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A New War #20: The Talk
by Lianne Burwell
September 1999
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When Mulder woke up, a glance at the clock told him that he'd slept an 
unprecedented nine hours. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept 
even *close* to nine hours. He usually just cat-napped, with late-night 
movies for playing in the background.
Then he sat up, and the cotton-wool feeling told him just *why* he'd 
slept that long. "They drugged me!" he snarled, looking over to where 
Krycek was sitting in his own bed, eating some sort of unappetizing-
looking sludge that was obviously supposed to be his dinner. Either that 
or a very late lunch.

Krycek just raised an eyebrow before eating another mouthful of the 
whatever-it-was. Pudding, maybe.

"They drugged me," Mulder repeated, starting to get a little angry at the 
lack of response.
Krycek put his spoon down and glared back at him. "You needed the sleep," 
he said. "You were on the edge of a complete breakdown. Are you really 
*that* eager for another trip to the padded room?" Mulder flinched at the 
reminder of his thankfully brief commitment. Immediately Krycek's 
expression softened. "You look better," he offered.

And he felt better, Mulder realized. Krycek was right; he *did* need the 
rest. Didn't mean he had to like the sneaky, underhanded way he'd been 
forced into it, though.

"So do you," he said finally, moving over to sit on the bed next to 
Krycek, grimacing a little at the collection of small bowls on his tray. 
Everything looked soft and easy to digest. It also looked absolutely 
disgusting. "How can you *eat* that stuff?" he asked as Krycek finished 
off one bowl and reached for the next.

Krycek shrugged. "I've eaten a lot worse," he pointed out. He was 
probably telling the truth, too.

"So," Krycek said a few minutes later, pushing away the tray. He winced a 
little as his abdominal muscles pulled, but he covered it well. Other 
than that, he was just a little pale. "Are you feeling more coherent?"

Mulder blinked, then his stomach clenched as he recognized the reference 
to Krycek's comment that morning. Time for 'The Talk,' it seemed. He 
nodded.

"So where do we begin?" Krycek asked, leaning back against his pillows, 
looking a tiny bit smug.

"Who killed my father?" Mulder blurted out, trying to avoid the main 
topic for a while. Krycek sighed, as if disappointed, but he didn't look 
terribly surprised.

"A Consortium assassin named Jameson. And before you ask, his next 
assignment was to kill me. Needless to say, he didn't succeed. Or 
survive."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a better shot than him. Sorry," Krycek said, holding up a 
hand before Mulder could open his mouth. "Your father was going to tell 
you everything about the Consortium, what it was doing and his role in 
it. That's why he wanted you to come that weekend. He had this crazy idea 
that if he told you all about it, you'd change your mind and join them. 
Yeah, *they* didn't think so either," he said when Mulder snorted at the 
idea. "Anyway, Jameson's orders were to stop him from telling you 
anything. And if he couldn't, he was to kill you."

"How do you know all this?" Mulder asked feeling a tiny pang of 
suspicion. A surprisingly *small* pang.

"I was there."

That surprised Mulder. "Why didn't you stop him, then?"

Krycek's expression went hard. "All I was there for was to keep you 
alive. That's it. That meant your father was going to die. If Jameson 
*hadn't* killed him in time, I would have. If Jameson had tried to kill 
you, I would have killed him."

Mulder just stared at him in shock. He'd believed Krycek's claim of 
innocence for a long time. Now he found out that while Krycek *was* 
innocent of his father's death, he could easily have been guilty.

Krycek sighed. "Mulder, your father was one of them. He was one of them 
before he even met your mother. He handed your sister over to them, then 
made sure you blamed yourself. He'd been warned that if he even breathed 
a word to you, you would be killed. It wasn't going to stop him. He's not 
worth grieving. Besides, can you really say that you miss him?"

Mulder opened his mouth, then closed it again. "No," he finally said. "I 
don't miss him. I can't even say that I'm angry over his death. I'm not 
happy either." If he were to admit the truth, he didn't feel *anything*, 
except numb.

He looked up to find Krycek watching him with empathy in his eyes. "You 
fight long enough and the emotions get burnt out, don't they?" he said 
softly. "You see so many big horrors that the little ones aren't able to 
reach you anymore. The calluses build up on your heart and soul until 
nothing affects them anymore."

Mulder shivered at the even tone. What really scared him was that he 
couldn't deny it. "Is that what happened to you?" he finally asked.

Krycek shook his head. "Not completely. But close enough that I'm not 
willing to give up on the things that *can* still reach me."

"Like what?" Mulder whispered, barely able to breathe. 

