Underground

"So you're sure this guy knows what he's doing."

"Trust me. If anyone can do this, he can."

Mulder sighed, his lips pursed in thought. "How do I know I can trust him? Or you for that matter?"

"Mr. Mulder, as you should know from our previous associations, you have enough on me that were I to do something to compromise your safety, you could bring down not just me, but my entire operation."

Mulder nodded pensively. "Okay...but that doesn't answer my first question."

"Mr. Mulder. We only work with the best. He gets his business by word-of-mouth, after all. If he wasn't trustworthy, word would not be good. His references are impeccable."

Mulder's eyes narrowed, lips pursed again. His jaw flexed as he ground his teeth, considering. Finally, he took a deep breath and let it out.

"I'll meet with him."

"Well, not him, Mr. Mulder, but his people. *He* doesn't see anyone."

"Listen, Carlyle, I'm not working with a bunch of damned flunkies. Have I not made myself clear about the level of danger we're talking about here? These people are absolutely everywhere. In the highest levels of power. And in the lowest socioeconomic stratospheres. I need someone who is connected. I can't deal with 'his people.' I need to meet with him."

Carlyle winced, obviously not pleased at having to tell this man no. "I...it's not up to me, Mr. Mulder," he said, embarassed. "I don't even know who 'he' is. No one does. He...doesn't even have a name."

A flicker of apprehension clouded Mulder's eyes. "Does he..uh...do you know if he smokes?"

Carlyle's brows arched in surprise. "Not to my knowledge, no, but I've never asked."

Mulder nodded slowly. "All right. Set up the meeting. Maybe I'll get somewhere with 'them'."

Carlyle nodded. "I'll call you tomorrow with the details. It takes about twenty-four hours to make any kind of contact with them."

Mulder frowned. "I'll be waiting. Remember...time is of the essence, here." He got up without saying goodbye and left the small diner.

He got into the van and drove twenty miles out of town, pulling off and driving down a dirt road for ten more, finally parking the vehicle in a thick copse of trees and making camp for the night.

Squinting into the sun, Mulder pulled off onto the service road, taking out his hand- drawn map, turning it around in his hands, tracing the spiderweb of dirt roads with one long finger. Satisfied he was headed in the right direction, he memorized all the turns he needed to make and continued on into the desert.

Three hours later, the sun was just setting, and he nearly missed the small building set back from the road several hundred yards, painted the exact same color as the surrounding sand and Joshua trees. He screeched to a halt, dust clouding his vision momentarily, then backed up and made his way slowly down the hidden driveway.

As he pulled up, he saw no indication of life at all, the tumbleweeds blowing by the structure in clouds of lonely dust. He stepped out of the van, checking the gun he had at the small of his back, unzipping his leather jacket so he had easy access. He walked up to the door and opened it, following Carlyle's instructions not to knock. People who knocked often ended up going underground in the most literal sense of the word. This place wasn't somewhere you just stumbled onto accidentally, and if you were meant to be there, you knew not to knock. Mulder stepped in and closed the door behind him.

He looked around in the low light provided by one skylight. He appeared to be in an empty workshop or lab of some kind. There was, again, no sign of life. The quiet was eerie...he could hear the silence ringing in his ears. The sound of his own breathing made him nervous. He made his way to the stack of crates Carlyle said would be there and sat down to wait. He had no more instructions after that, only having been told to wait once he was inside the building.

An hour later, his ass was asleep and there was a small pile of sunflower seed shells at his side. He'd had to take a piss for the last fifteen minutes but was afraid to leave the small room and not at all inclined to urinate on the floor. So when the wall suddenly opened up, revealing a tiny room with shiny metal walls, his bladder threatened to embarass him. He breathed in and stepped forward cautiously. As soon as he entered the small room, the door slid shut behind him and he was enclosed utterly, only a few feet of clearance on any side.

He gasped as his stomach flew up into his chest and he stumbled at the sudden vertigo. He realized the small room was moving, though he couldn't have said in what direction. He remembered the structure of the building and decided it must be going down. A long way down. His stomach was just starting to settle when it was slammed back down into his body as the elevator came to an abrupt but smooth halt. He couldn't begin to estimate how far down he'd travelled.

The door slid open and he stepped into a long corridor, also completely covered in some sort of brushed metal. As he walked to the end, he couldn't help but reach out and touch his fingers to the metal, and to his surprise, it was warmer than body temperature. He frowned and walked on to the end of the corridor, where he was unsettled by the discovery that it ended in a blank wall.

Mulder opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on and the wall slid open, revealing a small, sumptuously furnished waiting area. His eyes scanning the area for any sign of life, Mulder slowly entered the room. There was no one else there, but there was one door. There were three fat, extremely comfortable-looking chairs, and Mulder cautiously walked across the room and lowered himself into one, wondering if this place had a bathroom.

He grumped to himself about not having a magazine to look at, and played with his fingers, shifting slightly in his chair as his bladder became more and more insistent about being emptied.

It nearly got its wish as the door opened.

"Mr. M?"

Mulder nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah."

"Please come in."

Mulder stood from the chair and followed the man through the door. As they made their way down a warmly lighted hallway with oak paneling and abstract art, Mulder made a quick study of his guide. The man was wearing a suit...very nice, perhaps silk, obviously custom-fitted. He was young, maybe mid-thirties...younger than Mulder. Certainly more muscular and probably more fit. He moved silently and gracefully and Mulder was quite sure he was well-schooled in hand-to-hand combat. He wasn't sure whether to feel safe or threatened.

The man led him into a similarly well-appointed office, where another man, dressed the same as the first, stood and extended his hand.

"Mr. M. Welcome. Please, sit."

Mulder thought about asking to use the facilities, but decided curiosity won out over nature's call, at least for now. He sat.

"So," Mulder rasped. He cleared his throat and started again. "How does this work?"

"It's simple, really," said the man, pulling up his huge leather chair and gracefully folding his hands on his highly polished desk. "You give us unlimited access to all of your assets and holdings, and we make you dissappear."

Mulder's mouth dropped open. "What? You expect me to just hand over everything I own to a bunch of complete strangers, and expect you to be able to protect me? Do you think I'm crazy?"

The man's eyes twinkled just slightly as if he didn't really want to have to answer that particular question. "No, Mr. M., we don't think you're crazy. We think you're out of options."

"I've still got the option of telling you to go to hell," Mulder scowled, eyes narrowed.

