TITLE: STRIKE ZONE 
AUTHOR: Courtney Gray 
SERIES/PART: "How to Throw A Curve Ball"/Part5 (Conclusion)
RATING: NC-17 for M/M interaction
SUMMARY: What do you do when the game is over and all you
have left is the truth?
FEEDBACK TO: seagray@mindspring.com

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STRIKE ZONE  by Courtney Gray


There were about a dozen cylindrical containers in the 
darkened traincar. They were all standing on end, braced up 
against both sides. They reminded Mulder of metal coffins. 
An intricate webbing of tubes, filters and cables joined 
them to a large electronic panel and what looked like a 
fancy set of hydraulic pumps at the far end of the car. An 
empty operating table stood in the middle. Surgical 
instruments were laid out on one end, partially covered 
with a crisp white cloth.

He stooped down to check the body sprawled near the 
entrance. The man was dressed in green, surgical scrubs. A 
gun was clutched in one lifeless hand. A bullet hole gently 
oozed blood from the middle of his forehead. Another man, 
considerably more thug-like, lay dead just outside, gun 
also in his hand and several bullet wounds in his chest.

Mulder stepped over the body and swept his flashlight beam 
over the panel. One or two red lights blinked here and 
there but most of the displays were dark. He walked down 
the length of the car, his flashlight playing over the 
metal containers. All of them had a thick glass viewplate 
set into the upper half. He looked into each one. Most were 
the same: greenish, viscous material smeared the glass, 
mixed with blobs of…something else. Not quite flesh, not 
quite bone. The things that were in those containers were 
disintegrating, but he could still make out something akin 
to a human shape in them. It was the other containers that 
made his stomach lurch. Humans. Or at least, they had been. 
Ashen and shriveling now, with tubes snaking out of their 
mouths and nostrils, with open, dead eyes covered in a film of 
greenish-black fluid.

A sharp chemical smell hung in the air and it was very cold 
and quiet. The sound of his footsteps echoed against the 
metal flooring. 

Mulder had expected the Centers to look different. Maybe he 
wasn't sure exactly what he had expected. Huge underground 
complexes perhaps. Something larger, more impressive, more 
elaborate. Something with vast and deadly security systems 
and a round-the-clock troop of guards. Yet, this was a far 
more elegant solution, certainly far more practical. 
Traincars. Relatively small, mobile, difficult to pinpoint 
amidst a sea of traincars in a sea of railroad yards, or 
hidden off on some little used track in the middle of nowhere,
as this one was. The contents could be offloaded into trucks 
or other vehicles in the middle of the night and moved with 
little notice. 

And there were railroads all over the world.

When he reached the hydraulic equipment, he saw the damage. 
Several lines were cut, green fluid still dripping from 
them into a thick, widening pool on the floor. Gauges were 
smashed, cables severed. A corrosive had been poured over 
and into the electronic equipment. Broken wires hung from a 
small camera mounted in one corner of the ceiling. On the 
other side of the electronic display, on top of the 
keyboard, lay a DLT tape. He scooped it up and put it in 
his coat pocket. He checked around a little more, but there 
was nothing else. 

He left the traincar and paused for a moment to look up at 
the stars that dotted the blue-black sky. He started 
running back across the tracks, back towards his car. As he 
reached a rise, he could just make out several sets of 
headlights in the distance, weaving towards him. He ran 
faster, through a line of trees to the quiet, two-lane road 
that lay beyond. When he got in his car, he kept the 
headlights off, and drove away in the opposite direction.

The drive back to D.C. wasn't a long one, but it was 
already morning when Mulder neared the city.

The image of those tortured faces behind the thick glass 
screens hovered before his eyes. Was that what had happened 
to Samantha? Was that what they had done to her? Mulder 
felt the heat of tears but fought them back. The pain was 
always there, rooted deep in the center of his heart where 
it would ache whenever he thought of her. 

He patted his coat pocket to make sure the tape was still 
there. He hoped there would be some answers in it.

He thought back to last night's phone call. When the phone 
had rung, he'd looked at it and knew it was Alex Krycek 
calling him. He'd just…felt it. When he'd answered and 
heard that low, husky voice, he hadn't been surprised even 
though almost two months had passed since they'd last 
spoken in the house in Arlington.

"Mulder, just listen, I haven't much time. The Centers. 
They're using railroad cars."

"Wha--"

"Just listen. They've moved one and I have a shot at it. If 
there's anything useful, I'll try and leave it for you. We 
only have a few hours before they discover what's happened. 
You have to get here as soon as possible." 

Then Krycek had given him the location and hung up.

Mulder glanced at the gray dawn sky, pulled out his 
cellphone and called Scully. Two rings later, she picked 
up. "Scully, it's me. I'm on my way to see the Lone Gunmen 
and I want you to meet me there as soon as you can."

"Mulder, it's not even seven yet. And it's a workday. And 
we have a meeting with Skinner first thing this morning."

"Tell him I'm following up on a case lead and I need you to 
join me. Tell him I'm sick and you have to bring me some 
chicken soup. Tell him anything, Scully. Just get over to 
the Gunmen's as soon as you can, okay?"

"Mulder, I just can't brush Skinner off without--."

"This is important, Scully. I've seen it, one of the 
Centers. I have a tape that was left there. I want to find 
out what's on it right away. Maybe it'll tell us how we can 
use what we found in Ridley's research." He could picture 
her eyebrow rising in the short silence that followed.

"You've actually seen one of those places, Mulder? What, 
how--"

"I'll tell you all about it at the Gunmen's. I…I have 
something else I need to tell you, too."

"What is it?"

"I'll tell you when I see you."

The pause was longer before she spoke again. "All right, 
Mulder. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Scully." He clicked off his cell and stepped on 
the gas.

*******

The burly doorman's gold and russet uniform blended nicely 
with the lobby's Art Deco décor. He gave Krycek a discreet 
appraisal as he announced his name over the house phone. 
"Yes, sir, a Mr Krycek is here to see you." After a pause, 
he ended with another "yes, sir" and turned to Krycek with 
a polite nod. "Ninth floor, Apartment D, Mr Krycek."

Krycek thanked him and headed for the elevator. As the 
gilded doors opened for him, he idly wondered if the 
doorman was on the Syndicate's payroll and decided that his 
paranoia was definitely running on overdrive.

A few moments later, he was standing in front of apartment 
D, the letter gleaming from a small, polished bronze plate 
on the carved wood door. Before he could ring the bell, the 
door opened.

"Ah, Alex, please come in." The Well-Manicured Man was 
dressed in an elegant dark blue suit. The tiny flecks of 
blue dotting his gray silk tie exactly matched the pale 
color of his eyes. He looked tired. "How was the shuttle 
flight?" he asked conversationally as he led Krycek into 
the study.

Deep burgundy wallpaper and dark wood paneling gave the 
room a stylish air that was underscored by the floor to 
ceiling bookshelves that took up one wall. Morning sunlight 
slanted in through the partially opened drapes. A silver 
coffee service with two china cups stood on a corner of the 
wide mahogany desk.

"On time and uneventful," replied Krycek. He glanced around 
the room, noting the layout and took a chair in front of 
the desk.

The Old Man poured coffee into the two cups and handed one 
to Krycek. "I received a call a little while ago," he began 
as he seated himself behind the desk. "It seems the Project 
has suffered an unfortunate setback. One of the Centers has 
been sabotaged."

"Serious?" asked Krycek.

"Most definitely. In fact, I was informed that it's a total 
loss." The old man sipped from his cup, his gray brows 
rising as he gave Krycek a calculated stare. "You should 
have told me you were going after the Center, Alex."

Krycek looked up as he added milk to his coffee. "I took 
the opportunity when it came. You were here in New York 
with the rest of them. I didn't want to risk trying to 
contact you first."

The old man's lips pursed thoughtfully, and then he let out 
a soft sigh. "The Colonists will want answers. Our 
cigarette smoking colleague will be very busy in the next 
few days. We must be particularly cautious now."

"I covered my tracks. They won't tie it back to me. And I 
still think I should have killed him when I had the 
chance." Krycek drew in a breath, remembering the moment 
when he stood on that snowy ridge, his gun pointed at the 
Cancerman's head…

'Go on, take your shot, Alex,' he'd said.

Oh, and how he had wanted to. The bile had risen in his 
throat as he'd forced out his reply. 'I was sent to bring 
you back.'

Krycek pushed the memory away as the Brit spoke again.

"The Colonists insisted on his return. They are certain of 
his commitment to the Project. He has proven his loyalty to 
them far more...unreservedly than the rest of us. That's 
what makes him so dangerous. He believes in the Project and 
in his own destiny as one of its architects." The Well-
Manicured Man gave Krycek a wry little smile. "I remember 
when I believed in it as much as our driven colleague. I 
remember when you believed in it, too."

"No. I just wanted to be as powerful as the rest of you."

"Then we were both fools, weren't we?" The old man paused, 
measuring Krycek's expression. "Our colleague's presence 
buys us more time. He can be useful. Our game has reached a 
critical stage. You must put any personal vendettas aside, 
Alex. We cannot afford them now." 

"I'm not an amateur."

"Indeed you're not. Please remember it." He took another 
sip of his coffee, and sat back in his chair. "Have you had 
any further contact with Agent Mulder?"

"No, not since I spoke to him about Jeremiah Smith."

"Yes. It would seem it was most fortuitous that he came to 
see you. We can only hope that Smith's information is true 
and that Mulder will be able to use it to find what we need 
to know about the Alien disease in the Ridley material. Do 
you think he'll contact you if he discovers something in 
the papers."

"I don't know. Does it matter, as long as he's able to put 
it to use?"

The Well-Manicured Man leaned back in his chair, head 
angled 
thoughtfully. "I had hoped that you and Mulder would be 
able to bridge your past...history."

Krycek put his cup down and met the old man's stare. "Why?"

"Strategy, my boy. To win, it's vital to have the best 
players on your side. Individually, you and Mulder possess 
unique abilities. You are both believers in extreme 
possibilities. You each have access to resources that the 
other does not. As I've told you before, working together, 
you can accomplish far more than you can alone."

"Mulder already has a partner."

"There are many kinds of partnerships. They need not be 
mutually 
exclusive."

Krycek wondered how much the old man really knew. "I called 
Mulder and told him about the Center. I found the backup 
tape there and I left it for him." He waited to see what 
the old man would say.

The gray brows rose as a hint of a smile touched his face. 
"Good. Very good." 

"You surprise me."

"How refreshing, though I don't see why. When Mulder came 
to the Arlington house the night of the charity gala, it 
confirmed something I have suspected for quite some time."
Krycek kept his face a careful blank. "Really? What was 
that?"

The tiny amused smile returned to the old man's face. 
"Whatever's 
between the two of you, it is certainly not indifference. 
And it's far more than animosity. If you are to work 
together effectively, you must recognize the true nature of 
your relationship."

"Relationship?" echoed Krycek.

"What other name would you give it?" replied the Well-
Manicured Man.

"I'm not sure what I'd call it." Krycek looked away from 
the other man's steady gaze. He saw now that the Brit had 
deliberately arranged for his path and Mulder's to cross. 
He could understand the old man's wish to get Mulder more 
firmly on their side of the quiet little war of the worlds, 
but he doubted that his mentor realized how deeply his 
machinations had affected Krycek's life. "You may have 
overplayed your hand this time," he said. "I…I don't know 
how to deal with Mulder. It's just made everything more 
complicated."

"Mulder is not the sort of man to draw a neutral response 
from anyone. Perhaps it's because you cannot remain 
dispassionate with him that you find Mulder…unsettling. 
You've worked very hard at making sure your emotions never 
interfere with what you've had to do. That's one of the 
reasons you have the reputation that you do, though I'm 
sure it's been a most difficult struggle for you at times. 
Still, I believe you've handled Mulder quite well, and if 
it's any consolation, from what I observed of your 
interactions that night of the gala, I would say that 
Mulder has as much difficulty 'dealing' with you as you do 
with him."

"No, it's different for Mulder. He doesn't ca--" Krycek 
stopped. "It doesn't matter to him," he amended.

"Oh? Fox Mulder strikes me as a man who only bothers with 
the things that matter to him."

Krycek swallowed, gripped by a confusing twist of emotions 
in his gut and the sudden memory of Mulder's eyes staring 
into his. "I'm better off alone." 

The silence that followed finally made Krycek look up. The 
expression on the old man's face was almost kindly as the 
pale blue eyes met his. "No one should ever feel better off 
alone, Alex. You've been alone too long."

"Why do care? Is it because of my father? Is that it?" 

"Your father did the best he could."

Krycek's eyes narrowed. "The best? You call suicide the 
best he could do?" His lips tightened into a cold line. "He 
put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger because he 
was a coward."

The Well-Manicured Man shook his head slowly. "You were a 
boy. You didn't know the choices he was forced to make. He 
was a fine scientist, Alex. The Syndicate brought him out 
of the Soviet Union because they knew what he could do for 
the Project. We gave him a new life. All he wanted was to 
be able to do his work. He realized too late that his work 
was creating something far different from the new world of 
his dreams."

"He could have fought them. He should have found a way." 
His voice was rough and accusing. "Where were you? You said 
you admired him. Why didn't you help him? Help my mother?"

"I wasn't here. I began heading the Project in Europe 
shortly after your father set up his laboratory here. We 
were all working in different parts of the world then, 
establishing the foundation for the work that lay ahead. We 
each had our particular responsibilities, our particular 
domains. You know who headed those Operations here."

Krycek voice was soft and chilling. "Bill Mulder."

"Yes, but our smoking friend was in charge overall. And he 
was as efficient then as now." He waved away Krycek's angry 
glare. "We were all terribly efficient, terribly dedicated in 
those days, myself included. It wasn't until I heard about 
your father's death that I began to doubt…" The old man's 
voice trailed away, his eyes distant with memories. 
"Nothing was clear after that. With each passing year, it 
became more difficult to ignore what your father had 
foreseen: that we were actively helping to destroy our 
world instead of saving it."

"Was the car crash that killed my mother really an 
accident?" 

The gray brows rose in surprise. The old man's lips pursed 
thoughtfully before he answered. "I truly do not know, 
Alex."

Krycek lowered his head. Why had he expected the other man 
to be able to answer the question? He shouldn't have even 
let it slip out. There were only two men who could give him 
the answer, and one of them was dead. And he didn't believe 
he would ever hear the truth from the other. Still, just 
the fact that the Brit was unsure told him that the old man 
had his suspicions, too.

Krycek slowly raised the coffee cup to his lips and drank. 
The action gave him time to wrestle his emotions under 
control, to banish the vision of his mother standing alone 
in the garden surrounded by the irises she loved, with that 
terrible, desolate look in her eyes. As he had run to her, 
clung to her unknowing, she'd tried to smile, tried to hide 
the fear. It was the last time he'd seen her alive.

He put his cup down and looked back at the man behind 
the polished desk. 

"The past never really leaves us, Alex. We each carry it 
with us, but how it shapes our future depends on what we 
do…now. In that, the past has only as much power over us as 
we choose to give it."

Krycek considered the old man's words and slowly leaned 
forward in his chair, raising his chin, his voice firm. "I 
need more information about the Centers. I need to find out 
what the Colonists are doing now. Can you get me into the 
next Syndicate meeting?"

*********

"Well, guys, what have we got?"

"Looks like there's mucho data on this thing, Mulder. 
There's a multi-level password schema too, pretty fancy, 
but we'll dig through it. Just need a little time."

"How much time?"

"You just got here an hour ago, man. Relax, willya, and 
leave it to the masters."

"Yeah, Mulder, how many times do we have to tell you, our 
kung fu is the best."

Mulder glanced at his wristwatch and then back at the three 
heads bent over several computer consoles and assorted 
techhead equipment. He felt like he'd just brought a fancy 
new toy to kindergarten. The Gunmen were happily in their 
element. Somehow, he doubted that Scully would be in the 
same frame of mind. 

When Scully showed up an hour later, the Gunmen were still 
working on breaking the password encryption. Frohike beamed 
at her with his usual hint of a leer as his colleagues 
nodded a greeting before turning back to their task. 

Scully gave them a brief smile and turned a raised eyebrow 
towards her partner. "Well, Mulder, Skinner isn't thinking 
too kindly of either of us right now, especially since he 
already suspects we've been keeping him in the dark about 
something. There's only so much more leeway he's going to 
give us before he demands some answers. I can hardly blame 
him."

"Yeah, I know, but he'll get them. We're almost there, 
Scully, I can feel it." He took her elbow and steered her 
over towards the kitchen where he could talk to her alone. 

"You said you saw it…one of those Centers?"

Mulder nodded, pouring mugs of coffee for them both. 
"They're using traincars, Scully, outfitted like small 
mobile laboratories. I saw what they're doing. The 
hybrids." His jaw clenched as the images flashed through 
his mind's eye. "It was a torture chamber, Scully. That's 
what they're doing to those victims, turning them into 
fodder for their fucking Project. Alien incubators, that's 
all they were." He went on to describe the contents of the 
metal canisters, his hazel eyes finally gazing off into a 
distance only he could see.

After a silence, Scully's reply showed how well she could 
read him. Her voice was gentle. "You don't know what really 
happened to your sister, Mulder. It doesn't mean that what 
you saw in that traincar has anything to do with what 
happened to Samantha."

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut at her words. A moment later, 
he looked at her and nodded.

She drew in a breath. "In that traincar…are you sure what 
you saw 
involved alien lifeforms?"

"Scully, why can't you believe--"

"It's not a matter of belief, Mulder, I just want to make 
sure we know exactly what we're dealing with. Your 
description, as horrific as it sounds, could just as well 
apply to genetic experiments, DNA manipulations conducted 
illegally by unscrupulous scientists for any number of 
reasons. Joseph Ridley conducted just that kind of research 
to find his so-called fountain of youth. He was grafting 
salamander cells on human tissue. He was re-engineering 
human cells, Mulder. Developing his own morphogens to affect 
normal tissue differentiation. His experiments were horrific 
as well." She seemed to sense his frustration and reached out 
to put a hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, I'll try and be open 
to all the possibilities. I'm only asking you to do the same."

It was an old standoff, as old as their partnership. Her 
skepticism had kept him grounded and focused on his own 
quest, her persistent doubts balancing off his own wild 
flights of intuition. After all their years together, he 
knew their perspectives would never change, not until 
Scully could be shown irrefutable proof of the alien 
conspiracy.

"Fine, Scully. I'm hoping we'll both find the Truth. And 
soon." He glanced towards the other room where the Gunmen 
were diligently working. "Once the guys access that tape, 
we may find out exactly what they were doing in that 
traincar, and to who."

"You said it might tell us how to apply some of the 
anomalies we found in the Ridley material?"

Mulder nodded, his gaze still on the three heads huddled 
amidst the computer equipment. "That's what I'm counting 
on."

"How did you find out about the traincar in the first 
place? Was it the Englishman again?"

The question made him turn back, a tiny knot tightening in 
his stomach as he stared into her bright blue eyes. He 
swallowed once, feeling he had to be honest with her. "Alex 
Krycek." And waited.

Scully placed her coffee mug back on the counter with a 
clunk, her face registering her surprise. "Krycek? He's 
still alive? I thought someone would've killed him by now." 
She shook her head slowly. "And he's your source?"

"Yes. He's working with the Englishman now."

"I can't imagine a man like Alex Krycek working with or for 
anybody but himself." She looked up at him with a frown and 
gestured to the three men in the other room. "Are you 
telling me that we're working on information given to you 
by a liar and a murderer? Mulder, this could all be an 
elaborate set-up. He could be setting us up right now."

"No. You've examined the Ridley material. It's genuine. And 
what I saw in that traincar was real."

Scully ran a hand across her forehead. "What makes you 
think you can 
believe Krycek now any more than you could before?"

"I know him better now. I've had a chance to really talk to 
him, be with him. It's changed. It's different. He's 
different."

His answer seemed to stun her into a momentary silence. Her 
crystal blue eyes searched his face. "You've been meeting 
with Krycek all this time?"

"I've...met with him a few times, yes. I didn't tell you 
about it because--" He faltered for a moment. "Because I 
knew you'd react like this. I need your help and…and I know 
I'm right about him."

"Damn it, Mulder, if you could only hear yourself. Have you 
forgotten what Alex Krycek has done? Do you really think a 
man like that can change?"

Mulder drew in a breath and looked down at the floor. "No, 
I haven't forgotten. I'll never forget." He swallowed hard, 
feeling Scully's eyes on his face. "But this goes far 
beyond all that." He shook his head, uncharacteristically 
reluctant to delve into his reasons for defending 
Krycek…and himself. "The information he and the Englishman 
have given me is important. Yes, they may have their own 
agenda, but I think they want the Project to fail. 
This Project, if it succeeds, could mean the end of human 
existence as we know it, Scully. We have to stop it, or 
else what I saw in that traincar is going to be our 
collective future."

She listened, but he could see the doubts behind her eyes. 
He couldn't blame her. There was no reason for her to 
believe that Krycek would not betray them again, any more 
than he could explain why he believed that Alex wouldn't. 

"I think we should bring Skinner in on this now." The edge 
in her voice matched her expression. "We need the Bureau to 
back us up."

"Scully, the men behind this Project own a lot of people in 
high places. They had Blevins in their pocket. I think we 
should at least wait until we've seen what's on the tape. 
We're too close to risk it all now. 

"Risk?! You think that's a risk?" Scully rolled her eyes. 

"Damn it, Frohike, I told you that wouldn't work! We 
could've lost everything."

"Whaddya mean, you told me? I told you that decryption 
sequence was crap when you started it."

Mulder turned his head towards the raised voices, ignoring 
Scully's frustrated sigh. He walked back to the three men. 
"What's happening?"

"We've never seen this kind of encryption layering before. 
It's very ingenious," Byers told him as Langly and Frohike 
grew silent. "It's going to take more time to break it. 
We'll have to do some testing to insure we won't harm the 
integrity of the data."

