Season Six:
Episode 15

A Residence
Boca Raton, Florida
11:32 pm

The young woman had retired for the evening. Her days had been free recently. Her "benefactor" was out of town, and hadn't required her attention. For that, she was grateful. She had needed the time to physically, mentally and emotionally recover from his last visit. If he demanded any more of her time or provided any less well for her needs, she wouldn't have agreed to this arrangement. That's what she told herself, anyway. It would take years of psychoanalysis or days of directed torture for her to admit that she got as much out of this "relationship" as he did.

Her bedroom was large. The bed was king-sized, and the furnishings and bed clothes had a decidedly southwestern theme. Her benefactor fancied himself a cowboy of a sort. She was comfortably ensconced under the sheets, enjoying the warmth they provided against the air conditioner running at maximum setting.

The noise awoke her from a light doze. She couldn't place it, but wasn't alarmed. The security system was excellent. As were the men her benefactor assigned to protect her. Especially Eric. He had many talents. Finally there was Fifi, her Doberman trained to attack intruders. Sighing in contentment, she contemplated taking a sleeping pill.

She was not even surprised when the man entered her bedroom. Regret evident in her voice, she said, "I'm sorry darling. I need to get some rest tonight." When he didn't speak, she frowned. She didn't like to disappoint him, but he had to understand who called the shots. It was an important lesson to learn. One that her benefactor had taught her. Frequent reminders were important.

When he came closer rather than leaving like a good boy, she became irate. "I said no Eric. And I mean it." Satisfied that she had made her point, she rolled over. Consequently, she never saw him approach or aim and fire the tranquilizer gun. She felt the small sting of the dart and began to roll back over. She was unconscious before completing the move.

"Who's Eric?" the young surgeon asked.

"One of the guys we met below, I imagine. Get your team in here and get started." The first man stood near the large window with the panoramic view of the Atlantic, alternatively observing the grounds of the estate and the surgical team. "Wonder if the First Elder knows about him," he mused. That bit of information could be valuable to his employer ... and to certain other interests.

The surgical team was swift. The procedure was relatively simple. An incision was made at the base of the neck, almost in line with the backbone. Then the implant was introduced into the opening, placed carefully. When the team was satisfied with the placement, they motioned to the observing man. He removed a small device that he carried in the pocket of his dark blue summer weight jacket. When activated, it received a strong signal from the implant. Another manipulation of the device indicated that the implant received the signal it sent. The man looked up and gave the surgeon a thumbs up signal. The medical team closed the wound quickly. "We're cool," the surgeon reported.

Mulder and Scully had arrived at the little town at the base of Skyland Mountain five days ago. They had spent their time interviewing anyone who would talk to them about what they had seen or heard. Their primary investigation had not produced satisfactory results. Thus, they had devoted some effort to ferreting out second hand accounts to see if they matched the "eyewitness" reports. For the most part, they didn't. Scully was bored. Mulder was frustrated.

In order to decide how best to move forward, the two Special Agents ordered take out Chinese food delivered to Mulder's motel room. Then they collected their notes and what little evidence they had gathered in preparation for a review of their findings. Before they had begun, Mulder went on the offensive, frustration manifesting itself as sarcasm. "Why are we going through the motions Scully? Your buddy Alex said we wouldn't find anything."

"My ... buddy? The two of you weren't exactly at each others' throats for once, as I recall." When Mulder chose to maintain a sulky pout rather than respond, Scully continued, "He also suggested that we investigate an old weather station, playing up the atmospheric phenomena angle. You've made your adamant opposition to that suggestion perfectly clear. If your attitude toward Alex's input's changed, we should consider that advice. If not, I suggest we review what we've got. Then decide how to proceed."

Scully's words were calm and rational. Mulder felt neither calm nor rational. He felt like he was being pushed in a direction that Alex Krycek wanted him to go. Mulder recognized that, where Krycek and he were concerned, this was more or less status quo. While Mulder was the one who was trained to understand others' motivations and how their motives translated into actions, it was Krycek who was able to motivate Mulder to act as Krycek wished with relative ease. This pattern of behavior indicated to Mulder that he, at some level, acquiesced. Why break the pattern now?

A few moments reflection suggested an answer to his unspoken question. Other parameters were different. This time, Scully was involved. In several different ways. Mulder's past encounters with Krycek included Scully only peripherally or not at all. Consequently, Scully had not been subjected to the danger generally associated with following where Krycek led. This time she was right in the middle of it. Mulder feared for Scully more than for himself. He had for a long time. Although he rarely consciously thought about it and never would even consider talking about it.

