Divine Retribution I by MJ Lee love you, Mulder" Alex whispered passionately, jade-green eyes burning with love and desire. He arched into Mulder's body, moaning his need... Rrrrr! Mulder sat straight up, heart pounding, disoriented, his cock hard and heavy between his legs. He stared wildly around him, seeing nothing but the familiar outlines of his bedroom through the darkness. Slowly sinking back again, he felt sweat dripping off his sides, his guts still aching with frustrated lust. A swift glance at the clock informed him that it was quarter to seven and time to get up and go do the work that until recently had absorbed him. Fox Mulder closed his eyes and wondered if he could call in sick. However, after a short while, he sighed deeply and got up, padding into the bathroom. A hot shower revived him sufficiently enough to feel something approximately human. Standing beneath the spray, Mulder closed his eyes and let himself remember... Twenty months and not a night went by without the memories haunting him; a naked writhing body beneath him, sliding his fingers along damp satin skin, sheathing himself in the tight heat of Alex. There was not a night when he did not wake sweating, shaking, and so hard he ached. Yet, always, when he instinctively reached for Alex his seeking fingers encountered nothing but empty air. Turning off the water, Mulder stepped out, wrapping a towel around his hips. Alex with his green eyes and devil's mouth. He suddenly smiled wryly, self-mockingly; obsession thy name is Mulder. Since the morning when Alex had walked out the hotel room door, Mulder had learned the true price of his bloody dark vengeance. A price he paid each time he saw a dark head on the street, the flash of green eyes, smelled leather; a lightning bolt of desire shook him to the core, followed always by an almost overwhelming aching sense of loss. He paid for it in the sleepless nights when he lay still and waiting in his bed, tense for the least noise, praying each time that it was Alex come back to him. During the long empty evenings when he had been too restless to work, and yet unable to sleep, when the very silence of his apartment echoed with the memory of Alex Krycek, he forced himself to remember and to relive every moment, every emotion. It was like prodding a sore tooth, the pain unbearable yet perversely irresistible. He had compelled himself to face, unflinching, the darkness he had discovered living inside his soul, the fact that he was a man who had taken pleasure in Krycek's pain and humiliation. He had sworn to himself during those dark hours that if ever he was able to, he would do anything, mortgage his soul and his body to the devil himself, if only Alex would forgive him. There had been times when the temptation to go to the enemy once more to beg for the knowledge of where Alex was, had almost overwhelmed him. Yet, he had made Scully a promise that first terrible morning when he had come downstairs to find Krycek gone. He had promised her to give the man he loved the one thing he wanted—peace and distance. It had been pure torment, but he had already hurt them both enough, even in his self-absorption he realized that. So all he could do now was wait and hope that one day Alex would return. That hope was all he had left. Once before he had lost everything, and though he had thought at the time that nothing could equal the pain of Samantha's loss, he was discovering that it was a pale shadow of the anguish that now haunted him. Anguish heightened by the simple fact that unlike Samantha he had not so much lost Alex as thrown him away. Because of his own actions, his own blind hatred and vengeance, Alex Krycek had gone, never to return. A swift glance at his watch made him swear and sprint towards his car. He was just opening his car door holding the cup of coffee in one hand and jiggling the car keys in the other when he felt two men smoothly slid up behind and around him. "Please do not turn around, Agent Mulder." Something cold and hard was pressed into his back. "We mean you no harm." Mulder arched an eyebrow and said sardonically, "I think I heard that line on the late night movie." He glanced over his shoulder at the common place face he saw there and added, "is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?" There was not a shadow of a returning smile as the man on his other side took his arm and steered him into a car with tinted windows sliding up to the curb. Having little option, Mulder stepped inside and sat down. A rich aroma of aged leather and older brandy surrounded him. Sitting in the car was an old man. He was impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit that probably cost more than Mulder's yearly pay-check. His thinning white hair grew in tufts around his pink scalp and his wrinkled hands were liberally dotted with liver spots, horn-rimmed glasses reflecting the light. "Do not be afraid, Agent Mulder, I mean you no harm," the man said calmly. "Who are you?" Mulder glared at him. "Are you aware that kidnapping an FBI agent is a federal offense?" A slight smile crossed the other man's face. "Please, Agent Mulder, you are not being kidnapped, I merely wanted an opportunity to speak with you. As for who I am, I could tell you my name, but it would mean nothing to you. Suffice it to say that I was a friend of your father's." Mulder froze. "I see," he said very carefully. The man nodded, as if pleased, and then continued, "We have studied you carefully over many years, Agent Mulder. For a long time we believed you were too stubborn and blind to see where your true destiny lies." Mulder was almost beginning to enjoy himself as he cocked his eyebrow and said, "One mystery I'll never be able to solve is how the hell you people can say lines like that with a straight face. Or do you all go to school to learn how to spout it? Melodrama 101." The man smiled faintly, "So young and passionate," he murmured and then continued smoothly, "It has greatly pleased us that you are maturing at last. Your deal with a certain, ah, gentleman, and I use the term loosely, with a nicotine addiction persuaded us of this." A harsh breath and then Mulder had himself under control once more. "What do you want?" He asked flatly. The man paused, "I believe it is more a question of what you want. We can give you the two things you desire most; the truth and—Alex Krycek." Mulder felt very cold. Was this the man he had become? A man they believed would be open to further corruption. He thought of the old Chinese proverb - the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. So it was with the corruption that now and forever clung to him. Once you take that first step, touch the first darkness, there is no return. His silence lasted a fraction too long, and the man's smile widened. "Yes, indeed, and unlike your previous contacts, we deliver what we promise." The quiet, dry voice murmured softly, "consider, Agent Mulder, incontrovertible evidence for everything you have so desperately tried to uncover. Not in bits and pieces, but the entire unvarnished truth. And at your side, as he should have been, Alex Krycek. Yours to command and own..." Mulder shook his head violently. "No! I don't want to own him!" The very violence with which he rejected the offer bore testament to the strength of his desires. The man said smoothly, "But of course not. We are not crude butchers like Spender. He will be there because he so chooses. He will be there because he loves and wants you, Agent Mulder." Fox Mulder opened his mouth... Fox Mulder's Apartment A Week Later He sat in the darkness watching Mulder sleep, restlessly tossing and turning, the covers in an untidy heap. A tall, muscular man, leather creaking softly in the darkness as he shifted slightly, cool green eyes contemplating the man before him. Fox Mulder. The embodiment of all he had left behind. Although Krycek didn't move, made no sound, suddenly Mulder opened his eyes, tensing, some deeply buried instinct informing the man in the bed that he was no longer alone. "Hello, Mulder," a soft husky murmur. "Alex?" There was no mistaking the shock, or the joy. Mulder sat up, running his hands through his hair. "Alex?!" A faint smile. "You don't sound too surprised." Mulder laughed as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed, pleasure and something else electrifying him. He smiled brilliantly. "I always knew you'd be back." Krycek shook his head, a strange smile curving his lips. "You were right. I need your help," he said abruptly. He watched silently, motionless as Mulder padded barefoot across the room, wearing only boxers. Breathing in the spicy scent that he would know blindfolded, Mulder tried to concentrate on the words although most of his focus was on the fact that Alex was here. So close he could reach out and touch him. He slid his fingers slowly down one smooth cheek, watching as green eyes dilated slightly. "Mulder?" Softly, almost uncertainly. "Yes, Alex?" He knelt before the other man, both hands cupping his face, eyes sliding shut as he leaned forward and kissed the soft lips hovering so temptingly close. Krycek breathed out in a soft shudder, but he didn't move away, if anything he leaned into the touch slightly. "Mulder," he sighed, "I didn't come here for this." Mulder looked up and smiled sweetly. "I know," he slowly slid his hands along smooth shoulders, and then moved down, pulling up the T-shirt, insinuating themselves beneath the fabric. Both men shivered at the first feeling of skin against skin. "But I'm hoping that's why you'll stay." Mulder moved lower, kneeling before Krycek, long elegant fingers tracing the shape of hips and thighs, feeling the contours through the roughness of denim. Stealing another kiss from the strangely silent man, Mulder murmured, "I've spent two years dreaming of this, fantasizing." He traced the shape of an ear with his tongue, his voice deepening, "regretting..." Krycek stiffened, "Don't!" he said sharply. "I'm sorry," Mulder lowered his eyes, sounding contrite, wandering lips returning to the mouth, stroking along the curve, pushing gently to demand entrance. "God, Alex, I'm so sorry," the words a whispered husky litany. Abruptly, Krycek stood up, pushing Mulder away, pacing back. "I need your help," he said curtly, taking a deep breath. Mulder remained on the floor, still kneeling. "What is it?" The dark figure swung around. "It's a long and complicated story." Mulder stood up and crossed the room, each movement smooth, almost predatory. Silently he stalked Krycek, watching green eyes widen and the beautiful lithe body unconsciously tense. "I love long and complicated stories," he said earnestly, his body hard and aching with need. Pressing Krycek against the wall he took another kiss, less gentle this time. "I want you," he murmured, not even aware he said the words aloud. The sudden hard shove took him by surprise, and he staggered back a pace or two. "Back off, Mulder!" Krycek hissed, eyes hard. "Get your brains out of your pants and back where they belong." Mulder flushed, "I..." he began when the doorbell abruptly rang and interrupted whatever he was going to say. Krycek sighed in something like relief, "That's Scully and your boss and unless you want them to see