"Do you? That's not how we hear it. The way we hear it, some of the most powerful factions in the world and possibly the universe want to see you dead."

Mulder's jaw clenched but he said nothing.

"The way we hear it, you need help, and you can't afford to go with anyone but the best." The man leaned forward, looking intently into Mulder's narrowed eyes. "*We* are the best. You've heard our terms. You have five minutes to make your decision."

"What the hell is this?" Mulder yelled, standing up from his chair and lunging toward the desk. "Is this some sort of con to get all my money and then make me really disappear?" His words were angry, but fear hovered behind his bravado.

"Sit down, Mr. M."

"Go to hell."

Before Mulder could turn around, two men had him held between them, quickly divesting him of his weapon, squeezing his arms and shoulders in vice-like grips. Mulder hadn't even heard the door open.

"Are you ready to make your decision?" asked the seated man mildly.

"Get the fuck off me!" Mulder snarled, twisting in his captors' hold.

The man at the desk flicked his head slightly and Mulder's head spun as he was thrown against the wall, his arms both pulled painfully behind him. It was so fast he didn't even have time to turn his head for the impact, and he gasped to catch his breath, blood pouring from his nose down his face. He blinked back the tears of pain and tilted his head back, trying to stop the flow.

"You fuckers," Mulder spat, spattering blood on the perfect oak paneling. "People know I'm here. People will notice that I'm missing. I'm not just some stupid fuck who made a few too many bets on the Knicks or something."

"We know who you are, Mr. M. We've no intentions of killing you. We just need for you to show us a little respect. We really do want to help you, you know. We're the only ones who can."

Mulder went limp against the wall, and his captors' hold relaxed just slightly. Sensing his advantage, Mulder threw his head back, smashing it hard into one of the men's faces, and as the man cried out in surprise, weakening his hold further, Mulder twisted one arm free and went for the weapon he'd seen holstered at the man's far side. Not wasting his opportunity, he swung the weapon hard, knocking it upside the stunned man's head, and driving him to the floor, unconconscious. He turned and snapped the gun to the other man's forehead just as the arm holding him jerked up hard, causing a blinding pain to shoot up his arm, and a gun was pressed against the side of his throat.

Gasping past the pain, Mulder started to pull back on the trigger, feeling he had nothing to lose anyway, since if what these people were saying was right, they knew all about him and had the advantage.

"Stop!" The man at the desk stood, his voice raising above Sunday-school teacher timbre for the first time. Mulder and the guard were at a standstill, Mulder's muzzle pressing into the guard's forehead, the guard's gun making a red impression against Mulder's throat.

"Do not shoot him!"

The guard's eyes widened, and Mulder turned his head just slightly, cradling his broken arm against his abdomen.

"Put away the gun." The man behind the desk seemed flustered, and he was looking at the guard, rather than Mulder, as he said this. As he took his seat again, Mulder noticed that behind the look of calm control, the man was twitching slightly. His eyes narrowed as the guard slowly took the gun away from his throat, holding it just to the side, still ready to shoot if he had to.

A spark of understanding flickered in Mulder's eyes. "You're under orders not to kill me, aren't you?"

The seated man said nothing, but Mulder was an excellent study of nonverbal communication, and he knew he'd hit the nail on the head.

"Interesting. Guess Carlyle really doesn't want his whole operation to be exposed, eh?"

Again, the seated man said nothing, resting his hands on the desk, palms down, breathing a bit shallowly.

"Let's stop dicking around then," said Mulder, giving the guard a shove against the forehead with the gun. "You...sit down." The guard slowly backed up and lowered himself into a chair. "And you," he gestured to the seated man, still holding the gun on the guard," get *him.*"

The seated man's mouth dropped open for just a second before he recovered himself. "No one sees him."

"I want to see him." Mulder's finger tightened on the trigger. He saw the seated man's finger twitch once against the desk and knew he was winning.

"He...he doesn't become involved at this level." The man struggled for an air of superiority, instead coming off a bit whiny.

"Involve him or I kill your buddy here," He waved the gun at the seated guard. "And then I kill you. I've got nothing to lose. You can't kill me."

The man behind the desk narrowed his eyes, staring Mulder down for what seemed like an hour but was probably five minutes. Mulder's gaze never faltered, the gun still held on the man just in front of him. Finally, with a carefully controlled sigh, the man lifted his phone and spoke.

"Yes. I need to speak to him. We have a situation."

"It's a Level Five."

"Yes. Yes, of course I know that. Yes, I'll hold."

"Sir?" The man swallowed and Mulder watched him pale visibly. Mulder's breathing accelerated as he wondered just who this *him* was and if he really wanted to see him so very much after all.

"It's a s-situation, sir," the man stuttered. "Yes, sir. Level Five, sir. I'm sorry...I know, sir. Yes, I understand, sir." He put down the phone with another careful sigh.

"Well?" Mulder asked impatiently, sounding only slightly nervous.

"He's coming." said the man, sounding none too pleased.

"When?"

Before the man had a chance to answer, the phone rang again.

"Yes?"

"Yes sir." The man put his hand over the receiver and looked at Mulder. "He wants you to come to his office."

Mulder frowned. He didn't want to leave what he felt was a fairly well-controlled situation, but he didn't want to push *him* too far, either.

"And where is that?" Mulder asked, sounding irritated.

"Just down the hall," answered the man. "I'll take you. He...he wants to see you."

Mulder frowned.

"He wants to see you, sir. You...you don't need the gun," said the man miserably.

Mulder's brows arched. "Yeah, right. Okay, let's go."

"We'll be..." The man stopped and slowly hung up the phone, and Mulder realized that *he* could most certainly see and hear everything in the room and had hung up as soon as Mulder has acquiesced to the meeting.

"Get up." Mulder gestured to the man in the chair, who slowly and smoothly rose to his feet. "And you, get over here next to him."

The man came out from behind the desk with a quiet sigh, taking his place beside the guard. Mulder glanced down at the third man, who appeared to still be down for the count, then gestured to the door.

"After you."

He ushered them out of the office and followed them just a short distance down the hall, where they stopped in front of a blank wall. Suddenly, it slid open and they stepped through. Trying not to look too unsettled, Mulder stepped in behind them, ushering them to the side to see the office's occupant. A large, wine-colored leather chairback slowly turned around, and when the man seated in it became visible, Mulder's mouth dropped open, his grip on the gun faltering.

"What...?"

"Can you please let my men go, Mr. M., so they can get back to their paperwork? I can assure you, if I wanted you dead, I wouldn't even have to bat an eyelash."

