The Luck Of The Irish

"Goodbye, Mulder."

Mulder sat on his couch, fingers tapping against the remote as he stared unseeing at the TV. He chewed his lip in thought, only half listening to the high ranking military man discussing Project Bluebook.

He was bored. And depressed. Scully was out on her fourth date of the week. And yet, even with all the extracurriculars she was suddenly doing-and who knew just how extra-she came into work each morning more bright eyed and bushy-tailed than the day before. Talk about nauseating.

He still didn't know who the man was. It irked him, an itch in the middle of his back that he just couldn't get at it. Why did she feel she had to hide the guy from him? It wasn't like he cared who it was-just a name. What? Was she hiding a Director? He wouldn't tell. He shook his head absent-mindedly. It made no sense.

But, when did his life ever make sense? He'd been thinking about Krycek's offer ever since Valentine's Day and still hadn't come up with a response. He was beginning to feel dismissed; however, Krycek hadn't contacted him since then. No note, no call-nothing. He couldn't be that busy; he'd always found plenty of time to torture Mulder before.

Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. Since when did he care if Krycek contacted him? The man was an eternal pain in the ass.

The phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He stood, walking over to the receiver, debating whether or not to even pick it up. On the fourth ring he gave into the boredom and picked it up.

"Mulder."

Silence.

"It's you."

"Yeah, me," said Krycek and Mulder shivered as the timbre vibrated through his body. Speak of the devil, he thought.

"What do you want?"

"You."

Mulder's eyebrows lifted.

Krycek sighed dramatically. "I want you to meet me somewhere."

"Why?"

"To talk."

"I have better things to do, Krycek."

"Why are you such an ass, Mulder? Does it hurt your pride that much to sit and talk?"

"Only when it's with you."

"What are you doing?"

"Watching a really good show on TV. I don't want to miss anything," he lied.

"You have no life. No wonder people bail on you if that's what you do for fun. What are you watching?"

"Why do you care?"

More silence.

"Alright, fine. If you must know, Project Bluebook on the History Channel."

"How many times have you seen it?"

"What is this, Twenty Questions? A Nielson ratings poll?"

"Just answer the damn question."

This conversation was not going the way he'd planned. Not like he imagined during the day when he told Krycek where to shove it, and not what occurred in his dreams...whatever that was. He didn't want to dwell on that. Truth was, he'd been anxious to hear from Krycek, but it had been so long, he was angry.

"Never before. So I'll ask you just once to get off the phone before I hang up."

"Bullshit."

"How do you know?" Mulder said, voice raised as he began to pace. Not at all what he'd imagined.

Another dramatic sigh but it couldn't cover the irritation that crept into the other man's tone. That suited Mulder just fine.

"Because, you told me about it the first dinner we ever had during that first case. Remember? At some diner and all you could talk about was your sister, Cole, and that damn show and how it proved the government was truly hiding something."

Shit, caught.

"How many times?"

He mumbled something about it maybe being the tenth time.

A light laugh echoed through the receiver and Mulder couldn't help smiling along with it.

"You're pathetic." Krycek paused. "Come out with me. Please."

It was the please that did it. Krycek's voice gave away nothing in his tone but without distracting visuals, Mulder caught the slight force behind the word.

"Fine," he heard himself cave.

Again, no change, no relief colored Krycek's voice, but Mulder knew something was different.

"Meet me at O'Malley's in half an hour. I expect you can find the address yourself. See you then."

Mulder stared at the phone after the click sounded. Wham bam, thank you ma'am.

He had to admit that, just as he'd predicted, he'd been depressed since Valentine's Day. Scully still thought his date hadn't gone well and that he was lamenting the loss of some woman. He hadn't denied her assumption. She was partly right. And yet so off. His 'date' had been one hell of a roller coaster ride. He hated that Krycek left every time the sexual explorations stopped, usually on his terms. Not that Mulder wanted the man to stay. He wasn't fooling himself, he knew Krycek wasn't the love of his life and hey, as long as he got laid sooner than later, he'd be ok.

He'd done his soul-searching, and hadn't liked what he'd seen. Ironically, instead of concentrating on his feelings for Krycek, he'd looked more on his daily life. He'd come to the realization that he hadn't been getting anywhere. Sure, he solved most X-Files, still irritating the Bureau by obtaining a near seventy-five percent solve rate. But beyond that, what did he have? What was he doing with his life?

He moved to the bedroom, staring in the closest. He stared for another moment unseeing, then began to dig. The black was too much like Krycek, the sweatshirt seemed too casual for a bar, a blazer too fancy. He finally settled on a blue button-up and Docker's. Why the fuck he cared what he looked like to meet the shady informant whose very name caused him various degrees of grief, he wasn't sure. Accept and move on, he told himself.

As he searched the phone book for O'Malley's he continued his train of thought.

He hadn't been doing anything important lately. The last time had been that visit to Wiekamp. And he couldn't even remember it. Nothing besides a certain kiss and tovarisch. Scully seemed to have suddenly moved forward with her life; she seemed serious about this person, whoever it was. While he...he had no one. Not really. He couldn't let himself see three meetings as a relationship. He wasn't sure he wanted one. Krycek wasn't someone who seemed to need, much less want, a relationship. Sure, Mulder noticed an occasional lost look in his eyes, but who knew what caused that?

Not to mention he didn't want to 'date' a triple-agent assassin.

When had he become a passenger in the crusade, sitting back and watching others do what he'd started? When his sister had been taken he'd been proactive, the only one to search for her. When he'd gone to Oxford, everything that didn't come easy to him, he worked for, just to make sure he was at the top. Quantico, same thing. Starting the X-Files-now that had been dedication. Beyond the opposition and ridicule, those files had been a bitch to sort and restore. For a long time he'd worked hard to fight this Consortium, to make Scully believe him.

So at what point had he given up? He still wasn't sure.

He found the place in the yellow pages and copied down its address, grabbing his trench coat and running out to his car in the brisk wind. Slamming the door shut, he glanced in the rear view mirror attempting to temper the tempest that was his hair. Giving it up as a moot point, he shifted into drive and headed for the bar.

He arrived twenty-five minutes after Krycek's call in front of a small pub whose windows emanated a green glow from hanging neon shamrocks. "O'Malley's" was lit above the door right next to a dancing leprechaun. He grinned at the cheesiness and immediately felt relaxed.

He approached the door expecting to have to wait another five minutes for Krycek to show, when he noticed a familiar-shaped shadow detach from the alley right next to the bar. He caught a whiff of Dior just as it stepped into the half-light from a nearby street lamp.