"Like you," Krycek said, holding out his hand.

Mulder hesitated, then reached out and threaded his fingers through those 
of Krycek's one hand. They squeezed, and the bands around his chest 
started to loosen.

"Mulder," Krycek said in a low, earnest voice. "You're the only thing 
that has kept me going. You lodged yourself deep inside me from the first 
day we met. There have been times when you were the only reason I didn't 
just give up and die. All because I was waiting for the day when you'd 
see me as I really am."

Mulder gulped slightly. "And what are you really?" he asked.

"An amoral bastard. A man who's in so deep that he can't see the surface. 
A man who wants to fight the Consortium and the aliens not just because 
they have to be stopped but because it's *your* fight. A man who loves 
you and will do *anything* to protect you," he said in a hard tone.

And Mulder believed him. Believed that Krycek loved him. Believed that he 
*would* do anything to protect him. And that scared him. No one, not even 
Scully, was that loyal to him. He wasn't sure how to accept that.

That train of thought led to... "Scully?" he asked.
"It was you or her," Krycek said flatly.

"Skinner?"

"The nanocytes?" Mulder nodded. "Again, it was you or him. *But*," he 
said strongly. "But, I knew you wouldn't forgive yourself if either one 
of them died. They planned to send Scully back, and I watched them to 
make sure they did. If they'd moved to kill her, you would have gotten an 
anonymous tip with proof of where she was. And invisible backup when you 
went to find her. As for Skinner," Krycek smiled, a cold smile. "They 
told me to have him infected, prove that the nanocytes could be used to 
kill him, put him under control." He snickered. "I did that. Then I 
deactivated them."

"Huh?" Mulder said, feeling a little stunned.

"Once he was fully recovered, I sent a self-destruct signal. Within a 
week, he was clean. The nanocytes washed out of his body in his sweat and 
urine. Of course I didn't tell him *or* them. As long as he keeps 
following orders, they don't know. As long as they think they *can* kill 
him at a moment's notice, they won't need to."

Mulder blinked. Again, he believed the man. "So now what?" he asked.

Krycek stared at him, not even blinking. "That's up to you," he finally 
said. "Do you want me?"

"I..."

"I'm not asking for anything deeper from you right now. Do you *want* me. 
Physically. Sexually. Do you want to fuck me?"

Mulder shivered at the blunt term. Mentally, he was still struggling with 
the concept, but his body was responding enthusiastically to the 
suggestion.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Then I'm yours." Krycek snickered again. "Well, I will be once I get out 
of this infirmary."

"That's all you want from me?" Mulder asked, confused. "I though you said 
you didn't want just a fuck," he said, referring to their conversation 
the other night when Krycek had kissed him.

"It will do for now. I can wait until you're ready for the rest. In the 
time we've been dancing this dance, you've gone from hating me to putting 
up with me to accepting me to liking me to wanting me." Krycek smiled. "I 
figure at this point that my chances are pretty damn good. One day you're 
going to say you love me and mean it."

"Optimistic bastard, aren't you," Mulder said, a reluctant smile tugging 
at the corners of his mouth.

"As far as you're concerned? Yep. Now. Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Kiss me."

Mulder blinked. "Huh?"

"Kiss me. Reassure me that you really *do* want me."

"I..."

Krycek tugged at his hand. "C'mon, Mulder. You've admitted you want to 
fuck me, so what's a simple kiss? I've kissed you twice. Isn't it time 
you reciprocated?"

Mulder allowed himself to be tugged closer. "Actually," he said, his 
smile getting wider. "I already have."

Krycek frowned. "When?"

"Yesterday. While you were still out of it."

Krycek pouted, a disturbingly cute expression on him. "Well, how about 
trying it again while I'm actually awake to enjoy it?"

Mulder glanced towards the door nervously to make sure that it was shut. 
Then he leaned down over Krycek, who was watching him obvious 
anticipation. A moment before their lips met, Mulder's eyelids fluttered 
shut. The kiss was light at first, just a brush of flesh against flesh, 
like the one he'd given the unconscious Krycek the night before. Then 
Krycek's lips parted with a sigh.

This time it was Mulder's tongue that slipped into Krycek's mouth, 
exploring every nook and cranny. He could taste toothpaste and chicken 
soup and vanilla pudding and a myriad of other flavors. And beneath it 
all he could taste Krycek. One previous kiss and he could already 
recognize the taste of the man. God, had it only been two days since 
Krycek had pinned him to the wall in the motel room with his own kiss?