Mulder couldn't help but focus in on said long, dark eyelashes as he struggled to regain his composure.

"Do you think I care whether these men live or die, Mr. M.? Go ahead. Shoot. You'll go down before the bullet hits the brain."

Mulder's eyes flicked up to the man's flawless forehead, then he slowly lowered the gun, taking his finger off the trigger.

"Get out."

The two men immediately turned and wordlessly left the large office, the wall sliding closed behind them.

"Sit down, Mulder."

Mulder stared a moment then slowly lowered himself into the chair in front of the man's huge, highly polished black lacquer desk, cradling his arm.

"I thought you were dead."

"That was the idea."

"I saw Skinner shoot you."

"No shit."

"Then how...?"

Krycek sighed. "Before you ask another stupid question, Mulder, please try to keep in mind why you are here." He reached over to an ornately carved Chinese box and extracted several tissues. "Here," he said handing them to Mulder. "Clean yourself off."

Mulder reached forward and took them, wiping the blood away from his nose.

"You. You're...*him.*"

Krycek sighed.

"You faked your own death."

He raised one eyebrow.

"But how...how did you...I mean, was that you, or was it a replicant?"

Krycek laughed quietly. "You're so paranoid, Mulder. Not everyone's a replicant, you know."

Mulder's brow furrowed.

"Just ten percent of the population so far, in fact," said Krycek nonchalantly. "And they're pretty easy to spot, once you know what to look for."

"So it *was* you?" Mulder said, his eyes still showing confusion.

Krycek sighed. "I'm obviously good at what I do."

"Obviously," replied Mulder quietly, lost in thought.

Krycek raised his eyebrows at that, surprised to get any kind of concession to his level of skill from this man.

Mulder pondered for a few more minutes, chewing the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "You can help me then," he finally said.

"Yes, I can," replied Krycek.

Mulder's lips started to curve into a relieved grin when Krycek spoke again. "But I'm not going to."

"What?" Mulder started to get up from the chair, wincing as his arm reminded him he wasn't up to any hand-to-hand.

Krycek smiled, seeing Mulder's disadvantage. "As much as I miss being slapped around by you, Mulder, and as fun as it was to watch you let Skinner shoot me, I think I'd rather not have anything further to do with you as long as I live."

Mulder just stared. "But...you know what I'm up against. You know how bad I..." he trailed off.

"Need me?" scoffed Krycek. "Yes to both questions, Mulder. It's very satisfying for you to finally get a clue."

Mulder narrowed his eyes, scowling. "I don't see why you have the need to be shitty about this, Krycek."

Krycek's eyes widened. "Oh you don't? You don't think I owe you a little shit by now, Mulder? Can we just go back for a minute to the fact that you coldly watched me die? Just for a minute can we think about that?"

Mulder looked slightly chastened, lowering his eyes for a second, then raised them, warily angry. "You did have a gun on *me* at the time, Krycek," he said tonelessly.

It was Krycek's turn to look away, eyes squinting. "Yeah. I did."

"Why?"

Krycek looked up at the softness of Mulder's question. He looked into curious eyes for a moment and sighed. "Because I thought I could do it," he said, almost too quietly for Mulder to hear.

"Why did you want to?" Mulder's voice was quiet too.

Krycek's eyes squinted again. "I didn't want to," he said, his voice a low rasp. "I had to."

"Why did you have to?"

"Mulder," Krycek said, looking him directly in the eyes. "Not that you'll believe me, and not that I'm not wasting my breath, and not that I'm not so sick of this I could just shoot someone," he eyed Mulder meaningfully, "But I am working to save the world from alien domination. Sometimes that means doing things we don't want to do."

"Like shooting me," said Mulder sullenly.

"I didn't shoot you," Krycek replied in a near-whisper.

Mulder stared at him, and Krycek stared back.

"Hey!" Mulder said, startling them both. "You have two arms!"

Krycek blinked and glanced at his left arm.

Mulder raised his brows and leaned forward, and Krycek avoided eye contact.

"How the hell is it that you have two arms, Krycek?" Mulder asked, getting angry again.

Krycek sighed. "None of your business, Mulder."

Mulder opened his mouth to make a retort, then, thinking better of it, closed it again.

"So uh...where are we now?" Mulder lowered his head, looking up at Krycek from under lowered lids.

Krycek sighed again. "Several hundred feet underground."

"That's not what I meant."

"I can't help you, Mulder."

"You said you could. Before, you said you could, but that you wouldn't. Which is it, Krycek?" Mulder scowled.

"I won't."

"Son of a bitch! I can't believe this! You're really enjoying this aren't you, you smug little bastard?"

Krycek narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

"Fuck," Mulder muttered. Then he calmed himself, taking several long, deep breaths. "This is it, then, isn't it? Your revenge on me? For...watching Skinner kill you? For your arm? For all the times I hit you? Well, I gotta hand it to you. You're holding all the cards now, and yep, you have me completely fucked." Mulder stared down into his lap, breathing hard.

"It's not revenge," said Krycek in a gravelly voice.

"Then what the fuck is it?" said Mulder, completely out of patience and hope.

"I don't trust you."

"Trust me? Trust *me*? Oh that's fuckin' rich. That's really good, coming from the man who killed my father, who made me think he gave a shit about me and then shoved a dagger in my back."

"That's what I'm talking about, Mulder."

Mulder glared at him.

"I don't trust you to trust me. And unless you trust me, and do exactly as I tell you to, this won't work. You'll end up dead."

Mulder squinted, frowning. "So you're just gonna throw me to the wolves...or in this case, supersoldiers."

"No."

"No?"

"No. I'm not the only one in the world who does this kind of work. I can send you to someone. Someone who can help you."

"Everyone says you're the best," said Mulder reluctantly.

"I am," said Krycek. "But someone else, someone you will trust, someone to whom you will listen and follow their instructions exactly, someone like that has a better chance of keeping you alive than I do."

Mulder looked at Krycek, then down at his lap, then up at Krycek again.

"I'll trust you. I...I can see that you know what you're doing. I don't have any choice."

"No."

"Dammit, Krycek! I'm telling you I can do this!"

"And I'm telling you no. No matter what you tell yourself, Mulder, the truth is what you said before. I did betray you. I did make you believe I cared about you." Krycek looked him directly in the eyes. "And I did kill your father. That's not all I've done, Mulder, and I know that you know some of it, and some of it you don't. But I know you, Mulder, and there is no way you can get past all that now. As much as you want to." Krycek looked down at his hands on the desk. "No matter what I do, there's too much between us for you to ever trust me again."