Empty-handed.

"You know, you could return a man's pants. It's not nice to make off with others' clothes."

"How do you know they're not in my car?"

Mulder pretended to cast about dramatically for another car on the otherwise empty street.

"Alright, alright." Krycek's mouth twitched. "So I didn't bring them. Why? You want them back?"

Unbidden, the thought of Krycek wearing his pants on a regular basis entered Mulder's mind. Strange, but not entirely unappealing.

"Not really. They looked better on you than me anyway."

In the dark, Mulder nearly missed an eyebrow cocking before the usual mask descended again.

He stepped up to Krycek, mentally laughing when the other man bristled. Don't like your space being invaded, Krycek? Or is it something else?

"So, tell me," Mulder began, "what is it with us and alcohol and holidays?"

Another almost-smile. "Seems the only time my employers like to take off, leaving me free as well. And being with you seems to call for alcohol," Krycek teased straight-faced.

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing there isn't a holiday every day or I could turn into an alcoholic."

A bitter laugh resounded from the other man. Mulder stepped in even closer. The air felt tense, sparks seeming to leap between the two, and Krycek's lustful gaze wasn't lost on Mulder. What was it about this man? Why was it every time they were together it felt like a lightning storm?

"Shall we?" Mulder asked, adopting a half-smirk and ushering Krycek towards the door. He unconsciously let his hand fall to the man's leather clad back to guide him. Only once he reached the door, finding himself holding it open for the very confused looking Krycek, did he realize it. He quickly retrieved his hand, as though he'd been burnt. Krycek shook his head the littlest bit and glided through the door.

As Mulder entered, he instantly liked the place. It was small but neat and smelled heavenly. Beef and beer and smoke. Celtic music played softly, adding to the atmosphere.

The restaurant featured about twelve tables, two booths set away in the back corners, obviously meant for more private parties. The bar however, dark polished wood carved with Irish patterns, filled up most of the place. A few patrons sat there, drinking pints in silver mugs and filling the air with just enough of a haze, a combination of cigarette and pipe smoke. Two of the tables were filled, one with an older couple, the other with four men cheerfully bickering over a poker game. Tablecloths covered each table, the tops all adorned with a centerpiece of dyed-green carnations.

The bartender, a skinny man with thick gray hair, nodded at them and then called out, "Fiona!"

A moment later a young woman entered the main room from the kitchen, auburn hair up in a pony-tail and a large smile on her face. She noticed them standing in the front door and came striding over.

"'Evenin', gentlemen. Is it the bar tonight?"

Krycek shook his head. "No, we'd like the corner booth. And could you tell Muirin someone's expecting her?"

"Sure, sure," the lady said in a chipper voice. "She'll be helping you anyway, my shift's over."

"Great," Krycek said, following her, hands in his pockets. Mulder trailed after.

Once seated, the other man took his hands out, shucking the jacket and then resting them on the table. Mulder noticed that with the jacket covering the fake arm, it was hard to tell the difference. He looked at the hand and realized it was covered with a chic black leather glove that faded smoothly into the black turtleneck the man was wearing.

In fact, Krycek was looking downright edible tonight. The turtleneck hugged his body, the stretchy material easily showing off muscles. His black hair was styled with just a little gel and when Mulder glanced into the hooded eyes, they seemed to glow brighter.

He definitely needed to stay away from those kind of thoughts.

Just then, a woman dressed in a traditional Celtic costume bustled out of the kitchen heading for their table. The ankle-length skirt was a deep hunter green with multi-colored embroidery on the bottom hem. She wore a white blouse, buttoned to the collar, which seemed uncomfortable to him, but she moved in it gracefully. A matching multi-colored rope belt knotted in the front completed the ensemble. A large woman, her energy could already be felt from halfway across the room. Her brilliantly red hair was coiled in a thick bun in the middle of her head. She looked so...Irish.

"Well, if it tisn't me little Russian. Get away from your employers again tonight, Alex?" Her voice was a beautiful contralto and Mulder would bet she sang in her church choir.

Then Mulder realized what she'd said. Alex?

Krycek grinned as the woman reached over the table to pinch his cheek. "Mulder, meet Muirin O'Malley. She's the proprietor."

"Hello," he said, taking the woman's hand in his own.

"'Tis pleasure to meet ye, Mr. Mulder. And what be yer first name?"

Krycek chuckled. "I wouldn't try, Muirin. He hates his first name."

"Pshaw. Mr. Mulder would have no problem telling me, do ye now?"

And Mulder found he didn't. "It's Fox." Krycek looked at him in surprise.

"Fox," and it sounded right rolling off her Irish tongue, "that's a lovely name. Mulder...that's a Jewish name isn't it?."

"Yeah," he said, a little taken aback.

"But ye've got a wee bit 'o Irish in ye as well."

He laughed. "On my father's side, yes. But I'm afraid I practice that even less than the Jewish part of me."

"Well now, we do take strays. After all, not everyone can be Irish. But there's nothin' more noble than wanting to be." She smiled and patted Krycek on the head with her plump hand. "Now, what can I get ye fellas?"

"Oh, I'm not--" started Mulder before Krycek broke in.

"We'd both like a large bowl of your fabulous stew, and two Guinnesses. And an order of chips."

"Alrighty, comin' right up." Muirin sashayed away from the table and into the kitchen. As she walked away, Mulder noticed her thick-soled black shoes. With gold buckles.

"I don't need--"

"Mulder, you haven't lived till you've tried Muirin's stew."

Mulder stared at the stranger across from him incredulously.

"Trust me, it's good." Krycek eyed him up and down, seeming to appraise him. He lingered a little on Mulder's lips before he moved down, even ducking under the table to look at his feet. Seeming satisfied when his head reappeared, he smirked and reached over the table, pinching Mulder hard on the biceps.

"Ow!! What the fuck was that for?" He rubbed at the spot vigorously. What the hell had gotten into the man?

"You're not wearing any green," he said lazily.

"What?!"

The man sighed, pained at having to go into detail. He seemed to assume Mulder understood the reasoning behind all his crazy actions. Oh, yeah. Except for those important ones. Like killing people.

"On St. Patrick's Day, you have to wear green or you're free for people to pinch. Didn't anyone ever teach you that? You didn't do that in high school?"

"Yes, I did. But I think I stopped that when I was twelve. It's a bit juvenile, don't you think?"

Krycek shrugged, still smirking, eyes twinkling.

