Misprision

Part One

The darkness was like a living thing, pressing in on him, squeezing him tightly, smothering, suffocating, leaching the life from him pulse by fevered pulse. He knew it was impossible, but it seemed to him as if the darkness grew in mass and substance - expanding until he no longer knew where he ended and it began. If, that was, he still existed at all!

With no point of reference for his senses his head span and the nausea welled up in him once again. The panic he had been fighting off, until now, overwhelmed him and soon he was beyond all reason, screaming and thrashing against the bonds that held him immobile.

Strangely the renewed sensation of being restrained gave him a focus point, something to concentrate on, and slowly but steadily he managed to get himself back under control. The rank smell of his own cooling sweat assaulted his nostrils. At least this time he'd managed not to vomit, but the feeling of disgust he felt at having been unable to control himself before, all the numerous times he had woken from his stupor, threatened to drag him back into the pit of despair. Desperately he struggled to control his breathing. The whirling sensation and the ringing in his ears started to decrease as he concentrated on inhaling and exhaling through his mouth. If he used his nose the stench might make him retch again and he was not sure that he'd ever stop once he started.

How long he'd been there he had no idea, it was certainly longer than a few hours, maybe longer than a few days - all he knew was that now the ache in his muscles had grown until it felt as if they had been sliced through with a white hot knife, and unfortunately he was all too aware of exactly what that felt like.

As if on cue, the level of agony in the remainder of his left arm rose until the effort of not screaming from the pain caused more beads of sweat to form all over his naked body.

Shit! Just what he needed. If only he could reach the stump and massage it a little to ease the biting sensation that swamped all else in his consciousness.

A current of cold air wafted across his chest, indicating that at least wherever he was wasn't air tight as he had feared. The sudden glare of yellow sodium lights made him wince. Blinded by the luminous glow after so many hours in the dark, his eyes began to water, his throat was dry and sore and he really wanted to rinse his mouth, even a sip to drink would be welcome but he had little hope that such a boon would be granted to him.

His own fault, he reflected bitterly, for not making certain of his enemy's demise. Sloppy work that, and now it seemed he was paying the price.

"Well, well, well. Not so high and mighty now Alex." The voice rasped in his ear

He wanted to snort his defiance but the bony hand that clutched his throat prevented him from making any sound. A tremor of fear ran unbidden through his body. For once he held no cards, could not think of a single bargaining chip to use. His fear was not that he would be killed, rather that he would be forced to live once again as a specimen, a lab rat.

'God no, don't think of rats,' he admonished himself. Rats always made him think of Mulder and thinking of Mulder was a weakness he couldn't afford right now. Mulder had been a weakness, or a beacon of hope, for him ever since they'd met. It had been the way the man continued to struggle, against all odds - often against all logic - that had encouraged him to think there might perhaps be a way out of his own predicament. The raw courage of the man had struck him when they had worked on the Augustus Cole case. The sheer seeming inability of the other man to worry about his own safety had given Alex confidence, and though it took him a long time to scrounge up the courage of his own to fight back - eventually he had done so. Though how brave it had been when it wasn't just his ass on the line was a moot point perhaps.

His guilt at that thought added to his misery. Perhaps he'd already sacrificed the hostage to his fortune. If that was so, he'd be damned if he'd just allow these bastards to kill him without some reciprocal action - though just how he might initiate any attack on them, given his current position, he couldn't imagine.

He'd won his 'freedom' once before, he could again if only he could get it together enough. Of course his 'freedom', hard won though it was, never seemed to last long. Somehow he only managed to stay one step ahead of the game for short periods. Either the Smoker or one of his 'cohort' would eventually decide they'd let him have his head for long enough and rein him in again.

Even after escaping the silo, when he'd foolishly thought he'd finally done it - broken free - actively sought out the resistance and given them everything he had gathered over the years, even that independence had been somewhat of an illusion.

He'd never felt safe in the resistance either, even with all the assurances they offered him. Some of the attitudes of the men and women he worked with there were too close to the consortium for him to truly believe he had any real protection. There had also been times when he wondered if the resistance was actually achieving anything, what if they were just a cover for more of the consortium's nefarious dealings? He'd spent time and energy trying to double guess all those around him. Mulder's motto 'Trust no one' made absolute sense to him. All the same, it had been exhausting and in the nature of all humans he'd had to allow himself to trust someone now and then. So he had relaxed his guard - possibly a fatal error.

Trusting Marita, 'too stupid Alex, really really stupid' he thought to himself. He of all people should have known better, especially not to trust a pretty face. She'd sold him down the river, he thought ruefully. He only hoped it had been worth it.

He couldn't really blame her he supposed, you did what you had to do to survive. If their positions had been reversed he might have done the same. Just because she was a woman, didn't mean they would have gone easy on her, he of all people knew that too.

However, none of that was any consolation to him now. He was well and truly caught. His only hope now seemed to be to goad them into killing him sooner rather than later, anything to avoid the fate he feared more than any other.

There was a greater urgency to the consortium's activities these days. They might be depleted in number but those who were left were now more fanatical than ever before. He could only imagine the glee with which those elders who had survived the conflagration would view him as a potential guinea pig for their version of the vaccine. He'd do almost anything to deny them that pleasure - strike that almost, he'd do anything. What he wished, more devoutly than he'd ever wished before, was that his captors were not so aware of that fact. It meant that he'd have to work harder to provoke them into killing him.

Yet even as the thought passed through his over-wrought brain, he knew he couldn't do it. He might desire an end to his damned enslavement, his pain, and the torment of knowing his future would be once again controlled by this man among others, but still, deep inside, the will to survive and to keep himself apart, aloof from it all, was stronger.

He swallowed painfully, his throat almost sticking to itself due to dehydration. The pressure on his neck had lessened, now it was almost a caress. God, if the old man thought he'd respond to that he must be mad. His shudder was completely involuntary.

"So Alex, how do you like my latest 'guest room'? Are you comfortable? I thought you'd appreciate the darkness. A home from home so to speak. Did it bring back fond memories for you?"

He didn't bother to dignify that with a reply. Instead he stared straight ahead. He had a good view of the ceiling, but not much else. The whole room seemed to be made of glass. No, not glass, perspex. Glass was too risky. The light source was actually outside the room and therefore also controlled from outside. He was in a perspex cube inside a larger outer room he concluded. His eyes finally stopped watering and he got a clear view of CGB Spender for the first time since he had left him for dead at the foot of the stairs.

Spender's tracheotomy tube was still in place, he looked the same. Still frail, but alive and full of the vindictiveness that was his trademark. Alex wished he had enough saliva to spit at the wraith-like figure. Instead he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to settle himself mentally for what was to come. He was not prepared, however, for the bastard to stub his cigarette out on his unprotected balls. His scream reverberated in the cube for a long time after Spender had left, returning him once more to the darkness.

Part Two

Walter Skinner viewed the man in front of him in stunned silence. He'd thought by now he was beyond being shocked at the depths of depravity to which the former agent would sink, but this! Yes this shook him far more than the nanocytes, more even than the incomprehensible request that he kill Scully's baby - a request he had dismissed out of hand at the time, and which, indeed, he'd scarcely taken seriously - deeming it a test to see if he would actually agree to anything or if he was still a wild card.

He'd taken a certain amount of pride in the fact that, despite the compromises he'd been forced to reach in the past, he had resisted any suggestion or order that would place Mulder or Scully in real danger. He could perhaps congratulate himself on the fact that he still had some integrity left, they hadn't managed to take it from him entirely.

If he'd thought the request to end Scully's pregnancy was incomprehensible, then this was three times more so. Krycek had gone out of his way many times in the past to help Mulder, certainly that had often been a double edged sword, but still...

It could not be denied either, that Krycek's information had led to some very awkward problems for the consortium. The inferno that had wiped out so many of the shadowy powers behind the throne was certainly no accident and was almost certainly engineered, at least in part, by the man who now stood with his gun aimed firmly at Mulder.

If he'd thought this was another test, however, it seemed he was wrong. Krycek's eyes narrowed as his trigger finger began to move. Shit! He was really going to do it!

Without thinking he pulled his own weapon and shot, giving no warning, hitting Krycek in his right arm. Krycek went down but brought his weapon up, clearly not deterred by his injury. Skinner had no hesitation in firing again. He wanted the son of a bitch alive if possible, but he wasn't going to allow him to take Mulder out. Hitting him high in the right shoulder he was satisfied to see his adversary's firearm fall from his hand. Still Krycek persisted. Pushing his gun with his rigid left hand towards Skinner might be considered an act of surrender, but coupled with his plea that Skinner kill Mulder it somehow lost that connotation.

Enough! Something inside Skinner snapped. So much of recent events made no sense, but one thing was clear. Krycek was now such a loose cannon that he could not allow him to continue with his threats towards Scully, her baby, Mulder, any of them. He fired one last shot, hitting him in the centre of the forehead. Krycek uttered a surprised 'Shit!' before falling back, silent and unmoving - eyes wide open.

As if he were on auto pilot, he heard himself tell Mulder to go - that he would get Scully's whereabouts from Doggett. He barely registered Mulder's car pulling out as he approached the lifeless body on the ground with caution. He was astounded to see the amount of blood. Sighing, he knelt next to the man. He checked for vital signs and came up empty. No two ways about it, he was dead. He pulled out his cell phone and called Doggett to tell him he needed to contact Mulder and then resumed his search of his enemy's body and person.

Remembering details form his former agent's file he first turned his attention to the torso. According to Krycek's physical record there was a five inch scar on the right side about three inches below the rib cage, it was jagged and had been caused by an injury sustained in childhood. As he pulled the blood stained clothing away it revealed the trunk of this body was smooth and unmarred. The scar that should have been there was conspicuous by its absence.

'Well I guess that solves that little puzzle,' Skinner mused disgustedly, 'I wonder how long this thing has been masquerading as Krycek?' Then another thought occurred to him, this thing had been carrying the palm pilot which controlled the nanocytes. A rapid search of the jacket revealed what he was looking for. He pocketed it triumphantly. He had no way of knowing, of course, if it was the only governor of the infestation that lurked within his bloodstream, but whether it was or not at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that this part of the threat was now removed. Placing his weapon in his holster he reached for his cell phone again and called a number he hadn't used in years. He'd need some specialist help in dealing with clear up here. Having made the request, and received an affirmative answer he quickly disconnected and turned his attention to removing the 'evidence'.

Hefting the surprisingly lightweight body over his shoulder he moved towards his car. Opening the trunk he rolled the lifeless body inside, closing it quickly. He returned to the 'scene of the crime'. Reaching for the fire hose he turned it on full and cleared all the visible blood from the concrete floor. Checking everything was back in its place he returned to his car. Starting her up he left to dispose of the remaining evidence. As he drove he found himself concentrating his thoughts on Mulder and Scully, hoping that Mulder and Doggett would manage to protect Scully and prevent whatever cataclysmic event had been planned for her and her baby.

There were a great many unanswered questions here and trying to unravel them was only serving to make his already aching head throb harder. He'd come back to his office, after checking out of the hospital, to try and clear his muddled thoughts. Something just didn't add up. If Billy Miles was the force of evil here why had he destroyed Zeus Genetics? The work there was obviously aimed at furthering the alleged colonisation programme. Why had Krycek arrived at the FBI with Knowle Rohrer? How did Knowle Rohrer know Agent Crane? Billy Miles was FBI too, how were the two things linked? If Billy Miles was an alien replacement why was he tying to prevent Dr. Lev and Dr. Pirenti from producing alien babies and destroyed both them and their work? So many things just did not add up, putting two and two together here was as likely to get you five, fifty-five, ninety-nine or any other number you cared to mention except the logical one of four! Not the least of the mysteries was the Krycek double he now had in his trunk. The only reassuring thing about that particular problem was that there seemed to be a singular lack of any signs of 'Krycek' reviving as Billy miles had done.

Pursing his lips in concern at that thought he drove on to the rendezvous he had arranged, his concern for Scully growing. He recalled how often in the past they had been unable to prevent the consortium's worst activities. He shook his head, as if to clear it of that depressing thought. They simply had no option but to succeed this time. The alternative was unthinkable.

Alex was panting, fighting for breath. His brain screamed at him to pull in more air. It seemed that Cancerman's 'new guest room' had several interesting features, and this was one he could definitely have done without. A small part of his brain was able to recognise this as one of that old fossil Romberg's jolly little experiments. The former Nazi had hidden himself away in the consortium, along with Victor Klemper and others, during the general 'love in' that was 'Operation Paper-Clip'

Romberg had spent his time as a Nazi doctor at Dachau 'experimenting' on Jews, Poles, Russians. Experiments in air-pressure and freezing with his pal Rascher. Alex remembered the old man's enthusiasm for filming the death throes of the concentration camp inmates. The sick fuck had delighted in bringing out his personal 'souvenirs' for general viewing at the least provocation. How the hell he had managed to be acquitted at Nuremberg was beyond him. It had always revolted Alex when he'd been forced to be present at one of Romberg's 'screenings' as he'd called them. The general atmosphere of jollity amongst those members of the consortium who'd always come along to one of those soirees had made his skin crawl, not that he'd ever allowed himself to reveal that of course - though he had no doubt that Spender knew, as his Father had known, what 'dear little Alex' was really feeling. His Father. Now why, at a time like this, would he be thinking of his father?

It was hard to hold on to coherent thoughts, though he tried desperately to do so - anything to help fight off the sense of panic.He wasn't sure whether or not he should be grateful, but Spender had not been near him since the cigarette burning incident. When he'd regained consciousness he'd realised someone had been in and hosed him down, then they'd attached an intravenous drip. That in itself had freaked him out. He had no way of knowing what substances were being pumped around his system and that worried him. His balls still hurt where the burned skin was puckered and blistered, but he could tell that too had been cleaned. He'd been given a urethral catheter and there were also some kind of wires connected to sub-dermal probes, one in each testicle. The metal bands holding him immobile were as solid as ever.

Basically he was stuck where he was until they decided to kill him, retrain him or let him go. He had no hope of a rescue. No one who could help knew where he was, and no one who might be able to help would actually care enough to do so. He resigned himself to whatever the fates decreed and tried to concentrate on his breathing.

The air pressure in the chamber had dropped considerably by now. His brain was screaming that it was dying, he could feel the veins in his forehead pulsing. The pain was magnified way past unbearable, intensifying with every beat of his heart.

What puzzled him was the monitoring equipment. Why was it focussed on his balls? He soon had no energy to waste on worrying about it though. The fleeting emotion disappeared in the panic that now enveloped him. Every breath was torture. He knew that he could not affect the amount of air he was taking in by breathing harder, but logic had no place in a brain starved of oxygen.

He could feel himself choking, his head swam and blackness nudged at the edge of his vision, slowly encompassing it entirely as he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

Part Three

Skinner entered his office to a familiar and hated smell. He groaned inwardly. Damn the man. Of late he'd been aware that the regular annoyance of this man's presence in his office had become more of a rarity than it had been when he'd first had the agents responsible for the X-files assigned to him. Another thing that should have alerted him to the fact that things were not quite as they seemed in the world of the consortium. When Spender had been worried that things were getting out of hand, when he'd come to Skinner in the past, it had always been a sign that they, Mulder, Scully and to a lesser extent he himself, might be getting close - too close for Spender's comfort at least, it was just that they had never known quite what it was they might be too close to.

He'd been free of visitations from the malignant manifestation in his office for some months now, and had begun to hope that the man had met with a serious accident and gone the way of those who had met their end in the inferno. No such luck it seemed, though the fact that he was now in a motorised wheelchair and had resorted to smoking his beastly cigarettes through a tube in his neck did not escape him, and the sight pleased him more than he could say. The thought that the old man was also vulnerable to the ravages of disease, age and accident was comforting at least.

"To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company?" He said, snarling. He was feeling far too tired to deal with this man's machiavellian machinations now, but it appeared he had little choice.

"Why Assistant Director, anyone would think that you weren't pleased to see me."

The dry rasping voice grated on his eardrums. Spender's smirk did little to reduce the tension in the room. Skinner grimaced, he was damned if he was going to play diplomat with this loathsome relic.

"I'm not in the mood to play games tonight Spender, so say your piece and leave. Better still you could just leave now without bothering me further."

"I'm sure you'd like that," Spender replied, "but then you'd wish I had stayed and shared what I know with you."

"What you know!" Skinner blasted. "You've never been straight enough in the past to actually share any real information with me. Orders, instructions, threats, those you are good at - information on the other hand, well in that department if you'll excuse the expression, you suck!"

"My my, Assistant Director, so violent a temper! I am shocked, and surprised that you have lasted this long in your position with so little tact at your command."

"If you mean I'm not prepared to kiss ass anymore just to keep my job, then you'd be correct. I, however, deem this to be an admirable quality rather than a character flaw. Now, unless there was something else?"

He gestured towards the door, indicating that he wished the man to leave.

"Such impatience. Aren't you the least bit curious to know what prompted the bizarre circumstances surrounding the birth of Agent Scully's child?"

"I've seen all I want to of the bizarre events thank you. Of course I'd like to know what prompted them but I have no reason to believe you'll actually tell me the truth about that, or anything else of any use." Skinner said tersely. "As I said, I'm not in the mood for cryptic clues, either tell me what you came to say or leave."

"Very well," Spender said, "but before I go I want you to know this. I've always seen you as a worthy adversary. I look forward to our continued association, and we will be seeing each other again - you can count on it."

So saying he turned his wheelchair towards the door. Before he exited, however, he looked back at Skinner.

"You really should take every step to ensure that the investigation into Zeus Genetics is kept strictly within limits. It would be a shame if anything untoward were to occur to anyone involved. I'm sure we are all relieved that Agent Scully gave birth safely. I pass on my sincere best wishes that the child's health continues to be the most robust."

So saying he left.

Skinner sagged and slumped exhaustedly into his chair. He was really tired of the veiled threats and insinuations emanating from that cigarette smoking bastard. He pulled out his cell phone, not trusting his office line to be secure, and was about to dial Doggett's number when the instrument chirped. Hitting the button to accept the call he held it to his ear.

"Hello." He said, tentatively.

"Walter, it's Conrad." The voice on the line said. "I'm puzzled here, you said this man was shot this evening and that he was about thirty seven years old."

"That's right." Skinner said " Why? What's wrong?"

"Well he is certainly dead, but when I began to open him up to start on that thorough check you asked for there were some anomalies. There's some severe necrosis of internal organs that indicates, or would seem to indicate, a far greater age than that of a man in his thirties. Also, given the time of death I would have expected rigor to have begun to set in at least a couple of hours ago. However the body is still warm, core temperature is 31.6 degrees Celsius, which is again not in keeping with the time of death. There is no discolouration of the body, no cyanosis, the limbs are still pliant and the capillary refill function is unimpaired. In short, despite the fact that this man is to all intents and purposes dead his body is reacting as if it were merely in repose. It's a huge puzzle and I don't know what to make of it. Frankly it's giving me the creeps and that's saying something."

Walter sighed deeply, his friend, Conrad Borrachio, had been his best buddy since their time in basic training in the Marine Corps. He'd stayed in the Corps after Vietnam, unlike Walter, completing his medical training - working his way up the ranks and going on to become head of medical staff at the Office for Naval Research. Like Dana Scully, he was qualified to practice general medicine but preferred working in forensic science and research to the rigours of hospital life. If Conrad said there were anomalies with 'Krycek's' body then it merely served to further fuel his worst suspicions.

"I'll give you one piece of advice Conrad. Secure the body any way you can, and don't stay alone in the building with it. I'll get someone to assist you in guarding it until you finish your investigations. You will continue to look at this for me won't you?"

He was suddenly anxious that he was putting too much on his friendship with this man, and that he might decide that this was too freaky and likely to cause too much of a problem to continue with the search Walter had set him on.

"No need to worry Walter, I may be freaked, I don't mind admitting it, but I am too intrigued to stop now. As for the precautions. If you say they are necessary then I'll take your word for it. What exactly is it that you think I should do?"

"Take the highest precautions you can, treat him as if he were the most dangerous mental patient, out of control, psychotic, a danger to life and limb, you know the kind of thing."

"Shit Walter, you sure know how to brighten my day." Conrad sighed. "If you say so buddy, though it seems a lot of bother to go to for a dead man. Now if I may make a suggestion, you sound exhausted. When I saw you here earlier you looked like shit. Go home and get some rest Marine. I'll call you again in the morning. If you want to send the help over asap I'd appreciate it."

Walter closed his eyes against the renewed throbbing in his head. He did need to go home, he also needed a shower and some sleep but he couldn't actually see himself relaxing enough to get any. For now though he'd at least make the effort, after ensuring Conrad had his protection and that all his 'chicks' were roosting safely.

"Ok Conrad, but I am serious about that security, make sure you use the highest level of restraint on that body. I'll get my Agent or Agents to you within the half hour."

I'm on it Walter," Conrad said, "No go home."

"Roger that." Walter said, and he hung up the phone before beginning the first of a round of calls to get the guarding of 'Krycek' under way. Life, it seemed, was not about to get less bizarre anytime soon.

He awoke again to semi-darkness, and to excruciating pain. Nothing new there but the man working on introducing something into his body by means of a hypodermic syringe was new. He was pale haired, almost albino in appearance, yes there was definitely a hint of pink about those eyes above the surgical mask. He was tall and rangy looking, and was paying his 'patient' no attention, as if what happened to the man strapped to the table was supremely unimportant to him.

Licking his lips and trying to get some saliva into his mouth Alex watched in horror as the needle plunged into his chest. He managed to find his voice this time and, though he knew that questions might be met with violence or - if he were luckier than he had any right to be - complete and indifferent silence, he had to ask.

"What," he paused, as if appalled at the fact that he'd had the temerity to speak at all, "what are you giving me?" His voice was harsh to his own ears, even more husky than usual - from prolonged bouts of screaming, his throat painful and dry.

"Dexamethazone, 8mg. Standard dose," was the brisk response, "The old man doesn't want you fading out on us before things get interesting."

"So if he doesn't want me dead what does he want?" Alex asked, almost cockily.

He couldn't help himself it seemed. Having begin to talk his mouth was running away with him. he almost cringed as he heard his smart mouth take over

"I'm sure when he feels the time is right he'll tell you for himself. No why don't you be a good boy and just lie still and let the programme continue." The pale haired man replied.

"Oh yeah sure, like I'm really going anywhere." Was the swift unthinking response.

The man leaned down and stared at him as if he were a bug on a pin. Grabbing Alex's chin in his hand he tightened his grip.

"You won't be so cocksure of yourself before long boy, and remember, if you don't give the old man what he wants he can always get her in here to take your place."

Giving Alex's head a shake he let go and turned on his heel and left, the airlock making its sucking sound as Alex was once again left alone. He drew in a deep breath, the pain in his chest was lessening since the injection, but his action merely served to aggravate his cough. The bout lasted so long he thought he would pass out again from the choking, restrictive feeling in his chest and throat, finally it subsided leaving him breathless, covered in a sheen of sweat and shaking.

When he managed to get his breathing under control again he thought back with dismay over this recent encounter with Spender's latest medical turncoat. Somehow the colourless man scared him more than Spender and he felt sure the rest of the 'programme' was going to be one of the worst experiences of his entire life, and that was certainly saying something. Sighing, he tried to clear his mind of everything but the fact that he was currently still living and almost in one piece, if you didn't count the lack of a left arm. Somehow it wasn't reassuring in the least.

Part Four

Doggett returned to the Hoover building around midnight. Instead of going to his office some instinct or sixth sense sent him towards Skinner's. He could see when he got out of the elevator that there was still a light on in the room. He had assumed Skinner was at home when he'd spoken to him earlier on the phone. After all, the man was just out of the hospital recovering from a fairly nasty head wound. He'd suspected that Skinner's story of just being let out that evening was a smokescreen so he'd done a bit of digging and found that he was right. Skinner had in fact discharged himself against medical advice.

After taking care of placing agents with Skinner's friend Dr Borrachio, he'd stopped by the hospital to check his hypothesis and after flashing his FBI ID had been told the Assistant Director had requested his clothes repeatedly and refused to stay, despite their best efforts to persuade him otherwise. Citing an emergency at the Bureau he'd eventually forced them into handing over his clothing but had insisted he sign himself out AMA. Doggett had given the nurse on duty a resigned smile and agreed with her that the AD was a stubborn man.

This penchant for stubbornness had been apparent to John Doggett during his initial investigation into the disappearance of Agent Fox Mulder, and if anything he would say that Skinner had become more stubborn as their acquaintance lengthened. In fact the three of them, Skinner, Mulder and Scully were the most stubborn people he had ever met. After a few months of working the X -Files, however, he'd begun to understand where this stubborn self-reliance and mistrust came from. The pressures they had been under, and the levels of distrust towards them from within the FBI had formed their attitudes, made it almost impossible for anyone to begin to make a dent in their armour. He liked to think he had managed that to some extent with Skinner at least - now, however, he was beginning to doubt he really knew enough about any of them to be considered a part of their inner circle.

He supposed in a way it was his own fault. Perhaps if he had been less confrontational when he'd questioned Skinner and Scully during his investigation he might have been able to gain their confidence more easily. It wasn't that they distrusted him exactly, after all Skinner, Mulder and Scully had all warned him to look out for himself - and risked themselves to help him in the past. So no- it wasn't distrust as much as it was a long established habit to 'trust no one' and let outsiders in as little as possible.

Monica seemed to have had more luck in establishing some rapport with the trio though. Of course she actually believed in the 'alien conspiracy' thing even before she got involved in the X-Files. He had been stubborn in his own way on that front he freely admitted. However, after several months of working on the X-Files, after Mulder's miraculous 'resurrection' and the problem of the 'alien virus' both Mulder and Billy Miles had been carrying, not to mention having seen Billy Miles squashed flatter than a pancake and then knowing he'd somehow got back up on his feet and gone to harass Scully and Reyes in Georgia, he had to conclude that one of two things was true.

There could only be one truth at a time.

Therefore, either he lived in a cartoon world like the one in 'Who framed Roger Rabbit?' or the X-Files held more truth in them than he'd ever dreamed credible or possible. He had come to agree with Hamlet, that there were more things in Heaven and Earth that he'd ever dreamt of in his philosophy. It had been an uncomfortable discovery, and one he was sure that Scully had gone through herself years before, but that didn't make it any easier to cope with. Heaving a huge sigh he straightened his shoulders ready for the battle he feared he'd have to fight to get Skinner to agree to go home.

As he cautiously opened the door, after knocking and receiving no response, Doggett saw Skinner sitting at his desk. There were papers strewn across it, covered in the AD's neat script, and he was drawing a 'spider gram' apparently trying to draw all of his 'scribblings' into one coherent whole. He didn't acknowledge Doggett's entrance but continued working feverishly.

