Random Act Of Kindness

Part One

Special Agent Alex Krycek never even noticed when she walked into the pub. As a matter of fact, no one noticed. She was a nondescript woman, one of the countless, faceless women in the world too ordinary to merit a second glance. Unlike most of those women, she was content not to have the world notice her, men and women alike left her alone to her work and her research and the quiet life she had carved out for herself.

She seated herself in a small booth, placing her packages on the other seat to discourage any drunken company. The lone waitress took her drink order and left a menu. Alex looked up from his meal to signal the waitress and saw the woman. She had shoulder length brown hair and soft brown eyes hidden behind wire frame glasses and Alex thought she was a bit overweight. She ate her meal in silence, paid her bill and left. Alex Krycek didn't give her another thought. Until the next night.

Since his assignment to DC, Alex had become a regular in the pub. It was half a block from his apartment and the food was good and cheap. He was a good cook - he had always been good with his hands - but cooking for one was, in a word, booooooring. He had never lacked for female companionship but he had just broken up with the woman he had been seeing at the academy. She claimed it was because she was gaining weight but he knew it was because he worked with that freak Mulder.

He kinda admired the guy, you had to give him one thing - he had balls. No normal human being would say the things he said and not expect to get carried off to the looney bin. Maybe when this whole thing was over they'd let him go home for a few days. He'd have some stories to tell Victor and Nancy and his sisters. They liked it when he went home, played with the kids, traded bullshit stories with his buddies from high school. They thought it strengthened their hold on him. Stupid fuckers. It reminded him of that scene in Star Wars where Admiral Whatshisname and Darth Vader blow up Alderan and Princess Leia tells the admiral the more he tightens his grip the more star systems will slip through his fingers. That's what he was, one of those star systems, and he was damn well gonna stay alive to slip out.

The second time he saw her at the pub she was just leaving and this time he noticed her. There was something about the way she moved, she glided, like she was walking through water. And she wasn't overweight like he thought. She was wearing a black t shirt and jeans and as she walked toward him, he could see the muscle on her upper body was taut and heavy. Though he had a good seven inches on her he didn't think he had more than twenty pounds. He didn't want to go up against her in a dark alley.

"Excuse me," she said. Alex was between her and the door. He was too busy staring at her shoulders to hear.

These Americans, she thought, No one here ever says excuse me. She looked closely at him, If he'd wash some of that crap out of his hair and put on some decent clothes he'd be gorgeous. Must be FBI. Something about him simply reeked of federal cop. Not CIA, they were dressing better these days. "Excuse me" she said again and took a step forward.

Her sudden movement broke him out of his revere and he stepped back automatically, opening a space for her to move through. "Sorry," he mumbled and smiled.

Goddamn but he was good lookin'! Mentally she upgraded him from gorgeous wannabe to stunningly beautiful. And not a girlie thing about him unless you counted the hair gel. Fleetingly she wondered what he'd be like in bed. She smiled up at him and walked out before she got herself in real trouble. She was in DC to do a job not fuck some stunning, green-eyed FBI agent so wet behind the ears the water flowed. But she couldn't help but wonder if he would be there the next night.

And this time Alex Krycek gave her a second thought. He gave her lots of thoughts. He gave her so many of his thoughts that he walked around JEH in a bit of a daze until Skinner finally told him he looked sick and to take the afternoon off. He was at the pub early, just to be sure he caught her. She never showed up. He drowned his disappointment in a beer, went home and watched the Cubbies stick it to the Mets at home on WGN. Harry Carrey and the seventh inning stretch would cure most of what ails ya and a nine-zip win sent him to bed a happy man. An extremely erotic dream sent him to work the same way. He had to remember to pick up laundry detergent.

The next evening found him at a table for four pouring over the rough notes for a case he and Mulder were working on. Though he never did it to the senior agent's face, mentally Alex called him Foxy only partially because the older man loathed his first name.

He didn't understand what they saw in Mulder, but every female agent in his grad class had called him up to wrangle an introduction and find out if the Spooky rumours were true. A few of them even wanted to meet him after he told them the rumours were not only true but understated. One of them told him it was because Foxy usually looked so hang dog and sad you just wanted to kiss it and make it all better. His face hurt for days, but the look on her face when he hit her with the cheap blow job shot was worth it. She still wasn't talking to him.

He was deep in a witness testimony transcript and didn't notice the waitress approaching his table until she spoke. "Hey, Alex, do you mind sharing your table with someone? We're out of room. She says she has work to do and won't bother you" and she waved half-heartedly at the woman near the till. Alex looked up and his mouth went dry. It was her.

He swallowed hard, "Yeah, sure, uhhhhh, lemme clean her a place." He tried to pick up the papers with some semblance of cool but failed miserably and they fell on the floor. From her perch by the till, the plain woman smiled. It wasn't very often she had that kind of affect on a man, especially such a good looking one. This was going to be a good day after all.

"Hi, I'm Alex Krycek," he said and stuck out his hand.

"Dr. Molly Arden" she said as they shook hands.

"Please, have a seat. Let me clear you some more space." She sat down opposite him, picked up a menu and held it in front of her face - face splitting grins were hard to hide. She gave him a moment to regain his composure and signalled for the waitress.

"I'll have a bacon cheeseburger - no fungus- fries and gra.. scratch that, a JD and Coke and a glass of ice water."

"We have gravy for the mashed potatoes, do you want it on the side?"

"Yes, bless you my child."

"What would you like Alex?"

"Same, no gravy and another beer"

"Okey dokey" she said and left them to each other.

"So, ....... ummm, what are you working on, Molly?"

"I have a bunch of papers to grade" she said as she pulled out a stack of files.

"Are you a teacher? I thought you said you were a doctor?"

"Phd. University professor, I'm a guest lecturer at Georgetown. These," she hefted half a dozen or so files "are grad student papers on my lectures. I'm giving the Maureen Williams lecture series. Prestigious, no?" she laughed.

"Geez and I'm just a lowly FBI agent. Sucks to be me." He looked at her closely. She had beautiful, thick, luxuriant brown hair that he wanted to tangle his fingers in and eyes like melted chocolate. High, defined cheekbones and a few freckles on the bridge of her nose hinted at Celtic ancestry. Her mouth was more brown than true red or pink and her top lip was just a fraction larger than its companion. Her face and forearms were tanned, hinting at an active, outdoor lifestyle, but when she leaned over to take something out of her bag he caught a glimpse of milk white shoulder that left him breathless.

Her skin looked like snow and he could see the pounding of her pulse in the blue veins at the base of her throat. He wanted to kiss that spot, to feel the flutter of her lifeblood under his mouth. He knew instinctively that this would be his favourite place on her body. Other, more obvious parts, would be sweet, but other men had laid claim to her breasts, her sex, the small of her back. This would be his.

In a moment of rare insight, he remembered his first thoughts of her, that she was plain and fat and he understood why she and her sisters thought men fools. Why they hated the delicate, obvious, apparently needy women and why a part of their souls screamed out to be like those women. They had life easy. There was the power of the earth in this woman, this Molly Arden, and Alexsander Krycek blessed the gods that made other men fools. For once he was glad of Them, they put him in the path of this woman and if he never saw her again he would always have the wisdom of this moment, the lesson he learned at the base of her throat. He would know how to see through the glamour. All of this was instantaneous and the instant was over too soon.

Reality settled back in for a nice, long stay. They chatted about nothing, just to hear the sound of the other's voice rather than doing their work. The waitress brought their meals and around mouthfuls of burger they got to know each other better. Krycek watched as she tore into her meal with real hunger. She was not out to impress him with how delicate her appetite was and he liked that.

She was Canadian, from a small town in the south-central Alberta foothills, lived on a horse and cattle ranch and was in 4-H as a kid. Valedictorian, loner, too smart to stay in her tiny home town for long. Best of all, she loved the Cubs. Had a BSc in zoology from the University of Toronto, an MS in entomology from McGill and a Phd in arachnid physiology from Cambridge. Krycek was amazed when she told him she also had a BA and MA in Canadian history.

"How old are you?" he asked, unable to keep the curious awe out of his voice.

She laughed "Thirty. I finished high school at sixteen and headed to the U of T for summer classes right after. I didn't even go to my prom."

"Wow. Sounded like you wanted out of there bad."

She winced and Krycek saw something he couldn't read flash across her face. "You could say that," she said, her voice flat. Asshole. Idiot. What'ja have to go and do that for, Alex, he berated himself. She's probably not gonna want to talk to you ever again let alone sleep with you.

"I'm sorry. That was way outta line" he apologised and flashed her his killer sheepish grin.

Against her better judgement she smiled back. I'm wise to your tricks, Krycek. Don't think you're pullin' a fast one on me. I've eaten more experienced men than you for lunch, she thought. "Apology accepted." He had no way of knowing why she had been in such a hurry to get away.

So, now that we've got that out of the way, let's have dessert" she said and flagged down the waitress.

They met for supper the next night, then Alex bought dinner and a movie, then she did. It didn't take long for two weeks to pass by unnoticed.

Krycek was standing at the photocopier, gleeful punching buttons and whistling when Mulder walked up behind him.

"So, tell me Agent Krycek, just why *are* you whistling? Inquiring minds want to know? Is it that blonde down in Records? You've been spending a lot of time there. Your good mood has not gone unnoticed."