"How much more time?" asked Mulder.

Langly threw him a look over his shoulder. "Let's just say, 
we'll call you."

"No offense, Mulder, but you're just in the way right now. 
We've got some serious hacking to do here, " added Frohike. 
"Perhaps you and the lovely Ms Scully should hightail it 
back to your Federal salt mines for a while."

"It's gonna take you that long?" whined Mulder.

Byers looked from Mulder to Scully and back. "There must be 
very 
valuable information on the tape to warrant this kind of 
protection. We want to do it right."

"C'mon, Mulder, if you want them to help you, then let's do 
as they ask."

Scully's comment earned an adoring look from Frohike and 
nods from the other two Gunmen.

"All right, but I want you to call me the second you open 
it up, understand? You've got my cell number. I'll keep it 
with me. Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, Mulder, now asta la vista," replied Langly, 
already turning back to his equipment.

Scully tugged on Mulder's elbow and headed for the door. As 
they walked outside, she paused in the darkened archway. 
"Let's talk to Skinner."

Mulder fumbled for his keys, fighting his irritation. "Why 
can't you wait until the guys break through the tape?"

"Because I don't trust Krycek." Each word was distinct and 
sharp as she paused and stared into his eyes. "Do you?"

The keys jingled softly in his hand. He opened his mouth, 
shut it again. He realized he couldn't give Scully the 
answer she expected. He couldn't lie to her. He couldn't 
just say, 'of course I don't trust him.' It seemed he 
couldn't lie to himself either.

His hesitation was enough. "Oh, Mulder. What could Alex 
Krycek possibly have done to make you trust him?"

Mulder bit down on his lip. What could he tell her? 'It all 
began one stormy night.' No. He wasn't usually at a loss 
for words, but his interactions with Krycek, his...relationship 
with Krycek was still something he could not quite comprehend 
himself. It was all so…visceral, in some way elemental, yet
terribly complicated, all at the same time. All he could do 
was shrug. "He turned human on me when I wasn't looking."

He realized his answer sounded glib by the flash of hurt in 
her blue eyes. Scully was worried about him and he didn't 
know how to reassure her. He would have tried to explain 
the meaning of it to her if he could only understand it 
himself. "I just believe, Scully," he said at last, 
realizing it was the only answer that applied to every 
significant mystery, every significant person, in his life.

"What about my opinion, Mulder? My instincts, my 
arguments?"

"I'm just asking for a little more time, Scully. I'm asking 
you to believe that I wouldn't willingly endanger you or 
the Gunmen. Or myself."

He watched her turn her face away, her mouth opening as if 
she was searching for air. She drew in a breath and let it 
go before turning back to him. "All right, Mulder. We'll 
wait. I just hope your belief isn't misplaced, for all our 
sakes." She gazed off towards her car. "I think we better 
get back to the office now. I still have to finish up those 
reports for Skinner's department meeting." 

As she walked away, he took hold of her arm gently, 
stopping her. "Thanks, Scully," he said.

She nodded with a flat, rueful smile. He let her go and 
stood watching her until she reached her car and drove 
away.

Mulder spent the rest of the day in the office, his 
cellphone by his elbow, waiting for the Gunmen to call. He 
helped Scully with some expense reports though he was sure 
he was more of a hindrance given the level of his 
impatience and lack of interest in all things bureaucratic. 
Scully finally just told him to leave her with it. He 
followed up on some lab reports and made a stab at filing 
away some closed case files. 

He hated the passivity of waiting. Waiting was a 
prerequisite in his job, came with the territory. He waited 
for evidence, he waited for suspects, he waited for 
informants, he even waited for X-files. Waited and waited. 
It was the worst part of his job, of his life. But now, 
with so much at stake, it was even more difficult to 
endure.

It also gave his mind too much time to wander, to review 
and obsess. Images from the traincar kept drifting through 
his thoughts: visions of the metal caskets and their 
inhuman contents, and of the two dead men, bullet-riddled 
bodies sprawled at his feet. 

And Alex Krycek.

Mulder didn't want to think about him, to wonder where he 
was and what he was doing. But he did. He sat at his desk 
and thought about him.

Finally, late in the afternoon, Frohike called. They'd 
broken through the password screens. That was the good 
news. Then Frohike told him the bad news.

Within the hour, Mulder was over at the Gunmen's, staring 
at a computer screen with a seemingly endless scroll of 
numbers and words, dates and medical symbols.

"There's an enormous amount of data here, as you can see," 
Byers told him. "But it's raw data. The indices, they're 
missing."

Mulder stared at the nonsensical jumble on the screen. "You 
mean, it's worthless?"

"No, of course not." Frohike came up beside him. "The 
data's there. Part of the program is missing. We need to 
reconstruct the framework, that's all."

Mulder frowned down at the smaller man. "Sounds like a lot 
more than just, 'that's all'."

"No, it's hardly a minor point," conceded Byers. "But it's 
not 
insurmountable. We just need more time and a little 
specialized 
assistance."

"What do you mean?"

Langly swiveled around in his chair in front of the 
monitor. "Programmer we know. This is right up his alley. 
He's a database freak. Lives and breathes them. He eats up 
problems like this."

"You mean, you can't figure it out yourselves?" He glanced 
around at the trio.

Langly's cheeks turned a vague pink as he pushed up his 
glasses with a finger. "Well, of course we can. Eventually. 
Hey, c'mon, like nobody knows everything, you know."

"If you want it faster, we have to tap into our brain pool 
reserves." Frohike patted his arm. "Don't worry, Mulder. We 
don't deal with anyone we can't trust, you know that."

"I'd just rather not involve any more people than 
necessary."

"If this tape is really as important as you say it is, than 
it's necessary," replied Byers. "We'll be careful. As 
always."

Mulder blew out a breath and stared at the screen full of 
disordered words and numbers. "I guess it could be worse. 
It could've been in Navajo." He ignored their curious 
looks. "How long do you think it'll take you to consult 
with your db freak and have something solid for me?"

The trio looked at the screen of scrolling gibberish and 
then at each other. Frohike turned to him and shrugged 
eloquently.

"Shit," said Mulder.

"We really don't know," confirmed Byers somberly. "It could 
take a few days, weeks, maybe only hours. We just can't say 
at this point."

"We'll do the best we can, Mulder," added Frohike.

Mulder looked into each earnest face and reminded himself 
of how much they were risking for him. He banked his 
impatience and managed a smile. "Yeah, I know you will. 
Hey, I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time, guys. If 
you can come through on this one, you can name your price."

They grinned back at him. Frohike wagged his eyebrows. 
"Then you can kiss your video collection goodbye, buddy." 

Mulder chuckled. "For you Frohike, I'll even throw in my 
subscription to Celebrity Skin." He glanced back at the 
monitor. "Be careful, okay, guys? Call me as soon--"

"Yeah, yeah, already. We know the drill."

Mulder nodded but still cautioned them to be as circumspect 
about the tape as they could be with their db freak. Then 
there was nothing left for him to do but go home. 

Almost a week went by and Mulder was about ready to chew 
through his cellphone. It had taken the Gunmen two days 
just to locate their wizbrain programmer in the cyber 
underground scene. While the guy had agreed to help once 
they contacted him, the database configuration was coming 
together slowly and with excruciating trial and error. 
There would be no fast breakthroughs. "A few more days, 
Mulder, and we should have it for you," Byers told him over 
the phone. 

It had been all Mulder could do to keep from screaming out 
loud. His friends were doing their best, he told himself. 
It was just that he desperately wanted the waiting to be 
over. 

He and Scully had just spent several miserable days in 
northern Louisiana investigating the mysterious 
disappearance of a Federal marshal. If there had been a 
paranormal aspect to the case, Mulder might have been able 
to focus his excess energy on it. There wasn't. Instead, 
the truth they'd quickly uncovered had only given him 
another look at the dark and ugly side of human nature. He 
could have done without it.

And now he had to wait some more. And think, and remember. 

Mulder wriggled around in the driver's seat, trying to get 
comfortable. A half a bag's worth of sunflower shells 
littered the floor and passenger seat. He'd been sitting in 
his car for hours. He'd moved the car once, from one block 
to another when he saw one of the neighbors staring at him 
through the window. Now that it was dark, he wished he'd 
parked closer. Still, he 
had a fairly unobstructed view of the house from around the 
corner without being visible himself. 

He knew no one was in the house. Spending his Saturday 
evening like this was crazy, but he just couldn't sit in 
his apartment any longer. He'd even resorted to spending 
the previous night digging out his bedroom, throwing out 
the stacks and piles of old magazines and outdated 
clippings that had barricaded his bed for years. All the 
same, he'd spent the remainder of the night on his familiar 
leather sofa, gazing sleeplessly at the shadows on his 
ceiling. He couldn't stop thinking about the tape, the 
railroad car, what Scully had told him, and oddly, the case 
in Louisiana, until he thought his brain was going to 
implode. And, once again, in the center of his raging storm 
of thoughts, Alex Krycek. 

Mulder felt like his emotions had been thrown into a 
pressure cooker and the gauge set on 'high'.

Which was why he was sitting in his car in a very nice 
neighborhood in Arlington, at 10:25 at night, waiting for 
Alex Krycek to appear. Knowing with a stubborn and eerie 
instinct that defied all logic that he would be coming back 
tonight.

About a half hour later, he watched as a black Mercedes 
drove slowing up the street and turned smoothly into the 
driveway of the house. Mulder waited while the garage door 
opened and the Mercedes slipped inside. He waited a few 
minutes longer until a faint light came on inside the 
house. His day's store of patience more than depleted, he 
tucked his cellphone in his jacket pocket, got out of the 
car, and walked slowly towards the door.

*******

Krycek hung his coat in the hall closet and stood in the 
middle of the foyer, nerves tingling. As the grandfather 
clock softly chimed eleven, he drew his gun out of his 
holster and stood motionless, sensing the air around him, 
listening. The sound of the doorbell was almost jarring. 
The knocking that followed had him raising his gun, a frown 
growing over his face as he approached the door. 

"C'mon, open the door. I know you're there."

Mulder's voice froze him where he stood. The knocking grew 
louder. Chest suddenly heaving, Krycek drew in a steadying 
breath and stepped to the side of the door, flicking off 
the locks and turning the handle. The door burst open as 
Mulder plowed inside. Krycek kicked the door shut and 
glared at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Mulder was staring at his gun. Krycek clicked the safety on 
and slid it back into his holster. "You shouldn't have come 
here, Mulder. What do you want?" 

"The tape you left for me, is it a setup? Are you setting 
me up?"

Krycek gazed into the shuttered face and slowly shook his 
head. He felt an odd pang somewhere in his chest. "If I 
wanted to set you up, you would've been dead long ago." He 
turned his back on Mulder and walked towards the living 
room. "Go away," he rasped over his shoulder.

With a tired sigh, he slumped into one of the suede covered 
wing chairs and stared into the cold fireplace. The room 
was dim, lit only by the light from the hallway. He blinked 
as one of the lamps came on and Mulder came to stand in 
front of him. He didn't bother looking up. He hadn't really 
expected Mulder to leave. He never expected the man to do 
anything he wanted him to do. "Was there anything on the 
tape?" he asked instead.

"Oh, there's a lot there. It just doesn't make any sense."

Krycek squeezed his eyes shut. Damn. Damn. He'd been so 
sure it was the master backup. He ran his hand over his 
face. 

"It'll take longer than I thought to put the data together. 
There was a helluva password schema on it, too."

Krycek looked up. "Then, then the information on the 
experiments is there? You'll be able to decipher it after 
all?" Mulder nodded slowly and he let out a sigh of relief.

"We have some anomalies from Ridley's research that could 
tie in with the data on the tape. It…it could give us what 
we need, what Jeremiah Smith said we could use to defeat 
them." Mulder glanced away and drew both hands through his 
hair. He began pacing back and forth in front of him. When 
he finally stopped, Krycek could see the emotions 
flickering through his eyes, his face. "Scully thinks 
you're setting us up."

Krycek gritted his teeth. So, Mulder finally told her. He 
would have had to, he supposed. Poor Mulder, emotionally 
sliced and diced. "I'm not," he answered softly. "But then, 
she'd never believe that, would she?" Then he paused. "Can 
you?"

Mulder raked at his bottom lip, the small action almost 
making Krycek smile. "I want to. Yeah. I just needed to 
hear you say it."

Krycek felt the air flowing back into his lungs.. He 
watched as Mulder walked over to the other wingback chair 
and sat down. They faced each other over the gulf of ten 
feet. Mulder's hair was tousled, shiny brown waves tumbling 
over his forehead. He was wearing a dark blue shirt and a 
black leather jacket over worn blue jeans. It reminded 
Krycek of the kind of clothes *he* usually wore. It was 
strange for him to be the one in the 
Hugo Boss suit. Reality was tilting again, as it always 
did whenever they were together. His gaze settled on 
Mulder's long fingers, drumming restlessly on the chair 
arm. 

When he finally looked up into Mulder's face, the soft 
hazel eyes locked with his, the silence stretching heavily 
between them.

Krycek pushed the words past his own need and the thudding 
of his heart. "You shouldn't have come here, Mulder. It's 
getting too dangerous."

Mulder just kept looking at him before he finally spoke. 
"It's always been dangerous. I'll take my chances."

"I'd rather you didn't," Krycek found himself saying.

"Why?"

Krycek hesitated, struggling with himself. "I…the Project 
has to be stopped. If the means to that end is really in 
the Ridley data, then until you've put it all together, you 
can't afford to take any unnecessary risks. The Syndicate 
just met in New York. Members from all over the world. The 
destruction of that Center is having serious repercussions 
for them. I was only allowed to sit in for part of the 
meeting. Those old bastards are running scared and they're 
angry. They might do anything now, if only to 
appease the Colonists."

He stopped, feeling Mulder's eyes burning through his skin. 
He got up and walked behind his chair as if the added 
barrier could somehow protect him. He gripped the back of 
the chair with his hand. 

Mulder sat back, his expression solemn and thoughtful. "Do 
they suspect you?"

"I don't think so."

"Are they watching you?"

"No, but they might."

Mulder nodded, accepting the answers without reaction. 
"Skinner sent us to Louisiana to check out the 
disappearance of a Federal marshal," he said. "It wasn't an 
x-file. It was a fairly simple case actually." 

Krycek was puzzled, but he sensed the tension in Mulder's 
voice, so he waited, not interrupting.

Mulder tipped his head back. "It used to be the marshal's 
home time. Most of the residents knew him. Little podunk 
town. He was a friend of the local minister, they grew up 
together. We found out the minister had disappeared, too. 
Turns out the two men were more than friends." He glanced 
at Krycek. "There were rumors about them, floating around 
for years. Someone finally saw them…together." Mulder 
paused. "Three of the minister's congregation killed them. 
Broke into the minister's bedroom and shot them in the head. 
Blew their faces off. You know what the ringleader told me 
when we arrested him?"

Krycek shook his head silently.

"He told me 'they were an abomination and not fit to live 
on this Earth'." He wiped his hand over his face and looked 
at Krycek. "Imagine saving the world for people like that. 
It just hit me, you know, when I was looking into that 
righteous man's face. As far as he was concerned, you and I 
aren't fit to live either." He paused again, teeth raking 
his lip. "Human nature, what the hell does it mean anyway?"

Krycek heard the pain beneath the bitterness even as he 
realized what Mulder had just acknowledged about them. 
"You're the profiler, Mulder. I thought you knew by now 
that there are a lot of fucked-up assholes in the world. So 
many flavors of fucked-up that we couldn't begin to count 
them. But they're not the only people out there. It just 
seems that way most of the time."

Mulder gave him a twisted smile. "Is that a page from your 
philosophy of life?"

"Call it a lifelong observation." 

Both men were quiet then. Krycek gazed at Mulder's face, 
drinking in every detail like a man dying of thirst. 

"So what flavor of 'fucked-up' are we, Alex?" asked Mulder, 
breaking the silence.

"I-I don't know." Krycek tried to smile but it faltered a 
little.

"Are we hopelessly fucked-up?"

Krycek's smiled faded altogether. "Most likely."

Mulder frowned, as if he was testing Krycek's reply. After 
a moment, he shook his head. "No. Not…hopelessly." To 
Krycek, it sounded more like a decision than a comment.

Mulder got up slowly and walked towards him. Krycek gripped 
the back of the chair until his fingers clawed the fabric, 
his heart pounding faster with every step Mulder took. When 
they were almost face to face, Mulder reached out and 
Krycek felt himself pulled gently into Mulder's arms. 

He felt the coolness of Mulder's cheek rubbing lightly 
against his jaw and heard himself sigh as his arm burrowed 
inside Mulder's leather jacket to circle his waist. 

"Shelter in the storm," whispered Mulder close by his ear.

Krycek wasn't sure what he meant or what was happening when 
Mulder just kept holding him. It felt so good, he didn't 
trust it. "Did you come here for sex?" he asked softly, 
forcing himself to draw back so he could look into the 
soulful eyes.

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe, it was for this. Just this." 
His arms tightened around Krycek, bringing them close 
again. "I'll leave in a few minutes if that's what you 
want." He stepped back and took hold of Krycek's right 
hand, leading him to the sofa. "Sit with me, okay?"

It felt like they were in a dream as Mulder led him to the 
sofa and they sat down, close but not touching except for 
their hands. He expected Mulder to talk but he didn't. 
Instead, he sandwiched Krycek's hand between both of his, 
long fingers stroking his skin from knuckles to wrist. 

Was Mulder thinking about them? About the Center tape? 
About two dead lovers in a small Louisiana town? About the 
nature of storms? Krycek had no idea, but he knew that 
Mulder had just shared a private pain with him and, 
amazingly, had found a measure of comfort for it in 
Krycek's presence.

Swallowing hard, Krycek gazed down at their joined hands. 
"I was sent to a boarding school after my parents…died," he 
began. "Several boarding schools. Expensive, very private." 
He swallowed again as he let the dark memories free. He 
didn't look up but he could feel Mulder's eyes on him now. 
"I hated them. Then, when I was 15, I became friends with 
one of the older boys. I didn't want any friends. Preferred 
to keep to myself, but he was different. It was the first 
time I realized--" He stopped. He'd never talked about it 
to anyone before.

"You realized what?" asked Mulder softly. He was still 
stroking Krycek's hand.

"I realized that I could feel that close to another boy. I 
didn't even know what it was really. He was one of the big 
jocks, popular, center of attention. Everyone wanted to be 
his friend. I wasn't sure why he even bothered to talk to 
me."

"What happened?" prompted Mulder when Krycek stopped again.

"I was on the list." His voice was rougher as the images 
flooded back. "Some of the seniors, they had this club. 
Each year they drew up a list of lower classmen. The list 
of fledgling faggots, they called it, pretty boys with all 
the signs. I was on it. They told me...afterwards."

He made himself glance at Mulder's face. "One night, I 
thought we were alone. He said it would be special." Krycek 
dropped his gaze, trying to find the words. "I-I wanted him 
to like me. Stupid. It was so important to me. So, I did 
what he wanted." He drew in a breath. "After it started, 
they all came in. Two of his buddies. The other members of 
their special club." Mulder's hand gripped his tighter. 
"I...the worst of it...even worse than the pain, was 
hearing them laugh. They all started to laugh. I was 
nothing. They made me feel like nothing. They just kept 
laughing,laughing, even when I begged..."

He could hear their voices, hear himself crying, pleading. 
He bit down on his lip, his chest heaving with the memory. 
"When they were finished, one of them had this little 
switchblade, sharp as a razor. He cut me. Said if I told 
anyone about them, they'd cut off my balls. I still have 
the scar, just a thin line near my groin..." His voice 
faded.

The touch of Mulder's hand on his shoulder brought him 
back. Mulder's other hand still gripped his fingers. Krycek 
pulled away and stood up quickly, crossing to the 
fireplace. He didn't like what he saw in Mulder's face. It 
seemed too close to pity. He raised his chin and kept his 
voice cold. "That's how the world works, Mulder. If you're 
weak enough to show someone you care, you're fucked. In my 
case, literally. That's why it's important to be a fast 
learner. I only needed one lesson. I never forgot 
it." 

Mulder's teeth raked his lower lip. "What happened to them, 
Alex? Those...jocks?" he asked gently. 

Krycek shrugged. "The next boy on their list wasn't so 
lucky. Internal bleeding. He nearly died. They were 
expelled. Ruined their promising Ivy League careers, I 
heard, but that was all." He waited and watched Mulder's 
expression. "I didn't kill any of them, if that's what 
you're asking. I wanted to for the longest time, but 
eventually, when I actually could have, it didn't 
matter anymore. It wouldn't have changed anything." He 
raised his chin again. "I didn't care anymore."

He turned his back as Mulder got up and walked over to him, 
remained motionless as Mulder's arms went around his waist, 
warm breath brushing his neck as he spoke. 

"It's not a weakness to care. The catch is that we can't 
really choose who we care about. It just happens, right or 
wrong, good or bad. Denying it is the weakness." And then 
Mulder kissed his neck.

"No, Mulder, don't. Don't."

"Don't what?" Mulder nuzzled his hair, lips brushing his 
ear. "What, Alex? Don't touch you? Don't kiss you?" 

Krycek swallowed, his eyes squeezing shut, the words barely 
audible. "Don't care."

"Are you saying that to me, or to yourself? I told you, 
Alex, the catch is that we can't choose who we..care about. 
We can only pretend that we don't."

Krycek turned around slowly. He was surprised at the 
struggle he saw in Mulder's eyes. Somehow he'd thought he 
was alone in that. Hesitantly, he leaned forward and kissed 
him on the mouth. As their lips brushed, Mulder's arms 
tightened around him, pressing them close. The kiss 
lingered, deepened. Their mouths opened. Krycek moaned.

The sudden beeping of Mulder's cellphone jerked them apart. 
For a moment, Mulder glared down at his jacket pocket has 
if it had somehow betrayed him before he reached in and pulled 
out his cell, flipping it open.

