Measure Of Devotion

"How did Agent Thompson die?"

The young agent said steadily, "Thomas Halliwell ordered his death." A slight pause, "they shot him through the guts and knees and left him to bleed to death. The coroner says it took him hours to die."

Skinner looked out the window, hands behind his back, face wiped clean of expression. "And the information?"

"Gone, sir. Halliwell's men must have retrieved it before they shot Agent Thomson."

"Too bad. You can go, Philips," Skinner said curtly.

"Yes, sir."

Closing the door behind him, Special Agent Charlie Philips thought with a flash of resentment that AD Skinner certainly lived up to his reputation as 'Stoneface.' There had been not even a hint of anger or emotion for the death of a man that had come up through the ranks of the FBI at same time, and who had been, according to rumor, as close to a friend as Skinner allowed himself.

Behind the door, Skinner remained by the window, powerful hands clenching until the knuckles whitened. He cursed himself savagely for agreeing to the mad plan when Alan had first broached it. But his old friend had been so sure he could infiltrate Halliwell's organization. Could get the information they needed to take down the man and his organization and not so incidentally put one over on both the CIA and ATF who had both been after Thomas Halliwell for years for crimes ranging from assassination to smuggling, spying and extortion.

Dark eyes hardened. From now on, Halliwell was a top priority. He owed Alan that much; he owed the three children who had been left fatherless. He owed the beautiful woman whose wedding he had been best man at.

Going over to his desk he opened the thick file staring down at a black and white surveillance photo of the smirking man, snapped as he was leaving a nightclub, his arm around a curvaceous blonde.

"Damn you to hell, Halliwell!"

The words echoed around the silent room.

Thomas Halliwell's Apartment

The sudden crackle of a radio broke the silence of the night. "We're ready to move in."

Walter Skinner spoke quietly into the radio. "A team go. B Team go." Rising from his half-crouch, he opened the door of the black van, Scully and Doggett close behind him.

Checking her gun, Scully spoke softly, eyes trained on the shadowy outline of the building, "I really think we'll get him, sir."

Skinner glanced at her briefly, "I'm counting on it, Scully."

Small, restless hands played with her gun for a moment before stilling. "Yes, sir."

He gave her a longer, searching look. Outwardly she seemed focused on the task ahead, all cool professionalism. Only someone who knew her as well as Skinner could read the subtle signs of tension.

Once again he realized that Mulder's abduction had affected Scully on some fundamental level. Since his disappearance, she seemed -- fractured. She still performed her duties with the panache and skill that made her one of the best FBI agents he'd ever worked with, but the old spark, the dry humor and sharp logical wit that had made her such a perfect foil for Mulder's quirky genius was gone. She was slowly building another partnership, with a very different man. But she would have been the first to admit, if they'd ever spoken of it, that as good a man as John Doggett was, he remained forever in the shadow of Fox Mulder.

If Walter Skinner had not been a man to whom self-discipline was second nature he might have smiled bitterly; the ghosts that haunted his own memories and nightmares were not as pleasant as Fox Mulder.

He seemed deceptively relaxed, scanning the night. Listening to the radio for a few moments, he drew and cocked his gun. "They've got the back of the building secured, let's go."

"Scully, Doggett, go! I'll cover," Skinner, ordered, flattened against the wall of the building, gun at the ready, peering into the gloom, the barrel swinging back and forth, covering as much ground as possible. He was still in excellent shape, no sign of the years of riding a desk on the large muscular frame.

Scully moved first, diving in a smooth roll, coming up in a crouch. Doggett moved in the opposite direction, and even as all his attention remained focused on the task at hand, Skinner thought absently that the two had gelled amazingly well for such a short time together as partners. Especially considering the almost symbiotic relationship Scully had had with Mulder.

"All clear, sir," Scully called from inside, her voice sounding hollow.

Skinner stalked through the door, another agent covering his back. He stared around at the empty apartment -- and cursed fluidly. Pulling up his radio again, he barked questions into it frown growing deeper as he listened to the answers.

Scully had gone into the bedroom and now she called out, "Sir!"

Skinner walked up behind her. "Yes?"

"Look," she held up a tangle of black leather straps and dully-gleaming metal studs.

Skinner raised both eyebrows. "What exactly am I looking at, Scully?"

She pursed her lips. "Judging from this, Halliwell seems to live a rather interesting life."

He frowned, "What do you mean?"

"He's got rather ah, extreme tastes. I haven't seen this kind of outfit since I worked on a case a few years back breaking up an international S&M and pedophile ring."

Skinner cursed his sudden flush, especially when he saw her sudden smile at his discomfort. "No, don't tell me, Scully, I really don't want to know." He frowned, "but it looks as if our bird has flown. Although I don't think he's been gone long. Doggett found half a bottle of champagne and some caviar, not to mention a pound of strawberries in the kitchen." For a moment he looked like a disapproving Puritan confronted by an orgy in church.

"Yes, sir. Do you want us to check the other apartments on this floor?"

"I've already got one team checking, but you can go lend a hand."

Alone in the apartment, Skinner started methodically to check through cabinets and behind books. Glancing out through the enormous windows, he sourly noted the magnificent view of downtown Washington. He didn't even want to venture a guess on the price of the condo he was standing in, but he knew it involved more money than he'd ever see in his lifetime.

In the distance he could hear the shouting and thumping of the other agents checking the building and he sighed, knowing it was most likely futile.

Just turning to leave, his ears caught the faint sound of a dull thud coming from the bedroom. Pulling his gun, he moved stealthily towards the bedroom door. As he carefully placed his hand on the half-open door, he heard muffled steps.

Taking a deep breath, he kicked in the door moving fast and yelling, "FBI freeze!"

The man standing by the bed whipped around swift as a cobra, the gun in his hand coming up and lining on the intruder.

For an endless moment they stared at each other in frozen silence.

Walter's Skinner's eyes widened as he looked at a face that haunted his nightmares - asleep and awake.

"Krycek," he breathed, hatred thickening his voice.

Alex Krycek froze for a split second before a smirk slowly spread as he let the barrel sag. "Well, well, Walter Skinner, what are you doing here, slumming?"

"Cut the crap!" Skinner spat. "You're interfering in an FBI operation."

Green eyes hardened fractionally. "Stay out of it, Skinner, this is personal business."

"Sir, I - " Scully opened the door, she broke off as she caught sight of the other man and her blue eyes narrowed in pure hatred. "What the hell is he doing here?!"

"That's what I was about to find out," Skinner said evenly, having regained some of his composure.

The traitor seemed cheerfully indifferent to the fact that he was facing two people with good reason to hate him. "I was here first; I may as well ask you the same question."

Before anyone could react, Scully cocked her gun, training it on steadily on Krycek. "Give me one reason for not pulling the trigger," she said coolly, blue eyes cold as ice.

Krycek went very still. "You don't want to do that, Scully," he said softly.

"Oh yes, I do," she almost whispered, finger tightening around the metal.

He tensed, ready to leap.

"Scully!"

The deep voice cut like a whip through the silence.

She didn't turn her head. "He deserves to die."

"Yes, he does," Skinner agreed, "but not without due trial and conviction, and not by your hand, Scully. Don't let yourself get dragged down to their level. You're better than that."

"He helped abduct Mulder." Her eyes never left the dark man watching her with the wariness of a wild animal.

"And he may be the only chance of curing Mulder," Skinner reminded her.

Scully took a deep breath and slowly lowered her gun. "Should I arrest him, sir?"

He was tempted; oh fuck yes, to have the man who was watching them with a smirk on his lips under lock and key. To watch Krycek stripped of his arrogance before a judge sentenced for some of the crimes he'd committed. To have him alone in an interview room with time enough to shake all the secrets and lies from his traitorous head.

But whatever else he was, Walter Skinner was also a realist. Dreaming aside, the price would be too high. A moment's satisfaction weighed against the possibility of dying slowly and in agony when Krycek used his little toy.

"No, let him go, Scully. " There was defeat in the deep voice. "You know as well as I, that we'll never be able to hold on to him."

She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it without saying anything, the image of Skinner's tortured and dying body before her eyes. "Yes, sir."

A last hate filled look at Krycek, and then she was gone, closing the door behind her. Although Skinner never realized it, she made sure no one else went into the bedroom.

"Get out, Krycek," Skinner said very tiredly, bitterness tasting like ashes and dust in his mouth.

A momentary hesitation, and then Krycek slid his gun into the shoulder holster under his jacket and opened the balcony door. One leg already over the railing he half-turned, mockery gleaming in the green eyes. "You're looking good, Skinner, catch you later."

"Not if I see you first," Skinner growled in reply, but when he looked up he was alone, only the night wind fluttering the gossamer thin curtains...

They filed silently into the dark room; men in immaculate suits, lines carved deep into solemn faces, men whose power lay heavily on their shoulders. These were the heirs of men who had dreamed of a new future for mankind and had bargained with a devil beyond the stars.

Sadder, wiser, less arrogant than their predecessors, they had assembled to save an ignorant earth from folly. The old man at the head of the table, frail but with the dark fire of a fanatic burning in tired eyes, cleared his throat.

"We will now hear the status reports. Mr. Skinner..."

Walter Skinner slowly stood up. Looking around, he still had difficulties believing he was a part of the shadowy conspiracy that had once held him on a choke chain. "Mulder's re-appearance has caused more questions than it answered. He remains in a coma in hospital and we have been unable to find out where exactly he was taken or for how long." Skinner paused, frowning at the memory of a still pale man in a hospital bed. *It must be the first time in his life that Fox Mulder has ever been quiet*. The errant thought almost made him smile and the smile remained in his voice as he continued. "We're still trying to discover a means of getting to Thomas Halliwell."

He removed the wire-rimmed glasses he wore, briefly massaging the bridge of his nose. "As you all know, Halliwell has long been a thorn in the collective hide of the Consortium and the FBI. Not to mention the fact that the CIA and the DEA are both after him. I will say this for him, he's very good."

"We are aware of it, Mr. Skinner," one of the men spoke up. "And he has been very useful to the Consortium in the past."

Skinner grunted. "I know. But, at the moment I'm more interested in how to stop him."

"You will keep us informed?"

"As agreed." Skinner gave the man at the head of the table a hard look. "But we play it out my way. Halliwell will be brought before a judge and jury, and if convicted he will serve his term in prison. I won't do your dirty work for you."

"Yes, Mr. Skinner, that is precisely what we agreed." Mr. Smith smiled thinly, "We have no intention of interfering in the legal process. We want Halliwell tried and convicted publicly for his crimes. His fate will serve as deterrent to anyone else who considers betraying the organization."

Before the next speaker could begin, a man entered and whispered something in the ear of one of the men, who smiled broadly and held up his hand to signal he needed to speak.

"I have some good news," he announced, nodding to the guard standing by the entrance.

All eyes turned to the opening door and watched as a man was dragged inside between two sturdy stone-faced guards.

Head slumped forward he seemed only half-conscious. One of the men holding him grabbed a fistful of dark hair and pulled it back revealing a bruised and battered face.

Alex Krycek

One eye almost swollen shut, a discoloration forming on one cheekbone, lip torn and bleeding, he had obviously not given up easily.

There was a collective release of breath. Mr. Smith raised an eyebrow. "Well done, Mr. Graham, how did you catch him?"

The tall stooped man smiled thinly. "I wish I could take credit, but in truth, it was just luck."

Not a muscle moved in the lined face, yet there was a thread of intense satisfaction in Mr. Smith's voice. "So we can finally close the chapter on one of our most troublesome problems. Roberts, take him out and make sure, please?"

"No."

Every head turned looking down the table.

Not a muscle moved in Skinner's face as he watched the men around the table, their eyes ranging from coldly amused to curious and hostile.

"No, Mr. Skinner? I would have thought that you of all people would enjoy seeing an end made of Krycek."

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "Would I like to see him punished for the crimes he has committed? No doubt. But before you kill him, I want some information."

"What kind of information, Mr. Skinner?" There was open suspicion in the thready voice and the watchful eyes of the men around the table.

He hesitated but knew that the truth would serve him best. "I want the palm pilot that controls the nanoyctes."

Suspicion faded, as there were soft sighs of understanding, slight nods.

Mr. Smith said affably, "By all means, we will make sure to extract the information you desire before " he did not finish the sentence.

Not a muscle moved in Skinner's face. "I want him alive."

Once again every head swiveled to stare at the tall man.

Mr. Smith looked faintly puzzled. "Why? I would have thought that you would be last man to object to Krycek's death."

Walter Skinner knew pity would be viewed as a deplorable weakness by these men, and yet blended with the dark rage that had gripped him at the sight of Krycek, there was a faint stirring of compassion for an enemy brought low and a rat cornered for the last time. He said curtly, "I don't trust Krycek to speak the truth and I want him in my sight until I have the palm pilot in my hand."

He would not spare a single glance at the man hanging limply between the guards and so missed Krycek raising his head, green eyes wide with sudden hope.

There was another moment of utter stillness and then Mr. Smith sighed, "Very well, Mr. Skinner, he is yours. I only trust that you will not have cause to regret your decision."

After a brief silence another voice said thoughtfully, "At least if Mr. Skinner is willing to take Krycek, let him make himself useful. Skinner by his position is more exposed than most of us. Whatever else he is, Krycek *is* an effective body-guard and killer."

There were slow nods and even Mr. Smith's mouth softened a little. "True, I had not considered that."

Standing in a spacious, elegantly furnished bedroom later that night, watching the flickering light of the fire reflect off dark paneled walls and windows, a glass of whisky in his hand, Walter Skinner had much to ponder.

Earlier that evening he had eaten alone, served an excellent dinner and an even better wine by a silent cat-footed servant. During the meal Skinner had perused some more files. That was a rather amusing aspect of being a Consortium member that he'd never expected; the never-ending flow of files and papers. They did not make for easy reading, confirming what he'd already suspected; that Mulder's abduction was merely a small part of a much larger picture.

Skinner felt his skin prickle at the memory of staring at a patch of burned ground in the middle of a wheat field in Iowa, and wondering if he'd ever see his most maverick and brilliant of agents again. Although Mulder had returned as mysteriously as he'd disappeared, it did not diminish the power of the memory; standing beneath the starry skies alone, knowing that Fox Mulder was gone.

He smiled grimly, relishing the irony that Mulder would have given whatever remained of his soul to read the files he was holding in his hand.

Thankfully there were points of light in the midst of the darkness. Successful attempts to strike back, to contain the lurking menace. He knew that he could never remain neutral. That for better or worse he was about to get into a new war.

Strange, he thought, that after so much doubt and anguishing his only feeling was one of relief. Finally he had an enemy, a right and wrong. To a man like Walter Skinner mired far too long in the vagueness of shadows and ambiguities there was nothing but relief in finally knowing who the enemy was.

A soft knock on the door brought him sharply back to reality.

"Come in," he called out curtly and was less than surprised when the door opened to reveal Alex Krycek.

"Krycek," he said flatly. "What do you want?"

Staring at the man framed in the door Skinner's heart beat loudly enough to deafen him, adrenaline pumping through his body, and suddenly he was so hard he ached.

Emotions, jumbled, confused, conflicted shook him to the core.

Hatred.

Rage.

Lust.

Acrid self-loathing for the flood of overpowering want.

Sweat dampened skin was suddenly hot and itchy, as Skinner's guts clenched with frustrated lust. The battle fought and won in the space of a single breath taken and released was only too familiar. There had never been a time, not when he'd first seen a young, green agent with deceptively innocent eyes, not when he'd spent a long night watching the man huddled over for warmth, hand-cuffed to his balcony, not while dying in a hospital bed, that he hadn't wanted Alex Krycek, wanted him to the point of madness.

Dark bitter desire, turned by their past into obsession and lust.

A wry smile flitted across the thin elegant bones of a face that he hated, and wanted. Christ, how he wanted. "I came to say thank you."

Skinner's eyebrows rose. "And how should I take that?"

A slow rippling shrug. "How about honestly?"

Eyes dark and inscrutable, Krycek stalked across the floor, the comparison to a sleek predator inescapable. It took all of Skinner's vaunted self-discipline not to take a step back as the man who had once held his life between his fingers stopped, so close he could see slight movement of his chest as he breathed out and in.

"Honesty from you, Krycek?" There was a mocking note in the deep voice as large hands unconsciously fisted.

Long dark eyelashes lowered for a moment before rising and revealing blank green eyes. "Honesty," Krycek spoke in husky murmur, that reminded Skinner far too clearly of sordid motel rooms, deserted garages bathed in harsh light and abandoned warehouses. "I know you don't put too much value on my life, but I'm rather fond of it - " Another wry smile, "Mr. Skinner."

The mockery inherent in the use of a title, drove him over the edge, and before he knew he'd moved, he was slamming Krycek up against the wall, a brawny arm across a vulnerable throat, a thigh resting heavily against the juncture of two long, lean jeans-clad legs. "Never call me that." Icy control imperfectly disguised the heat of rage. "It's a fucking insult coming from the likes of you."

Krycek made no attempt to fight back, arms at his side. A strange little smile half-bitter, half-knowing twisted his mouth. "What do you want me to call you?"

"Nothing!" Skinner spat, cursing silently as his body reacted -- like Pavlov's dog facing a prime piece of meat -- to the proximity of the man.

Krycek's smile widened as he watched the slight dilation of dark pupils. "How about, lover?" He murmured softly, breath fanning across hot, flushed skin.

"Lovers, Krycek? You were doing a job, and I," Skinner's cold, mocking smile never reached his eyes, "wanted a fuck and you were convenient."

If he hadn't known it was impossible he could have sworn for a moment that the emotion moving across the green eyes was something akin to hurt, but then Krycek smiled again. "In that case, why don't you let me provide you a little more convenience?" He leaned across the remaining inches and, like a cat, licked the corner of the snarling mouth so close to him.

Surprise made Skinner jerk and release his grip. Far from using the sudden slacking to escape, Krycek moved closer until his body was pressed against the larger one. His smile turned knowing at the feel of the twitching hardness of the cock pressed against his stomach.

Slowly, gracefully, he sank to his knees, the sound of the zipper loud in the stillness of the room.

Skinner's deep exhalation at the first skillful touch of lips against his skin was a groan torn from the depths of his soul. Hands fastened in the sable darkness of hair, he swayed on his feet as a wet tongue teased the throbbing head, tracing the outline of a vein running along the underside of the hard length of his cock, before Krycek swallowed deeply, lips carefully protecting the sensitive skin from the sharpness of teeth.

It had been too long since he had last fucked or jerked off and in an embarrassingly short time, Skinner moaned as he poured himself down the willing throat of the man kneeling before him.

Breathing deeply, chest heaving, Skinner zipped himself up with shaking hands. He glanced at Krycek who was still on his knees, head turned away. A deep-rose wet tongue flashed out to wipe a last creamy trace from his lips.

Strange, how a position that should emphasis vulnerability instead painted a picture of guarded, aloof eroticism that set his heart pounding and the blood rushing through his veins.

Something in the very stillness of the pose caught his attention. He frowned, "Krycek?"

A deep breath and when the younger man finally turned his head, the familiar insolent grin was fixed firmly across his face. Slowly shrugging out of his jacket, letting it fall carelessly on the floor, he tilted his head. "That was just for starters, Mr. Skinner."

Closing his eyes, helpless to prevent the renewal of heat pooling in his groin, Skinner's eyes snapped open again at the first feather light touch stroking delicately down flanks and stomach as Krycek maneuvered them towards the bed.

Using his remaining arm, Krycek slowly unbuttoned his shirt, letting it drop on the floor, skimming out of his jeans.

Skinner caught his breath at the first sight of the lean, muscled body. Chest heaving he fought to regain sanity. "This is crazy," he growled.

"Come on, Skinner," Krycek murmured, eyes dark and hazy with lust as he knelt above the other man. "You know you want to fuck me. Hot, deep, fast." His smile widened, "anything you want..."

Large hands closed over slender muscled shoulders, turned him roughly and pinned him to the bed. Far from resisting, the smile grew wider, as Krycek let his thighs fall apart. "Want to hurt me, Skinner?" he arched his back in an unmistakable challenge. "Use me? Give me back a little of the pain? Remember what it was like lying in that hospital waiting to die, every vein in your body distended?"

At the soft mocking words something snapped inside Walter Skinner, hate overriding lust, demanding an outlet. With a low animal growl, he let his weight pin the younger man to the mattress, large hands brutal as they pinched nipples made hard by earlier gentler touches. Bending his head, he bit down brutally onto the inviting flesh, a jolt of lust going through him at the muffled scream that tore its way out of an arched throat.

Memory had once again cheated him. Had proved vastly insufficient for the mind-blowing reality of being inside Krycek - of thrusting deeply into the tight heat of the body between his thighs. Groaning he pulled the narrow hips up from the bed with enough force to leave bruises, angling them so each movement took him deeper, ignoring the soft muffled sounds of the man being pushed deep into the bed, half-suffocating from the weight of the body pounding into him.

There was another soft sound of pain or pleasure, as he bit deeply into a pale shoulder below him, leaving a mark. The noise pleased Skinner so much he did it again, this time choosing the other shoulder.

He was a man to whom control of himself and his environment was paramount. Only one person had ever made him lose it. The man who was panting beneath him, the man whose legacy was hatred, bitterness and lust.

Hatred can be a potent aphrodisiac. When he came, moaning, pouring himself into Krycek, the image coiling through his mind was of a smirking face in the mirror of a dark car.

Slowly catching his breath Skinner raised himself on the elbow, looking at the naked man in his bed. On his stomach, legs spread wide, bare assed, dark hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, having just been fucked through the mattress Krycek should have looked defeated, taken, used.

Instead -- Skinner's jaw set seeing the small secret smile that curled the sensuous mouth before the dark head turned away -- he looked more like a conqueror.

"Where is it, Krycek?" The deep voice was startling loud and discordant breaking the silence.

Rolling over, Krycek's smile widened. He was wise enough not to pretend ignorance. "Someplace safe."

Brown eyes grew hard and icy. "I want it."

"It won't do you any good."

"What the fuck, are you talking about?"

Krycek yawned, cat-eyes slitted and sleepy. "The nanocytes stopped working months ago."

Skinner stared at him.

Smug smile widening at the sick shock written across Skinner's face, Krycek explained lightly, "The nanocytes were a one-time deal, unfortunately they degrade and are absorbed by the body pretty quickly. That's one reason the research was eventually halted."

"You son of a bitch!" Skinner spat, a red mist of rage obscuring everything but the mocking smirk of a man who lied and betrayed as easily as he breathed.

Body momentarily sated, rage overrode lust, the smile reminding him of the betrayals, the deaths and lies, the pain Krycek had caused. Strong hands impotently opened and closed. A beating, a fucking, and still Krycek would walk away smiling, the winner of the obscure, dark, game they played.

Gripped by dark madness Skinner snapped, the restraints of a lifetime disregarded in the space of a moment. He had never wanted anything so much as he wanted to see Krycek scream, to see him bleed and suffer.

Looking down at his curled fingers -- hands -- an ugly smile suddenly thinned his lips.

Skinner moved grasping the dark hair and brutally dragged the younger man up by it.

Wincing from the force of the grip, Krycek didn't protest as he was pulled into a kneeling position on the bed. He even smiled slightly, balancing on his knees, spreading his thighs. "Hot to trot again? You're pretty vital for an old guy," he murmured, shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable.

"Shut up!" The blow echoed through the room, the dull thud of flesh meeting flesh.

Head snapping back from the force of the strike, losing his balance and falling, Krycek slowly got to his knees again, grin intact. "I never knew you were the kinky type, Skinner," he murmured, fingering the side of his jaw, which would soon wear a bruise.

Skinner smiled, and for the first time Krycek felt a shiver of apprehension feather down his spine.

"You have no idea," a dark voice said with silky malice.

The first probe of blunt fingers at the still stretched knot of muscles was expected and not even unpleasant, as they slid, deceptively gently across the sensitive nerve endings. The sudden stabbing deep inside made him bite his lip and shift, but still nothing more than expected. Even the second finger added and then a third to stretch him wide open while beginning to hurt, followed script. It was when the fourth finger forced its way inside that the pain went from bearable to red-hot agony.

Green eyes opened wide, and he stiffened. "Fuck! Stop it, Skinner!" He tried to move and was brutally forced back by the weight of a knee in the small of his back, pushed into the mattress, even as the fingers dug deeper, impossibly deep.

A grunt was muffled by the pillow as his body stiffened and arched in rejection.

"Listen, you little shit," he heard Skinner growl in his ear, the weight of the big body half-suffocating him and forcing air from already tortured lungs. "Personally I don't give a fuck, but if you don't relax I'll tear you to shreds."

Having no doubt that Skinner would follow through on his threat, Krycek forced himself to obey, trying to slacken his body even as something bigger, harder than a cock started to press against the tautness of muscle, forcing its way inside, splitting him open; making him vulnerable. Unable to prevent another obscene grunt, he only dimly felt Skinner pull back slightly before a sudden stabbing burned its way into his guts. Despite himself, he writhed silently, muscles contracting, sweat breaking out and painting his body in moisture, mouth opening and closing in a soundless scream.

Pain.

Helplessness.

Fear.

Watching the pale body shudder in pain, Krycek's strong graceful fingers closing and opening spasmodically, Skinner smiled grimly, intense satisfaction akin to sexual pleasure spiraling through him. Finally he'd peeled away the ever-present mockery, cracked open the mask Krycek always wore.

Forcing his fingers even deeper, watching the thick knuckles disappear from sight, he felt the tight muscle stretch impossibly wide, the wet sound loud in the silence of the room Skinner laughed low at the choked noise Krycek made.

"Jesus, Skinner!"

Krycek could hardly wrap his tongue around the words, mind running in a panicked coil. More than the burning pain, more than the sickening helplessness, there was the humiliation of being wide open and completely vulnerable to Skinner.

Bending low, a deep voice whispered into his ear, "I'm rather enjoying myself." Krycek didn't answer, biting his lip until it bled, determined not to show any further signs of weakness. Of making Skinner despise him more than he undoubtedly already did.

Despite his silent resolve, when Skinner moved his arm, muscles stretched almost beyond endurance screamed in protest and he was unable to hold back a slight groan. Invisible contractions around the thick wrist traveled through tense muscles, translating into deep shudders.

Krycek writhed in silent agony, not from the pain Skinner inflicted but by the thought of the picture he must make, ass in the air, legs splayed wide. A toy for someone's pleasure.

Placing his other hand, palm first, fingers splayed into the small of the long curve of a muscled back, Skinner treasured the tiny shivers rippling through the pale skin. "Up," he ordered grimly.

Stilling, unable to comprehend the curt command, Krycek jumped at the sudden stinging open handed slap against one ass cheek. "I said, up!"

Slowly, each movement sending new arrows of torture through his lower body, he obeyed, painfully pulling himself up until he was balanced on his knees once again.

Keeping as still as possible, Krycek kept his eyes wide open, breathing in large painful gulps of air. Praying for a moment to recoup, to gather himself, he almost missed the curt command.

"Ride it. I want to see you fuck yourself on my fist."

Shaking his head in instinctive refusal earned another hard slap that almost unbalanced him, the sudden jerky movement shooting unbearable agony through his guts. "Please..." the word was forced out between clenched teeth.

"Do it." There was no mercy in the dark voice.

When Krycek still didn't move, Skinner told him silkily, "Do it, or I'll fucking tear you apart."

Unable to stop the high sobbing gasp, the incoherent sounds of pain and pleading, Krycek obeyed. Slowly he moved, fucking himself on the thick fist. Each breath was torture, the very act of releasing air too painful to endure.

As each moment crawled past, the world narrowed down to each movement, to the next breath. Up... down... up... down...

Perhaps he fainted, perhaps he screamed. Perhaps he simply crumpled bonelessly into unconsciousness.

Krycek never felt Skinner remove his hand, never knew how long the older man stared at the slack body stretched across the bed.

He woke alone and sated, not sure for a moment where he was, merely aware of the contentment deep in bones and sinew. A lingering pleasure he hadn't felt since -- the completion of that mental reflection banished the last traces of relaxation. Last night. Pleasure. Pain. Darkness. Krycek.

Oh fuck, Krycek.

Skinner sat up abruptly, eyes cold and wary. It must be later than he thought since golden sunlight spilled in broad pools across polished oak and the muted jeweled brilliance of oriental carpets.

Standing by one of the windows, light and shadows painting his body in golden stripes was the man he had dreamed of, hated, loved, lusted after, and last night, had fucked and hurt. He would not deny, even to himself, just how arousing the sensation of Krycek helpless beneath him had been.

Last night had been a revelation in more ways than one. He'd always known that hatred and lust could coexist, could feed off each other. But he had been innocently unaware of just how strong a drug the mixture was. Lips stretched in a smile that was more of a snarl as he realized that this time there was no need to deny himself. For once in his life he was free to take what he wanted.

Alex Krycek.

There was no movement when Skinner walked up behind him; green eyes remained steadily on the horizon, the delicate colors of the sunrise seemingly absorbing all his interest.

Skinner frowned as he saw bruises on the lean pale body, the angry welts and bite marks that marred the skin. He slowly traced one with a large finger. A strange atavistic thrill ran through him at the thought that Krycek was wearing *his* marks.

When he opened his mouth the last words he'd ever thought he would say spilled from his lips.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Nope," the husky voice as always sent shivers down his spine.

"Liar." Skinner growled, suddenly angry.

A flash of dry amusement lit the green eyes, as Krycek half-turned. "What do you want me to say?" A quick graceful shrug. "I can handle whatever you do."

"So you said - last night," Skinner bent his head and bit into one soft ear, pulling the hard lean body into his arms with little gentleness.

The dark madness of the past hours had done much to assuage the worst of Skinner's rage. He was still pissed as hell, but no longer ready to kill. He had seen Krycek stripped of his defenses tremble and scream in pain, mockery gone.

It was almost enough.

Krycek tilted his head to give him better access, shifting his weight until Skinner's rapidly hardening cock was pressed tightly against the cleft of his ass.

"Last night..." Skinner whispered in his ear, breathing picking up speed, "why?"

Pale skin rippled as Krycek shrugged, a strange bitterness flowing across the elegant features. "Why not?" A self-mocking grin flashed. "Surely you've realized the kind of privileges that go with Consortium membership?"

Large hands tightened in punishment. "I didn't join for the money or power."

A quick twist, and they were face to face. "Which rather leaves open the question of why exactly you're here."

Stepping away, Skinner shrugged. "Would you believe if I said, because I think I can make a difference?"

He waited for the inevitable mocking, but instead there was a moment of silence and then a husky chuckle. "Funny, that's exactly what I thought you'd say."

Despite himself there was a flash of answering amusement, and he let it color his voice as he said dryly, "Always happy to be so predictable."

"Not predictable, more - reliable." Krycek stepped closer again, body open and vulnerable. "It's good to know that some things never change." He tilted his head. "You know, there are some benefits that go with the risks and responsibilities. You'll never have to worry about a pension plan again."

"Ah, but the question is, will I live 'til old age?" Skinner countered dryly.

A flash of sardonic humor. "Sorry, I never make any promises about survival, including my own, but you won't need to worry about money again." A pause, a brief hesitation and then he said softly, "And like it or not, you've just acquired another possession."

Skinner frowned. "Do I want to know what you're talking about?"

"Probably not," Krycek admitted a thread of amusement whispering through his voice. "It's one of those things your puritan side disapproves of." He looked away, a strange vulnerability shadowing green eyes for a moment. "You really did save my life yesterday. I was all out of bargaining chips and Mr. Smith has never been too fond of me."