Shaking his head slightly, Doggett pulled up a chair to the other side of Skinner's desk and waited. Skinner continued as if oblivious to the fact that he was no longer alone. Only the occasional glance in his direction told Doggett that his presence had registered with the older man. Finally the silence was too much for him.

"Sir? What are you doing?" He said.

Skinner held up a hand to forestall him from further questioning and began gathering all of his sheets together, making the unaccustomed mess on his desk disappear. He leafed through the gathered sheets, glancing down at his diagram as he did so. At last he stacked the papers with customary neatness on his desk, reached for the diagram and turned towards Doggett.

"I couldn't get these questions out of my mind, I needed to start trying to figure out just what was wrong with the so called 'information' we've been given over the last few days. So much of it didn't add up. I thought after I shot 'Krycek' I'd have some answers but all I seem to have now are even more questions."

He pushed the papers, with his original thoughts on, towards Doggett.

"Here, look these over. Tell me if I've missed anything. I'd appreciate an honest assessment and right now there aren't many people I'd trust to give me one, except perhaps Mulder you are the only one I feel I can count on right now."

Giving Skinner a surprised glance, Doggett took the offered papers and the diagram without speaking and began to read through the thoughts his superior had committed to paper. Skinner sat back, rubbing his head gingerly around the left temple. His headache had grown to mammoth proportions but he felt a little clearer in his mind now that he had managed to think around the puzzle he'd been struggling with over the last couple of days. Standing to go and fetch some water from his bathroom he wavered suddenly as he lost his balance. Doggett dropped the papers back on the desk and moved quickly round it to help him.

"Sir you need to lie down, you should be at home resting. I understand your need to keep working but you don't have to do it all alone."

He pressed his point by forcing Skinner towards the couch, one hand under his right elbow as he guided the AD.

"I can see that your head is still bothering you, and I know the hospital gave you some painkillers amongst other things, so tell me where are they and when did you last take them?"

Skinner didn't bother to protest at Doggett's treatment of him. Truth be told he had come to the end of his tether. After talking to Conrad, and promising to go home, he'd started working on his puzzle instead, ignoring the incipient pain in his head - and now his neck. He'd tried the pain killers earlier on at the hospital but they just made his head feel fuzzy so he'd ignored the doctor's directions and not taken any more. Now he was beginning to feel that had been a big mistake.

"Sir?" Doggett prompted again.

"Oh," he blinked up at Doggett, "about six this evening, before I left the hospital, but I couldn't think straight or concentrate on anything after that so I stopped."

He closed his eyes while Doggett untied his laces, removed his shoes and swung his legs up on to the couch. He felt ridiculous, but he couldn't deny that it was a welcome relief to let go and relax. He leaned back against the arm of the couch and gratefully accepted a glass of water from Doggett.

"Pills?" Doggett asked pointedly.

With a sigh Skinner opened one eye and regarded him.

"In my pocket." He said, reaching in and pulling put the prescription bottles. One of painkillers and another of antibiotics.

"Can you open the bottle? I don't think I'm quite up to doing battle with the child proof containers right now." He said with a rueful grin at his subordinate.

Doggett took the containers, opened them, checked the dosage and shook out the prescribed amount into his hand before handing them to Skinner who took them gratefully washing them down with the water Doggett had provided. Taking the now empty glass, Doggett went back to the desk to resume his reading of Skinner's notes. Before too long a gentle snoring emanated from the couch. Doggett relaxed with a faint grin. At least the AD had accepted defeat and finally done what his doctors had ordered. Now he had to try and figure out exactly what was going on.

At first he found the notes confusing, rambling even, but as he read on he began to see the clear logical line of thought that ran through them. It was impressive, a reminder, if he'd needed one, that Skinner'd had a damned fine record as an Investigative Agent before his promotion.

Skinner had started by noting that Billy Miles had been targeting Zeus Genetics and destroying their work. Zeus Genetics had, according to Duffy Haskell, been creating 'Alien Babies' and implanting them into human mothers. Therefore, ran Skinner's argument, Billy Miles was destroying the work of the alien conspiracy and was not a part of it at all. The question was why? As an Alien replacement surely he should have been helping Drs. Lev and Pirenti rather than opposing them. If Billy Miles was fighting against the alien conspiracy why was he so interested in Scully's baby? If her baby was as much a threat to the alien conspiracy as 'Krycek' had insisted then why would Billy Miles want to harm it? Surely he'd want to protect her and the baby if he was fighting the conspiracy?

Then there was the curious incident of 'Alex Krycek' himself. He also claimed to be fighting against the alien conspiracy, yet he was afraid of Billy Miles (it seemed). He had clearly warned them that Billy Miles was a threat. Skinner, it seemed, had come to the conclusion that when Billy Miles had come to the Hoover building he came looking for 'Krycek', or possibly for Crane and others also. Skinner's injury had been accidental. He had after all followed 'Krycek' as the former tried to escape Miles. At first Skinner had thought 'Krycek' was setting him up, but on further reflection he'd decided that all 'Krycek' was doing, as per usual, was saving his own skin.

The evidence seemed to point to the fact that Duffy Haskell had been killed by Billy Miles, but Lizzie Gill and Haskell had been, apparently, working together - yet the tablets Lizzie Gill had slipped into Scully's medicine cabinet had been harmless vitamin supplements according to the doctor at the hospital.

Doggett sighed. His own head was beginning to ache with the effort of trying to unravel the evidence before him, and he had no head injury to blame for it. Skinner must be exhausted after all his efforts here, yet so far he could find no fault with the older man's reasoning. He skimmed through the rest of Skinner's ponderings and his chart. it was very difficult not to come to the same conclusions. There had to be at least two sides involved here and Billy Miles was apparently not on the same side as 'Krycek'. Then there was the fact that the Krycek who had been shot in the garage was, according to medical records, not the same Krycek who had been assigned to Mulder. There were also several medical peculiarities, anomalies, with the corpse of the mystery Krycek double. Doggett grabbed a blank sheet and began to make his own notes to add to Skinner's findings so far.

Knowle Rohrer and Agent Crane were apparently working with 'Krycek' (or whoever he was) - or at least they were not actively working against him. Kersh, it seemed, was also involved. Whatever process had produced Billy Miles had also produced Rohrer and Crane. They had the same tell tale vertebral protrusions. However, clearly Billy Miles was not working with them and they had actively participated in the mission to throw him off the scent during 'operation protect Scully'. The more Doggett thought about it, the more he tried to untangle the mess, the more impenetrable it seemed to become. One thing was clear though, whatever the truth of the matter, if Skinner's notes on the meeting with Spender were anything to go by, the need to get moving on the investigation into Zeus Genetics was paramount. Still and all, however urgent this was, he too needed to get some sleep. He loosened his tie, removed his jacket and rolled it up, making it into a makeshift pillow. Placing it on the desk he put his head down and closed his eyes. soon he too was sleeping soundly.

Mulder entered the building leaving Reyes to go and tell the helicopter pilot that they would be taking a trip to the hospital, allowing him time to make his contacts and file an emergency flight plan. He saw Scully sitting on the bed, her hair mussed, holding the child in her arms. She looked sweaty and exhausted but incredibly pleased. Mulder blinked slightly as he hesitantly approached the bed.

"Hey," he said, feeling somewhat lame and out of place, "we've got a helicopter outside to take you to the hospital."

'That's right Mulder,' he thought, ' can't handle this emotionally so you concentrate on details.' He didn't even dare to ask about the baby. One thing at a time was the only way he could do this.

Scully, however, looked incredibly relieved and gave him a tired smile. Apart from the trauma of labour and the worries she'd harboured all through her pregnancy, she'd been terrified of two things. That whoever was with Billy Miles would take her baby from her, and that there would be something wrong with the baby. Add to that the fact that she was a doctor, she felt more at home with the paraphernalia of hospital than she did here. Reyes had done a wonderful job of making things bearable here but the sooner she could wrap herself in the comfort blanket of hospital routine the happier she would be. All other questions could wait until later.

"My White Knight to the rescue," she joked, " sounds wonderful Mulder, let's get this show on the road."

Mulder gave her what support he could as she carried the baby. Reyes reappeared and, grabbing their bags, she followed them out to the waiting chopper. She had a feeling that she was needed back in DC as soon as possible so she left the car to be collected later and clambered aboard with Mulder and Scully, sitting up front with the pilot to give Scully and Mulder a little privacy. She signalled for take off when the pilot was ready. As they rose above the small, and now empty town she found herself puzzling over the actions of the game warden towards Billy Miles. They'd both had those ridges on their necks, which made them both 'alien replacements' according to what Doggett had told her on the phone. The question was, were they both on the same side? How many sides were there? And who were they? There were more questions than answers it appeared. Still, she was sure it was only a matter of time before she and Agent Doggett would get it all straightened out so that they could see how next to proceed. Picking Mulder's brain wouldn't hurt either, but right now he had other things to occupy him. Lost in thought she stared out of the window, hardly noticing their progress through the sky.

Milton Graaf handed his data to Spender with something of a flourish. It was evident that he as pleased with himself and his findings.

Alex, watched and listened, unable even to feign sleep since whatever the last substance they had given him was, it was making him feel as if he needed to run coast to coast before he'd even be able to think of winding down. His alarm grew deeper throughout Graaf's recitation.

"The haemoglobin oxygenation was phenomenal, the ability of the cells to deal with high levels of carbon dioxide was equally pleasing. Response to atmospheric pressure was way beyond expectations. Digestive system responses are, again, more than exemplary. The subject was able to absorb nutrients from the electrolytic mixture contained within the IV fluids more than adequately, added to which it took over ninety six hours for the nutrients to be totally broken down. We've managed to successfully increase physical efficiency whilst slowing the metabolism beyond all hoped for results."

'Shit!' thought Alex, 'whatever the hell they are up to it sounds as though I am guinea pig number one yet again.' His thoughts skittered around in horror trying to pin down what the purpose of all this experimentation might be. It boded no good for him, and maybe not for others either, that was the one thing which could be absolutely guaranteed.

"Cardiac capacity is increased five-fold. Lactic acid production is down by sixty percent. Lung capacity and aerobic respiration has been increased by three times the normal rate, which corresponds to the oxygen levels in the blood. Physically the subject is able to function fully in extremely adverse conditions. Lymph Node activity in the face of infection is hyper efficient. The Thymus Gland was not only capable of fighting of the Smallpox virus but also the Typhus infection that was introduced. Large numbers of antibodies were produced. It's very impressive."

'Fuck! Typhus! The bastard gave me Typhus.' Alex panicked inwardly, though he was still incapable of moving or making any noise.

"Indeed." Spender said dryly, perusing the report his tame scientist had given him. "I do, however, have a question."

"Yes sir?" Graaf responded.

"You paint quite a shining picture of our guest's achievements with regard to your tests. Am I to understand that you think he is physically stronger now than he was before?"

"That is my assessment sir." The pale man replied.

"Then are we safe to leave him unguarded? You tell me his physical body is now more efficient, that you have lowered his metabolism so that even four days without food will have no effect on him, and I am greatly impressed and pleased with your work Dr Graaf. However, I wonder if we are not also creating problems for ourselves here?"

Graaf looked at Spender. He seemed totally at ease and had obviously been expecting the question.

'Believe me sir, I understand your concern, but rest assured that the tests were conducted in such a way that the test subject remained restrained and unmoving throughout. He is being given a paralysing drug, of the sort that prevents muscle movement during surgery. If I was to remove the bonds and tell him now to get off the table he would be totally unable to respond. Also, after several weeks of restraint the muscle tone is less than adequate for him to even twitch a finger voluntarily, even without the chemical barrier to movement. All the trials of his muscle action and responses have been done with minimal stimulation - certainly not enough to constitute exercise, only to simulate it. The subject is weak and lethargic."

He gave what was meant to be a reassuring smile, but it looked for all the world to Alex like a grimace. He shuddered inwardly at the sight, and at the information that he had been restrained here for 'weeks'.

"Well then I shall accept your assurances and look forward to our next thrilling session. Is he ready yet do you think?"

'Great! Now he's talking about me as if I wasn't even aware of what's going on.' Alex thought. It chilled him. He hated Spender, but he rather thought it was better to be a 'someone' rather than a 'something' around the Old Man. He was definitely in very deep shit here.

"He can be made ready whenever you need him sir." Graaf said. "Just give me some time to get the new monitors hooked up."

Spender looked at his watch. Alex having lost track of time long since, idly wondered whether it was night or day, but otherwise concentrated on trying not to think about what joyous little entertainment the old man and the washed out looking man had in line for him next, and failed miserably.

"It's getting late," Spender said, " and I need my beauty sleep. Will you be ready tomorrow morning at say, eight thirty?"

"As you wish sir." Graaf said, moving to collect up his papers which were now lying on Alex's still naked body.

"You may leave those," Spender said, waving the man away. "I will see you at eight thirty sharp in the morning."

So saying he gathered up the notes himself so that he might read them again.

Wordlessly, Graaf bowed his head toward Spender and left quietly, only the sound of the airlock interrupted the silence. He was ecstatic. There was a great deal to get ready before the next round of tests, and the questioning of his subject. A surge of glee at the way things were progressing rushed through him. Things would be very interesting in the morning. He grinned nastily to himself as he returned to his office to gather the things he needed.

'Beauty sleep?' Alex thought as he looked at his former boss with barely concealed contempt, 'wonder how long he'll have to sleep to achieve that? Forever wouldn't even begin to be sufficient.'

"Well now Alex dear boy," Spender said dispassionately, barely even looking up from the papers Graaf had left with him. " I think you also need your beauty sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long and very interesting day. I'll bid you good night. Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite."

He patted Alex's cheek in a pseudo friendly manner before folding the papers, placing them inside his jacket and turning his chair and leaving.

Alex was alone again, alone with his thoughts. The panic he'd felt earlier was nothing to what he felt now. Any chance of sleep was now seemingly banished forever from his unquiet mind.

Part Five

Skinner awoke to find his head much clearer and the pain dulled to bearable proportions. Sitting up he glanced over at his desk and was slightly taken aback to see John Doggett asleep in his chair, head cushioned on the desk by his suit jacket, tie undone. Checking his watch he saw it was almost 5 am. Standing carefully he went to the bathroom, washed his face and cleaned his teeth before venturing back out into his office to retrieve the coffee pot. Filling it, he returned to the office and set the machine going then he turned back to look at Doggett.

It appeared that Doggett was still sleeping and Skinner was reluctant to wake him, but the sense of urgency he felt with regard to Spender's cryptic message spurred him on. Gently he placed a hand on Doggett's shoulder. Doggett opened his eyes instantly and gazed at him blearily for about half a second before sitting up and stretching his arms up behind his head. Skinner heard his spine popping and winced in sympathy.

"Coffee's ready when you are," he said, "there's soap in the bathroom along with all the other necessities."

Doggett nodded his thanks and went to freshen up. When he came back Skinner had poured their coffee and was sipping his appreciatively. Doggett took the other cup and swallowed at least half of it before he ventured to speak.

"I read through it all," he said, "and I must admit it all seems very thorough and all too believable."

"I know," Skinner said "The question now is, what do we do next?"

"Have you spoken to Mulder about any of this?" Doggett asked.

"No, there was no time yesterday and besides, he needed to be with Scully."

"What about now though?" Doggett said. "Reyes called me and told me everything is fine, Scully and the baby are both in good health and they were released from hospital immediately following their check-up."

"Mulder may still want to be with her, but I think I'd like his thoughts on this." Skinner said. "In the meantime I need to check in with Conrad."

Doggett nodded. "Sure, and while you do that I'll check in with Agent Reyes, see if she's up for some private sleuthing."

He pulled out his cell phone and began punching in the numbers whilst Skinner did the same.

Alex felt grateful that for once no one had turned off the lights. He'd always hated the dark. Dark to him always meant danger, pain and often hunger, ever since his early childhood. Since the silo in Dakota though, the dark had not just hidden danger, it had presaged it, even embodied it in his mind, as if the dark itself was a physical entity with inborn malice aimed directly at him.

He was also grateful that whatever it was Graaf had been giving him to induce muscular paralysis was now wearing off and seemingly almost gone from his system. This enabled him to flex his fingers and toes, open and close his mouth and eyes. He was irritated though, to note that return of sensation to his body was accompanied by severe pins and needles in his extremities. Whilst he was pleased to have regained some control over his body, he couldn't help worrying about what Spender and Graaf had in store for him next.

To him their earlier conversation had given little away, except that their damned experiments so far had yielded results greater than they had hoped for. He hadn't liked the glee they had exhibited when discussing his physical state. He gathered that what they had done had enhanced his body in a way that might in some way be beneficial to Spender, and this gave him grave cause for concern.

The other thing that worried him greatly was that he barely remembered the majority of time he'd spent here as a lab rat. Graaf had said that he'd been working on him for several weeks, yet he could clearly remember no more than five or six days of his captivity here. He fought the urge to scream in fear and frustration, to do so would be to give his captors greater satisfaction, he knew. No doubt they were filming his every move, recording it for posterity as was their usual habit.

He shuddered, remembering how - at Romberg's seventieth birthday celebrations - there had been a champagne reception. Music had been provided by a string quartet. All the consortium elders had been present as had several young men 'specially procured' for the occasion. One of the highlights of the evening had been the screening of some of Romberg's past 'triumphs' as well as some of his newer forays into 'medical research'. Alex clearly remembered the evening for two reasons.

Firstly, most of the newer films had been of him, though there were others. Since he had been working with the consortium Romberg had found it easier to secure new subjects for his 'tests' though more often than not Alex had been the favourite. Romberg had boasted that it was much simpler to get new test subjects now than it had ever been even when he was with the Third Reich. During the screenings of the films of his own tests Alex had been ordered to stay and watch, though to this day he had no idea how he'd forced himself to stay and do so without breaking out into a panic attack. Somehow he'd managed to do it without reverting to the hysterical behaviour he'd exhibited during the actual tests themselves. Everyone, it seemed, had thoroughly enjoyed his begging and pleading and terrified screams on film, shooting him amused glances when they could tear their eyes from the screen.

A casual observer might have thought that the assembled group was watching a Laurel and Hardy movie or a Tom and Jerry cartoon from their reactions and their laughter - even his own father had joined in with the general hilarity.

Secondly, and this was a much harder memory for him to deal with, he'd made his debut that night.

Much later Alex had learned of the very old practice of Southern Belles making their debut. It being a genteel way of introducing young ladies of marriageable age into polite society. Alex snorted. His 'debut' had been anything but genteel. he'd been so bloodied and bruised by the end of Romberg's party that he's spent the next several weeks in Romberg's own medical unit being patched up so that he would be serviceable again as soon as possible.

He'd been a virgin, though in theory he knew a great deal about the things that were required of him. Everything there was to know about sexual intercourse had been drummed into him, one painful lesson at a time. Nevertheless that had been his first physical experience of either men or women.

There had been a dozen men at the party and all of them had made use of his services in one way or another, showing their disapproval of any failure to please then on his part in the time honoured way. Hence the broken ribs, dislocated hips, fat lips, lost teeth, perforated ear drum, bruised kidneys and blackened eyes that affected his vision to the point he was barely able to see straight for a month. No his debut had been anything but genteel. He'd been thirteen years old.

Conrad looked up as Skinner and Agent Doggett entered the lab. He was as tall as Skinner, not quite as muscular though, with sandy coloured hair, a little sprinkled with grey. The hair was short, cropped, although not quite a buzz cut. His deep blue eyes conveyed a perplexed look as he frowned at them in greeting.

"I'm glad you came so quickly," he said, "frankly I fear that unless we move fast on securing the data from this autopsy it will never get finished and I wanted you to see for yourselves exactly what I mean."

He gestured to them to follow him into what he liked to call his 'inner sanctum' or his 'holy of holies'. It was rare that Conrad undertook autopsies these days. Something for which he thanked god on a daily basis. At first he'd thought his mind was playing tricks on him due to the lateness of the hour, or due to his lack of practice in autopsy work of late - that maybe that had caused him to make some mistake in the care of the cadaver and had somehow caused the enhanced decay he had noted. Though he had no idea what that might have been.

As he had progressed through the examination though he's begun to realise that nothing he could have done would have resulted in any of the effects he's seen on the internal organs as well as on the fleshy musculature or the skeletal frame of this man, if man he was.

He led them to the table in the centre of the room and raised the surgical green sheeting which covered the body. He looked at Doggett and Skinner.

"I'm sure you are used to grisly sights in your line of work gentlemen," he said, "but believe me this one is particularly gruesome and bizarre. If you need to leave at any time here please feel free to do so."

Skinner grunted an acknowledgement and Doggett merely raised his eyebrow expectantly at Conrad. Sighing, Conrad finally withdrew the sheet from the lifeless body. Skinner had to admit that even after the warning the sight that met his eyes was one of the most grisly that he had ever seen. The man he'd shot, he no longer allowed himself to think of him as Alex Krycek, had been young and vibrant - irritatingly so at times. He'd had youth, vigour and even a certain amount of beauty.

This 'thing' looked worse than any corpse of his acquaintance. He'd been prepared for the normal discolouration, the waxy yellow appearance usually observed in those no longer living. This body, however, still seemed to be oozing blood from the wounds his bullets had made and the autopsy incision. Not only that but the flesh appeared to be disintegrating. The body, it seemed, was decomposing at a remarkable rate, and yet the blood continued seeping - for all the world as if the heart was still beating.

"My God!" Skinner said hoarsely.

"Yeah!" Doggett agreed.

"I did warn you gentlemen." Conrad said looking earnestly at them both. "Walter, I told you last night that the internal organs showed signs of decay. At first I thought that this was due to hard living. Now, however, I 'm absolutely certain that everything here has been caused by attempted genetic recoding."

"Are you serious?" Skinner asked incredulously

"Couldn't be more serious if my life depended on it." Conrad replied.

Dr Borrachio," Doggett began, "are you familiar with a company named Zeus Genetics?"

Conrad screwed his face up in thought for a moment.

"I've heard of it," he replied, "they do work on IVF treatment and genetic coding for birth anomalies."

"That may have been one of the things they did." Doggett commented dryly and he went to outline the discoveries he and Mulder had made concerning Drs Lev and Pirenti and the things they had seen at the laboratories.

"Damn!" Conrad said, "now I remember. The facility was razed to the ground in an arson attack a few days ago. One of the chief researchers was presumed killed."

"Actually Conrad, both of the men responsible for policy and research at Zeus Genetics have been killed this week and all of their 'research samples' have been destroyed." Skinner said.

"Ok Walt," Conrad said, "you've been playing things pretty close to your chest. Suppose now you tell me exactly what you think is going on here?"

He replaced the sheet over the body on the table, but before he could complete the task Doggett grabbed a corner of the sheet to take another look.

"You know Sir, " he said to Skinner, "this reminds me of one of Mulder's files."

"Which one?" His boss asked interestedly.

"The Incanto case Sir, the guy who sucked the adipose fat from those women. I recall the file saying that the bodies suffered 'severe autolysis' in a very short period of time."

Skinner nodded, he recalled the case now.

"But that wouldn't explain things here," he said, "I mean this advanced decay seems to have been brought about by the bullet in his brain not - er, what was it Mulder called it? A fat sucking vampire?"

Conrad looked incredulously at the two men, then shook his head.

"I hope you aren't pulling my leg here gentlemen," he said, "but in any case Walt is right, This man still has all his fat tissue, though it is now degrading rapidly along with the rest of him, nevertheless he was pretty intact when you brought him to me."

"What about his arm?" Skinner asked.

"Ah yes, that's very odd." Conrad said.

"In what way? Doggett asked.

"Well it seems a curious thing to do to encase the lower part of a perfectly serviceable arm in a rigid plastic mould."

"Shit!" Skinner said, and pulled the sheet back again to look. Sure enough there was the so called prosthetic arm lying next to the body which had two perfectly normal whole upper limbs. Perfectly whole except that, like the wicked witch of the west, they seemed to be melting.

"Just another little mystery among many eh Walt?" Conrad said. "So why don't you tell me all about it?"

Whilst his voice clearly said 'don't bullshit me marine' his face showed a willingness to listen and to help where he could.

Looking at Doggett, Skinner sighed. He was tired of this mess and tired of being tired but they needed help and they needed it soon. Though he hated to get his friend in any deeper than he was already. He indicated that they should leave the corpse and go out into Conrad's office. The presence of the body of the man he'd shot made him feel uncomfortable.

When the three of them had found seats Conrad looked at Skinner, waiting. So much of what his friend and Agent Doggett had spoken of to date had seemed like a bad Sci-Fi movie. Somehow he doubted he was going to like the whole story any better. However, he owed Walt and he trusted him, so he listened at first in disbelief and then with growing anger as John Doggett and Walter Skinner laid out the Consortium's plan and their resulting actions for him.

Part Six

6 am Scully's apartment

Mulder was staring at the perfectly formed fingers of William. 'So tiny and defenceless' he thought, and the thought made him feel both vulnerable and invincible. It was for this he had fought so hard all these years. Not just the quest to find out what had happened to his sister, but also to protect the innocent and defenceless. A task that had been redefined when he had discovered the extent of the consortium's duplicity. They may have beaten him on one front but there was still truth to be sought, justice to be done. He had been reassured that, when it came to the crunch, Doggett had stood by them. Monica Reyes too. She'd been a godsend. Their support, their steadfastness had made a world of difference.

Looking back at the way he had treated Doggett after he had been 'returned' he couldn't help but feel a little guilty. He'd been pissy and arrogant. Then again Scully often told him he'd been like that for years. He sighed. He knew she was right. He'd been the lone voice in the wilderness for so long that he found it hard to accept others into his 'crusade'. Scully had managed to worm her way in under the fence, but even with her he'd not always been fair or supportive. His trust was hard won and he projected a prickly exterior to protect himself from disappointments and betrayals, kidding himself that if he kept people at bay he wouldn't have to deal with any of the fallout when things didn't work out. Of course that had been so much bullshit.

'Sheesh! 'Sometimes Mulder you're such a schmuck you amaze even me.' He thought.

He gently traced the outline of the baby's nose before sighing and preparing to go and tell Scully he needed to leave. He'd barely made it out of the bedroom when his cell phone rang.

"Mulder." He said in a low voice so as not to disturb the sleeping child.

"Mulder." Doggett's distinctive tones said. "How are you fixed at the moment?"

"If you mean can I spare you some of my valuable time Agent Doggett I think the answer is that I'm available. Where do you want me?"

"At the research lab of a Dr Conrad Borrachio," Doggett replied, "and preferably by yesterday."

Mulder's eyebrows rose at this.

"Hey Doggett, you asking me to work a case? Didn't you hear? I got fired." He said.