Mulder opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, then opened it again, and finally closed it with a heavy sigh.

"So now what?"

"Now I take you to my associate, and you dissappear."

Mulder was quiet. "But...you'll know I'm alive."

"If you tell them to hide you from even me, they can do it, Mulder. I'll know you're alive, but I won't know where to find you." A glimmer of something uncomfortable made Mulder look more carefully at Krycek's eyes, but as soon as it was there, it was gone.

"So...you're not helping me because you think I'm safer with them. Why do you care so much, Krycek?"

"I have a reputation to protect, Mulder," said Krycek, looking down at his hands. "If I lose a client, I lose my good name."

Mulder nodded, looking down.

"I'll have you taken to the drop point now." Krycek picked up his phone.

"Take Mr. M. to the infirmary and see to his injuries, then transport him to Point Seven immediately. Take all precautions." He hung up the phone, and the wall behind Mulder slid back, revealing a new thug. Krycek stood up, offering Mulder his hand. Mulder slowly got to his feet and reached for it, and they shook for a bit longer than either of them had expected. Mulder turned to go.

"Udachi tebe, tovarisch."

Mulder looked back. "What does that mean?"

"Good luck, comrade." Krycek answered quietly.

Mulder nodded and moved his right hand to cradle his left arm. "Thanks."

Krycek nodded.

Mulder walked over to the man at the door, and breathed a sigh of relief as he was led down the long, featureless metal hallway to another blank wall, which slid back to reveal a medical facility.

As soon as Mulder was out of the office, Krycek picked up the phone again. "Put a man on him. I want regular reports." He hung up the phone and steepled his fingers, leaning forward and resting his lips on them gently. "Good luck, comrade."

The phone on Krycek's desk rang several times until Krycek picked it up. "What is it?" he snapped impatiently. "Yes?" His voice calmed, his attention focusing. "I see. Yes, you were right to call me. No, don't take any action. Just keep me apprised of the situation. Use the direct line." Krycek hung up the phone, deep in thought. Then he picked up the phone again. "I need the gear. No, just one. Bring it directly to my office."

Krycek ducked down low, watching the dimly lit windows from outside, crouching behind a tree in the dark. If he hadn't been so concerned with keeping his presence a secret, he would have been cursing a Russian blue streak under his breath. As it was, his litany was only his mind.

Stupid fucking martyr! Goddamned son of a bitching Dudley fucking Do Right. What the fuck does he think he is, a goddamned super hero? Only Mulder would give up all of his worldly assets to go underground and hide from a race of technologically advanced alien supersoldiers, then get himself mixed up with a couple of fucking psychos, trying to save some dumb shitkicker couple in the woods. Stupid idealistic shit-for-brains.

Krycek sighed and checked the settings on his weapon, then, taking a deep breath, he jumped up, smashing his elbow through the window, and quickly fired on the two men in the living room, killing one, and purposely only seriously wounding the other. He knew from reports that there were only the two men to dispose of, so the threat was neutralized. He hoisted himself up through the window frame to the sound of tortured screams as the second man rolled on the floor, grabbing for his nonexistent knees.

He walked over to the writhing man and looked down, his eyes narrowed.

"Where's Johansen?"

The man continued to writhe and hiss and gurgle, ignoring Krycek's interrogation. Krycek placed one heavy boot on the man's chest, holding him still, and leaned into his twisted face, directing the end of the strange weapon between the man's wild eyes. "Where is Johansen?" he repeated. The man sobbed and screamed, still trying to reach for his shattered knees. Krycek was beginning to think he'd gone too far and hurt the man to the point he may not be able to pull it together enough to talk. He rolled his eyes and slid his fingers down to the activation switch. The man screamed.

"Basement! He's in da fuckin' basement!" The man's head jerked to the side and Krycek glanced over, seeing a heavy wooden door. The man began to sob. "Please...don't kill me!"

Krycek pressed the button, obliterating the man's face, and stepped over to the door.

The door was locked, but Krycek pointed the small weapon at the lock and pressed the button, and with a slight crackling sound, the whole doorknob apparatus was vaporized. He kicked the door open gently and started down the dark stairs.

He heard whimpering and sobbing as he made his way down the stairs, and slowed his steps, not knowing what to expect. He rounded the corner, squinting in the darkness, waiting for his vision enhancement to compensate for the total lack of light. As his pupils dilated and the structure of his eye modified itself slightly, he rounded the corner and caught sight of the victims.

There were two workbenches and a pool table, and each surface had a body on it. The sobbing was coming from the woman, who was writhing on the pool table. The other two figures were silent. Ignoring the crying woman, Krycek went over to the first table, unable to tell in the almost total darkness which one had Mulder on it, despite his enhanced visual acuity.

He looked down, grimacing at a badly bruised and cut body, covered with blood and torn clothing, barely recognizable. He smelled feces and urine under the copper tang of blood that hung thick in the air. With a trembling hand, he reached out two fingers and placed them on the side of the sticky neck, feeling for the pulse point.

Nothing. He waited a moment, then withdrew his fingers slowly. He squinted, trying to see better in the total darkness, and reached for the man's face, turning it to get a better look.

"Oh god, is he dead? He's dead, isn't he?" screamed the woman in a voice nearly gone from screaming.

"Yes," said Krycek quietly. "He's dead." And he's not Mulder, he added silently to himself. He sighed quietly as the woman disintegrated into hysterical weeping and made his way over to the other figure.

He took a deep breath before reaching out with trembling fingers to feel for a pulse. At first, he felt nothing, and his world began swirling out from under him. Then, he froze, leaning in closer as if he could discern the beat with his enhanced hearing. He couldn't, but he could feel the faint pulse of blood moving through Mulder's carotid artery. He let out a long, shaky sigh, taking his hand away from Mulder's neck and giving him a careful check with eyes and hands.

He was as bloody and beat up as the other man; maybe moreso. There were cuts and bruises and burns and welts over every part of his body that Krycek checked. Then Krycek discovered to his disgust that Mulder had been nailed down to the wooden table with oversized framing nails, three driven through each palm. He closed his eyes, breathing back the wave of red rage that threatened to take him under. He wanted nothing so much as to bring the two men upstairs back to life just so he could kill them again, slowly, for a long, long time. He decided he just might do it.

