Season Six:
Episode 24

Offices of the Lone Gunmen
Washington D.C.
12:34 am

Byers had just gotten to sleep after a long day of editing Langley's somewhat didactic prose when the banging started. Who would be visiting at this hour? Only one person came to mind -- Mulder. Forcing his eyelids to lift was difficult until he heard Frohicke's voice.

"What the hell do they have out there? A battering ram?"

Battering ram? Mulder? Not Mulder. Definitely not. Shit! Would Frohicke's multi-lock system survive a siege engine? Byers doubted it.

"They're coming through. Execute "Erase"."

Langley was proposing drastic measures? Hard drive destruction? Shredding of paper files? Thank God there weren't many of the latter -- important ones anyway. Suddenly, Byers was wide awake and moving quickly. Surely they wouldn't forget Mulder's latest stuff. That should've been the first to go. That information was so hot it was barely printable. He threw on a T-shirt and chinos. No underwear. No shoes. No time.

When he arrived in the front room, he saw Langley at a computer and Frohicke pouring gasoline on a small fire he'd lit to consume the Mulder file. Good. Byers moved to another computer, typing the codeword for the "Erase" program, not for the first time wondering why Frohicke hadn't simply used the word "erase." "DKS" was shorter, but harder to remember. Well, maybe not for Frohicke, Byers allowed.

He watched Frohicke begin the shredding and Langley take care of the final computer before turning his attention to the door just in time to see it fly inward, allowing at least 10 well armed men to enter. Their gestures weren't difficult to interpret. Byers raised his hands in the air, a knot of fear now fully formed in the pit of his stomach.

Frohicke continued to shred until two of the intruders pulled him away from the device. Langley placed himself, hands raised, between the men and Frohicke's fire, gaining the flames a few more moments.

In short order, the three hackers were lined up against a wall and the fire put out. The ashes and the contents of the shredder bin were removed for analysis.

"You gentlemen are going for a little ride. I expect you to do as you're told without delay. Speak only when asked a direct question. Otherwise, I'll not be responsible for the actions of my men. Is that clear?"

"There's no answer. That's odd." After making her observation, Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully looked across the room at Alex Krycek. He was reading the newspaper with the remains of a bagel and cream cheese on a plate in front of him. The normalcy of the scene belied the reality of the situation.

"Maybe they're at a local diner interviewing informants concerning ... um ... secret government plans to use the medium of television to desensitize the populace to the placement of mind control drugs in breakfast sausage. Conspiracy theorists have to eat, too. And "They" are counting on it." His eyes, looking at her over the newspaper, were amused.

No help from that quarter. "Why do men always start with the sports section?"

"Evolution. Sports are the peacetime equivalent of war. A substitute for the hunt, which is a surrogate for sex."

Dana didn't like it -- too many words, too glib, too early in the day. "You're in a voluble mood this morning. We're not trying to conceal the fact that your physical condition has deteriorated somewhat from the oddly-acquired fitness of earlier this morning, are we?"

"Since you've already noticed that sad fact, what'd be the point?"

"To bolster your position in the inevitable argument over whether I accompany you to Skyland Mountain."

Sighing, he changed the subject. "Don't you have to get to work?"

"As if I'm going to let you out of my sight. You'll be on the next plane, and I'll have to track you down. Very inefficient."

"I won't be on the next plane. I have to check something out first and talk to Mulder, so you'll have your opportunity to make your case for tagging along with all of your colleagues present."

"Check what out?"

"Irrelevant data."

"Alex." Her annoyance and a warning were imbued in her tone.

Grinning, he asserted, "It's a surprise."

"A surprise?" She was more than a little skeptical. "You realize, of course, that your track record in that regard is -- how shall I put it -- less than stellar."

"Yes. Now, off you go. We don't have a lot of time." Seeing the stubborn set to her posture and defiant look in her eyes, Alex put down his newspaper, took a sip of coffee and approached. "I need to know if your geeks salvaged anything else out of the uplink information. They're unavailable. But if they did, Mulder's got it and he's bound to be in the Hoover building waiting for you. So ... if you'd be so kind."

Scully looked Krycek in the eye, searching for any hint of duplicity. Maintaining eye contact, she wrapped her arms around his waist and whispered, "Promise me that you won't go without having that argument. In person."

Dana exacting a promise from him was an intriguing and moderately uncomfortable concept. "Promise," he said before kissing her on the mouth. "Graham will drive you." Scully turned in the direction Alex's eyes drifted, not surprised to see the man in question hovering in the doorway. "I'll see you a little later." Alex saw the uncertainty and resignation in her eyes before she looked away. He watched them leave and drive away through a kitchen window, not turning when he heard two people enter the room.

"Here he is, Alex," Katya announced. "Full of wit and wisdom, as usual."

Turning, he said, "Hey, Gibson."

"Hi Alex. You have a job for me."

Krycek smiled at the bespectacled boy's statement. "Thought you might want a break from school. Your instructors seem to think the program you're enrolled in isn't challenging enough for you."

"It's ok. Not too boring."

Nodding, Krycek realized that he was a little nervous. He knew that he had to find out where they stood -- what was truly possible, as opposed to wishful thinking. "Can you read my thoughts again?"

"Sort of. You fade in and out."

"How about now?"

"Clear as a bell." Alex's raised eyebrow, brought a sigh. "You're wondering if I'm telling the truth, mentally reciting the Canadian national anthem and worrying that Agent Scully's going to be mad at you for taking me out of school." Gibson started giggling. "Would she really handcuff you to ...?"

"Now?" Krycek forcefully interrupted.

Gibson's eyes widened. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Good. What I want you to do now is imagine that you sense something from Katya that you think I need to know and concentrate on telling me with your mind." Krycek returned Gibson's questioning look noncommittally.

