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Part V Strike Zone He stooped down to check the body sprawled near the entrance. The man was
dressed in green, surgical scrubs. A gun was clutched in one lifeless hand. A
bullet hole gently oozed blood from the middle of his forehead. Another man,
considerably more thug-like, lay dead just outside, gun also in his hand and
several bullet wounds in his chest.
Mulder stepped over the body and swept his flashlight beam over the panel. One
or two red lights blinked here and there but most of the displays were dark. He
walked down the length of the car, his flashlight playing over the metal
containers. All of them had a thick glass viewplate set into the upper half. He
looked into each one. Most were the same: greenish, viscous material smeared the
glass, mixed with blobs of... something else. Not quite flesh, not quite bone. The
things that were in those containers were disintegrating, but he could still
make out something akin to a human shape in them. It was the other containers
that made his stomach lurch. Humans. Or at least, they had been. Ashen and
shriveling now, with tubes snaking out of their mouths and nostrils, with open,
dead eyes covered in a film of greenish-black fluid.
A sharp chemical smell hung in the air and it was very cold and quiet. The sound
of his footsteps echoed against the metal flooring.
Mulder had expected the Centers to look different. Maybe he wasn't sure exactly
what he had expected. Huge underground complexes perhaps. Something larger, more
impressive, more elaborate. Something with vast and deadly security systems and
a round-the-clock troop of guards. Yet, this was a far more elegant solution,
certainly far more practical. Traincars. Relatively small, mobile, difficult to
pinpoint amidst a sea of traincars in a sea of railroad yards, or hidden off on
some little used track in the middle of nowhere, as this one was. The contents
could be offloaded into trucks or other vehicles in the middle of the night and
moved with little notice.
And there were railroads all over the world.
When he reached the hydraulic equipment, he saw the damage. Several lines were
cut, green fluid still dripping from them into a thick, widening pool on the
floor. Gauges were smashed, cables severed. A corrosive had been poured over and
into the electronic equipment. Broken wires hung from a small camera mounted in
one corner of the ceiling. On the other side of the electronic display, on top
of the keyboard, lay a DLT tape. He scooped it up and put it in his coat pocket.
He checked around a little more, but there was nothing else.
He left the traincar and paused for a moment to look up at the stars that dotted
the blue-black sky. He started running back across the tracks, back towards his
car. As he reached a rise, he could just make out several sets of headlights in
the distance, weaving towards him. He ran faster, through a line of trees to the
quiet, two-lane road that lay beyond. When he got in his car, he kept the
headlights off, and drove away in the opposite direction.
The drive back to D.C. wasn't a long one, but it was already morning when Mulder
neared the city.
The image of those tortured faces behind the thick glass screens hovered before
his eyes. Was that what had happened to Samantha? Was that what they had done to
her? Mulder felt the heat of tears but fought them back. The pain was always
there, rooted deep in the center of his heart where it would ache whenever he
thought of her.
He patted his coat pocket to make sure the tape was still there. He hoped there
would be some answers in it.
He thought back to last night's phone call. When the phone had rung, he'd looked
at it and knew it was Alex Krycek calling him. He'd just... felt it. When he'd
answered and heard that low, husky voice, he hadn't been surprised even though
almost two months had passed since they'd last spoken in the house in Arlington.
"Mulder, just listen, I haven't much time. The Centers. They're using railroad
cars."
"Wha"
"Just listen. They've moved one and I have a shot at it. If there's anything
useful, I'll try and leave it for you. We only have a few hours before they
discover what's happened. You have to get here as soon as possible."
Then Krycek had given him the location and hung up.
Mulder glanced at the gray dawn sky, pulled out his cellphone and called Scully.
Two rings later, she picked up. "Scully, it's me. I'm on my way to see the Lone
Gunmen and I want you to meet me there as soon as you can."
"Mulder, it's not even seven yet. And it's a workday. And we have a meeting with
Skinner first thing this morning."
"Tell him I'm following up on a case lead and I need you to join me. Tell him
I'm sick and you have to bring me some chicken soup. Tell him anything, Scully.
Just get over to the Gunmen's as soon as you can, okay?"
"Mulder, I just can't brush Skinner off without."
"This is important, Scully. I've seen it, one of the Centers. I have a tape that
was left there. I want to find out what's on it right away. Maybe it'll tell us
how we can use what we found in Ridley's research." He could picture her eyebrow
rising in the short silence that followed.
"You've actually seen one of those places, Mulder? What, how"
"I'll tell you all about it at the Gunmen's. I... I have something else I need to
tell you, too."
"What is it?"
"I'll tell you when I see you."
The pause was longer before she spoke again. "All right, Mulder. I'll be there
as soon as I can."
"Thanks, Scully." He clicked off his cell and stepped on the gas.
The burly doorman's gold and russet uniform blended nicely with the lobby's Art
Deco décor. He gave Krycek a discreet appraisal as he announced his name over
the house phone. "Yes, sir, a Mr Krycek is here to see you." After a pause, he
ended with another "yes, sir" and turned to Krycek with a polite nod. "Ninth
floor, Apartment D, Mr Krycek."
Krycek thanked him and headed for the elevator. As the gilded doors opened for
him, he idly wondered if the doorman was on the Syndicate's payroll and decided
that his paranoia was definitely running on overdrive.
A few moments later, he was standing in front of apartment D, the letter
gleaming from a small, polished bronze plate on the carved wood door. Before he
could ring the bell, the door opened.
"Ah, Alex, please come in." The Well-Manicured Man was dressed in an elegant
dark blue suit. The tiny flecks of blue dotting his gray silk tie exactly
matched the pale color of his eyes. He looked tired. "How was the shuttle
flight?" he asked conversationally as he led Krycek into the study.
Deep burgundy wallpaper and dark wood paneling gave the room a stylish air that
was underscored by the floor to ceiling bookshelves that took up one wall.
Morning sunlight slanted in through the partially opened drapes. A silver coffee
service with two china cups stood on a corner of the wide mahogany desk.
"On time and uneventful," replied Krycek. He glanced around the room, noting the
layout and took a chair in front of the desk.
The Old Man poured coffee into the two cups and handed one to Krycek. "I
received a call a little while ago," he began as he seated himself behind the
desk. "It seems the Project has suffered an unfortunate setback. One of the
Centers has been sabotaged."
"Serious?" asked Krycek.
"Most definitely. In fact, I was informed that it's a total loss." The old man
sipped from his cup, his gray brows rising as he gave Krycek a calculated stare.
"You should have told me you were going after the Center, Alex."
Krycek looked up as he added milk to his coffee. "I took the opportunity when it
came. You were here in New York with the rest of them. I didn't want to risk
trying to contact you first."
The old man's lips pursed thoughtfully, and then he let out a soft sigh. "The
Colonists will want answers. Our cigarette smoking colleague will be very busy
in the next few days. We must be particularly cautious now."
"I covered my tracks. They won't tie it back to me. And I still think I should
have killed him when I had the chance." Krycek drew in a breath, remembering the
moment when he stood on that snowy ridge, his gun pointed at the Cancerman's
head...
'Go on, take your shot, Alex,' he'd said.
Oh, and how he had wanted to. The bile had risen in his throat as he'd forced
out his reply. 'I was sent to bring you back.'
Krycek pushed the memory away as the Brit spoke again.
"The Colonists insisted on his return. They are certain of his commitment to the
Project. He has proven his loyalty to them far more... unreservedly than the rest
of us. That's what makes him so dangerous. He believes in the Project and in his
own destiny as one of its architects." The Well- Manicured Man gave Krycek a wry
little smile. "I remember when I believed in it as much as our driven colleague.
I remember when you believed in it, too."
"No. I just wanted to be as powerful as the rest of you."
"Then we were both fools, weren't we?" The old man paused, measuring Krycek's
expression. "Our colleague's presence buys us more time. He can be useful. Our
game has reached a critical stage. You must put any personal vendettas aside,
Alex. We cannot afford them now."
"I'm not an amateur."
"Indeed you're not. Please remember it." He took another sip of his coffee, and
sat back in his chair. "Have you had any further contact with Agent Mulder?"
"No, not since I spoke to him about Jeremiah Smith."
"Yes. It would seem it was most fortuitous that he came to see you. We can only
hope that Smith's information is true and that Mulder will be able to use it to
find what we need to know about the Alien disease in the Ridley material. Do you
think he'll contact you if he discovers something in the papers."
"I don't know. Does it matter, as long as he's able to put it to use?"
The Well-Manicured Man leaned back in his chair, head angled thoughtfully. "I
had hoped that you and Mulder would be able to bridge your past... history."
Krycek put his cup down and met the old man's stare. "Why?"
"Strategy, my boy. To win, it's vital to have the best players on your side.
Individually, you and Mulder possess unique abilities. You are both believers in
extreme possibilities. You each have access to resources that the other does
not. As I've told you before, working together, you can accomplish far more than
you can alone."
"Mulder already has a partner."
"There are many kinds of partnerships. They need not be mutually exclusive."
Krycek wondered how much the old man really knew. "I called Mulder and told him
about the Center. I found the backup tape there and I left it for him." He
waited to see what the old man would say.
The gray brows rose as a hint of a smile touched his face. "Good. Very good."
"You surprise me."
"How refreshing, though I don't see why. When Mulder came to the Arlington house
the night of the charity gala, it confirmed something I have suspected for quite
some time." Krycek kept his face a careful blank. "Really? What was that?"
The tiny amused smile returned to the old man's face. "Whatever's between the
two of you, it is certainly not indifference. And it's far more than animosity.
If you are to work together effectively, you must recognize the true nature of
your relationship."
"Relationship?" echoed Krycek.
"What other name would you give it?" replied the Well- Manicured Man.
"I'm not sure what I'd call it." Krycek looked away from the other man's steady
gaze. He saw now that the Brit had deliberately arranged for his path and
Mulder's to cross. He could understand the old man's wish to get Mulder more
firmly on their side of the quiet little war of the worlds, but he doubted that
his mentor realized how deeply his machinations had affected Krycek's life. "You
may have overplayed your hand this time," he said. "I... I don't know how to deal
with Mulder. It's just made everything more complicated."
"Mulder is not the sort of man to draw a neutral response from anyone. Perhaps
it's because you cannot remain dispassionate with him that you find
Mulder... unsettling. You've worked very hard at making sure your emotions never
interfere with what you've had to do. That's one of the reasons you have the
reputation that you do, though I'm sure it's been a most difficult struggle for
you at times. Still, I believe you've handled Mulder quite well, and if it's any
consolation, from what I observed of your interactions that night of the gala, I
would say that Mulder has as much difficulty 'dealing' with you as you do with
him."
"No, it's different for Mulder. He doesn't ca" Krycek stopped. "It doesn't
matter to him," he amended.
"Oh? Fox Mulder strikes me as a man who only bothers with the things that matter
to him."
Krycek swallowed, gripped by a confusing twist of emotions in his gut and the
sudden memory of Mulder's eyes staring into his. "I'm better off alone."
The silence that followed finally made Krycek look up. The expression on the old
man's face was almost kindly as the pale blue eyes met his. "No one should ever
feel better off alone, Alex. You've been alone too long."
"Why do care? Is it because of my father? Is that it?"
"Your father did the best he could."
Krycek's eyes narrowed. "The best? You call suicide the best he could do?" His
lips tightened into a cold line. "He put a gun in his mouth and pulled the
trigger because he was a coward."
The Well-Manicured Man shook his head slowly. "You were a boy. You didn't know
the choices he was forced to make. He was a fine scientist, Alex. The Syndicate
brought him out of the Soviet Union because they knew what he could do for the
Project. We gave him a new life. All he wanted was to be able to do his work. He
realized too late that his work was creating something far different from the
new world of his dreams."
"He could have fought them. He should have found a way." His voice was rough and
accusing. "Where were you? You said you admired him. Why didn't you help him?
Help my mother?"
"I wasn't here. I began heading the Project in Europe shortly after your father
set up his laboratory here. We were all working in different parts of the world
then, establishing the foundation for the work that lay ahead. We each had our
particular responsibilities, our particular domains. You know who headed those
Operations here."
Krycek voice was soft and chilling. "Bill Mulder."
"Yes, but our smoking friend was in charge overall. And he was as efficient then
as now." He waved away Krycek's angry glare. "We were all terribly efficient,
terribly dedicated in those days, myself included. It wasn't until I heard about
your father's death that I began to doubt..." The old man's voice trailed away,
his eyes distant with memories. "Nothing was clear after that. With each passing
year, it became more difficult to ignore what your father had foreseen: that we
were actively helping to destroy our world instead of saving it."
"Was the car crash that killed my mother really an accident?"
The gray brows rose in surprise. The old man's lips pursed thoughtfully before
he answered. "I truly do not know, Alex."
Krycek lowered his head. Why had he expected the other man to be able to answer
the question? He shouldn't have even let it slip out. There were only two men
who could give him the answer, and one of them was dead. And he didn't believe
he would ever hear the truth from the other. Still, just the fact that the Brit
was unsure told him that the old man had his suspicions, too.
Krycek slowly raised the coffee cup to his lips and drank. The action gave him
time to wrestle his emotions under control, to banish the vision of his mother
standing alone in the garden surrounded by the irises she loved, with that
terrible, desolate look in her eyes. As he had run to her, clung to her
unknowing, she'd tried to smile, tried to hide the fear. It was the last time
he'd seen her alive.
He put his cup down and looked back at the man behind the polished desk.
"The past never really leaves us, Alex. We each carry it with us, but how it
shapes our future depends on what we do... now. In that, the past has only as much
power over us as we choose to give it."
Krycek considered the old man's words and slowly leaned forward in his chair,
raising his chin, his voice firm. "I need more information about the Centers. I
need to find out what the Colonists are doing now. Can you get me into the next
Syndicate meeting?"
"Well, guys, what have we got?"
"Looks like there's mucho data on this thing, Mulder. There's a multi-level
password schema too, pretty fancy, but we'll dig through it. Just need a little
time."
"How much time?"
"You just got here an hour ago, man. Relax, willya, and leave it to the
masters."
"Yeah, Mulder, how many times do we have to tell you, our kung fu is the best."
Mulder glanced at his wristwatch and then back at the three heads bent over
several computer consoles and assorted techhead equipment. He felt like he'd
just brought a fancy new toy to kindergarten. The Gunmen were happily in their
element. Somehow, he doubted that Scully would be in the same frame of mind.
When Scully showed up an hour later, the Gunmen were still working on breaking
the password encryption. Frohike beamed at her with his usual hint of a leer as
his colleagues nodded a greeting before turning back to their task.
Scully gave them a brief smile and turned a raised eyebrow towards her partner.
"Well, Mulder, Skinner isn't thinking too kindly of either of us right now,
especially since he already suspects we've been keeping him in the dark about
something. There's only so much more leeway he's going to give us before he
demands some answers. I can hardly blame him."
"Yeah, I know, but he'll get them. We're almost there, Scully, I can feel it."
He took her elbow and steered her over towards the kitchen where he could talk
to her alone.
"You said you saw it... one of those Centers?"
Mulder nodded, pouring mugs of coffee for them both. "They're using traincars,
Scully, outfitted like small mobile laboratories. I saw what they're doing. The
hybrids." His jaw clenched as the images flashed through his mind's eye. "It was
a torture chamber, Scully. That's what they're doing to those victims, turning
them into fodder for their fucking Project. Alien incubators, that's all they
were." He went on to describe the contents of the metal canisters, his hazel
eyes finally gazing off into a distance only he could see.
After a silence, Scully's reply showed how well she could read him. Her voice
was gentle. "You don't know what really happened to your sister, Mulder. It
doesn't mean that what you saw in that traincar has anything to do with what
happened to Samantha."
Mulder squeezed his eyes shut at her words. A moment later, he looked at her and
nodded.
She drew in a breath. "In that traincar... are you sure what you saw involved alien
lifeforms?"
"Scully, why can't you believe"
"It's not a matter of belief, Mulder, I just want to make sure we know exactly
what we're dealing with. Your description, as horrific as it sounds, could just
as well apply to genetic experiments, DNA manipulations conducted illegally by
unscrupulous scientists for any number of reasons. Joseph Ridley conducted just
that kind of research to find his so-called fountain of youth. He was grafting
salamander cells on human tissue. He was re-engineering human cells, Mulder.
Developing his own morphogens to affect normal tissue differentiation. His
experiments were horrific as well." She seemed to sense his frustration and
reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, I'll try and be open to all
the possibilities. I'm only asking you to do the same."
It was an old standoff, as old as their partnership. Her skepticism had kept him
grounded and focused on his own quest, her persistent doubts balancing off his
own wild flights of intuition. After all their years together, he knew their
perspectives would never change, not until Scully could be shown irrefutable
proof of the alien conspiracy.
"Fine, Scully. I'm hoping we'll both find the Truth. And soon." He glanced
towards the other room where the Gunmen were diligently working. "Once the guys
access that tape, we may find out exactly what they were doing in that traincar,
and to who."
"You said it might tell us how to apply some of the anomalies we found in the
Ridley material?"
Mulder nodded, his gaze still on the three heads huddled amidst the computer
equipment. "That's what I'm counting on."
"How did you find out about the traincar in the first place? Was it the
Englishman again?"
The question made him turn back, a tiny knot tightening in his stomach as he
stared into her bright blue eyes. He swallowed once, feeling he had to be honest
with her. "Alex Krycek." And waited.
Scully placed her coffee mug back on the counter with a clunk, her face
registering her surprise. "Krycek? He's still alive? I thought someone would've
killed him by now." She shook her head slowly. "And he's your source?"
"Yes. He's working with the Englishman now."
"I can't imagine a man like Alex Krycek working with or for anybody but
himself." She looked up at him with a frown and gestured to the three men in the
other room. "Are you telling me that we're working on information given to you
by a liar and a murderer? Mulder, this could all be an elaborate set-up. He
could be setting us up right now."
"No. You've examined the Ridley material. It's genuine. And what I saw in that
traincar was real."
Scully ran a hand across her forehead. "What makes you think you can believe
Krycek now any more than you could before?"
"I know him better now. I've had a chance to really talk to him, be with him.
It's changed. It's different. He's different."
His answer seemed to stun her into a momentary silence. Her crystal blue eyes
searched his face. "You've been meeting with Krycek all this time?"
"I've... met with him a few times, yes. I didn't tell you about it because" He
faltered for a moment. "Because I knew you'd react like this. I need your help
and... and I know I'm right about him."
"Damn it, Mulder, if you could only hear yourself. Have you forgotten what Alex
Krycek has done? Do you really think a man like that can change?"
Mulder drew in a breath and looked down at the floor. "No, I haven't forgotten.
I'll never forget." He swallowed hard, feeling Scully's eyes on his face. "But
this goes far beyond all that." He shook his head, uncharacteristically
reluctant to delve into his reasons for defending Krycek... and himself. "The
information he and the Englishman have given me is important. Yes, they may have
their own agenda, but I think they want the Project to fail. This Project, if it
succeeds, could mean the end of human existence as we know it, Scully. We have
to stop it, or else what I saw in that traincar is going to be our collective
future."
She listened, but he could see the doubts behind her eyes. He couldn't blame
her. There was no reason for her to believe that Krycek would not betray them
again, any more than he could explain why he believed that Alex wouldn't.
"I think we should bring Skinner in on this now." The edge in her voice matched
her expression. "We need the Bureau to back us up."
"Scully, the men behind this Project own a lot of people in high places. They
had Blevins in their pocket. I think we should at least wait until we've seen
what's on the tape. We're too close to risk it all now.
"Risk?! You think that's a risk?" Scully rolled her eyes.
"Damn it, Frohike, I told you that wouldn't work! We could've lost everything."
"Whaddya mean, you told me? I told you that decryption sequence was crap when
you started it."
Mulder turned his head towards the raised voices, ignoring Scully's frustrated
sigh. He walked back to the three men. "What's happening?"
"We've never seen this kind of encryption layering before. It's very ingenious,"
Byers told him as Langly and Frohike grew silent. "It's going to take more time
to break it. We'll have to do some testing to insure we won't harm the integrity
of the data."
"How much more time?" asked Mulder.
Langly threw him a look over his shoulder. "Let's just say, we'll call you."
"No offense, Mulder, but you're just in the way right now. We've got some
serious hacking to do here, " added Frohike. "Perhaps you and the lovely Ms
Scully should hightail it back to your Federal salt mines for a while."
"It's gonna take you that long?" whined Mulder.
Byers looked from Mulder to Scully and back. "There must be very valuable
information on the tape to warrant this kind of protection. We want to do it
right."
"C'mon, Mulder, if you want them to help you, then let's do as they ask."