something I'm sure they've seen before, I suggest you go put on some clothes and calm down." He walked past Mulder and into the hallway where he opened the door and Mulder heard Scully's quiet voice and Skinner's deep bass. Hastily throwing on a pair of faded jeans and a sweatshirt, Mulder pushed both hands through his hair, smoothing it down, telling his body to think of arctic lakes and snow. He was furious with himself. Five minutes and he'd already managed to antagonize Alex. "Mulder?" A knock on the bedroom door, "Mulder are you in there?" "Yeah, I'm coming, Scully," he called out. He took a last look at his reflection in the mirror before opening the door and walking into his living room. Skinner was on the sofa, Krycek standing by the window, back against the glass. Scully gave him a swift assessing glance, "You okay?" she asked. He nodded, giving her a faint reassuring smile and watched her eyes soften in return before all his attention shifted to the two silent men. Mulder sat down on the sofa, "I didn't expect to see you here, sir," he said, turning to Skinner. Skinner ignored the faint snort from Krycek as he said curtly, "We need to talk." Krycek laughed huskily, "You always were one for understatement, Skinner." The sound of Krycek's laugh pierced Mulder and his body hardened in instinctive arousal. Behind Mulder, Scully almost rolled her eyes. You could cut the tension between Skinner and Krycek with a knife. Skinner alternated between completely ignoring Krycek's presence and glaring at the younger man with murder in his eyes. Krycek's response was a deliberate, calculated insult, losing no opportunity to needle or taunt the AD. Skinner gave Mulder a level look and said coolly, "I think it's no use pussyfooting around. Recently you were offered the chance to join the Consortium," he paused, "and given certain promises if you did." Almost inadvertently his eyes slid briefly to the man standing by the window. Mulder had gone very still. "How do you know this?" he almost whispered, and Scully winced, having hoped against hope that it was all some terrible mistake. A mirthless smile stretched Skinner's mouth. "I had a little visit from a certain man who left ashes all over my carpet." "The smoker," Mulder's heart beat loudly and he too found himself helplessly looking towards Alex. "The very same," Skinner agreed grimly. Krycek returned to the center of the room, grabbing the chair by the desk and reversed it straddling the seat. Mulder tried to ignore the way the action tightened the denim covering his legs and the long muscular thighs spread across the seat. Leaning his elbow on the back, Krycek said dryly, "The man does get around. He paid me a visit after those two," he nodded towards Scully and Skinner, "appeared. You were set up," he continued flatly, "the smoker was unable to find me himself, so he used you two to track me down, so he could issue his little threats." Scully bit her lip, not happy her suspicions had been confirmed about the way they had been used as dupes by the smoking man. "I'm sorry," she offered quietly. Krycek gave her a quick smile but as his focus shifted back to the two men on the sofa, it swiftly died. "Look, we've all got our own reasons for wanting Spender off our backs." "Is Spender his real name?" Mulder suddenly asked. Krycek shrugged, "I don't know. It's certainly one of them. I've heard him called other things as well. Does it matter?" Mulder shook his head, "Not really, I was just curious." Krycek worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, "I think the time for playing games is over." Eyes went hard and dangerous. "Petya's got a chip in his neck," he said harshly, ignoring Scully's sharp inhale of breath, loud in the stillness created by his blunt statement. "I want it out. As long as it's there, Spender tells me jump, and I'll ask how high. But I need your help to do it." Mulder stared down at the floor, knowing they were all thinking of what else Alex was prepared to do to protect his nephew. It hurt, God how it hurt, for a variety of reasons he didn't even want to begin to unravel. Not the least of which was the unexpected stab of jealousy at the love and loyalty Peter Krycek demanded from his uncle. "I said no, you know," he said abruptly to the room at large. "I told him to take his offer and shove it up his ass." Krycek made an impatient sound. "Nice, very smooth, Mulder," he said sarcastically. He thought for a moment, "still, it shouldn't change the plan much." "What plan?" Skinner demanded. Calmly Krycek said, "Mulder goes undercover at the Consortium," he ignored Mulder's shock. "Of course it would have been easier if he'd at least said he'd consider the offer, but we can work around that. I'll go with him to lend credence to the cover story. Once we're inside we should be able to find the data we need to get the chip out of Peter's neck." He gave Scully a sudden swift glance, "And yes, there is a very good chance the same data can give you the info you need to cure your cancer." For the first time he hesitated slightly, "see, the reason all the abductees get cancer once you remove the chip is that they've got alien DNA inserted into their genetic mass. The chip regulates and negates their body's natural immune system. Without it, the body reacts to the foreign tissue and the result is cancer. It's all related to the altering of Cassandra Spender, although she represents a different approach, but it's the same general idea." Scully took a deep breath. To be free of the threat of cancer. To know that she was finally cured. To her own faint surprise, her voice was actually steady when she said, "You really think they'd go for it?" Krycek shrugged once. "I dunno, but if we can plant or encourage some rumors going around already that Bill Mulder's son is taking up where his father left off... why not? It's not an important part of the Consortium we're aiming for, it's actually duplicated several times over." There was a moment's silence, and then Scully said, her voice tightly controlled, "Let's do it." He shook his head, amusement warming his eyes. "See, that's the problem, Scully. They might, with any luck believe that Mulder's turned, but no one will ever believe you have." Scully bit her lip, "You mean I'm too—" "Loyal, upstanding and plain good?" green eyes danced, "yup. Sorry, Scully, but it's a harsh world." Not even Skinner could hold back the hint of a grin, and Mulder laughed. "See, I told you Scully, that no good deed goes unpunished." She scowled at him. "Fine! So what do I do while you're out cloak and daggering?" Biting back his amusement, Mulder said gravely, "Sit back and wait to be rescued?" The glare she shot him was hot enough to singe. Yet, simultaneously with the hope Scully also felt the heat of rage grow. To finally, finally after years of hunting out pieces, fragments, trying to puzzle together clues, and never getting anywhere, know that the answer was there all the time, to have it so casually offered. Locked in the mind of this, this... assassin! She knew her voice was stiff, when she said, "Why are you telling us this now?" Mulder heard the pain, and reached out a hand, grasping her cold fingers gently, warming them. "I think Scully asked a valid question," he said calmly. Krycek didn't seem aware of the sudden coldness that permeated the room. " To make this work we need to not only cooperate, but trust each other," a sardonic smile, "so you can call it an offering of trust." Skinner said in his deep voice, "Interesting, do you really think it can work?" Krycek inclined his head gracefully. "Oh yes, I think we could have a mutually profitable deal." He continued, "I haven't worked out the details yet, but when you told me about the offer I realized that this was a great opportunity. See, Sharpe wouldn't have made it without a pretty general consensus." Scully frowned, "Who is Sharpe?" "The man Mulder met with; Bill Mulder's old friend," Krycek's voice was completely without expression. "Before we got on the plane I talked to some people on the phone and they confirmed my suspicions that it was Sharpe." He gave Mulder a swift glance, "You know Spender will never let you go now. He won't be so crude as to threaten you with secret video tapes, but he'll always remind you of what you owe him." He smiled without humor. "As long as he thinks he can use me as the bait to hook you further, I'll never get him to leave me alone either." Mulder nodded silently. Alex's words did not come as great surprise. He may be many things, but Fox Mulder was not a fool. "I know," he said flatly. Krycek said calmly, "You may not know this but Spender is really not very popular among the Consortium. He's been playing private games for a long time now. He keeps his position, but no one would exactly mourn his passing. So we have a shot at getting the chip out of Petya's neck, curing Scully's cancer, and taking out our friend with the bad nicotine problem." His lips peeled back in a wolfish smile. "If we're going to do it, this is the right time. Most of his potential allies and friends got grilled en brochette a couple of years back." "Why are you telling us all this?" Skinner still didn't give an inch. Krycek returned the look with interest. "Because Petya's life is too important for me to play games with." For once, not one of them doubted his truthfulness. They discussed possible alternatives for a while longer then agreed to meet again in the morning to finalize the plan. None of the other three commented that the only one who did not seem overly enthusiastic was Mulder. While Scully, Skinner and Krycek talked, he remained silent and distracted. Krycek said little and missed nothing, green eyes wary and alert. Picking up her coat, Scully glanced at Krycek who was still sitting down. "Are you coming?" Krycek gave Mulder a swift look, the other man was standing very still, silent, hazel eyes wide and unblinking not looking at either of them. He shook his head. "Nah, I'll stay for a while. I'll see you tomorrow." She nodded and did not ask anything else. She knew that the two of them definitely needed to sort some things out if they were going to work together. Down on the street Skinner looked at Scully and asked, "Can I drop you somewhere, Agent Scully?" She shook her head, "No thank you, sir, my car is parked just around the corner." Although neither said anything, both were acutely aware of the two men they'd left staring silently at each other, and the thought of what was happening in the apartment they'd left minutes before remained uppermost in both their minds. AD Skinner watched as Scully unlocked her car and started driving away before he turned to fish out his own car keys. Involuntarily he glanced up toward Mulder's window. Although he had shown little outward emotion when Scully had told him, he had been... stunned was probably the best word. Unlocking his car door and sliding behind the wheel, for a moment Skinner wished for a cigarette. He had given up the habit years ago, not liking the thought of being dependent on anything. He'd seen too many good friends turn to other dependencies like alcohol and drugs to be comfortable with even a socially accepted addiction like smoking. However, right now he could really