"Mulder," he snapped. He listened for a minute, his eyes 
sweeping over Krycek's face. "It's done? The configuration?" 
He listened again, his free hand reaching out to curl around 
Krycek's neck in an unconscious caress. "That's great! Yeah, 
yeah, I'm on my way." He clicked off the cellphone and put it 
away. Then he pulled Krycek to him and kissed him quick and 
hard. He broke away with a grin.

"The tape?" asked Krycek in a breathy whisper.

Mulder nodded. "It's readable. It's all there. Now we can 
check it against what we've found in the Ridley files." His 
eyes were bright with anticipation.

Krycek found himself smiling back. "Then you'd better go."

Mulder nodded again, his expression growing somber. "If we 
can confirm the means of synthesizing the catalyst to the 
Alien, we'll need to get close enough to them to use it. 
We'll have to know--"

"Where they are," finished Krycek. " If the Colonists have 
any settlements here, they haven't shared the information 
with the Syndicate. The Old Man would've heard something, 
and he's told me that as far as he knows, none of them has 
ever met with more than a few Colonists at any given time. 
It seems as if the Aliens have tried to disperse themselves 
as widely as possible. Even using the traincars, they've 
kept their hybrid research in small mobile units." Krycek 
frowned. "But there must be some central command 
headquarters or a main disembarkation base. I'll try and 
find out whatever I can."

Mulder gave him the number to his cellphone, then asked. 
"What if I need to contact you?" 

"You can't. I've got some leads I want to follow. I don't 
know where I'll be, or with who. It'll be too risky from 
now on. The Syndicate has to be brought down. The Project 
has to be destroyed before it's too late. We have to finish 
it, Mulder."

They looked at each other in silence then, and Krycek felt 
a tightness in his chest at the unguarded emotion he saw in 
Mulder's eyes. He raised his hand and cupped his palm 
against the side of Mulder's face. There was so much he 
would have liked to say, but there didn't seem to be enough 
words, or time. Krycek felt that he'd been given a gift he 
didn't deserve in the precious moments he'd shared with 
Mulder. In this moment in time, he finally felt as if they 
were truly united. Truly...together. If there was never a 
chance for anything more, it would be enough to see him 
through to whatever end awaited him. 

He dropped his hand and stepped back, fighting the need to 
hold Mulder one last time. "You better go," he said again. 
He saw that there was a struggle in the other man's eyes, 
too, so he forced a shaky smile. Mulder managed a small, 
wistful smile in return, and without a word, turned and 
walked out the door.

********

Mulder hurried towards his car. Halfway down the block, he 
gave in to the urge to look back at the house, at the drawn 
curtains in the windows. He bit down on his lip and looked 
away. A cool night breeze rustled through the tree branches 
as he walked resolutely on. He felt as if every nerve in 
his body was on fire. He could hardly wait to get to the 
Lone Gunmen's office. Yet, he desperately wanted to stay 
with Alex Krycek. He wanted it so much, his body was aching 
for it. More than that, he felt...connected to Krycek in a 
way that transcended their ever-present physical attraction. 
It was almost as if an emotional Berlin Wall had finally 
crumbled between them, revealing two scarred halves of the 
same country. 

He wished they could have talked more. He fumbled with his 
car keys, his mind and heart split in two different 
directions. He got in quickly and drove off.

The hours and days that followed were a blur of activity. 
Using the Gunmen's extensive technical resources, he and 
Scully began cross-checking the Ridley files against the 
data on the Center tape. Despite her skepticism and her 
distrust of Krycek's involvement, Scully spent every spare 
moment beside him, pouring over the information. The Gunmen 
were bringing their own skills to bear in quickly 
correlating the comparisons they needed in dozens of 
different schemas. Mulder knew that his partner and friends 
were not doing it so much for the truth he believed they 
would find, but rather they were doing it because they 
believed in him, Scully in particular.

The hybrid experiments were cataloged on the tape in dry 
and exacting detail. It became obvious that it was not just 
a description of the activities at one center, but a 
summary of the Project's accumulated research. There was 
column upon column of statistics with every minute change 
in formula and environmental variables of every experiment. 
There were notations and entries dating as far back as the 
early 1950s. Subjects were only referred to by number. 
There was a chillingly long column titled "terminated" that 
contained only row after row of numbers. Mulder had stared 
at the list for a long time, visions of Samantha sending a 
chill through his insides. 

The medical data was extensive and complex. There were 
formulas containing chemical compounds and derivatives that 
even Scully had never heard of. Though the scope of the material 
was daunting, they knew they were looking for something in 
the data that would link to the short list of possible 
relevant anomalies that Scully had extracted from Ridley's 
research papers.

"Mulder, I think I've found it."

And Scully had.

Their weapon was so small they couldn't even see it. A 
microbe. 

It was well past midnight. They gathered in the kitchen for 
their fourth pot of coffee to discuss the last cross-
analysis and Scully's conclusions. "The answer appears to 
be in Ridley's failures, in his experiments with cell 
grafting using salamander and human tissue. His results 
showed that several of his attempts to stimulate cell 
growth had actually created bacterial mutations, 
prokaryotes of common bacteria with minor variations," she 
told them. "Ridley went no further with those particular 
experiments because the grafts were rejected. He didn't 
care about the bacteria because it appeared to be 
completely benign and inconsequential to his aims. But the 
data on the Center tape clearly indicates that the 
scientists performing the hybridization experiments were 
very careful to avoid the kind of tissue generation that 
could create any strain of bacteria similar to those that 
were a by-product of Ridley's work. In fact, the reports 
emphasize their efforts to shield and even prevent the 
appearance of any variant of that particular microbe."

Byers rubbed his hand thoughtfully over his beard. 
"Microbes were already established on earth over 3.5 billion 
years ago. They've had a long time to build up a capacity for 
mutation and regeneration. Researchers have actually revived 
bacterium from the gut of an extinct bee that was preserved 
in amber. That bacterium had remained dormant as a spore 
for two and a half million years before it was reawakened."

Frohike slurped at his coffee and grinned. "Your gushing 
font of trivia never ceases to amaze, Byers." 

"Ditto," replied Byers succinctly.

"Who would've thought that the answer'd be so...tiny," 
shrugged Langly. "I was kinda hoping for the traditional 
mega-howitzer style weapon. Well, you know, at least 
something big enough to see."

"Which proves once again that size doesn't matter," quipped 
Mulder. He glanced at his friends with a tired but genuine 
smile. He took a moment and silently thought of Jeremiah 
Smith, the Alien who had willingly provided Krycek with the 
information that could now lead to his self-destruction and 
that of his entire race. He shook the thought off and 
turned to Scully. "Let's figure out how we can use this 
thing."

Two days later, Mulder stretched out on his leather sofa 
and craned his neck to look at his answering machine. No 
red lights blinking. If it all went as they planned, the 
cultures would be ready soon. What they needed now was 
information on the best place to strike.

He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. He should 
make himself some dinner. Instead he got up and fed the 
fish, and tried not to stare at his phone. The dark 
thoughts trickled though his consciousness anyway. Was 
Krycek alive or dead? It had been a week since Mulder had 
seen him. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed in those 
few days. As if the end of the world was staring him in 
the face. There was a sense of urgency that ticked away 
the seconds in his brain. He knew time was running out. 
If Krycek couldn't get him more information about the 
location of the Colonists... If Krycek had been found out...

If Alex was dead... The depth of the fear and pain in that 
thought startled him.

The first time his phone rang, it didn't even register. 
With a sharp intake of breath, he jumped at the phone on 
the second ring. "Mulder," he answered quickly. 

"Agent Mulder, I must meet with you. It's quite important."

At the sound of the polished, lightly accented voice, 
Mulder barely stopped himself from blurting out, 'Is Alex 
all right?'

"Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, I'm here. Why do you want to meet? Has…has something 
happened?"

"Can you meet me tonight?" returned the Well-Manicured Man.

Mulder swallowed back a dozen anxious thoughts and glanced 
at the window and the cloudy night sky beyond. "Yes. When and 
where?"

A little more than an hour later, he was at L'Enfant Plaza, 
standing in the shadows near a hotel entrance, watching the 
occasional taxi or limo glide by, a trickle of people still 
wandering about, even this late in the night. 

A few minutes later, a black Lincoln Towncar slowed near 
the curb in front of him and the rear door swung slowly 
open. Mulder let a moment's apprehension slide across his 
mind before he stepped towards the car and got in. He 
settled back into the plush leather upholstery as the car 
began heading towards the Capital. 

He turned towards the gray-haired gentleman beside him as 
the old man lifted a phone receiver and spoke to the driver 
on the other side of the thick dark glass that separated 
them. "Just take us for a leisurely drive, Harris," said 
the Brit. 

The Well-Manicured Man replaced the receiver and inclined 
his head towards Mulder with a ghost of a smile. "Thank you 
for agreeing to meet with me at this late hour, Agent 
Mulder."

"I didn't expect to hear from you again."

"Ah. You've been communicating with Alex Krycek." It was 
not a question.

Mulder looked into the other man's eyes and considered his 
reply. "Yes. In fact, I've been waiting to hear from him."

"Alex is playing a particularly dangerous game these days. 
I sometimes wonder how we could have underestimated him as 
much as we have."

"By 'we,' do you mean your Syndicate pals?"

The old man smiled. "Everyone underestimates Alex Krycek. 
Much as we have all underestimated you." Then he reached 
slowly into his jacket and pulled out a small, padded 
envelope. He offered it to Mulder. "Alex asked me to give 
this to you."

"Do you know what it is?" asked Mulder as he took it. It 
was an ordinary brown envelope, unmarked and relatively 
lightweight. He could feel something rigid in the 
envelope but the padding was too thick to make out the 
exact shape.

"He didn't tell me and I didn't inquire. However, I have my 
suspicions."

"I thought Krycek worked for you," probed Mulder as he 
tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his leather 
jacket.

"Alex hasn't truly worked for anyone for some time now, 
though my colleagues may not realize it. He is his own man. 
He always has been, in many respects. He simply doesn't let 
anyone know it. I would say that has served him very well."

Mulder couldn't hold back the question any longer. "Is he 
all right?"

The Brit gazed at him steadily. "Are you worried about 
him?" he asked gently.

Mulder suddenly felt as if the old man was looking right 
through him. He didn't answer.

"I saw him briefly today when he gave me that envelope. He 
seemed to be in something of a hurry. He only asked if I 
would do him the favor of giving it to you as soon as I 
could. Alex never asks for favors, so I realized it must be 
very important. I hadn't heard from him in over a week 
before that, but then that's not unusual. He's been rather 
blatantly independent of late. Fortunately, he understands 
with whom he is dealing and the risks involved, especially 
now. There is a great deal at stake and my colleagues are 
suspicious and unforgiving men. We've spent the majority of 
our lives working in the shadows, Mr Mulder."

"For the Project."

A gray eyebrow rose in acknowledgment. "Yes. And now that 
Project has divided us as never before. Any of several 
factors can alter a plan that has been carefully nurtured 
for over fifty years. You yourself are one of those 
factors, Mr Mulder. You have been for years, of course, but 
perhaps the Ridley material has finally provided you with 
the means to affect the outcome of our long-standing game. 
That envelope in your pocket may be another of those 
factors. And, no, Mr Mulder, I no longer wish to know if 
any of that is true, one way or the other. You see, my own 
situation has become...precarious. That is the other reason 
why I asked to meet with you. I feel it is time for me to 
tidy up loose ends."

Mulder glanced through the passenger window. The Washington 
Monument loomed in the distance like a pale white sword 
against the night sky, poised for battle. He felt a sudden 
apprehension creeping over his skin as he turned back to 
the old man. "What loose ends?"

"I believe you deserve to know the answer to a question 
that has been extremely important in your life." The Well-
Manicured Man paused, the lines deepening across his 
forehead. "About the fate of your sister, Samantha."

Mulder tensed, fists clenching in his lap. "My sister. 
You…you can tell me what happened to her? You know?"

"Yes, Mr Mulder, I know. I've known for a long time." 

It was Mulder's turn to stare into the other man's eyes, 
testing for the truth. "Tell me."

"She was taken that night, just as you believed, abducted 
for the Project."

Mulder leaned in towards him, unaware of how his hands 
suddenly gripped the leather seat. "Where is she? Is she 
alive?" He felt a painful numbness spreading through his 
chest as the old man shook his head.

"Your sister is dead. She died within days of her 
abduction. Many subjects were tested during that time. 
Reactions to the tests varied widely. She never regained 
consciousness, Mr Mulder. For what little consolation it 
may give you, she didn't suffer." 

The silence stretched as Mulder felt his whole body 
tremble. Emotion choked his voice when he spoke. "Why 
should I believe you?! Why should I believe Samantha's 
dead? You're all liars! How do I know you're not just 
feeding me more lies? Playing more of your sick games?!"

"I am weary of games, Mr Mulder. I have been wrong, deeply 
wrong. The realization has come too slowly perhaps, but it 
is no less bitter. I cannot change what has happened, or 
stop what may happen. I am giving you the truth because I 
know it is a commodity you value highly and because I 
believe it is owed to you. I cannot prove that I am not 
lying to you. Your sister's body was cremated, like all the 
others, to leave no trace. It was one of our specialties, 
leaving no trace." The Syndicate elder spoke calmly, in a 
tone shaded with sadness. His gaze never wavered from 
Mulder's.

Mulder swallowed back a flash of rage and hatred towards 
the old man and all that he represented. He drew in several 
harsh breaths to steady his voice. "My parents, did they 
know?"

"Bill Mulder knew, of course. Your mother...never asked, 
but I believe she knew."

Mulder sagged back against the seat, his eyes closing as if 
he could block it all out. He wished with all his might 
that his instincts were wrong, that his gut feeling was 
wrong. But he knew in his heart that it was true. The old 
man was not lying to him. 

Samantha. Sam. Dead. All these years. Dead. He'd been 
searching for a ghost all these years. He saw her face, 
could still hear the sound of her laughter in his mind. He 
could still remember the feel of her small hand in his.

He was oblivious to the tears that rolled silently down his 
cheeks, just as he was unaware of how much time had passed 
before he pulled away from the memories and felt the sharp 
pain of loss stabbing at him again. He opened his eyes and 
gazed blankly through the passenger window. The limo wasn't 
moving. They were back were they started, at L'Enfant 
Plaza, around the corner from where his own car was parked.

He realized his face was wet and swiped his palms across 
his cheeks and chin. Pain and numbness should have been a 
contradiction, yet he felt them both. He felt empty and 
aching. There were questions eating at the edges of the 
pain, but he couldn't focus. He felt like running, running 
until the air was gone and there were no more memories, 
until all feeling left him. He reached for the door handle. 
The old man clasped his shoulder and he turned around, the 
rage rushing through him again.

The pale eyes gazed at him, brows furrowing. "There have 
been enough tragedies, Mr Mulder. Fight for the people who 
still matter in your life. For those who truly care about 
you. Fight for the kind of future you believe in." The 
Well-Manicured Man drew his hand away, sorrow and a kind of 
strange finality in his eyes. "Do not let us win," he said.

Mulder suddenly felt as if he would never see the old man 
again. He opened the door and started to get out, but then 
he looked back for just a moment. "I'll try," he managed to 
answer, and watched as a strange calmness settled over the 
other man's face. 

Mulder didn't sleep that night. He lay on his couch, 
staring up at the ceiling, replaying his life across the 
cracked plaster. But mostly, he thought about Samantha. The 
affection and acceptance he had longed for and never quite 
seemed to earn from his parents had always been there in 
his sister's guileless eyes. 

He'd always known that Samantha loved him. 

With the pale gray dawn touching his windows, he still felt 
caught in the shadows. The conspiracy that had killed her 
and scarred so many around him had to be destroyed. It was 
the only thing left he could do for the sister he had lost 
forever. He sat up slowly and switched on the lamp. Then he 
pulled the brown padded envelope from his jacket pocket and 
carefully opened it.

It contained a single sheet of paper and a wad of corrugated 
cardboard that concealed a metal cylinder about six inches 
long. He opened the folded paper and looked down at Krycek's 
familiar handwriting. The note was brief: "I'll call your cell 
with directions." Followed by a date and time: in two days at 
11pm. It was signed simply, "A."

Mulder picked up the cylinder and stared at it, remember 
the last time he'd seen one before. His lips tightened at 
the memory. He looked back down at the note. Krycek had 
located them. The Colonists. Or the Rebels. A base perhaps 
or a ship? His mind raced with other possibilities. 
Whatever it was, they had to be ready. They might not have 
a second chance.

He saw Samantha again in his mind, pictured her small 
figure fading away into a deep, gray mist.

Then he got up and called Scully. 

There was a lot to do over the next forty-eight hours. 
Mulder was silently grateful for his 'most unwanted' status 
in the Bureau. His basement office afforded him the 
solitude he needed to work on their plans. Aside from a 
consultation with Violent Crimes about a murder case 
similar to one he'd handled years ago, his time was his 
own.

Thanks to the Gunmen's seemingly endless underground 
contacts, Scully had already had access to a lab and had 
been able to work on the bacterial cultures using Ridley's 
formulas ever since they'd made their breakthrough on the 
tape data. Despite her own reservations about Krycek and 
the existence of an 'alien' threat, Scully focused on the 
scientific challenge with her usual skillful 
professionalism. 

By the evening of the second day, they were ready.

"There's still time to call Skinner," Scully told him as he 
paced back and forth across his living room.

Mulder stopped, glancing at the special medical bag that 
lay on his coffee table. They'd discussed the subject over 
and over again but it only seemed to solidify their opposing 
opinions. "No. We can't take the chance of tipping them off."

"I think we can trust Skinner."

"So do I, but asking him to back us up now means involving 
the Bureau. I don't want it to leak into the wrong hands. 
Not now."

"So we're just going to follow whatever directions Alex 
Krycek gives you?"

Mulder looked at his watch. It was a little after ten. "Not 
we. Me."

Scully shook her head firmly. "I'm not letting you go 
alone." 

"I don't want to put you--"

"Stop right there, Mulder. Don't even try to argue about 
it. I'm going with you. Not just because I'm your partner 
and your friend, but because I know what to do with those 
vials in that bag better than you do, and you know it. I 
may not be convinced about your alien Colonists, but it's 
clear to me that secret biological experiments are being 
conducted on unwilling human subjects and our government 
is involved. I've been one of those subjects. What you saw 
in that traincar, whatever threat we're facing, human...or 
alien, I have as much at stake in stopping it as you do. 
You need me on this, Mulder."

Mulder saw the unshakeable determination in her eyes and 
realized that he was wasting his breath. "You're right Scully, I do need you." 
He tried to smile. 

They were silent then, Mulder finally taking a chair,
occasionally glancing at his cellphone on the desk.

"What if he doesn't call?" asked Scully.

"He'll call." Mulder felt Scully's speculative gaze on him, 
though she made no other comment. They sat and waited.

At eleven o' clock, his cellphone rang. Mulder picked it up 
on the first ring. 

Krycek's voice was husky and edgy. "Did you get anything 
useful from the tape?"

"Yes. We're ready. Did you find them?" returned Mulder.

"Yes. I don't know how much longer they'll be here."

"You're...with them?"

"Yes. Cancerman is meeting with them. He's brought them a 
prize." 

Mulder frowned. "What prize?"

"Jeremiah Smith."

Mulder swallowed hard, forcibly holding back the questions, 
knowing there wasn't time. "Tell me how to get there." He 
waited a moment. "Krycek."

"It may be too risky."

"Tell me where you are. Now." Mulder heard a quick sigh and 
then listened carefully as Krycek described the location and 
gave him directions, then told him where and at exactly what 
time he'd meet him. "Okay, Alex, we can get there in a few 
hours. That should still gives us plenty of time to meet 
you on schedule."

"Scully is coming with you?" 

Before Mulder could answer, Krycek spoke again. "I have to 
go, I hear something. Bring the cylinder; it might come in 
handy." And then the line clicked off.

Mulder stared at the receiver, teeth raking his lip.

"What did he tell you?" Scully's voice was close and he 
realized she had moved to stand beside him.

He hung up and reached for the medical bag. " C'mon, we've 
got a long drive. I'll tell you on the way." He hurried 
towards the door, knowing Scully was right behind him.

*******

Krycek slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and stood 
very still, blending into the darkness around him. The 
scurrying sounds drew nearer, just beyond the tall trees 
and foliage that separated him from the path. Krycek 
waited, peering through the thick covering and letting out 
a breath as he caught sight of two raccoons scrambling 
across the path towards the woods. 

A pale half moon and a faint dusting of stars hung in the 
Spring sky. Glancing around, he noted with irony that it 
was a lovely landscape. Oak and birch trees mingled with 
flowering shrubs, looking like wildly tangled shadows in 
the wan moonlight. A gently sloping road snaked through the 
greenery, bordered by low stone fences on either side. If 
he listened carefully, he could hear a stream nearby, 
gurgling over the rocks. Much further down the road, out of 
sight, was a covered wood bridge, a reminder of a much 
simpler past. A sprawling, two story house nestled in this 
peaceful pastoral setting. He imagined how particularly 
beautiful it would all look in the sunlight.

In that house was the end of the world.

Krycek was carrying two guns, one in his shoulder holster 
and the other strapped to the small of his back. They would 
do him little good against the Colonists. He wasn't even 
sure he could tell them apart from the humans. The only one 
he knew he could kill was the Smoker. The Cancerman. A grim 
smile flitted over his lips. If all else failed, if there 
was nothing else left for him at the end of this night but 
death, he was going to keep his final vow and take the 
smoking bastard down with him. At least that much was within 
his grasp. And he had the pernicious old asshole himself 
to thank for it.