Scully's comment earned an adoring look from Frohike and nods from the other two
Gunmen.
"All right, but I want you to call me the second you open it up, understand?
You've got my cell number. I'll keep it with me. Okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, Mulder, now asta la vista," replied Langly, already turning back to
his equipment.
Scully tugged on Mulder's elbow and headed for the door. As they walked outside,
she paused in the darkened archway. "Let's talk to Skinner."
Mulder fumbled for his keys, fighting his irritation. "Why can't you wait until
the guys break through the tape?"
"Because I don't trust Krycek." Each word was distinct and sharp as she paused
and stared into his eyes. "Do you?"
The keys jingled softly in his hand. He opened his mouth, shut it again. He
realized he couldn't give Scully the answer she expected. He couldn't lie to
her. He couldn't just say, 'of course I don't trust him.' It seemed he couldn't
lie to himself either.
His hesitation was enough. "Oh, Mulder. What could Alex Krycek possibly have
done to make you trust him?"
Mulder bit down on his lip. What could he tell her? 'It all began one stormy
night.' No. He wasn't usually at a loss for words, but his interactions with
Krycek, his... relationship with Krycek was still something he could not quite
comprehend himself. It was all so... visceral, in some way elemental, yet terribly
complicated, all at the same time. All he could do was shrug. "He turned human
on me when I wasn't looking."
He realized his answer sounded glib by the flash of hurt in her blue eyes.
Scully was worried about him and he didn't know how to reassure her. He would
have tried to explain the meaning of it to her if he could only understand it
himself. "I just believe, Scully," he said at last, realizing it was the only
answer that applied to every significant mystery, every significant person, in
his life.
"What about my opinion, Mulder? My instincts, my arguments?"
"I'm just asking for a little more time, Scully. I'm asking you to believe that
I wouldn't willingly endanger you or the Gunmen. Or myself."
He watched her turn her face away, her mouth opening as if she was searching for
air. She drew in a breath and let it go before turning back to him. "All right,
Mulder. We'll wait. I just hope your belief isn't misplaced, for all our sakes."
She gazed off towards her car. "I think we better get back to the office now. I
still have to finish up those reports for Skinner's department meeting."
As she walked away, he took hold of her arm gently, stopping her. "Thanks,
Scully," he said.
She nodded with a flat, rueful smile. He let her go and stood watching her until
she reached her car and drove away.
Mulder spent the rest of the day in the office, his cellphone by his elbow,
waiting for the Gunmen to call. He helped Scully with some expense reports
though he was sure he was more of a hindrance given the level of his impatience
and lack of interest in all things bureaucratic. Scully finally just told him to
leave her with it. He followed up on some lab reports and made a stab at filing
away some closed case files.
He hated the passivity of waiting. Waiting was a prerequisite in his job, came
with the territory. He waited for evidence, he waited for suspects, he waited
for informants, he even waited for X-files. Waited and waited. It was the worst
part of his job, of his life. But now, with so much at stake, it was even more
difficult to endure.
It also gave his mind too much time to wander, to review and obsess. Images from
the traincar kept drifting through his thoughts: visions of the metal caskets
and their inhuman contents, and of the two dead men, bullet-riddled bodies
sprawled at his feet.
And Alex Krycek.
Mulder didn't want to think about him, to wonder where he was and what he was
doing. But he did. He sat at his desk and thought about him.
Finally, late in the afternoon, Frohike called. They'd broken through the
password screens. That was the good news. Then Frohike told him the bad news.
Within the hour, Mulder was over at the Gunmen's, staring at a computer screen
with a seemingly endless scroll of numbers and words, dates and medical symbols.
"There's an enormous amount of data here, as you can see," Byers told him. "But
it's raw data. The indices, they're missing."
Mulder stared at the nonsensical jumble on the screen. "You mean, it's
worthless?"
"No, of course not." Frohike came up beside him. "The data's there. Part of the
program is missing. We need to reconstruct the framework, that's all."
Mulder frowned down at the smaller man. "Sounds like a lot more than just,
'that's all'."
"No, it's hardly a minor point," conceded Byers. "But it's not insurmountable.
We just need more time and a little specialized assistance."
"What do you mean?"
Langly swiveled around in his chair in front of the monitor. "Programmer we
know. This is right up his alley. He's a database freak. Lives and breathes
them. He eats up problems like this."
"You mean, you can't figure it out yourselves?" He glanced around at the trio.
Langly's cheeks turned a vague pink as he pushed up his glasses with a finger.
"Well, of course we can. Eventually. Hey, c'mon, like nobody knows everything,
you know."
"If you want it faster, we have to tap into our brain pool reserves." Frohike
patted his arm. "Don't worry, Mulder. We don't deal with anyone we can't trust,
you know that."
"I'd just rather not involve any more people than necessary."
"If this tape is really as important as you say it is, than it's necessary,"
replied Byers. "We'll be careful. As always."
Mulder blew out a breath and stared at the screen full of disordered words and
numbers. "I guess it could be worse. It could've been in Navajo." He ignored
their curious looks. "How long do you think it'll take you to consult with your
db freak and have something solid for me?"
The trio looked at the screen of scrolling gibberish and then at each other.
Frohike turned to him and shrugged eloquently.
"Shit," said Mulder.
"We really don't know," confirmed Byers somberly. "It could take a few days,
weeks, maybe only hours. We just can't say at this point."
"We'll do the best we can, Mulder," added Frohike.
Mulder looked into each earnest face and reminded himself of how much they were
risking for him. He banked his impatience and managed a smile. "Yeah, I know you
will. Hey, I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time, guys. If you can come
through on this one, you can name your price."
They grinned back at him. Frohike wagged his eyebrows. "Then you can kiss your
video collection goodbye, buddy."
Mulder chuckled. "For you Frohike, I'll even throw in my subscription to
Celebrity Skin." He glanced back at the monitor. "Be careful, okay, guys? Call
me as soon"
"Yeah, yeah, already. We know the drill."
Mulder nodded but still cautioned them to be as circumspect about the tape as
they could be with their db freak. Then there was nothing left for him to do but
go home.
Almost a week went by and Mulder was about ready to chew through his cellphone.
It had taken the Gunmen two days just to locate their wizbrain programmer in the
cyber underground scene. While the guy had agreed to help once they contacted
him, the database configuration was coming together slowly and with excruciating
trial and error. There would be no fast breakthroughs. "A few more days, Mulder,
and we should have it for you," Byers told him over the phone.
It had been all Mulder could do to keep from screaming out loud. His friends
were doing their best, he told himself. It was just that he desperately wanted
the waiting to be over.
He and Scully had just spent several miserable days in northern Louisiana
investigating the mysterious disappearance of a Federal marshal. If there had
been a paranormal aspect to the case, Mulder might have been able to focus his
excess energy on it. There wasn't. Instead, the truth they'd quickly uncovered
had only given him another look at the dark and ugly side of human nature. He
could have done without it.
And now he had to wait some more. And think, and remember.
Mulder wriggled around in the driver's seat, trying to get comfortable. A half a
bag's worth of sunflower shells littered the floor and passenger seat. He'd been
sitting in his car for hours. He'd moved the car once, from one block to another
when he saw one of the neighbors staring at him through the window. Now that it
was dark, he wished he'd parked closer. Still, he had a fairly unobstructed view
of the house from around the corner without being visible himself.
He knew no one was in the house. Spending his Saturday evening like this was
crazy, but he just couldn't sit in his apartment any longer. He'd even resorted
to spending the previous night digging out his bedroom, throwing out the stacks
and piles of old magazines and outdated clippings that had barricaded his bed
for years. All the same, he'd spent the remainder of the night on his familiar
leather sofa, gazing sleeplessly at the shadows on his ceiling. He couldn't stop
thinking about the tape, the railroad car, what Scully had told him, and oddly,
the case in Louisiana, until he thought his brain was going to implode. And,
once again, in the center of his raging storm of thoughts, Alex Krycek.
Mulder felt like his emotions had been thrown into a pressure cooker and the
gauge set on 'high'.
Which was why he was sitting in his car in a very nice neighborhood in
Arlington, at 10:25 at night, waiting for Alex Krycek to appear. Knowing with a
stubborn and eerie instinct that defied all logic that he would be coming back
tonight.
About a half hour later, he watched as a black Mercedes drove slowing up the
street and turned smoothly into the driveway of the house. Mulder waited while
the garage door opened and the Mercedes slipped inside. He waited a few minutes
longer until a faint light came on inside the house. His day's store of patience
more than depleted, he tucked his cellphone in his jacket pocket, got out of the
car, and walked slowly towards the door.
Krycek hung his coat in the hall closet and stood in the middle of the foyer,
nerves tingling. As the grandfather clock softly chimed eleven, he drew his gun
out of his holster and stood motionless, sensing the air around him, listening.
The sound of the doorbell was almost jarring. The knocking that followed had him
raising his gun, a frown growing over his face as he approached the door.
"C'mon, open the door. I know you're there."
Mulder's voice froze him where he stood. The knocking grew louder. Chest
suddenly heaving, Krycek drew in a steadying breath and stepped to the side of
the door, flicking off the locks and turning the handle. The door burst open as
Mulder plowed inside. Krycek kicked the door shut and glared at him. "What the
hell are you doing here?"
Mulder was staring at his gun. Krycek clicked the safety on and slid it back
into his holster. "You shouldn't have come here, Mulder. What do you want?"
"The tape you left for me, is it a setup? Are you setting me up?"
Krycek gazed into the shuttered face and slowly shook his head. He felt an odd
pang somewhere in his chest. "If I wanted to set you up, you would've been dead
long ago." He turned his back on Mulder and walked towards the living room. "Go
away," he rasped over his shoulder.
With a tired sigh, he slumped into one of the suede covered wing chairs and
stared into the cold fireplace. The room was dim, lit only by the light from the
hallway. He blinked as one of the lamps came on and Mulder came to stand in
front of him. He didn't bother looking up. He hadn't really expected Mulder to
leave. He never expected the man to do anything he wanted him to do. "Was there
anything on the tape?" he asked instead.
"Oh, there's a lot there. It just doesn't make any sense."
Krycek squeezed his eyes shut. Damn. Damn. He'd been so sure it was the master
backup. He ran his hand over his face.
"It'll take longer than I thought to put the data together. There was a helluva
password schema on it, too."
Krycek looked up. "Then, then the information on the experiments is there?
You'll be able to decipher it after all?" Mulder nodded slowly and he let out a
sigh of relief.
"We have some anomalies from Ridley's research that could tie in with the data
on the tape. It... it could give us what we need, what Jeremiah Smith said we could
use to defeat them." Mulder glanced away and drew both hands through his hair.
He began pacing back and forth in front of him. When he finally stopped, Krycek
could see the emotions flickering through his eyes, his face. "Scully thinks
you're setting us up."
Krycek gritted his teeth. So, Mulder finally told her. He would have had to, he
supposed. Poor Mulder, emotionally sliced and diced. "I'm not," he answered
softly. "But then, she'd never believe that, would she?" Then he paused. "Can
you?"
Mulder raked at his bottom lip, the small action almost making Krycek smile. "I
want to. Yeah. I just needed to hear you say it."
Krycek felt the air flowing back into his lungs... He watched as Mulder walked
over to the other wingback chair and sat down. They faced each other over the
gulf of ten feet. Mulder's hair was tousled, shiny brown waves tumbling over his
forehead. He was wearing a dark blue shirt and a black leather jacket over worn
blue jeans. It reminded Krycek of the kind of clothes he usually wore. It was
strange for him to be the one in the Hugo Boss suit. Reality was tilting again,
as it always did whenever they were together. His gaze settled on Mulder's long
fingers, drumming restlessly on the chair arm.
When he finally looked up into Mulder's face, the soft hazel eyes locked with
his, the silence stretching heavily between them.
Krycek pushed the words past his own need and the thudding of his heart. "You
shouldn't have come here, Mulder. It's getting too dangerous."
Mulder just kept looking at him before he finally spoke. "It's always been
dangerous. I'll take my chances."
"I'd rather you didn't," Krycek found himself saying.
"Why?"
Krycek hesitated, struggling with himself. "I... the Project has to be stopped. If
the means to that end is really in the Ridley data, then until you've put it all
together, you can't afford to take any unnecessary risks. The Syndicate just met
in New York. Members from all over the world. The destruction of that Center is
having serious repercussions for them. I was only allowed to sit in for part of
the meeting. Those old bastards are running scared and they're angry. They might
do anything now, if only to appease the Colonists."
He stopped, feeling Mulder's eyes burning through his skin. He got up and walked
behind his chair as if the added barrier could somehow protect him. He gripped
the back of the chair with his hand.
Mulder sat back, his expression solemn and thoughtful. "Do they suspect you?"
"I don't think so."
"Are they watching you?"
"No, but they might."
Mulder nodded, accepting the answers without reaction. "Skinner sent us to
Louisiana to check out the disappearance of a Federal marshal," he said. "It
wasn't an x-file. It was a fairly simple case actually."
Krycek was puzzled, but he sensed the tension in Mulder's voice, so he waited,
not interrupting.
Mulder tipped his head back. "It used to be the marshal's home time. Most of the
residents knew him. Little podunk town. He was a friend of the local minister,
they grew up together. We found out the minister had disappeared, too. Turns out
the two men were more than friends." He glanced at Krycek. "There were rumors
about them, floating around for years. Someone finally saw them... together."
Mulder paused. "Three of the minister's congregation killed them. Broke into the
minister's bedroom and shot them in the head. Blew their faces off. You know
what the ringleader told me when we arrested him?"
Krycek shook his head silently.
"He told me 'they were an abomination and not fit to live on this Earth'." He
wiped his hand over his face and looked at Krycek. "Imagine saving the world for
people like that. It just hit me, you know, when I was looking into that
righteous man's face. As far as he was concerned, you and I aren't fit to live
either." He paused again, teeth raking his lip. "Human nature, what the hell
does it mean anyway?"
Krycek heard the pain beneath the bitterness even as he realized what Mulder had
just acknowledged about them. "You're the profiler, Mulder. I thought you knew
by now that there are a lot of fucked-up assholes in the world. So many flavors
of fucked-up that we couldn't begin to count them. But they're not the only
people out there. It just seems that way most of the time."
Mulder gave him a twisted smile. "Is that a page from your philosophy of life?"
"Call it a lifelong observation."
Both men were quiet then. Krycek gazed at Mulder's face, drinking in every
detail like a man dying of thirst.
"So what flavor of 'fucked-up' are we, Alex?" asked Mulder, breaking the
silence.
"I-I don't know." Krycek tried to smile but it faltered a little.
"Are we hopelessly fucked-up?"
Krycek's smiled faded altogether. "Most likely."
Mulder frowned, as if he was testing Krycek's reply. After a moment, he shook
his head. "No. Not... hopelessly." To Krycek, it sounded more like a decision than
a comment.
Mulder got up slowly and walked towards him. Krycek gripped the back of the
chair until his fingers clawed the fabric, his heart pounding faster with every
step Mulder took. When they were almost face to face, Mulder reached out and
Krycek felt himself pulled gently into Mulder's arms.
He felt the coolness of Mulder's cheek rubbing lightly against his jaw and heard
himself sigh as his arm burrowed inside Mulder's leather jacket to circle his
waist.
"Shelter in the storm," whispered Mulder close by his ear.
Krycek wasn't sure what he meant or what was happening when Mulder just kept
holding him. It felt so good, he didn't trust it. "Did you come here for sex?"
he asked softly, forcing himself to draw back so he could look into the soulful
eyes.
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe, it was for this. Just this." His arms tightened
around Krycek, bringing them close again. "I'll leave in a few minutes if that's
what you want." He stepped back and took hold of Krycek's right hand, leading
him to the sofa. "Sit with me, okay?"
It felt like they were in a dream as Mulder led him to the sofa and they sat
down, close but not touching except for their hands. He expected Mulder to talk
but he didn't. Instead, he sandwiched Krycek's hand between both of his, long
fingers stroking his skin from knuckles to wrist.
Was Mulder thinking about them? About the Center tape? About two dead lovers in
a small Louisiana town? About the nature of storms? Krycek had no idea, but he
knew that Mulder had just shared a private pain with him and, amazingly, had
found a measure of comfort for it in Krycek's presence.
Swallowing hard, Krycek gazed down at their joined hands. "I was sent to a
boarding school after my parents... died," he began. "Several boarding schools.
Expensive, very private." He swallowed again as he let the dark memories free.
He didn't look up but he could feel Mulder's eyes on him now. "I hated them.
Then, when I was 15, I became friends with one of the older boys. I didn't want
any friends. Preferred to keep to myself, but he was different. It was the first
time I realized" He stopped. He'd never talked about it to anyone before.
"You realized what?" asked Mulder softly. He was still stroking Krycek's hand.
"I realized that I could feel that close to another boy. I didn't even know what
it was really. He was one of the big jocks, popular, center of attention.
Everyone wanted to be his friend. I wasn't sure why he even bothered to talk to
me."
"What happened?" prompted Mulder when Krycek stopped again.
"I was on the list." His voice was rougher as the images flooded back. "Some of
the seniors, they had this club. Each year they drew up a list of lower
classmen. The list of fledgling faggots, they called it, pretty boys with all
the signs. I was on it. They told me... afterwards."
He made himself glance at Mulder's face. "One night, I thought we were alone. He
said it would be special." Krycek dropped his gaze, trying to find the words.
"I-I wanted him to like me. Stupid. It was so important to me. So, I did what he
wanted." He drew in a breath. "After it started, they all came in. Two of his
buddies. The other members of their special club." Mulder's hand gripped his
tighter. "I... the worst of it... even worse than the pain, was hearing them
laugh. They all started to laugh. I was nothing. They made me feel like nothing.
They just kept laughing,laughing, even when I begged..."
He could hear their voices, hear himself crying, pleading. He bit down on his
lip, his chest heaving with the memory. "When they were finished, one of them
had this little switchblade, sharp as a razor. He cut me. Said if I told anyone
about them, they'd cut off my balls. I still have the scar, just a thin line
near my groin..." His voice faded.
The touch of Mulder's hand on his shoulder brought him back. Mulder's other hand
still gripped his fingers. Krycek pulled away and stood up quickly, crossing to
the fireplace. He didn't like what he saw in Mulder's face. It seemed too close
to pity. He raised his chin and kept his voice cold. "That's how the world
works, Mulder. If you're weak enough to show someone you care, you're fucked. In
my case, literally. That's why it's important to be a fast learner. I only
needed one lesson. I never forgot it."
Mulder's teeth raked his lower lip. "What happened to them, Alex?
Those... jocks?" he asked gently.
Krycek shrugged. "The next boy on their list wasn't so lucky. Internal bleeding.
He nearly died. They were expelled. Ruined their promising Ivy League careers, I
heard, but that was all." He waited and watched Mulder's expression. "I didn't
kill any of them, if that's what you're asking. I wanted to for the longest
time, but eventually, when I actually could have, it didn't matter anymore. It
wouldn't have changed anything." He raised his chin again. "I didn't care
anymore."
He turned his back as Mulder got up and walked over to him, remained motionless
as Mulder's arms went around his waist, warm breath brushing his neck as he
spoke.
"It's not a weakness to care. The catch is that we can't really choose who we
care about. It just happens, right or wrong, good or bad. Denying it is the
weakness." And then Mulder kissed his neck.
"No, Mulder, don't. Don't."
"Don't what?" Mulder nuzzled his hair, lips brushing his ear. "What, Alex? Don't
touch you? Don't kiss you?"
Krycek swallowed, his eyes squeezing shut, the words barely audible. "Don't
care."
"Are you saying that to me, or to yourself? I told you, Alex, the catch is that
we can't choose who we..care about. We can only pretend that we don't."
Krycek turned around slowly. He was surprised at the struggle he saw in Mulder's
eyes. Somehow he'd thought he was alone in that. Hesitantly, he leaned forward
and kissed him on the mouth. As their lips brushed, Mulder's arms tightened
around him, pressing them close. The kiss lingered, deepened. Their mouths
opened. Krycek moaned.
The sudden beeping of Mulder's cellphone jerked them apart. For a moment, Mulder
glared down at his jacket pocket has if it had somehow betrayed him before he
reached in and pulled out his cell, flipping it open.
"Mulder," he snapped. He listened for a minute, his eyes sweeping over Krycek's
face. "It's done? The configuration?" He listened again, his free hand reaching
out to curl around Krycek's neck in an unconscious caress. "That's great! Yeah,
yeah, I'm on my way." He clicked off the cellphone and put it away. Then he
pulled Krycek to him and kissed him quick and hard. He broke away with a grin.
"The tape?" asked Krycek in a breathy whisper.