"But Alex, I can't ..."

"Just try it." Frowning, the boy selected something to tell, but he had no idea how to communicate it. Finally, he decided to imagine speaking without using his mouth - kind of like reading to himself.

"Katya thinks Dana's clouding my judgment, huh?"

The woman in question merely shrugged, her chin raised defiantly.

"Yeah. Cool!" This was way better than cool. Concentrating, Gibson tried to communicate other things to someone who might actually be able to understand him.

Suddenly, Alex was battered by input. Gibson's images and feelings were those of a child, despite the fact that his verbal messages were more adult-like. Receiving such a massive uncontrolled influx was profoundly disturbing. "Gibson. Stop!"

Gibson opened his eyes, as he felt a mental push away from Alex and toward him. "Sorry, Alex. You ok?"

"Yeah, I think so. But we have to be careful with this and only use it to communicate specific information. Beyond that, it gets a little ... weird." While he was speaking, Krycek consciously raised a mental barrier, trying to keep the kid out.

"Welcome to my world," Gibson muttered sadly.

That brief sojourn into what the boy experienced on a moment-to-moment basis explained a lot about Gibson Praise and his seemingly warped view of the world. Most difficult to assimilate were the images and thoughts in Gibson's mind that involved Dana Scully. That was some vivid and powerful stuff. Damn. The woman had little boys fascinated by her in addition to adult men, who were both old and experienced enough to know better.

Scully nervously stood before Assistant Director Skinner. He'd made her wait for an hour and a half to see him. And other than to ask her if she was all right, Skinner hadn't spoken for about five minutes. Which was good, because it'd taken Scully a few moments to place the expression on his face -- indecision. After the tense silence, the sound of his voice seemed loud and out of place.

"We have a rather large mess to explain. Twenty two people dead in Rockville, including one of the wealthiest men on the planet -- a noted philanthropist revered by many. The President himself is demanding answers. Do you understand the amount of trouble you've caused?"

Mind racing, she considered her options for warning Alex to stay away from the Hoover building. "I'm beginning to, sir. May I ask how much trouble I'm in?"

Skinner sighed, stood and began to pace, clearly agitated. Not looking at her, he replied, "None. I've asserted my prerogative as your supervisor to withhold your location yesterday evening from the investigative team. No one who survived what's been termed "the slaughter" knew your name. Or Krycek's for that matter. And the descriptions are generic enough to be meaningless, except for the dress you were wearing. Two staff members described it in exquisite detail. Please tell me it isn't one of a kind."

Scully's sigh of relief was more audible than she intended. "Unusual, but not unique." Uncomfortable with this situation, she asked, "What kind of trouble will you be in, if word of this gets out?"

Skinner smiled wanly at his subordinate. This was a topic he had no interest in discussing, because he hadn't yet come to grips with it. The possible ramifications were many and varied. "You let me worry about that, Agent Scully. Concern yourself with keeping Krycek in line. And watch your back. I've got Mulder on the alert for possible covert activity by Agent Fowley, but he may not recognize it quickly enough. If Mulder has connected the Rockville matter to you, we might have an issue."

Skinner was suspicious of Fowley? Finally, someone shared Scully's skepticism of that woman's veracity other than Alex. "Understood. And ... thank you, sir."

"Don't make me regret my actions, Agent Scully." Looking up, as his secretary ducked her head just inside his office door. "Yes."

"Agents Mulder and Fowley, sir."

Meeting Scully's eye, Skinner nodded. His secretary retreated, allowing the two agents to enter. "Scully?" Fox Mulder grinned and moved toward her, brought up short by the cold expression on her face. "You haven't worked out all of your aggression on Krycek? Damn." That got a smile, so he continued, "Here's the latest output from the Lone Gunmen. Looks like the instructions to use some apparatus." He watched his partner carefully as he spoke, endeavoring to ascertain what she knew.

Glancing briefly at Diana, Scully tried to decide the best way to reply. With everyone on the alert with regard to Fowley, staying close to the truth seemed appropriate. "We'll need them, if Alex can figure out how to expand the storage unit."

"Expand? As in volume?" An affirmative nod prompted, "There's something called an alter module on the parts list. That could govern size changes." Mulder was talking to Scully. No one else in the room mattered. He had to strengthen this tentative reconnection with his partner. Now. "And the uplink data included some rather detailed instructions. I hope Alex knows about placement codes, acceptance windows and power functions."

"He knows more than we ever imagined, Mulder. I think he'll be able to follow the instructions you have for him." Pausing, hesitant, she asked, "May I see them?"

"Sure, Scully. This's your copy." Approaching and handing her a file, he saw her open and shut her mouth twice without speaking, her eyes darting quickly to Diana. Damn. Scully wanted to talk to him. Alone. How to accomplish that? Mulder tried desperately to catch Scully's eye, but realized his mistake. He should've done that before he'd given her the file on which she'd focused her attention. "Scully?"

Making an effort not to smile at Mulder's escalating efforts to get Scully's attention, Skinner sought to regain control over the discussion. "Agent Mulder, do you have any further information that would assist Agent Scully?"

Lowering his eyes, he admitted, "No, sir."

"I see. What happens now?"

"Assistant Director Skinner, a major investigation is underway with regard to an incident that took place last night in Rockville. It has all the earmarks of an XFile. We should assist the agents in charge." Everyone turned toward Special Agent Diana Fowley, who was acutely aware of the slightly elevated tension level.

"That's an excellent idea." Scully agreed with Fowley? Mulder was considering how to determine if the red haired woman actually was Dana Scully, when her next statement made that effort unnecessary. "Your investigation of that incident will complement our parallel efforts."