Skinner shrugged, uncomfortable, not wanting to think of his impulsive decision. "Must be your winning personality, Krycek, you're a rattlesnake with a rattle a mile long." He paused, giving Krycek a hard look. "All I want is you out of my life for good." He ignored the faint voice at the back of his mind that whispered, *liar*.

Krycek shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, Skinner. I'm yours or I'm dead." He smiled wryly. "Look on the bright side, you can have me anytime, any place, any way you want. Cheaper than buying a whore down on the strip, and more fun than your own right hand."

Skinner gave him a long searching look wishing yet again that he knew what was going on behind the dark green eyes watching him with cool mockery. While he was not eager to remember all of last night, neither had he expected Krycek to ignore it. Bitter experience had taught that if there was one thing Alex Krycek knew it was how to retaliate. Nor was he the kind of man to submit tamely to abuse.

A frisson of unease suddenly whispered up Skinner's spine. Staring at Krycek he said coolly. "Give me one reason for not handing you back to Smith, now that I know the nanocytes are neutralized."

He relished the sudden fear shimmering across the green cat eyes. "Ah, but can you trust me to tell the truth?"

Skinner smiled grimly. "Oh, I don't expect you to, but you'll take me to the palm pilot today." There was absolute certainty and Krycek cocked his head in wry agreement.

Hips pressed back, legs spreading as he steadied his weight against the man nuzzling his shoulder, nipping at the sensitive skin of an exposed nape. "How about this then? What better way to regain your manhood, than in the body of the man who took it, hmm?"

It bothered him more than he wanted to admit, the accuracy with which Krycek pinpointed his weaknesses, and for a moment he wondered which of the two of them had been truly fucked last night. In retaliation his hands tightened, hard enough to leave more bruising on the pale skin. But far from flinching from the pain, Krycek simply laughed, the husky mocking sound that never failed to drive him mad and spread his legs.

Ignoring the blatant invitation, Skinner stilled, ignoring the urgent demands of his body. "It's not enough, Krycek."

Something akin to fear shadowed the thin dark face. "If you hand me over to Smith you know what he'll do."

"I know," the deep voice replied evenly.

Bitterness hardened Krycek's eyes to emeralds. "I see. Okay, how about this? I can get you Thomas Halliwell."

Skinner exhaled loudly. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Krycek smiled thinly. "I've known Thomas Halliwell for a long time, I can give you all the info you need to take him down legally."

"How?"

A casual shrug. "Keep me, and I'll give you what you want."

A moment of silence and then; "You have a deal, Krycek."

Krycek's smile never reached his eyes, as he turned, slid his remaining arm around Skinner's neck and pulled it close, kissing Skinner with practiced heat and expertise.

Rubbing up against the solid body behind him, like a cat in heat, he moved sinuously, going to his knees and slipping the hard cock into his mouth, teasing the slit with his tongue before swallowing it deep with the ease of long practice.

Expertly judging the moment, he pulled away, ignoring the instinctive protest, rising to his feet, turning around and bracing himself against the wall. He glanced over his shoulder, "Come on, Skinner and fuck me."

Pausing in the act of doing exactly that, Skinner hesitated suddenly remembering last night. He knew he had hurt Krycek, and for some to him unfathomable reason, he was hesitant to do so again.

Instead of accepting the blatant invitation he detoured briefly to the table beside the bed, grabbing the tube of lube he'd used the night before, and returning, nudged Krycek's thighs wider apart.

Skinner squeezed a liberal amount of lube on his fingers, reaching down and using his thumbs to lightly knead a well-muscled ass before pressing inside the tender, bruised ring of muscle.

He knew Krycek must be hurting, yet the only sign of the inevitable rawness of barely healed flesh was a minute shifting before Krycek pushed his hips back almost defiantly, throat arched and bared.

Skinner fought to control his breathing as he rode the sensations, long slow thrusts, each flex of his hips sending him deeper into the tight heat, the sensation of slick skin beneath his fingers, the soft moans and responses of the man beneath him. He took without hesitation or gentleness, as Krycek had taken his pride and freedom. Each groan of lust, each stifled sigh of pain was repayment on debts owed.

"God, I hate you," he whispered into the damp hot skin of a vulnerable nape. Thrusting again, he reached around to roughly fist the hard, dripping cock, thumb flicking repeatedly across the swollen head.

A shudder traveled through the pale graceful body writhing beneath him in response to the rough caresses. Krycek moaned softly, the flick of silky-soft dark hair sweeping across broad shoulders as he arched, taking Skinner even deeper.

He caught his breath; it never failed to drive him mad, the free, wild response. A man like Walter Skinner was accustomed to the need for patient coaxing during the long years of his marriage. His previous experience had been the whores of 'Nam he'd slaked his lust in during his youth - women with no interest in the man, only the color of his money -- the ease with which Krycek became aroused by a touch, a caress, a kiss, was a marvel.

In silence they moved; thrust and counter-thrust, the rays of the rising sun coloring sleek, sweaty bodies in shades of gold. Panting heavily, his breath jagged and uneven, the very motion of pushing air through tortured lungs was almost too painful to endure.

Krycek's breathing grew harsher, more rapid as Skinner felt the body around his cock contract in silken invisible tremors and a flood of warmth spilled across his fingers. That pushed him across the top and he soon followed Krycek over the edge and into the abyss.

As soon as his breathing had evened a little, Skinner abruptly pulled away. "I need a shower," he muttered, going into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

Turning the force of the water on to the maximum, Skinner cleaned himself, in more than one way cursing his own weakness. If only he didn't want Krycek so much! But even now, after just fucking the man, even the thought of Krycek stirred his body back to life. With an impatient oath Skinner turned the handle, gasping as icy needles hit him, and momentarily at least, cooled himself off. He only wished it was as easy to cool off his mind.

Wrapping a towel around his hips, he made a decision. He'd accept Krycek's offer, as a bodyguard and, his lip curled, a fuck toy. As his body had reminded him last night, it had been too long since there had been more satisfaction than the occasional solitary jerk-off to a porn flick alone at night in his condo.

Ah yes, he would use, as he had been used.

When he came out again, he found that Krycek had apparently found a shower of his own, if his damp, slicked back hair was anything to go by. The younger man too was dressed in faded tight jeans that left little to the imagination and a black polo necked shirt.

"Mr. Smith is waiting for you," Krycek said calmly, all business.

It was hard to imagine that this was the man who only minutes past had been moaning his name, Skinner thought. He strode across the room, grasping the firm jaw between his fingers, turning it slightly to study the severe lines of the face, the enigmatic green eyes.

"I wonder..." he finally said musingly, "if there is such a thing as honest emotion left in you." Slowly he stroked the pliant lips open, tasted the hot silk of a willing mouth. A strong hand came up and briefly clutched his shoulder, before sliding down a broad muscular back, pulling him closer.

When they finally had to break apart for air, Skinner's mouth twisted. "Jesus you're a bastard, Krycek."

Krycek breathed out slowly. "I know." For a moment there was regret, soft and fleeting as a summer wind in the husky voice. Then his voice changed, mocking himself and the man glaring at him with hatred in his eyes. "Think of me, as a signing bonus. The chocolate mint on your pillow."

Despite himself Skinner couldn't help the dry inflection of his voice. "Compliments of the management?"

Skinner sipped tea out of the Royal Derby china cup, watching a soft-footed servant offer a tray of cucumber sandwiches and fruitcake to an old man. Resisting the urge to demand coffee, *real* coffee, no cream, no sugar, he looked at the man on the other side of the table. "I'll be leaving as soon as the last meeting is over but I'll keep in touch."

Mr. Smith inclined his head. "I will look forward to your report." He hesitated briefly, "Mr. Skinner, while I would not like to interfere in your private business, are you sure that taking responsibility for Krycek is the wisest course of action?" He cast a disdainful look at the dark man standing just inside the door, awaiting the pleasure of his new master, playing the role of loyal servant to the hilt.

Skinner followed his look to the fine-boned enigmatic face, green cat-eyes meeting his steadily, without a flicker of emotion, arms hanging loosely at the side, the real and the prosthetic. The stillness of pose was capable of transforming into action at a moment's notice; an arrow released from the bow, and with the same deadly grace. "No, I'm not sure that it's wise," he admitted in his deep voice.

Mr. Smith pursed his lips. "Nonetheless, our colleague is correct and if you can indeed control Krycek, he is yours, without reservations."

Skinner looked at him thoughtfully. "Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but why?"

"The truth?" Mr. Smith seemed almost amused, "Krycek, while occasionally extremely effective, is also regrettably flawed. Had it not been for the insistence of a former member of the Consortium he would have been eliminated a long time ago."

Skinner glanced at Krycek who seemed utterly indifferent to the news, was actually smiling slightly at some private joke. "I see, so you are really off-loading a bad investment on me?"

Mr. Smith said gently, "Not at all, Krycek is a very effective bodyguard and killer. That is of course, the other reason he has not been eradicated. As long as you do not trust him, and keep him on a short leash you should have no problem."

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "I don't think trusting him overmuch will be a problem." He rose abruptly, a tall powerful man, the wire-rim glasses not detracting from the aura of menace. "We may have an alliance, but that doesn't mean I trust you, or your organization."

"I understand, Mr. Skinner."

Turning to leave, he realized that Krycek had silently come up behind him. Skinner gave the younger man a hard look. "You're coming with me?"

"What do you think, Mr. Skinner? Hard to guard someone's back from a distance. From now on, wherever you are, I'm there too."

Ignoring the hot flash that ran through him at the cool words he frowned. "Somehow I don't think the FBI will appreciate me having a personal body-guard from a shadowy global organization."

A flash of white teeth and sardonic humor. "No need for them to know, I'll just be your mid-life crisis; a toy to console you for the breakup of your marriage. This is the age of don't ask, don't tell, they can hardly fire your ass for swinging both ways." He shrugged and added with casual cruelty, "Besides, you're never gonna go any higher up the fibbie food-chain."

"Much as I appreciate your detailed explanation of my middle aged frailties, and the limitations of my career options," Skinner said dryly, "you forget, you're not just some hustler I picked up from the street. You're a wanted felon."

Krycek shook his head. "Nope, I've been cleared of all charges, go check the records if you don't believe me." He lifted an eyebrow. "One of the perks of the new Consortium." He smiled, "Actually, all it took was some judicious pressure at the right places, a good hacker and voila!" He gestured at himself. "You see before you a blameless citizen of our great and glorious country."

Skinner sighed, "Shut up, Krycek."

"Yes, sir!"

Skinner gave him another hard look.

Stepping into the shining black BMW, he smiled grimly at the sight of Krycek holding the door politely. Quite a difference from the smirking man who'd showed up playing with his little toy, enjoying watching Skinner thrash helplessly.

Unlocking the door to the condo, Skinner was acutely aware of the man standing silently behind him. He was so hypersensitive he almost jumped when Krycek shifted his weight, the leather of the old jacket creaking softly. He actually flinched as he felt a warm puff of air against his neck.

"Relax, Skinner, I don't bite - much," a soft voice murmured, laughter running through the tone.

Skinner swung around abruptly. "Back off!" he ordered curtly.

A dark eyebrow rose in a question, even as Krycek held up his hands and took a step back. "Hey, I was just kidding."

"I wasn't." Dark eyes crackled with icy rage. "Let's make something clear, Krycek you're here on my sufferance. It's damned clear the Consortium doesn't want you. If it wasn't for me, you'd be feeding the fish at the moment."

Krycek stared at him for a moment, the knowledge of being a helpless pawn carved deep into the lines of his face. His mouth twisted. "True." Bitterness pervaded the husky voice. "So now what?"

Walter Skinner looked at him coldly. "Now, you prove that you're worth the price, the Consortium put on you. You keep me alive and..." he paused, "satisfied."

There was a sudden flash of anger. "I'm no - " Krycek broke off abruptly. "Fuck, you're enjoying this, aren't you, Skinner?"

"What do you think, you little shit?"

Krycek spat, "I think you're gonna loving grinding my nose in the dirt."

Skinner threw his jacket over the back of the sofa, going over to pour himself a whiskey. "Then you'd be right." He raised an eyebrow, his turn to mock. "Why the pissy attitude, Krycek? You're a whore, and we both know it."

The anger was gone as abruptly. "I may be a whore, Skinner, but I don't come cheap."

Skinner drank down some of the alcohol, feeling it burn all the way down his throat and stomach. "Let's get some things straight. I despise you, I think you're an unreliable, treacherous bastard who should be taken out and shot."

Neither of the men recognized the inherent contradiction between Skinner's words and his actions.

Krycek unzipped his jacket, shrugging out of it. "Always happy to be appreciated," he quipped ironically.

Skinner looked down at the remains of the whiskey, swirling it around in the heavy glass, watching the amber liquid slosh gently against the sides. "But for the moment, we're stuck with each other." He gave Krycek a grim look. "Which reminds me, you still haven't told me what the hell you were doing in Thomas Halliwell's apartment two nights ago."

Krycek sighed, "Trying to put together a deal to save my ass. I knew the Consortium wanted Halliwell dead, and I figured if I - "

"... Came bearing Halliwell's head like a trophy all would be forgiven and forgotten?" The question was laced with heavy sarcasm.

"Something like that, yeah."

Skinner shook his head. "Every time I think you've reached the limit, you surprise me, unpleasantly."

"Glad to oblige." The words were snarky, the tone more weary than anything else.

Skinner rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm too tired to deal with this tonight. Tomorrow I'll make sure you get a visitor's pass, it'll be the lesser of two evils, I don't want you caught by some agent lurking outside."

He added a little grimly, "I'll introduce you as a consultant."

"A consultant, now there's a word that covers a multitude of sins," Krycek sprawled down on the sofa, stretching out, making himself at home, like an alley cat. He murmured appreciatively, "I'm looking forward to watching Scully's face tomorrow."

Skinner regarded the tall fluid body with intense dislike, not sharing the anticipation - there were times when Dana Scully definitely lived up to the myth of redheads. "Jesus, I must be crazy to agree to this," he muttered.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll all play nicely together. Green glimmered mockingly beneath dark lashes.

Skinner snorted starting to leave when Krycek spoke behind his back.

"Oh and, Skinner," there was a deceptive mildness to the husky voice that should have warned him.

"Yes?" he turned around - and stared straight into the dully-gleaming barrel of a loaded Walther PPK. Automatically a part of his mind processed the information that Krycek must be wearing a SOB - small of the back - holster, for future reference.

The sound of the safety being cocked was unnaturally loud in the sudden silence of the room.

Krycek said very evenly, "If you ever put your fist up my ass again, I'll put a bullet between your eyes."

Skinner raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by the reminder of what he'd done. "Did it hurt? Did you feel helpless, abused - raped?"

The ugly words hung in the air between them.

"What the fuck do you think?" Krycek spat, green eyes hard as glass.

"Then you know exactly how I felt lying in that hospital bed, dying."

Krycek stared at him. "Bastard."

Skinner shrugged once. "You want pity? You've come to the wrong man." He crossed his arms, a hard man not giving an inch. "There's too much history between us for you to play the victim now, Krycek."

The sudden smile was genuine albeit wry. "Well it was worth a try, most other guys would be crawling by now, drowning in guilt."

"Easier for you to manipulate?" Skinner stalked across the room, grasping the younger man by the shoulders, the grip firm but not hard enough to bruise. "*Boy*, I know you too well to fall for that act." He paused, then suddenly gripped the firm jaw and forced it up for his inspection. "And just so *you* know, the next time you point a gun at me I'll feed it to you barrel first."

"You're such a hard-ass, Skinner," Krycek murmured with cool irony, the gun disappearing as fast it'd appeared.

He was almost asleep, body aching from the workout Skinner had given it, curled on his side as far from the other man in bed as possible. He'd wondered if he should just leave after the fucking, but when he'd tried, Skinner had growled a curt order to stay.

Obviously the AD believed firmly in keeping rats where they could be seen.

"It won't happen again."

The deep voice woke him from a half-slumber. For a moment he almost asked why. "Glad to know."

A long silence, and he had almost drifted off again when Skinner's next words brought him abruptly awake.

"I'm sorry."

Sitting upright he tried to stare through the gloom of the room. "You're what?" The incredulity was obvious.

Skinner was on his back, one arm flung across his face effectively hiding it from view. "You heard me."

"Yeah, I just can't believe I heard right."

The arm moved as one dark eye opened and focused on the man leaning over him. There was a hint of a smile on the stern mouth. "I was out of line."

Krycek sounded genuinely bewildered. "What fucking line?"

Skinner didn't answer.

He blinked once. "You'll beat the shit out of me, but rape is out." Krycek almost laughed aloud. How very typical Skinner. The man was such a mixture of outdated honor concepts and uncompromising pragmatism. He'd kill for mom and apple pie, probably even torture and maim if necessary. But bring sex into the equation and he baulked. Damned puritanical American.

Aloud he only said, "Well, that's one load off my mind."

Skinner growled, eyes closed, "Don't push it, Krycek."

"Perish the thought," the younger man said dryly still amazed that Skinner had actually apologized.

FBI Headquarters, The Next Morning

"Scully, Doggett, in my office now!"

The two FBI agents looked up in surprise at the grim face of their boss. He was gone before they could say anything else.

Scully raised an eyebrow at her new partner in mute inquiry.

"We'll find out when we get there," the tall grey-eyed man said laconically. Scully gave him a look compounded equally of annoyance and mild amusement. After more than seven years of being the sensible and logical person it was both irritating and liberating to be partnered with herself.

Pondering life with John Doggett Scully entered Skinner's office after a perfunctory knock. The sight that met her eyes drove all thoughts of her new partner from her mind.

He was standing by the window, a tall lean man, dressed in black leather and faded denim, a man with the face of a fallen angel and the light of the devil in his eyes.

"Krycek!" she hissed.

He cocked his head in the old familiar gesture. "Scully," his voice mocked her hatred.

Skinner stepped between them. "Back off, Scully," he ordered. "Krycek is here at my invitation."

She focused on Skinner, shock evident on her face. "You invited *him* here?"

The big man met her glare steadily. "Yes, I did.

She swung around, hands clenching at her sides. "What have you got on him, you son of a bitch?!"

Doggett blinked, he'd never seen his cool, capable partner so emotional and for a moment his eyes rested on the dark stranger. He knew who Alex Krycek was, like everyone else he'd heard the rumors and whispers, but somehow the reality was very different. The lean body, slouching casually by the window, dark hair flopping down into a thin, too pretty face did not match up to the legend of Alex Krycek, ratbastard and traitor extraordinaire.

As the scene played out before his fascinated eyes, he looked beyond the angry words to body language: Scully's aggressive stance, Skinner's strangely protective pose and of course, the focus of their argument, Krycek's seemingly indifferent, remote posture.

Krycek smiled wryly, something strange glimmering in the green depths. "Would you believe nothing, Scully?"

"No!"

He sighed, turning, almost unconsciously, to the big man looming over him.

"It's the truth, Scully," Skinner said in his deep voice. "I am not being coerced or blackmailed. As a matter of fact," he smiled a little grimly, "Krycek is mine now."

That silenced her as nothing else could have. "How?"

"The Consortium." Once again she was about to interrupt when he shook his head sharply. "Face facts, Scully. The Consortium as we knew it is dead and gone, either burned to ashes or," he glanced at the silent man at his side, "otherwise disposed of. What their heirs are doing is something I can support. Something in fact I believe we must support."

"And Krycek?" She did not give as much as an inch.

Skinner sighed, "He's part of the deal. The charges against him have been quietly dropped. After all, we," a corner of his mouth twisted dryly, "have never been able to actually prove anything against him."

Scully snorted, her opinion of Krycek's guilt obvious. "Yes, sir. But that still doesn't explain what he's doing here." *With you* her pointed look added.

For the first time Krycek spoke. "By allying with the Consortium, Mr. Skinner is putting himself on the line, there are people outside the government and inside it who don't want him to succeed. I'm here to make sure he stays alive."

Three pair of eyes fastened on Krycek while he spoke. One was hostile, one indifferent and the third - enigmatic.

Skinner shrugged, "As you heard, there are people who think my life may be in danger and they've sent Krycek along as guard-dog."

Scully looked down her nose, not an easy feat when you're the shortest person in the room by about three inches but she managed it effortlessly. "A dog, sir? Does he sleep at the foot of your bed?"

There was a moment's silence, and then Krycek murmured mock-innocently. "I don't remember you complaining, Scully when I was warming your feet."

Scully's mouth dropped open.

Skinner gave the man by his side an annoyed look, his voice resigned. "Tell me, Krycek, is there anyone here at FBI that you *haven't* slept with?"

A flash of devilish amusement was his only warning before Krycek answered blandly, "I never slept with either Mulder or Scully, Mr. Skinner. I just fucked them, no sleeping involved."

Scully flushed until the color of her skin matched her hair and gave Krycek a look that should have slain him on the spot. "Sir, I can explain," she began.

Skinner shook his head to prevent further confessions. "No need, Agent Scully, I'm only too aware that Krycek went through the halls of FBI like a groupie through a rock band."

John Doggett who had watched the scene unfolding before him in silence shook his head in disgust. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, "I thought I was being assigned to the FBI not some crazy soap-opera."

Krycek chuckled, "Welcome to the world of the X-Files." He rested a hip casually against a desk. "We're just one big happy family, aren't we, Mr. Skinner?"

Skinner's hand fell heavily across a leather-clad shoulder and squeezed a not very subtle warning. "We've got more important things to discuss than Krycek's sexual escapades."

Scully's cheeks still flamed. "Yes, sir."

"Scully, Doggett, we've got a meeting here in half an hour, I want an update on what's happening with Halliwell." They hesitated and he growled, "Move it, people!"

Such was the force of his personality that although Doggett still looked incredulous and Scully tight-lipped, they left.

Once alone, Skinner turned on the grinning man sprawled in a chair. "Rabble rouser."

Krycek grinned, "Sorry, I couldn't resist, they're so easy."

"Yes, they are," Skinner's voice was very dry.

A soft chuckle, "Anyone tell you you've got a dirty mind?"

"... We are still not getting anywhere. He's covered his tracks too well. The boys in the backroom are trying to hack into his financial records, but so far no luck."

Although both Scully and Doggett were manifestly punctilious, neither of them could resist sneaking little glances at the silent man sitting in the corner. Slouching in the chair, looking bored, fingers drumming a tattoo on the smooth surface of the armrest from time to time, his presence making the room hum with unspoken tension.

Skinner frowned. "What about his street contacts?"

"You're never going to get him through the dealers. He's too careful."

Three heads swiveled to stare at Krycek.

"Ah yes, our resident Halliwell expert," he ignored the look Krycek shot him, "tell us what we've missed, what's not in the file."

Krycek thought for a moment. "Don't know just how good your info is on him, but I'll tell you one thing, Halliwell has survived this long for one reason, he always covers all his bases. He's one of the money men for the Consortium, but he's got his fingers in other pies as well."

"And you know him exactly how?" That was Scully.

He smiled sourly, "I used to courier for him once or twice."

"Couriering what?" Scully persisted.

He shrugged, "Guns, drugs, information, whatever he wanted me to carry."

Skinner had listened in silence, arms crossed over his chest. "Keep talking."

Krycek frowned thoughtfully, "He's got few weaknesses and doesn't trust anybody."

"Sexual habits?"

Scully ignored the three incredulous pair of eyes turning to stare at her, saying coolly, "We found some pretty exotic toys in Halliwell's condo, do they belong to him?"

"Yeah, Halliwell likes his little games," Krycek's mouth twisted briefly. "But I don't think it's something you'll be able to use. He's careful, everyone is adult and it's all 'consensual.'" He cocked his head, thinking. "If you want him legally," cold irony shaded his voice, "then your best bet are the secret files he keeps on all his dealings."

"Halliwell keeps records?" Doggett asked sharply. "You sure? We've been looking ever since this operation started, but the word on the street is that he got burned badly in the past."

Krycek smirked, "Yeah, I know that rumor. Guess who started it?"

Skinner glanced at Doggett and Scully, "Check it up," he ordered curtly before turning back to Krycek. "Anything else you can tell us?"

"If you wait, the problem will resolve itself," he glanced at Skinner, "there are other peoples besides the feds that are pissed as hell at Halliwell and they'll solve the problem their usual way."

"Why is the Consortium after Halliwell?" That was Scully, her body proclaiming louder than words dislike of the man that looked at her, a smile in his bottle-green eyes.

Krycek's voice was suddenly colder than liquid hydrogen. "He sold out to the enemy. Some good people died because Halliwell got greedy."

"Good people?" Scully asked in blatant disbelief. "Are there such a thing in the Consortium?"

Krycek shifted, and something in his face silenced her. "Don't be too quick to judge, Dana," her name was a soft challenge, "you've only seen one side of the Consortium. Remember, when you fight for your life, there is little room for mercy or compassion."

They stared at each other, and it was Scully who dropped her eyes first.

Skinner realized that once again Krycek had managed to surprise them all. He remained an ever-changing enigma, capable of casual, ruthless cruelty, easily dismissed as nothing but a thug and assassin. Then there would be moments like this, tantalizing flashes of another Krycek, of a man who fought for a cause, with little glory and less recognition.

There was a moment when he wished, uselessly, that things had been different; that they could have been on the same side. That what bound him to Alex Krycek was more than bitter memories, hatred and lust.

With Scully and Doggett gone, Skinner speared him with a sharp look. "You whored for Halliwell."

It wasn't a question.

"No. Not exactly," Krycek's voice was unexpectedly soft as he shifted in the chair. "A long time ago we fucked once or twice, but I was never his to whore."

Skinner suddenly looked thoughtful. "Do you think he still wants to?"

It was Krycek's turn to stare at Skinner. "Maybe, probably, why? You thinking of turning pimp?"

Ignoring the instinctive and violent rejection of the idea, Skinner shrugged with fake casualness. "We need an edge and we don't seem to get anywhere."

Face suddenly wiped clean of all expression, Krycek said evenly, "I can get in touch with some old contacts, sound them out if you want."

A brief hesitation and then Skinner shook his head. "No, I'll keep it in mind but I'd prefer to use a cleaner way to take him down."

"Much obliged, Skinner," Krycek said very dryly.

Skinner gave him a hard stare. "You're being hypocritical. That's what you did in my bed last night, wasn't it? Whoring."

Krycek went very still. "What?" Which he had to admit wasn't the cleverest thing to say.

Skinner picked up a file, not replying to the question. "Stay here, I need to get to a meeting," he ordered, "don't move from this office unless you need to go to the bathroom. I don't want you wandering through the building. Christine has orders not to admit anyone and don't touch anything."

The door slammed shut behind him.

Driving home a week later the words still echoed in his head; the casual threat growing more real by the day as each lead to Halliwell's elusive records proved a fruitless dead end. Skinner was far from the first man who'd kept him for personal pleasure and professional use. This was the first time he'd resented the knowledge that he was nothing but a good fuck and a useful tool for the man who held his leash.

Leaning forward he fiddled with the search button on the radio until he found a classic station the strains of Stravinsky's 'The Firebird Suite' filled the air. As the heavy sensual beat of the music permeated the silence, a new kind of tension crept between the two men.

Shifting in his seat Krycek glanced at Skinner through long dark lashes.

Turning his head at the same time, their eyes collided, and suddenly Skinner was breathing as heavily as if he'd gone for a long run. Feeling uncomfortably hot, he shifted in the seat; sweat slicking his palms and making them slippery as he gripped the steering wheel. The flesh trapped inside his pants was hard and painful against the confines of the fabric.

Fucking Krycek was like drinking saltwater; it left him wanting more, the more he had. Skinner was relieved when they finally reached the parking outside the condo, and his hands when he locked the car door, to his disgust, actually trembled slightly.

Watching the graceful movements of the man walking ahead up the stairs, Skinner's guts clenched with raw primeval need. Whispering through the red heat of lust there was also a strange kind of gratefulness that in the here and now there was no need for restraint, for care. He was a strong man, and a big one, and Sharon had complained more than once that he was hurting her. In consequence he'd been forced to learn care and putting his own needs second. Sex with his wife had too often been an exercise in frustration and humiliation. And it had been years before their divorce that they'd last slept together.

With Krycek he could do whatever he desired. Strong and supple, the younger man was ready and willing to take whatever Skinner wanted. The sex was dirty and hot; fucking not making love.

He barely had the patience to kick the door shut before he grabbed the tight ass. Krycek melted into his grasp easily, willingly; head flung back a fierce smile peeling back his lips. To know that this man of loose limbed grace, skilled mouth and eyes to drown in was *his* was enough to make Skinner lose control.

There was a moment when he had the strange impression that Krycek actually relaxed fractionally once they were in the condo - as if it was a safe refuge from the world outside the door. Then even that fleeting thought was forgotten in the urgency of pushing the hard body up against the door, of running hands down soft skin, of feeling Krycek writhe against him. He was not gentle, as he reached down and tugged down the tight jeans with impatient fingers, swearing as they caught on slender hips.

Krycek moaned again, head flung back, leaning back against the wall, hooking one leg around a thick calf, urging the man pinning him closer. He exhaled in a low shuddering moan as a large hand closed around his aching cock, stroking it, the roughness of the palm against the sensitive skin faintly uncomfortable, the slight irritation adding to the sensations coursing through him.

Surrendering without hesitation, hips moving, bracing himself against Skinner, he felt the sensation beginning deep in his balls, spread to his stomach, thighs, every muscle and blood vessel in his body until he came, harsh breath panting into the silence of the darkness. Skinner stepped back, and he almost collapsed in an undignified heap.

Standing back, watching and making no attempt to help, Skinner's dark eyes gave nothing away.

"Upstairs."

It was the first word either of them had spoken since leaving the FBI building. Stumbling a little, not bothering to pick up his discarded jeans, Krycek obeyed, skin still sticky with semen and drying sweat.

Entering the dark bedroom he stopped in the door staring at the king-sized bed for a moment, before being propelled forward by a non-too gentle hand in the back.

Hiding a sudden bitter smile, Krycek obediently crossed the room, pulling off his sweater and letting it drop carelessly to the floor. Getting on the bed, he turned his head, watching Skinner undress in silence.

"I don't get it," he said huskily, almost hesitantly. "Why do you even bother?"

Skinner looked up from unbuttoning his shirt. "Bother with what?"

Turning onto his back, one leg bent and raised, Krycek cocked his head. "Jerking me off," he gestured vaguely at the bed, "this."

Folding his shirt neatly across the back of a chair, Skinner joined Krycek on the bed. "Because I'm too old to fuck against the wall," he slapped the taut curve of naked ass hard, leaving a red palm print against the paleness of the skin. "Up!"

Rolling over, Krycek raised his hips, burying his face in the softness of a pillow. The first touch of large blunt fingers on his body, as always made him shiver, his cock firming and hardening just from a brief indifferent caress. He remained obediently still, resisting the impulse to push back against the hard cock already nudging against him.

He knew only too well that this wasn't about him. This was Skinner taking what he wanted. Skinner getting revenge for past betrayals, past pain by fucking a man he hated.

Life had taught him that sex was power and power was sex, and that men who would not have spit in his face in the light of day would be more than happy to fuck his brains out at night.

He didn't look up but remained where he was, unmoving, waiting as he listened to the noise of a cap being unscrewed and then the touch of something slippery sliding inside him, cool slick fingers, loosening and stretching muscles guarding the entrance to his body. They brushed over something deep inside and he shuddered again, pushing back against the fingers, riding them deeply. There was a deep contemptuous rasp, "You're one hell of a whore, Krycek, you must have made the Smoker a fortune renting you out."