More importantly, although troubling to admit, Mulder resented his ... loss of status. In the past, Krycek had communicated almost exclusively with Mulder, even when Scully was present. Since then, Krycek and Scully had shared experiences that had formed a bond between them. They communicated directly, sometimes in ways that shut him out. Mulder wasn't used to being an outsider with regard to either his present or former partner. He didn't like it. But he carefully avoided considering why. Fox Mulder's self-protective mechanisms were fully engaged.

Under these circumstances, Agent Mulder favored proceeding in a direction different from that suggested by Krycek. After determining that his views on that topic had not changed, Mulder realized that he needed to respond to Scully's suggestion that they review their findings. He tried, but not very hard, to remove the sarcasm from his tone. "Go ahead Scully. I'll do my best to apply myself to this very important investigation."

His partner shook her head. This was obviously going to be a long evening. Might as well get started. "Several people have seen mysterious lights. Of various colors. White. Red. Green. Pink. Yellow. Cobalt blue. Other people claim to have seen "strange looking lightening." Really low to the ground. Straight lines. Then there are the sounds."

"An ominous rumbling sound ... like an earthquake. We've got some transplanted Californians, Agent Scully."

Scully was cautiously optimistic that the evening, and her analytical efforts, would not be wasted when Mulder added to her analysis. She then did her best to maintain the momentum. "Piercing screams? Freight train whistles? And how could you forget the theme music from the movie Halloween?" Scully grinned. Mulder smirked. Scully giggled. Mulder chuckled. For the first time in a long time, the partners enjoyed a laugh. Together. "What are we doing here, Mulder? There's absolutely no consistency to what these people claim to have seen or heard. One person started it. Then people thought back to the strange events of a year ago, got scared and convinced themselves that they saw or heard something too."

"Are you suggesting mass hysteria?"

"You have a problem with that, Mulder?"

"Not philosophically or morally. In this case, I believe that at least some of these people actually did see or hear something unusual. I believe Krycek knows what it is. I also think he was correct in implying that we won't find any explanation beyond your mass hysteria theory. And against my better judgment, I find myself wondering about the bone he threw us. The abandoned weather station. Part of me still says ignore it, go home and see what Krycek makes of that." As Fox Mulder stated his position, he glanced tentatively at Scully. The camaraderie that they had so recently re-established was fragile. Scully had come to some sort of understanding with Krycek. Anyone could see that. Mulder realized that, despite whatever he felt with regard to that man, he would have to make allowances for Scully's views. It was either that or lose her. Mulder knew he couldn't face that.

"We can go home, Mulder. We've done what was needed here. These people were scared. Having the "experts" look into the odd occurrences has broken the chain of the hysterical reaction. Can't you sense things already getting back to normal?"

Mulder looked at his partner closely. As soon as she had stated her conclusion, he recognized the validity of it. That analysis left some very interesting questions unanswered, however. Suddenly, Mulder was very interested in Scully's perspective. "Something happened here, Scully."

"I agree. But whatever it was, it's over now. Alex was sure of that."

"Either that, or he saw to it that the activities were stopped before we got here."

"Either way, Mulder. Our investigation has turned up nothing of any real evidentiary value. And I'm betting further efforts won't get us much more. I'd rather spend my time on a case we've got a chance to solve." As Scully stopped speaking, she noticed that Mulder appeared to be lost in thought. She wasn't sure what she'd said to inspire such intensity. Knowing him well, Scully simply waited.

"We both asked the question facetiously, Scully, but I wonder ...." Fox Mulder thrust his chopsticks into the remains of his moo goo gai pan, as he focused his thoughts. "Why? Why was it important that we investigate this?"

"It's what we do, Mulder. We get first crack at mysterious lights in the sky. Not too surprising."

Fox Mulder did his best not to show how pleased he was at Scully's use of pronoun. He had needed to hear that. "I'm not so sure. My instincts tell me that Skinner, being protective of you, would've hesitated to send you here. Given your history with this place. Particularly in view of the stress level of recent events. But he did."

Scully sensed that perhaps Mulder was on to something. Something quite elusive. "Maybe he wanted us away from headquarters for a while? I can't see why."

"Fallout from the investigation of the safe house situation? No. They found the people responsible. And killed them. Maybe he sent us away to prevent a more careful examination of those events. We could've insisted on it, given our involvement. Perhaps even run it." Mulder paused briefly to consider his second theory, before offering his review of it. "Plausible, yet ... unsatisfying." Mulder was surprised to see Scully grinning at him.