"That might prove difficult. The Rockville incident, as you so cavalierly describe it, is emerging as a matter of grave national and international importance. Interest has been expressed at the highest levels. Interest piqued, undoubtedly, by the uncertainty as to the cause of such a large number of extremely violent deaths. And underpinned by fear. To conduct a proper investigation and maximize the opportunity to allay that fear, we must put the best people on it while scene is fresh. To my mind, that means all three of us. What do you say, sir?"

The Assistant Director met Agent Fowley's too innocent eyes with mild annoyance. "I'm satisfied with the team that's been assigned to the Rockville case file and their progress to this point. I've seen no evidence suggesting reclassification as an XFile. A more likely conclusion is that the murders constitute a domestic act of terrorism. Given your background and experience, I understand your interest. If you wish to offer your services to the investigative team, Agent Fowley, I'll offer no objection. But I'll caution you about espousing theories without sufficient supporting evidence. I think we both learned something about that earlier this week."

"Understood, sir. Fox? You interested?"

Fox Mulder was spared the necessity of answering, as Skinner's secretary interrupted once more. "A Mr. Krycek to see you, sir."

Skinner sighed. Krycek's timing was impeccable for once. "Send him in."

Alex Krycek strolled into Skinner's office unhurriedly, Gibson Praise at his side. "Hi Agent Scully. Agent Mulder."

Gibson glanced at Diana Fowley, frowned and said nothing, unnerving the female agent. Mental images of his matter of fact announcement that there was a man with a gun outside a motel assailed her. That creepy kid met Alex Krycek's eyes for a long moment.

"She wants to hurt you, Alex," Krycek heard in his head. "She promised someone named Stephen that she would. He works for someone named Strughold."

Strughold. Shit! " ... directions, right? Krycek? Alex?" Krycek's eyes moved slowly to Mulder after a brief glance at Fowley.

Gibson added, "She knows the schedule, Alex, and told that Stephen guy."

He'll be waiting at one point or another. Damn! Was nothing ever easy? "Alex?" Scully, this time, and she was concerned.

"The bald guy is suspicious of her. He told Agent Mulder and Agent Scully so."

Bonus points were due Skinner for pushing them a step in the right direction. "Ok." Don't answer Gibson, you idiot. Dana's talking. Focus. Need to focus. "I ... I'm ..."

Just when Krycek had almost achieved the necessary focus, something that Gibson sensed agitated him and he began projecting all kinds of things Alex's way. Krycek had had to be mentally receptive to facilitate communication. Now, he was overwhelmed by a myriad of images, phrases and feelings, trying to get at the heart of Gibson's distress. Doing his best to keep his back to the boy and not to give any indication of the connection between them. Then he had it and couldn't believe it.

Krycek was extremely pale, sweating, right hand furiously rubbing his temple. Scully moved next to him and touched his right arm tentatively. The green eyes that met hers were disbelieving, then angry. Stepping back from her, forcefully dislodging her grasp of his arm. Dana Scully was on assignment, playing him, stringing him out and reeling him in. What? How could she be that good of an actress? Well, why not? He was that good of an actor and she had incentive -- the elusive "Truth" that she and Mulder have sought for so long. That, plus whatever else she managed to wrangle out of him. Fine, then. If that's the game, I won't take my ball and go home. I'll play to win and if some of the game pieces get permanently damaged along the way, so be it.

"Alex? Are you all right?" Scully asked for the third time.

Gibson was distraught. Two of his favorite adults were now at odds because of him.

"Never better, Agent Scully," Alex replied with a sneer.

Dana's "Don't lie to me" was quiet and implacable.

Krycek quashed the litany of retorts that suggested themselves. Anything he said along those lines would only clue her in that he was on to her. Better to just forge ahead. "Let's get down to business. We don't have a lot of time. Do you have any more information for me from the uplink data?" Wordlessly, Scully held out the file that Mulder had given her. He took it, posture and demeanor eloquently communicating hostility.

"What's going on, Krycek? Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

Krycek glared at Mulder. "That why you sleep on the couch, Mulder? To avoid having to make that choice?" Eyes drifting back to the file, he scanned rapidly. Placement codes he had. The acceptance window was implicit in the preferred schedule. Ok. We're in good shape in that regard anyway.

"Alex," Gibson muttered aloud.

"What?" Krycek asked irritably.

"You know what."

Krycek was in no mood for another bout of Gibson mind speak, complete with full color images. Dealing with them was tiring, stressful and, to be honest, somewhat harrowing.

Tension of a non-sexual nature between Krycek and Scully was interesting, from Diana Fowley's perspective. "How do you plan to get to the rendezvous point, Alex?"

"Carrier pigeon." Sarcastic in his evasiveness, he continued, "Anything else I should know?" It was clear to everyone that Krycek was speaking to Mulder.

"I think your target time point is moonrise, Krycek. You have anything for me?"

How to put this? "I'd check in on your mom, Mulder. At least send someone with an appropriate weapon." Mulder was now more pale than Krycek had been earlier, but he remained silent, staring at the younger man, waiting. "Otherwise, stay out of the way. I'm expecting some international difficulties, but those are out of your jurisdiction."

"We could help, Alex, regardless of location. Local intelligence agencies could be persuaded to cooperate." Krycek thought about simply ignoring the woman, but he reconsidered. Too much anti-Scully behavior would only engage Mulder's protective instincts. There was no need for that. Yet.

"You can be sure that local law enforcement will be no help. The ... ah ... old boy network will see to that. Our joint effort ends right here."

Scully straightened her shoulders and moved closer to Alex. "Wrong, Krycek."

"Oh?"