Mulder nodded. "It's readable. It's all there. Now we can check it against what
we've found in the Ridley files." His eyes were bright with anticipation.
Krycek found himself smiling back. "Then you'd better go."
Mulder nodded again, his expression growing somber. "If we can confirm the means
of synthesizing the catalyst to the Alien, we'll need to get close enough to
them to use it. We'll have to know"
"Where they are," finished Krycek. " If the Colonists have any settlements here,
they haven't shared the information with the Syndicate. The Old Man would've
heard something, and he's told me that as far as he knows, none of them has ever
met with more than a few Colonists at any given time. It seems as if the Aliens
have tried to disperse themselves as widely as possible. Even using the
traincars, they've kept their hybrid research in small mobile units." Krycek
frowned. "But there must be some central command headquarters or a main
disembarkation base. I'll try and find out whatever I can."
Mulder gave him the number to his cellphone, then asked. "What if I need to
contact you?"
"You can't. I've got some leads I want to follow. I don't know where I'll be, or
with who. It'll be too risky from now on. The Syndicate has to be brought down.
The Project has to be destroyed before it's too late. We have to finish it,
Mulder."
They looked at each other in silence then, and Krycek felt a tightness in his
chest at the unguarded emotion he saw in Mulder's eyes. He raised his hand and
cupped his palm against the side of Mulder's face. There was so much he would
have liked to say, but there didn't seem to be enough words, or time. Krycek
felt that he'd been given a gift he didn't deserve in the precious moments he'd
shared with Mulder. In this moment in time, he finally felt as if they were
truly united. Truly... together. If there was never a chance for anything more,
it would be enough to see him through to whatever end awaited him.
He dropped his hand and stepped back, fighting the need to hold Mulder one last
time. "You better go," he said again. He saw that there was a struggle in the
other man's eyes, too, so he forced a shaky smile. Mulder managed a small,
wistful smile in return, and without a word, turned and walked out the door.
Mulder hurried towards his car. Halfway down the block, he gave in to the urge
to look back at the house, at the drawn curtains in the windows. He bit down on
his lip and looked away. A cool night breeze rustled through the tree branches
as he walked resolutely on. He felt as if every nerve in his body was on fire.
He could hardly wait to get to the Lone Gunmen's office. Yet, he desperately
wanted to stay with Alex Krycek. He wanted it so much, his body was aching for
it. More than that, he felt... connected to Krycek in a way that transcended
their ever-present physical attraction. It was almost as if an emotional Berlin
Wall had finally crumbled between them, revealing two scarred halves of the same
country.
He wished they could have talked more. He fumbled with his car keys, his mind
and heart split in two different directions. He got in quickly and drove off.
The hours and days that followed were a blur of activity. Using the Gunmen's
extensive technical resources, he and Scully began cross-checking the Ridley
files against the data on the Center tape. Despite her skepticism and her
distrust of Krycek's involvement, Scully spent every spare moment beside him,
pouring over the information. The Gunmen were bringing their own skills to bear
in quickly correlating the comparisons they needed in dozens of different
schemas. Mulder knew that his partner and friends were not doing it so much for
the truth he believed they would find, but rather they were doing it because
they believed in him, Scully in particular.
The hybrid experiments were cataloged on the tape in dry and exacting detail. It
became obvious that it was not just a description of the activities at one
center, but a summary of the Project's accumulated research. There was column
upon column of statistics with every minute change in formula and environmental
variables of every experiment. There were notations and entries dating as far
back as the early 1950s. Subjects were only referred to by number. There was a
chillingly long column titled "terminated" that contained only row after row of
numbers. Mulder had stared at the list for a long time, visions of Samantha
sending a chill through his insides.
The medical data was extensive and complex. There were formulas containing
chemical compounds and derivatives that even Scully had never heard of. Though
the scope of the material was daunting, they knew they were looking for
something in the data that would link to the short list of possible relevant
anomalies that Scully had extracted from Ridley's research papers.
"Mulder, I think I've found it."
And Scully had.
Their weapon was so small they couldn't even see it. A microbe.
It was well past midnight. They gathered in the kitchen for their fourth pot of
coffee to discuss the last cross- analysis and Scully's conclusions. "The answer
appears to be in Ridley's failures, in his experiments with cell grafting using
salamander and human tissue. His results showed that several of his attempts to
stimulate cell growth had actually created bacterial mutations, prokaryotes of
common bacteria with minor variations," she told them. "Ridley went no further
with those particular experiments because the grafts were rejected. He didn't
care about the bacteria because it appeared to be completely benign and
inconsequential to his aims. But the data on the Center tape clearly indicates
that the scientists performing the hybridization experiments were very careful
to avoid the kind of tissue generation that could create any strain of bacteria
similar to those that were a by-product of Ridley's work. In fact, the reports
emphasize their efforts to shield and even prevent the appearance of any variant
of that particular microbe."
Byers rubbed his hand thoughtfully over his beard. "Microbes were already
established on earth over 3.5 billion years ago. They've had a long time to
build up a capacity for mutation and regeneration. Researchers have actually
revived bacterium from the gut of an extinct bee that was preserved in amber.
That bacterium had remained dormant as a spore for two and a half million years
before it was reawakened."
Frohike slurped at his coffee and grinned. "Your gushing font of trivia never
ceases to amaze, Byers."
"Ditto," replied Byers succinctly.
"Who would've thought that the answer'd be so... tiny," shrugged Langly. "I was
kinda hoping for the traditional mega-howitzer style weapon. Well, you know, at
least something big enough to see."
"Which proves once again that size doesn't matter," quipped Mulder. He glanced
at his friends with a tired but genuine smile. He took a moment and silently
thought of Jeremiah Smith, the Alien who had willingly provided Krycek with the
information that could now lead to his self-destruction and that of his entire
race. He shook the thought off and turned to Scully. "Let's figure out how we
can use this thing."
Two days later, Mulder stretched out on his leather sofa and craned his neck to
look at his answering machine. No red lights blinking. If it all went as they
planned, the cultures would be ready soon. What they needed now was information
on the best place to strike.
He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. He should make himself some
dinner. Instead he got up and fed the fish, and tried not to stare at his phone.
The dark thoughts trickled though his consciousness anyway. Was Krycek alive or
dead? It had been a week since Mulder had seen him. It seemed as if a lifetime
had passed in those few days. As if the end of the world was staring him in the
face. There was a sense of urgency that ticked away the seconds in his brain. He
knew time was running out. If Krycek couldn't get him more information about the
location of the Colonists... If Krycek had been found out...
If Alex was dead... The depth of the fear and pain in that thought startled him.
The first time his phone rang, it didn't even register. With a sharp intake of
breath, he jumped at the phone on the second ring. "Mulder," he answered
quickly.
"Agent Mulder, I must meet with you. It's quite important."
At the sound of the polished, lightly accented voice, Mulder barely stopped
himself from blurting out, 'Is Alex all right?'
"Agent Mulder?"
"Yes, I'm here. Why do you want to meet? Has... has something happened?"
"Can you meet me tonight?" returned the Well-Manicured Man.
Mulder swallowed back a dozen anxious thoughts and glanced at the window and the
cloudy night sky beyond. "Yes. When and where?"
A little more than an hour later, he was at L'Enfant Plaza, standing in the
shadows near a hotel entrance, watching the occasional taxi or limo glide by, a
trickle of people still wandering about, even this late in the night.
A few minutes later, a black Lincoln Towncar slowed near the curb in front of
him and the rear door swung slowly open. Mulder let a moment's apprehension
slide across his mind before he stepped towards the car and got in. He settled
back into the plush leather upholstery as the car began heading towards the
Capital.
He turned towards the gray-haired gentleman beside him as the old man lifted a
phone receiver and spoke to the driver on the other side of the thick dark glass
that separated them. "Just take us for a leisurely drive, Harris," said the
Brit.
The Well-Manicured Man replaced the receiver and inclined his head towards
Mulder with a ghost of a smile. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me at this
late hour, Agent Mulder."
"I didn't expect to hear from you again."
"Ah. You've been communicating with Alex Krycek." It was not a question.
Mulder looked into the other man's eyes and considered his reply. "Yes. In fact,
I've been waiting to hear from him."
"Alex is playing a particularly dangerous game these days. I sometimes wonder
how we could have underestimated him as much as we have."
"By 'we,' do you mean your Syndicate pals?"
The old man smiled. "Everyone underestimates Alex Krycek. Much as we have all
underestimated you." Then he reached slowly into his jacket and pulled out a
small, padded envelope. He offered it to Mulder. "Alex asked me to give this to
you."
"Do you know what it is?" asked Mulder as he took it. It was an ordinary brown
envelope, unmarked and weighing relatively lightweight. He could feel something
rigid in the envelope but the padding was too thick to make out the exact shape.
"He didn't tell me and I didn't inquire. However, I have my suspicions."
"I thought Krycek worked for you," probed Mulder as he tucked the envelope into
the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
"Alex hasn't truly worked for anyone for some time now, though my colleagues may
not realize it. He is his own man. He always has been, in many respects. He
simply doesn't let anyone know it. I would say that has served him very well."
Mulder couldn't hold back the question any longer. "Is he all right?"
The Brit gazed at him steadily. "Are you worried about him?" he asked gently.
Mulder suddenly felt as if the old man was looking right through him. He didn't
answer.
"I saw him briefly today when he gave me that envelope. He seemed to be in
something of a hurry. He only asked if I would do him the favor of giving it to
you as soon as I could. Alex never asks for favors, so I realized it must be
very important. I hadn't heard from him in over a week before that, but then
that's not unusual. He's been rather blatantly independent of late. Fortunately,
he understands with whom he is dealing and the risks involved, especially now.
There is a great deal at stake and my colleagues are suspicious and unforgiving
men. We've spent the majority of our lives working in the shadows, Mr Mulder."
"For the Project."
A gray eyebrow rose in acknowledgment. "Yes. And now that Project has divided us
as never before. Any of several factors can alter a plan that has been carefully
nurtured for over fifty years. You yourself are one of those factors, Mr Mulder.
You have been for years, of course, but perhaps the Ridley material has finally
provided you with the means to affect the outcome of our long-standing game.
That envelope in your pocket may be another of those factors. And, no, Mr
Mulder, I no longer wish to know if any of that is true, one way or the other.
You see, my own situation has become... precarious. That is the other reason why
I asked to meet with you. I feel it is time for me to tidy up loose ends."
Mulder glanced through the passenger window. The Washington Monument loomed in
the distance like a pale white sword against the night sky, poised for battle.
He felt a sudden apprehension creeping over his skin as he turned back to the
old man. "What loose ends?"
"I believe you deserve to know the answer to a question that has been extremely
important in your life." The Well- Manicured Man paused, the lines deepening
across his forehead. "About the fate of your sister, Samantha."
Mulder tensed, fists clenching in his lap. "My sister. You... you can tell me what
happened to her? You know?"
"Yes, Mr Mulder, I know. I've known for a long time."
It was Mulder's turn to stare into the other man's eyes, testing for the truth.
"Tell me."
"She was taken that night, just as you believed, abducted for the Project."
Mulder leaned in towards him, unaware of how his hands suddenly gripped the
leather seat. "Where is she? Is she alive?" He felt a painful numbness spreading
through his chest as the old man shook his head.
"Your sister is dead. She died within days of her abduction. Many subjects were
tested during that time. Reactions to the tests varied widely. She never
regained consciousness, Mr Mulder. For what little consolation it may give you,
she didn't suffer."
The silence stretched as Mulder felt his whole body tremble. Emotion choked his
voice when he spoke. "Why should I believe you?! Why should I believe Samantha's
dead? You're all liars! How do I know you're not just feeding me more lies?
Playing more of your sick games?!"
"I am weary of games, Mr Mulder. I have been wrong, deeply wrong. The
realization has come too slowly perhaps, but it is no less bitter. I cannot
change what has happened, or stop what may happen. I am giving you the truth
because I know it is a commodity you value highly and because I believe it is
owed to you. I cannot prove that I am not lying to you. Your sister's body was
cremated, like all the others, to leave no trace. It was one of our specialties,
leaving no trace." The Syndicate elder spoke calmly, in a tone shaded with
sadness. His gaze never wavered from Mulder's.
Mulder swallowed back a flash of rage and hatred towards the old man and all
that he represented. He drew in several harsh breaths to steady his voice. "My
parents, did they know?"
"Bill Mulder knew, of course. Your mother... never asked, but I believe she
knew."
Mulder sagged back against the seat, his eyes closing as if he could block it
all out. He wished with all his might that his instincts were wrong, that his
gut feeling was wrong. But he knew in his heart that it was true. The old man
was not lying to him.
Samantha. Sam. Dead. All these years. Dead. He'd been searching for a ghost all
these years. He saw her face, could still hear the sound of her laughter in his
mind. He could still remember the feel of her small hand in his.
He was oblivious to the tears that rolled silently down his cheeks, just as he
was unaware of how much time had passed before he pulled away from the memories
and felt the sharp pain of loss stabbing at him again. He opened his eyes and
gazed blankly through the passenger window. The limo wasn't moving. They were
back were they started, at L'Enfant Plaza, around the corner from where his own
car was parked.
He realized his face was wet and swiped his palms across his cheeks and chin.
Pain and numbness should have been a contradiction, yet he felt them both. He
felt empty and aching. There were questions eating at the edges of the pain, but
he couldn't focus. He felt like running, running until the air was gone and
there were no more memories, until all feeling left him. He reached for the door
handle. The old man clasped his shoulder and he turned around, the rage rushing
through him again.
The pale eyes gazed at him, brows furrowing. "There have been enough tragedies,
Mr Mulder. Fight for the people who still matter in your life. For those who
truly care about you. Fight for the kind of future you believe in." The
Well-Manicured Man drew his hand away, sorrow and a kind of strange finality in
his eyes. "Do not let us win," he said.
Mulder suddenly felt as if he would never see the old man again. He opened the
door and started to get out, but then he looked back for just a moment. "I'll
try," he managed to answer, and watched as a strange calmness settled over the
other man's face.
Mulder didn't sleep that night. He lay on his couch, staring up at the ceiling,
replaying his life across the cracked plaster. But mostly, he thought about
Samantha. The affection and acceptance he had longed for and never quite seemed
to earn from his parents had always been there in his sister's guileless eyes.
He'd always known that Samantha loved him.
With the pale gray dawn touching his windows, he still felt caught in the
shadows. The conspiracy that had killed her and scarred so many around him had
to be destroyed. It was the only thing left he could do for the sister he had
lost forever. He sat up slowly and switched on the lamp. Then he pulled the
brown padded envelope from his jacket pocket and carefully opened it.
It contained a single sheet of paper and a wad of corrugated cardboard that
concealed a metal cylinder about six inches long. He opened the folded paper and
looked down at Krycek's familiar handwriting. The note was brief: "I'll call
your cell with directions." Followed by a date and time: in two days at 11pm. It
was signed simply, "A."
Mulder picked up the cylinder and stared at it, remember the last time he'd seen
one before. His lips tightened at the memory. He looked back down at the note.
Krycek had located them. The Colonists. Or the Rebels. A base perhaps or a ship?
His mind raced with a other possibilities. Whatever it was, they had to be
ready. They might not have a second chance.
He saw Samantha again in his mind, pictured her small figure fading away into a
deep, gray mist.
Then he got up and called Scully.
There was a lot to do over the next forty-eight hours. Mulder was silently
grateful for his 'most unwanted' status in the Bureau. His basement office
afforded him the solitude he needed to work on their plans. Aside from a
consultation with Violent Crimes about a murder case similar to one he'd handled
years ago, his time was his own.
Thanks to the Gunmen's seemingly endless underground contacts, Scully had
already had access to a lab and had been able to work on the bacterial cultures
using Ridley's formulas ever since they'd made their breakthrough on the tape
data. Despite her own reservations about Krycek and the existence of an 'alien'
threat, Scully focused on the scientific challenge with her usual skillful
professionalism.
By the evening of the second day, they were ready.
"There's still time to call Skinner," Scully told him as he paced back and forth
across his living room.
Mulder stopped, glancing at the special medical bag that lay on his coffee
table. They'd discussed the subject over and over again but it only seemed to
solidify their opposing opinions. "No. We can't take the chance of tipping them
off."
"I think we can trust Skinner."
"So do I, but asking him to back us up now means involving the Bureau. I don't
want it to leak into the wrong hands. Not now."
"So we're just going to follow whatever directions Alex Krycek gives you?"
Mulder looked at his watch. It was a little after ten. "Not we. Me."
Scully shook her head firmly. "I'm not letting you go alone."
"I don't want to put you"
"Stop right there, Mulder. Don't even try to argue about it. I'm going with you.
Not just because I'm your partner and your friend, but because I know what to do
with those vials in that bag better than you do, and you know it. I may not be
convinced about your alien Colonists, but it's clear to me that secret
biological experiments are being conducted on unwilling human subjects and our
government is involved. I've been one of those subjects. What you saw in that
traincar, whatever threat we're facing, human... or alien, I have as much at
stake in stopping it as you do. You need me on this, Mulder."
Mulder saw the unshakeable determination in her eyes and realized that he was
wasting his breath. "You're right Scully, I do need you." He tried to smile.
They were silent then, Mulder finally taking a chair, occasionally glancing at
his cellphone on the desk.
"What if he doesn't call?" asked Scully.
"He'll call." Mulder felt Scully's speculative gaze on him, though she made no
other comment. They sat and waited.
At eleven o' clock, his cellphone rang. Mulder picked it up on the first ring.
Krycek's voice was husky and edgy. "Did you get anything useful from the tape?"
"Yes. We're ready. Did you find them?" returned Mulder.
"Yes. I don't know how much longer they'll be here."
"You're... with them?"
"Yes. Cancerman is meeting with them. He's brought them a prize."
Mulder frowned. "What prize?"
"Jeremiah Smith."
Mulder swallowed hard, forcibly holding back the questions, knowing there wasn't
time. "Tell me how to get there." He waited a moment. "Krycek."
"It may be too risky."
"Tell me where you are. Now." Mulder heard a quick sigh and then listened
carefully as Krycek described the location and gave him directions, then told
him where and at exactly what time he'd meet him. "Okay, Alex, we can get there
in a few hours. That should still gives us plenty of time to meet you on
schedule."
"Scully is coming with you?"
Before Mulder could answer, Krycek spoke again. "I have to go, I hear something.
Bring the cylinder; it might come in handy." And then the line clicked off.
Mulder stared at the receiver, teeth raking his lip.
"What did he tell you?" Scully's voice was close and he realized she had moved
to stand beside him.
He hung up and reached for the medical bag. " C'mon, we've got a long drive.
I'll tell you on the way." He hurried towards the door, knowing Scully was right
behind him.
Krycek slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and stood very still, blending
into the darkness around him. The scurrying sounds drew nearer, just beyond the
tall trees and foliage that separated him from the path. Krycek waited, peering
through the thick covering and letting out a breath as he caught sight of two
raccoons scrambling across the path towards the woods.
A pale half moon and a faint dusting of stars hung in the Spring sky. Glancing
around, he noted with irony that it was a lovely landscape. Oak and birch trees
mingled with flowering shrubs, looking like wildly tangled shadows in the wan
moonlight. A gently sloping road snaked through the greenery, bordered by low
stone fences on either side. If he listened carefully, he could hear a stream
nearby, gurgling over the rocks. Much further down the road, out of sight, was a
covered wood bridge, a reminder of a much simpler past. A sprawling, two story
house nestled in this peaceful pastoral setting. He imagined how particularly
beautiful it would all look in the sunlight.
In that house was the end of the world.
Krycek was carrying two guns, one in his shoulder holster and the other strapped
to the small of his back. They would do him little good against the Colonists.
He wasn't even sure he could tell them apart from the humans. The only one he
knew he could kill was the Smoker. The Cancerman. A grim smile flitted over his
lips. If all else failed, if there was nothing else left for him at the end of
this night but death, he was going to keep his final vow and take the smoking
bastard down with him. At least that much was within his grasp. And he had the
pernicious old asshole himself to thank for it.
He had his suspicions about why the Smoker had requested that he come along. The
other Syndicate members had decided that the Cancerman would act as their
intermediary for this special meeting with the Colonists. Perhaps they hoped, if
the Aliens were still greatly displeased with the sabotage of the Center, that
they'd take it out on their least-liked associate. It was a happy thought but an
unlikely possibility. Not that the Smoker objected to his role. It seemed that
of all the old conniving pricks, he was the one most intrigued by the Colonists
themselves. He was as afraid of the Aliens as the rest of them, but he was also
fascinated, and in some twisted way, honored to be singled out by them. Perhaps
it gave him a peculiar sense of privilege and distinction to be the chief lackey
to creatures with the power to obliterate all human existence. The Smoker
actually believed in the rightness of their proposed New Order and in whatever
'sacrifices' were required to achieve it. To Krycek, that made him the craziest
one of them all.