use a cigarette, or a good stiff drink. Without volition his eyes slid towards Mulder's window again before he yanked them away forcibly, and with a soft oath started the car and gunned the motor remembering the night it had all begun... FBI AD Walter Skinner's Condo Crystal City, VA Three Days Earlier Skinner put his briefcase on the table and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. Christ, he was tired. Who would ever have thought that just sitting at a desk reading reports and playing politics would exhaust him in a way combat never had. Now, all he wanted was some smoky whisky and some cool blues. "Do not turn on the light, Mr. Skinner," the dry rasp reached him from behind and he froze. Skinner swore silently, furious that he'd allowed his intruder to get the drop on him. He turned slowly, holding his hands in easy view. The smoke curled straight up, fouling the air. In silence the two men stared at each other. Although Skinner let no hint of emotion cross his face or eyes, there was cold hatred coiled inside his heart as he looked at the man who, however much he might like to deny it, owned a part of his soul. It did not matter that he had gone into the darkness with his eyes open. That he had sealed the bargain with evil for the sake of a good woman. He was caught like a wolf with its paw in a trap. "What do you want?" he growled. The man's face did not change; cold reptilian eyes watched him dispassionately. "Alex Krycek." Skinner almost laughed. "I don't have him. I haven't seen him since..." an infinitesimal hesitation, a memory of pain and death, "you sent him to kill me." Again there was no response. "We need him," the man said flatly, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Why?" Short, uncompromising. A brief hesitation and then, he was given the one thing he had never expected, an answer. "Fox Mulder recently received an offer of Consortium membership." Dark eyes widened fractionally. "Agent Mulder is a part of the Consortium?!" The man with a thousand names shook his head. "No, I said he had received an offer to join the Consortium." "He will never accept," Skinner said flatly. "Once, I believed as you do Mr. Skinner, however, the offer was made very cleverly. He was offered the two things he desire." Skinner waited. The smoker lit another cigarette, "One of the things they are offering him is Alex Krycek." There was a long silence while Skinner wondered when the world had gone mad. The old man couldn't possibly mean what he had just implied. "Mr. Skinner, Mulder has to be prevented from this course of action, no matter what the cost. It would have disastrous and far more wide-reaching implications than you will ever know." Deciding that this was a moment that called for a stiff drink, he walked across the room and opened a cabinet pouring himself a whisky. Turning, with the glass in his hand he said evenly, "What do you want from me?" "I want you to find Alex Krycek and persuade him to cooperate." Skinner had to subdue a bitter laugh tossing down half the whisky and felt it burn all the way down to his stomach where it settled like a glowing coal. "What makes you think he'll listen to me?" He added with dry acerbity, "As I recall, the last time we met, he killed me." The old man stubbed out his cigarette, "Ah, but you see, you were supposed to die permanently, Mr. Skinner, your usefulness at an end. Instead Krycek, for his own reasons no doubt, chose to revive you and kill Dr. Orgel instead." Skinner blinked once. "I see," he said carefully, swirling his glass watching the amber liquid, "surely you do not need my help to find one of your own." The silence made him look up sharply. The stillness might, in another man and another place, have been interpreted as... sheepish. "The Consortium is not what it once was," the admission was made grudgingly. "The events of the last years have left us undermanned and with lost resources. And Alex Krycek is very good at covering his tracks, as you know, Mr. Skinner." Soft insinuation curled through the raspy voice. "Furthermore, as I said, it would seem that Krycek has a, ah... fondness for you. It may be that you will have more success in persuading him to cooperate than we." PanAm Flight 505 to San Francisco A Day Later "Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?" Skinner turned in his seat to look at Scully, who stared back at him with a stubborn light in her blue eyes. "No, I am not," he admitted calmly. "But I believe that the alternative might be more disastrous in the long-term." The tall AD leaned back in his seat, "let's go through what we have." "Yes sir," she opened her briefcase and took out a pale folder. "I don't know where you found that newspaper clipping but it proved an excellent starting point. The boy in the picture was indeed Peter Krycek and an Internet database search also provided me with the name of the photographer. I spoke to him yesterday morning," she paused and shook her head, "I still can't believe that Krycek didn't even change his name." "The purloined letter theory, Scully." He noticed her frown and waved his hand, "Never mind, please go on." She turned a page, "Yes sir, ah, once I knew which local newspaper the picture was in, I spoke to City Hall records in San Jose which is a mid-sized town located on the west coast, about two hours drive from San Francisco. About twenty months ago, Alex Krycek and his nephew Peter Krycek moved to the town. Alex Krycek bought an old building and renovated it. The bottom floor is a bookstore and they live on the two top floors. It is, as far as I understand, moderately successful." "Alex Krycek as a bookstore owner? The mind boggles," Skinner said dryly. Scully's smile was reflected in her eyes although her face remained calm, respectful. "Yes sir, but the evidence is incontrovertible." She looked down at the file again, "it all checks out. By all accounts he lives a very quiet life, not so much as a parking ticket." She said thoughtfully, "I also managed to get hold of an old friend who's at the local FBI office in San Francisco, and he talked to a contact in the San Jose Police Department. As far as Tom's source knew, Alex Krycek does nothing except work in his bookstore during the day, take care of his nephew during the evenings, and the closest he ever gets to any excitement is having a quiet drink at the nearest local bar." She shook her head, "I've wondered at times how Krycek lived when he wasn't making our lives miserable. I always imagined him in exotic locations, doing dark and dangerous things." She actually smiled, "ah well, another illusion lost." She hesitated, but then asked, "Sir, don't you find it just a little curious that the smoking man has asked the FBI to find Krycek? With the kind of resources the Consortium has, why come to us?" "I already thought of that," the tall AD acknowledged her doubts, "and the fact is, I don't know. We may be walking into a trap," he sighed, "frankly, this is a bad deal. We're going in blind, but not to act could, in the long run, be more disastrous than doing what he wants. All we're doing after all," Skinner said carefully, "is trying to find Krycek and persuade him to help. It may be that Spender thinks we have a better chance at persuading Krycek than any of the Consortium." He cleared his throat a little uncomfortably, remembering what Scully had told him, quietly, concisely, and with pain in her eyes. "If what you've told me is true, then I can certainly see why he would think so." Scully's eyes dropped, and neither of them said anything else. Books N' Ends Ridgeview Street San Jose, CA "Hel..." Alex Krycek came around a bookshelf, a welcoming smile on his face. A smile that faded into complete shock. "Fuck!" Scully raised an eyebrow, "Hello, Krycek." They were standing just inside the door, side by side. The epitome of correct FBI agents. Krycek stared at them, and for a moment, naked emotion carved deep lines into his face before it quickly lost all expression. "What the hell are you doing here?!" Skinner matched his glare, "Looking for you." Krycek's eyes swept from one to another and the hunted, trapped expression made them appear even greener. And then he sighed, a deep, bitter sound. "Ah shit, I should have known it was too good to last." Skinner said nothing, hostility radiating off him. The AD was seeing not the cheerful bookstore but a garage and a sibilant whisper from out of the darkness. The frustration mingled with cold fear at the man's soft gloating words. Scully glanced at her superior but when he didn't speak, she said quickly, "Krycek, we need to talk." "I see," he said with studied neutrality. For a moment rage glittered in the green depths, but then, firmly back in the persona he'd built for himself during the past two years, Krycek shrugged almost carelessly. "Well, as long as you're here, you may as well come upstairs." He called out to the cheerful blond woman by the coffee pot, "Jenny, mind the place for me?" She waved her hand in acknowledgment, and Krycek turned to his unexpected, and unwelcome, guests. "This way." Silently, Krycek led them through the door and through a hallway behind, then up a winding stair to a door. Opening it, a delicious aroma wafted through the air and hit their nostrils. Scully inhaled appreciatively. Looking around, she was pleasantly surprised by the quiet, comfortable and welcoming place. Bookshelves were everywhere, filled with books, obviously used and well-loved; the furnishings consisted of comfortable sofas and cheerful woven carpets, and attractive prints on the walls. Sitting at the kitchen table, listening to some sort of hip hop, tapping his pencil in rhythm, books spread across the surface was Peter Krycek. The intervening two years had wrought far bigger differences in the boy than in the man. He was taller, though still in the all arms and legs stage. Looking up from his books at the sound of the door opening and closing, he started to smile, "You're la..." his voice died away and he stared at the two uninvited visitors. It was amazing how two pair of eyes could blaze with exactly the same kind of wary shock. "What the fuck are you doing here?!" "Peter, language," Krycek murmured, going over and giving him a quick hard hug, although it was unclear to the onlookers if it was to receive or give comfort. The action gave the two FBI agents a chance to take a closer look at Alex Krycek. Scully noted with cool approval that he had gained some weight, losing the half-starved waif look, although it was solid muscle not fat. However, apart from that, there was little outward change, he was still an extremely attractive man. Her focus sharpened, as she realized that the biggest difference was in his eyes. He had lost some of the perpetual wariness, the restless frustration and anger that had seemed always to simmer just below the surface. Sometime in the past twenty months, Alex Krycek had found peace. She had to fight to hold back a smile at the glare Peter Krycek gave them as he obviously recognized her. Shock was quickly replaced with anger. "Go away!" he told them furiously, rising and moving in front of his uncle as if trying to shield him. The love and adoration was more than mutual, as was the instinct to protect. Krycek