Even though his tone had been arrogant and snide, Scully really didn't enjoy how the green eyes clouded in pain and uncertainly, as she poked her index finger hard into his solar plexus. Watching him fight not to double over, she delivered a similar assault to his abdomen. She knew those two portions of his anatomy hadn't emerged unscathed from his interactions with the metal doors, although she hadn't been aware of the severity of the damage. He caught himself on the edge of Skinner's desk just before his knees buckled, barely able to maintain his balance and lower himself into a sitting position. He appeared to be having difficulty breathing and his eyes seemed incapable of focusing.

Moving closer to him, she spoke softly, voice contrite but not weak. "I'm sorry, Alex, but you're in no shape to go this alone. And I got the distinct impression that you weren't going to give me enough time to convince you of that."

The phrase "I was wrong" was repeating itself in Krycek's head.

"Wrong?" he whispered. Feeling a small hand on his right knee, Alex turned his head in that direction -- a maneuver that was far more difficult than it should've been, both to accomplish and to maintain his balance while doing so. Yet, the three Gibson Praises slowly resolved into one.

"Are you listening now?" When Alex gave a slight nod, Gibson continued, "Assistant Director Skinner told Agent Fowley that Agent Scully was assigned to you to throw her off. Now he's worried that she'll say that Agent Scully's cover is blown and force him into -- I don't know. A corner, I guess. I'm not sure, but I know he doesn't want it to happen."

Skinner was lying to protect Scully and Mulder to a degree. Curiouser and curiouser. Feeling what he recognized as relief, Alex realized that, despite the mental images he'd allowed himself to contemplate to channel his anger, he really hadn't relished the added complication of a Mulder/Scully double cross. Still, it would've been nice to have had that information a little earlier. Sighing, Krycek slowly got his feet underneath him. "I really am sorry, Alex," was whispered in his left ear.

And then there was Scully, making everyone aware of his physical challenges. Reminding him of them in order to -- what? To see this project succeed? Could be. Could also be bullshit. Could grow old trying to figure it out, too. "I'll bet," Alex murmured. "Almost on my knees for you again, sweetheart. People are going to start to talk."

"You stoked the rumor mill quite well the last time you were here, Alex." Fowley was smiling at him, but it didn't reach her eyes.

With assistance from Scully and Gibson, Krycek stood, his arm around Scully's shoulders and his other hand on one of Gibson's. Smiling at Diana, he found himself ready, willing and able to up the ante and allay Skinner's fear. "You people ought to get out more. I mean, really. That was nothing." Looking at Dana, he brought his lips to hers the moment she looked up at him, taking his time, knowing that Diana Fowley had to be buying this, especially when Scully's arms slowly slid around his neck. Leaning toward Scully's ear, he whispered, "I'm sorry, too." Loud enough to be heard, he said, "You ready?"

Her nod brought broad grins from Krycek and Gibson, a troubled sigh from Skinner, a resolute look from Mulder and an enigmatic expression from Fowley.

Byers was scared -- more frightened than he'd ever been. They'd separated the three hackers immediately upon arriving at what looked to be a typical building in a typical office park. Beyond a standard issue lobby/reception area, the interior of the building they'd entered was like a fortress. It had checkpoints, key card access on the outer periphery and, perhaps, the upper levels. Handprints were required for the inner and below ground levels. Much to his chagrin, the path chosen by Byers' escorts had been inward and downward, culminating in a brightly lit, gloss white colored room. The only furniture was a metal table. Two of his escorts lifted him and held him down, while two others secured him to it.

Then they left him alone on his back, restrained at the wrist, elbow, ankle knee, hips, chest and neck. He had nothing to do but to stare at the ceiling and wonder. Byers had never really considered himself to have a vivid imagination. Frohicke and Langley often commented that he had very little to show for himself in that department. "If they could see me now," he muttered aloud, trying to dispel some of the darker imaginings that were threatening to overwhelm him.

He didn't fear monsters or the unknown -- the boogie men of children. Even a child would be hard pressed to fear such things in light brighter than a sunny day that was created by the fluourescents reflecting off of every surface. His fears were of the men that he knew would come with the strong stomachs or mind-altering drugs necessary to make him tell them what they wanted them to know. Byers had no illusions of resisting. If these people were equipped for this sort of thing, they'd know all he did within the hour. And then ... what? With that question came deep primal fears began.

The barest hint of a sound caught his attention. Then he heard a series of slow footsteps, coming closer. It sounded like only one person. That struck Byers as odd. He'd expected a team of interrogators, casting shadows over him, consulting in whispered tones. The footsteps stopped just to his right. And he smelled --could it be perfume? The fingers that sought the pulse point on his neck were soft and uncallused. He felt a slight scrape as they were drawn back that might've been caused by fingernails. A woman? Opening his eyes, despite his fervent belief that feigning unconsciousness was the most prudent course of action, Byers had to know. She -- he was becoming more certain she was a she -- was looking down at him. The person was backlit severely, rendering the features of their face impossible to discern, but the haircut and musculature of the neck were decidedly feminine.

Knowing that nothing about his situation had improved didn't alter that fact that Byers felt hope -- a surge of positive emotions that made him smile tentatively. However, by that time she'd moved out of his line of vision. Byers heard the sound of a zipper being either zipped or unzipped. Trying and failing to keep an erotic image of the woman approaching him naked out of his mind, he desperately strove to concentrate on what else he could hear and to interpret translate them into the woman's movements. He thought he heard the impact of metal on metal and wondered if she was unpacking a bag of some sort. Wanting to establish some form of communication, he hesitantly spoke, "Miss?"

That got her attention. In response, she moved to his side, slapped his face more than hard enough to bruise and returned to her unpacking. The second time she approached, she placed a tray on a table to his right. Then she bent over him and squeezed his right hand. And so it began.