Though he had covered his tracks thoroughly, Krycek had the feeling that the
Cancerman suspected him of being somehow involved in the traincar's destruction.
Knowing the bastard's fondness for cat and mouse games, and which of them
invariably wound up playing the mouse, he had mentally prepared himself for
anything. Even so, he hadn't been prepared for the sight of Jeremiah Smith being
hauled out of a windowless van, trussed up like a mental patient in straight
jacket and gag, soon after their arrival. It was only with practiced effort that
he covered up his shock and managed to project only an offhand curiosity.
Whatever new game was being played, it seemed the stakes were rising for
everyone.
As soon as he was close enough, Krycek stepped out into the path and walked
casually down the road towards the picturesque country house. As he neared, he
could see two of the thugs who had brought Smith out of the van standing near
the other cars, smoking cigarettes. Krycek flexed his leather-gloved hand for a
moment, deliberately letting his boots crunch over some twigs under his feet as
he approached them. The men looked up, giving him a stony-eyed stare of
recognition, then returned to their smokes.
He wondered with grim amusement if Aliens smoked menthols or regular, but
decided that these two were the Smoker's personal hired muscle. He would take
them out before he met Mulder later tonight.
Mulder. He thought about the sound of Mulder's voice on the phone. Strange, how
it had soothed him just to hear it. There had been conviction in his voice. He'd
done it. Mulder had the weapon, the means to finally rid them of the Alien
threat. The crucial link had been there in the Ridley papers all along. And now,
it could all end in a matter of hours. They could all be free. Or they could all
be dead.
With a shrug of his shoulders, Krycek walked up the short flight of stairs to
the front door and went in.
They would have made better time had they not had to travel on country roads for
the last half of their journey.
"And on your left, and right, we have the charming foothills of the Allegheny
Mountains, an excellent area for hiking and biking, with perfect locales for
that luxurious vacation hideaway or that extraterrestrial home away from home,"
quipped Mulder.
It was the first words either of them had spoken in over an hour. He could feel
his adrenaline levels go up another notch as he took the last turnoff towards
their destination. Beside him, Scully turned off her flashlight and refolded the
map she had been reading."You must have been one hell of a Boy Scout, Mulder. I
bet you never got lost."
"No one every talks about the down side of a good memory, Scully. And I never
wanted to be a scout."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?"
He could hear the smile in her voice. Except for the distant half moon and stars
overhead, there were no other lights anywhere. Mulder had his window rolled
down. The sound of the breeze and the rustling of the leaves as they sped along,
the cool night air wafting over them, made it almost seem as if they were all
alone in the world.
A short time later, Mulder slowed the car down to a crawl. "That's the covered
bridge ahead." He managed to steer them off the road and down a slight
embankment behind a clump of tall shrubs. He turned off the engine. "It's about
a half a mile past that bridge. We have to go in on foot from here."
They were both dressed in dark clothing and hiking boots, Scully carrying the
medical bag and Mulder leading the way, his gun drawn. They walked silently
across the wooden bridge, the only sound the rush of the wide stream beneath
them. They stayed off the road once they crossed the bridge, making their way
through the trees and brush, but always keeping the road within sight. It was
further away than Mulder has expected, but they finally caught sight of the
country house in the distance.
There were several lights on in the house and at least three cars, including a
van, parked in the clearing nearby. There was no one outside that they could
see. Mulder glanced at his watch. They had 34 minutes to get to where Krycek
said he would meet them. Mulder carefully scanned the layout of the house, the
path, the stone fences, recalling Krycek's directions. "We have to go this way,"
he whispered, pointing towards a dark stand of trees just northwest of the
house.
They reached their rendezvous point and waited. Crouching by the trees, they
remained still and quiet. As the time drew closer, Mulder knew that Scully was
as tense as he was, probably moreso, given her distrust of Krycek, but what he
could see of her expression through the dimness was as cool and impassive as
ever.
Mulder looked at his watch again, the numbers glowing dully in the darkness.
Krycek was late.
After another twenty minutes had passed, Scully nudged his shoulder, her words
low. "What if he's not coming? I think we should make our way back to the car."
"Give him a little more time," he whispered. His palms sweating and his throat
dry, Mulder grappled with a mixture of fear and doubt as the minutes continued
to tick by.
Then he felt Scully's hand on his arm. She pointed to something and reached for
her weapon. Mulder did the same as he spotted the dark shadow detaching itself
from all the others and begin to move in their direction. As the shafts of
moonlight filtering through the tall trees played over the slowly moving figure,
Mulder relaxed a little.
"It's Krycek," he said to her. There was no one else who moved quite like that.
Scully didn't lower her weapon as Mulder holstered his gun and rose carefully
from his crouch, wincing as knotted muscles complained. Krycek seemed to spot
his movement, heading right towards them.
Scully stood up, too, but kept her Glock aimed at Krycek's chest.
Krycek walked up to them silently, merely glancing at the gun pointed at his
heart before he turned to Mulder. They just looked at each other for a moment,
Mulder wondering at the profound sense of relief that ran through him at seeing
Krycek standing before him, even in this most dangerous of venues. And shocked
at the sudden urge to reach out and pull Krycek into his arms, right here in
front of Scully. Instead, he dug his nails into his palms until it hurt.
"Are they in there?" he asked Krycek softly.
Krycek gazed around at the trees that shielded them, stepping deeper into the
shadows. Mulder and Scully moved with him, waiting for his answer. "Could be the
mother lode," he replied, shaking his head. "I still can't believe it."
"What?" prompted Mulder.
"I was trying to locate Smith because I know the Smoker went with him. There are
two Colonists 'interrogating' him in there. I found the room but I couldn't get
in. I started checking out the place, see what I could find." Krycek paused,
drawing in a breath. "There's... something beneath that house." He frowned as if he
couldn't quite trust his own words. "Could be some kind of underground complex.
I found a bank of electronic equipment in the basement. Looks like something out
of NASA Command Central. I thought because of all the monitors, that it was some
kind of fancy setup to watch the outside of the house, a security system, but it
isn't."
"What are they monitoring?" asked Mulder.
Krycek raked his lip with his teeth, looking from Mulder to Scully and back
again. "On the monitors, I saw metal containers, like the ones in that traincar,
only much smaller. Most of them are stacked one on top of the other,
horizontally. Looked like there could be hundreds of them. Joined together by a
network of conduits. It looks like a... honeycomb in a beehive. It's underneath
that house."
Mulder felt a chill creep up his spine, his mind forming an image. "It's a ship.
It's the Colonists' ship."
"An alien spaceship is buried underneath this country house in the Allegheny
foothills?" Scully's question contained an unmistakable tone of incredulity.
But Krycek was nodding. "A ship. Yeah, that's what it is! Maybe it's been here
for decades or even longer."
Mulder could sense Scully's eyebrows rising. "What else did you see?"
"One of them was in there, watching the equipment. It saw me. I only had a
minute or two."
"The alien saw you?"
"It was strange. It... he, just stared at me. The door to that downstairs room
hadn't even been locked. I walked in, looked around, asked him flat out what it
all was. He told me it was none of my concern and to go back upstairs. He said
if I came back again he'd kill me. Very matter of fact, like he was ordering a
cheese sandwich. They don't have much personality, but somehow they manage to
make their point."
"We've got to get in there," said Mulder. He looked up at the scrap of sky
visible through the trees. "It'll be dawn in a couple of hours. We can't wait."
He turned back to Krycek. "Why did they grab Smith, do you know?"
"The Syndicate pulled out all the stops to get him. They think the Colonists
feel he's the one behind the Center sabotage, him and his little cell of
nihilistic traitors. They know the Colonists have been after them. I guess they
were as good a scapegoat as any."
"There were others with Smith?"
"Not any more. They're dead. Smith is the last. The Colonists didn't kill him
like the others. Cancerman said he was valuable to them because he's a healer.
That's rare for them; they have very few healers and never any in what they call
the drone class. Smith is a drone. Like the other healers, his ability works
best on humans. I think they want to find out everything he knows and then
'reindoctrinate' him. Have him use his ability specifically in their
hybridization experiments. Maybe they'll stick him back in one of those little
metal canisters to bring him into line. Or maybe they'll just dissect him when
they're through. Your guess is as good as mine."
Scully still had her gun poised. "Do you believe all that, Mulder? Do you really
want us to go in there?" Her tone was calm and steady.
Mulder took a step towards her, until he could see her eyes shining in the
darkness. "Yes, Scully, I believe him. But you don't have to go. Stay out here.
Keep watch. Give me the medical bag."
She shook her head. "We'll go together." He saw her glance sharply at Krycek,
reholster her gun and pick up the medical bag. He was certain she doubted
everything Krycek had said, but it wasn't Krycek's words that held her here. Her
faith was not even in what Mulder believed. It was her loyalty to Mulder himself
and her own determination to see it all through that kept her by his side.
Mulder became acutely aware that he was standing between them: Scully, his
partner, his dearest friend and Alex Krycek, his enigmatic enemy, his... lover.
Strangely, they both seemed so much a part of him. The inextricable ties that
crisscrossed between them had generated the most significant events of their
lives. And now they were here, together, facing perhaps the ultimate moment of
truth. Mulder gazed from one to the other, all the brilliant words in his head
seeming inadequate and insufficient. He simply nodded and turned towards the
house.
Krycek's soft, husky voice stopped him. "Do you have the weapon I sent you?"
Mulder reached into his jacket pocket and drew out the slim, silver cylinder. He
touched a point along the side, releasing the pick-like blade.
"Good. You'll probably have to use it. Do you know how?"
"I know."
Krycek seemed to hesitate, his body leaning slightly towards Mulder before
stopping. Mulder watched Alex's lips part, as if to say... something, and then
clamp shut into a firm line. The dark head turned away as Krycek stepped back.
When he spoke, Mulder felt sure it wasn't what he had wanted to say. "Then let's
finish it."
Krycek began leading them silently towards the side of the house.
He had wanted to tell Mulder that he loved him. Stupid. With Scully standing
beside him and a nest of aliens, Cancerman and his goons just down the road, he
had longed to touch Mulder and tell him that he loved him. How pathetically
stupid. As if Mulder would have wanted to hear such a thing. As if it mattered.
Yet Krycek had felt, for just a split second, that if he didn't say it then and
there, he wouldn't get another chance. His instincts were telling him his time
was finally running out. But when he'd looked through the darkness, he'd seen
the fire in Mulder's eyes. And the strength in Scully's. And Krycek knew that
Mulder would make it, and it was that knowledge that kept him from saying the
words. Kept him from marring the moment for Mulder with an absurd emotional
declaration the other man surely didn't want or need.
Instead, he locked the feeling away and focused on the goal before them. As they
stealthily approached the country house, he hoped his handiwork with the alarm
system had not yet been discovered. Except for the rustle of the cool night wind
through the trees, everything was quiet as he led them to the back window that
he had left ajar. The house was big and fortunately, at this hour, mostly dark.
The Colonists were still upstairs with Smith and Cancerman.
Krycek could sense Mulder's impatience as they climbed inside and slowly made
their way to the door and the stairs beyond that led down to the basement.
At first glance, the shadowy basement looked fairly ordinary. A furnace and
shelves filled with old boxes and dusty knickknacks. Gardening and work tools
spread on a worn bench. Some stacks of old papers and magazines. Krycek led them
to a concealed door on the far wall. "There's no way that he can't see us once
we walk in there," he whispered to Mulder. "If we're lucky, he's still alone.
Let me go down first. I'll try and draw him off. You won't have much time to
prove to me that you can really use that thing," he finished, nodding towards
the silvery weapon in Mulder's hand.
"What if he's not alone?" asked Scully.
"Then I guess our luck runs out," replied Krycek flatly.
But their luck held, at least for a while.
"I told you not to come back here or I would kill you," the alien told Krycek.
"You humans do not know how to listen. I see no use for any of you." And then
the alien rose slowly from his seat in front of the strange electronic panel and
began advancing towards him.
Krycek circled quickly to the other side of the room. "Well, you know, that's
funny because I don't see any use for any of you either." He reached into his
jacket and pulled out his gun, the silencer already connected.
Something resembling a smile flickered over the alien's face as he eyed the gun
and continued walking towards Krycek. There was only a few feet left behind
Krycek before he hit the wall. Even though he knew it was useless, he fired into
the thing's chest just as the alien reached for his throat. As the cold fingers
closed around his windpipe, Mulder appeared behind the alien. A blur of movement
and the alien grimaced in shock, freezing in place as Mulder stabbed the deadly
point through the base of its neck.
Krycek pulled the clawing fingers from his collar and watched as the alien
collapsed in front of him, a green pool of liquid bubbling up from the wound in
his neck as Mulder pulled out the long silver point.
They both stepped away quickly from the disintegrating corpse and that's when
Krycek caught the stunned expression on Scully's face. Welcome to the world of
little green men, Dana Scully. C'mon down and play.
To her credit, Scully recovered herself immediately and began examining the
equipment in the room. Though the lights were on, they were fairly dim, the
readouts and monitors providing almost as much illumination as the soft track
lights in the corners of the steel-walled room. Mulder walked over to the bank
of monitors and stood beside Scully, staring at the images on the screen.
Krycek knew what they were looking at, he'd seen it. He could imagine Mulder's
horror and Scully's shock. He almost felt sorry for Scully. Her long-held
scientific reality was twisting itself into a very odd shape before her big blue
eyes. He walked over to them. "If you have some magic potion in that bag of
yours, I suggest you pull it out and figure out what to do with it while we
still have time."
Scully's head snapped around, her eyes meeting his for a moment. "How do we know
if these images are real? If it isn't just fabricated footage? A fake set up by
you and Cancerman for your own purposes?"
"You think this is fake?" replied Krycek. "Like that thing on the floor that
just tried to kill me?" He gestured at the corpse on the other side of the room,
its head already softening into a pool of green goo.
Mulder turned away from the images on the monitors and stared at her. His voice
was raw when he spoke. "Scully, are you so afraid to believe? Even now?" The
sound of it tore at Krycek's insides. He could see that the naked pain in it had
reached Scully, too, by the look on her face.
Her lips tightened for a moment. "I don't know what to believe, Mulder. I... I
just have to ask the questions." She turned to Krycek again. "Watch the
entrance." Then she looked back at Mulder and put a hand on his arm. "Help me
check out this equipment." After a moment, Mulder nodded.
Krycek figured she was dealing with it the only way she knew. He glanced at the
monitors, watched the cameras panning methodically down each row. The alien,
almost-faces were visible through the view panels of their containers; they
looked like they were frozen. A vague gray-blue gas seemed to swirl around them.
On the other monitors, the camera angles were different, the containers viewed
on end, looking like hexagons joined together in a honeycomb pattern. Hundreds
of them. A series of small lights blinked in sequence above some sort of digital
panel in the center of each hexagon. Yellow, blue, blue. Yellow, blue, blue.
Mulder and Scully were moving across the large room, checking the panels, the
series of pipes along one wall, the air ducts. They moved professionally,
efficiently, like the partners that they were. At one point, Scully called
Mulder over, and they conferred together softly, Mulder's head bent down close
to Scully's red hair. The empathy was there between them, the unspoken trust.
Krycek felt a pang of something indefinable as he glanced at them from across
the room.
He stayed near the door, keeping a lookout, as the two FBI agents continued
their examination of the room's contents. As the minutes dragged on, he began to
wonder if their luck was running out. He rubbed at his shoulder. The prosthesis
chafed against the stump of his arm. He'd pulled the straps too tight and his
muscles ached. He glanced down at the black leather glove that covered the cold
plastic hand and gritted his teeth. He stopped rubbing at his shoulder and
looked back at the stairs. He pulled his gun out again.
"Come over here." Mulder was gesturing at them and staring down at the floor.
"What is it?" Scully asked him.
Mulder crouched and pointed to a barely visible seam that ran along the side of
one of the electronic panels and meshed with the square metal grates that made
up the floor. Then he stood up and studied the controls closest to him. He
reached out, long fingers not quite touching the various keypads and switches
before pausing over one of the levers. He exchanged a glance with Scully who
nodded once, then he slowly pushed the small lever forward. A few seconds later,
a section of the floor began to move.
Krycek was surprised at how quiet it was. If it hadn't been for the slight
vibration beneath his feet, he wouldn't have known that a piece of the heavy
metal flooring was moving. It was in itself quite an engineering feat. What the
opening revealed was even more impressive.
Bathed in an eerie reddish glow, it was a network of multiple layers of large,
clear ducts intertwined with metal tubing and a variety of gears and gauges like
nothing Krycek had ever seen before. For a moment, he had thought it would be an
entrance to the... alien ship he believed lay buried beneath the house. By the
look on Mulder's face, he guessed that the other man had hoped for the same
thing.
"What is it?" wondered Krycek aloud as took a few steps closer to the opening.
"They look like oversized oxygen tanks," replied Scully as she crouched near the
edged. "These are pressure gauges," she continued, pointing to a set of small
clear tubes set between two of the large ducts. "It reminds me of some of the
special equipment I've seen in experimental isolation units, where every
environmental variable has to be measured and adjusted to prevent any kind of
contamination. The equipment isn't even placed in the same room as the subject
to keep everything as sterile as possible." Scully stopped, drawing in a breath.
"This isn't 'alien' equipment, Mulder. It's sophisticated, yes, advanced beyond
anything I've ever seen, but human beings made this. Look, the gauges are
inscribed with metric measurements. These symbols are from our own element
table."
"The Syndicate has been covering up the Alien presence for decades. They're
keeping them safe. This is a filtration system for the aliens in those
containers. And they are aliens, Scully. It's connected to their ship, to keep
them in a proper level of stasis until it's time for them be... revived," said
Mulder. The familiar conviction was in his voice but Scully was frowning at him.
"It could take us forever to figure out how to get into that ship. If you have
some kind of chemical or serum or whatever the hell you brought in that bag, can
you just dump it into their air ducts or whatever?" cut in Krycek impatiently.
He glanced towards the stairs. "We don't have time to debate human versus alien
conspiracy theory right now."
Two pairs of eyes snapped a glare at him before turning to each other. Mulder
raised a hand towards the images on the monitors. "You agree we have to stop
this, don't you Scully?"
She looked at the images on the screens then slowly reached for the medical bag.
"Yes."
Krycek felt as if, somewhere, the sands in an hourglass were running out. He
kept glancing at the door and back at Mulder and Scully. They were having
trouble. Scully had a vial and a hypodermic needle in her hands. Mulder seemed
to be frantically searching through the network of ducts in the floor opening
for something. More minutes ticked by.
Finally, they had found whatever they were looking for as they huddled over a
section of the exposed floor. Scully was unrolling a thick pad that revealed
several tubes filled with a pinkish liquid, along with several different types
of hypodermic needles. Mulder stooped down beside her and they talked in hushed,
hurried tones. Krycek couldn't make out what they were saying. He turned his
attention back to the door, his gun poised in his hand, his sharp sense of dread
growing stronger.
A seemingly interminable while later, he felt Mulder briefly touch his shoulder.
"All right, let's get out of here." The opening in the floor was closed.
Krycek merely nodded, not bothering to ask what they'd done. He glanced back to
see Scully close behind Mulder, the medical bag in her hand. Silently he opened
the door and led them back into the old basement.
Had they left a few minutes sooner, they might have made it.
But instead, Krycek saw the two Colonists who seemed to be in charge here,
dragging Jeremiah Smith down the stairs. Smith looked ashen and disheveled,
restraints binding his arms behind his back. The aliens pushed Smith roughly
down the few remaining steps as they spotted the humans. One headed towards
Krycek and Scully and the other towards Mulder. Mulder was edging towards the
other side of the basement, separating the two aliens as much as possible as he
drew out the stiletto-shaped weapon from his pocket.
"They're all dying right now, all your little buddies on that ship down there.
Yeah, we've killed them, just like we'll kill you," taunted Krycek as he
deliberately focused the other alien's attention on himself.
The second Colonist looked towards the door to the control room, then back at
Krycek, its dark eyes glittering. It lunged at him. He felt the useless Glock in
his hand as he tried to maneuver around a stack of boxes, upending a few to
block the alien's path. He couldn't risk a glance towards Mulder or Scully as he
kept backing away, only hoping they would have a chance to make it up the
stairs.
Then the alien was on him, large hands closing like a vise around his throat. He
knew Mulder couldn't save him this time. Get away, Mulder. Get away. Be safe.
Be... free. The thoughts flashed through his mind as he began to choke, air
leeching out of his lungs.