"Ok, who are you and what have you done to Krycek?" Mulder asked suspiciously.

The man blinked, lashes flicking quickly against his cheeks.

"You have to be a clone because the Krycek I know...that's something he might have done while we were partners just to piss me off. But not since then."

It might have been hurt that flashed in those eyes. Or it could have been indigestion.

"Just going with the flow of the holiday," Krycek said smoothly, cocky.

"You're not Irish. Why do you give a fuck?"

"Oh, get over yourself. Fine," he drawled, "I'm sorry. There. You happy?"

Mulder continued staring. The night had hardly started with the man, and already it was going weird. He decided to play along.

"Where's your green?" he asked, contrite.

"Come on, Mulder. You're not blind. My eyes, of course." It was off-handedly said. "And besides, I'm wearing green where you can't see. Not yet. Maybe, if you're a good boy."

Mulder bristled at the phrase, feeling like he was five again, but came back with, "And how do you know I'm not?"

Krycek rolled his eyes. "Please. You? I've seen the extent of your underwear drawer and if you have anything in there not black, gray, or white, I'd be shocked."

Damn. Damn him to hell.

"Krycek-3, Mulder-0," he said bitterly, but not entirely irritated.

"Still keeping count?"

"Sure am. And I'm not faring too well."

"Where'd I gain the extra point?"

"Calling me out on that show earlier."

"Ah, yes."

"Wait a second..." Mulder paused. "How do you know what color underwear I wear?"

Krycek snickered. "For someone who has a photographic memory, you sure do forget a lot of things. There was one night..." he trailed off, leaving Mulder to wrack his brain.

Oh. That night.

It had been the case they'd worked on together right after Cole. It had been routine spy work since the X-Files were technically closed. But one thing had led to another and they found out the people they were spying on happened to be terrorists. Clever ones too. They had somehow found out about the plants and only thanks to Krycek's attention to minute detail, did they discover it. He caught onto the pattern the men had been using for code.

Fortunately, it had been discovered in time and they were able to bring the terrorists in for questioning before they blew up a mall.

None of that mattered now, except that one of the men had taunted Mulder, asking if he knew how many people were spying on him. Knowing he'd been watched before, Mulder asked Krycek to come over and help search his apartment for bugs.

They had scoured the place and found nothing. Somehow Krycek had been the one to end up going through Mulder's dresser drawers. He had teased him then about the lack of imagination in his underwear. As a demonstration, he'd tugged up the band of his own boxers he'd been wearing under sweats. Cream with palm trees. Mulder had replied he wasn't a girl. Honestly, what man wore plants on his underwear?

But Krycek had just said, in contradiction to his adoring smile, that Mulder was no fun. And teased Mulder for the next week.

Sometimes, he missed rookie Agent Krycek.

He brought himself back. "What would you have done if I'd found bugs that night? I mean, considering."

The man shrugged and Mulder marveled at how much he'd changed. He didn't seem older, just tenser, broader, and rougher than he had back then. But it had all been an act anyway.

"You would have assumed it was maybe CIA, or even the Consortium, though you didn't really understand yet, we'd have gotten rid of it and someone would have come the next day to replace it."

"So, did you overlook them?"

"I ignored them." At Mulder's murderous glare, he leaned forward. "It was my job, Mulder. Nothing more. And nothing less."

"Did you have to do it so fucking well?" he muttered under his breath. Even after all this time-after Hong Kong, after Tunguska-that original betrayal hurt the most.

Krycek leaned forward again, mouth open to say something, when out came Muirin loaded with a tray. Mulder was glad. He didn't think Krycek wouldn't lie, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear a truth either.

Muirin grinned at them, setting a huge bowl of good old Irish stew in front of each. Mulder was instantly grateful Krycek had ordered. His mouth was already watering. Next came two tall glasses filled with Guinness. He sipped at the foam as she set down a plate of waffle fries.

This was seriously weird-sitting and eating a normal meal with Krycek. Was Krycek trying to impress him? Blend in with the scenery, or was this just how he was here? Despite their conversation, the man was the most relaxed he'd ever seen him. He was leaning back in the booth, his eyes weren't darting here and there as if suspecting an ambush against him at any moment.

Mulder felt a mixture of suspicion and admiration. You do keep me guessing.

"Now you boys eat up. Men like you need all the strength they can get."

He smiled. Muirin hurried off to assist at the bar.

Mulder picked up his spoon and leaned over the bowl, taking in the steam rising from it. Heaven. It smelled better than anything ever had. He dipped his spoon in, just taking a bit of the thick sauce to start.

Flavor exploded in his mouth. It tasted of the beef, potatoes, onion, parsley and lemon pepper. It was a perfect consistency, just thick enough.

"Mmmm," he moaned quietly. He took another bite, this one a little too hot still and it spilled on his lip. He flicked his tongue out to catch it. Oh, so good.

He glanced up when his shoulders twitched. Sure enough, Krycek was staring at him, mouth just slightly open, looking surprised as usual, but with a hint of something else. Hunger? Need?

"What?"

The dark head shook. "Nothing." Then Krycek picked up his own spoon and dug in.

They ate, barely speaking, but just savoring the food. Sparks were almost visible as their hands brushed as they both reached for fries. A single darted glance and both dropped their gazes, leaving Mulder with a serious hard-on.

It was always like this. Was he doomed to want sex with Krycek the rest of his life? Even before he'd considered it, before that first kiss, he'd noticed the sexual tension. He'd always been confused because when he'd looked at Krycek he didn't think of 'sex'. He'd always chalked it up to adrenaline, the rush in wanting to murder the bastard. But that didn't explain the easy camaraderie they'd had as partners. It didn't explain why he'd felt more open with Krycek from the start than he had with Scully. It had never explained why he would occasionally get hard when they worked in close proximity.

Now he knew. His body had known, his brain just hadn't been able to grasp the concept. But why this man? Why Krycek?

To get his mind off of his dick, he spoke up.

"Why does Muirin call you Alex?"

"I'm sure you noticed her affinity for first names."

"But you could have made one up. Or never come here again."

"I like it here," he stated simply.

"She asked about your 'employers'. What does she know?" He felt a strange stab of jealousy that this kind random Irish woman was able to gain Krycek's trust, that he might have divulged secrets to her. He mused for a moment about interrogating her, but then realized that wouldn't be fair to her.

"Nothing more than you, Mulder." The man seemed to guess what he was thinking.

"But something?"