The kiss was long and sweet, and when Mulder pulled away he found Krycek 
watching him with a smile. "Good enough?" he asked, suddenly feeling a 
little bashful. Ridiculous. It wasn't like this was his first time 
kissing anyone, male *or* female. First time in a while, though.

"Perfect," Krycek assured him.

Finally they separated, letting their hands fall apart. Mulder sat back 
down on the other bed, watching Krycek like he'd never seen him before. 
In a way, it felt like he hadn't. He could still feel the warmth on his 
lips, though, and resisted the urge to touch them.

"So," Krycek said, grinning at him. "What have you found out about this 
place?"

Mulder was instantly jolted back to reality. "You're not going to believe 
this," he said eagerly, suddenly remembering what he'd seen the day 
before, and was pleased to see Krycek's jaw drop as he explained about 
the Stargate.

* * * * *

The small jet landed on a private strip, and the prisoners were quickly 
hustled out. Paul was relieved that Harrison was finally conscious and 
seemed coherent, even though their guards wouldn't let him get close 
enough to make sure that the other man was all right. Paul had been kept 
separate and handcuffed the whole time.

Paul was grimly pleased with that. One of their captors was still walking 
funny, and a second had been left behind for a trip to the hospital to 
have his arm set and put in a cast. 

But even though Harrison was moving under his own power, Paul was still 
worried. The man had stayed unconscious as they were hustled down the 
stairwell, into a van, driven to the airport and loaded on the plane. He 
hadn't moved until nearly an hour after they'd taken off. Paul was 
worried about concussions and brain damage. From the way she was watching 
him, so was Agent Scully, and she was a doctor.

The van waiting for them looked identical to the one that had been 
waiting for them in Seacouver. He could almost believe that they'd flown 
in a big circle and that they were back where they'd started.

But he didn't think that was likely. From the length of the flight, and 
the fact that it was definitely the middle of the night here said that 
they were probably somewhere on the East Coast. If he had to, Paul would 
guess that they were in Washington, DC, or somewhere nearby. It certainly 
seemed to be the center of the current conflict, based on Mulder and 
Scully.

The van doors opened and a sneering voice called out, "End of the line, 
everybody out."

One by one they climbed out of the van. It was parked in front of what 
looked like a country manor, but Paul quickly picked out the armed guards 
on the roof and the signs of a sophisticated security system.

"This way," they were told.

Inside the building, they were led into what was obviously the library. 
A single man was waiting for them, sitting behind the desk smoking a 
cigarette. Behind him, he heard Agent Scully draw a sharp breath. Whoever 
this was, she recognized him.

"A pleasure to see you too, Agent Scully," the man said with a smirk.

* * * * *

Spender found the expression on Scully's face very amusing; a mix of 
horror, dread and disgust. It made her attractive face a little less 
appealing, though. It was pity that her partnership with Mulder had 
failed in one respect; she'd been partnered with him in the hopes that 
they would get involved, providing both distraction and potential 
blackmail material. Unfortunately, while they'd danced around each other, 
nothing had materialized. Alex Krycek had been just as much a failure.

He examined each of the other prisoners in turn.

"Agent McCullough," he said, shaking his head sadly. "All you had to do 
was stay away from Agent Mulder and you would have been left alone."

The young woman glared at him, but underneath the bravado he could see 
the uncertainty. She could have been useful to them, but now she was just 
a liability. Still, she could be of use for a while. In the labs.

"Dr. Gallagher," he said turning to the third woman. Then his eyes 
narrowed. "Or should I say, Dr. McCullough?"

There was no response, but the flinch said he was right. A change of hair 
style and color, combined with some cosmetic surgery, made her look 
different enough to throw off the casual viewer, but there were limits to 
how much of a difference that could make.

And that just left the two men. Spender frowned. The younger man *did* 
look exactly like Colonel Ironhorse's pictures. Mentally, he was lining 
up the tests. He wanted to know if the man was a clone, a shape-changer 
or just some freak coincidence. Interesting, though. Despite the fact 
that he was bruised and handcuffed, he managed to look almost as 
dangerous as Krycek would under the same circumstances.

He was also hovering next to the other man protectively. He glanced at 
Blackwood and frowned. The man was swaying dangerously. "Sit down before 
you fall down," he snapped.

There weren't enough seats for everyone, so the younger McCullough and 
the Ironhorse duplicate stayed standing. Ironhorse moved to stand behind 
Blackwood's chair, leaning forward so that they could touch, despite the 
fact that the handcuffs restrained his hands behind his back.

"Well," Spender finally said after watching them try to hide their 
fidgeting for a while. The more nervous they were, the better it was for 
him. "Shall we get started?"

He reached for the phone.


TO BE CONTINUED