Extant

Her hand is on my spine, gently pushing me along. In the back of my mind I have a growing suspicion that this is all a dream. There's a sudden ache below my ear, but I can barely remember taking a hit to side of my neck. It was all a blur of pain and blood and vague bone-rattling sensations. Maybe she's doing this on purpose - hurting me after Mulder's had his turn. As I slip away the only thing I feel is the soft skin of her palm against my cheek. Not a dream.

It happened in Westby, shortly after they crossed the border into Montana. Mulder saw him first. He was rounding a corner when Mulder caught up and pressed the gun to his neck. She could see their breaths in the chilly air, swirling and fading away in the small space between them. He didn't fight it. Mulder dumped him in the back seat and drove without saying a word.

No one complained of the noise when Mulder dragged him inside and beat him. She realized later that were the only ones at the motel.

"Your friend?" he asks me.

"No," I say.

"So tell me why you're following him."

"I could ask you the same thing."

"What I do is legitimate," he says. "Don't tell me you're on vacation in this hick place."

I look away and wonder how long I'll be here. This is stupid, it's a waste of my time. He smacks me across the mouth and I taste blood again. It takes me a few seconds to suppress the wave of nausea.

"What are you doing here, Krycek?"

The son of a bitch is probably miles away while Mulder plays around with me. If I lose him, then that's it. I'm alone in this - I have nothing else besides a car and a gun and a flaky network of contacts, half of whom would rather watch me die than offer their help. I left the car behind when Mulder found me. He took my gun, too.

"Richter," I spit out. "His name is Richter."

"We know who he is. Why are you tailing him?"

"I'm not after Richter."

"Then what?"

"It's none of your business, Mulder. You want Richter? Go find him. Just stay out of my way."

He smirks. "Trying to get rid of me again?"

If only he knew. But I'm done explaining myself. I force a smile through the deep ache in my jaw, let him think whatever he wants.

"Mulder," I hear from behind. The clarity of her voice startles me. I'd somehow forgotten she was in the room. "He may have left already," she says, impatient. Heat floods the skin on the back of my neck, but I have no idea why.

He nods at her, then the two of them go off to gather their things. I watch him from the floor at the foot of the bed. When he opens the door the cold air rushes in and wakes me a little from my stupor. He gives me his typical blank, dirty look before he exits, bags in hand. I catch a glimpse of her as she puts her things into the trunk of the car. Mulder makes his way across the parking lot to the office.

She comes through the door suddenly, briefly blocking my view. When she bends closer, I panic. I don't know how I should react, I don't know anything anymore. The entire time she hasn't said a word to me, although I know it was her who took me into the bathroom and cleaned me up after Mulder destroyed my face.

Scully takes me by the chin and turns me side to side while I avoid her gaze. I ache all over as she undoes the cuff around the metal bedframe and attaches it to my prosthetic behind me. When I lean forward to stretch my back I sense her hand on my wrist, cold but gentle. I clench my teeth as she feels around the metal cutting into my flesh. Neither of us speak, not even when she pauses, her lips pressed firmly together, her fingertips burning into my skin. I drop my head and stare at the floor. Scully lets out a sigh, maybe in disgust, before she suddenly moves away. My head sinks lower. She's on her way out by the time I get to my feet.

I follow her to the car and shiver as I slid into the back seat. The two of them get in, perfectly in sync. Mulder starts the engine, and I close my eyes.

It's stupid of me, but I doze while he drives. Their voices are distant and low, too difficult for me to understand. A long time has passed when I'm awake enough pick up on what they're saying. It seems that we've caught up to Richter.

For a moment the relief is enough to stop the pain. I press my forehead against the glass and allow myself to sleep. This isn't over yet.

The motel that Richter's picked is nicer than theirs. It was an idle observation she made when she saw the antique furniture through the window as he flipped the switch and rushed in headlong without even closing the door. Stupid, she thought, when he came back and stood in full view at the doorway, leisurely rolling his narrow shoulders while he sucked on a cigarette. It occurred to her that if Krycek were really after him, Richter would have never made it this far.

It was the Gunmen who had sent them things, told them about this man who had surfaced in all the appropriate places in the last few months. They had nothing concrete, merely rumors and speculation regarding his frequent flights to Libya, a few alleged sightings near unmarked facilities scattered throughout the rural U.S.