She said nothing. She asked him nothing. She simply inflicted pain. Creatively. Innovatively. Making full use of the paraphernalia that she'd brought with her. Repetition was anathema. At some deep psychological level, Byers was impressed. She was an artist in a way - her genius manifesting in his pain. He would've been even more impressed, if he'd known that all of her efforts were conducted without marking his body. There would be no tangible evidence of his ordeal.

After what seemed like a lifetime, although couldn't have been more than an hour, she stopped, stepped back and stood, simply observing. He couldn't hear anything over his ragged and labored breathing, so he could only be sure of what he could see which wasn't much. God, he hurt. Why hadn't she asked him anything? What was the point of all this, if she wasn't going to ask him anything? The possible answers to his mental questions, that his mind not so helpfully provided, did little to calm Byers. But, his relief at the sound of retreating footsteps as well as the opened and closed door was great. He didn't realize it for several minutes, but he'd been silently crying, tears flowing in a steady stream down his face. The realization did him no good. He was powerless to stop.

Dana Scully was uneasy. Skyland Mountain at dusk was the cause. Her memories of this place were vague, but disturbing. And she didn't want to admit that her unease was exacerbated by the fact that she had no idea how much the man currently at her side had to do with her first trip there.

After leaving a protesting Gibson in the car, Krycek and Scully had walked along a nearly-to-completely overgrown path toward their goal. Dana had an idea, based upon the coordinates that they had been given, of the general direction in which they had to go. But Alex ... Alex seemed to be following some sort of trail or scent or something only he could sense. Moving slowly and carefully, he always seemed to be able to find their way back to "the path," such as it was. He hadn't spoken during their hike, until they reached a small clearing, evidently their destination.

"Wait here."

Assuming she'd obey, he never looked back as he continued alone. His assumption annoyed Scully, but she knew that Krycek hadn't been "Alex" for the last hour or so. She'd looked into his eyes at every opportunity. They weren't black. But he had created a distance - no, more like a barrier between them that was palpable. The effect was similar to what she'd termed his "professional attitude" when she'd experienced it in the past. But it was different, either more ... or less ... something. She couldn't put her finger on it, and she consciously refused to consider that the word she was looking for might be "human." However, she'd been comforted somewhat in that Gibson Praise hadn't seemed alarmed by the change, which she was sure he'd noticed. In fact, the boy seemed to be enjoying himself.

Gibson had insisted on explaining the incident in Skinner's office to her over Krycek's strong objections. The memory of that conversation distracted her from the spectacle of Alex crouching down and drawing some sort of diagram in the dirt with a stick, holding the cigarette case-sized device in his other hand and looking skyward. What he was hoping to see was unknown to Scully.

The conversation in the car had begun, as many Gibson Praise interactions did, with a bold pronouncement. He'd spoken directly to her, giving an identity to the vague fear that'd been building.

"Don't worry, Agent Scully, Alex doesn't think you're trying to set him up anymore."

Instantly, Krycek had interjected, "Shut up, Gibson."

"Set you up? That's kind of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"

Interrupting an impending adult argument, Gibson had persisted, "It was my fault, Agent Scully. I told him you were, because I misunderstood something in Agent Fowley's mind."

Scully hadn't been able to help smiling at the boy. He didn't like to see people fight. Couldn't fault him for that. But, as for taking the blame, that was ridiculous. Alex was under extreme stress. Some irritability could be excused and the rest punished at an appropriate time, place and ... ah ... manner. "But Gibson," she'd begun. "You said very little to Alex in AD Skinner's office, so I --."

"Gibson," Alex had growled, clearly a warning.

"But, Alex!"

"No. I don't want to hear any more out of you."

Gibson had pouted, but only for a moment. "That's only because you can't decide whether to trust Agent Scully or not. I mean really trust her. Not just telling her what you need to tell her to convince her to go along with something or to do something for you. Or what she forces you to tell her to keep her on your side when she challenges you. Or what just slips out, because you forget to be completely vigilant. But you know you want to. Because you're tired of relying only on yourself. And you're beginning to wonder if you can handle everything that's being thrown at you. But you've been betrayed by people you've trusted. And you've betrayed people that've trusted you." With a pause to take a deep breath and, perhaps, for effect, Gibson had concluded, "You don't know what to do. So you don't do anything."

"Thank you Dr. Freud." Seeing the boy open his mouth to speak again, Krycek had cut him off. "Drop it, Gibson."

"Just think Alex. About what it would be like to ..."

"No, Gibson," Scully had chided gently. "Trust has to be given. Not forced."

"Yeah," Alex had softly agreed. "Otherwise the betrayal of it doesn't hurt so much." Sighing, rubbing his temples and sighing again, Alex had continued, "Go ahead and tell her, since you will anyway the moment my back is turned."

Gibson had smiled, satisfied for the moment, and proceeded to describe their newfound mental communication abilities to a determinedly skeptical Agent Scully.

"Dana? You with me here?" Alex Krycek had returned to her vantage point above the clearing. His voice was somewhat alarmed, leading Dana to believe that those she'd heard hadn't been his first words.

"I was just thinking about Gibson and trust."

"Too heavy, Dana. Lighten up. C'mon, my handiwork is displayed below for your viewing pleasure and admiration." Offering her his night vision binoculars, he instructed, "Almost directly below us. Off to the east a little."

What Scully saw looked almost absurdly like a child's toy car. Well, more like a tank, really, sitting directly in the center of an equilateral triangle inscribed in the dirt. That must've been what Krycek had been drawing earlier when she'd gotten distracted. The tank appeared poised to travel due north, along a path that Alex had drawn from the midpoint of one of the triangle's sides to a point presumably a set distance from there. The line ended with a short perpendicular line. Closer inspection revealed three other short perpendicular lines along the length of the path.

"What do you think, Agent Scully?"