He had his suspicions about why the Smoker had requested 
that he come along. The other Syndicate members had decided 
that the Cancerman would act as their intermediary for this 
special meeting with the Colonists. Perhaps they hoped, if 
the Aliens were still greatly displeased with the sabotage 
of the Center, that they'd take it out on their least-liked 
associate. It was a happy thought but an unlikely 
possibility. Not that the Smoker objected to his role. It 
seemed that of all the old conniving pricks, he was the one 
most intrigued by the Colonists themselves. He was as afraid 
of the Aliens as the rest of them, but he was also fascinated, 
and in some twisted way, honored to be singled out by them. 
Perhaps it gave him a peculiar sense of privilege and 
distinction to be the chief lackey to creatures with the power 
to obliterate all human existence. The Smoker actually believed 
in the rightness of their proposed New Order and in whatever 
'sacrifices' were required to achieve it. To Krycek, that made 
him the craziest one of them all.

Though he had covered his tracks thoroughly, Krycek had the 
feeling that the Cancerman suspected him of being somehow 
involved in the traincar's destruction. Knowing the 
bastard's fondness for cat and mouse games, and which of 
them invariably wound up playing the mouse, he had mentally 
prepared himself for anything. Even so, he hadn't been 
prepared for the sight of Jeremiah Smith being hauled out 
of a windowless van, trussed up like a mental patient in 
straight jacket and gag, soon after their arrival. It was 
only with practiced effort that he covered up his shock 
and managed to project only an offhand curiosity. Whatever 
new game was being played, it seemed the stakes were rising 
for everyone.

As soon as he was close enough, Krycek stepped out into the 
path and walked casually down the road towards the 
picturesque country house. As he neared, he could see two 
of the thugs who had brought Smith out of the van standing 
near the other cars, smoking cigarettes. Krycek flexed his 
leather-gloved hand for a moment, deliberately letting his 
boots crunch over some twigs under his feet as he approached 
them. The men looked up, giving him a stony-eyed stare of 
recognition, then returned to their smokes.

He wondered with grim amusement if Aliens smoked menthols 
or regular, but decided that these two were the Smoker's 
personal hired muscle. He would take them out before he met 
Mulder later tonight.

Mulder. He thought about the sound of Mulder's voice on the 
phone. Strange, how it had soothed him just to hear it. 
There had been conviction in his voice. He'd done it. 
Mulder had the weapon, the means to finally rid them of the 
Alien threat. The crucial link had been there in the Ridley 
papers all along. And now, it could all end in a matter of 
hours. They could all be free. Or they could all be dead. 

With a shrug of his shoulders, Krycek walked up the short 
flight of stairs to the front door and went in.

*******

They would have made better time had they not had to travel 
on country roads for the last half of their journey.

"And on your left, and right, we have the charming 
foothills of the Allegheny Mountains, an excellent area for 
hiking and biking, with perfect locales for that luxurious 
vacation hideaway or that extraterrestrial home away from 
home," quipped Mulder.

It was the first words either of them had spoken in over an 
hour. He could feel his adrenaline levels go up another 
notch as he took the last turnoff towards their 
destination. Beside him, Scully turned off her flashlight 
and refolded the map she had been reading."You must have 
been one hell of a Boy Scout, Mulder. I bet you never got 
lost."

"No one every talks about the down side of a good memory, 
Scully. And I never wanted to be a scout."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

He could hear the smile in her voice. Except for the 
distant half moon and stars overhead, there were no other 
lights anywhere. Mulder had his window rolled down. The 
sound of the breeze and the rustling of the leaves as they 
sped along, the cool night air wafting over them, made it 
almost seem as if they were all alone in the world. 

A short time later, Mulder slowed the car down to a crawl. 
"That's the covered bridge ahead." He managed to steer them 
off the road and down a slight embankment behind a clump of 
tall shrubs. He turned off the engine. "It's about a half a 
mile past that bridge. We have to go in on foot from here."

They were both dressed in dark clothing and hiking boots, 
Scully carrying the medical bag and Mulder leading the way, 
his gun drawn. They walked silently across the wooden 
bridge, the only sound the rush of the wide stream beneath 
them. They stayed off the road once they crossed the 
bridge, making their way through the trees and brush, but 
always keeping the road within sight. It was further away 
than Mulder has expected, but they finally caught sight of 
the country house in the distance.

There were several lights on in the house and at least 
three cars, including a van, parked in the clearing nearby. 
There was no one outside that they could see. Mulder 
glanced at his watch. They had 34 minutes to get to where 
Krycek said he would meet them. Mulder carefully scanned 
the layout of the house, the path, the stone fences, 
recalling Krycek's directions. "We have to go this way," he 
whispered, pointing towards a dark stand of trees just 
northwest of the house.

They reached their rendezvous point and waited. Crouching 
by the trees, they remained still and quiet. As the time 
drew closer, Mulder knew that Scully was as tense as he 
was, probably moreso, given her distrust of Krycek, but 
what he could see of her expression through the dimness was 
as cool and impassive as ever.

Mulder looked at his watch again, the numbers glowing dully 
in the darkness. Krycek was late. 

After another twenty minutes had passed, Scully nudged his 
shoulder, her words low. "What if he's not coming? I think 
we should make our way back to the car."

"Give him a little more time," he whispered. His palms 
sweating and his throat dry, Mulder grappled with a mixture 
of fear and doubt as the minutes continued to tick by.

Then he felt Scully's hand on his arm. She pointed to 
something and reached for her weapon. Mulder did the same 
as he spotted the dark shadow detaching itself from all the 
others and begin to move in their direction. As the shafts 
of moonlight filtering through the tall trees played over 
the slowly moving figure, Mulder relaxed a little.

"It's Krycek," he said to her. There was no one else who 
moved quite like that.

Scully didn't lower her weapon as Mulder holstered his gun 
and rose carefully from his crouch, wincing as knotted 
muscles complained. Krycek seemed to spot his movement, 
heading right towards them. 

Scully stood up, too, but kept her Glock aimed at Krycek's 
chest.

Krycek walked up to them silently, merely glancing at the 
gun pointed at his heart before he turned to Mulder. They 
just looked at each other for a moment, Mulder wondering at 
the profound sense of relief that ran through him at seeing 
Krycek standing before him, even in this most dangerous of 
venues. And shocked at the sudden urge to reach out and 
pull Krycek into his arms, right here in front of Scully. 
Instead, he dug his nails into his palms until it hurt.

"Are they in there?" he asked Krycek softly.

Krycek gazed around at the trees that shielded them, 
stepping deeper into the shadows. Mulder and Scully moved 
with him, waiting for his answer. "Could be the mother 
lode," he replied, shaking his head. "I still can't believe 
it."

"What?" prompted Mulder.

"I was trying to locate Smith because I know the Smoker 
went with him. There are two Colonists 'interrogating' him 
in there. I found the room but I couldn't get in. I started 
checking out the place, see what I could find." Krycek 
paused, drawing in a breath. "There's…something beneath 
that house." He frowned as if he couldn't quite trust his 
own words. "Could be some kind of underground complex. I 
found a bank of electronic equipment in the basement. Looks 
like something out of NASA Command Central. I thought 
because of all the monitors, that it was some kind of 
fancy setup to watch the outside of the house, a security 
system, but it isn't."

"What are they monitoring?" asked Mulder.

Krycek raked his lip with his teeth, looking from Mulder to 
Scully and back again. "On the monitors, I saw metal 
containers, like the ones in that traincar, only much 
smaller. Most of them are stacked one on top of the other, 
horizontally. Looked like there could be hundreds of them. 
Joined together by a network of conduits. It looks like 
a...honeycomb in a beehive. It's underneath that house."

Mulder felt a chill creep up his spine, his mind forming an 
image. "It's a ship. It's the Colonists' ship."

"An alien spaceship is buried underneath this country house 
in the Allegheny foothills?" Scully's question contained an 
unmistakable tone of incredulity.

But Krycek was nodding. "A ship. Yeah, that's what it is! 
Maybe it's been here for decades or even longer."

Mulder could sense Scully's eyebrows rising. "What else did 
you see?"

"One of them was in there, watching the equipment. It saw 
me. I only had a minute or two."

"The alien saw you?"

"It was strange. It..he, just stared at me. The door to 
that downstairs room hadn't even been locked. I walked in, 
looked around, asked him flat out what it all was. He told 
me it was none of my concern and to go back upstairs. He 
said if I came back again he'd kill me. Very matter of 
fact, like he was ordering a cheese sandwich. They don't 
have much personality, but somehow they manage to make 
their point."

"We've got to get in there," said Mulder. He looked up at 
the scrap of sky visible through the trees. "It'll be dawn 
in a couple of hours. We can't wait." He turned back to 
Krycek. "Why did they grab Smith, do you know?"

"The Syndicate pulled out all the stops to get him. They 
think the Colonists feel he's the one behind the Center 
sabotage, him and his little cell of nihilistic traitors. 
They know the Colonists have been after them. I guess they 
were as good a scapegoat as any."

"There were others with Smith?"

"Not any more. They're dead. Smith is the last. The 
Colonists didn't kill him like the others. Cancerman said 
he was valuable to them because he's a healer. That's rare 
for them; they have very few healers and never any in what 
they call the drone class. Smith is a drone. Like the other 
healers, his ability works best on humans. I think they 
want to find out everything he knows and then 
'reindoctrinate' him. Have him use his ability specifically 
in their hybridization experiments. Maybe they'll stick him 
back in one of those little metal canisters to bring him 
into line. Or maybe they'll just dissect him when they're 
through. Your guess is as good as mine."

Scully still had her gun poised. "Do you believe all that, 
Mulder? Do you really want us to go in there?" Her tone was 
calm and steady. 

Mulder took a step towards her, until he could see her eyes 
shining in the  darkness. "Yes, Scully, I believe him. But 
you don't have to go. Stay out here. Keep watch. Give me 
the medical bag."

She shook her head. "We'll go together." He saw her glance 
sharply at Krycek, reholster her gun and pick up the 
medical bag. He was certain she doubted everything Krycek 
had said, but it wasn't Krycek's words that held her here. 
Her faith was not even in what Mulder believed. It was her 
loyalty to Mulder himself and her own determination to see 
it all through that kept her by his side.

Mulder became acutely aware that he was standing between 
them: Scully, his partner, his dearest friend and Alex 
Krycek, his enigmatic enemy, his...lover. Strangely, they 
both seemed so much a part of him. The inextricable ties 
that crisscrossed between them had generated the most 
significant events of their lives. And now they were here, 
together, facing perhaps the ultimate moment of truth. 
Mulder gazed from one to the other, all the brilliant words 
in his head seeming inadequate and insufficient. He simply 
nodded and turned towards the house. 

Krycek's soft, husky voice stopped him. "Do you have the 
weapon I sent you?"

Mulder reached into his jacket pocket and drew out the 
slim, silver cylinder. He touched a point along the side, 
releasing the pick-like blade. 

"Good. You'll probably have to use it. Do you know how?"

"I know." 

Krycek seemed to hesitate, his body leaning slightly 
towards Mulder before stopping. Mulder watched Alex's lips 
part, as if to say...something, and then clamp shut into a 
firm line. The dark head turned away as Krycek stepped 
back. When he spoke, Mulder felt sure it wasn't what he had 
wanted to say. "Then let's finish it."

Krycek began leading them silently towards the side of the 
house. 

*******

He had wanted to tell Mulder that he loved him. Stupid. 
With Scully standing beside him and a nest of aliens, 
Cancerman and his goons just down the road, he had longed 
to touch Mulder and tell him that he loved him. How 
pathetically stupid. As if Mulder would have wanted to hear 
such a thing. As if it mattered. Yet Krycek had felt, for 
just a split second, that if he didn't say it then and 
there, he wouldn't get another chance. His instincts were 
telling him his time was finally running out. But when he'd 
looked through the darkness, he'd seen the fire in Mulder's 
eyes. And the strength in Scully's. And Krycek knew that 
Mulder would make it, and it was that knowledge that kept 
him from saying the words. Kept him from marring the moment 
for Mulder with an absurd emotional declaration the other 
man surely didn't want or need.

Instead, he locked the feeling away and focused on the goal 
before them. As they stealthily approached the country 
house, he hoped his handiwork with the alarm system had not 
yet been discovered. Except for the rustle of the cool 
night wind through the trees, everything was quiet as he 
led them to the back window that he had left ajar. The 
house was big and fortunately, at this hour, mostly dark. 
The Colonists were still upstairs with Smith and Cancerman. 

Krycek could sense Mulder's impatience as they climbed 
inside and slowly made their way to the door and the 
stairs beyond that led down to the basement. 

At first glance, the shadowy basement looked fairly 
ordinary. A furnace and shelves filled with old boxes and 
dusty knickknacks. Gardening and work tools spread on a 
worn bench. Some stacks of old papers and magazines. Krycek 
led them to a concealed door on the far wall. "There's no 
way that he can't see us once we walk in there," he 
whispered to Mulder. "If we're lucky, he's still alone. Let 
me go down first. I'll try and draw him off. You won't have 
much time to prove to me that you can really use that 
thing," he finished, nodding towards the silvery weapon in 
Mulder's hand.

"What if he's not alone?" asked Scully.

"Then I guess our luck runs out," replied Krycek flatly.

But their luck held, at least for a while. 

"I told you not to come back here or I would kill you," the 
alien told Krycek. "You humans do not know how to listen. I 
see no use for any of you." And then the alien rose slowly 
from his seat in front of the strange electronic panel and 
began advancing towards him. 

Krycek circled quickly to the other side of the room. 
"Well, you know, that's funny because I don't see any use 
for any of you either." He reached into his jacket and 
pulled out his gun, the silencer already connected.

Something resembling a smile flickered over the alien's 
face as he eyed the gun and continued walking towards 
Krycek. There was only a few feet left behind Krycek before 
he hit the wall. Even though he knew it was useless, he 
fired into the thing's chest just as the alien reached for 
his throat. As the cold fingers closed around his windpipe, 
Mulder appeared behind the alien. A blur of movement and 
the alien grimaced in shock, freezing in place as Mulder 
stabbed the deadly point through the base of 
its neck. 

Krycek pulled the clawing fingers from his collar and 
watched as the alien collapsed in front of him, a green 
pool of liquid bubbling up from the wound in his neck as 
Mulder pulled out the long silver point.

They both stepped away quickly from the disintegrating 
corpse and that's when Krycek caught the stunned expression 
on Scully's face. //Welcome to the world of little green 
men, Dana Scully. C'mon down and play.// 

To her credit, Scully recovered herself immediately and 
began examining the equipment in the room. Though the 
lights were on, they were fairly dim, the readouts and 
monitors providing almost as much illumination as the soft 
track lights in the corners of the steel-walled room. 
Mulder walked over to the bank of monitors and stood beside 
Scully, staring at the images on the screen.

Krycek knew what they were looking at, he'd seen it. He 
could imagine Mulder's horror and Scully's shock. He almost 
felt sorry for Scully. Her long-held scientific reality was 
twisting itself into a very odd shape before her big blue 
eyes. He walked over to them. "If you have some magic 
potion in that bag of yours, I suggest you pull it out and 
figure out what to do with it while we still have time."

Scully's head snapped around, her eyes meeting his for a 
moment. "How do we know if these images are real? If it 
isn't just fabricated footage? A fake set up by you and 
Cancerman for your own purposes?"

"You think this is fake?" replied Krycek. "Like that thing 
on the floor that just tried to kill me?" He gestured at 
the corpse on the other side of the room, its head already 
softening into a pool of green goo.

Mulder turned away from the images on the monitors and 
stared at her. His voice was raw when he spoke. "Scully, 
are you so afraid to believe? Even now?" The sound of it 
tore at Krycek's insides. He could see that the naked pain 
in it had reached Scully, too, by the look on her face.

Her lips tightened for a moment. "I don't know what to 
believe, Mulder. I...I just have to ask the questions." She 
turned to Krycek again. "Watch the entrance." Then she 
looked back at Mulder and put a hand on his arm. "Help me 
check out this equipment." After a moment, Mulder nodded.

Krycek figured she was dealing with it the only way she 
knew. He glanced at the monitors, watched the cameras 
panning methodically down each row. The alien, almost-faces 
were visible through the view panels of their containers; 
they looked like they were frozen. A vague gray-blue gas 
seemed to swirl around them. On the other monitors, the 
camera angles were different, the containers viewed on end, 
looking like hexagons joined together in a honeycomb 
pattern. Hundreds of them. A series of small lights blinked 
in sequence above some sort of digital panel in the center 
of each hexagon. Yellow, blue, blue. Yellow, blue, blue. 

Mulder and Scully were moving across the large room, 
checking the 
panels, the series of pipes along one wall, the air ducts. 
They moved professionally, efficiently, like the partners 
that they were. At one point, Scully called Mulder over, 
and they conferred together softly, Mulder's head bent down 
close to Scully's red hair. The empathy was there between 
them, the unspoken trust. Krycek felt a pang of something 
indefinable as he glanced at them from across the room.

He stayed near the door, keeping a lookout, as the two FBI 
agents 
continued their examination of the room's contents. As the 
minutes dragged on, he began to wonder if their luck was 
running out. He rubbed at his shoulder. The prosthesis 
chafed against the stump of his arm. He'd pulled the straps 
too tight and his muscles ached. He glanced down at the 
black leather glove that covered the cold plastic hand and 
gritted his teeth. He stopped rubbing at his shoulder and 
looked back at the stairs. He pulled 
his gun out again.

"Come over here." Mulder was gesturing at them and staring 
down at the floor.

"What is it?" Scully asked him.

Mulder crouched and pointed to a barely visible seam that 
ran along the side of one of the electronic panels and 
meshed with the square metal grates that made up the floor. 
Then he stood up and studied the controls closest to him. 
He reached out, long fingers not quite touching the various 
keypads and switches before pausing over one of the levers. 
He exchanged a glance with Scully who nodded once, then he 
slowly pushed the small lever forward. A few seconds later, 
a section of the floor began to move.

Krycek was surprised at how quiet it was. If it hadn't been 
for the slight vibration beneath his feet, he wouldn't have 
known that a piece of the heavy metal flooring was moving. 
It was in itself quite an engineering feat. What the 
opening revealed was even more impressive.

Bathed in an eerie reddish glow, it was a network of 
multiple layers of large, clear ducts intertwined with 
metal tubing and a variety of gears and gauges like nothing 
Krycek had ever seen before. For a moment, he had thought 
it would be an entrance to the...alien ship he believed lay 
buried beneath the house. By the look on Mulder's face, he 
guessed that the other man had hoped for the same thing.

"What is it?" wondered Krycek aloud as took a few steps 
closer to the opening.

"They look like oversized oxygen tanks," replied Scully as 
she crouched near the edged. "These are pressure gauges," 
she continued, pointing to a set of small clear tubes set 
between two of the large ducts. "It reminds me of some of 
the special equipment I've seen in experimental isolation 
units, where every environmental variable has to be 
measured and adjusted to prevent any kind of contamination. 
The equipment isn't even placed in the same room as the 
subject to keep everything as sterile as possible." Scully 
stopped, drawing in a breath. "This isn't 'alien' equipment, 
Mulder. It's sophisticated, yes, advanced beyond anything 
I've ever seen, but human beings made this. Look, the gauges 
are inscribed with metric measurements. These symbols are 
from our own element table."

"The Syndicate has been covering up the Alien presence for 
decades. They're keeping them safe. This is a filtration 
system for the aliens in those containers. And they are 
aliens, Scully. It's connected to their ship, to keep them 
in a proper level of stasis until it's time for them to 
be...revived," said Mulder. The familiar conviction was in 
his voice but Scully was frowning at him.

"It could take us forever to figure out how to get into 
that ship. If you have some kind of chemical or serum or 
whatever the hell you brought in that bag, can you just 
dump it into their air ducts or whatever?" cut in Krycek 
impatiently. He glanced towards the stairs. "We don't have 
time to debate human versus alien conspiracy theory right 
now."

Two pairs of eyes snapped a glare at him before turning to 
each other. Mulder raised a hand towards the images on the 
monitors. "You agree we have to stop this, don't you 
Scully?"

She looked at the images on the screens then slowly reached 
for the medical bag. "Yes." 

Krycek felt as if, somewhere, the sands in an hourglass 
were running out. He kept glancing at the door and back at 
Mulder and Scully. They were having trouble. Scully had a 
vial and a hypodermic needle in her hands. Mulder seemed to 
be frantically searching through the network of ducts in 
the floor opening for something. More minutes ticked by.

Finally, they had found whatever they were looking for as 
they huddled over a section of the exposed floor. Scully 
was unrolling a thick pad that revealed several tubes 
filled with a pinkish liquid, along with several different 
types of hypodermic needles. Mulder stooped down beside her 
and they talked in hushed, hurried tones. Krycek couldn't 
make out what they were saying. He turned his attention 
back to the door, his gun poised in his hand, his sharp 
sense of dread growing stronger.

A seemingly interminable while later, he felt Mulder 
briefly touch his shoulder. "All right, let's get out of 
here." The opening in the floor was closed.

Krycek merely nodded, not bothering to ask what they'd 
done. He glanced back to see Scully close behind Mulder, 
the medical bag in her hand. Silently he opened the door 
and led them back into the old basement.

Had they left a few minutes sooner, they might have made 
it. 

But instead, Krycek saw the two Colonists who seemed to be 
in charge here, dragging Jeremiah Smith down the stairs. 
Smith looked ashen and disheveled, restraints binding his 
arms behind his back. The aliens pushed Smith roughly down 
the few remaining steps as they spotted the humans. One 
headed towards Krycek and Scully and the other towards 
Mulder. Mulder was edging towards the other side of the 
basement, separating the two aliens as much as possible as 
he drew out the stiletto-shaped weapon from his pocket.

"They're all dying right now, all your little buddies on 
that ship down there. Yeah, we've killed them, just like 
we'll kill you," taunted Krycek as he deliberately focused 
the other alien's attention on himself.