What blonde in Records? Alex didn't want to tell Mulder he spent time in Records because Mulder didn't. Granted he hadn't really talked about the existence of aliens or monsters or the tooth fairy, but the guy was still weird. And moody. How the hell had Agent Scully put up with him for so long? Maybe she was moody too. God only knew she was downright glacial to him. He wanted to tell her it wasn't *his* fault the X-Files was closed and they were separated. Christ, he didn't even want to be partnered with this wacko.

If he could rewind his life to the day the smoking man knocked on his door, he would have gone to the library to do his medieval Russian homework. He'd like to tell Scully he never even wanted to be an FBI agent, he wanted to teach Slavic languages and translate medieval manuscripts. But, instead he spent his days tracking down cross-border mail fraud. Whopee!

"No, Mulder, it's not the blonde in Records, it's a brunette at Georgetown."

"Oooh, a little co-ed action" Mulder leered.

Krycek looked at him, contempt dripping off his face. "No, she's a visiting professor, entomology department. She's thirty."

"Bugwoman. Nice."

"Fuck off, Mulder. You're the one who can't have a relationship with a woman that lasts longer than it takes you to jack off to a 1-900 phone call or one of your porn magazines, not me."

The younger agent stalked off leaving a stunned Mulder in his wake. He didn't think Krycek knew about the phone calls. Alex was still in a foul mood when he met Molly for supper later that night.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Well, Mulder. He was giving me a hard time about you today. Made fun of what you do."

She twisted her face into a knot and chewed on her bottom lip. Mulder, he who used to investigates fake crop circles and got his leads from tabloids, was making fun of me and what I do? Can't expect any better from an Oxford boy. Don't worry about him, Alex."

He looked faintly chagrined and muttered something under his breath.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"I just said I was raised to be protective of women. Even though I have six older sisters and my dad should have known better."

"What about your mother?"

"She died when I was born. Died having me to be precise. Her name was Alexsandera. I was named after her. It was really hard on my dad. My siblings, aunts and grandmother raised me, he was a wreck for about ten years and then one day he just snapped out of it. He went back to the USSR to be with his mother for a while and when he came back he was a lot better. He started to teach me Russian and a bunch of other Slavic languages, took a real interest in me for the first time in my life. Look, this is hard for me, can we talk about something else?"

"Sure. Cubs lost last night. As usual."

They talked about baseball and other harmless things as he walked her home to her university owned brownstone.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked.

He backed her up against the wall, holding her there with his hips, his hands on either side of her head. "I. Would. Love. To. Come. In," he said, kissing her between words, then he sighed, "but, Foxy and I have stakeout duty tonight midnight to eight and I have got to get some shuteye."

"Damn." She slid her hands under his leather jacket down to the points of his hips and back to rest lightly on his ass. "I don't have a class until two."She stretched up to kiss him and was rewarded with the coolness of his mouth on hers. Amazing physiology. She opened her mouth and he responded, sliding the tip of his tongue in to meet hers. God, would she ever get used to that sensation! It was like chilled lightning. Made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. He was getting braver now, tracing the line of her teeth and tongue, not venturing near her gag reflex.

The first time they French kissed had nearly been a disaster. His tongue had crawled deep into her mouth, tripping her hypersensitive gag reflex. She pulled away from him, retching and gasping for breath.

When she finally regained her composure and ventured a glance at him, he wasn't disgusted or appalled, he looked worried.

"Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? Do I have roadkill breath or something?"

"No, it's not you, it's my gag reflex. Can't touch the back of my mouth on the left side. Makes me want to throw up. Pleasant, isn't it?"

"Where is it?"

She found the spot with the tip of her index finger and said something Alex took to mean right there.

"How do you brush your teeth?"

"I gag. That's why no one ever sees me brush. It's ugly."

"Does that mean you can't...." his voice trailed off.

She stared at him, eyes wide with feigned innocence. "I can't what?" She laughed, "Ballsy little bastard aren't ya? No. Not all the way. But, I have, shall we say, compensatory, talents." She trilled her fingers up his chest, "And if you play your cards right, you might get to find out what they are. But not tonight." She looked up at him, desire darkening her eyes and dilating her pupils, "What do you say we try that kiss again?"

Remembering that was not helping her present situation. She dug her fingertips in and pulled his hips even tighter against her, the rest of him followed.

His cel phone rang and he made a noise half way between a moan and a growl of frustration as he broke off the kiss. Without letting her go he answered his phone.

"Krycek."

"No, Mulder, I haven't forgot."

"What the hell are you talking about? Where the fuck are you?"

He twisted around to see his partner standing by the driver's door of a silver Ford Taurus. "Fucking voyeur," he muttered as he disconnected the call.

She leaned out around him, looking at the infamous partner. So, that was Mulder, Just Mulder. Impressive. If you liked the type.

"Don't let him get to you, Alex." A playful leer danced across her face, "Let's give him something to watch," she said and pulled his head down to hers.

It was a very long kiss. Molly stood on the porch and watched him walk to the car, more to watch the movement of muscle under denim than for any sentimental reason. What was she doing developing feelings for this man? She had a job to do. One that could not be hampered by emotion. God and he was a fed, too.

She waved goodbye when he did and as the car pulled away she dug out her mail and let herself into the house. She was going to have to deal with him and it was not going to be pleasant. Krycek slammed the car door and turned on his partner.

"What the FUCK were you doing outside Molly's house? How did you find me? We're you fuckin' FOLLOWING me? It's only 8:00, I'm not back on duty until midnight."

"Calm down, Krycek. I saw you guys walking down the street and just wanted to meet your girlfriend. She's not quite what I expected."

Alex was quite for a moment. "Okay. I guess so." He opened the car door and got out. "Let's get this over with, I want to get home to bed," he stalked up the walk, leaving Mulder in his wake.

Molly opened the door, "What are you doing back? I thought you and Mulder were leaving?"

"Mulder saw us walking home and wanted to meet you. He was just givin' me grief."

Mulder took the front steps two at a time. "Hi, I'm Fox Mulder, Alex's partner."

"Agent Mulder, it's a pleasure. Molly Arden. Psychology, Oxford, I believe."

Mulder's left eyebrow buried itself in his hair. "Dr. Arden," two can play at that game "Arachnid physiology, Cambridge, right?"

She inclined her head slightly acknowledging the draw. Alex fidgeted silently and wondered how long it would be before they drew knives and carved each other to pieces. He decided to end it before he had to do paperwork.

"Okay, Mulder, let's go. See you tomorrow, Molly?"

She nodded and wrapped an arm around his waist. He leaned down kissed her rather possessively while Mulder rolled his eyes. Young love.

As they walked to they walked to the car Mulder opened his mouth to speak but Krycek interrupted him.

"Just shut up and drive me home, Mulder, just shut up."

If Mulder learned one thing at Oxford, it was that discretion *was* the better part of valour and since he still had to work with his annoyed, twitterpated partner, he decided to be very valorous. He drove to Krycek's in silence, only opening his mouth to say he would be back at 11:30.

Alex resisted the urge to call Molly and instead fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that ended at eleven. He passed a pleasant nine hours camped out with Mulder in a warehouse, waiting for someone to go in and buy fake identification from a forger, but no one did. He went home, slept like the dead until noon, wrote up a case report and dropped it off at JEH then went out and bought new socks.

Molly had no such luxury. As soon as Alex and Mulder got to the car she went back into the house and locked the door behind her. She had found a plain white envelope with no return address and a smudged postmark mixed in with the usual junk mail and bills. She stared at it for a long time. She knew it was coming, she just didn't know when. Or what impact it was going to have.

You don't have to take the job, Molly. You don't need the money. You don't need the work, turning it down won't hurt your reputation.

Christ, woman, you've never let your feelings get in the way of a job before. Yeah, but you've never dated a fed before either.

What if Dad's already agreed? You could burn the envelope, say you never got it. Then Dad's reputation suffers. Damnit,

Molly, what are you doing? Just open the goddamn envelope and do the fucking job. You know you want to know who it is. She grabbed the envelope, ripped off one end and shook out a single piece of paper. Boris Miros. Shit. The Bosnian president and a suspected war criminal. She wished the CIA would clean up their own bloody messes. She wasn't a maid. She dug up a book of matches and burned the paper and envelope, flushing the ashes down the toilet.

She got her coat and walked to the third pay phone from her house, one nestled in the back of a crowded bar she had only been in once before.

"Hello Levi, it's Miss Molly. Is my father there?"

"No, Miss, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your father is in the hospital. He's going to be fine, he just had an accident - he fell of that new Trakehner stud and broke his left leg in three places. Would you like me to give you the number or should I have Mr. Arden telephone you?"

"I'm calling from a pay phone, give me the number, please." "555-4762, that's his private room. The line will be secure."

"Thank you, Levi. Say hello to the staff and please have Rosa make up my cabin in a couple of weeks, I'll be home in about a month. Also, will you please have Trevor bring in my string."

"They're in the small pasture waiting for you. Calico appears to be with foal, James will be doing an ultrasound tomorrow."

"Will you have him fax the pictures to my office at Georgetown."

"Yes, Miss. See you soon," and he hung up.

She was stalling and Levi knew it. Caleb Arden was not an easy man to deal with well, sick he was almost impossible. Especially when he had work for Molly to do. She was his heir apparent in everything - the ranch, the horses, the political assassinations. Levi sighed. He didn't envy her this job. Her fingers shook as she tried to feed the coins into the pay phone. For a moment she actually considered using her calling card, but that was too easily traced. The first lesson her father taught her was that you could never be too careful. He had over forty-five confirmed kills to his credit and not even a hint as to his identity.