"Yeah, yeah." Doggett replied, "but you and I both know that is only going to put a small crimp in your style. Besides we need your input."

"We?" Mulder queried.

"A.D. Skinner and I have a few worrying puzzles we need to get solved asap." Doggett said. "So, you gonna get your butt out here or not?"

Mulder laughed. "How can I refuse such a kindly invitation?" He said. "Ok I'll bite, just tell me how to get there."

As Doggett gave him directions Scully emerged from the bathroom. She gave him a querying look.

"Doggett." He mouthed at her.

She nodded, understanding and went to fetch his coat.

"You go," she said, "my Mom will be right over any minute, we'll be fine."

As Doggett finished telling Mulder how to find them he reiterated the urgency.

"Hurry Mulder," he said, 'I got the feeling we don't got time to waste on this one."

"Be there in twenty minutes." Mulder promised before he hung up.

6.25 am Office of Dr Conrad Borrachio

"Hey." Mulder said as he entered the room. "So what's the all important puzzle?"

Skinner looked at him, noting the fact that his former agent was tired. No doubt, after the gruelling few days they'd all endured Mulder'd had little time for sleep. He knew he'd stayed with Scully after she was given the all clear at the hospital and that having a baby in the house might have made any sleep opportunities very limited. Nevertheless, despite his obvious fatigue, there was a light in Mulder's eyes that said he was sharp and ready for action, which was good because right now he was feeling extremely pressured. Quite why or where his sense of extreme urgency came from he wasn't sure - but as Mulder might have said, his 'Spidey Senses' were tingling.

Skinner made brief introductions before relating to Mulder the content of his 'meeting' with Spender.

"Son of a bitch is baiting us." Mulder said

"Of course he is, the thing is do we go in or don't we?" Doggett said.

Before Mulder could reply Skinner held up his hand.

"There's more and we really don't have time to go into all of it so I'll be brief, also there's something you need to see."

He gave Mulder a condensed rundown of his thesis, Billy Miles versus the Consortium, Crane and Rohrer as collaborators within it. Mulder listened carefully nodding his acceptance of his former boss's theory, until that was he reached the part about Alex Krycek and his double, plus Conrad's theory about genetic manipulation.

"I'll go along with you on the Billy Miles front up to a point, but come on Skinner, Krycek was always a rat bastard. I don't see anything inconsistent in his behaviour here. He played both sides and this time he chose the wrong one. You had to shoot him, and believe me I am not going to shed any tears over that." He said.

"How easy would it be for you to identify your former partner Mulder?" Skinner asked.

""Pretty easy I'd say."

"You know about his distinguishing marks?"

"Apart from the long rat's tail you mean?" Mulder said smirking, but then he became serious. "Sure I know about the scar he had, it was pretty long and ugly if I recall. He seemed pretty embarrassed about it, said he'd got it in an accident as a kid."

"That's right, and being so distinctive a scar would you therefore be surprised if the man I shot showed no signs of any such scar or even any injury in that area?"

"Well sure, even with plastic surgery there'd still be a mark." Mulder said.

"Exactly Mr Mulder," Conrad said, "yet this body had no scar tissue in that area at all. Some small incision sites near the kidneys, but nothing else."

"What about..?"

"The arm?" Doggett said. "Well that's a complete mystery. I mean why would anyone go to all the trouble to encase a perfectly good arm inside a false prosthesis?"

"Perfectly good? No Krycek lost his arm in Tunguska from just above the elbow, the left one." Mulder stated.

"How sure are you?" Doggett asked. "Did you ever actually see it?"

"Once." Mulder said thoughtfully. "After Russia, before he came to tell us about Oregon. There's no way you could hide it or repair it. It was a real mess."

"Well then, if you are sure of these facts then you'll have to agree that the man A.D. Skinner shot last night was not Alex Krycek." Doggett said. "Dr Borrachio took pictures before he began the autopsy, here." He handed a small set of Polaroids to Mulder. "Take a look at them carefully."

"Well there's certainly no sign of the scar on this man," Mulder said, "but why are you showing me photos? Don't you still have the body?"

"Indeed I do," Conrad replied, "perhaps when you see it you'll understand our perplexity and our anxiety." He opened the door to his research lab and Mulder, Doggett and Skinner followed him inside. The gurney was still in the centre of the room. Conrad lifted the sheet to show Mulder why Polaroids were a better idea than the actual body when it came to identification.

Mulder looked carefully at the body, pulling on latex gloves from the box on the instrument table, and probed and prodded the cadaver before he announced - "You're right, there's definitely no sign of any of the marks Krycek should be carrying."

"So do you agree that this isn't Krycek?" Skinner asked.

"It would certainly seem that way." Mulder said. "The question is where is the skulking rat bastard?"

"No Mulder," Doggett said, "the question is, why the deception? And maybe also, what produced the curious accelerated decay of this body?"

"Maybe we find the answer to one and we'll find the answer to the other." Mulder responded.

"But where do you start?" Conrad asked.

"Zeus Genetics." Doggett and Mulder said together. Then both looked at each other in amazement, but it seemed that for once they were both agreed on something.

"Zeus Genetics it is then." Skinner said. "It's logical to assume that it must hold the key to everything or else why would Spender be so set against a free and fair investigation into it? The only reason I can think of is that he is running scared and Zeus Genetics holds the key."

"But where do you start?" Conrad persisted. "If the facility was burnt to the ground what is there left to investigate?"

"That's just what they'd like us to think." Mulder said. "However, they also love to taunt us, send us on wild goose chases time and time again. Who's to say that this time is any different?"

Well what say we go and find out?" Doggett said. "If my vote counts for anything here, I'd go for looking back at the site of the research laboratory, Dr Lev's lab."

"OK sure, sounds like a plan." Mulder said,

"Then I'm coming with you." Conrad insisted. "I'm damned if I'm going to stay in the dark about this any longer than I have to."

"What about the body?" Skinner asked.

"I'll put it on ice, that should halt the decay, and in any case he isn't going anywhere." Conrad said.

"OK. No problem." Skinner said. " We can leave agents to guard your lab in case. If you're sure you want to come it could be handy to have a medical expert along. I should warn you though that this is not official FBI business so we'll have no backup if anything goes wrong. Also, the people we are up against play hard ball and they are unlikely to let any perceived insult or interference in their work go lightly.

"Walt. If you're trying to scare me off it's not working." Conrad said. "I just have to know what in the hell they did to that guy in there to produce such results, and why the incisions to the kidney area were made, and I'm sure I can think of other questions I need answers to. Just accept the fact that I am coming too and let's stop wasting time and get going."

And so it was decided.

Part Seven

8 am Somewhere in Washington DC

Fear is one of the best weapons man has to use against others. Alex knew this. It was a lesson which had been deeply ingrained in him over the years. A lesson taught to him by masters. Sow a seed of fear in the mind and it will bloom and grow exponentially with astounding rapidity. However, knowing this was in no way helpful. Knowledge might be power in certain circumstances but in this one, it seemed, it had no power - except to aid his subconscious in enhancing the level of trepidation planted by Spender and Graaf's 'cosy' little chat.

Now that he could move a little he began to fight against his bonds again. Intellectually he knew he was going nowhere, but instinct, habit and pride made it imperative that he at least try. A rat caught in a trap will fight for freedom, even if that freedom costs it a limb or a tail and he, Alex Krycek, Rat Bastard, was no different after all. As before, of course, the more he fought the more his terror robbed him of the ability to reason. His one wrist, upper arms ankles and thighs were raw and bloody from where the metal bindings securing him cut into his flesh. When Dr Graaf entered the chamber to begin setting up his equipment for the coming session Alex was covered in perspiration, his limbs streaked with blood, and he was frothing at the mouth and choking. Angrily, Graaf slapped Alex's face.

"Stop that, you stupid bastard, you'll dislodge the probes and injure yourself." He shouted. "You need to learn one thing around here, and learn it very quickly. You are mine, you are going nowhere and I've just about had it with your histrionics. The only value you have around here right now is to me so you'd better learn to co-operate with me. Is that understood?"

Alex merely closed his eyes, but snapped them open again when Graaf grabbed his head.

"I said is that understood?" Graaf repeated.

Licking his lips a little, Alex carefully formed his reply.

"Go to hell you Nazi wannabe," he spat, "you're just a pale imitation of Spender's former collaborators and the pun is most definitely intended."

"You little shit!" Graaf roared, backhanding Alex again across the face, splitting his lip and making his nose bleed. Graaf looked as though he was about to launch a further attack until he saw Alex's triumphant expression. He drew in a deep breath and took a step back from the table.

"Very clever Mr Krycek." He said. "Who'd have thought you'd still be capable of trying to goad me into killing you after so many weeks here? I'm impressed by your tenacity, but I can assure you that it isn't going to work. We intend to continue with our work and for now, at least, you are an integral part of that."

With that he turned to the trolley he had brought in with him and began arranging cables and conductor pads, tape and other paraphernalia.

Blood continued to flow from Alex's nose, he could feel it and taste it, the coppery tang making him gag. He still felt dizzy and nauseous, probably as a result of having no solid food for as long as he could remember. Whatever nutrients his body was getting were in the IV (assuming he was still being fed in that way) and despite the fact that this had obviously been keeping him alive, it did nothing to assuage his gnawing hunger or his lightheadedness. He fought to stop his gorge rising as the blood cascaded back into his throat. Graaf had placed a band around his head which prevented him from turning it in any direction, if he vomited now he would choke on it. He began to splutter in the effort not to swallow more blood. Graaf, hearing him, whirled around in time to see Alex's predicament and realising that his 'patient' would vomit and then inhale it, thus drowning, he released the head band and turned Alex's head to one side, holding a kidney bowl beside it.

"If you have to throw up, do it in here now." He ordered.

Alex did as he was told, unable now to hold back. The blood and bile he produced seemed to him to be endless, making it almost impossible for him to breathe and making his stomach ache. Eventually though, he finished retching and he was left cold and shaking with spots dancing before his eyes. There was a roaring in his ears and he felt his head begin to spin again, and everything went black.

Spender entered the chamber just as Alex lost consciousness.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice its usual low and menacing rasp.

Graaf had been so engrossed in dealing with Alex that he had not heard the telltale sucking sound of the airlock. Spender's voice startled him and he almost dropped the kidney bowl on the floor. Managing to collect himself before that happened he turned to face his employer, carefully putting the container of blood and bile on the trolley beside him.

"I'm sorry sir, you startled me. I didn't realise you were here."He said.

"Obviously," Spender said dryly, "but you haven't answered my question."

Graaf swallowed nervously, but he knew from experience that it did not do to anger this man - however valuable you might be to him.

"I was cleaning him up, he shows a distressing tendency for vomiting and fainting." Was all he would commit himself to though.

"So I see. However, I can also see that there is blood there. Is there some problem with his biological physiognomy that we did not foresee?" Spender asked, moving his chair closer to the figure of Alex.

"No sir. There does seem to be an unfortunate inability of the subject to accept his situation, however, and I'm afraid I let his irritating verbalisations affect my judgment."

"In short, you struck him and caused the bleeding which caused him to choke and vomit before he passed out." Spender said. "Isn't that it Dr Graaf?"

Graaf gulped a little when he saw the venomous glare which was being directed at him. He could not hold man's gaze.

"Yes sir," he replied, "that is correct. I let myself lose control and a jeopardised our work here. I'm sorry. I can promise you that it will not happen again."

"Indeed." Spender said. "I understand fully how aggravating Alex can be, believe me, after thirty seven years of dealing with him I know exactly how he can try one's patience."

Graaf began to relax in relief.

"However," Spender went on, "if I ever have cause to reprimand you on his treatment again I will have you removed from our project. You are useful to me, but there are others who share your expertise and I would have no trouble in finding a replacement for you. Please remember that fact before you take any further unauthorised action against our subject."

Beads of sweat stood out on Graaf's forehead.

"I will remember sir, believe me. I am as anxious as you are to see this project through to its conclusion. I will do nothing to compromise it now."

"Very well, I will take you at your word." Spender rasped. "For now though, I suggest we bring him around and then we get started on the interrogation."

"Agreed." Graaf said, and he began to attach electrodes to Alex's body. Each had a long thin needle-like probe of between three to six inches in length which were thrust downwards into Alex's flesh. One was pushed into each nipple, one into the end of his stump and one into his navel. A probe was pushed into each temple. conductor pads were placed around the scalp and the probes in his testicles were re-attached to the generator on the trolley. Finally a probe of almost two inches diameter and six inches in length was pushed into Alex's rectum. This last action caused Alex to jerk back to consciousness, a hoarse scream wrenched from his throat as the probe tore into his anal passage.

"Good, you're awake." Spender said, as he watched Alex try to control the pain. "Perhaps now you can tell us exactly what little game you think you are playing?"

Alex gritted his teeth as he stared at the architect of his torment.

"Fuck you!" He said, his throat so traumatised now from screaming and vomiting that his voice was barely audible and the pain involved in vocalising the epithet was obvious.

"Alex, Alex. When are you going to learn that your petty rebellions only serve to land you in deeper trouble?" Spender said coldly. "You cannot seriously have believed that we would continue to allow you to defy us?"

Alex closed his eyes and tried to focus his thoughts on something other than the pain in his body. His mind, however, began cataloguing the sites and sources of each new pain. His breathing accelerated alarmingly as he noted the probe in his stump and cold biting fear arose from the pit of his stomach. A slap to his face made him open his eyes again to find the cold rheumy eyes of his erstwhile boss and mentor staring down at him.

"Alex, you could make this so much easier for everyone, especially you, if you'd just tell us what we need to know." He pressed on one of the nipple probes, pushing the tip further down into Alex's chest muscle, causing Alex to almost bite his tongue in half in an effort not to scream.

"These probes," Spender went on, "are attached to an electric generator capable of producing very high voltage. You will tell us what we want to know. The question is, Alex, would you rather tell us now and be allowed to go free, or, are you going to continue to play your new, and misguided, martyr role and make us go through with the indignity of torture? We will have our answers one way or another, it really is up to you."

Alex refused to speak and after a long silence Spender sighed and pulled out a cigarette.

"Very well." He said, pausing to light it. "You leave us no choice. Really Alex, you are the most troublesome young man."

He nodded at Graaf who acknowledged him with an evil grin. He turned to the monitors and control panels he had assembled. Turning one knob a little he then pressed a button on the console in front of him and the machine began to hum. At the same time Alex felt and electric shock deep within his abdomen, followed by another, then another. The pain was intense, as if someone was cutting their way out of his stomach with a sharp and red hot knife. He seemed unable to scream, but a gargling sound escaped him, clearly expressing his agony. Suddenly, to his intense relief, the pulsing shocks and the pain simply ceased. He felt like crying with joy as the torture stopped, but he knew well that this was only the beginning.

"Now Alex, I'm sure you understand, this was just a mild taste of what is on offer. If you want this to stop all you have to do is tell me what I want to know. Firstly, who were you working for when you sent Mulder to Oregon? Who was your contact in the resistance?"

He looked expectantly at Alex but no answer was forthcoming. Alex merely swallowed hard, closed his eyes, clenched his fist and waited for the inevitable.

"Stubbornness is a highly overrated thing Alex," Spender said, "you'd get much further with loyalty to those who raised you, clothed you, fed you, nurtured you throughout your life."

Still Alex refused to speak, so Spender gestured to Graaf to resume.

This time the pain was stronger, sharper, longer, more intense, and instead of being focused solely in his navel it was spread now amongst his navel, balls and nipples. Alex squirmed, trying to escape, pulling frantically at his bound wrist until he heard it snap - and the white hot agony that engulfed him masked even the pain from the probes. A scream was ripped from him which reverberated around the chamber. Spender tutted and Graaf stopped the electrical current on his signal.

"Are you satisfied now?" Spender said. "See what you've done here?"

He grasped Alex's wrist firmly, grinding the bones together, ignoring the strangled noises coming from his captive.

"You are your own worst enemy Sasha. Why couldn't you be more like Kolya?"

"Maybe because you always encouraged us to be independent of each other." Alex managed hoarsely, panting. "In any case, his loyalty to you hasn't gained him anything. He's still your plaything, your puppet. I'd rather be dead than to live like him."

"Well perhaps your misplaced loyalty to Scully, Skinner and Mulder will be altered when you learn what happened last night." Spender said, smiling evilly.

Alex just looked at him, unwilling to encourage him and also unable to get his voice to work at that moment.

"AD Skinner shot Kolya three times, twice in the arm and once between the eyes. He's dead Alex, you are the last hope we have to prevent the coming apocalypse. Just give up these ridiculous notions of yours. I need to know how the resistance has managed to alter the programming of some of the alien replacements."

"Why?" Alex croaked. " So you can tell them how much you admire their work and make a donation to the cause? I know you too well, you have no interest in the resistance - never have had. All you want to do is save your own sorry ass. What happens to the rest of humanity doesn't matter to you. We're all pawns in your game. We're all dead, or worse than dead if you succeed. Why would I come back and be your tame pet again, knowing what I know?"

He coughed, the exertion of talking had exhausted him. he had no way of knowing how much of what Spender had said was true but he did know that, come what may, he could not betray the resistance to this man. No matter what he'd done before for the evil bastard he could not go back to being Spender's puppet, even if it cost him his life, or worse.

Angrily, Spender ordered Graaf to turn up the dials and the current.

Alex's whole universe became narrowed to focus on the incredible pain in his anus, nipples, navel and balls. He became incoherent as he babbled and begged for it to stop. The pain was like nothing he had ever borne before, there was no language to describe its all encompassing control. White lights lanced his skull in echo to the pulsing current which sliced him internally. Then to his horror and humiliation he felt his cock stiffen and grow until, unbelievably, he was coming - coming- unable to stop. The stimulation continued, and so too did the unwanted orgasm. His whole body contorted into rictus, mimicking the pleasure that should have accompanied this most primal of bodily functions, but he felt no pleasure at all. He felt, rather, as though he was being devoured whole from within.

The sharp spikes of agony caused his vision to blur and rendering him incapable of voluntary movement. His heart began to pound until he feared it would would leap out of his chest. The noise in the chamber was unbelievably loud. Someone should stop it before the sound became unmanageable. Somehow he knew that the source of the sound was him, but all control had long since fled. All he could hope for now was to die before Spender decided that this 'delightful game' was something he would like to add to his party repertoire.

Suddenly the flow of pain through his body ceased and there were cool gentle hands caressing his forehead, a soothing voice caressing his ears before, mercifully, the whole scene shut up around him like a kaleidoscope.

Part Eight

8.40 am former offices of Dr Lev, Zeus Genetics.

Doggett pulled up in front of the ruined building. Parts of the rubble were still smouldering, but all emergency vehicles and personnel had long since departed. He glanced at Mulder.

"Where do you think we should start?" He asked.

"I think we need to look underground," Mulder said, "it seems to me that the Consortium has a thing for hiding in the sewers like rats."

"Didn't see any signs of underground offices when we were here before." Doggett said. "Not that we really looked that hard." He acknowledged.

"Might not be a place that you can see from within the main building, we should keep a look out for any possible entrance in the grounds." Mulder observed.

"Why don't you and Doggett take the back of the building while Conrad and I check out the front?" Skinner said. "That way we can cover more ground in a shorter time."

Mulder nodded and, after getting out of the car, ran to the rear of the building with Doggett close behind him.

Conrad allowed Skinner to lead the way, uncertain exactly what it was they were looking for. A few feet from the front entrance, just off to the left, Skinner spotted what appeared to be a metal casing set into a slightly raised bank of grass. It closely resembled a drain covering, but it did seem a slightly odd place to put one. For one thing it was not laid flat, flush with the ground, which he would have expected. For another thing there was no indication in writing on the metal casing of the manufacturer, or of the designation of the outlet.

Skinner made a sign that they should continue with caution. Conrad nodded in agreement as he watched his friend kneel before the 'drain' to give it a closer inspection. Skinner ran his hands over the covering trying to see how it might open. As he did so he made a discovery. There was a faint indentation in the top left hand corner of the cover. As he looked carefully again he could make out two words scratched into the slight recess.

"Napier's Constant." He read, "That sounds familiar."

As he spoke he pressed against the words, and was surprised that the entire covering slid to the right, revealing a key pad of the kind used to unlock doors with a code. Conrad's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he made no comment.

At that point Mulder and Doggett came into view. Conrad waved them over, then he knelt beside Skinner and looked to see the notation his friend had spotted.

"Bizarre!" He said. "Not exactly the place you'd expect to see that."

Mulder appeared behind him and, having read the words he too squatted down beside his former boss.

"Bizarre it may be, but this is not the first time I have seen or heard reference to Napier's Constant in the context of the Consortium's genetic and medical research." He said

Skinner raised a questioning gaze to him.

"When we were trying to unravel the information from the DAT tape," Mulder said, "Scully and I went to an abandoned mine. There were old workings which had been sealed behind heavy doors all governed by key pads such as this one. Victor Klemper had told us to use Napier's Constant to gain access to vast numbers of files in the complex. We only managed to open one door, but what we found was astonishing."

"I remember." Skinner said.

It had been, after all, one of their first encounters with the level of menace that Spender was prepared to use to protect his secrets.

"So are we ready to key in the code and see what happens next?" He asked.

All three of his companions answered in the affirmative and Conrad keyed in the number of Napier's Constant. 2-7-1-8-2-8.

As they watched, a green light showed at the base of the key pad, and the entire fake drain covering retracted about a foot into the bank before sliding to the right, revealing a subterranean staircase which was well lit. They felt cool air emanating from the tunnel in front of of them which seemed to indicate that whatever was down here might still be operational, despite the level of destruction in the laboratories above ground. Doggett and Skinner immediately drew their guns. Mulder automatically reached for the one he no longer wore and gave a rueful grin to his two former colleagues.

Guess you'll have to be the advance guard and the good Doctor and I get to ride shotgun, with no actual shotguns." He quipped.

Skinner grunted in agreement and, waving them to follow him, led the way down into the depths below. At the base of the stairs the tunnel continued. The level of lighting increased and the area broadened. They found themselves in a long hallway with doors leading off. None of these doors had any visible locks on them so they tried each in turn. The first two seemed to be store rooms lined from floor to ceiling with racks containing video tapes, all labelled and neatly stacked. The third room held numerous paper files on carousels, similar to those found in hospitals. Inside the fourth room they met their first indication that this facility was still partially operational. There was a bank of CCTV monitors flickering as they showed their images to a single man. At least the man was supposed to be watching the monitors - currently, however, he was asleep, eyes shut firmly, head back against the head-rest of his chair, mouth wide open, snoring loudly.

Doggett took the safety off his gun and stepped around to one side of the sleeping man. he looked at the console in front of him. it seemed they had caught a lucky break. The first four monitors showed the entrance way and the area above ground. If the man in the chair had been on the ball he'd have raised the alarm well before they had managed to make an entry. There were sixteen screens in all, though eight of them were blank. The top and bottom rows were, however, functioning perfectly.

Having checked the top row Doggett now looked at the bottom row of monitors. One showed an empty laboratory, equipped but unmanned. The next showed a store-room, the third revealed a woman pacing anxiously and wringing her hands. The final monitor was focused on a room which contained a clear cube like structure at its centre. It was this last which drew Doggett's attention. Mulder, however, was intent upon the previous monitor and the woman.

Her face was partially covered by shadow, but as she turned towards the monitor again he could see her features more clearly and his heart leaped in his chest. It was Samantha!

He let out an involuntary exclamation. He knew, somehow, that this really was his sister, not a clone. She was the real thing. To find her here after all this time, after even he had given up believing that she had survived, believed instead that she had 'gone into the starlight'. After all that, to realise how wrong he had been was a shock of the greatest magnitude.

Skinner saw Mulder's reaction and barely blinked an eye as he left the room. Skinner too now, was looking aghast at the final monitor. What shook him was the action occurring in the cube like chamber.

Within the chamber were three men. One damnedly familiar figure in a wheelchair, one tall, pale and insipid looking man in a white coat, and one whose face was currently hidden from view. This man was lying naked, prone, bound to an object which resembled an operating table, his legs raised in stirrups as if for a gynaecological examination. Reaching forward to the console in front of the monitors, Skinner pushed the volume control for the final room. When the sound reached them they all flinched, not least the man sleeping in his chair. Without stopping to think Doggett cold cocked him , though he had the presence of mind to remember his gun safety was off and used his bare hands instead. Relieved to have averted a near disaster he removed his tie and used it to secure the guard, before returning his attention to the monitor.

Skinner had never heard so much screaming from one man. Even in Vietnam. He paled at the sound, and at the implication that it carried with it. Whoever that man on the operating table was he was clearly not nicely anaesthetised. It was obvious that he was being tortured by Spender and the other man. Who he was and why they were torturing him was unclear since Spender's head still obscured their view of the victim.

Then the screaming became only one of the sounds coming from the monitor. They heard Spender speaking to the man on the table as he grasped his wrist.

"Are you satisfied now?" They heard him ask. "See what you have done here? Sasha, you are your own worst enemy. Why can't you be more like Kolya?"

As he spoke he jerked the wrist of the man he'd called Sasha. Skinner looked carefully at the torso of the bound man and gasped.

"It's Krycek!" He exclaimed, feeling sickened that a part of him was actually pleased that the former agent was in such a predicament.

Doggett, Skinner and Conrad stood transfixed for some minutes as they observed Krycek's response to Spender's taunting and watched in horror as the old man signalled for his companion to resume the torture. As they watched Krycek's body respond to the terrible stimulation each of them felt sympathetic twinges of pain and disgust.

It took only a minute for Skinner to move, but it felt like eons. Then he was running out of the door and down the hallway to the room with a number twenty on the door.

Doggett and Conrad followed him closely. As they reached the door they could clearly hear the sounds of torment from within. 'No one could withstand such pain and not go mad.' Skinner thought, feeling sickened at the noise, knowing what was causing it. There had been, he admitted, many times in the past when he'd wished to exact such a penalty from Krycek himself. Hearing the reality, though, as opposed to what his imagination had conjured, was too terrible.

As he reached for the handle to the door he found himself pushed aside by a woman who burst out of the adjoining room. Mulder trying desperately to hold her back.

"Samantha, you can't go in there, " Mulder was saying, "please don't."

It was too late to stop her, however, as she reached the door and wrenched it open.

"Don't try to stop me Fox." She said. "I can't allow these men to do this any longer."

So saying she entered the room and made straight for the transparent cube at its centre. One by one they followed her through the airlock until they stood inside the chamber of horrors itself.

Conrad moved behind the man in the white coat and gave him a quick chop to the side of his neck, felling him instantly. Not stopping to check his victim, he turned his attention to the controls the man had been manipulating and cut the power to the current that was flowing ferociously through the man on the table. Skinner took great delight in putting his cocked gun to Spender's head and pulling the chair back away from the table.