The cold voice sliced through the comfortable haze of arousal and he stiffened, for an endless moment tempted beyond endurance to resist, to refuse. To just say to hell with it, with the man who even now used strong thumbs to open him to the impalement of a brutal, too thick cock.

Muscles clenched in resistance and sweat poured off already slick skin as he writhed beneath the merciless pounding. Arching beneath the merciless thrusts, a bitter smile twisted his lips even as his chest heaved with harsh sobbing breaths. At least Skinner wasn't fucking him dry. And after that first night, while not taking particular care, neither had he been deliberately cruel.

Slowly, too slowly the pain melted into pleasure, or perhaps the pleasure was merely an absence of pain. A soft groan and suddenly he was on fire, moving with each thrust, moaning in helpless lust, cock hard as rock, balls swinging low and full and heavy. Why this man who hated him?

There was nothing but the sound of rasping breaths, of the dull moist thuds of heated flesh pulsing inside a writhing body, of damp skin rubbing against skin.

Low animal sounds vibrated from deep in Krycek's throat as a dark head tossed back and forth, fingers scrabbling against the sheets. He was faintly aware of the fact that as Skinner came, shuddering hard, he was whispering in a low monotony over and over again. "Fuck you, bastard, fuck you..."

As soon as he'd regained his breath, Krycek rolled over and shook his head, dislodging the sweaty strands that clung to his forehead. "You're such a romantic, Skinner."

Without sparing Krycek a look, Skinner got up and went into the shower. Returning within minutes, he went over to the wardrobe, still ignoring the naked man stretched across the bed like a wet dream, pulling out a clean shirt and dark pants.

Krycek frowned, "You going somewhere?"

Tying a dark blue silk tie, Skinner shrugged into a matching jacket. "I'm having dinner with an old friend."

The man on the bed sat straight up, moving from sated relaxation to alert tenseness in the space of a heartbeat. "Give me five minutes and I'll be ready."

"You're staying here." It was an unmistakable order.

Krycek glared at Skinner. "Look, it's my ass on the line as well, if something happens to you," he argued vehemently.

Skinner simply ignored him, picking up his car keys. "If I see you anywhere close to the restaurant I'm shipping you right back to your friends in the Consortium."

A sardonic smile. "This is supposed to scare me?"

Skinner gave him one of his *looks* "I don't know, you'd know that better than I. Is it a threat?"

Getting up and going over to pull on a pair of old sweats, Krycek almost flinched. "Fuck off, Skinner."

Skinner smiled in grim satisfaction, the swagger a little more pronounced as he left, slamming the door behind him.

Alone in the condo, cursing in frustration, Krycek thought ruefully that Skinner was enjoying their present situation just a little too much.

Raking a hand through dark thick hair, he winced as sore muscles twinged and abruptly green eyes turned hard and bitter. There was little use in denying that he was something he'd sworn never to be again; a powerful man's fuck toy and possession. The fact that it was Skinner just added another dimension to the humiliation, the pain that clawed inside.

For more years than he cared to remember he'd wondered perhaps even fantasized about what it would be like to share Walter Skinner's bed. What was the old proverb? *Be careful what you wish for, you may get it*.

There were times recently when he could have wished that the fantasy had remained just that; fantasy. Reality was lying face down in the king-sized bed, sweat pouring off his body as the man above pounded into him, hard, fast, dirty, large fingers gripping his hips painfully, hard enough to leave bruises.

Reality was unconditional capitulation. Surrender. Submission.

Not just in bed, in everything they did Skinner was enjoying grinding his heel into a bowed neck, a latter day Russian nobleman arrogantly demanding service and obedience as his right.

The thought lightened Krycek's mood as he padded into the kitchen to find a beer. Drinking it straight from the bottle, he thought that the image of arrogant Cossack fit Walter Skinner only too well; tight riding pants and leather boots arrogantly giving orders to submissive peasants.

There was a sudden rueful smile as his body hardened in response to the mental image conjured. It had always been one of his most deeply kept secrets that what should have been a routine mission, had turned into something very different from the first time he'd laid eyes on Mulder's boss, Assistant Director Walter Skinner.

He had found himself wanting, and more than that, *needing* with an intensity never felt before, certainly not while on the job. Why it was that the large solid frame and unexpected flashes of gentleness, the clumsy, awkward caresses and sudden wry smile had fired his body as no accomplished lover had ever managed he had no idea. Didn't want to know.

Although he had known -- even then -- that he was little more to Skinner than a convenience, the memory of those short encounters had stayed with him through the darkness of Siberia, the loss of an arm and almost his life. A man always focused on survival and reality, memories of Skinner had been the closest thing to dreams he'd ever allowed himself.

The smile died abruptly. Jesus, he hoped that Skinner never suspected the truth. There was still too much rage, too much hatred between them for the other man not to use the knowledge as a weapon.

He'd expected anger, but not the depth of the loathing, the icy contempt that lashed at him every day. Nor had been prepared for what Skinner had done that first night. He'd gone to the room to repay a debt, to seal a bargain and, he swallowed, looking down at the half-empty beer bottle, to fulfill an old dream. What he'd gotten was closer to a nightmare. A thin smile twisted the firm mouth. Ah shit, he should have known better. He had after all watched pure hatred reflected in a car mirror as he played with the palm pilot in his hand.

*Did it hurt? Did you feel helpless, abused - raped?*

Much as life had accustomed him to pain and violence, that morning, watching the sleeping man in bed, he had hated, wanted vengeance. Of striking out and hurting as he'd been hurt. Perhaps what he had hated most was that it was *Walter Skinner* who had hurt him. Who had proven to be capable of such studied cruelty.

*Then you know exactly how I felt lying in that hospital bed, dying*.

Oh yes, it would be so easy to return to what they had once been. A stairway beating for a night freezing on the balcony. A man killed and brought back to life for a rape.

Tit for tat.

A humorless laugh whispered through the room. He had always known that there would be no easy forgiveness for his acts, for the lies and betrayals. Skinner was relishing every moment of their role reversal and for a man like Alex Krycek who'd fought for every scrap of freedom, it wasn't easy to roll over and bare his throat. He did it because, as always he had no choice. Yet, there was also, buried so deep inside him it was barely acknowledged, a small hidden hope that Skinner was at heart a decent man driven by hatred to commit atrocities.

The sound of the doorbell brought him abruptly into wary alertness and grabbing his gun from where it hung in its holster, he silently stole to the side of the door. A quick glance through the spyglass and then he relaxed fractionally and unlocked the door.

"Hello, Scully," he spoke in resignation.

She marched inside, the fire of battle in her eyes and snapping from her voice. "Krycek, we have to talk!"

He carefully laid the gun aside. "Would it be any use for me to say no?"

She glared at him. "Not if you value your life."

He shook his head ruefully, "Scully, you've got more balls than ten men." He raked his fingers through thick dark hair. "Look, if we're gonna talk, can we pretend we're actually civilized beings?"

She gave a grudging nod. "Fine by me," and marched past him into the living room where she swung around on her heel, stance shouting aggression. "I want to know everything you know about the clones."

He sat down in the sofa, and because he knew it would irritate her, put up his feet and smiled lazily. "What's in it for me?"

She gave him a grim look. "You get to live."

Krycek stared at her, danger prickling along his skin. He sat up again. "I do believe you'd do it," he said softly, watching her warily.

She met him stare for stare. "You can bet on it." Unconsciously her hands went to the slight swell of her stomach, deftly hidden beneath the cut of her jacket.

His eyes followed her hands, and his eyes narrowed. "*Buliatch*!" He muttered in Russian. "They did it."

Scully stared at him. "Did what?" For a moment she seemed very small and fragile, skin so pale you could see a faint band of freckles across the bridge of her nose. "You know, don't you?" She whispered. "You know what they did to me."

He shook his head violently. "No! I mean, I can guess, there were some rumors, some whispers, but I don't know anything for sure." He held up his hand to stop her accusations. "I *swear*, Scully, I don't know!"

"Why the hell should I believe you?" She demanded. "Ever since I first knew you, you've done nothing but lie."

He was on his feet, approaching her slowly, warily. "I never lied without a reason, Scully. It was my job, my assignment."

Distrust edged her words. "And why should I believe you now?"

"Because, I have no reason to lie now." He spoke with such simple conviction, that despite herself she was reluctantly convinced.

He hesitated, and then said softly, "Scully, you and I, we're the ones who got screwed worst of all."

She stared at him, and read nothing but truth in his face.

"Maybe we should talk," she heard herself say in a very different tone of voice.

He looked at her uncertainly as if unsure if she was serious or not. Then he smiled, the dazzling, white-toothed smile that had first caught her eye. At the time she'd felt the pull of sexual attraction, in the here and now it was a slap in the face. Glaring at Krycek, she opened her mouth ready to demand answers, when once again he managed to disconcert her.

"Are you hungry?" His voice turned wry. "Skinner's gone out, and I haven't eaten yet."

Before Scully could say anything her stomach embarrassingly replied by growling loudly.

He chuckled, "I'll take that as a yes. Pizza okay?"

She almost flinched at the casual words; pain slicing deep at the memory of the innumerable times Mulder had said the same thing as they'd shared a pizza or some Chinese takeout.

Ever since he had disappeared in such a spectacular fashion she'd felt the lack of Mulder's presence, not just in work, but also in the small everyday details of her life. Not until he was no longer there to share a casual Sunday brunch, or lend a sympathetic ear on the evils of plumbers, had she fully realized just what a large part of her life he was.

Clearing her throat Scully said huskily, "Pizza is fine, plain." For a moment she thought wistfully of extra pepperoni and spicy sauce. Pregnancy sucked in more ways than one.

He nodded picking up the phone and dialing the number.

Ordering two pizzas, Krycek was in the kitchen when the doorbell rang fifteen minutes later. "Get it, Scully?" he called out.

Opening the door and seeing a giant white rabbit in a yellow and green waist-coast and top hat would not have truly surprised her at this point. Deciding that this was probably all a surreal nightmare was much the easiest way of dealing with the fact that she found herself paying the spotty delivery boy and carrying the hot flat white cartoons to the sofa and placing them down on the low table in front.

"I raided Skinner's wine rack," Krycek appeared from the kitchen, holding up a bottle. "Not a bad vintage either, the bald guy has hidden talents."

It jarred. That casual reference to one of the few men she not only trusted but also genuinely regarded as a friend. She had known and disapproved of Mulder's dark fascination with Krycek. Yet, even that was more easily understood and accepted than Skinner's seemingly effortless forgiveness and trust of a man who deserved neither.

Silently she accepted the wine he handed her, before reaching across to open the pizza cartoon and sniffing appreciatively. Although aware he was consciously disarming and diffusing her anger, a part of her couldn't help responding to his casualness.

Besides, in a strange way, this man remained the strongest link to her impetuous lost partner, so strong was their connection and the passion of hate and betrayal. She would never have spoken aloud, but uncannily he seemed to pick up on her thoughts.

"He'll be okay," he said suddenly not looking at her, fiddling with the remains of a slice of pizza.

Scully stiffened. "How do you know?"

"Because you're too stubborn for him not to be." Krycek smiled wryly at the look in her eyes. "He wouldn't dare not recover, after the number of times you've saved his ass, not to mention pulling him from insanity. The two of you are practically joined at the hip. Scully and Mulder, Mulder and Scully."

"I miss him." The soft words slipped out before she could stop them and she was horrified at the weakness they betrayed.

"Yeah, in a strange way so do I," Krycek admitted, his usual mockery absent, a strange look in his eyes. "He's a crazy bastard, but there are times I actually miss his demented focus on me as the root of all evil."

She gave him an owl-eyed look. "That wasn't all he thought of you as."

He swallowed the last of his pizza. "You mean the fucking?"

She choked as the wine she was drinking went down the wrong way. Coughing and sputtering, she finally recovered, glaring at him. "You don't believe in pulling your punches do you?"

He shrugged, "What's the use in denying something we both know is true?"

She blinked and cleared her voice, "Ah yes, well..."

The level of the wine bottle had sunk, and Scully could feel herself mellowing, not exactly drunk just pleasantly relaxed, and a part of her was outraged. This after all was *Krycek*, smiling, speaking easily and acting like they were old friends, not mortal adversaries.

It had been a hard year, working longer and longer hours to forget about Mulder, the pregnancy making her feel like shit.

The alcohol loosening her tongue -- hitting hard since she hadn't drunk anything for months -- she suddenly said, with genuine curiosity, "Level with me, Krycek, what it's like being ordered to go to bed with total strangers?"

He stared at her for a moment, and then he actually flushed. "Uh, Scully..."

"I mean it must be different for a man. A woman can fake it," she found herself stumbling over her words a little, "but umm... how do you do it?"

He stared at her and then he grinned, "Mulder's right, you do ask the damnedest questions."

"Well, I've always wondered," she admitted, burying her nose in the wine glass, red staining her cheeks.

Krycek shrugged, "It's not so different really. You can always get a physical reaction. As for the rest..." he paused. "A man can fake too you know." He smiled wryly, "you think sex is always great for a guy? Trust me, it can be boring and mechanical as hell."

She opened her mouth then closed it again. He chuckled softly easily reading her thoughts. "If you're wondering about you and I, then let's say that on a scale of one to ten where one is a job I'd rather shoot myself than do, and ten is absolute and utter bliss, then..." devilish laughter lit his eyes, "you probably end up around six or so."

A silence fell between them as Scully drank down some more wine, pondering whether she should feel insulted or not. But somehow, no matter how she tried, she was feeling more amused than irritated.

It was an irony she sometimes savored that of the three people Krycek had fucked over, personally and professionally, she alone -- unlike Mulder and Skinner -- had never thought of the few hurried furtive encounters in the past sharing a bed and a fuck, as anything but a good stress reliever. Nor had she ever allowed the hurried, clandestine hours they'd spent in a motel bed, to influence her feelings towards him. Hate him she did, cool reason undiluted by the memory of a mutual use of each other's bodies.

She could still appreciate Krycek's physical attributes, even with only one arm, perhaps even feel a brief rush of lust although she'd never act on it; her hormones at times were all over the place. No one had told her that being pregnant meant there were times her libido went into overdrive and she was ready to drag the nearest man she encountered into a bush.

Draining her glass, she said coolly, "Unlike, Skinner?"

He stilled. "What makes you say that?"

She looked down her nose at him, "Krycek, it doesn't take a genius to see the sparks fly between you two."

He didn't answer, eyes suddenly distant and blank.

Skinner was feeling not only weary but decidedly out of sorts as he pulled out the keys to his condo. Dinner had been less than pleasant, his 'old friend' blunt about the kind of rumors that floated around the corridors of power. He'd always known he was a marked man, but it was never very enjoyable to be told he was lucky not to be fired.

What had stunned Skinner most though was a clumsy, mumbled query at the end of the dinner; a thinly veiled suggestion to rent Krycek for the night. The price suggested by the red-faced and suddenly sweating man had Skinner more than a little stunned. It had also provided a painful reminder of what Krycek was.

The brutal truth that the choice had been death or life as Skinner's whore.

For that reason -- unable to hide his strong reaction, a mixture of disgust and rejection -- his refusal was curter than intended.

His 'old friend' said snidely, not hiding his disappointment, "Guess you want it all for yourself huh, Walt?" A leering ugly smile twisted the heavy jowled middle-aged face. "If what I've heard is true he must be a hell of a whore. I bet you've got him on his hands and knees begging for it every night." The sudden smirk made Skinner long to plant his fist in the slack-lipped face, even before Jack added, "I bet he's one wild ride," a sly wink, "especially if not too willing if you catch my drift. Hell, I always did like a freak, and it could be amusing seeing what he'd do to protect the one arm he's got left from being dislocated or broken."

"Go to hell, Jack!" He shook off the hand violently. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet with jerky movement. Removing some bills he threw them on the table, "to cover dinner!"

He rose, looming over the table. Tall, powerful, icy anger darkened brown eyes. "I'll say this once, stay the hell away from Krycek, and from me, got it?"

"Like crystal." Jack's small mouth tightened angrily. "The Consortium sure pays you well. Not everyone rates a possession like Krycek."

Feeling the sudden need for a shower, Skinner turned on his heel without another word and walked away ignoring the taunting voice behind him calling out, "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Driving back home, he impatiently loosened his tie with one hand, while maneuvering through the late night Washington traffic. Damn Jack and his insinuations! He and the rest of the gossipy bunch of old bitches had no idea what was going down between himself and Alex Krycek. They had no idea of the debt that Krycek owed - or how he repaid.

Waiting for the lights to change, Skinner rolled down the window, breathing in deeply of the cool night air. The memory of Krycek in bed earlier tonight, pale body writhing from the rough caresses abruptly assaulted his mind.

After a lifetime of wanting without satisfaction, of humiliating himself endlessly for access to Sharon's body, for the first time in his life he could take without asking, want without denial. Whenever he wanted, Krycek was there. On his knees, on his back, body offered in compliance.

A whore.

"... Should have seen the look on his face!" Green eyes were glittering with sardonic amusement.

Scully sighed. "What I wouldn't have given to be there!" A brief glance at her watch widened her eyes in alarm. "Is that the time? I must get home!"

Getting up, but tipsy from the glass and a half of wine she'd drunk, after abstaining completely for most of her pregnancy, she overbalanced and almost fell, Krycek catching her around the waist before she hit the floor. Landing on top, she stiffened angrily, pushing against him with both hands, the curses interrupted by the sound of the door opening and after a moment of incredulity, shutting with more force than necessary.

Inscrutable dark eyes surveyed the scene: the man leaning over the small curved body, smiling down in her face with lazy appreciation.

"Good evening, Scully."

She looked up a little blearily. "Hello, sir, I was just leaving."

"Don't leave on my account," Skinner said icily. Stalking upstairs, he resisted the childish impulse to slam the door behind him.

Behind him, Scully busied herself looking for her shoes, not sure how to react to Skinner's palpable anger.

"I should stay and explain," she finally said uncomfortably.

Krycek shook his head, a strange expression on his face. "No, go home, Scully. This is between Skinner and me."

"Are you sure?" she hesitated, while she really didn't want to stay, somehow she found herself reluctant to leave. There had been something in Skinner's eyes that sent shivers of warning down her spine.

"No, go on, Scully."

When Skinner came down again, dressed in a pair of well-washed jeans and a sweatshirt, he found Krycek alone, standing by the balcony door, a glass of vodka in his hand, staring outside.

"Reliving old memories?" The deep voice asked with heavy cold sarcasm.

The lean graceful body stiffened, but Krycek merely said softly, "Not really, just thinking." A swift look, "is there any chance you'll listen to what I've got to say?"

"You're such a slut," Skinner said evenly. "Couldn't do without for even a night, hmm?"

A dark head came up, green eyes glittering dangerously. "Fuck you, Skinner!"

An arched eyebrow, a deadly smile. "In your dreams, but I'll fuck you, and soon."

Krycek took a deep breath knowing it was hopeless. "Look, it wasn't what it looked like, okay?"

Skinner stalked forward, lips peeled back in an ugly smile. "I don't really care, Krycek." He pushed the younger man against the wall, fingers sliding through thick dark hair and tugging hard.

With a started yelp, Krycek jerked instinctively, the motion bringing his body up against the unyielding hardness of the man pushing him against the wall.

Anger sang through him, made him resist the arrogant demand that he submit. "Get the fuck away from me!" he spat, muscles tensing in rejection.

Taking Skinner by surprise, he even managed to get two steps before a hand around his neck pulled him up, the other spinning him around, a large fist in the stomach making him double over with a soft exclamation of pain. Vaguely he realized that by fighting he was giving Skinner exactly what he wanted.

The fight was as short as it was ugly. It ended as it had to with Krycek on his back, arm pinned over his head, helpless under the weight of the man straddling him. Breathing in short jerky gasps, he closed his eyes and surrendered the last of his illusions. In tense silence he waited for the punches, red pain blooming into ugly bruises, followed by the brutal taking, the male instinct at its most basic, claiming victory over enemy territory.

Skinner was breathing heavily, anger still thrumming through him. It would be too easy, and oh so sweet to take it out on the body between his thighs. To sate his rage in the man who surely deserved worse for his betrayals, for the deaths he had dealt others, far more innocent than he could ever aspire to.

He had already drawn his fist back for the first blow, when something in the stillness of the body caught him. Skinner suddenly hesitated, dark eyes trying to see through the gloom. "Krycek?"

"Just do it, Skinner," the toneless, weary voice froze him. "It's all that a whore like me deserves, right?" A sound that could in another time and place be called a laugh emerged, and was cut off abruptly.

A sudden shift, and the lean body turned boneless in surrender as Krycek spread his legs in a universal gesture of submission.

"God, I'm so tired..." He almost missed the soft, drained whisper.

"Alex - "

Neither of the men realized that it was the first time Skinner had ever called him anything but Krycek.

Anger died, replaced by shame. Shame and something hot and burning that filled his throat and tore at his heart and guts. Rising abruptly, he knelt, large hands framing Krycek's face so he could look into the pretty lying eyes.

Almost in wonder Skinner traced the finely honed features that created such an arresting whole.

Long dark lashes, fanned over pale skin trembled and lifted. A smile bitter as aloes twisted the finely sculpted mouth. "Do me a favor, Skinner." He shook his head, "don't bother with the lies, okay?" He pulled away, and Skinner let him go immediately, hands falling helplessly to his sides.

He stood for a moment, unconsciously posing, silhouetted against the light outside. Tall, slender, dark, he looked young and deceptively vulnerable.

Moving stiffly, with little of his usual grace, Krycek bent to pick up his shirt, not bothering to put it on, merely slinging it over a shoulder. In the door, he half-turned to look at the man sitting as if turned to stone. "Not that it matters, but Scully was picking my brains about the clones. She wanted to know if there are any more Emilys walking around out there, that's the only reason she was actually talking to me." He raked a hand through dark disheveled hair. "We may have fucked once or twice years ago, but basically she hates my guts." A swift humor-less smile. "Not that she's the only one."

"Alex..."

But Krycek was gone.

Sitting alone in the darkness, unable to get the image of Krycek stretched out on the floor waiting to be hurt and used out of his mind, a memory persisted in nagging at him. It had been one of the numerous fights he'd had with Sharon towards the end of their marriage. Or rather, she'd fought, yelled even, while he'd sat, calmly listening, not a muscle moving in his face. "You're such an insensitive bastard, Walter, you don't care who you hurt." She'd glared at him, the tears starting up. "Twenty years, and never once have you let me close enough to know the real you."

He had been unable to refute her accusation, exaggerated as it was. Almost two decades of marriage, of sharing a bed every night, and yet Sharon had been right, he'd never taken that last step, dropped all his masks, reached out to the woman who was his wife without reservation.

Tonight, his vision crystal clear, helped no doubt by the amounts of whisky he'd drunk, he knew with a sickening certainty that the only person who would ever break through the barriers built over a life-time of war and death was the man in the other room.

A man who had once killed him, who would no doubt do so again if ordered to by his masters.

A man who whored himself because of a debt incurred.

A man he fucked and used each night.

A man he hated.

Coming into the kitchen the next morning, Skinner found Krycek already seated at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. He hesitated briefly in the doorway, but for all his faults, no one had ever accused Walter Skinner of cowardice.

"Good morning," he said curtly before pouring himself some coffee, gulping it down. He glanced over at the dark head bent over a newspaper, even white teeth biting into a piece of a toast smeared liberally with honey.

"Good morning, what's the day's schedule?" Krycek's tone of voice was low, pleasant, giving nothing away.

"I have a meeting with Scully and Doggett later this morning," Skinner was deliberately casual, ignoring the minute stiffening Scully's name caused.

"Want me to stay out of the way?" Krycek glanced up, folding the newspaper neatly.

Skinner shook his head, "No, I want you to attend."

Picking up his cup and dumping it in the sink, Krycek said evenly. "Whatever you want, you're the boss."

"So you've said," Skinner gave him a long thoughtful look but said nothing else as he went to get dressed. Tightening the knot of his tie he glanced briefly in the mirror, seeing the stocky middle-aged man staring back at him. Shaking his head, he wondered, as he'd done so many times before, what the fuck he was doing. Surely the wisest course of action would be to get Krycek out of his apartment, out of his life.

He sighed, picking up his briefcase, knowing that he would never do it. After a lifetime spent devoted to duty, to doing the 'right thing' Walter Skinner would not easily give up the man in his bed.

The trip to the office was made in complete silence, Krycek repeatedly scanning their surroundings, wary and tense. Skinner, after giving him a thoughtful look, didn't say anything either.

Walking inside, showing his pass, waiting for Krycek, who always had to go through the metal detector, and who always got stopped by the guards, Skinner realized that even in the short time they'd been together, they'd adjusted to each other, to an amazing degree, as he waited, with barely concealed impatience for Krycek to emerge from the small room.

"Why don't you stop pissing them off?" he asked curtly as Krycek finally joined him, cocky grin in place, glancing over at the glaring sullen guards.

Krycek shrugged, "Wouldn't matter what I do. That bunch definitely doesn't believe in 'forgive and forget.'"

"What did you do to them?" Skinner asked resigned.

"Nothing," Krycek was all wide-eyed innocence. Abruptly he dropped the pose. "Their supervisor worked with me once on a case."

Skinner gave him a steady look. "He liked you." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, he did," was the soft answer. "And I liked him."

Something close to understanding flickered in dark eyes. "Not easy having to deal with everyone you let down and betrayed, is it?"

The moment of vulnerability passed as Krycek shrugged. "Nothing more, than I deserve, right?"

"Correct."

They said nothing else as they stepped into the elevator taking them to the sixth floor.

"Good morning, sir, Krycek," Scully walked inside the office followed by Doggett. Neat, dark suit, sensible shoes, every hair in place she looked every inch the efficient FBI agent she was.

"Good morning agents," Skinner greeted sitting behind his desk.

Krycek nodded briefly from his usual perch by the window, before returning to his study of the street.

Scully gave him a brief searching look before she settled on her chair, a note pad and pencil in her hand. "Sir, I've talked to Byers and they're digging through old databases on Halliwell." She flipped a page on her notepad. "I have also talked to Jameson about Peter Cardenza."

Skinner played with a pencil, "Cardenza? Ah yes, the smuggler."

So used were they to Krycek's presence by now, that none of the three FBI agents noticed the slight stiffening, the sudden alertness before Krycek slouched down to his usual indifferent sprawl again.

She nodded. "Exactly sir, we got a rather lucky break, his partners are willing to cut a deal." Scully smiled grimly, "the senior partner's daughter got caught in a drug raid a month ago. Daddy didn't want his little girl going to jail instead of Stanford and he rolled over without hesitation. It's our belief that Cardenza could be an important step on the road of cracking Thomas Halliwell. The two have had considerable business together in the past."

"Good job, Scully." Skinner complimented her briskly. "Please set up the operation."

They moved on to other topics, the inevitable paperwork and bureaucracy that dogged every government agency.

After his solitary lunch, nothing more than a quick sandwich in the cafeteria, Krycek was walking down the corridor on the way back to Skinner's office, oblivious to the many suspicious looks he encountered, the wry crook of his mouth the only evidence he may not have been quite as ignorant as he seemed.

"Krycek, a word with you?"

He turned at the sound of the voice, and waited until she reached him. "Yeah?"

"Err... is everything all right? Skinner didn't seem too happy about me being at his place last night." She hesitated but uneasiness at the memory of Skinner's icy rage last night pushed her on. "You explained didn't you?"

Krycek shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Scully."

She bit her lip. "I wouldn't want Skinner to get the wrong impression."

He suddenly smiled. "You're a big fraud, you know that?"

She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

In reply he leaned forward and kissed her hair, breathing in the light flowery scent of the herbal shampoo she used. "Tough, hard as nails, ice-queen Dana Scully. But underneath you're as human as the rest of us."

She blinked, hovering for a moment between anger and laughter, before laughter won. "Don't let it get around," she whispered in his ear. Then she was gone, leaving him staring at her rapidly departing back.

Krycek smiled strangely, watching the last flick of auburn disappear.

"Leave her alone," a voice growled in his ear.

He turned around and collided with the cold eyes of John Doggett. Krycek smirked. "Jealous?"

In answer, Doggett snorted. "Look, you may enjoy playing sexual musical chairs and screwing with people's heads, but leave me out of it. Scully's my partner so I protect her back. I also happen to respect her a hell of a lot."

A strange look crossed green eyes before Krycek suddenly chuckled softly. "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose." His voice slid effortlessly into perfect French, caressing the musical cadence.

"Mr. Skinner, are you ready to leave?" As always, Krycek was scrupulously formal and polite whenever there was someone else present.

Skinner looked up from signing a last batch of papers. "I'll be right with you," he spoke curtly while nodding his thanks to the quiet efficient blonde who was his secretary.

She took the papers and with a disapproving flick of her narrow grey plaid skirt she left, passing as far away from Krycek as was possible.

Smiling wryly, Krycek looked after the blond secretary. He realized Skinner was giving him a quizzical look and remarked idly, "I think I preferred Kim, I swear the temperature must have dropped ten degrees when I came in."

Taking his time, putting the black and gold pen back in its leather case, Skinner noted dryly, "You do have a certain reputation around here, Krycek. Christine doesn't approve of you, I'm afraid."

Sprawling down in the visitor's chair facing the large desk, Krycek arched an eyebrow, laughter dancing in his eyes. "What, little old me?"

Skinner just shook his head and picked up his briefcase. "Drop it, Krycek."

"Yes, sir!"

Following the broad back in its immaculate white shirt, Krycek allowed himself a rueful half-smile.

They were just about to get into the car when the attack happened, their only warning a sudden screeching of tires. Krycek reacted instinctively, and almost faster than the eye could follow he pushed Skinner to the ground, protecting the bigger man with his body even as he pulled his gun. Aiming and firing in one smooth motion he moved faster than seemed humanly possible. Laying down a hail at bullets he snapped at Skinner. "Stay down, dammit!"

Cursing vividly, Skinner pulled his own gun, crouching behind a dark green Toyota that belonged, he realized with a flicker of amusement, to the accountant in Finance. "How many?"

Flattening himself against the car, to make as small a target as possible, Krycek spat something unintelligible in Russian as a bullet whizzed past him so closely he felt the heat of its progress. He returned fire, watching another man go down. "I count eight, including the driver."

"Yeah, that's what I make it." Skinner almost flinched as another bullet embedded itself in the formerly flawless lacquer of the car door. He cautiously poked his head around, swiftly withdrawing it when the fire intensified. "Cover me!" he ordered, waiting until Krycek laid down a wall of bullets, before dashing across, returning fire, smiling in grim satisfaction as he watched another man go down.

Caught in the deadly crossfire, the remaining two would-be assassins broke and ran.

"No!" Skinner barked as Krycek made a motion to follow. "Leave it, Alex." It was the second time he'd used the name, and it brought up the younger man sharply.

For a moment he looked ready to argue, but after a long tense moment, Krycek sighed, relaxing fractionally. "Your call," he said coolly.

Skinner nodded curtly. Gun still at the ready as he approached the sprawling bodies. "You know them?" he glanced over at Krycek.

A shake of a dark head was the answer. "Nope." He shrugged, "but it doesn't have to mean anything. The consortium has quite a few bodies I've never seen."

Skinner gave him a sharp look. "You think this is Consortium?"

"Dunno, could be." Krycek knelt beside one of the bodies, rolling it over. "'Course it could also be someone who doesn't like your new friends." He re-holstered his gun, going through the pockets of the dead man swiftly and efficiently. Glancing over his shoulder, he said casually, "And here comes the cavalry, too late as usual."