But first he had to get Mulder off the table and safe from death. He looked around in the low light, then walked over to the hysterical woman on the pool table.

Feeling the bile in his throat rise, he realized she, too, was nailed down. He reached out, stroking a hand gently down the tear-drenched cheek.

"I'm here to help you." It wasn't true, of course. He was here to help Mulder. She was just lucky to have been the distant neighbor of a certain ex-FBI agent who stumbled upon the torture she and her husband had been undergoing.

The woman gasped and hitched, trying but failing to stop crying. Krycek reholstered his weapon and leaned over her, putting a hand on either side of her face.

"I need a hammer so I can pry out the nails. Do you know where there is one?"

The woman shook her head, still weeping.

Krycek nodded, soothing her. "Okay, okay. There must be a light down here, right? Can you tell me where the light is?"

His voice was quiet and gentle, and the woman choked back a sob and said, "Buh-bottom of the-the-the stairs."

He smiled and caressed her face briefly. "Good. Thank you. I'll be right back." He went back over to the bottom of the stairs and felt around on both sides, but didn't find a switch. Then he looked straight up and saw the string. He reached up and tugged, and suddenly the basement was flooded in pale incandescent light. Krycek gasped.

The walls, the floors, and the tables were all splattered with blood. Pools of it covered the floor around all three tables, some of it dry, some of it still glistening.

"Jesus!" Krycek raked a hand through his hair, his eyes wide with horror, and began frantically scanning the room for a hammer. Spotting one hanging on the wall between the woman and Mulder's worktable, he snatched it off the wall breathlessly. He turned to Mulder's table to free him first, then, thinking of what Mulder would want, he gritted his teeth and turned to face the sobbing woman.

He quickly pried out the nails holding her down, and she immediately curled into a ball on her side, shuddering and choking on her exhausted sobs. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and she twitched. Wincing, he turned away.

He walked over to Mulder and quickly removed the nails from his hands. "Appropriate," he said to the unconscious Mulder in a choked rasp. "You always were a fucking messiah. It was only a matter of time before somebody crucified you." He stroked his hands over Mulder's face, grinding his teeth painfully at how he was barely recognizable with all the fractures, bruises and cuts.

"God, Mulder...what have they done to you?" he choked out. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He leaned over the man and ever so gently placed his ear to his abused chest, not so much to hear the heartbeat as to be close to it. Then he raised up and slipped a badly shaking hand into his pocket, bringing out a small injection gun.

"You're going to be all right, Mulder," he said, placing the gun up to Mulder's forearm and pausing. "Better than all right." He pulled the trigger and a soft metallic click was heard in the now-quiet basement. Absently he thought that the woman must have finally gone into shock and/or blessedly passed out.

He pulled the injection gun away and dropped it in his pocket, bringing a palm pilot out of another. He started punching buttons frantically. Satisfied, he slipped the handheld into his pocket again, and leaned over Mulder, putting a hand carefully to his battered cheek.

"Come on, Mulder...I've gotta get you out of here. The real FBI will be here soon and we can't let them find you." He leaned over Mulder, stroking the skin that looked the most unmarked, as he pulled out his cell phone, punching a button.

"Triangulate and retrieve." He slipped it back in his pocket and leaned over Mulder again, whispering in Russian, feathering his hands over the broken and bruised body, hardly touching, breathing hard.

Suddenly, a column of light appeared around them and then the basement was empty except for one comatose female and one deceased male. Moments later, the sound of choppers was heard as the FBI arrived, following an anonymous tip called in hours earlier.

They were shocked to discover only the two victims and no apparent perpetrators on the premises, with copious amounts of blood in both the basement and living room. The woman was taken to the hospital and eventually recovered physically, and after extensive investigation failed to turn up any sign of her attackers, the case was filed as unexplained.

Mulder blinked, wincing as the too-bright light burned his eyes. He finally opened them, trying to focus in on the blurry white and gray shapes surrounding him. Very quickly, the room came into sharp focus and Mulder breathed in deeply, raising himself up in his bed.

He was in an all-white room, and from the appearance of the various computerized machines lining the walls, which were attached via slender wires to pads glued on various parts of his body, he surmised he was in some sort of hospital. With a gasp, he recalled his last waking memory.

Pain...so much pain he hadn't been able to think anymore, only exist and try to keep breathing, knowing that the woman's husband was already dead, and he had to stay alive to take part of the brunt of the torturers' abuse, so that the woman wasn't facing them alone. He hadn't been able to move, stretched out like Christ on the cross. He jerked his hands up to his face in a panic, and turned them from side to side, eyes wide in confusion.

There wasn't a mark on them. In fact, they looked better than good. They were perfect. No sign of the ugly scarring they'd shown since his abduction. Starting to tremble, Mulder took stock of the rest of his body, wincing as he flashed back on receiving several very memorable injuries. As he checked each site hesitantly, he discovered that he didn't have a single injury. Or even a scar. His brow furrowed then he suddenly ripped open his white gown, running his shaking fingers up and down his sternum.

The scars from his abduction were gone as well. The long, jagged line that bisected his chest, where they'd sawed him open without anesthesia, was totally nonexistent. He reached up and fingered his left collar bone. No bullet scar. His breathing started to accelerate rapidly and one of his machines began beeping softly. Within one minute, a man dressed all in white stepped through the door, hurrying to the machine.

"You're awake." He pressed a button and the machine quieted. He turned around and Mulder stared at him mutely.

"How are you feeling?" asked the man in white.

Mulder swallowed. "G-good," he replied. "Too good."

The man laughed. "No such thing. Let me check you over and make sure the program has run to its completion."

"Program?"

The man walked around the room, pressing keypads and eliciting small beeps from the various monitors around the room. He ignored Mulder's question until he'd made the full circuit, then he returned to Mulder's bedside and reached out and began pulling away the electrodes.

"Ow!" Mulder said, slapping his hand away. "Jesus, let me do that." The man stepped back with a small shrug and watched as Mulder carefully disengaged himself from each wire, attempting to preserve as much body hair as possible. When he was totally disconnected, Mulder sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

"So, what's this about a program?" Mulder asked again, focusing in on the uniformed man.

"Why don't you get dressed, and I'll send someone down in a few minutes to take you upstairs. He wants to see you."

Mulder frowned. "Who?"

"*He*," the man replied in a voice that said Mulder really should know better. Mulder's eyes narrowed as he remembered a similar conversation two years ago.

"Where are my clothes?"

"That cabinet there. You'll find toiletries as well. I'll send an escort in ten minutes."