Krycek's body slumped down onto the table beneath him. A distressed gurgling sound escaped him, but that was at least better than the ear-splitting screams he'd been emitting.

Samantha stood behind him, gently stroking his shaved head and murmuring.

"It's all right Alex. It's all over now." She crooned, soothingly.

Whether or not he heard her, Alex relaxed completely and, unsurprisingly, after the level of torture his body had endured, he lost consciousness altogether.

Part Nine

This time when he came round he was no longer bound. His right wrist was heavily strapped and in an elevated sling so that his hand was palm down against his left shoulder. The effect of this made him feel distinctly uneasy, but at least the pain in his right arm was less noticeable. All the probes had been removed and he was lying in a soft bed with pillows and covers. He was no longer in the room within a room. This was was more like the old bedroom he'd had when he was six and was about as homelike as life within the consortium ever got. Luxury like this was almost unheard of in Spender's little underworld, especially when it came to providing for Alex's comfort. He frowned as he tried to work out how he had got here from his prior location. He hurt like hell all over, his head felt as if it would explode with the next beat of his heart and his throat was on fire. He was covered in sweat and yet he felt cold clear through to his bones. He was so hungry and thirsty that he could almost feel his body consuming itself. He blinked a little and and tried to clear his throat, but that just intensified the pain to the point where he felt that he'd rather die than try that again.

Although he was no longer in Spender's little chamber of horrors he barely dared to hope that he was now safe from the old bastard's clutches. Yet if he was merely being rested before a new round of tests, torture and questions he really didn't think he could take it. Far better to be shot trying to escape than to allow himself to relax and become soft in this cosy environment. It was decision time. Either he allowed them to continue to play their sickening games with him in the vain hope that he could continue to protect the young woman they'd held hostage to his good behaviour all these years, or he resigned himself to the fact that he could never save her and took the opportunity that presented itself now by leaving. He had done it before after all, and with her blessing.

There was no choice as far as he could see. Soon he would be unable to take anymore of Spender's treatment and he'd give the man all the ammunition he needed to defeat the rebellion. If he did that no one would be safe, no matter who they were. Sighing internally, decision made, he began to focus his depleted energy on trying to get up out of the bed, on trying to figure out where he could find some clothing and a weapon, not to mention just how the hell he was going to get to the rebellion with information without drawing Spender along after him. As he struggled to get his brain in gear he also managed to wriggle himself up into a sitting position. Shit! It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, even the loss of his arm. His vision greyed around the edges a little as he fought to breathe and push back the feeling of dizziness and nausea. This was getting old fast. If he wanted to get old though, he needed to leave now. No more time for messing around.

Carefully he swung his legs around to hang over the side of the bed. Feeling his energy reserves plummeting as he did so, he realised he was going nowhere. It hit him that he was weaker than a new born kitten, naked, sick, and totally without defences. His left arm ended about four inches above the elbow, and his right arm was tied around his neck! Try as he might he couldn't figure out how the hell he was going to unfasten it. Intellectually he knew that even if he did manage to get it free, the arm would probably be worse than useless. He recalled the pain as he had broken the wrist during his last struggles, and the sharper pain as Spender had grabbed his wrist and ground the bones together. His legs felt like jelly and his head was swimming again. He could feel the cold sweat as it formed on his skin and the fear that grew in the pit of his stomach overwhelmed him to the point where he let out a high pitched whimpering moan of despair before he was even conscious of doing so.

The door to the room opened and a large male figure stood, momentarily, in the door way. Not Spender, not Graaf either. Whoever it was wasted no time in entering the room and coming to deal with him. He braced himself mentally for whatever form of punishment he was about to face. He could not have been more surprised, therefore, to hear a gruff voice airing its concern for him.

"Jesus, Krycek! Don't you know when you've had enough boy? Here. Lie back and let's make sure you haven't added to your problems with this madness."

Large comforting hands gently put him back into a position which eased the pains in his body somewhat. A cool cloth was passed over his face, wiping the stinging sweat away from his eyes. Finally, and best of all, his mouth was flooded with cold moisture, as his visitor fed him ice chips, careful not to choke him or cause him any further distress. The sigh that escaped him this time was of ecstasy rather than despair. His eyes fluttered closed in an acknowledgement of the blissfulness of the moment. Then it seemed as if he'd been jerked back from the realm of Valhalla to the pit of Hades. He groaned deeply, despite the protest of his throat and his eyes flew open as his brain registered for the first time the face of the man who had come to his aid. Assistant Director, Walter Skinner of the FBI. The same man who, the last time they had been alone, had handcuffed him to a balcony railing seventeen storeys up in the middle of November, and had left him there all night.

'So finally Spender decides to indulge in his bizarre sense of humour.' Alex thought. 'Having told me for years that Skinner was off limits to me because he had his own plans for the AD, he gets the bastard to come here and finish me off. I suppose you could call it poetic justice.'

"Shhh." Skinner said, offering more of the ice and frowning as Alex tried at first to resist him. As Alex gave into his need for more liquid, no matter what the consequences, a gentle smile stole across Skinner's face.

"You should try to relax and rest Krycek. Conrad says it will be some time before you are fit again, but we need your help, so the sooner you accept ours the sooner we can do whatever it is we need to do to prevent Spender from selling us all down the river."

Alex was unable to prevent the shudder that ran through his body.'So this is how they are going to play it,' he thought, 'good cop, bad cop time at the OK Corral.

Remembering just in time how much it would hurt he managed to refrain from snorting indignantly but he did manage to convey his disgust to Skinner with the scornful look in his eyes. Skinner looked hurt for a moment before he donned his usual mask of bland indifference.

"I suppose it is too much to hope that you actually might care enough about anyone other than yourself that you'd even consider helping us out." He said.

Alex refused to respond, but then he started a little and his gaze turned from antagonistic to fearful for a moment. Skinner wondered what had caused the look of alarm that crossed Krycek's face. he didn't have to wait long to find out. Mulder had entered the room unnoticed by either occupant, his face clouded with anger. Seemingly without conscious thought he approached the bed and the man lying on it.

"You Rat Bastard, you fucking bastard!" He yelled. "You knew where she was all the time and you never fucking told me."

Before Skinner could make a move to stop him Mulder had balled up his fist and dealt Alex a stunning blow to the side of his head. On other occasions Alex had managed to shrug off such attacks from Mulder, though they had left his head ringing for a couple of days afterwards. Now, however, Alex was so weakened by the prolonged period of restraint and torture that he was unable to deal with this blow with his usual blase attitude. His head was already splitting before the blow, now it felt as though all of the grey matter inside his head was pouring out through his eyes and ears. He was retching and choking and struggling for breath when he dimly heard another male voice.

"For god's sake Mulder! Whatever your fight is with this man do you think you could manage not to kill him? We did just rescue him from these bastards and I'd like to get him fully recovered which he can't do if you decide to pound him into the ground."

Unbelievably, Alex heard Mulder apologise. Not to him of course, but to the unknown man, who was even now pressing a cold cloth to Alex's neck and to his temple in a soothing gesture.

'This could be very interesting.' Alex managed to think tiredly, as his fatigue and the assault began to lull him into what passed for sleep around here of late. 'Very interesting indeed. Can't wait to see what other little scenarios Spender has cooked up for me.'

Part Ten

Having managed to get Mulder to apologise, however ungraciously, and then to leave, Conrad resumed his treatment of Alex. It was clear to him that he'd got himself into more than he'd bargained for when he'd become involved in Walter's 'little predicament'. He sighed. He'd known when he'd seen his friend's face that things were likely to be chaotic, but he'd never dreamed that anything so nefarious or disturbing as the consortium would be involved. Turning his attention back to the man in the bed he carefully examined him.

The man's head had been shaved and there were still two contact pads around the area of each temporal lobe. Gently he removed the pads and was relieved to see that there was no sign of burned tissue beneath them, obviously the electrodes that had been attached to these pads had not been used. Nevertheless he carefully applied a topical anaesthetic gel to each point. He winced as he checked the chest area, each nipple was red and raw. The probes he had removed from these had penetrated deeply into the chest muscles going vertically down through the nipple tissues. It was testament to his skill as a physician that Alex did not stir as he palpated the chest. This time though the inspection of the delicate aureolal tissue revealed a fair amount of internal damage which, if left untreated, would fester.

Cleansing the area carefully, Conrad applied the gel and dressings to the chest and noted that he would need to administer both antibiotics and anti-pyretic drugs to counter infection and fever. The damage at the navel was similar to that on the chest. When he reached the testicles he was alarmed to discover heat, pus and hardness in the tissue. The penis was similarly inflamed. This time Alex grimaced although, blessedly, he did not waken as Conrad checked the genitals as delicately as he could without compromising his examination. He decided that he would need ice to pack around the area, as well as topical antibiotics, to help reduce the heat and swelling. He had no way of knowing how long the probes and the catheter had been in place, but it was clearly more than a few days given the level of damage caused. If Alex had been subjected to such treatment over a prolonged period of time then he seriously feared for the man's mental, as well as physical. well being.

The tissue around the anus, where the largest probe had been, was torn and angry looking. There would be the need for a few stitches, at least, just for the external tears. Donning gloves, and using a generous amount of lubrication, he carefully worked a finger into the damaged anus and felt around the walls of the anal sphincter. As he had feared there were some deep tears here also, as well as some very spectacular blisters caused by the heat from the electricity that had been pulsing though the probe. The same would no doubt be true of the urethra, though examining that internally right now was out of the question.

Rarely had Conrad felt so angry at the condition of any patient. He had treated former prisoners of war after Vietnam, as well as Desert Storm and other undisclosed conflicts, but even they had not been used quite as callously by their captors as this man had. Conrad was also puzzled. If Alex Krycek had been a creature of the consortium, with all that Doggett and Walter had told him that signified, why had Spender deliberately inflicted such barbaric treatment on one of his trusted personnel? It just didn't fit.

Conrad Borrachio might be a medical man, but he was also a military man, both by training and instinct. To have merited such treatment from his 'own side', in his view, Alex Krycek would have had to commit the ultimate sin in any war - Walter had certainly described this as a war situation - the ultimate sin being to betray one's colleagues, or possibly also to actively join the opposition.

It seemed to him that, whatever his patient might have been guilty of in the past he had deliberately and actively chosen to renounce his past association with the consortium. Nothing else made sense. Add Spender's little speech to Alex as they had overheard it on the monitor, and he was convinced that he had made a correct assessment of the situation.

Taking his stethoscope he checked the lungs of his patient and frowned. There was an indication that fluid was collecting there. He knew that if Alex had been held in that chamber of horrors, unmoving, for any length of time then pneumonia was a serious risk. Whatever is was that Graaf and Spender had been doing it was clearly not with any view to Alex's well being, present or future. He hoped that he could manage to return his patient to health as quickly as possible, and as quickly as Walter was expecting. Clearly, Walter Skinner felt that Alex had vital information and that it was imperative to get that information without delay.

A door opened behind him and he turned to see the young woman Mulder had been with earlier entering the room.

"How is he?" She asked, her voice trembling a little and full of concern.

'He's been through a great deal and he will need some time to heal fully." Conrad said. "I'm afraid that he may develop a fever and he shows signs of respiratory infection. His wrist is broken and I need to set it, though it's strapped up for now, he has some internal burns and of course several bruises and contusions, as well as infection in his genitals. Given the circumstances in which we found him I'd really like to give him a more thorough examination to see what other internal damage may have been caused."

He paused and looked at her. As he had catalogued Alex's condition her colour had drained and she looked a little faint. Conrad kicked himself mentally. This woman was obviously someone who cared for Alex and he had run off at the mouth about his injuries and the prognosis as if she was one of his assistants and not someone with a personal involvement with his patient. However she soon pulled herself together.

"I see," she said, calmly, "if you need to make use of it there is all the medical diagnostic equipment you could need here in this facility. Graaf has the keys to most of the labs but we can easily make him give them up now that Spender is no longer in a position to give him orders."

"Thank you," Conrad said, "I would certainly like to x-ray Alex's hand, wrist chest and abdomen. His wrist is in need of a cast but I am loathe to put one on before I have examined the internal damage, I need to check the alignment of the bones and ensure there is no possibility of nerve damage before I do anything else. How open do you think Graaf will be to telling us exactly what he was doing to Alex and why?"

"Not very, probably a little too scared of Spender, though it wouldn't hurt to ask. However, there is also a constant recording of his 'experiments'. All you need do is play back the tapes and you'll have everything you need. Graaf also keeps meticulous written notes." Samantha said.

"On everything?" Conrad asked.

"Doctor, this is a state of the art medical research facility with all the necessary equipment for surgical procedures, testing, diagnosis and treatment. If we don't have it here, you don't need it. Everything done in this facility is recorded for posterity, and I mean everything, going back over fifty six years."

Conrad raised his eyebrows at that but decided to take her at her word.

"How familiar are you with medical procedures?" He asked.

"Unfortunately I am very familiar, especially within this facility. However, I think that right now I might be glad of some of the expertise I've gained if it will help you to help Alex."

"Indeed." Conrad said. "I am going to need some Erythromycin, Succinylsulphathiazole, Allantoin, Phenazone, Promethazine, and Zinc Oxide Powder as well as surgical swabs and alcohol wipes, syringes, sutures and anything else you might think is useful. Some more ice would be a good idea, and if there's any chance of moving Alex to a bed with hydraulic head and foot rests then please locate one. A fleece for the bed to help prevent the severe pressure sores he has already from becoming worse would be a boon too. We shall need to start IV fluids and some physical stimulation to promote and encourage good circulation and prevent muscle atrophy from becoming more pronounced. I'd like to run full scans of both toxicology and blood gases. So if you can manage all of that, and gain access to the records you spoke of then we should be in business."

"Right away doctor," Samantha said, "I'll get Fox and Agent Doggett to give me a hand with locating everything we need."

She seemed more relaxed now that she had something she could do to help.

"It's Conrad. " He insisted, smiling at her.

"And I'm Samantha." She replied.

"Thank you Samantha, I appreciate your help, and I think this young man will appreciate it too."

"It's no more than he deserves, after all he's done for me. I owe Alex more than I can ever repay." She said, giving the object of her concern an affectionate glance. Then she left the room.

Conrad sighed as he returned his attention to his patient. His skin colouration was much better, but the temperature was now 103.4 Fahrenheit, and rising. This was worryingly high. His greatest concern now, apart from respiratory problems, was that Alex's fever might increase to the point where febrile convulsions were not only possible but probable. If that happened, there was a great likelihood of brain damage being caused.

Taking surgical alcohol wipes from his jacket, he bathed Alex's extremities in an effort to cool him a little. The sooner he could start a proper course of treatment, with analgesics and anti-pyretics, the happier he'd be.

Carefully, he propped Alex up with extra pillows. In lieu of an adjustable bed this was at least something that would help ease his breathing. As he worked to make his patient more comfortable his mind was busy working on figuring out the purpose of this facility. It seemed fairly clear that it was something to do with producing either a genetic or an anti viral defence against whatever the 'aliens' Walter had spoken of were intending to unleash on the unsuspecting population of the world.

The problem seemed to be the methods they were prepared to use to obtain that defence. Somehow he doubted Spender's altruism. From what he'd seen and heard of the man so far he was fairly sure that Spender's circle of inclusion, with regard to defence against alien attack, was pretty small. In fact he was sure such a cirlce amounted to just one person, Spender himself. Conrad tried to imagine the mind set necessary to accept the Spender's methods, and failed.

Taking a deep breath, he refocused on the task in hand checking for an aortic pulse he found that it, at least, was fairly even and within normal parameters. The rapid fluttering pulse he'd encountered in his primary examination had now calmed. This was a relief. He knew they were not out of the woods yet, but any sign of progress was welcome. He'd be happier though if he could assure himself that there were no serious internal injuries as yet undetected.

As he continued to check over his patient he noted the old scars on Alex's body. The large jagged scar on the torso was the most prominent, he could easily understand why anyone who had seen it would remember it and instantly be able to identify it. There were other scars, as deep and as old, all over the body. Judging by the way the skin had grown around the scarred tissue, a large number of the scars must have been caused when this man was just a boy.

The amputation site above the left elbow was a mess too. The scar tissue was still red and angry looking, yet clearly the arm had been lost a while ago, at least ten months or more by his judgment. Where the probe had been inserted into the puckered mass, there were blisters. Conrad dressed the arm and added a sterile bandage to hold it in place. As he completed this work Samantha returned pushing a trolley with equipment. She was not alone. Agent Doggett was with her.

Conrad was pleased to see that Fox Mulder was not among their party. Whatever the problem between Mulder and his patient he would prefer it if it could be kept out of his treatment room. The last thing Alex needed was to be beaten further after all the trauma he had been through, no matter how much Mulder might think he deserved it. Carefully ensuring that Alex was stable and adequately covered by the bedclothes he turned his attention to the bounty which Samantha and Agent Doggett had procured for him.

Mulder looked at Spender in disgust. The older man had a disturbing knack of making him feel somewhat like a small bug under a microscope. Every encounter they'd ever had, had left him feeling more and more convinced that he'd been deliberately used, that the truth had been carefully concealed whilst apparently being revealed in all its glory. Now Mulder was anxious to get some answers, now that he finally had the bastard where he wanted him, but of course it would be too simple to expect Spender to co-operate.

The last encounter they'd had was somewhat blurred in his mind. He still had trouble recalling exactly what had occurred. He knew he had been in a facility not unlike this one, and some kind of procedure had been performed. Spender had been involved in the procedure, that much he remembered, but what had been done to him still remained a mystery. Of course, there was also the fact of what had happened to him after he had been abducted. Whilst he was certain Spender knew about that also, his questioning and his hypothesis on these topics had been met only with dismissal from his adversary.

The bland intonation of Spender's "Is that what you think?" in response to his last speech had infuriated Mulder. He was rapidly losing his cool which made him furious with himself. He didn't know how Skinner did it. Over all the years he'd worked with the man he'd rarely ever seen him lose control. He regularly felt like a floundering fool whilst his former boss radiated a quiet air of confidence. He had to admit, yet again, that he was completely at a loss here. There seemed to be nothing he could do or say that had any effect on Spender, no threat that he could make. Unfortunately Spender knew it.

"Is that all?" Spender said, smirking at Mulder, his smile seeming more of a threat now than a sign of pleasure.

"Not by a long shot you venal old bastard." Mulder said hotly.

"Really Fox, is that any way to speak to your Father?" Spender responded. "Surely your Mother brought you up better than that?"

"You're not my Father!" Mulder screamed, punching the wall behind him in his rage.

"Is that what you think? You keep saying it, but you don't seem very convinced somehow."

Mulder refused to look at Spender any longer, he turned to Skinner.

"This is pointless," he said, "why are we wasting time on this piece of shit?"

"I agree," Skinner said, "I think we'd have more success talking to the 'estimable' Doctor Graaf. Alternatively of course there are, apparently, some exceedingly detailed records in this facility which could save us a great deal of time. That being the case I think we might find that certain people have outlived their usefulness."

Mulder was interested to see that Spender blanched a little at Skinner's speech. Maybe the old man was not invulnerable after all. He didn't know why he always felt so damned idiotic whenever they met, but he was grateful, for once, that he and his companions had the upper hand. He nodded at Skinner.

"OK, so what are we waiting for?" He said. "Let's go and talk to the good doctor."

"I'll be right with you." Skinner said, pulling a pair of handcuffs out.

An admiring grin passed across Mulder's face. His ex-boss might normally be quiet and restrained, but his years of experience with the tricky nature of Spender meant he was taking no chances.

"Good thinking." He said, as he left the room.

"Perhaps you should reconsider this." Spender said as Skinner snapped the cuffs closed.

One of his wrists was now cuffed to the wheel of his chair, Skinner having noted that the arms of the chair were easily removable.

"Oh I don't think so." Skinner said, quietly. "I rather think that your time is up. This is one time you don't get to win. Don't think that I intend to go easy on you because you are old and ill either. You've never shown any one mercy simply because they were weaker than you."

"I'm shocked Mr Skinner. I thought you were a man of integrity, a man of honour, a man of the law. Surely you can't mean to subvert that, everything you've ever stood for, by taking the law into your own hands now?"

"If I do, it will be because you and your kind have already subverted the forces of law, order and justice to the point where those words, those concepts, no longer have any real meaning." Skinner said, giving his prisoner a hard glare, his dark brown eyes betraying no warmth at all. Then he turned and left Spender alone in the room, taking care to ensure that the door was securely locked behind him.

Part Eleven

Conrad was pleased with the results of Samantha's trawl for supplies. The portable X-ray machine had proved that there was no other internal bleeding apart from that caused by the tears in Alex's rectum. Alex's wrist had proved to be a mess though. Without surgery it would be impossible to set, and Conrad was now very worried about possible nerve damage. The bones had moved to a point where the two major nerves of the hand and arm were trapped and possibly compromised. The epinerium of both had appeared torn and, though there was no bleeding now, there had been severe trauma to the blood vessels at the time of the break. All of the smaller bones of the wrist, the Lunate, the Scaphoid, Capitate and Trapezoid were broken, and not simple breaks either.

It seemed to Conrad that these bones were so damaged that they would need to be replaced by metal alloy components. However, even if he was able to do that in this facility, and it appeared that he might, he would still need to proceed with caution to try and both repair current nerve damage and prevent further nerve injury. Conrad sighed. This man had only one hand, the amputation on the other arm was messy and showed signs of a botched job. He hardly dared to think what his patient would think about having his only functioning upper limb out of commission for any length of time. Nevertheless that was going to be the reality of his existence for at least the next month or so. He didn't relish having to tell him that. He could only imagine the horror of an adult, recovering from severe torture, being totally dependent on others for food, water, dressing and washing, whilst still being in his right mind. Of course there was always the probability that the torture had caused mental disturbance too, but the sense of horror Conrad felt on behalf of his patient did not diminish. All of these factors made Conrad nervous, but also made him more determined to ensure that his patient's sensibilities were cared for as much as his physical well-being.

Doggett had wheeled a bed onto the room, which had pneumatic controls for the head and feet. Together they had carefully transferred Alex to this bed, ensuring that the head was fully raised and that the side rails were in place. Conrad set up an IV line in Alex's left arm, because the right was too badly damaged. The IV contained a saline and glucose solution as well as the antibiotics, and analgesics he had ordered. Alex's temperature had gone down and his colour had improved significantly and that had been very encouraging to Conrad. He really wanted to get started on treating the wrist but until the toxicology report came back he dared not introduce any anaesthetics into Alex's bloodstream. He was taking enough of a risk with the painkillers and antibiotics. Nevertheless, he would have to operate soon if he was going to save that hand. He figured that he had a hour, two at the most, to make his decision, and he really wanted his patient to have some say in that if at all possible.

All he could do for now was to ensure that Alex was as comfortable as possible. He should have the blood tests back within the next hour. He had stabilised the wrist with an air splint which allowed him to still see the colour of the skin, but also immobilised the joint and cushioned it against any possible jarring. He had not, on this occasion, added a sling. He had judged that the psychological effects on Alex, of having his only arm restrained, might cause more harm than good.

Samantha's quiet, competent help had been a great bonus to Conrad. Even Agent Doggett had been useful, despite his lack of medical expertise. His calm demeanour had been useful in helping to dissipate the air of tension in the room. That air of tension had come in part from Agent Mulder's behaviour towards Alex, and in part from Conrad's own feelings of being somewhat out of his depth. All the theories that Walter and Doggett had expounded in his office had seemed a little far fetched, even though he had agreed at the time that, in principle, they were sound. Being here, confronted with the reality of some, at least, of the evidence of that theory, had certainly brought him up short mentally. Doggett's calm acceptance of the situation was therefore very soothing.

"I think we've done everything we can for now." Conrad said. "We have to wait for the toxicology scan to be completed and for Mr Krycek to wake up before we can proceed further."

"I still find it hard to reconcile that this isn't the man who was threatening us yesterday. I know that it wasn't, I saw the evidence with my own eyes, but it's still difficult to get my head around." Doggett said, as he placed a carafe of water on the bedside table.

"I understand how hard it is given your past history with Spender and his ilk," Samantha said, "but believe me, Alex and his twin are, were two very different people. Spender designed it that way and did everything to ensure that Nicky and Alex were kept apart from a fairly young age. That's not to say that Alex is an angel or that he has never done anything wrong. He did what he had to do. What he was made to do. He was kept on a very tight leash by Spender and the rest of the consortium. Nick was brought up very differently. Doctor Rascher and Spender wanted to continue with Mengele's twins study. They wanted to settle the Nature versus Nurture debate once and for all."

She paused, looking at them carefully to see their response. Both men looked shocked.

"Doctor Rascher? Doctor Paul Rascher of Dachau? Wolfgang Romberg's sidekick?" Conrad asked in horror.

"The very same." Samantha replied.

"He was working here? I thought he disappeared without a trace before the Nuremberg Trials." Doggett said.

"Actually he managed to persuade various people that he was innocent of all wrong doing, and that his knowledge and expertise was far too useful to waste." Samantha said. "He was proud of the fact that these people had 'acquitted' him of involvement in illegal experiments and enabled him to continue his work here in the US. They made it possible for him to leave Europe before the trails began He was part of something known as Operation Paperclip."

Doggett nodded, he, like Mulder, had heard of this scheme. Many ex Nazis had found refuge in the United States in return for them giving their expertise to their host country. Expertise that had been used to further scientific and medical knowledge as well as helping to further America's interests during the cold war. It seemed that now he was seeing for himself exactly what the results of at least part of that policy had been. Remembering how they had found Krycek, bound and screaming under torture whilst that bastard Spender and the man who called himself a doctor stood by and calmly observed his agony, encouraging more despicable torment. Doggett felt sick. And now Samantha was telling them that Krycek was the result of some experiment cooked up by one of the most feared and hated Doctors from the concentration camps, with Spender's blessing.

Conrad looked ill, but he encouraged Samantha to continue.

"Alex and Nick were conceived with the Nature and Nurture experiment firmly in mind and their whole conception and rearing was devised to prove or disprove the theories. All the records are here in the vault, in fact most of them are on microfilm and computer disc as well. When they tired of that debate they designed new and better experiments to find ways of defending against or curtailing the alien conspiracy, and used their 'created lab rats' to test their latest 'product' on. Then after a few years they separated the boys and concentrated most of the medical experimentation on Alex whilst using Nick for behaviour modification tests. Eventually they graduated Alex to these too, but he wasn't quite as receptive as Nick had been." She sighed heavily. "I really hope and pray that if there is such a thing as hell, Rascher, Spender, Graaf and all their circle will be reunited there for eternal torment." She said.