Skinner looked up to see Scully and Doggett leading a group of FBI agents, all with drawn guns fanning out across the basement and his mouth curled in the same sardonic amusement that colored the husky voice of the man kneeling on the ground before him.

Some of the tension flowed from his shoulders and Krycek withdrew into his usual remote, watchful stance as Scully checked Skinner making sure he was unharmed.

Doggett's usually cool grey eyes were more than a little stunned as he took in the scene of carnage and the bodies. He walked over to where Krycek was leaning against a car. "You took out six men?"

Krycek shook his head. "Nah, Mr. Skinner got two of them," he smiled wolfishly.

Doggett glanced at where two agents were arguing animatedly over one of the corpses. From the direction of the frequent looks both men aimed towards Krycek, it was pretty clear what the topic of discussion was. "Still, four against one, that's pretty bad odds.

Krycek had already ceased listening, focusing on Skinner who was on the ground being fussed over by Scully.

Walter Skinner irritably batted away her hand. "I'm fine, Scully. My shoulder's just a little bruised from hitting the ground at the wrong angle."

"I' still want to take a look, sir," she maintained stubbornly.

He sighed, knowing just how tenacious she could be. "Fine, but I'm going home. If you insist you can check me over there." He stood up. "Krycek, get your ass moving."

"Yes, sir!" With a soft chuckle, completely unfazed by the surly reaction of the man whose life he had just saved, Krycek moved into his usual position, behind and to the right of his master.

FBI Headquarters a week later

Despite everyone putting in longer and longer hours, they registered little progress. As Krycek had said that first day, Halliwell was far too careful to leave an opening they could exploit.

Working mostly out of Skinner's office, Krycek was keeping his mouth shut and to himself, despite the slight easing of tension among the rest of the FBI ever since he'd saved Skinner's life, more or less, during the garage ambush.

Taking a break in his attempts to work through the layers of dummy corporations Halliwell had surrounded his operations in he glanced over to where Skinner was working on the endless paperwork that seemed to dog his existence. Rising and stretching, he ambled over to the desk looking down at the open file lying there. "Who's this?" he asked casually, holding up a black and white photo.

Stiffening, Skinner reached across the desk and tore the photo from Krycek's hand. "Give me that!" he growled.

Startled by the reaction, Krycek looked down at the paper beneath the photo, "Alan Thompson? I don't remember seeing him around Halliwell."

Skinner didn't answer but only said curtly, "I've arranged for you to work with Scully, I want the two of you to track down those records you were talking about earlier. None of our files mention their existence or we'd have been after them. Doggett is checking old contacts at Justice."

Krycek lifted an eyebrow. "You want me to work with Scully? If I don't get back, at least make her reveal where she hid my body."

An unwilling smile curled a corner of the stern mouth. "She won't shoot you on FBI premises, too much paperwork to fill out."

Krycek gave him a speaking look as he left.

Surrounded by row upon row of dusty files and folders they worked without speaking. Seated at a small table, dust motes floated in the light of the bulb hanging overhead. Some of the initial tension gradually dissipated, as they poured through endless files fortified by cups of truly exorable coffee.

Getting up to get another file, she glanced over at dark head bent over an arrest report thinking how easy it was to forget that once Krycek had actually been a good agent. For a moment she almost smiled remembering the earnest young man with the arresting eyes and terrible clothes.

"Scully, who was Alan Thomson?"

She looked up, obviously surprised by the question. "Alan Thomson? He is, or was, a senior FBI agent." Her face tightened. "He was killed in the line of duty two months ago, Skinner took it pretty hard. I know that they were close."

Krycek simply nodded, not revealing his dismay. Well, he had his answer. Hell, a man like Skinner probably believed in loyalty and friendship and all that shit.

Fuck.

Three hours later Scully shut the file she was reading with a snap. "I'm not sure where you got your information from, Krycek but I can't find anything to back it up." She eyed him with obviously distrust. "Tell me again exactly how you know that Halliwell keeps secret records."

Krycek arched an eyebrow. "He doesn't let it get around, but he told me years ago." He smirked, "at a time and place where, trust me, there was no reason for him lie."

"I don't need to know all the sordid details," Scully said repressively.

He leaned back, long slender fingers idly playing with a pen. "Actually, I'm not surprised that both the CIA and the FBI have failed. Thomas has a very sharply honed instinct for betrayal and he's made sure that his people are completely loyal."

"Does he trust you?" She didn't react to his casual use of Halliwell's first name.

Krycek blinked and then chuckled softly, "I doubt it. I don't know many people who do. What are you suggesting?"

She frowned, not answering that question directly, saying instead, " You think he's keeping the computer files and discs in his house?" She paused, frustration evident when she continued, "We can't get a search warrant for his house because we don't have the evidence, and we won't get the evidence because we can't get a search warrant. It's a classic Catch 22 situation."

He nodded. "And if I know Thomas right, he's keeping them very close." He looked up, "how by the book do you think Skinner wants this to be?"

"As close as possible. Why?"

A shrug, "Well, a prudent spot of B&E could solve the problem."

Scully frowned, "I don't think he's going to approve of that."

Krycek's grin was filled with mischief. "He doesn't have to know."

She almost rolled her eyes. "Grow up, Krycek. Unlike you I don't go out of my way to lie and deceive people, especially my boss, nor do I get a kick out of breaking the rules."

He shrugged, standing up and stretching to get the kinks out. "It was just a thought, besides Skinner's not above bending the rules when it suits him."

Before he could say anything else, the door opened and Doggett walked in. Ignoring Krycek, he told Scully shortly, "Well, he's not lying. I found someone over at Justice who'd transferred from ATF and he confirms everything." Doggett glanced over at Krycek, "he was mighty curious how the hell you know about them. According to Jake, Halliwell guards his records like they're a state secret, he actually had one of his own men killed for talking about them in a bar while drunk, that's how ATF learned they existed." Doggett was obviously pissed off. "They've been hoarding the info ever since, trying to get an edge. Dammit, I hate this inter-agency rivalry shit."

Krycek suddenly grinned. "I'll let you in on a secret, it's not so different on the other side."

"Hey, Doggett, got a minute?" Looking up from where he was searching for an arrest record, he saw Krycek slouching against the doorjamb in a way that no FBI agent would ever allow him or herself.

"What do you want?" he asked curtly.

Taking it as an invitation, Krycek sauntered into the room. "I've been told that you're not above breaking the rules once in a while."

Doggett gave him a hard look. "Who told you that?"

Krycek shook his head, "Not important. What I need to know is if you'd be up to some ah, private enterprise that'd get the job done."

Doggett frowned, "Keep talking."

Again Krycek shook his head, "Not here, too many ears around. Meet me in the coffee shop across the road in half an hour and I'll explain."

When Doggett entered, sniffing appreciatively at the rich scent of coffee, he spied Krycek sitting alone by a window table, an untouched cup in front of him.

Looking up as Doggett sat down, Krycek nodded once.

"Talk," Doggett ordered abruptly.

"I've nosed around, and I've been able to narrow it down to either his town house or the country place he keeps out at Cape Cod." Krycek frowned, "my bet is the Cape, it's got better security."

"There is no way we'll be able to get a search warrant," Doggett pointed out.

Krycek flashed a white-toothed grin. "Who said anything about asking for one?"

"I see..." Doggett slowly sipped his coffee. "You know what would happen if we got caught?"

An indifferent shrug of leather-clad shoulders. "If we do, just lay the blame on me, I don't mind taking the rap for leading another innocent FBI agent astray." Mouth quirked, "Besides we won't get caught, will we?"

Not answering, Doggett silently weighed the pros and cons. "Tell me something, Krycek," he said thoughtfully, "why are you so determined to get Halliwell? There's nothing in it for you."

Krycek smiled wryly, "Unfortunately that's not quite true. Trust me, catching Thomas means more to you than to me."

Doggett look suddenly suspicious, hearing the welter of conflicting emotions in the level voice. "Why do I get the feeling you know this guy a hell of a lot better than you let on?"

"Let's just say that we've run into each other from time to time."

Outside Thomas Halliwell's country estate

Krycek was already waiting when Doggett drove up and parked the car. He simply melted out of the shadows, making Doggett almost jump when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Turning, gun flashing out, he found Krycek standing behind him, dressed all in black a utility belt around his waist.

"You're on time."

It was Doggett's turn to be inspected and then Krycek seemed to relax slightly. "Good, you're dressed for the job."

"You thought I'd turn up in an Armani suit and tie?" Doggett asked ironically.

A sardonic grin acknowledged the reputation of the man against whom Doggett was constantly judged and mostly found wanting, at least by his partner and immediate superior.

All Krycek said however, was, "Come on, I've been scouting ahead and there's a place we can use to check what kind of security we're up against.

Flat on the ground, their position on a small rise hiding them from prying eyes they waited patiently to map out the security of their target. Weight supported by his elbows, Doggett spoke softly, eyes trained on the imposing country manor, "I just don't get you, Krycek."

"Get what?" Krycek, fiddled a little with the night vision binoculars he'd brought to scan the perimeter defenses.

"When I first heard about you from a friend at Quantico, I couldn't figure out just how you'd managed to infiltrate so easily. Your cover must have been fucking good to survive not only FBI's but Mulder's screening."

He shifted on the ground, trying to find a more comfortable position, "It's obvious what you and Skinner are doing," cool disapproval colored his voice, "but I've also seen the way he'll say jump and you'll just ask how high."

"Yeah, so?" Krycek seemed supremely unmoved by the less than flattering observation.

"You don't strike me as a roll-over. You're a murderous bastard and a traitor," Doggett said flatly, "I find it hard to believe you'd let even AD Walter Skinner walk all over you. Level with me, Krycek, what's your angle?"

Krycek took his time answering, peering through the telescope silently counting the number of guards. Finally he said softly, "You're right, I don't easily take orders," his mouth twisted sardonically, "which doesn't mean I haven't had to put up with some serious shit. Part and parcel of the trade I'm in." He shrugged, "Simple truth is that Skinner owns me, lock, stock and barrel."

Doggett turned his head and gave him an incredulous look, "Jesus, Krycek, how over-the-top is that? 'Owning'" he mimicked. "Unless you've totally missed it, the 13th Amendment means we don't believe in slavery in this country. I think we may even have fought a war or two to stop it."

"I bet you still believe there is a Santa Claus too," was the sardonic reply.

Doggett frowned, about to speak, when Krycek shook his head sharply. "No, listen! I've been owned most of my life, a tool to be traded, used and then dropped when I was no longer convenient." He laughed softly with little humor, "And no, I didn't like it, why the hell do you think I've got a reputation as a contrary bastard? No one, not even the smoker could ever quite break me to the leash."

Very softly he added, "Yeah, I'll jump at his command, I don't really have much choice, and " he broke off abruptly, "let's go! There's a change of guards coming up." He started to crawl through the grass, closely followed by Doggett.

"Shit!"

"What's wrong?" Doggett hissed, keeping a nervous lookout, ear pressed to the closed door of the lavish office they were in.

"It's not here!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Doggett came over and crouched beside Krycek staring into the open safe. There were neat piles of dollar bills, velvet boxes which when Krycek reached in and opened one, spilled out a treasure of gems and gold. "Shit, he must have taken everything with him."

Doggett suppressed a curse. "Now what?"

"We get the hell out," Krycek growled.

"Sound thinking," Doggett agreed, rising. Realizing that Krycek wasn't beside him, he glanced down to find the other man still staring into the safe. "Come on," he ordered.

Krycek didn't answer, contemplating the fortune inside the safe. "Hey, Doggett, want to add to your pension plan?"

"Jesus Christ, Krycek, we're FBI agents, not fucking thieves!"

A husky chuckle as Krycek rose, his hand full of diamonds and rubies. "I'm not."

"Krycek!" Doggett growled angrily.

"Relax, Dog-boy," green eyes gleamed mockingly in the darkness as Krycek easily avoided Doggett's rush. "I think we tripped an alarm, they'll know someone's been here, better we make it look like an ordinary break-in don't you think?"

Giving his companion a suspicious look, Doggett had little choice but accepting that Krycek spoke the truth, watching in sullen silence as the other man calmly stuffed his pockets full of gems and banknotes. "Let's go."

They reached the car without interruptions, and unlocking the door, Doggett hesitated, looking over the top of the hood towards Krycek brooding on the other side. "Sorry, we didn't get what we came for."

Krycek seemed to awaken from whatever dark thoughts had been occupying him to shrug, "Name of the game. Nice working with you, Doggett." He was about to say something else, but instead simply nodded once and melted into the shadows from which he'd come.

Getting into his car and starting the long weary drive home, Doggett reflected that despite spending most of the night with Krycek, on the kind of tight dangerous operation that usually bonded two people, he knew nothing more about the man called Alex Krycek than he did before tonight.

FBI Headquarters The Next Morning

Passing by the small lunchroom down the corridor, Skinner paused outside the door, when he heard Krycek's husky voice.

"... I told you, he won't sell me to the highest bidder."

John Doggett blinked not sure how to take the flat statement. "Uhhh..."

Green eyes shifted from anger to cool, ironic amusement once again. "Did I shock your fibbie sensibilities?"

"Corrupting my agents, Krycek?"

They both looked up at the deep voice.

"Is that possible, sir?" There was still a smile in the husky drawl. "I didn't think there were any more idealists around."

Skinner gave him a look. "You're the only man I know who can make idealist sound like fool."

"That's because 99% of the time they are one and the same."

"I think I've just been insulted," Doggett said dryly. He rose, "much as I've liked having this little talk, I've still got some things to do." He turned to Skinner; "I'll see you later this afternoon at the department meeting, sir."

When Doggett left, there was a long silence.

Krycek drained the last of his coffee. "It's strange being back here," he said abruptly. "Last time I walked these corridors I was - " He broke off.

"Playing a part." Skinner finished. "Geeky green agent worshipping at Mulder's feet." It slipped out a degree sharper than he'd intended.

Krycek chuckled softly, "Yeah, you know, I rather liked that Alex Krycek. He had something."

"He was certainly better than the Consortium agent and traitor," Skinner's voice was so dry it could have cut ice. "And infinitely better than the man who showed up pressing little buttons on his palm pilot."

It was like an old familiar melody as the trademark smirk spread across Krycek's face. "Yeah, well that was just payback for an extremely cold night on your balcony."

Skinner refused to take the bait, knowing how fast it could descend into punch and counter-punch, no less hurtful for being verbal rather than physical. He knew how easy it had been in past to take out his rage on the man in front of him. And he realized again that Krycek seemed to almost relish the return to familiar ground, to well-known hostility and anger.

"So we're quid pro quo now?" he asked mildly and was rewarded by confusion, quickly covered.

"Dunno, are we?" Oh yes, that was vintage Krycek, wary, wearing a small mocking grin that made you want to punch him in the gut.

"Oh, I think so..." His voice dropped a little, and as always Krycek responded to the change. He sprawled a little deeper in the chair, long muscular legs sliding open.

"Good, then why don't we go somewhere where you can fuck me stupid?"

A reluctant smile curled the stern mouth. "Is that your solution to everything, Alex?" The name came more naturally this time, sliding across his lips with ease.

Krycek laughed softly, rising in one smooth movement, "It's worked for me so far." He reached out, only for Skinner to step back, and his arm fell to his side. "Sorry, forgot," he said coolly.

It wasn't that he relished the thought of FBI agents snickering behind his back about being their AD's rent-boy, but Skinner's insistence that at work all personal contact was prohibited still irritated him. It wasn't even, recalling Doggett's words last night, as though they were fooling anyone.

Skinner seemed about to say something, to explain but it was too late as Krycek had already turned away, walls back in place.

At dinner that night, and when the hell had dinner become a natural part of their lives? Krycek wondered in mixed bafflement and frustration, he listened to Skinner talking on the phone with some unknown woman. Assuring her repeatedly that everything possible was being done. There was a tone in the deep voice he'd never heard before.

When Skinner came back to the table and sat down, dark eyes somber and frustrated, he knew instinctively who it had been on the other end of the line.

"You don't find it strange talking to this Thomson's wife, when the two of you were fucking each other?" He asked coolly, waiting for the explosion.

Skinner looked up from his food startled, and when he replied his voice was more amused than anything, "Alan was very straight and very, very married. Not everything's about sex, Krycek. What he was, was an old and trusted friend. We came up through the ranks together, he covered my back more than once, I'm godfather of their youngest son." His voice grew cold as ice, "He was a damned good man who deserved a better fate than being shot in the gut and knees and left to die in an empty warehouse."

More disturbed than he wanted to admit by the velvet thread of respect and affection in the deep voice, Krycek looked down at the fork in his hand, shaken by the sudden bolt of jealousy.

It would be foolish in the extreme to crave something he'd never have. To want something that Skinner would never give to a man like himself.

Respect. Friendship. Loyalty.

"So that's why you hate Halliwell?"

It was Skinner's turn to shrug, "Yes and no, I'd have gone after him in any case because of his crimes, but yes, Alan makes it personal. I *want* Halliwell, and I'll use whatever means necessary to get him."

*Including you.* His level look challenged silently.

A flash of anger heated suddenly slitted cat-eyes. It was irrational but the realization that Skinner was using him to avenge his good *buddy* made him angry as hell.

*Fuck you Skinner!*

He stood for a moment in the darkness gathering himself, the air sour and thick with smoke and reeking of human filth.

Walking through the park he felt the unseen eyes of predators watching him carefully from the shadows.

Old habits, old personas kicked in as he swiftly and silently made his through the darkness and the errant thought whispered through his mind that this was where he truly belonged, among his own kind.

The house had once been a marvel of red brick, gracefully arched windows and elegant proportions; when it was first built in the early decades of the century. In the here and now, gaping holes and rotting window-frames remained stark evidence of its status as a derelict, long abandoned by everyone bar the rats, human and non-human.

He was early, just as he'd planned. Waiting patiently, leaning against the wall, unheeding of the stench and filth surrounding him, he once again went through the reasons for coming here.

Hearing the steps in the broken stairwell, a wolfish smile twisted his mouth as he stepped softly to the left of the doorway, the door hanging broken and useless on rusting, bent hinges.

The man came into the room slowly, carefully.

Slipping up behind him, Krycek pressed the muzzle of his gun to the neck. "Hello, Cardenza, long time no see."

He stood very still, arms at sides, well away from the gun hidden beneath the dark coat.

"Krycek. I heard you were dead."

A sardonic tone, "I'm hard to kill."

A half-smile shaped Cardenza's mouth as he watched Krycek moving carefully, keeping his distance leaving no opening, until they were face to face.

They locked eyes: killer-to-killer.

"I wouldn't have failed."

"Perhaps, perhaps not."

A tawny eyebrow arched. "You gonna kill me?"

Krycek seemed to actually consider it for a moment, but then a smile that was no smile at all twisted his lips. "Not tonight."

"So why the set-up?" Cardenza seemed unmoved by the information that he'd survive to see another sunrise.

Uncocking the gun and raising the barrel in a mute sign of trust, Krycek replied, "No set-up. I just wanted to talk where no prying eyes could see us."

Putting his hands in the pockets of his coat, Cardenza said coolly, "Then talk."

"The Feds are on your case," Krycek said flatly.

The other man shrugged once. "They have been for a long time." There was little concern in his voice.

"It's different now."

"How so?"

"Your partners are selling you out."

That hit, as he knew he would. "I don't believe you!"

The knowledge of betrayal sat heavy and bitter on the broad shoulders.

Krycek smiled, self-mockery evident in the tone of his voice. "No? Do you know who is holding my leash these days?" He waited but there was no question, nothing from the man who remained so still he could have been carved from stone. "Walter Skinner."

That got a reaction, as he knew it would. "The man leading the FBI investigation?"

Ah, so Cardenza too had his connections. It seemed that more than one G-men could be bought. The thought amused him for some reason.

"Why the warning, Krycek?"

Another shrug. "I owe you for Berlin."

A brief hesitation and then, harshly, "Can you find out when they'll hit me?"

They both knew the promise implicit in the words. The debt incurred and acknowledged.

"Dunno. Perhaps. It's," Krycek hesitated and then said carefully, "not uncomplicated."

"You're under orders?"

Krycek nodded once. Pulling out a small bottle, he held it out to Cardenza who shook his head. Unscrewing the cap and taking a deep swig he felt the fiery liquid burn down his throat providing welcome protection against the rawness of the night. "You're just a small part of a much larger operation. Get out now, Peter, cut your losses and run."

Cardenza bit his lip. "I'll lose a bundle."

"Better than your life and everything you've spent your life building. I mean it. You don't stand a rat's ass in hell with your partners refusing to lift a finger to help you and the Feds determined to bring you down."

"I'll go tonight." There was a pause and the hard voice changed, "come with me, Alex?"

Krycek flinched. "I can't."

"They'll know who tipped me off."

A jerky nod. "I know."

"You'll be lucky if they let you live."

"I know."

"You're one crazy bastard, you know that?"

"Nah, being crazy would be taking you up on your offer. Besides..." he hesitated. "I'll take my chances Skinner's got enough pull that they won't kill me."

He hoped.

Cardenza gave him a long thoughtful look. "This being the man you just betrayed by coming here? I've heard of Walter Skinner, Alex and forgiveness for sins past is not exactly in his character."

Krycek didn't answer, but a bitter smile twisted his mouth. No, Skinner was not a man to forgive and forget. The first night of dark vengeance and pain had taught him that. He was reminded every time his new owner fucked him through the mattress, every time the other man looked at him as if he was a lower life form. Every time Skinner spoke the name 'Krycek' with cold sarcasm. Every time, Skinner baited him with icy mockery that scantly hid his contempt of one Alex Krycek.

"I know," he said softly for a third time.

A knowing leer curled Cardenza's mouth. "You've gotta be pretty sure that you're worth more to him alive than dead. Same old Alex, eh?"

There was no answering smile on the thin face. "I'm not sure of anything, Peter, except that I can't run."

The other man sighed. "I read you, Krycek." The name meant a return to normality, a shift away from intimacy. "We're more than even now, if there is anything I can do for you in the future..."

Krycek screwed the cap of the bottle back on, tucking it back inside his jacket. "Actually, there is something you can do. Recently there was an attack on Skinner."

"Who?"

"Dunno, but I recognized one of the guys, Bill Tolstoy."

Cardenza raised an eyebrow, "Tolstoy? Last I heard he was working for - " he broke off, light dawning in grey eyes. "Ahhh... yes, I see."

"If Harold's involved it can only mean one thing."

A long slow nod, "I read you. I'll make some phone calls. If it really *is* Harold," he broke off, swore, "Christ, they must be stopped!" He glanced over at Krycek, "and it means one more reason for you to get the hell out of Dodge."

"I can't." He could never explain to Cardenza why he had to stay. A year, a month, a week ago he would have simply run, using the funds salted away in numbered accounts and added to recently by the money from Halliwell's safe. He'd have counted on skills honed during a life on the knife-edge to avoid the Consortium's bounty hunters for a little while and determined to at least take some of the bastards with him when the time came.

He realized that Cardenza was watching him with narrowed eyes. "What?"

"That's the real reason you came, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your bull-shit, all that crock about owing me. If you hadn't wanted to know about Bill Tolstoy you'd have let me fry."

Krycek half-smiled, an enigmatic look in green eyes. "Maybe," his smile widened at Cardenza's snort of disbelief, "and then again, maybe not." He peeled himself off the wall, adding abruptly, "I'll be waiting for your call. See you around."

"Not if I see you first," but the tone was softly ironic, almost amused.

Peter Cardenza's House Two Days Later

"Damn!" Skinner rarely swore while on duty, but this time he thought circumstances warranted it. "You're sure?"

"Yes, sir," the voice of the FBI agent crackling through the radio conveyed both anger and frustration. "He's gone. Cleared out, not a trace remaining."

Skinner thought for a moment then ordered curtly, "Get whatever is left behind then return to base."

"Something go wrong?"

He turned and realized that at some point Krycek had snuck into the room. "Cardenza has flown the coop." There was little reason in not telling him the truth.

"Too bad," Krycek balanced his hip on the corner of a table. He looked uninterested. "So, do you feel like Chinese or Thai?"

"Krycek..." the growl was a warning.

As always Krycek dared to go where neither angels nor men ventured. "Italian then? I'm easy." The quirk of his mouth invited the obvious comeback.

Skinner ignored him, barking more orders into his walkie-talkie.

It was the beginning of a long and frustrating day. Peter Cardenza had been extremely thorough in his flight leaving behind him nothing but empty warehouses and wiped hard discs. In the end, Skinner and his team had to admit defeat, bringing back whatever they'd been able to find. They knew there were weeks of weary re-assembling and puzzling together of scraps, for probably little or no payout.

By the time they were in the elevator going down to the basement parking, Skinner was feeling a headache pounding behind his eyes.

"Hey," a soft touch on his shoulder made him turn.

Krycek gave him a quizzical smile, "You're looking pretty wiped out. What do you say to some takeout and a cold beer?"

Skinner closed his eyes for a moment, "You read my mind," he admitted wearily, allowing his body to lean into the touch.

Krycek stepped closer, blowing warm air into his ear, "Bet I can read your mind about the rest of the night as well." His hips moved, rubbing up against Skinner's hand.

Skinner laughed low, fingers tracing the outline of hard flesh through the denim. "You're such a slut, Alex."

The only answer was a shuddering breath as Krycek pushed his groin closer, hot impatient lips fastening on Skinner's neck, sucking hard. "Just the way you like, me, eh?"

Although Skinner smiled in agreement, a small voice at the back of his mind insisted with increasing force that, no it wasn't. He didn't want Krycek the slut, Krycek the Consortium whore, who spread for anyone who paid the price. He didn't want to stare into bottle green eyes and see nothing but emptiness and lust.

They had to step away from each other as the doors of the elevator slid open. A respectable distance apart they stepped into the garage.

"Mr. Skinner..."

The polite voice had them both whirling, Krycek pulling his gun and aiming it in one smooth move. "Behind me!"

Skinner tensed, but a quick scan revealed nothing more threatening than a man in a suit standing by a large black Mercedes. Curtly he ordered Krycek to put up his gun.

Obviously unwilling, Krycek obeyed, giving the car and the man a suspicious look. Then he seemed to relax fractionally. "It's clear, they're known," he announced.

Skinner frowned. "That doesn't exactly reassure me." He looked at the stranger. "I assume I have little choice?"

"Not at all, Mr. Skinner, we are not here to abduct you," a slight smile. "On the contrary, Mr. Smith would be honored if you would meet with him."

Walter Skinner sighed, "Very well, let's just get this over with." Automatically he glanced over at Krycek who was beginning to look tense. "Alex?"

"Let's go," Krycek agreed quietly, resignation in his voice.

The trip was made in complete silence, and as soon as the car slid to a stop, men stepped from the house and surrounded Krycek who was taken away.

"What the hell?!" Skinner started after them, only to be halted by a polite touch on his arm.

"This way, Mr. Skinner, Mr. Smith will explain everything."

"Where are they taking Krycek?" Skinner demanded, anger rising.

"As I said, everything will be explained by Mr. Smith." The younger man waited patiently until Skinner reluctantly followed him."

He sat in the darkness of his room, dark fury consuming him. The contents of a yellow folder spilled across the table. The storm outside more than matched the force of the anger rising and consuming him.

Once again Krycek had betrayed him. Once again he had let his guard down, fooled by a pair of green eyes and a body that begged to be used and taken. He had been so sure that never again would he fall into the trap. That this time he was armed. But, despite the hatred that festered inside he had been lured into a false sense of security by Krycek's apparently sincerity and the body that was offered so freely and expertly.

Standing up, scattering the pictures of Krycek and Cardenza caballing across the polished oak surface and the thick dark carpet beneath it, Skinner almost swore aloud at his own idiocy, the stupefaction he was unable to hide when Mr. Smith had calmly laid out the evidence for Krycek's duplicity.

"He must be punished, Mr. Skinner," the old thin voice had said, pale eyes watching him carefully.

Struck to the core of his soul by this new treachery and furious by his own stupidity, Skinner whispered a single word.

"Yes."

Lying in bed listening to the storm rage outside, Skinner grimly planned what he was going to do to a certain lying, traitorous rat bastard, and an immediate future that would involve quite a bit of screaming and begging.

Tossing and turning, he blamed his restlessness and inability to sleep on anger and the strange bed, not the fact that for the first time in weeks he was alone there. Closing his eyes, trying in vain to relax, Skinner realized that the soft patter of rain against the windows meant the storm must have passed - unlike his anger.

In the end, admitting defeat, he got up and turned on the light, pulling on a pair of pants and shirt. Knowing he'd be unable to sleep until he'd had it out with Krycek once and for all he decided that -- middle of the night or not --he was going to find the damned traitor right now and teach him a lesson he'd never forget!

Intent on finding Krycek he almost missed the faint groan that echoed through the dark hallway as he opened the door. But when the sound was repeated he froze.

Completely irrationally he somehow *knew it was Krycek, although he could not for the life of him explain why he was so certain.

The next high thin sound, more a moan than a scream had him running down the corridor, heart pounding. Slamming the door open, the scene that met his stunned eyes was straight out of a B-horror movie.

Krycek was hanging, literally, from meat hooks that had been driven deep into his flesh. Electrodes liberally dotted skin sleeked with sweat - and water. The sickly sweet smell of burned flesh permeated the room, the result of the open blistering sores. In one corner a still glowing branding iron was thrown carelessly. Blood dripped down his back and thighs, mute evidence of other even more intimate punishment.

Walter Skinner tasted the sourness of vomit on his tongue before he swallowed it down. "Let him down." To his own surprise his voice was actually steady, unnaturally calm. And when no one moved to obey. "Did you hear me?! Let him down!"

"Please, Mr. Skinner, this does not concern you."

Skinner whirled, meeting the pale reptilian eyes of Mr. Smith, his own dark with fury. "Is he, or is he not mine?"

"That was the original agreement, yes, and you have my most sincere apologies for assigning such inferior material to you." He gave the body hanging from the ceiling a venomous look. "I can assure you, that his replacement will be far more suitable."

"I don't want a replacement," and that Skinner realized with a sickening certainty was nothing less than the truth. "I want Alex Krycek."

The old man looked at him steadily. "I am aware that he is most skillful in bed, but rest assured that his replacement will be even better. I will see to the matter personally.

Fury almost choked him, which was fortunate or the impetuous words would have spoiled his chance of getting Krycek away from the chamber of horrors. "I don't mean in bed you fool! You had no right to punish him without my agreement."

"But, Mr. Skinner, we did have your agreement."

A movement quickly stilled made him look up and for a moment he looked into dark green defenseless eyes, before Krycek turned his head away.

Skinner swallowed around something painful. "I never agreed to *this*," he growled.

"You agreed he needed punishment, Mr. Skinner."

He wanted to scream - *Not this*! A few punches, some yelling, ending as always in bed with the mutual giving and taking of pleasure. "Get him down," he repeated tensely.

Another endless pause, as they stared at each other, and then, the old man turned his head and nodded to the silent torturers, "Very well, lower him."

Skinner didn't even glance at the body at his feet, restraining his first impulse. His voice was hard and cold when he spoke again. "I want him in my room, now."

Another curt nod and Krycek was being hauled away, less than gently.

There was mild disapproval in Mr. Smith's voice when he looked at Skinner. "I only trust that you will not have cause to regret your generosity, sir."

Skinner met him stare for stare. "I can handle him."

He turned on his heel and left.

Pacing the length of the room, increasingly twitchy and wondering if he should go after Krycek, Skinner had plenty of time to think of what he should have done differently. Dammit! He if anyone knew just how ruthless the Consortium could be. He should have realized what Smith was capable of. On the verge of leaving to look for Krycek, there was a polite knock on the door and when he called out a curt welcome, it opened and Krycek was, in a déjà vu of the first time, dragged inside by two of the Consortium's faceless goons.

