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Bizarre Love Triangle
by Ms Brooklyn


PART ONE

There she was. Special Agent Fox Mulder crunched on a sunflower seed as he watched his target make her way down the busy downtown DC street. She was window-shopping. Again. The woman paused in front of a shoe store, concentrating on the window display. It figured.

Ellen Feldman had a thing for shoes.

Mulder chuckled softly to himself, watching as Feldman went into the shoe store. Would she buy one pair or two? Two, he decided. Exactly seventeen minutes later, she came out carrying a shopping bag. Three pairs, Mulder counted. Greedy, little thing.

Of course, she needed something to fill the time, since her Ratboy—Alex Krycek—hadn't been around during the past four days. Mulder knew that for a fact because he'd been watching her. Not because she was a suspect in a crime. No. Mulder was watching her because Assistant Director Kersh suspended him for three weeks. Without pay. Again. Which left Mulder with Nothing Better To Do.

After sulking for half a day, Mulder decided he needed to get laid. Badly. Badly enough to drop in on Feldman and Ratboy. But they moved, the little sneaks. No matter, he knew where Feldman worked—correction, where she worked at her legitimate job. And now he knew where she lived.

Tonight was the night he was going to make his move.

"Mommy's home."

"Myeh."

"Myeh to you to, Winky." Ellen reached down and stroked the loudly purring one-eyed cat. "Wait til you see the shoes I found, Wink. They were on sale. Forty percent off."

Winky rubbed his body against the shopping bag, blessing her shoe purchase.

"I knew you'd approve," Ellen murmured, stepping into the kitchen to survey the damage. It never ceased to amaze her how much mess one fifteen pound cat could make. "Nice mess."

"Myeh." Winky leaped up onto the kitchen counter, beginning their nightly dinner ritual. He paced along the counter top while she used a dust-buster on the food that was scattered on the kitchen floor. That accomplished, she refilled his water dish and gave him fresh food. Her efforts were rewarded with a loud purr.

"What should I have for dinner?"

As if in response to her question, the doorbell rang.

Ellen felt her pulse start to race. Maybe it was her Ratboy. It had better be her Ratboy. With a good explanation about where he'd been these past three weeks. She stalked to the door and threw it open. "Where have you been!?"

"Picking up dinner and a video."

Ellen could feel her jaw drop as she stared up at Fox Mulder. Yup, he was holding a bag of what smelled like Chinese food and carrying a video. And wearing a very cocky grin on his face. "M-mulder? How did you—"

"If you're wondering how I found you, Feldpup, you're very easy to follow. I'm going to have to have a talk with Ratboy about that." He pushed past her into the living room. "Nice place. Very tastefully furnished."

"Of course it is. Ratboy wants nothing but the best for me," Ellen sniffed. Ratboy was going to have a cow if he found out about this. But maybe he didn't have to know. Maybe she could—

"I'm sure you'll think of a creative explanation about how I found you," Mulder commented, reaching past her to shut and lock the door. "If you're good, I'll help you come up with one for Ratboy. If you're bad, I'll come up with one he'll believe."

Mulder was flirting? Mulder!?

He hooked an arm around her waist. "C'mon, Feldpup, shake a leg before the take-out I brought from King Ying gets cold."

Ellen wrenched free and scowled up at Mulder. "That's your idea of wooing me? Take out and a copy of Revenge of the Pink Panther?"

"Yup. Why tamper with something that works so well?"

"Because maybe I'd appreciate being wined and dined?"

"You've got Ratboy for that." Mulder chuckled softly. "I'll bet you've never ordered in with him, the poor pussy-whipped bastard."

"He is not!"

"He is. But I'm not."

"You must be. You're here with take-out and a movie."

"I'm horny, not pussy-whipped. There's a difference."

"That's right. Ratboy gets and you don't," she sniffed indignantly. So there.

Mulder arched an eyebrow. "Wanna bet?"

"You think a lousy fifteen bucks worth of take-out is going to get you some action?"

Mulder nodded. "It has before."

"Before Ratboy."

"Ratboy's not here."

"So?"

"So you're horny, too. You haven't gotten any in the week that I've been watching you."

A week? He'd been watching her for a week? If her Ratboy found out about thisŠ. It was time to go on the offensive. "What do you mean you've been watching me?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Why?"

"Because."

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she realized how Mulder had all that free time to make her life miserable. "Did you get suspended without pay again?"

"What if I did? You gonna spank me?"

"I would but you'd like it too much."

"Kinky, Feldman. Very, very kinky. You're showing some real promise," Mulder murmured. "Quite a difference from when I first met you."

"You mean when I was so naïve I thought take-out and a video was a romantic date," she countered.

"That is naïve," he agreed. "I'm glad you've learned what take-out and a video really means."

Ooooh! What to do? Throw him out and be hungry, horny and frustrated? Eat the food and throw him out? "Did you get me chicken kew?"

"I got you chicken kew," he mocked, gently. "And I've got something else for you that's nice and tasty."

"Does it taste good with duck sauce?"

"Feldman! You little tease!"

"I'm not teasing. Get naked and gimme the duck sauce." Mulder. Duck sauce. Oh, her Ratboy would have loved this. Her RatboyŠoh, how she missed her Ratboy. Mulder was fun, but he wasn't Ratboy. On the other hand, he could be Ratboy, with a little work. Before she could consider this further, Mulder caught her and pulled her to him, kissing her hard.

Mulder finally broke the kiss and nuzzled her neck. "What are you planning, you little criminal?"

"I'm not planning anything."

"You've got that look on your face, Feldpup."

"What look?"

"The one that says trouble."

"Wanna play a game, Mulder," Ellen asked, giving him her most innocent look.

"What kind of game?"

"One that you'll really like."

"Such as?"

"It involves dress-up and leather."

"You're gonna dress up in leather for me, Feldpup?"

Ellen tugged Mulder's shirt out of his jeans. "Actually, I wanted to dress you up, Foxboy."

"Mulder. My name is Mulder," he corrected her, catching her hands in his. "And I don't think I want to be your Ken doll."

Time for a classic Feldman pout—the kind that got her whatever she wanted. "But, Mulder, it's not like I'm gonna make you wear a dog collar. All I want is to make you wear something sexy and then ravage your hot body."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this?"

"You won't regret it, Mulder."

"Famous last words."

They were indeed.

This was already getting out of hand. She was up to something. Something bad. Something that involved leather. So why was he taking off his shirt? Because she said the magic words—duck sauce. The only thing that would make this evening any more interesting would be Ratboy—

"Mulder?" Feldman stood at the top of the stairs wearing nothing but a devious little smile and hiding something behind her back. "How come you're still dressed?"

"Because I might need to make a hasty retreat, Feldpup."

Feldman pouted again.

God, she was cute when she did that. Really cute. "What are you hiding behind your back, Feldpup?"

"You're the detective," she purred. "Why don't you guess?"

"Don't make me come up there," Mulder warned.

"I double-dog dare ya, Foxbo—"

"The name is still Mulder." With that, he bounded up the stairs. Feldman threw something dark at him and backed up, giggling. That was when he knew he was in trouble. Sighing, Mulder looked at the bulky object in his hands. It was black. It was leather. It was—"Ratboy's jacket?"

"Put it on."

"What?"

"The jacket. And nothing else."

Oooooh. Kinky. He liked kinky. "You want me to be Ratboy?"

"Do you want to be Ratboy?"

"That depends. You gonna brain me with a cast, kneecap me or beat on me?"

"Do you want me to?"

Mulder slipped into the jacket, savoring the feel of the satin lining against his bare skin. It felt nice. Soft. Smooth. Supple. And it smelled like Krycek. And like Feldman. "Been borrowing this lately, Feldpup?"

Feldman turned pink. "No."

"You have, kitten. Miss me much?" His Ratboy imitation was right on the mark if Feldman's reaction was anything to gauge it by. "Tell me what you do with my jacket."

"I'd rather show you, Ratboy." Her beautifully manicured hands tore at his jeans. "Oh, my sweet, sweet RatboyŠ"

"Moi krasivya shalava." Did he pronounce that correctly? If he did, he just called Feldman his beautiful little slut.

The little lawyer dropped to her knees and licked him earnestly. "Oh, RatboyŠmy Ratboy, the things I'm gonna do to youŠ."

Oh yeah. He definitely pronounced that right. Maybe being Ratboy for a night wasn't such a bad thing after all. As long as nothing got blown up or sank, and Ratboy wasn't around to see this, it was going to be a night to remember.

It was going to be a night to remember. Alex Krycek shifted his duffel bag and fished his keys out of his pocket. Yeah, it was always nice to come home to Feldman but tonight, well, tonight he was well-rested and ready to be greeted in style. Maybe he could convince his kitten to order in tonight. It was a long shot. She liked to be wined and dined, but maybe, just maybe this once, he could claim exhaustion. Feldman had to cut him some slack once in a while.

What was that noise? It sounded awfully familiar. Alex pressed his ear to the door and listened.

It sounded likeŠ

But it couldn't be.

Could it?

Alex slipped his key into the lock and silently let himself into the townhouse. His mouth fell open as he took in the scene on his living room floor.

Mulder. Wearing his leather jacket. And nothing but his leather jacket. Well, maybe more if the lawyer wrapped around Mulder counted as him wearing something, but stillŠ

"Ohhhhh, yes, RatboyŠharder, Ratboy, harderŠoh, God, yes, Ratboy..."

"AlexŠmy nameŠis Alex," Mulder grunted, slapping her lightly on the rump. "Say it."

"Rrrrrrrrrrrratboy!"

"Yes, kittenŠoh, God, yesŠ"

Un-freaking-believable. Alex was seeing it with his own eyes and he couldn't believe it. He unholstered his gun and stealthily made his way up to the couple. With a grin, he pressed the cold steel barrel of the nine millimeter to the base of Mulder's skull and slid the safety back.

Mulder, to his credit, froze mid-thrust. "Ratboy? Is that you?"

"Yes, it is, Mulder."

"Why are you holding a gun on me?"

"Why are you wearing my jacket and fucking my wife on my living room floor," Alex countered. Yeah, he was wide awake and horny as hell now. All he had to do was play his kitten and his Mulder just rightŠ.

Mulder slid slowly off of Feldman and Alex noted with some glee that the federal agent wasn't turned on at all by gun play. Heavy lidded hazel eyes blinked slowly while Mulder thought of a smart-ass comeback. "First of all, she's not your wife. You deleted that phony record months ago. Second, this isn't even your house. I believe you bought it under the name of Sanders, Pooh Bear. Christopher R. Sanders. Feldman came up with that alias, didn't she?"

"What's wrong with my alias," Feldman complained. "And how come you're not hard any more? Fix it, Mulder! I'm horny!"

"Fix it," Mulder echoed. "Tell your Ratboy to stop pointing his gun at me."

"Ratboy stop pointing your gun at Mulder!"

"Alex. My name is Alex." Was she ever going to get it right?

"Whatever," Feldman sniffed. "And take back what you said about us being married. It's not funny to lie about something like that."

"I'm not lying. I never deleted the record."

"But that's not fair," she whined. "I wanted a big wedding and a white dress and a chuppa and a rabbi and a—"

Alex clucked sympathetically. "You want that, you'd better be faithful to me."

"But you're not!" Feldman's eyes narrowed as she suddenly realized what he was up to. "You jerk! You just wanted to slow us down so you could get in on the action."

"That's right, kitten, I did." With that, Alex slid the safety back into place and set the gun down. "And it worked like a charm. Which of you wants to kiss me first?"

Before Feldman could move, Mulder grabbed him. "Get over here, Ratboy."

"Alex. My name is—"

"Shut up, Ratboy," Mulder ordered.

"Shouldn't I be calling you Ratboy? After all, you're the one in the jacket."

"Hey! What about me," Feldman complained. "Don't I get any?"

"Oh, you'll get yours, kitten. Trust me," Mulder warned her. "And as for you, Ra—"

"Mulder," Alex corrected him. "My name is Mulder."

The federal agent smirked at him. "You couldn't handle being me, Ratboy."

"You can't even handle being you, you pathetic slob," Alex chided. "How many times have you gotten suspended without pay this year?"

"You gonna console me, Ratboy?"

"I wanna console you," Feldman whined. "Both of you!"

Alex tugged her to him. "Feeling left out?"

She nodded and slid her arms around his waist. "I missed you, Ratboy."

"I missed you, too," Mulder snickered. "C'mere, kitten."

"Two Ratboys and King Ying," Feldman sighed. "Life is good."

"King Ying?"

"I'm gonna teach you about take-out and videos, Ratboy," Mulder murmured. "Somebody has to."

Take-out? Videos? Mulder? Feldman? Role-playing?

It was going to be a long, hot night.

Mulder was in the middle. Of course it wasn't exactly a tragedy to be tucked in bed between Ratboy and Feldman. It was strange, but it wasn't bad. Krycek's arm was slung around Mulder while Feldman was burrowed into his side. Had he really spent the night in their bed? How was he going to sneak out without waking them? More importantly, were they free later?

Before he could think of a solution to his dilemma, something on Krycek's side of the bed beeped loudly.

The other man cursed softly in the darkness.

Feldman groaned and snuggled closer to Mulder.

Krycek slid out of the bed, circled around to Feldman's side and tossed the covers off of her. "Let's shower, kitten."

"Ratboy!"

"Get up."

"No!"

"Feldman! Get up!"

"Why?"

Krycek emitted a small, frustrated sound. "Because we want to get fresh croissants for our guest."

Mulder snorted and turned on the lamp. "Tell her the truth, Ratboy. You're going to meet the smoker."

"We do not work for the smoker," Feldman snapped, sitting up.

Both men stared at her.

"Okay, Ratboy works for the smoker."

Mulder cleared his throat.

"Alex. His name is Alex."

"Why me," Krycek muttered, taking Feldman by the arm. "Get. Into. The. Shower."

"But, RatboyŠ" Mulder imitated Feldman's whine perfectly. "Feldman wants to sleep in. Why don't you take me instead?"

"I repeat, why me?" Krycek narrowed his eyes at Mulder. "You know why you can't come with us, Mulder. I suggest you either get your things and go home or go back to sleep."

"Are you kidding?"

Feldman leaped back onto the bed and snuggled against Mulder. "We'll stay here and wait for you, Ratboy."

"FeldmanŠ MulderŠ." Krycek rubbed his eyes. "Ellen, princess, come onŠ.get out of bed."

"No. I want Mulder," Feldman purred, pushing Mulder onto his back.

The federal agent blinked in surprise as she caught his wrists in her hands and pinned them against the headboard. The slatted headboard. No. Oh. No. Before Mulder could react, Krycek was snapping Mulder's handcuffs around his wrists. "Ratboy, you sonofabitch!"

Feldman sighed wistfully. "I'm sorry, Foxboy, but Ratboy—"

"Alex, dammit!"

"Alex has to go to that meeting," Feldman concluded.

"No, kitten. We have to go to that meeting."

"Yes, Ratboy."

"And don't call me Ratboy."

"Yes, Ratboy."

"Why me?"

xx

PART TWO

"He's late."

"We're early."

"I'm cold."

"Soon."

"What?"

"Huh?" Alex glanced down at Feldman. One of the reasons he didn't work with partners was that they distracted him. "What did you say?"

She stamped one tiny, booted foot. "Pay attention, Ratboy!"

"My name is still Alex and I am paying attention, kitten. Are you?"

"Of course I am, Ra—"

"Alex."

Feldman pouted up at him.

Damn, she was cute when she did that. StillŠ "Okay, kitten, if you're paying attention, tell me how many people are watching us."

"Ratboy—"

"Alex."

"Ratboy, it's not even five a.m. There's nobody here but us! Who in their right mind would be standing on the steps of the Supreme Court at this hour!?" Feldman sneezed and shivered violently. "Besides, it's freezing out here."

She was the most dangerous amateur he'd ever seen. Sighing, Alex gripped her arm and spun her thirty degrees to her left. "See the taxi over there? And the bum sleeping on the bench? Those two security guards at the top of the steps? How about—"

"How about maybe you're wrong? Maybe that's just a bum. Maybe that's just a —"

"Lower your voice, dammit," he hissed.

"Don't yell at me!"

"I'm not—" He was. Alex took a deep breath and pulled her to him. This should keep her quiet while he watched their backs. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to raise my voice at you. Snuggle up and I'll keep you warm, okay?"

"Mmmm."

"That's my princess." This was ridiculous. If the smoker saw this, he'd be laughed out of the Consortium. Which might not be a bad thing, considering the way it was being run these days. He murmured a few terms of endearment in Russian while Feldman stuck her hands in the back pockets of his jeans. If she was trying to pick his pockets, she was going to be disappointed. His money was in his front pockets.

A dark sedan pulled up and the smoker got out, smiling benevolently. "My, my, my. Don't you two look like a happy couple."

"Hello, sir." Alex nudged Feldman gently. "Let go."

She did and drew herself up. "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Ellen." The smoker's wrinkled face contorted itself into something vaguely resembling a smile. "Come. We have matters to discuss."

Alex grabbed her arm and tugged her down the steps, into the waiting car.

"Oh, it's nice and warm in here," she sighed, happily.

"Comfy," the smoker asked her.

"Yes, sir." She beamed at him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear."

Dear? Did the smoker just call Feldman 'dear'? Ohgodohgodohgod.

The smoker turned that tobacco-stained smile in Alex's direction. "I have an interesting errand that I thought might make a nice training mission for Ellen. With your approval, of course, Alex."

"His approval? I don't need his approval," Feldman sniffed. "I'm an adult and—"

"Alex watches over you," the smoker interrupted her. "I can't very well put you into the field without his approval, even if I'm sending him with you."

Alex felt his stomach seize. No. This couldn't be happening. The smoker swore Feldman wouldn't get any more field assignments. Bad things happened when Feldman got field assignments. Ships sank. Landfills exploded. And Alex always ended up being rescued. He didn't think he could handle seeing that smug look on Mulder's face this time, now that Mulder was doing Feldman and she was calling him her back lawn. Why, she might even decide to let Alex stay in whatever predicament he was in and make Mulder her front lawn and—

"Alex? Are you paying attention?"

He swallowed hard. "Uh, noŠsorry."

The smoker frowned disapprovingly. "Please pay attention when I'm speaking."

Alex gritted his teeth. Could there be anything more humiliating than being disciplined like a rookie in front of Feldman?

"As I was saying, this is a relatively simple task." The smoker fondled his pack of Morleys lovingly. "I think it's perfect for—"

"Sir?" Feldman's face was the picture of innocence. "Could you roll down the window if you're going to smoke that—"

"Feldman, shut up," Alex hissed.

"But it smells! And I just got this jacket dry cleaned and—"

"Shut up, goddammit," he barked. "You're going to get us killed!"

Feldman's mouth hung open.

Now would have been a perfect time for the smoker to shoot him. "Sorry, kitten, IŠuh, I'm a little on edge."

"I'll say," she sniffed. "You've been yelling at me all morning."

"I did not yell," Alex snapped.

"Well, you're certainly being mean."

"Feldman!"

"Ratboy!"

"Alex, dammit! My name is Alex!"

"Alex. Ellen." The smoker cleared his throat. "This is most unacceptable."

"He started it," Feldman complained.

"Feldman, for God's sake, cut it out," Alex begged.

"But you did! You're being awfully mean to me, Ratboy. I think you're jealous because I let Mul—mmmmmffffmmm!"

He cut her off by clamping his hand over her mouth. As she dug her nails into the back of his hand, Alex realized he now knew what was more embarrassing than being disciplined in front of Feldman. "Sir, I'm sorry for this—"

"Mmmmfffmmmm!"

The smoker's frown intensified. "Ellen, if you don't behave yourself, I'm going to give you another research assignment and select a different partner for Alex."

"Kitten," Alex whispered, softly. "Wouldn't you like to work with your Ra— uh, your Alex?"

She nodded and Alex whispered a quick prayer as he took his hand away.

"Now, as I was saying, this assignment should be perfect for the two of you." The smoker paused and blew some smoke in Feldman's direction, watching with more than a hint of amusement as her eyes started to tear. "Alex, you remember Gibson Praise, don't you?"

Alex's throat and balls tightened simultaneously. "UhŠyes, sir."

"Ellen, do you know anything about Gibson Praise?"

Her nose wrinkled. "No. What's a Gibson Praise? Sounds like a televangelist—"

"Feldman," Alex hissed.

Feldman turned and glared at him. "Now what? He asked a question and I answered it. Or would you like to yell at me for that, too?"

"Why," Alex asked her, his voice pained. "Why are you doing this? Why now? Why here? Why in front of him?"

"Ratboy!"

"Alex, dammit! My name is Alex!"

"ALEX! ELLEN!" The smoker looked more than annoyed. He looked positively furious. "Do I have your attention now?"

"Yessir," Feldman chirped, obsequiously, shooting Alex a withering stare.

"Yes, sir," Alex echoed. Christ, this was just like being in seventh grade again.

"Good." Another deep drag on his cigarette. "Ellen, for your edification, Gibson Praise is a twelve year old chess prodigy. There was an assassination attempt on him last spring. The boy possesses certain very useful abilities and until recently, he was under ourŠprotection. Unfortunately, the boy managed to run off, as children do. We believe we have located him in Arizona, which is where I'm sending the two of you. If you can behave yourselves, that is. Alex, the details of Gibson's activities are in this file."

Alex took the file gingerly.

"It should be a simple operation to retrieve the boy," the smoker continued. "And that makes this the perfect training opportunity for you, Ellen. You should be able to handle the boy quite easily until you get to—"

"You mean I'm being used as a babysitter," Feldman asked, incredulously.

"Jesus Christ," Alex muttered. "FeldmanŠ."