"Arden."

"Hi Dad."

"Molly, how are you? Where are you calling me from? Are you at home?"

"No, Dad, I'm not at home. I'm at a pay phone in a bar. I called the house and they said you were in the hospital, that the new Trake stud dumped you. Listen, what is this new job about? I'm not sure I want it."

"You can't turn it down, I've given my word. And taken the money."

"What? I thought we agreed you weren't going to treat me like some kind of slave anymore. I'm the one doing the job."

"It's a righteous job. Come on Molly, you know the angels are on our side on this one."

"And just how much do the angels cost?" she asked wryly.

"Double the usual. Half up front. Non-returnable because you're out of country."

Wow. Two million bucks. Someone wanted this guy dead. "When and where?"

"You will be getting your instructions shortly. So, tell me about your new boyfriend - the fed." Her father's voice was icy. Shit. Busted.

"It's none of your goddamn business. He's not a problem. I will take care of him if needs be."

Silence.

"Goodbye Father." Miserable old bastard could still piss her off.

"This one is too important for you to screw up just because you've got your head in the clouds over some man. He's a pro too, Molly. Do you know his father is a GRU sleeping dog?"

"No." She wondered if Alex knew.

"Just don't turn into a girl on me. When are you coming home?"

"As soon as the job's done. My last lecture is in two weeks. Bye, Dad."

She hung up just as the operator came on to ask for more money. She had a drink at the bar, watched three innings of bad American League baseball from the left coast, went home and put the finishing touches on her lecture for the next day.

It was two in the morning when she finally climbed into bed and as she put out the light she wondered how the stakeout was going. She slept fitfully until nine the next morning when she gave up and went to her office. At least there the grad students would keep her awake. She fell asleep with her head on her desk to the soothing sounds of The Smashing Pumpkins emanating from the next room.

At a bit before two the fax machine bleated at her, spitting out the ultrasound pictures off her new foal and a dossier on Alex Krycek and his family. On the last page her father had scrawled "deal with him". A jangle of emotion, she tucked the papers into her briefcase and went to her class.

She ignored Alex both on the phone and in person, sitting in the dark in her rented living room staring down a fifth of Jack Daniels. She was glad she hadn't given him a key. When she returned any of his calls by ten, Alex headed for her house. Her truck was in the driveway.

"Molly! Molly! Are you in there?" he hollered as he pounded on the door, drawing strange looks from her neighbours. He thought about breaking in, but decided he would look like a fool if she walked in five minutes later. So he sat in his car instead.

Part Two

Three hours later she walked out of the house with a small bag and got into Alex's car, waking him up when the interior light turned on.

A sudden change in the environment snapped Krycek awake. He sat bolt upright and drew his gun before his eyes had a chance to adjust and he realised it was Molly.

"Jesus. What are doing? You scared me half to death. Where have you bee... ."

She reached over and grabbed him by his shirtfront, pulling herself on top of him and silencing him with a kiss. She buried one hand in his hair and let the other roam aggressively wherever it could - chest, back, denim clad thigh, the side of his face, as her tongue searched for something in the cool depths of his mouth. She must not have found it because she broke off the kiss and settled back in the passengers seat leaving Krycek stunned and gasping for breath.

When he could breath normally again, he turned to her and was amazed by what he saw. Her eyes were huge, the pupils dilated, and there was something predatory in them. She stared at him for quite a long time, her gaze holding him in place and setting his imagination on fire. He listened to her breathe, shallow and rapid, like a winded animal making his mouth dry and his palms sweat. He whimpered. Her tongue darted out from its hiding spot behind her teeth and slid slowly across over her lips. He moaned and shifted his weight, trying to relieve the growing pressure in his groin. It didn't work.

She growled, low and deep in her throat, and without breaking eye contact started to undo the buttons on her shirt. For a moment Krycek thought he was going to come in his pants like a sixteen year old but he bit through his lip instead. She leaned over him again, her mouth on his, this time pulling his bottom lip into her mouth, the tip of her tongue eagerly lapping at the blood beading at the surface, gently sucking at it, encouraging his blood to flow into her. The hot coppery tang filled her mouth, intoxicating her. An oddly unconnected segment of her brain was glad her father's agents had found the results of his last AIDS test and included them. Her father may be old fashioned, but he was not stupid. Happy with the effect she was having on him, she eased into her seat. "Drive," she ordered. "Take me home, Alex."

Alex Krycek had no clear memory of the drive to his apartment. He was a danger to himself and others, but the gods were kind and saw them safely home.

Molly's busy fingers seemed to move of their accord, trying to unbutton his shirt as they hurried across the deserted lobby. They finished the job in the elevator, tugging on his shirttails trying to free the smooth, cool flesh she so desperately wanted to devour. Oh God how she wanted this man.

An independent hand strayed lower, caressing strained denim, anxiously searching. Oh God, so near, so near, so close, release, so soon, Oh Alex. A thick stream of honeyed juices trickled down the inside of her thigh and suddenly she could smell herself, her own desire, her need for this man. The scent of her sex flooded her nostrils, musky, deep and rich, like the scent of a forest floor thick with growth and moss, her own pheromones looped back into her brain overpowering even the smell of HIM. Some disconnected, abandoned part of her brain wondered if he could smell her and she tilted her face up to see.

Alex couldn't believe it. An equally disconnected part of his brain told him this was just an incredibly lifelike dream and he shouldn't get his hopes up. Too late. Much too late, his hopes had been up since the car part of this intricate fantasy. Then it hit him, wave after wave of some primal scent pounding over him, sending him to the edge of his self control. Stripped away thousands of years of civilisation, culture, refinement leaving only the male - atavistic, primitive, basic.

He looked down and she met his eyes, greener and darker than the darkest jungle, clouded with lust and something she could not name but her heart leapt at the sight of it. He pushed her up against the back wall of the elevator and kissed her, his mouth still cool, still demanding, wearing her down like water over stone, relentless, remorseless, demanding her surrender. One hand slid between her thighs, stroking the damp crotch of her jeans while the other slid underneath her bra, calluses scraping her nipple sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. She could hear her own breath coming in ragged gasps as if even life sustaining functions were now a far distant second to her lust.

"I want you." She didn't know she was still capable of speech.

"I want you what?" The roughness of his voice surprised even him.

Slowly she moved her head in a circle, an automatic response to stress and her upper lip twitched as she fought to regain some remnant of self control. He pulled down the zipper of her jeans and slid his hand in and underneath her panties, coating his fingers with slickness. Her knees gave way she slumped down hard on his hand before she could grab the railing on the wall. Self control was about to become a very nasty memory when the bell rang and the elevator door opened.

The sudden disturbance startled Krycek, dragging him back to reality unwilling and unprepared. Snarling, he pulled his hands from her body and turned toward the open door, reaching for his gun. The hallway was empty. He turned back to Molly and watched as shaking hands pulled up her zipper. He smiled at her and slid one of his still dripping fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking at the nectar of her sex. She whimpered and reached for him, not trusting the strength of her legs. Still silent, he offered her his arm.

Done with the finger, she watched, breathless and amazed as he held his hand before his face and lapped up the juice with long strokes of his tongue. She was mesmerised, almost feeling the torture of each slow caress between her legs.

He let go of her arm at the door to his apartment, smoothly sliding key into lock and opening the door. He motioned her in ahead of him and she stepped over the threshold.

The preternaturally loud thunk of the deadbolt sliding home was all the permission she needed. Frantic feet dug at shoes and socks, freeing themselves to kneed the carpet, stretching out cramps and toes. A tidal wave of warning crashed over her and she padded into the kitchen, her blood sugar dangerously low. The kitchen wasn't exactly where he had planned to go, but Alex was game and she seemed determined. He followed behind her, shucking his now completely unbuttoned shirt, leather jacket and shoulder holster, tossing them on the floor. He wasn't quite prepared for the shift in her desire from him to the Dove bar he had forgotten on the counter. It had melted slightly, just enough to soften the chocolate and traces of her haste still coated her finger tips. The sight of her gave Alex pause. She was leaning against the counter, her head thrown back and face slack with satisfaction, looking for all the world like "The Ecstasy of St. Theresa" given life. She was making some sort of guttural pleasure noise and a dagger of jealousy drove itself home in his heart. There was no way mere mortal man could compete with chocolate. He could see the movement of her tongue around the dissolving mass of chocolate and could almost feel her slick, warm, sweet tongue sliding over the head of his cock, working it like the candy. If she was paying him back for his stunt in the hallway, she gave as good as she got and he deserved every agonising second of it.

The pressure and tension in his groin was becoming painful. These jeans were tight to begin with and he didn't think he'd been this hard in his entire life. He couldn't stop his fingers from trembling as he undid the button and unzipped the fly, sliding the jeans over his slim hips. The release of pressure was mini-orgasmic and he was glad he was wearing boxers, though even the relative freedom of loose underwear was not enough for his straining penis. It quested upward like a sapling tree reaching for life giving sun, unwilling to be confined. He was going to have to be careful or this would be a very short night.

"What else have you got?" she asked, her voice alien and hollow and it took him a second to realise she meant food. "Haven't eaten all day, hypo-glycemic," she said sticking her head in the fridge.

"Perfect," she purred pulling out the half eaten steak he'd had for supper and a cheesecake. "Black and white, my favourite." She suddenly remembered her manners, "You don't mind do you?"

"Well, I was saving it for a special occasion." That sounded stupid.