To his relief he realized that the younger man had been roughly cleaned and bandaged, the burns covered with a whitish ointment.

Standing very upright, as if facing an executioner, Krycek was pale as a ghost, the only color remaining in his face gathered into the brilliance of too bright green eyes.

They stared at each other in silence, and then Krycek grated, "Well, what's the verdict?"

Skinner gave him a cold, disgusted look. "Let's discuss it later, when you're not about to collapse in a heap at my feet."

He realized that Krycek was swaying slightly and before the younger man had a chance to protest Skinner simply marched over, picked him up and carrying him over to the bed, dumped him in the middle.

Sitting down on the mattress, pulling up the covers, he felt a hesitant touch on his arm. He raised an eyebrow in a question.

"Why?" Krycek whispered through cracked lips.

Skinner stroked some damp limp strands of hair from his forehead. "Because, you dumb fuck, you're mine." He realized that he was reverting to a vocabulary more suitable for the marine he had been than the FBI AD he was, but there was something in Krycek, in his reactions to the broken body in his arms that drew an elemental reaction that belonged to the jungle not the corridors of FBI HQ.

Whatever it was he'd said, it seemed to be right, because with a deep shuddering breath, hovering on the brink of a sob, Krycek relaxed looking as vulnerable as it was possible for a six-foot, one armed assassin.

A knock on the door made them both stiffen, but it was only a silent servant entered with a tray that he placed on the table beside the bed. A curt dismissive nod from Skinner and he left as quietly as he'd entered.

Removing the silver cover, Skinner picked up the bowl of soup and started to feed Krycek, ignoring the weak protests. "Shut up and eat," he ordered curtly.

Krycek wearily obeyed, looking drained and sick.

Finally the soup was finished and the bowl put aside. Then Skinner leaned forward, a hand on each side of the body in bed.

"Why did you do it, Krycek?"

"Does it matter?" A listless shrug. "I sold you out."

Skinner resisted the impulse to shake the man in bed until his teeth rattled and all his secrets spilled out.

"I know you did, but what I'd like to know is the reason."

Krycek closed his eyes dark lashes starkly prominent against the paleness of his skin. "I owed him."

"Owed him what?"

So softly, Skinner had to lean forward to hear the answer, Krycek said, "My life."

"Talk to me, Alex." Quietly coaxing confidence, not demanding answers.

"He saved my life once, in Berlin. Two, three years ago." Krycek opened his eyes, looked at Skinner. "Look, he got a really raw deal, he didn't deserve being sold out by his partners. I'm not saying he's a saint, far from it, but he's pretty small and he's stayed away from the really dirty stuff, running drugs, assassinations."

Skinner didn't lose his frown. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Krycek's tired grimace could with a little imagination be called a smile. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey this guy you're after, back off 'cause he once saved my life?' I don't think that would have gone over really well with your bosses."

"You idiot," Skinner felt suddenly furious. "I could have pulled the plug on the operation, the only reason we ever got involved was because of Halliwell. We could have found another way to get to him. Trust me, the DD would have been ecstatic to have a reason to back out."

Krycek stared at him blankly, green eyes still brilliant and then he suddenly started laughing ending in a hacking cough. "I never thought..."

"That's your problem, Alex. You never think." When Krycek tried to speak Skinner laid a finger across his lips. "Shhh... We'll talk about it tomorrow. You should try and sleep now."

Pushing a wave of dark hair from a still damp forehead, Skinner watched as the expressive eyes slowly slid shut, the breathing growing slow and even.

"Look, I'm telling you I can walk." Krycek said stubbornly the next morning.

Skinner hesitated Krycek did look much better this morning. "You sure?"

"Oh for god's sake, Skinner!" A sudden burst of impatience, "I'm not some debutante! How the hell do you think I escaped from the crazy peasants after they hacked off my arm?"

Skinner swallowed, not eager to think of what it must have been like; that desperate flight across Siberia in winter with the shock of an arm roughly cut off and bound in a few dirty rags. He leaned forward and brushed aside some dark hair. "All right, we're leaving as soon as I can arrange a car."

Still, he was unable to hover a little as he saw Krycek settled into the back of the car. To their mutual relief, Mr. Smith didn't appear.

Once the estate was out of sight, Skinner turned around and released the breath he'd unconsciously been holding. He glanced over at the man beside him, and from Krycek's wry smile, he knew they were thinking the same thing.

He saw Krycek settled in bed, ignoring the younger man's protests that he was fine as he efficiently stripped the battered body.

Skinner's hands stilled, horrified recognition in dark eyes at the sight of the raw and burned patches of skin marring the strong graceful back and thighs.

Twisting his head, Krycek quirked a look of inquiry. Realizing what Skinner was staring at, he murmured ironically, "Not very sophisticated, are they? For a moment I thought I was in a South American jail." He actually smiled a little twistedly, "cigarettes, just to make sure I was awake between rounds, you know?"

Skinner didn't answer, but his fingers were light as butterfly wings, as he bandaged the burns, before tucking the covers around the too thin body.

"I'm fine," Krycek told him belligerently.

"Shut up, Alex!" Skinner said almost absently.

Krycek glared weakly. "When did you turn into a mother hen?"

Skinner gave him a pithy look. "When it became blatantly obvious you're incompetent to tie your own shoes."

"Fuck off."

He sat down on the side of the bed, sticking a thermometer into Krycek's mouth effectively silencing the griping. Checking the time on his watch, Skinner said casually, "I never thought you'd be so dumb, Alex. Letting someone taking pictures of you with Cardenza? Hell, even the greenest agent knows better."

Once again he ignored the muffled furious protests, efficiently checking the temperature. "Okay, it doesn't look too bad," he said finally. "I don't think anything is infected. Stay in bed today and I'll bring back some antibiotics tonight."

Krycek had remained very still during the examination, only his eyes following Skinner, listening to the deep voice. As Skinner tucked the covers around him again, rising, a deep shudder ran through the length of his body. Eyes trained on the man looming over him, he whispered a single word, "Why?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Skinner said calmly, "Because it has to stop somewhere."

He left, closing the door softly behind him.

Nodding his head, pretending interest in the never-ending droning of one of the FBI bean counters, complete with endless PowerPoint slides in bright colors, Skinner wished he could get the image of Krycek hanging from the meat hooks out of his mind. If he was honest, and he always tried to be, a large part of his edginess was the fact that he'd indulged in more than one fantasy that came uncomfortably close to the scene burned into his memory.

Yet, if there was one thing yesterday had made clear, it was the wide gap that existed between a vengeful fantasy dreamed up late at night after a half a bottle of scotch, and the ugliness of reality. What he had witnessed yesterday had shaken him to the core. Not just the casual brutality; his own reaction to seeing Krycek tortured and helpless.

Raw fury and rage hot enough to kill still consumed him at the memory. Krycek was *his* and his alone to use and abuse, and he'd kill anyone who dared object.

Cursing under his breath, it was an effort to pull his mind back to the accountant. Skinner was more than a little stunned by his own reaction. He was unable to point to the one moment where lust and possessiveness had gained the edge over hatred and bitterness. He was uncomfortably aware that his feelings had changed. He was equally certain that Krycek's had not.

Although - there had been times when he'd thought that... No. No, of course Krycek hated him, what man wouldn't after what Skinner had put him through? Besides, it wasn't as if he had ever been more than a routine assignment. Not for the first time Skinner wondered what Krycek had felt back *then*, when he'd first been ordered to whore himself to anyone connected with the X-Files who wanted him.

And why was it that he was even wondering what Krycek was feeling? That thought held his attention for the rest of the endless meeting.

Skinner was displeased but not really surprised when he returned in the evening to find Krycek up and dressed. Wearing jeans and an over-sized college shirt, with bare-feet, he looked more like a grad student than an assassin. Clearly subdued even as he helped Skinner unpack the Thai takeout and brought out the silverware and glasses, he moved a little stiffly but seemed otherwise no worse for wear, although Skinner made sure he swallowed the prescribed antibiotics.

Handling his chopsticks skillfully, Krycek concentrated on forking up his food, not saying anything, head bent. Skinner, after a long thoughtful glance did not break the silence until they'd finished.

"No, let me do that," he said when Krycek rose, taking his plate over to the sink. "You go rest on the sofa."

For a moment he thought Alex would refuse, protest, but after a brief hesitation, the younger man obeyed.

By the time Skinner was finished cleaning up, and went into the living room, he found Krycek stretched out on the sofa, deep asleep. With the wariness smoothed out by exhaustion, the restless eyes hidden by dark lashes, he looked absurdly young and vulnerable. Skinner smiled wryly, knowing it was an illusion. Alex Krycek was many things; innocent was not one of them.

Sitting down in the sofa, turning on the TV but keeping the sound low, only half his attention on the Knicks game, Skinner had plenty of time to think. When he had first made his offer, it had been pure impulse. Impulse, and the need for revenge. Since then he'd had plenty of time to wonder if his motives were not far more complex.

Lust was easily admitted to, other feelings less so.

Even now, glancing over at the sprawled body, his guts tightened with desire and something far less acceptable to a man like Walter Skinner. He had honestly believed that that was all there was, need and hatred. Only now was he dimly beginning to recognize the level of need, the complexity of his desire, the jumbled emotions of which hatred was only a small part.

His train of thoughts was broken off when Krycek stirred, stiffening, blind eyes going wide with pain and fear, before they veiled into their customary blankness.

"You look exhausted, Alex," there was genuine consideration in the deep voice, "Why don't you go to bed?"

Krycek blinked, uncertain. "What about you?"

"I'll be up in a little while."

When he walked into the bedroom Skinner found the lights still on, Krycek in bed, but awake, staring blindly at the wall opposite the bed. He didn't say anything, merely watched Skinner with unblinking eyes that could have been made out of glass for all the expression in them.

Going into the adjoining bathroom, Skinner returned with a white box. "Roll over," he ordered briskly, unscrewing the cap of a small tube.

Krycek stiffened, a flash of panic crossing his face, before it went blank and he obeyed, spreading his thighs wide. The only visible sign of distress was a strong hand opening and closing spasmodically.

Skinner frowned, noticing the tension but unsure of its cause. Somehow he doubted that Krycek was afraid of the pain or had experienced a sudden attack of modesty. With a mental shrug he dismissed the thought. "Raise your hips," he said, probing gently between two muscled ass cheeks.

"Skinner..."

He glanced up sharply at the strained whisper. "What?"

Krycek hesitated before he moved, twisting lithely until he was kneeling before Skinner on the bed. Looking up at the older man, his eyes for once were devoid of their usual mockery. Skinner watched as Krycek almost hesitantly ran his fingers along the strong jaw. Pressing a swift kiss there, he lingered, nibbling at the sensitive spot just beneath the ear, smiling at Skinner's sudden harsh breath. Moving closer, he lazily let his tongue sweep across smooth skin, moving lower, to gently suck in a hard nipple, chewing it exquisitely sensitive. His fingers meanwhile trailed across a the hard surface of a stomach corded with muscles, before moving lower, thumb gently tracing the sudden hardness pulsing beneath it.

Abruptly a strong hand closed around his wrist, stilling the movements and when he glanced in surprise at Skinner, the expression on the severe face was inscrutable.

"Alex, what are you doing?"

A quick tilt of the head. "If you have to ask, I'm obviously doing something wrong." He made another motion towards the hard cock, leaning down to slip it into his mouth.

Skinner gently but inexorably pushed him back on to the bed. Once again there was a swift shadow of something akin to fear before Krycek visibly forced himself to relax.

Raising himself on an elbow he hesitated. "Skinner..." There was something in the husky voice that caught the older man's attention.

"Yes?"

"Do me a favor?"

Skinner looked up. "What?"

"I'm pretty torn, use plenty of lube?"

Large hands stilled for a moment before automatically resuming their task of spreading antibiotic cream over the still raw wounds. Once he was finished, Skinner rose from the bed ignoring Krycek's puzzled look, going into the bathroom where he replaced the box in the cabinet and brushed his teeth. The prosaic tasks gave him the time to regain his composure and to think. Staring at himself in the mirror he saw stunned knowledge reflected in sickened eyes.

How the hell could Krycek even *think* that he was somehow required to fuck, when it was blindingly obvious that the last thing he wanted was sex?

Then again, why shouldn't he? Wasn't that the bargain -- a part of Skinner reminded him caustically -- they had made. No, that he had forced on Krycek. Be a whore. Take everything that an angry Skinner had thrown at him because it was that or be killed by the men who owned him.

Kill for me, boy.

Spread 'em, boy.

Closing his eyes in sudden pain, Skinner, turned the tap on full force spending a long time washing his hands, scrubbing them clean.

Coming back in, he undressed, all too aware of the wary silence of the man watching him intently. Naked, he slipped into bed and reached out to pull Krycek into his arms.

The younger man did not hesitate, fitting himself closely against the hard body spooning up behind, moving sinuously, obviously waiting for Skinner to claim what was his. All Skinner did however was to rest his chin against soft dark hair, strong arms going around the tense body. He almost smiled, all too aware of the suspicious, wary bafflement. Dropping a kiss on the dark head, he said deeply, "Sleep, Alex," curled around the long lean body, and promptly started snoring.

Krycek lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness.

Neither Skinner nor Krycek spoke much next morning at breakfast. Still, it was not an uncomfortable or strained silence, rather two men who found it unnecessary to use words to communicate.

Picking up his briefcase, Skinner said, "Stay here today as well, and since it's Friday you'll have the weekend to recover."

Krycek nodded, although his voice was more than a little wry. "You'll spoil me, Skinner. I'm okay."

Walter Skinner's smile was equally wry. "Yeah, I know. But, it's foolish not to take the chance to heal. You'll be no use to me if you catch an infection."

"You're all heart, Skinner." For the first time since Skinner had found him hanging from the meat hooks, there was a glimmer of the old Krycek edge.

Over the next week they established a different pattern from what had gone before. Despite Krycek's protests that he was fine, Skinner still insisted he stay at home and heal. Even after Krycek declared himself fit enough to return to guard -- and night -- duties, Skinner never touched him, except to gently clean the wounds each night, making sure they were healing properly and there was no infection.

Although neither man said anything, both knew instinctively that something had changed but into what, neither was sure.

Returning home the following Friday night, Skinner found that Krycek, as usual, had dinner ready. He'd revealed unexpected talents, and the casserole filling the air with a rich fragrance was merely the latest in his culinary offerings. Over a bottle of wine, the talk was desultory, but largely free of the tension and hostility that had colored most of their time before. He even went as far as sharing some pithy comments about some of the new agents assigned to his team.

Krycek wiped up the last of the gravy with a piece of bread. "Yeah, I bet you were pining for the good old days with Mulder making your life miserable and the smoker pulling your strings."

Skinner stilled, drinking deeply of the dark-red wine before replying. "He did, didn't he?" He chuckled softly, "I guess it's too easy to remember the past through rose-colored glasses."

Pushing back his chair, Krycek shrugged. "Not one of my problems." He still seemed subdued, the usual edgy mockery missing. Skinner found himself actually missing the sardonic humor and sharp ripostes that usually made any conversation with Krycek both exhilarating and frustrating.

The rest of the night was spent peacefully taking in a hockey game and Skinner's eyes were glued to the TV screen, where Joe Sakic had just scored a goal against the Capitals, when the phone rang shrilly. Picking it up, he growled, "Skinner here."

The voice on the other end of the line swiftly wiped all relaxation from his body. "Look, Mr. Smith, this is my problem, not yours." Skinner listened for a few moments, his face darkening. "Yes, I understand." He replaced the phone very gently, obviously controlling the impulse to simply slap it down.

"Who was that?" Krycek asked eyes narrowed in sudden wariness.

Skinner's frown deepened as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. "Your old friends are less than pleased that so far we haven't been able to catch Halliwell. Let's just say that Mr. Smith was regressing into old habits," his mouth twisted.

Krycek sat up abruptly, cursing. "Smith is a snake."

Skinner exhaled slowly. "So I'm discovering." He was about to add something else but instead closed his mouth with a snap.

Krycek smiled wryly, "Let me guess, he's still pissed that you kept me alive."

Skinner gave him a long look. "Do I want to know why he's got a grudge?"

For the first time in days mischief lit the expressive cat-eyes. "Get your mind out of the gutter, I never touched him, or he me. As far as I know he's 100% heterosexual and devoted to his wife." Krycek actually smiled, albeit ruefully, "It will sound so stupid."

Skinner merely lifted an eyebrow and Krycek sighed obeying the unspoken command, "This was years ago. Smith had a protégé whom he thought a lot of." He shrugged, "I guess you can even say the guy was as close to a son as you can get in the Consortium. He really did love that boy." Genuine regret crossed his face, was reflected in the soft voice. "I got pissed, especially since I was in a lot of trouble with the smoker at the time. Christian was naive as hell. It wasn't hard to convince him to come play some private games. We were discovered of course, but I'd covered my ass, Christian hadn't. Smith pulled the trigger himself. He could never prove I'd been behind it, but he was always suspicious. If I wasn't so damned useful I'd have been dead years ago."

Skinner was silent, unpleasantly reminded once again of the latent viciousness and deadly potential of Alex Krycek. "How old were you?" he asked aloud.

"Fourteen, fifteen."

That brought him up short. "Jesus, Alex, when did you start working for the Consortium?"

Another shrug. "There has never been a time I haven't." He smiled again, less pleasantly this time. "Let's just say that it made for an interesting childhood."

Skinner had to resist the sudden impulse to reach out and enfold Alex Krycek, rat bastard, traitor and killer in a hug. Instead he reached over and grabbed another handful of popcorn, eating it slowly.

He was aware that Krycek was once again watching him steadily. "And if there's one thing I learned it's that you don't get something for nothing. So level with me, Skinner, what do you want? I just don't get it, I would have thought after what I did you'd have been more than happy to see me feed my brother rats. Instead, you've twice over saved my life." The words were dramatic, the voice matter of fact. He hesitated then said softly, "I can never repay that debt, and so I guess whatever you want to do with me I'm yours." He shook his head, a swift smile flitting across his lips. "And not only for the Consortium."

Skinner looked for a long time at a man with too many titles: Assassin. Whore. Traitor.

Also, quite possibly the most dangerous man he had ever met. "Are you always this submissive?"

Krycek's smile was dry, filled with self-mockery. "Not by nature, no," he admitted huskily.

It came to him then with sudden bitter clarity that although he'd had the body, and would again, he had never possessed Alex Krycek. For a moment the temptation to simply *take* what Krycek would not give voluntarily burned like fire.

There was in him a want, rapidly turning into obsessive need, to have more of this man. More than the supple body, opened and vulnerable in surrender. More than the efficient deadly skills that guarded his back and kept him alive. More than the occasional flash of true desire he'd caught in smoky green mirrors, reflecting his own lust back when he was buried deep in the tight heat of Krycek's ass. He wanted everything. Everything that Mulder, that Scully, that none of the thousands of casual fucks Krycek must be mentally comparing him against hadn't had.

He wanted the key to the mind and heart and soul of Alex Krycek.

Not even when he was young, and his blood supposedly much hotter, had he been overly possessive or jealous, preferring to focus his intensity on matters he deemed more important than exclusive fucking rights to a body. It had once driven his wife into the arms of other men, to provoke from him some reaction, or so she'd thrown at him in one of the fights that had shadowed their life together.

Slowly eating the last of the popcorn in his hand, Skinner wondered if this was a none-too early mid-life crisis? Was he turning into a senile old man, grasping greedily for a youth he could no longer claim?

"You're thinking too much," a smoky voice whispered across his skin, wormed itself into his soul and heart.

He leaned back, felt the touch of lips on his skin, nibble lightly then move down his neck as a hand slid up beneath his shirt, teasing his nipples until they were hard points of flesh.

Finally, Krycek turned his head, licking the remaining salt off Skinner's lip, nipping none too gently at the light swell. Thrusting his tongue deep into the hot, sweet cavern repeatedly, his movements mimicked the deeper even more intimate possession that would come.

They were both breathing harder by the time they had to pull apart for air.

Skinner twisted, pulling the willing body around, over the backrest of the sofa so Krycek was on his back. "You," he said calmly, "are a tease."

Krycek grinned up at the man looming above him. "Not at all, a tease does just that, tease. I am perfectly willing and happy to follow through on anything you want." His smile widened as his legs sprawled open in blatant invitation.

Skinner bent down, tasting the willing lips, stroking them open with his tongue, enjoying the husky moans and wordless sounds of desire.

Lifting his head briefly to relish the sight of Krycek's surrender, Skinner murmured, "What I want you is you, Rat," whispered against the hot damp skin, swallowing the other word that hovered on his tongue.

An impatient hand pulled him down, as Krycek arched his back, rubbing against Skinner, as shameless as a cat in heat. "I want you too, now shut up and get over here."

"Tsk, tsk, such impatience," he was unable to resist mocking.

"You're driving me crazy!" The still battered body moved in unmistakable invitation, but Skinner who was carefully watching each fleeting expression crossing the striking face, was swift to note the flash of uneasiness before long dark lashes fell, effectively hiding leaf-green eyes.

He frowned. In the past sex had been dirty and hard. While Krycek was easily aroused, easily satisfied with a token stroke, a few rough caresses, before offering up his ass or mouth to be fucked, Skinner wanted tonight to be very different, he wanted tonight to be more than mutual. The smile that curled his mouth then was pure evil as he considered his options.

He sobered abruptly at the realization that, although Krycek had not spoken of the past, or of the more recent 'punishment' of torture and rape, something in the eyes, an occasional bitter twist of lips, the self-mockery of word and look, told Skinner of the dark memories haunting Krycek. Or perhaps it was merely that for the first time, he'd taken the time and trouble to look beyond the actions and taunting words Krycek used to keep the world at a distance.

These thoughts had taken no more than a moment and now he turned all his focus back to his fallen angel.

"Lie back, Alex," he instructed, voice dropping to a deep drawl then smiled at the sudden wariness flashing across Krycek's face before he obeyed. Leaning over the tense body laid out on the sofa, Skinner said softly. "Do you know what I'm going to do?"

A mute shake of a dark head was all the response Krycek allowed himself as Skinner toyed with the zipper of his jeans, running a finger along the seam, pressing lightly, watching with almost clinical interest the slow shudders. "I'm going to make you scream tonight, Alex."

A heavy hand on a well-muscled chest prevented Krycek from moving just before Skinner, with agonizing slowness, ran strong fingers down smooth flanks, lingering over the little hollow, bending his head and pressing a kiss right there, just above the curly dark hair revealed by the peeling back of the denim, enjoying the husky moan so much he did it again. Looking up, he caught his breath at the sight of dark-green eyes dilated with arousal, lips dark red and full. "Lift your hips," he said huskily, pulling off the well-worn jeans and dropping them on the floor beside the sofa.

Pausing briefly to survey the feast before his eyes, the tall sinewy body, narrow hips moving restlessly, the hard cock rising sharply from between strong muscular thighs, Skinner caught his breath, heart pounding hard. Faithful to his vow, he didn't act on the need that ran like fire through him.

Instead he ran his fingers along long legs, massaging lightly, using only fingertips when stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of the thighs. Rewarded by a muffled curse and still avoiding the now weeping cock begging to be touched, he knelt between the spread legs, tasting, licking, nibbling at the tempting expanse of smooth skin and corded muscles.

Krycek tried to sit up again, chest heaving, skin slicked with sweat. "Christ, will you just hurry up and *fuck* me?!?

"All in good time, Alex," Skinner growled, pushing him back down. A wicked light transformed the usually somber brown eyes. "I like you exactly where you are," he paused, "on your back."

Brilliant green eyes blinked and then to Skinner's delight, Krycek actually blushed, groaning as Skinner bent his head and fastened on one pink nipple, sucking the sensitive flesh into hardness.

"Ahhhh! Fuck, Skinner!" The words ended in another breathless moan as Skinner bit into the erect nub of flesh. Shaking from head to feet, hips thrusting helplessly, needing to rub against something, to find the friction that would relieve the unbearable tension centered in his cock and saturating every over-sensitive nerve-ending, Krycek once again tried to sit up and reach out, only to be gently but firmly pushed back down.

"No, lie still. Don't move." Lifting his head from where he was licking the crystal drops of sweat breaking from pale skin, Skinner smiled at the inarticulate sound that was all Krycek could make. Yet there was a sudden sting of sadness, as he silently marveled that so little could so easily arouse a man who had spent so much time in the beds of strangers.

Greedily watching the play of expressions; the flash of primal need followed by bewilderment, sudden anger bit deep. He wondered if any of the many men who had used the strong graceful body before him, had bothered with seduction, or even gentleness. It was swiftly followed by shame at the memory of fucking Krycek with no thought or consideration for anything but the fact that he possessed a hot mouth, skilled hands and tight ass.

He was not a gentle man by nature, or so Skinner had always thought. Tonight he discovered in himself the desire, more the need for gentleness, perhaps even tenderness.

Using hands and mouth and body he drove Krycek to the brink again and again until the naked writhing body beneath him was soaked and dripping in sweat, the husky voice hoarse from cursing and screaming.

Blinking back sweat, smiling fiercely, he captured lips already swollen and tender from the force of previous kisses. "Mine!" he gasped. "Say it."

"Yours..." Krycek whispered, pulling Skinner down over him, wrapping his legs around the other's back. He moaned, rubbing his bobbing cock against the roughness of a hairy chest. Then sighed in relief as Skinner's fingers closed around the deep purple head, thumb running along the distended vein on the underside of the throbbing hardness.

He screamed again, eyes rolling back at the sensation of lips closed around his cock, sucking, taking him deeply. Where the hell had Skinner learned how to blow someone? That was his last coherent thought before he erupted, coming until it felt like every last drop of come had been squeezed out of him.

Exhausted, panting heavily, trying to catch his breath, he only dimly felt Skinner stretch out behind him on the sofa, spooning up behind, their legs tangling, those tormenting hands began to wander across his body again. Although he would have sworn he was too satiated to get it up again, to his vague amazement, Krycek felt his body stirring into life again as Skinner stroked across the flat planes of his stomach, playing with dark red nipples, before moving lower, rolling the heavy balls, sheathed in surprisingly soft skin, hefting their weight in his hand.

Closing his eyes, lassitude weighing down his body, he shivered at the first touch of lips against the nape of his neck. Teeth scraped lightly, and he shivered again, moaning faintly. "You're killing me, Skinner."

The soft slurred words cut through the air with the force of a whiplash as Krycek stilled abruptly, waiting for the inevitable retribution.

Once again Skinner managed to confound him. A moment's silence and then the broad chest behind lifted and fell as a soft chuckle rumbled through the tense silence. "You'll have to admit my way is more pleasant than yours."

Slowly relaxing again, still bewildered by Skinner's unexpected behavior, Krycek's reaction was pure instinct. When in doubt, act. Raising himself slightly, he allowed his hand to slide down a broad back, briefly cup a hard ass cheek squeezing gently before curling around the hardness of arousal, fingertips exploring the silky skin, tracing the curving length with practiced, teasing caresses. Rewarded by the sudden harsh breath, the involuntary moan of lust, he almost smiled. Reaching up and placing little nips along a harsh jawline, hard enough to bruise, he said huskily, "Don't you think you've played enough?"

Skinner groaned deeply, hands coming up to grip Krycek's shoulders, as he pushed him down on the sofa.

Although Krycek laughed low, throat arched and bared in surrender, for a brief moment there was a flash of guardedness.

Instinct told him the cause for the sudden wariness. Leaning forward, he kissed Alex slowly, savoring the spicy taste, the tongue twining around his. He broke off to smile down into bemused cat-eyes. "Trust me?"

There was a long silence and for a moment Skinner wondered if it was too much, too fast. To ask trust of this man who had never trusted. Slowly, Krycek nodded. "Yeah."

Once again something strange, almost wistful moved behind green eyes as he mutely offered himself, everything he was to the man looming above.

The first touch of the finger sliding inside made him stiffen, but Skinner stilled, waiting, the only motion a tiny delving of a fingertip, exploring the tight heat, until it found a slight bump. Gently caressing it caused Krycek's hips to jerk spasmodically, back arched. "God!"

Skinner gently bit into the softness of an ear, whispering, "Like that, did you?"

Krycek didn't reply in word only the frantic twisting of his body, the reddened cock weeping so temptingly that Skinner couldn't resist bending down and giving it a long, slow lick even as he added a second finger, carefully stretching the tight muscle. He had never bothered with this before, simply slamming home, and the wince, Krycek's pain had simply added to the pleasure. Tonight he rediscovered the pleasure once found in the simple act of *giving* pleasure.

Adding a third finger, Krycek's body moving in rhythm, as they dug deeper, then withdrew slightly, Skinner relished the sight of the striking face slack and defenseless in need, the dark head tossing from side to side. Finally, when he judged that Krycek was close to coming, he withdrew, twisting to grab the lube he'd put on the sofa table earlier.

When he turned back again, he found Krycek watching him with amused eyes, an enquiring lift of a dark eyebrow the only comment.

Skinner laughed deep in his throat, moving between two long muscular legs, hooking them over his shoulders. "First thing you learn working with feds, be ready for any situation."

Krycek closed his eyes, raising his hips. "Just shut up and fuck me," he groaned with heartfelt sincerity.

With a single clean stroke, Skinner buried himself to the hilt inside the tight heat. He was rewarded by a long slow shudder as Krycek flexed his hips, taking Skinner even deeper.

"God, yes!" Skinner was never sure who moaned the words, him or Alex, or perhaps they both did, minds moving in the same rhythmic unison as bodies.

It was hot and fast and deep, and far removed from whatever they'd done earlier. Sweat poured off Skinner as he grunted softly with each heavy thrust, palms slicked with sweat and slipping has they slid along hot damp skin, sculpted strong muscles and flat planes.

Keeping his eyes open, he found himself almost as aroused by the sight of Krycek lost and helpless in desire, as by the tight gripping of muscles around his cock. Finally letting go his own iron control, he gasped, the rhythm growing irregular, more urgent. The coil rising, enveloping him in white heat as he came, pouring himself into Krycek's body.

Slowly catching his breath, Skinner propped himself on his elbow, thoroughly studying the graceful, sinewy body laid out before his eyes. Opening one drowsy eye, Krycek caught the study and a dark eyebrow rose in question, wry amusement shading the husky voice, "See anything you like?"

Skinner shook his head, an answering smile shaping his mouth. "Yes, as you very well know." Suddenly he sobered as large blunt fingers traced the graceful sweep of hip and the flat planes of a muscular stomach, smiling at the answering deep breath, the shifting of a boneless lithe body. "You're so fucking responsive," he said softly, wonderingly.

Arm behind his head, lazily stretching, green eyes slid close again. "Yep, a real hedonist." There was a tiny mocking tone in the drowsy voice.

That sobered the older man, as nothing else would have. "What I can't help but wonder is how much is real and how much is a survival instinct, Alex?"

Green eyes snapped open as Krycek stiffened. "You son of a bitch," he breathed out softly.

He tried to jerk away from the steely grip around jaw that held him still and open for inspection. Skinner was stronger, and after a short, futile struggle, Krycek surrendered, letting Skinner do whatever he wanted.

What he got was a soft touch against his lips, asking, not demanding entrance. A gentle chewing on his bottom-lip, a rub against his cheek, even as those damnably gentle hands stroked down his body, gently seducing, not greedily grasping, until he was breathing in gasps. What he got was a deep voice rasping in his ear, "Open your eyes, Alex."