put his hand on one thin shoulder. "Calm down, Petya. Have you finished your home work?" Turning his glare on his uncle, eyes softening immediately Peter nodded reluctantly, "Yeah, everything except trig, I was waiting for you to come home." Turning the boy and giving him a quick kiss on the forehead, completely natural and unembarrassed, Krycek murmured, "I'll help you later. Go to your room." Peter looked stubborn, "I want to stay." Krycek shook his head, still gently but implacably, "No, this is not for you, go on, I'll be up later." He smiled, ruffling brown hair, "and since it's my fault dinner is late, you can watch the videos I know you've got hidden behind the book shelves." "How did you...?" He broke off and muttered something under his breath. "I don't know why I even try," Peter complained, gathering his books and giving the two agents a final furious look. Krycek smiled a little ruefully, eyes still warm and tender as he turned back to them after Peter's departure. "He's still in the awkward age I'm afraid." "He's very protective," Scully said gently. "But he looks like he's grown into a nice young man." The smile widened, "He's a great kid." Abruptly all softness faded and the mild-mannered bookstore owner was gone, replaced with the familiar ruthless survivor as Krycek gave them a hard look. "Sit down and tell me what I have to do to get you out of my hair." "No." Scully took a deep breath and tried again. "Krycek, we really need your help. No one knows the Consortium the way you do." Krycek raised an eyebrow, "Yes, and?" "I..." Floundering, Scully glanced at Skinner for help. Coldly, not trying to hide his antipathy of the man facing them, Skinner bit out, "I'm not going to appeal to your better side, we both know you don't have one, but Scully's right. We need you to save a good man." "A good man? Not exactly the way I'd have described Mulder." He paused, and his mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "Besides, I don't know what you want me for. I've been out of the game for two years, I bet by now Skinner here knows more than I do, don't you, Skinner?" He baited, watching in cold amusement as the AD grew red. "You son of a bitch!" Skinner almost lunged across the table and wrapped his powerful hands around the neck of Krycek. "The truth hurts doesn't it, Skinner?" Krycek spat back, not backing down. "You and Mulder make me sick! Both of you are such fucking hypocrites!" He suddenly laughed, a strange glitter in his eyes. "You despise me for what I've done, but you forget your own deals with the devil. I'm not fit to wipe your boots but when you need me, oh yes, then I'm good enough to—" He broke off abruptly. When Krycek spoke again there was no emotion in the level voice. "Look, I have no intention of leaving Peter and go off on some crusade to save Mulder's ass. I don't owe him a damn thing." Scully said quietly, "Krycek, this time Mulder has gone too far, he's going to get killed." "I'll send flowers to his funeral." Krycek looked at the two intruders and said icily, "Now get the hell out of my home." With a disgusted sound Scully gave up and stalked downstairs to wait for a cab. Skinner, however, hesitated briefly in the doorway. For a moment the memory of a underground garage, the smell of a car and leather creaking softly in the darkness filled his mind, overwhelmed him, and suddenly he had to know. "The smoker said you were supposed to kill me, and didn't," he spoke abruptly. Krycek gave Skinner a sudden hard look, before shrugging casually. "You shouldn't believe everything you're told," he returned easily, a little mocking note in his voice. "I don't, but I have to wonder. Why did you revive me and not Orgel? Surely in the order of things he was far more important than I?" Another shrug, although Krycek didn't meet the steady gaze. "Let's just say I have different priorities from the Consortium." His hand began plucking restlessly at a loose thread in his well-worn jeans. "And what priorities are those?" Skinner wouldn't give up. A hint of a smile curled one corner of his mouth, "Call it a courtesy between professionals." Long black lashes swept up and he gave Skinner a thoughtful look from which most of the anger was gone. "Actually, I always thought you were an okay guy caught up in something you had no control over." "Well, you were right about that," Skinner said dryly. "So," a quick smile dying swiftly, "sure I could have kept that bastard Orgel around, but hell no man deserved to die more than he did, and you didn't." "Morals according to Krycek?" A soft chuckle, "Yeah, I guess you could call it that." A brief pause, "Skinner? Truce?" Skinner took his time answering, not willing to be railroaded into anything. He studied the wiry, muscular body leaning against the door with boneless grace. An assassin, a liar, a traitor, his memory whispered. Yet the hard-nosed pragmatism that had ensured his survival in the jungles of Vietnam and the corridors of the FBI reminded him that far more important than old memories and old hatred was present need. "Truce, Krycek," he finally agreed but added, "I still owe you a beating though." Krycek arched both eyebrows, "What about the night I spent freezing my ass off on your balcony?" Skinner said dryly, "Ah, but you started it by the gang-bang to get the DAT tape." Krycek considered that, "True, okay, let me know a time and place and we'll go off and you can pound me into the ground, deal?" A sudden bitter smile, "or if it's more to your taste, you can fuck me through the nearest wall." Skinner didn't answer, and suddenly Krycek looked wary. "That was supposed to be a joke, you know." "Not a very funny one," Skinner said shortly. He decided to pay Krycek back in the same coin, and let his eyes sweep, slowly, deliberately over the muscular body, stripping it with his look. When they finally returned to Krycek's face, there was a flush running along the cheekbones, and a strange glitter in the jade-green eyes. "Point taken," Krycek said quietly. Skinner gave a grim nod. "Don't play games with me, Krycek. I don't like it and you won't like the way I play, got it?" "Yes, sir." There was a certain wry amusement mixed in with the sarcasm. Skinner gave him a sharp look but refrained from saying anything else. It was not even ten minutes after the FBI agents had left that the phone rang. Krycek picked it up with a hand that he realized was actually shaking. "Hello." "Liberty Park in half an hour." The connection broke and he was left staring at the buzzing tone his stomach in knots. From the moment he'd seen the two FBI agents standing in his bookstore Alex Krycek had known that the life he had built for himself and Peter in the past two years was disintegrating, but even so Spender's swiftness took him by surprise. A humorless smile twisted his lips; the old bastard must be very worried. Krycek walked into his bedroom and opened the wardrobe kneeling as he reached inside to take out a small metal box. He unlocked it and then stared for a long time at the gun lying there. Slowly he picked it up feeling the familiar touch of cold metal slide easily, smoothly into his palm, fingers curling around the trigger. "What are you doing, Uncle Alexei?" He blinked, looking up to find Peter staring at him, face pale, green eyes so like his own, wide. Krycek shook his head standing up and tucking the gun into his jeans. "Don't ask, Petya." The boy came into the room and sat down on the bed, "You said you weren't going to shoot anyone again. It's because of them, isn't it? The two FBI agents?" Krycek raised an eyebrow, "How do you know they're FBI agents?" Peter calmly admitted, "I listened through the door. Are you going to do it?" "Do what?" "Go with them to help this Mulder?" Krycek shook his head, reaching inside and taking out his leather jacket. "If you were listening in, then you also know I said 'no.'" Peter cocked his head, a sudden intense look that reminded his uncle uncomfortably of Fox Mulder. "So why the gun?" Krycek came over to the bed and sat down beside the boy, putting his arm around Peter's shoulder. Theirs was not the usual uncle-nephew relationship. Rather their bond was a strange mixture of father-son, best friends and brothers. Peter was the one person Krycek had never lied to. He didn't start now. "Because, the Consortium has found us as well." His arm tightened in instinctive comfort as the boy suddenly shuddered. "Yeah, I know, it's not good, but I'll get us through this, somehow, trust me." He rose, giving Peter a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Go to bed; I'll be back as soon as I can." Peter bit his lip, "Be careful, Uncle Alexei." There was a disconcertingly adult look in his eyes, a maturity that didn't belong to a teenager. Walking down the path, hearing the gravel crunch beneath his feet, Krycek walked back into his past. Into hell. The old man was sitting on one of the park benches, looking like some grotesque parody of the old men who spent their empty days feeding the birds and watching life pass by. "Hello, Alex," the harsh rasp was the same. "You have proved elusive." A faint shrug, "I did not want to be found, besides," there was the hint of a challenge, "I have Petya. We're even." "Not correct, you belong to the Consortium, you belong to me." Krycek shook his head, "No. Not any longer." There was no hint of the hatred, the bitterness or the anger, he knew far better than that. A thin smile, "You may choose to believe so, but we both know the truth; don't we, Alex?" Suddenly, Krycek knew he couldn't play the game any longer. "What do you want?" The smoker studied him for a moment and then he said calmly, "Mulder." Mulder, always Mulder. "What has he done now?" he asked pretending ignorance. "He is beginning to realize his true potential as a player. He is becoming dangerous." Krycek arched an eyebrow. "Kill him." "He is too important to kill. What I need is a way to leash and control him." A bitter laugh threatened to choke him. Of course, whatever Mulder did, whatever he threatened he would never be killed or even seriously harmed. Others would always pay the price for Fox Mulder's blindness and folly. "What makes you think I can make Mulder do anything?" It was a last futile attempt to stave off the inevitable. His answer was a knowing look, a voice ripe with soft lascivious innuendo, "Come now, there is no need to play games, Alex, we know each other too well. Mulder will do whatever you want, if you just offer him the right incentive." "I'm not your whore anymore," he said coldly. The other man lit up another cigarette. "True, and more's the pity, since you were so good at it. As you said, there is little we can do to compel your obedience. However, for Petya's sake, if nothing else, you should be more than willing." The smoker had not needed to add the last. From the moment he heard that too familiar, hated voice, in the phone, he had known he was caught. "You touch Petya and I'll kill you," he hissed. The old man looked supremely unimpressed by the threat. "It will not be necessary for me to do anything." His stomach suddenly clenched. "What are you talking about?" "Have you looked at his neck?" The quiet insinuation was obvious. "You're lying. Only women were implanted." The