"She knows I've done bad things. That's the great thing about the Irish-Catholic forgiveness."

"So, she's ok with it all. She knows how many people you've killed, no doubt in cold blood, all your lies, betrayals, triple-agent status, general rat bastardness..."

"Shut the fuck up. You don't know anything. Forgive a little. Or better yet, forget." Pale cheeks were turning pink with anger.

"It's hard to when you keep reminding me."

Krycek's hand tensed and for a moment Mulder thought he was going to be the one hit for a change. Then he smoothed his hand out, fiddling with what must have been a crack in the table under the cloth and just said, "Yeah, whatever, Mulder."

He sat, not looking up, not blinking, until he reached out and took the last fry.

"Hey, I was going to eat that."

"Too slow, you lose," he said and popped the fry into his mouth.

"Asshole."

"And don't you forget it," Krycek said smartly. He chewed and swallowed. Mulder watched his Adam's apple bob.

"Now," Krycek cleared his throat. "We need to discuss something."

"You mean we haven't been?"

A level stare shut him up. This was suddenly business.

"I assume you found the information I left in your desk drawer?"

Ah. "Yes, I did."

"And you figured it out?"

"Please." Mulder rolled his eyes. "It took me about ten minutes to realize they were coordinates and the Lone Gunmen about fifteen to find out where each one was."

"Good. And?"

Mulder shifted into full FBI agent mode, treating Krycek as a combination between a source and a partner. After all he had been and he'd certainly been good then. And he might be again. Mulder still wasn't sure.

"Don't you know what they were?"

"Of course. I'm confirming that my faith in your abilities isn't misplaced."

Ok, fine. He could deal with that.

"When we looked them up, we discovered a few were military bases. Others were in random places. A field in Nebraska, a patch of desert in Tunisia, a coffee plantation in Brazil, a valley in northern Minnesota. I visited a few."

He took another sip of stout. It was thicker alcohol than he was used to, but it went down smoother than most. All in all, not bad.

"The field held nothing noticeable to me. A wooded area in Florida seemed to speak of multiple alien abductions. The valley in Minnesota showed signs of increased sightings in recent months. Witnesses had seen strange green lights, things moving at too-fast speeds. I tried to get into one of the military bases and you can bet my ass was on the curb before I could say 'I come in peace'."

"Mmm," Krycek said, noncommittally.

"So, what's the deal? Why did you give me this list? Places where you had to know I could never get access to. At least not for long."

"Just bits of the puzzle, Mulder."

"Well, what good does it do if you won't tell me what it means?" His voice had risen, annoyed that the man was talking in riddles and on top of that being a stubborn, uncalled-for obnoxious ass.

"God, can't you ever just be appreciative?" Krycek seemed agitated now. He quickly downed the last of his Guinness.

Mulder stared at him.

"How the hell does she put up with you?"

"Who?" Mulder asked.

Scully.

"Oh," he paused. "I've been wondering that for years."

Mulder's answer received a snort.

"Yeah, well, I don't put up with bullshit. Not from my employers and not from you. So get with it. You've been slacking lately."

Krycek vocalizing everything he'd been thinking about himself with one statement made him burn. His hand clenched under the table. He really wanted to hit that smirk off the too-pretty face right now. Slam him against a wall, pound the shit out of him. Only the public venue and a memory of Krycek's words from the last time they'd met stopped him.

Expect, the next time you attempt to beat me up, I'll fight back, Mulder.

Mulder didn't doubt it. He sat there, hitting his fist against his leg, slowly feeling the anger slide away into weariness. He moaned quietly.

"Why do we always do this?"

Krycek spoke in a voice Mulder could barely hear. "I don't know. It seems to be what we do." He blinked up at Mulder, an almost-puppy dog expression on his face. Mulder thought it must be Krycek's honest face. Or what he made his honest face, eyes wide with a slight sheen to them. Not tears or even pre-tears, just some emotion he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to read. "I don't want it to be, though. I want you to stop hating me."

"How can I not? After everything you've done..." Mulder tailed off at a loss for words.

"I don't know. I have my reasons. Reasons I can only hope one day you'll be able to understand," he paused, "reasons I hope I live long enough to tell you."

"You could tell me now and then that wouldn't be an issue." He kept his voice calm.

Krycek smiled bitterly. "It's all about trust, Mulder."

"Your lack of trust in me. Your betrayal. I'm not going to go rampant with whatever information you give me. I thought you approved of how I've been handling the clone lab. I thought you'd be happy I didn't rush onto all the bases, mindless of the consequences like you and Scully seem to think I do."

"It's always been about the trust you put in me. You never wanted to trust me on cases. You claimed I had this great mind but you would only grudgingly let me do any work, showing me as little as possible. You should be glad at the time I was doing another job. If I'd been a sincere agent I could have hauled your ass to the review board for withholding evidence and obstructing justice. But you see, I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't wreck your career."

"No, just betray me. You'd just wreck my life, my family, my partner."

"Can't you see? You do so much better without something to distract you. It's a bitch but we need your single-mindedness. It's the only way you keep yourself going. I've seen you in funks. Like Wiekamp. You lose all hope."

"We?" Mulder asked icily, hackles rising.

"Yes, we," Krycek stressed. "Humanity. You may be one of the few of us who can save everyone else. And if that means people need to die to keep you safe, that's all I care about."

"When have you ever kept me safe? How many times have you tried to kill me?" Mulder glared at him.

Why do you care? Is there more you're not telling me or is it just all for the Project? Does that twitch in you jaw hint you want me to be safe for your own hidden reasons and not the bullshit you've told me-and yourself?

The man continued, ignoring Mulder's last question. "I like knowing you've restrained yourself. I'm not sure for whose sake. But at the same time, when you were flouting everything, standing up to them, you made progress. When you wanted to believe, Mulder, that's when you've been at your best. Now, you've become timid. Afraid to make a move. It's like you've lost your way, like you've forgotten what's at stake." He truly appeared sad, like he had been counting on Mulder's former bull-headed ways to save an entire planet. "Don't let them win."

It ripped at his heart. Krycek wasn't saying anything he hadn't already noticed himself. But that's what hurt too much. To know anyone could see it. To know it wasn't just anyone. Krycek was the one calling him on it. Pushing him, wanting him to do good.

Sometimes, life could fucking flip your whole world around on its head.

"I see. So what is it you're suggesting?"

"I think I know how to light that fire again. What you need is a way to know you're fighting them. They're not done with you, and you shouldn't be done with them. I can help you."