Everything seemed to happen simultaneously then, the seconds oddly stretching
like a slow motion nightmare as he thought he heard the Smoker's voice yelling
from a distance. "What've you done? What've you done?!"
The hands around his throat tightened and the room began to swirl into a fog.
Abruptly, the hands released him. The Colonist began to shudder violently, and
Krycek fell back, gasping for air. A hypodermic needle was lodged in the side of
the alien's neck. It's mouth gaped opened in a grimace as it crumpled to the
floor, dark eyes clouding almost instantly as the veins began to bulge and pulse
grotesquely through its skin.
Scully was reaching into the medical bag, her eyes on the other side of the
room. But Krycek didn't have a chance to look for Mulder as he caught sight of
the Smoker's gun rising, aiming at Scully.
Krycek's gun was firing even as he shoved Scully to the side. He felt something
jar his prosthetic, then a fiery bolt pierced his chest and he cried out. Even
as he was falling, he kept shooting, using his last seconds to keep his final
vow.
He didn't feel the floor when he hit it. It was as if his whole body had gone
numb except for the burning pain in his chest.
Krycek knew he was dying. He tried to raise his head, but he could only angle it
a little. He could hear noises: boxes crashing, something heavy hitting the
floor, the scuffle of footsteps. He heard his name.
"Alex! Alex!" And then Mulder was kneeling beside him, and Scully, too. Scully
was pressing down against his shirt. He could feel something warm bubbling
through his chest, saw bright red soaking through the ragged edges of the large
hole in his black shirt, seeping though Scully's fingers, turning them the same
bright red.
"Help him, Scully!"
Krycek forced his lips to move. "Dead... he... dead?" It was barely a whisper. He
watched as Scully glanced towards the stairs. "Yes, Cancerman's dead."
"They're all dead, Alex." It was Mulder, arms gently supporting his head and
neck. "Don't talk," he said. "Scully"
"There's nothing I can do, Mulder, not with a wound like that. He has a few
minutes at most."
"No!"
Krycek felt the light fading. He tried to keep his eyes open, to keep Mulder
before his eyes until the light was gone. He wanted to say... so much, but he
couldn't talk any more. The pain seemed to be fading, the numbness spreading
inward, towards his heart. Suddenly, Mulder moved away from him and he wanted to
call him back, wanted to cry out.
His eyes were still open but it was growing so dark... so dark. Mulder. Oh,
Mulder.
As if from a great distance, he could hear voices, as the light dimmed to
darkness.
"Smith, you have to help him! Please, help him... help him. Don't let him die!"
"Mulder, what are you doing? It's no use!"
"Free my hands. I must touch him..."
It was so peaceful. He hadn't expected the lulling quiet. The voices were fading
away. Everything... fading. The darkness was so... peaceful...
The sudden sensation of air rushing into his lungs forced his eyes open in
shock. The room's light was glaringly bright. He gaped at the haggard face of
Jeremiah Smith leaning over him, the alien's hands rubbing over his chest.
Krycek felt his own heart beating like a drum even as panic spread through him.
He felt so strange, dizzy and floating. Dazedly, he looked around him. Mulder
was lifting him, tearing his jacket and shirt away.
"His arm... can you? Can you try?" he was asking Smith.
Fear gripped him as Krycek felt Mulder unbuckling the prosthesis, pulling it
off. "N-no." His voice sounded so weak and feeble. He tried to struggle, to
shake his head, catching sight of Scully's astonished expression. She seemed
frozen, her blue eyes locked on Smith's hands.
Smith was touching his mutilated arm, cold fingers wrapping around the stump of
his flesh, stroking the scars, rubbing over his skin again and again and again.
Krycek felt a sharp burst of agony as if his arm was suddenly on fire, burning
all the way up to his shoulder blade. He found he could scream after all and
then he lost consciousness.
When he opened his eyes again, he felt a rolling motion. He barely had the
strength to turn his head as he tried to focus. Scully was beside him and they
were moving. Car, they were in a car. No. He was stretched out. The van, they
were in the van. "Wh-wha" his throat felt rusty. He felt tired, overwhelmingly
tired.
"It's all right, Krycek," she told him. She was holding something around his
arm, his mutilated arm. Towels. Towels wadded around his stump. He tried to
blink away the dizziness. Something was wrong. Blood was oozing through the
towels. Dark red streaks. And there was something else. The end of his arm
seemed... longer, almost down to the elbow.
"Wh-what's... happening?" he asked hoarsely, trembling with a sudden wave of
panic. "M-mulder? Mulder?!"
"It's okay, Alex, I'm right here. Everything's going to be okay." Mulder's voice
was somewhere close behind and above him. The driver's seat. "We're on our way
back to D.C. Close your eyes, Alex. Try to sleep."
The panic rolled back a little at the sound of Mulder's voice. He had to fight
the fear, get himself under control. Why did he feel so very weak? He turned his
face away from Scully's measuring gaze and the sight of the bloodied towels and
closed his eyes in sheer exhaustion, sinking into sleep.
When he surfaced again, it was to the sound of their voices drifting in and out
of his consciousness.
"..and you'll pull it all together, Scully?"
"To tell you the truth, Mulder, I'm not sure what to think about anything
anymore."
"Hey, that sounds like a damn good first step to me..." The voices fading once
more.
"He should be in a hospital, Mulder."
"For what? Spontaneous limb regrowth? What do you think the learned doctors
would say when they saw that?"
"I can only conjecture that the amount of energy his body is expending as the
regeneration continues must be enormous. It's sapping every bit of strength he
has. He needs close care until it's over"
"I'll take care of him."
"Mulder, that's crazy"
Krycek struggled to open his eyes but couldn't and sleep stole over him again.
The next time he woke, he saw a window. The shades were down, but he could tell
it was daylight. He tried to swallow. His mouth tasted like cotton. He was in a
bed. A thin blanket covered him up to his armpits. His chest was bare. The
sheets smelled like soap. Moving his head with effort, he tried to look around.
There was a pillow under his left arm and it was swathed in a thick towel, a
different towel, blue. He could see the outline of his arm. It was... longer, even
longer than before. It was the length of a whole arm. Fear pinched at his nerves
as he stared at it. His throat felt like it was closing up.
"Do you want some water?" It was Scully's voice.
He nodded, the motion making him dizzy.
She raised his head a little and put a glass to his lips. "Slowly," she said.
He sipped at the water, his breathing labored as he managed to swallow a little.
"You're very weak, Krycek. Better lie back. You can have some more in a few
minutes."
He looked at her and found his breath. "Mulder?"
"He's picking up some supplies." She glanced at her wristwatch. "He should be
back any minute now."
"Where... am... I?"
He watched a small frown come and go on her face. "You're in Mulder's apartment.
It was no picnic getting you up here either. Be grateful you were unconscious."
He wanted to ask about his arm, about Smith, about the aliens. He wanted Mulder
to be here with him. Mulder. But it was a strain just to keep his eyes open.
It seemed as if Scully could read something in his face because she sat down in
a chair beside the bed, on his left side. She touched the edge of the blue
towel. "You probably have a lot of questions. I'm not sure we have all the
answers but you can ask them when Mulder gets back. Close your eyes now and
rest."
He woke to the sight of Fox Mulder staring down at him. All he could do was
stare back, gathering his breath. It was a relief to feel stronger, if only
marginally.
"You slept for several hours. How do you feel?" Mulder asked him gently.
He swallowed. "I was dying. II should be dead."
"Death Takes A Holiday, one of my favorite movies." Mulder's lips stretched
slowly in a smile as he reached out and gently brushed Krycek's cheek with the
back of his fingers.
The touch made his skin tingle. He took a deep breath, then another. "Smith.
What did he do to me?"
"He healed you, saved your life."
Krycek glanced towards his arm. "Wh-what did he do?" he asked again.
"You're
whole, Alex." Mulder was sitting in the same chair that Scully had used. He
lifted part of the towel, his hazel eyes bright with wonder. "Look, look at your
arm."
Krycek didn't want to look, didn't want to see the thing. He turned his face
away. "What about the aliens on that ship? Was I telling the truthare they
dead?"
He waited for Mulder to answer him and thought he could feel the man's gaze
boring into the back of his head. He knew Mulder wanted him to look at the arm,
but he couldn't. He heard Mulder sigh.
"Ridley's experiments had produced a by-product, a new bacterial strain. That
was the weapon. The data on the tape you gave me confirmed it. Injecting it into
the filtration system of that ship, into that sterile environment, was like
immersing a human being in the Ebola Virus. Yes, the aliens are dead."
"The Smoker... Scully said..."
"Two bullets in the head, one in the chest. Damn good shooting considering the
circumstances. Yeah, the bastard's puffed his last Morley." Mulder sighed again
in the silence that followed. "Will you at least look at me?" he finally asked.
Krycek squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Where's Scully?"
"She's meeting with Skinner. Telling him what's happened. There's no way to hide
or destroy the proof this time. That ship has been buried in those foothills for
a long, long time. That's why there was relatively little security. Decades of
complacency. They were sure that no enemy would ever find it. They never had any
intention of ever using it again except as a kind of stasis chamber for the
other aliens until they were ready to implement full-blown colonization. But any
alien that tries to enter that ship now will be infected, and die. It's Ground
Zero for them. Now, Skinner can authorize an official investigation. We finally
have the means of stopping all of it, the Syndicate and the aliens, stop the
abductions, and the... experiments. We've done it, Alex."
Krycek suddenly thought of the Well-Manicured Man. He hadn't heard from him
since he'd given him the envelope for Mulder. Soon the other Syndicate members
would know what had happened, if they didn't already. Those gray old men would
finally be running for their lives. Given the kind of men they were, they would
be turning on each other with a vengeance, assuming the remaining Aliens didn't
get to them first. That would be a kind of justice, finally. But the Brit, he
deserved better. Krycek owed him. He would have to try and get in touch with
him.
"Alex, please look at me."
The soft voice drew him back. He took a deep breath and turned his head towards
Mulder.
"Thank you for helping me, and for helping Scully. He would have killed her if
you hadn't"
"You needed her more than you needed me. Besides, she saved my life with that
magic hypo. We're even."
Mulder frowned at him, lips working as if he wasn't quite certain what he wanted
to say. Instead, he looked down at the blue towel and slowly unwrapped it.
"There's nothing wrong with your arm. It's almost fully formed. Can you feel my
fingers?"
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mulder's hand begin to stroke... it,
somewhere near the wrist. And Krycek felt it, the shocking unexpectedness of it.
It was eerie and unbelievable and terrifying.
"Just look at your arm, Alex." Mulder's voice was low and coaxing like he trying
to persuade a frightened animal. Krycek might have even found it funny if it
hadn't been so close to the truth. Instead, he forced his gaze to move from
Mulder's face down to his arm.
It looked like his arm. Almost. It was too pale and... new. He grimaced as he saw
the hand, the fingers were much too smooth, even around the knuckles. His
fingertips tapered into blank round tips with only vague indentations where
nails should be.
"The cuticles should be formed by tonight. And then the hair. There's a little
fuzz here already, along the forearm. It's very light, very soft. See?" Mulder
gave him a big, boyish smile.
Mulder was on top of the world. His beliefs had been validated. He'd triumphed
over a Conspiracy that had fought hard and dirty for years to break him. The
truth was indeed out there, and he'd found it. And now, like icing on a cake, he
even had Alex Krycek as his own personal X-file, here to entertain him.
Krycek stared at the arm for a few more seconds, looked up into Mulder's shining
hazel eyes, and then turned his face away, a lump in his throat. He couldn't
understand why he suddenly felt so miserable. He was alive, after all. And
seemingly... whole. He'd beaten the odds again and survived. He was out from under
the thumb of the Syndicate. He was even on the Right Side, for a change. Deep
inside, he was truly, genuinely happy for Mulder. The man deserved his victory
more than anyone. And yet Krycek felt a swarm of conflicting feelings that took
him from the heights to the depths in seconds. It was the kind of effect Mulder
always had on him, only now all his careful defenses seemed to have deserted
him.
"There's nothing alien about your body or your arm, if that's what's worrying
you. It's perfectly normal. At this rate, your arm should look exactly like it
used to by tomorrow. You'll start feeling stronger, too. In a few days, you'll
be able to go ten rounds with the best of them, and probably develop a dynamite
left jab while you're at it."
Krycek couldn't keep a harsh laugh from escaping. He turned back to Mulder.
"Hell, Mulder, my arm was chopped off. It's rotting in the ground somewhere in a
Siberian forest. I had a bullet in my heart. I was bleeding to death. An alien
does something to me, uses some kind of extraordinary force or power and makes
the wound in my heart disappear and my arm grow back. There is no one else on
earth but you who would refer to that as being 'perfectly normal'."
Mulder bit his lip, an embarrassed flush on his face. "Okay, so I'm not exactly
the best judge of normality, but I just want you to realize that you're as human
as you ever were, that's all." He reached out and took hold of Krycek's new hand
in both of his, stroking the back of it lightly.
"Pins and needles," murmured Krycek.
"What?"
"Your touch. It feels like pins and needles, like the hand was asleep."
"I guess in a way, it is. It's sort of coming alive, meshing with your body."
Mulder moved a hand up to where the stump had ended and rubbed at the new flesh
beneath. "How does it feel here?"
"More... normal," replied Krycek, frowning at the word. Mulder's fingers were warm,
his touch soothing and a little unnerving. Krycek's mouth felt dry. "Can I have
some water?"
"Sure." Mulder let go and got up. "Are you hungry? I actually did some shopping
earlier. Do you want some soup or a sandwich?"
"No, just some water." His stomach felt like a knot was slowly forming in it.
Mulder returned with a glass and a pitcher of water that he placed on the
bedside table. Krycek tried to shift himself up a little and was surprised at
the wave of dizziness that hit him.
"Take it easy, Alex. Here, let me help you."
Mulder had been calling him 'Alex' a lot. He was also mothering him like he was
a sick child and Krycek wasn't sure how to take any of it. There never seemed to
be a simple, easy-to-grasp middle ground with Fox Mulder. Then again, maybe
they'd both been living their lives on the extreme edges for so long, they
didn't know anything else. Maybe for them, the 'norm' would be the most
uncomfortable place of all.
Mulder propped some pillows behind his back and helped him drink some water. He
left the room for a minute, returning with an oddly-shaped jug that he placed on
the bedside table.
"What's that?"
"Urine bottle," replied Mulder. "Same kind they use in hospitals. You know,
until you're stronger, it'd be easier for you. Um, uh," Mulder sputtered a bit,
adding, "If you need to use the, um, toilet, um, we can, you know, deal with
that, too."
There was something unexpectedly endearing about a tongue- tied Mulder.
"Thanks."
"Listen, Alex, I have to go into the office and talk with Skinner. There's still
a lot to be done and I need to be there. I've called some friends of mine and
they'll take turns staying with you until I get back. I wish I didn't have to
leave right away, but"
"It's all right, Mulder, do what you have to do."
"Frohike should be here any minute. Byers and Langly will come by later, if I'm
not back."
"The Loony Geekmen," quipped Krycek with a faint smile.
"You know them?"
"Let's just say, the Smoker mentioned the Lone Gunmen a time or two. He didn't
like them. Thought they were way too helpful to you."
"Yeah, well, they have been. They helped break open that tape you gave me."
Mulder shrugged. "And, yeah, they're weird, but they're also my friends."
Krycek nodded just as the phone began to ring. Mulder went into the living room
to answer it and returned a few minutes later. "That was Scully." Mulder gave
him a quick grin. "She said Skinner's reaction was 'profoundly memorable'. I
wish I could've seen it. He's setting up a full-scale investigation. He's
already on his way to see it with a team of agents."
Krycek didn't need ask what 'it' was. "Then you better go."
"I told Skinner I'd get there as soon as I could. I'm not leaving you alone." He
walked over to the side of the bed and sat down again, his gaze never leaving
Krycek's face.
Krycek felt like he was drowning in Mulder's eyes and he looked down at the
blanket that covered his chest. "I wanted to ask you something else," he said,
struggling for the emotional distance he needed to keep from blurting out
something he would only surely regret.
"What?"
"Jeremiah Smith. W-what happened to him?"
"I don't know. After he healed you, he refused to come with us. We told him that
we could try and isolate him from the bacteria, but he said 'no.' He realized he
couldn't survive exposure to the strain but it didn't matter to him. He said he
wanted to heal, to do what he could to help as many people as he could, for
however long he had."
"If only the others had been like him. It would've been a different world,
wouldn't it?"
"Yeah, it would've."
The doorbell rang just as he felt Mulder's hand touch his hair.
Frohike was an odd little man who reminded Krycek of an overgrown gnome with
glasses. He approached Krycek with cautious friendliness as Mulder made the
introductions and gave him instructions.
"... and there's groceries in the kitchen. You've got my cellphone number. I want
you to call me if you need me," finished Mulder. He looked at Krycek. "You
should eat something pretty soon. Keep your strength up. Believe it or not,
Frohike here actually enjoys cooking and he's not half-bad at it."
The little man snorted indignantly and pushed up his glasses. "Hell, the fact
that you have fresh food in this apartment is the real Ripley's, Mulder."
Mulder grinned and nodded good-naturedly. "I'll get back as soon as I can, Alex.
Get some more rest, okay?".
"I'll be fine," answered Krycek, his eyelids growing heavy. He could see the
little man glancing curiously at his left arm. He assumed Mulder had told his
friend about it. "Frohike can watch my arm grow while I take a nap." He managed
a weak chuckle at Frohike's bug-eyed reaction.
He wasn't sure if he was already asleep and dreaming when he saw Mulder smiling
softly at him, his hazel eyes tender, before he turned and slowly walked out the
bedroom door.
What Mulder thought would take hours turned into days. While Scully supervised
the production of more of Ridley's bacterial strain in the Bureau's labs, Mulder
went back to the country house and met up with Skinner and his teams.
Half-expecting to find the house burnt to the ground and the evidence of the
ship somehow destroyed, it was a heady relief to discover that, this time, it
was there. It was all there, just as they'd left it.
The investigation had been given the highest level of security and priority.
Skinner had ordered that nothing be touched or moved, not even the bodies until
everything was photographed and all evidence collected and documented in
painstaking detail. The Smoker's body remained crumpled at the foot of the
stairs. The sight of the aliens in the basement, or what was left of them, had
shaken even the team of seasoned FBI agents, but when they saw what was on the
monitors, even Skinner had admitted to being stunned speechless.
Skinner called it the installation beneath the house. Mulder figured that saying
the phase 'alien spaceship,' however accurate, would be more than his colleagues
could handle at that point. From the look of it, it would take some concerted
effort to even find the entrance to it. It seemed that the Colonists had gone to
great effort to secure the ship. Fortunately, they hadn't expected an assault
from an enemy small enough to fit into a syringe. Whether from arrogance or
oversight, they had made it possible for Mulder and Scully to turn the ship into
a tomb.
While he and Skinner reviewed how the investigation would proceed, Mulder would
catch the expressions on the faces of the other agents when they glanced his
way. 'Damn, how about that? Spooky Mulder was right all along.' There was an
exhilarating satisfaction in the almost reverent looks they gave him. He was no
longer the Oddball in the Basement.
As the hours unfolded, Mulder found himself replaying the events of that night
over and over in his mind, just as he found he had to break away from the
proceedings with obsessive regularity to call his apartment and check on
Krycek's condition. By the second day, he realized his priorities had taken a
serious turn when he was more interested in the fact that Krycek wasn't eating
than in the news that a large number of suspected Syndicate members had been
torched to death near an airplane hanger just outside D.C.
As the third day dawned, he told Skinner he was going home. The A.D. was less
than comfortably aware of who had taken up residence in Mulder's apartment but,
after giving his agent a list of reservations even longer than Scully's, he
finally gave in to Mulder's obstinacy and let him go.
Mulder made it back to Alexandria in record time. Strangely, his footsteps grew
more hesitant as he approached his apartment building. So much had happened in
such a short length of time. Reality had somersaulted on him and he was still
dazed by it all. He'd always trusted his instincts, but he wasn't sure about his
emotions. At least, not now that the grand battles seemed to be over and there
was nothing to deal with but his own life and the handful of people in it who
still mattered to him. And one person in particular. He stood in front of the
elevator for several minutes, staring into some invisible middle distance. After
the frenetic activity of the past few days, he should have been exhausted but he
didn't even feel tired. He felt alive in a way that almost frightened him. He
felt like someone who had just fought and crawled his way out of a deep dark
hole into fresh air and sunlight only to realize he didn't know what to do or
where to go.
With a sigh, he got on the elevator and pressed the button for his floor. When
he walked into Apartment 42, the first thing that hit him was the smell of
bacon. The TV was on and it looked like the Weather Channel was forecasting
rainstorms along the Eastern seaboard.