silence hummed with satisfaction, and Krycek's shoulders slumped. The old bastard had him, and they both knew it. "Very well," he let no hint of the defeat he felt show, "I'll do it." "I always knew you'd make the right decision, Alex." There was more than a little insinuation in the soft, smooth voice. Neither Skinner nor Scully seemed surprised when he came to their hotel the next morning and curtly, coldly told them he was coming. Stone faced he arranged for his assistant, Jenny to take Peter for however long he had to be gone. What hurt most was that, Peter neither sulked or pleaded for him to remain. Once again Krycek was painfully reminded that he wasn't the only one scarred by the years with the Consortium. "I know why you have to go, Uncle Alexei, but let me come with you," Peter said, sitting on the bed and watching him pack. Krycek swung around in shock. "Out of the question!" "Why not?" the boy argued, "I can shoot, not as good as you I know, but I'm not bad." His uncle stared at him. "When did you learn how to shoot?" Peter shrugged, "When I was five or so? Yeah, I think five or maybe six. Some of the guards at the place I was then, the one in Murmansk, thought it would be fun teaching me." Krycek closed his eyes, breathing out a curse. "No, Peter," he said when he finally got his voice under control again. "Besides," he added, "even if you learned to shoot then, you have to keep up the practice." "But I have. I go to a club once a week; I've done so ever since we moved here," his nephew said very calmly. Once again Alex Krycek could only stare in silence at the boy who's biggest problem should be his love-life. "Why, Peter?" he finally said sounding profoundly weary. He was stunned, unable to believe that Peter had kept this secret from him. Their relationship had always been based on absolute trust and they both knew that Peter had broken something important by his silence. "I was under the impression that to shoot at most clubs you need a signed consent form from your guardian." He paused, "and where did you get a gun?" Green eyes fell, "I forged your signature," Peter admitted quietly, "and I bought a gun on the street when we first came here." Alex Krycek was very pale. Softly he repeated his question. "Why, Petya?" Peter stood up and went over to his uncle, kneeling beside him on the floor. "Uncle Alexei, we always knew they'd come after us, and I wanted to at least give them a fight when they did." He bit his lip, "I know you're trying to protect me, but I want to protect you just as much as you want to protect me." His voice sank into a whisper, "I know what you've done to keep me safe." His eyes didn't meet Krycek's. Some of the guys thought it'd be funny telling me. I... I understand why you did it," he faltered, "but I wish you never had to, and... and I know it's only because of me you did it." A pain, deeper than any knife or bullet would ever cause, pierced Alex Krycek's soul. Mulder's Apartment Present Time Once the door had closed behind a stone-faced Skinner and an expressionless Scully, Krycek swung around. "We need to talk," he said flatly. Mulder swallowed, his throat dry. The feeling of deja vu was overpowering, and he was desperately trying to forget about the last time they'd been alone like this in his apartment. He wet his lips, "Yes, we do," he agreed softly. He curbed the impulse to reach out and touch Alex. To fall on his knees and beg forgiveness. Mutely, he gestured at the sofa, and then bit his lip, closing his eyes at the tiny, barely perceptible flinch. Every surface in the room screamed silently with memories, the floor where Alex had knelt naked, in chains... The sofa where he had sprawled, dark head bent, strong hand wrinkling the fabric in response to the pain Mulder inflicted on his body... the table Mulder had flung him across that first terrible night. "Umm, maybe we could go out somewhere?" Mulder mumbled uncomfortably. Krycek gave him a swift glance and then suddenly chuckled, "Relax, Mulder, you look like you're about to spontaneously combust. I'm not going to scream accusations at you. What's done is done, and if we're going to work together," his eyes hardened fractionally, "then you're going to have to stop flinching each time I come close." "I'm no..." Mulder started to deny. "Like hell you aren't!" Krycek stood up and paced towards him, and Mulder almost jumped out of his skin at the light touch on his face. "See?" Alex murmured. Taking Krycek by surprise, Mulder's hand came up and covered the strong elegant fingers, while he rubbed lightly against the warm skin. "Do you know how often I've fantasized that you'd come back again?" he whispered, aching loss haunting his voice. Krycek started to shake his head, and Mulder interrupted before he had to listen to the words, "Oh, I knew you never would, but the fantasy was what kept me together more nights than I want to admit, Alex." He slowly, carefully leaned forward and kissed the firm lips just a few inches from his own. Although Krycek didn't back away, nor did they soften and open, and when Mulder looked into moss-green eyes, they were wary and aloof. "One night, Alex, that's all I ask." Softly, pleadingly, he whispered, "One night Alex, please?" He thought that unless he could bury himself in the elegant, muscular body standing so close to him, unless he could touch and caress and stroke the long, lean lines and pale skin, he would die from the craving. In his frustration he added, "You said if we're going to work together then we have to trust each other. Don't you trust me?" Krycek looked at him for a long searching moment, and then asked quietly, "Does it really mean that much to you?" Mulder couldn't speak, his throat too full for words, so he simply nodded. Krycek sighed, a long, weary sound. "All right, Mulder, one night." He hooked a foot around Mulder's leg, pulling him close and turning so he was pressing the older man against the wall lightly. He used his artificial arm to lean his body weight, and his real arm to stroke down the lean body, which shuddered at his touch as Mulder arched forward, spine bent, gasping. "Want, need you," he moaned, already lost in the wonder of touch and smell and taste. Of everything he thought hopelessly lost. One night, the words pounded in his thoughts. One night to make it right. One night to show Alex his remorse. One night to prove his love. One night. In a dream he felt Krycek slowly unzipping his jeans, the slight pressure of his fingers shifting the metal into hot, hard aroused flesh. And then, God, Mulder almost levitated at the sensation of a strong hand, stroking down his stomach, dipping inside his boxers and grasping his cock. He gasped at the first touch, like liquid fire burning into him, carried along unbearably sensitive nerve endings. Yet, this wasn't how he'd imagined it. This time he wanted to be the one to give, not just take. So although it was pure torture, he moved back, and knelt in front of Krycek, slowly sliding his hands along long denim-covered legs, up beneath the leather jacket. Mulder breathed deeply, the blood pounding through his veins, his body throbbing hard with desire and his mind pounding with the need to expiate the bitterness of the past with the passion of the present. The soft rustle of denim was an explosion of sound in the silence as the jeans fell, pooling around his feet as Krycek stepped back a pace, kicking them away. For the first time he tasted the other man on his tongue, the musky, slightly bitter indefinable taste of Alex. Mulder breathed in sharply, tongue snaking out and tracing the throbbing vein on the underside of the hard cock. The husky groan forced from the mouth of the man above him was the sweetest music Mulder had ever heard. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he held the slender hips in a steady grip as he used tongue and lips to push Alex closer and closer to ecstasy, each moan, each frantic thrust sending a corresponding rush of pleasure through his own trembling body. As he worked harder, taking Alex deeper and deeper, his hands slid from the hips to strong thighs, beginning to knead them rhythmically adding to the tactile sensation. Ruthlessly he controlled his own body's increasingly frantic demands. This was for Alex, he kept reminding himself almost grimly, as with a soft moan, Alex came, losing control of himself, hand clutching Mulder's hair, as he leaned back against the wall, breathing in soft shuddering gasps. Mulder rose lithely, smiling despite the aching hardness between his legs that screamed at him. He glanced down at his hand and finding a trace of creamy liquid, he slowly, never breaking eye-contact with the green of the eyes that looked back at him sated and dazed, seemingly almost stunned, lifted it and licked it off, his tongue a deep sparkling pink. Although his body throbbed for the man in front of him, Mulder felt suddenly uncertain, almost shy. A lifetime of being a watcher rather than a doer, of concealing who he was, had not left room for much experience, a few drunken fumbles during his student days, the abuse of Alex's body that he would like more than anything to forget, and the last night... The night when he had finally understood what the term, 'make love' really meant. Strangely, Alex seemed to catch his sudden doubt, and the smile that shaped the elegant curve of the lips was unexpectedly tender. Reaching out, he gently slid his hand around Mulder's neck, bringing his face close enough to kiss. "Shh..." he murmured, "come to bed, Mulder." His eyes sparkled with sudden mischief and renewed passion. Mulder laughed shakily, "I'm not sure I can move," he admitted. Krycek's chuckle slid like a caress across his skin, and he moaned faintly. "It's only a few steps away, and we'll be more comfortable there," he murmured, tugging Mulder gently along. Biting his lip in concentration Mulder obeyed, realizing with less shock than he should have felt, that he would follow this man anywhere he asked. Once in the bedroom Krycek turned towards Mulder, gently drawing him to the bed, and kissing him, deeply, passionately as they sank down on the mattress. Sliding his leg, between Mulder's thighs Krycek gently grasped the hard cock, stroking up and down, in a slow repetitive movement. Although it was pure torture, Mulder pulled away a little, rising himself up on the elbow to watch the expressive and strangely delicate face only inches from his own. "I want to be inside you, Alex," he said softly, a mute pleading in his voice. Although he knew that Krycek did not want to hear of his regrets, his remorse, the silence thrummed with unspoken words... to atone for the earlier hateful ones and replace them with this. He hesitated, hands stilling on the suddenly tense body beside him, "Please?" he whispered. A silence that lasted for the time it takes a deep breath to be inhaled and then released. "All right," Krycek said quietly, rolling over, and spreading his legs. A dark head was bent in a submissive curve, exposing a pale vulnerable neck. Mulder leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the soft skin, feeling the pulse jump beneath his lips. "You're so beautiful," Mulder said in wonder, as he began to move, not about to be hurried, no matter