The second Colonist looked towards the door to the control 
room, then back at Krycek, its dark eyes glittering. It 
lunged at him. He felt the useless Glock in his hand as he 
tried to maneuver around a stack of boxes, upending a few 
to block the alien's path. He couldn't risk a glance 
towards Mulder or Scully as he kept backing away, only 
hoping they would have a chance to make it up the stairs. 

Then the alien was on him, large hands closing like a vise 
around his throat. He knew Mulder couldn't save him this 
time. //Get away, Mulder. Get away. Be safe. Be…free.// The 
thoughts flashed through his mind as he began to choke, air 
leeching out of his lungs.

Everything seemed to happen simultaneously then, the 
seconds oddly stretching like a slow motion nightmare as he 
thought he heard the Smoker's voice yelling from a 
distance. "What've you done? What've you done?!"

The hands around his throat tightened and the room began to 
swirl into a fog. Abruptly, the hands released him. The 
Colonist began to shudder violently, and Krycek fell back, 
gasping for air. A hypodermic needle was lodged in the side 
of the alien's neck. It's mouth gaped opened in a grimace 
as it crumpled to the floor, dark eyes clouding almost 
instantly as the veins began to bulge and pulse grotesquely 
through its skin.

Scully was reaching into the medical bag, her eyes on the 
other side of the room. But Krycek didn't have a chance to 
look for Mulder as he caught sight of the Smoker's gun 
rising, aiming at Scully. 

Krycek's gun was firing even as he shoved Scully to the 
side. He felt something jar his prosthetic, then a fiery 
bolt pierced his chest and he cried out. Even as he was 
falling, he kept shooting, using his last seconds to keep 
his final vow.

He didn't feel the floor when he hit it. It was as if his 
whole body had gone numb except for the burning pain in his 
chest. 

Krycek knew he was dying. He tried to raise his head, but 
he could only angle it a little. He could hear noises: 
boxes crashing, something heavy hitting the floor, the 
scuffle of footsteps. He heard his name.

"Alex! Alex!" And then Mulder was kneeling beside him, and 
Scully, too. Scully was pressing down against his shirt. He 
could feel something warm bubbling through his chest, saw 
bright red soaking through the ragged edges of the large 
hole in his black shirt, seeping though Scully's fingers, 
turning them the same bright red.

"Help him, Scully!"

Krycek forced his lips to move. "Dead...he...dead?" It was 
barely a whisper. He watched as Scully glanced towards the 
stairs. "Yes, Cancerman's dead."

"They're all dead, Alex." It was Mulder, arms gently 
supporting his head and neck. "Don't talk," he said. 
"Scully--"

"There's nothing I can do, Mulder, not with a wound like 
that. He has a few minutes at most."

"No!"

Krycek felt the light fading. He tried to keep his eyes 
open, to keep Mulder before his eyes until the light was 
gone. He wanted to say...so much, but he couldn't talk any 
more. The pain seemed to be fading, the numbness spreading 
inward, towards his heart. Suddenly, Mulder moved away from 
him and he wanted to call him back, wanted to cry out.

His eyes were still open but it was growing so dark…so 
dark. //Mulder. Oh, Mulder.//

As if from a great distance, he could hear voices, as the 
light dimmed to darkness.

"Smith, you have to help him! Please, help him…help him. 
Don't let him die!"

"Mulder, what are you doing? It's no use!"

"Free my hands. I must touch him..."

It was so peaceful. He hadn't expected the lulling quiet. 
The voices were fading away. Everything…fading. The 
darkness was so...peaceful...

The sudden sensation of air rushing into his lungs forced 
his eyes open in shock. The room's light was glaringly 
bright. He gaped at the haggard face of Jeremiah Smith 
leaning over him, the alien's hands rubbing over his chest. 

Krycek felt his own heart beating like a drum even as panic 
spread through him. He felt so strange, dizzy and floating. 
Dazedly, he looked around him. Mulder was lifting him, 
tearing his jacket and shirt away. 

"His arm...can you? Can you try?" he was asking Smith.

Fear gripped him as Krycek felt Mulder unbuckling the 
prosthesis, pulling it off. "N-no." His voice sounded so 
weak and feeble. He tried to struggle, to shake his head, 
catching sight of Scully's astonished expression. She 
seemed frozen, her blue eyes locked on Smith's hands.

Smith was touching his mutilated arm, cold fingers wrapping 
around the stump of his flesh, stroking the scars, rubbing 
over his skin again and again and again. Krycek felt a 
sharp burst of agony as if his arm was suddenly on fire, 
burning all the way up to his shoulder blade. He found he 
could scream after all and then he lost consciousness. 

When he opened his eyes again, he felt a rolling motion. He 
barely had the strength to turn his head as he tried to 
focus. Scully was beside him and they were moving. Car, 
they were in a car. No. He was stretched out. The van, they 
were in the van. "Wh-wha--" his throat felt rusty. He felt 
tired, overwhelmingly tired.

"It's all right, Krycek," she told him. She was holding 
something around his arm, his mutilated arm. Towels. Towels 
wadded around his stump. He tried to blink away the 
dizziness. Something was wrong. Blood was oozing through 
the towels. Dark red streaks. And there was something else. 
The end of his arm seemed…longer, almost down to the elbow. 

"Wh-what's...happening?" he asked hoarsely, trembling with 
a sudden wave of panic. "M-mulder? Mulder?!" 

"It's okay, Alex, I'm right here. Everything's going to be 
okay." Mulder's voice was somewhere close behind and above 
him. The driver's seat. "We're on our way back to D.C. 
Close your eyes, Alex. Try to sleep."

The panic rolled back a little at the sound of Mulder's 
voice. He had to fight the fear, get himself under control. 
Why did he feel so very weak? He turned his face away from 
Scully's measuring gaze and the sight of the bloodied 
towels and closed his eyes in sheer exhaustion, sinking 
into sleep.

When he surfaced again, it was to the sound of their voices 
drifting in and out of his consciousness.

"..and you'll pull it all together, Scully?"

"To tell you the truth, Mulder, I'm not sure what to think 
about anything anymore."

"Hey, that sounds like a damn good first step to me…" The 
voices fading once more.

"He should be in a hospital, Mulder."

"For what? Spontaneous limb regrowth? What do you think the 
learned doctors would say when they saw that?"

"I can only conjecture that the amount of energy his body 
is expending as the regeneration continues must be 
enormous. It's sapping every bit of strength he has. He 
needs close care until it's over--"

"I'll take care of him."

"Mulder, that's crazy--"

Krycek struggled to open his eyes but couldn't and sleep 
stole over him again.

The next time he woke, he saw a window. The shades were 
down, but he could tell it was daylight. He tried to 
swallow. His mouth tasted like cotton. He was in a bed. A 
thin blanket covered him up to his armpits. His chest was 
bare. The sheets smelled like soap. Moving his head with 
effort, he tried to look around. There was a pillow under 
his left arm and it was swathed in a thick towel, a 
different towel, blue. He could see the outline 
of his arm. It was…longer, even longer than before. It was 
the length of a whole arm. Fear pinched at his nerves as he 
stared at it. His throat felt like it was closing up.

"Do you want some water?" It was Scully's voice.

He nodded, the motion making him dizzy. 

She raised his head a little and put a glass to his lips. 
"Slowly," she said.

He sipped at the water, his breathing labored as he managed 
to swallow a little.

"You're very weak, Krycek. Better lie back. You can have 
some more in a few minutes." 

He looked at her and found his breath. "Mulder?"

"He's picking up some supplies." She glanced at her 
wristwatch. "He should be back any minute now."

"Where...am...I?"

He watched a small frown come and go on her face. "You're 
in Mulder's apartment. It was no picnic getting you up here 
either. Be grateful you were unconscious."

He wanted to ask about his arm, about Smith, about the 
aliens. He wanted Mulder to be here with him. //Mulder.// 
But it was a strain just to keep his eyes open. It seemed 
as if Scully could read something in his face because she 
sat down in a chair beside the bed, on his left side. She 
touched the edge of the blue towel. "You probably have a 
lot of questions. I'm not sure we have all the answers but 
you can ask them when Mulder gets back. Close your eyes 
now and rest."

He woke to the sight of Fox Mulder staring down at him. All 
he could do was stare back, gathering his breath. It was a 
relief to feel stronger, if only marginally.

"You slept for several hours. How do you feel?" Mulder 
asked him gently.

He swallowed. "I was dying. I--I should be dead."

"Death Takes A Holiday, one of my favorite movies." 
Mulder's lips stretched slowly in a smile as he reached 
out and gently brushed Krycek's cheek with the back of his 
fingers.

The touch made his skin tingle. He took a deep breath, then 
another. "Smith. What did he do to me?"

"He healed you, saved your life."

Krycek glanced towards his arm. "Wh-what did he do?" he 
asked again.
"You're whole, Alex." Mulder was sitting in the same chair 
that Scully had used. He lifted part of the towel, his 
hazel eyes bright with wonder. "Look, look at your arm."

Krycek didn't want to look, didn't want to see the thing. 
He turned his face away. "What about the aliens on that 
ship? Was I telling the truth--are they dead?"

He waited for Mulder to answer him and thought he could 
feel the man's gaze boring into the back of his head. He 
knew Mulder wanted him to 
look at the arm, but he couldn't. He heard Mulder sigh.

"Ridley's experiments had produced a by-product, a new 
bacterial strain. That was the weapon. The data on the tape 
you gave me confirmed it. Injecting it into the filtration 
system of that ship, into that sterile environment, was 
like immersing a human being in the Ebola Virus. Yes, the 
aliens are dead."

"The Smoker…Scully said…"

"Two bullets in the head, one in the chest. Damn good 
shooting considering the circumstances. Yeah, the bastard's 
puffed his last Morley." Mulder sighed again in the silence 
that followed. "Will you at least look at me?" he finally 
asked.

Krycek squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Where's 
Scully?"

"She's meeting with Skinner. Telling him what's happened. 
There's no way to hide or destroy the proof this time. That 
ship has been buried in those foothills for a long, long 
time. That's why there was relatively little security. 
Decades of complacency. They were sure that no enemy would 
ever find it. They never had any intention of ever using it 
again except as a kind of stasis chamber for the other 
aliens until they were ready to implement full-blown 
colonization. But any alien that tries to enter that ship 
now will be infected, and die. It's Ground Zero for them. 
Now, Skinner can authorize an official investigation. We 
finally have the means of stopping all of it, the Syndicate 
and the aliens, stop the abductions, and the...experiments. 
We've done it, Alex."

Krycek suddenly thought of the Well-Manicured Man. He 
hadn't heard from him since he'd given him the envelope for 
Mulder. Soon the other Syndicate members would know what 
had happened, if they didn't already. Those gray old men 
would finally be running for their lives. Given the kind of 
men they were, they would be turning on each other with a 
vengeance, assuming the remaining Aliens didn't get to them 
first. That would be a kind of justice, finally. But the 
Brit, he deserved better. Krycek owed him. He would have to 
try and get in touch with him.

"Alex, please look at me."

The soft voice drew him back. He took a deep breath and 
turned his head towards Mulder.

"Thank you for helping me, and for helping Scully. He would 
have killed her if you hadn't--"

"You needed her more than you needed me. Besides, she saved 
my life with that magic hypo. We're even."

Mulder frowned at him, lips working as if he wasn't quite 
certain what he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at 
the blue towel and slowly unwrapped it. "There's nothing 
wrong with your arm. It's almost fully formed. Can you feel 
my fingers?" 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mulder's hand 
begin to stroke...it, somewhere near the wrist. And Krycek 
felt it, the shocking unexpectedness of it. It was eerie and 
unbelievable and terrifying.

"Just look at your arm, Alex." Mulder's voice was low and 
coaxing like he trying to persuade a frightened animal. 
Krycek might have even found it funny if it hadn't been so 
close to the truth. Instead, he forced his gaze to move 
from Mulder's face down to his arm.

It looked like his arm. Almost. It was too pale and…new. He 
grimaced as he saw the hand, the fingers were much too 
smooth, even around the knuckles. His fingertips tapered 
into blank round tips with only vague indentations where 
nails should be.

"The cuticles should be formed by tonight. And then the 
hair. There's a little fuzz here already, along the 
forearm. It's very light, very soft. See?" Mulder gave him 
a big, boyish smile.

Mulder was on top of the world. His beliefs had been 
validated. He'd triumphed over a Conspiracy that had fought 
hard and dirty for years to break him. The truth was indeed 
out there, and he'd found it. And now, like icing on a 
cake, he even had Alex Krycek as his own personal X-file, 
here to entertain him.

Krycek stared at the arm for a few more seconds, looked up 
into Mulder's shining hazel eyes, and then turned his face 
away, a lump in his throat. He couldn't understand why he 
suddenly felt so miserable. He was alive, after all. And 
seemingly…whole. He'd beaten the odds again and survived. 
He was out from under the thumb of the Syndicate. He was 
even on the Right Side, for a change. Deep inside, he was 
truly, genuinely happy for Mulder. The man deserved his 
victory more than anyone. And yet Krycek felt a swarm of 
conflicting feelings that took him from the heights to the 
depths in seconds. It was the kind of effect Mulder always 
had on him, only now all his careful defenses seemed to 
have deserted him.

"There's nothing alien about your body or your arm, if 
that's what's worrying you. It's perfectly normal. At this 
rate, your arm should look exactly like it used to by 
tomorrow. You'll start feeling stronger, too. In a few 
days, you'll be able to go ten rounds with the best of 
them, and probably develop a dynamite left jab while you're 
at it."

Krycek couldn't keep a harsh laugh from escaping. He turned 
back to Mulder. "Hell, Mulder, my arm was chopped off. It's 
rotting in the ground somewhere in a Siberian forest. I had 
a bullet in my heart. I was bleeding to death. An alien 
does something to me, uses some kind of extraordinary force 
or power and makes the wound in my heart disappear and my 
arm grow back. There is no one else on earth but you who 
would refer to that as being 'perfectly normal'."

Mulder bit his lip, an embarrassed flush on his face. 
"Okay, so I'm not exactly the best judge of normality, but 
I just want you to realize that you're as human as you ever 
were, that's all." He reached out and took hold of Krycek's 
new hand in both of his, stroking the back of it lightly.

"Pins and needles," murmured Krycek.

"What?"

"Your touch. It feels like pins and needles, like the hand 
was asleep."

"I guess in a way, it is. It's sort of coming alive, 
meshing with your body." Mulder moved a hand up to where 
the stump had ended and rubbed at the new flesh beneath. 
"How does it feel here?"

"More…normal," replied Krycek, frowning at the word. 
Mulder's fingers were warm, his touch soothing and a little 
unnerving. Krycek's mouth felt dry. "Can I have some 
water?"

"Sure." Mulder let go and got up. "Are you hungry? I 
actually did some shopping earlier. Do you want some soup 
or a sandwich?"

"No, just some water." His stomach felt like a knot was 
slowly forming in it.

Mulder returned with a glass and a pitcher of water that he 
placed on the bedside table. Krycek tried to shift himself 
up a little and was surprised at the wave of dizziness that 
hit him. 

"Take it easy, Alex. Here, let me help you." 

Mulder had been calling him 'Alex' a lot. He was also 
mothering him like he was a sick child and Krycek wasn't 
sure how to take any of it. There never seemed to be a 
simple, easy-to-grasp middle ground with Fox Mulder. Then 
again, maybe they'd both been living their lives on the 
extreme edges for so long, they didn't know anything else. 
Maybe for them, the 'norm' would be the most uncomfortable 
place of all.

Mulder propped some pillows behind his back and helped him 
drink some water. He left the room for a minute, returning 
with an oddly-shaped jug that he placed on the bedside 
table. 

"What's that?"

"Urine bottle," replied Mulder. "Same kind they use in 
hospitals. You know, until you're stronger, it'd be easier 
for you. Um, uh," Mulder sputtered a bit, adding, "If you 
need to use the, um, toilet, um, we can, you know, deal 
with that, too."

There was something unexpectedly endearing about a tongue-
tied Mulder. "Thanks." 

"Listen, Alex, I have to go into the office and talk with 
Skinner. There's still a lot to be done and I need to be 
there. I've called some friends of mine and they'll take 
turns staying with you until I get back. I wish I didn't 
have to leave right away, but--"

"It's all right, Mulder, do what you have to do."

"Frohike should be here any minute. Byers and Langly will 
come by later, if I'm not back."

"The Loony Geekmen," quipped Krycek with a faint smile.

"You know them?"

"Let's just say, the Smoker mentioned the Lone Gunmen a 
time or two. He didn't like them. Thought they were way too 
helpful to you."

"Yeah, well, they have been. They helped break open that 
tape you gave me." Mulder shrugged. "And, yeah, they're 
weird, but they're also my friends."

Krycek nodded just as the phone began to ring. Mulder went 
into the living room to answer it and returned a few 
minutes later. "That was Scully." Mulder gave him a quick 
grin. "She said Skinner's reaction was 'profoundly 
memorable'. I wish I could've seen it. He's setting up a 
full-scale investigation. He's already on his way to see it 
with a team of agents."

Krycek didn't need ask what 'it' was. "Then you better go."

"I told Skinner I'd get there as soon as I could. I'm not 
leaving you alone." He walked over to the side of the bed 
and sat down again, his gaze never leaving Krycek's face.

Krycek felt like he was drowning in Mulder's eyes and he 
looked down at the blanket that covered his chest. "I 
wanted to ask you something else," he said, struggling for 
the emotional distance he needed to keep from blurting out 
something he would only surely regret.

"What?"

"Jeremiah Smith. W-what happened to him?" 

"I don't know. After he healed you, he refused to come with 
us. We told him that we could try and isolate him from the 
bacteria, but he said 'no.' He realized he couldn't survive 
exposure to the strain but it didn't matter to him. He said 
he wanted to heal, to do what he could to help as many 
people as he could, for however long he had."

"If only the others had been like him. It would've been a 
different world, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, it would've."

The doorbell rang just as he felt Mulder's hand touch his 
hair. 

Frohike was an odd little man who reminded Krycek of an 
overgrown gnome with glasses. He approached Krycek with 
cautious friendliness as Mulder made the introductions 
and gave him instructions.

"...and there's groceries in the kitchen. You've got my 
cellphone number. I want you to call me if you need me," 
finished Mulder. He looked at Krycek. "You should eat 
something pretty soon. Keep your strength up. Believe it or 
not, Frohike here actually enjoys cooking and he's not 
half-bad at it."

The little man snorted indignantly and pushed up his 
glasses. "Hell, the fact that you have fresh food in this 
apartment is the real Ripley's, Mulder."

Mulder grinned and nodded good-naturedly. "I'll get back as 
soon as I can, Alex. Get some more rest, okay?". 

"I'll be fine," answered Krycek, his eyelids growing heavy. 
He could see the little man glancing curiously at his left 
arm. He assumed Mulder had told his friend about it. 
"Frohike can watch my arm grow while I take a nap." He 
managed a weak chuckle at Frohike's bug-eyed reaction.

He wasn't sure if he was already asleep and dreaming when 
he saw Mulder smiling softly at him, his hazel eyes tender, 
before he turned and slowly walked out the bedroom door.

*******

What Mulder thought would take hours turned into days. 
While Scully supervised the production of more of Ridley's 
bacterial strain in the Bureau's labs, Mulder went back to 
the country house and met up with Skinner and his teams. 
Half-expecting to find the house burnt to the ground and 
the evidence of the ship somehow destroyed, it was a heady 
relief to discover that, this time, it was there. It was 
all there, just as they'd left it.

The investigation had been given the highest level of 
security and priority. Skinner had ordered that nothing be 
touched or moved, not even the bodies until everything was 
photographed and all evidence collected and documented in 
painstaking detail. The Smoker's body remained crumpled at 
the foot of the stairs. The sight of the aliens in the 
basement, or what was left of them, had shaken even the 
team of seasoned FBI agents, but when they saw what was on 
the monitors, even Skinner had admitted to 
being stunned speechless.

Skinner called it the installation beneath the house. 
Mulder figured that saying the phase 'alien spaceship,' 
however accurate, would be more than his colleagues could 
handle at that point. From the look of it, it would take 
some concerted effort to even find the entrance to it. It 
seemed that the Colonists had gone to great effort to 
secure the ship. Fortunately, they hadn't expected an 
assault from an enemy small enough to fit into a syringe. 
Whether from arrogance or oversight, they had made it 
possible for Mulder and Scully to turn the ship into a tomb. 

While he and Skinner reviewed how the investigation would 
proceed, Mulder would catch the expressions on the faces of 
the other agents when they glanced his way. 'Damn, how 
about that? Spooky Mulder was right all along.' There was 
an exhilarating satisfaction in the almost reverent looks 
they gave him. He was no longer the Oddball in the 
Basement.

As the hours unfolded, Mulder found himself replaying the 
events of that night over and over in his mind, just as he 
found he had to break away from the proceedings with 
obsessive regularity to call his apartment and check on 
Krycek's condition. By the second day, he realized his 
priorities had taken a serious turn when he was more 
interested in the fact that Krycek wasn't eating than in 
the news that a large number of suspected Syndicate members 
had been torched to death near an airplane hanger just 
outside D.C. 

As the third day dawned, he told Skinner he was going home. 
The A.D. was less than comfortably aware of who had taken 
up residence in Mulder's apartment but, after giving his 
agent a list of reservations even longer than Scully's, he 
finally gave in to Mulder's obstinacy and let him go. 

Mulder made it back to Alexandria in record time. 
Strangely, his footsteps grew more hesitant as he 
approached his apartment building. So much had happened in 
such a short length of time. Reality had somersaulted on 
him and he was still dazed by it all. He'd always trusted 
his instincts, but he wasn't sure about his emotions. At 
least, not now that the grand battles seemed to be over and 
there was nothing to deal with but his own life and 
the handful of people in it who still mattered to him. And 
one person in particular. He stood in front of the elevator 
for several minutes, staring into some invisible middle 
distance. After the frenetic activity of the past few days, 
he should have been exhausted but he didn't even feel 
tired. He felt alive in a way that almost frightened him. 
He felt like someone who had just fought and crawled his 
way out of a deep dark hole into fresh air and sunlight only 
to realize he didn't know what to do or where to go.