"Honey, I'm home," he called, just as Langly stuck his head around the kitchen
doorway and waved at him.
"Hey, Mulder, you're just in time for breakfast.".
Glancing at the closed door to the bedroom as he passed, Mulder went into the
kitchen. "How is he?"
"Weird." In the middle of ladling scrambled eggs on his plate, Langly caught
Mulder's expression and added. "He's fine. Well, he seems fine anyway, except
he's not eating much. Want some eggs? Your guest declined so there's plenty."
"No, thanks. Is he asleep?"
"I don't think so. He's been sitting in the chair by the bed for a while.
Sometimes he just paces back and forth in there."
"You mean he's not in bed?" replied Mulder, already heading for the bedroom.
"It's been three days since you left, Mulder. He's not as weak and he's been
able to walk around, even goes to the bathroom all by himself, for which I am
truly grateful. Byers said he was out here using the phone yesterday." Langly
continued in a stage whisper to Mulder's back. "The guy's a little scary, man,
and I don't mean just his homegrown arm either."
Mulder tapped on the bedroom door, waited ten seconds, then walked in. Krycek
was sitting in the chair by the bed. He was wearing a pair of Mulder's pajamas,
the dark blue pair with white piping that his mother had given him a couple of
years ago. His head was bent and Mulder could tell he was staring at his hands.
"Alex?" He approached the other man slowly and crouched by the chair. "Alex?"
When Krycek still didn't answer him, he reached out and gently took hold of his
left hand. It looked perfectly... ordinary. The nails had grown out. He could see
the veins beneath the pale skin and his flesh was warm.
Mulder glanced up to find the green eyes watching him intently. "Hello, Mulder."
Butterflies started a dance in the pit of Mulder's stomach. "Hi." He smiled,
finding it remarkably easy. "I didn't expect you to be out of bed."
Krycek pulled his hand away and stood up. "I can't stay here. Have... things to
do." He started walking around the bed. As he turned back to Mulder, he began to
sway, eyes squeezing shut. Mulder jumped up and grabbed him just as he lost his
balance, maneuvering him back into the bed.
Krycek was breathing hard and scowling. "Can't stay here."
Mulder settled the light blanket over him and sat down on the edge of the bed,
wondering why Krycek's words depressed him. After all, they were true; Krycek
couldn't stay in his apartment indefinitely. He probably shouldn't have brought
him here in the first place. "Okay, but you can't leave if you don't have the
strength to make it into the living room. Just take it easy and I'll bring you
something to eat in a little while, okay?"
Face averted, Krycek's scowl barely lessened as Mulder got up and headed for the
kitchen.
Langly was wolfing down his eggs and bacon. "How's Prince Charming?"
"Not that charming at the moment." He ran a hand through his hair, then stopped
midway. "I've got to pick up something I forgot," he said. "When I get back, you
can head out, okay?" He rushed off before the blond could give him a reply.
He was back in less than twenty minutes.
"Hey, man, you've got plenty of food here already, you know," greeted Langly as
he caught sight of the grocery bag Mulder was carrying.
Mulder nodded distractedly. "Listen, Langly, thanks for helping me out. I can
take it from here."
"You sure?" But Langly couldn't quite hide the flicker of relief in his eyes.
"Yeah, get out of here. Tell Frohike I'll dig out some of my video hits for him
the next time I drop by."
Langly grinned. "Don't bother, he already cherry-picked your collection while he
was here. He said to tell you to consider it your down payment." The blond
grabbed his coat and his laptop as Mulder brought his bag into the kitchen. "Are
you sure you don't want me to hang around? Or I could call one of the guys to
get back here"
Mulder grinned. "Get lost, Langly.
Langly gave him a shrug and a smile. "Now that we've all helped to save the
world from extraterrestrial domination, one of these days you're going to have
to give us the real lowdown on your tall, dark and dangerous buddy in there. I
have a feeling it's a helluva story."
"One of these days, I will, and thanks again."
"Remember, dude, we're but a phone call away. Call if you need us."
Mulder watched as Langly tried not to break the speed record scooting out the
door. He put away most of his purchases and then made a couple of toasted cheese
sandwiches, fixed up a makeshift tray and brought it into the bedroom.
Krycek was staring at the window. He didn't turn his head as Mulder set the food
down on the bedside table.
"C'mon, Alex, I made enough for the both of us."
"I'm not really hungry, Mulder."
Mulder studied the dark head for a moment and reached for the bottle on the
tray. "Then just have a drink with me." It was just past ten a.m. and he saw the
puzzled frown forming as Krycek turned his face towards him. Mulder lifted the
bottle in a toasting gesture. The frown faded as the green eyes widened,
suddenly filling with emotion as Mulder held the bottle of chocolate milk out
towards him. "I bought five quarts. All the bottles they had on the shelf. I
figured you didn't like the plastic cartons."
A small, tremulous smile grew over Krycek's face. It made Mulder very glad he'd
made the trip to the market. Krycek sat up slowly and took a few swallows from
the bottle, then watched as Mulder did the same. Mulder settled in the chair by
the bed and started eating his sandwich. He held out the plate. "Goes good with
the milk," he offered.
Krycek hesitated, then he picked up the sandwich and slowly took a bite. They
ate in silence, passing the cold bottle of chocolate milk between them. Mulder
noticed that Krycek never used his left hand.
When the milk and the sandwiches were gone, Mulder stood up and stretched,
finally feeling the last few days catching up with him. "I could use a little
sleep. Do you mind if I lie down with you?"
Krycek shifted over, making room on his right side. Mulder walked around the
bed, kicked off his shoes, stripped down to his underwear and tee shirt, and
slid under the blanket. He debated with himself for a moment and then inched
closer, carefully watching Krycek's profile as he gently placed his hand in the
middle of the other man's chest. He thought he could almost feel Krycek's heart
beating against his palm. His hand rose and fell with each strong and steady
breath.
Mulder felt a rare contentment welling up inside him and he smiled into the
green eyes, wishing they didn't look quite so guarded. He drifted into sleep
with the warmth of Krycek's body beside him.
When he woke up, his face was pressed against Alex's neck and his arm was
wrapped around his waist. The room was darker. He snuggled closer and sighed. It
seemed perfectly natural to kiss the warm skin beneath his lips. He kissed his
way up until he reached a small earlobe. He sucked the lobe between his lips and
heard a gasp.
Mulder pulled his head away just enough to see Krycek looking back at him from
the corner of his eyes. Irresistibly drawn, Mulder closed the distance and
kissed him.
"Good morning," he said.
"It's evening, Mulder."
Mulder smiled. "Good evening." And he kissed Alex again. His fingers moved to
undo the buttons of the dark blue pajama top. He tossed the blanket aside and
bent to touch his lips to the silky smooth chest, on the place where the
Smoker's bullet had ripped through flesh and bone and put a hole in his heart.
No sign of the deadly damage remained. Mulder drew his tongue over the warm skin
and moved to lick and swirl at a nipple, feeling it stiffen against his mouth.
Alex was breathing harder, and Mulder heard him gasp as he continued to nuzzle
his chest, trailing slowing downward.
He didn't expect the sharp tug as Krycek gripped his hair, pulling him off. He
grimaced and rubbed at the back of his head. "What's wrong?"
Krycek stared up at the ceiling. "I don't feel like fucking right now, okay?"
"That's not what I" Mulder stopped. "I shouldn't have" He stopped again, not
really sure what he wanted to say. He got out of the bed and started fumbling
for his clothes.
"I heard your cellphone ring earlier."
Mulder had one leg in his jeans. "When? I didn't hear it."
"Maybe around four. You were out like a light." Krycek sat up and started
getting out of the bed, too.
"Where do you think you're going?" Mulder didn't know why his voice sounded
angry.
The green eyes met his steadily. "Bathroom. Do you mind?"
Mulder swallowed, wondering what was happening between them now, and shook his
head. "II'm going to check in with Scully." He finished pulling on his jeans
and stopped to watch Krycek's slow but steady walk into the bathroom, the door
shutting firmly behind him. He didn't hear the click of the lock.
Instead of going out to the living room, Mulder found himself standing by the
bathroom door. He listened for a moment, his hand reaching for the doorknob,
then drawing back. He heard the sound of the toilet flushing, the sound of the
faucet. He considered walking away, but he wanted to make sure Alex was all
right, so he waited. After a few minutes of silence, he started to worry. He
reached for the doorknob again just as the sound of the shower began. Krycek was
still weak. What if he got dizzy and fell?
Mulder wondered why he was behaving like some overprotective, neurotic parent.
Krycek was not an invalid. He was not a child. He was not Mulder's
responsibility. And yet, he kept on standing there, listening to the sound of
the shower. Stood there until it stopped. Stood there through more minutes of
silence until he heard the sound of glass breaking.
He rushed in and spotted the shattered water glass on the floor. Krycek was
standing by the sink, naked and wet, holding a razor blade, his eyes fixed on
his left hand, at the bright red line of blood across the middle of his palm.
Mulder took in the scene and carefully approached him. "Don't move, Alex," he
said quietly. "Let me have the razor." He reached out slowly and took the blade
away, placing it back into the open safety razor near the sink.
Krycek's attention seemed riveted to the blood that was spreading across his
palm.
"Just don't move until I get rid of this broken glass." Mulder crouched down and
quickly started picking up the larger pieces of glass, dumping them into the
small wastebasket near the sink. He swept the smaller pieces out of the way with
a towel. Grabbing his terrycloth robe off the hook on the back of the door, he
put it on Krycek, meeting no resistance. "We better put some ointment on that
cut," he said at last. He waited until Krycek finally looked at him before he
asked, keeping his voice as calm as he could manage. "Why, Alex? Why did you do
this?"
Krycek seemed to consider the question as if there was something terribly
mysterious about it. "I-I had to make sure it hadn't changed. I had to make sure
it wasn't inside me." He gazed down at his palm again, as Mulder found some
first aid cream in the cabinet. "It's... it's really my arm," he whispered, as if
he couldn't quite believe it.
Mulder took his hand and cleaned the blood away and applied the ointment and a
bandage. He found a fresh towel and rubbed at the sleek wet hair and dabbed away
the trails of water that trickled down Krycek's face and neck. "C'mon," he said,
giving Krycek a gentle nudge towards the bedroom.
In the bedroom, he watched as patiently as he could as Krycek shuffled back and
forth in front of him. It was Krycek who spoke first. "I dreamt once that I
could really hold you, that I had both my arms, but then... my blood... it was
green and your eyes... the black oil..." He stopped, drawing in a shuddering
breath.
"Alex, this isn't a dream. This is real. I'm real. Hold me. Put your arms around
me."
He watched Krycek's chest rise and fall with another deep intake of breath and
then the troubled green eyes were looking into his. "Put your arms around me,
Alex. Please."
Slowly, haltingly, Krycek raised his arms and slid them around Mulder's
shoulders. Mulder could feel their warmth even through the robe. He could feel
their strength as they wrapped around his back. He felt Alex's face burrowing
against his neck and felt his quickening breath. Krycek began to tremble,
suddenly clinging to him tightly. Mulder swallowed hard as he felt tears
spilling against his neck.
Mulder anchored his arms around Krycek's waist, luxuriating in the feel of his
body against him. "It'll be all right, Alex. It'll be all right." He said it
because he wanted it to be true.
They stood like that for a long time. When Krycek finally pulled away, he wiped
his eyes with the back of his hand, turned and walked to the bed. He shrugged
out of his robe and lay back against the pillows.
Mulder felt his fear begin to recede, replaced by a rising heat as Krycek held
out his arms towards him.
This time there was a harmony between them, their touches and kisses blending
into a heightening rhythm. Krycek kept rubbing his hands over and over Mulder's
body. They were both hard and hungry for each other, starving for as much
contact as they could get.
Mulder had wanted it to be slow and gentle but he couldn't stop the frantic need
that seemed to sweep over them both. They came just from the friction of their
bodies burning against each other, their semen mingling between their bellies.
Krycek lay half on top of Mulder, his leg thrown over Mulder's thighs, his arm,
his left arm, cradling Mulder's chest.
As the rapid beating of their hearts gradually returned to normal, Mulder raised
a fingertip and ran it along Krycek's kiss-swollen lips, watching as long dark
lashes fluttered open. As usual, what he couldn't read in Krycek's face was
there in his eyes. Mulder smiled, finding it easier to lighten the moment than
meet it. "I'd say you've made a full recovery." He was pleasantly surprised at
the blush that stole over Alex's cheekbones.
Mulder took Krycek's left hand and kissed the bandaged palm. He held it to his
lips a moment longer, kissed it again. He knew he'd better get out of the bed
while he still had the willpower. "I should check in with Scully. See if she was
trying to reach me." Still, he didn't move or let go of Krycek's hand.
Alex nodded with a smile in his eyes and shifted away on the bed. "I should get
up, too."
"Maybe you better just rest."
"I'm okay, Mulder. I need to make a call anyway."
Mulder gave him a curious glance but didn't ask the obvious question as he got
out of bed and picked up his tee shirt and jeans.
"What happened to my clothes?" asked Krycek.
"Your boots and jeans are in my closet. The rest was too torn and... bloody to
salvage. You can borrow some of my stuff." Mulder paused. "You're not getting
dressed, are you?"
"Seems like a reasonable idea."
Mulder caught himself before he could begin to argue. He wasn't Krycek's keeper,
he reminded himself.
"I'm hungry. Do you mind if I fix myself something to eat first?"
Mulder shook his head, inordinately pleased by the question.
Several minutes later, he was in the living room calling Scully and listening to
the sounds of Krycek moving in the kitchen. "Hi Scully, it's me. I was wondering
if you tried to call me earlier..."
After he finished talking with Scully, he went into the kitchen. Alex was
already halfway through another bottle of chocolate milk and most of a tuna fish
sandwich. Mulder plucked an apple from the small bowl on the table, resisting
the urge to bend over and lick the chocolate moustache off of Krycek's upper
lip.
"Scully said several high-ranking staff members in the NSA, the CIA and the
Bureau have disappeared over the last forty-eight hours.
"Probably alien infiltrators or Syndicate puppets," shrugged Krycek as he drank
more of his milk. Mulder reached over and snagged the bottle, taking a long
swallow before giving it back. The idea of alien infiltration was as obvious and
acceptable a fact to Krycek as it was to him. He watched as Krycek rose from the
table.
"I tried to call the Brit yesterday. He left me a special number. He told me
that if he didn't answer, there would always be someone to take a message for
him. But the phone just rang and rang. I want to try and call him again"
"Alex, no one's going to answer." Mulder hadn't wanted to tell him yet, hoping
Krycek might not even ask about the old man.
"What do you know? Tell me."
Mulder rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. "Skinner got the report while
we were at the country house. The Englishman and his driver were killed by a car
bomb even before you called me to tell me about the country house." He stopped
as Krycek sank back into the chair, his face paling. "He knew the game was over
for him, Alex. He told me as much the last time I saw him. He was probably as
prepared for death as any man could be. I... I'm sorry."
Krycek's hands balled into fists beside his plate. "He was a cunning, old
bastard, but he didn't deserve that. He could be ruthless when he had to be, but
he never took pleasure in it. He wasn't the same as the others. Those fucking
old cronies of his, they killed him."
"They're all dead now, Alex. The aliens took them out. The final payback for the
defeat of their Project."
The dark head lowered, Krycek staring down at the table top, lost in his
thoughts.
Mulder wasn't sure what sort of bond had existed between Krycek and the Brit,
but it was obvious that Alex had had some feeling for the old man. And perhaps
he hadn't even known it until this moment. For himself, Mulder would always
remember the Brit as the man who gave him the answer to a lifelong-search and as
the wily manipulator who sent him to meet an enemy on one fateful, stormy night.
He didn't know what else he could say to Krycek to make the loss easier, so he
didn't say anything.
The phone rang again a little while later. It was Skinner. The conversation was
a long one. With the investigation now an around-the-clock operation, Skinner
was burning the midnight oil. There was more and more information coming in all
the time: locations of experimental labs and names of Project collaborators all
over the world. He also confirmed what Scully had told Mulder earlier, that they
would have an airborne version of Ridley's bacteria ready for dissemination
within days.
Skinner's special teams were now working with units from Interpol and other
Bureau counterparts abroad. Yet, despite the breadth of the operation, there was
no media awareness, no news at all of the quiet, insidious war that had
threatened the very existence of humanity. In the interest of averting
unnecessary panic, no breaches in security would be allowed. The world would
never know the real truth and Mulder realized that it didn't matter to him
whether the world knew or not. Humanity would survive. The people who mattered
in his life knew the truth, and that was enough.
As he listened to Skinner, his gaze would shift towards the kitchen. He could
see Krycek sitting, still and silent at the table.
Skinner wanted Mulder to report back to work in the morning. "I know you've been
through a lot, Mulder, but this has all come about because of you. You're the
one with the most knowledge, the most expertise. Yes, you've already helped plan
out the current operations, but now you can make sure that we cover all the
bases."
Mulder kept his eyes on the dark profile a room away. "I'll try and come in
tomorrow, but I have some personal matters I have to take care of first. You
know you can reach me here if you have to." He could sense by the strained
silence that Skinner was trying not to ask him about Krycek. He made it easier
on both of them by quietly hanging up.
He walked back into the kitchen and sat in his chair, opposite Krycek. "I think
I'm having a problem coping with my newfound credibility," he told him wryly.
Krycek looked up at him and gave him a sad little smile. "Does it feel strange
to be taken seriously, to be believed?"
Glad that Alex was talking, Mulder smiled back. "It's not something I'm used to.
It's refreshing."
"Enjoy it, Mulder. You might even get the X-Files some serious respect in that
constipated, tight-assed Bureau."
"Yeah, they might actually stop bitching about my expense reports from now on."
"Maybe they'll even give you an office on one of the regular floors," suggested
Krycek with a hint of a grin.
Mulder seemed to consider the possibility and shook his head firmly. "Nah, I
like the Basement. More privacy. The ceiling takes pencils better. There's more
room for my posters."
They were both quiet for a minute, Mulder finally asking the question that was
bothering him most. "What about you, Alex? What are you going to do... now that
it's over? You have a chance for a new start, you know."
Krycek's expression grew distant and a little hard. "It'll take a long time
before I stop looking over my shoulder. I'm not"
The phone rang again and Mulder threw it a glare.
"Maybe you better answer that," Krycek told him, after the third ring. "Could be
important."
"Let the machine pick it up." He heard the distant sound of Frohike's voice
leaving a message.
"Sounds like the Gnome. Wonder what he wants. Probably wants to make sure I
haven't grown horns and a tail and eaten you for dinner."
Mulder wasn't about to be distracted. "You didn't answer my question."
With a sigh, Krycek rose from the table and headed for the bedroom, pausing in
the doorway, back still turned. "I can't tell you because I don't know."
Mulder watched Krycek walking away with an inexplicable sense of loss. There
were no ties to bind them any longer. They were not enemies, but there was no
further need to be allies either. There were no outside forces to draw them
together. They were two men who had fought their battles their own way and won a
war together. Now it was over, and they were just... two men.
What happens when a war is over and you have to go home and start your life
again? What happens if you discover that the war was all your life had been?
Mulder felt the shadows of the past rising and he blocked them out before they
could stop him. Instead, he got up slowly and followed Alex into the bedroom.
Krycek was taking his jeans and boots from the closet. He flicked a glance at
Mulder. "Do you have a pair of socks and a sweatshirt or shirt that you can
spare?"
"Yeah, sure. There are some sweatshirts in the second drawer, socks in the
first. Are you leaving right now?
Krycek looked down at his hands for a moment. "I'm feeling fine. There's no
reason for me to stay."
A sense of powerlessness, the sense of something slipping irretrievably away
from him, seemed to grow stronger as Mulder watched Alex opening the drawers,
pulling out a gray sweatshirt, a pair of black socks. Before he could think, he
was walking up behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders, turning him around.
Mulder pulled him close, kissed him once, twice, clasped him in a tight embrace.
"Don't go. Not yet," he whispered hoarsely. "Stay, Alex."
He felt the tension, the resistance, melting slowly, heard it in sudden whimper
as he pushed Krycek towards the bed. They sank down into the mattress, pulling
off their clothes. Their bodies pressed close, the room filled with nothing but
the sound of their rough breathing. It was as if they both just wanted to hold
the moment and not let it go.
Minutes later, Krycek murmured something into Mulder's shoulder. His palm
stroked across Mulder's chest, fingers tracing his nipples.
"What?" asked Mulder, amazed at how quickly the gentle caress was arousing him.