Feldman leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at their boss. "You've got your nerve, sticking me with this assignment because I'm a woman—"

"I'm giving you an opportunity to work with Alex—"

"Which is a waste of his time, too!"

Ohgodohgodohgod. They were dead. Dead! "Feldman, for the love of God—"

"I'm going to ignore your commentary, Ellen, because I feel like being generous with you, today," the smoker told her, coldly. "Consider my generosity carefully. I'm giving you a simple assignment with an excellent operative as your supervisor—"

"My what," Feldman exploded. "You want me to take orders from Ratboy?!"

"Indeed, I do. Ratboy—"

"Al—uh, never mind, sir. Continue." Yup. He was a dead man. A dead man whose boss called him Ratboy.

The smoker crushed his Morley savagely. "As I was saying, Ellen, you are to take orders from Alex and obey his instructions to the letter. You will also treat Ratboy with the respect he deserves. Is that understood?"

"How come I can't give the orders? Ratboy likes taking orders from me."

It was the first and probably the last time Alex was ever going to see the smoker laugh. The question was, what was the smoker laughing at? If it was because he thought Alex was pussy-whippedŠ.

"I'm sure he does, dear girl," the smoker sniggered. "However, I really must insist that you permit him to give the orders in this case. He is the more senior operative, don't you agree?"

"Well—"

"He is, Ellen. You can't be in charge until you've earned your stripes. Now run along and do as Ratboy tells you."

Alex cringed inwardly and waited for Feldman to say the one thing that would definitely get them killed.

"Yes, sir."

Did she just say 'yes, sir'? Miracles did happen! They did!

Feldman got out of the car and Alex started to slide out after her when the smoker grabbed his arm.

"Just a word of advice, Alex."

"Sir?"

"You need to be more firm with her or people will think you're pussy whipped."

Oh. God. Why? Why him?

It was going to be a long mission.

It wasn't the silence that bothered her as much as the furtive, pissed-off looks her Ratboy kept shooting her on the ride home. She supposed she could handle the silent treatment until Ratboy apologized for being mean to her. No matter how long it took. With a sigh, Ellen dragged herself up the stairs to the bedroom to pack.

"It's about time you got back," Mulder snapped.

Ellen blinked. She'd forgotten all about Mulder. "Oh. Hi."

"Mew?" Winky blinked sleepily on Mulder's chest. "Raa-raa?"

"Could you please get your cat off of me, Feldman?"

Why was everybody being mean to her today? She lifted Winky and set him down. The cat hissed at her and stalked off to sulk because his comfortable nap was interrupted.

Mulder tugged at the handcuffs. "Want to uncuff me now?"

"I don't have the key," Ellen mumbled, opening her closet door and surveying its contents with a frown. What could she pack that would be versatile enough to retrieve a missing chess prodigy in Arizona yet still look stylish? Something that wouldn't wrinkle if cross-country travel was involved.

There was the tell-tale sound of leather crinkling behind her as her Ratboy elbowed her aside. He began tossing clothes on the bed randomly. "Quit dawdling, Feldman. This isn't rocket science and we have a flight to catch."

Ellen gaped at him. He was wrinkling her clothes! "Ratboy!"

Green eyes flashed angrily in her direction. "Alex."

"You're wrinkling my clothes, Alex."

"I'd buy you new ones but you embarrassed me today."

"What!?"

Even Mulder perked up to listen. "Did the smoker ask if you were pussy-whipped, Ratboy?"

Her Ratboy growled in frustration. "When the hell are you people going to learn to call me Alex!?"

"Did the smoker ask if you were pussy-whipped, Alex," Mulder smirked. "Or was it a foregone conclusion when Feldpup called you Ratboy in front of him?"

"That's it. I've had enough of you." Her Ratboy stalked towards the bed, unlocked the handcuffs and threw the covers off of Mulder. "Get out."

"I'm sorry, Mulder. He's been in a snit all day," Ellen apologized, handing Mulder his boxers.

"Hmm, that's so unlike him," Mulder chortled.

"I am not in a snit," Krycek exploded. "I'm sick and tired of being called Ratboy! All I ask is a little respect from you, Feldman! Don't I give you everything you want? Is asking you to call me Alex too much to want in return? Was it too much to want to not be embarrassed in front of the smoker?"

"How did I embarrass you?"

"Are you serious? How didn't you embarrass me?" Her Ratboy suddenly noticed Mulder, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him. "We'll discuss it on the plane."

The federal agent smiled winningly. "Can I come?"

"Oooh, can he, Ratboy?"

Green eyes flashed angrily at her. "No."

"Oh, come on. He's on suspension for the next two weeks. Nobody'll miss him," Ellen wheedled. "I promise he won't be any trouble. I'll take care of him and everything—"

"Hey," Mulder protested. "I'm not some stray—"

"Forget it," Krycek snapped. "He's not coming."

"But, Ratboy—"

"Alex! My name is Alex."

"Aaaaaalexxxxx."

"No."

"But—"

"No."

"Oh, come on, Ratboy. We're just babysitting that Gibson kid—"

"Feldman!" Her Ratboy looked utterly horrified.

"Gibson? Gibson Praise?" Mulder was on his feet now. "You've found Gibson?"

"How come everybody knows this kid but me," Ellen whined.

"Because you're too busy buying shoes," Mulder chuckled. "I'm coming with you Ratboy."

"Alex. Won't somebody please call me Alex?"

Ratboy was going to try to ditch him. Mulder was sure of it. After all, that's what he would do if he were in Ratboy's place. Of course, if he were in Ratboy's place, he would also ditch Feldman, smoker's orders or no, because if there was one thing that shouldn't blow up accidentally, it was the Indian Hills nuclear power plant.

That thought firmly in mind, Mulder draped his arm around Krycek's shoulders. "So, buddy, who gets the window seat?"

Krycek turned his head slowly and narrowed his eyes at Mulder. "Maybe you should go home and try hacking into Spender's computer."

"You promised he could come," Feldman whined.

"Do you really think that's a good idea," Krycek asked her. "Especially since he doesn't work for the smoker?"

She gave Krycek her prettiest pout. "He'll be good, won't you, Foxboy?"

"Mulder. My name is Mulder." He leaned closer to Krycek and whispered in his ear. "Wouldn't you like some help with Feldpup?"

"I can handle her just fine," Krycek hissed. "Go home before you get yourself killed."

"I can say the same thing to you, Ratboy," Mulder countered. "Things explode when Feldman's on the case. And you're going to visit a nuclear reactor. Think about it."

Krycek's eyes grew wide and he glanced down at the petite lawyer who was clutching his prosthetic hand.

"With two of us on the job, Arizona might survive our visit. We might survive our visit."

"If you ever—and I mean EVER—breathe a word to anybody that I took you with me, Mulder, I'll kill you. Is that clear?"

"Sure, Ratboy."

"And don't call me Ratboy."

"Sure, Ratboy."

"Why me?"


PART THREE

"This is your last chance, kitten."

Feldman's jaw set stubbornly as she stared up at Alex. "I'm going with you and that's that, Ratboy."

"Alex," Mulder corrected her, taking her by the arm. "And I agree with him, Feldpup. This is some very dangerous business we're getting into."

"Then you're both idiots for raising the issue while we're waiting on line to go rent a car after we flew all the way out to Arizona," Feldman huffed. "I mean, really, Ratboy, what am I supposed to do? Go see the Grand Canyon?"

"Don't knock it," Alex offered wanly, eyeing the woman behind the desk. "Grand Canyon's a lot of fun. And my name is still Alex."

"Next!" Gladys, the rental agent smiled uneasily at the unlikely trio as they approached the desk. "How can I help you?"

"Use my discount, Ra— uh, Alex." Feldman reached into her purse and plucked out her American Bar Association identification.

Alex yanked it from her hand before she gave it to Gladys. "No, honey. Remember, the company is paying for this trip. We can't use yourŠuh, discount."

To his relief, Mulder tugged Feldman over towards the maps and tour pamphlets, whispering to her about the joys of a mule ride down the Grand Canyon. Bringing Mulder was looking like a better decision with each passing minute.

Five minutes later, the paperwork was completed and their car was brought around.

"Ewww. It's maroon." Feldman's nose wrinkled. "And it's a Lumina!"

Alex winced. "You'll live. Get in."

Mulder thrust his hand under Alex's nose. "Give me the keys, Ratboy."

"Alex. My name is Alex. And that goes for both of you." Then again, maybe he should have ditched both of them. He directed a forceful stare at Feldman. "You. Get in the back. Mulder, I'm driving. Any other questions? I didn't think so."

Feldman groaned aloud. "Look out, Mulder. Ratboy's doing his 'I've got the gun and I'm in charge routine' again."

"FeldmanŠ" Alex closed his eyes and fought to find words that wouldn't get Feldman started. "Kitten, what were your orders?"

"Excuse me?"

"The smoker gave you orders. What were they?"

"I do not work for the smoker!"

"Yes, you do. And you have orders. You have five seconds to tell me what they were or I'm tossing you on a tour bus to the Grand Canyon." There. "Time's up—"

"I have to follow your orders," Feldman muttered.

Mulder chuckled softly until Alex shot him a look that shut the federal agent up instantly.

"Who's in charge," Alex prompted.

Feldman's nose wrinkled again. "Oh, for Pete's sake—"

"Who's in charge, kitten? The tour bus is pulling in right now. See it?" He pointed at a bus that was pulling in across the road. "And then you'll have to explain to our boss that I sent you away because you were jeopardizing the mission. You think he'll like hearing that?"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"You wanna bet?"

Ellen blinked in disbelief. First, Mulder. Now, Ratboy. Wasn't there anybody she could push around anymore? Well, there was still Carmine, thank goodness.

"I'm waiting," her Ratboy purred.

Mulder was watching her, eager to see her jump through Ratboy's hoops, no doubt.

"You want me to swear an oath, Ratboy?"

"No, kitten. I want you to follow orders." Her Ratboy lifted her one-handed and set her down on the hood of the car.

Ellen squirmed in protest. "My clothes! This car is filthy!"

"Be good and I'll buy you new ones." He traced her lips with a finger. "This is your last chance before I send you sightseeing and shopping. Who's in charge?"

She smiled sweetly. "You are, Ratboy."

"What's my name?"

"Ratboy."

He plucked out his wallet and stuffed a wad of cash down the front of her shirt. "There's a very nice mall not far from here. Have fun."

"Alex!" Oooooh! How humiliating! And in front of Mulder!

"Excuse me?"

"You're in charge, Alex."

"Very good." He patted her on the head like an obedient puppy. "It only took me four years to get you to understand that. Get in the car."

Yeah, he had the gun and he was in charge. Right. She'd get him over that notion soon enough. Ellen reached for the passenger side door.

"I believe Ratboy told you to get in the back," Mulder grinned at her.

Did she need this? "I want to—"

"Ah, ah, ah, Feldpup. You have your orders." The federal agent guided her into the back seat. "And you've got shopping money. Don't think I didn't notice you kept the wad Ratboy gave you."

"Shut up, Mulder."

Ratboy started the car and turned to her. "He's right. Give me my money."

"You gave it to me, Rat—"

"Alex. And that's an order."

Ellen gritted her teeth and handed back the money. So much for that pair of Joan & David pumps she'd been eyeing at Macy's.

"Good, Feldpup," Mulder praised her, shaking his small bag of sunflower seeds in her face. "Want a treat?"

"You had to start, didn't you, Foxbo—"

"Mulder," he corrected her. "And since we're establishing pecking order here —"

"I am not taking orders from you, too!"

"Actually, you are," her Ratboy informed her. "You're the least experienced field operative here, so you're gonna be fetching coffee and doing as you're told. And if he doesn't want you calling him Foxboy, don't call him that."

"Is that an order, Supreme Leader?"

Green eyes flashed wickedly in the rear view mirror. "Yeah, princess, it is."

Mulder chuckled again. "Looks like you're at the bottom of the totem pole, Feldpup."

Yeah, it was definitely going to be a long mission.

Somehow or other, this was all Feldman's fault. It had the mark of Feldman all over it, Dana Scully thought, bitterly, as A.D. Kersh built to the climax of his tirade about how irresponsible her partner was. It shouldn't have been an issue, since Mulder was already on suspension without pay, but—

"Agent Scully?"

"Sir?" There was a question hanging over her, but she had no idea what it was.

"I asked if you had the slightest notion where your partner went?"

"No, sir, but I'll find out."

"See that you do by close of business today or you're both on suspension without pay as of tomorrow. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Scully's mouth set in a business-like frown. This was definitely Feldman's fault. And if she could find Feldman, she'd find Mulder.

"Can I have the file, Ratboy?"

"My name is still Alex and the answer is no."

Feldman pouted so prettily that Alex almost relented.

"But why?"

"Because we're about to have a change of plans."

Two pairs of eyes focused on Alex.

"What kind of change of plans, Ratboy," Mulder asked, suspiciously.

"Alex, Mulder. His name is Alex," Feldman intoned, breathlessly.

"Thank you, kitten," Alex praised her. Finally, she got it right. That was probably a bad sign, but he liked it anyway. "This is where I test your loyalties. Both of you. I realize, Mulder, that you have less reason to be loyal to me than the kitten does, but—"

"Where do you come off questioning me, Ratboy," Feldman exploded. "What are you going to do!?"

"I'm not going to follow my orders."

Mulder arched an eyebrow. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Of course it's dangerous," Feldman snapped, grabbing Alex's sleeve. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I do, but I'm asking you if you want to join me. I know the risks. Mulder knows the risks. But you don't—"

"Of course I do, Ra—"

"Alex."

She sniffed indignantly. "We're risking death. Or, we can just risk looking like idiots if I write it up properly."

Alex shook his head. "No."

"But I can—"

"I don't want you to."

"Is that what she does?" Mulder leaned forward. "She does their plausible deniability?"

"Oh great," Feldman complained. "You just blew my cover."

"Mulder knows you work for the smoker—"

"But I didn't know what she did. Thanks for clearing that up for me," Mulder chortled.

Feldman nibbled at her lower lip and scowled at Alex. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. "You're not taking this Gibson kid where you're supposed to, are you, Ratboy?"

The little lawyer never ceased to surprise him. "That's right, kitten."

"Where are we taking him?"

"Not we. Me."

"We, Ratboy. You need me." Her slender hand rested on Alex's shoulder. "You need me to watch your back. And to write a report the smoker will believe when we don't succeed."

Was there any question why he was crazy about Feldman? "Are you sure you want to do this? You've got a promising career—"

"Well, what am I supposed to do? Turn you in as a traitor to the cause?" Feldman snorted at this. "I don't even know what the cause is! And you're more important to me thanŠthan whatever it is."

Mulder chuckled, softly. "She loves you, Ratboy."

Feldman nodded. "I do. So where are we taking the kid?"

"The less you know about the destination we're supposed to deliver the kid to, the safer you'll be. Especially when we don't show."

"But Rat—"

"Alex. They'll ask you why you didn't bring the kid and if you can honestly answer you didn't know where to bring him, they won't kill you." He hoped.

"Why is this kid so important," Feldman asked.

"Honey—"

"Don't 'honey' me, Ratboy. I'm supposed to be here, remember. The smoker said. So you should tell me why this Gibson is so important."

"He reads minds," Mulder put in. "And he can communicate with the aliens."

Alex's head whipped around. That wasn't in the file. "Excuse me?"

"You tell me, Ratboy, and I'll tell you." Mulder settled back in his seat. "What are they planning on doing to Gibson?"

"How do you know him," Feldman demanded. "Does everybody know this kid but me?"

Mulder turned around and gave her a long stare. "It was all over the news, Feldman. There was a chess game and an assassination of a Russian chess player, but they were aiming at the kid."

"Because he was good at chess?"

"Because he reads minds."

"Which made him good at chess."

"Yes, but that's not the point." Mulder cracked a sunflower seed loudly. "The point is, Ratboy's boss wanted Gibson badly enough to burn the X-Files and assign them to Spender and nearly kill Diana in the process."

"Diana? Who's Diana?" Feldman was sitting up straight now and Alex could see the little lawyer's gears spinning wildly.

"Diana Fowley," Alex explained. "She's with the FBI. She used to work with Mulder back in the late '80s when he discovered the X-Files. They had a fling and then she left to join the anti-terrorism task force. Fowley just got reassigned to the X-Files after they dumped Mulder."

Feldman was suddenly very interested in her manicure. "What's she look like?"

Alex suppressed a grin. "Mulder? You wanna field that one?"

"No," Mulder said, simply. "To continue, Ratboy's bosses got hold of Gibson and were doing some kind of experiments on him. They interrupted those experiments to use Gibson to track an alien that got loose in the Indian Hills reactor."

"What alien? When was there an alien?"

"Feldman," Alex sighed. "I seem to recall you being assigned to write a report for the Nuclear Regulatory Commission."

"I did not!"

Mulder blinked. "Feldman wrote that report? Feldman?!"

"No," Feldman snapped. "I do what Ratboy tells me. I work for him, remember?"

"You wrote the report," Alex said, firmly. "You covered up the murders by the alien using Agent Fowley's report."

"Mulder's girlfriend wrote that pile of b.s.?!"

"So you did write it," Mulder chuckled. "And you're jealous."

"I am not jealous and I didn't write anything," Feldman argued.

"She wrote it and she's jealous." Alex turned to Mulder. "And frankly, I would be, too, but I've seen Diana Fowley."

Feldman leaned back and said, softly, "She's an awful writer."

"You're cute when you're jealous, Feldpup," Mulder chuckled. "Even cuter now that I know what you do for the smoker. You're going to be such a good little informant."

"No, she's not." Alex gave him a slow, cold stare. "Not unless you want her dead. If anybody leaks information to you, it'll be me. Feldman's too green to take care of herself properly."

"Hey!"

"When you learn to spot and ditch the tails they keep on you when I'm not around, kitten, then you can sing like a canary for all I care," he lied. Clearing his throat, he continued. "At any rate, the kid and the alien are still at Indian Hills. I've got to hand it to the kid, he's a fast learner. He steals food from the vending machines and from the lunch room. We've been watching him for months."

"What about the alien," Mulder asked. "I saw it rip out a man's throat with its claws. How do you plan to deal with it?"

"Flame thrower. They burn, like anything else, when they're full-grown. And by now, that thing is full-grown. It should also be a lot more docile."

Feldman leaned forward again. "Ra—uh, Alex, have you killed aliens before?"

"That subject is off-limits, kitten."

"But—"

"Off. Limits."

"Have you seen them?"

"Stop interrogating me, Feldman."

"I'm curious about that myself," Mulder put in. "I've seen them. Different kinds in fact."

"Off limits, Mulder."

Mulder flashed him the barest hint of a smile. "Aw, c'mon, Ratboy!"

"Alex. And that's enough. Both of you." Why him? Oh, that's right. He brought them both along for sex and because they were useful.

"Is that Indian Hills?" Ellen leaned forward and peered over her Ratboy's shoulder. "How are we going to get in?"

"We aren't. You are." Ratboy turned and grinned at her with a smile so dazzling it made her retinas ache.

"Huh?"

"There's a suit and an ID in the trunk for you, kitten. Guess who the NRC sent to inspect the facility this time?"

"Oh, no, Ratboy. I'm not poking around in there," Ellen protested. "Nuh-uh."

"Don't worry, kitten. There's a checklist. All you have to do is follow them around and make notes on your clipboard," her Ratboy soothed. "And you'll be taking pictures and checking out the security."

"Why can't you do it? Or Foxboy?"

"Because they'd remember a one-armed man," he said, flatly. "And as for Mulder—remember, he wants you to call him Mulder—they hauled him out of there after one of our operatives got his throat torn out by the alien."

Ellen blinked. "They told me that was a worker."

"Honey, they're not gonna tell you the whole truth. It's just like practicing law." He turned around and cupped her face in his hand. "Clients lie to you."

"And you've lied to me."

"I've lied to you, too," Mulder put in. "And you, Feldpup, lie to everybody and call it law."

"Foxboy!"

"FeldmanŠ." Her Ratboy closed his eyes and counted to ten under his breath. "Put on the nice, pretty Valentino suit."

He was changing the subject. But oh, what a nice subject. "A Valentino?"

"Silk."

"Silk?" No. No. She couldn't be distracted. "You wouldn't be lying to me about this kid, would you?"

"A silk Valentino," Mulder intoned. "I wouldn't change the subject if I were you, Feldpup. Not when it means improving your wardrobe."

"Shut up, Foxboy!"

"Mulder," her Ratboy corrected her. "And no, I'm not lying to you."

Ellen licked her lips. "What color suit?"

Her Ratboy slid out of the car and walked around to the trunk, counting to ten again, but louder this time.

Ellen followed him and gasped when she saw the Valentino suit bag. Oh. Yes. Yesyesyes. Please let there be shoes, too.

"I got you the matching shoes and purse." He pulled out a Valentino shopping bag and dangled it under her nose. "You gonna question me again?"

"Well, I—"

Green eyes glinted evilly as he jerked the bag away.

"No."

"Good. Now get changed and I'll explain how to look for security cameras."


PART FOUR

There was a leak. That was the only thing that could possibly explain why Mulder was spotted at the airport in Arizona. The smoker strode purposefully down the hall of the basement of the Hoover building, puffing furiously on his Morley.

Kersh should have called the instant the tails noticed that Scully was alone. His own operatives should have reported in the second they saw Mulder, Krycek and Feldman board a plane bound for Arizona. Krycek should have known better than to board a plane with Mulder in the first place.

Incompetents. He was surrounded by incompetents.

Worse, he had the distinct impression that this delicate operation was about to be blown completely to hell. Gritting his teeth, he let himself into the basement office.

"Jeffrey? There's work to be done."