Mulder nodded slowly, not really listening to what the man said as he swung his feet over the side of the bed, noticing that the slight back pain he'd had for the past five years was completely absent. He got to his feet and walked over to the cabinet as the man in white left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

In the closet hung a pair of black jeans and a black turtleneck. They seemed to absorb the light from all the white around them. Mulder took them from the hangers and picked up the black briefs and socks from the bottom, placing the black Doc Martins on top of the pile and walking back over to the bed. He dressed in the clothing, then opened the black shaving bag and took out the razor, toothbrush, and toothpaste. He quickly shaved and brushed his teeth, noting that he was clean and fresh-smelling as well as injury-free. He put the toiletries away and waited for the escort.

The door opened quietly and a man dressed in an impeccable suit stopped just inside it. Mulder rose and the man turned and started walking, and Mulder fell in step behind him. They went down one all-white hallway and through a door, and as they stepped into a familiar-looking small metal room, Mulder's eyes began to narrow.

The elevator took them either up or down, Mulder really couldn't have said which, for one full, stomach-lurching minute before coming to a quick stop. Mulder's escort wordlessly stepped from the elevator and led Mulder to a wood-paneled hallway he was also all too familiar with. He almost smiled as the wall slid open and the man stopped, gesturing for Mulder to go in without him. Mulder stepped into the room and the door slid shut behind him. He remained standing, a smirk on his face, as he waited for the wine- colored chair to make its revolution. He found himself holding his breath until the black-suited figure came into view, smiling.

"You're up."

"What the hell's going on?"

"Have a seat." Krycek gestured to the overstuffed club chair situated in front of the shiny black desk, and Mulder looked down at it, then slid into it, getting comfortable.

"So, Mulder," Krycek said, leaning back in his own chair. "How are you feeling?"

Mulder smiled thinly. "Really good, Krycek. Better than I should be."

"Oh?"

"God, Krycek, let's not play anymore games, okay?" Mulder leaned forward in his own chair, looking intently into the wary green eyes focused on him. "Why the hell do I feel better than I have in twenty years? Where the hell are my scars? What the hell is going on here?" Mulder's voice was rising a little in panic, and Krycek put up his hands to stop him.

"Okay, okay. Calm down, Mulder. No more games." Krycek put his hands on the desk, palms down in an all-cards-on-the- table gesture. Mulder stared at him suspiciously.

"Do you remember Indiana, Mulder?"

Mulder's eyes darted to his lap and back up, squinting. He swallowed. "That's...where I was living."

Krycek nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"I...I got wind that something funny was going on with one of my neighbors...a young couple living five miles away. I went to check it out..."

"Alone..."

Mulder ignored him. "...and there were these two men there, and they had them...they were torturing them," Mulder finished quietly.

"And you went in to save them."

"Of course," said Mulder with a slight shrug. "What was I gonna do? Leave 'em there to die?"

"Uh...call the authorities?"

"The authorities consisted of a sheriff that regularly got beat at Scrabble by the local girl scout troop."

"What about the FBI?"

"Nearest field office was three hundred miles away, at least. No time."

Krycek snorted. "You only had time to go up there and get nailed," he joked darkly, eyes sparking.

Mulder glared at him and swallowed hard. "They caught me by surprise. They used the woman to lure me in, and used my shock at finding her to catch me unaware and knock me out." Mulder rubbed at the back of his head, remembering the pain and the lump, but of course there was nothing there now but clean, silky hair. He frowned and lowered his hand. "Now you. Where do you come in?"

"Through the front living room window, actually," said Krycek casually. Mulder continued to glare at him so he continued.

"I...heard about your problem," Mulder's eyes narrowed. Krycek ignored him. "And so I went in and saved your ass."

"I thought you said you wouldn't be able to find me."

Krycek chewed his cheek. "I guess I lied."

"You've been watching me."

Krycek just looked at him.

"How long ago was that?" He said carefully.

Krycek pretended to think. "Hmmm...two days ago? Yeah...yeah it was Wednesday 'cause I missed my racquetball game," he finished, nodding.

"Two days?!" Mulder asked incredulously, leaning forward. "Krycek! What the hell is going on here! Why am I better than okay two days after being nearly dead in some basement in Indiana?"

Krycek sighed. Then he reached out his left arm, pushing up his sleeve. "Feel it."

Mulder arched an eyebrow. Krycek rolled his eyes.

"Come on, feel it."

Mulder tentatively reached out one long, slender, flawless finger and stroked it along the bared arm, unaware that his reluctance to touch Krycek firmly resulted in a highly sensual tickle. Krycek tried to hide his shudder and pulled his arm back.

"That's an arm," said Mulder.

Krycek smiled. "Yes, it is."

"A real one."

"Uh huh."

"Krycek, didn't you lose your arm in Tunguska? I mean, I saw you. You've had a prosthesis ever since that night..." He paused, looking down a second, then back up. "...in my apartment, when you kissed me." He said the words quickly, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip before continuing. "When you were...helping them lead me to the ship," he went on, his voice faltering slightly. "I felt it. You were next to me and I felt it."

"Well, I did have a plastic arm on, Mulder," began Krycek, looking uncomfortable. "But...it was over the top of my real one. I found it's handy to have people underestimate you."

"What?! You mean the villagers *didn't* cut off your arm? Jesus, Krycek! Do you know guilty I felt about that? And it was all bullshit? All that time I spent feeling responsible? Feeling sorry for you?"

Krycek's eyebrows arched in genuine surprise. "You felt guilty?"

"Well, yeah! Of course I did! I'm not fucking inhuman, Krycek," said Mulder angrily.

"I...I didn't know," said Krycek wonderingly. "I swear, Mulder. I had no clue you...had any feelings about it at all, other than maybe thinking I deserved it!"

"Oh, I was just supposed to grab you around the shoulders that night and give you a big ol' hug, telling you how sorry I was about dragging you to Russia to lose your arm? Yeah, right. You would have set me on my ass."

Krycek squinted and breathed deeply. "What night?"

Mulder sighed. "The night in my apartment," he said quietly.

Krycek raised his eyebrows again. "You noticed it then?"

"'You must be losin' it, Mulder. I can beat you with one hand,'" said Mulder mockingly.

"'Isn't that how you like to beat yourself?'" replied Krycek with a slight grin.

Mulder couldn't help but grin in response. "I don't know what I was thinking about." He shook his head.