Doggett laid a gentle hand on her arm. "I'll second that prayer," he said quietly, "and if I ever had the opportunity to send them there I'd be more than willing."

Samantha looked up at the man who'd been a quiet source of strength to her over the past few hours, helping her to get over the shock of seeing Fox and encouraging her to focus her anger over what had been done to Alex. She gave him a brief smile.

"You might have to draw lots for that one Agent Doggett, I know plenty of people who'd line up for exactly that opportunity."

"Then why hasn't anyone done it yet?" Doggett asked. "I mean it's not as if there was much doubt that they were, are up to no good, or that they use torture and blackmail to cover up their activities and coerce people to co-operate. So why hasn't anyone just pulled the plug on them before now?"

Samantha sighed again and flushed as she dropped her eyes to the floor, unable to hold the clear blue gaze of the man before her.

"It's complicated, and there's not really time to go into all the reasons now." She shook her head despairingly. "Besides which, I'm not sure you'd find the reasons compelling. When I was a little girl I was taught that two wrongs don't make a right. Ordinarily I'd agree with that philosophy, but sometimes things are more complex and simplistic rules seem to become redundant. At least I have believed that for a while. Now I'm not so sure." She looked troubled, and refused to meet either Doggett or Conrad's gaze.

"I don't understand." Doggett said.

"I know, but you soon will, and I'm very much afraid that when you do understand you'll hate me for some of the things I've done." Samantha said, looking down now at Alex.

She reached out her hand and gently stroked his scalp, her hand noting the slight regrowth of hair. Her eyes closed and she leaned down, placing a soft kiss to the unconscious man's temple. Then she straightened and nodded at Conrad.

"I'll go and keep an eye on the toxicology tests. The full work up should be ready in about forty minutes." She said, and then she left the room.

Part Twelve

Milton Graaf proved no more help than Spender when Mulder and Skinner tried their interrogation techniques on him. The look on his face though was priceless when they told him that they could actually manage to piece together the answers just fine without his help, that all they were trying to do was offering him a chance to redeem himself. Graaf's demeanour changed from aloof arrogance to horrified, especially when Mulder hinted in a lightly veiled manner at what might await Graaf in prison, but he still refused to help them in any way. Clearly, no matter how horrified he was at being exposed for his work, nothing could induce him to turn on Spender and his allies. Disgustedly they left Graaf cuffed to the chair and locked in.

Mulder decided to check in on the guard they'd left in the CCTV control room whilst Skinner returned to the room where they had first found Krycek. Skinner looked around in distaste at the accoutrements of torture. He remembered the smell of burning flesh that had hit him as they'd entered this room. He didn't think he would ever forget the revulsion of seeing Krycek in the full rictus of orgasm caused solely by the electric shocks to his body. The agony on Krycek's face had made him squirm. It had been so reminiscent of the agony he'd felt when the nanocytes were activated. He looked at the small desk in the corner of the chamber. There was a large desk diary there with written entries cataloguing tests and 'medication' administered to 'subject K2'. Each day was full of meticulous notes on the 'subject's' reaction to certain chemical and physical stimuli. The tone of the observations was far from the dry clinical objectivity one would expect from scientific records. Graaf's gleeful joy at the way his test subject responded to 'treatment' shone through in every word. Skinner felt sick.

Turning to the first entry date he noted that it was exactly one week after Mulder and he had gone to Oregon. Was it possible that Krycek had been here all that time? Checking through each dated entry he concluded that his erstwhile agent had indeed been held in this facility for just about eight months.

His face grew dark with anger as he came across entries cataloguing a list almost as long as his arm of disease pathogens which had been given to Krycek. No matter how much he had disliked Krycek's behaviour over the past years nothing could ever convince him that the man deserved any of this, and what fuelled his anger further was the fact that never once in their documentation had Spender and Graaf bothered to refer to Krycek by name. Skinner would not have wished Spender and Graaf's little double act on his worst enemy. He slammed the book shut and put it under one arm. Grabbing the bunch of keys which were also on the desk he took a last look around the chamber before leaving to go back and see how Conrad's treatment of Krycek was coming along.

Mulder entered the room to find the guard awake and struggling with his bonds. He stopped when he saw Mulder who regarded him dispassionately.

"Who the fuck are you?" The guard ground out. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Mulder smirked. "Must be getting a little sloppy there pal. I mean, such overconfidence that you turned off all the external monitors. Whatever was Spender thinking of? Did he really think that he was invincible? Or was it more that you really couldn't be bothered to monitor the exterior when there was something more interesting to watch inside?"

The guard's guilty flush told him that this assessment was right on the money.

"So you sick fuck, who did you get your rocks off to? Was it the woman or were you more into the gladiatorial pursuits. You get turned on watching some other bastard getting his nuts toasted is that it? He asked, leaning very close to the restrained man.

"What is it to you?" The guard asked. "You fancy one of them yourself or are you into threesomes? Sure is a fine looking woman, if you like that sort of thing. Maybe if you asked her real nice she'd spread her legs for you. Hoity toity bitch. Still she hasn't got laid in a while. I bet you could have her screaming and begging for more, big boy like you." And he licked his lips, lasciviously.

Mulder backhanded the man hard. Anger blazed in his eyes.

"I'll thank you to talk about my sister with a little more respect, though I suppose a bottom feeder like you probably never learned how." He spat.

"Hey man, I didn't mean to disrespect her. She's not my type anyway." The guard said hurriedly.

"Uhuh." Mulder grunted. "So it's the guy who floats your boat then, or is it the action that turns you on?"

"Who says any of them gets me going?" The guard leered. "I mean neither one of them is here with me, how can you think I'd cosy up to either of them?"

"No one said you had to," Mulder replied, "but if you don't want people to know you're in here jerking off, instead of watching out like a good soldier, then you need to clean up after you come and get some air freshener, not to mention turning the air conditioning up."

The guard shook his head.

"Shit! No one ever comes in here but me anymore. I get bored in here. Spender never comes in here and since he got rid of the other guards I have nothing else to do. I'm only human after all."

"So you sit in here and jack off to the sight of Krycek getting his ass busted?" Mulder asked incredulously.

"Hey, each to his own. I mean lots of guys jerk off to porno tapes - this is the nearest thing I've got - and the guy has a great ass. Besides, he's been top whore around here for longer than I've been around, and that's a long time. Anyhow, there's nothing I can do about him getting his assets busted by Graaf and Spender. The guy always though he was so superior to us mere guards, so now I get to watch him get his and I make the most of the entertainment. You telling me you're any better?" The guard said defiantly

Mulder looked at the man as if he was some kind of repulsive reptile.

"I may jerk off to porno tapes, but even if a man was my mortal enemy I wouldn't find the sight of him being tortured a turn on." he said. "I guess some of us just have more heightened sensibilities that others."

"Huh," the guard responded, "we'll see. So anyway you didn't come in here to chew the fat, what did you want?"

'I was just curious to see what kind of a guy takes a job like this," Mulder sneered, "and now I know."

"That's it?" The guard said, incredulously.

"Well, that and a little matter of checking out the lay of the land. That door there obviously leads through to the place you store your security tapes." Mulder said indicating a door in the corner of the room.

"Since you've worked it all out you don't need me to help you." The guard said. 'I'm not anybody you want, you could just let me go."

"What, and let you miss all the fun?" Mulder said. "I couldn't possibly deprive you of that." Mulder said as he checked the bonds that held the guard were still firm, satisfied that the man was going nowhere he opened the connecting door and entered the room beyond.

He'd expected a few shelves of tapes, but not the vast array that were on display here. There were taping machines whirring away. Mulder went to the machines and stopped them. Extracting the tapes from within he noted that each one was clearly labelled with its location and dated. He noted also that each tape was larger than normal and was geared to record for up to forty eight hours of activity. Knowing that there was evidence on them that Conrad would need, he grabbed them all and then turned his attention to the shelving units. Each rack went from floor to ceiling and was neatly labelled with the room number and date. One set of shelves, amounting to twelve stacks in all, were labelled 'K 1 & 2'. The tapes were dated from October 1964 to the present day and were neatly stacked in order. At the end of the last stack was a date book with indexed information about each of the tapes. From this book he gathered that the K2 referred to was one Alexander Krycek whilst K1 was Nicholas Krycek. There were tapes dealing with both subject together and then separate tapes for each.

Mulder was stunned. He'd always assumed that Krycek had been recruited by the consortium either at Quantico or shortly after his graduation from there. Now it seemed there was proof of his involvement from much earlier. Evidence, it would seem, that the consortium and Krycek had a lifelong involvement. The fact that the consortium had records of Krycek dating from before his official date of birth gave him pause at first. Was it possible that Krycek was older than his FBI file had stated? It didn't make an sense. The consortium took better care to ensure their operatives weren't caught out in such facile lies. There was, however, precisely forty weeks between the first entry in the archive and Krycek's officially recorded date of birth. That would seem to indicate that there was consortium involvement in Krycek's life from his conception to the present day.

Over the years he'd learned that the consortium's attitude to the sanctity of human life was somewhat cavalier, to say the least. The clones, Emily, the facilities where elderly men and women had been used to test the vaccine against the black oil, the alien bodies in the box car in the dessert in New Mexico - not to mention the vast numbers of alien foetuses in the offices of Zeus Genetics - all of these examples served to reinforce the consortium's perfidious amorality. It would not be out of keeping with their other activities therefore, to have deliberately bred Krycek or rather 'K1 & 2', for their own nefarious reasons. He could imagine only too well, the cold and impersonal way in which the two Krycek's had been raised. For the first time ever he felt pity towards his ex partner.

Alex could not tell at first if he was awake or dreaming. He felt inordinately heavy, as if someone had weighted each limb. Perversely, he also felt as though each part of his body was floating free of the rest, totally independent of each other and out of his control. He felt completely strung out. His muscles ached and trembled with fatigue as though he'd been giving them a thorough work out. Gradually he became aware of sounds around him and of a bright light shining in his eyes. His head felt fuzzy and hot, it throbbed slightly and he began to feel queasy again. Then, like a diver finally surfacing, he felt reality rapidly reassert itself.

Pain. That was the one sensation he was acutely aware of. It seemed that no part of his body was free from it. He began to struggle to move, still feeling as if he was weighed down. His head finally lifted from the pillow and all at once his vision blurred. Swallowing heavily, and with is heart beating a tattoo within his chest he closed his eyes briefly as he let his head settle back again. Carefully he opened his eyes once more and regarded his surroundings.

He was still in the room they'd moved him to after taking him out of the chamber. The sandy haired man was examining a thermometer. As he heard Alex move, and caught the change in his breathing, he turned his head a concerned gaze in Alex's direction. Alex was struck by the fact that this man seemed to be really worried about him. It did not seem to fit with his previous assessment of the situation. Yet he had a vague recollection of this man cold-cocking Graaf and cutting the electric current that had been coursing through him.

He tried to speak, but found that his voice was harsh and rasping so that all he managed to produce was a hoarse and painful sounding cough. This made his chest and stomach muscles cramp and produced a fiery pain in his abdomen. His eyes widened at the red hot sensation and he gurgled in a sick parody of a scream. Sweat covered his body and his breathing became quick and shallow as he panted in an attempt to get some measure of control over the agony that threatened to overwhelm him.

A cool hand was placed gently on his forehead, grounding and soothing him.

"Easy Alex. Don't try to move too much. You have some serious injuries and I'm sure that they are extremely painful. Unfortunately at the moment I daren't increase the level of painkillers in your IV because I'm still not entirely sure what other chemicals might be floating about in your bloodstream. As soon as I can I'll do my best to make you more comfortable OK?" The sandy haired man said.

Alex nodded, slowly and carefully to avoid restarting the cycle of pain. He looked at the man who was leaning over him. His brow wrinkle in confusion as he tried to remember the man's name, and failed.

"Who?....." He managed to croak.

"Shhh! Just rest. My name is Doctor Conrad Borrachio. I am an old friend of Walter Skinner, and I came along here to help him find out what kind of heinous practices were being conducted here. I guess I found out." He said wryly.

"Hmmm." Alex agreed, not really trusting that Skinner was there for any other reason than because Spender wanted him to be. However he was more concerned about Spender himself and what his plans were than about anything else. His confused memories seemed to suggest that he had been rescued but he couldn't quite bring himself to trust in such a thing.

"Spender?"" Alex croaked, grimacing as his throat protested this much use.

"Spender is in our custody," Conrad said, as he watched Alex's face register surprise he continued, " he will not be allowed to harm you again in any way nor will he be allowed near you. Samantha and I are working on repairing the damage that has been done to you." He paused as he saw Alex startled face.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Is she OK?" Alex rasped.

"She's just fine." Samantha's voice said as she entered the room, pausing to give Conrad a printout she leant over and gently bussed Alex on the cheek. "More importantly Alex, how are you?" She said standing back to observe him a little.

Alex shrugged as best he was able.

"Mmmmm fine." He managed.

"You are so full of it Alexander," Samantha said, sighing, "but I guess it's not your fault. You were raised that way after all."

Alex glared at her, but gradually his expression changed into a wry, sheepish smile.

"Ummhmm." He agreed mildly.

Conrad moved towards his patient with a glass of ice and water in one hand and a straw in the other.

"Here." He said. " Let's get your throat lubricated and try not to talk. Your throat has been severely strained and damaged. You need to rest is and give it a chance to recover. This should start to reduce any swelling as well as help to restore your body's hydration level."

Alex took the offered straw in his mouth and began to drink gratefully and greedily. His throat felt as though it was lined with sandpaper and the blessed cool liquid filled him with a sense of ecstasy. He almost groaned when Conrad pulled the straw away.

"That's enough for now," Conrad said gently, "you can have some more in a few minutes. If you have too much at once you'll be sick and we definitely don't want that, apart from the unpleasantness it would add to your dehydration."

Alex grimaced at that thought, though he looked longingly at the glass as Conrad put it on the side table.

"I need to talk to you about your wrist." Conrad said. "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that it is badly broken and some of the bones are beyond repair. Also as the bones have moved they have trapped the major nerves, this compromising them. I need to operate on the wrist in order to restore it to any level of functionality. However, there is still a chance that such an operation will leave the wrist below par. I can tell you though that if I do not operate there is a ninety percent likelihood that you will lose the hand all together, due to nerve death and gangrene." He looked at Alex gravely.

Alex shuddered at the thought and swallowed heavily. He'd adjusted to life with one hand, more or less, over the course of the last year. That did not mean that he found it easy or that there was not one day when he did not, internally, bitterly bemoan his loss. Not to mention the damned phantom pain he suffered in the lower half of the limb, and the actual pain in the stump. To lose the other hand as well was beyond his imagining. The thought filled him with terror. He would no longer be able to live an independent life. To be reduced to the level of invalid was an idea he could not begin to deal with. He never wanted to have to experience it. He took a deep breath and looked Conrad in the eye, appearing outwardly much more calm than he actually was.

"Do it." He managed, in a hoarse whisper.

"I will, the only other thing is - given this list of drugs Samantha has found still circulating in your blood, not to mention some of the other pathogens Graaf had coursing through your system, I can't give you a general anaesthetic when I operate. This toxicology report shows large amounts of muscle relaxants were administered to you over the last seventy two hours and that the amounts of carbon dioxide in your blood indicate that the pressure capability of the chamber you were in must have been used several times recently. So even if they had not used such massive doses of pre operative medication on you, I would not dare to risk a general anaesthetic because of the high risk of inducing Pulmonary Oedema or Embolism."

"Dexamethazone," Alex said croakily, 'Graaf....."

"Graaf gave you Dexamethazone?" Conrad said.

Alex nodded, grateful for the interruption.

"There is a small amount present in your blood still. How many doses did he give you?"

Alex shrugged, he was not certain that he had not been given the drug several times when he was unconscious, but he had no real idea.

"At least one." He husked.

"Well I would have to check his notes to see for certain, but even so I really can't risk the general anaesthetic. So I propose to proceed under local anaesthesia, but that would also mean immobilising you physically with straps, since we can't give you more drugs. I realise that this is a less than ideal scenario, but I do need to operate soon or you will lose your hand." Conrad said.

Some choice, thought Alex. Yet Conrad's tone of voice and body language inspired confidence in him. Alex had never felt any such sense of ease around Doctors before, and he wondered at it now. It could not be denied that he needed his wrist taking care of. It hurt like a son of a bitch and the pain was getting harder to deal with. When it came right down to it, he'd rather let this man lose on his body with surgical instruments than Graaf or Romberg. He shuddered at the memories of what both men had done in the name of medical science to his body. This man had been different, all his actions had been to induce comfort and reduce pain, not to mention the fact that Samantha trusted him. In the end he had no choice but to follow her example and trust Conrad Borrachio too.

"OK," he said," do it."

Conrad sighed with relief.

"Good, I'm glad that's settled. I will need and assistant." He said looking at Samantha.

"Absolutely," she nodded," I'll make sure we have sterile instruments and tell the others to keep away, there is a set of scrubs and some hibitane in the closet there."

She pointed to a corner closet and then, smiling at Alex one more time she went to find one of the others that they needed to keep visitors out for the duration of the operation. Alex had been exposed to enough injurious treatment and pathogens without making things worse by compromising the sterile environment they needed to repair his wrist.

Conrad smiled as he looked down at this patient.

"She's some lady." He said

"Mmmm." Alex agreed.

"Ok, I'll get scrubbed up and ready and we can give you some more water and make you comfortable whilst we are waiting." Conrad said.

Alex's heart lurched. Even if this all turned out to be a cruel hoax, he would always be grateful to this man for showing him some care and concern at a time when he desperately needed it. He was horrified to feel his eyes fill with tears, and to feel the lump in his throat, but he was powerless to prevent either one. His eyes shone with gratitude as he accepted the straw from Conrad again.

Conrad recognised the naked emotion in Alex's eyes. The poor bastard is exhausted and strung out, he thought. And no wonder at it. When he'd read the report Samantha had brought back, and realised just how much this man must have been through in the last three days alone, he'd had the urge to grab Graaf by the scruff of the neck and strap him down in the pressure chamber where they'd found him torturing Alex, and leave him there while inducing a vacuum in the chamber. Killing him was a huge temptation for the Marine. He'd been combat trained and tested. He had no qualms about killing an enemy, but he was, when it came down to it, a doctor. He would not kill Graaf, but he would do his best to ensure the man never saw the light of day again.

Some of this must have shown on his face, because Alex's expression began to change from one of exquisite ecstasy to one of anxiety, one might even say terror. He pulled the straw away again and gently stroked Alex's forehead.

"I'm sorry Alex, I was letting my anger run away with me there. I look at what 'Doctor' Graaf has been doing to you and it makes me want to rip his head off. He swore an oath, like me, to do no harm....and yet he allows himself to be used by men like Spender, and actually seems to enjoy it. I can't conceive what inducements could ever have made him betray his calling like this."

Alex nodded in understanding, and sighed a little.

"You will Doc." He rasped. "You will."

Part Thirteen

Having been told to steer clear of 'Alex's room' for the next hour or so, Skinner and Doggett went with Mulder to the video storeroom to see what he had found. They too were stunned at the sheer size of the archive and as eager as Mulder to see exactly what information they could glean from these, and the other records. ignoring the, by now furious, guard, they took as much of the 'K' archive as they could carry and went in search of somewhere to view the tapes.

They sat in one of the side rooms with the stack of video cassettes and a TV/VCR. Mulder had grabbed some of what seemed to be the key tapes from the stack, one of which was the current tape from room twenty, and switched on the TV. Inserting the tape with the earliest date into the machine he sat back with the others to view it. All three men watched incredulously as a younger Spender outlined the 'K' project. The idea was to use Mengele's research from his twin study and further it. However, they would be able to create a superior study to Mengele's since they would have the twins from conception onwards so that they would truly be able to influence their entire physical and emotional development. Then a man who identified himself as Doctor Romberg explained the plan further. Given the genetic research that had been a growing part of the consortium's work, the new proposal was to select genetic donors and breed certain characteristics into the twin embryos. Thus they would assure themselves of success. There was a lot more technical data, a lot of which was over the heads of the three viewers, but the gist of the information was that all members of the consortium would be tested for their genetic suitability as donors.

Shuffling through several other tapes, Skinner then picked one labelled 'K1/K2 JUNE 1969' and inserted it into the machine. As he took his seat two boys aged four were shown on screen. They were both naked and apparently playing in a sand pit. The voice over introduced the boys as Nicholas and Alexander. The camera zoomed in on the boys to show that far from innocent play the boys were engaged in extricating a mine from the sand pit. They had a box of tools in the sand pit with them. Once they had excavated the mine to the point where it was possible to remove the cover Alexander approached the casing with a screwdriver whilst Nicholas took up the wire cutters. The tension in the room was palpable as the three men watched the two boys work together as smoothly as any professional team to dismantle and diffuse the bomb.

Mulder felt sick. He'd known that being raised by the consortium would have been no picnic, but he'd never really imagined anything quite like this.

The scene changed to show each of the boys assembling a gun. Each worked deftly and quickly, and it became clear that they were both adept and experienced at this routine. It also became clear that this was a race. Spender stood in the background, stopwatch in hand, timing them. When they had completed the task, at the same time, he smiled at them and gave them each a new weapon. This time, instead of a hand gun, the boys each had an automatic rifle with telescopic sights.

"I want you to strip, clean and reassemble these weapons," Spender said, "but remember that you must not get any foreign material in the weapons or they will be likely to misfire. Do not begin before I give you my mark. One last thing," he looked at them sternly, "the winner of this task will be rewarded - and the loser will be punished for his failure. Do you understand?"

Both boys nodded in the affirmative and looked carefully at Spender, waiting for his signal to begin. The announcement of rewards and punishments had obviously added a sense of urgency to the proceedings for them. As Spender gave the signal to begin they hastened to strip their weapons. The urge to avoid being the one punished made them both attack the task with a speed that would have put a commando to shame.. With their chubby fingers though, the speed began to suffer. Eventually Alexander fumbled when trying to fix the sight to his rifle and it fell into the sand. He looked fearfully at Spender and quickly scooped up the sight which was now covered in grains of sand. In order to complete his assembly he would now need to clean the sand from the sight and make sure that none of it had lodged in the lenses. He completed this and finally fixed the sight to his rifle a little over fifty five seconds after Nicholas had finished assembling his rifle in pristine condition.

Nicholas' sense of triumph was clear. His radiant smile lit up his face and he almost seemed to purr with pleasure as Spender gently patted him on his shoulder and congratulated him. Alex, meanwhile, was sat staring glumly at the rifle in his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks though he made no sound.

Skinner held his breath, wondering what the punishment would be. He watched as Spender approached the distraught figure.

"Give me the gun Alex." Spender said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Skinner had always thought that voice flat and emotionless, he'd certainly never heard the man use that soft and considerate tone. He began to relax. Perhaps it would be all right, after all the boy was only four years old. What possible punishments could Spender inflict on one so young? Slightly reassured, Skinner watched as Alex turned his tear stained face to his mentor and handed him the gun.

Spender took the gun reverently and place it on a blanket outside the sand pit. Then he ignored Alex as he turned his attention to Nicholas.

"Well now Nicholas," he said, "You've done very well and I am very pleased with you. How would you like to come and live with me?"

"Yes please sir." Nicholas replied, his smile widening as he contemplated his prize.

"Then you shall Nicholas, you shall. You shall have a room of your own and a nice bed, and we shall do many exciting things together. Go to the door Nicholas. Mr Anderson will show you where show you where to wait for me." Spender said.

Nicholas stood but before he went he glanced uncertainly at his twin. Spender noticed.

"On you go Nicholas," he said, "I need to speak to Alex and I'll see you in a minute."

Nicholas hesitated one second more before doing as he was bid.

As Nicholas left the room Spender turned and regarded Alex sternly.

"I'm very disappointed in you Alex. That gun is a very expensive piece of equipment and you have managed to damage it."

Alex nodded dejectedly in agreement.

"I'm sorry sir," he said, "it won't happen again."

"Indeed it will not." Spender said, his tone now harsher. "Do you know what punishment you have earned boy?"

Alex looked up again at Spender, his little body trembling with fear as he shook his head.

"N...n...no sir." He stuttered, clearly terrified of the man.

"Well Alex, I'm afraid you won't like it, but remember, you earned it." Spender said, blowing smoke from his cigarette into Alex's face and making the boy cough.

As the boy doubled over, coughing and gasping, Spender pushed him face down into the sand. He held the child as he squirmed ineffectually, trying to lift his face from the stifling mounds of sand.

Skinner, Doggett and Mulder watched this scene, their faces bleak, their feelings towards the smoking man growing more murderous by the second. As they too squirmed in sympathy with the small boy on screen Spender pulled Alex from the sand.

Alex's nose, eyes and mouth were full of the gritty stuff. He was immediately sick as he was released from the suffocating grip Spender'd had on him. He did not cry, however, but continued to look terrified.

The three men viewing the tape were still waiting to see what punishment Spender would choose to inflict on his young charge. They were under no illusion that this was the sum total of his revenge. Alex, retching on his knees and barely daring to move, seemed to understand this too.

"I'm going to be leaving soon Alex." Spender said. "Your brother and I are going to spend a lot of time together. In the meantime, Doctor Romberg wants you to help him with his experiments."

Alex eyed the big man nervously as he came towards him carrying some items. When Alex saw what the Doctor had in his hands he began to scream.

"No, no, no, no, no, noooooooo, no please, no please, I'll be good, please." He wailed as he sank down in despair once more into the sand.

Romberg stepped up to Alex and lifted him to his feet before slapping him hard in the face. The blow was so hard that the boy was shocked into silence. As soon as Alex stopped wailing Romberg snapped a pair of handcuffs on to him, and a collar around his neck. To the collar he attached a lead. Then he took a small device from his pocket and pressed it. The result was a squeal from Alex that shook the entire room as he fell to the ground clutching at this neck. As the sound faded Romberg jerked the boy to his feet again and turned to Spender.

"Danke Herr Spender. I wish you good fortune with your boy, as you must wish me luck with mine." He said.

'Oh indeed I wish you luck Doctor Romberg. Our notes will have to be meticulous and we shall see which of our methods shall triumph. Though of course our aims are slightly different." Spender said. Then he leaned forward and ruffled the hair of the now panting boy as if he was an affectionate uncle bidding his nephew a fond farewell.

"Be good for Doctor Romberg, Alex, you don't want to earn any more punishments do you?" He said.

Alex looked up at Spender, his green eyes full of tears.

"Please sir,' he whispered, "I'll be good. Please let me go with you and Kolya."

Spender laughed. "My dear Sasha. What makes you think that Kolya and I want you?