With a sigh, he got on the elevator and pressed the button 
for his floor. When he walked into Apartment 42, the first 
thing that hit him was the smell of bacon. The TV was on 
and it looked like the Weather Channel was forecasting 
rainstorms along the Eastern seaboard.

"Honey, I'm home," he called, just as Langly stuck his head 
around the kitchen doorway and waved at him.

"Hey, Mulder, you're just in time for breakfast.".

Glancing at the closed door to the bedroom as he passed, 
Mulder went into the kitchen. "How is he?"

"Weird." In the middle of ladling scrambled eggs on his 
plate, Langly caught Mulder's expression and added. "He's 
fine. Well, he seems fine anyway, except he's not eating 
much. Want some eggs? Your guest declined so there's 
plenty." 

"No, thanks. Is he asleep?"

"I don't think so. He's been sitting in the chair by the 
bed for a while. Sometimes he just paces back and forth in 
there."

"You mean he's not in bed?" replied Mulder, already heading 
for the bedroom.

"It's been three days since you left, Mulder. He's not as 
weak and he's been able to walk around, even goes to the 
bathroom all by himself, for which I am truly grateful. 
Byers said he was out here using the phone yesterday." 
Langly continued in a stage whisper to Mulder's back. "The 
guy's a little scary, man, and I don't mean just his 
homegrown arm either."

Mulder tapped on the bedroom door, waited ten seconds, then 
walked in. Krycek was sitting in the chair by the bed. He 
was wearing a pair of Mulder's pajamas, the dark blue pair 
with white piping that his mother had given him a couple of 
years ago. His head was bent and Mulder could tell he was 
staring at his hands. 

"Alex?" He approached the other man slowly and crouched by 
the chair. "Alex?" When Krycek still didn't answer him, he 
reached out and gently took hold of his left hand. It 
looked perfectly...ordinary. The nails had grown out. He 
could see the veins beneath the pale skin and his flesh was 
warm.

Mulder glanced up to find the green eyes watching him 
intently. "Hello, Mulder."

Butterflies started a dance in the pit of Mulder's stomach. 
"Hi." He smiled, finding it remarkably easy. "I didn't 
expect you to be out of bed."

Krycek pulled his hand away and stood up. "I can't stay 
here. Have...things to do." He started walking around the 
bed. As he turned back to Mulder, he began to sway, eyes 
squeezing shut. Mulder jumped up and grabbed him just as 
he lost his balance, maneuvering him back into the bed.

Krycek was breathing hard and scowling. "Can't stay here."

Mulder settled the light blanket over him and sat down on 
the edge of the bed, wondering why Krycek's words depressed 
him. After all, they were true; Krycek couldn't stay in his 
apartment indefinitely. He probably shouldn't have brought 
him here in the first place. "Okay, but you can't leave if 
you don't have the strength to make it into the living 
room. Just take it easy and I'll bring you something to eat 
in a little while, okay?"

Face averted, Krycek's scowl barely lessened as Mulder got 
up and headed for the kitchen. 

Langly was wolfing down his eggs and bacon. "How's Prince 
Charming?"

"Not that charming at the moment." He ran a hand through 
his hair, then stopped midway. "I've got to pick up 
something I forgot," he said. "When I get back, you can 
head out, okay?" He rushed off before the blond could give 
him a reply.

He was back in less than twenty minutes. 

"Hey, man, you've got plenty of food here already, you 
know," greeted Langly as he caught sight of the grocery bag 
Mulder was carrying.

Mulder nodded distractedly. "Listen, Langly, thanks for 
helping me out. I can take it from here."

"You sure?" But Langly couldn't quite hide the flicker of 
relief in his eyes.

"Yeah, get out of here. Tell Frohike I'll dig out some of 
my video hits for him the next time I drop by."

Langly grinned. "Don't bother, he already cherry-picked 
your collection while he was here. He said to tell you to 
consider it your down payment." The blond grabbed his coat 
and his laptop as Mulder brought his bag into the kitchen. 
"Are you sure you don't want me to hang around? Or I could 
call one of the guys to get back here--"

Mulder grinned. "Get lost, Langly.

Langly gave him a shrug and a smile. "Now that we've all 
helped to save the world from extraterrestrial domination, 
one of these days you're going to have to give us the real 
lowdown on your tall, dark and dangerous buddy in there. I 
have a feeling it's a helluva story." 

"One of these days, I will, and thanks again." 

"Remember, dude, we're but a phone call away. Call if you 
need us."

Mulder watched as Langly tried not to break the speed 
record scooting out the door. He put away most of his 
purchases and then made a couple of toasted cheese 
sandwiches, fixed up a makeshift tray and brought it into 
the bedroom.

Krycek was staring at the window. He didn't turn his head 
as Mulder set the food down on the bedside table. 

"C'mon, Alex, I made enough for the both of us."

"I'm not really hungry, Mulder."

Mulder studied the dark head for a moment and reached for 
the bottle on the tray. "Then just have a drink with me." 
It was just past ten a.m. and he saw the puzzled frown 
forming as Krycek turned his face towards him. Mulder 
lifted the bottle in a toasting gesture. The frown faded as 
the green eyes widened, suddenly filling with emotion as 
Mulder held the bottle of chocolate milk out towards him. 
"I bought five quarts. All the bottles they had on the shelf. 
I figured you didn't like the plastic cartons."

A small, tremulous smile grew over Krycek's face. It made 
Mulder very glad he'd made the trip to the market. Krycek 
sat up slowly and took a few swallows from the bottle, then 
watched as Mulder did the same. Mulder settled in the chair 
by the bed and started eating his sandwich. He held out the 
plate. "Goes good with the milk," he offered.

Krycek hesitated, then he picked up the sandwich and slowly 
took a bite. They ate in silence, passing the cold bottle 
of chocolate milk between them. Mulder noticed that Krycek 
never used his left hand. 

When the milk and the sandwiches were gone, Mulder stood up 
and stretched, finally feeling the last few days catching up 
with him. "I could use a little sleep. Do you mind if I lie 
down with you?" 

Krycek shifted over, making room on his right side. Mulder 
walked around the bed, kicked off his shoes, stripped down to 
his underwear and tee shirt, and slid under the blanket. He 
debated with himself for a moment and then inched closer, 
carefully watching Krycek's profile as he gently placed his 
hand in the middle of the other man's chest. He thought he 
could almost feel Krycek's heart beating against his palm. 
His hand rose and fell with each strong and steady breath.

Mulder felt a rare contentment welling up inside him and he 
smiled into the green eyes, wishing they didn't look quite 
so guarded. He drifted into sleep with the warmth of 
Krycek's body beside him.

When he woke up, his face was pressed against Alex's neck 
and his arm was wrapped around his waist. The room was 
darker. He snuggled closer and sighed. It seemed perfectly 
natural to kiss the warm skin beneath his lips. He kissed 
his way up until he reached a small earlobe. He sucked the 
lobe between his lips and heard a gasp.

Mulder pulled his head away just enough to see Krycek 
looking back at him from the corner of his eyes. 
Irresistibly drawn, Mulder closed the distance and kissed 
him.

"Good morning," he said.

"It's evening, Mulder."

Mulder smiled. "Good evening." And he kissed Alex again. 
His fingers moved to undo the buttons of the dark blue 
pajama top. He tossed the blanket aside and bent to touch 
his lips to the silky smooth chest, on the place where the 
Smoker's bullet had ripped through flesh and bone and put a 
hole in his heart. No sign of the deadly damage remained. 
Mulder drew his tongue over the warm skin and moved to lick 
and swirl at a nipple, feeling it stiffen against his 
mouth. 

Alex was breathing harder, and Mulder heard him gasp as he 
continued to nuzzle his chest, trailing slowing downward.

He didn't expect the sharp tug as Krycek gripped his hair, 
pulling him off. He grimaced and rubbed at the back of his 
head. "What's wrong?"

Krycek stared up at the ceiling. "I don't feel like fucking 
right now, okay?"

"That's not what I--" Mulder stopped. "I shouldn't have--" 
He stopped again, not really sure what he wanted to say. He 
got out of the bed and started fumbling for his clothes.

"I heard your cellphone ring earlier."

Mulder had one leg in his jeans. "When? I didn't hear it."

"Maybe around four. You were out like a light." Krycek sat 
up and started getting out of the bed, too.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mulder didn't know why 
his voice sounded angry.

The green eyes met his steadily. "Bathroom. Do you mind?"

Mulder swallowed, wondering what was happening between them 
now, and shook his head. "I--I'm going to check in with 
Scully." He finished pulling on his jeans and stopped to 
watch Krycek's slow but steady walk into the bathroom, the 
door shutting firmly behind him. He didn't hear the click 
of the lock.

Instead of going out to the living room, Mulder found 
himself standing by the bathroom door. He listened for a 
moment, his hand reaching for the doorknob, then drawing 
back. He heard the sound of the toilet flushing, the sound 
of the faucet. He considered walking away, but he wanted to 
make sure Alex was all right, so he waited. After a few 
minutes of silence, he started to worry. He reached for the 
doorknob again just as the sound of the shower began. 
Krycek was still weak. What if he got dizzy and fell? 

Mulder wondered why he was behaving like some 
overprotective, neurotic parent. Krycek was not an invalid. 
He was not a child. He was not Mulder's responsibility. And 
yet, he kept on standing there, listening to the sound of 
the shower. Stood there until it stopped. Stood there 
through more minutes of silence until he heard the sound of 
glass breaking.

He rushed in and spotted the shattered water glass on the 
floor. Krycek was standing by the sink, naked and wet, 
holding a razor blade, his eyes fixed on his left hand, at 
the bright red line of blood across the middle of his palm.

Mulder took in the scene and carefully approached him. 
"Don't move, Alex," he said quietly. "Let me have the 
razor." He reached out slowly and took the blade away, 
placing it back into the open safety razor near the sink. 

Krycek's attention seemed riveted to the blood that was 
spreading across his palm.

"Just don't move until I get rid of this broken glass." 
Mulder crouched down and quickly started picking up the 
larger pieces of glass, dumping them into the small 
wastebasket near the sink. He swept the smaller pieces out 
of the way with a towel. Grabbing his terrycloth robe off 
the hook on the back of the door, he put it on Krycek, 
meeting no resistance. "We better put some ointment on that 
cut," he said at last. He waited until Krycek finally 
looked at him before he asked, keeping his voice as calm as 
he could manage. "Why, Alex? Why did you do this?"

Krycek seemed to consider the question as if there was 
something terribly mysterious about it. "I-I had to make 
sure it hadn't changed. I had to make sure it wasn't inside 
me." He gazed down at his palm again, as Mulder found some 
first aid cream in the cabinet. "It's…it's really my arm," 
he whispered, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Mulder took his hand and cleaned the blood away and applied 
the ointment and a bandage. He found a fresh towel and rubbed 
at the sleek wet hair and dabbed away the trails of water 
that trickled down Krycek's face and neck. "C'mon," he 
said, giving Krycek a gentle nudge towards the bedroom. 

In the bedroom, he watched as patiently as he could as 
Krycek shuffled back and forth in front of him. It was 
Krycek who spoke first. "I dreamt once that I could really 
hold you, that I had both my arms, but then...my blood...it 
was green and your eyes…the black oil..." He stopped, 
drawing in a shuddering breath.

"Alex, this isn't a dream. This is real. I'm real. Hold me. 
Put your arms around me."

He watched Krycek's chest rise and fall with another deep 
intake of breath and then the troubled green eyes were 
looking into his. "Put your arms around me, Alex. Please."

Slowly, haltingly, Krycek raised his arms and slid them 
around Mulder's shoulders. Mulder could feel their warmth 
even through the robe. He could feel their strength as they 
wrapped around his back. He felt Alex's face burrowing 
against his neck and felt his quickening breath. Krycek 
began to tremble, suddenly clinging to him tightly. Mulder 
swallowed hard as he felt tears spilling against his neck.

Mulder anchored his arms around Krycek's waist, luxuriating 
in the feel of his body against him. "It'll be all right, 
Alex. It'll be all right." He said it because he wanted it 
to be true.

They stood like that for a long time. When Krycek finally 
pulled away, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, 
turned and walked to the bed. He shrugged out of his robe 
and lay back against the pillows.

Mulder felt his fear begin to recede, replaced by a rising 
heat as Krycek held out his arms towards him.

This time there was a harmony between them, their touches 
and kisses blending into a heightening rhythm. Krycek kept 
rubbing his hands over and over Mulder's body. They were 
both hard and hungry for each other, starving for as much 
contact as they could get.

Mulder had wanted it to be slow and gentle but he couldn't 
stop the frantic need that seemed to sweep over them both. 
They came just from the friction of their bodies burning 
against each other, their semen mingling between their 
bellies.

Krycek lay half on top of Mulder, his leg thrown over 
Mulder's thighs, his arm, his left arm, cradling Mulder's 
chest.

As the rapid beating of their hearts gradually returned to 
normal, Mulder raised a fingertip and ran it along Krycek's 
kiss-swollen lips, watching as long dark lashes fluttered 
open. As usual, what he couldn't read in Krycek's face was 
there in his eyes. Mulder smiled, finding it easier to 
lighten the moment than meet it. "I'd say you've made a 
full recovery." He was pleasantly surprised at the blush 
that stole over Alex's cheekbones. 

Mulder took Krycek's left hand and kissed the bandaged 
palm. He held it to his lips a moment longer, kissed it 
again. He knew he'd better get out of the bed while he 
still had the willpower. "I should check in with Scully. 
See if she was trying to reach me." Still, he didn't move 
or let go of Krycek's hand.

Alex nodded with a smile in his eyes and shifted away on 
the bed. "I should get up, too."

"Maybe you better just rest."

"I'm okay, Mulder. I need to make a call anyway."

Mulder gave him a curious glance but didn't ask the obvious 
question as he got out of bed and picked up his tee shirt 
and jeans.

"What happened to my clothes?" asked Krycek.

"Your boots and jeans are in my closet. The rest was too 
torn and...bloody to salvage. You can borrow some of my 
stuff." Mulder paused. "You're not getting dressed, are 
you?"

"Seems like a reasonable idea."

Mulder caught himself before he could begin to argue. He 
wasn't Krycek's keeper, he reminded himself.

"I'm hungry. Do you mind if I fix myself something to eat 
first?"

Mulder shook his head, inordinately pleased by the 
question. 

Several minutes later, he was in the living room calling 
Scully and listening to the sounds of Krycek moving in the 
kitchen. "Hi Scully, it's me. I was wondering if you tried 
to call me earlier..." 

After he finished talking with Scully, he went into the 
kitchen. Alex was already halfway through another bottle of 
chocolate milk and most of a tuna fish sandwich. Mulder 
plucked an apple from the small bowl on the table, 
resisting the urge to bend over and lick the chocolate 
moustache off of Krycek's upper lip.

"Scully said several high-ranking staff members in the NSA, 
the CIA and the Bureau have disappeared over the last 
forty-eight hours.

"Probably alien infiltrators or Syndicate puppets," 
shrugged Krycek as he drank more of his milk. Mulder 
reached over and snagged the bottle, taking a long swallow 
before giving it back. The idea of alien infiltration was 
as obvious and acceptable a fact to Krycek as it was to 
him. He watched as Krycek rose from the table. 

"I tried to call the Brit yesterday. He left me a special 
number. He told me that if he didn't answer, there would 
always be someone to take a message for him. But the phone 
just rang and rang. I want to try and call him again--"

"Alex, no one's going to answer." Mulder hadn't wanted to 
tell him yet, hoping Krycek might not even ask about the 
old man.

"What do you know? Tell me." 

Mulder rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. "Skinner 
got the report while we were at the country house. The 
Englishman and his driver were killed by a car bomb even 
before you called me to tell me about the country house." 
He stopped as Krycek sank back into the chair, his face 
paling. "He knew the game was over for him, Alex. He told 
me as much the last time I saw him. He was probably as 
prepared for death as any man could be. I...I'm sorry."

Krycek's hands balled into fists beside his plate. "He was 
a cunning, old bastard, but he didn't deserve that. He 
could be ruthless when he had to be, but he never took 
pleasure in it. He wasn't the same as the others. Those 
fucking old cronies of his, they killed him."

"They're all dead now, Alex. The aliens took them out. The 
final payback for the defeat of their Project."

The dark head lowered, Krycek staring down at the table 
top, lost in his thoughts.

Mulder wasn't sure what sort of bond had existed between 
Krycek and the Brit, but it was obvious that Alex had had 
some feeling for the old man. And perhaps he hadn't even 
known it until this moment. For himself, Mulder would 
always remember the Brit as the man who gave him the answer 
to a lifelong-search and as the wily manipulator who sent 
him to meet an enemy on one fateful, stormy night. He 
didn't know what else he could say to Krycek to make the 
loss easier, so he didn't say anything. 

The phone rang again a little while later. It was Skinner. 
The conversation was a long one. With the investigation now 
an around-the-clock operation, Skinner was burning the 
midnight oil. There was more and more information coming in 
all the time: locations of experimental labs and names of 
Project collaborators all over the world. He also confirmed 
what Scully had told Mulder earlier, that they would have 
an airborne version of Ridley's bacteria ready for 
dissemination within days. 

Skinner's special teams were now working with units from 
Interpol and other Bureau counterparts abroad. Yet, despite 
the breadth of the operation, there was no media awareness, 
no news at all of the quiet, insidious war that had 
threatened the very existence of humanity. In the interest 
of averting unnecessary panic, no breaches in security 
would be allowed. The world would never know the real truth 
and Mulder realized that it didn't matter to him whether 
the world knew or not. Humanity would survive. The people 
who mattered in his life knew the truth, and that was 
enough.

As he listened to Skinner, his gaze would shift towards the 
kitchen. He could see Krycek sitting, still and silent at 
the table. 

Skinner wanted Mulder to report back to work in the 
morning. "I know you've been through a lot, Mulder, but 
this has all come about because of you. You're the one with 
the most knowledge, the most expertise. Yes, you've already 
helped plan out the current operations, but now you can 
make sure that we cover all the bases."

Mulder kept his eyes on the dark profile a room away. "I'll 
try and come in tomorrow, but I have some personal matters 
I have to take care of first. You know you can reach me 
here if you have to." He could sense by the strained 
silence that Skinner was trying not to ask him about 
Krycek. He made it easier on both of them by quietly 
hanging up.

He walked back into the kitchen and sat in his chair, 
opposite Krycek. "I think I'm having a problem coping with 
my newfound credibility," he told him wryly.

Krycek looked up at him and gave him a sad little smile. 
"Does it feel strange to be taken seriously, to be 
believed?"

Glad that Alex was talking, Mulder smiled back. "It's not 
something I'm used to. It's refreshing."

"Enjoy it, Mulder. You might even get the X-Files some 
serious respect in that constipated, tight-assed Bureau."

"Yeah, they might actually stop bitching about my expense 
reports from now on."

"Maybe they'll even give you an office on one of the 
regular floors," suggested Krycek with a hint of a grin.

Mulder seemed to consider the possibility and shook his 
head firmly. "Nah, I like the Basement. More privacy. The 
ceiling takes pencils better. There's more room for my 
posters."

They were both quiet for a minute, Mulder finally asking 
the question that was bothering him most. "What about you, 
Alex? What are you going to do...now that it's over? You 
have a chance for a new start, you know."

Krycek's expression grew distant and a little hard. "It'll 
take a long time before I stop looking over my shoulder. 
I'm not--"

The phone rang again and Mulder threw it a glare.

"Maybe you better answer that," Krycek told him, after the 
third ring. "Could be important."

"Let the machine pick it up." He heard the distant sound of 
Frohike's voice leaving a message.

"Sounds like the Gnome. Wonder what he wants. Probably 
wants to make sure I haven't grown horns and a tail and 
eaten you for dinner."

Mulder wasn't about to be distracted. "You didn't answer my 
question."

With a sigh, Krycek rose from the table and headed for the 
bedroom, pausing in the doorway, back still turned. "I 
can't tell you because I don't know."

Mulder watched Krycek walking away with an inexplicable 
sense of loss. There were no ties to bind them any longer. 
They were not enemies, but there was no further need to be 
allies either. There were no outside forces to draw them 
together. They were two men who had fought their battles 
their own way and won a war together. Now it was over, and 
they were just...two men. 

What happens when a war is over and you have to go home and 
start your life again? What happens if you discover that 
the war was all your life had been?

Mulder felt the shadows of the past rising and he blocked 
them out before they could stop him. Instead, he got up 
slowly and followed Alex into the bedroom.

Krycek was taking his jeans and boots from the closet. He 
flicked a glance at Mulder. "Do you have a pair of socks 
and a sweatshirt or shirt that you can spare?"

"Yeah, sure. There are some sweatshirts in the second 
drawer, socks in the first. Are you leaving right now?

Krycek looked down at his hands for a moment. "I'm feeling 
fine. There's no reason for me to stay."

A sense of powerlessness, the sense of something slipping 
irretrievably away from him, seemed to grow stronger as 
Mulder watched Alex opening the drawers, pulling out a gray 
sweatshirt, a pair of black socks. Before he could think, 
he was walking up behind him, grabbing him by the 
shoulders, turning him around. Mulder pulled him close, 
kissed him once, twice, clasped him in a tight embrace. 
"Don't go. Not yet," he whispered hoarsely. "Stay, Alex."

He felt the tension, the resistance, melting slowly, heard 
it in sudden whimper as he pushed Krycek towards the bed. 
They sank down into the mattress, pulling off their 
clothes. Their bodies pressed close, the room filled with 
nothing but the sound of their rough breathing. It was as 
if they both just wanted to hold the moment and not let it 
go.

