Forgive Us Our Trespasses

Years later, Dana Scully would always marvel at how normal everything seemed. There had been no sign of the coming upheaval. Nothing but the normal rush and harassment of life as a Special Agent, assigned to the smallest, though most notorious department at the FBI, the X-Files, open for business once again.

The day had started bad and gone straight downhill from there. It began when her alarm didn't go off, so she was late. She could just imagine Mulder's not-so-disguised hints about late evenings; the man really needed to get a life so he wouldn't be so morbidly interested in hers. Then the toaster exploded, so she'd had to grab a very suspicious looking bagel on the way to work, which was doing the most peculiar things to her insides. Finally to crown it all, someone had jostled her so she'd spilled coffee all over her new mocha pumps. Life was just wonderful, Scully thought sourly, sipping the lukewarm coffee, and grimacing faintly. Given the legend that the Feds were supposed to live on the stuff, it was strange they *still* couldn't brew up a decent cup. What was that old joke Mulder used to tell her? Ah, yes, how is FBI coffee like making love in a canoe? Answer: it's fucking close to water. The first time he'd told her she had nearly spit coffee all over her keyboard.

Scully sat down at her desk and opened her briefcase to take out some case notes she'd taken home last night to review. On top of the folder were four letters she had just grabbed on the run this morning. Glancing around for the man who was both her partner and her best friend, she suddenly remembered that he was off arguing with AD Skinner about his expenses again. With an inner smile, Scully wondered what Skinner would say to the $600 lightsabre, the $800 life-sized Yoda figure who would say, 'May the Force be with you' when you pressed a remote, and the illegal 'director's-cut' Matrix DVD copy, selling for a mere $200 (not including shipping). All items, Mulder claimed were vital to keep the Lone Gunmen working smoothly and well on whatever weird business Mulder employed them. Scully had asked reasonably if a cash bonus wouldn't be better, but that had been vigorously denied.

But no, according to her partner, the 'personal touch' was needed to make the three scruffy men feel properly appreciated; she wondered what Skinner would say to that brilliant argument. Just imagining the face of the Assistant Director had her holding back another smile. She could just *see* his pained expression at Mulder's earnest rationale, and she wondered if the solemn AD would ever catch on to the fact that half the time Mulder was doctoring his expense sheet with outrageous items just to watch their boss' reaction.

Scully absently reached for a paper knife and started to open her mail, neatly folding each envelope. The first letter she opened was from her insurance company, raising her rates *again.* She thought sourly that having cancer was a killer in more ways than one. One was from Bill, who still preferred the mail, bless his old-fashioned heart. The third informed her of the fabulous prizes (including an all expenses paid vacation to the Bahamas, a brand new BMW, or $10,000 in cash) she could win if she just filled in her name and returned the coupon. Scully sighed, dropping it in the waste-paper basket. Well at least with the current FBI recycling program, it would not be entirely wasted. The last envelope was thicker than the others, padded; with a small frown she noted the lack of a stamp or postmark. Strange...

The envelope opened easily. Scully shook it and a small photo slipped out. Curiously, she picked it up and turned it over. She froze, heart hammering. Melissa Scully smiled up at her. Missy was cuddling a kitten half-hidden by her long red hair and smiling into the camera, her other hand holding a newspaper. It was Melissa looking exactly like she did when she was teasing her sober younger sister. The same impish smile, the mischievous eyes. Scully dropped the photo as though it burned, staring at the image of her older sister. She buried her head in her hands, but through her fingers she still saw the smile that broke her heart.

It must have been at least five minutes before she even noticed the small note clipped to the photo. Five minutes of trying to cope with a tidal wave of guilt and grief and shock. She had thought she'd dealt with Melissa's death, all those long talks with her psychiatrist, the shared grief with the others in her family, and now the mere sight of a photo had her shaking.

The small hand-written note accompanying the photo said simply, "Take a look at the date of the newspaper." No signature, no hint of who had sent it.

It was a hoax, a cruel joke, it had to be. For a moment she wanted to kill whoever was responsible. But her eyes never left the newspaper her sister, her dead sister, was holding. The newspaper was dated two weeks ago. It was an impossibility but it was there, nonetheless, in colour in front of her eyes. Turning the note over with hands that shook, she saw the scrawl on the other side. "Meet me at the Hotel Dorada at ten tonight, room 305. Alone...."

Trembling, Scully picked up the phone and punched in a number. "Davis?" she was vaguely surprised at how steady and normal her voice sounded. "Hi, this is Dana Scully, look could you do me a favour? ... Great! I need you to check a photo for me ASAP! I need to know if it's been manipulated at all.... When? Today! Yes, I know, but I'd really owe you one Davis ... You will? Thanks! I'll send it down to you now." She put the phone down, and taking a blank envelope from her desk carefully unclipped the note, realizing as she was doing it that she may have destroyed any previous fingerprints and swearing at her own idiocy.

Personally taking the photo to the lab, and a little judicious persuasion, although not flirting - as Mulder had once accused her - had the results back in hours rather than days. It never ceased to amaze her how eager for recognition, and a friendly chat, the people buried deep in the forensic labs were. It was something she had never been able to teach Mulder; the simple fact that most people reacted better to calm courtsey than being shouted at. Or, to be more correct, he understood, he just didn't have the patience for it. Which was why he usually let her deal with the technical experts when they were on a case.

Afterwards Scully always wondered how much would have been different if Mulder had been there when she opened the envelope. For a moment she considered waiting for him. But some deep-seated instinct, and an impatience she didn't even try to contain, had her heading for the FBI lab and Davis. By the time she returned from the lab, Mulder was gone again. Off to interview a 78-year old woman who claimed that Louis XVI visited her every night because he wanted her to build a new Versailles in Brooklyn. Or so he informed her in his vile scrawl. At any other time she would have smiled, but not today.

Dana Scully sat for a long time in the empty office and stared blankly at the result, setting out in dry, scientific fact, an impossibility. No fake, no manipulation, nothing except her dead sister being alive and well, months after her death. The old absurd saying of Mark Twain's,'the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,' kept running like a thread through her mind. Could it be? Could it actually be the truth? Touching her ear-ring, a nervous habit she had when thinking, Scully acknowledged this might be trap, or a hoax. It didn't matter. Absolutely nothing would prevent her from keeping this appointment.

Driving slowly downtown that night Scully reflected a little nervously on the fact that all secret meetings seemed to take place in seedy back-street places. Once, just once she would have liked a clandestine rendezvous with an informant to be held in a nice clean office, rather than an underground garage or squalid motel. Mulder thrived on the atmosphere, but it mostly left his partner with the desire for a bath to clean the real, and metaphorical, dirt off. Finding a spot nearby and, wonder of wonders, under a working streetlight giving her at least a faint hope to find her car unharmed when she got back, Scully parked.

Locking her car carefully and glancing around her at the dark, deserted streets, Scully supressed a shiver as she walked to the garish pink neon sign over the battered door. Not exactly the best parts of Washington she thought wryly, her hand going almost instinctively to the gun strapped at her back. The touch of the smooth metal gave her an indefinite sense of security, and unconciously her mouth trembled into an almost-smile remembering one of Mulder's lectures on the phallic symbolism of guns.

Pushing open the door Scully stepped inside. In the light of a single dim lightbulb swaying slowly from the ceiling she saw a unshaven, surly man behind a desk in the opposite end of the lobby. He completely ignored her, absorbed by something which probably had a triple x-rating on the small black and white TV propped up on the desk. Crossing the faded, torn carpet, Scully thought with another small shiver, that it was the perfect place for an anonymous meeting. Having to choose between an ancient creaking elevator and some rickety stairs, she decided on the stairs as marginally safer.

Reaching the third floor and glancing up and down the dim corridor with its dark patches of mould and other things, Scully heard the faint noises of the all-night cable TV, the smell of hotplates, souring milk and beer. The *stench* of the people who lived here, on the outskirts of society. The losers, the alcoholics, the drug addicts. She should be used to it by now, but the sheer hopelessness and misery still made her faintly depressed.

Conciously clearing her head of all extraneous thoughts to concentrate on the mission at hand, she located room 305 and hesitated briefly before knocking sharply. There was no answer, but when she gingerly tried the handle it opened easily and the door swung inwards, revealing a dark room.

Scully stepped through the door. Every nerve tense, heart beating hard, gun ready.

"Hello? Is there anyone here?" her voice floated into the darkness, more hesitant than she'd wanted, and she firmed it to its usual crispness. "You said you had some information about my sister. I want to know how you got hold of that photo."

The door swung shut behind her, and she swiveled with a curse, gun raised. A sharp click and suddenly the room was lit by a small lamp by the window.

The light illuminated a bed with broken creaky springs, a basin, the enamel cracked and broken, the taps rusty. A tattered armchair, the stuffing peeping out, and sitting in it a tall shadow blending perfectly into the darkness.

"Agent Scully, please put away your gun, you won't need it here."

Frowning, recognizing but not able to place the voice, Scully took one more step forward, not lowering the gun. "Who are you? How did you get that photo?" she demanded.

He shifted slightly and the light fell across his face.

Dana Scully gasped a single word. "You!?"

Alex Krycek said softly, "Hello, Scully."

She opened her mouth but no sound emerged. Rooted to the floor she could do nothing for a minute but gaze at him in utter shock. Stare at the last man she would have expected. The man ultimately responsible for the death of her sister. The man who had killed Mulder's father, the man behind her abduction, and only God knew how many murders. Alex Krycek, professional assassin, Consortium infiltrator, traitor... A brief mocking smile touched his face telling her he knew exactly what she was thinking as well as his amusement. And she knew she was in the presence of a man without conscience, without mercy. Quite possibly the most dangerous man she had ever met.

"How, what..." her voice trailed away and she shook her head. She should have known, but it had never occurred to her it was Krycek who had sent the note and picture. A foolish and stupid oversight, Scully thought in self-disgust. If anyone knew anything about her sister, it was the man who had killed her.

Krycek simply waited. Silent. Unmoving. He was good at that, Mulder had told her once. He possessed the art of silence, of using it as a shield to protect and deflect attention from himself. Her eyes narrowed, trying to discern why he was here and what it meant. Finally lowering the gun and holstering it, she sat down on the only other furniture in the room, the bed, facing him. Irresistibly her eyes were drawn to the place where his missing arm should be, and she experienced an unexpected flash of sympathy, and.... sadness? Sorrow for the loss of something she could appreciate and regret even in an enemy; a physical beauty maimed and destroyed.

He followed her glance. "Not pretty is it?" he asked softly, daring her to pity him.

She matched him stare for stare, "Nothing less than you deserve, Krycek."

He laughed with little real amusement. "Hard as nails Special Agent Dana Scully. You and Mulder suit each other. Neither of you would spit in my face if it was on fire."

There was another long silence, and then Scully broke it saying abruptly. "I'm here, Krycek, now tell me why you sent me the photo."

Still he didn't move. Only his eyes, a translucent green, glowing in the darkness like a cat's stalked her silently. They moved over her body so intimately it felt like a physical touch. And gleaming in their depth was a strange hunger.

Scully shifted restlessly, angry with him, and angrier with herself for letting him get to her. Finally she snapped, "Stop it! You wanted to talk. Then talk!"

He shook his head with a hint of mock-disapproval, "Still so impatient Scully. .. All business in that strict little outfit of yours, designed to neutralize the fact that you're a woman." The mockery deepened. "What an exemplary little Fed you are."

She bit her lip, forcing back the hot reply. She couldn't afford to lose her temper, not until she'd gotten out of the bastard the truth about the photo. "The people at the lab said the photo was genuine."

He raised an eyebrow, "I am disappointed, Scully, did you really think I'd send you a faked photograph?"

"How the hell do I know what you'd do?" she asked exasperated. "You and Mulder like to play mind-games, but I don't operate that way." It made her feel like a traitor, equating her partner with his worst enemy, but she couldn't help herself. At times the comparison was unavoidable.

Cat-soft, "And how do you operate, Special Agent Scully?"

She stared at him, repulsion darkening blue eyes, "Honestly, Krycek. Unfamiliar as you may be with the concept."

He laughed, and she was disconcerted. "Ah yes, that delightful wit of yours. No wonder Mulder was so desperate to get you back." Slyly, "did he ever tell you the price he paid for your return?"

She suddenly felt very tired, hating the memory of the months she'd been gone. She thought of her desperate attempts to remember, and the soul-shattering fear that she would.

"What do you want in exchange for the truth about the photo? Is that my sister? Is she alive?" Disgust and loathing for this man who played with her life hardened and iced her voice.

Krycek leaned back, leather creaking softly as he shifted, stretching out long legs. "So many questions, my dear Scully. Of course, the question is, will you believe what I tell you?" He smiled blandly, "I am you will remember, the rat bastard who betrayed Mulder." His eyes taunted her wariness. "Who arranged the murder of his father and your sister, and who is responsible for every dastardly act ever committed, including the Greenhouse Effect."

She could have hit him then, fingers curling to stop her clawing at his grinning lying face. "Dammit Krycek! This is my *sister* we're talking about! Tell me!"

Unmoved by her outburst he said very calmly, "First things first. What are you prepared to pay for the information?"

"Anything," she replied automatically, honestly. And too late she realized the trap she'd fallen into as his smile widened. She muttered a curse under her breath and brushed back her hair determined to sass it out. Back unconsciously straightened as she faced him squarely. "So now you know." Very crisply. "I repeat, what do you want? A deal? Immunity? Money?"

He shook his head, "None of the above. I don't need FBI immunity," reminding her subtly of his strange and unknown protectors. "Nor do I need money, though I admit that's hard to believe seeing my present surroundings." A wry twist of the mouth, "but they do have the advantage of anonymity, you'll agree. Actually, I probably net about ten times your salary, Scully."

She looked as disgusted as she felt. "Why does that not surprise me?"

He slowly stood up, stretching and suddenly looming over her. And she had to repress a sudden instinct to scoot back, or grab her gun.

"Because, truth, justice, liberty and the American way don't exactly pay well. You should try it on the other side for a while. Trust me, the fringe benefits are much better, not to mention the dental health-care plan."

"When hell freezes over," she retorted caustically. "Some of us have standards and something called morals, Krycek. Not that I would expect you would know anything about *that.*" She stiffened her spine, refusing to be intimidated. Still, she had to admit to being just a little unnerved by his closeness and the way his shadow fell across her. She crossed and recrossed her legs, realized his eyes followed the motion and flushed.

She cleared her throat, trying to recapture the initiative, voice curt and businesslike, "So if it's not money or my help with the FBI, why are you here? Why did you send me that photo? To torture me?" A sudden thought struck her, "or is this some kind of sick revenge on Mulder? Another twist of the knife?"

Krycek cocked his head curiously. "Why would I want to do that?"

She stared at him, "Because you and Mulder have unfinished business." Because you have made it your goal in life to torture Mulder, she thought. It was hard to look at Krycek and not see Mulder's pain, as he detailed all the ways Alex Krycek had betrayed him.

He laughed softly, "Wrong. Mulder has unfinished business with me, not the other way around." He shrugged, unconcerned. "Besides, have you even told Mulder about the photo?" She ducked her head, and her silence told him everything he needed to know. "That's what I thought, for two partners who are reputedly closer than Siamese twins you hide a lot from each other."

Scully bit her lip, not answering, unwilling to acknowledge the truth in his words.

The mattress creaked and shifted, dipping under his weight as he sat down beside her on the bed. He sat close enough to make her very uneasy, but not quite touching. Silently she acknowledged his cleverness. If she moved now she would be admitting he made her nervous.

Sternly she suppressed her first instinct, which was to jump up and out of reach; she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Damn but she hated these games of subtle psychological and physical domination. This was Mulder's area of expertise, not hers. She dealt in realities and hard facts. If it had been her partner sitting here, facing the former agent, no doubt he would have soon beaten Krycek at his own game and enjoyed doing so.

Still, she had learned a thing or two watching Mulder in action. And she knew that the biggest mistake one could make was to show any kind of weakness. So when she half-turned, facing him calmly, there was no hint of insecurity or doubt in her voice. Eyes cool and unreadable she was every inch the professional FBI agent.

"Talk to me Krycek, is my sister alive? I saw her body with my own eyes."

"No," he corrected, appreciation at her attempt to maintain a professional distance between them glimmering in his eyes. "Actually what you saw was *a* body. Scully, you've hung around Mulder and the X-files long enough to know that there are, ah, alternatives and that the dead do not always stay dead."

"My God," she breathed, eyes abruptly widening, leaning slightly forward. "Are you talking about the clones? The shapechangers? But that's impossible, there was an autopsy done and they would have discovered anything suspicious. That's standard with any homicide victim."

He was visibly amused, pity for her naiveté colouring his voice. "How thoroughly did you study the autopsy report, Scully?"

Silently she shook her head. She'd been at the scene, there was nothing it could tell her that she hadn't already known. She had only skimmed it once to check that there were no glaring irregularities. Furthermore, Scully acknowledged silently, it hurt too much to read about Melissa in the cold clinical terms of the coroner's report.

"Unfortunately, you won't have another chance to read it. Since it's been, ah, mislaid." A slash of white teeth, "but of course, I could be lying. That photo could just as well be of a clone. You have no way of knowing. Or I could have found a doppelganger for Melissa." The name of her sister fell from his lips with the ease of familiarity. She wondered just how well he knew Missy. At least it resolved some of her doubts over the authenticity of his story.

He continued smoothly. "With the resources of the Consortium that wouldn't have been too difficult. Or I could have access to some kind of new technology making it impossible for the FBI lab to distinguish between a manipulated photo and a genuine one."

Scully bit her lip. Hard. Jesus but the bastard was clever. Every alternative she'd thought of, every doubt she had articulated to herself, he'd anticipated and used to taunt her.

"I assume you're not going to tell me." Some of the defeat reflected in her voice, notwithstanding her attempts to hide it.

There was no pity, no compassion in the wolfish glance he gave her. "And destroy my reputation?"

He moved a shade closer, their shoulders suddenly touching, and instinctively she shifted away from him. He didn't follow but a strange unknown emotion darkened his eyes for a moment suddenly making her very nervous. She had to wait for a moment before she could say in a steady voice, "So, I'm asking you again, what do you want?"

A breath of silence, and then silkily, "You, Scully. You're the prize."

She gaped at him. "I, what, I don't understand," she said faintly, sure she hadn't heard correctly.

He chuckled, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. "I think you heard the first time, Scully." He slid his hand up her thigh, and she jumped.

She sat still as a statue, trying her best to ignore the touch of his fingers on her leg. "You're insane," she finally breathed. "Stark raving mad. For God's sake, Krycek, you can't be serious!"

He laughed, sending a shiver down her spine, "I'm surprised you have so little confidence in your looks, Dana." His hand slid higher and she felt it burn through the thin protective covering of nylon. Silently she cursed her decision to wear a skirt rather than pants to work today. "Why don't you believe I simply want you?"

Staring at Krycek the vulnerability of her situation made Scully extremely uneasy. Alone in a hotel room with a known assassin, she was suddenly all too aware she could expect no help, no backup. Especially since no one knew where she was. Facing him, half-turned, balancing on the softness of a mattress, she couldn't even reach for the gun digging into her back. And somehow she doubted she could physically overcome Alex Krycek, even a Krycek with only one arm. The body beneath the leather and denim was hard and muscular and she was all too aware he was a far more ruthless and proficient killer than she'd ever be, or want to for that matter. If that was what he was after, the man she was facing could kill her and no one would ever be the wiser.

After all the times she'd chewed Mulder out for going off on his own and almost getting his behind shot off, she was following in his footsteps. Who said bad influence didn't corrupt?

Ignoring his use of her first name she said reasonably, in the voice you use to humour a madman, "Because you wouldn't go to all this effort and expense just to umm..." she hesitated and he finished, amusement lacing his voice.

"... get in your pants?"

"Crude but succinctly put," she muttered, cursing the pale skin that blushed so easily. "Besides, umm," not quite believing she was having this discussion with *Krycek* of all people, "I thought you and Mulder were, uh, involved. That you weren't," she flushed even harder, feeling like an idiot, "ah, interested in women."

Another soft chuckle slid over her skin, making the fine hairs at the back of her neck stand straight up. "So Mulder has spilled the beans? Quite true, we did fuck. The Consortium, and my boss, wanted to establish an emotional hold on him, and that seemed the easiest way since they knew he played both sides of the street."

She lifted her head, and looked him straight in the eyes, not backing down, "And you do as well?"

A half-shrug, "Not really, although I can. Which is damn convenient in my line of work." He leaned forward and kissed her, tasting her mouth slowly, with a lazy satisfaction. For a moment, she was too astonished to voice a protest.

Scully froze. This *can't be happening!* she thought with the blankness of shock. She opened her mouth to tell him to back off, but he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue thrust into her mouth making her gag, and gasp for air.

"Get away from me!" Psychological advantage be damned! That did not include being mauled by Alex Krycek. She leaped from the bed as if scalded, her mouth twisting in disgust. She almost spat on the floor to rid her mouth of the taste of him. "How dare you?!" She was genuinely angry and more than a little frightened.

She pulled her gun and aimed at it him uncocking the safety. "You son of a bitch!"

A soft mocking laugh ripe with lazy sensuous satisfaction answered her. "Ah, the universal cry of an outraged woman. I dare, Scully," his eyes suddenly hardened, and he seemed completely unfazed by the fact that she was aiming a gun at him. "Because without me you'll never know the truth about your sister. You can shoot me, I'm unarmed," he held up his hands, the real and the prosthetic, "or you can haul me in to the Feds, but that means you'll lose your only chance of ever knowing the truth about Melissa. Want to risk it?"

That stopped her, as he knew it would. She lowered her gun, poised to run, but still undecided. "So what you're saying is that if, if, I..."

His grin was smug enough to make her long to hit him. "What's the matter, Scully dear, having a hard time getting the word out?"

"Fuck you, Krycek!" she blazed. Training the gun on him once again.

"See, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" he mocked.

She shook her head, a strand of red hair falling across her face, the weight and solidness of the gun giving her back some of her confidence. "I don't understand, Krycek. Why *me*? God knows I'm no raving beauty. As you said yourself, you're well-off. There must be hundreds of beautiful women you can have, *willing* women," she clarified pointedly. Women willing to overlook your little drawbacks such as being a murderer, a traitor and a thief, she added silently, acidly.

Krycek shrugged, kicking off his shoes and swinging his legs up on the bed, back resting against the headboard, moving a little awkwardly. "True, but I don't want them, I want you."

"But why?" she asked again, almost plaintively. "This is ridiculous, Krycek, you never do anything for just one reason." A sudden thought struck her. "Is this a Consortium plot? If he ever finds out I slept with you, his enemy it would shatter him."

There was no need to say his name. They both knew who she was talking about. The third person in this little drama. Not physically present but nevertheless hovering there between them like the ghost of Christmas Past.

Green eyes narrowed and hardened a little. "I was wondering when your partner was going to get dragged into this conversation again."

Enraged she hissed, "Mulder doesn't trust easily, but me, he would trust with his life and more!" An odd expression rippled across Krycek's still face, "and if he was ever to find out, to *see* you and I - " she stopped abruptly and then said grimly. "Let me guess, there'll be little cameras hidden in the ceiling and walls, and once you've got it on tape you'll send it to Mulder, destroying him, unless I rein him in whenever you want."

His response more than startled her. He burst out laughing in genuine amusement. "I didn't know paranoia was contagious. Sorry, you're just not that important, trust me. Nor is your precious Mulder to be frank. No, Dana," he gave her a glance hot enough to scorch from long lashed emerald eyes, "Mulder was an assignment, company business if you will; you, on the other hand, will be all pleasure..."

The soft, sensuous voice scraped against her raw nerves. "Jesus Christ, Krycek! Do you really want to sleep with a woman who hates you?!"

A large yawn, the tip of his pink tongue curling, he sprawled loose-limbed across the bed. "Who said anything about sleeping?" She flushed hotly." And yes, since it's just about the only way I'll ever have you, absolutely. So it's your choice, Dana, you can storm out of here in righteous indignation, or you can stay and give me what I want, in return for what you want."

She wondered at the odd bitterness pervading his voice when he added softly, "Everyone has their price, my beautiful little Fed, even you. Even Mulder..."

She stared at him, the anger and fear slowly replaced with a thoughtful calculation. "So what you're saying is, if I," She hesitated briefly, searching for the right word. She had already tried sleeping, and been mocked. She could hardly think of a less appropriate phrase than 'making love' so that left either the clinical medical terms, or the more vulgar ones. And whichever she used, he was sure to pounce on it. In the end she finished lamely, "uh, accommodate you, you'll give me information about Melissa?"

One dark eyebrow lifted. "That depends on how accommodating you're planning on being."

"Oh stop it!" she snapped, allowing herself the luxury of losing her temper. "You're being childish! Look," she continued briskly, "personally I can't think of anything more off-putting than going to bed with someone who not only doesn't want me, but hates my guts. Still, if that's how you get your kicks..." She shrugged. "However, before I do anything, I want more evidence than one picture."

He nodded, unsurprised. "I expected as much, knowing you, Scully. Look by the window."

She had to restrain the impulse to tell him to go to hell. Or to show the unease she felt at the thought of something, *someone* behind her back. Slowly, she holstered her gun and turned to the window. But the only thing there was a brown manila folder. She walked over picking it up.

Scully opened it and read it by the faint light of the lamp. There were more photographs; Melissa in the garden... Melissa in the kitchen pouring coffee... Melissa in the living room dancing to herself... And she felt the tears prickle in her eyes. Then she turned her attention to the papers. There were surveillance reports, and at the back three letters in Missy's characteristic loopy handwriting. Handwriting can be forged, but the style, the character of the writer is harder. And this was Melissa to a T. Her scatty mind wandering from thought to thought, little careless references to her family, to old boyfriends, to her eternal search for the Whyness of the Wherefore. When she finally closed the folder, Scully remained very still for a long moment. Finally she slowly turned to the man watching her.

"All right, you've convinced me," she said simply. "I don't know how the hell you got this, or how Melissa can still be alive after I saw her body with my own eyes. But, I'll pay any price for this information." Unbidden, the image of Melissa rose before her. Her sister who's only crime was being related to Dana Scully. Missy who had died for her sister, or had she? Staring at Krycek, eyes wide, unblinking she remembered Margaret Scully's terrible anguish. Her own unending guilt and grief. How many times had she dreamed of turning the clock back? Of somehow making it all right. If Krycek was telling the truth... she bit her lip.

Trying hard to still her beating heart, she walked over to the bed, looking down at him. "What do you want me to do?" she asked trying to mask her unease.

Special Agent Dana Scully, fabled for *always* keeping her cool and composure, was suddenly feeling very awkward. Yet a flash of the errant humor that cropped up at the most inappropriate moments wondered how the hell you ever trained for *this* kind of situation. 'How to go to bed with your partner's mortal enemy offering valuable information 101.'

He held out his hand, and after a visible moment of hesitation, she slowly took it, feeling the warm strength of the fingers closing around hers. "Sit down," he said softly, levering himself up until his back rested against the headboard. He moved over, making room for her to sit down beside him.

Stiffly, she obeyed.

"Relax," he murmured quietly, reaching up to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand. "I'm not about to eat you." The quirk of one black eyebrow acknowledged the unintentional pun. "Or at least not yet," he corrected himself.

She shook her head, having to fight down a slight smile, as his humour unconsciously relaxed her a little. Suddenly curious, she studied his face. Since the first time she had seen him, Alex Krycek had been in the shadow of Mulder. Certainly whenever she'd thought of him, it was in relation to Fox Mulder. In some ways, he had not possessed any real substance except in connection to her partner and best friend.

It had been easy to dismiss him back when he was first assigned as Mulder's partner as too young, too pretty, too worshipful to take seriously. Then too, he and Mulder had not been together long, when she was abducted and even before that she had consciously avoided them. Hers and Mulder's separation had been too painful, without the constant reminders of all they had lost.

Most of the other agents and employees stationed at FBI HQ had only seen Mulder's aversion to his new partner. The way he had treated the young, adoring puppyish agent with ill-disguised contempt and even open dislike. But Dana Scully knew her Mulder, and during her convalescence after waking from the coma, she had managed to ease the truth from him. If Fox Mulder was the only person with the key to Dana Scully's soul, then the opposite was true as well. And she had known from the first time he spoke of Krycek when she lay in that damned hospital bed, that there was more to the dark, bitter rage whe he mentioned his former partner, than he first wanted to admit. Patient, gentle persuasion with a hint of nagging now and then, soon had him admitting everything. And she had listened in silence without condemning, without judging, as he haltingly told her of Krycek's betrayal. As an enemy agent, and.... more.

Krycek met her eyes, returning the look steadily. His green eyes calm, a little amused. But deep inside them was a steady unflickering flame. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured, almost reverently. His body had relaxed, a barely noticeable tension released from his shoulders. A tension she hadn't been aware of until it was gone. Almost as if, she thought in a sudden flash, he hadn't been quite as confident of himself as he'd seemed.

Gently, he grasped her waist and tugged until she was half-lying down, pressed against him. They lay in silence for a long time, Scully's heart beating so hard it echoed in her ears. She had been afraid, when facing mysterious lake monsters, Mexican Aztec demons and telepathic homicidal maniacs, but at least then, it had been work, she had known what to do. This time she felt woefully out of control and suddenly uncertain; it was not an emotion she relished. She felt his arm go around her, and a hand tilted her face up.

She had been prepared for anything from a brutal assault to selfish lust. Everything but the soft, gentle touch of his mouth on her lips, lazily stroking them apart.

"Wha.. what are you doing?" she finally managed to say. It emerged in a breathless whisper.

"Shh..." he murmured against her mouth. "Don't think, Dana, feel." His tongue invaded, exploring slowly, thoroughly. Opening her eyes wide, she wondered if she looked as bewildered as she felt.

"No, don't be afraid," he murmured, seeing confusion and dawning fear reflected in wide, deep-blue eyes. She wanted to snort and tell him she wasn't afraid of him. Only of the feelings inside her. He kissed them closed, a sudden gentleness that could almost be called tender softening his voice. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She didn't encourage or resist him, just lay there passively. And then she felt his hand slip under her jacket, tugging up the blouse she wore underneath. The first touch of his fingers on her bare skin made her gasp and stiffen, flinching away instinctively.

She suddenly started shaking, more than a little afraid, again, not of him, but of the turmoil inside her. She had to get away, to think. To gather herself.

"Please, Krycek," and suddenly she didn't care she was begging. "Please don't do this. Don't make me do this." She shuddered. "I *can't*, I'll," she thought wildly of anything, everything she could give him instead, "I'll pay any amount of money you want!"

Too late she realized the mistake she'd made. That strange disconcerting gentleness abruptly wiped away as his eyes hardened, narrowed. The smile he gave her was a mere baring of the teeth. And when she looked at him, all emotion had been leached from slitted brilliant green irises. With another shiver she realised they reminded her of a wolf's stalking its prey.

"I'm hurt, Scully," he told her with a deadly softness. "But if that's how you feel, no need to drag it out, eh?" He rolled away from her abruptly. "Strip," he ordered. And smiled grimly. "Oh, and Dana, don't forget to make it worth my while. I do want value for money."

She leaped from the bed, already opening her mouth to tell him to go to hell. When she swung around, staring at him with icy blue eyes, she was ready to scream her hatred of this man who played with her life. But before she could say anything, he asked her silkily.

"Does this mean you want to renege on our agreement? Poor Melissa, I'm sure she won't appreciate hearing her sister wasn't even prepared to, ah," a caustic smile, "what is the saying? 'Lay back and think of England.'"

Scully went still and pale as a marble statue. "You've *seen* Melissa? She's alive?" she whispered, arrested by his words. "You've spoken to her?"

Krycek shrugged, "Perhaps, but I thought you were leaving?"

Suddenly she wondered if it was all a cruel game. The photo, his demands. With Krycek and the Consortium anything was possible and usually the truth exceeded even Mulder's paranoia. But Dana Scully knew she could never take the chance that he was telling the truth. For the chance, however slim, to have her sister back, alive, she would do much worse than sell her body to slime like Krycek. Besides, she had to stifle a nervous half-giggle, more than one female FBI agent might have been willing to change places with her. At least judging from gossip making the rounds of the FBI HQ corridors.

"Are you really so hard up for a woman you need to rape one?" she asked between stiff lips. Praying that would at least make him stop and think.

He shook his head. A strange, cold, pitying smile transformed his eyes into an enigmatic dark-green. "Oh no, Dana. I won't rape you."

Taking her by surprise, he too rose and from behind the bed, pulled out a gun. How typical Krycek, she had the time to think in almost-amusement. And to wonder how many guns he had hidden in the room. "If I was to point this," he trained it on her, cocking it. "At your head and tell you to strip and spread your legs, that would be rape." The safety clicked on again. "Or if I were to bash you over the head with the barrel, handcuff you," he reached under the bed for a pair of handcuffs," and take you, that would be rape." He carefully placed the gun and the handcuffs on the small bedside table. "I'm not going to do either." He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

"There is the door. You're free to leave, no one is stopping you." He gave her a long, taunting look from under the long black lashes fanning out across tanned skin. "And if you stay, that's your choice as well."

"You bastard!" she hissed, almost relieved when anger blotted out the earlier confusion. "Fine! If that's what it takes!" She marched over to the bed, already unbuttoning her blouse, slender fingers, tearing angrily at the small mother-of-pearl buttons.

She stripped in silent defiance, neatly folding her skirt and blouse, tucking the pantyhose into one shoe. But by the time she was naked some of the anger had faded away and been replaced by crawling unease. Still, she turned and faced him, head up, chin defiantly raised.

He looked at her for a long time, while her discomfiture grew and she had to consciously stop her hands from covering her body or shifting from foot to foot. She felt, she thought bitterly, like a slave-girl about to be auctioned. Dana Scully had never been attracted to the romance of 'days past' or ever entertained any BDSM fantasies. Personally she much preferred equal rights under the law, her independence and paying her own taxes. And if she'd ever had any desire to experiment, this certainly cured her of it. She felt only disgust, with herself and him.

When he finally spoke it was to say, a little huskily. "I've imagined this more times than you'll ever know. But none of my fantasies ever did justice to reality." His sweeping glance drove the colour onto her cheeks, "I'm glad to see you are a natural redhead, not that I ever really doubted. Now, I want you to undress me."

She opened her mouth to refuse. It wasn't that she hadn't undressed a lover before. But this time was different. Of course it was! she thought half-hysterically. This time there was no soft candle-light, romantic music or good food. And most importantly, no man she liked and respected. A man she had agreed to share pleasure with. No, this was a bargain struck with possibly the most evil man she had ever come across. Her hatred and disgust made her feel nauseous. My God how she hated him for what he had done to her family, her country and her partner.

His eyes narrowed, the pupils contracting to dark points as he watched the expressions chase each other across her face. "Now, what's up in that contrary little mind of yours?" he asked silkily.

She replied without thinking, "I was thinking that you're the most disgusting person I'm ever likely to meet. And that includes Tooms, who - "

She didn't get any further as he grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise.

"Are you trying to make me angry?" he asked levelly.

"No. You asked me what I was thinking and I answered," she replied, incurably honest.

He stared at her for a moment, and then a wry smile turned up the corners of his mouth making him far too attractive for her peace of mind. "Christ, Dana, I'm surprised no one hasn't tried to strangle you by now." His hand slid slowly up her shoulder, lightly circling her slender throat. He slowly shook his head. "I don't know where you get your guts from. Most men not only outweigh you by fifty pounds or more, they're also taller and stronger."

"You'd be surprised," she said tartly, his words hitting a sensitive spot. "I may be small, but you know what they say, the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

"Undress me," he repeated softly, cupping her jaw, fingers slowly shifting along her neck.

"Do what?" She stared at him.

"You heard me, undress me. I want to feel your hands on me," he explained politely, still smiling, but his breathing was coming a little more rapidly.

He was watching her, obviously expecting her to refuse, but taking her bottom lip firmly between her teeth, and reminding herself grimly of Melissa she obeyed.

It was beyond her power, or her desire, to make it the teasing, sensual experience it usually was. And yet, there was something almost unbearably intimate in their positions. In standing mere inches from him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders. Then reaching for his jeans. The zipper made a faint, scraping sound as it slid down easily. They fell to his feet as he stepped out of them and kicked them away.

Scully slowly ran her hands along his shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin T-shirt that was all he wore. Whatever else he was, she could not deny he was an uncommonly attractive man. Another time, another place; another man, and she might even have enjoyed herself. The human body was no mystery to her, in her professional capacity, or on a personal level. She reached down to remove the thin layer of cotton, and unconsciously her thumb and index finger formed a circle, her other fingers curling into a loose fist. She could almost hear the calm voice of the professor lecturing the class. 'You cut straight through here...' he jerked lightly as she unconsciously pressed her fingers into his skin.

How many bodies had she handled over the years? Cut into without fear or hesitation. Dissembled to understand what had caused their deaths. Why should she feel awkward just because this one was alive? She bent her head to hide the sudden uneasy smile. And she wondered how he would react if she asked if he could please kill himself to make her feel more comfortable.

She pulled at his T-shirt lifting it over his head. The prosthetic arm gave her a moment's problem and she had to stand on tip-toe to pull it over his head. The action forced them into very close proximity, and she almost jerked back as his lips closed over her breast.

A sudden flood of warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach, her body suddenly feeling flushed and hot, her other nipple puckering and hardening. She heard his soft satisfied chuckle, and closed her eyes in shame. She suddenly remembered his earlier words, and silently she acknowledged that in some ways, rape would have been easier to deal with than *this.*

Dana Scully had honestly believed that she would never, under any circumstances, have been attracted to a man like Alex Krycek. And that paying him off with her body would entail some discomfort, even perhaps, some slight pain. But pain had never frightened her. After all, it couldn't be worse than the cancer treatment. Or the agony of standing by Melissa's grave hearing her mother's quiet sobbing and knowing it was her fault Missy was dead.

Uncannily Krycek seemed to read her thoughts. "That would make it too easy, Dana," he murmured, sliding his arm around her waist, long sensitive fingers splayed across her hip, exploring the soft fine skin, in a caress that made her catch her breath and then shudder deeply. "If I raped you, that would just reinforce your thoughts of me as a slimy bastard, not fit enough to wipe your shoes on! You and Mulder," a sudden harsh bitterness deepened his voice. "I know what you think of me. I've seen your looks. Watched you sweep past everyone in the corridor, so intent with each other you don't even notice anyone else."

She bit her lip. Mulder, always Mulder. Bill Scully had once accused his sister of being 'unhealthy obsessed with Fox Mulder.' Unfortunately, it seemed she was not the only one with that problem.

His hand moved lower, cupping her mound, and then smiling in satisfaction at her small gasp, and the sudden wetness dampening his fingers. "Yes, Dana, you're hungry," he murmured roughly. "Mulder may be many things, but you're not lovers, are you? You're his Goddess, his Madonna, not to be defiled by common hands."

"No, you don't understand, Krycek," she said weakly, closing her eyes hating the betrayal of her own body. "Neither Mulder or I ever thought that!"

And she thought bitterly that once again she was caught up in a maelstrom created by her partner. She made one last futile attempt to make him understand.

"Whatever is between you and Mulder, it has nothing to do with me! Why do you have to drag me into it?!"

He shook his head, clicking his tongue, "Foolish Dana, did it never occur to you that it was *you* I wanted, not Mulder?"

Her eyes widened. "I, I don't understand," she stammered.

He bent his head, feathering kisses along her jaw, licking and tasting the taut arch of her throat. "That's painfully obviously," a mirthless smile. "I doubt you were even aware of me as an individual, much less a man, Dana." His grip around her waist tightened as he slowly moved backwards towards the bed. He turned so she was standing between him and the bed. His hand moved to cup her neck and tangle in her hair. Holding her still as he looked down at her, his eyes lit from within by a strange light.

"You can be so infuriatingly blind at times. You hated me because I was where you wanted to be; at Mulder's side. And therefore you never saw *me.*" He gave her an odd smile. "Truth is, neither of us were we wanted to be back then."

Scully fought to bring order to her thoughts. Was he right? She wasn't sure. She had listened, and smiled, at the ribald cafeteria gossip about him. And she had never denied he was one of the most good-looking men she had ever seen. But he was right that to her the fact that he was Mulder's partner had overshadowed any other emotion. Ever since the first time she'd seen Krycek all she had been aware of was an intense jealousy that he was Fox Mulder's partner. Mulder's partner was *her.*

Her eyes widened as she tried to absorb the knowledge that Krycek had wanted her, not Mulder. A knowledge that was not only profoundly shocking, but deep, deep down in some dark, hidden place in her soul, lit a tiny flare of something uncomfortably close to satisfaction. But, she only said, "I honestly didn't even think you saw me as anything but a nuisance."

"A nuisance?" he raised one dark eyebrow, rolling the word thoughtfully around his mouth. "That's a strange choice of words. I would call you many things, Dana. Beautiful... Exquisite... Brilliant... but definitely not a nuisance. A dangerous distraction perhaps?"

He leaned into her a little harder forcing her back, as she slowly sank to the bed. He followed, muscles flexing under his skin as he knelt between her legs. Hot green eyes focused on her body, silently detailing each inch of ivory-pale skin, each delicate curve and hollow. She wanted to tell him to stop looking at her. To stop looking as if what they were going to do could indeed be called 'making love.'