Alex's eyes widened.

"But Kolya's my twin." He said as if this explained everything. "We promised each other that we would be together always."

"Alex, you do not have a choice. You and Kolya belong to me and I will decide where you go and what you do. What you and Kolya want is not important. Do you understand?"

Alex swallowed and seemed to fold in on himself.

"Yes sir." He said, barely audibly.

It was as if all the energy had been sucked out of him.

"You will not do anything to displease Doctor Romberg, if you do you will seriously displease me too. Do you understand that?" Spender asked.

Alex simply nodded.

Spender grabbed the boy's chin in his hand and squeezed until he squawked in pain.

"I said, do you understand me Alex?"

"Y...yes sir!" Alex managed.

"And if you displease me there will be more punishment. I'm sure you don't want that do you?"

"No." Alex's voice was low but clear.

"Then I think we understand each other. Goodbye Alex."

Spender let him go and left the room without a backward glance.

Romberg pulled Alex's lead in such a way as to make it clear that he should follow him. Alex followed, having no choice but to comply. Yet he could not prevent himself from calling out to his brother as he was dragged along.

"Kolya. Kolya, please Kolya don't leave me. Kolya."

Romberg stopped, turned and made a fist. Leaning over Alex, threatening him.

"If you make one more sound boy, I'll make sure you cannot speak for a very long time. Now stop snivelling and let's get moving." He snarled.

Alex stopped crying and lowered his head. He followed Romberg from the room, all the fight seemingly gone out of him.

As the screen went blank Mulder stopped the VCR and raised the lights. He looked around at his companions. Both men looked drained and angry.

Doggett was the first to speak.

"Fuck!" He said. The expletive sounding like a small explosion.

"Yeah." Mulder agreed. "Fuck! The bastard set Alex and his brother up, trained them from birth. God! What hope did either one of them have?" He kicked the chair he had been sitting on and then punched his fist into the wall.

Skinner stood and placed a restraining hand on Mulder's shoulder.

"Mulder, I know it's hard to watch, but I think we owe it to Krycek and his brother to find out as much as we can ." He said

"I know,"Mulder said, "but everything I see makes me want to go and rearrange every molecule of Spender's and then start all over again. I warning you Skinner, if I have to speak to him again I'm more likely to kill him than not. God," he groaned, and put his head in his hands.

"Mulder," Skinner said, "if you'd rather leave the room, then Agent Doggett and I can carry on here."

Mulder shook his head and lowered his hands.

"No sir. I'll be fine. If I go out of here now I'm likely to take an axe to that bastard and I just know that if I do that somehow I'll live to regret it. Besides," he added, "if Krycek had to live through this then the least we can do is try to understand why they did it to him." He sat shakily.

Doggett picked up a tape from the pile.

"Seventieth Birthday celebrations,"he read, "debut of K2."

"Put it in Agent Doggett." Skinner said, though he hardly dared to imagine what the tape might contain. He felt that no matter how distasteful he found the evidence, no matter how hard it was to stomach, he owed it to Krycek to watch this.

Monica Reyes felt as if she'd fallen down a rabbit hole. Ever since she'd teamed up with Doggett on the X Files, despite Kersh's insistence to the contrary, she'd been thrown into what she could only think of as an alternate universe. Despite priding herself on her open mindedness and acceptance of extreme possibilities, she had never, not in her wildest dreams, imagined anything like the situation she now found herself in.

John had asked her to help out with 'sleuthing' as he put it. He'd warned her that none of this was part of an official investigation right now and that she could expect no back up. He'd also warned her of the danger she might be in if she were caught. Shit! If she hadn't been with Scully when she'd given birth, if she hadn't dealt with Billy Miles and the Game Warden, hadn't seen with her own eyes how they both recovered from serious injuries within seconds, she would never have believed the story John had told her. Except, maybe she would have had to believe it. If only because it was John who was telling her. John Doggett was the least fanciful man she knew, the most level headed, straight-laced, some had even said 'boring' man possibly in the known universe. She smiled at that thought. Whatever doubts any one might have, if John Doggett believed what he had told her then she had to believe it was true too.

Her checks into Zeus Genetics had led her on a long paper chase. Dummy Corporations led her down one blind alley after another and she soon became so frustrated that she sought Dana Scully's advice. The last thing she had wanted to do. Not because Scully was not a meticulous agent, but because she had, after all, just been through a most traumatic pregnancy. The doubts and fears she had encountered during that period and the tension surrounding the birth itself, not to mention the amazing Mulder's gone , Mulder's dead, Mulder's alive scenario, had drained Dana Scully. Monica had felt it would be unfair to inflict any more stress into Scully's life, but in the end it had been inevitable and unavoidable that she would go to her for help despite her fear that this would be the straw that broke the camel's back.

Scully, however, had proved more resilient. It was as if the birth of William had given her additional strength, as if she had got her second wind. She had an equilibrium that Reyes admired greatly and she had been the one to point Monica in the direction of some friends of Mulder's. Thus it was at Scully's insistence that she found herself now with these three bizarre men.

Frohike put a mug of coffee in front of her.

"There you go Agent Reyes." He purred, grinning at her.

Monica had to stifle a giggle. Scully had warned her about Frohike hitting on her.

"Thank you Melvin," she said, watching with an amused smile as he preened at her use of his first name, "so how's it going?"

Frohike immediately became more serious.

"Langley has found his way into the data base, we should have it all cracked before the end of the day." He said. "In the meantime why don't you get some sleep? After everything that's happened you must be exhausted."

She took a gulp of the coffee before nodding gratefully.

"Thanks Melvin. I might just do that." She stood a looked around for somewhere in the room where she could stretch out.

"Byers said you could use his room, and frankly it's the only one that's in a fit enough state for visitors, especially visitors of such calibre." Frohike said.

"Oh I couldn't do that Melvin, where's John going to sleep if I take his room?" Monica protested.

"John will be far too busy, along with the rest of us." Frohike assured her.

"That's right Agent Reyes," Byers said, coming up behind his colleague, "I'd be honoured if you'd take my room. We'll wake you as soon as we find something."

Monica nodded her acceptance. "I'm very grateful to you guys for your support, and thanks to for the refreshments." She said.

"No problem at all,"Byers said, "Melvin, Ringo needs your help with a problem on the data base. I'll show Agent Reyes where she can rest."

The look on Frohike's face was a real picture. Monica, however tempted she was to laugh at his chagrin, did not dare to show her amusement. Instead, she thanked him again and turned to follow John Byers. As they left the room though she couldn't help giving a little chuckle.

'I know that Melvin is a little over the top at times, but he really is quite a harmless flirt." Byers said, smiling at her.

"Oh that's fine, really," Monica said, "Agent Scully did warn me, and actually it's quite flattering, especially as I must look a complete mess right now."

She ran her hand through her hair. She was aware that it probably resembled a bird's nest, she had been on the go for over forty eight hours and she'd had no chance to deal with minute things such as her appearance.

"Not at all." Byers said, stopping to open a door. " This is the room, there's a bathroom with fresh towels, toothpaste, spare toothbrushes, everything you you need." He pointed to a small door to one side of the room. "If you need anything else just call, you can get our attention by pushing the buzzer on the nightstand."

"Thank you." Monica said. "You seem well prepared."

"Never know when some waif or stray might need to hole up here for a while," Byers said, "besides I was a boy scout." He grinned. "I'll leave you to it then. Sleep well Agent Reyes."

As John Byers left Monica looked around again at the room, it was clean and comfortable looking. All at once she was overcome by her own fatigue. all she wanted to do was sleep. She took off her boots before going into the small, but well equipped, bathroom and cleaning her teeth. As she lay down on the bed her eyes closed automatically and she was soon dead to the world.

Alex grimaced a little as he felt Doctor Borrachio cut into his wrist. The Doctor stopped instantly.

"Can you feel that?" He asked anxiously.

"Sort of." Alex said, his voice still rasping painfully. "It's not painful now, the local anaesthetic is working, it just feels weird. I can tell you're cutting into the skin, but it feels as though you are doing it through several layers of blanket way above my wrist. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Not at all,"Conrad said,"if it starts to hurt however, I want you to let me know immediately."

'Don't worry Doc, I will. You can count on it." Alex said, taking a deep breath to try and centre himself before remembering how bad an idea that was. It hurt, and his chest tightened instantly. His face contorted in an effort to prevent the cough he could feel from erupting and causing further agony. Eventually he relaxed, he had won that round but he really didn't want to have to try it again. He was sweating profusely from the effort.

"Please carry on." He said through gritted teeth. "The sooner you get started the sooner it is over."

Conrad nodded.

"Ok, here we go. But you tell me straight away if I need to stop and add more anaesthetic to the wound."

He held Alex's gaze for a moment and then, satisfied, he began to open the inside of Alex's wrist.

Samantha moved between them, alternating between handing instruments to Conrad and soothing Alex with a litany of calming words. Alex concentrated on the sound of her voice and let it take him out of his body to a warm place of freedom, as he had done many times before. In concentrating on her he was able, for the most part to dissociate this from the time he'd had his other arm hacked off. He was able to control his fear almost totally, only losing himself to that other time and place a few times. She was telling him exactly what Conrad was doing, preparing him for each cut but in such a way that he could just absorb the information and not tense because of it.

She was also telling him that there was no cause for concern, that he was free. He still had trouble believing that, but since there was nothing he could do about that one way or another he merely let himself go and allowed her gentle help him to recoup his inner balance. nevertheless he was relieved when, after an hour and a half, and two additional doses of anaesthetic, Conrad announced that he had replaced both the Scaphoid and Trapezoid bones with titanium metal alloy replacements, and that all the debris was clear from the wound leaving the nerves no longer compromised. The wound needed to be closed and he would be adding a cast to help maintain the wrist's integrity for a few weeks whilst it healed.

Alex registered everything that the Doctor said and responded with a sigh of relief, but then he stiffened in panic.

"What is it?" Conrad asked, alert to his patient's mood change.

"You bastard. I trusted you." Ales replied, struggling to move.

"I know you trusted me Alex," Conrad said gently, "you can trust me. What is it? What's wrong?"

"Damn you." Alex said bitterly. "Damn you to hell!"

"Alex please." Samantha said. "Doctor Borrachio has done nothing wrong. What is it you think he's done?"

"Titanium metal alloys, it's what they use for the replacements." Alex said.

"Yes." Conrad agreed. "It's a standard material for replacing joints."

"NO!!!" Alex persisted. "No. God!"

He groaned and tried to sit up but Samantha prevented him. He looked at her helplessly, and suddenly she understood his fear.

"Oh Alex. Did you think I would allow any of that material to be used on you? This is not the material that the consortium produced. This is purely titanium metal alloy with no extras. I would never allow anyone to do that to you."

Alex relaxed marginally.

"Promise?" he asked, unable to keep the quiver out of his voice.

"I Promise." She said, smiling weakly.

"But you have allowed them to do it to others." Alex countered, still not happy.

"I know. I admit it Alex, but never to you. I would never let them do that to you."

"To Mulder?" He asked.

Samantha hung her head. Then she raised it again.

"Yes, but what else could I do? They had him already. How else could I save him for our side?"

She looked so anguished that Alex wished he had a hand available to caress her cheek and reassure her. Instead he looked her clearly in the eye.

" I guess you were supposed to do exactly what you did. I'm sorry Sam, I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that the whole idea freaks me out." He said

"I know." Samantha said. "You've never been as accepting of the methods the resistance uses as I have. I just trusted that Fox would understand. As it happens it seems as though we wasted our time with him. The conversion didn't take."

Alex looked at her. "Then how...?" He began.

"I don't know. Maybe he does, or Mr Skinner. I intend to find out how he survived. Perhaps there is something we're overlooking. Now let Doctor Borrachio finish closing and doing the cast. We need to be collecting all the data we can and making moves to leave this place at the first opportunity."

Alex nodded, finally relaxing.

"I'm sorry Doctor." He said. "I know that you have done everything you should have done, Excuse my freaking out. I promise I won't do it again. Please forgive me."

"Of course." Conrad said. He couldn't pretend he even began to understand any of what had just transpired, for now though, he was simply glad that his patient had calmed down. He neatly stitched the layers of muscle together and then the skin. The scar would be as small as he could make it. It would show, but at least, if he was as good as he thought he was Alex would not lose any of the functions of his only remaining hand.

The "Debut" tape was, if anything, worse than the 'sand pit' tape. The initial shots of Romberg and his cronies, including Bill Mulder, Spender, Victor Klemper, Strughold and the English Gentleman, had been sickening enough. How could they laugh and joke at the footage of a young Krycek being tortured? Especially whilst the boy himself was in the room also watching the same footage. The worst though, as far as Skinner was concerned, was the fact that Krycek, along with about a dozen other boys were naked except for ghastly decorations. Garishly jewelled bracelets and anklets, thick belts and collars bedecked each youth. Krycek was clearly the youngest one there, about twelve or thirteen years old, but none of the other boys appeared much older than eighteen. Some of them had clearly taken, or been given, some mood altering drug. They 'allowed' the audience to fondle them whilst the screening progressed. In reality they probably had no choice in the matter. Certainly none of them looked really comfortable. If Skinner had thought this was bad however, he was totally unprepared for what came next.

All the young men except for Krycek were arranged on the podium in front of the large screen. At a signal they began to caress and kiss each other with abandon. The performance grew more frenzied until finally they were all engaged in full sexual intercourse. In other circumstances it might have been erotic, the sight of these beautiful young men loving each other. In this case however, it seemed more a sick parody of love than the real thing. Its aim was clearly to arouse the watching group, and in that it certainly succeeded. As the young men reached their climaxes and lay sated, happily caressing each other and snuggling together, their sexual haze was interrupted by a summary dismissal.

As they left, on unsteady legs, a nervous Alex was pushed up on to the podium to take their place. Krycek, looking like a deer caught in headlights, stood trembling in front of the crowd of men. Spender, who was beside him, nudged him forward until he was on his knees in front of the audience.

"Gentlemen. This is our young friend's debut. He has been well trained, but until now he has been untouched." Spender said. "Who's name was first out of the draw?" He asked the guard by the door.

"Mr Mulder sir." The guard replied.

"Ah, Bill! A singular honour." Spender said, and he stood watching expectantly for Bill Mulder to come and claim his prize.

It was clear that Bill Mulder, who had hitherto been so accepting and relaxed, was now distinctly ill at ease. It was also clear that he could not afford to refuse Spender's invitation.

Fox Mulder watched, his breath catching in his throat, as his father made his way to the podium to join Spender.

Spender rested one bony hand on Bill Mulder's shoulder.

"It's only fitting that you should be the first Bill." He said. " As the donor it should be your privilege."

Then he turned and pressed a button on the wall. The screen was drawn up to the ceiling and the curtains behind it were pulled back to reveal a range of equipment that would not have looked out of place in an S&M dungeon.

"Make your choice Bill, you can have whatever you need. Tell Alex what he needs to do." Spender instructed.

Bill hesitated for a second or two and then indicated to Alex that he should get up and move towards a whipping post which was in the centre of the newly revealed room. It had a cross post on the top so that it resembled a capital 'T'. Moving behind Alex he attached the bracelets at each wrist to either end of the cross bar, and each anklet to a spreader bar at the base of the post. Then he went to a cabinet at the side of the room and selected a bamboo cane before returning to his captive.

The tension in the room was clear on the faces of the watchers. The tension visible on Alex's face, however, was almost unbearable. Sweat beaded his brow and began to trickle down into his eyes.

Doggett, Skinner and Mulder watched as the scene began to unfold. None of them was sure who made the whimpering sound as Bill Mulder struck the young Alex Krycek hard across the buttocks with the bamboo. The scream Alex gave was enough to make them all flinch in sympathy. Bill Mulder stopped his beating and gently stroked Alex's shoulders. He leaned in close to his victim and whispered something into his ear. Alex blinked a little and nodded slightly. Bill then moved back to his former position and resumed his task.

Blow after blow rained down on Alex's back, shoulders and buttocks. He flinched at each stroke and cried out as the pain grew stronger. The on-screen audience appeared to take immense satisfaction from the scene. They began to shout encouragements and make lewd suggestions to their colleague, adding in thoughts of what they would do to the boy when it was their turn.

Finally Bill laid down the cane and walked to the front of the post. He adjusted it so that the top half of the post was now leaning forward at an angle of about fifty degrees whilst the bottom stayed anchored in its original position. Alex's ankles were still fastened to the base and his wrists to the cross bar. As the bar tilted forward he was stretched into a leaning position. His body was taut. His back and ass were covered in raised weals that were bright red in colour. The skin was broken in places though not much blood was visible. Once the bar was fixed to Bill Mulder's satisfaction, he undid his belt and opened his fly.

Standing directly behind Alex, who was trembling uncontrollably, but whose screams had now become choked sobs, he pushed his rampant erection into the boy's anus without any further preamble. Gripping him tightly around the hips he began to fuck him.

Skinner caught his breath. This was Alex's history, and he still felt he owed it to him to learn as much about his past as possible, whilst also learning as much about the consortium's plans as possible, yet there was this nagging feeling warring in his gut that watching this video amounted to nothing less than prurient voyeurism. The fact that he had managed to watch thus far in an almost detached fashion sickened him. Was he as much of a monster as those bastards in the screen? He hoped not, but how was he to judge?

Doggett closed his eyes, unable to bear watching any longer. Every time he looked at the screen all he could see was Luke in Alex's place. He knew it didn't make any sense, they looked nothing alike, and Luke had only been missing a short while before his mutilated body had been found - whereas Alex had been in the consortium's 'care' for his whole life. Yet still, whenever he had come across a crime involving a child victim he could not but help automatically imagining Luke in their place. Maybe it made him a less effective law enforcement officer, but he hoped it made him a better human being.

Fox's reaction was far more violent than those of his companions. As he watched his father beating Krycek he became agitated. His face lost all its colour and he couldn't stay in his seat. When Mulder Senior entered the boy, making him scream out in agony, Fox picked up his chair and threw it at the screen.

"You fucking bastard!!" He screamed, before collapsing on the floor, his breathing erratic and his face a sickly shade of green.

Doggett was out of his chair almost immediately. Having gone through all the X-files, including the ones concerning Samantha Mulder's abduction, he had immediately recognised the man raping Krycek as Mulder's father. He knew how he'd feel if that was his father up there on screen.

"Hey Mulder, it's OK." Doggett said, wincing at the inane remark even as he said it.

He put a hand on Mulder's shoulder, offering physical comfort to go with his words.

"Bastard." Mulder gasped. "God how could he?"

Skinner shook his head and turned off the VCR which now showed Mulder Senior being replaced by another of the group.

'I'm sorry Mulder," he said, "it must be difficult for you to see that."

"It's not just that he raped Krycek." Mulder said. "You heard Spender. My mother hinted at it once but even then I didn't want to believe it. My father gave Samantha to them. The kidnapping was just for show. He spent years telling me it was all my fault and yet he engineered it. I used to think that he at least had integrity, but this!!! God!! If he could do this to a young boy what might he not have done to his own daughter?"

Skinner turned as he heard the door behind them open. Samantha Mulder entered the room as her brother asked his question.

"No Fox. I was always safe." She said, looking directly at him. "The better question would be 'how could he do this to his own son?"

Part Fourteen

Alex's apparent calm acceptance of Samantha's reassurance did not last. He was aware that Samantha too had been forced to make decisions in the past that others might think of as unethical. Her admission that she had indeed allowed, or at least not prevented the aliens from introducing their metal alloys into Mulder's body certainly gave him pause for thought. He knew that, like him, Samantha would do anything she could to ensure that Spender and his ilk did not succeed. If that included using him as a guinea pig for the cause though he felt he would almost rather that Spender triumphed. But no, he reflected, on balance that was not true. Still the thought of what he might become, if he had indeed been infected by the metal, chilled him to the bone. Of course if Sam had allowed Doctor Borrachio to use the alien alloys then there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He only wished he didn't feel so 'disconnected'. He found himself unable to focus his mind on anything successfully. Whatever shit Graaf and Spender had pumped into him had left him with no energy and a head that felt cut off from the rest of his body. He found this puzzling in the extreme considering the conversation they'd had over him about the 'super' strength and stamina he'd supposedly been endowed with during their experiments. He certainly felt no evidence of any such advantage. Of course, the feeling of 'disjointed reality' and the lack of both physical and mental control was, in part certainly, exacerbated by the painkillers and antibiotics that Borrachio had given him. Still, all things considered, he almost felt he'd rather suffer the pain he'd had before than inhabit this muffled stupor he was in now. Sure, the pain, well the agony, had sucked big time, but at least there'd been that sharp edge there and he'd been able to focus better mentally.

He sighed. There was no point in going over and over it in his head. Until he got his physical control and his strength back he would just have to resign himself to whatever Skinner and company had in store for him. In the meantime there was no point in his fighting against his body. Whatever happened, happened.

He smiled inwardly at that thought. That he, of all people, should fall so easily into adopting such a classical Russian fatalism at this stage of his life. He closed his eyes, unable to keep them open any longer and slipped, exhaustedly, into sleep.

Byers woke Monica and greeted her with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry to wake you so soon Agent Reyes, but you did say you wanted to know as soon as we found anything."

She looked at him sleepily at first, but roused herself on one elbow and cleared her throat.

"That's fine John.' she said. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A little over four hours." Byers said. "Ringo and Melvin have managed to break down all the barriers they encountered and have gotten into the data bases you wanted. You might want to come and look."

Monica nodded in agreement.

"Ok. Just let me get myself together and I'll be right there." she said, swinging her legs to the edge of the bed.

Byers nodded.

"So we'll see you shortly," he said, "oh and Melvin said to tell that there was pizza and coffee."

Monica closed her eyes and tried to collect her thoughts. She had needed the sleep and though the period had been short, it had certainly helped. Now she was all set to get back into the fray. Her partner was counting on her and she would not let him down.

Graaf grinned to himself. just because his complexion gave him a washed out and insignificant appearance, and he was a scientist, people were always underestimating his physical abilities. These people were, it seemed, no exception. Idiots! Nonetheless it was this very idiocy that he relied upon, and once again it had worked in his favour. He laughed. Spender though he was so clever, so in control, so intimidating. Little did the dried up old prune know that the experiments he had been relying on to provide the resources which would help restore his strength and give him immunity against the depredations of the alien virus, had been producing spectacular results. Graaf had been keeping separate notes on the extra curricular experiments he had been conducting. Not only that, but he had personally been making use of the resulting product of those same experiments for months. Let the aliens breed their 'super soldiers' or produce them by metamorphosis during their own experiments. He had been given the means to reduce all of those achievements to nothing more than a step on the ladder to superiority.

He had always known that he was capable of such achievements. Others had called him a megalomaniac with unrealistic goals, but at least Spender had recognised his abilities and afforded him the opportunity to further his research. It was just too bad that the old relic would not benefit from the fruits of that research. Graaf fully understood Spender's desire to be the sole beneficiary of that work, but he ws definitely not about to allow the man to inherit the earth. That particular privilege belonged to him, and him alone. He had slaved over the tedious work for years. He alone deserved to reap the reward. Nothing could stand in his way.

Frohike glanced up as Monica entered the room.

"Ah, Agent Reyes, just in time." He said, getting up from his chair. "Please have a seat."

He indicated that she should take his chair, which she did. As she sat in front of the computer screen he continued to key in commands and file after file opened in front of her. She gaped at the information in front of her.

Zeus Genetics, it seemed, had links to the Surgeon General's Office, The Pentagon, The Department of The Interior, The Department of Defense, and The NSA, not to mention various quasi governmental organisations. The Government was involved, either officially or covertly. There was data going back at least to the early fifties in these files, and unlike what they all knew of the DAT tape that Mulder'd had access to, this data was written in plain English, with mathematical and scientific symbols to be sure, but still easily accessible to the ordinary person. This was definitely the 'mother-lode'.

"Can we get back up and hard copy of this?" She asked, hardly daring to hope that it might be possible.

"So far, apart from the initial hurdles we had to jump to get into the data, there have been no barriers to our retrieving, storing and printing. You can have as much hard copy as you like." Frohike told her.

"Got ya all the stuff we've downloaded so far." Langley said, waving a fat file in one hand. "Byers says there's a ton of stuff about gene pools and immunity programmes and something called 'purity' which seems to be the virus that has also been referred to as 'black cancer' and 'black oil'."

"That's what Agent Mulder was 'tested' for in Russia isn't it?" Monica asked. 'Where they were supposed to be testing a vaccine?"

"Yes." Byers replied. "So it looks as though the cover-up, as Mulder guessed, is global and not confined just to the USA."

"So the alien threat is real, and some part of our state apparatus is focused on finding a way to combat that threat," Monica concluded, "and we've go the evidence at last. The only question I have is, how does it help us? If the government knows about the threat and is working to address that, why the heck are they so busy trying to deny this and why go to all the effort to destroy Zeus Genetics?"

"That's the question Agent Mulder has been asking since Kenneth Soona dropped the MJ files on him." Langley said.

"The best we can figure it is that they have entered into some agreement with the aliens, that there is a split in the ranks and that has held up progress on producing a valid vaccine, or that Cold War rivalries got in the way. In any case it seems that Zeus Genetics was playing both sides at the same time. At least part of their research has been channelled to a private investor. Frankly it all looks a complete mess. There are still more questions than answers."

Frohike and Byers nodded in agreement at their colleague's assessment of the situation.

Monica sighed. It was a mess, but on the other hand it was a positive thing that they had some evidence of who was behind this project, even if it muddied the waters somewhat. She was beginning to understand the haunted and frustrated looks that Scully and Mulder wore as a testament to to the years of work they had put into fighting against this conspiracy. Just as she ws gathering up the hard copies that Langley had waved at her, the trill of her cell phone interrupted.

"Reyes!" She snapped into the handset.

"Monica." Doggett's voice answered "How's it going?"

"We hit pay dirt John," Monica replied, "though I'm not sure how much further it takes us. Mulder's guys are great. "

Doggett grunted in agreement.

"That's really why I was calling. We've got a data dump here that Mulder wants their help with. Let me speak to Byers."

Monica handed the 'phone to the neatly dapper man and waited.

Byers listened carefully as Doggett outlined the equipment Mulder had requested. It sounded as though there was a large amount of concrete evidence which needed hauling away as well as data in computers which required their ministrations. He agreed that they could be ready and on the road in less than an hour. Doggett said that Mulder insisted that they should not arrive until after dark. Having set the arrangements, Byers handed the 'phone back to Monica, he was already making a list of the things that they would need. Frohike and Langley eagerly joining in. Each one being detailed to kit out the mobile unit and the large truck ready for the forthcoming action.

Monica checked with her partner that all was in hand before she disconnected and went to join the Lone Gunmen.