When Frohike mentioned Utah, she knew should couldn't win. Despite all their dubious claims and the inconsistent timelines, Mulder headed for New York. Grudgingly, she followed.

"Your turn tonight." Mulder's teasing tone is lost between the incessant clicking of the blinker. The idea of another cold night outside Richter's motel is enough to make her shudder.

He pulls into the parking lot and drops the keys into her open hand. Krycek lifts his bowed head in the rearview mirror as she slips into the driver's seat, but his eyes never move from the floor.

"Get out," Mulder orders flatly. She sees one hand on Krycek's collar while the other slips forcefully behind their captive's shoulder to find the cuffs.

The way he cries out makes her heart constrict. He'd barely made a noise when Mulder was yelling, beating him bloody in the motel; he stifled his sobs when he pulled away from her and pressed himself against the tile floor of the bathroom, shaking and unconscious, caught in some kind of violence-induced nightmare. She grips the steering wheel when Mulder twists the handful of metal. Krycek arches back, his knees buckling, as he tries to choke off his own groans.

Her partner shoves him roughly towards the door. He is bent over as he stumbles, this time he merely whimpers when Mulder grabs ahold of the chain.

"Mulder," she hisses as they disappear together into the room. Her disapproval goes ignored except for the subtle tensing in Mulder's shoulders before he slams the door.

She sighs and turns the key.

The town they're in is small, barely large enough to warrant a tiny dot on the map. She rolls the car to a stop at the empty intersection. The traffic lights hanging from the wires above cast a sinister red glow on the pavement. When the light turns green, she eases forward, trying to draw out the time. The short drive to Richter's motel is not conducive to easing the foreboding in her mind.

She's sitting in the car, listless, eyeing the curtains of Richter's darkened room when she allows herself to consider Krycek. Four months he'd been gone, and Scully assumed he was dead. It was a dreadful thought, something that she had pushed away and eventually learned to ignore. But between his sudden appearance and her anxiety about Richter, it's something else that leaves her feeling troubled and empty. In the two days they've had Krycek she hasn't been able to get him alone for more than a few seconds. They need to talk. She knows the deep cuts in his wrist are not new.

I can tell Mulder's getting impatient. They've been on the road too long, doing the same damn thing over and over again. He thinks Richter's trying to throw them off because he suspects he's being followed, but it's more mundane than that. The old man is methodical. He just likes to take his time.

"Where do you think he's going?" Mulder asks me.

Shit, no more questions. I ignore his eyes in the rearview mirror and stare out the window.

It's flat where we are, not a single hill for miles. I've seen this before - flashes of a similar landscape from the back of a pickup when I wasn't blind from the hollow ache in my stomach and the oily film burning in my mouth. Mulder stares ahead, doesn't seem to notice the shudder I've failed to suppress. I sigh against the window. My breath clings to the glass and the images blur.

Mulder slams the brakes, and I almost bash my face into the back of Scully's seat. She twists around to look at me, the worry in her eyes is so plain and unexpected that I can't bear it. I turn away to see that Mulder's already on my side with his hand on the door.

He drags me out and I get a mouthful of ice. I'm suddenly on my feet as he pulls me along by the collar of my jacket. She's shouting his name behind us.

"Giving up on Richter already?" I ask. He doesn't answer. "I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, Mulder, but we're going to lose him."

He tells me to shut up.

We walk like this for far too long. I glance back and realize that I can barely see the road anymore. It's just a thin layer of gray lining the white edge of the snow. This isn't good. He shoves me forward and I fall to my knees.

The sound goes out at the same time I feel the pain explode behind my ear. All I see is white. I can't tell if it's the frost on the ground or if my vision stopped working. Hands are on me, tugging at something. I'm only dimly aware of the cuffs snapping back into place.

He's gone. It takes me awhile to get up, my limbs are already rigid and lights are flashing in my eyes. I see him off in the distance, my jacket in one hand, the other pulling Scully with him. My head starts to throb at the same time that I realize he's going to leave me here.

"Mulder, you son of a bitch!"

I chase after him, but I don't get too far. I hit the ground more times than I can count. There's something warm on my neck, probably blood. He clocked me good. Must have used a gun again.

Scully wrestles away from him, and I see the annoyance on her face. He breaks into a run and comes after us. I don't bother to get up as she bends over me and presses her hand to the side of my head.

"All right," I wheeze, "all right, all right."