"I know what you thought." He told her as his mouth softened into a gentle smile. "You're not a very good liar. And perhaps I should have let you know how I felt back then, but Mulder was my assignment, and I am a professional, Dana. But trust me, we are definitely *not* entwined. As for the rest," he half-shrugged, "I don't really care. The assignment is over, and therefore my interest, bodily or otherwise with Fox Mulder."

"I don't believe you," she said flatly. "Whatever happens, the two of you will always be linked. You slept with him, Krycek, and then you killed his father. His *father* for God's sake! Don't you understand what you've done to him?"

Warm breath brushed across her skin, and then she almost jumped as he gently bit her ear, his one good hand closed gently around her breast, thumb flipping over the already sensitive and erect nipple. Her back arched instinctively, fine shivers running down her skin.

Krycek said calmly, "Mulder hated his father. Actually I did him a favour offing the old son of a bitch. He was dirty as hell. Why do you think they took Mulder's sister, hmm?"

Shadowed blue eyes reflected the pain she felt for her partner. "You don't understand," she whispered, hands clenching. "I know how Mulder felt about his father, and that's exactly why he can never forgive what you did."

An unpleasant smile twisted his face. "Quite the little psychologist aren't we?" His eyes hardened, "and I'd appreciate it if you would shut up about Fox Mulder! There are much more interesting topics, like last week's weather in Timbuktu."

It was her turn to feel a hint of smugness, at his sudden show of temper. "You're the one who brought him up," she pointed out irrefutably.

She opened her eyes wide, to stare up at him with all the hatred, the contempt and anger she felt. She had suddenly realised where all the soft little smiles, the gentle caresses were leading her. Why the hell did he have to be such an accomplished seducer? Well, it might have worked with Mulder, but she'd be damned if it was going to work with her!

Speaking in a deliberately bored, weary voice, she said, "Well, if you're in that much of a hurry, get on with it. I've got more important things to do." And although she had never felt less sleepy, she yawned.

He stiffened. "You little bitch," he said slowly. But then his eyes lost their anger and changed to a cold speculation. "Ah, I see." He murmured, "what, did you think you could just lie there, passively? Like a living inflatable doll?"

She raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise. "Did you think it would be any differently Krycek? You want lies? Someone to tell you what a fabulous lover you are? Go find a whore like yourself! I'm here, because of my sister. There was nothing said about pretending, and I'm not going to lie."

She said flatly, "You're scum. A traitor, a killer and a common thief. I'm not expecting to get anything out of this but information about Melissa. As I said, if your price is a few moments of meaningless friction, then that's your choice." She affected a shrug, looking nonchalant. Not an easy thing to do when you're naked on your back, with a furious, nude and aroused man leaning down over you. So she was rather proud of herself as she continued coolly, "and if you're after a power-kick, blackmailing a FBI agent. Well, trust me, I already feel degraded enough just being here with you."

There was a moment of absolute stillness, and she felt a sudden panic at the expression on his face. The frozen rage in his eyes.

But all he said was, a little too calmly, a little too evenly, "You have no idea what true degradation means, Dana. But you will. Before you leave this room, I promise you will."

Everyone needs to keep some illusions about themselves. Dana Scully no less than anyone else.

Control, over herself, and her environment had always mattered to her. Too much, according to Mulder. And in a few devastating moments Krycek showed her what true powerlessness meant. He was far too skilled and clever to use violence or pain to drive home his point. Instead, he stripped her of most of her remaining illusions. As well as her self-respect and honor.

She paid, and paid dearly for her impetuous, contemptuous words as she learned what it meant to have her body turned against her. To have her body used to punish, and yet pleasure. Until the two mingled and pain became the ultimate expression of desire.

He swooped, a bruising, almost violent kiss, pushing her back into the pillow, cutting off her breath. Scully closed her eyes, drifting. Her whole body felt curiously alive, but brittle as if made of glass. She was sure if he pressed just a little harder she'd shatter into a thousand shards. Her emotions were too raw, the sensations of her body too overwhelming. All she could do was submit to them.

Again Krycek seemed to read her mind, and at another time and place that might have alarmed her. "Don't think, Dana," he whispered against her skin. And she couldn't even dredge up any anger at his use of her first name.

Warm lips burned a path down her body, soft little kisses scattered across the plane of her stomach and then a lightning bolt of pleasure knifed through her. She gasped and then moaned as his tongue traced the cleft that divided her mound, delving deeper.

"Ahh!" she shuddered softly, "please!" she exclaimed, yet not sure if she was protesting or asking him to continue. Wave upon wave of sensation drowned her in pure pleasure! His mouth and hands had her feeling things she didn't want to feel. A complete sense of helplessness overwhelmed her, and wide, blue eyes widened in panic at the realization that this diabolical man knew her own body far better than she did. That no matter how much she hated him she was helpless to prevent him taking her over.

He ignored her soft pleas, merely laughing, and the feeling of his warm breath against her, *inside* her, was almost more than she could handle. Hips thrusting, head flung back, she was moaning, clutching at his hair not sure if it was to pull him closer or to push him away. But as his lips fastened on the small erect, throbbing flesh, sucking hard, all she was able to do was to ride the emotions to its ultimate end, sobbing loudly, head thrashing, until with a high desperate scream she went over the edge into the abyss.

It took a long time to float down again. Too tired to even move, Scully was vaguely aware of the picture she must make, legs sprawled wide, breasts still heaving as she tried to catch her breath, skin damp and flushing. Krycek pulled himself up, looking down at her with hooded, gleaming eyes, smiling in satisfaction. "Did you enjoy that, Dana?" he asked softly.

She flushed, turning her head away, refusing to answer, conscious now that she could think again, of intense shame and humiliation.

"Look at me, Dana," he demanded still in that silky soft voice, and slowly, unwillingly she turned her head facing him. "Before the night is over, you'll be begging me to take you."

"Never!" she told him. The hatred, and self-loathing contrasted oddly with the sated, slumberous blue of her eyes.

His answer was a cruel, fierce smile. "It's so easy to forget, isn't it? You may hate me, but your body betrays you every time I touch it." His hand slipped between her legs, just a quick casual touch but it still made her move restlessly, hips pushing against his fingers. Oh God, she thought, I wish I were dead. Too weary to move even a muscle, her only escape was to close her eyes against the knowing, mocking smile of Alex Krycek. But that only made her more aware of the touch of his fingers, the slow slide of skin against skin.

"Yes," he murmured, voice husky and rough. "You're one hot little bitch. Does Mulder know, I wonder?"

Her voice a mere breath of sound, Scully answered tiredly, "Why don't you ask him the next time you meet. That'll be sure to get your head blown off."

He laughed, "He does put you on a pedestal, doesn't he. But I think it might be fun, just to see his reaction. However, in the meantime, you still owe me." Scully shivered, suddenly very, very cold.

"Cold? No matter, I'll soon have you all warm again." She wanted to tell him that it wasn't cold that made her shiver, or not only cold. She was feeling desolate and stupidly had to hold back the tears that burned against her eyelids. Tears at the loss of her illusions, her integrity, *herself.*

He leaned over her, "Crying, Dana?" If she hadn't known better she could have sworn there was a brief glimpse of... something in the shadows of his eyes, before he blinked and they were once again shards of green crystal. "Can't have that now, can we?" the soft smooth voice reminded her of a leopard about to pounce.

When he moved again she wanted to flee but a terrible lassitude had invaded the very marrow of her being. So she just lay with closed eyes, tremors racking her body as he started again to weave his spell. But this time he wasn't content with simply letting her feel, this time he demanded something more, as he bent his head, lips tasting each inch of her hot damp skin. Dizzily Scully wondered how it was that a one-armed man seemed to have a thousand fingers to tease and linger exactly where he knew she would writhe and moan. Panting, body afire, Scully had long since lost all coherent thought, everything but the pleasure riding her body, a pleasure so fierce she thought she was going to die.

Again and again he drove her right to the brink, but never giving her release. In the end she was clinging to him, slavishly following his commands, doing things that had her flush even days later when she thought about what he'd made her do, what he'd done to her. And then he did indeed make her beg.

Nails digging into his back, Dana opened her legs and arched into his body. She shuddered at the feel of him pressed against every inch of her body. His lips moved over skin made violently sensitive from repeated touching, from white hard teeth nibbling at it. She vibrated at his slightest touch, at a whisper of breath brushing against her. And once again she felt her body dissolving under his experienced hands. But then he suddenly stopped. Slowly she opened her eyes, confusion reflecting in their depths.

He was watching her intently. "Feels good, doesn't it, Dana?" He murmured, and laughed at her expression. "Tell me, Dana, beg me to take you," he murmured, bending his head and pressing small, hard kisses along her throat.

"Go to hell," she said weakly closing her eyes again, hating him.

He didn't say anything, just brushed his fingertips across her stomach, and lower. Her hips thrust up, thighs opening even wider. And then he went still, waiting. He knew each trick, knew exactly when to linger, where to tease, until she was near mindless, moaning wordlessly, lost in the sensations he invoked with a single touch, a slow lazy lick of his tongue, Scully was vibrating like a finely tuned instrument. Again and again he slowly drove her higher and higher, until she could *feel* herself ready to explode. And then he ceased at precisely the right moment, waiting while she moaned her frustration and need. Watched as she almost went mad from what he was doing and the frustration racking her body.

And so, to her own eternal shame in the end she heard her own voice, soft, faltering, give him the satisfaction he wanted.

"Please," she whispered, eyes still tightly closed as she reached for him with shaking hands, body rubbing up against his. "Please, I want you Krycek. I want you." She had to force down the tears clogging her throat. And she had never hated herself more than at this moment. "Is that what you want to hear?" she demanded brokenly.

"Yes, Dana," he murmured softly, as he finally moved, sliding into her in one clean thrust. "That's all I wanted to hear. And she heard herself moaning in time to his every powerful movement, "please, please, please...." Then, finally he gave her the release she craved, only this time she was not the only one. As if illuminated in a strobe light, once when she opened her eyes, she saw him, eyes wide open watching her with a hungry desperation. Dimly she thought he looked as if he wanted to burn her image into his memory forever.

She had not lived like a nun, although the past years had given her little time for a social life. There had been lovers, not too many perhaps, just the normal amount of men she had shared a bed and pleasure with. But her previous lovers had been polite civilized men, men she liked and respected. And not one of them had ever touched the core of her being like the killer and thief who took her body with a brutal passion that allowed no holding back.

She never knew whether she imagined it or not. But once, as she lost all control in his arms, he slid his hand along her thigh murmuring with an emotion, which in anyone but him she would have called pain, "Well, at least I can always give you this..." And when she looked up at him with huge, dazed eyes, blinking the sweat from long, heavy eyelashes, she caught on the beautiful face leaning down over her, a fleeting expression of.... pain? But then he bent his head, and she lost all ability to think coherently.

All through that night they, not loved. No never that. *Fucked* was what they did. There was a leashed violence that hovered on the brink of cruelty in the way he wrung every last ounce of feeling, of pleasure from her body until she was too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Deeply, dreamlessly almost a coma, in the only escape from him, that was possible for her.

When Dana Scully finally woke again it was morning. Opening her eyes slowly, blinking against the light, she realized she was alone in the crumpled bed. Moving brought a faint moan to her lips, as muscles strained by last night's activities protested.

Krycek stood by the window looking out, already dressed in black jeans, T-shirt and sneakers. Hearing the bed move, he turned around. "Ah, awake at last, good." He nodded towards the small table beside him and the envelope lying on it. "There's your payment."

Scully flushed hotly, realizing the kind of picture she must make, naked in a strange, disheveled bed, tousled hair and with faint bruises in some very unusual places. Shifting, she was aware of the tenderness between her legs. She repressed a wince. If he had wanted to make her feel like a whore, he had succeeded in spades.

"Thank you," she whispered, avoiding his face carefully. "I, uh - "

"Don't thank me too soon," he told her abruptly, walking over to the bed to stand looking down at her with hooded, watchful eyes. His mouth thinned sardonically as he noted her averted face, the hands clutching the sheet around her breasts, the rising flush.

"What do you mean?" she asked, uncertainly.

He sat down beside her, his arm brushing against her breast. He ignored her instinctive flinch away from him. "I mean, Dana, that this is not the end but the beginning. What you've got there is more evidence of your sister if you chose to believe it. But if you really want to know, then I guess you'll have to come running the next time I whistle."

Shock betrayed her into looking at him. "You can't be serious! I paid last night, I did what you wanted!"

He laughed, bending down to kiss her shoulder, and despite herself, she shivered at the touch of his lips on her skin. "And very nicely too." The soft mockery had her clenching her teeth. "You're so naive, Scully. Last night was payment for what you had already received. If you want anything else, then you'll have to give me something in return."

Looking into implacable, coolly feline eyes, her shoulders slumped. If she had thought it would help, she would have pleaded and begged. But searching his face there was no hint of compassion or mercy, just grim determination and a strange hunger that had grown worse rather than sated.

Half-choking, she finally got out. "How do I know you'll keep your word?"

He chuckled, "You don't. All you can do is hope." Straightening he stood up, "I'll be in touch." Grabbing his leather jacket, he stopped with his hand on the door handle, giving her a last lingering look, "and if you continue to please me as you did last night, then who knows? I may even be persuaded to let you meet your sister..." a pause, "and then again, maybe not."

The door slammed behind him, and she was alone.

Scully pulled her knees up wrapping her arms around them and for the first time since she was told she had recovered from her cancer her eyes filled with tears and she started to cry helplessly....

Exactly as he had promised, or rather threatened, it was just the beginning. The beginning of a nightmare - and something more.

In darkened rooms where neon lights flooded the bed in blinking garish fluorescent pinks and blues, Krycek taught her about lust. About a craving fierce need that had nothing to do with liking or respect. She hated him with every fiber of her being yet the sound of his voice on her answering machine, made her tremble, a liquid heat spreading from the pit of her stomach. He had become a drug she loathed and craved simultaneously. She hated him, God how she hated him, yet one touch of those devilish long fingers, and she melted.

A week later he simply phoned, told her the place and time and hung up again before she had the time to say anything. She wasn't going. Of course she wasn't going, she would be mad to do so. She would tell Mulder and Skinner and they would help her get the truth from the slimy bastard. But even as she told herself this and a thousand other things, she was getting into her car, driving to the small motel just outside town, knocking on the door to the room.

The door opened, Krycek glanced beyond her, to the left and right, and apparently satisfied that she hadn't been followed he pulled her inside and kicked the door shut.

"You took your time!" he growled.

"I wasn't going to come," she admitted.

"Well, now that you are here, let's get on with it," he snapped at her.

"You're such a romantic, Krycek," Scully couldn't resist telling him dryly. She almost smiled, despite knowing what he was going to do, she felt vaguely amused.

It was the last time she felt like smiling for a long time.

In silence they undressed and in silence they slid between the cool sheets. Sneaking a quick peak at him, she saw that his face was carved into harsh, distant lines, eyes cool and impenetrable. She had the sudden odd feeling that he wasn't really there but lost in some private hell of his own.

Closing her eyes, Scully shivered as the bed beside her dipped under his weight. She wanted badly to run, to scream her disgust and hatred of this man and the cold, soulless bargain he'd forced on her. But then it was too late, as he reached for her. And her mouth closed on the words of rage and opened in a soft moan of lust as his hand and mouth slid over her skin.

Staring up into the ceiling, over his shoulder, listening to the harsh rasp of his breathing in her ear, Scully had to blink away sudden tears, feeling icy cold despite the heat of the wiry, lithe body covering hers and the sweat-slicked , damp skin clinging to hers in a sensation somehow even more intimate than the invasion of her body. Krycek bent his head, and to her own mortification, she heard herself breath out in a soft sigh of pleasure.

He was, not brutal exactly, just uncaring, using her body for his own pleasure. Not that he hurt her, far from it. Yet she cold not shake the feeling that he never really saw her. That it could have been any woman giving him the same kind of responses.

As soon as he was finished, he abruptly rolled away left the bed, grabbed his clothes, and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him

Sitting on the bed in the tawdry motel room, naked and cold, Scully had never felt so used and dirty. She wasn't sure who she despised more right now: Him for degrading her, or herself for letting him. Slowly she gathered her clothes, and dressed, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers. Once dressed, however, she hesitated, should she knock on the bathroom door? She never wanted to see Krycek again in her life but she must not forget why she was here. Melissa, she reminded herself. Remember Melissa. A quick glance around the room had already informed her there was no file, no papers.

Dana Scully had never lacked guts, not when she was ten and playing baseball and a clean hit took out the living room window of Rear Admiral Jake "Thunder" Connors, Ret, the fear of all the neighbor kids. Dana alone had not run away, but faced him, head up, so pale you could see the band of freckles across her nose, red pigtails bobbing. The adult Dana Scully would not run either.

Standing up, she walked over and knocked on the door, "Krycek?"

He opened it, dressed as well. "What the hell do you want?"

"My payment," she said as steadily as she could, trying to keep down the blush.

He laughed, an unpleasant jeering sound. "You're kidding! I said you'd get it, and you will, when I decide. Now get the hell out of here, unless you want some more?" he leered at her, making her palm itch to slap him.

Without a word, holding on to whatever shreds of dignity remained, she turned on her heel and left him and the motel behind. It wasn't until she was driving home, she realized there were tears slowly sliding down her face.

Dana Katherine Scully, MD, had never had much time or even patience for passion. Her relationships had been built on mutual regard, shared interests, friendship and respect with sex a minor, all right, a very minor part at times. Her companions had all been civilized, polite men. All of them able to discuss Camus and the latest Senate Bill. To chose the perfect white wine to go with the fish. To ski and play golf. To keep up a witty, intelligent conversation. And in the bedroom each person did what they needed to in privacy and without undue emotion.

Alex Krycek was not something she had ever imagined she'd encounter. There was a darkness, a rage in him that found its outlet not in violence, but in the mockery of passion, that was their bargain. To her, what he seemed to enjoy most was not his own release, but her subjugation. More than once, while she went mad in his arms, she would catch that strange, hungry look in his eyes. There was no shame, no inhibition in him, and just thinking of what he did to her, what he made her do had her silently writhing, not in passion but with shame, when she was alone and sane once again.

Again and again his mocking laughter echoed in her ears. He seemed to enjoy the shock she couldn't quite hide at what he demanded from her, the response he wrung from her body and soul. She had never met a man like him, and she prayed she never would again. She found in herself a capacity to hate that startled and frightened her. She hated the way he made her feel, the way he made her beg.

Yet all the while she knew just how easy it would be to drown in the dark, sweet poison of his lust.

Scully had often smiled in mingled amazement and pity when her female friends admitted to losing their heads over some handsome hunk that they knew was completely wrong for them.

"I couldn't help myself, Dana," her friend Anne once told her. "We have nothing in common, I mean I hate everything he stands for. He's a racist, the kind of reactionary idiot who thinks women are only good for one thing. He never reads anything but the sports pages and maybe the comic strips. His idea of entertainment is mud wrestling. But Dana, when he touches me I just forget everything." At the time, she had shaken her head, not understanding why Anne just didn't finish with the creep, but now....

Chewing her pen absently, Scully almost bit through the top in her frustration for once profoundly grateful for Mulder's absence. Her partner for all his fabled kookiness at times saw far too clearly for comfort.

It was an added strain to the whole mess that for the first time since they became partners, she had to lie to Mulder. Dana Scully had always hated lying and despised liars. She had told Krycek nothing less than the truth; there was little she prized above Mulder's trust in her. He never doubted that she would tell him the truth, even when he didn't want to hear it she thought with a tiny smile. Perhaps because she was the only person in his life who *didn't* lie to him on a regular basis. Or, hadn't.

Still she could see no other alternative since she knew only too well how he would react. Just the thought of Mulder finding out had her stomach in knots. He would go completely mad. For all his seeming carelessness, there was a deep streak of protectiveness in Mulder's makeup. Especially after her abduction and cancer, she had noticed him keeping an eye on her. If he ever found out about the bargain she and Krycek had struck.... Scully shuddered.

It hurt, she acknowledged. Every time he gave her that special Mulder grin - the one he reserved for her alone - of unsuspecting trust and faith, she felt a stab of regret and guilt. There were times when she had already opened her mouth to tell him the truth before sanity prevailed. Part of the problem was that in the years since they had first become partners she had become so accustomed to sharing her problems, all the little ups and downs of life,. To discuss with him everything from the best way of unblocking drains to dealing with car mechanics demanding half her monthly net wage for changing the oil. And in turn, she listened patiently through endless conspiracy theories, complaints on the few takeout places open at four in the morning, and lately, rants over slimy traitorous ex-partners, who slept with people and then betrayed them... Mulder would always get a certain hungry look when he mentioned Krycek, but whether it was because he wanted to see the 'rat bastard' dead, or because of certain intimate memories of the former FBI agent, Scully never quite figured out.

Mulder's partner never mentioned that she, too, knew, from personal experience, the kind of hunger Alex Krycek could generate. Sometimes a week or two would go by and with mingled fear and frustration she would wonder if he had tired of the game and decided to leave her hanging, always wondering over Melissa. Then a file would arrive in the mail or be left on her doorstep, there would be a scrawled note or an abrupt message on her answering machine and the dance would begin again.

"It doesn't bother you?" she asked once, as they were in bed staring up into a sagging ceiling with dark mould patches and peeling paint. He had rolled away from her, and was lying on his back, arm flung over his eyes, what little of his face she could see, blank and aloof.

Krycek glanced at her, "What?"

"That I hate you. That this," she gestured vaguely at the bed, "is all you'll ever have."

He did not, as she expected, reply that it was all he ever wanted. Instead, he slowly shook his head. "Nope, because if I didn't have," a strange half-smile, "this, as you so eloquently put it, I'd have nothing. Better half a cake..." His voice died away and he shrugged, eyes sliding shut, clearly not interested in saying anything else.

She sat up and looked around for her clothes, flung off in the, though she wouldn't admit it even to herself, mutual haste. Slowly she started to dress, trying to blank out the man watching her with indolent, deceptively sleepy eyes. Pulling up the zipper of her skirt, she muttered, "I'll never understand you, Krycek."

A strange smile played on his lips. "I know, that's what I'm counting on. I, on the other hand, understand you very well..."

Red hair fell across her face like a curtain, hiding her expression as Scully buttoned her blouse. "What do you understand?"

Krycek sat up, and she did her best to ignore the way the sheet rode low across his hips. Taut sinews and muscles moved beneath tawny skin she knew from personal experience had the texture and softness of satin as he took a deep breath.

"You despise and scorn me for what, who I am. But what kind of woman are you, Dana, who can lie in the arms of a murderer and moan in ecstasy?" He stretched, and hypnotized, her eyes followed the movement. He caught her helpless glance and laughed softly, tauntingly. "All I have to do is look at you, and you want me, Dana, what does that say about you, hmmm?"

She swallowed, "I wish to God I knew," she whispered harshly, "I don't know what you do to me, but I *hate* it!"

His mocking laugh followed her outside, ringing in her ears....

The weeks since she and Krycek had made their bargain had taught Scully one painful truth. Unlike most whores, and whore was exactly what she called herself in the darkness of the night, she was unable to separate mind and body. She knew deep inside that the degrading transaction he had forced on her was destroying her soul. Feeling more and more desperate and afraid, Scully frantically pursued all the leads for which she paid such a high price. Each time she prayed that this would be the one leading to the truth about her sister.

But to her frustration, and growing suspicion that Krycek was playing games, each trail lead her exactly - nowhere! It wasn't that the information she got was false. Just that it all seemed to lead to dead ends, to people who had moved away twenty years ago, to gravestones and dusty yellowing obituaries. And sometimes to even greater mysteries....

"Oh yes, I remember her. A lovely woman," the old man said. He was a neighbour of the house where Melissa had supposedly lived, according to the file Krycek had sent her. The man peered at Scully. "You look quite a lot like her," he gave a cackle, "always did like a feisty redhead."

Scully bit back the hasty reply and instead asked as calmly as she could, "And when was the last time you saw her?"

He thought for a long time. "Hmm, let me see, it must have been last month. No, wait, I paid the bill on Tuesday, and UPS came on Thursday, or was it the other way around?" he scratched his head. "Beats me, but the daffodils were blooming so it can't have been too long ago. I remember 'cause I thought how pretty they were against her red hair."

Scully kept her rather fixed smile. "Thank you sir, and if you remember anything else, please call me immediately." She handed him her card.

He took it, but gazed at it in a vague fashion before stuffing it into an already bulging pocket. She repressed a sigh, knowing the likelihood of him ever phoning was slim to none. However as she was unlocking the car door, she heard steps behind her, and turning saw the old man tottering towards her.

"Miss, miss, I remembered something!" he looked very proud.

"Yes?" She gave him an encouraging smile.

"There was a fella who used to visit her, and once or twice we talked."

She tamped down her excitement. "Can you describe him to me?"

The old man nodded eagerly, "I sure can, he was a young feller."

She caught her breath. "Young? Was he dark? Green eyes, only one arm?"

He absently scratched himself, "Nah, this 'un had two arms, smoked like a damn chimney. I told him it would kill him, and he started laughing an' coughing, like I'd said something real funny."

He didn't notice the sudden paleness of the woman who thanked him rather automatically before getting into her car.

Driving back to Washington, Scully raged in helpless frustration, wondering what game Krycek was playing, if the information she paid so dearly for were all subtle lies and deceptions. But he was all she had, and as long as there was the smallest chance that he would eventually lead her to Melissa, she knew she would never give up, would always let him pull her strings.

Perhaps what disconcerted Scully most were the abrupt changes in him. The feeling that she never knew what to expect. It left her constantly on edge, trying to second guess his actions, his behaviour - she didn't even want to hazard a guess as to his motives. It forced her to think of him far too often for comfort. Once or twice she wondered if that was his intent. He was certainly devious enough to plan it that way.

At times, he would use her body in silence, saying nothing as he took her quickly and almost indifferently. It left her feeling shamed and degraded. Yet she still preferred those encounters to when his expertise forced from her a slavish, helpless response. And then, once or twice, he startled her with a gentleness that bordered on tenderness. A look, a gesture that frightened her more than the most studied brutality.

For some reason she didn't want to think of Alex Krycek as human. As a man like any other with emotions and weaknesses. As long as he remained a monster she was safe. Scully never reflected on *why* it was so important for her peace of mind to think of him as nothing but a ruthless fiend.

Yet as time passed it became harder and harder to maintain the mental detachment, to keep herself psychologically disconnected. The odd flashes of humanity that bewildered and taunted her with the hints of another Krycek did not help her cause. The first crack in the wall came a month after their first meeting. Like he always did, he'd just phoned and told her the time and place. This time, however, it was more than usually inconvenient.

He was waiting for her outside the motel, leaning against the wall, reflecting sunglasses keeping the world out and giving the rest of his face a diffuse and distant look. As soon as he saw her, he straightened and although his eyes weren't visible, she thought he must have given her a sudden sharp look.

Scully was only too well aware of how she looked. Not even careful makeup had been able to successfully conceal her ashen complexion and strained expression. However, she walked toward him briskly, chin lifted defiantly, determined to conceal at all costs just how miserable she was feeling.

And although she could feel him examine her, to her relief he said nothing, just gave her a nod before turning and opening the door and waiting for her to proceed him inside. Scully bit her lip. So, he was in one of his silent moods. She wasn't sure if that was an advantage or not.

As soon as the door closed behind them she turned around, hands twisting nervously for a moment, before she put them in the pockets of her jacket.

"I can't sleep with you today," she said bluntly feeling a fierce blush rising on her cheeks. "I mean, umm..." her voice started to fade into silence and suddenly she wouldn't look him in the eyes, instead studying the dusty brown carpet at her feet with intense interest.

He came closer, eyes narrowed as he frowned. The hard, wiry and graceful body she was coming to know as well as her own was suddenly taut with anger. "Are you reneging on our deal, Dana?" Krycek demanded harshly.

She shook her head quickly, "No, no, I'm not. I'm, it's just that -" her face felt like it was on fire, and she was incensed with herself for her inability to just tell him the truth. She was a modern, professional woman for heaven's sake!

"Then what is it?" he gripped her chin, tipping her head up so he could look into her eyes. "Are you playing games with me? Don't do that, Dana," he warned silkily, "trust me you wouldn't like the way I play."

Flustered, in the end she simply shouted at him, "I've got my period, you idiot!" And then her teeth clenched as she waited for the inevitable mockery. Waited for him to humiliate her as only Krycek knew how.

He stared at her for a moment, a very strange look in his eyes before he started laughing. But the mockery, if mockery there was, was self-directed. When his laugh had settled down to soft chuckles, he shocked her, by gathering her into his arms. "Poor Dana, I'm sorry I laughed." His hand moved over her stomach, long fingers slowly stroked over the knotted muscles, soothing them and dissolving some of the tension. Despite herself, Scully relaxed into his arms, restraining the impulse to purr like a cat. He murmured into her ear, "Does it hurt?"

She shook her head automatically but then nodded once, quickly, and admitted haltingly, "A little, sometimes. I would have told you, if you'd given me a chance." She looked up at him, unconsciously pleading, "I swear I'm not trying to cheat but, but..." she couldn't finish.

"Shhh," he said quietly, "I believe you."

She almost sighed in relief, "Then I can leave?"

Krycek shook his head, and she bit her lip. No, of course he wouldn't let it go so easily. There were still things she could do, ways to satisfy him. Feeling suddenly very tired, she closed her eyes for a moment. "I see." Her hands started to move down his body, thinking that if she was lucky he'd be easily pleased and she'd be able to go back to her bed and collapse in an hour or so.

But he caught them, grasping her slender wrists in his hand. "No, don't, Dana," he smiled a little at the confusion his refusal caused. "That's not what I meant." He carefully smoothed away the furrow between her eyebrows put there by the pain she did her best to hide. "You know it's not necessary to always be Superwoman, Special Agent Scully," he said, almost gently. "Why don't you admit to a hint of weakness now and then? It's not going to make anyone think the less of you. On the contrary, it just makes you human like the rest of us."

"What do you want Krycek?" she asked harshly, not eager to think about the fact that he was just human. She was suddenly frightened, and therefore angry, at the surprising temptation to dissolve into his arms, seeking comfort and support. She much preferred him acrimonious and mocking to the faint caressing note in his voice, the emotion that bordered on softness warming his eyes. If she ever gave in to fantasies like that it would be far too easy to forget the real reason of what brought her to a succession of tacky motels and dingy rooms. Scully made her body go stiff and unyielding, moving away from the inviting warmth of his closeness.

But this he wouldn't allow, arms tightening around her instead." At the moment? Nothing at all." He frowned, "How bad are your cramps?"

"None of your business!" she snapped, feeling horribly embarrassed to be discussing this with Krycek of all people. And although she would rather have died than admit it, she hated the fact that he was seeing her like this, bloated and puffy, her skin pale, clammy and having to fight down waves of nausea.

He almost sighed before he caught himself. "No, because you're determined not to make it my business." He took a step back, arms falling to his sides, leaving her prey to an unexpected feeling of loss.

"As you're obviously of no use to me, or to yourself..." he continued, with the malicious mockery she'd expected before, but which felt like a slap in the face after his earlier unexpected kindness. "You're quite free to leave, I'm not going to force you to stay. Despite what you may think of me, Dana, I don't particularly want someone distracted by cramps." He gave her a glittering look, "A little pain can be a great aphrodisiac at times you know," she flushed, "but not when it's inflicted by your own body. Run home, Dana, go to bed with a hot-water bottle, and dream of me," he laughed at the sparkling look she sent him, "or at least of what I can give you..." he finished with soft, decidedly double-edged, insinuation.

She bit her lip, once again, to restrain the hot, angry, words spilling out. Yet, not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, she mumbled an awkward thank you, fiercely resenting the fact that she had to *thank* the son of a bitch, and for what? Simple human decency? And then she quickly scurried out the door. She didn't need his taunting voice behind her to know she resembled a rabbit running for cover. But by then she'd already lost whatever remained of her dignity, and she desperately wanted to leave before he had a chance to change his mind.

Much later, however, burrowing under the duvet in her bed and clutching the hot-water bottle Krycek had recommended, her thoughts returned to him. She had to wonder why he had let her go so easily; it wasn't what she'd have expected from Alex Krycek. She would have thought that he'd have liked to rub her nose in her body's weakness. Instead he... she couldn't help but remember the odd look on his face when he massaged her tense, strained, stomach muscles.

Still, often she was sure the supposed gentleness was just another kind of subtle domination, that one time aside. Krycek's way of proving to her time after time just how easily her body became his. She caught herself wondering about his past life, where he had acquired such a thorough knowledge of a woman's body and needs.

Standing by the window in the cheap motel watching the sun rise wearing nothing but a satin slip she felt Krycek come up behind her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She didn't try and shrug it off. She knew better by now than to offer open provocation. So she remained still, even when long skillful fingers slowly explored the sensitive skin of her nape.

"What are you thinking about?" warm breath ruffled her hair.

Scully kept her eyes on the rising sun, needing to keep at least a part of herself private and aloof. Still he seemed to expect an answer, and finally she said, weariness dulling her voice.

"Does it matter?"

Silence descended between them, and then he snaked an arm around her waist, pulled her against him. "To you, perhaps not, put it down to morbid curiosity." He bent his head, lips sliding along a slender white shoulder, and despite herself she shuddered, body unconsciously relaxing as she tilted her head to give him more access. "Do you still hate me, Dana?"

"You know I do," there was no hesitation, no ambiguity in the calm voice. "More and more if that's possible."

His arm tightened around her ribcage in a subtle punishment. "Who do you hate more, me or yourself?" he asked silkily.

She shuddered. "Both."

He spun her around so she was facing him, anger and something else darkening emerald eyes. "I know what you're doing," he told her in the silky tone she had grown to know and fear.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, more uncertainly than she'd have liked. In this mood, although she would rather die than admit it, he scared her.

He laughed harshly. "Don't lie, Dana. Last night, I heard you call *his* name. His name on your lips, when you were in *my* arms. What were you doing? Pretending it was Fox Mulder inside you? Mulder taking you?"

A enigmatic smile shaped her mouth. "Perhaps." She met his eyes calmly, not hiding her satisfaction that Krycek knew she had pretended. That she had closed her eyes and imagined that the man above her, had brown hair not black. Warm, loving golden-brown eyes, instead of a hard wary green.

His face twisted in rage, but deep in his eyes, and, too briefly for her to be sure, there was an emotion closer to anguish than anger.

"Yes, I was thinking of Mulder, are there not times when you do the same?"

An breath of absolute silence. "You honestly think I'm dreaming of *Mulder* when you're with me?!"

Not even if she could have put it into words, would Scully have told him the truth: that she had never felt so naked or vulnerable with anyone. Not with Mulder, not when trying to remember the lost months of her life. Striking back however she could, she used the pitiful weapons she had left, chief among them Krycek's strange obsession with her and Mulder.

She almost shrugged, "Don't tell me there aren't times you compare us."

He suddenly laughed, pinning her against the window, bruising her lips in a kiss hard enough that she could taste her own blood. "Trust me, there is no comparison."

Outside the window a car backfired and Scully jumped at the sound, abruptly brought back to reality. She glanced around instinctively, to make sure no one had caught the betraying red that ran along her cheekbones.

Reassured she was alone in the office she relaxed slightly but didn't make any attempt to resume her typing. Scully moved a little restlessly on her chair. God how she hated the rising heat deep inside even the thought of him caused. How she loathed the passion he had wakened, nurtured and fed so carefully. Staring blindly at the computer screen, she once again found herself reliving their last meeting....

He was standing by the door, on his way out, when he suddenly returned to the bed where she was still sitting too spent emotionally to get up, knees drawn up to her chest, hands loosely clasped around them. Krycek looked down at her and for a moment, she caught an odd look crossing his face.

"Sulking, Dana?" he asked pleasantly.

She shook her head, too weary and dejected to lie. "I can't do this any longer, Krycek, please, let me go," she closed her eyes, feeling numb, deadly tired. "I know you hate me, but..." she had to stop for a moment before she could continue. "Right now I would rather you just put a bullet through my heart." She didn't care if she made him angry. "I'll do anything you want, bankrupt myself, steal FBI secrets, just, just not this." Even to herself, Scully was unable to articulate her strange fear.

A fear of losing herself, who she was, in his arms.

He reacted strangely to the pleading, the mute appeal in her eyes. And not with the anger she had expected. Instead, he just leaned down and pressed a kiss on trembling lips. Tasted the saltiness of a single tear slowly rolling down her face. Catching it on the tip of his tounge, he slowly licked it dry. And despite herself she shivered at the warm wetness on her skin.

"Hate? I don't hate you, Dana, far from it..." he murmured enigmatically, "and only you can set yourself free."

She looked at him puzzled, "You're speaking in riddles."

He smiled, his one good hand tilting her face in a small quick caress. "Let me know when you've figured it out." He straightened and left her staring after him wondering what exactly he had meant.

It was strange, she no longer even noticed the missing arm, it was as much a part of him as the leather jacket he wore; the tall, lean body that never lost its tan, even in the middle of a Washington winter, the long-lashed verdant eyes that could turn warm as a summer's meadow or cold as ice. The pretty face with its almost delicate boyish features that made it so easy to underestimate him until it was too late. He was a drug, a drug that like the alien black oil crept deep inside your soul and used your own weakness to wreak havoc and destruction.

"Come on, Scully!" She started, as Mulder bounced into the room, rudely interrupting her thoughts. "Skinner wants us upstairs ASAP, there is something big going down."

Rising immediately, she smoothed down her skirt and tried to calm her racing heart. "Coming, let me just save this first." She pushed the key on her keyboard.

Mulder frowned at her, and as they waited for the elevator, he asked casually. "You all right, Scully? You've seemed a little worn and distracted lately."

Scully suddenly wondered what he would say if she told him. 'I sleep with your former lover and mortal enemy, Alex Krycek. I hate him, but he turns my brain to mush every time he touches me.' She almost smiled, answering aloud, "Just a lack of sleep. It's been a bit hectic lately, burning too many candles I guess. Not," she added with a sideways glance, "that it's any of your business."

"Hey, cut me some slack, Scully, you're the only person who can stand me more than a week. I'd hate to have to break in a new partner."

She didn't want to remind him of the *other* partner he'd had. Instead she just shook her head at him, as they exited and went into the conference room, where there were already ten or more people, seated around a horseshoe shaped table, and talking quietly. They found two empty chairs at the end of the table, and then Skinner walked in carrying a thick folder. He was looking very grim. Two more agents followed behind him. Scully recognized one of them and her eyebrow went up.

"That's Elliot Carstairs, Bill Patterson's replacement as head of the BSU out at Quantico," she murmured to Mulder. "This really *must* be big."

Although Skinner couldn't have caught her words, he glanced at her with disapproval, and she felt a slight flush rise. She could feel Mulder grinning beside her, making her long to kick him under the table, and then any desire for levity disappeared as Skinner started speaking.

"Okay, heads up people, we've got a case and its bad, very bad." He nodded, the lights dimmed, and the projector showed the first picture. A pretty, dark-haired elfin girl, grinning into the camera, showing one missing front tooth, her hair in pigtails and arms around a big Labrador.

"This is victim number one, Rebecca Branson, age eight, living in Charleston, West Virginia with her parents and two older siblings. Snatched three months ago." Another nod and the projector changed with a click. Scully had to fight a soft gasp and beside her, she could feel Mulder suddenly tense. The next picture bore no relation whatsoever to the first, it showed a body, and as used as Scully was to bodies, mutilated, decomposing pieces of flesh, as she'd learned to think of them, this was, as Skinner said, very bad. It had been crudely mutilated, nose, lips, eyes carved out, fingers and toes burned.

"Her body was recovered two weeks later. The markings on legs and torso was made by battery acid," Skinner said matter of fact. "The forensic team is of the opinion that it was done while the girl was still alive. Prior to her death she was also sexually assaulted, sodomized and, from the remains of semen found in her throat, we suspect she was forced toperform fellatio on a number of occasions. Unfortunately, she was not the last one." Skinner took off his glasses cleaning them carefully, before putting them on again.

"So far there have been eleven victims, all in the ages between six and ten. All girls, five Caucasians, two Asians, four African-Americans. All from different social backgrounds. Three were from single mothers living on welfare. Rebecca," he nodded at the screen, "was well-off middle class. Father works for a multinational company as a mid-level executive, mother stays at home. One of the others is the daughter of a local millionaire. There is no pattern or connection between the choice of victims, it seems almost elaborately random."

"The MO is always the same, the girls are snatched in the morning on the way to school, a message goes to the school that the girl is sick, by the time the family becomes worried, the perpetrator already has hours of head start. No one ever sees the girls being taken. No contact is ever made by the kidnapper and the bodies are found in the vicinity of the next victim's kidnapping. We were handed this yesterday and it is to receive top priority."

Skinner paused and gave a nod in the direction of the tall blond man standing beside him. "For those of you who don't know him, this is Elliot Carstairs, head of the Behavioral Science Unit out at Quantico. He is going to be helping with this case. He is setting up a special task force to try to profile the perp. The rest of us are dividing into smaller groups, we'll meet here once a day to report progress and exchange ideas." He glanced around the room.

"Let's crack this one people." There were mutters of agreements and grim looks around the room. They might be FBI agents, but they were also human and there was hardly anyone around the table who couldn't easily imagine a sister, niece or daughter as one of the victims.

"Mulder?" Scully was more shaken than she wanted to admit by the pictures, and so was Mulder she was betting, feeling the tension radiating from him. "You okay?"

Mulder looked faintly irritated, "Why shouldn't I be?"