how much Alex moaned and gasped. No matter the sweat dripping off them both, Mulder was determined to do the things he had dreamt of doing. Using his body to beg a wordless plea of forgiveness, he tried to tell Alex with every silken caress, each soft kiss of his regret and remorse. To erase with passion and tenderness and love, the darkness pain and hatred. No matter that he had precious little real experience, he had always been an excellent student, and he had spent enough time remembering each touch, each caress that Alex had used to drive him mad with need. Returning and improving each one, watching Alex's husky passionate response was something he could spend the rest of his days doing. He laughed quietly, face buried in the hot, salty body of his lover; his teachers had always told his parents that he had too much imgaination. Afterwards, Alex stretched slowly alongside Mulder and ran fingers lightly down pale flanks feeling the goose bumps his touch caused. He said lazily, "You were hungry, Mulder." Rolling over on his side, there was unexpected gravity in the hazel eyes that looked back at him. "Hungry for you," Mulder said quietly, "only you." Krycek smiled as if Mulder had just told a joke. "What, even more than your collection of videos?" A strange expression crossed pale intense features, "More than anything." The smile died from green eyes, "Don't, Mulder," he said abruptly, turning away and starting to rise. Involuntarily he reached for the body sliding away. "No!" he said, a little sharper than he would have wished, "Don't go." Krycek shook off his hands. "I have to go; there are some people I want to contact before our meeting tomorrow." He gave Mulder a glance over his shoulder, "If you're sure you're going to go through with it?" Mulder's breath caught in his throat as he watched the graceful movements, the subtle play of light over the planes of his body. He stretched slowly, supremely satisfied, "If it means more nights like tonight, I'll do anything you want," he smiled. Dressed once more, Krycek gave him an odd searching look, but all he said was, "You have a deal." A small knot of tension suddenly formed at the pit of Mulder's stomach. "What do you mean?" He asked. Krycek stilled, a strange sadness rippled across his face and then was gone. "It doesn't matter." He crossed the room, sitting down on the bed beside Mulder and leaning in, gave him a short, hard kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow." He was gone, leaving as silently as he'd arrived. Scully and Skinner were already at the table when Mulder opened the door to the coffee shop. When he sat down, they turned to him with almost identical questions in their eyes. He grinned back, knowing his eyes were sparkling, lines of weariness smoothed from his skin, from his soul. "Good morning," he said cheerfully, reaching for the coffee pot and grabbing some toast. Scully lifted an eyebrow, "Good morning, Mulder. You seem very upbeat today. Did you sleep well?" Although her tone was innocent, the knowing look in her eye was not. Mulder almost choked on his toast, bending double and coughing. Luckily he was spared from answering, as a familiar figure made it's way through the room. Krycek sat down, dressed as always in his ubiquitous denim and leather jacket. There was no expression on his face, and his eyes were shuttered and distant. Mulder frowned, a tendril of tension suddenly whispering through him. It wasn't that he'd expected Alex to behave as a teenager in love, but this was too reminiscent of the face he had worn during the weeks in Mulder's apartment. "Hi, Alex," he murmured, feeling oddly shy. Krycek gave him a quick nod as he slid into a chair beside Scully. "I've been thinking," he said in his husky voice that never failed to send a shiver through at least one of his listeners. "If we're going to pull this off, our security is going to have to be watertight. We're going to need somewhere safe to hole up and use as a head-quarter." He leaned his elbow on the table, "I'm not sure I'd trust any of my old hidey-holes or contacts, not after two years away, and I definitely don't think we should involve the FBI or any other official government agency. So does anyone have any ideas?" Scully smiled, having anticipated the problem. "The Gunmen," she said with relish. For the second time in less than five minutes Mulder choked. "You have got to be kidding?!" Scully shook her head, eyes dancing, "Think about it, Mulder, they're going to be perfect. They can help with surveillance and data collection. They definitely don't have any ties to the government and they'd never forgive you if you didn't let them help with this." Amusement ran through her voice, "and I'm the one making the sacrifices here not you." She smiled a little wryly, reminding him of Frohike's strong and unrequited passion. Krycek raised an eyebrow, "Who are the gunmen?" "Mulder's friends," Skinner said succinctly. "Conspiracy kooks, but very good hackers, extremely paranoid and definitely without government ties. They will be ideal." He and Scully had obviously discussed this before either Mulder or Krycek arrived. "Mulder, I want you to phone them today and ask. Tell them that if they don't have room for us all at their place I'll shake something loose, find a safe-house somewhere." Mulder sighed, he was obviously out-voted, "Yes, sir," he said resigned. Skinner left after a curt good-bye, stalking out of the coffee shop, every line of his body pronouncing his discomfort with the situation. Scully excused herself to go the ladies' room and suddenly the two men were alone at the table. Hesitantly, Mulder said, "We should talk." Krycek gave him an impatient look, "Somehow I don't think talking is going to change anything. Just leave it alone, all right?" "Alex..." Mulder was a loss, uncertain of what to say, what to do. "We can't just pretend that last night didn't happen." "You sound like someone on Oprah. Yeah it was great, what we both needed, but it was just sex." "How the fuck can you say that!" Mulder glared at him, inexplicably angry. "Because it's the truth?" Krycek said coolly. "Don't make a production out of it." He stalked away from the table towards the entrance. Safe House, Washington, DC Mulder led the way inside the house that would be their headquarters during this operation. After much discussion between Mulder and the Gunmen it had been decided to let Skinner find them a a safehouse. Krycek quirked an eyebrow in a mute question at his first look at the run-down house located in a quiet working-class suburb, weeds growing high in the neglected garden. Skinner said curtly, "Don't ask." Mulder turned his head, giving them both a grin, "It was your idea, sir, besides, haven't you ever heard that you shouldn't judge a book by its covers?" Krycek looked at the grotty walls and flaking paint. "Mulder, this book doesn't have any covers." His mood did not improve when the door opened and they entered a dark, cramped and messy room, computer equipment and cables running everywhere; evidence that the Gunmen had already made themselves at home. Krycek had to stop himself from staring at the three odd figures, one looking like a grad student, one like a hippie refugee, and the third, a dwarf in glasses that kept sliding down his nose. They looked back at him with no less distrust that turned into outright horror when Mulder who had been watching the interplay with thinly veiled amusement said, "Guys, this is Alex Krycek." Three pairs of eyes fastened on Krycek who gave them his widest, most boyish smile. "I don't eat babies except at full moon," he offered. Behind him, Skinner snorted in amusement, and Mulder grinned. "He's one of the good guys now." The dwarf backed away, "Mulder have you lost your mind?! He's a fucking killer!" To everyone's shock, including his own, Skinner growled, "So am I. So are we all, including Mulder. Besides, if we're going to win this one, we're going to need people prepared to get down and dirty, not Sunday school choir boys." Five pair of eyes swiveled to stare at the tall, brawny AD; Skinner had to hold back a certain grim amusement at the fact that the person most shocked by the unexpected defense was Alex Krycek. "Ah, umm," Byers recovered first, "There are only four rooms upstairs, and the three of us are bunking in one, that leaves Scully with a room to herself," Frohike looked a little wistful at the last, "and, err," Byers suddenly blushed, "we thought the rest of you could sort yourself out." Mulder glanced at Krycek, "Alex?" "What?" Krycek sounded distracted, still watching Skinner. "Oh, the room? Sure, we can share." Mulder smiled in satisfaction, missing the bewildered look Krycek gave Skinner, a trace of wonder flickering in green eyes. Later that evening, Skinner walked into the room at the back, finding Krycek seated at the table cleaning his guns, each touch sure and professional. Skinner leaned over his shoulder and picked up the closest one, "A H&KMP5 semiautomatic. That's some firepower you've got there," he held up the gun, sighting along the barrel. Krycek nodded without looking up, "It's a Submachine that's been modified into firing as a gun. 9mm ammunition, 15 bullet cartridges, easily concealed. Armored exploding bullets, and it'll stop a charging elephant in its tracks. Best way to make sure they don't get up again." Skinner sat down professional interest overriding his instinctive distrust and dislike of Krycek. He picked up another, and whistled softly, "Where the hell did you get this one?! It's outlawed in this country." A shrug, "Do you really want to know?" Skinner gave him a long speaking look. "I guess not," he finally admitted. Absently reaching for a cloth he started to clean one of the guns, "so you think they'll come after us?" "I honestly don't know, but it never hurts to be ready." Running the oily cloth over the metal, Skinner frowned. "Krycek, level with me, do you really think this plan of yours has a chance to work?" Krycek looked up, "Truth? I give it a fifty-fifty chance, but hell, that's good enough odds for me." He smiled a little crookedly; "Don't tell me you would ever pass up a chance however small to get the smoker off your back, Skinner." Running his hands down the smooth cool metal, Skinner didn't answer. He didn't have to. As soon as they were settled in, Krycek started phoning old contacts, hinting that Fox Mulder had changed sides. After the first phone call, he returned to the living room with a strange expression on his face. Mulder looked up from where he was typing, "You're looking very thoughtful, Alex," he said casually. Krycek didn't answer, rubbing his neck as he sat down in the sofa. Mulder swiveled his chair around. "Alex?" "What? Oh yeah," he still looked a little stunned. "It turns out," a rather odd smile, "that it won't be hard to convince anyone that you've gone renegade." That got everyone's attention. Even Skinner, who usually liked to pretend that Krycek didn't exist, lost interest in the report he was perusing. Mulder, looking as if wasn't eager to know the answer, said carefully, "What are you talking about?" Leaning back against the sagging springs of the ancient couch, Krycek closed his eyes. "Apparently the deal you made with