When he cracked a slit open suspiciously, it was to find dark brown eyes smiling at him, something in their somber gaze making his heart pound faster.

"That's better," Skinner shook his head. "Christ, you're wary. When are you going to accept that I'm not about to hurt you?" His sweeping gesture took in their position, the coiled tenseness of the tall graceful body laid out on the sofa like a sacrifice.

Krycek swallowed, hating the uncertainty clawing inside him. He didn't know how to deal with this. The raw heat of lust. That he knew. What he had never expected was the tenderness, seduction, lo - his mind shied away violently from the word. "It's... I - what the hell do you want from me?"

"Everything, Alex, and nothing."

He spat a curse in Russian. "Riddles."

Skinner shook his head. "Nope, it's very easy actually." His eyes narrowed. "You're mine." It wasn't a question.

Krycek turned his head, feeling himself on safer ground as he placed a light kiss into the palm of the hand that held his jaw. "Yours," he agreed, "bought and paid for."

Walter Skinner bit back his first instinctive response. "If you weren't, ah, bought and paid for, would you still be here, Alex?"

In reply Krycek shrugged. "Does it matter?"

He looked for a long time at a man who had known too much fucking, too little love in his life. "Come on, let's go to bed, it's getting late," he said quietly.

It wasn't until they were in bed that Skinner spoke again. "Do you remember the first time?" he asked abruptly.

A dark eyebrow quirked a question. "You mean the warehouse after the Peter's case went down?"

Skinner nodded.

"How could I ever forget?" Krycek smiled wryly, "I thought you were going tear a piece of my ass off for going in without back-up," his smile widened, "and so you did, just not in the way I'd thought."

Skinner didn't smile in response, remembering the man and the lecture that had turned into something else as the most junior of all the agents in his team had cocked his head, humor sparkling in clear-green eyes. He had found himself stumbling on the words, the first crack in the wall of professionalism. Had to avert his eyes from the earnest, contrite young face.

When he'd looked up, something had shifted, the face no longer quite so innocent, so puppyish. There had had been something new in the green eyes that met his so steadily. A secret knowledge, a smile, a heat to which he found himself responding helplessly.

In a succession of motel rooms in beds with broken springs, in back alleys with mortar and bricks digging into his back, in the dark anonymity of the backseat of a car, he had fucked and taken, and in that process been fucked over himself, taken by the darkness which had dangled the bait of a graceful body and arresting face in front of his hungry eyes.

For Alex Krycek he had broken every command he'd ever lived his life by.

No one under his command.

No men where there was a risk of being discovered.

No one he didn't trust.

Yet despite the price he'd paid, the price he continued to pay, Skinner found himself unable to wholly regret the past. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell the chalk, dust and sweat mingling into a heady aphrodisiac, his skin tingling alive to the touch and feel of the pliant willing body bent over the desk in an empty classroom.

"Did the smoker order you to go after me?" he asked aloud.

"Yeah, they wanted a hook, and figured out I'd appeal," something ugly shimmered in green irises for a split moment. "Why do you think they assigned me to the x-files hmmm? It sure was 'cause of my pretty eyes."

Skinner rolled over, pulling Krycek with him until the younger man was half lying on top of a broad chest, as Skinner propped another pillow under his head. "Your eyes are too pretty actually," he said thoughtfully. "Your type has never really appealed to me. I've never liked a pretty boy."

"Well, thanks a lot, Skinner," Krycek jeered, starting to pull away.

Skinner held on to him easily, almost absently. "No, you are not my usual type, too pretty, too," his mouth twisted, "dishonest, you lie as easily as you breathe, you have no morals, you've betrayed everyone who ever trusted you, you kill for money, you once killed me."

Anger and apprehension surfacing, Krycek started to try and wriggle away. "Makes you wonder why the hell you ever let me back into your bed." He could just as easily have been up against a stonewall and soon gave up physically trying to get away. Instead he met the impassive eyes defiantly staying very still, waiting for whatever Skinner was going to do.

He knew there was still bitterness over past actions, past betrayals, the darkness of their history was neither forgiven nor forgotten; he had seen flashes of it beneath that severe AD surface the other man maintained.

He could take the pain easily enough, it was what he'd been trained for, but for some reason he didn't want Skinner to hurt him, foolish as the thought was. So sure was he of the path the man in bed with him would choose that the first slow stroke down his spine made him flinch violently.

Immediately his jaw was lifted, held gently as Skinner stilled, giving him a long searching look at him. "Alex?"

He shook his head, something thick, hurtful blocking his throat. "Nothing!" He leaned up, offered his mouth and body, wanting to lose ancient pain, ancient regrets in the heat of need. Skinner was too perceptive.

Framing Krycek's face between his hands, he said incredulously, "You thought I was going to hit you."

"I - "

Silencing him with a gentle finger against his lips, Skinner shook his head. "You really thought I was going to hurt you?"

While the truth sounded suddenly sordid, ugly, he found himself unable to lie. "Yes."

"You're a fool." The words were brutal, the tone far from it. "A fool and wrong. I don't play games in bed."

The words hung in the air between them.

Lies.

The memory of a dark blood-soaked night.

"No," a rough whisper, "oh no, Alex. That wasn't sex. It was - " he faltered, the words fumbling into silence.

"What was it?" The question was more curious than hostile.

Skinner hesitated, but it was after all the least he owed Krycek, an explanation if not an excuse, not for the inexcusable.

"It was hatred," he said finally.

A sudden stillness like the calm before a storm.

"I see." Krycek said distantly.

Skinner shook his head, sitting up, arms crossed across the powerful chest. "I doubt you do." Not looking at the man beside him, he stared at the opposite wall. "When I was dying, I told Scully not to revive me. I didn't want to live, not if it meant I was nothing but a puppet on a string." He glanced over at Krycek, "want to know something funny?"

A slight shrug seemed to indicate interest, so Skinner continued "It wasn't until I saw you in the hospital that I decided to fight. Before that, I was pretty much ready to just call it a day. But the moment I realized you were lurking in the fucking corridor I got so pissed I'd have done anything to live just to get even."

He turned then, leaned over the younger man and framed the thin face between his hands. "You make me lose control, you always did, and there was a time when I would have killed to get it back." It was said matter of fact, only the slight narrowing of his eyes, betrayed the lingering uneasiness at the admission.

"But you still saved my life."

Skinner smiled crookedly, "I found that pleasant as the fantasy was, reality is that you're more interesting alive." Rolling over, he bent his head and drank greedily from the firm lips that opened willingly.

Finally lifting his head to break off the kiss, watching Krycek, he said, "My turn to ask you something."

Mouth swollen and red, Krycek smiled lazily, "Shoot."

"You've never been anything but willing, even that morning, why?"

He blinked. "What - " he broke off abruptly. "Oh, that."

Dark eyes were as somber as the deep voice. "Yes. That."

Krycek looked away. "Yeah, I was pissed as hell. I'm many things but a masochist isn't one of them. What you did fucking *hurt*. I guess, the truth is that I've been hurt worse and lived, and you did owe me for the nanocytes." A humorless smile twisted his mouth for a moment. "Besides, you may think yourself a hard ass, Skinner but on your worst days you could never match some of the shit I've dealt with."

He paused, before adding with a hint of coolness "Actually, I expected you to do it again, since you seemed to enjoy it so much."

A shudder ran through the large frame. "Never."

Krycek studied the strong, homely features of Walter Skinner. "No..." he said slowly. "I guess you wouldn't." His smile was very different this time. "And there's your answer."

Skinner shook his head, a matching smile lightening his eyes. "You're one crazy bastard."

"You just realized?"

Laughter rumbled from a broad chest, as Skinner settled down. "Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir."

Much later, watching the sleeping man beside him, face relaxed in repose, Alex Krycek made a silent vow. No matter what, never again would he let Skinner suffer for his sins, past or present.

If Skinner had thought that the night would diminish Krycek's wariness, break through the barriers his rat had spent a life perfecting, he couldn't have been more wrong. He got a first warning the next morning walking into the kitchen for breakfast.

Although Krycek greeted him civilly the green eyes were shuttered, and the body, when Skinner paused to kiss the bent neck, stiff. "Alex?"

"Yeah?"

Skinner frowned, "Something wrong?"

"Nope. Are you planning anything special today?"

"Hmmm... not really." Skinner glanced over to where Krycek was on his feet, standing almost at attention. "Is there anything you'd like to do?"

"Me?" For a moment Krycek looked disconcerted, as if he'd seldom been asked the question.

Skinner hid a smile. "You. Do you have any hobbies?" It came to him then how little he knew this man who had wreaked such havoc on his life, the man he was seriously starting to suspect he couldn't live without. "Surely you don't spend all your time lying and cheating and stealing and killing?"

Relaxing fractionally, Krycek actually smiled. "Pretty much yes, hey this is hard work, y'know."

Skinner just shook his head. "Well today we're not going to do any stealing, cheating or killing." He cast a look outside. "It's too beautiful a day to be cooped up here, let's go for a drive."

"A drive?" Krycek frowned. "Where?"

"Not going anywhere in particular, we'll find a place to have lunch, watch the ducks," Skinner replied easily.

Still confused, Krycek simply shrugged. "You're the boss."

"No," Skinner said with a little more force than necessary. "No, today there's no Consortium, debts or bosses."

Krycek said little as they drove out of the city. Receiving only monosyllabic answers to his remarks, after a while Skinner concentrated on maneuvering the car through the traffic. It wasn't until they had left the city behind that he relaxed slightly, glancing over at Krycek who was staring out the window, face blank.

"Alex, if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"

A pause, and then Krycek said softly, "Yeah."

"What is it about last night that bites your ass so badly?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, " Krycek said automatically.

"Bullshit. You've hardly said a word all day and while the silence is a pleasant change from your usual sarcasm, by the look on your face your thoughts are not exactly filled with sweetness and light."

Still staring out the window, Krycek didn't answer at first. It was not until they'd driven for another fifteen minutes that he suddenly said, "You're changing the rules on me, Skinner."

Breaking to let the bright red SUV filled with kids and dogs and holiday gear in front of them turn, there was a smile in the deep voice when Skinner replied, "I didn't know there were any more rules to be broken, Alex."

"See! That's exactly what I mean!" he burst out. "When did you ever call me Alex? Even before when - " he broke off abruptly.

Skinner turned his head. "When I what," a pause and then very deliberately, "Alex?"

Krycek bit his lip and refused to answer.

Skinner spent another long moment studying him in silence, before an impatient honk of the car behind him, had him shift gear and gun the motor. "Talk to me," he said with all the quiet force honed by over twenty years in law enforcement.

"Forget it," Krycek just shook his head stubbornly.

Knowing when to push and when to back off had always been one of Skinner's strengths. Changing the subject he spoke instead of the countryside they were driving through. "When I first started working for the FBI I used to drive down here sometimes over the weekend, find a small hotel or inn and go hiking." He shook his head, smiling at the memory of his younger self. "Washington and the Bureau could be overwhelming to a kid like me."

Surprise flitted across the graceful features next to him. "And here I thought you were born in a Brooks Bond three-piece suit, I didn't think there was anything that intimidated you, Skinner, certainly not the feds."

Skinner smiled ruefully. "I only wish. I grew up on a farm, Alex. Before I joined the Marines I don't think there was a Sunday I didn't go to church. God and country, that's what I was taught to believe in." He shifted in his seat, dark eyes suddenly hard and distant. "Didn't take more than few weeks in 'Nam to lose faith in God. Country - that took slightly longer."

"Never believed in either," Krycek said philosophically.

"Which rather begs the question," Skinner shoot him a look, "of what do you believe in?"

A pause, a mirthless smile, "Not, much, Skinner, not much at all."

After a leisurely lunch at a small inn, they drove steadily for another hour through flourishing fields and orchards, neat white farmhouses and stately manors flashing by.

"Where are we going?" Krycek finally asked.

"To one of my favorite places," Skinner replied slowing down and turning into an almost empty parking lot. Parking the car they got out, Krycek glancing around curiously.

Skinner watched with a slight smile, before putting the car keys in his pocket and setting a steady pace across the path through the grass.

It wasn't until they reached the top of the hill overlooking the lush grass covered fields that Skinner spoke again.

"Have you ever been here before?"

Krycek shook his head, "Nope. Where are we?"

"Gettysburg."

Running a hand through dark hair, Krycek grumbled, "Why the hell did you drag me here?"

Skinner didn't answer. Instead he asked quietly, "Is there anything you'd be willing to die for?" A wry half-smile, "I already know there are plenty of causes you'll kill for."

Krycek turned his head giving Skinner a swift glance. "That's a strange question."

He shrugged, "Not really." He looked out over the peaceful rolling landscape, "More than half a million men were killed either on battlefields like this, or through disease and sickness, Alex. Died violently as our country bled and tore itself to pieces, and all for the simple belief, that all men are created free and equal." His voice deepened, turned reverent as he softly quoted, "Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure."

He paused, smiled, "There's quite a bit more, I won't bore you, but it ends with what I've always thought are some of the most beautiful words any man has ever written. 'It is for us the living rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work that they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth.'"

Krycek was looking not at the battlefield but at Skinner. "You forget the fact that the war was really about political power, and economics. The north was just extremely good at wrapping the package in a way that would appeal to the population."

Skinner didn't seem fazed by the pointed reminder. "True, without the economics and the fact that the North was industrialized and coveted the south's natural resources, the power brokers in Washington would have been tempted to just let the south go. But I'm not talking about the generals and politicians or the businessmen who profited, I'm talking about the hundreds of thousands of men, many of them little more than boys who really *believed* that they were fighting to end slavery, and who were willing to die for it."

"Jesus," Krycek shook his head, "you really believe in this shit."

Skinner half-smiled, "Yes, I do, Alex. Why do you think I learned the address by heart? Without ideals, convictions or morals, we have nothing."

There was a kind of wonder in Krycek's eyes. "I never could figure you out, Skinner, how the fucking smoker could jerk your leash so easily."

Skinner's mouth quirked dryly. "Oh, I was easy enough to hook. It wasn't only you, Alex. He held out a carrot as well. In the beginning I did believe that what he was doing, what he wanted me to do was important. By the time I found out the truth," he paused, "I was in too deep to back off. So I just tried to play along, while doing everything I could to work against his little plans. Keeping the X-Files open and Mulder digging were just one of the things I did."

"Yeah, I remember he used to curse, say you weren't worth the trouble and that he should just have you shot." He hesitated briefly before admitting, "I always did wonder what it'd be like to have your - convictions."

Skinner reached out a hand, waited until Krycek hesitantly took it. "You're a better man than you think, Alex. I know what you've done," wryly, "and you're not a saint, far from it, but you don't give yourself enough credit. When the chips are down, you've made the right choices."

"You're a fool," Krycek said weakly.

Skinner chuckled, "We'll see." He was swift to notice the hint of hesitant wistfulness.

Walking back to the car, the sun beating down on their heads, the only sound the soft rustle of the wind through the grass, Skinner kept Krycek's hand in his all too aware of the frequent uncertain, pensive looks, Alex gave him. Yes, Skinner thought with an internal sigh of satisfaction, it would be all right.

He was wrong.

"...back off, Smith! You have no authority to order me around." Skinner listened for a moment, and then answered coldly, "nor do your threats impress me. Kindly remember that Krycek is *mine* and that I don't take kindly to any further interference."

Turning to hang up the phone, he found Krycek watching him. "I take it you heard that."

Krycek bit his lip. "Smith is pushing again isn't he?"

Skinner shrugged, "Not your problem."

He stared at Skinner. "You're kidding?"

Holding out his hand, waiting until Krycek slowly came forward, Skinner pulled him closed, ignoring the tenseness of the body in his arms. "As you've reminded me more than once, you're mine, and that means no one else gets to threaten you, okay?"

"No, it's not okay," Krycek's voice was slightly muffled against Skinner's shoulder, "You have no idea what the hell you're dealing with here." He shivered at the light touch stroking down his spine, trying to focus on their discussion. "If you lose an argument it's not just a matter of not getting that the next promotion, you end up dead. Got it?"

To his shock the deep rumble that emerged from Skinner was laughter.

"When did you decide that I need protection, Alex? I can take care of myself."

That was such a blatant lie, Krycek almost laughed. "You may think so, Walter," he didn't notice the way Skinner stiffened at his use of the name, too intent on making his point. "But what the fuck were you thinking of, getting tangled up with the Consortium?" He shook his head, "a guy like you don't belong there."

"What, an upstanding member of community?" Skinner asked dryly.

Although Krycek chuckled, leaning forward and kissing Skinner instead of answering that was exactly what he did think. A man like Walter Skinner had no business in the shadows.

A large hand slowly tangled in thick dark hair, cupped his nape. "Why do you care, Alex? With me out of the way you'd be free."

He flinched, head coming up. Dark eyes watched him with a strange intensity sending a frisson of fear down his spine. "No, without you I'd be dead."

"So it's all self-interest?"

"What else?" He asked nonchalantly, pretending not to notice the flash of something akin to disappointment, quickly hidden.

The sudden shrill blare of the cell phone made him flinch before he could stop it. Cursing himself for demonstrating just how jumpy he was, he took a step back before answering. "Yeah?"

He listened in silence for a moment, and then spoke a single word. "Where?" A brief pause and then, "okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes. You delivered good, I owe you one." He turned the phone off and looked at Skinner with obvious relief, "Gotta run, I've got a meeting."

"Should I ask whom with?" Skinner asked, releasing him reluctantly.

A trademark cocky grin. "No need to get uptight, it's just an old friend with his ear to the ground."

Then he was gone, leaving the man behind listening to the sound of the slamming door.

"You've got more lives than a pack of alley cats," David greeted him as he stopped by the small table in the quiet restaurant.

Krycek allowed a hint of smirk to cross his face as he sat down. "Tell me something I don't know."

"How about this? Your Mr. Skinner is in big trouble. Smith is after him." It was David's turn to smirk. "He surely didn't appreciate Skinner saving your ass."

Green eyes narrowed. "What are we talking about?"

David sipped his drink, "The killing kind. He *really* doesn't like you, Krycek, and he was extremely disappointed when Skinner intervened." He paused and added, "Smith is looking for allies."

"Does Skinner know?"

"He'd be a fool if he didn't."

Krycek frowned. "Keep talking."

"A serious power struggle is coming. Skinner has been going against Smith a little too often. He's opposed policy and persuaded quite a few other members of the executive to his point of view. Word is that Smith is regretting asking Skinner to join and looking to take him out."

Stifling a curse, Krycek allowed no emotion to cross his face. "How much support has he got?"

David shrugged again, "Pretty even so far, but Skinner is trying to play it fair and you know what that means."

"Yeah."

"Krycek, there's something else you should know."

Something in David's voice alerted him. "Talk to me."

"Your boy Halliwell has allied with the aliens. The slick wet kind."

This time he did swear. Softly and with great intensity. "He's gone too far!"

David smiled mirthlessly. "I guess he figures he's got nothing to lose. He could be right."

"Does Smith know?"

"Why do you think he wants Halliwell so badly? 'Cause he sold some people down the river? Be serious."

Krycek rose abruptly. "Appreciate the chat, David. I owe you one."

"Yeah, you do and don't think I won't collect."

Krycek had already turned away when David added quietly, "Watch your step. Smith really does want you dead."

Leaving the bar behind, Krycek walked down the deserted street with long even strides. He was so focused on the information that he didn't hear the steps behind until it was almost too late.

It wasn't until he felt the first touch of fingers on his jacket that he whirled, going for his gun, having it out and lined in the space of a single heartbeat.

"Fuck!"

The man standing before him looked like an accountant or perhaps a bank teller. Small, stooped and thin, with the kind of non-descript face that is so easily forgotten he seemed utterly harmless.

As Krycek watched in sick fear, fighting nausea, pure terror screaming up his spine, black slowly welled up into the man's eyes, obscuring the pupils as he slowly transformed into one of the deadliest creatures alive.

It spoke slowly, voice gurgling wetly. "Alex Krycek, it is time we spoke of Thomas Halliwell..."

Only silence greeted him as he unlocked the door to the condo and he realized Skinner must have gone out.

Casually throwing his leather jacket across the back of the sofa, he headed towards the liquor. Pouring a shot of vodka, he tossed it down in one sweep.

Sloshing a second shot into the glass, his mouth twisted into a bitter smile. It seemed they were out of time and options. Ah well, he knew, had always known the one way to get to Thomas.

Glass in hand, he wandered off to towards the sofa, when he suddenly caught the reflection of himself against the glass of the balcony door. Halting for a moment to study the tall figure, dressed in jeans and a shirt, he wondered once again what the hell it was that so many men, and women for that matter, found so irresistible about the face he stared at each morning in the mirror. People had called him beautiful, something he had always secretly despised even as he ruthlessly used it. Then there were his fucking eyes. Cat's eyes, someone had once told him that they added an irresistible aura of mystery and sensuality. Krycek almost snorted aloud, kicking off his shoes and stretching out in the sofa, but leaving the lights off and the television silent and dark.

When Skinner came home, he found Krycek standing on the balcony, looking out over the city.

"Hey." He draped a friendly arm over broad shoulders and felt them stiffen briefly before relaxing. Once again Skinner wondered what in Alex's past had made him so body shy. He seemed to know how to touch people for two reasons only -- sex or violence.

Skinner on the other hand had been married for over seventeen years, and in that time another body in his bed had become natural. While not exactly the poster boy of new age sensitivity he was a tactile man, comfortable with his body and its responses to both pleasure and pain. After the divorce he had missed the casual everyday touching that he and Sharon had shared, even if the gesture was more out old habit and politeness than anything else. Growing up a normal healthy boy in a small town, there had also been the usual teenage fumblings with giggling blushing girls, even a few awkward encounters with other boys.

There were times when Krycek reminded him of a wild animal, poised always for fight or flight, as ready to turn and savage you as to run. Taming his Russian assassin would not be easy, he thought with a hidden smile, slowly massaging quivering muscles, loving the transformation as Krycek sighed softly and melted into the touch

He did not possess the faith that carried Scully through her darkest moments, the belief that men are born good. He had seen too much true evil in his life to believe in redemption or forgiveness of those who have sinned. Yet, as he watched Krycek pull back into himself, apparently frightened by the simple act of being treated as a human being, he felt both anger and sadness. It had been too easy to forget in his hatred and lust that for all his actions, Alex was nothing more, nothing less than a human being. A man who bled and laughed and cried.

Increasingly he came to see that in the past Alex Krycek had been little but an object, a symbol of everything that he had wanted and hated and lusted after.

The reality was a man with a dry ironic sense of humor and an eclectic taste in everything from books to movies and politics, who could argue the value of Proust and Monty Python with equal passion. A man who never forgot to screw the cap back on the toothpaste, and hung his clothes neatly but always scattered his socks over the floor. A man who never spoke until his first cup of coffee and loved sushi. A man he found himself sharing not only his bed but also his life with.

A man he wanted forever.

To Skinner's frustration, instead of moving forward, and the more he tried to show through actions, not unreliable words that could too easily be misunderstood, that the past was just that; the past, the more Alex seemed to withdraw. More than once he'd caught a look of something close to panic in the green eyes, just before Krycek snarled something that in the old days would have been the beginning of a fight. Skinner's refusal to be drawn, to play the familiar game, had shifted the balance of power as nothing else could have done and it was evident in Skinner's calm self-assurance and Krycek's sullen compliance.

In bed each night they were back to performing. Flawlessly, skillfully, but performing nonetheless, and Skinner found himself unable to break through the barriers his own actions and words had erected between them. At a time when he was finally beginning to admit to himself what Alex Krycek meant to him, his dark fallen angel had slammed up all his defenses.

Watching Krycek move around the room with a grace that was enough to make the blood pound in his veins faster than ever the nanocytes had managed, Skinner almost despaired. "Alex?"

"Yes?" A dark head whipped up, and like an obedient dog called to heel Krycek came to him.

"Sit down, please?"

Instead of sprawling on the sofa as he would have done a week ago, Krycek settled for a sort of half-crouch on the floor, as if unsure he had the right to even the faint comfort of furniture.

There was a long silence as Skinner, suddenly uncertain of where to start, simply contented himself with reaching out and stroking the dark sable hair. Krycek half-closed his eyes, and purred in response, moving closer, until he was kneeling between Skinner's legs. A quick tilt of the head, an assessing glance from green eyes and tentatively he reached for the zipper.

"No," Skinner said deeply, pain biting deep at the flinch, the bleakness that settled on the wary face, before Krycek started to move away. "Why don't you just sit here, with me for a while?"

Obviously uncomfortable Krycek hesitantly obeyed, letting Skinner tug and place him, until he was resting against a broad chest, head tucked in the curve between neck and shoulder.

Skinner breathed out slowly, content. "That's better," he rumbled.

They sat in silence for a long time; the only sound Billie Holiday crooning in the background. Finally, Skinner shifted slightly, "Alex..." He whispered.

"Mmmmm?" Krycek seemed almost to have fallen asleep.

"I'm sorry."

The soft words stiffened every muscle in the hard body he was holding. "Sorry for what?"

Skinner rested his chin on top of a dark head. "For not realizing what I was agreeing to."

There was a long silence and then, Krycek said quietly, "S'okay, I deserved most of it."

"Wrong, no one deserves what they did." Skinner growled, remembered anger coloring his voice as he ran his fingers down a rib cage a little too well defined for his taste. "And especially not you. Shall I tell you what I've learned in the weeks you've lived here?"

He waited until Krycek nodded once, reluctantly.

"I've learned that you've got guts and loyalty," he smiled a little grimly, "and a distressing streak of independence." He hesitated knowing it must be dealt with sooner or later, "you were supposed to kill me, weren't you? With the nanocytes."

Krycek went absolutely still. "Yes."

Skinner bit into the tempting curve of a slender neck. "So why didn't you?"

A muffled groan was the answer. "Don't think I wouldn't have. But Orgel was such a bastard and, shit, you didn't deserve to die." Turning his head, green eyes for once were open and vulnerable. "But if it had come down to a choice, I'd have killed you to stay alive."

Skinner just nodded, not surprised or angered. He lightly traced the shape of a short straight nose, the swell of lips. "I know you've always been the ultimate survivor."

"Yes." It was said with defiance. "I always survive."

"But at what price, Alex?" Skinner asked quietly, enjoying the sensual yielding, the faster breathing pattern of the man in his arms.

Krycek shrugged, confused, but prepared to humor Skinner. "Whatever it takes."

Skinner's smile was bittersweet. "Friend of no one, being no one's friend. You never did answer my question that day, is there a cause you'd die for?"

The answer was soft but firm. "I'm not you. I don't sacrifice my life for anything or anybody."

In a seedy bar at two thirty in the morning nursing a beer, Krycek recalled his own words. His mouth twisted. He'd meant them so what the fuck was he doing here? Why was he putting his ass and life on the line? Because Thomas had crossed the line? Because whatever Skinner had been trying to tell him that day, had touched something deep inside he hadn't even been aware existed?

"Arntzen. I was wondering if you'd have the balls to show."

He turned slowly at the sound of the cold, mocking voice.

He could do this, of course he could. This was his world. It was who he was. Rat. Survivor. Killer. Liar. Whore. All of them true labels, none of them pretty. Then again, neither was he.

"O'Reilly. What cesspool did Halliwell fish you from?"

The other man snarled. "I wouldn't be so smug if I were you. This time you won't have the damned smoker running interference."

He smiled without humor. "I never needed the smoker to cover for me." A lie and they both knew it.

"In your dreams, Arntzen, or Krycek or whatever the hell your name is." O'Reilly smiled coldly. "Mr. Halliwell wants to see you."

"Let's go." Krycek swept the rest of his lukewarm beer and stood up. Oh yes, he could do this.

The room was private, as was the man who sat leaning back easily into the expensive chair behind the large carved oak desk. Priceless art adorned the dark-red silk covered walls, matching a carpet thick enough to muffle the sounds of approaching steps completely.

Watching him carefully, Krycek thought he wore the room with the same casual arrogance as his two thousand dollar suits.

"What do you want, Krycek?" There was no pleasure in the cool voice.

A crooked wry smile. "Would you believe I'm about to do you a favor?"

Thomas Halliwell snorted in disbelief. "The only favor I want is for you to die screaming in agony hanging from your balls.

Krycek shot him a look of mock-sorrow. "And here I thought you'd been missing me."

The only answer was another hard look. "In your dreams." But there was a hint of something darker, more intimate in the cold grey eyes.

Krycek sat down, unasked. "Let's cut the crap shall we? Coming after you was business, nothing personal, so no hard feelings?"

Thomas Halliwell gave him a steady look. "Maybe."

The dark man leaned forward, leather creaking. "I have a business proposition for you."

"I'm listening."

"I want away from the Consortium," that at least was true, Krycek thought. Always mix your lies with the truth.

Halliwell's lip curled. "I don't believe you. You've been the Consortium's creature since the day you crawled from the mud."

"Unfortunately true," Krycek agreed with a hint of genuine ruefulness. "But, the Consortium isn't what it once was. And I'm getting too old for this shit. I want out." And that too was no less than the truth. "But, to do that, I need help."

"Give me a reason for helping you."

"I'll pay and well."

"I can get more from the people after your tail, Krycek. Try again."

This was what he'd wanted to avoid, although he'd known all along it was probably impossible. "Name your price, Halliwell."

A hint of satisfaction. "Two things, a hit and you."

A slow exhalation of breath, an almost smile; the price was less than he'd expected. "I'll kill for you, who is it?"

"Jean Baptiste St. Just."

He stilled. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

Halliwell smiled frostily. "That's my price, take it or leave it."

"It's a deal." Krycek rose to leave.

"It's half the deal." The soft voice froze him in his tracks.

He swung around. "Why? Don't tell me you lack a body or two to fuck."

"True, but they wouldn't be you, would they?" Halliwell stared at him, the grey of his eyes hot and covetous. "You know how many years I've wanted you?"

"Too many, Thomas let it go." Their eyes met, dueled silently. "We were just a pair of crazy kids back then."

"Kids or not, you owe me, Alex."

"Owe you what?" He looked angry for a moment. "My life, or a fuck?"

"Both."

He hesitated a moment, then almost shrugged. *What the hell*. "Fine. I'll contact you when the hit is done, then we'll complete the deal."

"I'll be waiting."

He tried to be as quiet as possible opening the door to avoid waking Skinner. However, all the effort was wasted, as the first thing he heard coming in was a low growl in his ear. "Where have you been?"

He turned swiftly at the harsh voice.

"Out."

"I can see that." Skinner stalked forward, anger simmering beneath the surface. "You stink like a whorehouse."

Krycek gave him a surprised look. "I didn't think you'd mind me going out alone, you've never - " he never got to finish the sentence as Skinner grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"Where have you been, Alex?"

Staring into furious dark eyes, Krycek spat back. "None of your damned business!"

A cold smile twisted Skinner's mouth. "Wrong, everything you do is my business."

He hesitated, but knowing just how stubborn Skinner could be, he yielded. "I've been working. I'm trying to put together a deal to take Halliwell down. That's what you want, isn't it?" He hated the placating tone he heard in his voice.

Skinner gave him a long sharp look. "Yes, but I'd also like to have some information on just how you're planning on taking a guy that that neither the CIA or the FBI have managed to put away, not to mention your own people." He shook his head to prevent Krycek's response, "and I'm not just talking legally as you know, if you've ever dealt with the Company boys."

Krycek chuckled, relaxing. "Yeah, I've run into them once or twice." He rolled his eyes, "Such good examples of America's best."