"Sounds like a description of a third rate wine, Mulder." She was rewarded with an answering smile.

"What do you think, Scully? Have we been away long enough?"

"Definitely."

"How can you be sure?" Mulder found himself suddenly apprehensive. There were too many unknown factors. He couldn't be sure that their theories were sound. "Even if you are, don't you want to have a look at the weather station. You've been pushing for that up until now."

Scully smiled and shook her head. "I've been trying to think about it from Alex's point of view. I think he was telling us something about the Xfiles in general, rather than about this one in particular. Our answers are in unsolved Xfiles."

"Surely the man is capable of being less obtuse."

"He can be admirably direct, actually," Scully replied with a grin. A grin that both pleased and upset Mulder. He didn't want to examine those emotions too closely. "I imagine he could've done better with a few moments to think," Scully continued. "What do you say, Mulder?"

"Ok. No one has mentioned an abandoned weather station. I suppose we could ask ... to be thorough. Mulder was surprised, as Scully's grin got broader. She even blushed slightly.

"I already did, Mulder. This morning. There never was a weather station here." Mulder's surprise was apparent. Scully enjoyed it. Very much.

Cigarette Smoking Man sighed. He truly had no desire to attend this meeting of the full Consortium. Any further delay and he would be late. Tardiness was frowned upon. Recriminations were something he could certainly do without, but he toyed with the idea of being "fashionably late." Common sense prevailed.

Reluctantly, Cigarette Smoking Man entered the plush meeting room located in the World Trade Center. A quick survey indicated that everyone was present. It also revealed some unusual combinations of Consortium members in intense conversation. The man from Tunisia, Strughold, was huddled together with the Consortium member who had earned the moniker "older than God" a.k.a. Eldest over a decade ago. The First Elder, Marleton and the two most junior Consortium members made up another group. One that was highly agitated. The Frenchman and the Russian were primarily observing the others, their conversation likely to be commentary on their compatriots. The other pairings or groupings were not noteworthy.

The First Elder spotted Cigarette Smoking Man, and moved to call the meeting to order. "We have a problem. A multi-faceted one."

"With a common theme. It seems that certain risks have been ... miscalculated." Strughold's observation was made almost offhandedly. The man's intensity was eloquently communicated by his demeanor, however. He gave the impression of unspeakable power wielded with consummate control as he regarded Cigarette Smoking Man. "I understand that you weren't consulted."

Cigarette Smoking Man understood his role in this conversation immediately. The beauty of it was that the First Elder and his cronies couldn't fault him for playing it. "I'm a bit out of touch. A situation summary would be helpful."

All eyes turned to the First Elder, who gestured to the most junior Consortium member (56 years young). He moved toward a second door (not the one that Cigarette Smoking Man had recently entered through), opened it and motioned encouragingly. A slight young man in a brown leather jacket, a black t-shirt and blue jeans entered hesitantly. He was obviously uncomfortable in the presence of the older men. "Tell them what you told us," the First Elder ordered.

Cigarette Smoking Man wonder who "us" was briefly before focusing his attention on the young man. "My team, three of us, were assigned to relieve Tuman. Following Krycek. We picked him up at the J. Edgar Hoover Building."

Thinking of his meeting with Alex, Cigarette Smoking Man wondered when the Consortium's men had reacquired him. Cigarette Smoking Man wasn't surprised that he had, without hesitation, "trusted" Krycek to have taken the necessary precautions to ensure the privacy of their conversation. Many others wouldn't have, but Cigarette Smoking Man understood the way Krycek played the game. He was far more careful than most gave him credit for. Much of Alex' bluster and bravado was calculated to mislead. Realizing that his attention had wandered, Cigarette Smoking Man rectified the problem, focusing again on the speaker.

"... exited the blue line at the Arlington Cemetery stop. He moved like he had a specific destination in mind. He stopped in front of Abner Doubleday's tombstone and waited. Denny and I walked past and chose an observation point an appropriate distance away. It was slightly closer than I normally like, but your options are limited at that location. Jim was far enough behind to flank him without being observed. After about ten minutes, a woman approached."

"Description," Strughold demanded.

"Young. Early twenties. Pretty. Dark hair and eyes."

Strughold sighed, as he realized that the young man was looking at him anxiously to determine whether his description was sufficient. "Proceed."