So it was back to that.

"What is it you really gain by me working with you? An easy way to kill me?"

"No!" The dark head whipped to stare at him boldly, disconcerting. "Why can't you understand? I need you to...I need...the only way...you're the only one. The only one I can count on. The only one I--"

He cut himself off and buried his face in his hands, a very uncharacteristic gesture. The pain and confusion radiating from him made Mulder almost feel sorry for the man. Almost made him want to reach out and touch him. He hated seeing anyone suffer and right now Krycek was so like a victim in one of his cases, all he wanted to do was hold him and whisper it would be all right.

But it wouldn't. Nothing would ever be right around Krycek. His fingers scrabbled against the tablecloth, but he was able to keep them to himself.

A moment passed by, seeming like eternity, and finally Krycek lifted his head, composed once more. "Mulder, I--"

Just then Muirin came back, seeming to skip rather than walk, so full of life was she. Mulder wiped his face blank of all emotion he might have been showing and one look at her made his smile return.

When she reached them, she held her hand out, smile lighting her face and making it appear twenty years younger.

"I have a feelin', whatever you boys are goin' do, yer going to need these." Her voice was uplifting, reassuring him, seeming full of knowledge, almost as if she knew what they had been talking about.

He turned his attention to her hand.

"Oh, Muirin. I couldn't possibly accept that."

In her hand lay two identical rings, made of a solid thick bronze band. They had edges carved with an intricate Celtic design; in the center was a Witches Knot inside a Shield Knot, a double-fold protection symbol.

"Nonsense. You have more need for it than I do. Perhaps, they've been waiting around just fer ye two."

Mulder glanced at Krycek whose eyes were wary as well, but after a moment he shrugged and together they reached for a ring. Their hands touched just as their fingers closed on the rings.

The rings flashed with a green light and Mulder pulled back as a shock traveled up through his arms and into his whole body. He gazed at his finger tips to see if they'd been burned-the current had been so strong.

"Begosh and begorah," he heard Muirin whisper.

"What?" he asked, not looking up.

"Mulder, uh," Krycek cleared his throat, voice suddenly gone a little raspier than normal. "The rings."

Mulder did a double take as he turned to Muirin's hand.

The rings, both originally bronze, had changed. The one closest to Mulder, the one he'd attempted to grab was now made of the brightest gold and Krycek's was the blackest metal he'd ever seen. He cautiously picked the one he'd touched before up, grateful when it didn't shock him again.

"I didn't know, Alex."

"Know what, Muirin?"

"That ya two were together. Well, I assumed you were partners, but in that way. You are, aren't ye? What am I talkin' 'bout, course ya are. I can see it now."

Mulder had dropped his ring at 'that way'. Krycek kicked him under the table and he picked it back up and stared at the inscription he noticed on the inside of the band.

"How do you mean, Muirin?" he asked nonchalant.

"These rings, well, they're partner rings. The rings, themselves, won't stand to be par'ed for long periods a time. When separated they end up drawin' the wearers together just so they can be reunited-it's one of their properties. But," she paused, "the rings are constantly seekin' one true pair, a couple whose souls are bound together for eternity. When the rings find this couple, they bind to them until the wearers pass on from this world. See the symbol there?" She pointed to one that now resided inside the Witches Knot, even smaller, an intricate design of lines. "It stands for eternity. It appears each time once the rings find their matching souls, and fade once they lose 'em again."

"But..." Mulder was speechless. Not that he didn't believe, necessarily. But Krycek? Soul mates? He'd always assumed Scully was. Especially since that time with Melissa Reidal-Ephesian. He remembered..."Souls...come back together...different...but always together...again and again...to learn". He wasn't sure he could deal with this idea in terms of Krycek.

Krycek spoke up. "But have you seen them do that before?" He held up the now-black ring.

"No. That's what startled me. I don't know what it means."

Mulder had stopped looking at his own ring to watch Krycek fiddle with his, twisting and turning it with his one hand. The man was concentrating a little too hard with a strange look on his face. What was he thinking?

"How did you get these?" Mulder asked, distressed. It had to be a ploy. After all, the man had brought him here.

"Fox. Have ya ever seen a banshee?"

"No ma'am. But I wouldn't mind it one day."

"Ah, yes. Alex here told me ya like...supernatural things."

"Did he?" Mulder cast a look at Krycek who at least had the decency to mumble something and look away.

"Oh, yeah. But trust me, my dear, you'd never want to be meetin' up with the likes of a banshee," she said. She took a breath and turned to one of her two remaining waitresses who were scrubbing tables down.

"Shannon, take over table two for me. I'll be here awhile." She nodded for Mulder to move so he slid further into the booth.

"The cry of a banshee is the cry of death. For me it was my dear Michael. Our banshee called when he was very ill. But I wasn't ready for him to go so I wove protection spells about him to keep it at bay. The banshee sought the maker of the spells and for the first time I saw a true banshee. Many a legend has it she's beautiful, with long blonde tresses and a mystic light.

"Nothin' could be further from the truth. It were an old hag, I saw. Skin withered, eyes burnin' red, long white hair, white clothing, and a white light emanating from her so that she nearly blinded me. Her voice was like nails on a slate-I don't know how I understood her. But I was determined not to let Michael go and we fought, despite the terror I held in. You know what happens when ye fight a banshee, Fox?"

He shook his head. There wasn't an X-File on it. Though he certainly planned to come back and interview Muirin as the start of one.

"When you fight, you lose or win. There's no happy medium. I come from a mediocre magic family, though you may not believe that."

"Trust me, he'll believe," Krycek inserted, tone bitter. Mulder glared at him. Jerk.

"I found out that winning 'gainst a banshee gives you her powers. It's like they become part of yeh. Ya also gain whatever things they're keepin' watch over. In my case, it was these rings. I still don't know how I won. Perhaps it 'twas me conviction, me love. Michael's passed away now, two years, but he did it in peace and I knew it was time to let him go. Now I'm no druid, but I did become the keeper of these rings 'til they found their pair. Put them on. They're as much part of ye now as your toenails."

Mulder thought and decided it couldn't hurt. If it was all true, then it didn't matter anyway.

He slid it onto his right ring finger. Suddenly the greatest feeling of loneliness he'd ever experienced washed over him. Something was missing from him. His hands dropped heavily to the table.

He looked over and noticed Krycek fumble the ring once, alcohol perhaps making the fake hand harder to control. He didn't acknowledge Krycek's muttered protests and slid it on for him. He ignored the feeling of ceremony, refusing to look at Krycek. Once the ring was firmly on, the weight lifted from Mulder's shoulders and he had a feeling of utter completion.