Krycek pulled just far enough away to look at him. "You can fuck me, if you
want," he said, his voice low and husky, his green eyes dark with emotion. "I
know that's what you want." Shifting, he turned over before Mulder could respond
and buried his face in the pillows, hands by his head. Then, slowly, he spread
his legs apart.
Mulder's cock throbbed into complete erection. He drank in the sight of Krycek's
pliant body, the smooth round buttocks quivering ever so slightly. Mulder raked
his lip, desire curling in his belly like a flame. Krycek was right. He did want
to. He just never expected to be offered...
"Do you have something you can use?" Krycek's question was muffled against the
pillow.
Mulder suddenly thought of the lube and condoms he'd left at the Arlington
house, and of his arrogant insistence that they would use them the next time he
was there. He also remembered how Alex had told him he wouldn't be able to give
Mulder what he wanted. Remembered the shadow of fear and regret in the green
eyes.
He thought about three rich punks raping a lonely, fifteen- year-old boy.
He looked again at Krycek's body and noticed the tension in his back and
shoulders, at how his white-knuckled fingers gripped the sheets.
Mulder wanted to take him, wanted to feel Krycek's ass around his cock, wanted
to push himself into that tight heat and fuck him through the floor. If he was
honest with himself, he'd wanted it for a long time. But now, he wanted Alex to
want it, too.
Mulder didn't want a sacrifice. If Krycek was walking out of his life, he didn't
want that to be their last memory. The prospect turned his stomach.
"Yeah, I have some stuff here," he answered finally. He sat up and rummaged
through the bedside table, finding a plastic bottle of lubricating lotion. "But
you're in the wrong position."
Krycek turned his face, gazing at him in puzzlement. Mulder grabbed his shoulder
and moved him onto his back. As Mulder expected, Krycek had lost his erection.
"I want you to fuck me," Mulder told him. "I want to know what it feels like."
As he said it, he realized it was true. It felt right.
Krycek's mouth dropped open, frown line deepening between his brows. "N-no. I
can't."
Mulder placed his hand on Krycek's flaccid penis, his lips turning upward in a
brief smile. "Not at the moment, but we can work on that."
Krycek shook his head, shifting away from Mulder's touch. "I-I don't understand.
How can you want that? How can you want me to do that to you?"
"I've heard it can feel pretty damn good, and I'm all for expanding my
pleasurable experiences. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea.
Besides, you just offered me the same thing, didn't you?" He propped himself up
on an elbow, his mind drawing images of Krycek's hard body wrapped around
him... and in him. His cock twitched.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"That's good because I don't want you to hurt me either. And I know you won't."
With that, Mulder bent forward and touched his lips to Krycek's cock, pleased to
hear a gasp as he kissed the slit and licked a circle around the head. He didn't
want too much time to think, to examine too closely what he was doing or why it
seemed so important.
"Alex, you can obviously see that I want this. I'm probably as surprised about
it as you are. It excites me, okay, and, yeah, it scares me a little, too. Maybe
that's part of the turn-on, I don't know. Look, I don't usually indulge in
soliloquies about what sex acts I want to perform, so help me out here, okay?"
He glanced up from his perusal of Alex's bellybutton to meet the confused green
eyes.
"Make love to me, Alex," he said softly, all his faint bravado falling away. And
then he was reaching up and stroking the pale, unguarded face. He didn't realize
that his own vulnerability was as transparent in that moment as Krycek's.
Krycek closed his eyes and turned his face slightly, kissing Mulder's palm.
"II'm not sure how."
Mulder simply smiled and kissed him.
It was awkward at first, Mulder lying on his side, maneuvering them into
position, more concerned about Alex's fear than his own. They groped, fumbled,
used an excessive amount of the lube. Krycek hesitated. Mulder initiated,
uncertain himself how much to demand and how much to allow. Ultimately, their
bodies knew, despite the turmoil of their emotions; their bodies were drawn to
each other like magnets, the passion far stronger and more insistent than any of
their doubts.
Yet Krycek moved as if Mulder was made of glass. When Alex's cock finally slid
into him, oh so slowly, Mulder was already desperate for it, the discomfort no
where near what he had expected. Mulder could feel the sweat slicking their
bodies, Krycek's self-control radiating from every inch of his skin as he made
himself hold still, waiting for Mulder's command.
"C'mon, Alex, c'mon baby, c'mon..." He pushed back, forcing Alex all the way in.
The sensation of it burst inside him like stars and he moaned ecstatically. He
reached behind him, grasping Krycek's hip, raking his fingers across his thigh.
"Y-you feel... so good... so damn...good..."
"Oh... god... Mulder...Mulder..." The velvety voice was thick with desire and
heat, and Mulder felt that exact, exhilarating moment when, with a cry, Alex
lost control at last and they both began to fly...
They went higher and higher and higher together and the pleasure was almost too
much to bear, being that close, feeling... so much. When he felt Alex climaxing and
his own orgasm spilling over his hand, he wasn't sure where Alex ended and he
began. They were a circle with no beginning and no end. And he felt complete at
last.
When he finally came back to himself, it was to the feel of soft, little kisses
on the side of his face and on his hair and to Alex's voice murmuring his name
between panting breaths. He was himself again. Apart, but not alone. He shifted
so they were facing each. He felt sticky and sweaty, a little sore, and
blissfully content.
Worried green eyes blinked at him. "Are you all right? Are you okay? Mulder?"
"Do I look like I'm in pain?" he asked, sealing the question with a slow, wet
kiss. He put his arm around Alex. "Are you all right?"
Krycek closed his eyes and touched his forehead to Mulder's, his words a whisper
between them. "It... it was... unforgettable. I never thought..." The words
trailed away in a sigh. His eyes opened again. "Thank you."
Mulder nodded past the lump in his throat. He drew in a breath and cuddled
closer. "Do you mind sleeping smeared with semen?" He was rewarded with the
sound of a muffled chuckle.
"No."
"Good 'cause I'm not moving, and neither are you." With one last smile and a
brush of a kiss, Mulder closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Krycek remained still for a long time, just feeling Mulder's warmth snuggled
against him. Mulder's breathing was slow and steady, punctuated by an occasional
snuffling sound that was not quite a snore. Krycek pulled back a little so he
could look at his face. The kiss-swollen lips were slightly open, revealing the
edge of white teeth, and the chestnut hair tumbled in thick waves across the
tall forehead. One arm still lay heavy across Krycek's waist.
Lying there in the quiet, Krycek could almost believe that Mulder loved him.
Certainly, Mulder must trust him, at least enough to offer his body so
completely.
God, it had felt... He couldn't even find the proper words for the feeling that
seemed like a glow, a light, inside him. The echo of boys' laughter, vicious and
taunting, seemed suddenly blunted in his memory. He had something else to
replace it with now.
He gazed at the sleeping face and whispered, knowing Mulder could not hear him.
"I love you. I love you more than anything and anyone in my life. I'll love you
forever."
As he lay there, watching Mulder, the events of his life drifted through his
mind. He recounted all that had happened to bring him to this point and place in
time. Slowly, inexorably, Bill Mulder's image rose before him. It would always
be there, he knew, like a malignant shadow looming over them both. All the love
and all the longing he felt for the man lying beside him would never be enough
to banish it. Krycek's secret hope for some kind of future with Mulder was a
fantasy, a hope too fragile and slender to survive the darkness of his past.
Mulder was denying it now, perhaps out of a sense of gratitude, but it would
only be a matter of time before its specter rose again and destroyed the tenuous
bond between them.
Krycek knew that Mulder would never be able to love him. The tender lovemaking,
the sweet passion, they were moments stolen from a future that could never be.
The sorrow of it settled in his heart like a weight. He held up his left hand,
turning it back and forth. He flexed his fingers against the small bandage. He
reached over and gently stroked Mulder's hair, feeling the silky strands against
his skin. Before he lost Mulder, perhaps he could create one more memory.
He rolled away, careful not to wake him, and turned off the lamp. Then he
returned to his place, smiling wistfully as Mulder automatically snuggled
against him. With a sigh, Krycek closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
It must have been several hours later when he opened his eyes. Mulder was still
peacefully asleep, his arm draped around Krycek's neck, their legs entwined.
Krycek glanced at the windows. The night was waning, the sky a deep blue gray. A
new day was about to dawn. Once again, Krycek slipped out of Mulder's embrace.
He went into the bathroom to relieve himself and wash up a little. When he
returned to the bedroom, he stood by the bed for a moment, a strange mix of
emotions gripping him. Then he climbed back in and waited for Mulder to wake up.
A little while later, he felt Mulder stirring beside him and then the touch of
lips against his shoulder.
"Hi."
He looked into the soft hazel eyes. There was a lightness, a... happiness in
Mulder's eyes that made him catch his breath. This is the way it should be.
Ruthlessly, he pushed the thought away. "Hello yourself," he answered.
Mulder kissed him on the side of his mouth. "Pretty early, isn't it?"
"Want to go back to sleep?"
"Nope."
"Want to discuss conspiracy theory?"
Mulder grinned. "Not particularly. Don't even want to talk baseball." He licked
a line up Krycek's biceps.
"Hungry?" asked Krycek, prolonging the playfulness.
"In a manner of speaking."
"Want me to fix you some french toast?"
Mulder raised an eyebrow. "I'm getting this mind-blowing image of you slaving
over a hot stove. I don't think I'm ready for it yet. Rolling gracefully out of
bed, he announced, "gotta take a leak and clean up." Then he pointed an
admonishing finger at Krycek. "You. Don't. Move. Understand?"
Krycek smiled indulgently. "Okay." And watched the enticing view of a naked
Mulder walking away from him. While Mulder was in the bathroom, he retrieved the
bottle of lotion from the floor where it had fallen and placed it within reach.
He straightened out the sheets and pillows and lay back down, his heart already
beginning to beat a little faster.
Mulder came back damp and smelling of pine-scented soap. Krycek made a mock
protest as Mulder climbed on top of him and shook his head like a dog, water
droplets spraying over the bed and Krycek. "Damn, Mulder, you're cold and wet!"
Cool lips pressed against his mouth in a kiss. "Um, sorry, I was in a hurry."
Krycek quickly gave up any pretense of complaint. It felt too good being with
Mulder like this, seeing him happy and carefree. Instead, he wrapped his arms
around him, savoring the joy in the simple act that he had once thought would
always be denied him.
Mulder's erection pressed against his thigh. Krycek was hard, too, and his heart
was pounding now, in expectation and a little fear. In one swift move, he rolled
them over until Mulder was trapped beneath him. He looked into the hazel eyes,
more gold than green in the pre-dawn light. "I want to feel you inside me,
Mulder."
He could see the surprise in Mulder's eyes, the uncertainty, but the flare of
desire was there, too. Mulder's hands framed his face tenderly. "Are you sure,
Alex?"
Krycek thought about the conversation that they would have to have later, the
one that neither of them could run away from. He thought about last chances and
memories. "Yes, I'm sure," he answered. He rolled to one side and reached for
the bottle of lotion and held it out to Mulder, injecting a casualness into his
voice that he didn't feel. "This worked pretty well last time. Good thing it's
the large size, still plenty left."
"Are you really sure, Alex?"
Krycek smiled at the concern in Mulder's voice. "I know it can be good now. I
want it to be you, Mulder. It has to be you."
"But maybe it's too soon. Maybe"
"Now, Mulder. Please."
Mulder took the bottle and lifted himself on one elbow.
Slowly, Krycek traced Mulder's erection with his fingers. "You're bigger than
they were," he murmured, more to himself than Mulder.
But Mulder seemed to understand. "I wouldn't hurt you, Alex."
Krycek looked up at him, irony in his voice. "You're the only one in the world
who really could."
Mulder's lips tightened, comprehension and regret shadowing his expression. "But
I don't want to. Not anymore."
Krycek placed his hand over the center of Mulder chest. "I know." Then he
settled back against the pillows and took hold of his own cock, pumping it
firmly until it was hard and aching, sensing the heat in Mulder's gaze as he
watched him, moaning as he forced himself to stop. "You want to fuck me, don't
you?"
Mulder's tongue licked across his lip. "Yes." Mulder reached out and traced the
faint line of a scar near his penis before cupping his balls and rubbing them
gently. "But I want you to like it. I want you to love it."
Mulder played with his body for a long time, fondling and stroking him until he
almost purred. When he felt Mulder's finger pushing into him, lubricating him
thoroughly, there was the briefest flash of panic, but it was swept away by the
touch of Mulder's mouth against his lips. As another finger joined the first and
moved deeper inside him, he kept his eyes on Mulder's face. The invasion was
careful and deliberate. Mulder waited until he gasped from a sudden tantalizing
spark of contact before increasing the movement. Soon, he could barely keep from
growling out his pleasure.
"Stay on your back. I want you to see me," Mulder told him. "Let me put this
pillow under your hips."
It was so different from what he had known. So utterly sensual. He bent his
knees and watched as Mulder moved between them. Mulder looked wanton and wholly
desirable, his erection jutting out, long, hard and gleaming from the
lubricating lotion.
"I'm going to put my cock inside you now, Alex. I'm going to fuck you slow and
you're going to want it as much as I do." His voice had a tremor in it as if he
was fighting for control.
Krycek gripped the sheets between his fingers and spread his legs wide. His own
cock was arching against his belly. "Yeah, make me want it, Mulder. Make me." He
let out a breath as Mulder slid his hands up and down his thighs. Then he felt
the tip of Mulder's cock nudging his balls, slipping lower.
Mulder pushed his legs up, braced them against his shoulders and began to enter
him. His body automatically tensed against the penetration. He couldn't stop a
cry from escaping at the sudden burst of pain as the head of Mulder's cock
pushed through the ring of muscle. Mulder stopped, both of them breathing
heavily. "You're so... tight... hot. Incredible... beautiful."
Krycek gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to pull
away.
"Look at me. Alex, look... at... me. I want you... so much. So much."
Krycek opened his eyes. Mulder gazed down at him, but despite his words, he
remained still. Waiting, even though his body was trembling. Krycek looked down
at himself, at the place where their bodies were joining. He gulped a breath,
his voice hoarse. "Do it."
Inch by inch, Mulder entered him. Krycek watched the thick cock sinking into his
flesh, until it was fully sheathed inside him. Mulder was murmuring something,
something unintelligible, his face flushed with need, body slick with sweat.
Krycek felt utterly possessed, utterly vulnerable, yet he wasn't afraid. It was
Mulder. He was giving Mulder what Mulder had given him, and as the pain began to
subside, he realized it was going to be all right. It would be the memory he
wanted.
He drew in several deep breaths and began pumping his cock. "I want it. Want
you. Fuck me, Mulder."
They moved together slowly at first, but then a delicious pleasure shot through
him as Mulder's thrusts plunged deeper and their flesh melded together in a
quickening rhythm.
He came with a shout, his muscles squeezing convulsively around Mulder's cock.
He was swept up in a cascade of sensations and its center was the hard shaft
pulsing deep within him. He thought he heard Mulder crying out, wild and
exultant.
Later, when Mulder slipped free from his body, he felt the loss with a pang of
regret, but then Mulder was lying on top of him, kissing his face. Krycek hugged
him close and kissed him back. They rolled to their sides, Mulder stroking down
his shoulder to his hip, cupping a buttock with his hand, rubbing soothingly.
"You feel okay?"
Krycek could only nod.
"That was a pretty fantastic way to start the day." Mulder moved his hand over
Krycek's belly and smiled. "We're smeared again."
"I don't mind." He glanced at the windows, at the early morning light. He could
sense Mulder following his gaze. They lay in silence for several minutes, bodies
touching, calming.
"Stay with me, Alex."
Mulder's softly spoken words made his heart leap but he said nothing.
"I don't mean just for today. Stay with me. Live with me," continued Mulder
after a moment.
Krycek kept his face turned away. "You don't know what you're saying. You're
taking one of those giant leaps of yours, Mulder. You're not thinking." He moved
away and swung his legs off the bed, too aware of the soreness in his ass, his
back to Mulder. He found he couldn't say the rest. He wanted to hold back the
past for just a little while longer. "I-I don't think we should talk about this
right now. We... we better get up. Skinner expects you in the office today, doesn't
he? You better get dressed." He started to stand when Mulder grabbed him around
the shoulders.
"Let's talk about it now," whispered Mulder in his ear.
"No." And he broke away, got up and hurried into the bathroom. Leaning heavily
against the closed door, he tilted his head back and shut his eyes. He'd dreamed
of hearing Mulder asking him to stay, asking for them to be together. Gossamer
dreams spun in the sweet, dark hours of the night. But cold reality told him it
couldn't work. Perhaps it seemed right to Mulder in the afterglow of what they
had just shared, but it wouldn't last. Mulder needed the truth. Maybe he didn't
want to hear it now, maybe he might even convince himself that, for the moment,
it didn't even matter, but Krycek knew better. There was no chance for a real
life together if they denied the past or tried to run from it. Krycek didn't
want to run anymore. Not from Mulder. This time, it would be Mulder's choice. It
had to be.
Yet, here he was, hiding, trying to prolong a dream that was already over.
The next hour passed in a surreal and tense silence. Mulder seemed wary and
confused by Krycek's sudden emotional distance. They moved around each other as
if there was an invisible wall between them that they were afraid to breach.
They showered separately, dressed on opposite sides of the room.
In the kitchen, Krycek poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it standing by
the counter, waiting for Mulder to leave. Hoping Mulder would leave.
"I don't understand." Mulder stood in the doorway, dressed in his suit and tie.
Looking like the cover of a magazine. He was beautiful, except for the pain in
his eyes.
Krycek dropped his gaze and pulled at the edge of his dark blue sweatshirt.
Mulder's sweatshirt.
"What's happening here?" continued Mulder. "Why are you running from me?"
"I'm not running!" The force of his own reply surprised him. He met Mulder's
wounded eyes and sighed with the weight of what he knew he had to say. There
would be no postponement after all. "It won't work, Mulder."
"Why?"
"Because there's a part of the past that will always be between us."
"If we let it."
Krycek crossed the room and stopped in front of the one person in the world who
truly mattered to him. His voice was low, flat and controlled. "The Russian
Syndicate placed a death warrant on Cancerman... and Bill Mulder... years ago for
a variety of transgressions, including the murder of several of their syndicate
members. They didn't follow through, of course. Too many problems at home,
struggles with the black oil experiments, political changes, a society crumbling
around them. I'm sure all of those syndicate leaders are dead now, too, just
like the gray old men here. But back then, aside from making sure they never set
foot in Russia, the Smoker and your father didn't really worry about it much."
Krycek paused, drew in a long breath.
Mulder stepped back, as if he didn't want to hear, but Krycek grabbed him by the
arm. There was no point in trying to explain the rest. It all came down to one
inescapable fact. "I killed Bill Mulder. I was there, that night. I shot him in
the head. I did it."
He stopped, watching the color drain from Mulder's face, the white agony in the
hazel eyes cutting through him. He forced himself to go on. "It's not only
because I killed him that... that it won't work between us. It's because the only
thing I regret about it is that he was your father. There's nothing of him in
you. I can't tell you 'I'm sorry' he's dead. I'm not and I never will be. That's
the truth, Mulder. Can you live with that? Can you look at me and not hate me
for it, every day, every second?"
He saw the battle of emotions in the other man's eyes. Watched with resignation
as Mulder turned his face away, his voice tortured. "You could have lied to me.
Damn you, why couldn't you lie?"
The pain twisted around Alex's heart like barbed wire. "No. No more lies."
Mulder clenched his hands together, a shudder running through his body. Very
slowly, almost as if he was in some sort of trance, he walked out of the
kitchen. He walked to the front door and stood there. Krycek could see the
tremor in his shoulders. He wanted to reach out and pull Mulder into his arms,
but it was too late for that now.
His lips tightened as he fought back the terrible feeling of emptiness that
settled inside him. Fought to keep his voice from breaking. "Wh-what do you want
me to do?"
Mulder pulled the door open and took a step into the hallway. His head turned
slightly but he didn't look at Krycek. "I-I want you to be gone when I get
back." Then he shut the door behind him.
Krycek stared at the closed door for a long time. He couldn't seem to move. It
was the sound of a car horn blaring in the street outside that finally jarred
him. The world was going on about its business. Life went on. Even when it
didn't matter much any more.
Eventually, he went into the bedroom to gather the wallet and keys that had been
in his ruined jacket. He tried not to look at the bed. He had some money in the
wallet and there was a lot more in a safe deposit box in D.C. He'd get to it
when he decided what he was going to do.
At the moment, he didn't really care.
He walked through the other rooms of Mulder's apartment, already feeling like
some sort of ghost. He fed the fish. He stood and looked out the windows, some
tiny, foolish part of him hoping to see Mulder walking back to him. He stood and
watched until it hurt so much he knew he had to leave.