She held back a sigh. He could be so prickly at times, and before she had time to say anything else, the man walking in with Skinner came over to them.

"Fox Mulder? I'm Elliot Carstairs, we've never met, but Bill Patterson told me a lot about you."

Mulder ignored the outstretched hand. "Plus some of the others I'm sure." He added with an acid irony. "'Spooky' Mulder. The madman who believes in little green men and UFOs."

Not offended by Mulder's surliness, Elliot said calmly, "Actually, at the moment I am less interested in Spooky Mulder, than in the man whom everyone, Bill Patterson, included, claim is the most brilliant profiler ever to come out of Quantico. Look, we don't have to like each other, and frankly I don't care if you believe in God, Buddha, ET or Mickey Mouse, but right now we need you, Agent Mulder, or there will be more dead girls. Can you live with that knowledge?"

Mulder shook his head, a grim smile twisting his mouth, "You're very persuasive, and you'realso right, I couldn't. So why don't you give me all the material you have?"

Elliot nodded, "When you're ready, I've got some of the best talent from the BSU downstairs." He stood up and strode away briskly.

"Charming man," Scully murmured.

"I like him," Mulder replied almost in surprise. "A hell of an improvement over Patterson."

Scully glanced at the other people leaving the room. "Good. Look, I'm going to go talk to the forensic guys, I'll see you later?"

He nodded rather absently, not even seeing her as he started to jot down notes on the pad in front of him. Scully left him after a last thoughtful glance. Whatever he said, this case was bound to remind him of Samantha Mulder's disappearance. Which meant they were all in for a rough ride. Mulder was always stubborn and contrary, but when it touched his sister....Scully repressed a shudder.

When she gave her partner a last look just before going out the door, he was writing rapidly, head bent, glancing up occasionally at the picture of what had once been Rebecca Branson. She had noticed before when he started a new case everything else disappeared. When they were first partnered it had bothered her, but by now it was so much a part of Mulder that she hardly noticed.

"Tell me what you've got," Scully, said pushing open the door into the forensic lab. She walked forward to the table where the remains of Helen Andersen, victim number four, were exposed. Glancing down at the body in the cold, revealing light of the overhead lamps, Scully was aware of a fleeting gratitude that there was no personality, hardly any humanity left. Although she always maintained her professional mien, some cases, some... bodies were harder than others.

The young stork-like man on the other side of the corpse looked up and blinked beneath his protective glasses. "Subject is a Caucasian female, age nine..." Scully let the familiar recitation wash over her as she began her grim task of trying to coax the body to reveal all its secrets, including who killed it.

Scully spent the next week buried deep in the lab, examining each scrap, each microscopic fragment doggedly pursuing the puzzle that often led to a perpetrator and an arrest. It was true that science could produce amazing results and a faint patch not even visible to the naked eye could convict a murderer.

However, this time there was no such luck. Whoever he was, he was careful and clever, or, as Scully suggested during one midnight session in the lab, he had someone cleaning up after him.

"But that's impossible," one of the younger pathologists pointed out, unwrapping his submarine sandwich. "All the evidence points towards a lone perpetrator, isn't that what the profilers say?"

Scully nodded, popping the tab of her coke, "Yes, that's what Mulder claims. Of course it's all very general and tentative at this stage."

"I thought the profilers could all but tell you his shoe size and social security number and whether he wet his bed when he was four," a lab technician murmured.

Scully smiled, "That's what they'd like to have you think, but the truth is that *we're* more likely to tell them, than the opposite. Everything they know and extrapolate to build a profile they base on what we feed them. Profiling may be called a science, but it's based on psychology, and as we know the human psyche persists in being unpredictable." She drank down the last of her coke, and stood up.

"Forensic facts on the other hand are hard and incontrovertible evidence, so let's get back to work again. Let's see if we can't nail this perp." There were groans but no protests as everyone split up again returning to their work.

The next morning they were all working by seven in the morning despite the late hours they'd kept. Just before lunch, Scully was talking to one of the young lab assistants when the door suddenly opened.

"Come on, Scully, there is someone I want you to meet." She looked up from the autopsy table and saw Mulder sticking his head through the door.

"Who?"

"Sheriff Tom Bowles from Ladona County. Victims number six and seven are both from his jurisdiction."

"Coming," Scully pulled off the latex gloves and dropped them in the waste paper basket, taking off the protective glasses. "Keep at it Steve, I'll be back later today. Oh, and don't forget to send the DNA sample to the university. I talked with Professor Johnson and he's agreed to have the university computer analyze it."

Mulder was waiting for her outside in the corridor and they fell into step as he briefed her. "Sheriff Bowles arrived last night, I think you'll find what he's got to say very interesting."

Before Scully could ask anything else, they arrived at the interview room. Opening the door, she saw a middle-aged, tanned man standing by the window. Dressed in jeans, boots and a sheepskin jacket, he seemed profoundly uncomfortable in these surroundings, awkwardly clutching a plastic cup in his right hand.

"Sheriff Bowles?" Mulder asked, "I'm Special Agent Mulder, and this is my partner, Special Agent Scully."

The man turned quickly, showing them a homely and wrinkled face with a pair of brown, honest eyes. Transferring the cup to his left hand, he offered a large calloused hand. His shake was firm but not hard. "Glad to meet you, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully."

"Please sit down," Scully said, doing the same. Mulder perched on the table and she had to repress the urge to tell him to sit on a chair instead of his usual restless prowling. "You had some important information about the case we are working on?"

Sheriff Bowles abruptly put down the mug, "Yeah, I do. Look, I'm just a local sheriff from the sticks, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"I'm sure no one has ever thought that," Scully said calmly, while Mulder's mouth quirked sardonically. "Please tell us why you have come."

Tom Bowles looked grim as he began to talk. "When we discovered the first victim, what we *thought* was the first victim, Mary Sue Driscoll," grief and anger roughened his voice, "the entire sheriff's department, hell, the whole town was up in arms! We all thought it was a crazy tramp but we wanted this guy! We all put in hundreds of hours of unpaid overtime."

He paused. "See, in a small town like this, everyone knows each other. Mary Sue used to play with my youngest daughter, I'd see her pedal past our house on her bike every morning on her way to school. I go to the same church as her mother and father. This was *personal*." He glared at them.

Scully nodded. "We understand."

"So you never knew Mary Sue Driscoll was actually victim number six?" Mulder asked.

Sheriff Bowles shook his head. "Nah, my deputy checked the wires, but there was no mention of anything. So, we're working like crazy, lots of leads but nothing definite, when Johanna Bowles disappeared."

His eyes dared them to ask.

Mulder did. "Any relation?"

"My niece." There was a world of grief and guilt and fury compressed in those two words. "My brother John's only child. Her mother died two years ago, and ever since John's been raising her on her own, and doing a damn fine job of it!" He squared his shoulders. "When Jo was kidnapped, it destroyed my brother. Hell, we were all devastated, and then three weeks later her body was discovered in a ditch just outside town."

He had to pause for a moment, compose himself, before he continued in a cold, concentrated rage. "No one should have to die like that, raped, tortured, then thrown into a ditch like so much trash. Much less an innocent little girl. I can only thank God that John wasn't there. But I was, and it will haunt me till the day I die. Standing over Jo's body, I knew what I had to do and, I called in the Feds the same day. I knew I couldn't handle whatever this was. Look, the sheriff's department is four men. Me and three deputies and old Spike who cleans the office. We sober up drunks, break up bar fights and get called out on domestic disputes. I know when I'm outclassed, I didn't give a damn about jurisdiction and territory. I *wanted* this guy caught, so I phoned the FBI."

"This would be the Center City office?"

Bowles nodded, "Right, and I talked to Robert Tamblin, the head of the office, he said he'd look into the matter and then get back to me. Three days later, a car pulls up, and Agent Tamblin gets out." A snort of contempt. "Real suave, slick guy. Thousand dollar suit, smelling of some fancy shaving water."

He gave Mulder a disgusted look that clearly said, 'real men don't wear after-shave', and had Scully suddenly bending over her notes to hide a smile. "So he asks if he can talk to me privately, and I say sure, we go into my office, he flashes all his credentials, and after asking four times if I'm sure no one could overhear us, he started whispering in my ear. I had to keep telling him to speak up."

Mulder's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward intently, "And what did he say exactly?"

Bowles snorted, "He fed me some long cock and bull story about national security, and the need for discretion. Hinted at international intrigues, spies, it all sounded like a third-rate novel to me, but hell what do I know? It could be the truth. Claimed the best thing I could do was to keep my mouth shut and not make a stink. Well, I wasn't going to let it go so easily, not with little Jo dead, and I told him so. Next thing you know I get a call from the Governor's chief of staff, and basically ordered to back off or else..."

Scully played with her pen, "And you did?"

Bowles glared at them. "Yeah I did," he looked at them defiantly. "See, Tamblin came back, told me this was in strictest confidence, but they'd caught the guy who did it, but because of," his mouth twisted, and he almost spat on the floor, "'national security' he wouldn't be tried publicly. But he would be put away forever. Guess, I wanted to believe him."

"Very understandable, Sheriff," Scully said soothingly. "So what made you come to us?"

He shifted and the flimsy chair squeaked faintly in protest under his weight. "I had an errand in Center City two weeks ago and when I passed the FBI office, I thought I'd look in. Check with Tamblin. Only when I asked for him, a guy I had never met before in my life came out. Claimed not only that he was Robert Tamblin, but that he'd never heard of me or the murders before in his life."

Mulder stood up, starting to pace, "You're sure it wasn't the same man?"

Bowles shook his head vigorously. "No way! This other guy was much older, grey hair, dark eyes, walked with a slight limp on his left leg."

Mulder nodded, "That's Robert," adding to Scully, "he got that limp more than fifteen years ago when he was working on the Mexican border and was in a shoot-out with some smugglers." He looked at Bowles. "What did the man who claimed to be Robert Tamblin look like?"

"'Bout your height and age, maybe a little younger. Dark, short hair," he snorted, "my secretary called him a 'dreamboat' whatever that is. Look, I realized then that something was very wrong, but I didn't know what to do. And not even a week later, Dan my deputy, told me about the serial killer the FBI were hunting. I did some checking, and the MO matched perfectly with Mary Sue and Jo. I told your director, Mr. Skinner all this on the phone, but hell, I wanted to *see* the people who were after this guy, and make sure this wasn't just another smokescreen."

He sighed, "I reckon all this has made me a little paranoid so I took some leave and flew here."

"For which we are most grateful," Scully said briskly standing up, "we really appreciate your help, Sheriff, and let me assure you we'll look into this matter most seriously." She held out her hand, "and I can promise you that we are very determined to catch this man."

He took her hand, "You do, give me a call, Agent Scully. I'll tell you something else, I'd throw the switch on him myself." He cleared his throat, looking away a little embarrassed, "and if you ever need a favour in my neck of the woods, just let me know."

She repeated her thanks, then glanced at her partner. "You want to add something, Mulder?"

Mulder frowned slightly, "Would you recognize the fake Robert Tamblin?"

Bowles replied curtly. "Anywhere, and if I ever see him again, I'll be hard put not to shoot the son of a bitch."

Mulder pursed his lips thoughtfully, "I may send you some pictures later, see if you can identify him, all right?"

"Sure, anything."

After Bowles had left, Mulder and Scully walked back to their office together.

Scully asked, "Did you check with Tamblin?"

Mulder nodded, "I did, and as the sheriff said, he'd never heard of the murders. Also the phone log show no call from Ladona was ever put through to the Center City office."

"You don't think he's hiding anything?"

"Bowles? No, he's genuine, but you do realize what this means, don't you Scully?"

She opened the door to their office and turned on the lights. "That FBI security has been compromised."

Mulder hooked his chair with a foot, turning it around and straddling it. "That or the phone lines. I talked to Byers this morning, and he says all you really need to do is to put a scrambler on the outgoing line. That way any call is automatically rerouted." He added thoughtfully, "and they would know enough to keep an eye on Sheriff Bowles after they realized the personal connection."

Scully sat down and switched on her computer, "That doesn't make sense, Mulder, if he called from the office phone, there'd be literally hundreds of legitimate calls, if they didn't go through, the sheriff's department would realize something was wrong."

"Not necessarily, all you need is someone sitting there listening in, once he realizes the call is unconnected to the business at hand, he just hits the switch and the calls go through as usual."

Scully frowned, "You keep saying 'they' but you know that all the forensic evidence points to a lone perp. One person could not set up the kind of surveillance and tampering that you're talking about. You're talking a well-organized group of people."

Mulder said grimly, "Now you're getting it."

"You talked to Skinner?"

"Yeah, he wasn't happy to put it mildly. He's going to have a talk with Ma Bell, but I doubt it will give anything,. They would be long gone by now and without a trace."

Scully started downloading her mail. "This is getting stranger and stranger."

Mulder suddenly grinned at her. "Honey, you ain't seen nothing yet if I'm right, and I usually am."

"You really have to do something about your lack of self-confidence and excessive diffidence, Mulder," she told him dryly and turning her back on him, started reading her incoming mail.

That weekend Scully firmly pushed away all feelings of guilt over her colleagues working overtime and took Sunday off for her nephew's third birthday. Her brother, Bill, and his wife, Tara, had come up to Washington staying with good friends, and they had insisted that Dana come to the birthday party. Perhaps she could have resisted their entreaties, but when Margaret Scully entered the fray, her daughter knew she was beat, and promised to be there.

The noisy, cheerful party was slowly winding down when Scully wandered down into the garden of the big old white clapboard house with a glass of white wine. Finding an old abandoned bench from which the paint was peeling, she sat down. From a distance, she could still hear the high, blithe voices of her nephew and the other children. The sound caused a tiny ache deep inside her chest. The knowledge that she would never carry a child inside her body for nine months to nurture and care for remained an open wound, no less hurtful for being buried as deep as she could.

Thoughtfully sipping her wine and looking out over the lake, Scully let the peace of the sunset, the soft breeze whispering through the leaves slowly fill her. If only she could remain here, never go back to FBI, to....

"You're looking very solemn."

Scully glanced up as Tara Scully brushed some leaves off the bench and sat down beside her. "Who is looking after the offspring?"

Her sister-in-law smiled. "His father, performing his paternal duty." She sighed softly, "I love my family, but sometimes I envy you, Dana. I think I would give my soul for a moment's peace and quiet."

The bitter smile startled Tara Scully. "Envy me? Oh yes, I am really to be envied, going back to an empty apartment, forensic reports and a serial killer who likes to carve up little girls."

With faint concern, Tara said, "I never thought you felt like that, Dana. You always seem so self-assured, so sure of what you're doing."

Scully breathed out. "It does seem that way, doesn't it?" She took another swallow of wine, "and I don't regret my choices, not really." A sudden bitter-sweet smile, "I love what I do, I've got good friends, I'm healthy again, I don't know what I'm complaining about."

Very softly, Tara asked, "What about the most important thing of all, a man to love? No don't look like that Dana, I know you think I've been cheated - "

"Of course not!" Scully exclaimed a little too emphatically.

Tara Scully laughed softly. "Yes you do, Dana, don't try and pretend. But you know I've never regretted what I did. One day when the children are older I may go back to the law. But in the meantime I am content raising them and being there for Bill when he needs me, just as I know that he will be when I need him." She gave her sister-in-law a penetrating look, "I know you always claim Fox Mulder will be there when the chips are down. I've seen with my own eyes how much he loves you. When you were gone, and sick he was absolutely frantic! So why are the two of you so afraid of getting close?"

Scully shook her head. "You don't understand, Tara, I doubt anyone does. Mulder..." her voice died away as she tried to put into words her confused feelings for her partner finally just saying lamely. "It's complicated."

"It always is, but if it's not Mulder," a mischievous grin, "and never was a man truer named, he really is foxy, Dana. Then why are you tense as a bowstring, walking around as if the weight of the world rests on your shoulders?"

"Well you know this case we're working on is getting to us all," Scully said. She hesitated, needing badly to talk to *somebody.* She and Tara were friendly enough but circumstances and geographical distance had prevented them becoming intimate friends. However, to her own surprise she suddenly found herself saying aloud, "have you ever hated a man Tara? I mean really hated him? But at the same time wanted him?"

"Never at the exact same time," Tara smiled, but then sobered seeing that Scully was serious. "Sure, I had a boyfriend like that back in college. He was a philosophy grad student, used to smoke hashish from a Turkish pipe, read Nietzsche and Sartre, and had some very bizarre ideas about women and relationships. We'd have the most violent quarrels, but the sex..." she winked, "was *almost* worth it."

Then she added thoughtfully, "You know it's men who are supposed to be driven by their urges, but the fact is that women are as well. It's an illusion to think that men are sex-maddened beasts and women are pure. Actually both sexes have physical needs and desires and I've never understood why women should be ashamed of admitting that. Men certainly aren't!" She grinned.

Scully joined the smile, but her eyes remained troubled. "This isn't the same thing."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Scully hesitated, "I don't know." There was a tiny pause, "in my line of work I see a lot of slime, and some," wryly, "are more slimy than others, and usually it's easy. You may be shocked and sickened what some so-called members of the human race are capable of, still, once they're caught and convicted, that's the end."

She picked up her wine glass slowly turning the slender stem around and around, watching the remains of the pale golden liquid slowly settle at the bottom, and when she spoke again her voice had changed. "And then there are those that continue to haunt you. The ones that for some reason or another, physical attraction, a look in their eye when they think no one is watching, you start wondering if perhaps there is something more inside them. Something worth saving. So you start asking yourself the most dangerous question of all, *why*."

"Dana, you're not making any sense," Tara told her.

Scully tucked her hair behind her ears, "I'm not, am I? Tara you go to church every Sunday. And not just because you should, but because you really believe."

Tara said quietly, "You know I do, and I thought so did you."

Scully looked away, "I used to, but since I joined FBI and especially the X-Files I've seen so much evil, Tara, and I don't use that word lightly, I've started having doubts...." A long silence. "You know how the Bible tells us to forgive those who trespass against us? I used to think that was one of the easiest commandments to practice. To forgive. But lately I've realized that some things, some *acts* are unforgivable."

"God never said it would be easy Dana, but I believe in forgiveness and redemption, yes. Nobody is born evil."

Scully glanced at her. "Not even people like Hitler, or Pol Pot or Ted Bundy?" Only self-preservation and iron control stopped her from adding, 'Alex Krycek...'

Tara shook her head, "Not even Satan. What is that quotation from Isaiah? 'How art thou....'"

"....fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the Morning," Scully finished softly. "Funny you should mention that. I remember when I was a girl I always wondered what Lucifer looked like." A sudden smile, "I would fantasize about what it would take to redeem him. I always imagined him as tall, and dark, beautiful, and very sad."

"Because he could remember what being good was, before the Fall," Tara said equally softly, and they shared a look of perfect understanding.

Scully bit her lip, shocked at the sudden recognition that at some point the face of her Lucifer had acquired green eyes and a mouth to tempt a saint. "But what if someone killed Matthew, Tara? Could you forgive the murder of your son?"

A harsh indrawn breath, "I, I don't know, Dana, I want to say, that yes I would forgive. But I honestly don't know. Just the thought of someone harming Matt is enough to make me ready to kill."

"You see what I mean? In theory one can forgive, but when it's personal, it's suddenly very different." A long silence, and then, seemingly out of the blue. "I loved Melissa. We didn't always agree, or see eye to eye, but there was no one I loved more. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her, and miss her."

Tara Scully looked more than a little confused. "What are we talking about Dana?"

Scully propped her chin in her hand, looking out over the lake. "We have always been taught that if someone repents and is sincere they, he, will be forgiven, that there is good in everyone. Do you know, for the first time since I stopped going to Sunday school, I find myself needing to believe in that." She added quietly, more to herself than to Tara, "despite all the evidence to the contrary, I *must* believe that there is something worth saving in him. Otherwise, how can I explain what I feel? Or perhaps that's just rationalization, and we are both damned...."

Her sister-in-law frowned, "You realize I have no idea what you're talking about, don't you?"

Scully abruptly remembered where she was. "Don't mind me, Tara, I'm getting morbid." Shaking the mood she added, "come on, let's go and see if there is any birthday cake left. I'm in the mood for something gooey and fattening."

Tara glanced over at her sister-in-law's slender figure and snorted. "It's not as if you have to worry, unlike some of us."

Scully laughed and stood up. "Neither do you, Tara. Bill's always said he liked a bit of meat on his women so I don't think you have anything to worry about. Besides it's not as if he's exactly a cover model himself."

Side by side they strolled back up towards the house, chatting about the children and other simple commonplace things.

Scully was sitting in the FBI cafeteria on Monday after hours in the lab, thinking of her nephew and picking half-heartedly at her lunch when she heard a tentative voice behind her.

"Agent Scully?" She looked up at the young, slightly apprehensive face.

"Yes?"

"AD Skinner would like to see you in his office immediately."

Scully nodded her thanks and leaving the half-eaten lunch behind, she went immediately to the office. Knocking politely and waiting before Skinner's deep voice told her to come in, she opened the door and saw Mulder, Elliot Carstairs and Skinner all grouped around the desk.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked Skinner.

He gestured for her to sit down, "This just arrived by mail." For the first time she noticed the small black tape recorder in the middle of the desk. Skinner pressed the play button and a weird, hollow, echoing voice filled the office.

"Computer generated obviously," Carstairs muttered.

"Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse ran up the clock, the clock struck twelve... the little fox plays in the bramble bushes.... Jack and Jill went up the hill... Becky's been a naughty girl... pretty, pretty Sam." The sudden high, thin shriek had Scully almost jumping out of her skin, "I didn't mean to do it! I didn't mean to hurt her Mr. Mulder! I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Skinner pressed the stop button.

"It goes on and on."

Scully frowned, seeing Mulder's white set look. "It's genuine?"

Skinner removed the cassette. "Definitely. Not just from the clues he drops, but because the package also included a small silver heart on a chain. Rebecca Branson was wearing it the day she was abducted. The parents have identified it."

"How was it delivered?"

Mulder was deceptively calm. "Postmarked Atlanta, day before yesterday. Nothing out of the ordinary, no prints."

Scully looked at Skinner, a faint question in her eyes. He said, "It was addressed personally to Agent Mulder."

She breathed out softly. "Interesting. Do you have any idea who it might be, Mulder?"

He shook his head. "I'm going to start going through my old cases." He didn't say it. But she knew that if this was a personal vendetta from an old enemy, Mulder would never forgive himself.

Scully almost pounded the desk in frustration, but keeping her professional detachment, she did the only thing she could and said. "I'll help you."

Mulder didn't say thanks, but she thought she could read a faint gratitude in his eyes before he turned away. As always it was more than enough.

"Let's go," he said abruptly standing up.

Mulder was already half-way down the corridor before Scully had even reached the door. Hand on the handle, she heard Skinner behind her.

"I'm relying on you to keep him in line, Scully. Don't let him go off the deep end. We all know what happens when Mulder starts taking things personally."

She turned around facing him squarely. "Sir, how can he not? The tape was addressed to him. This case has already reminded him too much of what he's lost, his own fears."

"I know, but we need him together and sane, Scully."

She didn't answer that, just closed the door carefully behind her.

For some reason Krycek hadn't contacted her since the case began. Which was just about the only good thing that could be said for the past three weeks - she had almost succeeded in convincing herself.

It was while she was patiently checking and rechecking some fiber fragments found under Mary Sue Driscoll's fingernails that Scully finally admitted to herself that her feelings were closer to frustration than relief. Of course it was natural that she was worried about his silence. Without Krycek she would never know the truth about Melissa. And despite the brutal pace of the investigation she never for a moment forgot her sister. She moved a little restlessly trying to ignore the small taunting voice at the back of her mind asking if it was *only* Melissa that had her worrying about Krycek's return.

Gently sliding the small square of glass under the microscope and examining it under ultraviolet light, Scully bit down a curse, nothing! Dammit! She'd been so sure. Restraining her first impulse which was to throw the damn thing against the wall, she leaned back on the creaking chair. Forgetting that her hair was secured in a ponytail, she finger combed it absently.

Apart from Krycek's absence, which was a *good* thing she thought firmly... hell was probably the most accurate description of the past three weeks. Spending day after day in the forensic lab analysing the grim remains of the little girls was bad enough, having to sit through interviews with the distraught families was worse, giving her a graphic and unwelcome reminder of the kind of torment her own family must have suffered after her abduction. But worst was the growing fear that Mulder was losing his mind. For the past weeks he had worked like a fiend, putting in eighteen, twenty-hour days.

Leaving the lab, Scully recalled that it had been three days since Mulder'd even been home and changed and showered. Heading to the room where the profilers were located, she finally succeed in dragging him forcibly from the building and all but pushed him into her car ignoring his grumbles and the amused looks of their co-workers.

"You need to take a shower, have a warm meal and sleep in a real bed for a change," she informed him tartly to hide her concern. "If not for your sake then for that of your co-workers. To put it plainly, you stink, Mulder."

That won a reluctant smile from him. "You're such a diplomat, Scully, that's what I love about you." She flinched, although she knew he meant it casually, it cut deep flicking her on the raw. Thank God he was too tired to notice her momentary betrayal. Smiling cheerfully, making some silly off-hand comment that made him smile again, she brought him home, stuffed him in the shower, cooked him a steak and potatoes and made sure he was tucked into bed, and before she left she made sure to turn off the alarm he'd put at three thirty. Closing the door to Mulder's apartment, she phoned Elliot Carstairs.

"Sir? This is Special Agent Scully, mission accomplished, I've put Mulder to bed and hopefully he won't be back in until tomorrow afternoon.... That's right sir, and disconnected his phone, and turned off the cellular phone. ... Yes sir, I'll go by and check on him tomorrow morning... Thank you, sir."

Scully disconnected, wondering for a moment if she had the strength to drag herself home or whether she could just camp out in Mulder's corridor. But finally finding the energy, she slowly went outside, got into her car and drove through the dark deserted streets to her own apartment.

Unlocking her door, Scully kicked off her shoes, and threw the coat over the sofa. The answering machine was blinking and for a moment she considered ignoring it. Instead she wandered into the kitchen where she found nothing but half a tomato and a pear. Too tired to start cooking for herself, she returned to the living room nibbling on the pear. Conscience finally won and she pressed the rewind button. There was a message from her mother, reminding her of a cousin's birthday next Saturday. One from a good friend who'd just flown in from Boston, suggesting dinner if she had time, and then, the last one. A soft dark voice, "Tonight, Hadley Place, number 653." It clicked, disconnecting.

Scully sat very still for a long time. Logic and common sense told her that she was too exhausted to move. That what she needed was to fall into bed and sleep. But then what did logic or common sense have to do with Alex Krycek? Or her strange conflicting feelings for him for that matter.

You never knew with Krycek, if he took offense, this might be the last she ever heard of him, and with him went her only hope of finding Melissa alive. Dammit! if she had only been able to contact him, to explain, but as always his number was coded so she couldn't phone him back.

She just *could not* risk angering him.

Picking up her coat again, Scully tried her best to ignore a very small traitorous sliver at the very edge of her consciousness. A voice that whispered of her need to be held. To forget for a few hours at least the grim reality that surrounded her. Right now she didn't care, or at least not much, that the man making her forget was a blackmailing son of a bitch who held her sister's life in his hands. A man who cared for nothing but the use of her body. She smiled a little grimly. He had used her enough God knew, perhaps it was time for a little using of her own...

Before she had time to reflect over her complete lunacy, Scully grabbed the car keys and went out to her car again. She was unaware of, and would have been horrified to realize, that she moved with a new light in her eyes, a new spring to her steps.

It had started to rain and the wind was picking up. Definitely not the night to be out, she thought wearily. Finally finding Hadley Place, her eyebrow went up a little, not exactly Krycek's usual place. It was a solid and not unattractive block of apartments grouped around a rather nice leafy courtyard. Driving through the gates, she parked the car and opened the door. The icy rain, spiked her skin and made her hunch her shoulders and hurry across the asphalt. Heels clicked sharply, echoing against the walls. By the time Scully finally found the right apartment, she was wet, cold, hungry and completely exhausted. With a wry half-smile she thought that if Krycek wanted a passionate partner tonight he would be disappointed. Most likely she'd fall asleep in the middle of proceedings and offend him mortally. Stifling a yawn, she rang the door bell, actually finding herself leaning against the frame to keep herself upright.

Krycek opened the door, wearing the usual black jeans and T-shirt. The man did love black, she thought a little fuzzily. Although she had to admit it suited him perfectly. So perfectly she suspected he cultivated it as part of his persona. In any case it made him even more attractive. As did, in her personal opinion, the slightly longer hair. Hair she suddenly realized she wanted to run her hands through. Scully blinked. She must be even more fatigued than she'd suspected to have thoughts like that.

Krycek looked at her for a minute and then a slow smile spread across his face. He stepped forward, catching her in his arms as she swayed lightly on her feet. She was too weary to feel anything but thankfulness of his support as her legs actually trembled with exhaustion.

"You look terrible, Dana," he said a thread of amusement running through his voice. "Dare I hope it was my absence that's had this effect on you?"

"Don't be ridiculous! This isn't about you," she snapped, grateful that he wasn't in one of his 'slam, bam, thank you ma'am' moods, tonight. She even had problems holding back something perilously close to a smile. "We've got a new case, and it's - "

He shook his head, interrupting her firmly. "Before you tell me anything else, go have a bath or you'll get a cold. You're completely soaked through."

"You should have thought of that before you dragged me out tonight," she retorted but her tone still lacked it's usual bite.

He laughed, "That's my Dana. Now go have a bath before I undress you myself."

Mumbling, "I'm not your anything," she nevertheless headed to the bathroom where she found soap, shampoo and herb-scented bathing oil as well as a big fluffy bathrobe. She filled the bathtub with steaming water, sinking down with a heartfelt groan of contentment. Twenty minutes later she suddenly sat up with a jerk, at Krycek's knock on the door.

"Have you drowned in there, Dana?"

She called out, "I'm fine, I'll be out in a few minutes." Rubbing her eyes, Scully realized she had almost fallen asleep. However, once awake, she quickly washed her hair, and wrapping herself in the bathrobe she padded barefoot into the living room.

Not until much later did she realize just how unselfconscious she was feeling with the man waiting for her. How skillfully he had taught her to accept his body, *him* as a part of her life.

Krycek was kneeling by the fireplace, stirring the fire with a poker. But hearing her approach, he turned around and stood up. "There you are, I was considering coming in and bodily removing you from the bath." His smile told her just how much he'd enjoyed the thought.

Scully ignored him, focusing instead on the tray sitting on the low table by the fireplace. There was a plate of delicate chicken rolls, half a ripe brie, pate, small open smoked salmon sandwiches, a bowl of ripe peaches, blue grapes, cherries and plump red strawberries, and beside that a silver bucket with a champagne bottle wrapped in a white linen serviette sticking up. She blinked once, twice, what the hell....?

She glanced at Krycek who was watching her expectantly. "What is this?" she asked sharply to hide her unease.

"What is what?" he replied innocently.

"This!" her sweeping hand took in the table, the candles, the open fire. "Not really your style, is it?" It was supposed to be a taunt, but emerged closer to a question.

He didn't answer but bent and picked up the bottle. With a little manipulation he managed to pop it open, pouring the frothy pale liquid into a champagne glass and handed it to her before pouring himself another one.

"Actually, Dana, I don't spend *all* my time hanging out in cheap bars and seedy motels. Did you know that you can hide even better in classy places than on back-streets?"

Sipping the champagne, and enjoying the sensation of the cold, dry bubbles sliding down her throat, Scully lifted an eyebrow. "You're on the run?"

Krycek laughed, gesturing for her to sit down in the sofa. "Nope, I'm in better with my bosses than I've ever been. I just wanted you to know that I am familiar with places where there are no ketchup bottles on the table and the silverware *is* silver. Here," he held out the chicken rolls to her. "Have something to eat, it will improve your temper."

Not even considering refusing Scully reached out and started nibbling on one of the rolls. She found them irresistible and soon she was wolfing down the food, not noticing how many times Krycek refilled her glass, or aware she was telling him everything that had happened the past three weeks. She never reflected that this was *Alex Krycek.* She needed to talk and he was there.

All the frustration and anger over the monster who was responsible for so much misery and pain just poured out. Even her fear that Mulder in his desperate attempts to get inside the mind of the man, was slowly losing his own.

Lips curving in an unconsciously tender smile, she finished, "....so tonight I just grabbed him, forced him home, cooked him a meal and put him to bed."

Beside her Krycek moved slightly, "Put him to bed?"

Scully stiffened abruptly remembering who it was she was talking with. She put down her empty glass, "That's right, to bed," her tone holding a definite challenge.

"Hey, I never imagined anything else, Dana," a faint, wry smile. "After not consuming your mutual lurking passion for the past six years, I doubt you'd do it when you're both exhausted and Mulder is half-mad. So pull in your claws, okay?"

She relaxed again, deciding to ignore his allusion to hers and Mulder's complicated relationship. "Sorry," wondering, why am I telling this man I'm sorry? Still she added, as a sort of apology, "I guess I was a bit sensitive, but I've had enough insinuations already to last me a lifetime."

Scully sighed wearily picking up her glass again and held it out for a refill. "Half the agents think we're sleeping together, the other half think that I'm his keeper and mother all rolled into one, and a small minority are sure I'm both." She felt herself relaxing, sipping the wine, "God I'm so tired, Alex." She didn't notice the way his name rolled off her lips, or his tiny start.

Voice laden with fatigue she murmured, "I'm so tired of being the strong, calm, logical one. Of picking up the pieces when Mulder falls apart. I owe him everything, including my life. I love him, goodness knows he's been there for me when I've needed him, but, but.."

"But there are times when you need to crawl into someone's arms and cry." It wasn't a question, just a quiet statement of fact.

She had to blink back sudden tears. "Something like that, yes," a wobbly attempt at a smile. "I don't know, maybe being with Mulder so long I've gotten out of the habit of relying on anyone else. So when he *isn't* there, there is no one else. And with my abduction and cancer, I don't want to burden my family any more than I absolutely have to," she admitted.

A gentle touch on her shoulder made her turn her head. Krycek was holding out his arm, "I only have one arm Dana, but I'll hold you."

Scully wasn't sure what amazed her most. That Alex Krycek, traitor and assassin extraordinaire would be capable of so much understanding and empathy. Or that she, Dana Scully not only accepted but craved it.

Putting the empty plate down on the table, she crept into his arms, the tears beginning even as she burrowed her face into his shirt. Dimly she heard him whisper something in a foreign language, Russian she thought, and then his one remaining hand tangled in her hair, stroking, massaging the scalp. She cried until she had no tears left, until her nose was red and her eyes hot and burning. She cried for all the young lives ending in pain and terror. For their grief-stricken families, showing her all too graphically what her own family must have gone through when she was gone. She cried for herself, for the frustration and helplessness she felt. And most of all she cried for Mulder. Her poor, tormented love, pouring over the files, the pictures, trying to crawl into the mind of a monster.

In the end she was curled against him, every muscle in her body limp in utter exhaustion. He was still stroking her hair, holding her loosely, and she took an obscure comfort from the strong body under her. The slow steady beat of his heart under her ear.

Finally she felt him shift and move away slightly and then the arm returned, holding a box of tissue. "Here, blow your nose."

Scully took it, in wordless gratitude and blew her nose. She thought, God I must look a mess, and realized she didn't give a damn. After she had wiped her eyes and wadded the used tissue into a small ball dropping it on the floor, she cuddled back into his arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Closing her eyes, she relaxed, half-drifting. Funny how this seemed so right, so right... Scully yawned, realising there was something in the last thought to alarm her, but too tired to try and sort it out. The body under her vibrated briefly in a soft laugh.

"Are you falling asleep, Dana?"

She nodded sleepily, another yawn surprising her as she opened her eyes briefly focusing. A gentle touch on her cheek and she blinked not sure of what she was seeing. Certainly not that Krycek was capable of the mingled pain and sweetness softening the lines of his usually so hard face.

Hazily she wondered what had caused him to look like that. She yawned again, eyes sliding shut, forgetting her thread of thought, and from a distance she heard a soft laugh, and then someone was lifting and carrying her to the bed, gently removing the robe, and sliding her between cool clean sheets. For a moment a residue of the old resistance and distrust made her wonder if he was going to exact payment for his kindness tonight. But all he did was tuck her in, tenderly, as you do a small child.

At some point during the night she was vaguely aware of a draft of cooler air, and then a warm, solid, somehow comforting presence beside her. She muttered a little, turning and burrowing instinctively into the warmth going back to sleep again. She never felt the arm going around her waist, or realized that the man by her side spent a large portion of the night awake, simply watching the woman sleeping so trustingly in his arms, in his bed.

Scully woke slowly, trying to remember when she'd last felt so rested, so good. Then wondered why that thought should worry her. Stretching slowly, arms over her head, unconsciously sensuously, she pushed the covers back, uncurling her body. Yawning, a soft smile lingered on her lips. And then her eyes flew open in shock at the feathersoft touch on her mouth.

Startled she found herself looking up into leaf-green eyes. Smiling, *tender* eyes. A soundless "Oh!" of surprise, gave him the opportunity to deepen the kiss, stroking her lips open, tasting them with a thoroughness that left her breathless and melting. Scully, half-closed her eyes, letting the wave of passion take her, one hand behind Alex's neck as she slowly, pulled him down with her, sinking back against the mattress....

"Open your eyes, Dana," he told her softly, and languorously she obeyed. Krycek was smiling down at her. His face looked younger and somehow different, and for a moment she couldn't figure out what had changed. But then she realized that this was the first time she had seen him without the wariness he carried like a shield around with him.

"Say my name," he coaxed.

Confusion reflected in blue eyes and she whispered, "Krycek, your name is Krycek..."

He brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead. "Not that. Alex, call me Alex, like you did last night..." he kissed her again, with a heartbreaking gentleness, "like I was your lover..."

"I, Alex," she repeated obediently, more than a little uncertain of what he wanted.

His smile widened, "Yes, like that Dana..." a soft, sensuous drawl, as his lips wandered over her face and throat, whispering of her beauty, and how much he wanted her. Wooing her gently, tenderly.

Scully closed her eyes, back arching into his too knowing hands and mouth. She heard his soft laugh feathering across her breast, hardening already sensitive nipples. But even when she started to grow frantic, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down he wouldn't quicken the pace.

A lazy smile, "Don't be in such a hurry, Dana," he murmured, warm breath whispering over her sensitive skin.

"Alex, oh God, Alex," she moaned, wanting him with a desperation that frightened her. Hands feverishly running along hot, damp skin, she tried to urge him closer. Fine shivers ran continuously under her skin, and she opened huge dazed, blue eyes expecting to see the usual triumph lightning them. Waited to hear his demands that she beg.

He suddenly frowned, checking, when he saw the fear, and the hatred in the crystal clear depth. "No," he murmured, closing his own eyes in a strange pain, "no, *dousha* not that." He bent down and kissed her eyes shut, lips warm and firm. "Never again, I promise...."

Scully blinked, not sure what he meant. He seemed to require some sort of answer, and unbidden the words rose to her lips. "Please, please, please."

Abruptly his fingers dug into her arm, and he reared back. "Nyet! Dousha moy.." he spoke in a soft rapid Russian. But seeing her confusion, he switched to English. "Dana, don't. Never beg again."

A small bitter smile, "Isn't that what you want?"

"No..." he whispered, trailing kisses along her shoulder moving to taut white breasts, making her bite her lip and writhe under the warm wetness of his tongue, sliding over curves and hollows. Teasing softly at erect, throbbing flesh. "Oh no, Dana. I want..." He slid a knee between her legs, one hand stroking down her flat stomach, almost playfully, lingering at the hip, teasing.

Her nails dug into his slick, sweat-soaked back, cupping his buttocks, bringing him closer to her, legs wrapped around his back. "What do you want, Alex?" she gasped breathlessly.

"I want you, only you. You, open and warm and willing.... You're so beautiful you make my bones shake," he, murmured, fingers tangling gently in cinnamon and cinnabar damp curls. His hand moved lower and deeper, first one then two fingers slipping deep inside her. He smiled at her wordless moan, as she pushed against his fingers. Thumb flicking repeatedly over the most sensitive bundle of nerves in her body.

She shook her head bemused by the emotion she saw in his eyes. "I'm not beautiful, but you are, Alex..." she reached up and kissed his shoulder, one hand moving between their bodies to run a long teasing caress along his flanks, laughing low in her throat at the sound he made. She slowly explored the taut, flat planes of his stomach, tracing the muscles bunching under her fingertips. "How can a man be so beautiful," she murmured, looking into green, green eyes. "And those eyelashes, they're totally unfair, you know."

Krycek closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again she was surprised to see something that looked close to pain.

"Alex?" she asked, suddenly uncertain.

He smiled, a heartbreakingly sweet smile. "I'm not beautiful, dousha. But you..." He whispered something in Russian again, and then, "you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen, inside or out. Sparkling, like a diamond. Brilliant, lightning up those around you. Yet hard enough to shatter an unwary man's spirit and soul."

She slid her arms around his neck, a little shaken over the fervor in his voice. "You make me sound dangerous." She kissed his neck, tasting the salty skin with her tongue, loving the feel and weight of him against her.

"And so you are. I'd rather face a hundred armed men, than one unarmed, tiny, fragile woman with eyes that can freeze with a single look." He laughed softly, and there was no triumph, no gloating in the sound as he took her open mouth. Their tongues tangled as he deepened the kiss. She felt as if he was trying to absorb everything she was, into himself. When he finally broke off, she was gasping for air. He whispered something against her skin, a curse, a prayer. He was talking in Russian again, and although she didn't know the words, she had no problems understanding their meaning when he shifted sliding slowly between slender thighs. Scully shuddered at the sensation of satiny skin rubbing against her legs.