Krycek let out a small gasp. He raised his eyes to Mulder's and Mulder decided he'd never felt such heat before. The green eyes swirled with surprise, lust, and something akin to tenderness. He wondered if his own reflected the same. He dragged his gaze away, unable to stand the intense stare, but as if to make up for the loss of contact, their ring hands intertwined. To any observer, they would have appeared as giddy as two school kids.

"Tsk," he heard, "you two are fighting it. You'll learn. The rings are never mistaken."

"I don't know why, but I feel like I should thank you," Mulder said and Muirin patted his cheek.

"Yer welcome, Fox. I never thought Alex would find someone, but I'm glad he has. Even if you two have had a rough past."

"You can say that again," came the younger man's muttered response. Mulder flashed him a smile but felt a twinge inside. This was too fast, too strange. He had stopped wanting to hurt Krycek after his last outburst, but love, soul mate shit? Mind-boggling. His life might be an X-File, but he wasn't used to one being quite so personal affecting. Not since Modell. Or the ghosts that knew him a bit too well.

"So, Muirin," he said, attempting to lighten the mood, "you give things away often?"

She chuckled. "Just ask Alex. He was so silent and broodin' the first night he showed up here, I gave him a blarney stone. Worked like a charm." She winked. "Hasn't shut up since."

Krycek shed his sulking and considering demeanor and laughed. "I'll admit, Muirin, you got to me. I haven't even told Mulder as much about my life as you know."

Mulder looked askance at him but Krycek ignored it.

"Now, Alex. Never keep secrets from your other half. It only hurts ya."

"In time. When he's ready."

She shook her head, red hair bouncing in its clips. "That's not always for you to decide."

Mulder couldn't help staring down at the tabletop smugly before composing his features.

"And you, Fox. You need to learn to trust him. Only you can force him away. Nothing in the world will separate you and he, and the rings-except yourself. Your own selfish desires or inability to trust and love." She set her hands atop their still intertwined ones, smiling gently, "I'll pray for both of your souls. Hard to think of now perhaps, but I think you'll die without the other there to protect and love you. You two have a strong connection."

It was Krycek's turn to be smug, but it wasn't as complete as Mulder's had been. Something else haunted his face. Bastard, Mulder thought. Can't even look smug properly anymore. At this rate, Mulder would be following those deep eyes wherever they led. He hadn't expected Krycek to be as good at laying guilt on him as Scully was. The man wasn't even trying.

"Now!" Muirin stood, smoothing her hands over her apron and patting invisible hairs back into a perfect bun. "I'm going to grab you boys my specialty dessert and one more round of Guinness." And off she went.

Silence lingered a few minutes.

"You, ah...ok?" Krycek asked, tentative with Mulder for perhaps the first time since shooting Cole.

Mulder rolled his eyes. "Perfect. I just found out the man I've considered my enemy for four years, that I just started having sexual relations with, that I wasn't sure I was going to work with even-I just found out we're fated to be together for eternity and we're bound together by magical rings like some twisted Tolkien fairytale. Yeah, Krycek. Never better."

Krycek pulled his hand away that Mulder hadn't realized he was still holding, so fast, his hand felt numb.

"Fine then. It's not like I meant for this to happen. Like I want to be tied to you. I had no fucking clue."

Mulder sighed. "I'm sure you didn't."

Eyes flickered suspiciously. "You believe me?"

Mulder couldn't help laughing. "Even you can't make rings flash and change colors in an instant."

"Maybe it's alien technology," the man deadpanned.

Mulder just kept chortling.

"Do you know what it means?" Krycek asked, serious again.

"Not yet. Not sure I want to. But you can bet I'll find out."

The younger man nodded.

"In the meantime, don't think this means I'm in love with you. Soul mate doesn't equate marriage."

Krycek's facial expression was so funny, he laughed again.

"Mulder. I'm not a girl. I'm not a lovestruck man. There's nothing more impractical than love. Who knows if I'm even capable of love? Who knows if either of us is." A statement more than a question.

"Good," Mulder replied.

"I mean, with love you have to worry about the death of the other, it messes with everything, you can't negotiate.

"It's all about a cause. With these rings, I guess we'll always know if the other's alive, but we both know what we need to do for the cause, don't we?"

Mulder nodded, but he wasn't sure if he himself thought the same. Putting it that way made it so harsh. He shrugged it off though. Truth over everything else. He'd give up anything for the Truth. For his sister. Hell, to know if forty-two really was the ultimate answer.

The waitress Muirin had called out to before, Shannon, brought the dessert and beer over then. She set them down, leaning over to show an ample chest flattered by the low cut dress and precisely placed broach. She stood and walked away, a sway to her hips and a flounce of raven hair back at them as she winked with green eyes. Someone he might have had interest in a long time ago, though a little young. She could have been Krycek's sister.

Krycek caught Mulder's gaze. "Irish girls are pretty. But she looks too much like my sister." He paused echoing Mulder's thoughts, cocking his head.

"I guess..." Mulder trailed off appreciatively.

"So ask her out. Don't let me stop you."

Mulder considered, "Nah."

Krycek looked at him intently, seeming to gauge his sincerity. Finally he smiled slightly and picked up his spoon. Mulder did the same.

The dessert was just as fantastic as dinner had been. Vanilla ice cream loaded on a giant fudge brownie, all drizzled in hot fudge and Bailey's liqueur. Two cherries sat on top.

"Mmmmm...we have to come here every St. Patrick's Day from now on," came out of Mulder's mouth before he realized what he was implying.

Krycek looked up, surprised, but then smiled, the first true one he'd given Mulder all night. And somehow, that made Mulder happy.

"Actually," he continued, "more often. If the hamburgers are as good as the stew, I'm in heaven."

The other man chuckled. "Not yet. Not yet."

"I'm glad." He paused, whether for a breath or a dramatic pause-even he wasn't sure. He was on a precipice, about to leap into the swirling maelstrom that was Krycek. "We have work to do."

Krycek started. "We? We do? You mean..."

"Yeah, I don't see another way now, anyhow." He held up his hand, gold glinting in the dim light. "But mainly, I think you're right. We'll be a great team."