Mulder checked his watch. "She's been in there almost an hour."

"Yup."

Ratboy seemed awfully comfortable with the situation, Mulder thought. Too comfortable. "You sure you trust her to spot all the security devices for you?"

Krycek eyed him curiously. "Of course not."

"But, I thought—"

"Exactly. And so did Feldman." He chuckled softly. "I've got specs that tell me where the cameras and lasers are supposed to be and where they're not. Feldman's going to be looking for the ones that supposedly aren't there."

"She's going to be awfully upset if she has to tell you she didn't see any."

"I know. Which means she's going to pay extra close attention and find them." Krycek flashed a killer smile. "I'm pretty sure there's a couple my sources didn't tell me about."

"I'm impressed."

"You should be, 'cause there's more to it than just the cameras. Feldman's getting comfortable with the place. If something goes wrong, she'll be less likely to panic and get lost, or worse, cause a meltdown."

Mulder chuckled softly. "Glad to know you had a plan to prevent that."

Another flash of that smile. "And, of course, she's alerting the kid to our presence. Bet you he'll come to us when he knows you're here."

Ratboy was in control. The most in control Mulder had ever seen him, in fact. And better still, Ratboy was controlling Feldman. Well, as much as anybody could control Feldman. "I'm really impressed."

"It all comes down to knowing how to get Feldman to do what you want," Ratboy continued. "Mostly that involves mind-blowing sex and nice clothes. Kind of a win-win scenario no matter how you look at it, huh?"

"Yeah, but you're spoiling her rotten."

"That's because you won't let me spoil you, Foxboy."

"Mulder. My name is Mulder." He grinned at Krycek. "Would you buy me a Valentino suit, too?"

"I would if it got me what it gets me with Feldman."

Dangerous. Oh, so dangerous to be playing this game. "I'm not like Feldman, Ratboy, but you are. Very much so."

"In what way?"

"I'll show you later."

"Promises, promises. And my name is still Alex."

"I like Ratboy better."

"Why me?"

"Because you don't learn from your mistakes."

How was she supposed to keep track of all of the security stuff that Ratboy wanted her to find? It wasn't like she could mark it off on a map.

"Šlevels within the standards set by Rule 1534 subparagraph D." Dale, the balding, overweight sector supervisor pointed at an array of displays.

Ellen fought the urge to cringe. The stupid consoles all looked alike. No wonder these places had accidents. She caught Dale staring at her, as if he expected her to do something. Something a real NRC inspector would do. Think. Think fast. Ah. Perfect.

Gingerly, she ran her finger over the display. "When was the last time somebody dusted?"

Dale swallowed hard. "I'll have that taken care of."

Heh heh. "Good. I expect that to be corrected for my next visit."

"I'll put it in the log, ma'am."

Log? Her mind ran through the possibilities of what information a log like that could contain. What other logs might exist. Her Ratboy was going to be so proud of her. "What about your security logs, Dale? We've had a number of incidents at similar facilities and we're collecting data about security precautions."

"I can get copies of whatever information you need, ma'am."

She knew he would.

Alex saw her coming, saw the bounce in her step and braced himself. Mulder tensed slightly next to him as they watched Feldman come out of the main gate carrying a stack of file folders. Feldman was wearing a smile that spoke volumes about her little field trip.

"That look on her face is scaring me," Mulder commented.

"That makes two of us."

Feldman was just a little out of breath by the time she got to the car. "Hi, guys."

Alex gave her a curt, little nod, just like he would for any other trainee. After all, he was supposed to be her supervisor. "Report."

"Excuse me?"

Perfect. He had her completely off-balance now. "Let's hear your report. How many cameras did you see?"

She frowned up at him. "I lost count."

Mulder didn't do a very good job of concealing his snicker as a cough, earning him a quick elbow to the ribs from Alex.

"That's okay, kitten, I didn't expect you to—"

"I've got something better, Ratboy."

"Alex," he corrected her. And he knew she had something better. How could he not have guessed by now? If Feldman really botched her assignment, she would be so much on the defensive that she'd be attacking him. Still, she could stand being humbled. Just a little. "I have to tell you, kitten, I'm a little disappointed. It isn't that hard to count cameras—"

"I didn't need to," Feldman interrupted, indignantly. "I've got the keys to the kingdom!"

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"Uh, Ratboy, do you think Feldman-baiting is really a smart move," Mulder asked, taking a step back.

"Hush, Mulder, and let the kitten show us her keys." Alex gave her his most encouraging smile. "Go ahead."

"Gee, thanks, Ratboy," Feldman snapped, shifting the folders from her left hand to her right. "My keys to the kingdom are in these files. Some of them are garbage, radiation level readings and maintenance logs and so forth. I figured a real inspector would want copies, so I got them and—"

"Told you she was just like you, Ratboy," Mulder said, under his breath.

Alex shot him a warning look and then beamed at Feldman. He could guess where this was going, but he wanted to hear how she did it. "You've got good stuff there, don't you? What is it?"

"Blueprints." Feldman concluded, triumphantly. "Blueprints that show you the locations of all the cameras, lasers, pressure plates and other stuff I couldn't recognize. I even have a list of the security codes for the doors."

Blueprints. She got the actual blueprints. It took every bit of self-control not to look as flabbergasted as he was. "How the hell—"

"I told Dale that this was an unannounced audit and one of the areas I was focusing on was security."

"Dale?"

"The assistant something or other who got stuck answering my questions. I started grilling him about security, so he let me go through all their files and copy what I needed." Feldman was positively glowing as she reached into her purse. "And I swiped a passcard."

"I take it back," Mulder chuckled. "She's better than you, Ratboy."

Alex was beginning to believe that himself.

Mulder rested a hand on Feldman's shoulder, drawing her close to him, away from Krycek, while the other man fiddled with the circuit panel for the security system. Her slender body was rigid with tension and he could see she was breathing rapidly.

"Easy, Feldpup," he murmured, kneading her shoulders. "We're gonna be just fine."

Krycek glanced at them over his shoulder and Mulder could swear he saw a flicker of jealousy in Ratboy's eyes.

Feldman took a step forward. "Can I help, Ratboy?"

"Alex," he corrected her, as if this time it might actually make a difference.

She looked up at Mulder. "Fo—"

"Don't even think about calling me 'Foxboy'." Mulder lifted the small woman so that they were eye level. No, it wasn't his imagination. She was trembling, ever so slightly. "You want to talk about it?"

"Put me down," Feldman protested. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Sure there is. You're nervous because we're breaking and entering, Feldpup."

"Aren't you? I mean, you're supposed to enforce the law, not break it."

"I won't tell if you don't." Mulder lowered her to the floor and tousled her hair. "And I'm sure Ratboy can keep a secret."

"Alex. My name is still Alex." Ratboy muttered sourly. He turned and shot them both a look. "It's show time. Kitten, how about putting that pass card to the test?"

PART FIVE

There was no going back now. Ellen braced herself and slid the pass card, watching the indicator light as it flicked from red to green. "We're in."

Her Ratboy patted her behind affectionately. "Nice work, princess."

"All I did was slip it in—"

"Promises, promises," he grinned at her. "Maybe later, after we've dropped the kid at his destination."

Mulder cleared his throat. "I assume you know where to look for Gibson,."

"Yup."

Ellen waited for him to say more. Instead, her Ratboy adjusted the flame-thrower that was slung over his shoulder and moved ahead quietly. Gracefully. She watched him for a heartbeat before following, admiring him. There was just something so hot about the way he carried a weaponŠ.

"Stop checking out his butt and start moving," Mulder whispered in her ear.

"You're just jealous because I wasn't checking out yours."

"I wasn't checking out your butt, either, Feldpup." Mulder grinned wickedly. "I could have been checking out Ratboy's—"

"Would you two cut it out already!?" Her Ratboy tapped his foot impatiently. "If you get me killed, you'll have nothing to fight over."

"We're not fighting over you," Ellen sniffed, indignantly. Not much, anyway. After all, he was her Ratboy, not Mulder's.

"Whatever. Just move. We're behind schedule."

"What schedule? We never talked about a schedule, Ratbo—"

"Feldman." Her Ratboy tapped her nose with a finger. "Hush."

She hushed, ignored Mulder's irritating smirk and followed her Ratboy down the halls to the next set of steel doors.

Her Ratboy beamed at her, benevolently. "Okay, kitten. Slip it in for me."

"Ratboy!"

"Alex," Mulder corrected her. "His name is Alex."

"Thanks, Foxboy," Krycek grinned.

Was it her imagination or were the two of them starting to think and act alike? She braced herself and ran the card through. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Miss—hot damn! It was green. "Was it good for you, Ratboy?"

"Always, princess. And my name is still Alex." He yanked open the door. "Let me go in first. Mulder, you stay behind me. Kitten, hold the door."

"I've got a better idea. Why don't you put your hands over your head and turn around. Slowly." The voice was female, dangerous.

Mulder raised his hands and turned. "Diana?"

"Fox?"

Diana? As in Fowley? With—oh, lord, it couldn't be, but it was—Jeffrey Spender. And he looked constipated. Or maybe angry. Or maybe both.

"Hands in the air, Krycek," Spender snapped. "Both of 'em."

Uh-oh. Think fast, Feldman. Think. Think. Yeah. Perfect! Ellen launched herself at Spender and threw her arms around him, burying her face against his shirt. "Oh, Jeffrey, thank God! He said he w-wasŠh-he wouldŠif M mulder didn'tŠandŠoh, ohŠ"

"Shh, you're safe now," Spender murmured into her hair. "I won't let that sick sonofabitch Krycek kidnap you again."

"Spender!" Fowley was throwing Ellen one of the most venomous looks she'd ever gotten. Even worse than the looks Scully liked to give. "She's not a hostage, she's with them!"

Ellen snuffled loudly. "Jeffrey! She's being mean to me! After all I've been though!"

Maybe she couldn't fool Fowley, but, thankfully, Spender was a different story. He held her tighter with one arm, while keeping his gun trained on her Ratboy. "She doesn't mean it, Ellen."

"Yes she does! Everybody's been mean to me today. Krycek was mean to me, Mulder was mean to me and now that bitch is being mean to me," Ellen whined.

"Krycek was mean to you?"

Ellen nodded wordlessly. If she looked at her Ratboy or Mulder, it would ruin everything, and she needed Spender to believe her, to not pay attention to what she had up her sleeve.

"Cuff Krycek, Diana," Spender ordered. "Nice and tight."

"Didn't know you were that kinky, Jeffy," her Ratboy purred as Fowley snapped the cuffs on him. "Or you either, hon."

"Shut up, Krycek," Mulder snarled, shoving him against the wall and patting him down. Ah, nice to see somebody had a clue here. "You have the right to remain silentŠ."

"In fact," Fowley hissed, "we'd prefer it. We want your confession on tape so we can convict you of kidnapping and assaulting a federal agent."

Perfect. They were playing right into her hands. Ellen sniffled and hiccuped loudly. "J-jeffrey?"

He finally holstered his gun and wrapped his arms around her, protectively. "It's okay, Ellen. I'm here now."

Was that tiny thing poking at her what she thought it was? It certainly wasn't his gun, that was for damned sure, because her hand was resting on that while her other hand made its way to his butt. "Ohhh, JeffreyŠ"

"Shhh."

Slowly. Carefully. Got it. "Jeffrey?"

"Ellen?"

She eased out of his embrace and slid back the safety on his gun. "Put your hands up. You and Princess Di. Do it! Now!"

"Ellen!?" Spender's mouth was hanging open. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Foxboy," Ellen barked. "Take her gun and get the key."

Mulder was surprised to find himself obeying her without question.

"Orders," her Ratboy purred. "She's hot when she gives orders, isn't she, Mulder?"

"I'll get back to you on that one, Ratboy," Mulder muttered, plucking the gun from Fowley's hand. "Diana? Keys, please."

"Fox, are you sure about this," Fowley asked. "I won't be able to help you if you—"

"His name is Mulder, you hag," Ellen snapped, as she plucked Spender's cuffs out of the pocket of his suit jacket. "And yes, he's sure."

"Settle down, Feldman," Mulder warned her. "Diana, I need those keys."

"No, you don't, Mulder." Her Ratboy dangled the handcuffs on his index finger, grinning wickedly. "These things can't hold me unless I want them to."

"Oh, Ratboy," Ellen sighed, as she cuffed Spender. "You're so cool."

"Ellen? B-but I thoughtŠyouŠIŠ" Spender's mouth was hanging open. "You can't be with KrycekŠ"

"Of course she's with him," Fowley hissed as her Ratboy used her handcuffs on her. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Well, he's not exactly the brightest bulb in the light fixture," her Ratboy murmured, pushing Fowley next to Spender. "I think I know a nice place where we can stash these two."

"So do I." A new voice piped out of nowhere.

Ellen whirled, gun in hand.

"Hi, Feldpup. I'm Gibson."

Alex felt his heart stop as Feldman pointed her gun at the kid.

"Feldman! No!" Mulder caught her by the wrist. "Gibson, it's okay, she won't hurt you."

"I know that. She just didn't want me to go away." Gibson blinked owlishly. "And she thinks I need new clothes."

"Figures," Alex muttered. Only Feldman.

"Well, he does," Feldman said, defensively. "Look at him."

"We'll buy him some," Alex promised her. He saw Fowley was about to open her mouth. "Don't say a word, Fowley. You, either, Spender. Kid, where would you like to stash these two?"

There was a long pause as Gibson thought about it. It was obvious the kid recognized him, but to Alex's relief he wasn't saying anything. Yet. "There's a storage room down the hall, but I don't know the combination to the lock. Feldpup scammed those combinations earlier from Mr. Thompson. I watched her. She's really funny. She kept thinking about you two and worrying if she was doing a good job."

"Gibson!" Feldman sniffed indignantly.

Spender made a strangled noise. "You work for Krycek! Ellen, how could you?!"

"She does more than work with me," Alex leered at him. "Lots more."

"Ewwww," Gibson and Spender said, simultaneously.

It was going to be a long mission.

"Think about what you're doing, Fox," Fowley called from the storage room as Krycek fiddled with the security keypad.

Feldman sniffed haughtily. "You should think about concealer, Agent Fowley. Actually, you should think about a face-lift. God knows, I would if I were you."

Mulder pulled her away from the door. "Feldman."

"She has a point," Krycek murmured. "Fowley's a little past her prime. Of course, Foxboy, you have a thing for experienced women, don't you?'

No. It couldn't beŠcould it? Ratboy was jealous of Fowley? Impossible. And yetŠ

Gibson tugged at Mulder's sleeve. "He is."

Ratboy dropped the screwdriver. "I'm what?"

"Jealous."

"Oh." Krycek nodded and picked up the screwdriver again. "Not really. Not of Fowley, anyway."

Too. Much. Information. "Are you finished yet, Ratboy?"

"Just about. And my name's still Alex."

Feldman was being too quiet Mulder decided. The little lawyer was staring at Diana, a scowl plastered on her face. Feldman was definitely jealous.

"Any last words before we lock you two lovebirds in for the night," Krycek asked their prisoners.

"Mmmffffmmm," Spender argued from behind his gag.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth, Jeffrey? Tsk, tsk." With that, Krycek slammed the door shut. "Okay, boys and girl, we're halfway home. Now all we have to is find the alien. Kid, you have any idea where it is?"

Gibson swallowed and took a step back. "It's gone."

"Say what?"

Mulder shot him a look and to his relief, Ratboy backed down. "Easy, Ratboy. Gibson, we need to find the alien before it hurts somebody."

"It won't hurt anybody. It's my friend."

"Of course it is," Feldman agreed. "And I'd like to meet it. I've never met an alien before. Are they really gray with big heads and big eyes?"

Gibson nodded. "Uh-huh. But they don't eat Reese's pieces."

"Oh."

Mulder rubbed his temples before turning back to Gibson. "What happened to it?"

"It left while Ratboy was fixing the lock."

"Ratboy's name is Alex," Mulder corrected him. "Where did it go?"

"I don't know. It just left. It knew Ratboy wanted to kill it and it was afraid." Gibson looked up at Mulder. "You don't want to kill it, do you, Mr. Mulder?"

Krycek's eyes narrowed slightly as he locked stares with Mulder. "I thought we agreed that it was the only way—"

"Gee, you know, I bet you'd look really nice in some bright colors," Feldman told Gibson, straightening the boy's collar.

"Mr. Mulder, help! She wants to make me wear Hilfiger!"

Trust Feldman to create a diversion. It wasn't the best diversion in the world, but it was a good one. "We can't have that, can we, Ratboy?"

"My name is still Alex and we're going to discuss this later."

Mulder was sure they would.

He should have seen this coming, should have known Mulder was going to balk at taking out the gray. Should have also seen that move with the car keys. What a pushy bastard, Mulder was, snatching the keys while Alex fumbled with the stupid key chain alarm.

He also should have realized the kid would warn the alien. After all, the kid could talk to it. The kid could read minds. The kidŠ. the kid should have run when he had the chance. If it had been him, he would have taken off while everybody was distracted and—

"Even if I ran away, I'm still a kid, Ratboy. I can't drive, I don't have any money—"

"And you don't have any manners, either," Feldman scolded. "First of all, his name is Alex—"

"But you call him Ratboy," Gibson protested.

Mulder coughed, but Alex knew that was a carefully concealed snicker.

"That's because he's my Ratboy," she purred in Alex's direction, as if the possessiveness of her declaration made the derogatory name any easier to bear.

Mulder coughed again.

Alex gritted his teeth. "I'm your Alex, kitten. And everybody had damned well better start calling me Alex or there are gonna be some sore butts around here."

"Yes, dear," Feldman cooed, before giving Gibson another stern look. "As I was saying, it's very, very rude to blurt out what other people are thinking."

"I can't help it, I just know—"

"You know what they're thinking. There's no reason you have to announce it."

Gibson sighed. "It's so dishonest. If people said what they really thought —"

"I'd be out of a job," Feldman finished. "My point is, it's great that you can read minds, but it's not always so great to tell what people are thinking —"

"You mean that you'd like to see Ra—uh, Alex spank Mr. Mulder?" Gibson wrinkled his nose. "And what does it mean that it makes you wet?"

Mulder made a small, strangled sound.

Feldman's face turned bright red.

Alex couldn't believe this conversation. Well, then again, considering how the rest of today was goingŠ "It means you have a lot to learn about women, kid."

"Well, don't you start teaching him, Ratboy," Feldman huffed.

"His name is Alex," Gibson corrected her. He glanced at Alex. "I don't think she'd make a sound like that if you spanked her."

"You'd be surprised, kid."

"Ugh! You people have dirty minds!"

It was definitely going to be a long night.

Without a doubt, this was Feldman's fault. It had the mark of Feldman all over it, Scully decided, as she watched the security team attempt to figure out the code that would let Fowley and Spender out of the storage room.

Even though the door was soundproof, she could see Spender through the triple-thick glass shouting Mulder's name and other names she couldn't make out. One of them had to be Feldman's.

She should have guessed Mulder would do something stupid. After all, eight days had passed since the last stupid thing he did and the bruises were almost faded. Which meant it was time for him to play 'let's ditch Scully' ag ain. But did he have to ditch her and run off with Feldman?

UnlessŠ.could they be rescuing Ratboy? Again?

Not even Ratboy could get into that much trouble. Could he? Well, if Feldman had him as pussy-whipped as Scully guessed, yes, Ratboy could.

This was all Feldman's fault. If she weren't so selfish about Ratboy and Mulder, Scully wouldn't have gotten a call from a pissed-off Kersh, bitching about what her irresponsible partner did to such sterling agents as Spender and Fowley. It figured Spender would figure out how to call the security desk at Indian Hills with his cell phone.

Not that it was doing Ferret-boy that much good. Somebody changed the combination on the door. Feldman. This had to be her doing.

"This isn't working," the technician sighed. "Somebody get a blow torch."

"It'll take hours to cut through this door," another tech complained.

"Well, for God's sake get the blow torch and order some food and coffee, Wilson!"

Great. If they were going to be stuck here for hours, Scully was going to be stuck here for hours.

Feldman was going to pay.

"I always thought Albuquerque would look different," Gibson sighed, settling himself on one of the motel room's beds. "You know, like in a Bugs Bunny cartoon and without all of those strip malls."

"If it wasn't for those strip malls, you wouldn't have clean clothes." Feldman dropped a Wal-Mart bag on the bed next to the boy. "And speaking of clean, young man, I suggest you brush your teeth and take a shower."

Gibson blinked up at her. "You're not my mother."

"No, but I have to look at you and I have to smell you. You have exactly ten seconds to get into that shower or you don't get whatever dessert Ra—uh, Alex brings."

Sighing, Gibson grabbed the bag and shuffled into the shower, muttering under his breath.

"Motherhood becomes you, Feldpup," Mulder chuckled, softly, reaching into the other Wal-Mart bag and pulling out one of the half-dozen bags of sunflower seeds she'd bought just for him.

The argument she gave Ratboy about shopping in a Wal-Mart because it was tacky was amusing in itself, but then she came out with four shopping bags of what she called necessities and Ratboy's reaction to her shopping spree was absolutely classic. Of course, when she told him she was forty dollars over budget, he gave her the money without questioning it. No doubt about it, Ratboy was pussy-whipped.

"I know how to handle kids, Mulder, I used to baby-sit."

He cracked a sunflower seed loudly. "So you told Ratboy when he bitched about your spending habits."

"Ratboy should have realized he needed to keep Gibson occupied. Besides, did you see his little face light up when I gave him that Game Boy?"

Mulder barely suppressed an evil grin. So what if he was stirring the pot? It was nice not to think about how tense it got when the question of what to do with the alien came up. "Did you see Ratboy's face when you gave me the sunflower seeds and the iced tea? Not to mention the fact that you remembered what size jeans I wear, my underwear sizes and the type of shaving cream I use."