She dropped her gaze to the floor, slowly raking it over feet, ankles, beautifully muscled calves covered with fine dark hair. Perfectly cut thighs, major muscles distinct, more rugby player than runner, slightly tanned, disappearing under the white cotton of his boxers. She could see the outline of his erection and forced her eyes upward. Rippled stomach with a thin line of hair drawing her eyes back down and again an exercise in self-control. Broad chest, every muscle taut as he held his breath. Beautiful, slightly corded forearms and broad callused hands that she had fantasised about. Shoulders and upper arms well muscled and slightly off balance, built by work not just endless hours in a gym. Wide winged collar bones, tapered jaw, small red mouth that begged to be kissed. She was amazed again to see delicate features on such a masculine face, small, perfect nose and ears.

The tip of her tongue slid over parched lips and she gathered her self before meeting his eyes. They were every shade of green that ever was and some nature had not yet created. They stood silent, with eyes locked for a moment before she spoke

"Isn't this special enough?" He swallowed hard and nodded. The spell broken, she took the cold steak in both hands, tearing hunks of meat away from the bone with small white teeth, staring at him like a she-wolf defending her kill, chin tucked in, eyes darting and feral, visible only through a forest of long dark lashes. She took every bite the same way, twisting her head and ripping against the grain. Alex felt like he was invading her privacy, witness to some primitive part of her soul that demanded to be satisfied, a thirst that needed quenching.

Finished with the steak, she chose a knife off the rack and cut two pieces of cheesecake, at least three inches thick at the butt. She flipped them onto saucers and padded past Alex towards the bedroom, shoving a plate at his chest as she went by. He fumbled it, nearly dropping the creamy, smooth dessert and she laughed. He felt very underdressed and conspicuous in his desire. She walked back to him, broke off a bite of cake and held it up to his mouth. He parted his lips slightly, drawing the cake and her fingertips into his mouth, licking them clean.

Reluctantly she pulled her hand away. "Eat your cheesecake and wait here," she ordered, something strange in her voice. "Wait until I tell you, please."

To his dying day, Alex Krycek would never understand women. He ate the cheesecake with his fingers, imagination running wild but no where near the truth.

When he walked into his bedroom it was dark, the lights off and curtain drawn. His hand searched the wall for the light switch.

"No. Please, Alex, no light," fear audible in her voice.

"Why? I don't understand. I want to see you."

"No. I don't want you to. It's better this way."

He smiled, "Well, sex by touch alone can be fun, but I want to see you. Even for just a minute. After all, turn about is fair play," he slid his underwear to the floor. "You've seen me basically naked. Molly, why can't I see you? I don't understand."

Silence.

"Molly?," concern slowly eating away at desire. "Are you secretly a man?" A joke to ease the tension.

She laughed, "No."

"Well, that's a relief. So?"

Silence again.

"I... I have... scars. Lots of them," she sniffed and he realised she was crying.

Krycek frowned. Scars? "Where are you?"

"Sitting on the end of your bed."

He moved to sit down beside her. "What kind of scars?" Visions of belts, chains and cigarettes grinned evilly at his mind's eye. She left home so very young. "What happened?"

"I was living in a fleabag apartment complex in London with a friend while I was doing some work at the B.M., there was a fire. We lived on the third floor. She left a candle or something burning and the curtains caught fire. There was no smoke alarm. I had been having a nap on the couch, when I woke up the place was engulfed in flames. It was either burn to death or jump - no fire escape and no way out but the living room window. My hair and clothes caught on fire before I could jump. I was in the hospital for thirteen weeks. I landed in a dumpster, right on top of some glass jars someone had thrown out and cut myself up pretty bad. Missed the rotten lettuce by six inches. I lost a kidney, my spleen and appendix. Minor liver damage, punctured lung. Burns all over my back and thighs. I'm rather ugly."

"I've had other men ... not want me any more once they saw. I want you so badly. I want to touch you, breathe you, have you inside me. I should have told you earlier but I was afraid. If you'll leave the light off, I'll get dressed and go." She started to stand.

Alex grabbed her wrist pulling her back down, "No."

"What?"

"No, you're not going."

"What?" more incredulous than curious.

"I don't want you to go. You think you can get me all worked up like that and just leave? Or is this some bizarre form of self-torture? No way, lady, you're not leaving!," a teasing, lusty note crept into his voice.

"I may be shocked when you let me see them, but I don't care about your scars. I care about you." He found her chin and turned her face to his. One hot tear slid onto his thumb and was absorbed. "Do you want to wait until morning?"

"No. It will be light in the morning. They're less shocking if you've had a chance to touch them." Her fear was palpable but she forced the words out, "Would you want to touch them?"

No, I wish they were not there. "Yes."

She took his hand, moving it from her face to her stomach. A sharp intake of breath. A whispered oh, God.

Alex couldn't believe what his fingers were telling him. Scars covered her entire abdomen, long, short, thick, thin, glass, scalpel, interconnected, overlapping, like a maze designed by a madman. How did she ever survive? He traced the lines, trying to find where they stopped and started, but smooth skin was rare.

"Would you show me your back?" he asked, voice soft and he hoped gentle.

She turned and he touched the ruins of her shoulders. He slid his fingers over the slope to her collar bones and back. It was hard to believe it was the same woman. Her back was one solid mass of scar tissue. He took his time, caressing every hollow and ridge, trying to know so he would not scar her more in the daylight.

She was holding her body stiff, bracing for the rejection that was not just over the horizon. How could anyone not want this woman. HE wanted her and he was not the deepest of men. He slid his arms around her and up to stroke the undersides of her breasts, thumbs gliding over nipples. It was her turn to be surprised. Then a sudden realisation crashed down in her returning confidence.

"Is this going to be a sympathy fuck?"

He was almost offended. "Are you trying to say you feel sorry for me? I thought this was a finish-what-YOU-started-in-my-car-fuck."

She slid around to face him, "Really?"

"Woman, I am getting a little sick of you assigning me greater depth and better motives than I have. I WANT YOU! If you won't believe me, believe this," he said and pressed her hand against his reappearing erection. "Has no depth, no ulterior motives or social conscience, just wants to be inside you." He smiled, "Happy now?"

"Oh yes." She had taken one hell of a risk and it paid off. The familiar hot, tight, tingling sensation was gathering strength again between her legs as she ran her hand over his groin. She could smell his need, the elevator was not that long ago. Now it was soft skin beneath her hand, not denim. She wrapped her hand around the shaft of his cock, feeling it grow and twitch at her touch and she moaned. God bless fluid dynamics. Desire she had ignored for too long was demanding to be heard, felt, tasted, expressed.

Alex sat there, letting her take the lead, going at her own pace for the moment.

She moved her free hand to the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. She wished for a hundred arms so she could touch all of him at once, but settled for moving her other hand to the base of his spine and leaning back, forcing him to follow, pulling his weight to her. They fell off the bed.

She couldn't help it, this was the most ridiculous thing she had ever experienced. Lying flat on her back on the floor, half hidden beneath Alex, Molly Arden started to laugh. Giggles bubbled up out of her throat, filling the room and infecting Alex. She could feel the vibration of his laughter against her chest, his hot breath against her ear.

She slid her hands to his chest and pushed, "Get off me you big oaf."

"I thought you wanted me on top of you?" She could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Well, yes, but not here."

"What's wrong with the floor? I'm pretty comfortable right here," he changed position slightly, using one knee to push her legs apart, settling in where he knew he was wanted.

Molly lay still for a moment, just enjoying. Sigh. "Alex, Alex, Alex. That's because you're on top. Two words - rug burn. Not my butt, Krycek. Now move!"

Reluctantly he rolled off her and stood up. Was he ever going to get to make love to her? She took his outstretched hand and he pulled her to him. Wrapped strong arms around her, caressing the moonscape of her back, crushing her breasts against his chest. Very male.

She hid one hand in his hair and tilted her face up for a kiss. He obliged, teasing her tongue with his, marvelling at the warm depth of her mouth. He ached for her, the need to bury himself in her body getting stronger every second. Her free hand left a southward trail of touch-seared flesh, never quite arriving where he so desperately want it to. Well, he could inflict that kind of torture too. With surprising swiftness, he picked her up, throwing her on the bed before she had a chance to speak.

"My turn," he growled as he crouched on all fours above her. Leaning down on his elbows he kissed the base of her throat, the tops of her breasts, tongue skirting the rim of her aureole, first one then the other, never coming hear her turgid, aching nipples. When she tried to touch him he pushed her hands away, finally pinning them to the mattress above her head with one hand. "Don't move."

"Yes, sir."

He slid down the length of her body, kissing, licking, fingers kneading and exploring. Gently, he parted her thighs and felt her body tense in anticipation, abandoning any notion of denying her as his fingers found her sweet, wet core. This was the meaning of life, the hot, sticky depths of a lover's body. He could smell the rich, dark undertones of her scent, stronger here than anywhere and he fought the urge to simply bury himself in her, be consumed by her.

She could feel his hot, misty breath pulsing against her vulva. Strong fingers stroked delicate lips, causing waves of pleasure to ripple up and down her body, increasing not diminishing with each passing moment. Magic. In the dark, his fingers searched, finding only more heat, creating only more pleasure. "Alex," she moaned his name and he redoubled his efforts, the sound of her voice hoarse and raspy with lust, driving him closer to the edge. Her fingers itched to touch him but she kept her promise. Oh God, she could hear the changes in his breathing and the scent of his desire was driving her mad. Different from her, she could distinguish between them now, every sensation heightened and refined.