Krycek waggled his eyebrows lasciviously, and Mulder's eyes widened in surprise, then he grinned sheepishly. Krycek smirked. They shared a light moment, then Krycek's expression became distant again.

"They did cut it off," he said quietly, looking somewhere just to the side of Mulder's face. "They found me in the woods. I woke up and...they held me down and sawed it off with a hot knife." He stared off into the distance, eyes narrowed, then he blinked, frowning. "I...don't know why I just..."

"I'm glad you told me," said Mulder quietly. "I mean, I'm not glad it happened or anything, but I'm glad to know that all that guilt and blaming myself really wasn't for nothing."

"I didn't know you blamed yourself," said Krycek, his voice raspy. "I didn't blame you, Mulder. I knew why you escaped. I knew why you didn't trust me to come back for you."

Mulder looked into Krycek's eyes, forcing him not to let his gaze drift away again. An endless moment stretched out between them, then Mulder spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"Would you have come back for me?"

"Yes," answered Krycek without hesitation. "Mulder, I took you there so you'd be immunized. It was the only way."

Mulder looked up, frowning but curious.

"Yeah. That's why the other serum worked so well on you after your...abduction." Krycek swallowed and looked down.

"Scully said it was antivirals..."

Krycek snorted. "Yeah, right. Earth's antivirals don't even work against our own viruses! Why would anyone think they'd work against something extraterrestrial?"

Mulder said nothing, trying to read Krycek's kaleidoscope eyes. Then he slowly nodded and dropped his gaze to his lap. "Tunguska. That's why I'm alive."

"But I didn't expect you to know that, Mulder," said Krycek softly. "I mean, how could you?"

"I couldn't," answered Mulder. "Because I didn't know...I mean, I didn't think you..."

"Cared," Krycek finished for him.

"Yeah."

"You thought it was all an act, from the beginning." Krycek's voice was flat.

"Well, yeah," said Mulder. His voice was almost inaudible. "Wasn't it?"

Krycek closed his eyes on a heavy sigh. Mulder looked at his lashes, resting heavy and dark against his cheeks, and they were fluttering slightly. When Krycek opened his eyes, Mulder's breath caught at the intensity in them.

"It was never an act, Mulder," said Krycek in a hushed tone. "I mean, I was hired to go in and convince you to trust me," he went on, looking away for a moment. "But when you thought I cared about you," He looked back into Mulder's eyes and breathed deeply. "You were right."

Mulder's eyes narrowed, trying to decide if what he was hearing was truth or just expertly crafted lies told by a master. He stared into the dark green irisis leveled at him, and he knew the feeling there just couldn't be faked.

"Then...how could you?"

Krycek sighed, lashes falling to his cheeks again. "Can we not do this, Mulder? The explanation I gave you two years ago is the same one I'll give you today. I could sit here for weeks, telling you all the things that were happening, every detail that went into each decision, every choice I had to make and why I chose the way I did," His eyes opened and they were filled with pain. "But it won't change the fact that I did them. And I'd do them again, Mulder. I'm sorry, but I've got a job to do and my personal feelings have to come second." Krycek stared down at the black lacquer desktop, his fingers moving compulsively against the shiny surface.

Mulder closed his eyes and sighed deeply and heavily, and then for a moment, it sounded like he was asleep. His breathing was slow and regular and it was the only sound in the room besides Krycek's own. Then he took another deep breath and opened his eyes.

"You know things I don't. You always have. You've done things I couldn't. You always will. But I know more than I did, now. I know some of what we are truly up against, and if this is what you've been fighting all this time, I have to give you the benefit of the doubt for the choices you've made."

Krycek looked up, mouth parted in shock. "You're...you're forgiving me?"

"Well, not forgiving, exactly," Mulder began, stumbling over his words. "Just...understanding and not holding it against you." He stopped, his lips pursing. "Okay, yeah. I'm forgiving you."

Krycek just stared at him, naked shock on his face. Mulder looked around, avoiding that intense gaze for a few seconds, then unable to stay away, met it and let it burn into him.

"I...I don't know what to say," began Krycek, his voice thin.

"How about you tell me how the hell you grew an arm, how the hell you faked your own death, and why the hell I feel like a horny seventeen-year-old kid?"

"Horny?"

"Don't change the subject. Spill it."

Krycek let out a relieved sigh. "Remember when Skinner had the nanytes in his bloodstream and they were using them to control him?"

"They?"

"Well, we," said Krycek. "Whatever. Anyway, do you know how those things work?"

"They build microscopic physical barriers in the arteries, blocking blood flow and eventually causing cardiac arrest," answered Mulder tonelessly.

"For starters," explained Krycek. "But that's only the beginning."

"What do you mean?" Mulder was obviously very intrigued now, and Krycek smiled at the return of his characteristic inquisitiveness.

"They can also read cellular information and repair or even recreate damaged physiology," said Krycek, with a raise of the eyebrows.

"Like...arms?" asked Mulder, awed.

"Like arms," confirmed Krycek with a nod.

"And...brains?!" Mulder said incredulously, his eyes flicking up to Krycek's forehead for a second, then quickly back.

Krycek sighed. "Well, not exactly," he said carefully. "I mean, in my case, the damage was too extensive for even them," he went on quietly. "They had to bring in a healer."

Mulder's eyes lit up in recognition. "Like Jeremiah Smith!"

"Exactly."

"So...he kept you from dying?"

Krycek nodded, eyes squinting.

"And the nanytes did the repairs?"

Krycek nodded again.

Mulder was quiet, frowning deeply. "So...you really were shot, then, in that basement garage?"

Krycek took a quick breath. "Yeah."

"Shit."

Krycek looked a bit surprised but said nothing.

"I...I thought you were going to kill me, you know. I mean...you said you were."

"I know," said Krycek quietly, looking down.

"I mean, at first, I didn't really believe you'd do it," said Mulder, thinking back. "I mean...we just had so much history together. Even if it was bad history. We were..."

Krycek looked up at him, curious.

"We were such a huge part of one another's lives," finished Mulder, looking deep into Krycek's eyes.

Krycek breathed, not breaking eye contact, then swallowed and licked his lips. Mulder tracked the movement with his eyes then brought them back up to Krycek's, dark and green.

Krycek looked away, staring at the wall behind Mulder.

"I really thought I could do it," he said faintly. "I really thought it was the only choice, and I really thought I could go through with it."

Mulder frowned but said nothing.

Krycek laughed bitterly. "Turns out, though, if it's between your life and mine, Mulder..." He sighed, shaking his head and looking down at the desktop again.