Skinner ran a proprietary hand down a slender back and fastened on a well-muscled ass, pushing the younger man up against the wall. "You still haven't told me how you're planning this."

Krycek stared up at the dark hot eyes, and smiled slowly, "Let's just say that I've got resources your C-boys lack."

"Alex..."

"Relax, Skinner. You've got to let me play this out my way."

Walter Skinner gave him a long sharp look, and then something moved behind his eyes. "I trust you," he said quietly.

Krycek breathed out slowly. "That may be the biggest mistake you've ever made," he warned perversely.

"No, I've made enough mistakes with you." Skinner bit gently into an ear, enjoying the husky response. "I'm through distrusting." He smiled into confused green eyes. "I know I can't keep you on too short leash or you'll fight me. Just promise me one thing, Alex."

"What?" A husky moan, and for a moment he was ready to promise Skinner anything just to keep that look in his eyes, the gentleness in the large hands caressing his back.

"Swear you'll always come back to me."

Alex Krycek closed his eyes, pain the likes of which he'd never felt knifing through him. "I promise," he heard himself whisper, knowing it for the lie it was, even as he uttered the words.

Alone in the darkness, lying flat against the roof of the house, he adjusted the telescope once more, making sure he was in a good position. Leaning lightly on his elbows, he looked down the scope, finger caressing the trigger. The sounds of the city reached him from a distance, the cars honking, people laughing, talking, and arguing.

Shifting slightly, he stiffened as he watched the man step outside, surrounded by watchful guards, speaking quietly into their earpieces, hands on guns hidden in concealed guns. Krycek smiled coldly. Very impressive and ultimately futile. He took a deep breath, automatically checking the wind. Ah yes... the man half-turned to tell one of his aides something. A gentle squeeze - and he knew he'd hit his target. By the time the man threw up his hands and slid bonelessly to the ground, Krycek was already packing up the rifle and was on his way down the stairs.

Sitting in the car, he punched the numbers of the cell-phone. "Krycek, here. It's done. Let's meet."

The atmosphere was as different as the meeting place; Thomas Halliwell's private house instead of the seamy nightclub. Even O'Reilly only glowered in silence as Krycek walked past giving the man a small mocking grin.

Halliwell was in the library, standing before the fire roaring in the great ornate fireplace. A snowy damask tablecloth covered a table by the window, heavy silver and crystal gleamed in the light of the open fire and the candles in large bronze candelabras.

"Sit down, Alex, have something to eat. Blinis and caviar, just the way you like it."

Krycek slid into a plush chair. "What's up?" He glanced around him warily.

Halliwell smiled, "Don't be so suspicious, Alex. Surely you're hungry? Here, let me pour you some champagne."

The chilled bubbles in the graceful champagne flute tickled his nose, the warmth from the fire soporific after the cold wind outside.

"It's done," he said flatly.

Halliwell nodded affably. "I know I saw the news. Jean Baptiste is dead," his voice savored the words. "There was one bastard who'd lived far too long."

Krycek raised his glass, sipped it. "Amen to that." He popped a blini stuffed with sour cream and caviar into his mouth. "Very nice." He took another.

Halliwell leaned forward. "You've burned your bridges, Alex. They won't forgive you St. Just's death."

Krycek nodded expressionlessly. "I know."

"Come in with me."

He was already shaking his head, eyes focused on the plate in front of him. "I meant it, I want out, Thomas."

Halliwell poured himself some more champagne. "You'll never be out of the game, not when you've been in as deep as you. They're not going to let you walk away alive. Your only chance of survival is with me."

"And the price?"

"Your loyalty. You."

A humorless smile flitted across his lips. "Shit, you must be hard up for a fuck, Thomas if you're offering those terms."

Thomas Halliwell shook his head. "No, you just never gave me the chance before." Greedy grey eyes flicked over the tense man facing him. "You've always been so fucking stubborn. I have no idea what made you finally break, but you have and now you're mine."

Krycek growled, "I didn't deal with you just so I could exchange one set of chains for another."

A smug smile. "You don't have a choice."

"You son of a bitch," he whispered bitterly.

"Wrong, Alex. You're *my* bitch now."

There was a long silence and then Krycek said carefully. "If I were to agree, I want some things clear."

Halliwell placed a hand on top of the restless fingers playing with the silverware. "You're not in a position to dictate terms, Alex."

"Don't push me." It was a warning despite the softness of the tone.

"I'm not pushing." Halliwell stood up, curling his fingers around a strong neck, holding it still as he leaned down, pushing the strong body against the back of the chair, and took Krycek's mouth in a punishing, hard kiss. When he finally broke, gasping for air, he smiled down into eyes gone blank and inscrutable. "*That's* pushing."

Alex Krycek closed his eyes and swallowed. "That's the deal?"

"That's the deal."

Green eyes opened, shards of glass showing no emotion. "Do you want to take this upstairs?"

The blond man breathed out slowly in triumph. "Not necessary," he bent his head again, pressing Krycek against the back of the chair, urgent hands tearing at the well-worn leather and denim, baring pale skin and strong muscles.

Halliwell slowly traced long fingers around Krycek's neck. "Yes..." he breathed softly, "a collar just there."

Krycek stiffened. "No." He shook his head once, sharply pulling back. When he'd told Scully that Halliwell's games were consensual and only involved adults it had been a truth with modification. "We have a deal, but I'm not playing your kind of games, Thomas."

A confident smile as Halliwell slid his hands down well-defined stomach muscles and lower, circling the slowly hardening cock. "Ah, but I'm most definitely going to play with you."

Apparently indifferent to his body's reaction, thighs sliding open for easier access Krycek lifted a dark brow. "Seems you have me by the balls."

Fingers cupping the heavy round weights, Halliwell said huskily, "They're mine, *you're* mine." His smile widened as he squeezed lightly, "I'd like to put a piercing with my initials right here," he pressed his thumb hard into vulnerable flesh, watching in satisfaction as Krycek jerked almost imperceptibly.

If he closed his eyes he could still smell the sickly sweet stench of burning flesh, hear the screams echo in his ears slowly dying down to hitching sobs. He could see Thomas standing back, a glowing hot poker in his hand, a look of wild exhilaration darkening grey eyes, the smell of semen and blood and sweat heavy in the air.

Straddling a chair, leaning his elbows against the back, he looked over to where the boy lay curled into a little ball. Just a year or so younger than the two of them, he was thin as a rake dark eyes showing white as he writhed, naked, in agony on the carpet.

Glancing at his watch, Krycek asked, "Finished soon, Thomas?" Boredom was evident in the tone of a husky voice and latent tension of broad shoulders. "We've got more important things to do."

Halliwell smiled, his cock hard and twitching beneath his jeans, torso naked and gleaming with sweat. "Not yet, there's something left." He stalked over to the small table by the wall, picking up a gleaming ring and a slender needle. Going over to the boy, he knelt besides him and leaned forward, holding up the gleaming brass ring. "You see this, Chris? Can you read what it says?"

The boy swallowed convulsively. "Property of Thomas Halliwell," he whispered hoarsely through cracked and bleeding lips.

Halliwell's smile widened. "That's right, and if you don't hold very still when I put this in you, my hand may slip and well..."

Chris nodded, and bit his lip, obviously bracing himself as Halliwell leaned down. Although every muscle in the thin body contracted, back arching and his mouth opened in a soundless moan, his lower body remained still.

As he slowly pushed the needle through Chris' perineum, obviously relishing the choked sounds of the shuddering boy, Halliwell looked up and straight at Krycek.

A strange smile curled his mouth, eyes never leaving Krycek as Thomas slowly traced the still bleeding and raw burn, fingers writing a different name to the one branded into the boy's back.

Searing, covetous grey met and clashed with icy green as Krycek's face seemed suddenly carved from stone.

"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Halliwell ruffled the dark hair indulgently, once it was over, and the boy sat up, smiling through the tears still leaking down pale cheeks, nuzzling and rubbing against the caressing hand. "Good boy,"

"Come on, Thomas," Krycek rose abruptly. "Get your ass in gear, we've got to be on our way."

Laughing, giving the boy a last kiss, Halliwell got to his feet. "I'm coming."

Walking out of the room, Halliwell gave his friend a glance from the corner of the eye. "Too bad you're such a tightass, just think of all the fun we could have together..."

"...No way, Thomas," Krycek said quietly. "I'm not playing." He knew he was taking a chance, but still started to rise, "if that's what you want, I'll take my chances with the Consortium."

Halliwell grasped his arm. "No, Alex, wait." He leaned forward using body weight to pin Krycek. "Listen, forget it." The kiss was hungry, greedily forcing firm lips apart, tongue plundering deeply. When he finally had to break off, he gasped. "I don't care. Christ, I just want you." His laugh failed to hide the excitement, a hectic flush rising on his cheeks.

Krycek remained tightlipped, unsmiling as he slowly shrugged out of his shirt, "Come on, we'll be more comfortable on the sofa," he said matter-of-fact. Leading the way, he slowly went to his knees before the blond man who'd sprawled across the aged leather. Bending his head, he deliberately emptied his mind of everything but the present.

It was both harder and easier than he'd expected. Moving in response to Halliwell's commands, sucking on the thick cock pushed at him -- it was nothing more or less than he'd done a thousand times before.

Naked, on his hand and knees bracing himself against the backrest of the sofa, as Halliwell grunted and plunged deep into his body, he tried to push away the memory of last night; a smiling Skinner with his large hands and clumsy gentleness that never failed to amaze and turn him on to the point of madness. He who had always thought of sex as little but a tool to be used.

Later, the sweat and come drying on his body, a casual, possessive hand stroked slowly through his hair, touched his face lightly. "I always knew you'd be something special, Alex," Halliwell said with lazy satisfaction.

Krycek shrugged one shoulder. "It's just sex, don't make it more than it is, Thomas."

A strange, bittersweet expression darkened the cool grey eyes for a moment. "Do you really believe that?"

Rolling over and sitting up, there was an answering bitterness in the level husky voice, "You made sure it could never be anything else."

Halliwell stiffened. "You left me little choice, Alex." He moved, pressing the wiry body into the leather, hands suddenly cruel. "You really think this would have been my choice?"

"What I think, Thomas," he paused, suddenly sounding tired, "is that it doesn't matter what I think." He moved, freeing himself, ignoring the marks left by the hands and mouth of the man facing him. "You get what you want, and so do I."

They stared at each other in silence and Halliwell's eyes fell first. "I'm sorry, this wasn't what I'd planned."

Krycek shrugged again. "As I said, it doesn't matter." He rose and crossed the room, completely unselfconscious of his nudity. Bending down he stepped into his jeans and zipped them up.

"Alex..."

"Yeah?" He half turned, glancing over at Halliwell.

A brief hesitation and then man on the sofa mused, "I wonder what it would take to have your total loyalty."

Krycek's laugh was tinged with genuine amusement. "Trust me, you couldn't pay my price."

Grey eyes narrowed, "So you do have a price?"

He stiffened. "Leave it alone," he said curtly.

"No, I don't think so," Halliwell got up as well, coming up behind Krycek. "Tell me, Alex." Warm breath whispered across the naked skin of a shoulder. "Tell me what it would take to bind you to me."

"Nothing, Thomas," Krycek remained motionless beneath the caress. "I've already been bought and paid for."

There was a breath of silence and then, "Skinner."

He went very still. "How - "

Halliwell smiled mirthlessly. "Did you really think I wouldn't know, Alex? I knew the first time I laid eyes on you again, in Russia, that something had changed."

"Yeah," the tone was very soft before Krycek shook himself and said in a very different tone, "Come on, enough maudlin stuff about the past, what was it you always used to quote when we were kids? 'Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die.' Remember?"

Halliwell laughed, "I remember," he seemed more than willing to be distracted as they started up the stairs.

Much later Halliwell blinked sleepily rolling over to study the man lying beside him, face turned away. "You know you can have anything you want, I'll treat you good, Alex."

On his stomach, Krycek yawned, pink tongue curling. "Yeah, I've heard that before." He buried his head in the softness of the pillow trying not to think of Skinner's stubborn honesty. No promises, a wry smile softened the curve of his mouth, nothing but gruff threats and sardonic comments. Ah shit, it'd be so much easier to simply ally with Halliwell. He'd known for a long time that Thomas lusted after him. Staying would definitely be the wise thing to do.

Having set his internal alarm clock for wakeup just an hour later, Krycek spared the sleeping man beside him a single glance before getting out of bed and heading to the safe hidden in the wall. The safe Halliwell had told him about years ago. Fiddling with the lock, keeping one watchful ear out for signs that Thomas was waking up, he felt a brief sting of regret. Not for what he was about to do, but for the trust he was going to shatter. Funny how it hurt that Thomas trusted him. Jesus, how stupid was the man? Bringing a stranger inside his own bedroom, and then just falling asleep.

A soft click made him stiffen and glance towards the bed. There were no movements and, reassured, he turned back to remove the CDs and papers he found. A glance at his watch assured him there was still time. Walking over to where his old leather jacket was lying, he picked it up and from a pocket extracted a small black device. It had cost a fortune but was more than worth its price. Attaching it to the computer on the desk, he pushed a button and watched as a single red light began to pulse steadily, sending a signal by satellite, as it copied the hard drive, sending the data to the waiting computer on the other side of the city. When the light turned green, he removed the device and slipped it back into his pocket, replacing the jacket on the floor in the exact same position and getting back into bed again.

The slight movement of the returning body woke Halliwell and he reached out, pulling Krycek close, shivering at the blast of cool air that accompanied him.

"Where you've been?"

Pulling up the covers Krycek burrowed into the warmth. "Bathroom. Needed to piss."

Coming out of the building, Alex breathed in the raw air, shivering. He could kill for a shower, thinking ahead to the hot water at Skinner's condo. Who knew, he might even persuade Walter to share. His smile widened, as last night was slotted firmly into the past, overwritten by the memory of a surly, alpha FBI AD.

"Sir, would you come with us."

He spun around, snarling, heart beating fiercely, abruptly relaxing at the realization that it wasn't Halliwell's goons, but the kind of impeccably suited, clean-shaven man who screamed 'FBI.' One eyebrow elevating, he let himself be escorted to an anonymous grey car. His escorts, while polite, were also quite implacable, and he decided it would be easiest not to make a fuss but just go along with them.

"Isn't this something of an overkill?" He asked mildly as he was placed between two men who looked as if they could bench-press the car they were seated in. "I count at least five agents, not including the driver." He hid a smile at the stiffening of the young agent behind the wheel.

However, none of the agents would be further drawn and after a few more comments, Krycek too fell silent, thinking ruefully that Skinner must be furious to order such a blatant display of fibbie presence.

With punctilious formality the agents escorted him to FBI headquarters and into a small windowless room, the door firmly shutting behind him. Faced with little choice, he sat down on the hard chair crossing his legs. Although he was less than patient by nature, life had taught him to take what breaks were offered.

The door abruptly opened and Skinner walked in. One look was enough to let Krycek know that he was in full AD-mode. He was followed by Scully who actually gave Krycek an almost pitying look, and Doggett who seemed faintly amused.

Spearing Krycek with a hard look, he demanded, "Care to tell me what the fuck you were doing coming out of Halliwell's house at seven in the morning, looking like something the cat dragged in?"

A casual shrug, "You know what they say about us rats."

Scully raised an eyebrow, but couldn't help a rueful smile in remembrance of the old nickname once coined by Mulder.

All too aware of his disheveled clothes and wind-blown hair, Krycek instead of arguing simply said, "Got it."

"What do you have?" Scully demanded.

Krycek unzipped his jacket pulling up a thin paper file and two computer discs. "All the dirt on Halliwell. Names, dates, everything."

Scully and Doggett looked at Krycek and then down at the file. "Are you telling us that in just one night you've done what not even a combined CIA and FBI operation has managed in three years?" Doggett asked in open disbelief.

Krycek was watching Skinner, but his eyes dropped briefly to give Doggett a mocking smile. "I'm not a fibbie and I don't play by your rules. Yeah, I did it. I told you I would." He was watching Skinner once again.

Skinner had gone very still. "Well done, Alex," he said coolly. "Want to enlighten us exactly as to what exactly you had to do to get it?"

Krycek shrugged. "Nothing special."

Skinner moved, pushing him down on a chair, standing over him with fists clenched. "This wouldn't have something to do with the death of a certain billionaire philanthropist yesterday?"

He blinked. "Anyone tell you, you've got an active imagination? How do you figure that?"

"Very nice, Krycek. Just the right note of bewildered innocence," Skinner congratulated, voice heavy with cold sarcasm. It had been days since he'd last used the name Krycek. "But unfortunately for you, I got a phone call from Mr. Smith last night while you were 'out'." His voice grew colder if possible, and he leaned forward with a hint of menace. "I'm not covering your ass one more time. Stop lying!"

He sat very still. "Fuck off, Skinner."

With a shocking violence he was grasped and slammed against the wall. "The truth!"

He stared defiantly into dark furious eyes. "Haven't we already done this scene?"

Skinner's hands tightened hard enough to choke before they relaxed fractionally. "Alex, all I want is the truth. Trust me enough - please?"

He flinched and closed his eyes. "You're not playing fair," a soft choked whisper. "You want the truth? I killed St.Just to get close to Halliwell. The other part of the bargain was Thomas fucking my brains out, which he did last night and this morning when he was sleeping I copied his hard drive and opened his safe. Is that what you want to hear?"

If possible, Walter Skinner looked even more enraged. "Damn you, Krycek!" He stepped back abruptly, letting go. Turning on his heel, the door slammed behind him furiously.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed Doggett commented idly, "I don't know what's going on, but I'd have thought he'd be a little more grateful. You've just handed him something most guys in this building would kill for." He suddenly smiled, "Scully wasn't so wrong that first morning, was she? You're like a faithful dog bringing his master's slippers."

Krycek didn't reply, but the very lack of expression on a face wiped suddenly blank told Scully more than she really wanted to know. Like Skinner, compassion and empathy was not her strong forte, but she knew enough of Krycek, of his past to see beneath the surface. "Doggett, give us a moment?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow, but left without comment, a nice change from her former partner.

A faithful dog.

Lips peeled back in a grimace. Was that what he had been reduced to? Skinner's dog - bitch more accurately.

Once they were alone, Scully waited patiently. She couldn't help but marvel at the strange connection that had formed between her and this man she should hate, did hate, but also understood in some strange way.

"I thought that's what he wanted," Krycek finally said softly staring down at the dented surface of the metal table. "I tried to make up for Cardenza."

Scully bit her lip. For the past four years whenever she'd thought of Alex Krycek it had been with hatred and contempt. Yet now, she found herself experiencing an alien emotion - pity. "Krycek - Alex, look, I don't know what you meant to do, but how did you think Skinner was going to react?" Despite herself a note of exasperation crept into her voice.

He blinked, looking confused. "I got the job done, didn't I?"

"Krycek, how many people did you sleep with and kill to get this information?"

He looked even more confused. "Does it matter?"

"I would imagine so, yes."

He still seemed unable to grasp the problem. "This was work. I did it for him."

Scully almost sighed. "Krycek, use some of the supposed intelligence floating around somewhere in what passes as your mind. Think, remember how Skinner reacted when he thought you and I were doing something?"

He half-shrugged. "Yeah, but that was different. That was because it was you. He thought I was screwing with your head." A hint of a smirk appeared.

This time she did sigh, loudly. Alex Krycek was such a complex tangle of strengths and weaknesses, of mercurial emotions shifting from sardonic humor to deadly intensity in the space of a breath that there were times he made Mulder seem like an open book. "You're being an idiot, Krycek. Quite apart from everything else, Skinner will *not* condone indiscriminate killing. Surely you know that much about him?"

"I didn't kill anyone who didn't deserve to die," Krycek shot back.

"And who appointed you judge, jury and executioner?" Skinner asked coldly from the doorway.

Scully quickly scrambled to her feet. "Sir..."

He gave her an absent nod. "Thank you for your assistance, Scully, but I'll take it from here."

She hesitated but also knew that tone of voice from old. "Yes, sir." She gave Krycek a last look. "Good bye."

They remained still, listening to her departing steps, the click of the door closing behind her.

Krycek remained where he was, body deceptively loose and relaxed, waiting for whatever Skinner was going to do.

"Scully is right, you're an idiot," Skinner's deep voice finally broke the silence.

Green eyes narrowed as a dark head came up, ready to snap and snarl - and came up against a broad rueful smile. For some reason, while he and Scully had been having their little heart-to-heart something had changed drastically.

"What are you talking about?" He knew he sounded suspicious, surly, and he didn't give a fuck.

"You, you're an idiot," Skinner told him, still smiling broadly. Sauntering forward, he crouched down beside Krycek. "But you're *my* idiot." He reached out and gently traced a path along jaw and chin.

Krycek nuzzled into the touch instinctively. He should be pissed, but somehow it seemed to matter little compared to the feeling of Skinner holding him, the steady beat of the heart beneath his ear.

"Alex..." a quiet deep voice in his ear, "If you ever pull another stunt like this I'll kick your ass into next week." Krycek stiffened, as Skinner continued calmly, "what I find truly offensive is that you didn't trust me enough to tell the truth."

"Skinner - "

A finger across his lips, silenced him. "Shut up, Alex. How the fuck, can you think that I'd ever want you to repay me this way? By whoring yourself out."

Flinching from the words, yet unable to look away from the dark eyes daring him to tell the truth, Krycek found himself unable to lie. "You wanted Halliwell. That's the deal we made, remember? I screwed up big time with Cardenza, I," he swallowed, "wanted to give you something back."

Restitution. Repayment. A gift. A debt repaid.

"Alex, you fool," once again the tone was soft as rough silk. "You owe me nothing, you never did. I'd rather have let Halliwell walk than know the price of his capture." A light shake. "He's not worth it. Nothing is."

Closing his eyes, Alex shuddered. "Hey, you know it's not as if I haven't done this before; it's no big deal."

Large hands tightened on his shoulders momentarily before relaxing again. "You hold yourself too cheaply."

For some reason the gruff words touched something deep inside. His reaction was pure instinct, mixed with fear. "Not cheap, Skinner!" Cocking his head, grin firmly in place, he drawled, "Fucking and killing pays well. Bet I can buy and sell you."

"Really?" Skinner raised one eyebrow, "Here I thought I'd bought you."

Green eyes narrowed. "Go to hell."

"Only if you'll come with me."

He looked up quickly, a shiver of unease at the soft level words.

"We're going to have to do something about that temper of yours," Skinner told him with more than hint of dry amusement.

His voice shifted and he sighed, "While I'd love to continue this at some other time and place," for a moment open hunger showed in the dark eyes, "I've got to go and start making use of the information you've brought." One hand curled around Krycek's neck, holding him still. "Go home, I'll be late."

Pissed off at the relief that shuddered through him, Krycek snarled, "Stop fucking ordering me around! I'm not your fibbie subordinate any longer."

Fingers tightened in subtle punishment. "No, but you're all mine."

Thomas Halliwell's House, Two Days Later

Fast clean and effective, in the space of a day they dismantled, destroyed and took apart one man's life.

Later, standing in the operations room, being congratulated by his friends and colleagues, some of who were openly envious of his success, Skinner only wished that he could dredge up even a fraction of the satisfaction everyone one else seemed to feel. He'd told Alex nothing but the truth -- the price was too fucking high.

Just the thought of Thomas Halliwell touching the pale graceful body caused a hot tide of rage, but even deeper was pain that Alex could so easily barter his body and have it mean nothing. Christ, how many times had he made the same bargain? He tried to ignore the memory of the times he'd used Krycek, used him with little thought but his own satisfaction.

"Sir," he looked up to find a very young and very nervous FBI agent who barely kept from flinching at the expression in the dark eyes. "Yes?"

"Sir, the prisoner, Halliwell, he wants to talk to you."

Skinner frowned, the last thing he wanted was to meet the man who'd slept with Alex face to face. "Did he mention my name or just the leader of the operation?" Perhaps he could still delegate to Doggett or Scully.

"You personally, sir."

He suppressed a sigh; there went that idea. "I'll be right down."

Detouring to grab the fat case file the FBI had assembled on Halliwell and cutting short a phone call from an extremely irate CIA Deputy Assistant Director who was demanding that Halliwell be turned over to Langley, Skinner found himself in front of a metal door -- ironically enough next door to the room where Krycek had been held.

Bracing himself mentally he nodded to the agent standing guard.

The young man opened the door politely, stepping aside as Skinner walked past him into the room.

Fucking hell! He looks like Michelangelo's David!

None of the grainy black and white surveillance photos made justice to Halliwell's severe masculine beauty. Tall, broad-shouldered and slim hipped, with burnished gold hair and cold grey eyes, he was enough to make Skinner feel old, and wrinkled and flawed.

"Thomas Halliwell."

The blond head jerked up. "Walter Skinner," he replied flatly.

Skinner paused. "You said you wanted to talk."

A long look. "You think I wouldn't?"

"Because I headed the FBI investigation into your crimes."

Halliwell stared at him for a moment and then started to laugh. "No, actually I didn't know that, or at least not until this morning."

"Then why did you want to talk to me?" Skinner sat down and put the file on the table between them.

"I wanted to meet the guy who finally got to Alex."

That hurt. He tried to ignore the sudden sharp pain at the casual mention of Krycek's name. "I see."

Halliwell smiled bitterly. "No, I doubt you do. Do you have any fucking idea of how many men would like to know your secret?"

Feeling like a demented parrot, Skinner repeated, "Secret?"

Pulling up a cigarette from the crushed packet in his breast pocket, and lightning it with jerky movements, Halliwell leaned back in the creaking chair and blew out a cloud of smoke. "I've known Alex Krycek for almost twenty years, and wanted him for longer than that." His tone was very matter of fact; he could have been discussing the weather. "He's something of a legend, Alex. He'll fuck anything that moves if those are his orders, and he'll just as cheerfully blow your head off in the morning, if he's been ordered to. He doesn't believe in loyalty, only survival."

He regarded the tip of his glowing cigarette for a moment, "He's always been a lone wolf, I don't know of anyone who's ever broken him to the leash and collar," a twisted half-grin, "and believe me there have been many who've tried."

"Why are you telling me this?" Skinner asked evenly.

"Because the first time I saw Alex after the FBI assignment was over I knew something had changed. As I said, I've known him for a long time. He denied it of course, being Alex," his sudden wry smile invited Skinner to share. "But I knew. For a long time I thought it was that Mulder guy, it wasn't until a year ago or so that I realized it was you."

Very steadily, Skinner repeated. "Why are you telling me?"

The air changed, grew charged like calm before a storm as Halliwell whispered, "If I could, I would fucking snap your neck, here and now."

A prickle of something akin to fear traveled along Skinner's spine. "I took you into custody because it was my job. If you want to go after me for that, be my guest."

Halliwell stared at him and then he laughed. "Custody? What the fuck are you talking about?! I want to kill you because when I finally got him in my bed, when he was finally *mine* that night the only thing he was thinking about was you."

"I - " what did you say to a man who had just seen his life's work destroyed, who was facing the rest of his life in jail, if he even survived to face a judge, and who yet could only think of one thing; Alex Krycek.

"You love him..." Skinner said slowly.

Halliwell didn't even try and deny it. "Yeah, I always did. Always, ever since we were kids. But he never cared shit about me." He stubbed out the remains of his cigarette. "Hell, I think I knew even when he first came to me that it was a trap, but I didn't care. It was the first time he ever asked me for anything." He smiled tiredly. "Alex can be such an idiot for all his smarts. I would have given him anything he ever asked for." He looked at the innocuous folder lying on the table. "I'll talk to anyone you want now. You don't have to be here, actually, I'd prefer it if you weren't."

Skinner hesitated before he rose and picked up his papers. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, yeah..." Halliwell pulled out another cigarette. "What I can't figure is why you. I mean you're hardly GQ material, and what, fifteen, twenty years older than he is?"

Halliwell merely articulated his own doubts. The questions he asked himself in the darkness of the night as Krycek slept beside him, sprawled in repose, beautiful as an ancient marble statue come to life.

"Skinner."

He stopped but didn't turn around.

"You're one lucky son of a bitch."

Staring at the metal door, he heard his own voice reply. "I know."

Krycek was waiting in the office, standing by the window, watching the rain lash against the glass. Halting just inside the door, Skinner wondered what he was thinking. If he felt any regrets for the man downstairs. If one day he would betray his present lover as easily as he'd done the man in the holding cell.

"Alex," Skinner bent his head to press a soft kiss at the nape.

Krycek closed his eyes, leaning into the solid warmth of the body behind him, he felt arms go around him, and unconsciously relaxed into their grip, feeling not trapped and hemmed in but secure and treasured. Large fingers traced lazy circles on his skin, searched out the secret places on his body that made him shudder in need, thighs sliding apart

"This, this isn't a good idea," he gasped.

Skinner laughed low in his throat, the sound of a wolf claiming its mate. "No, it isn't." He didn't stop, enjoying each gasp, each moan, the helpless writhing of this man who for some miraculous reason wanted him, had trusted him enough to surrender his most valued possession; freedom.

"Wa... Walt!" The last was a drawn-out moan.

He was tempted, oh so tempted to simply grab Krycek by the scruff of the neck and sling him across the polished oak desk, slamming into him with a primitive force that claimed what he wanted to the point of madness. But even as the desire ran through him, hot and red, he knew that this was not how he wanted Alex, nor how he wanted Alex to want him. Although his body screamed no, he backed off, gentling his caresses, tenderness not hunger, love not lust. "Shhh, you're right, this isn't the place," he whispered into Krycek's ear, "I want a bed with cool sheets and privacy where I can watch you come apart, where I can hear you scream as I fuck you slowly, deeply."

He was rewarded by another violent shudder.

Eyes sliding shut, Krycek relaxed, head falling onto one broad shoulder. "How the fuck did I get so lucky?"

Skinner's arm came up around him, running his fingers through thick dark hair. "The wages of sin?" and was rewarded by a soft chuckle.

"No, I mean it, Walt," he looked up at Skinner with green serious eyes. "What the hell do you want with me, really?" He gestured at himself, "I know I'm a good fuck but - "

He broke off as Skinner shook him lightly. "You really think that's all you are to me?"

Krycek shrugged, the silence all the answer necessary.

"I wasn't planning on having this conversation in my office," Skinner said abruptly. "But it seems we'll have to." It was his turn to look uncomfortable. "Look, I'm not much of talker, but you," he smiled a little, "you're a hell of a lot more to me than a fuck, or a bodyguard."

"Yeah?" Krycek looked torn between disbelief and wistfulness.

"Yeah," it was Skinner's turn to turn very serious he waited until he had Krycek's complete attention. "I want, I *need* to know that if you stay, it's because you want to, not because you owe me, do you understand, Alex? Tell me this is what you want or walk away, now."

Krycek stiffened. "You don't play fair."

A strange smile shaped the stern mouth, "Nothing is in love and war."

"And what is this?"

"A little of both," Skinner acknowledged calmly, "hopefully by now more of the former than the latter." He paused, "one more thing, I don't share, understood?"

"I understand." Krycek still seemed to have problems with anything more than simple sentences. "Walter, I, I," he struggled with the words, face unconsciously pleading.

Skinner reached out and he came easily into the strong arms, was enveloped by them. "It's all right, you don't have to say anything," a deep voice whispered. "Take a chance, Alex, stop running."

He shuddered, hiding his face in a broad shoulder. "Fuck you."

Skinner laughed, "Oh, I plan to, and I also plan to spend my nights keeping track of a certain Russian, loving him until he's too exhausted to even think of anything but me."

Cocking his head, a strange smile shaped the lips beneath his fingertips. "Oh yeah? You know how long I've had the hots for you?"