Feldman frowned at him. "What reaction? He sent me in there to get supplies while the two of you watched Gibson. And since you didn't have time to pack, I thought—"

"Of course you did. You couldn't help it if it looked like you were trying to buy my affection the way he does with you, Feldpup."

"Are you saying he's jealous because I got you sunflower seeds and iced tea?"

"Well, you didn't get him anything."

"That's because he doesn't need to be pacified."

Nice volley. Nothing like verbal tennis with Feldman to pass the time. "Pacified? And here I thought you were trying to make Ratboy jealous."

"Of what?"

"Of us."

Feldman blinked innocently. "What us?"

"Whatever us you've concocted in your twisted little imagination, Feldpup. Don't think I didn't notice how you reacted to Agent Fowley—"

"Well, look at her, for Pete's sake! All those wrinkles are enough to make anybody react like that, except you," she sniffed, indignantly.

"And what about your jealous reaction to Ratboy? I thought you didn't mind sharing."

"His name," Feldman huffed, "is Alex. And I only mind if you're mean to him."

"Mean to him? When was I mean to him?"

"I saw you, Mulder. You don't agree with him about killing the alien."

"Neither do you, Feldpup." Mulder turned and cupped her chin in his hand. "You're not a killer and you're in over your head, do you realize that? You're working for them, working for Ratboy, maybe working against RatboyŠ.If I thought for a second it would keep you safe, I'd tell you to leave Ratboy and come with me."

Alex couldn't believe his ears. He'd been gone for exactly twenty minutes to get food and in twenty minutes Mulder was telling Feldman, 'Leave Ratboy and come with me.'

His lawn was being mowed.

Not that he didn't see it coming. Six bags of sunflower seeds. Bottles of Mulder's favorite kind of Snapple iced tea. Mulder wanted his Feldman. His. Feldman. It took him four years to get her. Four. Very. Long. Years.

Gritting his teeth, he turned the knob and walked in to see Mulder pinning Feldman to the bed, nibbling at her neck, murmuring about how he worried about her well-being.

Her eyes flew open, focusing on him and the bags of Kentucky Fried Chicken. "Ratboy! You're back."

"Alex," he corrected her. Delicately, now. Because if he showed Mulder he was jealous, Mulder would use that against him until the end of time. He dropped the bags on the small table, without giving her his customary kiss of greeting. Instead, he examined the condition of his hair in the mirror over the dresser. "Where's the kid?"

"Showering and changing into his jammies." Feldman pushed Mulder off of her and tugged Alex's arm, trying to turn him so that he was facing her. Alex obliged, staring down at her but still not giving her the kiss. She pouted up at him while Mulder watched impassively from the bed.

"What," Alex asked innocently.

"Did you get extra crispy?"

Extra crispy? Extra crispy?! Why couldn't she ever make it easy for him? Just once? Was that too much to ask for?

Before Alex could ponder his next choice of words, Mulder snickered. "I hope you remembered I like extra gravy, Ratboy."

Now there was an opening that could give Feldman a taste of her own medicine. Alex smiled with as much fake nostalgia as he could muster. "How could I forget? We were on surveillance, you told me you saw a KFC up the road and when I came back with your food, you were gone."

"Ditched you like a bad date, didn't I?"

"Your loss, Foxboy. I could've taught you a whole new meaning for 'finger lickin' good.'"

"Ugh! Don't you people ever think about anything but sex?!" Gibson's nose was wrinkled in an eerie imitation of Feldman. "The idea of you and Mr. Mulder together is gross!"

Feldman frowned at the boy. "Did you wash behind your ears?"

"You're not my mother."

"Your mother would want you to wash behind your ears," Feldman said, firmly, inspecting Gibson carefully. Satisfied, she patted his damp hair. "Go sit down and we'll give you some dinner."

"Can she give me orders like that, Ratboy?"

"Alex, kid. My name is Alex. And yes, Feldman gives everybody orders."

Gibson's nose wrinkled again. "Ewww! I don't need to know that makes you hard!"

"Then stay out of my head." Alex flashed the kid a feral grin as the boy scampered to the cheap motel table and climbed into a chair. "Otherwise you're gonna get one hell of a sex education."

"Ratboy!" Feldman slapped lightly at his arm. "Behave. He's too young—"

"I'm twelve!"

"Right and twelve is old enough to know that grown-ups have sex." Alex pulled Feldman to him and put her over his knee. "I believe I told you not to call me Ratboy. Several times."

"Don't you dare, Ratboy!"

"Alex, Feldpup." Mulder chuckled softly as he put a couple of pieces of chicken on a plate for Gibson. "Ratboy wants you to call him Alex."

"Oh, that's disgusting," Gibson moaned. "I don't want to know that three people can have sex."

"You can watch if you like," Alex offered, giving Feldman a playful slap on her behind before releasing her. "I'd let you participate, but there are laws against it."

"Mr. Mulder! Make him stop!"

"You heard him, Ratboy. Give it a rest," Mulder ordered. "You, too, Feldpup."

"I am not a dog," Feldman protested. "And you're on my you-know-what list, Ratboy."

Gibson snickered softly. "She does kind of sound like an angry Chihuahua."

"And you should see what she does when I slip her my bone," Alex grinned.

"Ewww," Feldman and Gibson complained in unison.

So what if it was going to be a long night?

"I'm telling you it's Stockholm Syndrome."

"And I'm telling you she's collaborating with Krycek."

"Would you two give it a rest for five minutes," Scully barked, earning her two startled stares from Fowley and Spender. "Feldman's latest fiasco isn't the issue. The issue is how Mulder got coerced into helping Ratboy and what they're planning on doing to Gibson."

"Ratboy?" Diana frowned at her. "I think it's really immature of you to call a suspect 'Ratboy,' Agent Scully."

Scully glared at her. "If your opinion actually mattered to me, I'd respond to that."

"Girls, please, no catfights," Spender whined.

"Shut up, Spender. This is all your fault," Scully snarled at him. "If you weren't stupid enough to fall for Feldman's tricks, Mulder wouldn't have been kidnapped by Ratboy and Feldman."

Diana rolled her eyes. "He didn't look like he was being forced to do anything."

Scully considered resorting to the childhood tactic of 'lalalalala, I can't hear you' but that would most certainly put her on Spender's level. "That's because Feldman has the ability to con Mulder into anything."

"Sounds like an X-File, doesn't it, Agent Spender? I believe that puts this matter squarely in our jurisdiction," Fowley gloated.

Scully clenched her teeth. "Maybe it should be, but Kersh told me to find Mulder, not you."

"Oh no," Spender protested. "We're not working with you."

"Is that a fact? Why don't you tell Kersh that," Scully challenged. She thru st her cell phone under Spender's nose. "Go ahead. Call him."

"We're working with you," Spender grumbled.

And that, most certainly, was Feldman's fault.

"It would help if I knew where I was going, Ratboy."

Alex narrowed his eyes at the man in the driver's seat and decided to ignore the gratuitous 'Ratboy.' "Don't worry, Foxboy, you're heading in the right direction. I'll tell you if there's any change."

Mulder turned to Gibson, who sat quietly in the passenger seat, breaking his record for Tetris. "Do you know where we're going?"

"You're encouraging him, Mulder," Feldman warned. "How's he going to learn to use his ability responsibly if everyone keeps treating him like a Magic Eight Ball?"

"Sounds like Feldman is having delusions of motherhood," Mulder chuckled. "There wouldn't by any chance be a Ratling on the way, would there, Ratboy?"

"Oh, for Pete's sake, don't get him started," Feldman groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I can't take another argument about a baby."

No! She didn't. She did. Alex felt his stomach churn uncomfortably as Mulder inevitably seized on this new tidbit of information about the state of affairs in the Krycek household. Alex's fingers curled around the knife in his pocket as he watched Mulder's reflection in the rearview mirror. Yup, the federal agent's eyes were glowing evilly.

"Another argument," Mulder mused, mock-helpfulness on full. "That's kind of a relationship-killer, Feldpup. Which of you doesn't want a baby?"

"I never said I didn't want a baby," Feldman argued. "All I said is that I don't want one now. How many times do I have to tell you I'm not ready, Ratboy?"

"And now you've told Mulder," Alex hissed, "which is just like giving him a gun and letting him point it at my head."

Mulder faked a wounded look. "I'm just trying to help you, Ratboy."

"The hell you are," Alex snapped. No! He bit his tongue and settled back in his seat, giving the other man the coldest stare he could muster. "I'll thank you not to interfere in my marriage, Foxboy."

"We're not married," Feldman sniffed.

Alex narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes, we are. We've been over this a million times. You're my wife and you're going to stay my wife until I'm dead, which, at the rate you and Foxboy are going, is going to happen any minute ­"

"In that case, you'd better knock her up, don't you think," Mulder chortled. "Or you could adopt Gibson."

"Shut up, Foxboy!" Eerily, this was shouted in unison by Gibson, Feldman and Alex.

It was going to be a long, long ride.

xx

PART SIX

Spender couldn't wait for this assignment to be over. Bad enough he had to put up with Fowley but to get the double whammy of working with Scully was almost too much to bear. Luckily, his father was looking out for him.

"These are the ground rules, Scully," Spender said, with more than a hint of authority in his voice. "We ask the questions. You observe, got it?"

Scully folded her arms across her chest. "I'll be happy to watch you two make complete idiots of yourselves."

"I've investigated reports of aliens before," Fowley snapped. "With Fox, as a matter of fact."

"How nice for you."

Fowley gritted her teeth. "If there's any truth to what this woman has to say, we can postulate that Fox is looking for this thing."

"Wouldn't it have been simpler to run the tags on the getaway car," Scully asked. "I'm sure Ratboy was smart enough to change the plates somewhere along the line, but at least it would have been more solid a lead than questioning a ninety-three year old woman about what she thinks was an alien in her backyard."

Spender snorted derisively. If Scully only knew who his father was, that his father told him to interview this woman before searching for Mulder, she'd lose that smug bitch attitude of hers real fast. "You're just jealous because it's an X-File and all you get to investigate is manure."

"Would you cut it out already," Fowley snapped, stomping up the rickety porch and knocking on the faded wooden door. "Mrs. Johnson? Mrs. Etta Mae Johnson?"

"Why hello, child." The wizened old woman who opened the door smiled toothlessly at them. "Have you all come to ask about my visitor last night?"

"Yes. Yes, we have." Scully pushed past Fowley and held up her badge. "You told the sheriff it was an alien?"

"You mean from outer space and such like?" Etta Mae let loose with a croaking laugh that shook her whole body. "I never believed in little green men."

"Of course not," Spender soothed. "But could you describe what you saw?"

"It wasn't no alien from outer space, child. It was one of those illegal aliens. Poor thing. I caught him wandering around my garden buck naked. He was all deformed and simple." Etta Mae clasped her hands under her ample chins. "Poor little retarded boy. I gave him some clothes and some cookies but while I was calling the sheriff he done ran off."

"In what way was he, uh, deformed," Spender asked, shooting a look at Scully. Yeah, she was going to ask this question, but it was his case.

"Typical, you know. The big head, the big eyes. What do they call that, Down's Syndrome?"

Scully nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"And he only had three fingers on each hand, four if you count the thumbs. I feel for that boy's mother," Etta Mae clucked. "I tried talking to him, but I don't think he could speak. And he didn't eat the cookies. I don't suppose any of you would like some cookies."

"No, thank you." Fowley offered the woman a weak smile. "Do you mind if we look around?"

"Go right ahead, but just be sure you mind my gardenias."

Gardenias. Retarded aliens. Spender ground his teeth. It was going to be a long investigation.

The bickering was starting to get on her nerves. On the other hand, at least the topic had mercifully changed from her current childless state to whether or not to kill the alien when they found it. Either way, the debate had been raging for what seemed like an eternity and Ellen was ready to use the flame-thrower on Foxboy and Ratboy.

"We've been over this a zillion times," her Ratboy groaned. "Look, Mulder, even if we could take this thing alive, I guarantee it would be dead by the time you did anything useful with it. And you'd probably be dead, too. Is it worth it?"

"How can you ask me if the truth is worth it, Ratboy?"

"The only truth to this whole argument is that they'll send a team to fry both you and the gray."

Ellen stabbed her fork into her home fries and tried to ignore the hushed bickering.

"That's only if you lead them to us, Ratboy."

"My name is still Alex and you're being naïve."

That flame thrower was looking better by the second. It was well past the time to change the subject. "Mulder, are you gonna eat that sausage link?"

A slow, lazy grin spread across his face as he picked it up with his fork and leaned across the table. "Open wide, Feldpup and I'll slip you my sausage."

Her Ratboy knocked Mulder's hand out of the way, thrusting his sausage laden fork under her nose. "Take mine, kitten. It's bigger than Mulder's."

"This is worse than lunch at school," Gibson complained. "And does everything make you people think of sex?"

Ellen opened her mouth to announce that it was the only way for these two to get along but Mulder jammed his sausage in her mouth first. "Mmmffffmm!"

Krycek glared at Mulder. "There was no need to do that."

She coughed and spat the sausage into her napkin and nodded in agreement.

"I'm never getting involved with girls," Gibson decided. "Girls are too much trouble."

Her hand closed over her Ratboy's wrist, pushing his fork away before he could try to one-up Mulder. "And you think guys are less trouble? After what you've seen the past two days?"

Gibson suddenly found his pancakes very interesting.

"I thought so." She drained her cup of coffee. "Anyhow, after listening to your pointless bickering for the past, oh, I don't know, three hours, I think it's time the voice of reason spoke."

Mulder snorted derisively. "You think that's you?"

"Why don't you let her finish," Krycek snapped. "Go on, kitten."

"It seems we have two priorities," Ellen began. "One is to deliver Gibson. The other is the alien thing. I think we're going to have to take care of one and then the other."

Mulder took a long swallow of his coffee. "Gibson could lead us to the alien."

"I can't believe you'd exploit a minor for your own petty self-interest, Foxboy."

"First of all, don't call me Foxboy. Secondly, it's not exploitation—"

"It is if Gibson doesn't want to and he doesn't," Ellen said, firmly.

Gibson turned around and frowned at her. "Who died and made you my mom?"

"Don't you start, too," her Ratboy warned him. "She's trying to be nice to you."

"She's bossy!"

Mulder snorted. "We've known that for years."

Ellen glared at him. "You're really trying to screw up the dynamic here, aren't you?"

"What dynamic? We've never had a dynamic—"

"Yes, we did! Right up until we found Gib—uh, right up until you didn't want to kill —umŠ" Quick. There had to be something she could say that wouldn't insult everybody. "We just did, okay?"

"So what are you saying, Feldpup? Why can't we all just get along?" There was more than a hint of sarcasm in the federal agent's voice.

"She's trying to help," Krycek snapped. "There's no reason to pick on her."

"I could pick on you, Ratbo—"

"His name is Alex," Ellen interrupted. "And if you're going to be a pain in the ass, we can leave you here, Mulder."

Her Ratboy turned to her, a faint smile on his lips, obviously pleased with her statement. "That's right, Mulder. We can leave you here. And I'm sure Scully will come get you after you tell her how I betrayed you and abandoned you in a diner in New Mexico."

"You'll have to handcuff him to something in the men's room, Ratboy," Ellen decided. "If you leave him here, he'll make too much noise when we leave."

"Mr. Mulder, she's serious," Gibson put in, a worried look on his face. "Don't leave me alone with these two. They scare me."

Mulder studied her thoughtfully. "You'd really leave me handcuffed in the men's room, wouldn't you, Feldpup?"

She nodded firmly, pointedly ignoring the 'Feldpup' while her Ratboy beamed at her.

Outmaneuvered, the federal agent feigned a disinterested stare in her direction. "You want me to promise to behave myself?"

"It wouldn't do any good, really," Krycek mused. "You never behave yourself. Not that that's a bad thing in certain circumstances—"

"Oh, gross!" Gibson buried his face in his hand.

"You shouldn't read his mind then," Ellen scolded. "You know Ratboy likes to think about sex."

"Oh, and you don't," her Ratboy retorted. "The second my back is turned, you're humping Mulder's leg like a—"

"Ratboy!"

"Well, well, well," Mulder snickered. "Somebody's jealous."

"I am NOT jealous!"

"You are, Ratboy."

Not again. Ellen reached for the rest of Mulder's breakfast with the knowledge that it was going to be a very long day.

Feldman's fault. This had to be Feldman's fault. How else could Scully explain why she was in a drunk tank, talking to a trucker who ran his rig into a dairy barn?

"Š.damnedest thing, ya know," Al Bausch, the truck driver in question was telling Fowley. "I don't normally pick up hitchhikers, but it was raining, and this poor bastard—uh, sorry ladies—this poor kid was soaked to the bone."

"Can you tell us what he looked like," Diana asked, softly.

"Well, it was dark, but he was definitely one of them retards, uh, I mean, whaddayacallit?"

"Mentally challenged," Spender offered, helpfully.

Scully found herself wondering if he realized he just described himself in ten words or less.

"Exactly," Bausch agreed, enthusiastically, as he scratched his chest through the stained flannel shirt he was wearing. "Big head and everything."

Scully gritted her teeth. "Was that why you lost control of your truck?"

"Nah, I seen retards before—I mean, mentally challenged. This one was somethin' else. Kinda scared the piss outta me when my headlights hit it. It had a big head an' these big eyes an' it looked just like one of those aliens from Close Encounters." Bausch caught her frown and then turned to Spender. "I'm serious, man, it had like three fingers and a really long thumb."

"Just one thumb," Spender asked, snottily.

Bausch shook his head and muttered something that sounded distinctly like 'asshole'. "One on each hand."

"But it was wearing clothes, right," Spender snapped, obviously pissed by the insult.

"Yup, an Agway T-shirt an' a pair of pants that looked like they came off a scarecrow."

Spender backed up a step and looked at Fowley. "What did Mrs. Johnson say she gave the, uh, suspect to wear?"

"Take a wild guess, Sherlock." Scully rolled her eyes. How this one ever got anywhere in the Bureau was a mystery. Unless, of course, it wasŠcould it be?Š..Feldman's fault.

This whole operation was going completely to hell. Bringing Mulder along wasn't as brilliant an idea as he first thought, Alex realized. Worse, now Mulder knew he was jealous. No, worse was Feldman knowing he was jealous. She was going to rag on him until the end of time about double standards or, heaven forbid, try to make him give up men—including Mulder. Well, if he had to give up Mulder, so did she and there was no way in hell she'd do that. Was there?

The bleating of Mulder's cell phone was the first sound in the car in the two hours since they'd left the diner.

"Gee, let me guess," Feldman sniffed. "That would be Scully calling to tell you she's found something you won't believe."

Mulder turned around in the passenger seat and stared at her. "You wanna answer it?"

"Hell, no!"

"Didn't think so." He pulled the phone out of his jacket. "Mulder."

The rental car screeched to a halt on the side of the road as Alex used his good hand to yank the phone from Mulder's hand and hurl it out the window. "Are you crazy?! Do you want them to find us? She's working with Spender and Fowley, for God's sake!"

Mulder fixed Alex with his best interrogation stare. "And how exactly would you know that, Ratboy?"

"My secret rat sense, Mulder." Heaven help him, he was calling himself a rat.

The federal agent snorted and reached for the door. "Forget it, Krycek. I'm talking to my partner."

"If you walk out of this car, I'll leave you here, Mulder," Alex warned him, ignoring the wide-eyed look of disbelief on Feldman's face.

"He really would, Mr. Mulder." Gibson's little hand was on Mulder's arm now. "And he knows because he called someone named Howie for an update. And this Howie person said—"

"Howie?" Feldman wrinkled her nose. "You'd believe somebody who calls himself Howie?"

Alex clenched his teeth. The smoker's simple operation was turning into a suicide mission, thanks to Feldman and Mulder. Unless, that was the smoker's plan all alongŠ Could the old bastard be that devious? Yeah, of course, he could. "I have my reasons for trusting Howie, kitten. After all, he was able to tell me everything you were doing while I was out of the country two years ago."

"You spied on me?!"

"I didn't spy on you, I was keeping an eye on you."

"And the difference would be what, exactly?"

Alex took a deep breath and counted to ten. "Can't you just be flattered that I was worried about you?"

"You SPIED on me," Feldman barked. "What'd you do, have somebody follow me and take pictures of every bad date I went on?"

"I'd be more concerned about the camera he had set up over the bed so he could watch videos of you mastur—uh, pleasuring yourself," Mulder chortled.

Despite Mulder's quick verbal edit, Gibson blanched visibly. "Ewwww."

"RATBOY!"

"Alex. My name is Alex." How the hell did Mulder know about the videos? And did that mean that Mulder knew about the camera Alex had installed over Mulder's bed?

Mulder put his lips close to Alex's ear. "Of course I knew about the camera over my bed, Ratboy. Why do you think I shouted your name every time?"

No. Nononono. Mulder was not only going to piss off Feldman, but, even worse, he was going to make her jealous.

"What name did you scream, Feldpup?"

"It wasn't yours, Foxboy," Feldman sniffed, indignantly. "And you can tell Ratboy that I'm not speaking to him."

"Feldman!"

That was all the opportunity Mulder needed to leap out of the car and onto to side of the road to look for his cell phone. By the time the federal agent hit the speed dial for Scully, Alex had the car out of park and was putting the pedal to the metal.

"You're not going to leave him there, are you, Ratboy," Feldman asked, turning so she could watch Mulder through the back window. "I mean, this is the middle of nowhere and it's hot and—"

"I thought you weren't speaking to me," Alex snapped.