Alex was back in full bloom, grinning, impudent, irreverent and incorrigible -- a sharp contrast to the "man" who'd brought her from their vehicle to this clearing.

"Where've you been, Alex?" she asked.

Shrugging, he said, "Here and there. How far behind do you think Mulder and Fowley are?"

"Not far. Define there."

"I'm not sure I can, Dana." Scully just met his eyes, waiting. She showed no impatience and made no further demands for information, but Alex responded as though she had. "It's almost like ... I've done this before. Or seen it done. Maybe I did in a pyramid-induced vision. I can't remember any of the images very clearly, but the pyramid allegedly revealed possible futures. One of the more challenging parts of Dimitri's desert foray. Remind me to tell you about it sometime. Maybe the triangle imagery here forged a connection. I don't know."

"When did the sense of deja vu start?"

"In the car. Fifteen minutes, or so before we got here. About the time that the wunderkind finished his psychoanalysis. Are we supposed to "know" they followed us, do you think?

Laughing, Dana said, "A rather blatant attempt to change the subject, but I'll indulge you. Yes, I think we are. They'll be here to provide back up, if we get unexpected company."

"We won't." Seeing the surprise in her eyes at his confidence, even in the rapidly waning light, Alex explained, "We haven't proven anything yet. If this goes off without a hitch, then they'll know they have something to fear. If not, we have to wait for the next window, and they can sit back and watch to see if we can correct our error. The international stops are likely to be more well attended."

The temperature was dropping rapidly. Scully shivered involuntarily, and didn't resist when Alex put his arm around her. Chuckling softly, he whispered, "Won't be long now, Dana."

As if his words were a cue, the sky lightened. The moon was rising behind the ridge across from them. This far north, moonrise would be relatively quick. They waited silently, yet oddly companionably. The moments passed, and the moon rose. As soon as the moon peaked over the ridge and cast moonlight on the tiny tank, it began to roll, slowly, unhurriedly along the due north path. When it crossed one of the short perpendicular lines, the tank released a pulse of energy toward the night sky -- a yellow colored beam projected to the east.

Again, it was rolling. Crossing the second perpendicular, it emitted a red beam, due west, straight as an arrow. Rolling forward inexorably, the tank crossed the third perpendicular. A blue beam shot south, directly opposite the tank's path. Scully watched with bated breath as the tank completed its journey. A white beam projected north. And then there was silence. Complete and utter silence, as though everything in the woods surrounding them was holding its collective breath. Fifteen seconds. Thirty seconds. A minute. Two minutes. Dana tried to shift to see better, but Alex held her firmly in place. Her questioning look garnered a terse nod in the negative.

Suddenly, the clearing below them was awash in light. Flames, white hot, engulfed the area. Scully could feel the heat, and tried to move in earnest. That fire would spread quickly. Alex was harder pressed this time but managed to restrain her.

"Stay still, Dana," he advised. "It's retreating. Look."

He was right. The fire seemed to be turning inward, consuming itself, coalescing in the spot where the small tank had been before disappearing. Only the slightest reflection of moonlight on metal was left in its wake.

"The cigarette case?" she asked.

"Think so. You stay here. I'll get it."

"Alex!" Grabbing his arm, she demanded, "Did it work?" It took all of the considerable strength of character in Dana Scully not to release him and run. Krycek's body temperature decreased rapidly, discernibly to her hand through both his shirt and jacket. Such a temperature change wasn't possible.

He turned, somewhat awkwardly. Staring into the night sky, he head cocked as though he was listening. The tableau remained frozen for almost a full minute.

"Yes. It's gone." His voice was hollow, clipped, almost mechanical.

"Alex?" she murmured hesitantly.

Her fear dissolved into confusion and relief, as Alex whooped, pulled her in his arms and spun her around, laughing. His temperature returned to normal, as suddenly as it had become much too cold.

"We did it!"

"We certainly did," she whispered, as she watched him move rapidly down the hill to retrieve his tool.

Langley couldn't believe this was happening. He'd been put in a very small dark cell containing no furniture, light fixtures or windows, and left there. Neither food nor water had been provided, which was a blessing in a way, because there was nowhere to go to the bathroom. He'd relieved himself in the corner of the room farthest from the one in which he crouched currently. The smell wasn't too bad yet but it would get there quickly, if they didn't let him out of here or clean up after him. Remaining with the stench of his own leavings was not high on Langley's list of preferred options.

He'd assumed that they would ask him questions -- ones he couldn't or wouldn't be able to answer. But that hadn't happened. In fact, nothing had happened. And, if there was one thing Langley couldn't stand, it was a lack of activity -- of stimuli. He'd always been an avid observer of ... everything - nature, his fellow man, changing scenery -- and a voracious reader and consumer of information via any and all media. In this room, he had absolutely nothing to do and it was driving him nuts.

Could they know that? Had they really been under observation all these years like they feared? Were these men, he always thought of shadow government conspirators as male, so well versed in all things Langley that they knew exactly which buttons to push? Were they softening him up for an interrogation to come? If so, what sorts of questions would they ask? Something about Mulder and the XFiles? Or was this a totally different matter? Had they stumbled upon something even bigger in the course of their own investigations? That would hack Mulder off. Big time.

His smile, inspired by the image of an outraged and jealous Mulder faded, as he considered how they might try to persuade him to respond. The techniques were many and varied, but Langley could think of none that were in any way pleasant. Shuddering, he tried to apply his mind to something else. Any old question would do -- really. One suggested itself, but did little to ease his mind. If they weren't going to pump him for information, what were they up to?

What other possible reason could there be for these men to have taken them? To interpret some of the information that they obtained from the ashes, shredder or computer disks? That didn't seem right to Langley. They had their own people to perform those tasks. Asking us could save a little time, but that's all.

