Oblique

I figured you'd show up eventually." Her eyes close, fatigue and resignation have beaten fear. She slumps back against the door, still weighed down by shopping bags.

"I'm going to hurt you, Scully."

"Great. In that case, can I get some help here?"

He moves forward, all speed and grace and rescues three grocery bags falling from her arms. She avoids eye contact and heads for the kitchen with her briefcase.

"Chamomile or peppermint?" He fumbles in the pantry. Water simmers in a tea kettle on the stove.

"Mint," she answers, squeezing past to the refrigerator with cartons of yogurt. He turns at that moment, tin in hand, and they are face to face again. Belly to belly.

"Sorry."

"Small kitchen."

"Still with the morning sickness?"

"Morning?" She snorts. "More like twenty-four seven."

"Sit. I'll finish," he says.

She glances at him warily, but pulls up a bar stool close to the stove. He rummages through the last of the bags.

"What is this anyway?"

"Kohlrabi."

"K-what?"

"Kohlrabi. It's an excellent source of calcium and vitamin B. Sort of tastes like broccoli. You sauté the leaves and mash the bulbs like potatoes...didn't Gabi cook it with-"

"Never happened. You never met my babicka. She never cooked anything for us." He cuts her off sharply, dangerous green eyes glittering. He drops the vegetables into the crisper and slams the refrigerator door. "I warned you."

"I believe the actual phrase was: What would you say if I asked you to leave the Bureau and let it all go to hell?" She counters.

"But you were already in too deep by then, and you got up and stalked out of that café like I had made some kind of obscene suggestion."

The tea kettle shrills and they both jump. She looks up at him and sees a smile that comes slowly, involuntarily, is if he had lost the ability to smile and is astonished that he could regain it. Then the expression fades and he straightens his shoulders and the leather of his jacket creaks slightly. He serves hot peppermint tea in tall glasses, Moroccan style. They are quiet for a while and tension builds in timed cadence with the drip of the water faucet at the kitchen sink.

"So?" She prompts at last.

"So, I was offered a contract on you this morning."

The glass shatters in her hand. She seems unaware, shows no emotion at all.

"I didn't take it...you want a towel for that?"

She doesn't answer. She is captivated by the shards embedded in her fingertips. Blood seeps into the sleeve of her green sweater.

"Here." He pushes a towel at her.

"So?" She asks.

"So?"

"You didn't come here to kill me."

"Someone will. Probably in the next six hours. Shooters are a dime a dozen." He kneels beside her and begins to pick up the glass..

"Alex Krycek's wisdom of the ages," she chuckles softly. Her eyelids drift shut. "Look, it's almost past my bedtime, just do whatever it is you came to do and go."

"You haven't asked who's left that would benefit from your death."

"Doesn't matter. Anyone who wants me knows where to find me."

"I never thought you would give up so easily."

"I'm tired. Mulder's gone and I'm sick to death of running. Why do you care anyway?"

"Because Gabi still asks about you." He smiles again and his voice goes soft. "She's still alive in part because you've kept your mouth shut about it even when doing so became something of a betryal. And I have reason to believe he's closer than you think."

She launches herself awkwardly off the stool, suddenly venom and fire.

"Don't play with me! Don't fucking play with me! It's been five months! What have you found?"

He leans back on his heels confidently, with a sort of bitter, mocking satisfaction.

"And she's back, Ladies and Gentlemen."

"Krycek, where the hell is he?!" He is standing and she shoves hard at his chest.

"Tell me, goddamn you!"

"Oh, you wanna play Mulder now?" He asks, wolf-like. "You want in on the Fox Mulder method of information gathering?"

"Yes! Yes, of course! Whatever it takes! "

"Careful what you promise Doctor, I could be asking for your firstborn-"

He doesn't bother to block the blow to his jaw.

"Oh yeah...you must have been taking notes," he murmurs into his hand. " Relax, that isn't what I want."

"What then?"

" Sauce for the goose."

"What?"

"Open to negotiation of course."

"Oh..."

"Still want to play?"

"He never has to know?"

"Nah. Strictly our own arrangement-"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll do it. After."

"Of course. That was almost too easy. Weren't you-um-satisfied with-"

This time he catches her wrist.