She glances behind her and leans closer. "Krycek," she whispers sharply, but there's no acrimony in her tone. For a moment I feel the warmth of her breath on my cheek, and I have to turn my head to hide my shame. None of this is supposed to be happening.

Mulder comes up and circles me, dragging my jacket in the snow. He walks out of view before I'm hoisted up off the ground. The pain that shoots from my fingertips to my shoulders is enough to blind me for a second.

"Talk," I hear him snarl.

"Richter," I gasp, "Richter doesn't matter. He's not important."

"Then why are you following him?"

"He's meeting someone."

"Who?"

"A man named Kaiser."

"Who's Kaiser?" I breathe hard and don't answer. At the edge of my peripheral vision I see Scully staring at me. "Who's Kaiser?" he says again into my ear. I can't help but yell when he twists the cuffs.

"He did work in Tunisia," I growl back, disgusted with myself. "Richter is just his American contact, someone to help him reclaim the abandoned labs."

I cough into the snow after he drops me. It's a struggle to get back on my knees and away from the cold.

"What about the labs?"

I turn my head up to see Mulder narrowing his eyes. Scully is so small next to him, her hand like a vise on his arm and that frown on her face. I know she isn't stupid. She must remember Pennsylvania. But then it suddenly dawns on me that she hasn't told Mulder about me, about anything. If my lungs weren't burning so badly, I'd laugh at how fucking unfair all of this is. He punishes me for fighting his fight, for all the things that he doesn't have the nerve to do, and through it all he's never known how good he's had it. He's standing here because of me. He's standing here with Scully.

"What's it to you?" I blurt out, like I don't know why he looks so damn scared. It's an invitation for another beating, but at this point I don't care. I want him angry, I want to hear him say it so I can tell him just how wrong he is about everything. Scully's glaring at me.

When I see the knuckles go white around the grip of his gun, I know it's coming. I can hear metal against bone when he catches me with a blow to the mouth. I land on my side, a shiver of agony running down my spine. "You sent me on that ship, Krycek," I hear him say. "I was found in a lab in Utah. What did they do to me?"

I lie in the snow, panting, spit and blood seeping from my gums. The rage in my throat fades away with the pain, and I realize how tired I am. "I don't know, Mulder. I was in a goddamn prison right before I came to you. I wasn't lying to you then, and I'm not lying to you now. The proof was there. It was yours." I look away from the both of them. "I didn't know they'd take you."

Out of the corner of my eye I see his shoulders tense, but Scully stops him. "Not here, Mulder."

He looks at me with pure disgust before he turns away and starts back towards the car. I hear her make a small noise of irritation above me, and I can't bring myself to see what she might be wearing on her face. But then she's bent over, pulling me up. We're silent as we walk together. Even though she has her hand on my arm I can feel her withdraw.

My jacket lies a few feet ahead where Mulder dropped it, a dirty-looking thing staining the perfect whiteness of the snow. She picks it up and drapes it over me, then gives a small tug at the lapels. I struggle to choke down the sob in my throat.

They settled on a corner booth in a quiet diner. She made Mulder take the handcuffs off of Krycek before they went inside, but the waitress still stared. Krycek didn't seem to notice the reactions he'd been drawing with his dreadful appearance; he was too busy testing his jaw and twisting his mouth as he took a seat across from her. She would have examined him for broken bones in the car if weren't for Mulder's stubborn refusal to pull over.

Mulder shifts noisily in his seat beside her while Krycek eyes his mug of tea. All the outrage and fervor from an hour ago has dwindled down into an uncomfortable gloom.

"You were incarcerated?" she asks after a long silence.

Krycek looks bored. "Yeah."

"How did that happen?" Mulder sneers.

"That smoking bastard thought I was selling his information, so he sent me away to some third-world shithole."

"You don't learn, do you Krycek?" The derision in Mulder's tone irritates her. Krycek only gives Mulder a disinterested glance before he turns his gaze to Scully.

"I wasn't selling anything," he declares, but then he rolls his shoulders; the weariness in his eyes is apparent when he looks at her again. "The artifact, the evidence - I took them to stall the invasion, not to make a profit."

"You were blackmailing Skinner," Mulder says, his hand balled up in a fist on the tabletop.

"So what?" Krycek snaps. "All I know is we were this close to seeing our end. If I hadn't cleaned things up, the artifact would've made its way to the wrong people."