"Doggett said we should move under cover of darkness." Byers said. "It will be dark in just under an hour, so be ready to roll by then. It's possible that we may have to be away from home for sometime so get what you need in the way of personal belongings, but remember we need to travel light."

"Sure thing mon Capitan." Frohike said, grinning as he left the room.

Despite the all too apparent possibility that they were headed into danger, all three men seemed to positively relish the idea of being involved, Monica thought. To look at the three of them, they seemed the most mismatched group in history - and yet they worked together as smoothly as a well oiled machine. She was beginning to realise that there was far more to the Lone Gunmen than met the eye. Of course they had to be more competent than they appeared, and protective camouflage was certainly very useful when you were involved in such clandestine operations as this one. She smiled inwardly in amusement at that as she followed the gnome like figure of Frohike out of the door.

Mulder stared at Samantha, trying to understand what she had said and failing. The film they had been watching was still playing over and over inside his head. The idea that his father was a man who abused others sexually was something he found hard to believe, and yet he had seen the evidence, it was irrefutable - as was the fact that his sister had just said 'how could he do that to his son?' His brain seemed to shudder to a halt as he tried to comprehend her meaning

"Dad never laid a finger on me," he said, confusedly "except to chastise me that is. Whatever makes you think that he did any of that to me?"

Samantha sighed.

"Not everything is about you Fox. I was not referring to you." She said.

"Then who?" Mulder asked. "Are you saying that Dad had other children?"

"You're a bright boy brother dear, or so they tell me, I'm sure you'll work it out eventually." She answered.

"In the meantime we need to be getting our act together." Doggett said. "Mulder's pals will be here soon and we need to be ready to leave here as soon as possible."

Mulder blinked. He felt thrown for a loop but as Doggett said, they needed to get their asses in gear. If they managed to figure out that this place held answers to their questions, then the opposition, or whoever Knowle Rohrer and his associates worked for, would also be able to figure it out. If they wanted to preserve the evidence for once - and escape to a place where they'd have some time to plan their next move, then it had to be done now. Plenty of time to work out Samantha's little riddle later. He nodded in acknowledgement and went to help Skinner load boxes with tapes and files whilst Doggett and Sam went to the central room and began accessing computer files in readiness for the gunman's arrival.

Dana Scully stared at her new son. Mulder was right she mused, he did bear more than a passing resemblance to A.D. Skinner. Which was not to say that he wasn't beautiful. He was the most amazing thing she had ever seen. She felt a lump in her throat as she watched his perfectly formed miniature fingers curl into a fist. No matter what, no matter how this miracle had come about, she knew that this was meant to be. Even if the consortium did have some involvement in William's conception, he was her son, not theirs. Besides, after Emily, they owed her a child. There was no way, no way on earth, that she would ever allow anyone to take her son from her. The intensity of her feelings overwhelmed her. She had never before felt so fiercely protective - even towards Mulder.

A slight tap on the door made her turn.

"Dana?" Mrs Scully peered around the door, her voice low in deference to the sleeping child.

"Mom. I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Scully said.

"Not at all sweetheart, I was awake anyhow. I just wondered if you needed anything? Would you like something to drink?"

She came into the room and looked over her daughter's shoulder at her sleeping grandson.

"Isn't he just the most adorable thing?" She said, a little sigh of contentment escaping her.

Scully nodded wordlessly. The lump in her throat had grown to the point where she could barely breathe, let alone speak. Suddenly, to her horror, she found herself sobbing uncontrollably.

"There, there sweetheart," Mrs Scully said soothingly, 'it's OK honey." She rubbed Scully's back gently, calming her. Finally, the crying fit over, a rueful Scully raised her face from her mother's shoulder.

"I'm sorry Mom." She said. "I don't know what's come over me. I just keep getting this feeling welling up inside me and it just takes over."

"It's OK Dana," her mother said, "it's not at all unusual to feel this way. I was exactly the same after each of you children were born. Apart from the hormones in your body, there seems to be an instinct to protect and it can be fairly awe inspiring - even frightening - to realise what a huge responsibility you've taken on."

Scully nodded tiredly in acceptance of this wisdom.

"Of course I had your father, at least some of the time, and then when he was at sea I had my mother to help me. I wish you would let me help you more Dana, you need someone you can rely on."

Scully smiled wanly and patted her mother on the shoulder.

"I know Mom, it's just difficult for me." She said.

She had in fact considered telling her mother everything. She did need someone to talk to, but in truth she wondered just how well Mrs Scully would cope it she knew just what kinds of fears she had regarding her son. She longed to tell her, and yet she felt that to burden her with the knowledge of the nature of the threat she felt, of the conspiracy , of the consortium, would be too much. Perhaps though, her mother deserved to know the truth, she had after all lost Melissa to the 'war' that Spender and his cohort had carried out to prevent 'the truth' from being known. As such her mother was already a victim, peripherally at least, of the consortium.

Scully was reminded of something she had learned from the Nuns at school. 'The truth shall set you free', they had said. She had always believed that it was true, so too had Mulder. And yet that incessant search for the truth had led them here, where lies and deceit were constant companions. Still though, her mother deserved to know the complicity of her daughter, how much she was responsible for, and how badly she felt that her family had been sacrificed to 'The Quest' she now shared with Mulder. The guilt she felt was beginning to eat her alive. Perhaps, she reflected, telling the truth would set her free. The old aphorism, 'a problem shared is a problem halved' might well hold true - even if the sharing added to that danger. In any case, she could no longer - in all good conscience - keep her mother in ignorance, and now was as good a time as any to make a clean breast of things.

"Let's go and make some tea," she said, "William should sleep a while longer and there are some things I need to tell you."

With a brief backward glance at the sleeping form of her son she ushered her mother out of the room and towards the kitchen.

Part Fifteen

Graaf worked his way, from the room where he had been held, to the CCTV control room. He carefully pried open the door, uncertain exactly who or what he might find inside. He saw the guard, who was tied firmly to his chair, a strip of tape covering his mouth. He seemed to be unharmed, though he was clearly very angry. When he saw Graaf he began to struggle, eagerly anticipating the fact that he was about to be released. Graaf ignored him, however, and turned his attention to the monitors. He switched on those screens which were currently blank and searched each one carefully.

Finally he found what he was looking for. Alex Krycek, asleep in Samantha Mulder's room. Checking all the monitors he saw that Spender was still incarcerated and the newcomers, whoever they were, the one's who had so rudely disrupted his experiment, were currently busy away from his very own favoured 'lab rat'. Doctor Borrachio was working with Mulder and Skinner while that annoying girl Samantha was working with Doggett. That gave him a clear opportunity to get to Alex without interference. He grinned nastily. As he turned to leave the room the guard began to struggle all the harder when he understood that Graaf was not going to release him.

Graaf paused and stared at the struggling man intensely, as if he was a bug on the end of a pin. He made his decision in a split second. The guard's struggles might draw attention to him that he could ill afford, therefore he had to be eliminated. It took very little effort to snap his neck. The sound gave him great satisfaction, and he left the room without a backward glance.

Skinner completed moving the last box to the entrance way. Mulder's friends and Agent Reyes had arrived, and were even now loading up the trucks that they had driven with all the equipment and data that Skinner and his party had liberated from the basement storage rooms. All that remained was the 'small' but significant problem of what to do with Spender, Graaf and Alex Krycek. Until today he'd have had no qualms about turning any of them over to the authorities. Perhaps he'd have been especially keen to hand Krycek over. Maybe he'd have even liked to get in a punch or two of his own before hand.

Knowing so much more about Krycek now though, he no longer felt he had the right to judge him. There was no way either Conrad or Samantha would condone the man being handed over to anyone, especially after Conrad had gone to all the trouble of repairing the damage done to Alex by Spender and Graaf.

The difficulty remained. They needed to 'deal' with these men in some way, as well as finding a way to rehabilitate Alex Krycek. Somehow things had become more complicated than he'd imagined when he'd set out to follow this trail. He'd feel little guilt if Spender did not survive this encounter, but Graaf was somewhat more of a problem for him. Skinner shook his head in disgust. There was no way that getting the authorities involved was a valid option here. In any case Spender, at least, would certainly worm his way out of custody before anyone was really aware of who or what he was.

Nor could Skinner bring himself to kill any of them, despite his knowledge of Spender's duplicity and wrong doing. He'd only shot the man he believed to be Alex because of the threat to Mulder. Killing was not alien to him, but killing in cold blood was. All of those facts added up to just one thing, they'd have to take all three men with them when they left, and keep them secure. With a sigh he headed back to the room where Alex had been moved for treatment.

Surfacing slowly, as if from a deep sea dive, Alex awoke. His head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton wool, his mouth was dry, his eyes felt gritty and his throat was on fire. A shudder ran through him for no discernible reason that he could fathom, other than the fact that he was covered in sweat which was cooling rapidly and causing the sheets to adhere to his body. He was still naked beneath the bed coverings, a situation he had not bothered to think about before. He had supposed, if he had consciously registered the matter at all, that Skinner's doctor had left him unclothed to allow easy access to the dressings he had applied - and besides - it was not as though nakedness was a state that was unfamiliar to him.

Alex had lost track of the number of years when he had been denied clothing as he was growing up, and certainly since he had been re-acquired by Spender after informing Mulder about the ship in Oregon he had no memory of being clothed. Yet the realisation that no-one in Skinner's party had thought to offer him clothes since their arrival reinforced his earlier fears about his current predicament.

He snorted. 'Predicament' made the whole fucked-up situation sound like a minor problem at the church social. If only!

The snort, however, made his breath catch and added to the problems caused by his dry throat which was currently,it seemed, stuck to itself. He began to cough uncontrollably. The spasms pulled at his abdominal muscles making him wince and catch his breath at the incredible pain, creating more stimulus for the coughing spasm - a vicious circle.

He struggled to sit up and reach the tumbler of water that was on the table beside his bed. The cast on his wrist extended to ensure that each of his fingers was encased in a tube of plaster, keeping each finger immobile and safe from harm but also rendering his digits totally useless. In the end he resorted to swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and leaning down to the glass. He ignored the dizziness and the stabbing pains in his body. He had to have water, come what may. He rested his lips on the glass and found contact with the liquid inside. Gratefully he began to slurp the water, lapping and sucking at it as though he was a dog. He was thus engaged when the door to his room opened to admit Graaf.

"Thirsty?" Graaf enquired, as he closed the door behind him.

Alex, who's whole being had been focused on the water, was startled and managed to knock the tumbler on its side. The precious liquid within spilled out and onto the floor below. The glass crashing beside it in a thousand pieces a moment later.

"Dear, dear, Mr Krycek, how clumsy of you." Graaf said, condescendingly. "Never mind, I may give you some more later. If you behave."

He moved forward and grasped Alex's left shoulder.

"For now though I need you to stand up and come with me."

"Fuck off." Alex managed, before be was once again overcome with coughing.

"Really Alex, your tantrums are far too predictable and they have achieved nothing but pain for you thus far. Surely you should have learned by now that I always get what I want." Graaf said, smiling nastily.

"You know?" Alex said. "I couldn't care less if my behaviour bores you, it's still my behaviour and you'll never make me change it."

Ah, but you see Mr Krycek, that's exactly what we have been doing. You can scarcely call it your behaviour when you were created and trained to be this way."

"In that case," Alex gasped, trying hard not to cough again, "it's pretty stupid of you to complain about what I do if you fixed it that way."

"Well, I'll admit that certain aspects of your behaviour seem to be a little out of sync with our original intentions." Graaf said.

"No kidding," Alex said, "and I repeat, Fuck Off!!"

"Oh dear, I was afraid of this." Graaf said. "However, I do have a means of persuasion here that I think you'll find hard to resist." So saying he pulled out a knife and held it to Alex's throat, pressing it hard against his adam's apple.

Alex's eyes widened at that. He wanted desperately to cough, and yet if he did he'd probably end up cutting his own throat without Graaf even having to move. He closed his eyes. Should he fight? He was in no real physical position to do so. Or should he just give in for now and bide his time? He was still, a split second later, pondering his options, when the door opened revealing one very pissed off looking Walter Skinner - his gun out and aimed at Graaf.

"Drop the knife doctor," Skinner growled, "or I swear I'll shoot."

Graaf was startled for a moment by Skinner's sudden appearance and his knife hand jerked against Alex's throat. In response, Alex gave a strangled moan as he felt the blade pierce his skin, the blood beginning to well around the small wound.

An enraged Skinner moved into a crouch and repeated his demand for Graaf to drop the knife. At the same time Graaf relaxed his hold on Alex and made as if to lower his arm.

Alex, from long experience, realised that this seeming acquiescence to Skinner's demand was merely a prelude to Graaf changing the focus of his attack. As Graaf seemed to lower the knife, Skinner - against all the rules of engagement - also began to lower his gun. Cursing inwardly at the Assistant Director's carelessness, Alex poised to prevent Graaf from reinforcing his hold on the situation. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Skinner's gun barrel reach the point where it was facing towards to floor, he also saw Graaf change his grip on the knife. It was a subtle shift, hardly noticeable unless you were watching for it as Alex was.

Graaf's blade was pointing down and the handle dangled in his hand. Skinner straightened from his shooting stance and in that same instance Graaf's right arm flicked up. Alex, giving no quarter, raised his wrist and brought it, and the heavy cast, crashing down on the doctor's arm. Graaf screamed as he dropped the knife and Skinner, showing more speed and agility than Alex would have given him credit for, moved back into position - had his weapon up and was firing before the knife could finish its slide along the floor.

The report of the weapon coincided with a grunt of surprise from Graaf as a red hole blossomed between his eyes and he crumpled to the ground. Alex was on his knees, cradling his plastered arm close to his body and trying hard to control his breathing, cursing in Russian under his breath. Skinner crossed to check that Graaf was indeed rendered harmless. Satisfied that he man was dead, he knelt beside Alex and reached for his shoulder.

Alex flinched involuntarily, but allowed Skinner to make contact.

"Are you all right?" Skinner asked.

Alex could not speak, but managed to nod in the affirmative.

"Did you hurt your wrist?" Skinner persisted, not liking the clamminess of Alex's skin or the sickly grey-green tinge to his face.

Again, Alex nodded, his breathing still laboured.

"What were you thinking?" Skinner asked in concern. "Your wrist is already fragile!"

"Not thinking, reacting." Alex managed.

"Not that I'm not grateful, but it might mot have been the wisest course of action."

"Bastard was going to stick you." Alex choked out.

"No kidding." Skinner said, dryly. "Never would have thought he was so sneaky.

Alex snorted and was about to make some pithy comment in reply when Doggett burst in, gun drawn, and looking ready to take on the world. He relaxed when he saw that the A.D. seemed to have everything under control.

"I heard a shot," he said, "thought you might need some help."

Skinner merely nodded in acknowledgement and grabbed the blanket from the bed to wrap around Alex's shaking body.

"Help me get Alex something to wear and find something to cover this." He said, indicating Graaf's body.

Doggett replaced his firearm in the holster and turned his attention to the closet. Inside there were several items of clothing, but all of them clearly belonged to Samantha. Doggett had trouble imagining any of them as suitable garments for Alex Krycek, even if they'd have fitted him. Alex Krycek was not exactly frail looking, though god knew he had any right to be after all he'd been through. He was somewhat thinner than Doggett remembered though. Of course he wasn't to o sure exactly which Krycek he'd seen on any given occasion - except for the last time...when it had definitely not been Alex.

He shook himself mentally. The problem at hand needed to be dealt with, all other considerations could be explored later. Closing the closet door Doggett turned his attention to a tallboy in the corner of the room. In the top drawer he found sets of surgical scrubs. Loose fitting clothing that looked as though they'd have been big on Samantha and might fit Alex reasonably well - at least until something more suitable could be found.

Silently he passed the clothing to Skinner before pulling the remaining bedclothes from the bed to wrap around Graaf's body. As he finished Mulder poked his head around the door.

"We're just about finished loading, you ready to roll?" he asked. Then he took in the scene before him. "Jesus! What happened?"

"Give us a hand Mulder. " Doggett said, not bothering to answer, not sure if he could...

Skinner barely acknowledged Mulder's presence, he concentrated instead on getting Alex into the outfit Doggett had found which proved extremely difficult as the man was by now completely unaware of his surroundings and shaking uncontrollably. The problem was compounded by Skinner's reluctance to cause any further pain to the man. The injuries he had received during his incarceration with Graaf and Spender, whilst they had been neatly dressed by Graaf, were obviously extremely painful.

In addition he felt a strange reluctance to touch Alex's left arm. He'd never thought of himself as squeamish, but it was all too easy to imagine what Alex must have endured when his arm had been amputated. From what he'd understood this had been no neat hospital job, and anaesthetics probably not involved. It horrified him. Added to that the scar tissue was still red and ugly, even after all this time, from the burns he'd suffered recently.

In truth there seemed to be little of Alex that was not covered in fresh bruising, abrasions or dressings. However, it was imperative that he get Alex dressed, and quickly, so that he could be moved. Gritting his teeth skinner decided that the easiest course of action would be to put Alex's right arm into the sleeve of the top first and dealt with his left arm later.

As Skinner approached the crouching man, his arm outstretched to grasp Alex's wrist, he was startled by the reaction. Alex had been rocking gently backwards and forwards. As he saw Skinner move closer to he, green scrubs in hand, he raised his right arm as if to shield himself from a blow, ducking his head to hide his face.

Skinner flushed, but continued to move.

"It's all right Alex, I'm not going to hurt you." He said, his voice gentle but firm.

As he spoke he slipped the right sleeve over the arm with the cast and quickly followed with the left. Alex's head was now hidden from view by the shirt , but Skinner did not allow him time to become panicked. Grasping the shirt by the hem, front and back, he tugged sharply. Alex's head popped through the neck hole and he had to resist the urge to laugh at the surprised look on his face. At least, he reflected, Alex seemed to be back in the here and now. Skinner held out the pants to him, but he made now move to take them. Perhaps he was not quite as together as he appeared.

"Alex?"

Alex appeared to shake himself and at last his face showed real recognition.

"Sir." he said. Then he looked at the pants in Skinner's hand, at his own semi nakedness, and grinned wryly.

"I think I might need a hand." he quipped, waving his half empty left sleeve. The grotesque juxtaposition of the pun and the action should have been shocking, but instead Skinner found himself grinning too.

"Seems I might have one or two to spare." he said, and offered Alex his right hand, pulling him to his feet.

It was a simple matter then for Alex to lean against him, his one hand resting awkwardly on his shoulder, whilst Skinner held the pants open at the waist allowing him to step in. Skinner pulled up the pants and tied them at the waist, loosely, noting that even so the material bunched around Alex's waist, swamping him. He was definitely more slight than Skinner remembered.

"OK" he said "it's time we left."

Alex nodded and started to shuffle forward towards the door. His gait was uneven and it was obviously an effort for him to walk, but he moved determinedly, if slowly; Skinner supporting him at this elbow. As they entered the hallway they saw Mulder, a look of murderous rage on his face, holding open a door to allow doggett to wheel Spender through. When Spender set eyes on Alex his own fury was plain to see. he barely kept it in check as he spoke.

"I hope you know what you are doing with that Mr Skinner." he said viscously. "It will bite that hand that feeds it and destroy the unwary handler."

Skinner bristled with indignation.

"Considering the hand in question Mr Spender, perhaps someone should have bitten it harder and earlier." he spat.

Spender shrugged, apparently nonchalant.

"You are, of course, entitled to your opinion Mr Skinner," he said evenly, "though I'm sure you do remember what you had to do to prevent the other creature from despatching Mr Mulder here."

His voice grew more venomous and spiteful as he ground out the final words.

"What I remember, with great clarity, is that he was your creature." Skinner growled," as Alex here has been, against his will."

"His will! Spender all but shrieked, "his will was supposed to have been subsumed, he's nothing but a failure."

"I'm sure it must be an extreme irritation to you that despite all your best efforts you did not manage to quell the personalities or the spirit of either of your proteges to quite the degree you would have liked. I, on the other hand, find it most reassuring." Skinner said.

He could feel Alex trembling beside him and was anxious to get him away from Spender and sitting down as soon as possible. He turned to move Alex to the protection of the waiting van. As his arm came to rest around Alex's waist he saw the man stiffen and gasp in pain. Every vein stood out darkly in an eerily familiar pattern . Skinner felt himself responding, involuntarily, to the sight.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Spender struggling with Mulder but he could not spare more than a passing amount of attention for either of them. Alex was struggling to breath and the dark veins were now pulsing. With a sense of helplessness he caught the man up in his arms, as if he was a new born child, and hurried out to the van - barely registering the sharp report of gunfire behind him.

Carefully he laid his burden on the backseat. Beads of sweat trickled down Alex's forehead. His eyes were almost closed , the eyelids fluttering. The veins standing in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. He watched in amazement as the ugly networked pattern began to fade, slowly but perceptibly.

Alex relaxed suddenly. Going limp and letting out an involuntary sigh. Remembering only too well the agony caused by the nanocytes in his own bloodstream Skinner let out a sigh of relief. He retained his outrage at what had been done to him. Knowing where to direct that rage was more of a problem. The realisation that Alex Krycek had been as much of a victim of the Consortium as any of them made it impossible to see him in the role of villain any longer. Undoubtedly the man had committed crimes on behalf of his 'employers', however, who really bore the blame for Krycek's actions? And given the discovery that Alex had a twin brother, who also belonged (in the form of property) to the Consortium, was it even possible to say which one of the Krycek twins had done what?

Skinner's introspection was interrupted by Mulder's appearance behind him. He was somewhat out of breath.

"Is Krycek ok?" he asked. Skinner was about to reply when Alex opened his eyes.

"Fabulous." he rasped. Then a wicked grin crossed his face. "Did you kill him Mulder?" he asked.

"What do you think?" Mulder said. "It's not as though he didn't deserve it a dozen times over."

Alex closed his eyes. He was so tired. He felt as though he was disintegrating. The light hurt his eyes, his throat was so far beyond dry that he had no vocabulary left to describe it, and every breath was agony - a hangover from the nanocytes that usually took hours to recede. he'd dearly like to sleep for the next few millennia.

"You killed your father Mulder" he said.

Mulder swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. He'd never acknowledged Spender as his father. He knew in his heart that it was likely though.

"Frankly I think I'd rather have been found under a gooseberry bush than have had either Bill Mulder or Spender as my father." he said. " Whether he was my father or not, he was a vile, conniving, manipulative old bastard who cared nothing about anything that did not benefit him personally. Besides he would have killed you if I hadn't stopped him."

"Never knew you cared." Alex whispered dryly.

"Hey guys, time's a wasting here." Doggett's voice cut in. "We're done loading the stuff, are we ready to leave?"

"Sure." Skinner said.

"Dr Borrachio wants to bring the body with us. Doggett said.

"Bodies." Mulder corrected.

"If Conrad wants them we bring them... both of them." Skinner said. " Besides we can't really leave them behind.

"We've got three bodies Sir." mulder said. "Graaf, Spender and a guard. I hope you've got good storage facilities where we are going."

" The best." skinner said.

"we should torch the place," Mulder said, looking at the entrance way with a grimace.

"No!" Alex said. His hoarse voice jarred Mulder out of his contemplation.

Alex tried to swallow. Every word hurt like hell.

" You do that and you'll be knee deep in people asking questions before you know it." he said.

"Alex is right," Skinner said," much as I'd like to raze the place to the ground, we can't afford the attention and we've got a long way to go. the sooner we leave the better."

He cast a look at Alex. The pallor of the man's skin was alarming. His breathing was laboured and it was obvious that he was trying to deal with a high level of pain. He didn't dare give him anything until Conrad had seen him. Just then Conrad emerged from the building carrying a large box.

"Well Walt old buddy," he said, " quite like old times. Doggett says we need to bug out asap. and that's fine by me, but I need to check on my patient before we hit the road."

"Sure." Skinner said. "I was just coming to find you. He's not looking so good."

He stepped aside so that Conrad could examine Alex.

"Well now young man. I understand that you hit the good doctor Graaf in there with your cast. Whilst I appreciate your saving old Walt here from a knife in the chest, if you've caused further damage to your wrist I'm going to be rather pissed."

As he spoke he gently checked Alex's pulse, pupil dilation and skin temperature.

Alex merely stared straight ahead, not really responding - though Conrad knew he'd been heard.

"I guess we'll have to leave a further examination until later. However, we need to prop you up a bit and get some fluids into you. Walt go and fetch some water for Alex please."

Skinner went to fetch some of the bottled water the Gunmen had brought with them. As he left Conrad pulled out a syringe. Alex looked at it warily, going paler if it were possible.

"Don't worry boy, this is only a pain killer and a muscle relaxant, nothing more." Conrad held his patient's gaze. " I realise that you've probably had more than your fair share of needles lately, but you need to rest so that your body can begin healing. Being in pain won't help you. I'd have given you something before, but your blood work was so odd that I wasn't sure what you could have without making things worse...too many other drugs were floating around your system."

Alex tried to relax. He still wasn't sure he trusted any of Skinner's group, but they had prevented Graaf and Spender from going further with their tortures. Whatever they intended to do with him could scarcely be worse. He desperately wanted a shot for the pain, but he found it difficult not to tense up. He'd had years of having needles shoved into him without so much as a by your leave and none of the results had ever been good. Was it any wonder he had a mammoth phobia of the things. He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead and his jaw was tight with tension.

"I'll try to make this as quick and painless as possible." Conrad said reassuringly.

Alex held his breath, making him tense up even more Conrad rubbed at his right bicep with a disinfected swab and waited. Alex inevitably had to breathe out at some point and that was when Conrad slid the needle home, depressing the plunger and withdrawing almost before Alex registered what he'd done. Alex blinked in surprise. Certainly he'd felt the needle but it hadn't hurt anywhere near as much as every other shot he'd ever had. Then again no-one had ever given him a shot against pain before as far as could remember.

As he began to relax he cold feel a delicious lassitude sweep over him. The world seemed to have a softer focus. He was warm A sense of well-being, even euphoria, enveloped him and he felt - for perhaps the first time in his life - that he was safe.

Skinner returned with the water, sat himself in the van next to Alex and cradled him as he helped him to drink - the sports bottles making this easier. Skinner gave the order for the vans to pull out and Alex allowed himself to succumb to the alien feeling of pleasure and peace safe in the circle of Skinner's arms.

Part Sixteen

Margaret Scully sat looking numbly at her daughter. If it hadn't been for that fact that she'd half suspected some of what she'd just been told then she might have thought that Dana was delusional. How could Dana have coped with this for so long? Coped alone too. Certainly she'd had Mulder to talk to, when he'd been there. Still Margaret was under no illusion that Dana'd had an easy time of it. Fond as she was of Mulder she knew that he had a tendency to be extremely self-absorbed. His intentions were good. No doubt he always intended to support Dana, but she'd lost count of the number of times she knew of that he'd ended up needing support from her instead. She sighed.