Minutes later, Krycek murmured something into Mulder's 
shoulder. His palm stroked across Mulder's chest, fingers 
tracing his nipples. 

"What?" asked Mulder, amazed at how quickly the gentle 
caress was arousing him.

Krycek pulled just far enough away to look at him. "You can 
fuck me, if you want," he said, his voice low and husky, 
his green eyes dark with emotion. "I know that's what you 
want." Shifting, he turned over before Mulder could respond 
and buried his face in the pillows, hands by his head. 
Then, slowly, he spread his legs apart.

Mulder's cock throbbed into complete erection. He drank in 
the sight of Krycek's pliant body, the smooth round 
buttocks quivering ever so slightly. Mulder raked his lip, 
desire curling in his belly like a flame. Krycek was right. 
He did want to. He just never expected to be offered... 

"Do you have something you can use?" Krycek's question was 
muffled against the pillow.

Mulder suddenly thought of the lube and condoms he'd left 
at the Arlington house, and of his arrogant insistence that 
they would use them the next time he was there. He also 
remembered how Alex had told him he wouldn't be able to 
give Mulder what he wanted. Remembered the shadow of fear 
and regret in the green eyes.

He thought about three rich punks raping a lonely, fifteen-
year-old boy.

He looked again at Krycek's body and noticed the tension in 
his back and shoulders, at how his white-knuckled fingers 
gripped the sheets.

Mulder wanted to take him, wanted to feel Krycek's ass 
around his cock, wanted to push himself into that tight 
heat and fuck him through the floor. If he was honest with 
himself, he'd wanted it for a long time. But now, he wanted 
Alex to want it, too. 

Mulder didn't want a sacrifice. If Krycek was walking out 
of his life, he didn't want that to be their last memory. 
The prospect turned his stomach.

"Yeah, I have some stuff here," he answered finally. He sat 
up and rummaged through the bedside table, finding a 
plastic bottle of lubricating lotion. "But you're in the 
wrong position." 

Krycek turned his face, gazing at him in puzzlement. Mulder 
grabbed his shoulder and moved him onto his back. As Mulder 
expected, Krycek had lost his erection.

"I want you to fuck me," Mulder told him. "I want to know 
what it feels like." As he said it, he realized it was 
true. It felt right.

Krycek's mouth dropped open, frown line deepening between 
his brows. "N-no. I can't."

Mulder placed his hand on Krycek's flaccid penis, his lips 
turning upward in a brief smile. "Not at the moment, but we 
can work on that." 

Krycek shook his head, shifting away from Mulder's touch. 
"I-I don't understand. How can you want that? How can you 
want me to do that to you?"

"I've heard it can feel pretty damn good, and I'm all for 
expanding my pleasurable experiences. The more I think 
about it, the more I like the idea. Besides, you just 
offered me the same thing, didn't you?" He propped himself 
up on an elbow, his mind drawing images of Krycek's hard 
body wrapped around him…and in him. His cock twitched.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"That's good because I don't want you to hurt me either. 
And I know you won't." With that, Mulder bent forward and 
touched his lips to Krycek's cock, pleased to hear a gasp 
as he kissed the slit and licked a circle around the head. 
He didn't want too much time to think, to examine too 
closely what he was doing or why it seemed so important. 

"Alex, you can obviously see that I want this. I'm probably 
as surprised about it as you are. It excites me, okay, and, 
yeah, it scares me a little, too. Maybe that's part of the 
turn-on, I don't know. Look, I don't usually indulge in 
soliloquies about what sex acts I want to perform, so help 
me out here, okay?" He glanced up from his perusal of 
Alex's bellybutton to meet the confused green eyes.

"Make love to me, Alex," he said softly, all his faint 
bravado falling away. And then he was reaching up and 
stroking the pale, unguarded face. He didn't realize that 
his own vulnerability was as transparent in that moment as 
Krycek's. 

Krycek closed his eyes and turned his face slightly, 
kissing Mulder's palm. "I--I'm not sure how."

Mulder simply smiled and kissed him.

It was awkward at first, Mulder lying on his side, 
maneuvering them into position, more concerned about Alex's 
fear than his own. They groped, fumbled, used an excessive 
amount of the lube. Krycek hesitated. Mulder initiated, 
uncertain himself how much to demand and how much to allow. 
Ultimately, their bodies knew, despite the turmoil of their 
emotions; their bodies were drawn to each other like 
magnets, the passion far stronger and more insistent than 
any of their doubts.

Yet Krycek moved as if Mulder was made of glass. When 
Alex's cock finally slid into him, oh so slowly, Mulder was 
already desperate for it, the discomfort no where near 
what he had expected. Mulder could feel the sweat slicking 
their bodies, Krycek's self-control radiating from every 
inch of his skin as he made himself hold still, waiting for 
Mulder's command.

"C'mon, Alex, c'mon baby, c'mon…" He pushed back, forcing 
Alex all the way in. The sensation of it burst inside him 
like stars and he moaned ecstatically. He reached behind 
him, grasping Krycek's hip, raking his fingers across his 
thigh. "Y-you feel...so good...so damn...good..." 

"Oh...god...Mulder...Mulder..." The velvety voice was thick 
with desire and heat, and Mulder felt that exact, 
exhilarating moment when, with a cry, Alex lost control at 
last and they both began to fly…

They went higher and higher and higher together and the 
pleasure was almost too much to bear, being that close, 
feeling…so much. When he felt Alex climaxing and his own 
orgasm spilling over his hand, he wasn't sure where Alex 
ended and he began. They were a circle with no beginning 
and no end. And he felt complete at last.

When he finally came back to himself, it was to the feel of 
soft, little kisses on the side of his face and on his hair 
and to Alex's voice murmuring his name between panting 
breaths. He was himself again. Apart, but not alone. He 
shifted so they were facing each. He felt sticky and 
sweaty, a little sore, and blissfully content.

Worried green eyes blinked at him. "Are you all right? Are 
you okay? Mulder?"

"Do I look like I'm in pain?" he asked, sealing the 
question with a slow, wet kiss. He put his arm around Alex. 
"Are you all right?"

Krycek closed his eyes and touched his forehead to 
Mulder's, his words a whisper between them. "It...it 
was...unforgettable. I never thought..." The words trailed 
away in a sigh. His eyes opened again. "Thank you."

Mulder nodded past the lump in his throat. He drew in a 
breath and cuddled closer. "Do you mind sleeping smeared 
with semen?" He was rewarded with the sound of a muffled 
chuckle.

"No." 

"Good 'cause I'm not moving, and neither are you." With one 
last smile and a brush of a kiss, Mulder closed his eyes 
and fell asleep.

********

Krycek remained still for a long time, just feeling 
Mulder's warmth snuggled against him. Mulder's breathing 
was slow and steady, punctuated by an occasional snuffling 
sound that was not quite a snore. Krycek pulled back a 
little so he could look at his face. The kiss-swollen lips 
were slightly open, revealing the edge of white teeth, and 
the chestnut hair tumbled in thick waves across the tall 
forehead. One arm still lay heavy across Krycek's waist. 

Lying there in the quiet, Krycek could almost believe that 
Mulder loved him. Certainly, Mulder must trust him, at 
least enough to offer his body so completely.

God, it had felt... He couldn't even find the proper words 
for the feeling that seemed like a glow, a light, inside 
him. The echo of boys' laughter, vicious and taunting, 
seemed suddenly blunted in his memory. He had something 
else to replace it with now. 

He gazed at the sleeping face and whispered, knowing Mulder 
could not hear him. "I love you. I love you more than 
anything and anyone in my life. I'll love you forever."

As he lay there, watching Mulder, the events of his life 
drifted through his mind. He recounted all that had 
happened to bring him to this point and place in time. 
Slowly, inexorably, Bill Mulder's image rose before him. It 
would always be there, he knew, like a malignant shadow 
looming over them both. All the love and all the longing he 
felt for the man lying beside him would never be enough to 
banish it. Krycek's secret hope for some kind of future 
with Mulder was a fantasy, a hope too fragile and slender 
to survive the darkness of his past. Mulder was denying 
it now, perhaps out of a sense of gratitude, but it would 
only be a matter of time before its specter rose again and 
destroyed the tenuous bond between them.

Krycek knew that Mulder would never be able to love him. 
The tender lovemaking, the sweet passion, they were moments 
stolen from a future that could never be. The sorrow of it 
settled in his heart like a weight. He held up his left 
hand, turning it back and forth. He flexed his fingers 
against the small bandage. He reached over and gently 
stroked Mulder's hair, feeling the silky strands against 
his skin. Before he lost Mulder, perhaps he could create 
one more memory. 

He rolled away, careful not to wake him, and turned off the 
lamp. Then he returned to his place, smiling wistfully as 
Mulder automatically snuggled against him. With a sigh, 
Krycek closed his eyes and tried to sleep. 

It must have been several hours later when he opened his 
eyes. Mulder was still peacefully asleep, his arm draped 
around Krycek's neck, their legs entwined. Krycek glanced 
at the windows. The night was waning, the sky a deep blue 
gray. A new day was about to dawn. Once again, Krycek 
slipped out of Mulder's embrace. He went into the bathroom 
to relieve himself and wash up a little. When he returned 
to the bedroom, he stood by the bed for a moment, a strange 
mix of emotions gripping him. Then he climbed back in and 
waited for Mulder to wake up. 

A little while later, he felt Mulder stirring beside him 
and then the touch of lips against his shoulder.

"Hi."

He looked into the soft hazel eyes. There was a lightness, 
a...happiness in Mulder's eyes that made him catch his 
breath. //This is the way it should be.// Ruthlessly, he 
pushed the thought away. "Hello yourself," he answered.

Mulder kissed him on the side of his mouth. "Pretty early, 
isn't it?"

"Want to go back to sleep?"

"Nope."

"Want to discuss conspiracy theory?"

Mulder grinned. "Not particularly. Don't even want to talk 
baseball." He licked a line up Krycek's biceps.

"Hungry?" asked Krycek, prolonging the playfulness.

"In a manner of speaking."

"Want me to fix you some french toast?"

Mulder raised an eyebrow. "I'm getting this mind-blowing 
image of you slaving over a hot stove. I don't think I'm 
ready for it yet. Rolling gracefully out of bed, he 
announced, "gotta take a leak and clean up." Then he 
pointed an admonishing finger at Krycek. "You. Don't. Move. 
Understand?"

Krycek smiled indulgently. "Okay." And watched the enticing 
view of a naked Mulder walking away from him. While Mulder 
was in the bathroom, he retrieved the bottle of lotion from 
the floor where it had fallen and placed it within reach. He 
straightened out the sheets and pillows and lay back down, 
his heart already beginning to beat a little faster. 

Mulder came back damp and smelling of pine-scented soap. 
Krycek made a mock protest as Mulder climbed on top of him 
and shook his head like a dog, water droplets spraying over 
the bed and Krycek. "Damn, Mulder, you're cold and wet!"

Cool lips pressed against his mouth in a kiss. "Um, sorry, 
I was in a hurry."

Krycek quickly gave up any pretense of complaint. It felt 
too good being with Mulder like this, seeing him happy and 
carefree. Instead, he wrapped his arms around him, savoring 
the joy in the simple act that he had once thought would 
always be denied him. 

Mulder's erection pressed against his thigh. Krycek was 
hard, too, and his heart was pounding now, in expectation 
and a little fear. In one swift move, he rolled them over 
until Mulder was trapped beneath him. He looked into the 
hazel eyes, more gold than green in the pre-dawn light. "I 
want to feel you inside me, Mulder."

He could see the surprise in Mulder's eyes, the 
uncertainty, but the flare of desire was there, too. 
Mulder's hands framed his face tenderly. "Are you sure, 
Alex?" 

Krycek thought about the conversation that they would have 
to have later, the one that neither of them could run away 
from. He thought about last chances and memories. "Yes, I'm 
sure," he answered. He rolled to one side and reached for 
the bottle of lotion and held it out to Mulder, injecting a 
casualness into his voice that he didn't feel. "This worked 
pretty well last time. Good thing it's the large size, still 
plenty left."

"Are you really sure, Alex?"

Krycek smiled at the concern in Mulder's voice. "I know it 
can be good now. I want it to be you, Mulder. It has to be 
you."

"But maybe it's too soon. Maybe--"

"Now, Mulder. Please."

Mulder took the bottle and lifted himself on one elbow.

Slowly, Krycek traced Mulder's erection with his fingers. 
"You're bigger than they were," he murmured, more to 
himself than Mulder.

But Mulder seemed to understand. "I wouldn't hurt you, 
Alex." 

Krycek looked up at him, irony in his voice. "You're the 
only one in the world who really could."

Mulder's lips tightened, comprehension and regret shadowing 
his 
expression. "But I don't want to. Not anymore."

Krycek placed his hand over the center of Mulder chest. "I 
know." Then he settled back against the pillows and took 
hold of his own cock, pumping it firmly until it was hard 
and aching, sensing the heat in Mulder's gaze as he watched 
him, moaning as he forced himself to stop. "You want to 
fuck me, don't you?"

Mulder's tongue licked across his lip. "Yes." Mulder 
reached out and traced the faint line of a scar near his 
penis before cupping his balls and rubbing them gently. 
"But I want you to like it. I want you to love it."

Mulder played with his body for a long time, fondling and 
stroking him until he almost purred. When he felt Mulder's 
finger pushing into him, lubricating him thoroughly, there 
was the briefest flash of panic, but it was swept away by 
the touch of Mulder's mouth against his lips. As another 
finger joined the first and moved deeper inside him, he 
kept his eyes on Mulder's face. The invasion was careful 
and deliberate. Mulder waited until he gasped from a sudden 
tantalizing spark of contact before increasing the movement. 
Soon, he could barely keep from growling out his pleasure.

"Stay on your back. I want you to see me," Mulder told him. 
"Let me put this pillow under your hips."

It was so different from what he had known. So utterly 
sensual. He bent his knees and watched as Mulder moved 
between them. Mulder looked wanton and wholly desirable, 
his erection jutting out, long, hard and gleaming from the 
lubricating lotion. 

"I'm going to put my cock inside you now, Alex. I'm going 
to fuck you slow and you're going to want it as much as I 
do." His voice had a tremor in it as if he was fighting for 
control.

Krycek gripped the sheets between his fingers and spread 
his legs wide. His own cock was arching against his belly. 
"Yeah, make me want it, Mulder. Make me." He let out a 
breath as Mulder slid his hands up and down his thighs. 
Then he felt the tip of Mulder's cock nudging his balls, 
slipping lower. 

Mulder pushed his legs up, braced them against his 
shoulders and began to enter him. His body automatically 
tensed against the penetration. He couldn't stop a cry from 
escaping at the sudden burst of pain as the head of 
Mulder's cock pushed through the ring of muscle. Mulder 
stopped, both of them breathing heavily. "You're 
so...tight...hot. Incredible...beautiful."

Krycek gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, fighting 
the urge to pull away.

"Look at me. Alex, look…at…me. I want you…so much. So 
much."

Krycek opened his eyes. Mulder gazed down at him, but 
despite his words, he remained still. Waiting, even though 
his body was trembling. Krycek looked down at himself, at 
the place where their bodies were joining. He gulped a breath, 
his voice hoarse. "Do it." 

Inch by inch, Mulder entered him. Krycek watched the thick 
cock sinking into his flesh, until it was fully sheathed 
inside him. Mulder was murmuring something, something 
unintelligible, his face flushed with need, body slick with 
sweat.

Krycek felt utterly possessed, utterly vulnerable, yet he 
wasn't afraid. It was Mulder. He was giving Mulder what 
Mulder had given him, and as the pain began to subside, he 
realized it was going to be all right. It would be the 
memory he wanted.

He drew in several deep breaths and began pumping his cock. 
"I want it. Want you. Fuck me, Mulder."

They moved together slowly at first, but then a delicious 
pleasure shot through him as Mulder's thrusts plunged 
deeper and their flesh melded together in a quickening 
rhythm. 

He came with a shout, his muscles squeezing convulsively 
around Mulder's cock. He was swept up in a cascade of 
sensations and its center was the hard shaft pulsing deep 
within him. He thought he heard Mulder crying out, wild 
and exultant.

Later, when Mulder slipped free from his body, he felt the 
loss with a pang of regret, but then Mulder was lying on 
top of him, kissing his face. Krycek hugged him close and 
kissed him back. They rolled to their sides, Mulder 
stroking down his shoulder to his hip, cupping a buttock 
with his hand, rubbing soothingly. "You feel okay?"

Krycek could only nod.

"That was a pretty fantastic way to start the day." Mulder 
moved his hand over Krycek's belly and smiled. "We're 
smeared again."

"I don't mind." He glanced at the windows, at the early 
morning light. He could sense Mulder following his gaze. 
They lay in silence for several minutes, bodies touching, 
calming. 

"Stay with me, Alex."

Mulder's softly spoken words made his heart leap but he 
said nothing.

"I don't mean just for today. Stay with me. Live with me," 
continued Mulder after a moment.

Krycek kept his face turned away. "You don't know what 
you're saying. You're taking one of those giant leaps of 
yours, Mulder. You're not thinking." He moved away and 
swung his legs off the bed, too aware of the soreness in 
his ass, his back to Mulder. He found he couldn't say the 
rest. He wanted to hold back the past for just a little 
while longer. "I-I don't think we should talk about this 
right now. We…we better get up. Skinner expects you in the 
office today, doesn't he? You better get dressed." He 
started to stand when Mulder grabbed him around the 
shoulders.

"Let's talk about it now," whispered Mulder in his ear.

"No." And he broke away, got up and hurried into the 
bathroom. Leaning heavily against the closed door, he 
tilted his head back and shut his eyes. He'd dreamed of 
hearing Mulder asking him to stay, asking for them to be 
together. Gossamer dreams spun in the sweet, dark hours of 
the night. But cold reality told him it couldn't work. 
Perhaps it seemed right to Mulder in the afterglow of what 
they had just shared, but it wouldn't last. Mulder 
needed the truth. Maybe he didn't want to hear it now, 
maybe he might even convince himself that, for the moment, 
it didn't even matter, but Krycek knew better. There was no 
chance for a real life together if they denied the past or 
tried to run from it. Krycek didn't want to run anymore. 
Not from Mulder. This time, it would be Mulder's choice. It 
had to be.

Yet, here he was, hiding, trying to prolong a dream that 
was already over.

The next hour passed in a surreal and tense silence. Mulder 
seemed wary and confused by Krycek's sudden emotional 
distance. They moved around each other as if there was an 
invisible wall between them that they were afraid to 
breach. They showered separately, dressed on opposite sides 
of the room. 

In the kitchen, Krycek poured himself a cup of coffee and 
drank it standing by the counter, waiting for Mulder to 
leave. Hoping Mulder would leave. 

"I don't understand." Mulder stood in the doorway, dressed 
in his suit and tie. Looking like the cover of a magazine. 
He was beautiful, except for the pain in his eyes.

Krycek dropped his gaze and pulled at the edge of his dark 
blue sweatshirt. Mulder's sweatshirt. 

"What's happening here?" continued Mulder. "Why are you 
running from me?"

"I'm not running!" The force of his own reply surprised 
him. He met Mulder's wounded eyes and sighed with the 
weight of what he knew he had to say. There would be no 
postponement after all. "It won't work, Mulder."

"Why?"

"Because there's a part of the past that will always be 
between us."

"If we let it."

Krycek crossed the room and stopped in front of the one 
person in the world who truly mattered to him. His voice 
was low, flat and controlled. "The Russian Syndicate placed 
a death warrant on Cancerman...and Bill Mulder...years ago 
for a variety of transgressions, including the murder of 
several of their syndicate members. They didn't follow 
through, of course. Too many problems at home, struggles 
with the black oil experiments, political changes, a society 
crumbling around them. I'm sure all of those syndicate 
leaders are dead now, too, just like the gray old men here. 
But back then, aside from making sure they never set foot in 
Russia, the Smoker and your father didn't really worry about 
it much." Krycek paused, drew in a long breath.

Mulder stepped back, as if he didn't want to hear, but 
Krycek grabbed him by the arm. There was no point in trying 
to explain the rest. It all came down to one inescapable 
fact. "I killed Bill Mulder. I was there, that night. I 
shot him in the head. I did it."

He stopped, watching the color drain from Mulder's face, 
the white agony in the hazel eyes cutting through him. He 
forced himself to go on. "It's not only because I killed 
him that…that it won't work between us. It's because the 
only thing I regret about it is that he was your father. 
There's nothing of him in you. I can't tell you 'I'm sorry' 
he's dead. I'm not and I never will be. That's the truth, 
Mulder. Can you live with that? Can you look at me and not 
hate me for it, every day, every second?"

He saw the battle of emotions in the other man's eyes. 
Watched with resignation as Mulder turned his face away, 
his voice tortured. "You could have lied to me. Damn you, 
why couldn't you lie?"

The pain twisted around Alex's heart like barbed wire. "No. 
No more lies."

Mulder clenched his hands together, a shudder running 
through his body. Very slowly, almost as if he was in some 
sort of trance, he walked out of the kitchen. He walked to 
the front door and stood there. Krycek could see the tremor 
in his shoulders. He wanted to reach out and pull Mulder 
into his arms, but it was too late for that now. 

His lips tightened as he fought back the terrible feeling 
of emptiness that settled inside him. Fought to keep his 
voice from breaking. "Wh-what do you want me to do?"

Mulder pulled the door open and took a step into the 
hallway. His head turned slightly but he didn't look at 
Krycek. "I-I want you to be gone when I get back." Then he 
shut the door behind him.

Krycek stared at the closed door for a long time. He 
couldn't seem to move. It was the sound of a car horn 
blaring in the street outside that finally jarred him. The 
world was going on about its business. Life went on. Even 
when it didn't matter much any more.