"They talked for about three minutes, laughed and started walking toward Denny and I. They were holding hands. We turned toward the tombstones as they began to move past."

Cigarette Smoking Man met Strughold's eye. He was certain they had the same thought. Why on earth would those youngsters allow Alex Krycek to move behind them? What ever happened to meeting his eye and nodding pleasantly as they passed? Tourists did that. No one gave it a second thought.

"... Using his height and weight advantage to control my movement, Krycek made sure I saw what happened to Denny. She took him out with a surgical scalpel. Quick and efficient. She looked like she liked it," the young man observed with a shudder. "By this time, Jim had sensed something wrong and moved in. Krycek cut him down. A bullet to the throat. It was an impressive shot. Krycek's file doesn't suggest that level of proficiency with handguns. It should." The young man noted that his audience wasn't impressed with or particularly interested in his analysis. So he shrugged, attempted to look nonchalant and continued, "Anyway, I thought I was next, but he had something else in mind. Moving my head to the right, Krycek traded his weapon for a small glass vial. About so big." The young man held his thumb and index finger about two inches apart to illustrate. "It was filled with black oily stuff. As I looked at it, Krycek changed its orientation from vertical to horizontal, and ... the oil moved. It all shifted to the right. Not spread out along the bottom. Oil wouldn't do that. Would it?"

Neither the Consortium members nor Cigarette Smoking Man answered the young man's question. They were too busy considering the implications of Alex Krycek in possession of a strain of the black oil. With proper planning, he could infect anyone. A troubling set of circumstances.

Realizing that no answer was forthcoming, the young man forged ahead. "He told me to tell you what happened. And to make sure that nothing bad happens to some kid. Named Gilbert or something like that. I think he meant that freaky little kid with glasses. After that, he let me go. The girl was already gone. I hadn't seen her leave. The thought of her watching Krycek's back was enough to convince me to get the hell out of there." The young man stopped speaking and looked at his audience, hoping to be excused. Marleton granted his wish, dismissing him.

"The young man is angry," Eldest observed dryly. "A stunt like that in a public place in broad daylight suggests to me that he feels he has nothing to lose. We must disabuse him of that notion."

"Before we to analyze our predicament, I recommend that we put all of the facts at our disposal on the table." At Eldest's nod of approval, Marleton continued. "We're no closer to obtaining information regarding Krycek's experiences in the desert, despite the presence of numerous appropriately positioned conduits." Marleton's frustration was evident, his stress level high. "We have also become aware that some information was somehow transferred from our communications station in North Dakota to an FBI agent working with Mulder. Further analysis has revealed that, in addition to the transfer, other information may have been inadvertently intercepted."

"The FBI agent?" Strughold interrupted.

"Agent Spender is irrelevant. He can't interpret the information without Krycek."

Cigarette Smoking Man's demeanor of polite attentiveness did not alter at the mention of Jeffrey. He did notice brief involuntary glances in his direction from various Consortium members. Strughold and the Eldest were not included in that number. Perhaps they were better actors. The possibility that they didn't know was fodder for some intriguing speculation.

"The content of the intercepted information?"

"Unknown," Marleton admitted.

"Subject matter?" Strughold demanded.

"Uncertain." Strughold's grunt of disapproval was interpreted by Marleton as a request for further information. "Some data of interest to the resistance could have been included. We simply don't know. In any event, Krycek appears to have control, for now, of the remnants of Katarina's organization. That's the only conclusion we can draw given the story we've just heard and certain ... other facts that have come to light over the last few days. Most of us have had a version of my experience."

As Marleton paused, Cigarette Smoking Man noticed Strughold and Eldest share a puzzled look. Apparently, their lives had not been disrupted by any untoward happenings.

It seemed as though Marleton did not want to continue. Cigarette Smoking Man wasn't sure why. Those few things that Cigarette Smoking Man could not understand bothered him.

Cigarette Smoking Man ignored his discomfort, as Marleton began to speak. "As you know, I have an apartment in Manhattan and a house in Richmond. Both are equipped with advanced security systems. I have a rotating body guard arrangement in New York. To ensure the safety of my family, I have a ten person security unit in Virginia. Two nights ago, security at the house was breached. Nothing was taken, except pictures. Those pictures were left in my Manhattan apartment the following evening." Marelton's hand shook slightly as he offered an envelope to Cigarette Smoking Man.