"Mom? Are you all right?" Scully said, anxiously.

Margaret was startled out of her introspection at the sound of her daughter's voice.

"I'm fine Dana," she said, "I just wish that you'd told me this before."

She held up a hand to forestall her daughter's response. "I know you had your reasons Dana, but I hate to think of you dealing with all this alone all this time. Fox is a good man Dana, and I'm very fond of him - he's like a son to me - but I know that you've had to shoulder much of this by yourself while he's been chasing after proof that his theories are correct." She put her hand on Dana's arm and squeezed gently. "I'm not cross with you Dana, either of you. I just want you to promise me that you won't keep anything else from me. I can help you. I need to help you."

"I'm sorry Mom. I wasn't trying to keep secrets from you exactly. I jsut didn't think I should burden you with it, and I thought knowing might put you in danger."

"Dana, I was married to your father for a long time. I've had a long acquaintance with secrets and danger believe me. I know you might not think it, but I'm tougher than I look. All I ask is that you allow me to help you from now on."

She looked at her daughter's tired face and pulled her into a firm embrace, resting her chin on Dana's head.

"You need some sleep Dana, just relax and get some rest." As she spoke she began rubbing Dana's back and humming an old lullaby just as she had done when Dana was a child. They sat like that for a long time.

When Alex next opened his eyes the sun was rising, casting a golden pink glow over the world. He had no idea when he'd last seen anything but the interior of his perspex capsule at Zeus Genetics and to him the sight of nature's habitual wakening seemed almost magical. His uncertainty regarding his status within Skinner's care made him determined to savour the moment as best he could and seemed to heighten his emotional responses.

He noticed the mountains ahead were topped with snow which glowed as though it was on fire as it reflected the glorious hues from crimson to gilt. The rest of the valley was bathed in more subtle and subdued tones of colour. He felt a lump forming in his throat. Somehow the simple sunrise affected him deeply. A surge of emotion was welling up within him making him feel as though he would have to shout his joy to the whole world. He refrained solely because he had no energy and no voice. His throat felt as though it was full of ground glass and his head throbbed as though it might burst at any minute.

He sighed. Even as those thoughts ran through his head, the colours, and the wonder, faded from the scene outside. All was restored to normal and yet it seemed as though the whole world had been reduced to a shadow of its former self. All the chromatic definition that the sun's first rays had highlighted seemed to leech out of the landscape, robbing it of vibrancy. The colours were now muted and greyed in a way that matched his mood. The brief rush of euphoria that had almost overwhelmed him when the salmon and gold had filled the valley was gone, leaving him feeling like a burst balloon, deflated and flat.

He noticed that the van was slowing, turning up a dirt track, past tall pines and through a narrow pass. Some small utility buildings were all that could be seen until a large cabin came into view. Obviously fairly new, given the size and condition. A large deck encircled the one storey construction which was situated on a slope. The front of the building clearly held a basement, perhaps a workshop or garage, there was an entrance there that he could see. There were steps leading up to the deck where the front door was. There were bay windows either side of the main entrance and the whole structure had a steeply pitched roof, probably to cope with the large levels of snow that would fall here. There were a few outbuildings near by and in front of all there was a sizeable lake. It appeared they had arrived.

As the van pulled up in front of the cabin Skinner patted Alex on the shoulder. Alex flinched, but said nothing, holding his breath not wanting to deal yet with whatever Skinner had in mind, but knowing he had no strength to resist. Skinner noted the flinch and held his hand still, not wanting to hurt Alex more than he must already be.

"We're here boy," he said, "if you wait a moment I'll open up and then you can go inside and get comfortable while we unload."

He got out of the van and went to check on the occupants of the larger vehicle which Byers and Langley had driven.

Alex vaguely overheard Skinner directing the others but he wasn't really focusing on the words, he was staring in awe at the landscape. It might not possess the super-real sharp vividness it had earlier, nevertheless it was breathtaking. The air was sharp and cold - and so clean you could almost taste it. He'd often daydreamed of such a place, where time seemed to stand still and the grim, sordid, reality of the outside world was a distant memory.

Once, when he was a boy, he'd spent a little time on the Englishman's ranch. The landscape there had affected him in a similar way, but that place had not offered him any kind of haven despite its beauty. He feared that this place too would fail to provide him with any kind of sanctuary. He pulled himself carefully to the edge of his seat, determined to be ready for whatever came next. He swung his legs out of the car, but remained seated.

Despite his nap, and the water Skinner had given him, he still felt weak and nauseous. His whole body throbbed with pain, sometimes sharp and sometimes less so. He could feel his remaining hand and both feet tingling with pins and needles, hot and stabbing - not a gentle tingling, and he was light headed. Nevertheless he did not want to give Skinner and the others the idea that he might be easily 'taken care of'.

He'd got enough strength at least to put on a good show, though he knew he'd not be able to hold out long. Still the charade was important to him, even if he knew it was a hollow sham. He breathed as deeply as he dared without triggering a coughing fit as he tried to lessen the rushing sound in his ears. He was so focused on this exercise that when Skinner appeared right next to him and spoke again he was startled. He completely spoiled his 'stoic man' facade by gasping in shock - which of course caused him to start coughing again.

Skinner cursed. "Damn Alex!, I didn't mean to startle you." he said. He reached around and gently began to rub Alex's back, trying to encourage him to relax. "Take it easy boy. Try to breathe slowly."

Alex finally managed to stop coughing but by then he was retching bile. His stomach hurt and he was sweating like a pig. Eventually even the retching stopped and he was mortified to find that he was shaking uncontrollably. All pretence of being strong and indomitable had been shot to hell. He leaned weakly against Skinner, grateful for the moment , for the man's solid strength - though still wary of it. After all, he knew only too well how quickly that strength and power could lay him low. hadn't he spent days in pain after being on the receiving end of a punch to the gut from this man?

He couldn't quite fathom Skinner's motivation for being nice to him at this moment. He'd never shown any kindly inclinations towards him before. Unless he thought it was a good way to get Alex's guard down, using a softly softly approach. He always did think Skinner was more subtle and scary than Spender gave him credit for.

"You OK?"

Skinner's gentle enquiry broke into his reverie. Alex didn't trust himself to speak and merely nodded.

"Can you stand?"

Alex closed his eyes, considering, and then nodded again. Skinner put a hand under Alex's right elbow and another around his waist to assist him. With a herculean effort, that he tried hard to disguise, Alex stood. He took a tentative couple of steps. The ground was cold and hard against his bare feet. Skinner saw him wince. Without shoes the frozen ground must have been painful to walk on. Still they were almost inside now and there seemed little point in making a fuss over it if Alex wasn't.

He guided Alex through the door to the basement-come-garage of the cabin. Only a few more steps and he could get Alex to lie down again and rest. As they entered he felt Alex stiffen beside him and barley managed to stop his charge for falling.

"Alex?" he said.

"Please. Not now." Alex croaked. 'I'll do whatever you want, but please not that. Not now."

Skinner was stunned. What did the boy mean? He looked at Alex. His face was ghostly and he was staring, terrified, at the saw horse in the corner by the stairs that led up into the house. At first Skinner could not fathom what it was about this particular piece of equipment that so terrified Alex. Perhaps terrified was not even a strong enough word to describe his reaction. He was sweating profusely , despite the cold, and beginning to hyperventilate. A horrible wheezing sound emanating from his lungs. His legs were visibly shaking and Skinner knew that if he had not been holding the boy he would have fallen.

He began to make reassuring noises, trying calm Alex, but Alex seemed by now to be almost catatonic. Skinner cursed again. He was beginning to see, in his mind's eye, just how Spender and his sick cronies could have used a saw horse to torture Alex, both with and without the sexual element they seemed to think was a necessary component of their activities.

Given the serious injuries that Alex had sustained during this last sojourn with his 'master' it was hardly surprising that the though of having to bend over a saw horse for more sadistic treatment would fill him with such dread. Skinner could barely imagine the levels of pain and degradation Alex had been subject to throughout his life, even from his brief foray into the consortium's records and from what he had witnessed first hand. No wonder Alex was freaked out.

Making a note to himself to either move or cover the damned saw horse he hefted Alex into his arms as if he was a child and, still muttering soothing platitudes, carried his charge up the stairs and into the main room of the cabin.

Doggett was there, busy laying a fire in the large open grate. He looked up as his boss entered the room carrying his burden. As Doggett succeeded in getting the flames to take hold of the wood he had arranged Skinner reached the seating area and laid Alex down on the couch pulling a large blanket from the back down to cover him.

"Thanks for the fire John," Skinner said, "but I think I'm going to ask you to get the generator going too. It's back down in the basement. Can you manage?"

"Sure thing Sir." Doggett replied, standing and heading for the stairs.

"And John." Skinner said. "Much though I appreciate your respect for my office, we aren't on official business here. I can't give you any orders and in the circumstances I'd feel happier if you'd call me Walter."

"OK Walter, you got it." Doggett said, grinning as he left.

"Alex?" He said, turning his attention back to his charge. "Can you hear me?"

The wheezing and whimpering sounds had started to abate, but there was no response to his query.

"Alex, if you can hear me I want you to blink twice." Skinner said. He watched and waited, and was just about to ask again when he saw Alex close his eyes once, slowly open them and then close them again.

"OK, good. Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully. No one here is going to hurt you. Do you understand.?"

Alex stared at him for a while, his eyes wide with suspicion. Finally, after what seemed an age, he closed and opened his eyes twice again in acknowledgement. The wariness in his gaze lessening only slightly, but Skinner was heartened to note that the boy did not flinch as he reached out and stroked his forehead gently.

"You must be cold without your hair." Skinner said, and almost laughed when Alex showed that he found that subject very boring. He noticed that no matter how much he might try to cover up what he was feeling, Alex found it almost impossible to keep his emotions out of his eyes. Oh you had to look carefully, but that was obviously going to be the key to getting to really know Alex Krycek.

"I'll get you a hat." Skinner said. "Two-thirds of the body's heat is lost through the top of the head," he continued in the face of Alex's questioning look, "so the best way to keep you warm until your hair grows back is to cover your head."

As he spoke he moved to the closet by the door through which they had entered and pulled out a woollen ski hat and something else.

When returned to the sofa Alex could see that the second item was a pair of thick woollen socks. He was appalled to note that this act of kindness was causing his eyes to fill with tears. He was furious with himself for displaying such weakness in front of Skinner, but Skinner apparently took no notice. Briskly, he placed a sock on each icy foot and pulled the hat onto Alex's head.

"There now," he said cheerfully,"you can rest now whilst we unload."

He nodded at Alex and left him lying in stunned amazement in his cosy, warm cocoon.

Part Seventeen

Dana Scully sat in the back of Monica Reyes' jeep, her son in the cradle seat beside her, her mother and Reyes in the front. When AD Skinner had suggested that they should all get together in his 'hideaway' she'd been a little dubious that there was much merit in it. However, reflecting on her experiences when William had been born, and the fears she'd had regarding her pregnancy made her receptive to the idea of removing herself and her son from the firing line as it were. Her mind was in turmoil and she was, frankly, exhausted by the events of the last few months. Perhaps her boss had a point. There was some truth in the old saying that there was strength in numbers after all. In any case she had agreed to pack her things and go.

As to where they were going, she had no idea and Reyes had not enlightened her. She supposed it really didn't matter. In other circumstances she might have insisted on being given every scrap of information before making such a decision. One thing she'd learned whilst being Mulder's partner though was that, no matter how much information you possessed ahead of time, there was not always a guarantee of a positive outcome. Whatever, she was too tired to think beyond the instinctive level of a response to protect her son. William was sleeping soundly. She smiled down at him and as she watched him she felt her own weariness overtake her. Soon she too was in the arms of morpheus.

Walter Skinner was pleased with the operation so far. All of the data they'd collected from Zeus Genetics was stored in the building he'd designated as the 'media centre'. Rooms in the main house and one adjoining cabin had been allocated to all of their party and Agent Reyes' vehicle was even now pulling into the parking circle. He had high hopes that they might, at last, actually have a chance to get a game plan together and begin working out how to take down the forces that were ranged against them. Perhaps they could finally find a way to defend themselves against the aliens, whatever their aims might be. He had good reason to doubt that they were benevolent after what had happened to Mulder.

What had happened to Krycek and his brother indicated a similar lack of benevolence on the part of Spender and his cronies. It was still not entirely clear to him how the two things were linked, but he was fairly sure that they were, and now he had the means to discover that link. Smiling with a certain grim satisfaction he stepped down from the veranda to greet the new arrivals.

Scully handed a sleeping William to her mother and went to greet her boss.

"Agent Scully," he said, "I've made a set of rooms available for you." He indicated the East Wing of the house as he spoke. "If there's anything I've overlooked please let me know." He winced a little as he realised how much like a hotel manager he sounded. Not so odd perhaps, given that this had once been built as part of an exclusive resort, the kind which catered to a small clientele - for team building exercises or mini conferences. Given what he hoped they would achieve here, perhaps the place was finally getting to fulfil its original purpose. He grinned at that thought.

"Sir, thank you." Scully said, acknowledging his greeting.

"If you want to go inside and take a look around I'll help Agent Reyes with the luggage." he said.

Scully nodded tiredly in acceptance at his words and took the steps up to the front door.

"Good morning Mrs Scully, " Skinner said, "I hope that you will be comfortable here, and I sincerely hope that we will not have to inconvenience you for long."

"It's no inconvenience Mr Skinner." Margaret Scully said. "Though I'm sure we all wish the circumstances were different." She nodded at him and followed her daughter into the house as Skinner went to help in unloading the car.

On entering the large open living area, Scully drew to an abrupt halt. Of all the things she might have expected to see here, this would have been last on the list. Alex Krycek lying on his back on the sofa, wearing a ski hat and apparently fast asleep without a care in the world.

She'd thought he was dead - she'd heard what had occurred in the parking structure at the Hoover Building, yet here he was, large as life. Her temper at fraying point after the past few days she pulled out her gun and approached the sofa, cautious yet furious. Placing the barrel of the gun against Krycek's temple, she ignored the sharp intake of breath she heard from her mother.

"Get up you son of a bitch." she growled.

"Dana? What are you doing?" her mother protested. Her shock evident in the tone of her voice.

Alex moaned, and moved a little, but did not comply with Scully's order. Enraged, and still ignoring her mother, she pressed the gun barrel a little harder against Alex's head and repeated her demand a little more loudly. This time Alex opened his eyes but he still did not move. His pupils reacted slowly to the strong sunlight now streaming into the room and it began to register with Scully that her 'prisoner' might not be in the best condition to respond to her. At the same time as she began to reassess the situation she heard Mulder's voice join that of her mother in urging her to put down the gun. By the time he was standing next to her she had sheathed her weapon in its customary place behind her waist and was crouching down to examine Krycek.

"My God Mulder," she breathed, "what happened to him? Did you beat on him again?"

"Not me Scully, not this time. At least only once." He winced at the sharp look she gave him. "Most of his injuries were caused by Spender and his tame doctor. I admit to the bruised jaw though."

Scully carefully palpated the darkened area of Krycek's jaw, but despite her gentle touch he flinched at the contact.

Alex's muddled brain finally connected enough for him to register who was examining him.

"Hello Agent Scully, fancy meeting you here. Nice of you to join the party." he croaked.

The odd juxtaposition of his tone of voice and his battered appearance was a shock to Scully. Mulder, however, grinned. He was getting used to Krycek's little quips. He wondered how it was he'd overlooked the man's dry sense of humour in the past. Probably something to do with feeling a constant need to kill him of late, he mused.

Just then a fretful cry alerted Scully to the fact that her son was awake. With barely a glance at Krycek she stood and went to fetch William from her mother. Alex heard the young child's whimpers and his eyes tracked Scully as she crossed the room. When he saw the baby he frowned. Of all the doubts he's harboured about Scully, Skinner and the nature of his 'rescue' from Zeus Genetics, he had never once imagined that they would stoop to this level.

"No!" he managed to croak. He was struggling to sit up, suddenly animated in a way he had not been when Scully had held her gun on him.

"Hey Alex, take it easy." Mulder said, placing a gentle restraining hand on his right shoulder. "What is it?"

Alex seemed unable to respond, but he continued to squirm within his blanket cocoon. He wanted to get free, wanted to take the child and run. Run and never stop running. Of course he knew that he 'd no chance of being able to do anything of the sort when even moving his head hurt like a son of a bitch and his body was exhausted. He closed his eyes resignedly, his tears escaping unheeded, and cursed himself for his inability to do anything effective, for his lack of control over his emotions. He'd not cried so much since he was a young boy. He'd always sworn that he would deny his enemies the satisfaction of seeing how their treatment affected him after the way Romberg had enjoyed his screams at that long ago birthday session - yet now he just wanted to scream until he was no longer capable of breathing. He'd once seen a film entitled 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being'. That phrase fairly adequately described the way he felt. As if at any minute he would explode or float off into the wilds with no anchor and no control, a victim of the fates.

Irritated, he shook his head once more. The resulting pain drew him back from the edge of his despairing and into his body once more. As he opened his eyes he was aware of the soft noises emanating from the area of the room where Scully was. He glanced over in her direction and was fairly stunned to see her cradling the young infant in her arms, a look of such tender adoration on her face that he felt like a voyeur witnessing such a private and intimate moment.

He looked at Mulder, who was still clutching him by the shoulder and looking anxiously down at him, and finally allowed himself to relax. He exhaled, the release of tension leaving him limp with relief and also completely confused.

"Scully's baby?"

"Yeah" Mulder confirmed.

"How?" This barely audible.

"Huh?" Mulder was not really paying Krycek close attention any more as he gazed fondly at Scully and William. He rose and went towards them.

Scully acknowledged his presence with a small smile.

"Hey." she said.

"Hey yourself. D'you want any help getting your stuff in?"

Scully shook her head. "No need, Skinner is getting the bags, I need to feed this young man."

Mulder gently stroked William's cheek, unaccustomed emotions flowing through him as he felt the soft downy skin beneath his finger and watched the child make sucking motions around Scully's little finger.

"Why don't you come too?" She suggested.

Mulder nodded and followed her out of the room.

Margaret Scully was left alone observing the man on the couch. She'd never seen her daughter behave towards anyone in the way she had towards him. Dana had suddenly taken on a whole new persona in the eyes of her mother. She wasn't sure she was comfortable with what she had seen. Though she knew her daughter had to be tough and in control to do her job, let alone be involved in Mulder's crusade, nonetheless Dana's reaction to the man on the couch was puzzling in the extreme. From here he looked like nothing so much as a limp rag. He was clearly injured and currently appeared to be in a great deal of discomfort. Warily, she approached him. Closer inspection did nothing to alter this assessment in fact, if anything, it strengthened it. She felt a strong urge to do something to help him. Whatever he'd done to cause her daughter's negative reaction, she could not stand by and see him suffering without offering him aid.

She remembered Mulder had addressed him as Krycek. Carefully she reached a hand out and placed it on his shoulder. His eyes flew open and it was easy to see the panic in them as he looked at her.

"Mr Krycek?" she said tentatively. Her voice was soft and gentle and had the effect of calming him a little. "Are you all right?"

He closed his eyes again and nodded but she wasn't convinced.

"Can I get you something? Some water?" she tried again.

He looked hopeful at that, then bit his lip and shook his head. This negative response surprised her, so she persisted.

"It's no trouble," she said, standing and moving to the open kitchen area at one end of this large living space. She found a glass in one cupboard a, checked the fridge for ice and water and returned triumphantly bearing her prize. She held ot out to him.

Alex looked longingly at the glass in her hand, his tongue flickered out to lick his lips - lips that were dry and cracked. Then he closed his eyes and turned his head away from her.

Margaret Scully sighed, placed the glass carefully on the nearby coffee table before once again putting her hand on the man's shoulder.

"Mr Krycek?"

At her touch Alex's eyes snapped open, and she noted that they seemed flat, devoid of emotion. She noted the dark circles under his eyes, the deep dark bruises on his face and jaw, the cold grey tones of his skin and his shallow breathing. Only one word came to mind to describe his behaviour - fear. This man was afraid, but of what she could not say.

"I'm sorry," she said, "are you able to drink.?"

He shrugged. She was confused.

"Are you not allowed to drink because of your injuries?" she persisted.

He made no reply.

"I know you're thirsty," she continued, "and if you need help I am here to help you - but if you cannot drink because of your injuries - if I made a mistake in offering you water please tell me."

Alex sighed and closed his eyes for a moment as pain washed over him once more. Finally he replied.

"I ... I can't hold the glass." he said hoarsely.

"No matter, I can do that for you." she said. "Now do you want some water?"

"Please."

This was so quiet that had she not been so close she might have failed to hear it.. She smiled reassuringly and reached again for the glass. Holding his head with one hand and the glass with the other she watched as he carefully sipped the water. When it was all gone he shut his eyes and sighed again, but this time he seemed less anxious and more relaxed.

"More?" she queried.

"No ... thank you." he said, his voice a little stronger now.

She nodded and made to leave him when she caught his eye. He looked at her as she stood, holding her gaze with his, the green eyes looking less wary than they had earlier.

"Thank you." he said again, an earnest expression of gratitude on his face.

"You're welcome." she said.

Impulsively she caressed his cheek as Mulder had done to William earlier.

He held her eyes a second longer then succumbed once again to sleep.

Satisfied that he was resting for now, Margaret Scully tidied the kitchen and went in search of AD Skinner.

Part Eighteen

Private Office of Dr Conrad Borrachio:

Agent David Maloney was bored beyond belief. Being stuck with this assignment was bizarre to say the least. He'd always had the utmost respect for Assistant Director Skinner, but he was beginning to think that perhaps the man had lost the plot. It made no sense to him that he and his fellow agent should be here essentially guarding a dead body. Just who did the AD expect to be interested in stealing a dead body. Burke and Hare?

"Troy." he said to his companion.

"Yes?"

"You got any idea why Skinner sent this body to Dr Borrachio?"

"What?."

"I mean wouldn't he have done better to send it to Quantico? It's not as though the FBI can't conduct its own autopsies."

Troy Wilson sighed. "Look Dave, The AD is trying to keep this under wraps for now. He suspects there might be an attempt to tamper with the evidence. Dr Borrachio is skilled at what he does, He knows the AD from way back and owes him a favour. I guess that answers the reason why we're here. "

David sighed. "OK, but just who does he expect to show up and steal a dead body? From what he said it's already decomposing, who in hell would want to steal a corpse that's already breaking down?"

"Someone who doesn't want Dr Borrachio to discover whatever it is the autopsy will reveal." Troy said "I thought you were up for this."

"Hey I've got no problem in working for the AD, I like the guy, he's a stand-up guy, but it just seems a bit farfetched is all."

Troy made no reply. Maloney turned to see his partner sliding down onto the linoleum blood spurting from a deep wound in his throat, his eyes glassy and unfocussed. Maloney barely had time to draw a breath before he felt a blade at his own throat and then he knew no more.

Somewhere near Owl Lake - Upper New York State:

Outside the day was warming up considerably. Though still cool and sharp, the air carried the scent of some of the herbs and grasses that had not succumbed to the frosts. On any other day Margaret Scully would have taken the time to enjoy the assault on her senses, but right now there were questions she needed to ask and answers she needed to have.

Skinner was closing the door of the large utility vehicle and turning towards the house by the time that she reached him. He started at her approach. Clearly he had not anticipated her appearance at his side. Nonetheless, he greeted her courteously.

"Mrs Scully. Is there something I can do for you?" he asked.

"You can tell me about that young man on your couch, Mr Krycek. Perhaps you can explain why my daughter pulled her gun on him."

The look of alarm on Skinner's face prompted her to reassure him that nothing untoward had happened.

"He's OK, she didn't harm him, but he is clearly far from well. Shouldn't he be in a hospital?"

"I assure you, Mrs Scully, that everything that can be done for him is being done. If it was possible to have him treated in a hospital I would have done it. However, he has received the best of care, and for now this is just the best place for him as it is for us. In fact it's not just the best place for him it's the only place he will be safe."

"I suppose I'll just have to accept that for now, but I shall be keepng a good eye on him. Now what about Dana? She clearly wanted to deal violently with him. I've never seen that side of Dana before, and it was very disconcerting. Why would she react so towards a man who was not a threat?"

Skinner sighed. This was going to be difficult. Maggie Scully had a right to know why her daughter might want Krycek dead, but whether he was the man to give her those explanations was not easy to say. Given the things he had learned in the past two days about Alex, Nicholas and the Consortium he doubted he could even begin to discuss this with her and not involve her in this whole debacle more than he was comfortable with. However, she was entitled to an explanation and it seemed it was to be his lot to try and provide one.

"Let's go inside Mrs Scully. This will take some time and I really need a drink before I begin.

Maggie Scully nodded in agreement and followed him back into the house.

Conrad was exhausted. He'd never imagined any of this when he'd agreed to help Walter with the problem of 'The Body'. Coming here with the rest of them had been necessary, but he would have to return to his office by Monday or someone would come looking for him. If Walter really wanted to be able to regroup here, far from prying eyes, he would have to be gone before the end of the day so as to help keep his alibi plausible when the shit hit the fan. That said shit would hit the fan was not even open to question in his mind.

In the meantime, he needed to check on his patient and get some sleep before he started to tackle the long trip back home.

Alex was lying on the couch where Walter had left him. His eyes were closed, but the careful shallow breathing alerted Conrad to the fact that the man was not asleep. In sleep he would have been able to draw deeper breaths, the pain caused by his injuries would not have troubled true sleep.

"Alex." he said, wanting to alert the man to his prescence early enough to avoid startling him. "I need to check you over."

Alex opened his eyes wearily.

"Go ahead, I'm not exactly in a position to stop you."

"I just want to make sure that you are not in any discomfort." Conrad said.

"Depends how you define discomfort." Alex said. "I'm alive, that's a comfort. I'm wrapped up like a mummy, that's not particularly comfortable. I can't move and I'm dying for a piss. Other than that I'm just dandy."

Conrad smiled. He recognised the bravado as Alex's defence mechanism.

"Well then we'll have to see what we can do about that. No more mummification, and a visit to the bathroom should have you up and ready to run the marathon in no time."

As he placed a hand on Alex's forehead, to check if his fever was going down, Alex suddenly gasped as if he'd been struck.

"What is it?" Conrad asked.

"Kolya's awake" Alex said.

"Kolya? Your brother? Alex, your brother is dead."

"I only wish that were true Doc." Alex said, "I only wish that were true."