When she finally climaxed she was crying his name, and not caring. And she knew that this time she wasn't alone. Dana could hear him sob her name, again and again, face hidden in her hair, his entire body shaking with the force of his need. She held him close. Slowly, stroking back damp silky-soft black hair, hands trembling slightly. Unable to think anything, but Alex, Alex, in a stunned litany.

Once their breathing had calmed down a little, Alex shifted, so he was lying on his back, her head on his shoulder. She curled up against him, feeling safe and happy, and for once quite willing not to think of anything at all.

He slowly stroked her hair, fingers combing and tangling in the short silky strands. His body was completely relaxed but when she glanced up at him, his face was blank.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked a little shyly.

He raised himself on one elbow, looking down at her. "That I've never met a woman like you. Dana," he hesitated, suddenly changing what he was going to say. "Come back tonight?" His tone making it a question not a demand.

She too hesitated before agreeing, "I'll try but you know what it's like when you work a big case like this. And Mulder -" she broke off abruptly, sitting up. "Oh my God! Mulder! I promised I'd come by and pick him up this morning! Carstairs' going to kill me, not to mention Mulder!" She threw the bedcovers aside, swinging her legs over the side. "What time is it? Do I have time to go back home and change? Where are my clothes!?"

"Calm down, Dana," Alex's hand on her arm stilled her movements. "It's ten, so you'll be late no matter what. As for Mulder, if he was in the kind of state you describe no doubt he's still sleeping. You can shower here, and drive straight to him. He won't notice that you're still wearing the same clothes," his mouth quirked wryly, "If I know him right, I doubt Mulder'd notice if you walked into his place stark naked."

Scully repressed a bubble of laughter, and a strange burst of something that felt uncomfortably close to jealousy, that Alex was able to predict Mulder's likely response so accurately. And to her utter shock, sh wasn't sure who it was she was jealous of... Mulder or Alex. She removed his hand from her arm.

"Thanks for nothing, Krycek," but her tone was more amused than angry as she headed into the bathroom for a quick shower. And, thank goodness, remembering to bring her purse with her so she could repair some of the traces of last night, as well as this morning. Looking at herself in the mirror, Scully grimaced faintly noting the slightly swollen lips the faint mauve shadows under her eyes. She could hide the red mark at the base of her neck by buttoning up her blouse, but not the languorous, satisfied look that deepened the blue of her eyes.

You look like a woman who has been well and truly loved, Dana, she told her reflection, and then caught her breath in shock. When had what she and Krycek done in bed ever been called love? And yet, though she'd never tell the man outside, this morning *had* been love. For her at least, crazy as it might sound. Quickly pushing away that disconcerting thought, she replaced the lipstick and mascara, brushing out her hair into its usual neat perfection, with a few energetic strokes. There, Special Agent Scully. Satisfied, she gave the mirror a last nod and opened the door.

Krycek was standing by the balcony doors, dressed in nothing but a pair of sweats. She avoided looking at the vast expanse of smooth exposed skin. Seeing her, he poured her a cup of coffee from the pot on the table that smelled like heaven.

"Here, drink this before you go."

She took it, drawing in the rich, strong aroma with a deep sigh of contentment. "Thanks," she sipped it, and then exhaled in pure pleasure, "ahh, that's wonderful!"

He chuckled, "You look like a woman in love."

A hint of red ran along her cheekbones and she avoided his eyes, "I think I may be."

"What do you mean?" the abrupt change in his tone, made her give him a quizzical look. He had gone tense as a bowstring, green eyes sharp and hard as emeralds.

"Ah, nothing much," she said a little uncertainly, "I've always been a secret coffee afficianado, and you know the kind they have at the FBI. Why what did you think I meant?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, and it was his turn to avoid her eyes. He had relaxed again, but before he turned away she had time to see, an expression of... disappointment? No, surely she was wrong, he couldn't have thought she meant - Scully quickly drained her coffee, not eager to follow up on her thought. "I'm off," she said instead.

He nodded, and when she looked at him next his face was smooth, untroubled. "Drive carefully."

She dipped her head a little awkwardly, putting down the cup carefully, "I will, I, umm, I'll see you later..." her voice trailed away and she quickly turned around picking up her coat.

Driving to Mulder's, place Scully resolutely pushed back all thoughts of the man she had just left and the conflicting emotions he caused. Right now she had time for nothing but the case and her partner. So no more thoughts of Alex Krycek and the way he could melt her body with a single look. Nor about the unexpected tenderness this morning. The unselfish giving, the taking that took its pleasure from sharing and tenderness.

The moment the door closed behind Scully, the softness left Krycek's face, drained away like a mask being taken off. He walked over to the sofa and picked up his cellphone, pushing the buttons rapidly.

There was a short pause as he waited for the call to connect. "Sir? Krycek here, yes sir, the plans are proceeding. I am leaving now. Yes sir, she suspects nothing." He pressed the disconnect, and slowly folded up the phone, walking into the bedroom.

When he emerged again he looked a far cry from the usual scruffy hit man lurking in the shadows that Mulder and Scully were used to. Wearing his Gucci leather shoes, Armani suit, silk tie, and black briefcase as if born to it, Krycek left the apartment. Sliding on a pair of sunglasses he hailed a cab and gave a downtown address, getting out outside a bank, and handing the driver a twenty.

"Keep the change."

He walked through the big glass doors, sitting down under the enormous cubic structure dominating the entrance and unfolded a newspaper. He scanned the crowd of people, waiting patiently for his victim. It was a little past one when Alex finally saw him. A thin nervous man who kept glancing around, looking out of place and extremely uncomfortable in these surroundings. He kept tugging his cheap tie; his forehead damp with sweat.

Alex folded his newspaper, right on time. Doctor Hans Van der Weldt, brilliant nuclear physicist, and passionate humanitarian. The briefing also had him as an important part of the underground network smuggling out Chinese dissidents and leaders of the Tibetan underground resistance. For a moment Krycek speculated on why the Consortium wanted him dead, a deal with the Chinese government perhaps? The information in exchange for resources, perhaps a future sanctuary? Not that it mattered.

At the moment Hans Van der Weldt was the possessor of a computer disk detailing the names, places and routes of the underground railroad out of China. He was also alive. Krycek meant to change both those conditions. Standing up, every movement, smooth, unhurried, he walked towards Dr. Van der Weldt, brushing against him and knocking the briefcase from his hand.

"Oh, look here, I am so sorry!" The eager young man exclaimed, picking up the case, and brushing off the older man anxiously.

"Yes, yes," Hans Van der Weldt batted irritatedly at the hands. "Ouch!" he suddenly jerked, feeling a slight sting at the back of his hand.

"I am most frightfully sorry, did I hurt you?" the young man continued to apologize, even as Dr. Van der Weldt pushed him away grabbing the black briefcase held out by the man repeating his apologies, that was by no coincidence virtually indistinguishable from the one the polite young man was carrying.

"Yes, no, do not bother," the older man grabbed his briefcase eager to be away, leaving behind the dark youthful man, who looked after him still stammering his apologies. After seeing the doctor leave, he just shrugged and left quietly.

When Doctor Hans Van der Weldt collapsed, bleeding from the nose and mouth three blocks from the bank, the young man was long gone. The doctor died on the way to hospital despite the heroic attempts of the medical team to resuscitate him. His death was ruled as natural, especially after it was discovered that he had suffered for many years from a weak heart and chronic sickness. The obituaries the following day praised the scientist's accomplishment, and his commitment as a humanitarian. Mention was also made of his deep involvement with human rights organisations.

Alex Krycek took a deep breath, body loose, face cool, and opened the car door. The shadow in the opposite corner waited until he'd got in, sat down opposite him, then said softly, "Hello, Alex."

"Sir," voice calm, respectful.

"Do you have it?" Not a man to waste words, his boss.

Krycek dug into his pocket and withdrew a small computer disk, handing it over. "I got it."

The man took it, glancing at it briefly before tucking it in the inside his coat. "Good," he looked over at Alex. "It doesn't bother you?"

"What, sir?"

"The data on that disk will mean the death of hundreds, possibly thousands of people." A smile slid across his face. "Innocent, brave people."

Krycek barely stopped himself from shrugging. "None of my business."

The other man cleared his throat, lighting up a cigarette, "Very true. However, I had been wondering if your recent, ah, involvement, with Special Agent Scully had changed your point of view. I wouldn't like that to happen Alex, I wouldn't like that all."

The not so subtle warning in the gravelly voice made Krycek's stomach clench in tension, and he had to make an effort to breathe evenly, "Yes, sir."

A dry cough, Krycek finally identified as the old bastard laughing. "Very good," he picked up a small briefcase that was standing by his feet, giving it to the younger man. "Your payment."

Krycek took it, but gave it only a brief cursory glance. He had no doubt his payment, in full, would be in there. Cheating on money was not the way the Consortium worked. They would steal your soul, but they would always pay you for it.

"Thank you." He started to open the door grateful to get away when the older man blew out a cloud of smoke and froze him with his words.

"There is another small service we would like you to perform for us, Alex."

Krycek sank back, very carefully. "You know it doesn't work like that, sir, I'm strictly freelance."

Dry as dust, "You may like to think of it that way. But don't forget we still have a leash around your neck."

And he could feel it choke him right now. Trying to gather his composure, he said brittly, "I appreciate the confidence, sir, but right now I've got more than enough money."

"There are other forms of payment. You have recently exhibited a close interest in the death of Melissa Scully."

Krycek stiffened abruptly, voice toneless. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A harsh rattle he identified as another chuckle. "My dear, Alex, do not insult my intelligence. Don't you think we know what you've been doing? As well as your rather interesting solution to Special Agent Scully's dislike of you?"

Krycek sat very still. God how he wanted to kill the old son of a bitch, if he could just get his hands around that scrawny neck. A single twist and he could almost feel the bone crack. Suppressing the thought, he said cautiously, "And what exactly are you offering, sir?"

"Information on Melissa Scully's whereabouts."

Krycek almost laughed, "I already know that's not her in the photo, so why should I want to find another clone?"

A cloud of smoke filled the car, "Are you sure, Alex?"

Krycek stiffened, "Yes, sir."

"Ah, well, perhaps Agent Scully would be more interested."

Knowing when he was beat was something Krycek had learned from painful experience. Levelly he asked, "What's the mission?"

Not a muscle moved in the smoker's face, but Krycek could *see* the smugness. "This," he handed the dark man a photo of a young, pretty woman getting into a car. "Dr. Elizabeth Berkley, she works at the Sun Alliance R&D department. She is currently heading a project on artificial intelligence. We want to know everything she does, and then we want her, shall we say, disposed of."

Krycek took the photo, "You want her dead? How soon?"

"You misunderstand, we want her taken care of yes, but before she dies we want to know everything she knows."

Krycek looked up with a frown, "Why me? This looks like a fairly simple snatch and debrief mission."

"Again, you misunderstand, the moment her superiors know she has been taken they will immediately destroy all the data we need to access. Thus we need the right person to, ah, persuade her to cooperate, and then we want her death to be considered an accident and completely unconnected by her work."

Krycek stiffened. "I don't do honey pots any more," he said flatly.

"You may want to change your mind about that." A sudden deadly softness, "you're one of the best, Alex, but no one is irreplaceable, especially a man who's loyalties are, shall we say, suspect..."

A small involuntary motion before schooling himself to stillness. "So why am I not dead?"

"Because for the moment you are of more use to us alive than dead, but do remember that can change at any moment."

Not something he was about to forget. However, Krycek only said flatly, "I'll do it, but the price has gone up."

An affable nod, "What do you want?"

"This is the last one I ever work for you, you stay out of my life, out of Scully's as well. Take it or leave it."

There was a long silence and then, "Very well Alex. It is a deal, you give us Elizabeth Berkley and all debts are canceled."

"I walk away."

"You walk away."

A just noticeable relaxation, hoping against hope that the old s.o.b was telling the truth. "Fine," he opened the car door, "I'll get in touch as soon as I've got what you want."

Shoulders hunched, Alex Krycek walked away from the black car with its forged license plates and the man he both hated and needed.

Scully eased her car to a stop outside Hadley Place and turned off the engine, but didn't get out immediately. She badly needed time to think, to try and bring some kind of order into the chaos that her life had become. She had meant to drive home. But somehow she found herself here, on her way to a man who hated her, who she hated. Except... with an exclamation of disgust, Scully bit her lip. All through the long, wearying day the memory of Alex Krycek holding her during the night had given her a funny little twinge and had provided her with a much needed comfort.

The day had been, to put it plainly, horrible. Mulder had fumed over her 'underhanded tricks' as he called them, and had gone off to sulk, and work, with the other profilers. Skinner had gone after her for the failure of the forensic labs to be more accurate, all but accusing her of not putting in 100%. If she hadn't seen the strain, the dark pouches under his eyes, she might have snapped back. But as it was, she had bit her tongue and just said, yes sir, and no sir, in the right places. It just went to show just how much this case had them all rattled. Yet she couldn't help wondering why it was that everyone but her was allowed to act out their emotions.

Finally she had spent five frustrating hours going through the Highway Patrol logs, trying to discover a link between the murders, pouring over literally thousands of records, definitely not her favourite occupation. It was pure grunt work, but with the small size of the task force they were all having to turn their hands to doing things below their dignity - only yesterday she had caught Skinner actually making coffee. A little abashed he'd explained that his secretary was off making a database search for him - well, everyone except for the damned profilers, that was...

To top it all off Elliot Carstairs had acted as if she'd spent the night making mad passionate love to Mulder - not that she'd want him to know the truth about where she'd been last night and with whom, Scully thought grimly - but his smug disapproval still had her grinding her teeth. By the time she was ready to leave, and feeling damned guilty for doing so since she knew Mulder was still working, Scully was ready to tear out her hair and shriek at the top of her voice. A reluctant smile curled her mouth, that would be the day when Dana Katherine Scully, MD would ever do anything so insane. Of course, some people would think sleeping with a man like Alex Krycek would class her as certifiable.

Two months ago she would probably have agreed.

Scully sighed and picked up her briefcase with all the forensic reports as a little light bedside reading. She knew how microscopic was the chance of getting Mulder out and home tonight. But perhaps she should scoot up there, see if she could help him. Acting on impulse she changed direction and walked upstairs to the room where the BSU were housed. Not bothering to knock she pushed open the door. Mulder was sitting there alone, with his back to her, feet on the desk, a can of coke perched precariously on top of a pile of folders, leafing through yet another report.

"Mulder, put that down and go home," she said sitting down opposite him.

He scowled at her, "I'm not talking to you at the moment."

"Is that supposed to be a threat or a reward?" she asked mildly.

He gave her a dirty look. "Go away, Scully."

She stood up again, "That's what I was planning on doing." In reply to the question she saw in his eyes, "we finished the autopsies two days ago and they've called in expert crisis counselors to help the families deal with the trauma." She sighed heavily. "What's left is just a lot of legwork, I've been searching the DMV registers, and the Highway Patrol reports hoping for a lead. How are you doing?"

"Like shit!" he growled, tossing the file on top of the others. She had to dive forward to save the papers as the whole pile started to glide. For which she, naturally, received no thanks just another glower.

"I can't get a grip on him, Scully. It's as if," he searched in frustration for the right words. "He's constantly changing. Slipping through my hands like smoke."

He paused, scowling at the can of coke, "You remember Bill Patterson?"

"How could I forget?" she said dryly. "It's not every day one of the country's most respected FBI agents turns out to be a psychopathic serial killer."

Mulder half-closed his eyes, leaning back on the chair until it balanced on two legs.

"Yeah, well he always told us to understand a killer, we had to *become* the killer. It wasn't enough to just understand how his mind was working. A profiler had to absorb everything the killer is and was." He frowned, "do you understand, Scully? To crack this I have to *understand* what makes him tick. To feel the same kind of pleasure he feels in abducting and torturing and murdering those girls. I honestly always thought that was too high a price to pay, I still do. But for this case," he pushed his fingers through thick disheveled hair, "I can see his point of view."

Very quietly, hiding her sudden fear, she asked, "Is that what you're doing Mulder? Becoming the killer?"

"I've been trying to. But it's not working!" he sounded frustrated. "He keeps changing, as if..." his voice trailed away and suddenly the chair thumped to the floor, "as if he's not one but several, which is impossible from the forensic evidence gathered at the scenes, we're dealing with a single killer. Scully!" a rising note of excitement. "What if the killer suffers from a multiple personality disorder?"

"Mulder, Multiple Personality Disorder is extremely rare, and medical science is still divided on whether it should be classified as a clinical illness, furthermore..." she stopped at his frown and evident irritation. "But certainly if the killer was to suffer from genuine MPD then obviously none of the usual profiling methods would work on him. One or several of his personalities would be completely unaware of what the murderous personality was doing."

Speaking very calmly she continued. "And even if we had the murderer himself in for questioning, *he* would be innocent, hence we might have to discount some of the eyewitness accounts."

"Yes, yes, yes!! That could be the key! Where the hell is Carstairs?!" He grabbed a pencil scribbling frantically, muttering to himself.

As soon as Carstairs and the other profilers arrived, she and Mulder presented their idea, and there were exclamations of immediate agreements, and a new eagerness and sense of purpose as everyone rushed to their desks working with the new theory.

Scully left to pour herself a cup of coffee from the thermos on the bench by the window. Holding the plastic cup, sipping the lukewarm bitterness, she almost smiled watching Mulder argue with one of the other profilers, hair askew from having hands pushed through it repeatedly. No tie, and shirt wrinkled and with half the buttons missing completed the picture.

"What a waste," startled, she looked up and realized Elliot Carstairs was standing by her shoulder, watching Mulder as well.

"What do you mean, sir?" she asked.

"Mulder, throwing away his life on chasing after UFOs. Bill was right, he is brilliant. Damn! I wish I could get him back to Quantico with us after this case is over."

"He wouldn't come, sir," Scully said, a bit of an edge slipping into her voice.

Carstairs glanced at her, "I know, which is why I said it was a damn shame. Agent Scully, you're a scientist, a realist, you tell me, it doesn't bother you that Mulder is skulking in a cellar somewhere investigating Elvis sightings, when he could make a real contribution, save lives, as a profiler."

Scully let her eyes rest on Mulder for a long time, and then she replied slowly, "I used to think so yes, but I've come to realize that he makes a different but equally valid contribution in the X-Files."

She shook her head, "Besides, to be frank sir, I don't think Mulder ever should have become a profiler, brilliant or not. He," she searched for the right words, "is too intense, too obsessive. He would have either burned out by now, or followed the path of Patterson. It's not that he's afraid of responsibility, far from it. But I have seen him on cases where lives depend on him, and he turns... *driven* is the best word I can think of. He will do literally anything to save a life. If his every assignment was a matter of life and death, especially with multiple innocent victims like the ones involving the serial killers and terrorists you specialise in at the BSU out at Quantico, I think he would go insane. This way," she smiled a little wryly, "the grimness is occasionally enlivened by such sheer weirdness, it helps liven things up, and refresh him."

Carstairs crossed his arms. "You seem to know him well, Agent Scully."

"We've been partners for some time now," she said calmly, "he's saved my life more than once, we've been through some bad times together, that tends to bring people close."

"True, but you and Mulder are closer than most," there was just a hint of insinuation, that made her silently bristle. Yet she knew by now there was little use in defending herself or Mulder, so she contented herself with an enigmatic look, turning away from Carstairs and walking over to Mulder, quietly interjecting a word or two, listening. In an unconscious completely natural gesture, Mulder moved his chair so she could sit down, drawing her into the discussion, and soon they were bouncing ideas off each other, so closely attuned they were all but finishing each others sentences.

Sitting in the darkness of her car Scully thought of the closeness, the rightness of working with a man who so completely understood her. Who accepted her for what she was, 'warts and all,' and how mad she must be to risk it all for - what? A man she despised? A man who doled out crumbs when he felt like it. Why didn't she just tell Mulder? Together they could surely break Krycek, *force* him to give her the information she craved. Why did she continue to play his game? To come running when he whistled? And, oh God, what would she do if Mulder ever found out?

All her life she had sought what Mulder had so casually given her since the first day they were partnered; unqualified acceptance. Of course, her career choices, first as a doctor specialising in forensic pathology and then the FBI, making her way in a male dominated world, she had gotten used to being judged in advance for what, rather than who, she was. No one before Mulder had looked at her and seen not a woman, not a doctor, not a scientist or FBI agent, but simply Dana Scully. Most men saw only the slender curvy figure, the red-hair and blue eyes, and treated her accordingly.

Her hands slowly clenched on the wheel, and her lips curved into a bitter smile as she realized only one other man had ever treated her like a complete equal; neither giving nor asking for mercy. And that was the man waiting for her in the apartment above. Whatever else you could say of Krycek; uou had to admit he was decidedly Political Correct, in that he didn't care if you were a man or a woman. Whether he was seducing or killing you.

Scully slowly opened the car door, knowing there had never been any choice to make. She knew what he was. And yet, whatever it was that tied her to Alex Krycek it wouldn't let go so easy. Hadn't she always known what she was going to do in the end? She couldn't fool herself any longer it was only Melissa who kept her coming back. She was caught and she knew it.

Knocking on the door, she waited for a minute before it opened and Krycek was standing there. He must have just showered, because his hair was still damp and curling slightly at the back. He was wearing a white shirt and the usual black jeans, and he looked younger, more vulnerable tonight, she thought as she walked in. Hiding her sudden awkwardness beneath briskness.

He didn't touch her, stepping back a little putting his hand in his back pocket. "I wasn't sure you'd come," he said quietly.

Scully gave him an enigmatic look, "I wasn't sure I had a choice."

He stared at her, and to her amazement he actually looked hurt. "No, no Dana, that's not what I meant this morning."

She looked at him steadily. "Then what did you mean, Krycek? You're playing games and I don't know what the rules are."

He turned away. "I didn't mean anything. I wanted you to come here, because you wanted to. Not, not, because of anything else."

Scully bit her lip, "Krycek, you blackmail me into sleeping with you, you treat me like a wh -"

"NO!" he suddenly swung around, grabbing her shoulders shaking them hard. "No," a little calmer, "I never thought of you as a whore, and trust me, Dana Scully, I've got a hell of a lot more experience with whores than you do."

She stared at him, a little frightened. "I didn't mean it like that, I," she broke free, "I don't know what I meant," she muttered. "I knew this was a really bad idea, maybe I should just leave."

"No, I," he pushed his one good hand through his hair, "look, Dana, I'm sorry, this wasn't the way I wanted it to be. Look, I," he broke off and walked over to the sofa table and picked up a thick folder. Returning he held it out to her silently.

"What is this?"

He looked at her steadily, but his hands were actually trembling slightly. "This is every scrap of information about your sister, about Melissa. She is dead, at least I," he broke off, "I honestly thought she was dead, Dana. I really did."

Scully stared at the folder, at the file taking away her last hope that Melissa was alive. A long slow tremble started, grew until she was shaking like a leaf, "No, you're lying!"

"No, I'm not," Krycek muttered, eyes sliding away, and still holding out the folder. "I, *chort!* I'm sorry Dana."

She whispered through stiff lips, "You said you'd met her."

Krycek turned away, putting the folder on a small table by the door, "I lied."

"You bastard!"

"I know," his voice was strained. "But, Dana," he hesitated and then said softly, "today, I met someone, and they, he, claimed that what is in that folder may not be all the truth."

Her eyes were enormous, dark pools of misery and vulnerability. "Please, please, Krycek, don't do this to me," she begged. "I can't stand being torn between hope and despair any longer. Why are you doing this?" Anguish thickened her soft voice, "why do you hate me so much?"

"Oh, Dana. Christ no! I don't hate you, I've never hated you!" He came forward, taking her in his arms, gentle as if she was made of spun glass. "I never meant it to be like this."

"Then how did you mean it, Krycek?" she demanded bitterly stiffening at his touch. "What did you mean to do? Screw me until you had enough and then just leave, that," she nodded at the folder, "as a good-bye present?"

He breathed in shakily. "I didn't think at all. All I knew was that you would never have let me touch you if I didn't have some leverage."

She jerked away, "Nor would I!"

He bit his lip, not making any further attempt to touch her, almost as pale as she. "So, that was my only chance. But I can't do this to you. I want you to come to me because you want me, as I want you."

Despite herself, she couldn't help the question burning on her lips. "How do you want me? An itch that you just couldn't scratch? As a substitute for Mulder? *What* Krycek?!"

He flinched, and for a moment she didn't think he would answer. But then he told her, evenly, "I want whatever you're willing to give me, Dana. I've sunk that low. I want you, body, mind and soul. I want you to think only of *me* to want only me, half as much as I want you!"

All anger drained away and Scully just stared at him, stunned, not sure she had heard right. She wondered if this was just another of his cruel games. Waited for him to laugh and mock her credulity. But when she finally focused she saw only the stark white of his skin, the desperate intensity of dark-green burning eyes, the hand opening and closing convulsively.

Reaching out she took the folder from him. He released it easily, almost thrusting the thing at her.

"I can walk out that door, and never come back, Alex, you know that."

Mutely he nodded, not willing to risk his voice.

She didn't open the folder, didn't glance at it even once. "Damn you, Krycek, damn you to hell!"

A twisted smile, "Been there, done that, didn't even get a T-shirt."

She almost laughed before she caught herself. "I should go."

He said nothing, just waited. Still. Withdrawn.

She didn't know why she wasn't already out the door with the folder clutched to her chest. Why was she was still standing there, staring at the dark man watching her so intensely.

"Why, Alex?" she said very softly, and wasn't sure what she asking. Why had he blackmailed her, why had he decided to be honest at last, why did he want her....

He was silent for a moment, and then he said, "I once read somewhere, I can't remember where, that 'the worst sin - perhaps the only sin - passion can commit, is to be joyless. It must lie down with laughter or make it's bed in hell'... I never knew what the author meant until this morning."

A sudden weary bitterness, shadowed his voice and face. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I've bought, and sold, lust, often enough and it's never bothered me. Not until today. But this morning," he paused, lifting those amazing eyes to look at her steadily. "This morning showed me what true passion is. And now the memory of those other times makes me sick. I don't want your reluctant acquiescence. I want you like you were then. Laughing, happy, taking as much as you were giving. A, a lover, not a fuck."

Very softly he said, "You can walk out that door, Dana, and never come back. I swear I won't say a word to Mulder." And oddly enough, considering their past dealings, she was certain he was telling her the truth. That he would keep his word. "I have nothing left to bargain with."

She didn't know what to say, what to do. She took one step towards the door; Krycek made no motion to stop her. He remained where he was, quiet, waiting.

She looked at him, at the man who had humiliated and degraded her. The man she owed nothing. The man who was a killer, a liar, and a thief. The man she hated, except it wasn't true. Not any longer. At some point he had stopped being Krycek and had become Alex, her Alex.

Slowly, her eyes never leaving him she took another step: He tensed, but still didn't move. She put her hand on the doorhandle and he made a small involuntary movement before checking it sharply. Apart from that he was still as a statue. Only his eyes lived, watched as the light walked out of his life.

That one small motion sealed both their fates.

She would have left, never to see him again except across the barrel of a gun, but for that unconscious movement. It reminded her, not of the morning, but of last night, of the way he covered her hand with his one remaining one. Of him holding her while she cried in his arms.

It was, in the end, not the ecstasy he wrung from her body that made her stay but the memory of the man who held her while she wept. Who was tender when she needed tenderness, the man who seemed instinctively to know, not just how to hurt, but to give her comfort and something more... Safety? Solace? Love? She was never sure, she just knew in that moment that she could never walk away from him.

The folder dropped from suddenly nerveless hands and slipped to the floor with a soft flutter of paper.

"Dana? *Dorogaya*?" He sounded uncertain, apprehensive.

Scully lifted her hand and slapped him, hard. His head snapped, and he staggered back against the wall.

Krycek lifted a hand to his chin touching it gingerly, and smiled ruefully, "I guess I deserved that."

"Yes you did, and more. You really are a bastard."

"I know." His smile grew from deep inside his soul. "But you're not going, are you?" She didn't say anything and his smile slipped. "Dana?"

"No, I'm not," Scully said quietly. "But if you ever lie to me again, Alex, I will not only never come back, but I will personally make sure you spend the next thirty years in a maximum security prison. Do you understand?"

Far from looking frightened his smile widened. He looked more like a man promised eternal salvation than one being threatened with imprisonment. Krycek took one step, two, and suddenly she was in his arms. They closed around her as if he never intended to let her go again.

He murmured into her ear, "That was your last chance, Dana. I was going to let you go, but you've made your choice, forever." And standing in the circle of his arms, Dana Scully knew that it was indeed too late, for either of them.

Two weeks later, when they were still no closer to getting their serial killer, Scully wondered what she would have done without Krycek. Mulder was retreating further and further away from her. They were all putting in fourteen, eighteen hour days, living on takeout and gallons of coffee. Tempers were beginning to fray. There were frequent disagreements, arguments, and as always Scully was the person supposed to keep them together, working as a team. The person they all looked to, to keep her brilliant but maverick partner in line.

She was frequently tired, angry, and frustrated enough to scream. But when she came home so exhausted she had to drag herself from the car, Alex was there. What really mattered were not the dinners, the care he lavished on her comfort. Like the time he'd brought a Japanese masseuse who was waiting for her, because the day before she'd complained about a stiff back. Not even the times he seemed instinctively to know that she needed to be held. The times when she had to pour out all the ugliness, the pain and terror she had seen all day.

What she came to treasure was the fact that he was *there.* That he listened and that he cared for her. Mulder had many fine qualities but tenderness and concern for his partner were not chief among them. But no, she was doing her partner a disservice, she knew. He was even deeper into this case than she was, and unlike her, he had no one to take care of him. Scully almost smiled. The truth was that neither was she a particularly tender or caring person. To her immense surprise Alex Krycek was. Either that or he was a superb actor.

She wondered at times over the care he lavished on her. The change from the mysterious stranger using her own body against her to the tender, considerate lover was too great to be able to accept without questions. Finally she did what Dana Scully had always done; asked him outright.

Inevitably they were in bed. He was holding her, already half-asleep judging from the slow relaxed breathing. His body lax, moulded against hers - if there was one single thing that fascinated her about Krycek it was his seemingly endless need to be close. To touch her. She had always thought him rather standoffish, and remembering Mulder's complaints, had expected him to be the same with her. To keep his distance, to need the space. Instead she was the one in danger of feeling claustrophobic as he wrapped himself around her bodily and mentally.

Suppressing a yawn, Scully murmured sleepily, "Some day you'll have to tell me why you're doing this, Alex."

A drowsy drawl. "Do what?"

She snuggled into his shoulder. "Your best to turn into the lover of my dreams."

His eyes snapped open. If she'd looked up, she would have seen a startled, naked vulnerability. There was also a brief shadow flying over his face, as if reminded of something he would much rather not be. He asked rather bleakly, "You think that's what I'm doing?"

She yawned, burrowing deeper. "Isn't it? You're perfect, Alex, you never complain, never think of anything but me and what I want." She murmured sleepily, "You listen patiently when I ramble on and on about work. You give and give, and I give nothing in return."

He rolled over, leaning on his elbow, looking down into her face. "Nothing in return? Dana do you have the faintest idea of just how much you've already given me? The difference you've made in my life?"

There was a dangerous heat lightning his eyes from inside. Emotion intense enough to make her a little uncomfortable. He bent his head and kissed her deeply. A slow, thorough, drugging, kiss. "Dana, Dana, what you do to me." He brushed back a strand of red hair from her forehead. "You really have no idea what a miracle you are, do you?"

"Me?" She was genuinely surprised. "I'm a very ordinary person."

A soft, incredulous laugh. "You ordinary? Like a nova is ordinary!" He sobered. "You remind me that there is another world out there." He burrowed his face in her neck. "I've lived in shadows and darkness so long dousha and you bring me light and life and laughter. Everything I'd forgotten existed."

And listening to the quiet dark voice whispering of need and want, Scully dared to believe he was telling the truth.

She even found herself, against all regulations, discussing the case with him and was surprised by the shrewd, incisive comments he made. Although some of them were strangely skewed, and from one or two casual observations, it became evident that he was brought up in a far more ruthless school than the FBI. She even commented on it one night over dinner.

"Well, I did graduate from Quantico. And I was Mulder's partner, so I'm not a total greenhorn."

"Granted, but it's more than that," she gave him a long thoughtful look over her Peking duck, "don't try and fool me, Alex, you've had a hell of a lot more experience at this than just Quantico and your time as Mulder's partner, haven't you?"

He avoided her glance, forking up his fried noodles. "Yes and no."

"Meaning what exactly?"

He drank down some beer. "Let's just say that I've seen it from both sides, okay?"

Scully frowned, "What are you talking about?"

He sighed and put down his chopsticks, telling her levelly. "Dana, I've been *hunted* by the FBI, remember? And trust me when you're on the run, you soon learn how to keep moving. To keep your tracks covered. You also spend a lot of time thinking and wondering what the agents after you are thinking and planning. Besides, in a way you're right, Quantico wasn't my first experience with, umm, law enforcement of a kind. In Russia - " he broke off, "it doesn't matter." And that shuttered, closed look she hated suddenly locked her out of his thoughts and mind.

Realising that she was once again running up against the invisible wall he kept around him, Scully did not push. The more she learned about Alex Krycek the more questions she had. It was strange, she had slept with him, she was beginning to care for him to a dangerous degree, yet she felt as if she didn't know him at all, and for every little revelation about himself, the more uncertain she felt.

Later that night she was reading some forensic notes, sitting on the floor by the sofa table, bare feet buried in a deep velvety carpet. Mozart was playing softly in the background. To her surprise, and faint embarrassment for stereotyping, she found that Krycek's tastes ran towards the classics, with a preference for the melodic and whimsical; Mozart, Schubert and Liszt.

Alex was on the sofa, reading a book, glancing over at her once in a while. Sometimes they shared a quiet smile, a murmured comment. Scully reflected more than once how lovely it was to be able to simply be quiet together. Something very rare and restful she was forced to admit. Especially to someone used to Mulder's constant, aggressive flow of thoughts, ideas, theories. His agile mind jumping from tangent to tangent.

She was engrossed in a forensic lab report on victim number five's blood type when Alex put the book aside.

"I have to talk to you."

She glanced up, "Shoot."

"I have to leave, Dana, I'll be back in a couple of weeks or so."

That caught her attention. She put down the report, heart suddenly beating a little faster. "Can I ask where you're going?" Adding quickly, in case he thought she was being nosy. "Not that I'm interested."

He shook his head, "No, you can't ask, I'm sorry." He rose and came over to where she was sitting kneeling beside her. "But you know, this might not be a bad time for you to be alone." He tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, giving her cheek a small caress at the same time. Unconsciously she leaned into his fingers, body relaxing, heartbeat slowly picking up speed.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why what?" he said distracted, supporting her body weight as they slowly sank to the floor.

"Why do think it's better for me to be alone?" She moaned faintly when his hand slid around her gently stroking her back.

"Umm..." he rolled over on his back, pulling her with him so she was sprawled on top of him. "Because I want more, much more than a few stolen nights," he ignored her slight stiffening.

"I want you to come home to me each night, to share more than my bed..." He reached up and brought her head down for a long, slow, drugging kiss, and when he finally broke off, she was squirming against him. "So you think about that while I'm gone. Think about this," his hand worked itself down her body, knowing exactly where to linger, where to tease and where to stroke until she was writhing mindless. No thought but his hand and mouth and body making her forget everything but him, and what he made her feel and do....

Later that night, getting ready for bed, Scully was drying her hair in front of the mirror, and reflecting over the weird normality of her situation. Rather like an episode of the old 'Twilight Zone' tv show that Mulder swore was one of the true pinnacles of 20th century culture.

What, after all, could be more normal and common place than two adults sharing a bed, and tenatively building a realtionship? Turning off the hair-dryer and shaking out her hair, she thought dryly the only problem was that she was a FBI agent and he was wanted for murder, treason and theft. A match made in heaven. What the hell was she doing here, Scully asked herself for the millionth time, and for the millionth time not finding a good answer, when her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a crash from the bathroom and then muffled cursing.

Going across the bedroom she knocked on the door, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Go away, Dana."

But everything was patently not fine, and ignoring the order, Scully opened the door.

Alex was on his knees, scrambling for the mug he used for brushing his teeth and which had fallen on the floor.

Scully leaned against the door, and asked casually, "What are you doing down there, Krycek, seeking your own natural level?"

"Funny, funny, Scully," he gave her a glare. "I knocked the thing over and it rolled behind the toilet."

She knelt beside him and picked up the mug, putting it back by the washbasin. He was still on the floor, head bent, knees drawn up, and giving in to impulse she stroked his hair, tangling her fingers in the silky soft strands. "What's the matter, Alex?" she asked gently when he still didn't look at her.

A mixture of anger and bitterness reflected in shadowed green eyes. "I can't even brush my teeth properly. Every little thing, taking a shower, cooking dinner, driving a car, it's become a problem. Dammit!" he looked away but not before she could see something very close to tears, "I can't do anything!"

Scully had to swallow, feeling emotion prickling the corner of her eyes. Usually he dismissed the loss of his arm so easily, she hadn't realized how much it must have affected him. Once again, she thought later, underestimating him.

"You can do anything you want, Alex. And besides," a teasing look, "you still have all your, ah, necessary parts..."

He hid his face in her neck, trying to laugh although it came out closer to a sob. "Yeah, if I had to get something cut off, I guess it was lucky it was my arm. I wouldn't have been much use to you otherwise."

"Actually I was referring to your brain," she murmured demurely.

This time his laugh was real. Using his one remaining arm to pull her close to him, twisting around so they were side by side, leaning their backs against the bathtub. "That's my Scully, the logical FBI agent," he put his arm around her shoulders.

She snuggled close feeling a strange pleasure at the easy allusion to being his. "Guilty as charged."

He leaned his head against her breast, "I'm going to miss you, Dana. Damn, I wish I didn't have to leave."

A gentle, soft caress, her fingers running through his hair, had him groaning in pleasure. "Do you really?"

He raised his head kissing her gently. "I'm afraid so. Going to miss me, Scully?"

"In your dreams, Krycek," but her smile was tender and teasing. The kiss deep, and, not hesitant to show it any longer, very hungry.

It was the middle of the night and Scully was sleeping peacefully by his side when the phone woke him. Coming instantly awake, Alex was out of the bed in one smooth move, balancing on the heels of his feet. Moving like a cat, he came up in a crouch, eyes scanning the room. Realizing it was only the phone, and that he was at Hadley's Place, he relaxed fractionally taking the time to give the sleeping woman in his bed a tender look, before he walked over and picked up the phone, and bringing it to the living room to avoid disturbing her.

"Hello."

"Greetings, little one," Krycek went cold as ice.

"Colonel Rostov, what an unexpected... pleasure," despite himself the last word came out with faint irony.

The answer was a booming laugh. "Ever the joker eh, commander."

"If you say so, colonel," Krycek said woodenly.

The bonhomie dropped like the mask it was. "We need to meet, tomorrow, the Ambassador Hotel, suite 478, at two, don't be late." The phone started to buzz as the other caller disconnected.

Krycek automatically pressed the off button, slowly putting the phone down. He wanted to go back to Dana, to take her in his arms, arm, he reminded himself with a grimace. Instead he crossed the room and poured a big shot of whisky, coughing as the liquid burned down his throat and settled like a small living coal in the pit of his stomach.

As always the sound of that particular voice brought back memories he'd prefer buried. He was a free man. Well as free as any man playing a double, at times a triple game of betrayal. He was independently wealthy after years of salting away money in numbered Swiss and Aruba off-shore accounts. He had the woman of his dreams sleeping in his bed, he had....

Alex Krycek almost groaned aloud. He had shit! All the years, all the choices, all the sacrifices, and he was still nothing more than a pawn in a game larger than him. And now for the first time in far too long, he really had something to lose. Dammit! He *couldn't* fail now when he was finally so close.

"Alex?" Scully came up behind him, putting a small slender hand on his shoulder fingers sliding across damp, hot skin. "Where did you go? I woke up and you weren't there."

He pulled her around on to his lap, "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

She reached up and smoothed the frown from his forehead, "You're looking troubled, anything you want to talk about?"

He shook his head, "Not want, can't, Dana." He pulled her head down for a long deep kiss to stop any further questions.

When she finally broke off, they were both gasping for air. She framed his face, looking deep into his eyes.

"Alex, let me help."

He gave her a weary smile infinitely warmed by the faint concern in her eyes, the soft caress of delicate slender hands. "Dana, Dana, what would I do without you?" he whispered leaning up and capturing her lips in another long, soft drugging kiss. And although the woman in his arms smiled as if it was a joke. Krycek knew it was nothing less than the truth. He kissed her again, laughing against her mouth when she tried half-heartedly to keep him away.

Dreamily Scully thought this was what heaven was like, the sweetness of Alex's kisses, the steady beat of his heart under her ear, when she rested her head on his chest. Later, when they made love, she had the strangest feeling that tonight, he wanted something more from her than passion, tonight, he wanted oblivion, there was something close to desperation as he loved her, something in the beautiful face bent over her that she would remember for a long time to come...

"Sir," Jesus Christ, how many bastards did he have to call sir? Alex thought, submitting to the hearty embrace, the kisses on both cheeks.