To come and work for Them? Now that was a scary thought. Slaving away for nameless faceless people, who would never tell you what they were going to do with the information that you provided to them, leaving you to try and piece together the nature and extent of the operation from information appearing on the evening news or CNN.

To bring Mulder and Scully to heel? That was certainly possible, but the chances of success were slim. Scully, in particular, seemed quite invested in getting to the heart of the conundrum posed in the person of Alex Krycek. What was the loss of a few good computer specialists along the way?

To keep he, Frohicke and Byers quiet? That was an even more frightening possibility. There were innumerable ways to do that, but elimination seemed the most expedient method to ensure that no leaks occurred.

Once he'd thought of that, his mind wouldn't let it go, even when he reasoned that it made no sense. If they were going to eliminate them, they'd have done so already. No. They wanted something more from them. But what? The circularity of his thought process wasn't lost on Langley, nor was the futility of trying to assign a motive to these people's actions without further information. Since it was clear that he wasn't going anywhere, he began again.

As Dana Scully and Alex Krycek began the trek back to their vehicle, the wind began to pick up and swirl. Krycek paused briefly, cocked his head and sniffed the air. Muttering absently, he noted, "A change in the weather. That'd make sense."

"Too bad there's no weather station here, so we can't get any information to confirm or disprove that assertion." Frowning in mild frustration, she added, "A place like this without one. What were people thinking?" Scully's sarcasm was thick and biting. She vividly recalled the wild goose chase on which Krycek had sent her and Mulder with only the hint that they should seek out an abandoned weather station -- a structure that couldn't exist, because there'd never been a weather station on Skyland Mountain.

Krycek simply smiled. "They probably wondered how often they'd experience strange atmospheric phenomena -- the kind worthy of further study -- in this environment, and concluded that those occasions would be few and far between."

Silence fell between them, and before they'd gone very far, it began to rain. Scully turned the collar up on her coat and glanced at the sky worriedly. She wasn't in the mood to be soaked. Still, he was correct. There was something strange about this weather. It'd come out of nowhere. There hadn't been a cloud in the sky.

"We'd better get a move on, Dana."

She came to herself with a start, realizing only then that she'd stopped moving.

"I'm afraid that isn't in the cards, Alex." Scully and Krycek turned toward the sound of Special Agent Diana Fowley's voice, reasoning that the note of command in it was likely due to the gun that she had pointed at them. But it seemed petty, and potentially life-threatening, to mention that fact.

When she had their attention, Fowley continued, "Weapons out and on the ground. Now. Slow and steady. No sudden movements." Krycek reached into his jacket pocket, lifted out his Glock with one finger and dropped it to the ground. Then knelt down and removed a smaller gun from an ankle holster and tossed it aside. Scully threw her service weapon on the pile and waited for Fowley's next move.

"I'll take the device now."

"I'm not finished with it yet, Diana." Alex said, moving closer to Scully, slowly and carefully, calling to Scully's mind Mulder's strategy when Krycek had held a gun on them in the abandoned warehouse. Yet Alex was shifting closer, rather than further away, and Dana didn't understand. Without distance, they had no room to maneuver. And that wasn't the only thing that was different. This time, she knew it wasn't a set up. She wasn't wearing a vest, and was quite certain that Alex wasn't either. Moreover, Scully harbored no illusions that Fowley's gun was loaded with blanks.

"Let me clarify the situation, Krycek. You're finished. In more ways than one." Fowley seemed to want to interact with Alex, so Dana looked for an opening and readied herself to act on it.

"Sounds ominous. Are you trying to scare me, Agent Fowley?" A hint of a smile appeared on his lips, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"If you aren't frightened, you're a fool. You won't live out the week." Abrupt and forceful, Diana virtually demanded that he consider his situation with the gravity that she thought he should.

Not a strategy with a high likelihood of success, Dana thought, not with Alex in this mood.

"Since my imminent demise is a foregone conclusion, fearing it seems a pointless waste of energy and the limited time I have left. What do you say, Dana? A suite at the Watergate? I'm buying."

"If you include some excellent champagne and high end massage oil, I'm there."

Fowley couldn't keep the slight edge out of her voice. She had neither the time for nor the inclination to listen to such drivel. "The device, Alex. Give it to me, and you can take your little whore wherever you wish. But don't bother to try and run. They'll find you. There's no where you can hide. Not anymore."

"Why don't I believe you, Diana?" Alex asked thoughtfully. "Let's see. Maybe it's because you've lied to everyone around you for months. That could be it. But I don't think so. I think it's that look in your eye. The one that suggests that you'd like nothing better than to pull the trigger, and take the device from the pocket of a jacket of a dead man. And yet, here I stand. Hale and hearty. Sans bullet holes."

Fowley was staring at Krycek, face expressionless, eyes devoid of emotion.

Dana thought Alex was on to something. "If you weren't riddled with bullets after that soliloquy, you're unlikely to be. Here and now, at any rate. Interesting. Why do you suppose that is?"

Krycek smiled at Diana, raising both eyebrows meaningfully -- an "Are you going to tell her or shall I?" sort of look.

Diana Fowley considered the younger man. He was extremely well informed, but she'd been warned about that. However, she was uncertain whether he had any actual knowledge on this topic or was merely fishing for information. So she inclined her head in his direction, indicating that he should continue.

He did. "Where's Mulder anyway? He really should be here to witness your big moment, shouldn't he? For old times sake?"

Changing the subject was telling. The boy knew nothing. "Fox is ... indisposed at the moment. Regrettably, he'll have to settle for the highlights, which will include, without much further delay I trust, you handing over the device. Agent Scully isn't dressed for this dreadful weather. She'll catch her death of cold."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? It'd be convenient if I give the device to you, since you can't take it from me." Neither Scully nor Krycek missed Fowley's startled reaction to his assertion.