"Mulder, you have no idea." Krycek's eyes lit with a passionate fire as he leaned forward. "You know those military bases, the ones you couldn't get to? I'll take you there. And I'll show you your proof. We can fight, burn them back to the dust they were made from. Maybe..." He seemed to consider, brow crinkling in that way that made Mulder want to kiss it away. "Maybe, I'll even take you to meet the rebels. They'll show as much excitement as they can when they find out Spender's protege is on their side." He was practically crowing by the end, but fortunately, no one was paying them any attention.

"Protege?" Mulder asked, curious and confused.

Krycek shifted for a moment. Not looking up he said, "I'll explain another time. It's...complicated."

Mulder decided he could let that one slide. He tucked it away for future analysis though. "Just so you know, I'm not on the rebels' side. I'm not even on your side. I'm on humanities side. The side of truth."

"Of course, of course." Krycek shrugged. "As am I. You've just never understood, sometimes we can't all be perfect and righteous. There's the knight-in-shining armor and then there are the soldiers. I'm a soldier. Use me or lose me, but don't abuse me because you can't win without me. If I die in the fight, fine. I'll have died for a cause. But I refuse to die for no reason."

Why did the mention of death make his stomach hurt? Why did the thought make that empty feeling come back, if just for a moment?

"We'll use each other. I'm no better than you, truthfully. And like you said, we're better together."

"Oh, but you are. You'll always stand for justice, shining like a beacon. 'We shall be as a city upon a hill'. That's you, Mulder. You're a fucking city and I'm the rat; you've said so yourself. Something about my moral dipstick..."

"Self-pity doesn't become you."

A corner of Krycek's mouth lifted in an almost bitter smirk.

"If we're working together, I'm going to need to get a hold of you," Mulder said.

Piercing eyes stared at him before Krycek reached into the pocket of his leather coat he'd thrown on the bench next to him earlier. He slid a cellphone across the table.

"Speed dial one is my number. Only use this phone. It's got a scrambler and links to a separate cellphone for me, as well. Only call if you really need me. Otherwise, I'll call you." He continued, "Also, don't expect me to have something ready right away. I have to make plans now. Make sure no one knows about us. About what we'll be doing. That's vital."

"I understand."

"Not even Scully."

Annoyed but not giving in, Mulder said, "Like I would tell her about us. In any sense. She'd shoot your brains out. And mine probably. Not only wouldn't she approve with what we're doing, but she'd think I'd gone crazy. More so than usual."

"Good."

Mulder returned to dessert. It was a gooey, sticky, tasty mess. They ate in comfortable silence for awhile until he caught Krycek staring, trademark smirk on his face.

"What?"

"You have..." Krycek laughed. "You have ice cream on your face."

"Mmhmm," Mulder hummed good-natured. He reached out his tongue to catch the ice cream Krycek was referring to. His lips felt sticky so he passed his tongue along them, tasting residual Bailey's. He did it again when he noticed his partner's breathing get a little more labored, mouth hanging open a little more than usual.

"Tease."

Mulder shrugged.

"Let's go," the other man said suddenly.

"What's the rush?" Mulder leaned back in the booth letting his legs fall open, one arm propped on the back of the booth. He toed off a shoe and slowly slid it up the inside of Krycek's leg, whose breath hitched.

When Mulder's foot reached the bulge in his jeans, Krycek growled and captured it between his thighs. The heat radiating from him warmed Mulder's foot in a spark that shot straight to his groin. He was just thankful the green and white checkered tablecloths were long.

When Krycek slowly started lifting his hips off the bench pressing into the arch of his foot, Mulder changed his mind.

"You're right. Let's get out of here."

Fortunately, Shannon chose that moment to come with the bill.

"Wait a minute," Mulder noted, "Muirin left dessert off."

Krycek nodded. "Let it go. It's just her way. This is a good place to come when you're down on your luck. I should know."

Mulder was doubtful. Once Krycek laid cash out for the bill and left the booth, Mulder slipped a handsome tip onto the table as he put his shoe back on.

He followed Krycek towards the entrance, eyes inevitably trailing down to the denim-clad ass. What a great ass it was, too, moving just so in the almost too-tight pants--

Lewd thoughts were cut off as Muirin came out to wish them farewell. It was getting late and only a few stragglers were left at the bar.

"Now, dearies. Don't be strangers. I expect to see you here often and in one piece. Take care a those rings. Take care of each other.

"Slán leat," she turned to Krycek.

"Dos vidanya," he replied. Mulder attempted to control his raging hard-on as the two cheek-kissed each other. Muirin whispered something in his ear which made Krycek smile sadly.

When it was his turn, she just opened her arms and he enveloped her small rotund body with his.

"Feicfidh mé thú." Her warm voice assured him they would meet again soon. He kissed her plump cheek, wondering how this women with a bright disposition and Irish eyes had wormed her way into his heart so fast.

"Goodbye, Muirin."

Krycek tugged him out the door as he gave one last wave. As soon as they were outside, instead of heading towards Mulder's car, he found himself herded into the back alley. He tensed, thinking something was wrong, that he was going to be beaten or punched, that the time of betrayal had come so soon. He was shoved against the brick wall but instead of a gun to his temple he discovered Krycek's lips crushing down onto his, fingers digging into hips, the man's pelvis grating against his. It should have been painful. Instead, he welcomed it, hands going straight to Krycek's head, one attempting purchase in short locks, the other desperately trying to bring the man closer, to swallow him whole.

He groaned in the back of his throat.

Krycek slid down Mulder, clearly attempting to make sure his entire hard body came in contact with his. When Mulder started to lean away from the wall, both a real hand and a fake arm pushed him back, pulling his sweater up with them. The cool air was a shock to his overheated body.

Mulder looked down, gulping when he saw where Krycek was headed. He wasn't sure he'd been this hard in years.

Lips touched his navel and he gasped. The lips moved on, becoming teeth on his jeans button.

"Oh, fuck," he hissed as the button was deftly undone and the zipper pulled down. He'd been wrong. He knew he hadn't been this hard in years. Maybe since Diana.

It only got worse-better-as he felt a wet tongue through the silk of his boxers.

"Krycek..."

"Shut up. Don't want to be caught in a compromising position with a felon by some stupid flatfoot, do you?" The man was smiling that infuriatingly cute grin again.

"Fuck you," he managed as Krycek pinched a nipple and blew cool air over the wet spot.

"Not yet."

"One of these days I will..." Mulder hissed through clenched teeth until another pull of his nipple cut him off. The real hand slid down, tickling and his hips jerked as smooth fingers released his penis from its cloth prison.