Spender two years ago is common knowledge within the Consortium. The buzz is that you'll do just about anything to have me in your bed." He smiled as if it was a joke. Mulder only wished it was. "Is that good or bad?" Scully demanded, practicality rearing its head. "Oh good, definitely good," Krycek told her, "it's the perfect hook on which to build our cover. It gives Mulder the perfect excuse and hints at his weaknesses." His voice turned sardonic, "They like knowing people's vulnerabilities." "And you're mine," Mulder actually smiled when he said it. "I can live with that." Krycek opened one eye, "Yeah? Your father thought the same thing." He rose abruptly and stalked out, leaving the others staring after him. It was the first sign they'd had that Krycek wasn't taking all this in his stride as effortlessly as it had appeared. Still not sure why he was doing this, Skinner went in search of Krycek. Mulder had been shocked by the parting words, and Scully outraged. Yet Skinner had been watching the graceful, elegant face with its expressive features and he had seen what his two agents missed—the flash of fear beneath the flippant sarcasm. It had forced him to consider the kind of courage it took, not just to voluntarily walk back into a life of pain and death, but to plan and then force an unwilling companion into compliance. He shook his head unwillingly impressed by Krycek. The man's survival instincts were quite astonishing. He must have phoned old contacts at the airport and then spent the silent uncomfortable trip to the east coast planning this. Whatever else he was, Alex Krycek had guts Skinner reluctantly admitted to himself. Krycek was standing outside on the verandah, leaning one hip casually against a post. Wearing only a T-shirt and jeans, with the thin fabric of the shirt molded to his body and his hair flopping down into his eyes, he was a perfect picture of greasy, rough sex. "You," Skinner said dispassionately, "look like a street hustler on the prowl." Krycek looked up from where he'd been contemplating a half-rotting floorboard. "Been there, done that, didn't even get the T-shirt," he quipped. There was a short silence and then Skinner said calmly, "I think I owe you an apology." Surprise forced Krycek into looking at him; it was the last thing he'd ever thought Skinner would say. "What?" The older man took his time answering, as he crossed his arms. "It occurred to me that I've been punishing you for my own sins," his voice was very dry. Krycek stared at him obviously surprised by the quiet words. "It's okay," he finally said. "I guess I've been a little pissy as well." Skinner gave him a long look, "No shit. Look, Krycek, we don't like each other, and we don't trust each other, but right now we've got to work together." Krycek nodded slowly, flipping back dark hair that fell into his eyes. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend?" "Something like that, yeah." He hesitated again, "I'm willing to make the truce permanent if you are." Krycek arched a dark eyebrow. "No more beating the shit out of me?" Skinner considered it for a moment. "No. I lived after all," he finally said, "I don't believe in holding grudges. So..." he held out his hand, but when Krycek reached out for it, Skinner pulled him forward, off balance and punched him in the stomach, hard enough to force the breath from his lungs. Gasping for air, all Krycek could do was to bend double as Skinner said calmly in his ear, "just as long as you remember, if you ever pull another stunt like the last one I'll hunt you down and kill you, nanocytes or not, got it?" When he finally managed to get his breath back, Krycek backed away a step, rubbing his midriff ruefully. "Gotcha." He grimaced, "you don't believe in pulling your punches, do you?" "Nope." Skinner turned abruptly and walked away leaving Krycek staring after him, a strange smile playing on his lips. It was the beginning of a wary, distrustful truce. Skinner ceased scowling at Krycek, treating him as if he was invisible, and Krycek stopped needling the AD. Two days later, Mulder and Skinner walked into the living room discussing the rumors surrounding the latest Quantico appointments to find Krycek munching popcorn and watching a soccer game. "Hi, Alex, what are you watching?" Mulder asked. Krycek looked up, a sudden wary guarded glint in his eyes as he saw the two FBI agents loom over him. "Champion's League, Lazio against Bayern Munich. The Gunmen have an amazing satellite feed set up." Skinner snorted, "Soccer?" his tone conveying immense contempt. A sardonic smile flirted with Krycek's lips. "Well, it's not the game the wimps here in the States call football. I mean, just look at them, all trussed up in protective stuff, real men play real football." Skinner glared at him. "They don't need protective gear, those sissies never touch each other and when they do, they dive to the ground like dying swans." He mimicked someone clutching his leg in mortal agony. "And then they just stand up and walk away. It's about as real as pro wrestling." Mulder leaned his elbows on the backrest of the couch thinking that his superior looked just like another man without the ever-present suit and tie. "I didn't know you watched soccer, sir," he said politely, to hide his amusement. Krycek arched an eyebrow. "He's got you there, Skinner." Skinner scowled at both of them, "I don't!" He denied emphatically, "but during the World Cup in '94, I headed up the team that was responsible for the Irish President's security." He added sourly, "New York in July, the asphalt was literally melting off the roads, and I was stuck with sixty thousand screaming Irish Americans and Italian Americans." He grimaced, "It was a fucking nightmare." Mulder grinned and Krycek actually started laughing at the disgruntled tone. Leaning back, Krycek seemed to relax again as green eyes lit with sudden mischievous amusement. He made Mulder's breath catch in his throat and his grin died. That was the Alex he had dreamed about, wanted, needed. Unable to resist, he sat down in the sofa and reached out a casual hand to rest on Krycek's neck, stroking gently. Krycek didn't exactly flinch, but his body lost some of its mellowness. Very casually he shifted away keeping the distance between himself and Mulder. Finally he got up, stretched and said, "This has been fun, but I've got to phone some more people; see you later," and disappeared. Mulder bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, taking an obscure pleasure in the tiny stinging pain as he noticed Skinner carefully avoiding looking at him. Frustration and misery clawed at him. Although they slept in the same bed, he was all too aware that Alex was still running, that no matter how hard he tried, Krycek would not let him past his defenses. He felt something tighten deep in his chest. It wasn't as if Alex ever refused him in bed either. Whenever Mulder reached for him, his body yielded. Yet his eyes, even in the heat of passion, remained distant and cold. All he could hope and pray for was that as time passed, Alex would lose some of his wariness and distrust. He had believed that once they'd made love, once Alex had seen that Mulder would never hurt him again, that they could begin with a clean slate. Instead it seemed as though the more he tried to hold on, the more Krycek slipped through his fingers. The situation did not improve as they started their final preparations. As he listened to Krycek calmly brief him and the others on the inner workings of the Consortium, the by now all too familiar knot of ice spread through Mulder. He wanted to stand up and scream "no!" To tell them to forget this insane plan. To refuse to have anything to do with it. Two years and still he had not come to terms with the truth. It had been easier accepting what he was, what he had done, than to acknowledge the truth about his father. It was the one place he had always resolutely refused to go. He had tried to cover up the confused emotions he felt for his father alive with a fanatical devotion once he was dead. With a burning, insane hatred of the man who had killed him. Yet, for all his obsessive introspection he had never been able one simple question... What do you do when you realize that the man for whom you sold your soul is not worth the price? What do you do when you realize that everything you have ever believed about your father was a lie? Fathers are not supposed to be exposed as child-molesting rapists, murders and monsters. As always, it was Scully who, during the final discussion, noticed as Mulder became more and more quiet while Krycek and Skinner argued about covers and back-ups and surveillance. Finally, he slipped away unnoticed to everyone except her. She waited for five minutes and then followed him. She found him sitting outside on the steps and sat down beside him. They sat in a warm, companionable silence for a long time. Finally, Mulder said quietly, "I don't know if I can do this, Scully." She didn't say anything at first, and then, "Because of your father?" He nodded. "I know he was a bastard, but he's still my dad." She thought of her own father, how he had always seemed the fount of all wisdom and strength, and wondered how she would have felt if she'd learned he was a traitor and rapist. "Have you talked to your mother?" she finally asked. He shook his head, "Ever since her stroke, she's completely disconnected from the world." He paused and then admitted softly, "and to be honest, I'm not even sure I want to know more." She didn't touch him, but the warmth of her blue eyes was like a caress. "You already know the worst." Mulder scuffed the toes of his sneakers on the step he was sitting on. "If I do this, do you think Alex will forgive me?" Her heart turned over at the wistful hope in his voice. "I don't know, Mulder," she said, and then honesty forced her to add, "but I suspect that he'll never forgive you for not doing it." He nodded, knowing she was right, but still loathed the very idea. In many ways it was so much easier to accept what he'd done to Alex if he could tell himself it was just a temporary aberration, an insanity he'd woken from and now regretted deeply. Yet, every time he thought of what his father had done to the young boy Krycek had once been, it twisted his stomach and soul, as he wondered if monstrosity, if evil, could be inherited. More than once he had woken from a nightmare, dreaming it was he not his father who wielded the whip that laid open Krycek's back. He, not Bill Mulder, who 'tamed' and shaped the boy into the man he was. What truly horrified Mulder was the fact that it could so very easily have been him. It had been him in those dark weeks when he had taken out all his hatred, all his rage and frustration on Krycek. It was not something he could share even with Scully; he had hurt Alex and he had loved doing it. It was that fact more than any other that woke him from sleep shaking and sweating, and caused him to spend the rest of the night in the bathroom, helplessly vomiting his guts out. He opened his mouth to answer, when the door opened and Krycek stepped through it. He didn't seem surprised to see them. "There you are, I wanted to talk to you, Mulder," he said abruptly, coming down the