Cigarette Smoking Man took the envelope, looking Marleton over as he did. Seeing that the man would not meet his eye, Cigarette Smoking Man opened the envelope. Eldest and Strughold had moved to flank Cigarette Smoking Man, so that they could look at the pictures at the same time. There were several of an attractive middle aged woman that Cigarette Smoking Man assumed was Marleton's wife. Making dinner. Showering. Watching television. Sleeping. A teenaged girl, bearing enough resemblance to the woman to identify her as a daughter, was the subject of several more pictures. She and her boyfriend had been engaged in activities that would've displeased her mother. She was also shown studying, talking on the telephone and sleeping. Cigarette Smoking Man reviewed the photos without comment, but he was sure Krycek was behind this effort. The sheer boldness of the invasion of privacy was both impressive and indicative. The boy wasn't pulling any punches.

Now it was time to see how the Consortium's analytical function was operating. "How does your security team explain these photographs?"

"They suggested that a quick strike team could've set up cameras that would download to remote computers, but ..."

"You found no cameras," Strughold interjected. "And can't quite make yourself believe that your security measures were beaten again to remove them. That means that at least one, most likely two, people were in your house for a number of hours during an evening earlier this week. Taking pictures. I trust we're supposed to contemplate that the people who did this could've been shooting something other than film. I don't like this. I don't like it at all."

"It happened to many of you, you say. Other than myself and Strughold, who did not share an unpleasant experience akin to Mr. Marleton's?" Eldest was briefly surprised that no one other than Cigarette Smoking Man spoke up. "So, conservatively speaking, approximately thirty security systems were beaten ... badly beaten ... in the space of a few days. You think this young associate of William's could orchestrate such a thing?"

The First Elder turned to Eldest in surprise. The Well Manicured Man's first name was not commonly used. "Katarina had some people with skills in that area. Also, Krycek has made contact with the naval history professor."

"He couldn't have information on your families, homes or security arrangements, unless William provided it." Eldest paused briefly as he considered his former colleague. William's elimination had been necessary. The old man realized that he had not received a report on the necessary follow up activities. "Is it possible that William maintained some records that were not destroyed after his death?" When he didn't receive an answer, Eldest assumed that the response was affirmative. "It makes one wonder what else Krycek may know."

"We must assume that he knows everything," Cigarette Smoking Man advised. "I should say, whatever passed for everything eight weeks ago."

"Is he capable of acting on that information?" Strughold inquired. "You have as much personal experience with this individual as anyone. What's your assessment?"

"His recent activities connote both the capability and the will to act on available information," the First Elder interjected. Strughold's look in the First Elder's direction was neutral and brief. His gaze in Cigarette Smoking Man's direction was expectant.

"The injury inflicted on Gibson appears to have provided the impetus to concerted action. Alex has always had the talent, if not the opportunity, for leadership. He can and will use any information that he can obtain in furtherance of his agenda." Cigarette Smoking Man observed uncertainty on the countenances of a number of Consortium members. They had never taken Krycek very seriously.

"His agenda being?"

"Unknown. However, disruption of this organization appears to be on it."

As Cigarette Smoking Man spoke, Strughold made eye contact with Eldest, who shook his head in the negative once. Strughold nodded and surveyed the room briefly. "Why not you and I?" Strughold mused, glancing at Eldest.

"A combination of geography and prudence, I imagine." All eyes turned to Cigarette Smoking Man. "Tunisia is a bit far to go to make a point. Which is all I think this was, by the way." Continuing as he moved to face the Eldest, "And being associated with the Brit, he is likely to give you a wide berth."

"Making a point?" Marleton asked, anger apparent. Cigarette Smoking Man observed Marleton as he opened a new pack of Morleys. The man began to fidget, waiting for Cigarette Smoking Man to select a cigarette and light it. Marleton made an effort to still himself, but his rapid breathing betrayed his anxiety.

Two drags on his cigarette later, Cigarette Smoking Man finally responded. "Certainly. Alex did what he did to show you he can. The message is really similar to that delivered to the scrawny young man who was in here earlier. It seems that Gibson and Katarina's people are off limits. If you put them in play, you now know what the consequences will be."

"There is no reason to do so," Strughold stated firmly.

"Quite the opposite actually," Eldest added. "We should cease our efforts at eradication and allow Krycek to devote time and effort to making Katarina's organization over in his own image. Give him something to lose. Perhaps several things. And then, he'll be reasonable, or he'll lose the things he will have come to value. Do you concur?"