"Yeah, yeah. Someday you'll get to fuck me until I see stars. But for now, be quiet because I'm the one doing the fucking." The vehemence in the silken voice effectively shut him up. Damn.

At attention, pre-cum dripping, he still wasn't ready for the experience of getting sucked off by Krycek.

His hand lightly gripped Mulder at the base, fingers really just resting. His tongue flicked out to capture the beads dripping down Mulder's flushed cock.

"Uhhh..." Mulder moaned.

A smooth tongue lapped at the underside, once, twice, then once more before it came up to swirl about the head. A warm thumb stroked a spot right at the base. Mulder tensed and saw lights in front of his eyes at the unexpected pleasure spot. Reacting to the shudders that traveled through him, Krycek did it again.

"God!"

His eyes opened and he gazed through lust-haze at the black haired man. Krycek was staring back at him, tongue flicking out to taste the slit, teasing Mulder even as he grinned.

"You're pretty...uh, good at this," Mulder managed to get out, breathing hard.

"Thanks." Then he went back to task.

Krycek's lips circled his penis with a mouth as hot as fire, as moist as a humid, stormy night, and it was just like he'd thought it would be on New Year's; Mulder couldn't imagine anything more enticing than that image.

One of his hands moved to grasp at the brick wall, fingers twitching and the other reached to bring Krycek's head further down on his shaft.

"Don't pressure or don't touch me. I know what I'm doing," he growled, letting go of Mulder's erection until Mulder lessened his hold, for some obscure reason not wanting to let go completely.

He was traveling in a higher plane of existence. He'd never had a blow job this good, this skilled; Krycek bringing him to the edge and then backing off mercilessly. Must be practice with the equipment. The younger man's mouth was hotter than any female's, and the way his tongue slid, still caressing as he sucked, was more intricate than any girl he'd been with before.

He kept his eyes open, unbelieving that this was Krycek. It was a strange position to be in. Krycek was the one on his knees like a supplicant, yet Mulder was the one who couldn't keep from tossing his head and groaning out loud. Taking in Krycek though, he realized the other man was just as hard, bulge very obvious in the tight, light denim jeans.

He ran his hand through Krycek's hair, brushing short locks away so he could see the dark eyelashes touching pale cheeks. He felt tender in the moment, strange that that would be so. Krycek's eyes flicked up for a second and a connection sprang up between the two. Green eyes were exposed and Mulder read joy, sorrow, lust, pleasure, and he moved his hand to smooth away the wrinkle in between dark eyebrows, to brush at the crinkles around those eyes.

Then he leaned his head back, feeling the closest to orgasm as of yet, a delicious tightening of his balls, a searing heat building in his gut. Krycek encouraged it this time, using interestingly dexterous prosthetic fingers to pinch at his nipples making them hard, and beginning to move his real hand on Mulder, pumping harder and harder.

When Krycek hummed in the back of his throat, Mulder flew apart, seeing those stars Krycek had mentioned. He didn't realize the name he called out wasn't 'Krycek' and that when the man heard 'Alex' come from the lips of a man he saw as his other half, his antithesis, he gasped in shock.

Mulder didn't realize he was sucked until he was dry, semen taken like milk to a dying and thirsty man. He didn't feel or see the way Krycek tucked him back in, penis soft like a wilted flower, bestowing one more kiss on its head, fingers gently zipping him up again. He missed the younger man laying his head against Mulder's pelvis, a hand on each hip, just breathing in the sex-scented air and closing his eyes tightly against any emotions he felt.

Mulder finally descended slowly, opening eyes to find Krycek in the process of standing, hair mussed, face flushed, lips parted just a little.

He wanted to bring those swollen lips to his and kiss the man, but he wasn't sure he wanted to taste his own cum yet. He watched as Krycek stared at his lips, licking his own but as his eyes met Mulder's, he stepped back and closed his mouth.

Mulder wanted nothing more than to take Krycek right then, pound his dick into the shapely ass and feel its heat. The fact that he wasn't sure he'd get it up for another few hours didn't faze him. He bet it would be silken and smooth, just like the man's voice. He was positive he could do it, but although Krycek was regarding him with entirely lust-blackened eyes, he didn't seem ready to go any further.

Besides, his body was craving to be filled more so than to exert its own force.

Breathing softer, finally calm enough to speak, he asked, "Do you want to come ho-back with me?"

The other man seemed to consider, cocking his head slightly to the left in a way that was ridiculously cute. Mulder reached out a hand settling it on Krycek's shoulder but the man flinched turning away just enough and shrugging the hand off. Ok, so the man had intimacy issues. Fine with him. He was normally a cuddler after anything sexual, but he could be cold just like Krycek. He let the hand fall without comment, eyebrows raised expectantly.

A pregnant pause filled the air until Mulder began to shift his feet. Finally Krycek turned towards him again.

"I don't think I should. Not yet. I don't know if I-you're ready."

He had been about to say he wasn't sure he was ready, Mulder was positive.

"Ok, that's fine. I understand. Well, I guess call me when you have something new."

Krycek nodded, turning his head away again.

Mulder wanted to leave but it seemed his feet were planted firmly on the pavement. Why couldn't he leave?

On impulse, Mulder's hand on his chin forced Krycek to look at him and he leaned forward, pressing his lips against those amazingly soft ones, not pushing for tongue, but enjoying the proximity. He let his tongue run quickly over Krycek's bottom lip. He caught the slightest hint of something salty and pulled back. Then he bent his head to gain one last high on the cologne that he felt becoming part of him now, unsure he would ever get the scent of powder and manliness out of his nostrils.

"Thanks," he whispered to Krycek's neck.

The other man laid his own head against Mulder's for one beat before pulling away.

"I'll call." Krycek paused, breathing deep, eyes closing for a second.

"Krycek, I--" he started before he was cut off.

"Goodbye, Mulder." And didn't that sound final.

With one last angst-ridden glance over his shoulder, Krycek slipped away, leaving Mulder to wonder when he'd see him again. He was such a mish-mash of feelings; anger warring with unexpected tenderness, frustration with confusion, and a heavy cloud settling about him. Not one of despair this time-he knew they would get together again soon-they couldn't seem to leave each other alone, fighting or fucking. No, this seemed to be like that feeling all the love songs talked about when a lover left or was taken away. Not that he was in love. He wondered if it was the rings; he'd deduced that the emptiness occurred when the ring wasn't on the hand of his 'other'. Maybe this was something to do with that too. Muirin had said they didn't like to be separated.

Krycek left Mulder to start planning for the next time. Krycek had it coming.