The thick-bodied, gray-haired man stood back, studying Krycek closely. "You look tired my dear Alexei Sergevich."

*I am not your anything, you perverted bastard!* Alex thought in a flash of rage, but he was far too wise to let any hint of what he was thinking or feeling cross his face.

Aloud he only said, "You look good too, Boris. So what was so urgent we had to meet like this?"

Steering him to the chair, and pouring a shot of vodka, Boris, laughed. "So impatient, Sasha; life in America hasn't improved you." He poured himself another shot of vodka tossing it down, "Nastravodje!"

Alex drank down his own vodka, feeling the fiery alcohol burn down his throat. "Nastravodje." He replaced the glass on the table, "and now, as the Americans say, why don't you cut to the chase?"

Dropping down in a chair, Boris's face changed. "You are involved with a woman."

Krycek's stomach clenched. Shit, shit, shit!! Trying to calm his racing heart he said, "Yes, so? It's private, Boris, nothing to do with the Fifth Directorate."

Boris steepled his fingers. "Now there you are wrong my friend, Elizabeth Berkley is very much our business, especially since you are working for the Consortium on this."

Restraining an insane impulse to laugh, Krycek realized Boris was talking of the Consortium's target, not Dana. Lenin's Ghost be thanked. Relaxing he said almost cheerfully, "True, but a man has to live you know, and the Consortium pays well."

"Alexei we need access to the data before the Consortium does."

Krycek almost choked. "You want me to double-cross the Consortium?! If you want to get rid of me that badly just say so and I'll shoot myself! It will save time and a hell of a lot of pain."

Boris chuckled. "Calm down little brother, we are not wanting you to break your cover. We will simply provide you with an alternative set of data, you will give this to the Consortium. And if they ever discover that it is faked, they will assume it was the good Doctor Berkley who fooled you."

"Great," Krycek said sardonically, "as if that will make them hesitate in disposing of me." He sighed knowing he had no choice, that he'd never had one. "Fine, give me the disk and I'll se what I can do."

He rose, bringing the meeting to an end, but Boris remained seated. "Was there anything else?"

A long silence and a sudden leering look. "I thought we might get reacquainted, Sasha, it must be lonely for you here, no one who, ah, understands you the way I do." He inspected the fingers of one hand, "I have booked a room here for the night."

Krycek felt very cold. "I don't think so, Boris," he said calmly. And then he leaned forward, eyes glittering. "I'll never be your toy again, got that? You find someone else to play your little games with."

"You don't want to make me angry, my Alexei," Boris warned gently.

Krycek laughed shortly, "Could I? Look, *sir* I'm not one of your students, or your subordinates. Nowadays I decide who and what I sleep with." He tried very hard to ignore the inner mocking voice reminding him of the Smoking Man and Elizabeth Berkley.

Boris studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Very well, I will find my amusements somewhere else." He added casually, "by the way, father sends his regards."

Krycek went rigid. "I'm leaving!"

But behind him as he closed the door he heard the taunting laugh. "You can run little brother, but you cannot hide forever..."

Elizabeth Berkley lived in a typical block of apartments suitable for young professionals. Airy, clean, comfortable and lacking any kind of character or individuality. Krycek sat in his rented car watching her leave the building to bring up the second load of groceries from the car parked in front of the apartment building.

A pretty young woman, honey-blond hair shoulder length caught back by two green combs, she was enough to make any man give her a second glance. Krycek sighed, leaning his arms against the steering wheel. He had never felt more disgusted with an assignment. Still, it was a job, and it had to be done. He got out, slamming the door a little harder than necessary to relieve a little of his feelings and headed towards the target.

"Hey, that looks heavy, can I help you?" he gave her a charming boyish smile.

"Why, thank you," she half-turned, glancing at him idly and then abruptly swivelled back for a second look, eyes widening, sliding to his missing arm, then jerking away and flushing slightly when she realized he had caught her staring. But not before he had seen the compassion bordering on pity softening the blue. Krycek set his jaw. But it had also told him what he needed to know on the best approach to his assignment.

"Here, I'll take that," he deftly caught one of the grocery bags.

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, it was a little too much." Chatting easily, she led their way to the second floor, moving quickly, gracefully.

They stopped outside her door, and Krycek waited until she'd unlocked the door but not making any move to enter. He was careful to keep a small space between them to avoid her feeling the least bit crowded or threatened, and handed her the grocery bag.

"Here, you are." He started to move away, then suddenly turned back and gave her another boyish rueful smile. "I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, I'm Alex, Alex Ferguson, and I've just moved in. The guy who leased me the place didn't tell me there were neighbours like you here or I might have paid him more," his green eyes glimmered with lazy appreciation.

She smiled and actually blushed a little. "Are you flirting with me, Alex Ferguson?"

He cocked his head. "I could be, do you mind? Ms...?"

"Elizabeth, Elizabeth Berkley," she smiled, "and no, I don't mind, not at all." A sudden thought struck her. "Look, I'm having a small party at my place tonight. Just some friends, and friends of friends. Why don't you stop by?"

He grinned at her, warmly enough to chase a hint of colour onto her cheeks. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he unconsciously posed against the wall. The well-honed muscles moved under the thin white T-shirt he was wearing, and he noticed how her eyes followed the movements. Yes this would definitely work. But oddly the thought brought him little satisfaction or pleasure.

"Thanks, I might do that."

When Krycek knocked on her door later that evening, he could hear the faint sounds of music and loud cheerful chatter. The door opened and Elizabeth appeared. She had changed into a small aquamarine armless dress that flattered her hair and brought out the blue in her eyes.

"Hi!" she exclaimed with a smile, "I wasn't sure you were going to show up."

He gave her a boyish smile, "I wasn't sure myself," he admitted candidly.

"Well now that you're here, why don't you come in and I'll introduce you to everyone." She took his hand and pulled him into the room.

Her apartment was the bigger two bedroom unit, and he realized she must be pulling down quite a salary to be able to afford a place like this. It had a large living room cum kitchen and two smaller bedrooms off to each side of the fireplace. At the moment the room was filled with people, mostly young, well-dressed professionals. Glancing around at their pleasant well-scrubbed faces, the expensive clothes and casual sophisticated manner, Krycek had to hide a sudden bitter smile. They were so innocent, so unaware of their own luck.

However, they were all very cheerful and friendly, and more than one woman was eyeing him with something more than casual interest. Elizabeth was flitting around making sure everyone had something to drink and stopping briefly at each group of people for a quick word and a smile. Once something someone said made her laugh, throwing back her head, hair flying. Krycek sipped his drink, watching her thoughtfully.

"She's quite something isn't she?" He looked up to see one of the guys, what was his name? Eric, ah yes, that's right, Eric.

"Yes she is," he agreed politely.

"Brilliant mind, great body, and not a selfish bone in her," Eric said. "Did you know she spends her Saturdays off as a volunteer for Greenpeace? And she's also working for Amnesty International."

"You've known her long?"

"Since college, although she was always more dedicated." A quick rueful smile, "and more talented to tell the truth. Which is why she's pulling down the big money and I'm pounding physics, chemistry and biology into rebellious teenagers and living below the poverty line." He shrugged. "I'm a science teacher at Walter Whitman High."

"Sounds interesting," Krycek said politely.

"It stinks," Eric said frankly. "But hell it's a living, and we can't all of us be geniuses like Liz."

Elizabeth chose that moment to come back. "Hey Alex, are you talking to Eric?" she giggled, sitting down on his lap. Krycek could feel the slight unsteadiness, and see the dilated pupils. The lady was definitely very relaxed. He casually put an arm around her waist, steadying her.

"Right, Eric is telling me all your dirty little secrets," he said, reaching around her to grab a handful of peanuts.

Listening to Elizabeth, *Liz*, and Eric bicker in the way only two good old friends can, Krycek wondered what the hell he was doing here. He wanted to be in Washington, holding his beautiful FBI agent. His body hardened just thinking of her short red hair, like a cloud of living fire spread across his pillow. The way her blue eyes darkened when he brought her body alive with a single touch. The way she absently played with her earring when she was deep in thought.

Tearing himself away from all thoughts of Dana Scully, Alex Krycek concentrated grimly on the task at hand. By the end of the evening when he thought his face would break from so much smiling, he had her exactly where he wanted. She was definitely *very* interested, and he had made sure she knew he was as well. But without making the kind of move that would scare her off.

When he said good-bye, neither the first nor the last guest to leave, she followed him to the door. Standing there, he took her hand and looked deep into her eyes.

"Look, I don't want to seem pushy, but are you seeing anyone?"

She shook her head, voice a little breathless. "No, my boyfriend and I broke up three months ago."

He smiled into her eyes, "Are you going to be insulted if I tell you, good?"

Again she shook her head, "Not at all, actually I'm the one who broke it off, I, he..."

She broke off when he placed a gentle finger against her lips. "Shh, you don't have to explain anything to me, Liz." He smiled at her blush. "I like the name. Elizabeth is too long and formal. Elizabeth wears tailored suits and carries a briefcase. But Liz... Liz, will come with me tomorrow for a walk along the beach and some hot dogs..."

She dropped her eyes, but the blush remained and she actually swayed a little closer. "I'd love to, Alex."

"Good," he glanced around at the remaining guest, and then leaned closer whispering in her ear. "I want to kiss you, Liz, but I don't want our first time to be with half your friends watching us." A touch as soft as a butterfly's wing on her cheek, a last long look from warm green eyes, and then he was gone but not before he had seen her stand watching him with wide amazed eyes, one hand pressed to her cheek.

Gotcha! Krycek thought silently, allowing himself a single triumphant smile on the way to his temporary home.

When he got inside, Alex permitted himself the indulgence of a whisky and a cigarette. Bringing the cellphone out on the balcony, he dialed a number he had long ago memorized.

"Scully," her crisp voice as always made him smile.

"Hello dousha."

"Alex!" some muffled sounds as she shifted the phone, and when she spoke again it was in a whisper. "What are you doing calling me on this number?"

"Did you want me to phone you on the official FBI extension?"

"I don't want you to call me at all," she retorted, but he could hear the slight softening in her voice.

"Your wish is my command, milady," he started to hang up.

"No! Alex, dammit! Don't hang up!"

"I thought that's what you wanted," he said innocently. Then smiled at her frustrated wordless growl.

"Okay, you win," she finally said grudgingly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, how are things at the FBI?"

She sighed heavily, some of the animation leaving her voice. "Getting worse. We thought the fact that the killer suffers from multiple personality disorder would give us an edge, but so far zilch! We've been through every hospital record there is. And we've had a couple of promising leads but nothing that's panned out so far."

"How is Mulder taking it?"

A long silence, "He's getting worse. Soon he's going to start speaking in tongues I think. We've got two more tapes and by now he probably knows every word by heart. Even Carstairs is walking on eggshells around him. But the truth is he is the only one who has even the slightest chance of nailing the bastard, and knowing that just drives him on." Another long pause, "I'm really afraid for him, Alex."

"Don't, Dana, Mulder's tougher than you know," adding silently to himself, he's had to be. Aloud he said. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine, but - "a silence and then very softly, "I miss you."

His heart almost skipped a beat. "It's mutual *douschenka*."

"Douschenka... what does that mean?"

He laughed softly, "'Little star', it's a Russian endearment, and it suits you perfectly."

"Oh, Alex," she groaned, "you know we're both completely mad. You're everything I am fighting against. Corrupt as hell, a murderer, a paid *assassin* for God's sake! And just to make it perfect you killed my partner's father and I know you know a hell of a lot more about Melissa than you've told me. And ..." she breathed out softly, "and I can't sleep at night thinking of you and your arms around me." Somehow the anonymity of the phone allowed her to tell him things she could never have said face to face.

His voice grew a little rough. "Dana, beautiful Dana, what I wouldn't give to be there right now, and hold you."

"So why aren't you?" she demanded. Need overwhelming prudence for the moment.

He said lightly, "I am asking myself the same thing right now, I -"

Scully said urgently, "Hang on a moment, Alex," there was a muffled sound as she covered the phone with one hand, and then she came back and said quickly, "I have to hang up."

"I'll phone you later."

"I, no, don't, Alex, I mean, you don't know, I..." she sounded a little incoherent and Krycek smiled rather cynically.

"I take it what you're trying to tell me is that you don't want Mulder to know who is phoning you?"

A silence, and then quietly, "Do you blame me?"

He muttered a curse in Russian. "No, no I don't. All right, I'll phone you when I'm back in Washington again. In the meantime, take care of yourself and Mulder."

"I will, thanks for calling, Alex," she disconnected before he could say anything else.

"Mulder? Mulder!" Scully shook his shoulder gently.

"Wh...what?" he opened one eye blearily. "Wha'cha doing here Scully?"

"It's quarter past seven in the morning Mulder, and you're sleeping on your desk."

Mulder slowly lifted his head where it had fallen on a stack of witness reports. Maltreated joints protested as he reached behind his head and started massaging his neck.

"Ouch, I've got a crick," he complained.

"No wonder, I found you in here twisted like a pretzel." She glanced at the reports lying opened and scattered across his desk. "Did you find anything you missed the last three thousand times you read them?"

He stretched slowly, working at the stiffness. "Not so you'd notice it. Dammit, Scully, I know it's in there, the key to the case, if I could only see it."

She sat down opposite him. "Talk to me, Mulder, that might help sort things out."

Crossing his long legs, he started to go through what they had so far. He spoke calmly, logically, and once again she was reminded of the cold intelligence, almost genius that was constantly at war with his emotions. Too many people saw only the kookiness, the theories he enjoyed pushing in people's faces if only to see their reactions. They never noticed the cool, detached watcher looking out from his eyes, gauging their reactions, relishing their responses.

"So what you're saying," she interrupted, "is that the killer is most likely someone of independent financial means."

"It's the only explanation to the fact that he's managed to remain at large for so long. He has to have an undisturbed place, and the way he's been running around the country, he's either a thief, except we've checked and there have been no crimes that fit his pattern committed around the place where the kidnappings are, or he's got money."

Scully frowned. "He also has access to private transportation, since no public transportation pattern corresponds to the killings?"

Mulder stretched, joints popping. "Right, a car? Possible, but there are one or two things about the time frame that makes me wonder if he may have a private plane."

"But why do you think he has political influence?"

He picked up the last slice of cold congealed pizza lying on his desk, and started wolfing it down hungrily. "It's the only answer, Scully. Look, *someone* has to have put a lid on it. Remember Sheriff Bowles little tale? I mean, *we* didn't even get called in until victim number eleven. Which is nothing less than criminal considering that they had all the forensic evidence tying him to at least nine other murders. And when I talked to Fred Verhulst, the governor's chief of staff." She nodded, "all he would tell me was it was a favour to a valued supporter of the governor. Then he clamed up completely, ergo political pull in some very high places."

Scully repressed a shudder at the sight of the cold pizza, absently playing with a pen. "You're making sense, Mulder, too much for my comfort," she admitted. "Have you talked to Skinner about this?"

"Yep, and he agrees, so he's digging very quietly, calling in some favours, seeing what he can find."

Nervously toying with her earring, Scully asked, "Do you really think he'll find anything?"

A shrug, "There's nothing to lose."

"You're right, but still," she couldn't shake a small tension at the base of her shoulders. "There is something about this whole setup I don't like, Mulder."

Swallowing the last of the pizza and washing it down with a lukewarm coke that had long ago lost its fizz, Mulder rotated his shoulders. "Agreed. It stinks to high heaven." A thoughtful pause. "Perhaps it's time for some more tape on the window."

"Mulder, he's dead."

Mulder cocked his head, "Do you really think so?"

"We saw his body, remember?" Scully repressed the wayward thought that the dead did not always stay dead.

Mulder echoed her silent doubts, "Which doesn't mean he's not still out there somewhere." A hollow laugh, "look at people like the Smoking Man and Krycek, they've got more than nine lives. Every time you think they're dead, up they pop again."

Not wanting to think of the Smoking Man since that inevitably led her to the man who had once worked for the old bastard, Scully changed the subject. "You suspect the Consortium may be behind this? Isn't that a little far out, even for you?"

Mulder sat down again, pulling off his shoe and waving his toes. Absently she noticed the socks had holes on them. Nicely matching the wrinkled shirt, stubble and pale skin.

"No, not after the kind of polite brush off we've got from the locals. That stinks of cover-ups and who else has that kind of pull?"

"According to you and the Lone Gunmen, various secret organisations dominated by aliens and dedicated to taking over the world." She said dryly. "Are you sure there is nothing in the suspicion that the United Nations is secretly plotting to take over the US government and the numbers on the new highway signs are really a code to help the UN troops?"

Mulder said seriously, "Well actually, Scully..."

She groaned, holding her hands before her ears, "I don't want to hear! It was a joke, Mulder!"

He chuckled, "Remind me sometime to tell you about Frohike's theory on the origins of the United Nations and the role the Rockefellers played."

An almost smile, "I always *thought* Nelson Rockefeller looked like an alien..." She frowned, "and please spare me from Frohike. He's been mailing me again." She gave him a sudden glare hot enough to singe. "Which reminds me. I have a *big* bone to pick with you!"

"What are you talking about?" he gave her an ingenuous smile.

Scully snorted, "Don't try that innocent routine with me! Mulder did you, or did you not send Frohike love poetry from *me*?!"

Mulder shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "You're sending Frohike poetry? Don't you have any shame, Scully?"

She almost choked, "I'm going to get you for this, Mulder!"

"Really, Scully, leading the poor man on. Do you know how excited he got when you called him your fearless knight, doing battle in the cyberworld?" Mulder's eyes danced.

Declining to answer, Scully just turned her back on him and pretended to be very busy. She tried her best to ignore the smiling loon she had the terrible forturne to be partnered with.

The following week Krycek methodically put his plan in action and resolutely resisted the temptation to phone or even think about Dana Scully. The first date he did nothing more than hold Elizabeth's hand as they strolled along the beach at sunset. When she asked him about his arm, he gave her a rueful smile.

"My own stupid fault. I was heading up a Disaster and Rescue team, and I wasn't supposed to do anything but coordinate. But," he gave her a depreciating glance, "I don't want to sound like I'm bragging or bore you."

She smiled, taking his hand, "I don't think you're bragging, or boring me. Please go on, Alex, it sounds fascinating."

He hesitated, sadness clouding his eyes for a moment. "As I said I was just coordinating when I heard a small child calling out, I just couldn't stand there listening to her call for help so off I went. I found her buried under a couple of tons of cement and broken pipes and we were all afraid of the gas leaks. So we wanted to get her out fast. I volunteered to go in after her," a pensive self-mocking smile shaped his mouth, "old indestructible Alex to the rescue. We got her out and then something must have shifted because suddenly my arm was ..." his voice drifted off, and she squeezed his hand in sympathy.

"Did you get the child out alive?"

His face lit into a genuine smile, "Yup! And because she was an orphan, her entire family died in the earthquake, we brought her back with us. They found her a really good home." He shook his head, "you know, people call us heroes for doing what we do, but the real heroes are people like her. After everything she's been through, she's such a great well-adjusted kid. She's pulling straight A's in school, and she's on the Track and Field team." He laughed softly, a thread of tenderness running through it, "the last time we met," he looked a little abashed at the admission, "I kind of like to keep an eye on her y'know? She claimed she's going to marry me if I can only wait for her to grow up."

Liz smiled, "I can understand why." She gave him a soft admiring glance. "You're quite a man, Alex."

He smiled back at her. "And you're quite a woman, Elizabeth Berkley. Eric was filling me in about you last night."

She laughed, brushing back a long strand of blonde hair blown forward by the wind. "Don't mind Eric, he thinks I'm Mother Teresa and Albert Einstein all rolled into one."

"And aren't you?" he glanced down at her, eyes warm and amused.

She blushed a little, "Not by far." Earnestly, wanting him to understand she said, "I work with computers all day. It's extremely interesting, but also dehumanizing. At times you forget that what really matters in life is *people*. So when I finish working I want to remember that I am a member of the human race."

He stopped, and turned towards her, taking both her hands in his. "Well, I agree with Eric, I think you're one hell of a lady, Liz." Quietly, he added, "and I'd like very much to get to know you better. Okay?"

A little breathlessly she stared into his eyes, "Very okay."

He didn't kiss her until their third date, letting her set the pace and never pushing for more than she wanted to give. While at the same time making it very, very clear that he wanted her. It was a game he had played with a thousand women, and men, before. Once or twice Krycek thought cynically that despite what biologists and Christian fundamentalists believed, there was really no difference in the seduction of a woman or a man.

By the end of the second week, when he was going slowly mad from missing Scully, Elizabeth was eating out if his hand. She was not even able to hide her infatuation. But then he had deliberately created exactly the kind of man she would fall in love with.

The first time he took her to bed she reacted with a kind of surprised gratitude that made him wonder about her previous lovers. Ah well, he thought as she moaned and writhed against him, in response to his skill, he could at least give her some pleasure before she had to die. And was surprised by his own thought. It had never occurred to him before, Scully's corrupting influence no doubt, he thought with a tiny secret smile as he bent over Elizabeth again...

Sitting in her living room, drinking a glass of wine after dinner, listening to James Galway play hauntingly in the background, he slowly led her to talk about her work. She was flattered and happy he seemed so interested in what she was doing. Krycek listened, asked the right question, and each night after he got home he listened and transposed the tape from the voice activated bugs he had installed in her apartment and on her phone. Slowly he was building up a good base. Not only of what she knew, but of what kind of questions he had to ask her.

They had been sleeping together for a week, and she had started to talk of introducing him to her family, when he finally decided that he had everything that was necessary. That night after she had gone to sleep, he quietly left their bed, and returned with a gauze pad drenched with ether. Pressing it to her nose and mouth for about fifteen seconds, she was soon unconscious. Putting away the pad, he locked her hands behind her back with a pair of leather padded cuffs to avoid any tear of the skin or marks. Then half-carrying her, half-dragging her to a chair, he injected the sodium pentothal, waited for it to work, and then gently slapped her, to wake her up.

"Elizabeth?"

She stared at him blurrily, "Ye..yes..."

"What's your name?"

"Elizabeth Susan Berkley."

"Where do you work?"

"Sun Alliance R&D."

Krycek breathed out, pleased. "All right Elizabeth, let's talk about your work...."

It took more than three hours, but at the end he was reasonably sure he had everything she knew or thought she knew. Then he had to wait until she started to come out of the daze induced by the drug. He waited patiently until her eyes were clear and conscious again, and he was relatively sure little of the drug he had used remained in her blood.

Shaking her aching head, Elizabeth tried to put her hands up to massage her neck but realized they wouldn't move. Confused, she looked around, and realized Alex was standing with his back to her, packing up a small black bag.

"Alex?" she asked uncertainly.

He turned around, "So you're awake. I'm sorry you had to regain consciousness. But I couldn't risk traces of the drug being found in your blood."

"Drugs, blood, what are you talking about?" she started to sound a little afraid. "And why am I tied up?"

He snapped the bag closed, and came over to her. "It's a long story, but suffice it to say that I was sent to kill you, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

Elizabeth stared at him with wide uncomprehending eyes. "You're going to kill me?"

He looked at her with an odd expression of regret. "I'm sorry, Liz, don't take it personally. It's just a job."

She choked down an insane unbelieving burst of laughter. "You're going to *kill* me and you're telling me not to take it personally?!"

He held up the syringe, tapping gently to push out the air bubble. "Trust me, Liz, I'm doing you a favour. The others wouldn't have been as gentle, a couple of days in their hands and you would have begged for death. This way you just go to sleep and never wake up again."

"What others? I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered. "If I'm going to die, you can at least tell me *why*!"

He knelt by her side, lightly circling her arm and tracing the vein. "Sorry, this isn't like the movies where the villain spends ten minutes explaining the plot and who the bad guys are, for the heroine before killing her. Just to have the hero burst in at the last moment." He pressed a kiss on her forehead, "I'm just about the closest thing you've got to a hero."

She shook her head, pleading, "How can you do this to me, Alex? Last night we were in bed together. We *made love* and now you can just kill me without a second thought?"

He slid the needle into her vein and depressed the plunger. "No, Liz, we fucked. I've only ever made love to one person in my life and she wasn't you."

Desperately she said, "If you let me go, I'll do anything you want. I won't tell anybody, I *promise*!"

He said nothing, just watched silently as she raved against him, screamed and cursed. Called him a bastard, a motherfucker, and later when she wept and pleaded and begged. He sat watching until her eyes closed and her breathing became even and deep. When he was sure she was asleep, he released her and carefully massaged away the faint marks from the cuffs.

Carrying her to the bedroom and swearing over the missing arm he placed her on the bed and arranged the body just right. Then he returned to the living room where he connected the zipdrive to her computer and started downloading everything on the hard drive. While the data was being transferred he opened the small toolbox he carried with him. Going back to the bedroom and not giving the sleeping figure on the bed a single glance he knelt and carefully unscrewed one of the electrical sockets in her bedroom. Gently, gently he twisted one of the wires, and placed it against one of the unprotected metal circuits. After several tries a small blue flame suddenly jumped from the metal onto the thick carpet. A little judicious feeding and soon it was burning briskly. Once he was sure it had taken hold properly and that the window was open to create a good draft, Krycek returned to the living room. He unhooked the zipdrive, and silently left.

Just as he had calculated, on a quiet Wednesday morning when everyone was at work, it took almost half an hour for the fire to be discovered. By that time Elizabeth's apartment was engulfed in flames. When the firemen arrived, they were able to save most of the rest of the building, although almost half of the apartments had water and smoke damage. There were only two deaths, the young doctor Elizabeth Berkley and an old vagabond who had taken refugee in a storage area to sleep off last night's drunken binge.

On the plane back to Washington, Krycek read the newspaper article reporting on the fire. The writer noted that the fire had been ruled an accident after the police and fire department investigators had determined that a faulty electrical outlet in Dr. Berkley's bedroom was the cause. Krycek nodded in satisfaction of a job well done. The fire he'd set had served a dual purpose of effectively wiping all traces of computer tampering, and burning Elizabeth's body badly enough that any remaining traces of the sodium pentothal would go undetected.

Too bad about the vagrant. If he'd known the guy was sleeping in the attic, he would have gotten the old man out. Folding the newspaper, Krycek frowned slightly. Not checking things like that smelled of sloppiness. As he knew too well, it was the little details that often slipped you up. He'd have to watch out.

He closed his eyes leaning back in the seat, letting his mind drift to more pleasant things.... to Dana. Alex smiled, a soft tender smile, seeing in his mind's eye those ridiculous suits she was so fond of wearing. As if disguising her body could somehow make people forget she was a woman. Remembered her habit of chewing her pencil when she was worried, her sly smile when she'd made one of her bad jokes...

Alex Krycek fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

He arrived back in Washington late at night, and although he was sorely tempted to phone Scully, he refrained. Either she was still at FBI headquarters where she definitely did not want him to contact her. Or she was at home snatching a few hours of sleep. In which case, she was going to kill him for disturbing her. So repressing the fierce craving for her, he undressed, leaving all his clothes in a pile on the floor, crawled into bed and was asleep the same moment his head hit the pillow.

The next morning Krycek sat outside on the small terrace adjoining the apartment. He watched the children playing, eating breakfast, drinking coffee, and smiling in memory at Dana's reaction to the first cup of coffee he had ever given her. He reached for his phone.

She answered after the second ring.

"Scully."

"Guess who?"

"Alex?!" There was no hiding either the surprise or the genuine happiness.

"None other, I'm back in DC. Come by tonight?"

A long soft sigh, "I, I shouldn't.... we're working around the clock here, but..." another long pause. "You tempt me."

"Come on, dousha, all work and no play makes Dana a very unhappy little Fed."

She laughed softly, and the sound went through him like a knife. "You have a very twisted sense of humour. Not to mention a shaky grasp of nursery rhymes." A sigh, "let me see what I can do. I'll try and be by your place at eight.. and Alex - "

"Yes?"

"I've missed you."

"Not half as much as I've missed you, dousha."

When he hung up, he was smiling, whistling. Wandering inside to shower and shave, he started planning their reunion. She especially loved BBQ chicken wings, and a dry white Mosel. A disgusting combination, but then that was just about the only flaw in her he could think of...

He waited for three hours before he realized she wasn't going to show up. With a sudden savage gesture he swept the crystal glasses, the fine china from the table, watching it shatter at his feet. The little bitch! He swore heatedly, feeling icy cold. Had he misjudged her that much? He could have sworn that she felt something more than just lust. He knew she was not a woman who could be held by her body's need alone. But Dana Scully also wasn't the kind of woman who could go to bed casually without feelings.

Create a physical dependence and use it to conceive an emotional bond.

It was the first thing he had learned years ago. And wasn't that exactly what he had counted on when he'd - Oh hell, Alex, admit the truth to yourself at least. Forced her into your bed and raped her soul if not her body...

Alex Krycek sat up late that night with a bottle of vodka and his own dark thoughts.

He was still on the sofa, sleeping, the empty bottle on the floor when the sound of the ringing bell woke him up. For a moment he wasn't sure where he was. But then memory, and the sight of the broken glass on the floor made him recall too clearly last night. No one but Scully knew this place, at least he sincerely hoped so. Sitting up and swearing over the bruises caused by the prosthetic arm that he'd forgotten to take off in his drunken state last night, he staggered to the door.

Scully walked in, geninune and unmistakable anticipation and happiness warming the blue of her eyes . "Hello, Alex." She glanced around her, suddenly wrinkling her nose. "What happened here?"

Leaning against the wall, he tried a shrug, "I had a little accident."

Looking at the splinters of glass and china, the wine staining the floor, she lifted an eyebrow. "Not so little."

He ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed, "Ah, well it doesn't matter," he mumbled.

One of the things he treasured most about Dana Scully was her sharp intelligence. She took in the mess on the floor, the vodka bottle, his haggard appearance, and with a soft smile she walked straight into his arms.

"Oh, Alex, I'm sorry! I did want to call you and explain why I couldn't come. But," a half-teasing look, "I couldn't, since I still don't know your phone number."

He held her hard, the feel of her body against his, her arms around his waist, sending shivers of pure joy through him. Alex closed his eyes and shook his head saying blankly. "I never thought about that, I'll give you the number before you leave."

"Leave?" she raised an eyebrow, "I have no intention of leaving. Alex, hold me, hold me hard," she pleaded softly. For the first time since she entered he really looked at her. She was pale as paper, and the fine skin was almost translucent with weariness. A terrible anguish darkened her eyes and carved deep shadows around eyes and mouth. When she leaned against him, he could feel the fine tremors running continually through her body. The desperate thinness of her bones. She must have lost weight like crazy since he left.

"Dana? *Mylienkaya*" cursing the missing arm that prevented him from picking her up he had to content himself with supporting her to the sofa. She sank down turned her head into his shoulder and quietly started crying.

Listening to her tears, feeling the shaking of her shoulders under his caressing hand, Krycek silently cursed Mulder, Skinner, the entire FBI and most of all himself for leaving at a time when she so obviously needed him. Finally she calmed down a little, wiping her eyes on his shirt, causing a chuckle. But at the same time he felt unbearably moved.

"Dammit! I *hate* falling apart like this! I've done nothing but snivel over you ever since this case started," she mumbled.

"Shh...." he shifted so he was lying on the sofa, spooned around her soft, pliant body. "Nothing can be that bad, tell me," he coaxed her gently.

Scully closed her eyes in anguish. "It's worse. Mulder is desperate and he's going crazy, Alex."

Krycek kissed her forehead feeling the, by now, all too familiar hurt deep inside. Mulder, always Mulder... "Dana, he's a profiler, this is part of his work. He can handle it."

She shook her head. "No, this is different. This case has already brought to the surface all his feelings for his sister. And something's happened that's made it even worse. Three days before you phoned me, we got an urgent message that there had been another kidnapping matching the MO. This time right on our doorstep, here in Washington."

Her voice gained strength as she told Krycek about what had happened while he had been away...

Glancing at her partner as they drove to the downtown police station, Scully admitted she was getting very concerned. It was not just the shadows under the eyes, or the wrinkled suit looking as if he'd been sleeping in it - which he probably had - but there was a growing desperation he couldn't hide. A desperation caused by too many hours chasing a shadow. Too many reminders in the grief of the families of the victims of what he had lost. Too much time spent listening to the ravings of a madman. A monster who knew Fox Mulder much too well for comfort.

The family was waiting for them in a private interview room, and seeing them, Scully's heart sank. There was the father, a tall, lean dark man. Partner in a prestigous lawfirm, she recalled from the file. A man used to command, but now looking grey and old under his tan. He seemed bewildered, still in shock, as he tried to comfort the wife crying quietly by his side. But what draw both hers and Mulder's eyes like magnets was their son. Twelve years old, faded jeans, sneakers, an oversized plaid shirt and a baseball cap. Dark eyes fastened on them with a frightened intensity. Eyes that held no hope, just anger, fear and most of all guilt. Guilt for being there, for not being able to protect his sister. Scully's stomach twisted. Damn, this was the last thing she needed.

She held out her hand. "Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson? I'm Special Agent Scully and this is Special Agent Mulder. We are from the FBI task force. First of all let me express our deepest sympathy for your loss and assure you that we are doing everything in our power to apprehend the perpetrator."

Mrs. Tomlinson, who under other circumstances would have been a pretty, quietly attractive woman, a typical 'soccer mom' could only sob helplessly. Her husband visibly pulled himself together, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Thank you," he seemed dazed, "What would you like to know?"

Scully sat down and opened her file. "The more information on Melanie you can give us, the better. Her habits, friends, if you have seen any strangers around the house lately? Any little detail really."

Peter Tomlinson suddenly exploded like a small dark whirlwind. "Fuck you! Why aren't you doing something?! Talking won't get Mellie back!" He was on his feet, the chair falling back with a clatter on the floor before he slammed out of the room.

His father half-rose. "Peter!" he called after his son. He turned and gave the two agents a helpless look. "I'm sorry, Peter has taken this very hard. He was supposed to watch Mellie, but he forgot. He feels it's his fault she has been taken." And so did his parents from the looks of it.

Mrs. Tomlinson whispered through the sobs. "Peter is very intelligent and sensitive, he's in the advanced class." Scully wasn't sure what exactly that had to do with anything, but Mulder seemed to. He rose smoothly.

"Excuse me, I'll go and talk to him. Scully you can handle this alone?" She nodded and he left.

When she had finished the interview with the two devastated parents, Scully once again expressed her sympathy and assurance that they were doing everything in their power to catch the killer. She felt like a complete hypocrite and emotionally wrung out by the time she went looking for her partner.

Mulder was sitting in the corridor by the soda vending machines. The harsh overhead lights accentuated each wrinkle and shadow, and the brown hair was once again standing straight up. He and Peter Tomlinson were sitting side by side, not talking but there was no hostility. There might even have been a kind of tenuous connection between man and boy.

She told Mulder it was time to leave and he stood up. "I'm coming." He gave Peter a level look.

"Don't forget what I told you. No promises, but you know that I'll do whatever I can." Mulder was speaking to him man to man, or rather, Scully thought, brother to brother.

Peter looked solemn. "I understand." For a moment the composure broke, and he looked what he was, a lonely, frightened boy. "I just wish he'd have taken me instead of Mellie. She's too small for this."

Mulder's eyes wore an unfathomable look as they rested on the dark head for a moment. Then he said very softly, "They always are."

Finishing her story, Scully dropped her head in her hands. "After that meeting, Mulder worked for the next thirty six hours straight. When Carstairs tried to get him to slow down, get some rest, Mulder just snapped! From what I understand he actually went for Carstairs, punched him out." She tried to smile, "Mulder may be the fair-haired boy of the moment, but even to him there are limits. By the time I arrived he was throwing files and chairs around until most of the BSU jumped him and wrestled him to the ground."

Remembering too well just how volatile Fox Mulder could be, Krycek tried to comfort her. "They'll cut him plenty of slack, Dana, knowing the kind of pressure he's been under."

She swallowed the tears. "It's not his superiors, or not just them, I'm worried about. Mulder will never forgive himself if he fails, or me. When I was called I just administered a sedative, and when he finally started to calm down he wouldn't let go of my hand. He clung to it like a small boy. I spent the rest of the night by his side, watching him having nightmares."

"This morning he was still disoriented, dehydrated too, so we just got him to the nearest hospital and had him admitted, although he fought us every step of the way, howling that without him there would be more girls dead." She bit her lip, "and unfortunately that's the truth. He really is the only one, all the forensic evidence have led nowhere, all the other profilers have admitted defeat, he's the only one left, and it's killing him, Alex."

She started shaking. "I'm so afraid, so afraid that when this is over I won't have a partner. That he'll be gone, like Bill Patterson, locked away somewhere inside the darkness of his own mind." She abruptly twisted away from him, curling around herself, "I feel so helpless Alex, God I don't know what to do! I *can't* lose him!"

"Hush," he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Don't think about it now," he tried to draw her back to him, but she resisted, curling up.

"I can't lose him, Alex," she repeated softly. "I carry around enough guilt, God! If there was just something I could *do*, somebody who could help me!" it was a cry straight from the heart.

Krycek stiffened. Surely she didn't suspect? No, he told himself he was just being extremely paranoid. But as he set himself to gently cajoling her into his arms, she abruptly turned to him, clutching him hard.

"Help me forget, Alex!" she begged. "For a few hours at least, let me forget."

He silenced her with hot, burning kisses. Hearing her soft moans, and watching the tension leaving her as passion took it's place, as he loved her, Krycek knew there was literally nothing he wouldn't do for the woman in his arms.

After she had finally gone to sleep, he looked down into her face the strain temporarily gone. But even in her sleep she was frowning slightly, muttering a little. He smiled wryly to himself. Not exactly how he'd planned their reunion, but he wasn't complaining. She was starting to trust, to rely on him. Alex yawned, relaxing, as he pulled her against her, loving the way her slender tiny body curved itself against his. No, he wasn't complaining....

After Scully left the next morning, refreshed, a little more rested, but still with the haunted look in her eyes, Alex knew what he had to do. But Lenin's Ghost, it was so hard to do the right thing. For the first time he had the opportunity to be free, truly free, and he was going to throw it away, for what? A man who would put a bullet through him if he ever got the chance.

Krycek saw him at some distance. He was sitting by the duckpond, placidly feeding the eager ducks quacking at his feet. Restraining an impulse to call out and warn the animals that the bread was probably laced with arsenic, he walked closer and sat down beside the man.

"Do you have it?"

Mutely Krycek handed over the zip disk and a small cassette. "It's all there."

"Good," the older man pulled up some more bread crumbs scattering them around. "Silly useless animals, but feeding them is rather soothing."

"Yes, sir," he took a deep breath. "Sir, I want something else in return for the information."

The Smoking Man lifted an eyebrow. "More, Alex? That's a little greedy don't you think?"

Krycek breathed out, damn! "A trade sir."

The other man put the paper bag beside him and pulled up a package of cigarettes, lightning up. "I am listening."

"James Morrison."

A slight pause, and a flash of something that might have been amusement or satisfaction. "Ahhh, the case the FBI are pursuing so zealously."

Careful, Alex. "Yes, sir. It is Morrison, isn't it?"

A cloud of smoke rose between them. "Presumably, yes."

"You know where he is?"

Another cloud of smoke, a slight twist of desiccated lips. "What makes you think I do?"

Because you never let go, you black-hearted, lung-rotting bastard, Krycek thought darkly. "Because he is, or was, one of your operatives and you don't like not knowing where they are." A pause and then softly, "and because you owe his father."

"Very true, ah, *Krycek*." There was enough insinuation in the dry voice to turn him cold as ice.

"So..."

"Give me one reason for giving you the information."

Krycek's stomach muscles clenched, he had never had much hope, but still. A deep breath to steady his voice, "As payment for Elizabeth Berkley."

A sudden glimmer of interest, "You are withdrawing your earlier, ah, request?"

Very evenly, "Yes, sir."

The Smoking Man picked up his paper bag again, scattering more bread. "You must be wary of your weakness, Alex. A man like you cannot afford a woman like her."

Krycek didn't say anything, but silently he thought, and if I want advice from the devil, I'll remember to come ask you. "That's my business, sir."

"Very well," the old man turned, a little stiffly and pulled up a slim file from the briefcase beside him. "Here is his address, a doctor's report, diagnosing him as suffering from multiple personality disorder. The doctor's report warning of his incipient violence and schizophrenia. Surveillance photos. You'll find all the evidence you need inside his place."

Krycek took the file automatically. "You son of a bitch! You knew what I was going to ask for!"

A bone-dry chuckle, "Alex, Alex, you are so predictable. It is one of your ah, charms..." He dropped the cigarette butt crushing it under his heel. "Do give Agents Mulder and Scully my best."

Needing badly to get away, to breathe some fresh air, he turned to leave, when the soft voice behind him said, gently, "I will see you soon, Alex Krycek."

Walking away rapidly, Krycek cursed himself and Dana Scully and most of all Fox Mulder. He was caught and he knew it.

Only time would show the true cost of the file he was carrying.

That night when Scully arrived, the file was lying by her plate on the table. Picking it up, she asked, "What is this?" Adding a little nervously, "not more material on Melissa?"

A quick twisted smile. "No, it's all the information you'll need to catch your serial killer." He shook his head, stopping the questions before she could ask them. "No, don't ask, Dana. Just be satisfied that if you go to that address you'll find your killer, *and* all the evidence you can possible require to tie him to the murders."

"How did you get it?!" she still demanded, already rising. "Who gave it to you?"

"Does it matter?"