"You choose mine."

Krycek looked up, brows furrowed at Mulder's choice of present-tense verb.

"You died for me," said Mulder, his voice full of stunned awe. "I can't believe it. You actually died for me."

Krycek stared at the desk, hard shuddering breaths coming from his chest.

"And you led me to Russia, to get innoculated against the black oil, and ended up losing your arm over it!"

Krycek closed his eyes and opened them.

"And then...this time...you risked everything...your secret existence...your safety...your life! Just to save me from my own stupid misplaced heroics!"

Krycek squinted, his eyes shiny as they stared intently at the shiny black lacquer in front of him. His breathing became rapid and shallow.

"Why would you do that?" asked Mulder, totally at a loss.

Krycek squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth a tense, white line.

"Krycek?"

No response.

Mulder's voice softened. "Alex?"

Krycek's mouth opened on a soft sigh and Mulder watched, unbelievingly, as a single tear trickled out from under his dark lashes and down his pale cheek. Without thinking, Mulder leaned forward over the desk, reaching out his long fingers, and gently brushed it away.

Krycek's eyes snapped open with a start as he jerked back from Mulder's touch. Mulder stayed where he was, leaned over Krycek's desk, about a foot in front of his face. Krycek's eyes blinked rapidly, wet lashes batting against moist cheeks, and a tear coursed down the other cheek. Mulder stared into Krycek's eyes and leaned even further forward, until he could feel Krycek's breath on his face. He brushed the second tear away and this time Krycek didn't flinch, just breathing harder.

"Is it more than...friendship?" asked Mulder in a near- whisper.

Krycek blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, unable to look away from Mulder's face, now just a few inches from his own.

Mulder's eyes widened a little for a minute, then narrowed as if considering. Then he tilted his head just slightly, and with a look of curious wonder on his face, pressed his lips gently to Alex Krycek's.

Krycek gasped into his mouth and Mulder felt heat wash through his body, totally unexpectedly. He moved his lips slightly against Krycek's and felt Krycek's part a little in response. He stroked between Krycek's lips with his tongue, and Krycek's mouth opened on a groan. He sucked Mulder's tongue in deeply, meeting it with his own, his hands coming up to hold Mulder's face in place. Mulder was breathless with the intensity of Krycek's kiss and panted and kissed him back just as hungrily, assuaging a need he had never known he had.

When neither one could draw enough oxygen any longer, Mulder pulled back from Krycek with a gasp. Krycek quickly dropped his hands away from Mulder's face, looking slightly embarassed, licking his lips rapidly and avoiding Mulder's eyes.

Mulder reached up and stroked down the side of Krycek's face and Krycek shivered, closing his eyes.

"I guess it is," said Mulder softly, stroking Krycek's lips with the pad of his thumb before standing up slowly. He stretched his back, which had been extended uncomfortably across a large expanse of desk.

Krycek just stared up at him, his eyes dark and heavy lidded, his lips parted on small, panting breaths. Mulder slowly licked the taste of Krycek from his lips and found he liked it. He stepped back and sat down in the chair, for the first time noticing he was totally erect in his Krycek-selected black jeans.

"So," said Mulder, breaking the pregnant silence. "I guess you used the nanytes on me."

"Uh yeah, I did," said Krycek, still sounding slightly dazed, licking his lips repeatedly.

"Does that mean we're like...immortal?"

Krycek smiled through his haze. "Not exactly," he said, sounded more like himself. "I mean, we can die," he went on, "but we are pretty damned close to indestructible for the most part."

Mulder shook his head, looking down at his arms, free now of the scarring that reminded him all the time of the tortures inflicted upon him on the ship. He looked back up and Krycek was looking at him, a pleased smile on his lips.

"Well, I need to learn a whole lot more about these things," said Mulder, standing up.

Krycek quickly stood with him. "Sure! I'll take you down to the labs and you can talk to our technicians." He came around the side of the desk, heading for the door, and Mulder stopped him with a hand on his arm. Krycek looked at him in surprise.

"I know I'm probably close to useless to you," Mulder began, and Krycek opened his mouth to object, but Mulder stopped him with a finger to his lips and continued. "Since I really know less than nothing of the whole picture, but I was just wondering...I mean...do you think you might..." Mulder's eyes flicked down uncertainly, then he looked back up and focused in on Krycek's wide green eyes. "Alex...do you need a partner?"

Krycek let out a surprised breath. "I...sure...sure, Mulder...of course...yeah!"

Mulder smiled and slid his hand down, taking hold of Krycek's. Krycek began to extend it in the usual handshake fashion, but quickly found himself being jerked forward, a hand sliding around the back of his neck and pulling him in for another deep, hard, breathless kiss.

He groaned and put an arm around Mulder, pulling him in closer, and Mulder grunted quietly, his hips thrusting slightly into Krycek's. Krycek gasped into the kiss and Mulder groaned as he realized his very hard cock was now pressed against an equally hard cock in Krycek's black silk pants. He deepened the kiss, feeling Krycek go so slack he was almost afraid he'd have to hold him up or lay him down on that huge desk behind them. Smiling against Krycek's lips at the idea, he pulled back, placing one more kiss on Krycek's lips, then twining the fingers of his right hand with those on Krycek's left, hanging at their sides.

"So, boss, where were you planning on stashing me, anyway?"

"I'm not your boss," said Krycek, stroking his hand up and down Mulder's back, the other squeezing tightly in Mulder's clasp. "I'm your partner."

Mulder smiled. "Okay, partner, where's my bunk?"

"Well, I was going to set you up in a room on the transitional floor until we got you placed somewhere secure..."

"Where's your room?"

"Huh?"

"Your room? You live here, right?"

"Uh...yeah..."

"Listen, if it's not big enough or whatever, I can stay somewhere else until mine's ready, but if you'll have me...I'd just as soon bunk on your couch as on a floor with a bunch of strangers." Mulder looked him in the eyes.

Krycek looked back intently a minute, considering. "Oh I'll have you, Mulder," he finally said, yanking him up against his very hard evidence of arousal. "But I don't think it's going to be on the couch. At least not the first time." He grinned at Mulder from under his lashes, looking a little uncertain at making such a bold move.

"That's a relief," said Mulder casually. "I really don't ever want to sleep on a couch again as long as I live." He leaned in for another quick, soft kiss, then pulled away, sighing at the loss of such electric contact. "Now...where's that lab, partner?"