"I'm not. And what are you so pissed off about?"

"I'm remembering how much it cost me to watch you to call your vibrator 'Mulder'."

"I did not—"

"You did."

"My vibrator's name was Max!"

Gibson retched loudly. "Ooooh, I'm gonna be sickŠ."

"Shut up, kid."

"Don't be mean to him. It's not his fault you left Mulder alone in the middle of nowhere."

"I am not leaving him," Alex snarled. "I'm going to let him stew until I don't feel like shooting him. Maybe he'll start thinking about paying attention to me when the black helicopters start flying over his head, thanks to that stupid phone call to the Wicked Witch of DC."

"Black helicopters? Chanel?"

"What?" Alex blinked and tried to follow Feldman's train of thought. Black helicopters made her think of Chanel. It figured. "No, kitten, Chanel doesn't design helicopters for the Consortium."

"You don't have to sound all condescending about it," she sniffed.

"I am not—" No. He needed at least one person on his side. At least one person who wouldn't argue endlessly with him. "Kitten, would you like something pretty from the Chanel boutique when this is over?"

"And now you're patronizing me."

"Would a suit and a pair of earrings still sound patronizing?"

"Not if there was also a matching pair of shoes."

Damn. She was expensive. Still, the Chanel boutique would be less expensive than those damned surveillance tapes of her and Max. "We'll talk about shoes."

"He'll get you the shoes," Gibson told Feldman.

"Oh, Ratboy."

Oh God.

Mulder wiped the dust from his jeans and shook his cell phone. The damned thing was dead. And he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere, thanks to that lying dirtbag, Krycek. That lying dirtbag who knew all sorts of useful things. That lying dirtbag who was absolutely incredible in bed. Especially in tandem with Feldman. Feldman. Scully was right. This was all Feldman's fault. If only he hadn't slept with her four years agoŠor maybe if he hadn't had a quickie with her in Fresh KillsŠwell, maybe it would have been fine if Feldman never found out about Ratboy.

But she did. And it seemed like a good idea to get into bed with both of them. He should have known better than to mix business and pleasure.

On the other hand, Gibson was involved. An alien was involved. He really couldn't have said no, could he?

Mulder sighed and started walking. Wait. Up aheadŠwas that a car?

He got into the middle of the road and flashed his badge. This usually worked. Usually.

The brown Caprice slowed and pulled alongside him. "Did you learn your lesson yet, Foxboy?"

Oh. God. Ratboy. And in a new car. He couldn't have stolen a car that quickly, could he? Yes, he could. After all this was Ratboy. "My name is still Mulder, Ratboy."

Krycek chuckled softly. "Your name is mud, friend. After all, we're the ones in the nice, air-conditioned car and you're the one standing in the heat with a broken cell phone."

"What makes you think it's broken?"

"No helicopters."

Sneaky. Devious. Ratboy. "Maybe they're on their way."

"Maybe I should leave you here."

"And maybe I should take charge of this whole fiasco," Feldman complained from the back seat. "You two couldn't plot your way out of a paper bag."

"You know, I could leave you here with him," Krycek told her.

She snorted at him. "You could, but you won't 'cuz you're jealous."

"I am not jealous. I'm justŠ.possessive."

Pussy-whipped is what Ratboy was. So what did that make him, Mulder wondered as he got into the car. Maybe he just didn't want to know.

"Whipped," Gibson whispered at him. "You're just plain whipped."

"Gee, thanks."

This fiasco couldn't be over fast enough.

She couldn't find Mulder fast enough. Scully frowned at the burnt-out remains of the Peter Rabbit Day Care Ski Center and couldn't help but think that somehow, this had to be Feldman's fault. After all, didn't Feldman blow things up?

"I need you to go over it one more time, Mrs. Geist," Fowley was saying softly to the proprietor. "I know you've told the police everything you know, but there might be a detail you missed."

Scully couldn't miss this. She elbowed Spender out of her way so she could hear this from the horse's mouth, so to speak.

The woman tried to smile but failed miserably. "It was awful."

"I'm sure it was," Spender put in, earning glares from both Scully and Fowley.

"No, really, dear, it was completely awful," Mrs. Geist continued. "You know, once a month we have a special session for the special ed kids from the local school district and we get experienced ski instructors to guide them down the bunny slopes. Well, there was this one little boy—"

"Can you describe him," Spender asked impatiently.

"Certainly, he was wearing an Agway T-shirt and a torn pair of pants. Poor thing. And he was so cold. So we rummaged in the lost and found until we found a bunny suit that would fit him." The woman smiled again. "Everything was fine until Derek tried to put the skis on him."

Spender held up his hand. "Wait a second. How many fingers did he have?"

"Derek has ten, dear."

"Not Derek, the boy."

"Hmmm, I can't recall. We did have to give him a grown-ups pair of mittens, though."

Scully found herself missing Mulder. She never had to put up with interviews like this with Mulder. "What happened when Derek tried to put the skis on the boy?"

"Oh, my goodness. I never heard a sound like that in my life. The poor lamb went wild! And the skis were on, so he was all over the place. I was yelling at him to fall over, but maybe he didn't understand and the next thing I knew he was heading for the lodge and it burst into flames."

"Spontaneously," Fowley asked, incredulously.

"No, dear, when he crashed into it."

Scully found herself staring at the wreckage again. "Did the firemen find a body?"

"If you bothered reading the report," Spender hissed, "You'd know they didn't."

"Yeah, but you got that report from your anonymous source. And considering you trust him as much as you trust your hairdresser, I don't have that much faith in him," Scully shot back.

Mrs. Geist cleared her throat. "As I was about to say, they didn't find a body because that boy kept going clear into the woods, on fire and howling like a banshee. They've been looking for him all day but all they found was the hood from his bunny suit."

"We can get that from the sheriff," Spender informed the group.

Scully gritted her teeth. If he asked her to do an autopsy on it, she was going to kill him.

"Diana, you have some sort of process you can do, right?"

Fowley's teeth were clenched as she answered. "Yeah, I've got Mulder's alien detector kit in the trunk of the car."

If only there was such a thing. Scully knew it would confirm her suspicion —there was no alien. It was Feldman. What else could it be? After all, she didn't believe in little gray men.

xx

PART SEVEN

"Well, I've got good news and I've got bad news," Krycek announced, as he slid back into the driver's seat of their nice, new Honda Passport. "The bad news is, we're headed in the wrong direction. Our alien was spotted in Colorado."

"And the good news," Ellen asked.

He reached into his jacket and, with a flourish, pulled out a copy of Vogue. "There's a nice big feature on Chanel."

"How is that good for the rest of us, Ratboy," Mulder drawled, lazily, sipping at the bottle of iced tea her Ratboy bought him.

"It gives the kitten something to do. And I've got batteries for Gibson's Game Boy andŠ," her Ratboy rummaged in his pocket. "And for my Foxboy, a nice, big bag of sunflower seeds."

"Gee, thanks, dad," Mulder snorted.

Ellen turned around and slapped his shoulder. "Don't be nasty to Ratboy. He's trying to be nice to you."

"He's being nice to you and you're still calling him Ratboy," Gibson pointed out.

"He likes it when I call him Ratboy," Ellen muttered, defensively, flipping through her copy of Vogue. Maybe she could change the subject. "Oh wow. Look. A new Ralph Lauren fragrance."

Her Ratboy took the magazine and sniffed. "If you don't call me Ratboy for the next half hour, I'll buy you a bottle."

"And all I got was a crummy bag of seeds," Mulder chuckled.

"That's because they didn't have any stroke books for you," her Ratboy shot back. "It was a family establishment."

Ellen cringed and glanced at Gibson, silently begging him not to ask what a stroke book was.

"I guess that means you and Feldpup'll have to make up a stroke story to tell me later when we find a motel."

Whew. Mulder was getting horny. It was getting dark. They were all getting on each other's nerves. But Mulder, mercifully, was horny. Which meant he'd be less cantankerous if she changed seats with Gibson and—

"I'm not changing seats and sitting next to Ratboy so you can feel up Mr. Mulder," Gibson told her. "Whatever that means."

A sunflower seed ricocheted off the windshield and narrowly missed her Ratboy as Mulder coughed and choked.

"Change seats with him kid and I'll teach you how to clean a gun," her Ratboy offered.

"Ra—uh, AlŠuh, Alyosha Nikolai Krycek! That is not something you should be —"

"Your middle name is Nikolai?" Mulder popped another sunflower seed into his mouth and crunched it loudly.

"Foxboy!" Ellen glared at him.

"Gibson," her Ratboy ventured. "Come up here and I'll teach you to swear in Russian."

Was it her imagination or was her Ratboy attempting to sabotage her little fondle-a-thon with Mulder?

"No, it's not your imagination," Gibson snickered at her.

Ellen frowned and thought fast. "Ratb—uh, Alex, honey? Can I drive for a while?"

Green eyes glittered at her. "You wanna drive?"

"Uggghh. Okay, okay, I'll change seats," Gibson groaned.

"Thanks, kitten. For that, you get the Ralph Lauren body lotion, too." Her Ratboy pulled over and got out of the car.

Within seconds, Ellen was in the driver's seat, Gibson was next to her, looking like he was going to be ill and Mulder was making happy sounds from the back seat.

Was it worth it?

She glanced at the magazine and then at the happy male couple in the back.

"Make sure you leave some for me," she told her Ratboy.

No answer. JustŠ.sucking sounds in the darkness. Well, maybe it was better if Ratboy didn't talk with his mouth full and—

"Eww, that's disgusting!"

"No, that's selfish," Ellen corrected Gibson.

Selfish. Ratboy. Selfish. Foxboy.

And the closest motel was twenty miles away.

It was going to be a long drive.

"I've got dibs on Feldman," Alex announced as they let themselves into the motel room. He grabbed Feldman's arm and steered her into the bathroom. "You've made out like a bandit today, princess. You've conned me into buying you a Chanel suit, earrings, and shoes—"

"I was thinking about a tennis bracelet instead of earrings."

Greedy. Feldman. Alex grinned down at her wolfishly. "Well, that's a whole different deal, kitten."

To his surprise, Feldman backed up and pouted up at him. "Hmmphh."

Well, well, well. Was his Feldman jealous? How nice to know. "Something on your mind, kitten?"

"No. Yes. No!" Feldman folded her arms across her chest. "No."

"You're jealous."

"That's because you're my Ratboy! Mine! Mineminemine."

"But you were ready to play with Mulder in the car. Are you saying I can't play with him, too?"

"Yes! No! I, uh, well, you knowŠ"

"No, I don't."

He reached past her and turned on the shower. "How about explaining it to me in private?"

Of couse she wasn't going to tell him she was jealous, but maybe she'd tell him she loved him. Nah, he'd never get that lucky. Would he?

"You're not going to get that lucky, Ratboy," Mulder called through the door. "Just make sure to leave some hot water for the rest of us."

Krycek was in hot water. Feldman was in hot water. Even Jeffrey was in hot water. The smoker shook his half-empty bottle of scotch and tried to think of the exact moment that his simple little training assignment went completely and irretrievably to hell.

Put succinctly, it was Feldman.

Not that she intentionally fouled things up. No, it was her unintentional actions that got everybody into trouble. And sooner or later, he wasn't going to be able to cover up her accidents.

Krycek should have known better, but, sadly, Krycek was pussy-whipped. Pussy-whipped and behaving in a totally unacceptable with way Fox Mulder. He'd known about Mulder and Krycek's trysts for some time now, just as he was aware of Mulder, Krycek and Feldman sharing a bed. It wasn't completely unacceptable, so long as important secrets weren't revealed and the three of them were so pre-occupied with sex that they didn't interfere with the Project.

Until now.

Common sense said to eliminate Krycek and Feldman. But Krycek was so useful. And Feldman showed such promise.

Besides, he found them rather amusing.

Krycek had something up his sleeve other than that cheap prosthesis. Somehow, something was going to go seriously awry with Krycek's mission. Something other than Feldman's usual destruction of public property.

Hopefully, little Gibson would still be alive and the alien would not, instead of vice versa.

That still left the question of what he was going to do with Jeffrey. Just this morning, the boy called to report in and complained that if Feldman worked for the smoker, she should have been assigned to him, not Krycek.

And Jeffrey complained about Agent Scully and Agent Fowley hissing at each other like two territorial alley cats.

It was enough to make the smoker consider writing another story for that skin magazine and retire from the conspiracy business.

Almost enough.

How could he quit before he heard Feldman's explanation of how she blew up her latest target? Whatever that was going to be.

It was going to be a long, bumpy ride.

It was going to be one of those days. Scully could tell. It started with Spender barging into the motel room she was sharing with Fowley, which automatically made it one of those days. But then Ferret-boy shared his news.

His mysterious source had a lead on Mulder's whereabouts. Oh yeah, and Ratboy and Feldman's, too. What made the day worse was Ferret-boy pulling strings to have them flown to Texas by military helicopter.

How did that little weasel have those kind of connections, Scully wondered as she listened to him drone on about how to approach motel room number 218.

Luckily, it was Fowley who punched a hole in Ferret-boy's plans. "You're forgetting one thing, Jeffrey. Gibson reads minds. He'll know we're here any second now."

"Well, if all you're going to do is argue, Fowley, why don't you come up with a plan," Spender snapped. "After all, I did every-damn-thing else."

As if on cue, Scully and Fowley applauded.

"Why me," Spender muttered.

Ellen paced the motel room. "Would you two hurry up already?"

"In a minute, kitten, I'm deciding which of my shirts to lend to Foxboy," her Ratboy chuckled.

"This isn't a fashion show," Mulder grumbled. "Just give me anything."

"What do you think of the black T shirt, kitten? Too dark for Mulder?"

Ellen took the T shirt from her Ratboy's hand and held it up to Mulder, who was standing there naked from the waist up. "Yeah. It washes him out. Give him that green one."

"No way. You said the green brings out my eyes."

"Black makes you look all sleek and sexy, like a black cat," Ellen cooed at him. "And you know how much I love cats."

"She does, Ratboy," Mulder chuckled, slipping into the shirt. "In fact, the two of you were curled up like a couple of kittens last night. It wasŠ.almost charming. Almost."

"Hey!" Gibson shut the TV. "There's somebody out there."

Her Ratboy yanked the black T-shirt on, leaving his prosthetic on the bed and grabbed his gun. "Get down, kid, and tell me how many of 'em there are."

Ellen grabbed the prosthetic and crouched behind the bed next to Gibson.

His eyes widened behind the thick lenses of his glasses as he got his first good look at the artificial limb. "UhŠthere's three. Oh. It's Dana, Diana and that ferret guy."

"Swell." Her Ratboy turned to Mulder. "How do you want this to go down?"

"Obviously, I'd prefer it if nobody got hurt."

"I have an idea," Ellen called from behind the bed.

"Suddenly, I'm afraid," Mulder said, looking at her. "Very afraid."

"That makes all of us."

xx

PART EIGHT

Scully ignored Spender's instructions and marched up to the motel room door, pounding on it loudly. "Mulder! I know you're in there. Tell Ratboy to give himself up."

"His name is Krycek," Fowley hissed.

The door opened suddenly and Scully took a step back as Ellen Feldman glared at her. "Do you mind? People are trying to have sex around here."

With that, the little woman slammed the door in Scully's face.

Scully didn't have to put her ear to the door to hear Mulder and Ratboy reading Feldman the riot act for that little stunt.

The door opened again and Mulder, wearing an incredibly tight green T shirt, stared down at her. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Nice shirt."

"Thanks, I borrowed it from Ratboy."

"Speaking of whomŠ" Scully frowned up at her partner. "Is there any reason you're with Ratboy other than that T shirt?"

"Yes, but I don't think you want to hear it."

An orgy. Mulder was having orgies with Ratboy and Feldman. The bastard. Why didn't anybody know how to share?! "Lucky you. That sounds like almost as much fun as spending three days with Spender and Fowley." Scully tapped her sensible dress pump on the astroturf welcome mat. "Is Gibson in there with you?"

"Of course."

"Are you going to bring him out of there?"

"We'd rather not. You see, we'd like to keep him out of the Consortium's hands this time. You'll recall that the last time they had him, they did some experiments—"

"We, Mulder? We, as in you, Ratboy and Feldman? Or we, as in you and I?"

Mulder shifted from one foot to the other. "We as in Ratboy, Feldpup and myself. I need you to keep Diana and Ferret-boy out of our way."

Just then, Gibson pushed past Mulder and past Scully, running straight for Spender. The boy leaped right into Spender's arms, sniffling loudly. "They did awful thingsŠ"

"There, there, son, I know," Spender said, awkwardly. "But you're going to be fine now. That sick sonofabitch Krycek won't kidnap you again."

"I w-was so sc-sc-scared," Gibson snuffled into Spender's shirt.

Spender ruffled the boy's hair, looking for all the world like a ferret caught in the headlights of a car.

"M-Mr. Spender?" Gibson finally let go and looked up the Spender, eyes wet and wide. And oh-so-innocent.

"It's okay, Gibson, I'm here now."

"Good. Put your hands in the air, Ferret-boy." Gibson cocked the gun at Spender. "You, too, Diana."

Scully's mouth hung open in shock. "Oh my God."

"Nice work, kid." Krycek nudged Mulder out of his way. "Kitten, your plan worked. Go figure you could pull the same stunt on Spender twice in the same week."

Feldman flashed a triumphant grin at Scully. "I always pulled the same stunts on you and you never learned either, Rat—uh, Alex."

"Oh, I knew what you were up to, kitten. I just let you get away with it because I wanted to get in your pants."

Scully gritted her teeth as she watched Feldman handcuff Fowley to Spender and usher them into the motel room. The little lawyer was offering to show the boy how to do 'Bambi eyes', whatever the hell that was. "I hope you know what you're doing, Mulder."

"Mostly."

"That's reassuring."

Krycek emerged from the motel room with a couple of bags. "C'mon, Foxboy. We're running late and Feldman's hungry."

"Can't have that," Mulder called to him.

"Foxboy? You let him call you Foxboy," Scully asked, incredulously. That had to be Feldman's doing.

Her partner shrugged. "I'm working on breaking him of the habit but he's a slow learner."

"Wonderful. So where are we going?"

"We?" Feldman appeared at her elbow. "We, as in you coming with us? Not likely. There's just not enough room for you."

"Then maybe they should leave you behind," Scully hissed at her. "It's not like you have much to contribute to the group anyway."

"I've got it where it counts, sister!"

"Why, you little—"

"C'mon, dye-job. Make my day!"

Mulder grabbed Feldman from behind and hoisted her into the air. "Settle down."

"No! I don't want her coming with us!"

"Scully's coming with us?" Krycek frowned at them. "Mulder, why are you lifting Feldman again?"

"To keep her from fighting with Scully," Gibson snickered. "Is that what they mean by catfight?"

Krycek nodded. "Yup."

"Put me down, Mulder," Feldman complained. "You're wrinkling my shirt!"

"You gonna behave, Feldpup?"

"Ratboy, make him put me down!"

"He's asking a legitimate question, kitten," Krycek told her. "Will you behave if he puts you down?"

"Oh, for God's sake, put her down," Scully snapped.

Mulder complied, ruffling Feldman's hair while he addressed his partner. "You should probably stay with Fowley and Spender, just to keep an eye on them."

Scully screwed up her face in disgust. "We've spent the last three days on a wild goose chase looking for an alien or a kid with Down's, wearing an Agway T-shirt or a bunny suit. That wouldn't have been you, would it, Feldman? The person in the bunny suit blew up a ski lodge."

"That was not my fault, you bi— mmmmmffffmmm!"

Krycek's hand was firmly clamped over her mouth. "Settle down, kitten."

"Mmmmffmmm!"

"I'll let go if you promise not to fight with Scully."

"Mmmmff."

Slowly, he let go of Feldman.

The lawyer shot him a look before addressing Scully. "You say you've been tracking an alien or a person with Down's. Is that correct?"

"Feldman, I'm warning you—"

"Humor me. I just have a couple of questions."

Mulder and Krycek exchanged glances and backed up.

Scully struggled to control her irritation. "You can ask three questions, Feldman."

"How did you get your information on the alleged alien's whereabouts," Feldman asked, pacing slowly, hands clasped behind her back.

It was hard to decide what was more irritating, Feldman's cross examination style of questioning or the way she seemed to be pretending she was in a courtroom. "Spender got it from an informant."

"What was the alleged alien's last reported location?"

Scully's nails dug into her palm. "The alleged alien was in Colorado."

"And prior to that?"

"Texas." She smiled evilly at Feldman. "And those were your three questions. "

Feldman sniffed disdainfully. "I've heard all I needed to know. Mulder, the alien is headed north."

"Gee, really." Oh, the urge to throttle Feldman was almost overwhelming. "And, where, pray tell is it going?"

Mulder cleared his throat. "We don't know. Yet. Which is why you need to stay here with Spender and wait for his informant to give you information."

Feldman mouthed a silent 'hooray' at Krycek, who pushed her into the group's silver Honda Passport, much to Scully's relief.

"Give us half an hour before you let them free," Mulder continued.

"Now wait a minute," Scully snapped. "Where do you come off ditching me and taking off with those two again?!"

Feldman poked her head out the window and shouted, "We're better in bed —mmfffmfmfmm!"

"Mulder—"

"I'll call you, Scully!"

"Mulder!"

But he was halfway into the Passport by the time her lips formed the second syllable of his name.

"Dammit!" No doubt about it. This fiasco, however it was going to turn out, was Feldman's fault.

"I am so proud of you," Ellen told Gibson, as she settled next to him in the back of the Passport. "You're a natural."

Mulder took his eyes off the road long enough to wink at her in the rearview mirror. "Just don't teach him how to blow things up."