Hunting for her cellphone, Scully looked at him surprised. "Of course it matters. What am I going to tell my superiors?"

Wryly, "If they ask, just tell them, you can't reveal your sources."

Dialing an obviously familiar number, Scully gave him a speaking glance. "Right, that will really go down well with Skinner."

Pouring himself a glass of wine, Krycek said calmly, "Don't worry about Skinner, he's got his own secrets, he won't dig too deeply."

"What are you talking about? No, never mind," she suddenly started talking into her phone. "Mulder? Scully here, I just got the break we needed. That's right," she was smiling, glowing, excited, and Krycek had to turn away from the sight.

By the time she had finished her call he had recovered, and was smiling at her excitement. "Do you have time for a celebratory glass of wine before you leave?"

She shook her head, "I'm sorry, Alex, but I have to run." She picked up the file, and crossed to him, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thank you!" Scully was halfway out the door, when she suddenly turned and gave him a sharp look. "And when I get back we're going to have a very detailed talk about where you got this!"

When Scully arrived at the abandoned warehouse by the river, tension was clawing inside. The first thing she saw, after parking the car at a safe distance and walking the rest of the way, was Mulder crouched around a corner, talking quietly into a small walkie-talkie. Scully crept up beside him. "Is he in there?"

Mulder didn't turn his head. "As far as we can tell. Skinner and Carstairs are setting up the SWAT team and the snipers."

She flattened herself against the wall. "Is Melanie Tomlinson there as well?"

His eyes never left the building. "We don't know. But as soon as they're in position, I'm going in."

Scully pushed down her first impulse which was to tell him not to be an idiot. "Not a good idea, Mulder, going off half-cocked. Are the negotiators here?"

"In the command center with Skinner and Carstairs."

"Any sign he knows we're coming?"

He shook his head once. "So far everything is calm."

After a short but heated conversation with Skinner, Mulder and Scully were among the agents moving like dark shadows towards the warehouse. Gun at the ready, Scully thought with dry amusement that not even AD Skinner was a match for a Mulder in full cry. A Mulder, she knew instinctively, driven by the memory of a twelve year old boy with eyes that trusted him to bring his sister back.

Mulder nodded to one of the other who moved in front of the door, and then Mulder raised his voice. "FBI! Don't move!" The agent kicked in the door, covered by the others.

Bursting into the enormous room, everyone immediately spread out, although the darkness slowed them down a little as their eyes adjusted.

Moving smoothly, Mulder nodded once, holding up two fingers then just one, pointing to the door in the other end of the room. Scully hugged the wall, gun cocked and ready. There was no sound, no acknowledgment that they weren't alone.

One of the agents found a switch, and suddenly they were bathed in light, leaving them all blinking.

They were standing in an enormous completely bare room. There was nothing but a vast expanse of cement and in one corner, looking profoundly out of place a small stove and a sink piled high with dirty dishes. Against one wall was a long bench with a single office chair on wheels. Almost the entire surface was taken up by computer monitors, scanners, faxes, video cameras, and things Scully had no idea what they were. The only other thing was a small scrap of paper pinned to the monitor. Walking over to examine it, she spied something lying beside the keyboard.

"Mulder, look at this!" Scully picked up a small dog-eared black and white snapshot.

"What is it?" He came over and froze. It didn't even need his choked whisper, "Sam," to know it was Mulder and his long-lost sister. Curiously, Scully examined the photo over Mulder's shoulder. The two children were laughing up at the camera. Samantha Mulder was on the swing being pushed by a thin, tanned boy, his ears sticking straight out, hair tousled. He was smiling, and the eyes were innocent, trusting, a far cry from the adult Mulder. She only got a brief glance at the photo however before Mulder put it in his pocket, mouth thinned and angry.

Scully frowned. To coin a phrase, she had a bad feeling about this whole set-up. Nothing was going as it was supposed to, and Dana Scully was a woman who liked order and clarity in her work, and life. Sitting down in front of the monitor she started checking the files.

"Everything's coded, we need a hacker to crack this, Mulder."

"I'll call Frohike," Mulder said curtly. "Let's go!"

"Just a moment," Scully frowned. "Mulder, take a look at this." She held out the small scrap of paper glued to the monitor. It contained nothing but a poem:

Yea, though I walk through the valley of death
I shall fear no evil
For the valleys are gone
And only death awaits
And I am the evil.

The line *And I am the evil* had been underlined several times. "What do you make of this?"

Mulder glanced at the poem. "I'll tell you later, right now our priority is finding Morrison. Jacobsen!" he raised his voice slightly, "have you found anything?"

"Over here, sir!" They both turned at the sudden shout. Mulder crossed the room swiftly, Scully slightly behind and to the left of him, covering his back.

Once again they were standing outside a door, and after a curt nod by Mulder, Jacobsen kicked it open and they went in, guns at ready.

The sight that met them, had them all staring in mingled amazement and repugnance. An obese, unshaven, filthy man was kneeling in the middle of another completely bare room. There was a camp bed in one corner, a door in the opposite wall, and on a bare wall an enormous cross made of scrap metal.

The man didn't look up, didn't seem aware he was no longer alone. He was grossly fat, but had recently lost a lot of weight and his skin hung in grey grimy folds all around his body. He was wearing nothing but a soiled netshirt and boxers. Even buried in fat and rolls of loose skin, Scully experienced at sudden shiver down her back at the sight of a pair of colourless, almost transparent eyes staring back at the FBI agents. They shone with an eerie ecstasy and exultation cutting through her like a finely honed laser beam. From the restless mutters and sudden fingering of guns, she was not the only one so affected.

Mulder, never afraid to walk where angels fear to tread walked up to him, gun cocked. "James Morrison, I arrest you on charges of multiple counts of abduction, and murder. Do you understand these charges?"

The man did not move, hands clasped in front of him, whispering, "Our Father who art in heaven..." Tears streaming down his face, he blinked once, and his eyes regained some sanity.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone, but I can't stop him." He met Mulder's eyes in a long, intensely private look. "I'm sorry, for everything." He looked confused and then his mouth pulled into a horrible, cunning smile. "You took your time getting here. Hello FC," Mulder started and looked at him sharply, "long time no see, I've heard a lot about you. Awww, didn't Mr. Mulder want his little boy play to with the plebes?" Once again his face changed, and Scully found the sight very disconcerting. It reminded her of nothing so much as a giant sponge wiping everything clean. Leaving a blank slate for the next person to take possession.

Recovering from his momentary shock, Mulder yelled, "Where is Melanie Tomlinson?!" and started shaking him violently.

Scully grabbed his arm and hauled him off, as two other FBI agents closed in on either side of Morrison securing his arms.

"Stop it, Mulder!" she clung to his arm. "Let them do their job!" She tensed, cocking her head. "Hush, listen!"

They could both hear the faint sounds coming from behind the closed door, and Mulder being taller and faster outdistanced Scully with a hairsbreath as he tore the door open.

Inside the door was another, much smaller room. There were no windows, the only light being a bare light-bulb giving off a cold harsh light. And crawled into one corner was a small dirty girl. When she realized the door had opened she whimpered softly. In a pathetic gesture put up her hands for protection.

"Shhh," Scully crouched down, holding out her hand. "Don't be afraid, Melanie, I'm a FBI agent and we've come to take you home. My name is Scully and this is Mulder, my partner. You're safe now."

Melanie stared at them with wide, panicked eyes, still whimpering soundlessly. As soon as Scully moved closer she crawled away, hugging the wall.

Mulder gestured with his head, for her to get back. Scully pulled back, and Mulder remained where he was, not moving closer.

Quietly he said, "Hi, Melanie, I'm Mulder. You know you're even prettier than your brother says."

She suddenly lifted her head, peering at him. "You know Peter?"

Mulder nodded, "Sure I do. We had a long talk just a couple of days ago."

She gazed at him distrustfully. "I don't think Peter would have talked to you."

Mulder smiled, "He told me a lot about you. That you hate peas, but like broccoli. That you wait until your mommy has turned out the light and then you sneak over to his room so he can tell you ghost stories." His smile widened. "He says you get so scared you refuse to leave, and he has to wait until you are asleep and then carry you into your own room."

Melanie abruptly relaxed and tottered towards Mulder. She nearly fell over, but he caught her and swept her up into his arms.

"Shh, baby, don't be scared, you're safe now," he whispered as she clung to him. Trailing them outside, Scully thought that anyone who had ever accused Mulder of being cold, and obsessed only with his quest for the truth, should have been there right now. Seen the expression on his face as he gently cradled the small girl.

The two agents walked outside into the raw blustery night lit up by police cars and ambulances. The stillness broken by a crackling of walkie-talkies and police radios.

When the paramedics came up to take Melanie, she clutched at his neck, burrowing her head into his shoulder. He reached up with gentle hands, untangling her fingers.

"No, darling, you go with them, they're friends. They'll make sure you are okay." He gently stroked her hair, and handing her over to the woman, pressed a quick kiss on her forehead. "Don't be afraid, Mellie. Peter will be here soon, just as he promised."

"Peter is coming?"

Mulder's smile was sweet as honey. "He's coming. He's missed you, a lot."

Nestling into the arms of the female paramedic, Melanie grinned, showing one missing tooth. "He calls me a pest, but he always lets me go with him if I want to." She added with the absolute confidence of a child, "he always comes for me."

Mulder looked after two paramedics as they carried the little girl away. He turned to Scully, "I really think tha - "

There was a sudden soft pop, and for a moment Scully thought it was just the backfire of a car. But then she realized Mulder was turning and shouting something. Suddenly everyone moved in slow-motion, as if mired in molasses. Even their voices slowed to an unintelligible growl. Scully pivoted and watched helplessly as James Morrison opened his eyes wide, looking more surprised than afraid, mouth sagging. The two FBI agents at his side grabbed for his arms.

"NO!" Mulder screamed and abruptly everything moved at its normal speed again as he sprinted towards the man flung backwards by the force of the bullet, arms and legs in limp disarray.

Scully pulled her gun and ran towards the suddenly yelling and crouching FBI agents swarming around the cars. Trying to spy where the bullet had come from, she realized that about thirty other agents had the same idea, and holstered the gun. Skinner was bellowing orders, face dark and dangerous.

"I want that son of a bitch!" He spied Scully. "How is Morrison?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Go check then!" he snapped and turned away to yell some more orders.

Scully returning saw in one glance that there was nothing to be done.

Kneeling by the dying man, Mulder hissed between clenched teeth, "I want the ass of whoever fired!"

"It wasn't one of ours, Mulder. Skinner is deploying agents to check the roofs and windows, but I doubt they'll catch him. Whoever it was, he'll have had a good head start."

She broke off as the man on the ground gasped once, softly and then his eyes rolled up and he went limp. Mulder stood up, cursing bitterly. "Shit!"

Scully looked down at the dead man, feeling nothing but relief that it was over and anger that James Morrison would escape earthly justice. "Come on, Mulder, he's dead. There is nothing gained by staying here."

For a moment she thought he would refuse, but then with another curse, Mulder got to his feet and without another glance at what had once been a man, walked away. She knew better than to follow. She would give him the time he needed to compose himself, to realize on his own that there was nothing else he could have done.

Half an hour later, Scully left the command center after talking to AD Skinner who was almost as angry as Mulder, and Eliott Carstairs who told them both bluntly that he didn't give a damn, but was just relieved they'd gotten their man.

Scully had to push her way through the quickly gathering crowd, and she shook her head in faint disgust. The ghoulish curiosity of people never ceased to amaze her. The body of James Morrison had been packed up and shipped out for examination. But people were still pointing to the spot where he had died, and told newcomers of what had happened. Feeling tired and faintly depressed, the inevitable reaction to the earlier tension, Scully just wanted to find Mulder and go home.

There were uniforms everywhere, thankfully keeping the curious onlookers back, red and blue sirens blinking. Finishing her briefing of the sergeant in charge, Scully looked around for her partner. Finally she spotted him, huddled under a blanket, and sitting on the lowest step of an ambulance. Alone even in the midst of a crowd.

Scully walked over to him. Coming closer she could see the tiny shivers still rippling through him, the teeth he clenched to keep from chattering.

"Here," she thrust a mug under Mulder's nose.

He took it automatically, drawing in the warm rich steam curling up. "What is this?"

"Soup, chicken vegetable I think. One of the paramedics gave it to me," Scully told him, sitting down beside him on the step.

He tried a pale attempt at smiling. "What happened to the traditional whisky?"

"Alcohol is contraindicated in cases of shock," she said crisply.

"I'm not in shock!" he snapped.

"I never said you were," she replied calmly.

"And don't humor me, I'm not a child," he muttered. She gave him look that said he was being an ungrateful idiot and he had the grace to look faintly sheepish.

And then Scully continued to look pointedly at the mug until he took a sip, and then another. As the warmth slide down his throat, she saw the moment when, less frozen, blankess was replaced by memory.

He curled his fingers around the cup, drawing comfort from the heat. "He knew me, Scully."

She nodded. "I know. What he called you, 'FC,' does it mean anything to you?"

"Fox cub, a stupid nickname I haven't heard in...." his voice trailed away, "it must be twenty, twenty five years."

"Where does it come from?"

He shrugged, the blanket sliding down his back. "When I was a kid, I was a scout." He gave her a dry look at the sudden quirk of her lips. "It's true, I've even got the badges to prove it." His smile died away. "We were a bunch of guys in the same pack. We'd go camping in the woods, lie for hours watching the birds, deer, drink beer we'd persuaded some older brother to buy for us. Spend nights around the campfire talking. Stuff like that. We were cub scouts, my name is Fox, hence Fox Cub, FC."

"So he knew you from back then?"

Mulder rubbed his face. "I don't know. He obviously remembered me, but I have no recollection of him."

"At least this explains why he addressed his tapes to you personally, and how he knew about Samantha."

His eyes darkened. "Maybe. But you know we're left with more questions than answers. Who he really is, was. I don't remember any James Morrison. Why he fixated on me, why he tortured and killed."

Drawing the blanket back up in a practiced unconsciously tender gesture, Scully said calmly. "All that can wait until tomorrow. Right now you need to go home, go to bed and sleep. The nightmare is over, Mulder. He won't ever kill again."

She let her hand lightly rest on his shoulder. "Don't forget the most important thing; that Melanie Tomlinson is safe." She nodded towards another ambulance where Melanie was sitting, wrapped like Mulder in a blanket and being fussed over by two paramedics. As they watched a car drove up and Mr., Mrs., and Peter Tomlinson burst out. The parents immediately surrounded the little girl, hugging her and crying.

Peter just stood by the car and watched his family. A small still figure. There was no smile on his face, dark eyes enigmatic. He suddenly turned his head and uncannily he seemed to zero in on where Mulder was sitting. His head came up, and for a moment he and Mulder just looked at each other. Then a smile, like the sunrise dawned, changing his face completely. He made a thumbs up, mouthing, 'thank you.' Melanie suddenly realized he was there, and pulling away from her mother's arms, she ran over to him, yelling his name.

Scully and Mulder watched as he braced his body, catching her as she hurled herself at him, and small grubby thin arms securely around his neck, he swung her around and around, while she clung to him like a linchpin. Even from the distance they could hear her childish treble. "I knew you were coming, Peter, you said you were, and you did!"

Her big brother didn't answer in words. But the look on his face when she kissed his cheek, would remain with both agents for a long time.

Mulder abruptly put down his mug. "You're right, Scully, let's go home."

She smiled quietly, giving his hand a small quick touch as they made their way to the car.

Driving to his apartment slowly, Scully gave him an assessing glance. He looked like hell, eyes closed, the stubble beginning to show. But there was a smile on his lips, and he slumped in the seat, relaxed. Parking by the curb, waiting for him to get out, she reached across and took her partner's hand. "Sleep in tomorrow, Mulder, you've earned it."

He yawned widely. "I feel like I could sleep for twenty four hours. But when I finally surface again you and I are going to talk about how the hell you knew who Morrison was."

Her stomach muscles tightened. Sooner or later she would have to deal with this. And typical Dana Scully she chose now. "Mulder?"

He was halfway out the car, turning his head to glance back at her. "What?"

She looked at him steadily. "Do you trust me?"

He looked surprised. "You know I do."

"No, I mean really trust me."

The gravity of her question finally penetrated and he sank back in the passenger's seat again. "With my life."

She held out her hand and waited until he took it. "Then, please trust me that I can't tell you where I got the information from. Not yet. Please, Mulder?"

He hesitated, and then squeezed her hand, quipping weakly. "Careful, Scully, or you'll end up like me."

She smiled. In relief and unbearable guilt. Once again she had the proof, if any were needed that Fox Mulder who trusted no one had blind faith in her. "You mean putting tape on my windows, holding meetings in underground garages? What a delightful prospect."

Scully never realized that Mulder had stopped just by his entrance, watching her drive away. A cool, calculating look in hazel eyes as her car disappeared down the street.

Excerpt from the final report filed on James Morrison:

".... the capture and unfortunate death of James Morrison has left us with more questions than answers. An extensive search has revealed no clues as to his real identity. It seems certain that 'James Morrison' was an alias, but who provided him with the necessary papers and documentation remains a mystery.

A background check reveal that James Morrison did not work, did not receive social security, and did not have any bank accounts, apart from a current checking account. Regular payments, in cash, were made to that account which was then used to pay for his credit card and other expenses. A search of FBI, CIA and Interpol databases did not match any known fingerprints. Electronic experts value the equipment found at the scene in excess of $250,000. There has also been confirmation that Morrison did in fact own a small private plane, and blood samples found inside the plane confirms Agent Mulder's suspicion that it was used to transport the victims. Nor, despite extensive investigation, is it possible to determine exactly how Morrison, if he acted alone as is assumed, was able to operate freely and seemingly undisturbed by the authorities for an extended time period. Special Agent Mulder is convinced that Morrison enjoyed the protection of unknown people of political influence and power. However, there does not exist at this point any evidence supporting Agent Mulder's claims.

Philip Carlowitz, a renowned psychiatrist has admitted that last January he began treating James Morrison for supposed MPD. The FBI have subpoenaed his records, and hopefully they will shed some light on Morrison's sickness and his background. Dr. Carlowitz has indicated that the patient remained reluctant to speak of his family, despite the doctor's repeated attempts to do so. Dr. Carlowitz has also stated during interviews with this agent that it is his personal opinion that James Morrison's sickness was rooted in a childhood trauma rather than a chemical imbalance of the brain. According to Dr. Carlowitz, James Morrison abruptly broke off his treatment two months after first being referred in response to the doctor's questions about his family and background. The doctor signing the referral to Dr. Carlowitz is another mystery, as no doctor of that name is registered with the AMA.

An autopsy was done of the body and revealed an unknown chemical in the blood. Several samples have been sent off to university laboratories, but so far an exact identification of the substance has proved impossible. Professor Dawson at MIT is speculating that the chemical may induce, and I stress, may, a state of euphoria, not dissimilar to that of 'uppers.' Whether this had anything to do with the abduction of the victims is unknown.

Whether James Morrison suffered from MPD or not is still debatable. Indeed medical science remains divided on the question of whether MPD is a genuine illness or not. However, it is the opinion of this agent that James Morrison did in fact suffer from schizophrenia. Whether it was just one of his personalities that was schizophrenic, as Agent Mulder believes, or if the schizophrenia made him simulate the symptoms of Multiple Personality Disorder, cannot at this time be determined. Nor is it likely that we will ever know the reason he abducted and killed the girls. Without any further information on his childhood and identity it seems unlikely that we will ever know. As to Morrison's death, it has been determined that the bullet killing him was not of a make or caliber used by the FBI or the SWAT team. The identity of the killer of James Morrison remains unknown.

Morrison's connection to Special Agent Mulder also remains unexplained. Agent Mulder cannot recollect anyone matching the description of Morrison, nor can he explain why Morrison was in possession of a photograph of Agent Mulder and his sister. The poem has been identified as written by Stan Platke, a Specialist Four Rifleman in the Fourth Infantry Division, who served in Vietnam. A search of the armed forces fingerprint records show no match for either a 'James Morrison,' or another alias.

Special Agent Mulder is still pursuing the case, but at this point and without any new supporting evidence, it is questionable if there will ever be a satisfactory explanation to the question marks surrounding the motives, background and death of James Morrison."

Submitted by Special Agent Dana Scully.

While Scully waved goodbye to Mulder, a meeting was taking place on the other side of town.

The place was, as always, almost too inconspicuous. A modern office building like a million others. There was no sign outside the plain door, no hint that inside some of the most powerful men on earth were waiting for him.

The Smoking Man watched them all carefully but not even a master manipulator like himself could read anything on their calm, still faces. Seated around a table their shadows fell across the polished oak surface. And standing by the walls were silent watchful men. Young men in peak physical condition there to protect and serve, and if necessary give their lives for the old men who were their masters. The members of the Consortium had everything, everything but trust in their fellow members.

He sat down at the head of the table. It was the place of honour, the place of a chairman and leader. It was also the place of an accused facing a tribunal for final judgment.

"The Morrison situation is becoming troublesome," one of them broke the silence. His crisp cultivated voice called up images of five o'clock tea on well cut lawns. Of cricket and a world once great but now in decline.

The Smoking Man lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke and coughing lightly. "It is being dealt with even as we speak."

"How?" Sharply from another of the men. Tall and distinguished with a shock of white hair he retained the indefinable rigidity that a soldier never quite loses. It is the legacy of too many parades, too much time spent at attention.

"The FBI are closing in on Morrison's hideout." He waited for the room to grow quiet once again before he continued speaking, calmly. "However, there is no need for concern, I have assigned one of my best men to make sure he is not taken alive."

A stocky black man said quietly, "I warned you all months ago that Morrison had crossed the line." He leaned back in the chair, steepling his broad blunt-fingered hands.

Exhaling another cloud of smoke, the man who had worn a thousand different names and identities, but who in the here and now was known as Spender, watched the tendrils whisper up through the still air. "And I told you then I had the situation under control."

A quick braying laugh startled them all. It came from a man with the appearance of a retired accountant. Short and thin, he looked as if he could not hurt a fly. Until you looked into his eyes. Cold, calm, empty eyes. The eyes of a madman or a killer. "Under control? We have a serial killer on the lose who kills and tortures little girls," his lip curled, "you all know how emotional the public get about things like that. So we have the vice-president going on national TV vowing to catch the killer. We have the FBI and most of the national media focusing in on a man who can be traced back directly to the Consortium. I would not call that 'under control.'" He smiled again thinly , as he and the Smoking Man exchanged an icy look of mutual hatred.

The first man spoke again. "How did the Morrison situation get out of control in the first place?"

The Cigarette Smoking Man inhaled and coughed. "As you all know Th... ah, Morrison was discovered at a young age to have a latent psychic ability. He was able, as yet we do not know how, to subdue his own personality and allow himself to become nothing more than a vessel for whoever took over his body. During that time he had access to all the memories and knowledge of the subject in question. After further training by our allies, he has been of much use to the Consortium." The old man absently crushed out his cigarette. "However, two months ago there was a slight, ah, miscalculation."

"You mean you made a mistake," an old man, who looked frail enough that a puff of strong wind would carry him off said coldly. "I have warned you before of your arrogance."

The Smoking Man gave him a long cool look, "As you said. I made a mistake. Two months ago it was discovered that another of our agents was less than stable mentally. He was also selling Consortium secrets. I had the matter dealt with, but I needed to know the extent of the damage. I assigned Morrison to discover the truth." He paused to light another cigarette. "Something went wrong. The transference was permanent. Dalton took over Morrison's body and psyche. Two weeks later Morrison disappeared. When we finally caught up with him again he had already begun to kill."

A tall slender man leaned forward slightly. His white hair caught the lamplight as he asked. "Why did you not immediately dispose of Morrison?"

For the first time the Smoking Man hesitated almost imperceptibly. "At the time I still hoped to discover a way of erasing Dalton's personality from Morrison. However," he half-shrugged, "somehow the two psyches have begun to merge. Our own people believe that is what has pushed, Morrison or Dalton, over the edge. There are still brief moments when Morrison is in control, but they are becoming increasingly rare."

He contemplated the glowing tip of his cigarette. "In actuality this created an added complication. As a child Morrison knew Fox Mulder," he waited for the murmurs to die down before continuing, "and once when he was in control he sent a personal appeal to Agent Mulder." Spender paused before admitting levelly, "Certainly Morrison should have been dealt with when his instability first became apparent. I take full responsibility for that blunder. However, the attempt had to be made to salvage him. He was very useful to the Consortium."

A soft bark came from the soldier. "And you owed his father, Spender! You protected the son because of the father," malicious insinuation coloured his tone, "and not only Morrison, eh? So now we have the fucking FBI closing in on our problem. They must not be allowed to get him alive!"

A few of the men moved uncomfortably in their chairs and one of them murmured censoriously, "Really, there is no need to be vulgar."

The only reply was a shrug. "Forgive me, you are correct. However, I think this calls for both strong language and action. As soon as you realized Morrison was incurable, why didn't you kill him?"

The Smoking Man fought down a soft cough. There was no hint of emotion in either his voice or face. "I told you, I still hoped that we could salvage something at least from this unfortunate situation. Mental instability as such did not invalidate Morrison's usefulness." He paused, "I also believed that we had successfully cleaned up behind him. I hoped that sooner or later he would begin working for us again... And as long as we continued to monitor the situation closely and avoided any undue attention," he raised an eyebrow, smiling coldly, "no real harm done eh?"

"I still say you should have killed him, if not when he went rogue, then at least as soon as the FBI began taking an interest."

Spender shook his head, "No, Cahill unfortunately is right. It became too dangerous. Not only the FBI but the media was following this with very close interest. We had to give them someone or they would have continued digging." He did not need to add that so would Fox Mulder.

A man sitting at the back said in the crisp cultured accent that belongs to the dusty classrooms of an Ivy League university, "Then you should have simply framed someone else for Morrison's crimes. It didn't matter who." A brief wintry smile crossed his face, "Why not your former protégé Alex Krycek? You yourself have said he can no longer be trusted."

A long thoughtful look, "If necessary I would have done so. However, I dislike waste, and for now Krycek remains useful."

The tall man sitting at the other end of the table frowned slightly. There was no overt indication that he was the leader, and yet subtly, the power and the burden of leadership rested on his thin, stooping shoulders. "Very well, for now we will allow you to deal with the situation. As long..." he paused, "as it is resolved and swiftly. We do not tolerate failure, remember that."

Rising, Spender looked at the old men. His peers, his friends, his allies and his enemies. Expressionless he said, "I know."

He walked out the door.

Scully came back to Hadley Place again, filthy, wrinkled, exhausted and... incandescent, was probably the best word to describe her.

Krycek watched her with a wry smile. Had he ever felt as deeply as Dana Scully? Cared as much? She was only a few years younger than he, but at times he felt a hundred years older. Had he ever had her zest, her optimism, her delight in life? Even now, even after everything she had seen, after her own abduction, nearly dying, she was still an optimist. But watching her, twirl around the room, laughing, talking excitedly. the desperation smoothed from her face, the tension released from her shoulders, Alex knew with an inner peace, that he had done the right thing this morning. Whatever it may cost him in the future.

Scully did not go to work the next morning, allowing herself the luxury of calling in sick. Instead she and Krycek spent the day in bed, making love, talking desultorily, simply enjoying the relief from strain.

The following weeks saw their relationship begin to stabilize, and normalize, if that was the right word for it. For some reason the old smoking bastard hadn't called to collect his debt so Krycek was left relatively free. Which meant more and more time spent with Scully. Gradually she had even moved some of her things, a toothbrush, a few blouses and skirts to his place, and he was seriously considering signing a long-term lease on the place, the first home he had had in... actually it was the first home, period.

Despite his apprehension, she never asked how he had gotten the information that led to Morrison's capture and death. Perhaps she was as wary of knowing as he was of telling. There were still areas they avoided, subjects they did not bring up, chief among them Melissa Scully. Krycek tried, and failed, to forget the unmarked envelope that had appeared in the post box he maintained downtown, with more photos of Melissa, a videotape, a medical report.

There were other tensions however, that inevitably intruded into their world. And try as he might, Alex Krycek was not always able to escape from his past, or the 'other' life as he silently called it. But he tried his best to push them away, even if it meant walking a very slippery tightrope indeed.

Scully parked her car and got out locking the door. She breathed in deeply of the fresh, crisp autumn air. It was one of those glorious summer-into-autumn days when all the colors appear deeper and more vivid. Turning her face into the sun, she realized, rather surprised, that she was happy. For the first time in far too long both her personal and her private life was moving along smoothly.

The conclusion of the Morrison case had allowed her and Mulder to return to the X-Files. They were currently investigating a man who claimed he could speak to his vegetables. Or, at least that was his explanation for the exceptionally large and fine tomatoes, cucumbers and apples that won blue ribbons in competition after competition. His next-door neighbor however had filed a complaint alleging witchcraft. And when a polite officer visiting her the first time explained that was not a crime, she accused him of stealing her chickens, as well as her favourite goat Frida. And of using Frida as the main component in a Friday night black sabbath.

Even Mulder, Scully unconsciously smiled as she headed towards Hadley Place, was having problems finding any connection to the supernatural, while his partner had never believed there were any traces to be found. However, since their investigation involved driving around the Maryland countryside comparing vegetables - and having delightful lunches in quiet, tucked away restaurants - for once, Scully didn't mind Mulder's increasingly desperate attempts to prove it an X-File.

Of course, things had not exactly gone his way. Especially not when Frida had returned yesterday, although so far not talking of her experiences, supernatural or not. But seemingly none the worse for her absence. Keeping an absolutely straight face, Scully had suggested they contact an animal hypnotist who allegedly could 'channel' animals so they could find out what had happened to Frida. Mulder had given her a glare hot enough to singe. But later, she had caught him furtively looking through the telephone book. She had given him an incredulous look, and he had grinned and pointed out it was her idea after all.

Still, she found she couldn't stay exasperated with Mulder for long. Not while she knew that when she returned home at night, Alex was waiting for her. For now she had given up trying to analyze their complex and tangled relationship. It was enough that he was there and that so far he'd given no indication of leaving. Actually, he was talking of them renting a cabin in the mountains for some skiing and fishing. She still wasn't sure she was ready for the kind of comitment that indicated, but at least it meant he wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon.

She was still a way off from the entrance, and momentarily hidden by one of the trees that were the delight of the children living at Hadley Place, when she suddenly spied Alex coming through the door. He was frowning slightly, the long arms of the leather jacket effectively hiding his prosthetic. From the determined way he moved, she realized that wherever he was going, it was important.

She opened her mouth to call out to him. But some instinct closed her mouth before a sound emerged. Smoothly, unhurriedly she followed him as he hailed a cab. Stepping into the street, Scully was grateful for the luck that had another empty cab follow on the heels of the other. Waving it down and getting in, Scully did something she'd always wanted to. Feeling silly but at the same time fighting down a mischievous grin, she flashed her FBI identification.

"FBI, follow that cab!" she ordered.

The driver, a middle-aged black man, stared at her in the rearview mirror for a moment, but then obviously deciding she was genuine, he just shrugged and did as ordered.

Scully sat in the back-seat torn between embarrassment for following him and a growing apprehension. Once again she realized just how little she knew of Alex Krycek. While he certainly seemed to have plenty of money, she had no idea where it came from. Nor, apart from his enigmatic comment the night when they first met, had she ever managed to pin him down on what he did for a living or even what he did when she was working. Whenever she tried to ask him, he would distract her with a kiss or a quiet joke. And his obvious reluctance to answer meant that she had more or less given up probing.

Ten minutes later, the cab in front of her slowed down and came to a stop outside nothing more sinister than a cheerful green and gold sign announcing 'Justin's.'

"What is that place?" Scully asked her driver as she took out money to pay him.

"Just a bookshop," he replied, counting out the change.

Scully waited until Alex had gone inside before getting out.

She stood in the street once again undecided whether she should just leave before she embarrassed herself. However, she hesitated only briefly before opening the door. Curiosity, both professional and personal proved stronger than any lingering fear of looking like a jealous fool.

Inside the air was redolent of coffee, hot donuts, and the sharp, dusty smell of newsprint and uncreased paper. Scully quickly spied Krycek. He was sitting at one of the small tables adjoining the book shelves. An untouched cup of coffee was in front of him. He was frowning, obviously deep in dark thoughts. He did not look up as the door opened with a soft jangle of the bell.

Somehow she doubted he'd stopped by just for a coffee and a read.

Careful not to take the chance that he would see her she quickly turned her back and walked over to the counter where she could keep a discreet eye on him without being seen. Perhaps ten minutes later Krycek abruptly stiffened. If she hadn't been looking for it, she would have missed his small shift in position. Pretending to chose between blueberry cheesecake and a chocolate muffin, Scully positioned herself so she could see Alex in the reflection of the mirror behind the counter.

The man entering was tall and heavy. He wore a long black wool coat. With his back to her, she was unable to see his face clearly. However, what she could see gave the impression of heft and power. He was definitely bulky but not fat. Krycek stood up as he approached. Scully watched as the two men embraced briefly, the stranger kissing both cheeks of the lean, dark man, greeting him. Anger and something else briefly flashed in green eyes. To her it was obvious that Alex did not appreciate the familiarity of the other man although he didn't protest verbally or flinch away from the touch. The two men did not sit down again, instead they walked up the stairs to where the bookshelves were.

Following them, Scully tried to look nonchalant as she strolled along the shelves until she saw the top of a gray head.

Luckily the way the shelves were built, Scully could hear without being seen, and for once her short stature was a plus rather than minus. Pretending to be absorbed by a book - 'How To Build a Ship in A Bottle in Six Easy Steps' - she strained to listen. They were speaking in soft, rapid.... Russian! Scully swore silently. One day she really must brush up on her linguistic skills. However, after about five minutes of conversation, during which she managed to pick up the words; FBI... Boris.... lublich... Mulder... father... Alex exhaled once in anger. His voice all of a sudden sounded much louder and she realized he must have moved so he was standing almost opposite where she was on the other side of the shelf. Instinctively she crouched down even further, even though she knew he could have no idea she was listening.

Speaking in English as if the change in language would create a barrier between him and the other man, Krycek said grimly. "I am not doing it, Boris. I told you once, no more hive ops!" Frustrated he took out a book opening it, and pretending to look through the contents. The stiff pages rustled as he turned them. "These aren't the old days, we're in the US, not in Siberia, and you're not..." he hesitated briefly, "father."

'Boris' voice softened and he too must have moved because the next time he spoke Scully almost jumped out of her skin. He sounded as if he was right beside her. He spoke excellent if accented English. "I know that Alexei. But it is father who has sent me. You have been gone for too long from us. He has given his permission for you to return home. No more Consortium, no more running and hiding. You can take your rightful place."

Krycek swallowed once, and when he replied his voice was so controlled as to be completely expressionless. "It's too late Boris, it's been too late for years, you know why I can't, I won't, go back. Besides," he had himself under control once again. "I am rather enjoying the ah, 'decadent west,'" the irony was obvious.

Boris laughed heartily. "So am I little brother, so am I! But do not let yourself be corrupted by their practices." There was a subtle warning in the quiet words. "They are not your kind, and they never will be."

"What is 'my kind,' Boris?" Krycek asked softly.

"We are, Alexei," the other man switched to Russian again speaking rapidly.

Krycek, however, continued to speak in English. "Do you think I give a flying fuck about the other Directors after Tunguska?" he demanded.

"You should, Alexei. After your betrayal there, you should tread very lightly. Do you know how hard father had to fight for your survival?"

Krycek laughed softly, bitterly, "What, you mean that he still has use for me?" He added in irritation. "And stop calling him father."

"You judge him too harshly."

"And you?" Still in that soft bitter voice.

There was a silence. "I have never disobeyed the Directorate. You know why we cannot allow the Consortium to do what they are planning."

"I know," Krycek replied dry sarcasm deepening his voice. "The survival of Homo Sapiens is at stake, or at least the survival of certain carefully selected individuals. And we must make sure it is *our* selection not theirs."

"Do you disagree, Alexei? You know they cannot be trusted. Don't you remember how they double-crossed us after the Dallas affair. We trained and provided their scapegoats. We had a deal and they reneged on it!"

"Boris that was in 1963," Alex sighed almost wearily. "I was not even born then and you were a child at the time."

"True, but father was very much involved." A certain quiet amusement colored Rostov's voice as he added, "and this has always been a family affair. For us, and for them. What is it they say? 'The sins of the father...'"

Krycek suddenly laughed although there was little humor in the sound. "And how many generations will it be until father's sins, and ours, will be expunged? Five, ten, twenty?"

"Stop it, Alexei! This cynical pose has never impressed me!" Suddenly Boris shifted to Russian again, but this time he spoke with a much harder edge, issuing commands. And when Krycek replied it was in a subdued mood.

"I understand, sir. I'll kill for you, you know that. But no more hive ops!" A long pause, and then in an almost-whisper, "please."

There was an obvious hesitation before the other man said reluctantly. "Very well, I will respect your wishes for now Alexei, but it would be a shame not use your skill. You were very good."

"I was the best," Krycek said flatly.

Boris burst into a hearty laugh. "Ah Alexei! I have missed you, little one."

"Don't call me that!" In sudden cold fury. "I told you, colonel, never call me that again!"

"As you wish, commander," was the affable reply. "I will contact you again when appropriate. In the meantime...." a pause and then he added with evident salaciousness, "enjoy your little redheaded FBI agent. I have always been told that red hair means a hotheaded temper, I only hope she is as hot in bed. But then you always had a weakness for kittens with claws."

This time it was Krycek who turned to Russian as the two men started to move away. And from the tone, he was not too pleased with Boris' knowledge.

Scully sagged against the bookcase. Thoughts whirling it took her a few minutes to compose herself. My God, the more she learned about Alex the worse it became. What was the Directorate? And what the hell was a 'hive op'? She knew she could never ask Alex, but perhaps Mulder would know.

The phone rang and Scully picked it up without taking her eyes off the computer screen. "Scully here." But when she heard the voice on the other end of the line a sudden smile softened her face and she leaned back in her chair. "Emma! How are you? I haven't heard from you in ages!" She listened for a minute and then laughed softly, "and the same to you 'ducky.'"

She laughed again, but at the same time shook her head, "We've already had this discussion, remember? I'm perfectly happy where I am. Besides, the FBI may not pay a fortune but it sure beats a Welsh university. And I don't think I could take the cut-throat world of academia in any case." The smile lingered on her lips. "All right, I promise to think it over, but to be honest I can't think of anything that would make me change my mind.... Yes, I agree, oh, and give my best to Richard!"

Scully hung up, still smiling. She glanced over to where Mulder had looked up from where he'd been reading a newsletter, feet on the desk. "Who was that?" he asked.

"An old university friend. Emma Ralson, she's the Provost at Swansea University in Wales. She wants me to teach forensic pathology there. It's kind of a standing offer. Emma phones me once or twice a year and tries to convince me to give the rest of my life to Science." Scully's voice easily dropped the inverted quotation marks around Science.

"You're not thinking of accepting are you?" Mulder raised an eyebrow.

Scully shook her head. "You heard me didn't you? But Emma could give you a lesson in stubborness, Mulder, she just won't take no for an answer."

"Oh, all right." He lost interest and returned to his newsletter. She wasn't sure what it was, and from what she could see of its tawdry, blurred print and the lurid pictures didn't really want to know. However, Emma's phone call had broken her concentration, and instead of turning back to the computer again, she gnawed at her bottom lip for a moment undecided. But then she asked, "Mulder, you've got a minute?"

He put the newsletter down, "Sure, what is it, Scully?"

She pivoted her chair so she was facing him. "Have you ever heard of a 'hive op'?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind, unless you're talking about the mutated killer bees we worked on."

She frowned, "From the context, I think not."

"What context would that be?" he suddenly perked up, giving her an sharp look. Ever since the Morrison case she had noticed that he had been far more interested in her questions and comments. A nice change from the way he used to completely ignore her. The realization that she too had secrets, sources he knew nothing about had surprised him and she was faintly amused by the new respect she could see in his eyes. However, it was not something she wanted to encourage right now. So she looked at her partner with a calm censure.

"None of your business, Mulder. Oh no," a shake of the head forestalled all the questions she knew were just waiting to burst out of him. "I'm not going to say another word, and that's final." And by now Mulder knew his partner well enough to know that when she was wearing that particular obstinate expression, there was nothing more to get out of her.

A week later, Mulder came into the FBI cafeteria where Scully was sitting at at a window table by herself. She was perusing a autopsy report and absently eating some spaghetti Napolitana. Studying the crime scene photograph of a disembowelled body, guts trailing on the floor, she forked up some more long white strands of pasta. The fact that her plate closely resembled the photo didn't trouble her. It hadn't bothered her since her first year in med school, when she'd sworn off all pasta for a whole year.

Mulder sat down opposite her. "Hey, Scully, I talked to some friends, and they told me some pretty interesting things about what a 'hive op' is."

Scully immediately stopped eating, putting down her report. "Tell me."

He glanced at the spaghetti, "You going to finish that?"

She sighed in resignation, pushing the plate across to him, "Go ahead."

He started wolfing down the spaghetti, and between swallows told her. "Essentially a hive op is what we, that is the Company, aka CIA, call a honey pot."

Scully frowned, "You've lost me."

"Well, basically a honey pot is an operation where an enemy agent, either a male or a female agent, acquires information by seducing and creating a sexual relation with the target," he grinned. "Sorry about the phrasing, put it down to the source. You think I'm paranoid? The Company guys all act as if they've got state secrets in their briefcase. In any case," he continued, "the Mossad and the KGB apparently used to specialise in honey pots, but, and here is the interesting part, GRU decided to be different and code named it hive op instead. Although it means the same thing."