Eventually, he went into the bedroom to gather the wallet 
and keys that had been in his ruined jacket. He tried not 
to look at the bed. He had some money in the wallet and 
there was a lot more in a safe deposit box in D.C. He'd get 
to it when he decided what he was going to do.

At the moment, he didn't really care.

He walked through the other rooms of Mulder's apartment, 
already feeling like some sort of ghost. He fed the fish. 
He stood and looked out the windows, some tiny, foolish 
part of him hoping to see Mulder walking back to him. He 
stood and watched until it hurt so much he knew he had to 
leave.

Suddenly, as he was about to go, he regretted not telling 
Mulder everything, not telling him how he really felt. He 
decided he would try and leave a letter. He went over to 
the desk and picked up a pen. He started opening the 
drawers, looking for paper. 

In the center drawer, set aside from a little stack of 
papers and news clippings, was a photo of Mulder and his 
sister, Samantha. Two children smiling at the camera, 
unaware of the future that awaited them. And, beside the 
photo, neatly folded, was a strip of black satin.

Breath catching in his throat, he reached down and picked 
up the bowtie. It was the one he'd worn on the night of the 
charity gala. A bowtie that was already knotted so that 
even a one-armed man could manage it. He bit down on his 
lip as he eyes blurred. He'd thought Mulder might have 
picked it up accidentally and then just thrown it away. But 
Mulder had kept it, kept it in a drawer next to a picture 
of his sister.

His hand shook as he placed it back and gently closed the 
drawer again.

He threw the pen on the desk. There were no words that 
could change the past. Nothing he could say that would 
bring Mulder back to him now. Anything he could say would 
only hurt Mulder more, and he didn't want to do that. 
Didn't want to make it any harder for him to go on with his 
life. 

Slowly, Krycek turned and left the apartment.

The sun was shining, the sky a pale blue dotted with 
cottonball clouds. It was a lovely Spring day. As he stood 
on the pavement in front of Mulder's apartment building, 
Krycek realized he had no where to go. It was the first 
time in a very long time that he had nothing to do, nothing 
planned. Nothing to run after or away from. Everything was 
finished. 

He looked up and down the street, checking out the people, 
the cars, more from habit than anything else. He felt 
uncomfortable walking around in broad daylight, but that, 
too, was habit. 

He decided he would go to the Arlington house and see if he 
could pick up the clothes that he'd left there. He needed 
something to do. 

A very expensive cab ride later, he was heading up to the 
door of the elegant house in Arlington. He pulled the key 
out of his pocket. The black Mercedes was still parked in 
the driveway. He should have put it in the garage. As he 
opened the front door, he was relieved that the lock hadn't 
been changed. He supposed the old man's retainers hadn't 
gotten around to dealing with the house yet. Or maybe they 
were dead, too.

Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, he 
quickly glanced towards the house next door. A Siamese cat 
was scampering up the path just before disappearing into 
the gap in a neatly trimmed hedge. He heard the dog barking 
across the street as two kids rode by on their bikes. Life 
went on.

As he closed the door behind him and stood in the foyer, a 
rush of memories assailed him. He shook them off forcibly 
and frowned as he caught sight of a large manila envelope 
on the small table near the entrance. His name was printed 
on it in clear, block letters. He picked it up and 
scrutinized it carefully, noting the return address of a 
prominent D.C. legal firm. Envelope tucked under his arm, 
he went upstairs.

As soon as he walked into the bedroom, his eyes were drawn 
to the bed, and another set of bittersweet images flashed 
across his mind. He looked away, letting his gaze sweep the 
room. His paperback book still lay on the night table. The 
closet door was open and he could see his clothes, the 
clothes the old man had given him, still hanging there. 
Finally, his eyes settled on the painting of the foxhunt. 
He still liked it. 

He went over to the antique writing desk and tore open the 
manila envelope. As the contents spilled out over the desk, 
his eyes widened. He looked through the legal documents, 
flipping through the pages several times. 

The Brit had left him the house. He looked at the deed 
again. The old man had given him the house and everything 
in it. Even the Mercedes. Krycek could only gape as he sank 
down heavily into the chair. There was a square, cream 
colored envelope among the documents with his name written 
across it in the old man's narrow, precise handwriting. He 
picked it up and opened it, removing the single sheet of 
matching stationary.

'Dear Alex,' the note began. 'I assume you are sufficiently 
shocked by my generosity. It rather amuses me to think so. 
Be assured that if you have survived to read this, than it 
is nothing more than you deserve. When the game is over and 
the players are gone, all that is left is to begin again. 
Use the house for your new beginning.

And, Alex, remember, no one is better off alone.' 

The note was unsigned.

Krycek read it again and sat back with a sigh. You sly, 
surprising old bastard, he thought to himself. He stood up 
and walked over to the bed, the single piece of stationary 
still clutched in his hand, his left hand. He raised it up 
before his eyes and glanced again around the room.

Sunlight poured through the fine voile curtains in the tall 
French windows, giving the room a warm, golden glow. 

He had survived, against all odds. He had his arm. And now 
he had this beautiful house with all its beautiful things. 

The Brit's note fluttered to the floor. It was a measure of 
how much he had changed that Alex Krycek's first reaction 
was an acute and painful awareness of what it meant to be 
alone.

*******

Mulder spent long hours in the office again, often sacking 
out on a makeshift cot. At first, he barely ate. He barely 
slept. He spent as little time as possible in his 
apartment.

He worked with Scully and Skinner on implementing the 
systematic distribution of the newly developed airborne 
variant of Ridley's microbe, along with coordinating all 
the other aspects of the investigation. He pored over the 
files and materials that were found in the eerily 
abandoned Syndicate offices in New York and D.C. He threw 
himself into each task with a single-minded intensity that 
bordered on the obsessive. Only Scully seemed concerned 
about his seemingly revitalized focus on wrapping up the 
details of a Conspiracy that was now ended. To the small 
circle of agents who were involved, he was just enjoying his 
success as only 'Spooky' Mulder could. 

As the days stretched into weeks and a process of 
methodical documentation replaced the sense of urgent action, 
it was harder for Mulder to lose himself. Especially since he 
knew that all the reports, all the evidence, would be sealed 
in top secret Bureau files that the public would never see. 
The Conspiracy was dead. Humans - 6 billion, aliens - Zero. 
Game over.

He never considered, in his darkest nightmares, that he 
might miss it.

Spring turned to summer and outwardly, his life was 
returning to as ordinary a routine as Mulder had ever 
managed to have. Inwardly, it was a different story. Every 
day, he fought an emotional battle to push Alex Krycek out 
of his mind. Every day, he lost. It hurt to think about 
him. It hurt not to think about him.

Either way, it meant he couldn't escape the rest of his 
life any longer. Couldn't pretend that it could be just the 
same as before. He still had the X-Files, of course. He 
even got a raise and a bigger budget, the Bureau's stiff 
acknowledgment for his years of crazed tenacity.

As the final reports on the Conspiracy were being archived, 
one last set of documents was given to Mulder for his 
review before they were sealed with all the others. These 
documents specifically concerned his father. They revealed 
a man he had never known, though one he had perhaps always 
suspected. They confirmed his worst fears, and stripped him 
of what little hope he'd tried to cling to that his father 
was not like the others. He was, in fact, much worse because, 
unlike the others, he had known what he was doing was wrong. 
Cancerman, for all his festering evil, truly believed and 
dedicated his life to the Conspiracy and its Project; he 
saw it as the Great New Order. Bill Mulder had had no such 
faith, but he let the suffering and death continue anyway. 
Helped orchestrate it and then covered it with lies and 
deceit for decades. 

The detailed revelation about his father's role was one 
more wound for Mulder to add to an emotional core that was 
already raw and bleeding. To cope, he focused on the X-
Files, his mental refuge, but it felt strangely as if he 
was simply going through the motions while he tried to 
convince himself that, eventually, the pain inside him 
would fade. He had almost begun to believe it when, one 
day, Scully said she had something important to tell him.

"I'm going to leave the Bureau, Mulder. I've given my 
resignation to Skinner this morning."

"What?"

"It's time." She tilted her head, her lips turning upward 
in a soft smile, the same calming smile that had steadied 
him through so many rough and dark days. "I've stayed with 
the X-Files because of you, Mulder. Not because I believed 
in the X-Files, but because I believed in you. Because 
you're my friend. I wanted to help you in your search for 
the truth. That search has come to an end, for both of us. 
You've found the answers to those questions that haunted 
you for so long, Mulder. And, I, well, I've seen the 
extreme possibilities you've always known were out there. 
We've both changed. Now, I think we both have to go on 
with our lives."

Her blue eyes scanned their familiar basement office. "Your 
life will always revolve around the X-Files, one way or the 
other. They're a part of you. They feed that insatiable 
curiosity of yours and challenge that boundless 
intelligence. You're in this basement because you love it 
here, Mulder."

"Scully, I--"

"No, Mulder, let me finish." Scully drew in a breath and 
looked at the 'I want to believe' poster behind his desk, 
the smile touching her face again. "I do believe, Mulder, 
because I've seen, but I don't belong here any more. I'm 
still a doctor and a scientist and I want to try a 
different direction for my life. I'd like to see what it's 
like working with living patients instead of corpses. I 
want to work on research to help cure diseases instead of 
figuring out what bizarre pathology caused someone to die." 
She started to pace slowly across the room, glancing up at 
him as she walked. "I want a home and a family or as close 
to one as I can get. I want a normal life, Mulder. For you, 
normal is a midnight drive to the middle of Nowhere to 
investigate reports about blood-sucking goat creatures."

Mulder frowned but listened as she continued.

"That'll never be normal for me, Mulder."

He felt as if the ground was breaking and crumbling beneath 
him as she went on. 

"I've thought about this for months. I-I would've talked to 
you about this sooner, but I've been worried about you. I 
know you've had to deal with all that you've learned about 
your father's involvement in coordinating the…experiments 
and the cover-up. I know that's been very hard for you. I 
thought if I waited, you'd start to pull yourself out of 
it, but instead, it's as if you've placed yourself in some 
kind of emotional stasis, Mulder. There's something more 
that's unfinished, isn't there? Something I can't help you 
with, no matter how long I stay."

"There's nothing unfinished," he insisted. "I don't want to 
lose you, Scully." 

"You couldn't, Mulder. You'll always be my friend. And, if 
you need me, I'll be there for you. But being friends 
doesn't mean two people stay the same and never change, 
never grow. I need to go on with my life and I think that 
maybe my leaving might help you to go on with yours."

Mulder wiped a hand over his face as his mind struggled 
with her words, and met her steady gaze. "What are you 
going to do?"

Scully came to stand before him, the soft smile in her 
eyes. "I'm going to San Diego. My mom wants to move back 
there, and I think it'll be a good place for me to settle 
down, and start over. It's where I grew up. I have family 
there, and old friends. There are some very good teaching 
hospitals and research institutes in that area. I've 
already sent out some preliminary inquiries and I've 
received some very promising responses."

"San Diego, but that's so far away..."

"Mulder, it's just a phone call away, that's all. In fact, 
with the time zone change, you can call as late as you 
like." Her face grew serious as she came around the desk 
and leaned back against it, reaching out to clasp his 
shoulder. "You were happy, Mulder. After we'd beaten them. 
After we returned from that country house and Skinner began 
the official investigation, even as exhausted as you were, 
you were happier than I'd ever seen you. Then it all 
changed. That was even before you saw those files about 
your father."

Mulder pulled away from her touch and stared down at the 
top of his desk.

"What happened to Krycek, Mulder?"

Mulder traced a scratch on his desk with his fingertip, 
back and forth, back and forth. "He...he left." The silence 
that followed finally made him look up at her. 

Scully's lips were pursed in thought and Mulder could see 
that it was as difficult for her to ask the questions as 
for him to answer. "Is...is that what you wanted?" she 
asked him at last.

He propped his elbows on the desk, his fingers lacing 
together as he tapped them against his mouth. He drew in a 
breath. "Yes. No." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't 
know."

The silence settled between them again and he felt her hand 
lightly stroking his hair. "Oh, Mulder. Is that what's been 
tearing you apart all this time?"

He couldn't answer her, the words caught in his throat. Her 
hand left his hair and she was wheeling his chair around to 
face her. She waited until he met her eyes. "You have to 
confront it, Mulder, whatever it is, or you'll never be at 
peace with yourself."

Mulder felt the tears burning in his eyes. "I don't know 
what to do, Scully. I'm not sure what's right anymore."

She shook her head. "I think you do know, Mulder. 
Maybe…maybe you're just afraid to accept it. If it involves 
Alex Krycek, then I can see where it would be a very 
difficult decision. For what it's worth, he isn't the man I 
thought he was either." She reached out and took his hands 
in hers. "If there's anything I've learned from you after 
all these years it's that there are no neat solutions, 
no simple answers to the things that matter most in our 
lives. Sometimes we just have to trust our instincts. Take 
that chance when everything and everyone says that we 
shouldn't, that it makes no sense, that it's not right. 
You taught me that, Mulder. Have you forgotten it?" She 
smiled at him then. "I think we've both earned the right 
to some happiness, Mulder. I think we both know what we 
have to do to find it, too."

Long after Scully had left for the day, Mulder remained in 
his office, thinking about what she'd said. He knew that 
Scully was making the right decision for herself. As much 
as he would miss her, he knew that she would never find the 
kind of fulfillment she wanted and needed by remaining with 
him and the X-files. As he thought about it, he realized 
that Scully was also right about something else. Her choice 
had indeed helped him to begin resolving the conflict 
inside him.

While he lay on the couch in his apartment late that night, 
watching the greenish glow of the fish tank reflected on 
the ceiling, there was a crackle of thunder, followed by a 
flash of lightning that lit up the living room. A few 
minutes later, it began to rain. It drummed against his 
windows in a steady cadence. He turned his head and stared 
at it, and remembered another storm for the thousandth time.

It was in that moment that he knew he would never stop 
loving Alex Krycek. The realization jolted him, stunned 
him, because it was the first time he'd put a name to the 
feeling. He lay there listening to the rain and 
contemplated again, this time with a sense of calming 
acceptance, the nature of inextricable relationships and 
inescapable destiny. 

That night, he fell asleep to the sound of the rain.

He thought it would be hard to find Krycek. He knew all too 
well that if Alex chose to disappear from sight, it would 
be almost impossible to find him. He'd readied himself 
mentally for a long search. When he was back in the office, 
he accessed the Bureau's database to see if he could pull 
up anything at all about Krycek's present whereabouts. To 
his amazement, within seconds he found himself looking at a 
screen of information. Krycek was residing in the house in 
Arlington. DMV records listed him as the duly registered 
owner of a black Mercedes. The county records listed a 
transfer of title of the house to Krycek several months 
prior. Mulder sat back in his chair and shook his head 
with a smile. Sometimes, he decided, the curve balls 
were pitched just right.

It was a cloudy afternoon as he drove up to the house in 
Arlington. The trees were dressed in autumn shades of gold 
and red and the air had a cool crispness to it from the 
recent rain. Mulder walked up to the door and paused, 
taking a deep calming breath that did nothing to ease his 
nervousness. He wasn't even sure what he would say. It was 
only as he pressed the doorbell that it occurred to him 
that Alex might not want to see him. He waited a minute and 
when there was no answer, he pressed the bell again. And 
again. Another minute went by. He tried glancing through 
the windows but the drapes were drawn. //Please be there, 
Alex. Please.// He knocked loudly on the door and then 
pressed down on the bell and kept his finger on it. 

He was thinking about breaking in when he heard the lock 
click and the door swung open. 

"Damn it, stop ringing th--" Alex Krycek froze in mid-word, 
his eyes wide in surprise. 

Beautiful green eyes, thought Mulder as he dropped his hand 
from the bell. "Hello." He noticed that there was a smudge 
of dirt on Krycek's chin and dirt on his jeans, streaks on 
his gray sweatshirt. There was dirt all over his hands, 
too.

Alex stepped back from the door to let Mulder enter. Mulder 
took it as a good sign. They both just kept looking at each 
other. Finally, Mulder couldn't stand it any longer. 
Krycek's expression seemed wary, but his eyes... 

"Um, did I, uh, interrupt something?" Mulder gestured 
towards Alex's clothes. "Something to do with dirt?" He 
thought his voice was remarkably steady given the inanity 
he was spouting.

Krycek blinked as if he was coming out of a spell and 
looked down at himself. "Damn it, I have to 
finish...I'll...just a minute...garden..." He pointed 
towards the kitchen and hurried off.

Relieved that he was not the only one having trouble 
speaking coherently, and soaring with relief that Krycek 
seemed to want him to stay, Mulder followed him.

It was a lovely walled garden, with an elegant layout of 
flowers, scrubs and trees that was beginning to show the 
change of the seasons. There was a rock fountain in one far 
corner. The faint scent of English lavender wafted in the 
air. Krycek was kneeling beside a small bare section near 
one wall close to the house where there was a hole, a water 
hose, a bag of compost and a plant that was nothing more 
than branches dotted with thorns, laying on it side, roots 
exposed. He placed it carefully in the center of the hole 
and began filling in the area around it, patting the earth 
down quickly with his hands. Mulder walked over to him and 
picked some up wrapping that had been around the plant. It 
was a picture of a rose. It was an unusual color, a pale 
yellow with a pink tint to the outer edges of the 
petals. Mulder read the name and smiled. The rose was 
called "Peace."

"Have you taken up gardening?" he asked as Alex finished 
and stood up.

Krycek looked a little embarrassed. He gazed down at the 
scrawny bush. "No. It probably won't make it. I think it's 
the wrong time to plant..." He cleared his throat. "The old 
man mentioned one time that he wanted to plant roses out 
here. He said he thought they'd do well. I suppose I 
should've let the gardener handle it, but I just…I just 
wanted to do it myself."

"I think it'll make it," replied Mulder. "The Englishman 
would've been pleased."

Krycek looked at him then, his voice low and husky. "Why 
are you here, Mulder?"

Mulder reached out and rubbed away the smudge on Alex's 
chin with his thumb. His skin felt warm, with a hint of 
beard stubble. "Can we talk inside? It's getting chilly out 
here."

Krycek frowned but nodded, turning to lead them back into 
the house. When they were in the kitchen, he washed his 
hands in the sink and leaned back against the counter. 
"Okay. We're inside."

Mulder ignored the flutter in the pit of his stomach. He 
gazed around the room. "The old man left you the house. He 
wasn't all bad, was he?"

"Most of us aren't," replied Krycek quietly.

"Yeah, I know." Mulder closed the distance between them. 
"I'm here because...because I couldn't stop thinking about 
being with you." He ran his fingers through his hair 
impatiently and looked away, at the stained glass irises in 
the window, wondering why it was so hard to say the words. 

"Do you miss the fucking?"

He heard the bleakness in Krycek's voice and turned back to 
him. He took a deep breath. "No. I miss the loving." 

The long dark lashes lowered for a moment. Krycek raked his 
lip as if he didn't quite trust himself to speak. 
"Mulder…are you sure? It doesn't change the past, won't 
make what happened before any different--"

"I know that. I've had a lot of time to think…about my 
father, about you. About us. I'm not saying it'll be easy. 
I feel like a part of me can never forgive you for what you 
did. But the rest of me can't stop loving you. I don't even 
now if we could make anything work between us. I just...I 
just know that I want to try. It's too important to me not 
to try. You're too important to me. If you don't, if you 
don't want me to stay, I'll understand."

He waited for Alex's answer.

"I want you to stay." Krycek reached out and wrapped his 
arms around him, buried his face against Mulder's neck. 
"Oh, yes, I want you to stay."

Mulder hugged him tight. Alex felt so good in his arms. He 
wondered how he'd survived the months without it. They were 
both trembling a little, the emotion gripping them both. 
Before it could take him completely, Mulder gathered what 
was left of his willpower and pulled away. "I--I brought 
you something," he said, fishing into his jacket pocket. He 
found the rectangular white box and held it out. "It's not 
really a present, more a 
replacement."

Alex gazed at him and then at the box, curiosity mingling 
with the happiness in his eyes. He took it and, with a nod 
of encouragement from Mulder, opened it. Slowly, he pulled 
out the tailored strip of black satin and draped it over 
his fingers.

"I kept the one you wore that night and I'm not giving it 
back, so I got you a new one."

Alex sniffed and gave him a wide-eyed look. "But my bowtie 
was already knotted."

Mulder shrugged. "Yeah, but you've got two hands now. You 
can tie it yourself."

Krycek stared down at the piece of satin and swallowed 
hard. When he finally looked up, his eyes were shining. 
"Well, that's where you're wrong, Mulder. I never could 
figure out how to tie these damn things."

Mulder welcomed the light-hearted grousing and the sudden 
sense of comfort and rightness between them. He knew then 
that they could make it. "Oh, did I forget to mention that 
I've devised a surefire method for tying the perfect 
bowtie? I can show you."

Alex's lips quirked upward in the beginnings of a grin. "Is 
that a fact? What's your method?"

"You have to be naked."

"Naked?"

"Yeah. See, it's all a matter of focus. If you're naked, 
then you can concentrate on the intricacies of the proper 
knotting technique without being distracted by all that 
other clothing."

"Naked?" repeated Alex as he stroked the black satin gently 
with his fingers.

"Well, I'll take my clothes off, too, of course, so I can 
demonstrate on myself first." 

Alex snorted, then coughed, though Mulder suspected he was 
trying not to laugh. "What if I, uh, can't learn it?"

Mulder nodded sagely. "I'm a tireless and determined 
instructor when I put my mind to it. Granted, it could take 
a lot of practice, maybe years and years, but I have a 
feeling it'll be worth the effort." His grin grew softer as 
he leaned forward, their lips meeting in a kiss that was 
tender and filled with promise. 

When they broke apart, Alex held up the strip of satin and 
gazed into Mulder's face.

Mulder smiled, seeing what he had hoped for in the clear green 
eyes. "Time for us to begin."

The sound of their laughter filled the house as the two men 
raced each other up the stairs.

--The End--