each other over the years, but..." "I can't take back what I've done," Alex told him quietly. "I can't even say that I would if I could." "I know," Mulder solemnly agreed. "But I know more now than I did then. I think I can understand some of it. We'll have to work out a lot of things, but I'd like to try, if you're willing." Alex looked away again; when his gaze returned to Mulder, the eyes under those thick lashes were thoughtful. But he didn't speak. Well, Mulder figured, you can't expect a quick answer. Too much has gone down between us. So much has happened to us both, he thought, his eyes traveling to the left shoulder. Alex noticed and followed the direction of Mulder's eyes. "Does it matter, really?" he finally asked. "I mean...would you only want me back if I let Smith heal it?" The question would have been insulting to Mulder, if not for the glimpse of insecurity he saw in the man he knew so well. Alex was pragmatic by nature; if he had rejected the opportunity to have his arm restored, then he had to have a hell of a reason to do so. "If I say it matters," Mulder wanted to know, "would you let him?" Alex frowned. Mulder could see the struggle behind those gorgeous green eyes. "Yes," he admitted. Mulder reached out, brushed his fingers through Alex's dark hair, let his hand stroke the younger man's head and rest against the back of Alex's neck. A gentle, tentative step closer, and he leaned in, nuzzling, touching his forehead to the other man's. And kissed him. Just the barest hint of a kiss at first. A taste of those lips he'd remembered so well, a hesitant pressure, as he drew lightly on Alex's lower lip, taking it between his own. "It doesn't matter," he murmurred. "It doesn't matter at all." /continues in Part Five/