Cigarette Smoking Man knew the question was directed to Strughold, but the First Elder replied, "That might not be possible." At the Eldest's raised eyebrow and Strughold's glare, the First Elder expounded, "Mr. Hatchir has eliminated William's family. All three generations. That could alter Alex's plans. Perhaps move up his time table."

"I doubt it," Cigarette Smoking Man offered. When he had everyone's attention, he provided his analysis. "First, I'd look hard at Marten's operation to determine if the outcome was as he described. My information suggests that Alex was in England. I doubt he'd overlook the obvious. More than that, I doubt the Brit would've. Second, I'd consider what else Alex might have accomplished under cover of these recent activities. Both of the operations you've described here are overt. In the extreme. Unless his methods have altered drastically, he's got something else going. Something more subtle. I suggest you find it. Before it finds you."

Fox Mulder and Dana Scully had returned from Skyland Mountain. Mulder had asked Scully to dinner, but she'd begged off. She wanted to finish her field report and take a bath. Not wanting to be alone, he'd called Diana Fowley, who had agreed to pick up a pizza on her way over. She had arrived with a vegetarian variety. Mulder had forgotten her aversion to meat on pizza. That seemed to disappoint her. He had a long and illustrious history of disappointing Diana. He couldn't seem to break that pattern either.

To draw attention away from his shortcomings, Mulder opted to go on offense. "How's Jeff?" he asked with a smirk.

"Obsessed."

Her response surprised Mulder. He'd paused mid-reach for another piece of pizza, sensitive to the tension communicated in her one word statement. Deciding to proceed cautiously, he asked, "That's good - right?"

"If I were the object of his obsession, it might be. I find myself playing second fiddle to a computer file. One he can't even open." Her effort to laugh about her situation wasn't convincing.

Mulder was about to suggest that there were worse things to play second fiddle to, before he admitted to himself that he didn't want to take the conversation anywhere near there. Changing the subject seemed to be his best bet under the circumstances. He felt more comfortable discussing work. "Scully's finishing the field report on our investigation, and Skinner's expecting me to figure out what to do next. Problem is, I have no idea."

"What are your options?"

"For the first time in forever, we've been given permission to re-examine open Xfiles. I wish I knew which one to choose." As he spoke, Mulder realized that his mood was very similar to Diana's. It felt good to be on some common ground with someone, even if what they shared were negative emotions.

"Scully's friend Alex seems to know, Mulder. But I suppose it would be sacrilege to suggest that you ... ask." The laugh inspired by the withering look that Mulder directed at her following that suggestion was genuine. "What was I thinking? That would be far too easy. You've always needed more of a challenge to inspire you. Speaking of challenges, how's it going with Scully? Patch things up yet?"

"We're fine, Diana. I just wish ..."

Agent Fowley gave Mulder the opportunity to continue before speaking. He didn't so she did. "The thought of you "wishing" for something is intriguing. Do you wish she's selected the pizza? Pepperoni or sausage? She doesn't strike me as the Canadian bacon type." As Fowley had intended, Mulder laughed. "Do you require animal flesh mixed with tomato sauce to get your mind in gear these days? I remember when all it took was sunflower seeds and coffee."

"Those days are gone, Diana. Maybe forever. Constantly being three or four steps behind the people I'm trying to expose is beginning to wear on me." Mulder's voice had gone from almost playful to near morose during the course of those three statements. Fowley had seen this before. Mulder was feeling sorry for himself. The only solution for that was work.

"What do your instincts tell you, Mulder? There must be a few open Xfiles that suggest themselves as possibilities."

"I'm having trouble separating curiosity from likelihood of greater significance. And even if I can, there's the question of how to proceed. If we'd had any leads, we would've investigated them at the time."

"One thing at a time Mulder. You always get ahead of yourself." She grinned at his frown. He looked a little like a spoiled child, yet she found him endearing. "What would Krycek be interested in?" she asked as she sat next to him on the couch.

"Black oil. Incidents in Russia and in the US involving alleged alien abductees. Um ..."

"Get beyond the obvious, Mulder. Krycek strikes me as a pragmatic sort of guy. Is there anything of practical value?"

"Bees carrying various viruses could be used militarily. So could devices that Scully and I encountered that caused people to "see" things that they feared. Or ghosts in machines that instruct people to kill others, although I'm not sure those can be adequately controlled. Implants that deliver instructions or monitor recipients or who knows what else." After he answered, Mulder grinned at Fowley. She had, as she so often had in the past, pointed him in the correct direction. He had gone the rest of the way in a manner only he could, but she had gotten him started. "Diana ..."