A sudden gasp, inarticulate noise ripped from her throat, fighting for control, shuddering, lip curling, jaw vibrating with tension as his thumb found and teased her clit. Alex. You bastard, I'm going to get you for that. Mouth and tongue replaced thumb and he slipped two fingers into the molten flesh of her vagina. Finally allowed to do what they wanted, the muscles clamped down hard as Krycek thrust his fingers slowly in and out. She was drowning in a river of pleasure and it would kill her to be rescued. She ground her hips against him, instinct superseding all else. Closer, closer, her muscles bunched, waiting at the border of pain for release. Release that never came. He stopped. Withdrew hands and mouth. She snarled. Alex Krycek was quite pleased with himself. He also thought he was going to die. Molly was going to kill him or his cock was going to explode and he was going to bleed to death, but one way or the other he was going to die.

It took a second for his brain to realise the noise in the background was Molly's voice and she was swearing at him. He figured she'd been through the list at least once already because she was creating new and very interesting combinations. Oh, yes, Alex Krycek was very pleased with himself.

After a moment, she began to appreciate the beauty of his plan. Turn about *was* fair play. He was lying on his side, tracing designs on her breasts and arms so lightly she could barely feel his fingertips. She relaxed, enjoying the sensation, slowing her breathing to normal, plotting. In the darkness, smiling "Alex?"

"Hmmmm"

"Do you remember when I told you about my compensatory talents?"

"Yeah," this was going to be good.

She stuck a finger in his chest and pushed him onto his back. He thought he knew, she couldn't help but allow herself a devious grin, but he had no idea. Snaking down to the end of the bed, she slid off and knelt on the floor. Grabbing his ankles, she pulled him closer, positioning him. She ran her hands up his thighs, letting them meet in the middle and toy with his thick, wiry pubic hair. Fingers traced the creases at his hips, caressed his glorious ass, totally ignored his penis, stroked the delicate skin between it and the drop of his scrotum, gently massaging his balls. The very picture of self control.

"Molly. You'd better be very careful or we're both going to be disappointed. I don't know how much longer I can hang on." His voice quavered and almost cracked.

"I'm always careful."

Without warning, she moved her head and licked a bead of liquid from the tip of his cock, gently pulling the head into her mouth. His whole body trembled. Her tongue had developed a mind of its own, teasing and lapping, tracing edges and veins, circling, always circling, sucking gently.

Counting to ten, Molly Arden began to sing. Not words, no words could fit around the thick, beautiful obstruction in her mouth, not words but notes. Sharps, flats, high and low pitched, each had a different resonance, different vibration.

Krycek's hips arched and his fingers clawed at the blankets beneath him. This was the most incredible feeling. Words did not exist, only the sensation and he knew that too would cease to exist. She started to hum, low notes like a blues song and then the vibrato. Back and forth. Up and down. Sex into music. He could feel the tells of orgasm start. Please let her feel them too. Please let her not notice. He didn't want this to ever end. But it did. Mouth and music gone in the same instant and he felt betrayed.

"Don't move. Calm down."

She groped under the edge of the bed for her bag. She missed the feeling on him in her mouth, salty-sweet taste of sweat and longing. She found the bag, wrapped her fingers around a condom and ripped the foil with her teeth. "Ready?"

She stroked the velvety skin of his penis, luxuriating in it, wishing desperately she could feel it inside her. They both may be clean, but there were other complications. Deftly she slid the condom on and began to roll it down, taking her time, relishing every delicious second.

Finally, thought Alex.

Slowly, she crawled up his body until the full weight of her was resting on him. One hand found the back of her skull and pulled her in for a kiss, the other slid along her back to fondle her ass, slipping delicately between her legs. So close, so near satiation, satisfaction, and he didn't want it to end. "Your move," she whispered against his mouth.

And he made it. Deftly he flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him, deadly serious. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, bruising, nails leaving half moon imprints in his skin. He reached down between them, guiding flesh into flesh, circle complete. Heaven.

Molly bit her lip hard and moaned as she engulfed the length of him, stretching slightly to accommodate. Full. "Don't move. Don't movedon'tmovedon't movedon'tmove," she whispered. Oh God she loved this feeling, he felt cool and silvery inside her, foreign and yet as much a part of her as her heart. She began to rock her hips against his, giving tacit permission to finish what she started so long ago.

He reared back, bracing himself up with his hands as he began to move slowly within her. He felt the weight of her legs around his hips and it only served to push him deeper and harder within her. The wall of her vagina seemed to ripple and pulsate with its own rhythm, playing catch and release with him. She arched her back up to meet him and he lowered himself down to his elbows. She clung to him, each trying to absorb the other, and whispered his name like a prayer. He lowered himself fully to her and kissed her hard.

His thrusts were faster, more desperate now and she knew it would not be much longer, she could feel the anticipation building in her own body, gathering power. She stroked the backs of her fingers along his jawline, into his hair and down his spine, slipping her hand between them. She was surprised to find one of his hands there already, searching frantically for her clit. Hard, rapid strokes matching his movement inside her. She was making more noise now, breathing raspy and laboured, small moans and gasps. He felt the force of her orgasm explode within her as she screamed out his name, muscles contracting and releasing in waves, head whipping side to side, pain as her sharp fingernails pierced skin, drawing blood and leaving trails. Her hips crashed against his, bruising, desperate for more. He could feel everything through her skin, the trembling muscles, blood turned lava by pleasure.

The rippling inside her seemed to increase exponentially as she flew closer to her orgasm. She knew he would be along any second. Shivers of ecstasy poured out of her body, sinking into the bed, the floor, the apartment below and as they dissipated she opened her eyes. Head tilted back, even in the near dark she could see veins in his neck standing out, features twisted like a tortured saint, eyes closed, lost in his own world limited by her body and his. She saw the orgasm hit his body like a sudden storm, thunder shaking the world, lightning strikes of rapture firing under his skin and a wordless cry tore itself from his throat. Strength and control fled from him and the force of his whole weight slumped against her. Murmurs in her ear, a language she does not understand, harsh and guttural but made soft by tone and temper. She thinks it's Russian. He rests for just a moment then moves away. She closes her eyes, privacy after such intimacy seems appropriate, they have shared much and both need to find themselves again.

"Don't worry, I won't look," he whispers and she feels him move off the bed. She closes her eyes against the light from the bathroom and reaches for the antique quilt she put beside the bed. She waits for normal feeling to return, for the subatomic humming to quiet, then she wraps the quilt around her and sets off to find him. She sees him in the living room, sitting naked on the couch - God, he's beautiful - shivering slightly from the sudden change in temperature and sneaks back to the bedroom to get him a blanket.

Molly, what are you doing? How can you kill someone you've just made love to? Are you that unfeeling? That inhuman? Maybe it's time to retire. She sighs out loud and turns. He is standing in the doorway staring at her as if he's never seen her before.

"Alex?"

He closes his eyes and a sick stab of fear runs through her then he opens them again and smiles. Even in the half light he's dazzling, compelling, eyes hypnotic and she smiles back, holding out her hand.

He takes it, leading her back to the bed, "Let's go to sleep, Molly."

She falls asleep tucked up against him, her back pressed against his chest with his arm wrapped around her, hand cradling her breast, content and safe.

In the dark, Alex Krycek lay awake wondering what he was going to do. It was her.

Part Three

Exhaustion over took him sometime around three and he fell asleep with his face in her hair.

The early morning sun slowly worked its way through the heavy curtain, waking Molly just before six. She tried to slither out from under Alex's arm without waking him but it didn't work, he mumbled something and held her tighter. So peaceful. She snuggled against him and went back to sleep, smiling.

It had been a long time since she had slept in a man's arms; too long. She used the scars on her body as wards against intimate contact, mental and physical. They mirrored and masked the scars on her soul. The simple truth of the matter was that she was a killer. A hired killer. A whore with a high powered rifle. She sold her services to the highest bidder and there was no place in her life for any extraneous details. In a few hours Alex Krycek would be an extraneous detail, but for right now he was a man, a man who held her in his arms and made love to her like she was a real person. She was not going to give up those hours without a fight.

The smell bacon and pancakes pulled her back from the death of sleep, she hadn't even noticed when Alex got up. She stretched and took a deep breath, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun and bed, in the residual scent of their lovemaking and of Alex. With great effort she threw back the covers and started to look for her clothes. They weren't where she left them. Alex must have moved them, she thought as she padded to the closet to look for a robe. God, I would retire if I thought for a minute I could keep this feeling. She didn't hear the door open or Krycek step into the room.

A stream of sunlight hit her naked back, illuminating with horrifying clarity. Even though he had touched them, spent the better part of the morning thinking about them, Krycek was not prepared for the reality of the burn scars. Her skin was mottled: red, purple, blue and deathly white. Great craters and ridges. Shoulders, back, buttocks, thighs, one calf ravaged. He tried to look past them, deeper, to the muscle like one of those three dimensional pictures but he couldn't, not now. He stepped backwards, trying to pretend he had not seen, letting her choose the time, but a floorboard creaked under his weight and she spun around at the noise.

Startled, they both froze.

"I....." he began then stopped, his voice trailing away. She wasn't listening, her eyes were blank and far away. Oh Lord, why like this? she thought. Why now? Just when everything was going so well.