stairs. Leaning casually against the railing, his eyes narrowed. "I've been on the phone to some old contacts, there is a meeting starting tomorrow evening. Your scruffy friends are busy faking a phone call from the smoker." He smiled, "and incidentally I take back everything I said about them. Loony they may be, but they're also fucking geniuses." He sounded supremely satisfied. "Sharpe and his friends will think you've got Spender's backing, and if they discover they've been set up they'll go after him." He shook his head, "it's fucking brilliant." Mulder stood up, brushing off his pants. "Okay, what do I do?" Krycek said sardonically, "What comes natural to you, Mulder. Just be your ordinary arrogant self, and you'll have no problems." Although Scully chuckled and he smiled, Mulder felt a tightening in his stomach. "Fine, and you?" "Oh, I'll be your loyal bodyguard and toy," the words were said a little too casually. Mulder raised an eyebrow, "Sounds kinky. What do you do, wear your gun to bed?" There was no responding smile, "If that's what you want me to." "Hey," Mulder moved a little closer, running his fingers down Alex's back. "That was a joke you know." "Whatever," Krycek pulled away abruptly. "Come on, Mulder, I need to brief you on Consortium etiquette before we leave." Behind, and unnoticed by the two men, Scully looked more than a little worried. She had seen the pain in Mulder's eyes at Krycek's withdrawal and the flicker of something suspiciously close to fear in Krycek's face before it became its usual blank mask. When she came back inside again, Krycek was briefing Mulder while the three Gunmen listened in silent fascination. "... Remember, your usual bulldog style just won't fly in the Consortium. Bluff is the name of the game. You're going to have to convince them that you already know what you want to know, if you follow me? Admitting your ignorance is the surest way of blowing our cover." He smiled a little crookedly, "one thing though, you won't have to persuade anyone to believe in aliens. They all know they not only exist, but are here." There were general chuckles at that, but they were soon wiped out by Krycek's next words. "I'll be your bodyguard and property. That means if anyone asks, I'm yours. Oh, and if anyone wants to borrow me, just say no, all right?" A sudden, bitter smile, "And any suggestions you follow family tradition, I'd appreciate if you'd refuse." Scully bit her lip, willing Mulder not to ask the question. But of course he did. "Why not?" Krycek's face hardened even more, and his voice turned cold as ice. "Your father had rather exotic tastes, he liked whips and blood, lots of blood. He also liked to perform in public, and yes, before you ask, I was his favorite, because," he bit out, "I could take so much pain without passing out and because he liked the way I screamed." The silence was total. Strangely enough it was Skinner who intervened diffusing the tension. "Cut the trip down Memory Lane, Krycek," he said coolly. "Continue the briefing." Even more strange was that Krycek didn't get angry. Instead the look he gave Skinner was oddly grateful. When he spoke again it was with his habitual cool distance, "The data we need is in the mainframe in the lab, which is located beneath the house. When we are inside we'll be able to make a more accurate assessment. Once we know where it is... Frohike?" The short balding man stepped up, blinking through his glasses and handed them a small black box. "Hook this up to the computer and we'll be able to access everything from here." He looked extremely proud, "it's a prototype that uses a sat-uplink to connect to our modem. Which means we can hack into the computer even if it's not hooked up to a network with an outside connection." Mulder took the box, weighing it in his hands. "You're sure the smoker won't know what we're doing?" Krycek shrugged, "Nothing is certain, but chances are he'll be too busy following the false tracks we've laid down. Besides—" he glanced at Skinner. The man stepped up to the table and put his hands on the surface, leaning forward. "I've talked to some old contacts in NI, Navy Intelligence," he clarified, "they'll keep an eye on our friend. It's not ideal by any means," he admitted, "but it does give us a chance if he moves." Mulder nodded tensely, "Fine, let's get this show on the road." He avoided looking at Krycek. A former SEAL lecturing at Quantico had long ago told the young Mulder that the hardest part of an op was the waiting once it was a go. The tense hours before an operation began when you second-guess yourself and try desperately to think of an option not covered, of everything that could go wrong. Too keyed up to sleep or rest, Mulder had paced restlessly, leaned over the shoulder of the Gunmen who just ignored him, and then listened in on Scully's phone call to her old university professor until she told him, politely, to go away. That's when he'd been desperate enough to go bug Skinner who told him less politely to fuck off, and finally he'd ended up in his room, trying to read a book. However, after finding himself on page 114 and having no idea what the book was even called, he gave up, closing it with a soft exclamation of disgust. He needed someone to talk to, and wondered if Scully had finished her phone call, but before he could go in search of her, the door opened and Krycek came in. He didn't seem surprised to see Mulder, just gave him a brief nod before going over to kneel by his bag, opening the zipper and pulling out a small black book. Yet, something in the stillness of the figure by the window must have caught his attention because he did what he rarely would; he crossed the room to where Mulder was sitting. Standing so close, Mulder only had to lean forward to bury his head in the soft clean fabric of his shirt, Krycek said quietly, "What is it?" A brief hesitation as Mulder considered that Alex was the last person he could tell about his doubts, and then he shook his head wearily. "Nothing." Reaching out with his one remaining arm to gently cup the face, Mulder turned his face and pressed a kiss into the warm palm, nuzzling the soft skin. He closed his eyes and simply breathed in the scent of Alex, enjoying the quiet strength, the hard body slowly pulling him to his feet and towards the bed. Even as he followed Alex, a small part of him knew that it was deliberate, that Krycek was using sex to divert and relax him. Yet, the reasons didn't matter, only the reality of the hard body beside him, the hand on him, the lips sliding across his skin. When he tried to speak, Krycek placed a finger against Mulder's lips and shook his head. "Shhh..." he whispered and leaned forward, kissing the words from Mulder's mouth. They made slow, unhurried love, skin gliding against skin, Krycek taking his time, using lips and hand and body to entice and arouse. Mulder closed his eyes and let the hot red tide take him. Afterwards, Mulder raised himself on his elbow, slowly running his fingers down the smooth planes and hard muscles of the man lying so bonelessly beside him on the narrow bed. He felt happy, relaxed, ready to face the world, and the smile on his face he knew was more than a little goofy. He looked over at the man sharing his bed and saw that Krycek's eyes were closed, black lashes fanned out against the faint tan of his skin. For a long time Mulder was content to simply look, relishing this quiet moment of simple reflection. I love him, he thought, the smile widening. Long black lashes trembled and lifted, and he found himself staring almost breathlessly into jade-green eyes. Eyes that revealed nothing. Some of the happiness died. It wasn't the first time he wondered what thoughts moved behind those eyes, what it would take to break through to the real Alex. Frustration, usually well-leashed, threatened to overwhelm him, no doubt in part brought on by the knowledge of what they were about to do and the fear of what he would have to face. Perhaps that's why Mulder found himself short of patience enough to demand, "Why?" as Krycek swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He half-turned, giving Mulder a faint questioning glance. "Why what?" "Why can't you for once just stay in bed afterwards?" It was rather blunt, but he had come to hate the way Krycek pulled himself free after sex, leaving their bed, followed soon by the sound of hissing water. Looking so calm and aloof it was impossible to believe that just moments past he had been writhing and moaning in Mulder's arms, his body open and begging for each lingering stroke, each silken caress, Krycek said evenly, "Because I'm sticky and itchy and I want a shower," before disappearing into the bathroom. Fox Mulder lay back on the rumpled sheets and tried to convince himself that he could do this. There was a good deal of stubbornness in Fox Mulder's genetic makeup and he bent all his formidable will, all his vaunted determination on a single fact, Alex Krycek's love. He willed it to be the truth. He had read somewhere, that the mind and the body can have different memories, and never had it been demonstrated as graphically as now. He knew that Alex felt pleasure when they were in bed. That he could make his lover moan in passion and need, and for a little while he had believed it was enough. That it had to mean that Alex loved him. He was wrong. Once again Mulder found himself wondering about the complex soul Alex Krycek kept so tightly locked away. He wondered if anyone had ever been allowed inside the walls Krycek had built around himself. Above all else, he wondered if that person would be himself. He could only hope and pray that somehow he would be able to tie his lover to him with passion. That he could use physical desire to create a bond that would overcome the past. Perhaps. He smiled a little bitterly, maybe he should be grateful for the mission, since it at least gave him the perfect excuse for being close to Alex. mj.lee@chello.se Divine Retribution II

GENRE: Slash, M/K, Sk/K KEYWORDS: Angst RATING: NC-17 SERIES/SEQUEL: Sequel to 'Wild Justice' STATUS: Finished DISCLAIMERS: Here we we go again, nothing and nobody belongs to me, yada, yada, yada... NOTES: Welcome to the Story That Grew... This is the sequel to my first slashfic 'Wild Justice' and will probably make a lot more sense if you've read that first. It can be found along with my other scribblings at http://www.ravenswing.com/MJLee Warm thanks to Ursula not only for taking on the beta of this monster but also for the compliment of telling me she actually read it 'just for fun' first! Once again I stand in total awe and admiration of Phyre's unique blend of encouragement, compliments and ruthlessly incisive comments—that helped me cut down considerably on the 'schmoopiness'—here's looking at you kid! Thanks to Josan for a great discussion on Skinner's character and motives and to CJ for advice on Russian curses FEEDBACK: Please? mj.lee@chello.se SUMMARY: Old ghosts return to haunt Alex Krycek and he discovers allies in some unexpected places... WARNINGS: One day I'll write an X-filefic without non-con or sexual abuse, but it ain't this one. Rape, though non-graphic be ahead... back to top

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