She thought she heard a "Thank you" that he couldn't quite bring himself to say. "You're welcome, Mulder. Seems like you've got some likely candidates."

"If you ever get tired of Spender, let me know."

"Why Agent Mulder. Is that a proposition?"

Jeffrey Spender was startled by a knock on his door. He wasn't expecting anyone. Diana was bored with his investigative efforts directed at the uplink information now resident on his laptop computer. His few friends were all of the "call first" school of visiting. Without even bothering to look through the peephole, he opened the door.

"Should be more careful, Jeff. You never know who might be at the door."

Spender grinned at Alex Krycek. "If someone wanted to shoot me, they'd do it just as well through the door as I looked to see who it was."

"Maybe. Awfully noisy though. Open the door, and many more options present themselves." Spender was still grinning, as the other man entered. "Seriously, Spender. Your association with the Morley Man presents some risk."

"How do you ..."

"I know a lot of things, Jeff. And don't worry. I haven't, and won't, tell Mulder ... or Scully." Krycek wasn't surprised by the relief that was apparent on Spender's face. "I did ask Dana to join us this evening. Hope that's ok. She's bringing dinner."

"Sure. Fine. Ok. You want a beer or something?" At Krycek's nod, Spender immediately moved toward his kitchen.

How had Cigarette Smoking Man allowed this young man to maintain his naiveté? That question ran through Krycek's mind as Spender went in search of beverages, until his attention was drawn to the computer screen. A password was requested. Krycek assumed that Spender had tried the obvious options. Alex tried "Katarina" and "Katya" and a variety of expletives, in English, Russian, French and German.

Spender returned with Russian vodka, served ice cold. The kid had guessed well or read his file. If the latter, how he got access to it was the interesting question. Skinner had sealed it, as far as Krycek knew. Embarrassment avoidance behavior. Couldn't have FBI agents going bad. Tough on the image. Not to mention recruiting. Spender cleared his throat, getting Krycek's attention. The older man suppressed a smile, as he raised his glass to Spender's already elevated one. When Spender didn't say anything, Alex chose the standard, "Cheers." Krycek noticed what looked like disappointment on Spender's face. "Did he expect something a bit more exotic? Russian perhaps?" Alex wondered.

Another knock on the door attracted the attention of both men. "Excuse me," muttered Spender, as he moved toward it. "Manners must've been instilled by the mother," mused Krycek. Alex did notice with approval that Spender looked through the peephole this time. And glance at him to make sure he'd observed the new found caution. Krycek stifled a chuckle at Spender's smile in response to his nod of acknowledgment. Now he knew how Mulder felt about junior agent Krycek. It was difficult to maintain proper distance and perspective on your own fallibility in the face of such blatant approval seeking.

Alex didn't see any need to avoid smiling when Dana Scully entered the apartment, loaded down with what looked to be Thai take out. It was a miracle that nothing went crashing to the floor as Spender overzealously offered assistance. "He's attracted to her," Krycek realized, watching the two FBI agents struggle for control over the various dinner containers. "She has no idea."

Krycek moved to assist, upon noticing the "get over here" expression on Scully's face. "What's so funny Alex?" she asked with no small measure of exasperation. Ignoring her question and still obviously amused, Alex helped Spender shift Scully's burdens to the coffee table.

"You all right?" he asked when Jeff went to the kitchen for plates and utensils. Her answer was a wink and a brief but fierce hug. Alex Krycek was surprised, and a bit unnerved, by his reluctance to release her.

Walter Skinner sat alone in his office. He was tired. It was the end of a long and trying day. The number of seemingly meaningless meetings had increased over the recent weeks. That increase had led to a rising level of job dissatisfaction. He could feel his commitment decreasing. Rapidly. He sighed, rose and began to wander his office somewhat aimlessly.

Skinner was about to admit defeat. He didn't like it . He wasn't particularly proud of it. In fact, he wasn't sure that he could even tolerate it. But, there it was. His superiors were short sighted and narrow minded. His peers were rigid and unforgiving. His subordinates were ... with a few exceptions, automatons. It could make a man old before his time.

He wasn't sure what he was after any more. Why he did what he did. He had searched a long time for meaning, ... and hadn't found any. He was tired of looking. He had spent too much time with Mulder, watching Agent Scully deal with her situation. Having to rely on ... Alex Krycek to guide her. If he was any judge of what the future might hold, that might well be her, if not his and Mulder's, lot in life. That was the thing that bothered Skinner the most. Reliance on Krycek. Scully deserved a better fate, even if he and Mulder didn't.