Her shoulders slumped and Krycek could see the naked resignation in her face. He knew he should do or say something, but he couldn't. He looked at the scars on her abdomen. They looked like a child's scribbled drawing, the one you lie about and say looks just like a bunny. He could see the surgery scars, they were the straight lines. He looked up from them, her head was tucked to her chest, eyes closed and he thought she looked like a slave waiting to be beaten. He tried to imagine what it must be like, to be constantly afraid to show your body, to even wear shorts or a bathing suit.

He had no concept of what it was like. He knew he was attractive, physically. Most women and some men looked at him with lust, other men looked at him with envy. Tall, trim and athletic, he hadn't spent a moment since his teens worrying over what he looked like, and even then the moments of self-doubt had been few. He had no fear of ageing either, he looked like his maternal grandfather, an imposing man whose own dark hair never fully greyed, just frosted at the temples and was as thick at ninety-two as it had been seventy years earlier. He was still a handsome, active, vigorous man that even women Alex's age looked at in appreciation. No, he had no concept of physical ugliness, but Alexsander Krycek knew what he looked like on the inside. He knew what it felt like to kill someone. He'd killed Augustus Cole. He knew what it felt like to be a pawn, he'd been a pawn to Cole, seeing a gun pointed at Mulder because Cole wanted to die. He was still a pawn in the Smoking Man's game - a position his own weakness and vulnerability had put him in. Sometimes he wondered how a man with no backbone could stand up straight. He was learning that he couldn't. Alex knew what it was like to wonder whether or not you deserved happiness, comfort, love. He knew very well what it was like to wonder whether or not you deserved to live. Her scars were benign, his were malignant.

Molly licked her lips nervously and glanced up at Alex. Slowly she raised her head, looking him in the face. What she saw amazed her. Not disgust. Not revulsion. Not sympathy but empathy. He smiled and her world spun round, trailing a blur of colour and light behind it. She felt like shouting her joy but instead she smiled back.

"So," he said casually "Are you going to get dressed and come have breakfast or have I slaved over a hot stove all morning for nothing?" He tilted his head to one side, raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, trying, she thought to look like an irate June Cleaver.

"It looks like you slaved for nothing, I can't find my clothes."

"Then it looks like you're going to have to eat naked I guess," he said with a smirk.

"Oh, so I have to eat naked but you get to wear clothes. That hardly seems fair."

"Lady, I'm cooking bacon. Not an activity a wise man engages in naked."

He looked so serious she had to laugh. "I see your point."

"There should be a bathrobe on the back of the bathroom door. I have to get back to the kitchen before I burn the place down," he said and sauntered off whistling.

She found the robe, it was green and thick, a high quality terrycloth. The collar held his scent and was still faintly damp from his early shower. She ran her hand over the soft material, memorising it. She pulled it on and had to roll up the sleeves, The hem dragged on the floor and for a moment she felt like any other woman, lost and strangely found in her boyfriend's clothes. Everything in her life had conspired to keep her alone - her intelligence, chosen professions and her scars insured that no one got too close. She hated to deceive Alex, but she had learned to take comfort where it was freely offered. The truth would always be her undoing.

Alex couldn't believe how good she looked in his bathrobe. The thought of the rough material, still damp with the moisture of his shower, so close to her naked skin was driving him slightly mad. "I called you and me in sick, we have the whole day together," he said, gifting her with one of his divine smiles This was incredible, they were almost like normal people - an FBI agent and his university professor girlfriend! Wouldn't that be the life. Exactly.

But today he wasn't a FBI agent, he wasn't anything but Alex Krycek. Who the fuck was he kidding, this wasn't the real Alex Krycek, he was lyin' through his teeth every time he opened his mouth. She deserved better. Fuck it. She'd dump him soon enough and he wouldn't have to worry about it, she'd be pleasant memories and he was going to make as many as possible. No more thinking. He watched as she tucked into her breakfast, dipping crispy bacon in egg yolk and pancake syrup with obvious enjoyment, memorising her every move. Storing them up for the inevitable "Alex, we have to talk" moment.

"So," she asked when they were finished breakfast, "What do you want to do? Since we're playing hookey."

He hadn't thought that far ahead and told her so. "What did you want to do?"

A whole day alone with Alex. She grinned evilly. "Well, I was thinking that I would lounge around in your bathrobe when I wasn't lounging around in your bed. Watch a little tv..." she let her voice trail off and took another bite of her breakfast, an innocent look plastered all over her face.

That sounded just fine to Alex. "Regis and Kathy Lee it is"

Part Four

For a terrifying half a second, Molly thought he was serious, but he couldn_t keep a straight face. She hid her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter.

"You are so sick! I can't believe I fell for that. I'm going to go have a shower." She pushed her dishes towards him. "I was going to help you with these but I don't think I will." Laughing, she stood and walked away from the table, dropping the robe as she went. She looked over her shoulder at the stunned Alex, "Wanna join me?"

Wordless, he followed her.

She wasn't sure what had come over her, she hadn't been that open with anyone in a long time. Colin had been so hideous after the fire. He'd barely worked up the courage to visit her in the hospital, the spineless bastard. Oh well, he wouldn't be bothering anyone anymore. God love the IRA, they made the best bombs in the business and were always willing to do a gal a favour. He looked just like another victim of the thousand years war. Alex didn't seem to care though, which was odd. She doubted he'd ever been long between warm, willing, perfect bodies and he would be back to them soon. She must be a bit of a hardship for him, not up to his usual standards and all.

Alex loved the way she moved - she slunk like a shadow. She was almost inhumanly graceful, never wasted a movement or expended an unnecessary iota of energy. She reminded him of a jungle cat, saving her energy for the kill. He watched the muscles of her legs bunch and release, propelling her forward with relentless motion until she stopped suddenly and pivoted on one heel to face him, slipping her hands under his shirt to the skin of his back in one smooth motion. God she was incredible.

Molly buried her face in Alex's chest then looked up at him, into his eyes. In the morning light they were new leaf green and she marveled at their infinite variety. Her eyes were the colour of melted dark chocolate and half the time you couldn't see the pupils. She breathed a small sigh of contentment.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just looking. "

"Oh." He kissed her tenderly, barely brushing her lips with his and she clung to him. He buried his face in her hair. He held her tightly, bathed in the pale morning sun, and they both tried not to contemplate the inevitable. They stayed that way for quite a while.

"Make love to me," she whispered.

Alex scooped her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down and gently covering her body with his. He rained tiny butterfly kisses on her face, covering every inch of her skin with his lips. He moved further down, kissing and nipping at the tender flesh at the base of her throat and the taut skin stretched over her collar bones. She arched her back and dug her fingertips into her shoulders. With a small groan he sat up, pulling the sweatshirt over his head and off, exposing the skin she was so hungry for.

Oh God but he was beautiful, all soft, pale skin and dark hair. She'd been so nervous the night before she hadn't really been able to appreciate him. She'd looked, of course, but only for a few moments in the kitchen. Now that everything was out in the open she could truly enjoy the view. And she drunk him in. First eyes then hands ran over thick, muscular shoulders, lovely pectorals and taut coral nipples. She slid her hands sideways and over his ribs and down to span his waist. He moaned softly as she slipped her fingertips beneath the waistband of his jeans and she was pleased to discover he wasn't wearing any underwear. Regimental. Hmmmm, I have got to get this man in a kilt, she thought as she smiled up at him, he certainly has the legs for it. The image was too much for her overheated imagination to resist and her mind flew with it, indulging itself. She didn't even notice Alex bend down and begin to nuzzle at her breasts until he drew one nipple into the cool heat of his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue, the shock of it centering her again in her body.

Dark hair curtaining his face, Alex the supplicant worshipped at the altar of her breasts, paying homage to first one then the other with his mouth, his hands, his eyes. He cupped them, weighed them, accounted himself to them. She is so beautiful, he thought when he pulled his face from its devotion and told her so.

She blushed. He liked that. Krycek pushed away the greedy hands reaching for the button of his jeans, undoing it himself. She reached for him again and he lightly smacked the over eager hand, "Leave that to me," he commanded. She pouted and he liked that too. He swung off the bed and rifled around through the nightstand.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a condom." He paused and flashed her an impish grin, "After all, I don't know where you've been."

"Thank you for phrasing it so eloquently, Alex," her tone so dry it could suck all the moisture out of a desert.

He laughed and pulled a forgotten condom out of a corner, triumphantly showing her his prize. "But we don't need that just yet," he said setting it within Molly's reach. He sat on one corner of the bed and gently placed her feet in his lap, drawing the tips of his fingers across the soles. Molly shuddered as the exquisite sensation coursed up her body. Lightly he began to trace patterns on the underside of her arches, over the sensitive skin above her heel, making her squirm and writhe.

"Alex, that tickles."

He smiled at her, never pausing in his rambling, "It's supposed to tickle. Where would the fun be if it didn't tickle?" He brought one foot level with his face and blew on the arch.

"Two can play at that game, Krycek," she whispered and caressed the growing bulge at his crotch, "two can play at that game." It was his turn to squirm as she increased the pressure.

He shifted position and parted her legs, stroking tender flesh to the apex of her thighs and down again repeatedly. His desire was growing more and more urgent, but he ignored it. He was enjoying this, giving her pleasure, which was odd because he never had before. He'd never had any complaints - he had some wonderful teachers - but you never knew with women. And, truthfully, he'd never really thought about it during sex before. He was a quick learner and good at picking up visual clues but far be it from him to deny Alex and satisfy someone else. He bent his head to worship again, this time at the dark altar cradled by her hips. Delicately he caressed the tender, flushed skin sending shivers up her spine. She opened herself to his reverence and the gentle adoration of his fingers and tongue. He found the tenderest flesh, coaxing it from its protection with his tongue while his fingers plumbed the hot depths of her. She felt like she were floating, her only connected to Earth where Alex touched her. A sudden, desperate need bubbled up inside her, "Alex, I want you inside me."