The irony is not lost on Mulder. He manages an amused chuckle, but Scully sits quietly, dread burning in the pit of her stomach. "You murdered Dr. Sandoz," she says tersely. "And Michael Kritschgau."

The man across from her fidgets, his hand hidden beneath the table. "They couldn't be trusted," is all he says.

"And why is that?" Mulder leans in on his elbows.

Krycek sighs and closes his eyes. When he speaks again his head is still down. "When you were sick," he says haltingly, nodding towards Mulder, "I heard rumors that the Colonists wanted to initiate the invasion. A few people connected to the original Group caught wind of it, and there was some kind of struggle between factions to facilitate their arrival."

"Kritschgau wasn't one of them, Krycek. Get your facts straight."

"That's not what I'm saying, Mulder. These groups could've gotten to Kritschgau, to Sandoz. I couldn't take that chance." He grimaces as he turns to face the window. "Your father worked with these men," he says bitterly. "He knew that all they ever wanted was to save themselves."

The tension grows when Krycek falls silent. Mulder is dangerously quiet, and she shifts uncomfortably on the worn vinyl seat, the disparity between them and Krycek now more stark than she allowed herself to recognize when Mulder was gone. In an effort to salvage the interrogation, Scully folds her hands on the table and levels her gaze at Krycek. At the same moment he lifts his chin to look at her. "What does this have to do with Kaiser?" she asks. She watches his features slacken before he turns away again.

"Kaiser's allied with Colonists," Krycek sighs, "he's helping them with colonization. It's a last ditch effort because the Rebels are winning."

Mulder pushes off the table and folds his arms. When he speaks again his voice is controlled, contained rage barely showing in his casual tone. "So what's going down with Richter, then?" Krycek pointedly ignores the question. His eyes remain fixed on the parking lot while he avoids both their stares.

It's clear to her what he's unwilling to say. She presses her lips together and says as coolly as possible, "You're planning to kill Kaiser." Krycek doesn't even blink.

Mulder lets out an exasperated breath beside her. "You're telling me," he says, incredulous, "that you're willing to do all this to stop the invasion when you could just as easily save your own ass?"

Their captive looks up, his eyes hooded and contentious. "We're on the same side, Mulder," Krycek says in a low voice. "I didn't think I'd have to tell you a second time." A glance at her partner shows his upper lip curled in distaste. She knows what he's referring to. She remembers Mulder's cryptic remarks on the way to Weikamp, that dubious note he'd shown her. In the back of her mind she'd presumed it was Krycek, but Mulder made it a point not to say it. It's an unsettling thought, the way that Krycek was able get under his skin. Hers, too.

She jumps a little when Mulder abruptly jerks away from the table and stalks towards the bathroom. Krycek stares at the mug in front of him in silence. It's the first time that they're finally alone and she can't find anything to say. It was only after Krycek was gone that she began to suspect him about Skinner; how else could he have known where she was when Mulder disappeared? It's not a topic she wants to discuss. She is still searching for an appropriate query when he suddenly clears his throat. "How did you know where to find me?" Krycek says quietly.

Scully sighs and looks down at the tabletop. "We didn't. We were following Richter when Mulder saw you in Westby."

For the first time Krycek removes his hand from underneath the table and wraps it around the mug. The object rattles in his grip, clattering against the formica surface. An ache spreads across her chest when she sees his swollen fingers, the dried ring of blood around the edge of his sleeve. He sets the mug back down without taking a drink.

"Krycek, tell me what happened."

"What?"

"Your wrist. Mulder didn't do that."

She can feel him shrink away from her. "Are you so sure?" he replies after a long while. He puts on a scowl, but his quiet tone lacks conviction.

"I know what it looks like, Krycek. Who did this to you?"

Krycek leans forward and presses his chest against the edge of the table, his face presently blank. He says nothing.

It's only when Mulder pushes through the door and pulls him from the booth that something crosses his stoic expression. She isn't sure what it is.

Mulder tosses a few bills on the table before manhandling Krycek though the entrance. She sees the familiar glint of metal as her partner pulls back his jacket and reaches toward his belt.

Krycek is up against the car when she finally catches up with them in the parking lot. He accepts the cuffs with nothing more than an indignant smirk before Mulder shoves him into the back seat and slams the door. Through the reflection of the clouds he makes eye contact with her, but Scully looks away. Instead she stares into the diner at the row of empty red booths, at the young waitress leaning over the cash register, craning her neck to get a better look.