"Why not?" Scully wanted to know and correctly sensed that Alex had no intention of explaining absent an inquiry.

"Ever since it compacted in Robert's gallery, it's been tuned to me somehow. And now that I've used it for one of its intended purposes, that connection is stronger. No one else can use it during this cycle. And, for that reason, it'll protect me. Because that's what it's been designed to do." With that, Krycek stepped between Scully and Fowley, crossing his arms in front of him, smiling pleasantly. At ease, relaxed and confident, he inquired, "Now what do you say we get out of this rain?"

Diana stared at Krycek, processing options as fast as she could come up with them, rejecting one after the other. There was only one, really -- emptying her first clip into Alex Krycek and hope for the best. Saving one bullet for Scully would be prudent as well. Having resolved that, Fowley raised her weapon, smiling coldly.

"Let's see how good your protective device is first."

Her surprise was almost comical, when Dana stepped from behind Alex firing his Glock with precision. The only shot Diana Fowley got off embedded itself in a tree three feet to Krycek's left.

Alex approached the fallen woman and removed the gun from her hand. She was dying. Dana had put two in her chest and she appeared to have lost the ability to control her hands, perhaps as a result of a bullet impacting her spine. Assessment made, he turned toward his companion and noted the haunted look in her eyes.

"Dana. You ok?"

Her eyes met his, pain and fear showing clearly. "You were lying through your teeth. Weren't you?"

He nodded slowly. "It was plausible enough. And I knew you'd notice that our guns were between us."

"After you put yourself between Diana and I. Why, Alex?"

With a shrug, he muttered, "I couldn't think of anything else." She was still just staring at him, so he said, "Come here, Dana."

Her movements were slow, uncertain. The adrenaline rush was gone now. It had been replaced by the reaction to killing another human being.

"Thank you," he whispered in her ear, as he pulled her close and held her for several minutes. The rain was coming down harder, soaking them thoroughly. Her arms, when they finally came around him, tightened such that they threatened to bruise his ribs. But he didn't pull away, because she needed the contact right now. Since she'd saved both of their lives, it was the least he could do. When she eased her grip slightly, he kissed her on the forehead. "C'mon, Dana. We need to find Mulder."

"Shouldn't we ...?" she began, gesturing toward the body of Special Agent Diana Fowley.

"We'll call it in and let local law enforcement handle it. There's no unsolved case here. Let's go. Gibson's probably worried sick."

She allowed him to steer her away with one arm firmly around her waist. At that point, Krycek didn't deem it wise to point out that she wouldn't even have to go through all of the paper work associated with discharging her service weapon. She'd used his gun. That small measure of relief could come later when it would be better appreciated.

Frohicke sat in a wingback chair and contemplated his situation. He'd been isolated from Byers and Langley, locked in a comfortable suite of rooms, fed regularly and questioned. The inquiries had been many and varied, dealing with his beliefs, his theories, the Kennedy assassination, the connection between the Masons and the alien base located beneath the new Denver airport, Roswell, The Men in Black, various Government reports regarding Unidentified Flying Objects and the alien autopsy.

It was typical conspiracy fare -- a bit too typical for Frohicke's taste. No questions were posed regarding the Xfiles, Mulder or Scully. Frohicke found that extremely odd, given the nature of the other questions. The common themes of conspiracy, cover up and potential extraterrestrial life virtually screamed Mulder. Why no queries about him? It was just as well that the men who questioned him hadn't brought up Agent Scully. Maybe she could be protected from whatever it was that they were plotting. That was Frohicke's primary motivator for vaguely answering all of the interviewer's questions -- to keep Scully out of this. So far, it had been too easy to do.

Frohicke reacted with a start when the door opened abruptly, signaling the return of the nondescript, dark suited man that had been questioning him ... and a few of his friends along with some equipment. The hacker found himself wondering what the topic would be this time. They'd covered a lot of ground in their previous discussions. Frohicke's curiosity was piqued when the men set up a television and a VCR, placing two tapes on top of the recorder.

"Don't tell me. Let me guess. The blue movie of the year for 1997 and 1998."

His interrogator smiled thinly. "Not exactly, Mr. Frohicke, but I do believe that these tapes contain footage that will interest you."

With no further delay, the man signaled to one of the other men. The first tape was placed in the VCR and began to play, showing a bright room and a man harnessed to an operating table.

Oh my God! Byers. The litany of pain that his friend had been subjected to was replayed for Frohicke. He couldn't look away. The men wouldn't let him. When he did, they rewound the tape and played that portion again until he'd seen all of it. The tears flowing from Byers' eyes as the tape ended made Frohicke physically sick. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking, even though he tried to focus on the soothing normal sound of a VCR tape being rewound.

The second tape - Langley -- it had to be. He wasn't wrong, although he fervently wished he had been. The dark would lead to depression and despair. His friend couldn't cope with the environment in which he'd been placed for very long without becoming unglued. He got that way when he'd been forced to remain in bed with pneumonia, even though it was light and he could read or watch television. This ... this was very different and intolerable for Langley. When the tape ended, Frohicke hung his head, sighing, trying to think, knowing that he couldn't allow his friends to continue to be subjected to these things and fearing what the suited man would ask of him to prevent that.

"Mr. Frohicke?"

With an effort, the hacker raised his eyes to the man in black. "Yes," he croaked. Frohicke hadn't realized how dry his throat had become.

"Let's talk about the fair Agent Scully, shall we?"

The man in black was smiling, his tone reasonable and positive. Frohicke's heart sank and despair threatened to overwhelm him. Quietly and reluctantly, he asked, "What about her?"