Picking up the apple on her tray and biting into it, Scully frowned. "GRU being?"

"Sort of the secret KGB, army intelligence. The *real* spooks in the old S of U. The rumour is, at least according to my man over at Langley, that they've set up their own shop after the fall of communism. However, and here it gets *really* interesting, and it cost me a very expensive dinner with a bottle of first class burgundy," he paused expectantly.

Scully narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not interested in your culinary expenses, Mulder. What is so interesting?"

"For years Daniel Kadowski, that's the guy I was talking to, says there have been some very quiet rumours floating around the intelligence community that there was something even *more* secret buried deep inside the GRU. A kind of Fifth Column or Directorate. An organization that sounds very similar to what we've called the Consortium here... So spill, Scully, where did you hear that name?"

She sighed in feigned disgust, to hide her suddenly beating heart. "Mulder whatever you're working on it always comes back to the same thing. Does the word 'obsessed', mean anything to you? I read or heard the phrase somewhere and I wondered. It may even have been on one of those cop shows I watch when I'm too tired to turn off the TV."

He gave her a long thoughtful look, "You're holding out on me, Scully."

"So I am," she said equably. "But don't sulk, Mulder, I'm not the only one doing that to his partner, you know."

"I don't sulk!" he glared at her until she laughed and unwillingly he joined in. "Okay, I won't push, but you know if you need me, I'll be here."

"I know," she gave him a look of mute gratitude.

After Mulder had gone, and she was finally alone, Scully finally let the mask drop. Oh God, no, it couldn't be true! What she and Alex had could *not* be a hive op. What had she told him, she thought frantically, and mentally reviewed their conversations. To her relief she decided that she had told him nothing that could be construed as information. Besides, she realized once she had calmed down a little, what kind of information could she have that he didn't have access to while he was a FBI agent himself? Or that the Consortium couldn't get far easier than through her.

Furthermore, wasn't it Alex who had actually helped *her* solve the case? Unless... No, no, stop being paranoid, Dana, she told herself, James Morrison was guilty as hell, all the evidence pointed to him... unless that evidence had been carefully doctored. But what about the independent doctors that had examined him, and not only declared that he was guilty but that he was really suffering from multiple personality disorder? Worst case scenario was that Alex knew a hell of a lot more about Morrison than he was telling, but did she not already suspect that? Wasn't that why she hadn't asked where he got Morrison's file from? Why she had never asked about the time he went out and returned late, with a shuttered, empty look in his eyes, and blood staining the arm of his leather jacket. Because she simply *did not want to know.*

The relief of one fear only made worse the memory of his voice. 'I was the best...' that kept running through her mind. To think of Alex casually seducing and using men and women, hurt more than she wanted to admit. But why should she be surprised? Wasn't that exactly what he'd done to Mulder? Used sex to confuse and distract? To create a dependency that still haunted Mulder even after everything Krycek had done.

Once again doubts over his motives started to gnaw at Scully. Again and again she returned to the question of what Krycek really wanted with her, what lay behind his seeming tenderness and caring. It couldn't be information; a subtle revenge against Mulder? But wasn't fixation of the enemy Mulder's weakness, rather than Krycek's?

She dropped her head in her hands. If this went on much longer she was going to go mad. For the sake of her own sanity she *had* to believe that Krycek really felt something beyond a casual lust. No man could spend so much time, effort and, hell, money on a person he didn't care for to some degree, right? Right! Scully resolved not to think of this any longer, she was, she thought with a wry irony, getting very good at it. Mulder may be determined to know the truth at any cost. But she decided that there were some truths she could well do without.

If Dana Scully worried and fretted, Alex Krycek was content living in the present. He had learned a long time ago two very important lessons. Not to plan too much for the future, since it could be snatched away at any moment. And to grasp the brief moments of pleasure and peace you had since you never knew if it was your last. He knew that sooner or later the bubble would burst, but unlike Scully he did not consider the consequences. If someone had asked him, Krycek would have said that what they had was worth whatever price he would have to pay. But he may have been influenced more than he realized by Scully's tension, as he watched her pack to go off with Mulder on another X-File case.

"I have to go, Alex, you know why." Scully said patiently, standing in their bedroom and neatly folding a white blouse.

He was leaning against the doorframe watching her pack. "No, I don't frankly. Can't Mulder go to California without you to hold his hand?"

"Alex, we're partners, and this is a case, so I'm going with him." She slammed the suitcase shut.

"I know what you are, but come *on* how can you take it seriously? A woman claiming she is carrying an alien baby, fathered by Elvis?"

"Who said I was taking it seriously? And it wasn't Elvis, it was Buddy Holly. And she never said it was actually him, just someone who sang like him." A smile turned the corners of her mouth up. "Besides, Alex, I'm not the person to talk to about alien abductions." She sobered abruptly. "And you forget, there's already been three break-ins the police think are linked to, err, Buddy Holly. "

"That's different, Dana, for one thing -" he broke off. "And you're changing the subject. Look, I understand when you have to go away on genuine business, but really, you're flying across the country because of some stolen stereos and one missing double bed? This case belongs to the National Enquirer not the FBI, not even the X-Files!"

She grinned, picking up her suitcase and carrying it to the door. Thinking that she had laughed and smiled more since she met Alex Krycek than ever before in her life.

"Maybe, although you never know, some of our most interesting cases have started out just as crackpot," and then relenting at his look, "although you may be right this time." She dropped the suitcase and walked over to him, putting her arms around his waist.

"Please, Alex, let's not waste our last night together arguing."

He sighed, pulling her close. "All right, I won't nag, but I'm going to miss you like hell."

In one of the gestures that never failed to bring his heart into his throat, she reached up and slid her fingers along his nose and mouth in a gentle caress.

"Good, then you won't be tempted to disappear while I'm gone." It was only by joking about it that she could bring up her deepest fear, that one day he would tire of the game he was playing with her and simply leave. That one day she would knock on the door and there would be no answer. That she would stand in an empty apartment and know that he was gone forever.

"Dana, believe me, nothing would ever make me leave," he said, abruptly serious. "I know there are a lot of things we have to talk about, things keeping us apart, but I really believe we could make a go of this."

Scully pressed a finger against his lips. "Shh, don't, Alex, don't spoil it."

He kissed her fingers in response, but there was a small hurt deep inside his eyes at her obvious reluctance to talk about the future or their relationship.

Waiting for her to precede him into the restaurant later that evening, Krycek smiled, remembered their argument over dating.

He came out of the bathroom toweling his hair two days after the end of the Morrison case. "Where do you want to go tonight, Dana?"

Scully glanced up from her book. "Go where?"

He came over to the sofa and leaned down kissing the top of her head. "Dinner. Where do you want to go?"

She put down her book, looking suddenly a little alarmed. "I thought we'd eat in."

He dropped into the sofa, stretching out his legs. "Of course we can, but I thought it could be rather fun to go out. Take in a show, dinner. You know a date?"

She stared at him in horror. "A date?!"

"Yes. A socially accepted form of intercourse between two adults. His eyes laughed at her. "A date."

She fiddled with the book. "Alex, we can't go out. The very thought!" she couldn't continue.

He sobered. "Why not? Ashamed of me Special Agent Scully?" He still smiled but there was just a tiny edge to his voice.

She took a deep breath. "Alex, let me remind you of some things here. One," she held up her finger. "You're wanted by the FBI. You're a *criminal* wanted in connection with murder, kidnapping and the loss of nationally sensitive material. Do I have to say DAT tape to you?" She held up one more finger. "Secondly, I am a FBI agent. If anyone even knew I was here I would not only lose my job, but I would be prosecuted for collusion. It's my duty to turn you into the authorities."

He smiled a little oddly. "So why don't you, dousha?"

She snorted, "I don't know. It's certainly not for your winning personality." She put a hand on his knee. "Alex, what you and I have, I don't want to risk it. Can't you understand that?"

His eyes softened. "I understand. But you should remember some things as well. First of all, the only two people who are interested in my capture are Mulder and perhaps Skinner. Trust me, if you ask any other agent or department they don't even know my name. Haven't you ever wondered over that Dana? As you say, I'm wanted for some pretty serious crimes, and yet no one at the FBI except for Mulder or Skinner have ever shown the least bit of interest. Doesn't that tell you anything?"

"Alex, I am not listening to this!" she told him. "If you're going to tell me that everyone at the FBI is either corrupt or drones I really don't want to know."

He laughed. "For heaven's sake, dousha, you're starting to sound as melodramatic as Mulder. No, I'm not saying anything of the kind. Just to point out that perhaps, Mulder and Skinner, and even you, my heart, are off on a track nobody else is interested in. I am hardly on the Top Ten Most Wanted list. Trust me, I've lived and worked in Washington for years and no one has ever bothered me. But if you like we'll keep far away from the kind of places where you might run into to anyone from your," he smiled, "daytime world. Agreed?"

He leaned forward and kissed her. "I understand your fears, dousha, I really do. I want to take you out. I want to tell the world that this woman is with me!" he grinned a little twistedly at her expression of pure dismay. "But I won't. Word of honour."

In the end they had reached a compromise, they did go out, but only to smaller, intimate restaurants and nowhere public like the opera or the theater, although movies were allowed, and they discovered they shared a childish love of old British comedies. If she had been asked, Scully would have admitted to never being able to imagine the sight of *Alex Krycek* convulsed with laughter over an old Monty Python film. They would go to a small, rather rundown cinema specialising in older British movies, buy some popcorn, sit beside each other in the darkness, holding hands, sharing their popcorn, necking. Doing all the silly teenage things that none of them had ever done when they were actual teenagers.

Since it was their last evening and they had never run into anyone even remotely connected with what Krycek persisted in calling her 'day-time life' he had persuaded her into a slightly larger, better class of restaurant.

Sitting at the table, eating, chatting desultorily of the film they'd watched last night, the weather, Krycek suddenly said. "Can I ask you something, Dana?"

"What, Alex?" how easily the name flowed from her lips now. When had he ceased to be Krycek, the rat-bastard, Scully held back a smile remembering Mulder's favourite curse, and had become simply Alex? The cool analytical part of her mind persisted in wondering if that was how she dealt with the dilemma of sleeping with the enemy. By dividing him into two people, Krycek the traitor she loathed and Alex the man she... she *cared* for, nothing else, she told herself firmly.

"How do you always keep so cool, so calm?"

She picked up her glass of wine, "What do you mean?"

"Well," he hesitated. "Not only are you the only person who has *ever* managed to form a working partnership with 'Spooky' Mulder. And I have to tell you that working with Mulder was enough to drive me crazy with his conspiracy theories and his crackpot habits. But you have one hell of a rep at FBI and out at Quantico."

Her lips trembled into a smile, "Dana 'ice queen' Scully you mean?" And suddenly she realized that the old nickname no longer had the power to hurt.

"I wasn't going to mention it, but yes."

She started to cut into her Dover Sole. Each cut of the knife, neat and precise, she said, "I got used early to being the 'good' girl, the clever, sensible one, who always brought home good grades. Who never got into trouble. Who," she smiled wryly, "you could always rely on. Who wasn't going to treat you to emotional outbursts. Besides with two older brothers, I learned early to be tough. Even today I just continue being responsible, taking care of people while keeping them a little distant. I guess it's an old habit since I spent a large part of my youth taking care of, of... Melissa." She stumbled over the word, and suddenly she wouldn't meet his eyes.

He cursed silently, continuing swiftly, "Yeah, but that doesn't explain how you manage to be so unruffled. Not much seems to make you angry or upset. Not Wendigo, not Apocalyptical cults cloning children to create a superrace, not liver-eating mutants."

He added thoughtfully, "Unless it's to do with Mulder of course. He's your one weakness. Hell, even when you cried on my shoulder, it was all because of Mulder. But no matter what weird shit he drags you along on, you always come out on top."

Scully gave him a narrow-eyed look, "And may I ask how you know so much about my work?"

Alex started to butter a roll a little clumsily, muttering over the stiffness of his artificial arm. "That's a really stupid question, Dana. I would have thought by now that *some* of Mulder's paranoia would rub off on you. Remember the Consortium? The shadowy all-powerful organization which supposedly knows *everything* and of which I am a prominent member."

"Or a drone," Scully murmured.

He gave her a speaking glance. "I'm an upwardly mobile person. From blue collar to management. The American dream in fact."

"Except you're not American, are you?"

"I wasn't born here, if that's what you mean," he said carefully. "And I'm not sure I'd die for it. But I've lived in this country for a long time and it's as much my home as anywhere else."

"You know when Mulder came back from Russia he told me a wild story about you being a high ranking KGB officer."

Krycek snorted in disgust. "Not KGB, definitely not KGB, those guys are real clowns. We never could understand how they gained their reputation."

"And by 'we' you mean exactly?" She kept her voice casual, but her heart beat suddenly fast, wondering if he would tell her the truth.

"The people I work, worked, for," he said, giving her a look that told her he wasn't going to say another word on the subject. "If you're going to California I want you to keep a careful ear to the earthquake advice. Remember, if the ground starts to shake, the logical thing is to run *from* the epicenter, not to it. Don't let Mulder's insatiable curiousity get you into trouble."

Following his lead and changing the subject, she didn't persist, giving him an impish smile. "No problem, unless Mulder decides the earthquakes are caused by a Consortium project."

Alex rolled his eyes. "That sounds exactly like something he *would* do."

Later that evening as they stepped out of the restaurant, Scully was still giggling over a comment he whispered in her ear as they walked hand in hand to where his car was parked. Alex opened the door for her, but as she got in, he said something that made her turn around. She laughed up into his face, and he pinned her to the car, bending her slender body against the car for a long passionate kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer ignoring the wolf whistles of the teenagers passing by.

Neither saw the man in the car across the road, the man staring at them with dark burning eyes and gripping the steering wheel hard enough to crush it...

One arm loosely around her waist, breathing in the light, fresh flowery scent of her hair, Alex half-closed his eyes, experiencing a deep contentment. Scully was curled up against him, their legs tangled. She was leaning her head on his shoulder. One small white hand idly traced patterns along his bare arm. There was a deep, comfortable silence, and then Krycek murmured. "Ever since I first saw you, I've imagined you, us, like this."

She twisted her head, glancing up at him. "You mean ever since Mulder introduced us?"

He shook his head, "No, actually since Quantico."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Did we meet there?"

A soft chuckle. "You don't remember? Shame on you, love," he rubbed his cheek against her hair. "You were there to hold a lecture on new forensic techniques on crime scenes. I was one of about seventy eager FBI trainees. You walked in together with the Director. So tiny, red hair blazing, you were wearing it longer back then. You looked like a china doll, and then you started to lecture and just impressed the hell out of us all. Clear, incisive, making us all pretty sick with your crime scene and autopsy pictures." He bent his head, pressing a kiss behind her ear, "I remember thinking it was unfair for one woman to be so beautiful *and* intelligent."

She dug an elbow into his stomach. "Don't be, sexist Alex." But she was smiling softly. "So why didn't you introduce yourself?"

"Are you kidding? I was in my second month of training, a real rookie, and there you were in the company of all the academy dignitaries. The Director was hanging on your every word." A wry amusement, "and seemed damned eager to hang on to something else as well. I didn't want to make a total fool out of myself, so I just sort of skulked around until you all went off to dinner, and then I went back to my room and mooned."

"I don't believe a word," she told him roundly. "You shy? Come on, Alex!"

He nipped at her ear, enjoying her shiver. "Sure I'm shy, Dana. But I was going to gather my courage and ask you out the next day. Except you'd already left, so," he half-shrugged, "the next time you saw me, you hated me."

"I didn't exactly hate you," she said slowly.

He gave her a disbelieving look. "Dana, you loathed the sight of me."

"What I hated was seeing you together with Mulder." Very softly she said, "Mulder and I, we belong together."

He muttered something under his breath, "I know you do. I realized that a long time ago." He tilted her head and kissed her gently. "I can't say it makes me happy, but yeah I know, you and Mulder are linked always."

She closed her eyes, lulled by the warmth and the closeness. "And he hates you with a holy passion."

"He'll get over it," Krycek murmured, warm firm lips scattering kisses along her jaw.

She gave him an incredulous look. "Alex, I hate to burst your bubble, but you shot his father, remember? That's not something you 'get over.'"

He sighed, "If I'd known taking out the old bastard would cause this much problem, I'd have let Luis have him."

"You mean, Luis Cardinale?"

"The one and only." Krycek was betrayed by the flickering fire, the woman in his arms, into a rare lowering of his guard as he spoke of things better left alone. Pensively he said, "Luis and I used to be the enforcers of the Smoking Man." A peculiar wry smile, "of course Luis always enjoyed the killing more than me."

Disturbed by the easy references to the man forensics said had killed her sister, Scully frowned, "You knew him well?"

Another odd half-smile. "As well as anyone ever knew Luis. He was a psychopathic son of a bitch, and I'm not sorry he's dead." He suddenly seemed to recollect himself, adding, "so let's not talk about him."

But Scully's interest had been caught and she sat up. "No, I want to talk about him. Alex, how deeply involved with the Consortium are you? What's an enforcer?"

He didn't look at her, staring into the fire, the flickering flames giving the illusion of a haunting pain deep in his eyes. "Dana, trust me you don't want to know, and I really don't want to talk about it."

She gently traced the contours of his face, "It can't be that bad..."

His mouth smiled, but the shadows in his eyes remained. "It was worse. I doubt even Mulder's fertile imagination would be enough to grasp the whole truth. Dana, love, I've survived for longer than I want to remember, by doing whatever was required at the time." He spoke without overt emotion. But there was something in his calm voice that made her heart ache.

"Like sleeping with Mulder?" The comment was out before she could help it.

He lifted an eyebrow, "Are you by any chance jealous?"

She started to tell him how ridiculous that was, and then suddenly stopped. "Maybe," she admitted cautiously.

He laughed, a soft, warm sound. "There is no competition, trust me, dousha..." he pulled her against him again, hugging her tightly. "Mulder was -" he broke off.

"He was what?"

"The truth? An infernal nuisance!" Krycek shook his head. "He's so damned intense, fucking him was always hard work. He just wouldn't relax and enjoy. It always had to be a big drama. Besides, have you ever tried sleeping in his bed? It's enough to destroy anyone's back. *And* he's like a pea on a hot brick when he's sleeping, always tossing and turning. I was just about ready to throw him out of bed if he didn't stop bumping into me!"

He added softly, "I infinitely prefer a small curved bundle fitting perfectly in my arms, cuddling against me."

Although she shared his smile, she still looked a little doubtful, and he asked in obvious amusement. "Dana, how can anyone be so insecure as to be jealous of *Mulder*?"

She tried to shrug. "Well, I keep falling over his ex-girlfriends and lovers every once in a while. They all seem, so, so *obsessed* with him still, and even you have to admit he's an enormously attractive man."

Krycek yawned, "If you go for the pale, intense type. Not my cup of tea though, as they say in England. Frankly I was damned glad when the assignment was over. Mulder can be a good friend, but he's a lousy lay."

Never in a million years would Scully admit to the secret relief that flooded her at Alex's casual dismissal.

But then he added, "Actually if anyone has cause to be jealous it's me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh come on, Dana, everyone, and I mean everyone at the FBI, hell, inside the Consortium as well, know that it's Mulder and Scully, Scully and Mulder. The two of you are practically joined at the hip."

She felt suddenly alarmed. "Wait a minute, you mean they talk about us at the, the, Consortium?!"

He looked amused. "What do you think we do all day? Sit around planning the takeover of the world? Cackling madly and twirling our black mustaches? We're as human as you are," he paused, then added meditatively, "well, most of us, in any case. You spend long nights on surveillance, sure you gossip, and you and Mulder were a favourite topic."

"You *are* joking, I hope!"

He shook his head. "Nope, I once won fifty bucks off Olaf, he's the proverbial computer nerd at the Consortium. He was sure the two of you were doing the horizontal tango." He grinned at the look on her face. "His words not mine, blame a deprived childhood. But I was sure you weren't, and after we'd bugged Mulder's place and got confirmation, he paid up. What's wrong, Dana?"

She sat straight upright. "You bugged Mulder's apartment?!"

He seemed faintly surprised by the question. "Well sure we did, it's been bugged for years. Occasionally he finds them, and then we have to go in and do it again. A damned nuisance it can be too..." he added absently.

"No, I mean *you* bugged it? You personally?"

"The last time yeah, it was, me, Luis and Olaf." He chuckled softly, "Luis was grumbling the whole time about it being beneath him, and Olaf kept telling both of us, we were moving up in the world. Killers are a dime a dozen, but good survelliance experts can write their own ticket. He's probably right too."

There was a very dangerous edge to her voice, "And what about my place?"

Alex looked suddenly alarmed by her reaction. "As far as I know it isn't, but hell, with the Consortium who knows? It's been a while since I was in the loop, so it's possible I guess. If I were you, I'd presume it was."

"This place?"

He shook his head, "Nope, one of the few advantages of Consortium membership. I know what to look for, and trust me, this place is clean."

She relaxed slightly, cuddling into his arms again. "This is getting worse every time I look around," she mumbled. "What have I gotten myself into?"

He kissed her neck. "It wasn't as if you had much choice at the beginning. You can always tell yourself and Mulder that I forced you."

Something inside Scully hurt at his easy assumption of guilt. As if he actually expected her to deny him, and what they had together. "I would never do that, Alex," she said quietly.

His grip tightened fractionally hearing the fervor of her voice. "Don't worry about it, Dana. I'm used to being the bad guy." A wry smile. "Hell, I *am* the bad guy, and don't you forget it, dousha."

"Don't talk about yourself like that, Alex," she said, and trying to find a way of changing the topic added gloomily. "Mulder even dresses much better than I, do you wonder that I'm insecure?"

"Umm, now there you do have a point. Once this case is over, you should take some of that sick leave you've accumulated and we'll go to Europe. We'll get you a whole new wardrobe in Paris and Milan..." His eyes narrowed sweeping over her. "You just trust me, and I promise you won't be disappointed."

"Alex, I'm a FBI agent, ergo I am not exactly rolling in worldly goods," she pointed out, firmly pushing away the temptation. "Between my hospital bills, although insurance has taken care of most, and my monthly expenses I don't have enough to buy a ticket to Europe, much less go shopping."

He picked up one slender white hand, pressing light kisses to each fingertip. "No, but I do and more. It will be my treat, and I have connections in high fashion, you needn't worry I'll bankrupt myself or you."

"You?" she gave him a dubious look. "The original sewer rat? I thought you were born in jeans and tattered leather jacket."

He started laughing helplessly. "You never cease to delight me! I like jeans and my leather jacket yes, it gives me anonymity and the right kind of seedy character that's easy to overlook. But I'm not always dressed like a third-rate hit man."

Raising herself slightly, putting one hand on his chest, Scully grinned down at him, letting her eyes slowly wander over his body. "There is nothing third-rate about you, Alex. But I have to admit I like you even better *without* your jacket and jeans...."

He lay on the sofa, completely relaxed, laughing up at her with his beautiful green eyes. "I have created a monster."

Eyes narrowed, she pinched her lower lip thoughtfully, straddling his hips. "And I'm thinking of some suitable punishments for you right now, my dear Krycek..."

He whispered, "I'm shaking in my boots."

"You don't have any boots on, Alex," she pointed out primly, then slowly slid down along him, loving the instinctive reaction of his body, the small moan he couldn't hold back, or the way his legs spread until she rested in their cradle...

Scully later thought that she should have realized something was wrong the moment she stepped into the office. But she was still thinking about Alex and last night. The shared laughter and hours they spent curled up together on the sofa listening to music and simply talking. She never even noticed the danger signs until it was too late.

"Good morning, Mulder," she said cheerfully. "Ready to leave?"

He didn't answer at first and then, coldly. "The trip has been canceled." A pause, "did you have a good time last night?"

Her head lifted, hearing the hostility. "Thank you, yes," she said calmly, wondering why he was in a bad mood. "And how was yours?"

"Not so good, but then I didn't spend my evening fucking like a rabbit, with a killer."

Scully turned white as paper. "Oh my God," she whispered, sinking down on the nearest chair, legs suddenly unable to carry her weight.

Mulder's face twisted. "Praying, Scully? after last night you must have used up just about every prayer there is in the Good Book."

"Mulder, I can explain," she said helplessly.

"Explain what, Scully? That you're screwing *Alex Krycek*?!"

"I, no, it's not like that."

He leaned forward, eyes cold as ice. "Then tell me exactly how it is, Scully. You tell me that what I saw last night wasn't you and Krycek coming out of a restaurant, hand in hand, *kissing*!" he spat the word at her, "on the street. Tell me that you didn't get in his car and go to whatever back-street hotel that rent rooms by the hour to fuck your brains out!"

Scully shook like a leaf. There was a terrible fear and despair in her wide eyes knowing she was helpless to prevent her deepest nightmare. What she had feared more than anything. "Mulder, please let me explain," she begged.

But he wasn't listening, "Damn you, Scully! Damn you! I *trusted* you!" and in the man's rage she heard the echo of the desolate, forlorn boy who had lost everything that ever mattered to him, above all, the ability to trust.

Reacting to the hurt, she instinctively reached out to him, holding out her hands pleading. He shook them off as if they were poisonous.

"No! Listen to me, Mulder, when Krycek first came to me he had evidence that Melissa was alive!"

That stopped him for a moment, "Your sister?"

She nodded quickly, words tumbling out. "He sent me a photo with her holding a newspaper only two weeks old. I knew it was impossible, but still I had to *know* do you understand?"

He relaxed fractionally. "Yes, yes I do. What did he want with you? Why didn't he come to me?"

How like Mulder. He always assumed that everyone was as obsessed and focused on him, as he was on them. She remembered Alex's casual dismissal of her partner, and knew she could never tell Mulder that. Scully bit her lip, a slight flush rising her face. "He, he, wanted me, Mulder, in return for the photo and information."

"I don't understand." And he really didn't she realized.

She gave him a twisted smile. "It was a simple bargain, my body for information about my sister."

"Krycek wanted to sleep with *you*?!"

Even in the middle of the tragedy she knew was the inevitable outcome, she still almost laughed at the expression on his face. "Amazing isn't it? You can imagine my shock. But I would have given anything, *anything*, Mulder, to find out about Melissa!"

He badly wanted to believe her, torn between suspicion and hope. "So what about last night? That didn't look like a blackmailer and his victim, that looked like," he flung the words at her, "two lovers!" And despite the anger his eyes pleaded for an explanation he could accept.

It would be so easy to say what Mulder wanted, *begged* to hear. No, Scully thought in sudden resolution. She wouldn't deny Alex, she owed him that much. She looked at her partner steadily. "It was. It changed, Mulder. Somewhere along the way, I, we, it became far more than, what we were. We," she made a helpless little gesture, "I don't know what I feel for Alex, but it's not hatred, not any more."

He stared at her for one stunned moment and then rage descended, flooded him. She watched in a stunned fascination as the arm lifted. Pupils dilated as his arm swung, but she made no attempt to protect herself.

The palm of his hand connected with enough force to rock her back on her feet. She felt the sudden blinding pain of the blow reverberate through body and soul. Felt the skin break, and the sudden warmth of blood trickling down the side of her face. Still she said nothing, just kept looking at him, with enormous disbelieving eyes, as slowly she put up one shaking hand to touch the wetness, fingers coming away washed in red.

Scully rose, moving like a sleepwalker whispering numbly, "I'm sorry, Mulder."

She left the white, sickened man behind, ignoring the shocked glances and whispers of those around her as she walked out of the building.

Without even knowing how it happened, Scully found herself driving to Hadley Place, every movement slow and careful as she negotiated the traffic, reactions on autopilot. She never remembered how she got to the apartment, but suddenly she found herself standing outside the door. With a final supreme effort she pressed the button. She had even forgotten she carried a key in her purse.

She waited, shaking badly, leaning against the wall. Finally when she had given up hope he was there, the door opened and Alex was there. He stared at her, taking in at one look the white face, glazed numb eyes, and the bruise beginning to darken and swell.

"What the hell!" he examined the bruise with shaking fingers. "Dana, what happened?"

"Mulder found out about us," she said tonelessly. "He saw us coming from the restaurant last night." Her eyes were blank and shocked. "He was so angry, I've never seen him so angry with *me*."

"Come here, dousha," Alex pulled her inside and gently removed her coat, talking to her as you do a small child. Steering her to the couch, he poured a large brandy, and forcing it into her hand. "Here, drink down this, yes Dana, drink, now!"

At least the brandy brought a bit of colour back into her cheeks, and a hint of life into her eyes. Alex meanwhile poured himself a vodka and tossed it down, trying to restrain his immediate impulse which was to tear off and pound Mulder into ground beef. He had never before experienced this raw, primitive anger. He was ready to go down to FBI HQ and beat Mulder into a pulp. But even more than anger, there was overwhelming guilt. If it wasn't for him, this would never have happened. He knelt by her side, gently taking her hand. "Dousha?"

Still she said nothing and then suddenly she whimpered softly, and the eyes lost some of their blankness. "Alex, he hurt me, Mulder hurt me. He hates me." She didn't sound like Dana Scully, FBI agent. She sounded like a hurt child, and nothing could have told him clearer of the shock she was in.

"Oh darling," he had to swallow painfully. Kneeling by her side, he gently covered her hand with his. He had known of the rage Fox Mulder carried within him. Hell, he thought with a mirthless twist of the mouth, he'd been on the receiving end of it often enough. Mulder had hurt him, and enjoyed doing it. Still, Krycek had never thought he would ever touch Dana. And in his heart he knew that only one thing could have caused that level of rage, that violence in Mulder; seeing Scully with Alex Krycek. The Madonna and the Devil. Christ, what had he done to her?

Softly he said, "No, no, he doesn't hate you. He's very angry right now, but he'll get over it, I promise."

She shook badly. "You didn't see his face, Alex, it's over. Oh God!" She hid her face in her hands, "what am I going to do?"

It was not a question, but he answered it in any case. "You're going to stay here with me, and we're going to work this out together." At first she seemed ready to argue, but then with a weary sigh she suddenly surrendered, body going limp and unresisting.

She didn't shed a tear, eyes still blank and empty as he put her to bed, spooning himself around her shivering body, whispering soft words of love and comfort in Russian. As always it seemed to soothe her. Finally she fell asleep, lulled by his warm, dark voice, telling her in the beautiful, cursed language which separated them, of his passion, of her beauty, of the joy of being with her.

When Krycek woke in the cold grey dawn, the bed beside him was empty. And he knew on some deep instinctive level, even before he saw the small note on the pillow beside him, that she was gone.

Alex,

Thank you for last night, I wish that I could stay with you, but we both know that's impossible. It was a beautiful dream we had, but it's over and we are both awake now. To pretend otherwise will only bring both of us more pain. I owed Mulder at least my loyalty and I betrayed him, that's the simple truth. I will not say what we had wasn't worth it. You made me feel things I had never dreamed of, and you made me laugh. For that you have my eternal gratitude. But this is harsh reality and the reality is that we are enemies, that we can never be anything but.

Dana

He had read somewhere that you could feel actual physical pain when your heart broke. At the time he had laughed with Luis over the absurdity that any kind of mental anguish was worse, than actual physical pain. But compared to the searing agony burning through him now, as he slowly crumpled her note in his left hand, the pain of having his arm cut off was as nothing.

A week later Scully faced AD Skinner steadily, eyes locked somewhere beyond his shoulder. Skinner was leafing through the papers. "You are sure, Scully, this is what you want?"

"Yes, sir," she said very evenly. "The present situation makes it imperative that Special Agent Mulder and I separate. I have decided to take up a standing offer to lecture. I have just received confirmation of my appointment to the University of Swansea, where I will teach medical forensic practices."

"I see..." Skinner looked down at the transfer request, "and what does Mulder have to say about this?"

She still wouldn't look at him. "Special Agent Mulder fully understands and supports my transfer, sir." The truth being that she had not seen Mulder since that morning, nor did she want to. He had made no attempt to contact her, and once when he saw her at a distance coming out of the Ladies restroom, he checked abruptly and then rapidly turned around and walked away, leaving her shaking and stunned. Feeling even more terrible and ridiculously worried that he had lost so much weight and looked like he hadn't slept at all since their confrontation.

Skinner sighed, knowing all too well the gossip that had made the rounds of FBI. He had even talked, if that was the term for it, with a pale, stubbornly silent Mulder. "I am not going to ask what makes the two of you suddenly decide to separate, not that you'll tell me the truth either of you, even if I did." He picked up the pen and signed the paper, handing it to her. "Well, good luck, Scully, I hope you won't have cause to regret your decision, I know we'll all miss you."

She took the signed document, shaking his outstretched hand, never more grateful that he didn't push, didn't ask all the questions she knew were burning on his lips. A good boss, Walter Skinner, and a better man, and had the circumstances been different she might have felt tempted to confide in him. Had it been anything but this.

But AD Skinner would never understand about Alex Krycek, so she just said, "Thank you, sir," and smartly left before he had the time to ask any more questions.

Walking out the building for the last time, Scully felt numb. She knew she was supposed to feel something. But at the moment everything inside her was dead and black. She moved as if encased in a fine translucent bubble separating her from reality. Even as she arranged the sub-letting of her apartment, packed her suitcase, reassured her family, it was not really happening to her, but to some other woman. She saw her mother's concern and a part of her wanted to comfort the older woman, so she heard her own voice mouth the right platitudes, but somehow it still didn't touch her.

Only once did she come close to cracking. The telephone rang while she was packing, and when the answering machine cut in, she heard a familiar, soft drawling voice. "Dana? Dousha, listen to me. Whatever's happened we can work it out, I'll speak to Mulder. I'm begging you, don't let him destroy what we have!" A short pause, "*Boch ti moy!* I hate talking to these machines. Please, Dana, phone me, night or day."

With fingers that actually trembled, Scully ran over to the machine, pressing the rewind and then erase buttons. Finally picking up the phone, pulling it from the cord and hurling it against the wall.

After that she just sat, back against the wall, legs pulled up, resting her head on her knees, arms around her legs, rocking back and forth. It was killing her, she whimpered softly, emotions threatening to tear her mind apart. She was in agony over the two men she loved, the men who hated each other. Mulder, her partner, friend, her other half. She owed him everything, including her life again and again. He had stood by her when everyone else had given up, he had been there when she was sick, in pain, despairing. Just thinking of the anguish she must have caused him by her actions had her moan in guilt and torment.

But how could she ever have imagined that Alex Krycek would touch her heart? Alex, who had stolen into her life like the thief he was, but had stayed to become so much more. Alex with his dark, twisted past. Alex with his face and body so like an angel's that even the loss of an arm could not spoil its perfection. Alex Krycek with green eyes that had seen too much. Eyes that had stared into hell and seen in her his saviour. Beautiful, haunted, Alex who made her body and soul melt.

Dana Katherine Scully who had never run from anything or anybody in her life, who had fearlessly faced everything in her life, knew she was running, and she didn't care.

"Don't worry, Mom," Scully smiled at her mother, shifting her hand luggage from one hand to another. "I'll call as soon as I arrive in Swansea. I'm not going to the end of the world you know. You will come over this summer and we can travel around Europe together. How does Paris in June sound?"

"Nice," her mother said a little distracted. But then she continued a little plaintively, "I still don't understand, Dana, why you have to go to Wales. Even if you don't want to work at the FBI any longer there are so many good universities and hospitals at home."

"Mom, you know that this was a really good opportunity for me," Scully said patiently, then added, "and just think how nice it will be for you not to have to worry about me. The closest thing to danger I will be in over there is if the students don't like the grades I give them."

"I know, darling," her mother suddenly hugged her, "but I still don't *understand.*"

"What is there to understand?" Scully remained very patient, submitting to the hug. "I told you that Mulder and I decided to take a break. We're still friends, nothing has happened, all right?"

The older woman looked at her red-haired daughter, seeing the strain in the tense lines of her face, the shadows under her eyes, and not believing a word, she said, "Yes, dear. Of course."

Dana was so like her father at times, Margaret Scully thought with a sigh, so determined to keep everything to herself, never admitting anything was wrong. "I," then she suddenly noticed a dark-haired man standing at little behind them, and watching them with intense green eyes. "Dana, darling, do you know the man behind us? He has spent the last five minutes staring at you."

Scully didn't have to turn around to know who it was. "Excuse me, Mother," she said in a controlled voice. She left her mother behind and walked to where Krycek was standing, arms crossed.

"I don't want you here, Alex," she said bluntly.

"I rather figured that out on my own after my fifteenth phone message went unanswered," he said quietly, eyes devouring her.

"Please, Alex, don't make it worse," she tried to keep control. "Leave it be. I can't be torn between you and Mulder any longer. If you two want to rip each other to pieces, go ahead, but I'm getting out!"

"Dana, this isn't about Mulder. This is about you and I. Do you have any idea what you are throwing away?"

Scully suddenly hated him for not understanding. "Alex, you have completely wrecked my life. My partner hates me, I've resigned from a job I love. I'm leaving my family and moving to another continent, and all because of you." She faced him steadily. "What have you ever given me in return?" A bitter smile. "Yes, you do things to my body I never thought possible, but are you telling me that sex, however great even comes near to compensate the rest? Then you're a fool, Krycek."

He opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. "I never meant for this to happen, dousha." A profound sadness darkened and shadowed emerald eyes. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"It is." And then some demon, a gnawing bitter thing she hadn't even been aware of until now made her add, "and as for the sex, I'm not fool enough to believe that it meant anything to you. I remember what Mulder told me, he was your assignment, wasn't he? He told me just how *expert* how skilled you were," she spat the words at him. "How many other men and women have you seduced, Alex? I know what a hive op is!"

He turned white, the look in his eyes that of a mortally wounded animal.

And still she couldn't stop the vicious, hurtful words spilling out. "How can I ever believe that screwing me," she was being deliberately vulgar, "meant anything to you? How could I ever trust something at which you are so obviously an expert? 'I was the best'" she mimicked savagely. "How can you stand there and tell me that fucking means anything to you?!"

Still pale as a ghost, all of a sudden something dark and dangerous sparkled in his eyes. She almost took a step back. Some of the fear must have shown because abruptly he relaxed, shoulders slumping.

"I can't, Dana. I guess," it was his turn to smile bitterly. "You just have to trust me."

She laughed, a harsh, acrid sound, and spun away without another word. Turning her back on him, she walked rapidly back to her mother who had been watching them with anxious eyes.

Alex stared after her not making another sound, and only Mrs. Scully saw the naked anguish on the beautiful face trained on the woman leaving him. And though nothing could ever make her go against her daughter, she wondered how Dana could reject the kind of love and devotion that showed so starkly on the young man's face before he too turned and walked away, shoulders hunched.

Mulder had finally fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion on the couch, the TV still flickering. But not even a repeat of the immortal classic, "The Monsters of the Black Lagoon Return" dated 1936 was enough to keep his interest. Not much did since Scully had gone. Cursing his eidetic memory he replayed in an endless loop their last confrontation, the shock, and hurt in eyes that had never looked at him with anything but trust and friendship.

He woke abruptly and unpleasantly when something cold and hard nudged him hard in the side, and he batted at it irritated, muttering, still half-asleep. And then a soft sibilant whisper snapped his eyes open, tensing every muscle in his body.

"Wake up, Mulder!"

Very carefully he lifted his head. "Who the hell are you?"

"Don't be more stupid than you've already been," was the crisp reply. "Sit up, slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them..." The small lamp by the sofa was turned on, and in its light Mulder saw Alex Krycek perched on the armrest of the chair, dressed in ubiquitous black leather, and holding a very professional-looking gun in his left hand.

Somehow it was no surprise to see him there. Deep inside he'd known that sooner or later Krycek would come.

"Nice outfit, did you have to look for the right gun to accessorize it?" Mulder asked sardonically, sitting up gingerly and swinging his feet to the floor, holding his hands well in sight as ordered.

"You know, one day that mouth of yours will get you in serious trouble," Krycek said almost pleasantly. His tone in stark variance with the coldness of his eyes.

There was a short pause as the two men stared at each other, and then suddenly, Krycek moved like lightning, using the butt of his gun to hit Mulder hard enough to snap the other man's head back with a crack, and with a muffled curse Mulder felt something wet and warm start running down the side of his face.

He swore heatedly touching the wound. "What the hell was that for?!" he demanded angrily.

A smile of immense satisfaction spread across Krycek's face as he watched Mulder try and staunch the bleeding. "That was for ever laying a hand on the woman I love. Trust me you deserve much worse, but for some reason Dana really cares for you, you piece of shit," he hissed.

Mulder swallowed harshly. "Fuck you, Krycek!" he spat. He finally managed to stop the bleeding using a soiled paper napkin from a takeout pizza place that he found wadded up on the floor by the sofa. "I don't know what the hell you've done with her, you bastard, but I know Scully too well to believe she'd ever *touch* you without being sick!"

Krycek looked at him strangely for a moment. Anger drained away and was replaced with an emotion Mulder hadn't thought the bastard capable of; love, bordering on worship. A sensuous smile slowly shaped the younger darker man's mouth.

"Yes, you would think that, wouldn't you," Krycek said very softly, distantly. "but fortunately for me she's more generous than either you or I." He breathed out, but then collected himself again and motioned for Mulder to sit back."Look, I didn't come here tonight to fight with you, or kill you for that matter, but to talk."