"I'm not done."

"I don't care, I want you inside me now." The panicked desperation frightening even her.

He hurriedly put on the condom and submitted to her will as she guided him to the entrance of her most basic self. She rose to meet every thrust, a look Alex hoped never to see again glistening in her eyes. Her hands ceaseless, relentless in their wanderings across his skin. It was as if someone else, a being of pure need had invaded her soul, demanding he satiate it. He was swept along with it, helpless in the face of such overwhelming sensation. Everything in the room was awash with her need, slave to it, Alex included. He surrendered to it and let his orgasm wash away all conscious thought, oblivious to everything but spasming, ecstatic flesh and the heat that sheathed him. The waves of pleasure were beginning to wan when he felt the wall of her vagina ripple and convulse, grabbing at his penis, not allowing him to leave. The torrent of her orgasm drew him back into the vortex of her need, tapping reserves of sensation he didn't know existed, he was overwhelmed again and the world went black for just a moment.

His heartbeat was thunder in his ears as he gulped for air. He was lying beside Molly and not quite sure how he got there. He chanced a look at her, a bit afraid of what he might see. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep, a look of beatific serenity on her face. He staggered from the bed to the bathroom and when he returned, she was curled up on her side, a small, contented smile playing across her lips. It took Alex Krycek a long while to fall asleep.

Awareness came all too soon.

"So, whaddya wanna do now?," Molly asked, lazily trailing her hand over Alex's chest.

He opened one eye and looked at her. "Go back to sleep, women always underestimate the need for sleep after sex."

"Alex, we've been sleeping for two and a half hours. I'm hungry."

He made a face and shot her a baleful glare. "Are you going to let me go back to sleep?"

She pretended to think for a moment, "Ummmm, no." He sighed, threw off the quilt and padded to the bathroom. Molly propped herself up on one elbow, watching him walk. He glanced over his shoulder at her and was met with a leer.

"What are you doing?"

"Just enjoying the view. Why don't ya turn around for me, honey, lemme see whatcha got."

He pretended to be offended then stood on his tiptoes, raising his arms in a somewhat graceful arc above his head like a ballerina. With tiny, mincing baby steps he turned in a circle to Molly's hooting and hollering approval. She shouted Bravo and Encore between fits of giggling and when he took a deep bow she clapped for him.

"No encore today," he laughed and with a pale imitation on a leap flung himself into the bathroom.

Humming softly, Molly wrapped a sheet around herself and made her way to the kitchen to look for food. She found Alex's throw-away weapon - a snub nosed .38 with the serial numbers filed off - in the cookie jar, a spare clip for his Sig Sauer in the junk drawer and a bag of double stuff Oreos in the fridge. After checking to make sure they were cookies, she poured herself glass of milk, settled on the couch and turned on the television. The sight of her face on tv took her breath away. The sound of her heartbeat was hard and dull in her ears, muffling everything but the blind panic of the moment. She stared at the screen for a moment until something in the bottom corner caught her eye. TLC - The Learning Channel. She had done a special for them the year before, this must be it.

"Hey, it's you. Cool. What are you doing on tv?" Alex had dressed and was standing at the end of the couch.

She explained as he lay down, resting his head in her lap. The weight was warm and comforting and she imprinted it in her memory for the future. For ever. Absently, she played with his hair, twining her fingers in the silky strands. She could feel him relax under her touch and when he moaned slightly she chuckled. Molly looked at her hands.

What have you done, Arden, what have you done? she thought. Lightning flashes of memory danced through her head. Her hands squeezing the trigger the first time she fired a gun, the first time she killed a man, as a teenager forcing life back into a foal. Sliding between her legs, over Alex's beautiful face, gutting an antelope. Stained with her own blood in a London dumpster, aching to wrap around Colin's throat, to feel the satisfying crunch as his hyoid bone snapped under the pressure of her thumbs. She definitely had to take some time off and get her priorities straightened out. Alex's breathing was becoming more rhythmic and deeper as he relaxed and gradually fell asleep, leaving her alone with her thoughts, a place she did not want to be.

Suddenly spiteful, she stood up, dropping his head on the couch.

"Ow! Whadja do that for?"

"I don't want to stay here, I want to go out."

She was having one of those weird female mood swing things. Half reminded him of Mulder. He sat up, rubbing his hands over his face and yawning. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know, I just don't want to sit still anymore."

"We've only just now sat still."

"Alex, I'm really not in the mood for this," she snapped "I want to go somewhere there are people. Lots of people. Lots of noise." She turned away from him and ran her hands through her hair. "Its got nothing to do with you. I'd love to spend the day here with you but I just need to get out for a while. Someplace with so much noise it drowns out the little voice in my head. Do you understand? Please tell me you understand."

"Yeah. How about the mall? Shopping mall that is. Maybe we could go out for supper and to a movie or something?"

"That would be perfect, I could do with a little mindless shopping." She smiled at him, "Thanks for understanding." He really didn't understand but all the other options had unpleasant endings - you learn a few things growing up with six sisters. He smiled at her and went to get his coat while she got dressed.

The mall was surprisingly busy for a weekday, but then Alex Krycek was hardly what you'd call a mall rat so how would he know. He was standing outside the dressing rooms in what must have been the forty-second clothing store Molly had drug him into, holding her bag and three skirts and wondering, not for the first time, why they didn't size women' clothes the way they sized men's, if your waist was thirty two inches, you wore a size thirty two. He had long since got over the embarrassment of being seen in the women's section holding a purse and/or all manner of underwear and he had mastered the urge to inquire as to when they were going to an interesting store - that never made them hurry up, it made them slow down. Again, he didn't have six sisters for nothing. The latch on the cubicle door rattled and Alex had just enough time to wipe the abject boredom off his face and replace it with what he hope was a not too patronizing look of interest.

"So, what do you think?" She looked beautiful, just like she'd looked in the last ten outfits she'd tried on. But saying that would get him precisely nowhere.

"I like the dark blue one better."

"You mean the one with the plunging neck line and the slit up the side?"

"Yeah. I think you should get it. And it was cheaper too." Not that eight hundred bucks was cheap, at least by his standards anyway. Not for a dress you were going to wear one night. And it wasn't like he was going to see her in it or anything. She had sprung that on him in the car:

"I need to check out evening gowns, I have to go to the science faculty banquet."

"Will I have to get a tux? I look damn good in formal wear." She paused and made a face. "Ummm, actually Alex, you aren't going. I made a date before I met you."

"So break it."

"I can't. I'm going with Malcom Cooggan from the biology department. He's been at Georgetown forever and his wife just died. This would have been his first year having to go alone but I asked him. He's sixty two. I can't let him down."

"Oh." Alex looked contrite.

She hated to deceive him but what else was she going to do? She had the Miros execution plan almost in place. She just needed a legitimate excuse to get rid of Alex for a night and now she had it. A faculty dinner covered all the bases. And it wasn't even really a complete lie, she was going to the dinner with Malcom Cooggan and his wife did just die, she was just going to have to leave early.

It was easy to underestimate Alex, he was young, inexperienced and a bit naive. What he wasn't was stupid. Or unobservant. This was going to be difficult. Alex was going to be a huge loose end and she was going to have to tie it off somehow. Logically, the only option was execution but she wasn't feeling very logical.

Molly held up the blue dress and looked at herself in the mirror, picturing the other dress hanging in her closet, the one she had modified herself. There was no reason she should get this one but Alex liked it and he would expect to see it so she couldn't return it after the dinner. It wouldn't kill her to buy the damn dress and it would make him happy. She changed back into her clothes and sent Alex to put the discarded clothing back where it belonged.

She moved her hand slightly, signally the sales woman. "I like this dress, but I really wasn't expecting to spend this much. I'm a teacher and on a bit of budget. Is there something we could do...?"

The saleswoman smiled, "I can't make a decision like that, but I'll get the assistant manager." Molly bargained well enough to be memorable.

A quick trip to a lingerie store provided Alex with less amusement than he was hoping but in due time they found themselves in a bookstore. Molly bought a book she wouldn't let Alex look at, protesting loudly when he tried to steal it that it was a gift. They shopped and wandered aimlessly, ate a pleasant supper and saw an action movie featuring a terrorist fighting FBI agent. Alex complained that the hero never did any paperwork while Molly silently corrected the terrorist's many mistakes. She did, however, pick up the scent of an idea.

For Molly, the next ten days were frought with tension, anxiety and lies. For Alex they passed in a blissful haze that denied she was leaving all too quickly. Events on the morning of the eleventh changed everything for both of them.

Part Five

It was early, so very early and he was tired. Why on earth had he agreed to do this? Settling the backpack he pulled at the inner door, catching the eye of the building superintendant.

"Hey, you're not the regular guy?"

"Yeah, he's sick, I'm filling in?"

"Got any i.d.?"

Sure, just like a little tin pot dictator to demand proof, what? did he look like an ax murderer? Sighing in disgust he flipped the backpack so he could dig in the outer pocket. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open at the man. He hoped this would get him in. He just wanted to go home and crawl back into his nice, warm bed. There was a woman waiting and he wasn't sure she'd be there when he got back.