Gibson's mouth dropped open. "You can blow stuff up? Kewl!"

"I most certainly do not," Ellen sniffed.

"You sank the Fire Island Ferry," Mulder reminded her.

"That was an accident."

"What about the explosion at the Fresh Kills landfill?"

"Shut up, Mulder!"

Her Ratboy twisted in the front passenger seat and grinned back at her. "Stop being so modest, kitten. You should be proud of your achievements."

"Ratboy!"

"His name is Alex," Mulder corrected her. "Or were you trying to get him to buy you more stuff?"

No, but now that he mentioned it, it seemed like an awfully—nah. She wasn't that materialistic. Was she?

Gibson nudged her and nodded.

"Stop reading my mind!"

"It's not his fault you're greedy," Mulder chuckled. "Maybe it's Ratboy's fau lt for spoiling you rotten—"

"I am not spoiled!" Was today Get On Ellen's Case Day? It had to be. That was the only explanation for this tag-team torture.

"You most certainly are," her Ratboy said. "Not that I mind. I like spoiling you, kitten, and it's obvious you like being spoiled."

Well, that was true enough, not that she'd admit it.

"Why not," Gibson asked. "Everybody knows it anyway."

Krycek arched an eyebrow at the boy. "Knows what, kid?"

"That she likes being spoiled by you. That she wishes she could spoil you like that."

Ohgodohgodohgod. The little Dione Warwick Psychic Hotline brat was telling her Ratboy everything he needed to have the advantage over her until the end of time.

"She's mad because she doesn't want you to have the advantage over her," Gibson continued, shooting her a smug look. "And I am not a brat, Feldpup."

"What else does she like," her Ratboy wanted to know. "She never tells me how she feels about me."

"Ratboy—"

"She loves you. More than anybody." Did he realize he was hammering the nails into her coffin? Of course he did. And worse, he was enjoying it. "She's never had a boyfriend who was as good to her as you are. And she thinks you'reŠyou think he's beautiful? Are guys supposed to be beautiful? That sounds weird."

"I like it," Krycek sighed, happily. "Tell me more."

"I think you've heard enough," Ellen sniffed.

"Not yet. I want more."

She slumped lower in her seat. It was going to be a long, long drive.

"Why didn't you tell me, Dad?!"

"Jeffrey, this isn't the time to discuss it—"

"Yes, it is. You told me I couldn't have Feldman, but you let that creep Krycek have her. How come Krycek gets her, but I can't?!"

The smoker lowered the phone and poured more scotch into his tumbler. Draining the glass in a single swallow, he picked up the phone again. "Krycek gets Feldman because he can keep her under control."

"I could do that."

Nobody could do that. Not even Krycek. "Jeffrey, we can discuss this later. Right now, you have to find the creature before Mulder and Krycek do."

"You have to make Kersh order Scully to go back to DC. She let Krycek and Mulder tie us up and wouldn't untie us for almost an hour."

Screw the glass. He guzzled the scotch from the bottle now. "You need Agent Scully so that you can keep tabs on Agent Mulder. They'll be contacting each other periodically."

"If I have to put up with Scully, I want Feldman," Jeffrey argued. "If she works for you, she'll do what you tell her and if you tell her she's mine, she'll do as she's told."

As if that might happen. "I need her to keep Krycek and Mulder in line."

"They don't deserve her—"

"Nobody deserves that," the smoker snapped. "I mean, Feldman's at a very delicate stage in her training, Jeffrey. She's not ready to be sent out on random sexual encounters, even with you. But she will be. Very soon."

"Do I get her then?"

"Of course you will," he lied. "But right now, I need you to find that creature for me. And to recover the boy."

"Krycek's corrupting that kid, Dad. He's got the kid lying and pulling guns on people and—"

"Yes, yes, Jeffrey, I know." He knew it wasn't Krycek. It was Feldman doing the corrupting. Corrupting Gibson. Pussy-whipping Krycek. Doing God-only-knew-what to Mulder. Verbally abusing Agent Scully. And outwitting Jeffrey and Agent Fowley. Feldman was the most dangerous operative in his stable. And she was going to be the death of everybody.

She loved him more than anybody. Alex sighed contentedly as he bit into his cheeseburger. His little Feldman loved him more than anybody. And she thought he was beautiful.

"You gonna eat those fries, Ratboy?"

"Help yourself, kitten." He beamed at her, grateful that Gibson was willing to sit up front with Mulder so that Alex could spend some quality time in the back with his Feldman. And he was so happy, he didn't care that she called him Ratboy. Much.

"Would you stop already," Feldman grumbled.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like Ratboy in love."

"Alex, moi krasivya shalava. My name is Alex." He plucked a French fry and held it to her lips. "Open."

"Ratbo—mmmffff!" She chewed quickly, glaring at him. "Please stop. I beg you."

"Now there's something you don't hear every day," Mulder chuckled.

"Shut up, Foxboy," his Feldman snapped, reaching over to grab the package of fries from Alex's lap.

He caught her wrist easily, stroking it lovingly between thumb and forefinger, finally raising her hand to his cheek. "You're cute when you're self-conscious, kitten."

"Shut up, Rat—uhŠohŠ.oh, GodŠ." Feldman jerked her hand out of his grasp, her eyes going wide. "RatboyŠthose Chanel helicopters we were talking about yesterday.."

The cheeseburger suddenly felt like a lead weight in his gut. "What about them?"

"I think I just saw three of them."

Alex craned his neck, silently cursing the trees and mountains of Colorado that were blocking his view. "Where?"

"I don'tŠthere!"

"Shit!" It was moving fast. And noiselessly. "Mulder, pull over. Now!"

Instead, Mulder hit the accelerator. "Shouldn't we try to out run it?"

"Are you nuts?! Those things can take out a tank. Pull the hell over now," Alex barked. "Do it!"

For once, Mulder did as he was told. Tires squealed as the Passport skidded to a stop, nearly toppling over. "Should we split up?"

"That's what they want us to do," Gibson said, his voice eerily soft. "That's why there are four helicopters."

Alex's head whipped in Feldman's direction. "I thought you said you only saw three."

Feldman's eyes narrowed at him. "I did."

He raised his hand, palm upwards in surrender, instantly regretting his tone. "Sorry, baby. I'm just a little on edge."

Mulder cleared his throat. "To repeat my question, should we split up and take our chances or stay together?"

"Stay together," Feldman said, firmly, as she opened her door and swung her legs out. "Gimme a gun, Ratboy."

"Alex." He selected a nice, light nine millimeter for her. "My name is Alex."

"Can I have one, too, Ratboy," Gibson asked eagerly.

"When you're older," Feldman murmured, loading a clip into her new toy. "And his name is still Alex."

Alex slapped her rump lightly as she got out of the Passport and grabbed the duffel bag of weapons. Too bad he didn't think to pack a rocket launcherŠ

"Yeah, no kidding," Gibson told him.

"What did I tell you about reading minds, young man," Feldman scolded.

"Uh, Feldman, this isn't the time for you to play mommy. This is the time for you to make like Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2."

Feldman looked at him hungrily.

Mulder chuckled softly and yanked a shotgun from the duffel bag. "Ooooh, kinky, Ratboy."

"Alex, dammit."

"RatboyŠ." Feldman tugged at his arm while pointing with the gun in her other hand. "Those Chanel helicopters are coming back. What should we do?"

"Run!"

"Oh." She was still looking up at the sky.

"Now!" He used his prosthetic hand to grab her arm and tugged her into the woods. "Foxboy, grab Gibson."

They barely made it five hundred feet when one of the helicopters swooped over the Passport and opened fire. There was a flash and an explosion as the Passport was blown to pieces.

Alex threw Feldman to the ground and covered her with his body, relieved to see Mulder doing the same with Gibson.

Feldman wriggled beneath him, trying to see what was going on. "Oh, Ratboy! They ruined my new Valentino suit!"

"I'll buy you another," he muttered, yanking her to her feet. "And my name is Alex."

"Shoes, too?"

"Whatever, just run, will you?!"

It was going to be a long afternoon.

xx

PART NINE

"We are very unhappy about the way you're managing this situation," the fat Italian said. "When we asked you to retrieve the boy, we didn't expect to involve so many people nor did we anticipate the destruction of ski resorts."

The smoker did his best to look as if everything was proceeding according to plan. "I have everything under control."

"You expect us to believe that?" Another Elder was staring at him, coldly. "Your choice of operatives is woefully flawed. It was one thing to select Krycek, whose loyalties are questionable at best, but to allow him to bring hisŠ.that girlŠ.that Feldman woman‹"

Damn. They found out about Feldman. "Feldman is an indulgence—"

"Who does not belong in the field, where she can seeŠwhere she can learn," the Elder argued. "If you're using her to pacify Krycek, by all means, do so. But keep her out of our business. She isn't one of ours. And she won't be. Ever."

"Of course not," he agreed. The fools. They didn't know what he knew about Feldman, though. "And as I've said, gentlemen, it's all under control."

"We've taken steps of our own to make sure that it is."

It was about to go to hell. Again.


"I can'tŠgoŠ anyŠ.furtherŠ.," Feldman gasped, dropping to her knees.

Mulder dropped next to her and rubbed her shoulders. "You must be exhausted if you're not bitching about grass stains on your clothes."

Gibson collapsed against Krycek, his little chest heaving, obviously too exhausted to speak.

Krycek arched an eyebrow at Mulder. "She's bitching about grass stains?"

"Not yet. Give her a chance to catch her breath, right, Feldpup?"

Feldman groaned loudly.

"I think that translates to 'shut up, Foxboy'," Krycek told him.

Mulder chuckled softly. "My name is still Mulder, Feldpup."

"IŠdidn'tŠsayŠanything," Feldman panted.

"You wanted to." Mulder draped an arm around her. "We could tell."

Gibson sat up, still breathing hard. "Maybe I should turn myself in."

Mulder shook his head. "No. They'd kill you. Or worse."

"I don't want any of you getting killed because of me," the boy argued.

"Oh, now you decide that," Feldman sniffed. "You could have thought about that days ago and saved us all the trouble of dealing with Spender and those awful explosions and—"

"Feldman!" Mulder couldn't believe the things that came out of her mouth sometimes. "Now isn't the time—"

"Of course it is. It's the perfect time for Gibson to decide if he's going to stand up for himself."

"You want me to stand up for myself?" Gibson glared at her, the first time Mulder ever saw the boy show any signs of anger. "Fine. Quit mothering me, youŠyouŠlawyer!"

"Enough," Krycek snapped. "Everybody settle down. Now!"

"Yes, Ratboy," Feldman and Gibson said, in unison. Mulder was positive Gibson did it on purpose, using his abilities to know in advance that Feldman was about to call her lover Ratboy.

"My name is Alex." As if it would make a difference.

And then it was quiet. Mulder timed the silence. Nine minutes. Just like missing time. Nine minutes of peace and quiet. Naturally, it was Feldman who broke the silence.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"Go ahead, Feldpup. Just make sure you don't squat over poison ivy."

"What's poison ivy look like?"

Krycek looked at her for a full ten seconds before answering. "I'll take you."

"I can go by myself," Feldman argued.

"Then tell us what poison ivy looks like."

"It looks like ivy."

"That's pretty good logic there, Ratboy," Mulder chuckled.

Krycek snorted at him. "Under normal circumstances, I'd let her go, based on that statement, but I don't think we need to hear about that itching for the next few days."

"Absolutely not," Mulder agreed.

"Uggghhh!" Gibson's nose wrinkled. "She wouldn'tŠwould she?"

Both men nodded.

"Ewww."

"We'll be right back." Krycek took Feldman's hand and dragged her off into the underbrush, whispering softly about how to identify poison ivy.

Feldman was the human equivalent of poison ivy, Scully decided. The irritating little woman lurked in places you didn't expect to find her and ruined everybody's good time. Not that being forced to work with Spender and Fowley was exactly a good time, but at least it had been bearable before Mulder ditched her to run off with Feldman.

Now it was completely intolerable.

"You and your partner are in a lot of trouble."

"So you've been saying for the last hour and a half, Spender. Give it a rest." If she were Feldman, she would have filed her nails, just to show Spender how boring he was. But, thankfully, she wasn't Feldman. Not even close. So she settled for giving him her coldest glare. The one that made even Kersh think twice before he opened his mouth.

"He has a point," Fowley said, frostily. "You stood by while your partner aided and abetted a known fugitive in the kidnapping of a minor."

"I suppose I should have shot him," Scully snapped.

"Nothing ever stopped you before," Spender told her.

If only she could shoot Spender and claim it was an X-File. Or maybe Feldman's fault. Nobody seemed willing to lay any blame at Feldman's door, though. They were more eager to blame Mulder or Krycek or, heaven forbid, Dana Scully. How the hell did Feldman get off scot-free?

It had to be because she was a lawyer.

"It's because I'm a lawyer, isn't it?"

"I don't know. Maybe you just never paid attention when they taught you what poison ivy looked like," her Ratboy commented, guiding her through the woods.

"We didn't have poison ivy in New York City, Ratboy," Ellen sniffed, indignantly. "And I've certainly never peed in the woods."

"You're about to." He smiled down at her and tore a leaf from a tree. "Your Charmin, my pet."

Ellen looked at the leaf in her hand with distaste. "Ewww. Bugs walked on this!"

"Kitten, it's all we have unless you'd rather drip dry."

"Ewww!" She looked at the leaf again. "How do I know this isn't poison ivy?"

"You don't. I do. But I'm not telling."

"Ratboy!" Ellen threw the leaf at him, watching with disgust as it fell pathetically short.

"Alex. Say my name or I'll give you some of the poison oak you're standing in."

Ellen yelped and leaped into his arms.

"Just kidding. That's actually a patch of aloe." He chuckled softly and cradled her against his body. "Boy, you don't know anything about the woods, do you?"

"I do, too," she lied. But just in case he could tell, she hastily added, "But you're so much more experiencedŠ.Alex."

"Do you love me more than anybody, kitten?"

"Oh, Ra—uh, Alex, I really, really have to go—"

"Then you'd better answer fast."

"I love you more than anybody." And he was going to pay for that. Big time.

Her Ratboy smiled down at her and kissed her. "That tree right behind you is safe. It's an oak and you can use the leaves without worrying."

Sighing her relief, Ellen took a couple of steps and realized he was still watching. "Oh, come on, you're not gonna watch, are you?"

"No."

"Then turn around."

"That's the problem." Her Ratboy leered at her. "I know better than to turn my back on you, kitten."

"But I'm on your side!"

"And that scares me even more."

"Ratboy!"

"Alex," he corrected her. "And you're standing in poison oak again."

Red light. Green light. Poison oak. Ellen snorted and ducked behind the tree to take care of business. This was even more disgusting than using a public bathroom in Penn Station. Well, almost as disgusting. Reluctantly, she used one of the leaves her Ratboy told her was safe, closing her eyes and trying to convince herself it was a soft, fluffy square of white paper instead of a bug-infested leaf.

It didn't work.

She opened her eyes and felt her jaw hit the ground when she saw it. "Ratboy."

"Kitten? Is everything okay back there?"

"RUN!!" Mistake. Big mistake. The jerks in the helicopters were using something to pick up sound because the helicopter changed direction and headed straight for her. "Ratboy!"

"Damn!" He pulled his gun and fired a few shots in the air as the black helicopter made its first pass overhead.

Gun! She had a gun. She had underwear around her ankles. Gun? Underwear? Gun! Otherwise she'd never get the chance to pull up her underwear. Biting her lower lip, she aimed carefully at the approaching helicopter, closed her eyes and pressed the trigger. Thank goodness it was an automatic.

Oh, it was loud. And it had a kick that was not to be believed. Did she hit anything? Other than the ground? Oh no! She was on her back. In the poison oak! "Ratboy!"

"Alex." His fingers closed over hers. "Let go of the gun, kitten. It's empty."

She opened one eye. "Did I scare them off?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Huh?"

"Didn't you hear the explosion?"

"What explosion?"

"The helicopter. You blew up the helicopter before you fell in the poison oak."

"OhŠ."

"We heard an explosion and I told Gibson it was Feldman." Mulder appeared over her Ratboy's shoulder. "Oh. My. Feldman. You're gonna itch."

Bitch. Yes, Diana Fowley was a total bitch. How else could Scully explain the protocol lecture she just received from Fowley, citing FBI procedures chapter and verse? Well, she'd let Fowley have her fun this time, but Scully knew she'd be the one having the last laugh. Eventually. If Mulder didn't do something stupid. No, scratch that. If Mulder didn't do something even dumber than running off with Feldman and Krycek. And for what purpose?

Maybe Fowley was right. Maybe she shouldn't have helped Mulder.

Nah. Impossible.

Besides, as big a bitch as Fowley was, there was always Feldman to contend with. And Spender, that moron, was totally infatuated with her. Scully couldn't think of a more perfect couple.

"Well, I think we found them," Spender announced, toying with the antenna on his cell phone.

Scully waited. Eight. Nine. Ten. "Well? Are you going to tell us or are you just going to stand there playing with your phone?"

Spender narrowed his slitty little eyes at her. "I'd watch myself if I were you, Agent Scully."

"Where are they, Jeffrey," Fowley interrupted, plucking the cell phone from his hand and dropping it into her purse.

"Hey!"

"I need you to focus."

Spender shook his head in disbelief. "I am focused. And they're holed up in the woods just beyond the Colorado border."

"You could've said that five minutes ago," Scully snapped, snatching the car keys from his hand.

"Hey!"

"I'm driving."

"Like hell you are."

Scully fixed him with a stare that used to make her brother, Bill, run to Daddy.

"Fine. You're driving."

"I should've stayed in Europe," Fowley muttered.

Scully seconded that.

"I should've stayed home," Feldman whined for the umpteenth time and proceeded through her litany of misery. "I'm cold and my feet hurt and I itch—"

"And you stink to high heaven," Mulder interrupted. "Skunks are nocturnal, Feldpup. Only you would trip over one in broad daylight."

"I didn't trip over it—"

"Yeah, yeah, we know, it attacked you." Gibson covered his nose with his hand. "We've heard it a zillion times already. You stopped to tie your shoelace and you put your boot on the log and this rabid skunk came out of nowhere and sprayed you."

"Well, it did," Feldman snapped, scratching at her left arm. "And it doesn't smell that bad."

Mulder arched an eyebrow at her. "Yes it does and by the way, you shouldn't scratch."

"Have you ever been in the New York City subway during August," she demanded, still scratching. "And I'll scratch if I want to. It itches."

"No, but I've had the pleasure of being in Fresh Kills landfill with you and I'm not sure which smells worse." Mulder tugged at her hand. "You're going to make it worse if you do that, Stinky."

"Don't call me Stinky!"

"Why? I think it suits you much better than Feldpup, given your present condition."

"You bast—"

"Enough!" Alex's head throbbed dully. Had he really spent the last two hours listening to this? "Mulder, lay off her already."

Feldman, ever the responsible adult, stuck her tongue out at Mulder.

"And youŠ." Alex grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close. His nose regretted that move immediately. "I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with you. You're a disaster."

Her chin quivered dangerously as she furiously scratched her right thigh.

Oh no. Anything but that. He could handle the whining and the smell, but Feldman crying was another matter completely. It took a lot to make Feldman cry—she could fake it reasonably well—but this was the real thing. "Aw, kitten, don't cry. And for God's sake, stop scratching. I've got something that'll make you feel better."

"A bullet?"

"Better." Alex slid the backpack from his shoulders and felt around for the small leather case. There it was. He pulled it out with a triumphant grin. "Tranquilizer. I brought it for Gibson, but—"

"But he's being better behaved than you are, Stinky," Mulder snickered.

Alex shot Mulder a venomous look and the other man suddenly found a rock by his foot very interesting. "As I was saying, there's enough here to take down a small elephant, so putting you out for a couple of hours shouldn't be a problem."

Feldman frowned. "Yeah, but if I'm asleep, how are we going to get anywhere?"

"I'm gonna carry you."

"Won't that hurt your back?"

Was she serious? "I've carried guns that are heavier than you are, kitten. Do you want the tranquilizer or not?"

She nodded eagerly.

"I don't think Scully would approve of using Thorazine in this situation, Ratboy," Mulder commented, as Alex prepared the syringe. "And you're not a doctor—"

"I've dosed my share of hostages," Alex murmured. "Kitten, I need your arm."

"Oh, Ratboy," Feldman sighed, as he injected her. "You're so smart."

"I should have stayed at Indian Hills," Gibson complained. "This is the most screwed-up rescue I've ever seen."

"Shhh," Alex warned him, reaching for Feldman. The Thorazine was already kicking in as he cradled her against his body. "I'm going to find us a nice motel and then I'll make it all better, princess."

"I'll pay for the ticket if you're going to send her home," Mulder offered.

"Would it kill you to be a little nicer to her, Foxboy?" Alex got up and slung the unconscious lawyer over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "She's had a rough time."

"She always has a rough time. It's her trademark," the federal agent grinned, reaching behind Alex's back. He waved Feldman's glasses under Alex's nose before stuffing them in his shirt pocket. "Wouldn't want those to get broken, would we?"

"We'd never hear the end of it," Gibson muttered. "Are all girls like that?"

"No, some of them are actually quiet," Mulder replied. "Of course, she has her good points, too."

"You mean like blowing up the helicopter?"

"Among other things."

Gibson's nose wrinkled. "I don't think she'd like being called a fantastic lay, whatever that means."

Alex spun around, nearly dropping Feldman. "Hey, Mulder, could you watch what you're thinking? You're giving the kid too much of an education."

"Me? What about you and Stinky?"

"Feldman. Stinky's name is Feldman."

It was going to be a long walk to the nearest motel.