She was an excellent agent. Had a fine mind. Very quick. Intuitive. But she was so physically small, that men felt that she needed protection. That, Skinner felt, had been his mistake. He had tried to protect her, when she was striving for independence. More than once, that had led to major misunderstandings. He knew, at some level, that Scully didn't trust him. She seemed to trust Krycek. That hurt. Skinner believed that it hurt Mulder as well. "Enough," he told himself, as he prepared to leave for the evening.

"Excuse me," a female voice murmured hesitantly from his office doorway.

Walter Skinner was prepared for any number of things, as he turned toward the door. He was not prepared for what he saw. Marita Covarrubias, looking haggard, tired and somewhat ill, was looking at him hopefully.

"I didn't know where else to go," she said, making an effort at a smile. "I don't know where Alex Krycek is. He's the only other person I can think of who might help me without asking a thousand questions I can't answer."

"I have less than a thousand, but I do have questions," Skinner replied.

"Hope they can wait." Her voice was unsteady, but her balance was even more precarious. Skinner moved quickly, when Marita's legs gave out from under her. He caught her before she hit the ground.

Krycek was sitting at the keyboard. Spender was looking over his left shoulder. Scully over his right. They had been at it for quite a while, but the password had not yet been elucidated. Alex sighed, rubbing his eyes.

Dana Scully, sensing his fatigue, moved directly behind him and gently began massaging his shoulders. At first, Alex didn't seem to notice. Spender did, and gaped at Scully in surprise. She ignored him, focusing on her task. Her medical training made her good at this sort of thing, and after a few minutes, Krycek leaned back and shut his eyes. "I'll give you about an hour to cut that out," he murmured, smiling slightly.

"I'll watch the time," Dana replied softly.

"What about the password?" Spender asked impatiently. "The information could be extremely time-sensitive." Before Scully could do more than give Spender a "chill out" look, all three were startled by another knock on the door. "What now?" Spender wondered aloud. He couldn't recall when he last had this many visitors at once.

Alex sat up straighter and looked toward the door. Scully was having none of it. She resumed her efforts. There was no protest from the recipient. He leaned forward, allowing access to his back in addition to his shoulders. Dana took the hint. Focused on her task, she didn't immediately notice Spender's return.

"Well. Well. What have we here? This explains a few things. Looking mighty comfortable Alex."

Scully focused quickly on the newcomer. Very pretty. Quite young. Vaguely familiar. "Dana this is Katya. Katya meet Dana. The gentleman who let you in is Jeff." All of this was said from his comfortable posture. Reluctantly but purposefully, Alex sat up and turned toward the young woman. "What brings you here?"

"I was bored. So I followed you. A challenging proposition. You were extremely creative. Lost your watch dogs early on. Then you were in here a while. I wondered what you were up to. And it was getting cold in the car. So ..." Katya smiled at Spender. He smiled back. Then she approached Scully, looking her up and down in appraisal. She finished off with a wink at Krycek.

Sighing in exasperation, Alex decided to re-assert what control he could over the situation. "Now that you're here, and you've gotten your performance out of the way, make yourself useful. What do you know about a recent operation in North Dakota? I think the primary objective was diversion of information." To his surprise, Katya turned away, obviously upset. Altering his tone in response to her clearly visible distress, Krycek softly inquired, "What's wrong? " The only response was a small sound that could've been a sob.

Dana Scully watched Krycek move to Katya, speaking softly to her in Russian. Her reaction to the situation was instantaneous and emotional. Scully was forced to consider that what she was feeling might be jealousy. Especially since the feeling intensified, when the young woman turned into Alex's arms. It didn't help that Spender was watching her closely. What did ease her mind was revealed upon closer observation. Krycek was holding Katya like a brother or uncle would, rather than as a lover might.

"It was Nicolai, Alex," Katya said, looking up at the man she was addressing, tears trailing down her cheeks. She smiled tentatively at Scully, as she accepted the offered tissue. "He insisted on taking the assignment. It was important he said. To the future."

"Nicky?" The young woman nodded and held on tightly. That suggested some password possibilities to Krycek. "Dana," he called softly. "Try Skywalker." Scully's confusion was evident, but Spender sat down in the chair in front of the computer and typed Skywalker into the password slot.

"No."

"What was I thinking? We need the dark side. Try Vader or Darth Vader."

Spender typed "Vader". Instead of the typical password denied warning, the computer started processing. "I'm in!" he shouted.