They guy nodded and buzzed him in. Silently he moved up and down the halls, quickly but carefully, trying not to disturb anyone. He didn't want any witnesses. He checked the scrap of paper in his hand as he got in the elevator and rode silently to the next floor.

Alex Krycek sat on the edge of the sofa, preternaturally alert, ears straining for the slightest sound from the hallway. There it was. A soft thud about two doors down. He tiptoed to the door and looked out the peephole. That was odd. Carefully he opened the door, startling the other man.

"Jesus, you scared me. You must be anxious for this," he said and handed a bundle to Alex.

"No, not really, I just owe you some money." He grinned at the other man. "I gotta ask."

The other man interrupted him, "Yeah, I know what's a guy my age doing delivering papers? It's my little brother's route and he's sick. I'm supposed to be spending the week with my girlfriend but the folks are in Florida so I got stuck with the kid. Now he's too sick to leave the house. He really likes this job, please don't say anything to the paper about my doing this. He's supposed to get another delivery boy to cover for him but I said I'd do it for free." The young man shrugged. "He's only eleven."

Alex chuckled, "Your secret's safe with me." He handed over a twenty dollar bill. "I don't know how much I owe him but this should cover it. Good luck with the rest of the route, man."

"This is the last stop, your floor and I'm outta here," he laughed.

"Bye," Alex said and shut the door.

He popped his head around the bedroom door to check on Molly. She was still asleep. Shucking off his sweats and t- shirt, he crawled back into bed. Unconsciously she turned and snuggled against him, her skin hot.

"You cold," she murmmered.

He kissed the top of her head and smiled, already drifting into sleep. When he awoke she was gone from his bed. Noises from the kitchen called faintly to him but he ignored them. Molly fixed herself a bowl of Cheeiros and picked up the paper. The headline was most disturbing.

The article blathered something about death threats and security risks but she really didn't pay much attention.

"Fuckin' amateurs," she snarled around a mouthful of cereal. Fanatics and the lunatic fringe made life harder for everyone. What the hell was she going to do now. All that work down the drain. Great. Just great. And, knowing her father, he'd spent the money already. She checked her watch. Eight something. It was just after six in Alberta. Damnit. Damnit. Damnit. She could hear Alex stirring in the bedroom. With almost unnatural control she stuffed her anger and irritation into a little box in her mind and sealed it tightly. She picked up her breakfast and went to stand on the balconey.

Alex, clad only in a pair of Georgetown fleece shorts, wandered into the living room, squinting against the bright morning sun and running one hand lazily through his hair. He joined her on the balconey.

"Mornin'," he mumbled.

"Morning to you too. How ya feeling?"

"Hungry. Can I have a bite?"

She scooped up a spoonful of cereal and gingerly fed it to him.

"Eww. Gross. You didn't put any sugar on these."

"They're Cheerios. They don't need sugar."

"Everything needs sugar. And caffeine. I'm going for a coffee, want one?" She nodded and handed him her basically empty bowl.

When he returned ten minutes later he was laden with two steaming mugs and a bowl the contents of which were comprised mostly of sugar with just enough milk to make a paste and the odd Cheerio for texture. Distracted, Molly took her cup and turned back to the spider web in the bottom corner of the stationary half of the sliding glass door, partially hidden by an old lawn chair.

Alex had become much more aware of spiders since meeting Molly. Before they had been little hairy, many-legged creepy crawlies. Nothing to be afraid of but nothing to get excited about either. A trip to the arachnology lab at Georgetown had been quite a lesson, he held a tarantula as big as both his hands together. It was faintly creepy, a spider big enough to kill and eat birds but there was no way he was going to let Molly know he thought that. It looked at him, huge eyes myopic and intent and he had to wonder what it was thinking. It went from being near the top of the bug predator chain in the Venezualian jungle to a lab specimen in the US. He felt for the little guy.

Molly kissed Alex good bye outside the Hoover building and headed for school. She stopped at a crowded shopping mall and found an empty bank of payphones.

Her father answered.

"Did you see the news."

"Yeah. You're going to have to stay in D.C. and do the job later. Wait Miros' paranoia out."

"I can't. I've told Alex a hundred times I'm leaving day after tomorrow."

"And you think he won't fall for whatever bullshit story you feed him?"

"Dad, he's not stupid."

"Think of something," he commanded and broke the connection.

She dropped a few more coins into the phone. A man answered.

"It's me. When's the target back?" She listened for a moment. "Sneaky son of a bitch. Where's he staying? Un-huh. Thanks."

A plan, new and improved, sprung full blown in her mind. She looked at her watch and smiled. She'd still be on time for her morning lecture.

Forty eight hours. Less actually, more like forty. Alex look at his watch again. Thirty nine hours fifty minutes.

"Will you stop that," Mulder said.

"Stop what?"

"Sighing like a lovesick cow and looking at your watch. It's driving me nuts. Jesus, you never heard of good-bye sex and airplanes?"

"Shut up, Mulder."

When Alex got home Molly was waiting for him. "I've got good news. I don't have a lecture tomorrow and I postponed my flight until Monday afternoon. If you can keep Spooky Mulder on a leash we can spend the weekend together."

"I could take Friday off, we could go somewhere for the long weekend." He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled the side of her neck. "Go down the coast, stay at some little bed and breakfast where no one knows us," he murmured as he kissed her jawline.

She relaxed into his arms. That sounded so good. She hated to lie to him but she had plans to make.

"I have a meeting in the morning that might run long. I can't get out of it." A long weekend on the coast. It's not like she had that much work to do. His hands were working their way under her shirt and his mouth had discovered a totally new erogenous zone under her chin.

He backed her up to the kitchen counter and with one smooth gesture settled her on it. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer.

"Really?" He moaned against her skin.

"Maybe we could leave at noon," she said, her mouth moving of its own volition.

He pulled her shirt up over her head, trapping her hands against the cuoboard door. "Now I've got you," he growled. "You're not getting away from me."

Her tongue darted out, trying to moisten her lips but failing, the heat of Alex's kisses pulled all the damp out of her body and slid it between her legs. "When have I ever tried?" "You're leaving Monday." His tone was mild, almost sad as he released her hands.

"I'm here now." She cupped his face and tipped it up toward her. "I'm here now, baby." She kissed his face - forehead, eyelids, a trail of sweet kisses up and down his sharp cheekbones. His skin was so soft under her paper dry lips. She kissed the tip of his nose and the small mouth underneath. She moved her attention to his jaw, the short stubble tickling. "I love you," he whispered into her ear.

It was the last thing she wanted to hear. "Oh, Alex." God only knew what she felt for him but whatever it was she wasn't willing to put it into words. She was saved by the ringing of his phone.

"Hello."

"Are you having a good time, Mr. Krycek?" Asked a smooth, cultured voice with a faint upperclass English accent. Uh-oh. The voice belonged to a tall, rather dashing looking member of the consortium. A man Alex had very little to do with.

"What do you want?"

"I'm just looking out for your best interests, Mr. Krycek. While I admire your taste in women - Ms. Arden is a formidable woman isn't she? - I must wonder about your timing. Don't forget you do work for us, not just the Federal Bureau of Investigation. A liaison with this woman at this particular time might not be the best of ideas, especially if you have, shall we say, tender feelings for her."

"You leave her out of this. She's none of you business and neither are my feelings towards her," he hissed through gritted teeth.

The other man chuckled. "I was right. Photographs seldom lie Mr. Krycek and you do have the look of a man in love. She is a fine woman. Formidable, as I've said, and deadly. Perhaps I should have a talk with her."

"You leave her out of this. She doesn't know anything about you or your little flock of traitors. If you so much as cross the street in front of her, so help me I'll kill you."

"Temper, temper, Mr. Krycek. It never pays to threaten your superiors." The voice betrayed no hint of tension, nothing to indicate that Alex's threat had registered any higher than that of a petulant three year old. "She can take care of herself." He paused and when he spoke again there was something in his voice Alex only later identified as regret. "I remember being in love."

"Who was that?" Asked Molly as she walked up behind Alex and slipped her arms around his waist. She snuggled hard against him. "It sounded serious."

"No one important. I don't want to talk about it." He tried to force the disquiet of the call away. It could not be coincidence that the call came hot on the heels of his declaration. It would do no good to sweep for bugs, any he destroyed would be back the next day. He didn't even want to think about the devices hidden out of his contol. He didn't want to think about any of it.

She kissed his back between his shoulderblades. "Let's go to my place." He nodded.

Molly crawled out of bed early the next morning, dressed in the dark and quickly left the brownstone. A twenty minute jog later she was at her destination. She picked up her package and tucked it into the front pouch of her windbreaker. She jogged another fifteen minutes and up a flight of stairs in an abandoned building. She reached into the pocket of her sweats and pulled out a pair of surgical gloves. As she struggled to pull them on over her sweaty hands she wished not for the first time that she could risk the kind with talcum powder on the inside but they really were more trouble than they were worth.

She opened the door and wrinkled her nose against the stench. There was a urine soaked mattress against one wall and even in the cool of the early morning the place was thick with flies. Someone had scrawled obsceneties in three languages on the walls in a variety of substances she didn't want to investigate. It was perfect. She kicked a hypodermic needle out of her path as she walked to the window. Careful not to disturb the dust on the window sill she pulled out a telescopic pointer and sighted down it into another building. This just might work. She smudged the one clear footprint she had left and jogged home.