PART TEN

"You have got to be kidding." Scully's fingers dug into the steering wheel. "Omaha, Nebraska?"

"Fergus Falls. It's just outside of Omaha." Spender looked down at his notepad and winced. "Our bunny-suited friend was spotted there."

"What blew up now?"

"A milk truck."

Scully's temples throbbed. "This thing is almost as bad as Feldman."

Spender shot her a look. "This isn't about Ellen Feldman. This is about an X-File. My X-File."

"Our X-File," Fowley corrected him. "And I believe our priority should be apprehending Alex Krycek—"

"Our priority is what I say it is," Spender huffed. "And our priority is catching a military flight to Fergus Falls. As for Krycek, he's got his hands full."

Feldman was a handful. No doubt about it, the girl was high maintenance. Most of the time though, it was easy keeping her happy. Pretty clothes, hot sex, flowers, kind words, more sex, sex with Mulder—

"Everything's set, Ratboy."

"Don't call me Ratboy," Alex warned Mulder. "Did you turn up the thermostat and put some warm water in there so she doesn't catch cold?"

"Yes to the thermostat, no to the warm water." Mulder disappeared back into the bathroom.

Alex sighed and tugged off Feldman's boots, tossing them into the garbage bag at his side. Undressing her would have been a lot easier with two hands—

"I can help."

"You sure about that?" A slow smile tugged at Alex's lips as he turned to Gibson. "You'd see a naked girl. And she'd be pissed if she found out."

"UhŠ.umŠ." Gibson swallowed and took a step back, his eyes traveling over the sleeping lawyer. "I think I'll go see what's on TV."

"Shame on you, Ratboy. It's not nice to scare children." Mulder crouched next to Alex and, with a flourish, removed her socks. "Would you look at that?"

"What," Alex asked, suspiciously.

"Somebody's been getting pedicures regularly."

"I make sure she pampers herself. What about it?"

Mulder ran a finger along the arch of Feldman's right foot. "Nothing."

Great. Mulder had a foot fetish. Alex gritted his teeth and went to work on getting her jeans off. Even when she was awake it was a chore, since she favored jeans that were so tight he couldn't fit his hand in them.

"Not like that, Ratboy." Mulder nudged him aside and, to Alex's amazement, slid her jeans and underwear off easily. "Takes practice."

And two hands, Alex noted with annoyance. With a frustrated growl, he yanked Feldman's shirt off, tearing it in the process. Not that it mattered, thanks to the skunk, but Mulder clucked his disapproval.

The federal agent slipped Feldman's bra off and dangled it in front of Alex with a grin. "Natori? She's really got you paying through the nose, doesn't she?"

"I am not pussy-whipped," Alex hissed.

"Of course you're not."

"Whatever. Let's just wake up Sleeping Beauty and get her into the tub before the motel management complains about the smell—"

"I've got a better idea." Mulder slung the unconscious lawyer over his shoulder, waving off Alex's protest. "If you wake her up now, you'll never get her into the tub. It would be like trying to bathe a cat."

Alex suddenly had a bad feeling as he followed Mulder into the bathroom. Before Alex could stop him, the federal agent dumped Feldman into the tub. Amazingly enough, she was still asleep.

Mulder shot Alex a grin. "See? No fuss, no muss, no protest."

"You're lucky—"

"It's not luck, it's my expert profile. Besides, it takes more than tomato juice to wake up Sleeping Beauty, as I recall." With that, the federal agent leaned over the tub and kissed Feldman.

The smoker looked at the latest report sitting on his coffee table and at the unopened bottle of scotch. No contest. He poured the scotch into a tumbler and took a healthy swallow. Now he could read the file.

A second later, he was spitting a mouthful of scotch onto the document.

Impossible! Improbable!

Feldman.

That was the only explanation for it.

The smoker looked at the picture again and grabbed the bottle of scotch. It was a true Feldman classic. The girl was lying in a patch of poison oak with her pants around her ankles, her gun pointed skyward and her eyes shut tight.

According to the accompanying report, she took down a helicopter.

The smoker didn't doubt it for a second. However, anyone else who saw these reports would. He hoped. Still, he reached for the phone.

It wouldn't do to leave witnesses who could explain the photographs.

Alex watched in disbelief as Feldman stirred. Mulder finally broke the kiss and cupped her chin in his hand.

"Did you have a nice nap, Stinky?"

"Mmmmm." She smiled sleepily at the federal agent, the smile fading quickly when she got a good look at the liquid she was soaking in. "Oh. Ohohohoh! Ratboy! Ratboy, I'm bleeding!"

"That's tomato juice," Mulder chuckled. "And his name is still Alex."

"Ewwww!" She started to get up, but Mulder pushed her back down. "Ratboy! Are you going to let him do this to me?!"

Before Alex could respond, Mulder answered, "Are you kidding? He was the one who bought the tomato juice for you. And not just some generic stuff, not for his little princess. Ratboy got you the best tomato juice he could find."

"ButŠbutŠ," Feldman stammered. "Why?!"

"Because tomato juice is the only thing that gets rid of skunk, kitten." Alex shot Mulder a look, but the federal agent continued to hold on to Feldman's shoulder. "I figure a half hour should do it and then—"

"Half an hour?! In tomato juice," Feldman wailed. "My skin! Do you have any idea how much moisturizer I'm going to need—"

"Ratboy has that covered," Mulder chuckled. "He's got an Aveeno and oatmeal bath waiting for you."

"Aveeno? And oatmeal?!" The small woman's voice climbed another octave. "Mulder, your food fetishes are out of control! And how dare you teach Ratboy—"

"The Aveeno-oatmeal thing is for your poison oak, kitten," Alex soothed. "I've got some nice lotion for you, too—"

"And Wal-Mart's finest for you to wear," Mulder added. "Ratboy tried to find something more upscale, but he was driving a stolen car in broad daylight— -"

"Wal-Mart?!" Feldman's mouth was hanging open. "OhŠ.I need some more of that Thorazine, Ratboy. I don't think I want to be awake for this!"

"Sure you do," Mulder murmured, slipping out of his shirt.

Now it was Alex's turn to gawk. "What are you doing?"

"You don't expect Feldman to soak in tomato juice by herself for half an hour. That's cruel and inhumane." With that, the federal agent shed the last of his clothes and sank into the tub. "I'd invite you in with us, Ratboy, but there's only enough room for two. We'll have to try this another time."

Another time? Before Alex could process that idea, Feldman was giggling. Giggling because Mulder was attacking her neck. And doing something with his hand that was obscured by the tomato juice. Something that was making Feldman moan happily. Something that pissed Alex off so badly that he stormed out of the bathroom.

Jealous. He was jealous. But of whom? Of Feldman, for getting Mulder's attention or of Mulder, for having Feldman's attention? Was Mulder doing this on purpose? Feldman, naturally, wasn't. She didn't do things like this to make him jealous. No, she did it because it felt good and—

"Of course he's doing it to make you jealous," Gibson snorted, not taking his eyes off whatever godawful cartoon he was watching. "You don't have to be able to read minds to see that."

"Gee, thanks."

"He's also doing it to get your attention."

"Really?"

The boy snorted again. "I don't understand why people don't say what they think."

"Decorum."

"That hasn't bothered you yet, Ratboy."

"Alex. My name is Alex."

"If you really want to be in there, Alex, you should go back in there. I'll be fine out here."

Great. Now he was taking romantic advice from somebody who wasn't even old enough to have a wet dream—

"Yes, I am."

"Not now. You can tell me later. Right now I have to go protect my property."

Mulder wrapped the towel around Feldman and sniffed her carefully. "Much better, Feldpup. Try and stay away from things that smell for a while, okay?"

"Ellen. My name is Ellen."

"Of course it is." He caught her wrist just as she started to scratch at her leg. "Don't scratch."

"But it itches!"

"Then it's time to take your medicine," Krycek announced, as he walked into the bathroom for the sixth time in half an hour.

"Medicine? There's medicine for this," Feldman asked, her eyes growing wide and hopeful. "Will it make it go away overnight?"

Mulder tousled her wet hair. "Nope. You'll be miserable for a few more days."

"That's not fair!"

"That's life, Feldpup."

"Stop calling me 'Feldpup'!"

"Stop scratching."

"Hey!" Krycek shot him a glare that warned Mulder not to push Feldman any further. "Come on, princess, I've got cortisone and steroids for you."

"Oh, Ratboy," Feldman cooed, fixing Ratboy with an adoring gaze that nearly made Mulder burst out laughing. "You knocked over a drug store for me!"

"Actually, he robbed a vet," Mulder informed her, watching as Krycek steered her out of the bathroom. "He got you dog medicine, Feldpup."

"What?!"

"It's the same stuff, honey," Krycek soothed.

"I am not taking dog medicine," she sniffed, disdainfully.

"Doesn't Winky take the same stomach medication you do," Krycek ventured. "And he takes amoxicillin and—"

"But that's different!"

Krycek shook out the pills and laid them on the night stand. "Kitten, please take the pills."

"Yeah, Feldpup, he went through a lot of trouble to steal them for you." Mulder caught her by the wrist and tugged her onto his lap. "Don't make me pill you like you pill your cat."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Sure I would. Anything to stop your whining for a while."

"Ratboy—"

"Alex. Ratboy's name is Alex." Mulder picked up one of the pills and held it to her lips. "Open."

As he predicted, she pressed her lips shut and shook her head.

Before Krycek could finish voicing his protest, Mulder pried her mouth open and tossed the pill in. Feldman made a frustrated noise as Mulder clamped his hand over her mouth and stroked her throat. "Remember, I saw you do this to your cat."

"Mulder," Krycek hissed. "Stop it."

"What happened to your sense of humor, Ratboy?" Mulder let go of the struggling lawyer. "Besides, she swallowed it."

Feldman looked as though she was going to be sick. "RatboyŠ."

"Kitten, you have to take the rest," Krycek told her.

"But Ra—uh, Alex—"

"Take the pills and Ratboy will buy you something expensive. Maybe that pair of shoes you've had your eye on, the ones you won't buy for yourself," Mulder suggested. It was only a guess, based on Feldman's large collection of shoes, but judging from her expression, he just hit pay dirt. "Tell Ratboy about the shoes."

Feldman blinked. "Uh...well, they're a pair of gray suede Joan and David pumps and they would match that Anne Klein suit perfectly and they're on sale, too. Forty percent off!"

"Offer to buy her the shoes, Ratboy. You can't let her pass up a bargain like that," Mulder ordered.

"Why don't you offer to buy her the shoes, Mulder," Krycek snarled, through clenched teeth.

"Because I'm not pussy-whipped."

"You never buy me anything, Foxboy," Feldman pouted.

Mulder raised an eyebrow. "I've never needed to buy you anything to get you to do what I want. Or Ratboy, for that matter."

"My name is still Alex," Krycek informed him, green eyes flashing. "And if you're that good at getting Feldman to do things, let's see you get her to take the pills."

"I'd like to see you do it without buying her the shoes," Mulder countered. After all, that way, he could make them both do what he wanted.

"Oh, enough already!" Feldman emitted a small, frustrated sound and downed the pills in rapid succession. "These stupid pills had better work, Ratboy, or you're going to buy me those shoes in gray and brown."

"What about black, too," Mulder suggested. "You can never have enough pairs of black shoes, Feldpup."

She looked hopefully at Krycek who shot Mulder yet another dirty look.

"You know, somebody in this room needs a spanking and for once, it isn't Feldman," Krycek said.

"Ooooooh, can I watch," Feldman pleaded.

"You can even help, kitten," Krycek told her. "After all, I think you owe him for all the times he's made dog comments about you."

She beamed at him. "Oh, RatboyŠyou're so good to me."

"He'd be even better if he promised to buy you those shoes," Mulder remarked.

Krycek moved so quickly that all Mulder saw was a flash of movement before he was thrown face-down on the bed. "This is going to hurt you more than it does me, Foxboy."

"Promises, promis— owww!" Slap!

Feldman giggled—actually giggled—at Mulder's predicament. And then, suddenly, she sobered. "GuysŠ."

Slap!

"Hey, cut it out, Ratboy."

"My nameŠ" Slap! "Šis Alex."

"Guys!!!" Feldman grabbed Krycek's hand. "Gibson's gone."

Krycek gave Mulder a final slap. "You were supposed to be watching him, Mulder."

"Me? I was scrubbing Feldman—"

"Right and you should have been watching Gibson."

"Jealousy doesn't become you, Ratboy." Mulder sat up, his ass burning pleasantly from Krycek's hand. A pity they didn't have time to finish this particular discussionŠ. "See if he took somebody's wallet."

"Of course he took somebody's wallet," Krycek growled. "Wasn't yours on the night stand next to your gun?"

Shitfuckdamn! Scully was never going to let him hear the end of this. Worse, the kid probably used his abilities to get all of Mulder's PIN numbers. Which meant Ratboy was never going to let him hear the end of this. Feldman, of course, was still sulking about her shoes.

"Okay," Krycek said, his voice suddenly calm. Too calm for Mulder's comfort. "You're the profiler, you figure out where the kid went."

It was going to be a long day.

Fergus Falls was everything Scully expected it to be, right down to the remains of the milk truck. As if she hadn't seen enough hick towns in her lifeŠ

"Would you tell us what happened, Mr. Schmidt?"

The overweight truck dispatcher rubbed his chin and frowned at Fowley. "Alrea dy been through it for the police."

"We'd appreciate hearing it firsthand," Fowley prodded him.

"Ain't gonna be any different than what I told them, Missy." Schmidt shifted his considerable bulk. "We was fillin' the trucks when this kid comes walkin' through here. I yelled at him to stop but he kept going. Next thing I knew the truck was on fire and the kid was gone."

"What was he wearing?"

"Damnedest thing, Miss Fowler—"

"Fowley."

"Whatever. The little bastard was wearin' a bunny suit. Baby blue."

"You're sure it was a he," Scully asked. It had to be Feldman. It just had to be. Unless she had a twin. An evil, explosive twin.

"I think so."

Scully reached into her jacket and pulled out a picture of Feldman. "Have you ever seen this woman before?"

"Nope."

"Let me see that," Spender snapped, snatching the picture from her hand. "Where did you get this?"

"I had it faxed from our personnel files."

"Ellen Feldman is not a suspect in this matter, Agent Scully."

"She ought to be. This is—"

"‹not her fault."

"Haven't you been paying attention, Agent Spender," Scully snapped. "Feldman is a menace! She was responsible for that explosion at Fresh Kills, for the sinking of the Fire Island ferry, for Ratboy—"

"What did I tell you about calling the suspect by that name, Agent Scully," Fowley hissed.

"Stuff a sock in it," Scully snapped, stalking back to the rental car.

Somehow, she was going to prove this was all Feldman's fault. It was only a matter of time.

xx

PART ELEVEN

"This is not my fault."

"Nobody said it was, kitten."

"Then why is Mulder laughing at me," Ellen complained. "He always laughs at me when he blames me for something that isn't my fault—"

"That's not true, Feldpup. I didn't think it was funny when you blew up the landfill—"

"How many times are you going to throw that in my face, Mulder?!" She examined the remains of her manicure with a weary sigh. It was going to take hours to repair the damage. Hours. And perhaps some silk wrapŠ. "It's not like I did that deliberately."

Mulder grinned disarmingly in her direction. That was when she knew she was in for it now. "That's what makes it so amusing. I shudder to think what you could do if you put your mind to it. Take Ratboy, for example—"

"Alex. The name is Alex," her Ratboy hissed through clenched teeth. "And don't take me for example. Quit while you're ahead."

"Yeah, Foxboy," Ellen sneered. Oh, yes, this was her turn to put Mulder on the spot and she was going to enjoy every second of it. "You wanna talk about fault? Talk about who wasn't watching Gibson. Talk about who used his cell phone and led the Chanel helicopters to us. Talk about who came up with the name Ratboy in the first place—"

"I knew it!" Her Ratboy lunged forward and grabbed Mulder by the front of his shirt. "I knew she'd never come up with a name like that on her own, you miserable bastard."

"That's because he was jealous," Ellen sing-songed.

Mulder pushed her Ratboy away with a wry chuckle. "Maybe, but of whom? Jealous of Ratboy for having you or of you for having my Ratboy?"

Ellen found herself locking stares with her Ratboy. That was a good question. It was almost a chicken-and-the-egg kind of thingŠ.

It was her Ratboy who broke the staring match with an exasperated growl. "Enough. I'm going to call Howie to find out where your partner is, Foxboy —"

"Mulder. My name is Mulder and why don't I just call Scully instead? I doubt they'll send another Chanel helicopter with Feldman around." Mulder chuckled again and stared meaningfully at her. "I'll bet those 'copters are more expensive than the Fire Island Ferry, Feldpup."

"Do me a favor and help me by not helping me," her Ratboy snapped, reaching for the phone. "Just sit there and shut up before I tie you up. Both of you."

"Ratboy!"

"Kitten!" Green eyes flashed in her direction. "Do. Not. Call. Me. Ratboy. Not now. Not ever again. Understand?"

"But—"

"I don't care if he came up with the name."

"But—"

"No."

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm an ignorant child," she sniffed and then added under her breath, 'Ratboy.'

With a grunt, he reached for the phone and punched in a series of numbers. There was an exchange of code words that sounded to Ellen like the recipe for an egg cream. Maybe he was paying too much attention to the things she did around the house instead of what he needed to be paying attention to so that he could be her dangerous sweet Ratboy. Could she really have pussy whipped her Ratboy? Turned him into an ineffective, soft mush-ball?

"You know, I'm having a sudden craving for an egg cream," Mulder stage-whispered.

Her Ratboy drew his gun and aimed it at Mulder. "Shhhhh."

Ellen smiled proudly. Nope. Not pussy-whipped.

"Not much anyway," Mulder whispered almost-inaudibly.

How did he always know what she was thinking? How?

"Because I'm an expert profiler, Feldpup."

Ooooh, that was creepy!

Her Ratboy slammed the phone down and glared at them. "Couldn't you two give it a rest for two minutes?"

Mulder smiled pleasantly in her Ratboy's direction. "What blew up now, Ratboy?"

"MulderŠ."

"Hey, you told Feldman she couldn't call you Ratboy. You never said I couldn't. Ratboy."

"I believe I've said it several hundred times in the past 24 hours. And still nobody listens to me." Her Ratboy leaned in close to Mulder. "You're both going to start paying attention to me. I'm taking charge of this fiasco."

Ellen groaned loudly. "Look out, world."

"When are you going to figure out that I let you get away with murder because I wanted to sleep with you," her Ratboy demanded. "If I had any idea it was going to be this much trouble, I would've—. Never mind."

"You would've what?" She narrowed her eyes at him, waiting to see what kind of hole he was going to dig for himself and what he was going to buy her to get out of it.

"The alien blew up a milk truck in Fergus Falls," her Ratboy stated, calmly, ignoring her question. "Scully and the two Mouseketeers are there, tracking it. Of course, they're clueless. I, on the other hand, know exactly where it's going."

Mulder quirked an eyebrow. "You profiled the alien?"

"Not exactly." Her Ratboy chuckled softly. "I profiled Feldman. I've noticed far too many similarities for comfort between the two of them. With that criteria in mind, Foxboy, where in Minnesota would the alien be headed?" Ellen wrinkled her nose. "The airport for the next plane to New York. There's no good shopping in Minnesota."

To her horror, the two men burst into laughter at her expense.

"What? What's in Minnesota?"


The Mall of America. Toad Schiller hated the mall, but what else was there to do in Minnesota? He couldn't wait until he graduated high school and got out of this hick state. Away from the losers he went to school with. Away from—

"Toad!" Grant Kornbacher. Football team. Wrestling team. Jock. Jerk. Giver of noogies and wet willies and worse.

"Todd," Toad sniffed. "My name is Todd."

"Whatcha got there, Toad," Grant asked, yanking the tell-tale flat white-bag from Toad's hands. "Comic books? Oh, man, how do you ever expect to get laid if you read this stuff?!"

You would think in a mall this size, maybe he wouldn't run into jerks like Grant, Todd thought bitterly as Grant shredded his copy of the X-Men.

"Not that any girl would want to get laid by you," Grant continued, tearing apart Batman 2000. "But still, dude, you gotta try. You can't keep whackin' off to Catwoman, y'know?"

Todd pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I don't whack off to —"

"Buddy, you've whacked off so much, you've got calluses."

Did he need this today? He most certainly did not. Toad did what any self-respecting geek would do, he ran. Luck was with him today because Grant didn't follow. Didn't follow him as he cut through the Limited (pausing to check out the pretty sales girls) and into Spencer's Gifts.

As usual, he blushed when he looked at the display of sex toys. What did one do with anal beads, he wondered. Still pondering this question, Toad crashed into another shopper.

"Oh, pardon me, I—"

The other shopper looked distinctly like an alien. It had big eyes. Grey skin. And it was wearing a baby blue bunny suit.

Toad's mouth dropped open. "Oh my. Y-you're anŠaŠ. visitor."

The alien didn't answer.

Maybe it was fake. Maybe it wasn't alive. Maybe it was only blinking its eyes because it ran on batteries and—

"Eeeeep?"

"Eeeep," Toad echoed. Suddenly he realized, this was big. The biggest thing that had ever happened to him. Huge. This was his Destiny. This was HIS alien. He was going to be a hero. Maybe he was even going to travel to another planet. All he had to do was save this alien. Correction: he had to save his alien. "Oh, man, we gotta hide you before the army finds out you're here."

"Eeeep."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grant and three other members of the wrestling team pass the store. "We've got to hide before they find us. I hope you can take me back to your planet with you. Minnesota sucks."

"Eeeep."

For the first time in his life, Toad loved the mall.