A muscle flexed in Mulder's cheek. "Talk about what, you son of a bitch?! How you killed my father and Scully's sister? How you made sure Duane Berry kidnapped her. The months she spent as a guinea pig for sick, sadistic medical experiments?!"

Keeping a tight rein on his temper, Krycek said tautly "I did *not* kill Melissa Scully," he took a deep breath. "And I came here to talk about the woman we both love," a small pause, "not to bring up old conflicts."

Mulder stared at him hard, but could see nothing in Krycek but an almost desperate honesty when the words suddenly hit him. "You, you *love* her?" A croak of pure unadulterated incredulity.

Krycek gave him a cold, disgusted look. "Why the surprise, Mulder, isn't she worth loving?"

"Uh, I, of course she is," Mulder mumbled, suddenly feeling like the ground had shifted beneath his feet. "But, I, uh..." he suddenly faltered not able to suppress the memory of Alex Krycek....

Krycek laughed shortly realising the cause of the other man's sudden hesitation. "You thought I was carrying a torch for you? Grow up, Mulder, and get it through your head, I love her, I *want* Dana. You," his lip curled, "you were work."

"Damn you, Krycek!" Mulder was half-way up from the sofa, before the soft clicking sound of the gun being cocked and trained steadily on him, brought him back to his senses. Sinking down in the sofa again, he crossed his arms sullenly, determined not to give the smug bastard facing him any more satisfaction.

There was another silence, broken finally by Krycek. "I only came, Mulder, because you and I need to reach some sort of accommodation."

Mulder glared at him, "Fine, give me your gun, turn yourself in and I'll see you get a fair trial," and a speedy hanging, his glower promised.

Krycek chuckled softly, "Thanks but no thanks. Besides, I'd never get to stand trial, and we both know it." He paused, and when he spoke again his tone had altered. "Look, I mean it Mulder, Dana is gone, and I know you're hurting over it, as am I." He added softly, "I do love her you know, more than I ever thought I could."

Mulder remained skeptical, still not convinced. "I doubt you've ever loved anyone, including your own mother, you cold-hearted son of a bitch."

The shaft went wide as Krycek smiled quickly and shook his head. "You'd be wrong then. True I never knew her, but that didn't stop me from loving her." He shifted position. "But I did not come here to talk about my sordid family affairs. Mulder, I do know Dana and yes I love her. But thanks to you, she's left both of us." It was his turn to nail the FBI agent with a glower. "Because of your unreasonable, narrow-minded attitude she's gone."

"Who the hell are you calling narrow-minded?! You *assassinated* my father, you blackhearted treacherous snake!"

"And don't tell me you hadn't dreamed of doing exactly the same. But if it will make you feel any better, please feel free to shoot *my* father," Alex said calmly.

Mulder snorted, "Ah shit, this is getting surreal, I don't know who your father is, remember? Actually I don't know anything about you except that you're a traitorous, backstabbing, piece of slime."

"And I love you too," was the dry reply. "Now that you've got that off your chest, how about working with me? You *do* want her back don't you Mulder?"

"Yeah, yeah I want her back, you're right. I need Scully, without her I'm incomplete," Mulder mumbled, the words dragged from him.

"So am I," Alex told him softly. "But you know the reason she left was because she got caught between the two of us, and staying was tearing her to pieces."

Mulder shook his head, "I still don't understand," he muttered, "you and *Scully*?"

An enigmatic smile, "Hard to believe isn't it? Trust me, I was just as shocked as you."

Giving him a long thoughtful look, Mulder began to regain his equilibrium. "Which makes your behaviour even stranger. If you loved her like you say you did, then how could you sell her to the Consortium?"

Alex hesitated, lowering his gun, and Mulder was stunned by the sudden pain in green, haunted eyes. "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't regret what I did. But you have to understand, when I saw Dana, I..." he paused, "the truth is that I panicked."

"Panicked?" Mulder was surprised.

"Yeah, panicked. Look, put it this way, by the time I entered Quantico I was one of their top agents."

"Whose top agent?"

Krycek almost smiled, "None of your business. As I was saying, my cover was deep, and good. I really did graduate you know, it was easier than any of the other alternatives. Then the next thing I knew I was assigned to partner, 'Spooky' Mulder," a sudden glimmer of white in a quick smile of remembrance. "Actually I was pretty pissed off that after all that time and effort they'd assign me to the 'most unwanted man in FBI.'"

Mulder glared at him sourly, knowing too well his own reputation. "And was it the Consortium that ordered you to seduce me as well?"

A very amused look, "There wasn't much seduction involved. As I recall, you were the one jumping my bones." He sighed, "though I'll admit that was no doubt one reason I was assigned to you. They knew your reputation, and decided I would probably appeal to you..." he paused, then added quietly, "but what they hadn't taken into account was *my* reaction to Dana Scully."

Fleetingly Mulder wondered who the 'they' were that Krycek kept referring to. The Consortium? Most likely, although for some reason he doubted it.

The gun was lowered even more. "The first time I saw her, my God! I couldn't believe my eyes. She really knocked me for a loop! And not only was she beautiful enough to turn my guts to water, she had the brain and courage to match..." another long pause, "and she hated my guts because of you. Which didn't exactly make me think kindly of you."

"You really love Scully?" Mulder asked quietly, some of the fire dying.

"I must, or I am certifiably insane," Krycek replied just as quietly. "I've risked not only life, but soul for her." He smiled softly, lovingly, "and I would again." Carefully he placed the gun beside him, offering Mulder a mute sign of trust. "And after I'd given up any hope of anything but her hatred and unwilling compliance, she showed me what a classy, incredible woman she is." He gave Mulder a swift glance. "How much did she tell you about us?"

Mulder shrugged, "Not much." Grudgingly, "not that I gave her much chance, I was in shock, and I, well, I..." his voice trailed away and he looked away avoiding Krycek's accusing eyes.

"You hit her," Alex finished grimly, "and just so you know, the next time you lay a hand on her, I'll kill you."

A long tense, strained silence, and then Mulder said wearily, "You won't have to. I'll kill myself rather than do it ever again. But when I saw the two of you together, I just saw red, literally red." His voice turned cold as ice, "I saw my father's body and the red pool of blood he was lying in. Damn you Krycek! Damn your rotten soul to hell!"

Krycek said quietly, "Mulder, I did what I had to, your father was in it up to his neck. He corrupted everything he ever touched. The Consortium wasn't always what it is today, when it all began they - " he broke off and shook his head, "never mind. Look, I know Dana loves you, and that she's way too loyal to ever leave you behind and be happy. I'm not going to pretend that makes me exactly jump for joy since all you've ever managed to do is to put her life in danger and make her miserable."

"I wasn't the one who had her abducted *or* blackmailed her into sleeping with me," Mulder hissed.

Alex winced, pushing a hand through his hair. "So she did tell you that? I wasn't sure you'd heard or understood. I did it yes Mulder, and you can't call me anything I haven't already called myself, but," a pause, "I really thought that was the only way I could get her." He added softly, more to himself than anyone else. "Old habits die hard. It was the only thing I was sure I could have of her."

"You have a very strange way of loving someone," Mulder taunted.

Krycek actually smiled a little twistedly at that, "I'm a strange kind of guy."

"Which doesn't exactly comes as a surprise," Mulder muttered.

"You know much as I like sitting here exchanging cheap insults with you, there is something more important to consider."

"Scully."

"Right, Dana."

"Scully, her name's Scully."

"Dana, she also has a first name. I'm not the only one who's weird. She's your partner, you've held her when she cried, you've fucking saved her life! And you still call her Scully," mimicking Mulder's drawl. "God you make me sick at times!"

Icily. "As you said, it's mutual, Krycek."

A level look. "So now we know we're we stand, you hate my guts and I can't exactly say I like you either, but I plan on being around for a long time to come, Mulder. Like it or not I'm a part of Dana's life."

"I don't like," Mulder retorted angrily, suppressing the thought that hate was just one of the things he felt for the man sitting in front of him.

"You prefer being alone, getting piss drunk?" a contemptuous glance at the empty whisky bottle by the sofa, the stack of dirty pizza cartoons, "feeling sorry for yourself. Or do you want your partner back?"

Mulder glared at him, "What I want is Scully as my partner and you gone from our lives until I see you stand trial for the murder of my father, selling nationally classified material, and the no doubt hundred of crimes you've comitted that I know nothing about."

"Oh grow up, Mulder!" with the first hint of impatience. "If it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else. Your father was dead, and he knew it."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine by me. Let's talk about Dana, and how we find a solution the three of us can live with."

Mulder wanted to refuse, but he knew deep down that Krycek was right, damn him. Scully was gone, and it was his fault. "So what are you suggesting? Some male bonding?" he didn't try and hide the sarcasm.

Krycek had the affront to laugh, "I think we've had enough male bonding to last us for a while, Mulder." He started to remove his jacket, moving a little awkwardly when he pulled it over his right arm and the prosthetic revealing the black shirt he was wearing underneath. "Actually, if you could just accept that I'm a part of Dana's life, that would be enough."

"Doesn't seem as if I have much choice does it?"

Krycek said calmly. "Of course you do. Dana loves, *respects* you enough that if you ever gave her a choice between you and me, then she'd chose you." Mulder's eyes lit up. "Not because she loves you more than me, but because you stand for everything else she has been taught is right and admirable. Me," he said very softly, ruefully, "she wants against her own better judgment. As she's said a number of times already, I'm everything she despises and dislikes. But I can make her happy Mulder. And if you force her to chose between us, we'll all three end up losers."

"Aren't you overestimating your own importance a little, Krycek?"

Alex shook his head, "I don't think so." He gave Mulder a steady look. "The question is really, do you love Dana more than you hate me for," he hesitated feeling no need to bring up all his alleged crimes, personal and professional. "For being who I am."

Mulder swallowed. Leave it to the bastard to put it on the line bluntly. "I don't know," he admitted finally. "I'd give just about anything to have Scully back. But I can't forget or forgive the kind of misery you've caused me and my family."

Krycek sighed, "Perhaps this will help you make up your mind. The only person who could have told you about why your sister was taken and by whom, was your father."

Mulder froze. "You're lying."

"If you like." Krycek said wearily. "Look I don't know why she was taken, your sister I mean. All I heard were some whispers from time to time that it was to keep your father in line, that's all." A wry smile. "And if that doesn't persuade you... just think how convenient it will be for you to have an ally inside the Consortium when you're trying to ferret out the truth."

Mulder rubbed his eyes, "Are you trying to bribe me, you son of a bitch?"

A half-smile, "Would it work?"

Mulder sighed, feeling tired and grumpy, "I don't know, it shouldn't but," his shoulders slumped. "Dammit, Alex, why did you do it?"

Krycek gave him a long thoughtful look. "Because that's what I was ordered to do, and trust me, with my kind of boss you obey orders or you die. It's not exactly like you and Skinner arguing, these people play for keeps."

"The Cigarette Smoking Man?"

"Among others," a soft amused chuckle. "And I wouldn't call him that to his face. He doesn't like the nickname."

"I'll remember it the next time I see him," Mulder said sarcastically. "So now what, Krycek?"

"Now we get Dana back."

Mulder's face softened. "That's the one thing we do agree on, you son of a bitch. And then you and I are going to sit down and have a *long* talk about some things like my sister and father and Melissa Scully, and the Consortium."

"We'll see," was the only reply.

"That was a very interesting lecture Doctor Scully," the polite young man said, stopping by the desk where she was organizing some of her notes. Scully looked up and smiled absently at the earnest young face in front of him.

"Thank you, ah, Richard?"

"I was especially fascinated by the example you brought up with the missing link you and your partner discovered in, New Jersey wasn't it?"

Scully sighed, she had fearlessly faced Consortium agents, oily aliens and liver-eating mutants. But at times the sea of enthusiastic students stumped her. They were all so fresh, well-scrubbed, and damned *ebullient* they just exhausted her. Looking across at her student she had to stifle another sigh, feeling a hundred years old.

Dredging up a polite tone, she answered, "That's correct. However, to explain in detail would take hours, if not days," and hurrying on before he had time to suggest anything, "and even if you have the time, I don't I'm afraid. I've got several papers to correct." Pointedly she picked up her pen again, waiting until he took the hint and reluctantly wandered off.

Finally escaping from the university grounds, after another lecture, and even more students, Scully on an impulse changed her mind and drove past the small house the university had provided for her use, turning onto the highway leading away from the city. Less than twenty minutes later she turned into a level grassy slope beside the road where the roaring waves threw themselves unceasingly against the rocky cliffs of the Welsh coast.

Scully got out and locked the door, then started walking along the coastline, breathing in the sharp, braising salty winds that tore at her clothes and rumpled her hair. Finally she stopped where the coast bent outwards sharply, a big boulder, the remains of the ice age possibly, balanced precariously at the edge of the cliff.

Dana Scully looked out over the sea, the wind in her eyes causing tears - and then again perhaps not. Almost three weeks and still she was no nearer to healing, no nearer to finding the peace she craved. Three weeks of nights spent tossing and turning; three weeks of waking up soaked in sweat from nightmares of accusing eyes and bleeding bodies. Sometimes it was Mulder fixing her with a cold anger that terrified her, while Alex bled and died across her feet. Then at other times it was Alex staring at her with black sightless eyes from which all humanity had gone, while Mulder lay on the floor dying slowly and in agony.

*God, the God I prayed to in my undoubting days of girlhood, help me find peace*, she whispered into the wind....

No matter how hard she tried she couldn't escape the last memory of Alex. The stunned, hurt look in his eyes when she hurled her accusations at him. Had he not given her evidence in a thousand different ways of his.... concern during the time they had been together? She still wouldn't give the emotion the name her mind whispered. But she had hated him at that moment. Hated him for the past that rose between them. Hated him for being what he was.

She had hated because she dared not love.

Scully stiffled a curse, why did it always come back to that? She *couldn't* love Alex Krycek. A spasm of pain and confusion clutched at her heart, and she could feel the sudden ache whisper through her limbs. She had slept alone for all of her life. So why did her bed suddenly feel so empty? In the weeks they had shared a bed, Alex had accustomed her body to the feel and touch of his. Now she would wake up at night and automatically stretch out her hand for him. And when her fingers slid over nothing but smooth chilly sheets, her body would contract in loss and pain.

The day was blustery and cold, and she was quite alone. Leaning against the boulder. Scully was so deep in thoughts she never heard the light footsteps muffled by the roar of the sea, behind her.

"Hello, Dana," the soft voice froze her, and then she whirled around, eyes widening in shock and a sudden fierce happiness.

"Alex?" a stunned whisper.

He came towards her, wearing faded blue jeans, and as always the black leather jacket. Flowing across the ground with the cat-like grace that was Alex Krycek's own.

He halted just before her, smiling down into her eyes. "Sorry I couldn't come before but I needed to sort some things out first," he said very gently.

She closed her eyes, voice reflecting the anguish that was tearing her apart. "You shouldn't have come at all, Alex. All you being here means is more pain for both of us."

Krycek tried to smile. Just because he had expected her words didn't mean they didn't hurt. "Well I knew you wouldn't come after me. Mohammed and the mountain you know...." Slowly he reached out and, tenderly, delicately brushed a strand of short red hair from her face, sensitive finger-tips stroking the soft skin in a small caress that made her shudder. "Why shouldn't I have come? Don't you care for me at all, Dana?"

She turned away, stuffing her hands in her coat-pockets to stop them from reaching out for him.

"You know I do," she admitted quietly, she had never lied to him before, she wouldn't start now. "But there is just too much holding us apart. Melissa, my abduction..." a long pause, and a haunted whisper, "Mulder."

He was quiet for a moment and then said almost tentatively. "You named Mulder last, but he's the real problem, isn't he?"

She stared out over the foam-crested waves roaring against the gray rocks far below them. "You know he is," her voice almost broke, fighting back tears. "He's my partner, my friend, my... my love, and he hates you."

She bit her lip until it bled, taking an obscure comfort in the tiny pain. "There is just much too between us for it ever to work, go away Alex, I don't want you here." And knew she had just broken her promise. She could lie to him but not to herself and her heart had leaped with a wild joy at his presence.

"I don't believe you." A warm breath at her neck made her shiver and tense every muscle of her body to resist leaning back into the body standing close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from it.

"I love you, Dana," he said quietly.

Oh God, Dana Scully breathed out in a shudder that tore at her body and heart, how could anything hurt so much? "Don't, Alex, *please*, it won't change anything," she pleaded softly.

"You're wrong, darling," his voice was very strained, and if she had turned around she would have seen the paleness of his face. "That's what took so long. I've talked to Mulder, and he..."

She spun around, "You've talked to Mulder?! How is he, what did he do, what - "

Alex held up his hand, stopping the outpouring of questions, and Scully smiled for the first time. "I'm sorry, but you talked to Mulder and, "a sudden hopeful glimmer. "You are still both alive?"

"Alive and unbruised, more or less. Which may be because this time I was holding the gun," he told her wryly. "Mulder is one of the most stubborn and cantankerous men it's ever been my misfortune to meet, but he's not completely unreasonable."

"I, I don't understand?"

He half-shrugged. "If we're ever going to have a chance, Dana, I needed to reach some sort of accommodation with Mulder. Something we could all three of us live with."

She frowned. "Why do I feel a little left out suddenly? I'm not some prize to be fought over!"

Alex chuckled softly. "I only wish." He sobered again. "I didn't mean that the way it came out. Dana, I know why you left, you said as much in your letter. By sleeping with me, you felt like you betrayed Mulder didn't you?"

She looked away. "I know it doesn't make much sense. I mean Mulder and I, our relationship is not, not sexual. But yes, both Mulder and I knew I had." A soft, sad smile lingered in her eyes. "Mulder will much easier forgive you shooting him, than if you betray his trust. He doesn't trust easily, but me..."

"'... he would trust with his life.' I know, you told me once." He said quietly. And then he took a deep breath. "I came here despite what you told me at the airport, because I know we can be together." Then added very softly, "I have to believe that. But I also know it will work only if you can be with me without feeling that you've betrayed Mulder."

She listened, filled with a sudden wild hope, heart beating hard. "You're saying Mulder has accepted us?"

Alex nodded. "As I said we had a little chat." He held out his hand and slowly she put hers in it. He pulled her close and put his hands on her shoulders, looking down into her face.

"Mulder loves you and you love him. It's no use either of us denying it. I've accepted that." Jealousy and sadness tinged with pain clouded his eyes before he looked away. "Or at least, I'm going to have to," he qualified. "But the fact is that you and Mulder are partners, and not time or distance will change that."

"The only two who can ever break your partnership is you or Mulder." He kissed her forehead, "so I can either have you, with him attached, or nothing at all, and I've always been a realist. Which is not to say that what I really want is for you to forget everything about Fox Mulder and the FBI and run away with me to the Seychelles or Bora Bora."

A real smile softened her face. "Alex can you really see me as a beach bunny with nothing to do but sip drinks and bask in the sun all day long?"

Alex cocked his head, a warm teasing look in green eyes, murmuring, "Vividly, my heart." Then he sobered and continued. "Look, I know nothing I or anyone can do will ever threaten or break your bond. Though God knows they've tried." He looked down at her with a strange light in his eyes. "Rather ironic isn't it, that after all the time and trouble the Consortium went to, to break the two of you up, I did it without meaning to or even wanting."

Scully said softly. "I've never thought of it that way."

A sudden bitterness, "One more black mark against me. The only thing I seem to cause you is more hurt."

She suddenly frowned and brought up her hands to frame his face. "No! Stop it, Alex. I am not some helpless damsel in distress. I am Mulder's partner, yes. With emphasis on *partner.* I have hurt him terribly, and I admit that when I realized just how much I ran. But I am responsible for all my own actions. I could have broken it off with you Alex. I could have asked Mulder for help the first time you came to me with information about Melissa. It was *my* choice not to. Mine and nobody else's. Do you understand?"

He laughed softly. "I understand. I've said it before and I'll say it again. There is no one like you, Dana. So much spirit and beauty and fire in such a very small package." Alex kissed her nose, but then abruptly his laughter died.

"He misses you, Dana," he said quietly. "So much it's tearing him apart. I think he's finally realized that without you, it doesn't much matter what the truth is out there..."

She couldn't hide the sudden sheen of tears, or the pleasure that flooded her soul. "He misses me?" she whispered, eyes pleading for it to be the truth.

He laughed softly in quiet amusement, "Dana, he's ready to crawl on his knees and beg you to come back to him. He knows that without you he's incomplete. Even when you were gone he wasn't this miserable. He always had the hope of getting you back." A wry smile reminded her of Mulder's tenacity that could border on lunacy at times. "You know he's the kind of man who will never give up. This time though, he's realized it was he who drove you away."

"Not entirely," Scully murmured knowing it would hurt but forced by honesty to say it.

Alex breathed out. "No, not entirely on his own," he said evenly. "I know that if you'd never met me," carefully leashing his own pain, "if I had never come between the two of you. Then perhaps one day Mulder would have seen what everyone else knows."

"And that is?"

"That he's hopelessly in love with you. Almost as much as you love him. But, Dana," he said quietly, "I am here, and I won't go away." A rather twisted smile, "I'm not that much of a altruist. And I honestly believe that I can make you far happier than he ever could."

His grip on her shoulders tightened a little as he continued urgently. "He's too cold. Too driven and obsessed to ever see you for what you are. Mulder's first love will always be his quest for the truth, and for his sister. I, on the other hand, have no quests, no great convictions. A man like Mulder. You can admire and respect him. But God help you from loving him! He'll break your heart and not even notice."

He murmured softly, "I will love you like he never could. I'll make you feel safe and cherished, and always put you first."

"Oh God, Alex," she said quietly, unbearably tempted and miserable. "Don't do this to me."

"Dana," something his voice made her look up sharply.

"Yes?"

"Do you love me? You've never said."

She spun suddenly away, looking out over the sea. Did she love him? She had spent so much of the past months avoiding exactly that question.

"How can I love you?" she finally asked painfully with her back to him. "You stand for everything I hate, everything I was taught to despise and loathe. You're a murderer, a hired killer for money. You're a traitor, you killed Mulder's father. How *can* I love you?"

He breathed in harshly, "What are you telling me?"

She turned and raised her eyes to look at him steadily. A breath of silence, and then, very quietly she told him the truth she had only this moment accepted. She almost smiled at how easily the words came, after the weeks of anguish and self-torment.

"I'm saying that I should hate you, but I don't. God help me, but I love you. I love you, Alex Krycek." Her eyes filled with tears, "and may the Lord have mercy on my soul." She took one step forward and then she was in his arms, her own clutching him fiercely rediscovering the familiar planes and curves of his body. His arms around her, the artificial prosthesis digging into her back. He was whispering soft endearments, in Russian she assumed since she didn't understand anything but the intent. Finally, Alex pulled away a little, and to her astonishment, she saw the silvery tracks of tears on his face. Wondering, she reached up and traced them with her fingertips.

"You're crying, Alex..." her voice soft and breathless.

He tried to smile through the tears. "Blame it on my Russian heritage. You know how emotional we Slavs are. Not like you cold Anglo-Saxons."

She pulled his head down, and kissed the moisture from his skin, tasting the faint saltiness on the tip of her tongue. "Don't apologize, Alex, I like it."

He kissed her again and again, laughing at her murmured protests. Hands and mouth almost clumsy in their eagerness, and for some reason that touched her unbearably. "I love you, Dana Katherine Scully. Love you. Love you..." punctuating each sentence with another kiss. "Promise you'll never leave me again."

A faint shadow crossed her face, and suddenly she lost a little of her happiness. "I want to, Alex, I do, but..."

"No buts," he interrupted firmly. "We're together and that's all that matters."

She nodded, wanting to believe him. "For now." She leaned her head against his chest wondering how it was possible to feel so happy when only moments before she'd been so miserable. She must have spoken aloud, because she could feel a sudden rumbling as he laughed quietly.

"I'd tell you, except I'd be afraid of sounding conceited," a blinding smile lit his face. His eyes when she looked at him were the colour of sunlight reflecting through a forest in spring; all shades of gold and green light.

She laughed, reaching up to kiss him. "You're a fool, Alex Krycek." Scully leaned into his arms feeling them close around her, and she suddenly shivered realising what an idiot she had been, how easily she could have lost everything. Burrowing into his body, she asked, "Alex, why did you come? After," she stumbled a little over the words, "what I said at the airport I never thought I'd see you again."

He smiled rather strangely. "You still don't understand do you, Dana? That day when I told you about Melissa. When I told you to go, it really was your only chance." His voice was very calm, almost cold. "I always thought the only thing I could have was your hatred and your body, and even that was better than nothing. That you love me remains a miracle I can't comprehend. But even if you hated me, Dana, I would still want you. I would *take* what I couldn't have voluntarily."

He said almost harshly. "Do you understand what I'm saying? I'm not like Mulder, or you. I haven't had the luxury of choice, or ethics. I've killed and whored and lied to survive. And for the first time in my life I want something more than survival. There is literally nothing I wouldn't do for you or to keep you with me."

She suddenly trembled, beginning to grasp the true depth of his feelings. "Alex, you scare me," she whispered. "I, no, don't. I don't want you to feel like that."

He kissed her gently. "Dear heart, I did not tell you to make you afraid." A reckless smile slashed across his face. "I told you so that you will never doubt my feelings, my love for you. Love? Bah! what a pale word for what I feel for you! And that you love me back? Do you know how that makes me feel?"

She couldn't help smiling, infected by his joy, the laughter that sparkled like the finest champagne.

But then he sobered. "Much as I hate it, we have to talk. There are some things I need you to understand."

"Sounds ominous," she said lightly to hide the sudden stab of apprehension. "You don't by any chance have a wife and three children hidden away in Russia?"

He smiled although his eyes remained somber. "No wife, no kids, no one I love except for you, forever. He hesitated a little, then folded his legs and sat down, leaning against the boulder. "Come here," he took her hand and pulled her down with him. They sat in silence for a long time with his arms wrapped around her, as she leaned her head back against his chest, and then he started speaking quietly.

"Do you remember the first night at Hadley Place?"

"I remember," she said softly. "That's when it all started to change, wasn't it."

He pressed a kiss into her hair breathing in the sweet, heady scent of her. A delicate fragrance he would know blindfolded. "That morning was the first time I ever made love, Dana." He stilled her instinctive movement. "Not the first time I had sex, the first time I made love." He was quiet for a moment. "I've been blessed, or cursed, with the kind of face that appeals to women and men. I've used that, traded on it, hence the hive ops. Sex has been a tool in my arsenal of weapons." Another pause, "I've used it to blackmail, I've sold it, at times had it forced from me, at times used it to force secrets from my enemies, I've been raped, I've raped."

A deep breath, and then he continued with a little difficulty, "I was, I am, an expert in what is euphemistically called, the arts of love, or to put it in plain English, fucking. I can be the lover of your dreams, pull orgasm after orgasm from you, make you beg for more."

Scully was suddenly reminded of the night they had made their bargain. The words that had made no sense then. "That's what you meant wasn't it, Alex? That first night, when you said you could at least give me this in return."

He looked away. "Yes. I knew you hated me. God knows I gave you reason enough. But I always thought that at least I could give you pleasure. For a long time I thought it was the only thing that you would accept from me. But there were times, Dana, when our bargain sickened me!" He continued harshly. "The hive ops have always left me cold as ice. It's meant less to me than shaking someone's hand. I've killed so-called lovers without a qualm or a second thought."

"Don't, Alex," Scully murmured gently, giving his arm a little squeeze. "It doesn't matter, love."

He buried his face in her hair, swallowing heavily. "We have to get it out into the open, and then we'll never talk about it ever again, I promise. I never realized you knew about the hive ops." A bitter smile, "I guess I was hoping that you never would. But since you do I want you to understand that what you and I had, had nothing to do with, with, that."

His arm tightened around her. "I need you to understand just how different you are. What you mean to me. I've wanted you for a long time, Dana. Forever I sometimes think...." A momentary smile lightened his voice. "Every time I saw you walk past me in the FBI corridors, my heart would skip a beat."

He suddenly laughed softly. "I'd spend hours, days, thinking of the way you scrunch your nose when you're thinking. The way your hair keeps falling across your face when you type. I'd see you sitting in the cafeteria talking with your friends. Someone would say something that you thought funny and you'd tilt your head and smile. The blue of your eyes would darken and flash. And I'd think, if she would only look at me like that. There are a million little things I could tell you about. Actually I can't remember a time when I didn't love you. When I didn't want you enough to kill."

He shifted slightly on the ground, his voice changed, grew harsher. "But of course you never saw me. And if you did, you despised me because I was Mulder's partner. Your eyes would go all icy and hard whenever you looked at me." Bitterly. "And all that time I would have died for you. Killed for just a single word, a smile. The only person you ever smiled at was Mulder." He tried to laugh, "I wanted to shoot Mulder, and you for being so fucking blind."

"Alex, my love, I never knew." she said softly. She felt awed and humbled by the calm ruthless exposition of his emotions. Dana Scully knew she had never, would never be loved as this dark, intense, man loved her. She wanted to deny her own blindness, but was unable to. She had in truth not even noticed Alex Krycek as anything but Mulder's appendage. Their mutual pain and frustration at being separated had dominated her thoughts to the exclusion of everything else. Including the young, too-handsome new partner she had instinctively and jealously known shared more than Mulder's cases.

A poem by Walter Scott whispered through her mind. 'Oh what a tangled web we weave/When first we practice to deceive...'

Then he spoke again, interrupting her train of thoughts. "That was more than obvious. All you ever saw was Mulder and his damn X-Files. You know I did warn the Consortium that you and Mulder would always be a team no matter how much they tried to separate the two of you. Even if they closed the X-Files and had both of you re-assigned, you would still be a partnership."

A pause, and then he said very carefully, "I'm not going to pretend that I didn't know what Duane Berry was after. Or that I didn't kill him on purpose. If you are ever going to trust me enough to build something on, then you deserve the truth. I knew that they meant to abduct you, Dana. But by that time I hated you even more than I loved you. I hated you for not loving me, for loving Mulder instead of me. I even hated Mulder for being the man you loved."

There was a pause before he admitted wearily, "And in a twisted kind of way once you were gone I could grieve for you like Mulder did. Hell I even thought that if I could get you back you'd be so grateful that maybe you'd start looking at me the way you looked at him." A dry self-mocking irony coloured his voice. "Instead of viewing me as though I was a particularly nasty bug you'd found in your food."

Again he stilled her movement, putting a finger across her lips. "You have to believe me love, that once you were taken I didn't know where they kept you or what they did to you. At the time there was a power-struggle inside the Consortium. And well, let's just say that things were very chaotic for a while. My boss momentarily lost power, and with him, so did I. So I had no way of tracking you down. If I could I would have. I swear, Dana!"

"Shh," she whispered, "I believe you, Alex."

His eyes were a deep haunted emerald. "You're far more generous and forgiving than I deserve, and God do I love you for it!" He took a deep breath. "And then you came back, but dying, and everything went rapidly downhill from there. Mulder discovered my Consortium ties and he did not take the knowledge, the betrayal he would call it, well..."

And then he added with a strange bitterness. "Nor did AD Skinner. For a while I was starting to feel like a punching bag between the two of them. So the only option was to clear out, after umm, 'persuading' my boss to give Skinner the antidote you needed." He chuckled softly. "I wouldn't tell Skinner this, but his big sacrifice, his deal with the devil was unnecessary. Although it provided the Smoking Man with a lot of delectation. He found it highly amusing that not only I, but AD Skinner were prepared to barter our souls to the devil for your sake, not to mention Mulder's desperation. He *really* enjoyed that."

Scully shook her head, "I don't think I want to know this. I thought it was Mulder who saved me?"

"Is that what he told you?"

"Not exactly," she admitted, "and things are still a little hazy, but I just assumed it was Mulder."

A snort, "How typical, for the first time in my life I do a noble unselfish thing and another man gets the credit. Shows you how dangerous it is to be good," he said lightly.

Scully turned around so she could look into his eyes. "But being good has its compensations as well," she told him solemnly. "For example, if you had not been at least partly good, I wouldn't be here with you now."

He leaned forward and kissed her gently, "True, okay, from now on you can call me the White Knight." But then his smile died rapidly. "Dana, I didn't pull the trigger, that was Luis Cardinale, but I *was* there." He ignored her sudden stiffening. "No, *listen* love. I went with Cardinale because I thought we were kidnapping you. Frankly the thought of you alone with Luis scared the hell out of me!" He hesitated briefly and then admitted a little sheepishly. "I also had a *very* private fantasy that after we'd taken you, and Cardinale had frightened you out of your wits. And trust me he would have, the guy was a total psycho, then you'd turn to me, and finally see me as a person." He paused, "Have you ever heard of the Stockholm Syndrome?"

Scully gave him a speaking look. "Believe me Alex, if I had been kidnapped by two Consortium goons, I would *not* have been too kindly disposed towards you." She thought for a moment. "If I remember correctly, the Stockholm syndrome means that because the hostages are forced to rely on their captors for everything, food, security and even their lives, that creates an emotional dependency and makes them form a bond with their kidnapper."

"Right, and well that's what I kind of counted on. That you'd turn to me as the lesser of two evils, and I'd at least have a chance to show you that I'm not a completely bad guy." His mouth twisted bitterly, "but then you didn't show up, and Melissa did instead and Luis just shot her before I had a chance to stop him. I nearly killed him then and there, but hell, I figured by then it was too late, and whether I killed Cardinale or not didn't matter. You'd hate me for just being there, and I'm a survivor, Dana, I've lived through shit you have no idea of. Besides," he smiled grimly. "if I was right and our masters didn't approve of his act, killing him clean would have been a mercy."

He hesitated briefly and then said softly. "When I gave you that folder, I really thought that was the end. That Melissa was dead. But," he looked away from her. "Since then, I've, I've come into some more material. It may be a lie, a complete fabrication, it may be the truth." he didn't want to remember exactly how or why it had dropped into his hand. "And, I don't know. I just *don't know,* Dana. But I swear, I'll never stop digging until I find the truth, one way or another."

"Alex," she touched his face with shaking fingers, hurting not only for herself and poor Missy, but the man who was holding her as if he was afraid she would disappear and leave him once again. "I know you will." A strange smile lit her eyes as she gently turned his face so she could look deep into his eyes. And quietly, she gave him the ultimate gift. "I trust you, Alex."

"Thank you," he whispered, stunned. Amazed that after everything he had done, everything he had said, she could tell him this. In some ways it was even greater than having her love. Dana Scully did not trust any easier than her partner, and she had an even stronger sense of right and wrong, good and evil. He only hoped, prayed, that she would never know the truth about him. That he would never see the trust and love replaced with disgust and hatred once again.

She nodded, consumed by the intensity of his eyes. "I do believe in you," she said a little sadly. "But Alex, God, I wish you weren't what you are."

"What I was, Dana. I can't change the past, but at least I have some control over the future." He pushed away the memory of the Smoking Man and the deal he had made. "I can't promise you that I'll always be able to tell you what I'm doing or why. You're going to have to trust me, and," his eyes fell, "there are still things I can't avoid. People I can't walk away from." There was bitterness, and a kind of weary acceptance, when he said, "Once they get their hooks into you, you're never completely free."

"I am not going to pretend it's not going to be hard," Scully said evenly. "Nor that it may tear us apart at some point, there are things I just *can't* accept Alex. I couldn't, and still be me," her tone pleaded for understanding.

He hugged her, his body conveying everything he couldn't put into words. "I know, my love, but for now, let's not think of the future, please?"

"It's a deal," she murmured, nestling into his arms, closing her eyes, feeling safe and warm and very, very happy.

Their quiet contentment was abruptly broken by brisk steps and an impatient, irritated voice. "That's more than enough time, Krycek."

Alex looked up and swore, more in resignation than anger, "I thought we'd agree you would stay in the car, Mulder."

Arms crossed, glowering at both of them, Mulder retorted, "How was I to know you wouldn't just toss her over the side of the cliff?"

Alex's grip around Scully tightened fractionally, but his voice remained even and pleasant. "Don't be an ass. I told you I needed some time alone with Dana, and you agreed, remember?"

Hunkering down beside them, Mulder took off his sunglasses, folding them and putting them in his breast-pocket. "I know what we agreed, Krycek."

Scully gently freed herself from her lover's arms. At the first sight of Mulder she had gone tense as a bowstring. The fear and love written on her face had Alex swallowing something bitter as dust and turning away from the sight.

"Are you still angry with me, Mulder?" A breathless whisper ripe with hope and longing.

He turned his head, and she almost gasped at the expression. "How could I be angry with anyone but myself?" he said simply. "I miss you, Scully, you're my other half."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I, I love you, Mulder." And then Scully did what before her abduction and illness would have been unthinkable. She threw herself into his arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered into his shirt, holding him tightly.

Mulder stroked her hair murmuring soothingly. Both his arms were around her, and over her bent head Krycek's and Mulder's eyes met. Triumph turned hazel into gold as Mulder silently told the dark man watching them, 'see, she is mine. She will always be mine.' And Krycek's wry smile acknowledged the victory.

Finally Scully pulled herself together. "I'm sorry," she muttered, patting her pockets hunting for a handkerchief only to have two of them stuck under her nose. Taking Alex's she blew her nose, and tucked her hair back.

"Right, that's enough soppiness. Mulder, if you ever touch me again I'll shoot you *again*, and this time I'll chose a better place, got it?"

Mulder laughed, "Yes, ma'am!"

"Good, just so that's clear." She pulled him into another hug, "I'm sorry for hurting you, I always hoped that you wouldn't find out, but I never meant to betray you, you know that."

He hugged her back. "I know, Scully, and when I had time to think a little, I realized who's fault it was."

Very gently she said, "Mulder, it wasn't anybody's *fault* any more than you and Phoebe Green was anybody's fault. It just happened, all right?"

"No it's not all right," Mulder said angrily. "Phoebe may have been the most manipulative bitch alive, but at least she didn't kill any member of my family."

"Mulder, please try and understand," Scully took his arm and pulled him a little from where Krycek was standing. He leaned nonchalantly against the boulder, face blank, eyes bored. No doubt Mulder thought it meant Krycek was a cold bastard, but she knew him well enough now to see the faint lines of tension, the way his hand clenched behind his back. When had she become as good at reading Alex as she was at Mulder? She decided to pursue that question later, for now it was more important to reach some sort of tenuous peace between the two men in her life.

"Mulder, listen to me. If you still want me, I am your partner. I will *always* be your partner no matter what happens. I am *not* going to stop suddenly just because I love Alex. Nor am I going to turn into some featherbrained idiot. I am, I will always be Dana Scully."

She reached up and brushed back his hair in a tender, sisterly gesture. "I'll always be there to back you up, all right?" she smiled. "As well as debunk your theories on mutant cockroaches, mad alien scientists and werewolves. The only person prepared to stand you trailing sunflower seeds all over her desk. And accept the Victoria's Secrets catalogue, you pretended *I* sent for. And don't you dare deny it was you..." She took his hand, feeling the implicit support in the strong, gentle grasp. "Please, Mulder, for my sake, can you let it go?"

She had never him asked for anything. She had risked her life again and again to follow him on his quest. He sighed deeply, muttering something beneath his breath, and then he suddenly swept her into a bearhug. "Scully, I could almost wish you'd fallen in love with that lunatic with a talking tattoo. With just about anybody but Alex Krycek, and I'm not going to promise not to complain from time to time. Or tell you that you can't do a hell of a lot better. But for what it's worth, I believe the son of a bitch when he claims that he loves you." He shook his head, "I still can't believe it, Scully. You and Krycek, the mind boggles..."

Krycek came forward, gliding up behind Scully, sliding his arm around her waist. In a loving, completely natural gesture, Dana leaned back into his body, as Alex looked at her with open adoration in his eyes. "Why? Haven't you ever heard of the old adage, 'opposites attract?'"

Mulder glared at him over her head. "And there are no more opposites than you and Dana."

"True, which is why I love her," Krycek replied. He dropped a kiss on her hair, looked at Mulder and quoted softly, "'Would she could make of me a saint/Or I of her a sinner.'"

"James Congreve, " Mulder said calmly. "Is that what you're hoping? That Scully is going to be your redemption?"

"I love her, man." There was no challenge, no mockery, just a simple statement of fact.

Mulder looked at his partner. "Are you sure?"

She gave him a blinding smile, and he sighed a little sadly. "Very well, then." He gave Krycek a dark look. "You better treat her good or you'll regret it."

"You're making me shake in my boots," Alex said dryly, but pulled Scully into his arms at the same time. "You'll come to see, Mulder, I'd rather cut off my other arm than hurt her."

Watching the two men she loved more than anything in the world, Dana Scully's heart contracted in joy and sorrow. Alex smiled at her, lacing his fingers around hers, pulling her close. As always he touched her. There was a deep-seated need in him to feel her against him, as if to reassure himself that she was there, that she was real, and that she was his.

God how she loved him. Against all conventional wisdom, against reason. Then Mulder gesturing and arguing, turned to her for support. Mulder her partner, her best friend. Seeing the two men debate she suddenly felt a funny little stab deep in her heart. She had so much, so why did her throat constrict at the thought of what she could never have?

They walked towards the car together, Alex with his arm around Dana's shoulders, head bent to listen to her, for once completely unwary and happy. Scully was talking to him, but once in a while her eyes slid across to Mulder, giving him a wistful, bitter-sweet, half-yearning look. Mulder was listening, interjecting an acid comment now and again, trying to needle Krycek, and when he thought no one was looking his eyes rested on the dark man, with a savage bitter hunger.