Walter Skinner blinked. Halliwell's bitter words suddenly ran through his memory. He hadn't believed them then, but... "You really wanted me for real, even back then?" he asked aloud. "I wasn't just another assignment?" He knew he was fishing and sounding foolishly insecure.

It was Krycek's turn to reach up and trace the strong mouth, and firm jaw, with his fingers, loving the way the older man arched into the touch. "Hell yes, I wanted you the first time I saw you. You were chewing out some agent for screwing up, and I knew right then and there that I was going to get you into bed."

He couldn't help laughing half-ruefully at the smugness. "You're very sure of yourself."

A shrug of broad shoulders, a sudden flash of bitterness. "Yeah, well, I've always been good at fucking."

Skinner slid his fingers through thick dark hair, before he released Krycek to put on his coat and picking up his briefcase, putting a load of paperwork in it and snapping the locks shut. "Yes, you are," he acknowledged matter of fact, checking through a file trying to decide whether he needed to take it home and ignoring Krycek's sudden wary stiffening. "I've never had better. But if you think that sex, no matter how good would make me forget what you did to me or to Scully and Mulder, then you underestimate me, badly." He looked up, spearing Krycek with a sudden severe look. "I'm not some callow boy at the mercy of his hormones, nor am I some doddering senile fool so desperate to recapture his youth that I'll forgive anything for a few moments of friction. I'm a *man*, Alex."

Krycek stared at him for a moment, and then he relaxed, smiling wryly. "Damn, Walt, you don't give an inch, do you?"

Skinner shook his head. "No. Come on, let's go home," and was rewarded with a flash of a smile he'd never seen before, unguarded, happy, almost carefree.

"Home, it is."

In the elevator, Krycek crossed his remaining arm across his chest, commenting idly, "I'm amazed that anyone ever parks their car in the garage. Half the spies and assassins of the world seem to converge there at some point or another."

"You included," Skinner pointed out dryly. "From what I remember it was one of your favorite hang-outs."

Krycek chuckled, secretly relieved that they had come to a point where they could joke, albeit wryly, about the past. "Too true. It's a cliché, I admit lurking in a garage, but it's actually very practical. Your victim is usually alone, unwary 'cause he's still on familiar territory and it's isolated; gunshots and screaming don't carry too far."

"Thank you for that enlightening little insight," the deep voice was so dry it could have cut through ice.

Although Krycek grinned, Skinner noticed how the green eyes swept the shadows and spaces, as they exited the elevator the tall body moving with a cat-footed thread, shifting his weight, ready to move in any direction.

Reaching the black Mustang that was one of Skinner's few indulgences, Skinner unlocked it, starting to open the door when he noticed that Alex was not moving.

Looking at the car, Krycek said meditatively, "You know, it's another cliché, but something else that tends to go on a lot in garages are nice silent little car bombs."

Skinner's hand froze on the handle. "You serious?"

"Walt, you took down Thomas, and there are people who are definitely not going to like that. Some of whom don't really have a lot of respect for the sanctity of life, if you follow me."

He frowned, "Surely it's too early for anyone to do something. We only arrested Halliwell this morning."

Krycek gave him what could only be a pitying look. "It would send a hell of a powerful message if the guy in charge of Thomas' arrest was killed the same day. It tells everyone 'stay away from our people.'" He shrugged, "That's the way I'd have done it at least."

When Skinner said nothing, doubt clearly visible, the husky voice altered and grew cool. "Look, you don't have to trust me."

Skinner shook his head. "No, I trust you, Alex," he said simply. "Let me phone the bomb squad, and I'll have them check it out."

Krycek flashed him a grin. "No need, I've armed and disarmed more bombs than your squad could ever dream of." Pulling off his jacket, he knelt down, peering into the gloom. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he ran a light questing finger along the underside. Encountering a small bumpy shape that definitely shouldn't have been there, he swore softly but eloquently. "Bingo!"

Kneeling beside Krycek, Skinner followed his glance and as soon as his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, he saw the small but deadly package attached to the undercarriage of the car.

"Hell!" He muttered, "I mean it, Alex. Don't touch it, I'm phoning the bomb squad."

Krycek wasn't listening, pulling out a small strangely shaped tool from his back pocket instead. "You got a flashlight?" he asked absently, flicking out a slender blade.

"Step away," Skinner said sharply.

He shook his head, all focus on the bomb, as he slid onto his back, "Nope, but Walter I could really use some light, working blind is not a good idea."

A muffled curse, and then a concentrated beam of light suddenly lit up, almost blinding him for a moment. Muttering his thanks, he went back to examining the device. "Whoever did this is damned good," he commented absently, "He's reversed the wiring, shit!"

Skinner was talking quietly into his cell phone with one hand while holding the light with the other. "Alex?"

Krycek shook his head, "Breathe again, it was just a red herring." He went back to poking and muttering to himself.

Skinner clicked off the phone and put it in his pocket. "The bomb guys will be here in fifteen, twenty minutes, said to leave it all alone and back off to a safe distance."

Krycek raised his head, a cocky grin curling his mouth. "Not a chance, besides, I'm better than they are." He gave Skinner a look, "But just in case I'm wrong, would you mind going somewhere else?"

"Not a chance," Skinner said flatly giving him back his own words.

Krycek sighed. "I didn't think so. You know, for an old guy you're sure childish."

"Takes one to know one," Skinner growled, eyes promising revenge for the comment about 'old' guys.

By the time the squad had arrived, flashing sirens everywhere, yellow and black plastic cordoning off the entire garage both Krycek and Skinner were damp with sweat, nothing moving except a slender, pale, clever hand.

Pausing to blink the sweat from his eyes, Krycek muttered, "Damn, there are times I'd kill to get my arm back.

"Sir, why don't you let us take over?" He glanced up and found a thin man with spectacles dressed in the ubiquitous blue coveralls of the bomb squad.

Skinner growled in obviously displeasure, "I'd be happy to let you, but unfortunately Alex seems to think he's still got something to prove."

"Fuck off, Skinner," a muffled voice told them both.

Crouching down, the bomb expert went into a short but intense discussion with Krycek. Apparently the answers satisfied him, because the next time he looked at Skinner, his voice had changed. "He knows what he's doing, sir. But I still think you should move away, I'll stay here and advise him."

"Listen to him, he's making sense," Krycek added.

Skinner ignored both of them, simply holding the flashlight steady, watching Krycek work. "You know, when we get away from here I'm going to beat you," he said conversationally after a while, ignoring the startled look the bomb guy gave him. "And in the future you're going to find yourself on a very short chain."

"You really know how to motivate a guy." Gently peeling the small deadly package from the undercarriage of the car, Krycek rolled out, holding it out to the bomb guy who took it gingerly.

Starting to rise, a cocky grin plastered across his face, suddenly everything seemed to happen in slow motion -- Krycek pushed forward to his knees by the first shock wave of the explosion, the sound of the tool dropping from his hand abnormally loud -- eyes wide and startled.

Acting with the trigger instinct that had kept him alive half a century ago in the jungles of south Vietnam, Skinner never thought simply dove and pulling Krycek with him rolled away from the car, pushing the dark head to the ground and shielding the wiry body with his own as everywhere else people shouted, waving their arms or followed Skinner's example falling to the floor, arms over head in protection.

The blast that tore the Mustang apart also managed to blow out the windows of the cars surrounding it, shards raining down on the floor and people.

In the moment of utter silence following the detonation, Krycek's body pressed against him, Skinner's heart beat like a sledgehammer.

"Damn, he tricked me. A fucking double-bind! A second hidden bomb set to go off once the first one is detonated or disarmed." The tone was more admiring than angry.

At the sound of the offhand words, Skinner exploded, the roiling emotions of the past moments emerging as anger "You idiot!" he roared, rising and grabbing Krycek by the shoulders, slamming him up against the wall. "You fucking dumb-ass!"

Tired, dirty, his innards jangling, Krycek still managed to dredge up a cocky smile from somewhere. "Gee, you thank everyone who saves your life, like this?"

Dimly, Skinner realized someone was talking to him a low urgent voice, a hand on his shoulder. "Sir, sir! Let him down, sir..."

Slowly, he realized he was choking the life out of someone. Out of Alex Krycek to be more exact. Letting go, he lowered his arms, a look of bewilderment on his face that would have been funny under different circumstances.

Doggett was approaching warily, while Scully knelt by Krycek helping him get his air back.

"Sir?"

"I'm fine!" Skinner brushed aside the helping hand impatiently, limping over to where Krycek was slumped against the wall. "Alex?"

Krycek gave him a speaking look. "I'm okay," he said shortly.

Skinner frowned darkly, "You won't be once we get home," he growled. "What the hell possessed you to try and disarm the damned bomb on your own?!" His voice rose slightly as he grew angry all over again.

Running greasy, weary fingers through his hair, Krycek arched an eyebrow. "Saving your life?" he suggested.

Once they were home and Skinner had chased away everyone including Scully he stormed into the shower slamming the door behind him.

Too exhausted to move, Krycek remained where he'd more or less fallen onto the sofa. Jesus he was tired. Today had shaken him in more ways than one. Not the close call with the bomb, so much as Skinner's anger and his own reaction. He'd found himself trembling almost as much as Skinner once he realized just how close he'd come to losing Walter. He had been an idiot. Why hadn't he waited for the squad, dragging Walt off to a safe distance, letting the guys do their jobs, never mind that he was better qualified. He'd forgotten what his number one priority was; protecting Skinner, and all because he'd fallen for the temptation to show off. He mentally shook his head, even as a kid he'd never been tempted to hot dog, far too disciplined and professional. If this was what love did to you, it sucked big time.

Coming back from his shower, wearing a short black robe, a towel slung over his shoulders, Skinner glared at Krycek obviously still pissed off. "Okay, this is how we're going to do it. From this moment on you are officially retired as bodyguard, whore and assassin. You will move in here, I'll sign over half the condo to you and then you will find yourself a job. A *legal* job and don't tell me someone of your skills can't. You will pay taxes, get a social security number and if I ever find you either killing or fucking anyone else there will be hell to pay, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" The tone was mocking, but Krycek's eyes were very bright. Abruptly his smile died. "Walter... are you sure?"

"Very sure, Alex," he pulled the younger man up, kissing him possessively, hard. "Are you?"

"Christ, yes!" Krycek swallowed, green eyes very bright, looking vulnerable, almost lost. "But, shit, this is seriously going to fuck with your life."

He smiled, slowly tracing the exquisite shape of nose and lips. "As you said, I'm not moving up the food-chain, and frankly, I don't want to either. I've had enough intrigues, back-stabbings and betrayals to last me a lifetime. I'm a good agent, Alex, and that's what I'm going to continue doing. Solving cases, saving lives, the reason I joined the FBI in the first place." Slowly, he felt Krycek relax, lose some of the perpetual tension that kept him on edge, ready to run or fight.

He wrapped strong arms around his lover. Skinner almost smiled at the thrill of pleasure the words evoked. Lover. How long had it been since he'd had a lover? He and Sharon had, for more years than he cared to admit, shared nothing but a savings account, a house and tax returns.

A long silence fell, as Skinner ran idle fingers down the lean body resting against him, enjoying the soft murmured responses.

Riker's Island, Isolation Cell #64

"You've got a visitor, Halliwell."

He sat up slowly, swinging feet down onto the cement floor. Distantly he wondered if this was the day the Consortium was finally going to silence him. He had no illusions of how long he had left. The only curiosity was that they hadn't already come, that he was still breathing.

Walking into the visitor's room, noting absently that the guard was suddenly invisible and realizing this was not a good sign, he found himself unable to drag up anything but distant weariness.

He stopped abruptly just inside the door, not even noticing that it closed behind him staring at the last man on earth he'd expected. He was standing, back the door looking out through the bars of the small window high up on the wall.

"Alex?"

Eyes never leaving the small piece of sky visible through the thick iron bars, Krycek said reflectively, "Funny isn't it? When you're outside you take it for granted but in jail it's all you ever dream of..."

"What the fuck, are you doing here?"

Krycek slowly turned. "I thought we should talk, Thomas."

"Come to gloat? I never thought that was your style."

A slow shake of a dark head as Krycek sat down at the small table in the middle of the room, crossing long legs. "You know me better than that."

Pulling out the other chair, straddling it, Halliwell said, "I thought I did." He pulled out a cigarette, "Do you have a light?"

Silently, Krycek pulled a lighter from his jacket, flicking it with his thumb. Halliwell slowly leaned across the table, grey eyes never leaving Krycek's face, as he inhaled.

Silence descended as they watched each other.

"Why, Alex?"

"My job."

A lifted eyebrow, "You won't get any thanks for what you've done. If you'd given me half a chance, I'd have offered you a much better deal. You know that."

"I didn't do it for the thanks." he paused, "you went too far, Thomas, when you sold yourself to the oiliens."

"When the hell did you ever care about anything but yourself?"

Krycek replied softly, "I do care. I just never knew how much."

"Christ, Alex, you're turning into a fucking do-gooder."

A sudden smile lit green eyes. "A do-gooder? Yeah, I guess that's what I am. You should try it sometime."

Halliwell snorted, "Don't think I'll have much chance to." He took another drag on the cigarette. "What am I looking at?"

Long dark lashes hid Krycek's eyes for a moment, and then he said evenly, "Life, no parole. They're throwing everything they can at you. You've turned into an inter-agency trophy, Thomas."

"Fuck." Halliwell stubbed out the cigarette jerkily. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"Yeah, you should have."

There was another silence, and then Halliwell suddenly laughed. "But I never could. That's what you counted on, you son of a bitch."

A shrug, a half-smile, but it was answer enough.

Halliwell lit another cigarette. "So why *are* you here? Usually you're half a world away when something goes down."

The husky voice suddenly turned as cold as icy green eyes. "Two days ago I found an interesting package underneath Walt's car." Halliwell's eyes narrowed at the use of the name.

Krycek leaned forward, leather creaking. "I'm giving you this one chance, Thomas. Back off."

Halliwell smiled thinly, "Why the hell should I? Skinner didn't just take me out because he's a fed. He's got a foot in both camps, if he can't stand the heat, he should get out of the kitchen."

"You wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him, Thomas. The Consortium had already passed sentence, but Skinner wanted you taken out legally and he refused to back down. That's the deal he made with them. You get to stand trial and serve your time, all nice and legal. They don't touch you." A strange smile curled a corner of his mouth as he added softly, "he's got very strong opinions of what's right and wrong."

Halliwell looked disgusted. "You telling me that I've got Skinner to thank for my life?"

"Yeah."

"He's not done me any favors."

One dark eyebrow arched. "Bullshit. Lay off the martyr pose. You're still alive."

Halliwell didn't answer, cigarette burning unnoticed between his fingers. "So what's the real reason you're here, Alex?"

"I told you."

"Try again," Halliwell said curtly.

Quietly, Krycek said, "I'll trade for the information."

"You don't have anything left," Halliwell growled.

"The vultures are moving in to pick the bones clean, I can protect your people."

Grey eyes turned hard as flint. "Low blow, Alex."

"I mean it," Krycek raised his head meeting Halliwell's anger steadily.

"Christ, what the hell happened to you?!"

A strange smile curved Krycek's lips. "You wouldn't believe if I told you."

"Try me."

"I found a piece of myself I thought was lost." Krycek shifted, "I'll look after your people, Thomas." Softly he added, "I owe you that much."

Abruptly, Halliwell said, "I didn't order it, Jackson did."

Krycek stilled. "Thanks." He stood up and Halliwell was unable to hide his hunger, watching the tall body moving with deadly grace.

"Alex," Krycek stilled, hand on the door handle. "The oiliens are splitting into factions. The ones I were dealing with are getting impatient and restless, watch your back."

He turned, "Why are you telling me this?"

It was Halliwell's turn to shrug, "Because you're worth more to me alive than dead." A glimmer of a smile flitted across his face, "and because a smart man could accomplish much playing the sides off each other, and the one thing I've never thought you are is dumb."

Standing outside Walter Skinner's condo clutching a bottle of wine, Scully hesitated, not sure she was doing the right thing by coming. Still, she was more than a little curious about what exactly the casual invitation Skinner had given her that same morning.

Straightening, she rang the doorbell and then braced herself for the sight of Krycek. But when the door opened it was Skinner who gave her a nod. "Scully, come in."

"Thank you, sir," she said letting him help her with the coat and handing him the wine. "Here."

He accepted the bottle and raised one eyebrow over the label. "Thanks, but it really wasn't necessary."

She half shrugged, smoothing the neat jacket she wore. "I know, but I owed you a bottle." It was an oblique reference to the day he'd found her on the sofa. But although she watched him carefully, not even a flick of the eyes betrayed him. Instead he said calmly, "As you can see, you know most of the people here."

Glancing around she nodded in agreement, noticing the Lone Gunmen huddled in a corner whispering intently to each other. She wondered if they were discussing the latest alien conspiracy theory or the best strategy for Tomb Raider VI.

"Here," she looked down to find a glass of wine held out. Taking it, she smiled her thanks at the tall man. Since Mulder's disappearance, Skinner had becoming even more important to her.

Looking around discreetly, she didn't seen Krycek, although no doubt he was slinking around somewhere.

"He's in the kitchen."

She flushed, realizing he'd read her thoughts. "Sir, can I be honest?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Are you ever anything else, Agent Scully?"

"Sir, this is insanity."

Skinner said dryly, "Please tell me what you really think."

She looked a little abashed but wasn't silenced. "Sir, you know what Krycek is, what he's done. Do you have you any idea what this will do to your life? To your career?"

Skinner snorted in amusement. "I know, Alex has already told me so - in great detail I might add." He sobered, "Scully, give me some credit. I didn't make this decision on a whim. I've thought it through, and I've already considered all the problems you're about to bring up." He suddenly looked a little sheepish. "I guess the simple truth is that I want Alex, and I'm not going to let anything stop me."

She studied him for a long time and then she suddenly smiled. "I can't believe it, Walter Skinner is in love!"

To her delight he actually flushed and didn't deny it. "Well don't let it get around, it'll ruin my reputations as 'old Stoneface' "

Blue eyes sparkled with amusement at the mention of the nickname. "Yes, sir!" Eager to change the subject, she asked, "By the way, sir, did you ever find out who planted that bomb in your car?"

The silence made her look up suddenly very curious.

Skinner was looking grim. "We found out." He didn't add that he'd caught Alex sneaking out with a gun about to go off for a spot of quiet assassination. Skinner while appreciating the sentiment behind the action had been very firm in explaining that he really didn't want any more dead bodies. The argument that followed had been brief and to the point, with Krycek being very eloquent on the point of anybody trying to kill his lover. Sentiments that 'nobody threatens what's mine and lives' had been expressed. As had, 'you're the first thing I've cared about in a long time and I want to see whoever did this die a slow, lingering, painful death.' Skinner felt warm satisfaction, relishing Alex's possessiveness.

"Let's just say that I had a little chat with the people behind the bomb and they promised not to do it again," he said aloud, remembering the bleeding and kneecapped wreck Krycek had brought two nights later. When Skinner demanded to know what the hell he was doing, Alex had simply shrugged. 'You said I couldn't kill anyone, so he's still alive, isn't he?' Looking down at the trembling, sweating man, Skinner had explained pleasantly that he was quite displeased with the attempt on his life. The man should take a message back to his people. Either they backed off or he'd unleash Krycek. As Alex had been staring at the man in the manner of a hungry wolf offered a choice cut of meat, the man had certainly got the message. Through unofficial channels Skinner had heard that he was indeed safe, Thomas Halliwell left to hang by the men he'd worked for. Such, apparently were the rewards of betrayal.

"Why do I think there is a very interesting story there, that I'm never going to hear?" Scully grumbled.

Skinner simply smiled.

It was later, while Skinner was talking to Doggett out on the balcony that Scully slipped into the kitchen. Krycek was tearing open a bag of chips, dumping it in a ceramic bowl.

"Here, let me help you," Scully said briskly, rescuing the bowl from him.

"Thanks," he wadded up the bag and dumped it into the waste. Not looking at her, he opened the refrigerator door and took out a smaller bowl of dip. "I'm not going to hurt him, Scully," he said softly not looking at her.

"Skinner doesn't deserve to get his heart cut out and served to him on a plate," she said bluntly.

He turned swiftly, anger glimmering in the moss green of his eyes. "You think I'd do that?"

She stared at him, wishing for the millionth time that she could believe him. She must have spoken aloud because he suddenly looked profoundly weary. "What will convince you, Scully? I doubt any words I could give you would mean anything. You'll just have to trust that I'm not going to let him down."

"I believe that you won't mean to," she said slowly, picking up a chip and crunching down absently, "but are you sure your old life won't come back and bite you both?"

He shook his head once. "No, I mean, I'm sure that it will." He smiled wryly, "I've told him so, more than once, but you know Walt," the name was spoken with a naturalness that grated her, "there are times he's too stubborn for his own good."

She couldn't help smiling. "As he reminded me, not so long ago, Skinner is more than old enough to take responsibility for his own decisions." She hesitated and then said softly, "I want you to know something. Working with you and Skinner these past weeks - it's made me see some things in a new light."

Instinctively he seemed to know what else she was trying to say. "Look, it would be useless to pretend that what I've done," there was neither apology nor remorse in his voice, "what I'd do again if it was necessary, hasn't affected you. I wasn't involved in Mulder's abduction, but - " he broke off and shook his head. "Never mind."

"I miss him," she said in an apparent non-sequiteur staring down at the bowl in her hands. "I miss him so much it hurts."

"I know."

She took a deep breath. "But I don't need him. I can go on, even if he never wakes up again."

"Yes, you can." A swift smile, "you're stronger than you think."

When she raised her head and looked at him there was a new peace in her eyes. "Thank you, Krycek."

He didn't ask, 'for what' but simply smiled again and said, "Come on, Scully, let's go feed the beasts."

She remained a silent unnoticed observer, an untouched glass of wine in her hand as she watched the people in the room. Especially the dark man, who, like her, remained in a corner, watching rather than participating, wariness apparent in the slant of his shoulders and shuttered bottle green of his eyes. Only once did the grim mouth soften in a half-smile and as Scully followed his glance she too couldn't help a quick chuckle at Byers, Langley and Frohike, who were all staring at him with ill-concealed suspicion.

She watched as he finally approached Walter Skinner almost diffidently. Watched as Skinner turned his head and a smile softened the severe lines of a face more used to frowning. Fascinated she witnessed tenseness seeming to flow out of the taut body, the caution transformed into a sudden blinding smile.

She recognized in Skinner the same peace that filled her. A peace born of coming of terms with the past and of being a survivor.

Although they maintained a wary truce there was too much history between them for Scully to ever be completely comfortably watching Krycek saunter through the FBI corridors or sit silent and watchful in a corner of Skinner's office, and she avoided him whenever possible. Which was why, when the bell rang a week later and peeping through the hole there was no small amount of surprise as she realized Alex Krycek was standing outside her front door.

Opening it gingerly, she couldn't help staring. The Krycek who faced her was an utterly different person. Gone was the laughter, the cheerfulness. This was the man she'd faced beneath the harsh lights of an international airport, a grim man with nothing but bleakness in his eyes and soul. "We need to talk."

"Come in," she said automatically.

Krycek walked past him, followed by a thin, weedy, nervous little man. The stranger gave Scully an apprehensive look and a jerk that with a little imagination could be described as a greeting.

In the living room, Krycek swung around, arms crossed. "This is Harold and he - " he broke off and swore. "I need your help, Scully."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why me?"

He hesitated, shrugged. "'Cause you're the only who'll believe me."

Although she was less than pleased, Scully gave one curt nod in acknowledgement of the strange link that connected them. Sitting down on the sofa she said simply, "I'm listening."

Alex started and then stopped, abruptly, and swore again. "This is even harder than I thought. Harold," he turned towards the man. "Do your stuff."

Scully's eyes swung to the other man, and then suddenly she froze for one terror-stricken moment as Harold's eyes slowly drowned in black. "Fucking hell!!" she cried springing up from the sofa. "You dirty traitor!" He looked around wildly for his gun or anything he could use as a weapon.

But Krycek caught her arm. "Relax, Scully. This one is a friend."

'Harold' was making no attempt to attack, just stood there, looking at them with sightless black holes.

Allowing himself a sardonic smile, Krycek said, "I'm glad to know you trust me so much. But this one isn't an enemy. Harold, sit down," he ordered and the small thin man obeyed silently.

Pacing nervously, he said, "It all started in Hong Kong, when Mulder discovered me selling off the DAT tape. Mulder," a grim smile, "told me to clean myself up before we took the plane back to the States. But while I was in the bathroom, I got infected with an oilien."

He ignored her start. "Never knew that did you, Scully? And then I carried it around until the silo." He shook his head to silence the questions he knew were bubbling to her lips. "But something else happened. I don't know how, or why, but I just didn't carry him, her or it, around, the exchange went just a little deeper than a parasite and its host creature." He gave Harold a sharp look, "and don't try and deny it."

He chewed on his lip for a moment. "After he, it, returned to his ship and his own kind, he, it, realized it had actually carried a bit of Alex Krycek back with it."

A faint smile touched his lips. "Yeah, I know, horrible thought isn't it? In any case," he continued, "that meant he knew who you and Mulder were. So when you were both infected, it, made it a point of seeking out those traces of you it could find and incorporate it. So, it's ended up as a sort of crazy amalgam of you, Mulder and me. Enough to drive anyone insane. But, it also made it realize that," he frowned, "Christ, I sound like I'm in an old sci-fi movie. It, likes it here on earth. This earth, not the kind the rest of its species is planning for. So," he took a deep breath, "it found a human host, Harold, who was dying of cancer, struck a deal, and now Harold carries it around in exchange for living the rest of the time. Not a bad deal, actually."

Scully shook her head. "You know what's really crazy? I don't doubt your story for a moment."

Krycek's mouth quirked sardonically, "I know, it's a little strange, both you actually believing anything I tell you, and in Mulder's little green men." His amusement died away swiftly, and he turned his back to look out the window.

There was a pause and then Krycek's voice came, clear and cold, floating out of the shadows. "It thinks that together we can stop colonization. But he can't do it without me."

"What do you mean?"

Anguish shadowed his face, "He wants me to go with him."

"Are you?"

"I don't know!" he swung around, and there was naked anguish in him. "I don't, I can't go! But..."

"You don't have a choice, Alex," she said quietly. For once there was no hostility or tension between them.

For a moment the familiar mockery was back. "There's always a choice. I could just say to hell with everything, kidnap Skinner to a tropical paradise and let the rest of the world go take a flying leap."

Scully didn't answer and Krycek sighed. "No, you don't have to tell me that wouldn't work. He'd punch me in the stomach and head straight back." His smile was bittersweet. "He's so used to protecting and guarding, he's forgotten there are times, he needs the same."

He turned his head away but not before she had seen the pain that carved deep lines around mouth and eyes. "Ironic isn't it? Skinner spends all this time trying to dig out whatever remains of my humanity so I could measure up as his lover."

Scully shook her head. "He didn't do it for himself, but for you, and I think he'll still think it a good bargain. Krycek... Alex, I'm not going to pretend that I don't hate what you've done..." She shrugged, sighed finally let go of old resentment, old angers. "I guess if Skinner can forgive you for killing him, then I can forgive you for whatever you did to me and mine."

He nodded once. That was one thing about Krycek he never offered false regrets or excuses. She realized anew that in his own way, he *was* honest.

Quietly she asked, "What are you going to tell Skinner?"

For a moment Krycek's face spasmed. "Nothing. Better he just think it was all a game, cleaner that way."

She stared at him. "You really think Skinner would believe you? Krycek, he'll never stop searching, much better to just tell him the truth." Scully's voice softened slightly, "he'll understand."

Krycek turned away. "Maybe, but that's how we're gonna play it out, Scully."

She didn't say anything and when he glanced at her, she still looked unconvinced. "My choice, my call."

She hesitated then nodded once. "Fine."

Skinner was not at home, a quick glance at the watch told him that the other man was probably chairing yet another of the interminable meetings he groused to about.

It made it both easier and infinitely harder.

Wandering aimlessly through the condo, he marveled how swiftly it had become a home to him; a man who had never wanted or expected either. Neither he nor Skinner were exactly the homey type, but scattered across the neatness of the rooms were all the pedestrian, everyday clutter, he'd secretly relished. A lifetime of traveling light, with whatever meager possessions he owned stuffed into a tote bag had him finished and ready to go in minutes. Still he lingered for a moment, drinking in the sight.

Imprinting the room into his memory, his eyes suddenly fell on a small bronze sculpture of a rat, crouched on its hind legs, busily washing its whiskers, face alight with mischief. He thought of the day Skinner had bought it, and how they'd both laughed. Acting on impulse he slipped the small statue into his pack, gave the room a last look and walked out, the door slamming shut behind with a finality that made him flinch.

Scully was waiting for him, when he arrived at their meeting place. Although her eyes swept over him with cool professional assessment, she didn't say anything, for which he was eternally grateful. He knew he looked like shit, and didn't need to have it thrown in his face.

"Krycek, I've arranged a meeting with the Lone Gunmen," she told him crisply. "They took a bit of persuading, but have promised to back you up. You can trust them completely and they've got no government ties." She shook her head when he tried to interrupt. "No, I've thought about this and you need at least one secure channel to let us know that you're still alive and if you need help."

He nodded, hefting his bag, "Thanks, Scully, I appreciate it. I'll try and get word to you when I can."

She smiled slightly, "Not just me, I hope." He followed her eyes and suddenly his heart was beating loudly enough to deafen.

He stared at her, fury and gratefulness in his eyes. "You lied!"

She said calmly, "Yes, and?"

"Isn't that like breaking a natural law or something?" Hiding behind flipness was a familiar instinct, but the façade that had worked so well for so long was useless when dealing with Skinner.

"Alex."

Two pair of eyes swiveled to look at the tall man. "Scully, would you excuse us, please?"

"Of course," she said immediately walking over to the car, discreetly out of hearing distance.

Once they were alone Skinner said quietly, "I don't know if I'm more pissed or proud."

"Don't, Walt, please." The husky voice wavered for a moment.

The smile that touched stern lips was as unsteady. "I'm not. What was it you once told me? We do what we have to. And you have to do this."

The sting was brief but sharp, that Skinner could so easily give him up. "Yeah."

Something in the voice must have betrayed him, and for a moment there was naked pain in the dark eyes that met his. "Jesus, Alex, don't you know this is tearing my guts out?"

And suddenly everything was all right and he had to fight a foolish impulse to laugh. "Yeah," he said again.

Answering laughter threaded through the deep voice. "You picked a hell of a time to go all silent on me."

He sobered, abruptly. "Walt, I - " he wanted to explain, to use words of fragile beauty and searing heat to speak of his love. How no one but this man had ever touched him, would ever touch him. "I won't bare my throat to anyone else."

Skinner gave him a long steady look. "Don't forget whom you belong to, I don't share."

Krycek nodded once, and unable to watch the only happiness he'd ever had walk out of his life, he turned around, facing the other way, eyes wide open and dry.

For the last time he felt the strong arms around him, a touch on his neck he knew was a kiss. Unconsciously he swayed closer, the instinct too strong to be resisted. Eyes sliding shut he inhaled the spicy scent that was Walter Skinner to him. A deep voice whispered in his ear. "When it's over, if any of us live through it, and if you can, come back to me, Alex."

When he opened his eyes again he was alone.

Only Harold remained, empty eyes gazing without expression.

Alex Krycek sighed heavily, bent down and grabbed his nap-sack. "Come on, partner. Somehow I doubt this will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."