Feldman was snoring. Alex grinned as he reached into the back seat of the Jeep Cherokee and gently rolled her over. She quieted down immediately.

"Don't you wish it was that easy to stop her when she's awake?" Mulder's voice held more than a hint of amusement. "Not that I want to encourage you to keep her drugged, mind you, but—"

"I'm not drugging her," Alex corrected him. "I'm tranquilizing her. There's a difference."

"Mmm hmmm." Mulder's gaze flicked from the road to linger on Alex and then back again. "Of course, back when Feldman was with me, I didn't need to keep her tranquilized—"

"That's because you never took her anywhere."

"Which was probably a good idea, since she has a tendency to blow things up." The federal agent chuckled softly and glanced at Alex again. Those weren't just casual glances, either. No, those were flirtatious ones. The kind Mulder liked to give Feldman. The kind that used to—and still—made Alex as jealous as hell. So what was Mulder doing giving HIM those kinds of looks? "She was never this dangerous until she took up with you, Ratboy."

"She was always this dangerous, Mulder, you just never noticed it." Maybe Mulder wanted to play. Alex decided to up the ante and hit Mulder with his most mesmerizing smile—the one that turned Feldman, among others, into a puddle.

"Hmm, you might be right. After all, you were on the receiving end, most of the time." The mesmerizing smile wasn't having much effect. On the other hand, Mulder shot him another one of those looks. "From both of us."

Alex sniffed with mock-indignance. "You were just too chicken to tell her I was your little piece on the side. Either that, or you were too selfish to share."

Mulder snorted at this. "Embarrassed by your haircut is more like it. Ever since you switched barbers, your luck with Feldman has improved."

"Are you sure it wasn't because I let her take me hostage? That did wonders for her self-esteem after you trampled on it."

"I was trying to protect her. Of course, my protection didn't extend to getting a satellite feed from her bedroom—"

"That's because you couldn't afford it. I was going to have the Feldman channel added to your cable, but I didn't think you'd appreciate it." Alex grinned flirtatiously at the federal agent. "Of course, Feldman and I enjoy our Mulder channel immensely."

"I know you do. Why do you think I say Scully's name every time?"

Mulder wanted it. Bad. Bad enough to throw the red-headed harpy's name in Alex's face. Mulder should've known that Scully's name didn't make him as jealous as it did nauseous. "Because you're the same idiot who thought drilling holes in his head was a good idea."

"It was a good idea—"

"During the Middle Ages!"

"Why, Ratboy, you care!"

Alex reached over to Mulder's thigh and squeezed. "Of course I care."

The Cherokee swerved across the painted yellow divider. Mulder recovered quickly. Alex had to give him credit for that. "RatboyŠ"

"Alex." His fingers traveled to Mulder's crotch and he noted with amusement that the Cherokee swerved again. "You should think about setting the cruise control."

"There's no cruise control, Ratboy." Mulder's voice was more than a little strangled as Alex undid the federal agent's fly. "RatboyŠ"

"Alex." He grinned up at Mulder. "You'd better watch your speed, Foxboy. We wouldn't want to get pulled over."

"IŠoh, God, Ratboy!"

Was anyone, ever, going to get it right?

Sharks were everywhere. Nurse sharks. Black tip sharks. Sand sharks. Everywhere. All because the alien was some kind of retard.

Toad cursed himself for not guessing as much when he saw what the alien was wearing—a bunny suit yet—but noooooo. He wanted to be friends with the alien. He wanted to go to another planet. Yeah. Right. Not if the aliens were all spazzes like this one!

"Eeeep."

"Didn't I tell you to get lost?"

"Eeeep."

Huge black eyes stared balefully at him. "Forget it. I told you not to jump in the shark tank, but did you listen? No, of course not."

A sand shark went flying past them as a worker tried unsuccessfully to catch it.

"Why am I even arguing about this? I'm going home!" Maybe he could stop off and pick up some more comics—his copies were now sodden mush. "And don't even think about following me."

With that, Toad turned his back on the alien—

—and stepped on top of an eel.

Screaming, he skidded right into the alien.

The alien screamed.

Tanks exploded.

Water and fish were everywhere.

Toad hated the mall.

It had to be Feldman's fault.

Why else would there be explosions in a mall? Scully scowled as she read the police wire again. Feldman and the mall were practically synonymous. The annoying little lawyer lived to shop, although Minnesota hardly seemed like some place Feldman would go. That had to be Ratboy's doing. Maybe he was hoping to lose her in the giant mall and regain his freedom.

Ratboy, free of Feldman. It had possibilities. Especially if Ratboy dropped by her apartment again and—

Who was she kidding? She'd never get that lucky.

No, Ratboy was hopelessly pussy-whipped.

"Agent Scully!"

Spender. Did the man ever look anything but constipated? Scully eyed him coolly. "What now?"

"I said our flight to Minnesota is waiting."

How did this man manage to book private flights on military jets while she and Mulder were forced to fly coach? Maybe that really couldn't be connected to anything Feldman did, but Scully had time and by God, she was a medical doctor with a background in hard science. She'd find the connection if she had to create a new theory of physics to do it.

Yes, she was going to prove once and for all that this was, without a doubt, Feldman's fault.

xx

PART TWELVE

Mulder checked his appearance in the vanity mirror before reaching into the back seat to wake Feldman. He liked to live dangerously, but not that dangerously. "Wake up, Feldpup. We're almost there."

Feldman cracked open one eye and peered at him sleepily. "Weren't you driving?"

Uh-oh.

Ratboy's snicker cut off any fast explanation that would have headed off the impending jealous hissy fit she was going to throw. "We switched off, kitten."

She sat up slowly, her mouth hanging open as comprehension slowly dawned. "B-but that's MY— uh, I mean, there's no cruise control."

Dead. They were dead. Did Ratboy realize what he was doing? Feldman-baiting was one thing, but egging on a jealous Feldman-tantrum was another thing entirely. After all, that was what caused the explosion at Fresh Kills.

Mulder cringed inwardly as Ratboy flashed Feldman a bright, white smile. "Self-control, kitten. It's all about self-control."

"Self control?!" Her eyes grew even wider, if that were possible. "Ratboy —"

"Alex. My name is Alex." Another flash of teeth. "See what I mean about self-control? If you were able to stop calling me Ratboy, maybe we would've woken you sooner."

Mulder decided to toss self-preservation out the window, much the same way Ratboy had tossed his cell phone. "Speaking of self-control, Ratboy, I'm surprised she slept through it. You were kind of loud."

"Me? Loud? I think you were louder than I was."

"Doubtful, considering how hoarse you are now, Ratboy."

Ratboy's green eyes sparkled with mischief. "What can I say? I like to express myself. And my name is still Alex."

Mulder could feel it coming. Feldman didn't like being left out. And she was about to let them know it. This was going to be good, provided he didn't get caught in the explosion.

"You mowed my lawn," she said, finally.

"But which of us is your lawn," Mulder asked, giving her his most sincere look. "And which of us is your front lawn?"

She stared at him, incredulous.

Time to for the bonus round and see if he could get two for the price of one. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he commented, "If you really want to get technical, Feldpup, Ratboy is my lawn, not yours—"

"What?!"

"He was mine first, even if he did come wrapped in cheap suits and bad hair cuts, right, Ratboy?"

Krycek looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He stuttered incoherently and finally managed to blurt, "Alex. My name is Alex."

"Right. In fact, that's just what you told me the day you horned in on my case." Not bad and he wasn't even trying hard. "Yup, I had you for a full year before Feldpup even entered the picture. Of course, she didn't want you then, so you were still technically my Ratboy. To tell the truth, I'm not sure why she would want you now, considering that you won't even let her use her special pet name for you."

"You're a dead man," Krycek hissed under his breath. "Dead. One of us is going to get even with you and it's not going to be pretty."

"It never is." Mulder smiled brightly and pointed at the behemoth that loomed just up the road. "Look, Feldpup, the mall. Feldman want a treat, hmmm?"

"I am NOT a dog!"

Still, she looked interested by the world's largest mall. Mulder reached over and patted her on the head. Good Feldman. Nice Feldman. "Think of all the shoes, Feldman. Flats, pumps, platforms, little strappy sandals—"

"It's not sandal season," she corrected him.

There was a season for sandals? He glanced at Ratboy, who, despite his obvious state of pique, mouthed the word 'boots.' Mulder took the cue, gleefully. "Boots, Feldman. Little ones, big ones, suede, leather—"

"Spiked heel dominatrix patent leather thigh high boots," Krycek purred.

Mulder arched an eyebrow at the other man. "Don't you already have a pair, Ratboy?"

"Alex. My name," Krycek sniffed, indignantly, "is Alex."

"Awww, did I hurt your feelings, Ratboy? Maybe I'll buy you a pair of boots to make up for it."

"Fat chance," Feldman sneered. "You got suspended without pay. AGAIN. Which means you couldn't even afford a shoe box."

Ooooh, nice one! Mulder chuckled and ruffled her hair again. "Maybe, but I had plenty of time to watch you window shop and figure out how you were going to spend Ratboy's hard earned dollars."

That sound was Ratboy grinding his teeth. Mulder had just hit a nerve without even trying.

"Kitten?"

"What now?"

"Didn't I tell you to be more careful and pay attention?"

"Don't be sore, Ratboy, I only followed her for a week without her noticing." Now to see what kind of response that would evoke.

"You fink! You promised to lie for me," Feldman barked, whacking Mulder on the back of the head.

Krycek snorted derisively. "Well, he certainly lied TO you, kitten. He was only on suspension for four days when he followed you home."

"What?!"

Mulder shrugged. "Sue me."

"You jerk!"

"But a satisfied jerk nonetheless," Mulder smirked at her. He ruffled Ratboy's hair. "Don't blame Feldpup, Ratboy. Blame yourself for not teaching her better."

Krycek smacked his hand away. "She's right. You are a jerk. And now you're a dead jerk. Nothing's exploded all day. It's gonna happen any minute now and it's gonna be all your fault. Live with THAT."

Ouch. Mulder slumped down in his seat and quit while he was ahead.

The icy silence lasted exactly three minutes and fourteen seconds, according to Mulder's watch. Naturally, it was Feldman who broke it.

"Nobody had better blame all those police cars on me." She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her seat. "Whatever blew up in the mall wasn't my fault."

"Oh. My. God," Krycek gasped. "I was right. I was right. The alienŠit's exactly like herŠ.We're doomedŠ"

"That's not funny, Ratboy," Feldman sulked.

He didn't even bother correcting her this time.

Mulder decided to press his advantage. "Well, Ratboy, you're the Feldman expert. What's the plan?"

"IŠ.uhŠ..IŠ."

"Maybe you should let Feldpup think up a plan."

"I'd prefer something subtle, not explosive."

"Hey!"

Krycek shot Mulder yet another pissed-off look. "You have to admit, kitten, things have a tendency to go ka-boom when you're around."

"Ratboy!"

"Sorry, kitten, but they do."

Mulder grinned as another way to needle Ratboy occurred to him. "If you weren't so pussy-whipped, Ratboy, you'd leave her here while you went after the gray."

"I am NOT pussy-whipped!"

If Krycek wasn't pussy-whipped, this situation wouldn't have gotten as far out of hand as it did, the smoker thought bitterly. He'd managed to intercept the call to the National Guard and alert the police that young Jeffrey was on his way. The cover story was that the alien was actually an Iraqi terrorist and that Gibson was his hostage. Unfortunately, there was no cover story in the world that could explain Feldman and her entourage. Plausible deniability could only be stretched so far.

Calling this operation a scrub was putting it mildly. No, this was the Chernobyl of Feldman's bungling. Well, had she blown up Indian Hills, as he feared, it would truly have been Chernobyl. Still and all, it was a disgrace. Krycek was a disgrace.

And if the Consortium ever found out he was responsible for hiring her, he was doomed.

There was no doubt about it; Feldman was here. All Scully needed to see were the fire trucks and the riot squad and the thick, black smoke that billowed from the main entrance of the Mall of America to know that Feldman had arrived.

"This doesn't look good," Spender muttered. "I hope it's still alive."

"She's alive," Scully murmured, checking the clip in her gun. "I don't think it's possible to take her out."

Spender reached into his jacket and pulled out a long, silver object. With a flick of his wrist, the thing hissed and a sharp, deadly-looking blade emerged. "This'll kill it."

"I'm sure it will," Scully agreed. "Of course, you'll have a hell of a time explaining why you stabbed Feldman to death with a pointer—"

"Feldman? Who said anything about stabbing Feldman?"

Scully pointed at the scene in front of the mall. "You think somebody other than Feldman did that?"

"Why do you believe that Feldman is the only one who could possibly be responsible," Fowley asked, quietly. "Especially after all you've seen to the contrary."

"I haven't seen anything that disproves Feldman is responsible."

"Would Ellen Feldman be caught dead in a baby blue bunny suit," Fowley demanded.

Damn! The Fowley bitch had her there. Think, Scully. Think. Think. Ah. Yes. Perfect. "She would if she wanted to throw us off track."

Before Fowley could counter Scully's argument, there was another explosion from inside the mall.

Scully smiled smugly. "That was definitely Feldman's fault."

"That wasn't my fault."

"I told you not to press the button for the elevator," Alex scolded. "Didn't they ever teach you not to use the elevator in emergencies?"

"How was I supposed to know it was booby-trapped," Feldman argued.

Mulder leaned over the railing, studying the smoking remains of the glass elevator. "It shouldn't have been booby-trapped, unless the smoker decided you two bungled this job beyond all salvation and this was his way of getting rid of you and the alien."

Feldman sniffed indignantly. "That's ridiculous! We're his most productive operatives. He would never—"

"This has his smell all over it," Alex hissed.

Naturally, Feldman sniffed the air. "I don't smell Morleys."

"It was a figure of speech, kitten."

"Oh." She sniffed again anyway. "Are we near the food court?"

"This is no time to be thinking about food," Alex scolded, as gently as he could manage. "I'll buy you a nice meal afterwards—"

"I'm hungry now, Ratboy. I can't concentrate like this." She batted her eyes up at him as she scratched at her leg. "Just a quick snack. Please?"

Mulder barely disguised his snicker as a cough this time. "No scratching, Feldpup."

"I itch and I'm hungry," she whined. "You two have thought about nothing but yourselves this entire trip. What about MY needs?!"

Alex refused to look at Mulder. If he looked at Mulder, he would have to admit that Mulder was right, that he should have left Feldman in the car. Of course, if he agreed to get her something to eat, Mulder would call him pussy-whipped. It was a no-win situation.

"Fine," he muttered. "I'll get you something to eat."

"A chili dog."

"A chili dog," Alex echoed. Feldman HATED chili dogs.

Feldman's expression brightened considerably. "How about an Orange Julius? Can you steal me an Orange Julius, too?"

"She's having cravings, Ratboy," Mulder intoned, ominously. "There might be a Ratling on the way yet."

And these two were supposed to be on HIS side. He was doomed.

Okay, maybe the alien wasn't such a retard, Toad decided, as he helped himself to another scoopful of ice cream. So far, he'd tried twenty-seven of the thirty-one flavors. The alien seemed content to eat strawberry. Toad, luckily, was allergic to strawberry.

"Man, we're gonna be sick later!"

"Eeep," the alien agreed.

At least it hadn't blown anything up in the last ten minutes.

Suddenly, the alien made a funny sound. It reminded Toad of the noise made by a cat spitting up a hairball.

Realization dawned.

But it was too late.

The alien was also allergic to strawberry.

EPILOGUE ONE—I LOVE THE SMELL OF STRAWBERRY IN THE MORNING

The explosion that destroyed the Mall of America set back Minnesota's economy by about ten years. Local residents within a thirty mile radius reported that amidst the smell of burned-out mall, there was just the tiniest hint of strawberry. The CDC was called in, but nothing could explain the odor, except for group hysteria.

EPILOGUE TWO—HE FOLLOWED ME HOME, MOM, CAN I KEEP HIM?

"If he weren't such a retard—"

"He is NOT a retard."

"Yeah? Explain that explosion, my young friend," Toad sniffed, flipping the page of the latest issue of Spiderman.

"You shouldn't have fed him ice cream. Everybody knows aliens don't eat ice cream."

Toad snorted at his new best friend, Gibson. "Oh yeah, and he told you this."

Gibson hiked up his glasses and nodded.

"And I suppose that makes you telepathic."

"Yup."

"Kewl! An alien and a telepath living in my room!" Toad couldn't believe his luck! Thank goodness his parents never talked to him.

"Never?"

"Huh?"

"Your parents never talk to you?"

"Oh man, you really are a telepath!"

"And I'll tell you something else."

"What?"

"The alien's a girl."

"Ewwwwwwwwwww!"

EPILOGUE THREE—THE SMELL OF NAUGAHYDE

"Š.irresponsible, irrational, inexplicableŠ.the hell with it, just plain STUPID," A.D. Kersh barked.

Mulder didn't dare look at Scully. He knew she agreed with everything Kersh just said.

"Well, Agent Mulder? Do you have anything to say in your own defense?"

Mulder scratched at the cast on his left arm and tried to think of one thing he could say that wouldn't piss Kersh off any further. There wasn't anything. It was amazing that Kersh could still be so furious after the three weeks it took for Mulder to get out of the hospital. It wasn't the broken arm or the concussion that slowed his recovery so much as the unbelievable case of poison oak he had. Go figure he'd catch it from Feldpup.

"Agent Mulder?"

Mulder thought fast. What would Ratboy do? Ratboy would use that smileŠ. Mulder attempted his own version of it.

Kersh's eyes widened but, Mulder had to give him credit, he recovered quickly. "Agent Scully, I am assigning you to the X-Files division to continue your work with Agents Spender and Fowley—"

"How come I'm being punished," Scully demanded, jumping to her feet. It was the most insubordinate Mulder had ever seen her. "He's the one who—"

"I was rewarding you, Agent."

"Oh." She fluffed at her hair. "Gee. Thanks. I guess."

"You're dismissed."

And not a moment too soon. Mulder started to get to his feet when Kersh's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Not you, Agent Mulder. We're going to have a little chat."

Mulder swallowed hard. Hadn't he suffered enough? How in God's name— not that he believed in God, mind you‹was Feldman managing to screw up his life three weeks later? Maybe Scully was right. Maybe everything bad that happened to them WAS Feldman's fault.

Kersh shut the door behind Scully and locked it, facing Mulder with a smile that made Mulder's naughty bits shrink and duck for cover. He was in for it now.

"It's time I used a firmer hand with you, Agent," Kersh said, silkily, dimming the lights in the office.

No. Oh, God—and he still didn't believe in God—NO.

Kersh drew the blinds next.

Before Mulder could fully process that simple action, the voice of Barry White filled the room.

Barry White? BARRY WHITE?!

Damn Ratboy and his stupid smile.

EPILOGUE FOUR—LUCK BE A LADY

Skinner paused just outside A.D. Kersh's office. He'd been on his way to plead for mercy for Mulder, but, judging from the faint sounds of Barry White and the moans and whimpers that were barely audible through the door, Mulder was apologizing just fine on his own.

He felt a slight twinge of jealousy but then he thought of all the headaches and sleepless nights Mulder caused him.

Reassigning Mulder was the best thing that ever happened to him.

EPILOGUE FIVE—HAPPINESS IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

"Having Mulder reassigned is the worst thing that ever happened to me," Spender whined. "I keep getting stuck with working with Scully—"

"You could have ended up living with Feldman," Fowley pointed out. "Look at Krycek. Not only did he lose his edge, but he's pussy-whipped. And you said your father never looks out for you."

"That's true. In fact, he said he was going to have a chat with Krycek and— oh, crap, here come Scully. Quick, turn on that alien autopsy video we found in Mulder's desk."

Fowley hit the play button just as Scully walked in the door.

Whimpers, moans and cheesy music filled the air.

Scully snickered softly. "Thank you, Mulder, wherever you are."

EPILOGUE SIX—YOU KNEW THIS WAS COMING, DIDN'T YOU?

"You can't suspend me!"

"It works for Mulder, Ratboy."

"Alex. My name is Alex." And if he got a bullet in his brain for correcting the smoker, what did it matter at this point? His good arm was broken, he had three cracked ribs, but the worst punishment was that Feldman came out with just a tiny, little cut on her cheek. She wouldn't even have a scar.

The smoker blew a cloud of smoke in his direction and waved his hand dismissively. "Whatever. You're useless to me until you heal anyway. You should spend that time thinking about the old axiom; having is not necessarily so satisfying as wanting."

"You're the one who hired her!"

Judging by the smoker's horrified expression, Alex knew he'd just found his weak spot.

"Suspend me and I'll make sure everybody knows it."

"Are you sure you want to incur my wrath?"

"Yup, because if anything happens to me, Feldman's going to be upset." Alex leaned forward and nearly toppled out of his chair. He cursed his cast under his breath. "You wouldn't want to upset Feldman, would you, sir?"

"Fine. Consider it a vacation without pay."

"Without pay? Feldman needs new shoes."

"Half pay and that's my final offer before I have both of you killed."

Being killed would have been a blessing, considering what was waiting at home.

TO BE CONTINUED...

xx

MsBrooklyn@aol.com

Bizarre Love Triangle by MsBrooklyn
Disclaimer: Alex Krycek and Fox Mulder are, unfortunately, the delicious property of 1013 and Fox, as are Scully, Spender, Fowley, Skinner, Kersh and the Smoker. They are used completely without permission in ways that would probably make Chris Carter very ill. Ellen Feldman is mine. For those of you who couldn't guess, the title comes from a New Order song. Nothing is sacred.
Spoilers: Season 6
Archive: Anywhere, but you have to ask first.
Warning: Adult content. If you're under 18, turn back NOW.

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