Suddenly, as he was about to go, he regretted not telling Mulder everything, not
telling him how he really felt. He decided he would try and leave a letter. He
went over to the desk and picked up a pen. He started opening the drawers,
looking for paper.
In the center drawer, set aside from a little stack of papers and news
clippings, was a photo of Mulder and his sister, Samantha. Two children smiling
at the camera, unaware of the future that awaited them. And, beside the photo,
neatly folded, was a strip of black satin.
Breath catching in his throat, he reached down and picked up the bowtie. It was
the one he'd worn on the night of the charity gala. A bowtie that was already
knotted so that even a one-armed man could manage it. He bit down on his lip as
he eyes blurred. He'd thought Mulder might have picked it up accidentally and
then just thrown it away. But Mulder had kept it, kept it in a drawer next to a
picture of his sister.
His hand shook as he placed it back and gently closed the drawer again.
He threw the pen on the desk. There were no words that could change the past.
Nothing he could say that would bring Mulder back to him now. Anything he could
say would only hurt Mulder more, and he didn't want to do that. Didn't want to
make it any harder for him to go on with his life.
Slowly, Krycek turned and left the apartment.
The sun was shining, the sky a pale blue dotted with cottonball clouds. It was a
lovely Spring day. As he stood on the pavement in front of Mulder's apartment
building, Krycek realized he had no where to go. It was the first time in a very
long time that he had nothing to do, nothing planned. Nothing to run after or
away from. Everything was finished.
He looked up and down the street, checking out the people, the cars, more from
habit than anything else. He felt uncomfortable walking around in broad
daylight, but that, too, was habit.
He decided he would go to the Arlington house and see if he could pick up the
clothes that he'd left there. He needed something to do.
A very expensive cab ride later, he was heading up to the door of the elegant
house in Arlington. He pulled the key out of his pocket. The black Mercedes was
still parked in the driveway. He should have put it in the garage. As he opened
the front door, he was relieved that the lock hadn't been changed. He supposed
the old man's retainers hadn't gotten around to dealing with the house yet. Or
maybe they were dead, too.
Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, he quickly glanced towards the
house next door. A Siamese cat was scampering up the path just before
disappearing into the gap in a neatly trimmed hedge. He heard the dog barking
across the street as two kids rode by on their bikes. Life went on.
As he closed the door behind him and stood in the foyer, a rush of memories
assailed him. He shook them off forcibly and frowned as he caught sight of a
large manila envelope on the small table near the entrance. His name was printed
on it in clear, block letters. He picked it up and scrutinized it carefully,
noting the return address of a prominent D.C. legal firm. Envelope tucked under
his arm, he went upstairs.
As soon as he walked into the bedroom, his eyes were drawn to the bed, and
another set of bittersweet images flashed across his mind. He looked away,
letting his gaze sweep the room. His paperback book still lay on the night
table. The closet door was open and he could see his clothes, the clothes the
old man had given him, still hanging there. Finally, his eyes settled on the
painting of the foxhunt. He still liked it.
He went over to the antique writing desk and tore open the manila envelope. As
the contents spilled out over the desk, his eyes widened. He looked through the
legal documents, flipping through the pages several times.
The Brit had left him the house. He looked at the deed again. The old man had
given him the house and everything in it. Even the Mercedes. Krycek could only
gape as he sank down heavily into the chair. There was a square, cream colored
envelope among the documents with his name written across it in the old man's
narrow, precise handwriting. He picked it up and opened it, removing the single
sheet of matching stationary.
'Dear Alex,' the note began. 'I assume you are sufficiently shocked by my
generosity. It rather amuses me to think so. Be assured that if you have
survived to read this, than it is nothing more than you deserve. When the game
is over and the players are gone, all that is left is to begin again. Use the
house for your new beginning.
And, Alex, remember, no one is better off alone.'
The note was unsigned.
Krycek read it again and sat back with a sigh. You sly, surprising old bastard,
he thought to himself. He stood up and walked over to the bed, the single piece
of stationary still clutched in his hand, his left hand. He raised it up before
his eyes and glanced again around the room.
Sunlight poured through the fine voile curtains in the tall French windows,
giving the room a warm, golden glow.
He had survived, against all odds. He had his arm. And now he had this beautiful
house with all its beautiful things.
The Brit's note fluttered to the floor. It was a measure of how much he had
changed that Alex Krycek's first reaction was an acute and painful awareness of
what it meant to be alone.
Mulder spent long hours in the office again, often sacking out on a makeshift
cot. At first, he barely ate. He barely slept. He spent as little time as
possible in his apartment.
He worked with Scully and Skinner on implementing the systematic distribution of
the newly developed airborne variant of Ridley's microbe, along with
coordinating all the other aspects of the investigation. He pored over the files
and materials that were found in the eerily abandoned Syndicate offices in New
York and D.C. He threw himself into each task with a single-minded intensity
that bordered on the obsessive. Only Scully seemed concerned about his seemingly
revitalized focus on wrapping up the details of a Conspiracy that was now ended.
To the small circle of agents who were involved, he was just enjoying his
success as only 'Spooky' Mulder could.
As the days stretched into weeks and a process of methodical documentation
replaced the sense of urgent action, it was harder for Mulder to lose himself.
Especially since he knew that all the reports, all the evidence, would be sealed
in top secret Bureau files that the public would never see. The Conspiracy was
dead. Humans6 billion, aliensZero. Game over.
He never considered, in his darkest nightmares, that he might miss it.
Spring turned to summer and outwardly, his life was returning to as ordinary a
routine as Mulder had ever managed to have. Inwardly, it was a different story.
Every day, he fought an emotional battle to push Alex Krycek out of his mind.
Every day, he lost. It hurt to think about him. It hurt not to think about him.
Either way, it meant he couldn't escape the rest of his life any longer.
Couldn't pretend that it could be just the same as before. He still had the
X-Files, of course. He even got a raise and a bigger budget, the Bureau's stiff
acknowledgment for his years of crazed tenacity.
As the final reports on the Conspiracy were being archived, one last set of
documents was given to Mulder for his review before they were sealed with all
the others. These documents specifically concerned his father. They revealed a
man he had never known, though one he had perhaps always suspected. They
confirmed his worst fears, and stripped him of what little hope he'd tried to
cling to that his father was not like the others. He was, in fact, much worse
because, unlike the others, he had known what he was doing was wrong. Cancerman,
for all his festering evil, truly believed and dedicated his life to the
Conspiracy and its Project; he saw it as the Great New Order. Bill Mulder had
had no such faith, but he let the suffering and death continue anyway. Helped
orchestrate it and then covered it with lies and deceit for decades.
The detailed revelation about his father's role was one more wound for Mulder to
add to an emotional core that was already raw and bleeding. To cope, he focused
on the X- Files, his mental refuge, but it felt strangely as if he was simply
going through the motions while he tried to convince himself that, eventually,
the pain inside him would fade. He had almost begun to believe it when, one day,
Scully said she had something important to tell him.
"I'm going to leave the Bureau, Mulder. I've given my resignation to Skinner
this morning."
"What?"
"It's time." She tilted her head, her lips turning upward in a soft smile, the
same calming smile that had steadied him through so many rough and dark days.
"I've stayed with the X-Files because of you, Mulder. Not because I believed in
the X-Files, but because I believed in you. Because you're my friend. I wanted
to help you in your search for the truth. That search has come to an end, for
both of us. You've found the answers to those questions that haunted you for so
long, Mulder. And, I, well, I've seen the extreme possibilities you've always
known were out there. We've both changed. Now, I think we both have to go on
with our lives."
Her blue eyes scanned their familiar basement office. "Your life will always
revolve around the X-Files, one way or the other. They're a part of you. They
feed that insatiable curiosity of yours and challenge that boundless
intelligence. You're in this basement because you love it here, Mulder."
"Scully, I"
"No, Mulder, let me finish." Scully drew in a breath and looked at the 'I want
to believe' poster behind his desk, the smile touching her face again. "I do
believe, Mulder, because I've seen, but I don't belong here any more. I'm still
a doctor and a scientist and I want to try a different direction for my life.
I'd like to see what it's like working with living patients instead of corpses.
I want to work on research to help cure diseases instead of figuring out what
bizarre pathology caused someone to die." She started to pace slowly across the
room, glancing up at him as she walked. "I want a home and a family or as close
to one as I can get. I want a normal life, Mulder. For you, normal is a midnight
drive to the middle of Nowhere to investigate reports about blood-sucking goat
creatures."
Mulder frowned but listened as she continued.
"That'll never be normal for me, Mulder."
He felt as if the ground was breaking and crumbling beneath him as she went on.
"I've thought about this for months. I-I would've talked to you about this
sooner, but I've been worried about you. I know you've had to deal with all that
you've learned about your father's involvement in coordinating the... experiments
and the cover-up. I know that's been very hard for you. I thought if I waited,
you'd start to pull yourself out of it, but instead, it's as if you've placed
yourself in some kind of emotional stasis, Mulder. There's something more that's
unfinished, isn't there? Something I can't help you with, no matter how long I
stay."
"There's nothing unfinished," he insisted. "I don't want to lose you, Scully."
"You couldn't, Mulder. You'll always be my friend. And, if you need me, I'll be
there for you. But being friends doesn't mean two people stay the same and never
change, never grow. I need to go on with my life and I think that maybe my
leaving might help you to go on with yours."
Mulder wiped a hand over his face as his mind struggled with her words, and met
her steady gaze. "What are you going to do?"
Scully came to stand before him, the soft smile in her eyes. "I'm going to San
Diego. My mom wants to move back there, and I think it'll be a good place for me
to settle down, and start over. It's where I grew up. I have family there, and
old friends. There are some very good teaching hospitals and research institutes
in that area. I've already sent out some preliminary inquiries and I've received
some very promising responses."
"San Diego, but that's so far away..."
"Mulder, it's just a phone call away, that's all. In fact, with the time zone
change, you can call as late as you like." Her face grew serious as she came
around the desk and leaned back against it, reaching out to clasp his shoulder.
"You were happy, Mulder. After we'd beaten them. After we returned from that
country house and Skinner began the official investigation, even as exhausted as
you were, you were happier than I'd ever seen you. Then it all changed. That was
even before you saw those files about your father."
Mulder pulled away from her touch and stared down at the top of his desk.
"What happened to Krycek, Mulder?"
Mulder traced a scratch on his desk with his fingertip, back and forth, back and
forth. "He... he left." The silence that followed finally made him look up at
her.
Scully's lips were pursed in thought and Mulder could see that it was as
difficult for her to ask the questions as for him to answer. "Is... is that what
you wanted?" she asked him at last.
He propped his elbows on the desk, his fingers lacing together as he tapped them
against his mouth. He drew in a breath. "Yes. No." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I
don't know."
The silence settled between them again and he felt her hand lightly stroking his
hair. "Oh, Mulder. Is that what's been tearing you apart all this time?"
He couldn't answer her, the words caught in his throat. Her hand left his hair
and she was wheeling his chair around to face her. She waited until he met her
eyes. "You have to confront it, Mulder, whatever it is, or you'll never be at
peace with yourself."
Mulder felt the tears burning in his eyes. "I don't know what to do, Scully. I'm
not sure what's right anymore."
She shook her head. "I think you do know, Mulder. Maybe... maybe you're just afraid
to accept it. If it involves Alex Krycek, then I can see where it would be a
very difficult decision. For what it's worth, he isn't the man I thought he was
either." She reached out and took his hands in hers. "If there's anything I've
learned from you after all these years it's that there are no neat solutions, no
simple answers to the things that matter most in our lives. Sometimes we just
have to trust our instincts. Take that chance when everything and everyone says
that we shouldn't, that it makes no sense, that it's not right. You taught me
that, Mulder. Have you forgotten it?" She smiled at him then. "I think we've
both earned the right to some happiness, Mulder. I think we both know what we
have to do to find it, too."
Long after Scully had left for the day, Mulder remained in his office, thinking
about what she'd said. He knew that Scully was making the right decision for
herself. As much as he would miss her, he knew that she would never find the
kind of fulfillment she wanted and needed by remaining with him and the X-files.
As he thought about it, he realized that Scully was also right about something
else. Her choice had indeed helped him to begin resolving the conflict inside
him.
While he lay on the couch in his apartment late that night, watching the
greenish glow of the fish tank reflected on the ceiling, there was a crackle of
thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that lit up the living room. A few
minutes later, it began to rain. It drummed against his windows in a steady
cadence. He turned his head and stared at it, and remembered another storm for
the thousandth time.
It was in that moment that he knew he would never stop loving Alex Krycek. The
realization jolted him, stunned him, because it was the first time he'd put a
name to the feeling. He lay there listening to the rain and contemplated again,
this time with a sense of calming acceptance, the nature of inextricable
relationships and inescapable destiny.
That night, he fell asleep to the sound of the rain.
He thought it would be hard to find Krycek. He knew all too well that if Alex
chose to disappear from sight, it would be almost impossible to find him. He'd
readied himself mentally for a long search. When he was back in the office, he
accessed the Bureau's database to see if he could pull up anything at all about
Krycek's present whereabouts. To his amazement, within seconds he found himself
looking at a screen of information. Krycek was residing in the house in
Arlington. DMV records listed him as the duly registered owner of a black
Mercedes. The county records listed a transfer of title of the house to Krycek
several months prior. Mulder sat back in his chair and shook his head with a
smile. Sometimes, he decided, the curve balls were pitched just right.
It was a cloudy afternoon as he drove up to the house in Arlington. The trees
were dressed in autumn shades of gold and red and the air had a cool crispness
to it from the recent rain. Mulder walked up to the door and paused, taking a
deep calming breath that did nothing to ease his nervousness. He wasn't even
sure what he would say. It was only as he pressed the doorbell that it occurred
to him that Alex might not want to see him. He waited a minute and when there
was no answer, he pressed the bell again. And again. Another minute went by. He
tried glancing through the windows but the drapes were drawn. Please be there,
Alex. Please. He knocked loudly on the door and then pressed down on the bell
and kept his finger on it.
He was thinking about breaking in when he heard the lock click and the door
swung open.
"Damn it, stop ringing th" Alex Krycek froze in mid-word, his eyes wide in
surprise.
Beautiful green eyes, thought Mulder as he dropped his hand from the bell.
"Hello." He noticed that there was a smudge of dirt on Krycek's chin and dirt on
his jeans, streaks on his gray sweatshirt. There was dirt all over his hands,
too.
Alex stepped back from the door to let Mulder enter. Mulder took it as a good
sign. They both just kept looking at each other. Finally, Mulder couldn't stand
it any longer. Krycek's expression seemed wary, but his eyes...
"Um, did I, uh, interrupt something?" Mulder gestured towards Alex's clothes.
"Something to do with dirt?" He thought his voice was remarkably steady given
the inanity he was spouting.
Krycek blinked as if he was coming out of a spell and looked down at himself.
"Damn it, I have to finish... I'll... just a minute... garden..." He pointed
towards the kitchen and hurried off.
Relieved that he was not the only one having trouble speaking coherently, and
soaring with relief that Krycek seemed to want him to stay, Mulder followed him.
It was a lovely walled garden, with an elegant layout of flowers, scrubs and
trees that was beginning to show the change of the seasons. There was a rock
fountain in one far corner. The faint scent of English lavender wafted in the
air. Krycek was kneeling beside a small bare section near one wall close to the
house where there was a hole, a water hose, a bag of compost and a plant that
was nothing more than branches dotted with thorns, laying on it side, roots
exposed. He placed it carefully in the center of the hole and began filling in
the area around it, patting the earth down quickly with his hands. Mulder walked
over to him and picked some up wrapping that had been around the plant. It was a
picture of a rose. It was an unusual color, a pale yellow with a pink tint to
the outer edges of the petals. Mulder read the name and smiled. The rose was
called "Peace."
"Have you taken up gardening?" he asked as Alex finished and stood up.
Krycek looked a little embarrassed. He gazed down at the scrawny bush. "No. It
probably won't make it. I think it's the wrong time to plant..." He cleared his
throat. "The old man mentioned one time that he wanted to plant roses out here.
He said he thought they'd do well. I suppose I should've let the gardener handle
it, but I just... I just wanted to do it myself."
"I think it'll make it," replied Mulder. "The Englishman would've been pleased."
Krycek looked at him then, his voice low and husky. "Why are you here, Mulder?"
Mulder reached out and rubbed away the smudge on Alex's chin with his thumb. His
skin felt warm, with a hint of beard stubble. "Can we talk inside? It's getting
chilly out here."
Krycek frowned but nodded, turning to lead them back into the house. When they
were in the kitchen, he washed his hands in the sink and leaned back against the
counter. "Okay. We're inside."
Mulder ignored the flutter in the pit of his stomach. He gazed around the room.
"The old man left you the house. He wasn't all bad, was he?"
"Most of us aren't," replied Krycek quietly.
"Yeah, I know." Mulder closed the distance between them. "I'm here
because... because I couldn't stop thinking about being with you." He ran his
fingers through his hair impatiently and looked away, at the stained glass
irises in the window, wondering why it was so hard to say the words.
"Do you miss the fucking?"
He heard the bleakness in Krycek's voice and turned back to him. He took a deep
breath. "No. I miss the loving."
The long dark lashes lowered for a moment. Krycek raked his lip as if he didn't
quite trust himself to speak. "Mulder... are you sure? It doesn't change the past,
won't make what happened before any different"
"I know that. I've had a lot of time to think... about my father, about you. About
us. I'm not saying it'll be easy. I feel like a part of me can never forgive you
for what you did. But the rest of me can't stop loving you. I don't even know if
we could make anything work between us. I just... I just know that I want to try.
It's too important to me not to try. You're too important to me. If you don't,
if you don't want me to stay, I'll understand."
He waited for Alex's answer.
"I want you to stay." Krycek reached out and wrapped his arms around him, buried
his face against Mulder's neck. "Oh, yes, I want you to stay."
Mulder hugged him tight. Alex felt so good in his arms. He wondered how he'd
survived the months without it. They were both trembling a little, the emotion
gripping them both. Before it could take him completely, Mulder gathered what
was left of his willpower and pulled away. "II brought you something," he
said, fishing into his jacket pocket. He found the rectangular white box and
held it out. "It's not really a present, more a replacement."
Alex gazed at him and then at the box, curiosity mingling with the happiness in
his eyes. He took it and, with a nod of encouragement from Mulder, opened it.
Slowly, he pulled out the tailored strip of black satin and draped it over his
fingers.
"I kept the one you wore that night and I'm not giving it back, so I got you a
new one."
Alex sniffed and gave him a wide-eyed look. "But my bowtie was already knotted."
Mulder shrugged. "Yeah, but you've got two hands now. You can tie it yourself."
Krycek stared down at the piece of satin and swallowed hard. When he finally
looked up, his eyes were shining. "Well, that's where you're wrong, Mulder. I
never could figure out how to tie these damn things."
Mulder welcomed the light-hearted grousing and the sudden sense of comfort and
rightness between them. He knew then that they could make it. "Oh, did I forget
to mention that I've devised a surefire method for tying the perfect bowtie? I
can show you."
Alex's lips quirked upward in the beginnings of a grin. "Is that a fact? What's
your method?"
"You have to be naked."
"Naked?"
"Yeah. See, it's all a matter of focus. If you're naked, then you can
concentrate on the intricacies of the proper knotting technique without being
distracted by all that other clothing."
"Naked?" repeated Alex as he stroked the black satin gently with his fingers.
"Well, I'll take my clothes off, too, of course, so I can demonstrate on myself
first."
Alex snorted, then coughed, though Mulder suspected he was trying not to laugh.
"What if I, uh, can't learn it?"
Mulder nodded sagely. "I'm a tireless and determined instructor when I put my
mind to it. Granted, it could take a lot of practice, maybe years and years, but
I have a feeling it'll be worth the effort." His grin grew softer as he leaned
forward, their lips meeting in a kiss that was tender and filled with promise.
When they broke apart, Alex held up the strip of satin and gazed into Mulder's
face.
Mulder smiled, seeing he had hoped for in the clear green eyes. "Time for us to
begin."
The sound of their laughter filled the house as the two men raced each other up
the stairs.
|
TITLE: STRIKE ZONE
AUTHOR: Courtney Gray SERIES/PART: "How to Throw A Curve Ball"/Part5 (Conclusion) RATING: NC-17 for M/M interaction SPOILERS: Nothing much beyond Season 5 because, sadly, I don't like much beyond Season 5. WARNING: This story won't make much sense if you haven't read any of the preceding chapters. FEEDBACK TO: seagray@mindspring.com |
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